#dark bay mare

[roananddappleranch]

New mare alert, new mare alert! I was told her name was Georgina from her first owner based off of the Mean Girls character. She can't be that bad... right?

[babyblue711]

Surrender

Aegon II Targaryen (Modern AU) x Reader Summary: Helaena invites you to the Targaryen countryside estate for a relaxing weekend away from the city where you form an unexpected connection with her older brother, Aegon. Words: 4.2K

Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, Language, Alcohol, Aemond being uptight A/N: I just want to give a quick shout out to the authors who have the amazing ability to write well thought out, smutty one-shots and somehow magically keep it under 3K words. YOU ALL are incredibly talented and I wish I could do the same. The smut alone is over half this fic. I tried to keep it short, y'all, I really did. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Aegon. As I said in a previous post, this story is incredibly self indulgent but thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy! 🔥 Update 7/9/24: Welcome new readers! Please don't be shy and feel free to leave me a comment! I'm still around Tumblr, just taking a break from writing at the moment but love reading your comments and thoughts about the fic! xoxo 💙 Beta read by the wonderful: @myfandomprompts

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warm water pours over your head and down your back as you rinse the shampoo out of your long hair; the fragrance of your favorite soap washing away the remnants of the day’s activities. Yet, within the confines of your mind, memories unfold like scenes from a movie.

Each moment is vivid and alive; seeing him atop his grey gelding as he waits for you to mount his brother’s tall, dark bay mare; your knees almost touching with his as your horses walk side by side down the winding trail. 

You recall the admiration in his smile as he looks over at you, observing the way you sway with your horse’s long stride with ease; your mutual love for horseback riding came as a surprise to you both. The brief ride had come to a halt all too soon, as ominous storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Just a mile away from the barn, you jointly decided to turn for home. 

You can still feel the wind in your hair as you and Aegon galloped back to the barn, trying to outrace the storm as thunder clapped in the distance. Laughter spilled from your lips at the thrill of the speed of your horse and your worries seemed to melt away with each leaping stride. It had been years since you had felt so light and carefree.

Luckily, you had arrived back at the barn just as the rain began to fall, giving your horse a grateful pat while reluctantly handing him off to the attending groom; Aegon seemed exhilarated from the ride as well as the two of you began to exchange lighthearted banter about your spontaneous adventure. Among your group, only you had embraced the opportunity to ride with him, given it was your favorite childhood pastime that you rarely got to enjoy as an adult. Everyone else had decided to retire to the house to get ready for dinner. 

Amused, you watched as he bends to pet the barn cat weaving between his legs, wondering why you had never seen this side of him before. Because he is your best friend’s older brother, a small voice answered in the back of your mind. When you first met Helaena at uni, your perception of Aegon was clouded by his reputation for being frequently drunk, arrogant, and unpredictable, and you assumed that was all there was to him. However, after spending the weekend with the Targaryen siblings at their countryside estate, you began to wonder if there was more to him than met the eye. 

Standing together in the doorway of the barn, easy conversation continued as you waited out the storm and you couldn’t help but feel impressed by Aegon's charm and clever banter, more so than you'd like to admit. The rain intensified, accompanied by a cool breeze which caused you to shiver slightly. He moved closer as if to shield you from the cool air, thunder clapping overhead. Heat radiated off his skin, giving you goosebumps as an electric charge zings through the atmosphere and you’re unsure if it's caused by the lightning or his sudden proximity. Your eyes flicked up to his face.

“Cold?” Aegon had said, his full lips curling into a perfect one-sided smirk. You locked eyes with him for a heartbeat too long and suddenly you’re melting into his dark blue gaze.

Flashing back to the present, you feel a blush bloom on your cheeks as you remember what had happened next. Still in the middle of your shower routine, you close your eyes and his face materializes in front of you again. With perfect clarity, you recall his damp blonde hair tousled by the wind, his sun-kissed skin, his warm, soft lips.  

The kiss that had transpired was completely unexpected, but had felt so absolutely right in the moment. It was tender and slow and sweet. You remembered the gentle way his hand cupped your face when he pulled away, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. Your heart pounded in your chest and words eluded you in that moment, lost in the whirlwind of emotions stirred by his kiss.

The rest of the evening had passed in a blur, the storm blowing over just as quickly as it began. Dinner with the Targaryens was always an interesting affair because their personalities were so entirely opposite of one another. The youngest sibling, Daeron, had obviously decided to take a leaf out of Aegon’s book and had already plowed through several beers by the time you walked back up to the house. Helaena immediately took you to the side to show you a picture of a ladybug she had drawn while you had been out riding, and Aemond brooded silently in the corner with a book. 

Meanwhile, you and Aegon seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to mention anything to the others which suited you just fine. The kiss had been too unexpected, too private, just meant for the two of you. His siblings did not need to know about any of his extracurricular activities, especially when it involved their sister’s best friend. 

Unbidden, butterflies had formed in your stomach for the rest of the evening and you could hardly eat. What was wrong with you? This sort of reaction was something you would expect of a silly school girl and you had to remind yourself that you were a grown ass woman and could do as you please without catching feelings. Your last relationship had ended poorly and you were still trying to recover from it. The drama, the heartbreak, the endless cycles of disappointment—it was exhausting. Before today, guys like Aegon were the exact reason you had sworn off dating and relationships, choosing to fiercely embrace your freedom and independence instead. 

Yet here you sat, unable to stop thinking about the perfect shape of Aegon’s lips. When had he changed so much? Or had he been this way all along and you just hadn’t noticed? Gone was his arrogance and, in its place, a seemingly gentle and caring soul. It was the first time in a long while that you felt a genuine connection with the opposite sex. His kiss had reminded you of the excitement of a new fling, the rush of emotions, and the intoxicating feeling of being wanted, of feeling desirable. 

Wary of these feelings, you decided to prioritize your own well-being and enjoy the moment for what it was—a fleeting spark of connection—and you wouldn't let it consume you or lead you down a path you weren't ready for.

Except, you hadn’t anticipated that Aegon wouldn’t be on the same page as you. Although both of you were resolutely acting like nothing happened, subtlety, he offered to clear your plate from the dinner table and then brought you another beer unasked, surprising you with his sudden thoughtfulness. You secretly hope his attentiveness goes unnoticed by the rest of his family. 

Luckily, Daeron is immersed in his own world of revelry, acting as if he’s in competition with himself to drink the most beer, or perhaps aiming to match Aegon’s former partying ways. Helaena, more adept at picking up social cues, pretended not to notice, but Aemond’s intense stare tells you all you needed to know of his suspicions as his eyes flicked back and forth between you two. 

At last, you excused yourself for the evening to shower and go to bed, desperate to find some peace with your inner turmoil by getting away from the group and from him. 

Now, drying your hair with a towel, you finally feel relaxed from the chance to clear your head. Dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts, you emerge from your bathroom and survey the opulent bedroom, grateful for securing one of the best rooms in this expansive house. Your balcony doors are open to let in the warm summer breeze, cooled slightly from the earlier rain. Enticed by the twinkling of the stars that you never get to see in the city, you step outside onto the balcony and gaze up at the night sky, oblivious to someone approaching you from behind. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” His deep voice sends your heart into your throat as you jump and whirl to face him.

“Aegon!” you exclaim, with a mixture of annoyance and relief. “You have to stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” he asks with a wolfish grin and you roll your eyes at his feigned innocence. 

“Surprising me unexpectedly,” you almost growl in response and his grin grows wider as he gives a nonchalant shrug. 

“Oh, I think you like surprises,” he says easily, coming to lean on the railing next to you and observing the sky. 

You roll your eyes again and choose not to comment as you look out onto the dark grounds, suddenly conscious that you aren’t wearing a bra and the air is cool. Quickly crossing your arms over your chest, you contemplate what to say to him for a moment and opt to cut to the chase. 

“What do you want, Aegon?” you say with a sigh, trying to act as if you truly didn't care. His response is immediate and direct, sending a shiver down your spine. 

"You," he purrs, his deep blue eyes seem to pierce you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. There’s a darkness in his stare, a hunger, a need, a longing. Tension crackles like lightning in the air.  

Your heart jolts with delight at his words, just as conflicting thoughts invade your mind. Your breakup was still relatively fresh and you weren’t fooled by what he meant by “you”. Is that something you were ready for? 

Instantly, your doubt is questioned by an opposing voice in your head that counters with, “But you have needs too, as much as you keep denying yourself. If you wanted to have a one night stand then, why not? He was familiar at least. You deserve to have some fun. When was the last time you had sex?” 

Mentally, you think you’ve made a good argument with yourself, until the rational side of your brain reminds you delicately of your choice to swear off men and be happy to live a life free of their soul-sucking ways, remembering the toll your ex had taken on you mentally, emotionally and physically over the years. 

But it doesn’t have to be like that anymore, the opposing voice reasons irresistibly in your other ear. You hold the power. You know your worth. 

This quick mental battle between your righteous consciousness and lustful desires happens in an instant, but Aegon looks like he knows exactly what internal struggle you are having as he steps closer to you, crowding your space without asking permission, tilting your chin up with his forefinger, the glow of the moon casting a soft light on his face. 

“Let me remind you of what you’re missing,” he whispers seductively against your lips, reading you perfectly. He begins the kiss gently, his lips exploring yours before deepening the connection with his tongue. Taking a fistful of your damp hair at the back of your neck, he holds you in place against him as he continues to kiss you passionately. You're enveloped in his taste, his scent, his presence; the musky fragrance of his shampoo only serves to heighten your desire for him.

After a few moments, you feel yourself melt into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you push your chest into his, nipples hard underneath your t-shirt. All rational thought is wiped clean from your mind as you make your decision.

Breaking the kiss, you take his hand and lead him back inside to stand next to your high, ornate bed. Not one to waste time, lest you change your mind, you grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling it over his head as yours follows suit. His dark gaze drinks in the sight of your bare breasts and he moves towards you as if in a trance, dipping his head to clamp his lips on your collarbone. You move your neck to the side and hum low in your throat as your hands explore the muscles of his broad back.

Within a few moments, you feel him tugging at your shorts, his touch deft and confident as he loosens the drawstrings. They fall to the ground, leaving you only in your thin, silk panties. His large hands slide down your hips and over your ass, and suddenly, he picks you up and throws you effortlessly onto the bed.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Aegon is on top of you again, his body pressing against yours with a delicious weight. You feel his hunger, his desire, as he devours you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for more. Every touch, every kiss, every caress, sends electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your veins. His touch intoxicates you, numbing your mind better than any drug ever could. When was the last time someone had made you feel this good? 

An ache starts to form between your legs and you rock your hips upwards, against Aegon’s erect length through his shorts. He hums while kissing his way down your body, suckling at your breasts, skimming your ribs with his teeth, biting your hip bones as he journeys downward, devouring your curves as he goes. At last, his face rests between your legs where he gently kisses the insides of your thighs. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers fervently as he hooks his fingers into the waistline of your panties. You lift your hips and he removes your underwear, finally bearing you to him completely. 

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs as he gazes at your sex, slick with desire for him. You start to feel self conscious at the hungry way he is looking at you, closing your knees to his line of sight. His eyes flick back up to your face, now dark pools of lust as he removes his own shorts and comes to lay naked next to you on the bed. You glance down at his cock before his lips take hold of yours again and your breath catches in your chest once more. My god, you think, was it a trick of the dim light or is he really that big? 

The thought is quickly swept from your mind as he continues kissing you for several minutes, kneading your breasts and rubbing your sides and hips and you decidedly become more impatient than him, a desperate ache between your legs and you reach for his length but he grabs your wrist firmly to stop you, smiling lightly.

“You first,” he whispers and pushes you back onto the bed so that you rest on your back; his hand trails down your stomach and runs along your inner thigh. Your breasts rise and fall with each quickened breath, anticipating what's next. 

Feeling like you burst into flames from all the sexual tension, touch me already! resonates loudly inside your head. Finally, his fingertips brush over your slick folds and he gives a low moan of appreciation. You mewl pathetically and arch your back, needing more friction as he expertly rubs circles around your bud. 

“More, Aegon, please,” you aren’t even embarrassed to be begging so early on. He chuckles lightly in response and blessedly acquiesces as he slips a finger inside you, quickly followed by another. He pumps his fingers in and out for a moment and returns to kissing you deeply. Pleasure begins to overload your brain until nothing is left but him. The smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the stretch of your pussy as his fingers move deep inside you, so much thicker than yours, reaching so much deeper than you ever could yourself. 

With his palm set on your bud, fingers buried deep, he sets a steady rhythm, stroking that sweet spot inside you while his face is buried into your neck. You grip the back of his hair and close your eyes, gasping as pleasure builds deep from within. It doesn’t take long until your breathing picks up as the coil tightens inside, causing you to pant and lose whatever dignity remained to you as you start to mumble incoherent nonsense, willing Aegon not to stop his pace as the pleasure mounts. 

“Cum for me, babygirl,” Aegon moans into your ear and your climax crashes over you in one enormous wave as you soar to ecstasy. You clap your hand over your mouth to stifle your wail of pleasure, just in case anyone else in the house could hear you cumming loudly. Aegon grunts from beside you as your pussy clamps down onto his fingers and you think you hear him whisper “fucking hell” very softly, but you are too lost in mindnumbing bliss to pay attention. He continues his rhythm as the waves crash over you and doesn’t stop until you have to push his hand away, on the brink of overstimulation. You lay panting next to him, trying to catch your breath, realizing it has been years since the last time a man has made you cum so hard. 

Aegon rolls onto his back and begins to stroke his length, covering himself in your slick as he waits for you to regain control of your senses. Recovering slightly, you glance down and realize you didn’t just imagine it, he really was impressively large, bigger than any of your exes. You prop yourself onto your side next to him and boldly take him in hand, causing him to smirk. As if you were drunk from the ecstasy of your peak, you can’t stop the words that tumble from your lips. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you practically slur at him and his cheshire cat grin widens.

“I think I may have heard that before,” he quips, sounding amused, while running his nose along your jawline, his breath hot against the skin of your neck, “But don’t worry, it’ll fit.” A slight moment of panic flutters in your heart, you were no virgin but you certainly had never handled that before. 

Aegon rolls on top and you cringe inwardly, not from worry about his size but rather remembering this was your ex's favorite position because it gave him a sense of power over you. Dark memories interrupt your excitement as they flash like lightning through your mind. But that worthless fool had never made you cum as hard as Aegon just had; he normally hadn’t worried if you came at all. With an enormous effort, you push the intrusive thoughts out of your mind and focus on the present moment.

Mentally, you completely let go and surrender to Aegon... it felt so good for once. To let someone else take the lead, to let go of control, to not have to think, to not have to do anything but allow him to consume you. 

You spread your legs and welcome him eagerly as his hips come to rest lightly on yours. You squirm underneath him as your nails rake along his back and down over his ass, causing him to shudder slightly as he continues to kiss along your jawline to your earlobe.

“Aegon, I’m on birth control,” you whisper in his ear as you rub your slick folds along the length of his hard, thick cock. 

“Hmm, good,” he hums into your mouth as he grinds back against you, “Because I wanna see your pussy overflow with my cum,” he inserts his tongue into your mouth for emphasis, swallowing your heady moans. 

You lift your hips as you feel Aegon guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, unable to stop your gasp as he pushes slowly inside. The intense stretch wipes everything from your mind and if you were being honest with yourself, it feels like the first time all over again, albeit more exciting now. Holy shit…holy fucking shit! is all you can think as he slides in slowly and you wonder if not having sex for a long time makes you a born-again virgin. 

Aegon, to his credit, doesn’t thrust roughly into you, rocking gently instead, getting a little deeper with each stroke as you attempt to breathe through your nose and will yourself to relax and open up for him. At last, he bottoms out inside of you and you’ve never felt so full before in your life. He rolls his hips into yours and you moan at the sensation as his thick cock dragging along your soft velvet walls. You pant and mewl underneath him, hands wrapping around his biceps that have your head caged in. After a few slow strokes, you find yourself adjusting to his size and you can’t help but beg for more.

“More, Aegon, please - harder,” you whine. 

“Impatient, are we?” he teases and picks up the pace but only a little and you know he’s savoring the moment. He pulls himself almost all of the way out before sliding back in with long, slow, deep strokes. Your hips start to rise to meet his own, willing him to go faster. On the next stroke his hips snap into yours, causing you to gasp at the pleasure that courses through your slick pussy, sending electric currents through your chest as he starts to earnestly fuck you into the bed. 

Unable to control the uninterrupted moans of pleasure, you cover your mouth again, thankful, at least, that the heavy framework of the bed is sturdy and does not make so much as a squeak despite his deep thrusts. He frowns down at you, roughly removing your hand from your mouth in displeasure, squeezing your wrist harshly, but the pain only enhances your pleasure. 

“Stop doing that. I want to hear you scream,” he says gruffly through puffs of his own heavy breathing. 

Suddenly, he pulls out and leans back on his heels, flipping you over and bringing your ass in the air. He re-enters you and grabs your hair, holding your head back as he roughly thrusts into you from behind. You're breathless at the unexpected change in position but moan lustfully as he slaps your ass hard with a large hand, releasing his grip on your hair to take hold of your hips, pistoning even faster. The sound of skin slapping together erotically fills the room as pleasure coils deep in your belly. 

“That’s it, babygirl, taking my cock so well,” he growls as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks so hard you think you’ll have bruises. 

You whine noisily at his praise while reaching your hand down to play with your bud, knowing you can cum again in this position with a little extra friction. Aegon can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock as your breathing picks up again, another climax approaching quickly. He grunts and pants as he nears his own release.

As your walls spasm around him, you cry out again, your orgasm ripping through your core, clenching down on his thick length. He groans as he rides out your peak for as long as he can, thrusting harshly into you one last time as he pours himself deep within. You can feel his thick cock pulsate inside you, milked by your clenching pussy, and find that you love the thought of him filling you with his spend. 

As he withdraws, he pulls your ass cheeks apart, admiring the mess he’s made of you, enjoying the sight of his cum leaking from your cunt. At last, you collapse onto the bed, utterly spent but entirely well-fucked, perhaps the most satiated you had ever been in your whole life. 

You lay, breathing heavily, trying to regain your strength, when strong arms come to cradle you as Aegon scoops you up and lays you gently back on the bed in a more dignified position, pulling the covers up and over you.

He slips into bed beside you and snuggles close. In comfortable silence, you both savor the intimate connection, skin to skin, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and the steady beat of your heart. Nestled securely in his embrace, your eyelids begin to droop, and just as you teeter on the edge of sleep, a gentle kiss brushes across your forehead.

Daylight filters through the balcony's glass doors, gently rousing you from sleep. It takes a moment for the vivid memories of last night to flood your mind. You find yourself still unclothed under the sheets, yet the bed is empty beside you. Letting out a soft groan, you stretch your sore muscles, contemplating how you were going to face Aegon that day. Are you both going to continue to pretend like nothing happened?

Automatically, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and see there’s a text, not from Aegon but from Aemond. Confusion swirls in your mind as you tap it open. 

[Aemond]: Look. My bedroom is right next to yours. Could you keep it down next time?

You could practically feel his irritation and you blush, mortified. Fuck, had you really been that loud? You knew the answer to that was a resounding “yes” because you hated being quiet, but you had really hoped the expansive house would have muffled some of the noise. Shit.

Feeling guilty, you start to type back an apology but then decide sex is nothing to be ashamed of and you were going to have fun teasing rigid, proper Aemond. 

[Y/N]: Join us next time, then? 😉

>>>> Part 2

A/N: It was the HOTD trailer that pushed me over the edge for Aegon, but y'all can thank these photos from TGC's IG for the inspiration for this story.

[fushipurro]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 3 - Malevolent Desire

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☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, darker themes, yandereish!sukuna, sukuna is bad at feelings, brief mention of an implied kidnapping/murders, brat taming, orgasm denial, vaginal/nipple foreplay, cunnilingus, creampie, sukuna calls you a slut (affectionate), biting/small blood mentions

☆ Word Count: 5.9k

Never in your life did you think one town could look as good as it does right now. It’s like a desert mirage that calls your name, urging you closer with the promise of rest.

After reclaiming your fateful bay mare, the trip home felt greater in lengths, heightened by the midday rays of the hot sun down the back of your neck. Now, the city of Valentine sits ahead of you, basked in rich golden hues.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the levels of exhaustion you face now. It pulls on your mind, body, and soul alike ─ demanding everything you’re able to give.

Upon your return with the empty-handed lawmen, Satoru offers a not-so-subtle notion that if you’re sore or injured after any “strenuous activities” to stop in at the neighboring doctor’s office for some care.

You decide to take him up on it, hoping to find some sort of reprieve, at least from the warm sensations where clothes couldn’t protect you from the harsh touch of sunlight. There, you find a woman by the name of Shoko Ieiri ─ an old friend of the two you had spent your day with, and the resident physician.

She proves especially helpful in restocking whatever medical supplies you needed, and even more understanding with any matters relating to ones with Satoru’s involvement. In fact, all you had to do was mention his name and referral, and it was as though you gave her the key to a closet full of tonics dedicated in his name.

During your time shopping, a man clad in dark jeans, a purple button up, and a black vest steps into the office. Just like you, he’s here to restock, claiming to be on the hunt of a local predator who recently claimed another victim.

Turns out, the man you had a shootout with went missing sometime late last night, leaving behind a trail of blood that didn’t go far. The modus operandi matches that of the killer he and his partner are after. Whether they’re alive still or not is unknown, but it won’t be long before a decaying body surfaces with a cryptic message to follow.

You’ve always been intrigued with bounty hunters, at times becoming one yourself to make a few extra bucks if need be. It was something your father had done on the side to put food on the table considering how picky businesses can get with new hires.

In your discussion with Shoko and the man called Choso, you made a mention to your little adventure with Satoru and what all your poor Valentine has been through. Surprisingly, Choso claims to have some veterinary knowledge, offering to look her over for any potential injuries, free of charge.

You accept of course, her health is of the upmost importance to you. Even if you don’t believe Suguru would have purposely harmed her, you can’t say the same for his crew. That, and how she was in the middle of an ongoing robbery. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

Choso not only ensures that Valentine’s in tip top form, but also checks over Clementine. You appreciate it, knowing how much you’d hate yourself if something were to happen before she’s reunited with Kento.

The two of you are joined by his partner, Yuki, who had been resupplying at the weapon’s shop across the street. She reminds you a lot of yourself, perhaps even cut from the same cloth. It’s always a pleasure to meet another woman on the frontier that can hold her own, and you hope to run into her again someday ─ maybe while hunting a bounty to compare skills.

In the meantime, she can’t help but swoon over the two mares in your care, even showing off her own that she raised from a filly ─ a silver turkoman dubbed Garuda. Choso’s steed on the other hand is a leopard appaloosa gelding by the name of Nova.

When everything’s said and done and the hunters take their leave, dusk has settled over Valentine with a thick blanket of stars. All that’s left for you to do now is to get your meat and you can be on your way for some food and rest.

…so long as the butcher’s stall is actually open, which in this case ─ it’s not.

Tough luck.

So much for getting your dinner now, guess you’ll be going to bed hungry. You opt to head for the hotel, which only serves to sour your mood further as the clerk tells you your stay is up and there’s no other rooms left to rent out. At the very least, you’re still able to pay for a bath to wash off the various dirt, grime, and other slick stuck to your body.

Now you could head off into the nearby prairie, or down by the Dakota River to camp, but as highlighted earlier, you’re exhausted. With two horses under your care and all your worldly possessions, you need to be extra careful what you do and where you go as a woman in this wild age.

Luckily, there’s a dozen barns to choose from in town, and even more available stalls to sneak into. At this point, straw poking your back is the least of your problems if it means getting a night of rest.

You lead the two mares over to an empty corral behind one such stable, freeing them from their tack and hiding the evidence under a pile of alfalfa bales. Save for the saloon, the rest of town has quieted down as others have now retreated to their homes and families.

That used to be you once when you were younger, now here you are sneaking inside a barn to get some shuteye. Oh, how your father would be so proud.

There’s just one problem.

You’re not alone.

As soon as you enter through the barn doors, you’re met with a few lit lanterns and a huge horse on the crossties. We’re talking the definition of a war horse here, with a blood bay coat to match. Their feathering is light, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out there’s some warmblood mixed in with some draft breed. At the sound of their deep, echoing neigh, a head pops up from between their hindquarters.

“Who the fuck ─ ahh, it’s you,” the voice remarks, and it’s one you remember quite well.

The Butcher.

“Come to finally collect what’s yours?” he asks, a tinge of playful annoyance lacing in his words.

You approach the man, narrowing your eyes. He spares you his own sharp look before resuming his work clipping the giant’s hoof.

“Since when does Valentine’s butcher do farrier work?” you question, admiring the look of dark chaps around his beefy legs. It pairs nicely with his black pants and the red shirt he has on.

He snorts, “I do a lot of different work ‘round here, sweetheart.” His nickname falls short when paired with sarcasm. “Whatever pays the bills while I’m here, and besides, this is my own mare so it’s not like I’m being paid.”

“Leave it to a bloodied man to ride a red mare,” you mutter under your tongue, hearing him huff anyways. “Can’t lie though, she’s a beauty.” You reach out to pet the girl, only to retract your hand the second her ears pin backwards and she about bites your hand off.

“That she is,” he chuckles lowly, uncaring to what almost occurred, “Calamity here is loyal and obedient, just how I like it.”

You scowl in response, ultimately realizing any interactions with this man require a level of caution to be taken. He’s not to be trifled with.

Then again, Daddy didn’t raise no coward.

“You sure you’re not compensating for something?”

Not that he needs to. Appearance wise, he’s very attractive, even if he waves enough red flags at you to be called a matador. You are a stubborn bull at times, so it may be a fair tradeoff. Being tired and hungry don’t mix well for any wicked cowgirl.

“Please,” the butcher scoffs. “I have no reason to need to. Why, you interested in taking me on?” He throws a smirk at you from over his shoulder, grabbing a large file in the process to shave down the mare’s hoof.

You roll your eyes, leaning up against a wooden post to admire his workmanship. “Please,” you mock, “I think you’re exactly the type of man my father would tell me to put a bullet into and call it a day.”

“If you think my ‘services’ are inadequate, then you’re more than welcome to,” he retorts, finishing up the hoof with a beautifully crafted horseshoe nailed perfectly on. He stands up after, dusting off his hands and turning to you in full. He certainly has a height advantage on you amongst other things.

You don’t back down, not even when you’re at the disadvantage. “We’re still talking about work, right? ‘Cause you have something of mine.”

The butcher steps forward into your space, like a predator stalking its prey into a corner, only you don’t move. “Is that really why you came creeping in here? Or maybe you’ve been following me,” he muses with sultry words.

“I’m not here for you, your highness.” Those choice words deepen his annoying grin. “But since you are here, then I’d like to get my meat and go. I’ve had quite a long day.”

His eyes darken as a thought crosses his mind. “I think I can help with that… if you’ll give in to me,” he says, moving one hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. You slap him away, earning a click of his tongue, “Don’t be a tease.”

You ignore his accusation. “What exactly are you offering here?”

“Instead of sleeping in a stall full of shit…” he pauses, letting his words register that yes ─ he knew exactly why you were here to begin with. He’s as smart as he is cocky, that’s for sure. Not a bad combination, but only if you can back it up. “…why don’t you come back home with me, and I’ll treat you to some care?”

A tempting offer, but full of risk.

“And how am I supposed to believe you aren’t planning on robbing or gutting me the moment we’re alone?”

He laughs again, only this time it resembles some cackling coyote in the dead of night. “Guess you’ll just have to be good and trust me.”

“Howreassuring of you,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s up to you, brat.” He shrugs nonchalantly, picking up his heavy western saddle. “Whether you want it or not, make your choice now or forever hold your peace.”

You keep a horse-length behind the man, Sukuna, atop your mare; your eyes are glued to the back of his head with one hand close to your iron if the situation warrants the need. The environment around you both is eerily calm ─ as if nature knows something about a potential threat that you don’t.

Perhaps your foremost thought about him being a serial killer on the side wasn’t too far off.

It doesn’t help your nerves either or his case for that matter when his home happens to be a cabin in the woods. There’s a set of storm doors that immediately catch your eyes upon arrival. They’re tightly bound and sealed with the use of heavy chains but at this point, would it really surprise you if there’s something down there he doesn’t want others to see?

Rationally, it could just be where he stores excess meats and other parts of his work, and that the chains are only there to keep predators out. He is a butcher after all, that would be the safest option.

…Unless of course the seal exists to prevent anything from escaping.

You decide to push those thoughts away for now. You’ve wrestled with bears numerous times after all; if Sukuna decides to betray the trust you’re giving him, then you won’t be going down easily.

Sukuna rides up to the pasture gate, hitching Calamity up to a post to untack her. You join him near his side with both Valentine and Clementine to do the same. Hopefully his mare’s temperament doesn’t affect either of your girls in the field after Choso gave them the okay. Explaining any new injuries to Kento would not be easy after he’s already gone out on a limb for you.

You’re then led up into his cabin, where the interior is surprisingly clean. For a butcher, he seems careful enough about it, as nothing you see has a speck of blood staining it.

“Take a seat,” he practically demands, pulling out one of his dining chairs for you on his way into the kitchen. You oblige, choosing not to comment on his tone.

You watch him from afar as he cooks, to which it appears to be yet another skill he excels in. His precision with a knife also tells you that in the event of any fights to the death, you’re gonna need a gun to win. He spares you a few glances here and there, but otherwise his focus is kept solely on the stovetop until he’s walking back into the room with dishes in hand.

You can honestly say that Sukuna’s cooking is one of, if not, the best you’ve had the privilege to eat. He’s prepared a selection of different meats paired with fresh vegetables and is eager for you to try everything he’s whipped up.

Conversation is kept to a minimum, not that you can complain. His earlier attitude seems to have softened after a good meal, yet the tension still hasn’t let up. After dinner, you offer to help clean up as thanks, but he shuts you down, even taking your plate straight from your hands.

There’s a look of mischief that plays across his crimson eyes as you’re turning back to the table. Now there’s one thing to always be cautious of when sharing company with a predator, and that’s to never turn your back on one.

A full belly must’ve dulled your senses, subsequently lowering your guard to forget that rule. Your mistake comes with a consequence, or maybe a blessing ─ Sukuna now caging you between himself and the dinner table.

His voice, deep and velvety, murmurs in your ear, “Ready to discuss payment?”

It makes your body shiver, and you hope it wasn’t too obvious. He chuckles, so you know that was a bust. Good thing you’ve still got some sass in you.

“You’re telling me you didn’t do this out of the kindness of your heart?” you tease with the man.

“Fuck no.” Sukuna inhales your scent, making your eyes flutter shut. “I’m not about to let some other maggot get in my way,” he says, brushing the hair off the side of your neck, revealing splotches of red and purple bruising. “This time…you’re mine.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you tell him, but your efforts to remain in control are in vain.

Sukuna starts to pepper kisses across every discoloration his eyes can find, his other hand now pulling you closer to his body.

He’s hard, and nor was he lying either when he said he has nothing to compensate for.

With one hand placed inches above your needy core, he encourages you to grind against his own. It’s an action so specific, you can’t help but wonder if there’s some hidden meaning to it. Either way, Sukuna knows right where to get you along your neck until you’re weak in the knees and grasping the edge of the table for stability.

“What’s the matter?” he asks between kisses. “No more bratty comments?” You can feel his lips hovering over your carotid artery, smiling against the flesh as your heartbeat quickens in response.

“Fuck you,” you spit in a low volume, your grip on the table growing stronger as Sukuna’s hand moves fast to cup your sex.

“There’s plenty of time for that,” he muses. “I intend to enjoy every minute of this.” He lifts his hand upwards, pulling you off your feet for a hot second causing a gasp to leave your mouth. He then lets go of your body, backing away a few steps.

“Strip,” he commands, and you find yourself throwing caution to the wind. As you start to unbutton your shirt, he stops you, “Aht aht, turn around.” He motions with his finger almost impatiently so.

You roll your eyes before doing so, continuing where you left off. “Better, my lord?”

“That’s it,” he drawls, ignoring your snarky tone in favor of the new title of worship. “You’ll do well to listen and take orders.”

“You know, maybe I should put a bullet in you if you think I’m gonna sit back and become one of your pets. Better yet, I could always just cut your dick right off or maybe gelding would be more fun,” you warn him with an amused smile.

“Your words only arouse me, brat.” He stalks closer, baring his canines towards you with a similar, more salacious grin. “Stick around long enough with me and I’ll show you the best way how to do all of those things.”

Unlike you, you don’t believe he’s joking.

Sukuna takes a moment to admire your body, feeling his own cock strain in his pants. He leans his head down, taking you by your mouth in a ravenous embrace. He roughly bites your bottom lip, making you gasp yet again. Sukuna uses this chance to slip his tongue past your teeth, savoring the metallic flavor all while a free hand slips between your thighs.

He spreads you open, prodding his middle finger against your opening. “My… so wet already? I’ve hardly touched you.”

For how much you hate him for his arrogance, he certainly knows how to make a gal feel oh so aroused. You’re enjoying this more than you had expected to.

Without warning, he thrusts his finger upwards, lifting your body to rest atop the dining table. “Fuck!” you shriek, the pain turning to pleasure when his thumb coos your throbbing clit. With deft motions, he pumps his finger in and out.

Sukuna laughs in an almost sadistic manner, thoroughly enjoying the reactions you’re giving him. It’s always more fun when his prey has some fire that makes his efforts to break them all the more satisfying. Pretty soon, you’re rolling your hips against his knuckles on your own, aiding his motions.

“Look at you, slut,” his voice, full of sin, whispers in your ear. He bites the sides of your neck overtop the pre-existing marks, thus overriding the claims. “So desperate. You want to cum, don’t you? I can feel it.”

You nod your head, unable to hold back your noises as you grow closer to that sweet release. His touch is like wildfire against your body, igniting you with otherworldly passion.

“I wonder, what would happen if I were to deny you?” His grin widens and he retracts his hand from your body.

“Asshole!” you hiss breathlessly, groaning from the loss.

Sukuna loves how easy it is to push your buttons. Each action serving to intoxicate you under his full control. If one simple finger of his could do all of this for you, then he can’t waitto impale you with his cock.

“Such a bad girl,” he purrs against your ear once again. Both of Sukuna’s hands hold you at the hip while he rubs his clothed self against you. “Tell me you’re mine and I’ll please you over and over again until all you can think about is me.”

“I’m starting to think it was love at first sight with you,” you chuckle through a moan, “Can’t ask a girl out like a normal person?” That remark earns you another reprimand as he suddenly pushes himself hard against you, forcing you back onto your forearms.

“Last I checked, I already made you dinner and offered you my home. If you’re having second thoughts then I’ll gladly let you go,” he states, but you can tell that’s a lie.

Sukuna would much rather you stay and give in to his desires. The offer is quite tempting to, as with any deal with a devil. It proves even harder to deny the effects Sukuna has on you, your stomach endlessly performing flips with emotions.

His whole domineering self is a forbidden type of decadence that draws you in, hypnotizingly so. There’s a lot you don’t know yet about him, and if one thing is obvious, it’s that the longer you stay at his side, the more you want to slip into depravity with Sukuna.

It might even help you become a better version of yourself. No longer would you be alone trying to survive in a world pitted against you.

Then again, your feisty nature is what got you here to begin with. Where’s the fun in letting that go now when you have someone that can keep up with you, with plenty to offer if he stays true to his word.

With a devious grin of your own, you tell him, “Fuck. You.” Emphasizing each word to better toy with him.

He laughs again, louder, and more boastful this time. He knew you would continue to deny yourself, punishing yourself in the process. You’re only making this easier for him to have his way.

“You won’t say it?” He stares down at you with a darkened expression, flashing those wolfish fangs again. One of his hands swoops up to cup your breast, pinching the bud as he makes you lie flat for him. “Oh, I’ll make you say it.”

In the blink of an eye, his mouth latches onto your swollen pearl, sucking with an intense force that leaves you writhing beneath him. One way or another, he’ll shatter your will. He knows it’s just a matter of time before you admit what you already know to be true.

Sukuna’s tongue swipes upwards once before pushing inside. He licks up every last drop of your arousal, feeding into his own animalistic desire to claim you.

To ruin you.

He moans at this thought, savoring your delectable taste like it’s his last meal on earth. The sweet flavoring pairs perfectly the way you cry his name out. One of your hands even holds the table in a white-knuckle grip, with the other struggling against his head. You can’t escape his touch, even if you tried. His own hands brandish your hips tight enough to bruise ─ making you in his name.

“S’kuna,” you groan, feeling your mind reaching a state where it has no choice but to unravel.

“Just say those three words,” Sukuna insists, spelling it out for you with the tip of his tongue. He’s edging you a second time now, knowing all too well how close you are. “Three words, and I’m all yours,” he urges.

“Fuck! Please, please, let me cum!” you beg the man, rocking yourself against his mouth for the needed stimulation. Sukuna clicks his tongue but doesn’t let up, sucking more vigorously now. Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head, your spine arching off the table from the force your climax hits you with. “Sukun-aah!” you cry out in pleasure.

Your mouth falls agape with a silent scream, falling limp against the wood. It takes a minute to come down off the high, but when your vision clears, you look to Sukuna whose shirt has been discarded. Now, you can clearly see his sculpted chest and all the black ink that adorns his body.

The sound of metal teeth fills your ears, and his jeans are the next to go. He doesn’t even give you a chance to see the rest of him in his full glory before you’re scooped into his arms, forced to wrap your tired legs around his waist. Contrary to his abrasive personality, he holds you with a lot of care, and you think you if this goes on, you could fall asleep just like this.

Sukuna lowers himself onto his bed, and in the process forces you into a straddling position. He briefly kisses your lips ─ another sweet act ─ and then leans back, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Ride me,” he commands. You shoot him a questioning glare in response. “What, you thought I was going to do all the work tonight?” he scoffs, “I told you already what I want to hear.”

You sigh, lips stretching into a fine line. It doesn’t seem like any amount of begging will save you from those three words he wants you to say, but are you ready to admit it?

“Come on, cowgirl.” Both his tone and expression carry a hint of mocking, albeit playful as part of his nature. “Let’s see some bareback riding… I want to watch you make yourself cum on my cock.” Sukuna pats your thigh before pulling it back behind his head.

You lift upwards, feeling a burn in your legs as you do so. Between days of being on the saddle and Sukuna marking the fourth man in your unintentional conquest of the city of Valentine, you ought to get a medal for how hard you’re working. At this rate, you may as well embrace the buckle bunny trope.

Reaching between your thighs, you take his cock in hand. The size is bigger than you imagined, even after feeling it through his denim. He’s no doubt the biggest you’ve taken thus far, and you can’t even feel the tips of your fingers around his girth.

There’s a bit of uncertainty that starts to bubble up, but as the famous saying goes ─ country girls make do.

And so, you line him up, rolling the fat mushroom tip across your slit to gather the necessary lubricant before even attempting to sit over this monster. You wince at the first stretch, your insides burning unimaginably so.

Sukuna wants to laugh. He’d love to keep teasing you but even he’s having trouble forming words in this situation. It’s hard enough resisting the urge to go all in and get it over with, but that won’t end well for him.

He wants you to trust him after all.

He wants you to be his.

After what feels like a century, you finally bottom out, hips kissing his pelvis in full with a deep, guttural moan to follow. Any slight movement on either of your parts sends shockwaves heavier than his heavyweight draft.

In this moment, Sukuna decides to play nice. His hands move from his head down to the dips of your hips, helping you through the motions with a gentle touch. It’s mostly an excuse to get you moving already, but also due to how deeply he wants to feel every bit of you.

Pretty soon he lets you take over, as he originally planned. At first, your pace is agonizingly slow, fueled from your exhausted state much to his discontent. Despite this being his way of tormenting you, it affects him equally so. Sukuna’s also punishing himself for not making his move earlier when he had the chance.

“Is that all you got? Here I thought you wanted to cum,” he teases. “You look so pretty with my cock buried in you, slut.”

The degrading term aside, his sudden compliment has you moaning a saccharine tune. Your body hunches forward, curving his length to reach greater depths you didn’t think possible.

“Oh?” Sukuna groans deeply. “Does someone enjoy being praised?”

“Y-yes, ‘Kuna.”

“Good girl,” he hisses with lustful joy, clenching his teeth together. Sukuna wasn’t prepared for the feeling you created by saying his name in such a delectable way.

He could eat you right up for that.

“My dove is doing so well,” he murmurs against your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. “Now if only you’ll say those three words already,” he urges you once more, wishing for you to give into him.

You huff, “What haa-happened to saying please?”

“Tch.” The palm of his hand meets your ass. You gasp into a cry, clenching around his length. “Don’t be a brat after I’ve been nice and complimenting you.”

Fresh tears gloss your eyes but are quickly soothed by him rubbing circles over the forming red handprint. That hand then moves deftly over your stomach to where it had rested earlier. Sukuna pushes with his palm slightly, feeling himself deep within you.

Fuck, it feels good, but it’s not enough.

Your pace begins to slow as your body tries desperately to balance exhaustion with your building orgasm. Sukuna’s breathing turns disheveled, a sign that even he’s losing his patience ─ ready to fill you to the brim with his seed.

Nearing the precipice of your release, you finally come to terms with your inner turmoil. You’re here now, you may as well make the most of it. As downright intimidating as Sukuna can be, he just wants to please you in his twisted sort of way.

It’s not easy to admit, but in a way, he reminds you of your father ─ always pushing you past pain to grow stronger. It’s what made you into a rattlesnake in a world full of predators. Sukuna brings out that venomous side of you but also rewards you with subtle soft touches.

One might argue that your affection for Sukuna could be the result of losing your father years ago. On the other hand, this possessiveness Sukuna shows might be his own way of dealing with issues from his past. Whatever the case may be, you hope the lengths he’d go to protect what he deems his isn’t anything too maniacal in nature.

Maybe for the first time in your life, you will let go of control ─ let someone else carry your burden without always needing to put up a strong front.

“’Kuna,” you whine, leaning down in front of his face, cupping both sides of his jaw. A bead of sweat falls from a strand of your hair, disappearing in an instant from his hot flesh.

His eyes narrow in your hold, obsidian swallowing garnet. “Say it.”

And you finally do.

“I’m yours, Sukuna. All yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear for everything to snap into place. Sukuna’s arms reach around your torso, holding you tight to thrust himself into a brutal pace. His cabin now but a domain of lust, fueled by a cadence of sounds as body and souls unite as one.

“’Bout time,” he growls, the pitch of his voice noticeably lower. “I was just gonna mess with ya at first, tease you a bit ─ see how far I could back you into a corner,” Sukuna starts to reveal, his pace unrelenting. “Then I saw you showin’ off at the bar, fucking that bastard’s hand up without breaking a sweat. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.”

The two of you bury your faces in each other’s neck, your hands struggling to find a grip anywhere to provide relief from the mounting state of rapture. The knot in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter by the second.

“Had to watch that blond fuck get to you before I could, and then,” he growls, “you ran off with that white-haired freak of a sheriff this morning.” His arms coil around you with more force. “Don’t think I’m not aware these marks are from him.”

“’Kuna, please,” you whimper into his collar.

“That’s right, tell the world who you belong to ─ who’s ruining you,” Sukuna’s laugh mixes with deep, groaning exhales. “Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my fat cock. You better be proud of yourself for what you’re doing to me.”

You cry out his name a dozen more times as he ravishes you, no sooner reaching the plateau of an ecstasy that unravels every fiber of your being. Your only thoughts now are of the man beneath you, drunk off his cock now shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside you.

The stimulation gets to be too much that you feel the overwhelming desire to bite down on his neck. Sukuna revels in this, spilling out every last drop he can manage until it overflows from within you and around the base of him.

You relinquish your hold on him, allowing your body to slump against his. “You’re mine now,” Sukuna declares with your name following his words. He moves one hand up and down your back, reminding you of his softer side, all before flipping your positions, still nestled within your body.

“Suku–“ You’re cut short by his lips pressing against yours in a warm embrace.

He kisses every tear down your face, and even the drool that trails the sides of your mouth before returning to your lips. Amongst everything else, you can still taste yourself on his tongue, paired perfectly with his own like seasoning on the finest of meals.

“Did you think we were done?” One hand moves to hook the backing of your knee, lifting it up to grant him better access. “I said I’d take good care of you, and all you had to do was submit your trust to me.”

You might’ve just created a monster without realizing.

“Take every bit of me now… you’ve earned it.”

You have no memory of when sleep overtook you. Sunlight peeks through the curtains now, illuminating the cabin in warm, rich tones. Your body, while sore and aching, feels renewed in all aspects ─ mind, body, and soul.

Sukuna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, with his other acting as a pillow beneath your head. Feeling you stirring, his eyes flutter open, glaring at you with his own tired expression.

“Mornin’, dove,” he greets, voice thick with sleep.

You stretch in his arms, moaning slightly as you wiggle closer for comfort and warmth. Sukuna smiles against your forehead, tightening his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll fly away if he lets go. It’s fine for now. After all, you made your choice to give in and it’s one you don’t regret.

He may joke about “fucking the brat out of you”, but let’s face it ─ Sukuna had plenty of frustrations of his own to get out. Now, you get to experience his softer side. While Sukuna will never admit he has one, he is glad you’re here and wants to keep it that way.

After another bout of sleep, he prepares a nice, fulfilling breakfast for you. It’s quiet as the two of you eat, both knowing full well you weren’t going to be staying for another night.

The fact remains that Sukuna has some unfinished business to attend to, and you yourself must return Clementine to Kento before making any lifechanging decisions in your journey of life.

On your way out the door, Sukuna grabs your wrist, spinning you back and up against the door. His knee wedges between your legs, one hand holding your jaw up for him to claim your lips in a fervent kiss goodbye.

“Come back to me soon, dove. I’m not finished with you.” He smiles, but it lacks the malicious intent he held earlier.

You think.

“See you around, cowboy.” You tap the back of your hand to his chest when he releases you, walking off from the porch and over to the pasture. “Oh, and by the way,” you call out from over your shoulder, “I give you five stars for your excellent service.” You wink, licking your lips.

Sukuna smirks from afar, remaining by his doorstep until you’re nothing but a shadow in the distance. His eyes pan over in the direction of his cellar, eager to pass the time until your hopeful return.

…but will you?

☆ Notes: I got stuck on this for a while during my writing slump as I’ve come to realize I’m not all that big on smut writing, tbh. It’s not something I feel confident with, nor is it something I actively seek out to read.

But god, writing Sukuna was a BLAST and a nice start for me cause I have several ideas I want to do for him in the future <3 I hope you guys enjoyed how I wrote him though; I tried to balance all my favorite aspects his personality and my own little headcanons.

Also had to throw in my own choso & yuki cowboy headcanons… originally I was gonna have choso working in the office with shoko, but I ship him with yuki hard and really wanted to include them one way or another in the series. blood manip just screams doctor AUs to me, and I think he’d be an awesome vet or peds doctor!!

For all the red dead 2 players though… do you recognize what house we’re in? :3

[avastrasposts]

Memories made, memories lost

Plot: Before Pero Tovar and his friend William Garin set out in search of black powder, he found himself doing something he never thought he would - falling in love. But what waits for him as he returns from his adventure after all this time?

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Angst and grief, loss of virginity (it's all consensual and it's not the main trope of the fic), explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 7.9k

This is written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Wiriting Challenge where I requested a trope for Pero Tovar and got Amnesia A big thank you to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner! What would I do without my Canva Pro friends!?

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for Pero Tovar. 

He left his hometown while he was still a young boy, and after that he never stayed long enough in one place to put down roots. Let alone find a woman who would want to throw her lot in with a mostly penniless mercenary soldier who relied on powerful lords always finding a new enemy to fight. Who would want a scarred battle dog with a permanent scowl and dangerous look to his appearance? And even if someone did, how could he care for a wife? A family? He moved from town to town, from country to country, seldom returning to the same place twice unless the pay was very good. 

But then, one autumn in southern England, when the fighting season was over and the mud was too thick for both men and horses to march in, something changed. He was no longer young but in his fighting prime, hardened, and hard, by years of fighting other men’s wars. He had no other plans than to spend the winter in this small English town with his friend William Garin, wait for spring and the call to arms for another war or rebellion or crusade. He was going to fill his belly, hone his weapons, train the younger men and spend his evenings with a whore or two, and that was it. 

Marriage was not on the cards. 

But fate wanted a different path for him. And you quite literally fell into his arms as you tumbled from your horse on the outskirts of the small town. 

“Curse that nag!” you yelled crossly, struggling to free yourself from his strong grip, “let go, I can stand on my own legs!” You pushed at his chest as the dark haired man let go of your waist, stepping back with a chuckle. 

“And what fine legs they are,” he said, his grin wide.  

You sneered at his comment, “Too fine for you either way.” 

You glared at him as you brushed your dress, “I should thank you, I guess. You saved me from a much greater fall, that stupid mare is spooked by the smallest twig and throws me twice a week at least.” 

With a sigh you looked at your horse who’d decided that the twig wasn’t an immediate threat and had begun to graze the last of the summer grass just a little while down the country lane. 

“If that’s the case, you best go and claim your horse before she decides one of farmer Ned’s cows has fangs and means to eat her,” Pero chuckled. He liked your spirit, and the way your eyes blazed as you glanced at him. 

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” you said with a shake of your head, “I best be off, thank you again, sir.”

Tovar gave a small nod and crooked smile at your retreating back. 

Later that evening, as he’d eaten and gone back to the room he shared with William, he wondered why the chance meeting on the country lane wouldn’t leave his head. He felt as if he might’ve been bewitched, one moment walking down the country lane on his way out to the smithy for a repair of his armour, the next he had a woman in his arms as her bay horse bolted down the road. You’d smelled of apples, a rich, sweet scent clinging to your hair as it brushed over his face when you both landed in the dust. The soft yield of your flesh under the rough linen dress, it was as if he’d put his hands on the softest down pillow, he’d wanted to grab hold of it and not let go. 

As you rushed away from him, scolding your skittish horse, he’d watched the way your hips swayed with each step, bright hair bouncing with frustration. You gripped the horse’s bridle and pulled it around, even at a distance he could see the way your nose crinkled in annoyance as you berated the poor animal. When your anger trickled out as quickly as it flared up, your face softened and you gently stroked the animal’s nose, giving its neck a pat before swinging yourself up into the saddle again. You caught him staring and gave him a quick smile, before turning again and nudging the horse into a slow trot. 

He’d made his way to the smithy and then back to the rooms he and William had rented for the winter. And when he laid down on his bed, the vision of you filled his head, soft curves, sweet smile, quick temper and a sharp tongue. He would very much like to see you again, be that close to you again.   

The next day was a Sunday and he joined William at the church for mass with the rest of the village. He let the familiar Latin incantations wash over him, the rituals the same here as in his hometown as it was in every other town he’d ever visited, irrespective of the country or the ruler. The power radiated from Rome and although the churches looked different, the rituals were the same and it brought a strange, albeit dull, comfort to him. 

When mass was over the congregation filtered out of the church, slow in leaving, catching up with neighbours and sharing gossip. Pero tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously but William caught his wandering eye. 

“Who are you looking for? The mysterious horse woman?” he asked, looking around at the villagers and the mercenaries who were wintering here just as they were. Pero had told him of the encounter, not being able to hide how you’d remained on his mind as he returned to the rooms. 

“I don’t remember seeing her here before,” Pero replied, trying to appear unphased, uncaring, as he continued to scan the open space in front of the church, but without success. When he couldn’t see her, he followed William back to their lodgings. The Lord’s day should be spent in rest and was not wise to anger the local priest. 

But Pero found himself too restless to sit still, fiddling with a troublesome chainmail. He left William to it and ventured outside instead, vying to find a secluded spot in the woods to get some practice in without being scolded by someone spotting him working on a Sunday. 

The autumn forest was golden, the air crisp and clear as the sky stretched endlessly blue above the trees as Pero wandered further in than he meant to. It felt good to be away from people, from the crowded town and the small rooms he shares with William. 

The clank of metal on wood reached his ears and he furrowed his brows, no one would be out here felling trees on a Sunday unless there was some strange business. He moved silently through the underbrush towards the sound, and came upon a clearing, drawing breath at the sight in front of him. You had stripped down to just your slip and a pair of men’s breeches, your arms bare and glistening with sweat as you raised the heavy sword and parried an imagined attack, and hit the thick beech trunk. The sword lodged in the wood and with a grunt you pulled it free, backing up a few steps and repeating the exercise. 

Pero watched you for a few minutes, your technique was good, someone has clearly taught you the basics, but the sword was too heavy for you. 

“You have some skills with that sword, señorita,” he called, just as you dropped your arm, letting the sword hang by your side as you took a deep breath. 

His voice made you jump and swing around, the sword quickly raised. 

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm,” he said, walking towards you with both his arms raised, “We’ve met before, with your troublesome mare.” 

“I remember,” you answered, the tone of your voice betraying your wariness as his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?” 

“The same as you, señorita, I think,” he replied, “seeking a place away from unwelcome eyes to hone my skill on a Sunday.” 

Unclipping his cloak and satchel and placing them on a log near the edge of the clearing, he then turned and nodded at the sword in your hand. 

“You have some skill, but the sword is too heavy for you.” 

“What do you care?” you snapped at him, the sword still lifted as he approached. 

“I train the younger soldiers, when a sword is too heavy for the user, the technique suffers. And I hate to see a bad swordsman. Or woman.” 

With a fluid movement he pulled both of his swords from his back, the left one spinning in his hand, the handle held out towards you. 

“Let me show you, borrow my sword, it’s more lightweight.”

You regarded him with suspicion, not lowering your own sword. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

“Why do I want to help a woman become a better fighter?” he countered, still holding out the sword to you, “Because those without swords can still die upon them. I learned that a long time ago. So better the women know how to fight too.” 

You regarded him with caution, the dark haired, dark eyed man with a strange accent and a menacing scar across his eye. But something in his face, the way he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow, encouraging you to take the sword he was still holding out to you, made your trepidation waver. Slowly you sheathed your own sword, and grabbed the handle of his. He gave you a crooked smile and a quick nod. 

“Good. Now show me what you can do.” 

With a quick movement he brought up his own sword and attacked, and you just about parried in time, the two swords ringing out through the empty forest as they met. 

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for him. But sometimes fate wills it differently. 

And before that Sunday afternoon in the forest, you’d never considered marrying someone either. At least not for any other reason than your father telling you that a man was needed to run the farm when he was gone. But the dark haired Spaniard with the scowling face, menacing and imposing, he was the one who made you see that marrying didn’t mean settling for one of the local boys. 

His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he taunted your sword skills, easily smacking your arm with the flat side of his blade as you failed to anticipate his next move in the early days of your training. But it was the way he smiled with pride when you managed to disarm him and put your blade to his neck, that smile made your heart melt. He was proud of you for a skill any other man you knew would shame you for, even attempt to lock you up for. It was like taking a deep breath of air for the first time, the way he treated you like an equal in a way no ever had before. 

It was mesmerising how a hardened soldier with such a menacing scowl could transform into the most handsome man you’d ever seen. It stunned you, and locked you in place, the first time you stood toe to toe with him, his back against a thick oak, your sword resting against his neck. Surprise flashed across his face first, then he smiled, his eyes shifting from the hard concentration of battle to soft warmth as his lips pulled up in a proud grin. 

“I knew there was a warrior in you,” he said, holding his sword arm up in defeat as you pulled the blade away from his neck, “with my training, you’ll beat almost any man.” 

“Almost any man?” you replied, your eyebrows lifting as you moved your hand and rested the blade against his neck again. 

Pero chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down on you, glancing down his sharp nose as you made him tilt his head back again. 

“Any man, guerrera,” he smiled and again the pride in his voice made warmth and elation shoot through your body. 

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, you could feel the heat of him against you, the rise and fall of his chest, your own short breaths against him as an errant drop slipped over his lips and his tongue came out to catch it. Your eyes drifted to the pink tip as he licked his bottom lip, watching it disappear into his mouth again. When you looked up, his smile was gone, replaced by something more hungry, his eyes darker as they seemed to study your face. There was no need for you to be so close to him still, the fight over. But as he brought his hand up and carefully pushed your sword away from his neck, you only let your hand drop, not stepping back. You felt rooted to the spot with his eyes on you, the warmth of his body like a magnet to your own. 

���Señorita…” he almost growled, a half whisper from the back of his throat, as he slowly leaned closer, his eyes moving to your lips before his gaze fell on you again. Dark and warm, it was like being pulled in by the last of the dying embers of a fire. Pero glowed and burned hot under your palm as you put your hands on his neck and pulled him to you, your sword falling to the floor of the forest with a soft clatter. 

He wouldn’t let you go, and you clung to him just as eagerly, the dry leaves rustling as you pulled him down, he rolled you over, caging you in under his strong arms.

“Señorita…” he growled again, it was all he could press out before your lips found his, soft, pliant and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, addictive in the way they felt against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks as you found new places to kiss him, your fingers winding through his hair, keeping him locked in place against your lips, taking as much as you wanted from him and he never once stopped you. 

He was lost. So utterly lost. And he’d never felt more at home. 

You plucked last year’s leaves from your hair and cloak all the way home that day. Pero followed you to the edge of the forest as always. But this time you pulled him behind a tree and made him press his hard body against you, pinning you against the trunk. The way he groaned into your kisses made your body heat up, your need for him growing with every slow roll of his hips, hands roaming to feel as much of him as you could, his hands kneading your hips and caressing your curves.

If your lips were swollen and your hair dishevelled, your father said nothing of it when you came home. When Pero came by one Sunday after church and asked permission to marry his daughter, he wasn’t surprised. 

There had been no war or rebellion to pull Pero away from you that year. William left, serviced under a local lord, but Pero stayed and put what little money he had left into buying the small farm next to your father’s. When the time came, the two could be merged and provide a good life for the two of you and any children that followed. When the small cottage was his by law, only then did he go to your father, who said yes without hesitation to the large Spaniard. 

“As if I could deny you the man you’ve clearly set your eyes on, even if he wasn’t a great, big hulking warrior,” your father had said later that same night after Pero had left, “With him in your house, I know you’ll be safer than with me. And if you truly love him too, well then I have no objections.” 

“I really do love him, with all his scowls and menacing looks, he is a very good man underneath it all, father.” 

There had been strange looks from the villagers, but that had hardly mattered. You’d always gone your own way, and marrying a dark haired outsider with a thick accent seemed to be something that the gossiping wives had expected of you. Either way, when you exchanged your vows outside the church on the intended day, you were surrounded by smiling faces, the old priest beaming down at you as you entered the church with Pero by your side to be blessed by by God.  

The feast lasted most of the day but by the late afternoon, you both left your father’s farm and was escorted by the priest, William and a few other villagers, to your new home, the cottage that Pero had worked so hard to turn into a home for you both. His first home since he left the place he was born, and now the place where he intended to live out the rest of his life as a happy man. When the marital bed had been blessed too, Pero closed the door to the cottage and you were alone as husband and wife for the first time. 

“Come here, husband,” you smiled at him as he turned back from the door. You didn’t need to beckon him, nothing would keep him away from you tonight, but you liked the sound of his new title - husband.

“Mi esposa,” he grinned as he crowded you against the sturdy oak bed he’d built with the aid of the local carpenter, “my wife, finally.” 

His eyes went soft, his mischievous grin replaced by a tender look as he cupped your face with his warm palms, “Never in my life did I think I’d call someone ‘my wife’, I never thought this was the way my life would be, and then I found you,” he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours as your breaths mingled, ”Te amo, mi amor,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, Pero,” you whispered back, your fingers finding his soft curls as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Gently he pushed you backwards, making you lay down on the bed, your bed, as he moved to cage you in under his arms and wide shoulders. Many training sessions in the forest had ended this way, time slipping away as you kissed each other breathless, but it had never gone further. You’d feel the thick weight of him pressed against your thighs, felt how he sometimes rolled his hips to seek a brief relief, but he'd always pull back.

“Amor, I won’t take you on the forest floor,” he’d muttered when you asked him to stop caring so much about your virtue, “I want you in a bed, our bed, when I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

Now here you were, in your bed, and you called him husband as he slowly removed all your layers, caressing every sliver of skin that was revealed to him. He pressed kisses to your soft breasts, moaning as he felt them pebble under his touch, his strong nose trailed across the downy hairs of your belly, and when you giggled at the way his beard tickled, he nipped at the warm skin of your thighs. The thick slide of his tongue through your heated centre made you arch your back and gasp, your fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair. You could hear him chuckle against you, the tip of his nose circling the epicentre of your pleasure, he seemed to know this part of your body better than yourself and he soon had you moaning his name as you fought to catch your breath. 

When he had you drenched and dripping, he rested his head on your soft thigh and tapped your leg. 

“Amor, look at me,” he invited. Through half closed lids, clouded with pleasure, you watched him slide a finger through your liquid, coating it before he slowly pushed in. It slipped in easily, and when he curled it, caressing your insides, your eyes fell closed of their own volition. Suddenly you wanted more, more of his fingers, more of him and you whined, your hips rolling over his finger. 

“Please, Pero…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse and pleading. 

“What do you want, esposa,” he asked as he moved his finger gently back and forth, making you gasp again. 

“More…I think…more…” you mumbled and Pero smiled. Seeing you fall apart for him, slowly showing you how good he could make you feel, how he intended to spend every long winter evening, it filled him with a happiness he’d never felt before. It was like a hot burning fire inside his chest and it would keep him warm when he had to leave, he knew these memories would be the ones he returned to on long cold nights alone. 

“More?” he asked, “I can give you more, amor.” 

The smile in his voice made you look up at him as he moved to lie at your side, putting his arm under your shoulders and finding your lips with his own. As his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he gently pushed a second finger into your heat. He felt you arch up against him, whimpering into his mouth, your fingers digging into his arms as he slid his own in and out, setting your body on fire with every slow drag. 

He moved so slowly, it was like your body was turning into molten metal, heat flowed through you, all coming from where Pero’s fingers sunk into you. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your core clenching hard around him and a tension was building up inside you. But just as you felt as if you were about to snap, like a thread pulled too tight, Pero slipped his fingers from you and caressed your side, his hand leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

“Amor,” he mumbled, moving over your body so that he once again was caging you in, his warm, dark eyes glowing as he looked down at you, “Amor, I’m going to enter you now, tell me to stop if it hurts, you are so tight.”

You nodded and made room for him between your legs, you knew this might hurt, you’d heard the wives talk and the gossip. But no one had ever mentioned it feeling this good to be with a man, this aching need to be filled up by him. It had you panting with impatience, your core clenching around the emptiness left behind by his fingers. 

Pero kept his eyes locked on you as he coated himself with your silky liquid and lined himself up. Your brows furrowed as he pushed the thick head inside, and he dropped his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath. 

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, slowly rocking himself back and forth, just the tip moving inside you, and you shook your head. 

“No, it was just a little tight, I want more,” you replied, spreading your legs wider for him. He reached down and hooked your leg over his hip. 

“Squeeze me, pull me in if you want more,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt your contract around him, fighting the urge to push in harder, “you feel so good, amor, so good to me.” 

Your legs wrapped around his waist and Pero rocked slowly, pushing in deeper with each short thrust. His face was pinched with concentration, his mouth half open as he licked his lips. With your arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead against yours, each breath you took was his and your world shrunk down to only Pero. Only his warm body above yours, his hips heavy between your legs, driving himself into you and creating ripples of pleasure through every fibre of your being with each thrust deep inside. Your eyes wanted to close but you forced them to stay open, to see your husband as he looked at you, his eyes hazy with lust, dark and burning, every movement making him groan as your body pulled him in. The tight string started to pull taught inside you again, your body moving against Pero’s, making him pick up his pace. 

“Amor, can you feel that?” he mumbled, his forehead still resting against yours, “can you feel your body getting ready to fall?” 

You nodded, it felt like a lightning storm ready to break, just over the horizon. Tightening your grip around his waist, you pulled him in and he understood, driving himself deeper, a little bit harder into your tight core. 

“Pero…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunted in response, his hand grabbing your leg and finding a new angle. 

“Amor, let me feel you come around me, give me this…” he panted, “the first time…I want it-”

Before he’d even finished you cried out under him, gripping him tight, your body trembling as the string snapped and lighting coursed through you, Pero’s thick cock driving hard into you, pushing your pleasure higher as he gasped and grunted. With a cry he broke, a loud groan, and he spilled himself inside, your legs like a vice around his waist as he rocked himself deeper. 

He was heavy on top of you, the warm sweat of his torso gliding against your own chest as you buried your face against his neck and took long, deep breaths. 

“Pero…my love…” you whispered softly into his ear, his wet kiss against your own neck was his exhausted response as he slowly came down from his high. Your arms were still wrapped tight around him, as were your legs, locking him in place. Not that he wanted to leave, he would stay here, in this bed, between your legs, until moss grew on him like an old boulder that no farmer could move. 

He was home. 

Endless miles stretched out behind them, thousands if they cared to count them. Pero did not. All he could see was the white cliffs in front of the ship, like a beacon, a sign that their long journey was finally coming to an end. 

They returned, not as poor as they’d set out, but not as rich as they thought they’d be, but the only thing that mattered to Pero was that he was returning. He’d fought with his friend, felt betrayed by him, even abandoned him in the end, so strong was his need to return home. It had almost cost him his life, caught by the very army he was trying to escape as he left William behind, brought back and then thrown in chains. He thought he’d die there, locked up in a dungeon, never seeing you again. 

It burned in his chest as the chains gnawed at his wrists, to never see you again, to leave you behind in this world without a word. He could see your face as he closed his eyes, conjured it up in his mind and remembered the tears clinging to your lashes as he pulled back one final time and turned for his horse. Riches or not, he was a damn fool for leaving you, he should’ve been content with what he had. 

In the end it was only by the grace of God, or maybe by William’s good heart, that he’d been freed by the very friend he’d betrayed and allowed to leave and make the long journey home. 

Now he stood on solid ground again, readying his horse for the final stretch home. 

Home. 

A word he’d never thought he’d be able to say and for it to mean something worth fighting for. A woman he loved. A house where he could keep her warm and protected. A place to raise a family. 

Home. He was going home. He knew he never should’ve left. 

The last ride was easy and he drove his horse fast, the afternoon barely past its prime as he saw the cottage at the end of the path, tucked in among the heavy oak trees. It looked well kept, but the door was shut tight and no animals roamed around the yard. 

“Mi amor!” he called, spurring his horse on for the last few yards, “Mi amor!” he called again as he swung himself from the saddle. 

But the door was shut tight and wouldn’t budge and a lap around the small house showed him that it was indeed as empty as it looked. He mounted his horse again, not yet uneasy, and set a fast pace down the lane, towards your father’s farm a mile through the forest. 

Here there was life at least, chickens in the yard, a dog pulling on its leash and the door open. Again he swung himself from the saddle, throwing the reins around the gate post and striding forward. 

“Stay back!”

Your sword was raised. Your sword? No, his sword, the one he’d left with you. Held up by you now, threatening him to not take another step forward. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, Pero,” he smiled, spreading his arms wide and taking long strides to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and feel your soft body melt against his after so many months. 

“Stay back!” you snarled, taking a step back and settling into the fighting stance he’d taught you and Pero floundered, stopping in his tracks. 

“Amor…Have I changed that much? Don’t you know your husband?” 

“I don’t have a husband,” you replied, your sword still raised, “Now, leave before I set the dogs on you!”

Pero felt a cold dread rise in his chest, confusion clouding his mind, he didn’t understand why you didn’t know him and he dropped his arms, his face a pained mask. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, I left a year ago on a foolish mission, you were my wife when I left and I have fought so hard all this time to get back to you and…” he trailed off as your eyes showed no recognition, no flash of relief. Just a hard stare at him. 

“Tovar!” 

A voice called out, an elderly man coming around the corner of the cottage, his white hair in tufts around his ears and neck and his face concerned. 

“Tovar, it’s good to see you safe after all this time, my boy!” 

The man forced a pained smile at Pero before he reached you. 

“Daughter, lower your sword, he is a friend, he just hadn’t been past here in some time,” the old man put his hand on your arm and gently made you lower the sword, “Go inside and make sure the stew is not burning, I will speak with Tovar and join you shortly.” 

Pero looked on in confusion as you sheathed the sword, smiled at your father and turned back into the cottage. 

“John, tell me what’s going on, why does my wife not know me?” 

“Come with me,” he replied and gestured towards the edge of the farm yard, the low stone wall serving as a seat as he sank down. Pero remained standing, glancing back at the cottage. Part of him wanted to storm into the cottage and grab you, shake you and make you see him, see him, your husband. But John’s hand landed on his arm and pulled his attention back to the old man. 

“It began not long after you and William left, her memories have been slowly going and neither the priest nor the physician know why or what caused it.” 

“What do you mean, her memories are going? She doesn’t know me?” Pero gripped the handle of his sword, not a threat, just a comfort, to hold on to something familiar as he rubbed his thumb over the pommel, “I am her husband, she loves me, how can she forget me?” 

“I don’t know, Pero,” John sighed, rubbing his weathered hand over his face as he shook his head, “she just doesn’t. And it’s not just you, she seems to forget most new things from one day to the next, a new neighbour, the cow giving birth to a new calf, selling a few of the chickens, she just forgets,” he looked over at the cottage where a thin tendril of smoke rose slowly from the short chimney, “She remembers her childhood, her brother and mother dying, after that it all becomes hazy.”

John looked up at Pero again and Pero could see the toll the past year had taken on his father-in-law as pain flashed across his face, his usually bright eyes sunken and dark. 

“I’m sorry, son, she doesn’t even remember meeting you, nothing of your life together, and not you leaving.” 

It hits him like a dagger to the chest, piercing in its pain and wrenching his chest open; he left, she begged him not to, but he left and this is his punishment. Her mind is protecting her from the pain he caused. With a groan he turns around, sinking down on the wall, his head buried in his hands, it feels as if his throat is closing up, a sob tearing its way up, like broken glass cutting him open. 

“I left her,” he groaned, choking around his words, “She begged me not to go, that last night before I left, and I thought I had to and left her anyway. I broke her heart and this is my punishment, her mind has removed me from her so she doesn’t have to live with my betrayal.” 

“Son…” John said, his voice choking too, but he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “We do not know the will of the Lord, you did what you thought was best.” 

The hand on Pero’s shoulder burned like fire, guilt over taking him and he stumbled to his feet, shaking off the other man’s grip with a shrug. 

“I’ll leave, it’s for the best,” he replied, striding towards his horse without looking back, his jaw tight around his words, “Take care of her for me.” 

“Tovar, wait,” John called after him and hurried to his feet. He grabbed the reins of the horse just as Pero swung himself into the saddle, “She loves you, still. I know she does, she just needs to remember you.” 

“Remember how I broke her heart and left her? What kind of a husband was I? No,” Pero shook his head and gathered the reins, making John let go of them, “Let her have a good life without me.” 

The door of the cottage creaked as he spoke the last words, making him look up towards it. You were standing in the opening, an empty water bucket in your hand, your eyes on him. 

“Are you really my husband?” you asked, glancing over at your father, but finding Pero’s eyes again. Pero felt his throat close up again as he saw the way you looked at him, a complete stranger, not a trace of recognition. 

He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice. 

“He is, my dear,” John replied in his stead,  “Do you remember me telling you about him when your mind first started to go?” 

You shook your head at that, your eyes still on Pero. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, a deep furrow in his brow as he ruefully shook his head, “I caused you both enough hurt.” He nudged his horse to turn around, walking it through the gate and out onto the road, avoiding John’s look of pity.  

“Wait!” 

The call came just as he was about to spur his horse on, away from your empty stare. 

“Wait,” you called, hurrying after him, stopping as he halted his horse and turned in the saddle. You came up to stand by its neck, looking up at him, “Stay at least the night, I…I know I lost so many memories, but...if you’re my husband then you should stay, maybe something will come back.” 

“No,” he shook his head, looking away from you and down the road, “I caused too much harm, I don’t want you to have to relive the pain I caused you.” 

“Please, my life has been cut in half, I can’t remember it, but I know something big is missing. I will gladly take the pain again if I can have the rest of my life back,” you put your hand on his horse’s neck, tilting your face up to him as you waited for his reply, “Please.” 

He couldn’t resist looking down at you and he felt his resolve weaken as your eyes met his. Such a familiar face, the one he loved so deeply. The colour of your eyes was seared into his mind, the small imperfections on your cheeks that he’d mapped with his lips so many nights, the shape of your perfect nose that he’d traced with his calloused fingers when you complained that it was all wrong. So many long, cold nights, picturing this face in his mind’s eye as he tried to do what he thought was right, the desperate moments when he thought he wasn’t coming back to you at all. Facing monsters from nightmares in overwhelming numbers, even as he fought for his life, this face was floating before him. You were the one he was fighting so hard to get home to. 

Now you were looking back at him, pleading with him, and he knew he had no choice. The last time he denied your request, he’d almost lost his life and you’d lost your memories of him. He would stay. The pain he would feel at seeing you look at him like a stranger would be a small price to pay compared to the pain he’d put you through with his greed and stubbornness. 

He gave you a nod, a short movement of his head as you held his gaze. He searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition, a flash of the woman you were before he left, but there was nothing. Just a small, uncertain smile as you dropped your hand from his horse’s neck and took a few steps back. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, glancing back at your father, “my father will be glad to have you with us too, he’s probably tried to make me remember you so many times.” 

Pero slid off the back of his horse and took hold of the reins as he turned to you. His rough fingernails dug into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, the familiar scent of your skin washing over him as he got closer. He could feel every bone in his body aching to reach out and pull you into his arm, bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck and breathe you in, feel your hands on him again. He could feel himself torn in two; the urge to bolt when you took a step back from him, the need to stay near and never leave again. 

“Amor…” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from you as you took another step back, the pain and emotion plain on his face. 

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whispered, “I don’t know what that means…” 

For a few moments you looked at him as he refused to meet your eyes again, his gaze wavering as his hand closed around the reins of his horse. His knuckles were pulled taught, the tension in his still form clear, and you took another step back. 

“Please, put your horse away and I’ll heat up water for you to wash. Father said you’ve travelled far, you must be weary. There's good stew cooking too,” you raised your hand and gently put it on the neck of his horse, “Come, please.” 

He followed you into the house once he’d put the horse away, your father leaving to bring the small herd of cows in for the evening. Water was heating over the fire and you mixed it with the cooler water from the barrel as Pero stepped over the threshold with his heavy saddle bags by his side. 

“You live with your father now,” he said, a statement rather than a question, but you nodded, wiping your hands and turning to the stew pot. 

“Yes, well, I don’t remember living anywhere else but he tells me the cottage down the road is where I lived before…” you trailed off, putting your hand to your temple as your brow furrowed, screwing up your eyes as if trying to search for a memory. Pero shifted by the door and you turned to him with a surprised look on your face. 

“I-I guess…that’s where we lived?” you asked and a look of anguish flashed across his face. 

“Yes….yes, we lived there,” he replied, still holding his heavy bags, looking like he was almost on the verge of leaving again. “We moved there on our wedding day and I… Do you ever visit it now?” 

You shook your head but hesitated, “Never…but maybe I have been back, but I forget from one day to the next, I know it’s there but if I see it now, it’s like I see it for the first time.” 

Pero dropped his bags on the floor and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders slumped as if under a tremendous weight. 

“Amor…” he said to the floor before looking up at you again, “I don’t know if I can do this. We lived there, you and me, they were the happiest days of my wretched life, and now it’s all been taken from us. You look at me like a stranger and I can’t stand it.” 

You didn’t know what to say, the man in front of you was a stranger, nothing in his voice or face was familiar. The only reason you asked him to stay was your father telling you he was your husband, and that feeling in your chest of something missing, that empty space in your mind, a big piece of your life’s memories missing. 

“I’m sorry…” you said again, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t. It’s my fault, I did this to you. And I’m staying until you tell me to leave.” 

“I might not remember you in the morning,” you said, “I often forget meeting new people.” 

New people

It cut through him like the sharpest blade. He’s ‘new people’ to you now, not your husband, or even a friend. Just a stranger in your house. 

He nodded at the large bowl that you’d filled with water, “I’ll get cleaned up now, do you want me to go outside?” 

The cottage was familiar, he’d spent much time here before the wedding, and not much had changed in the year he’d been gone. It had only two rooms, and he presumed you were sleeping in the bed nook against the back wall, your father in the other room. The small cottage didn’t hold much space for privacy. 

You shook your head and turned back to the fire, “I’ll keep my back turned, I need to watch the stew.” 

He stared at you for a beat, the achingly familiar shape of your shoulders, your hips and the way you cocked one out to the side as you leaned forward over the large pot. How many times hadn’t he come up behind you, run his hands over your soft shapes, pushed your hair to the side and pressed kisses to your neck as you giggled at the way his beard tickled your skin. Now you stood with your back to him to not see as he pulled off his clothes, something you’d done to him almost every night. Unlaced his shirt, pulled it from his breeches and caressed his skin with your soft hands. 

The dirty shirt dropped to the floor with a soft sound and you heard him wring the washcloth as you added the last of the herbs to the stew. You couldn’t help yourself, you glanced over your shoulder and stole a look at him. He was a stranger, but supposedly your husband, and either way, he was handsome. Under that layer of grime and sweat, he was a striking man, unlike any you’d ever seen. Or, at least, unlike anyone your mind would let you remember. So you glanced back at him and was struck almost dumb by the sight. Broad shoulders, a muscular back tapering into narrow hips where his breeches hung low as he rubbed the washcloth over his abdomen. 

The back of his neck was tanned golden, his back lighter and marred by a long scar that shone bright in the dim light. It looked like a painful injury, old and long since healed over, and you wondered if he’d ever told you what had happened to him. Had you run your fingers over as he told you the story? You realised you must’ve spent countless nights next to this man in your marital bed, his hands on you, your hands on him. This man, this stranger in your father’s house, would know you better than anyone else, every inch of your body and your most intimate secrets. 

As if he could sense your eyes on him, he glanced back over his shoulder and met your eyes, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment. Then he turned fully to face you, the washcloth forgotten in his hand. 

“Amor…” he whispered and you bit back a sudden sob. His eyes were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to remember him, to have all the memories of him flood back into your mind as he dropped the washcloth and took two quick steps across the floor. 

“I don’t remember,” you sobbed as his arms wrapped around you, “I don’t remember anything about you.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let you go. Instead he let you sob against his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on your head. His heart was beating wildly, thrumming so hard you could hear it as you pressed your cheek against him, and even though he was a stranger, his arms felt safe around you, the scent of his skin comforting and soothing. 

With a small movement he rubbed your back, slowly up and down, “It will come back, amor, it will. And if it doesn’t, I will make you fall in love with me again and tell you about all the memories we have.” 

You nodded against his chest, your sobs subsiding, but you didn’t pull away from him, and he didn’t let his arms drop. He held you just as tight, reluctant to give up the feeling of having you in his arms again after all he endured to get back to you. 

“Although…I’m still not sure how I made a woman like you fall in love with a reckless mercenary like me, how will I manage that again?” he said, a small smile to his voice and you looked up at him. He’d lifted his chin from your head and was looking at you with a sad smile, tears clinging to his dark lashes. 

“Promise me you’ll try,” you said, your voice low and broken. 

“Every day for the rest of my life, amor,” he whispered, “I will make you fall in love with me again and then we can make all those memories one more time.” 

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this bitter sweet little story! Bonus points to anyone who caught the LotR reference :)

Tagging some of my fellow Pero lovers:

@nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @harriedandharassed @morallyinept @inept-the-magnificent

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @angiewatson @cozylittlepigeon @604to647

@survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @gnpwdrnsnshine @wintersquirrel @grogusmum

[salixsociety]

Wind Chimes, Witch Ladders / the Evil in Stillness

A folk grimoire of destagnation.

Those of us with European parents are undoubtedly familiar with the feeling of coming home from some trip, where your parents urge you to run through the house and open all the windows: "air out the house!" You speed around, kicking up dust, moving the air, slowly washing away the strange feeling of stillness that has contaminated your home. Air out the house. "Don't catch the draft," your parent yells up the stairs at you. The draft, of course, is never explicitly acknowledged to contain some ill-wishing spirit that will give you the flu, but everybody knows it does. And the same can be said for that stagnant air in the house, the silence permeating the walls.

The Evil in Stillness

Stillness is not good. Stillness has never been good - we have feared it since before we knew how to make fire. The land going silent, going motionless, going truly still; that spells disaster. Even now, with flashlights and the safety of our home, we are not spared the fear of stillness. None of us are comfortable in quiet forests. But even under our own roof we are not safe: when all is dark and everybody is motionless in their beds, ill-wishes, scary spirits and night-mares roam. And it would seem we can invite them into our homes, purely by leaving it unattended for long enough.

The stillness that comes about a home when it has been without inhabitants for long enough can only be solved by one thing: the return of the living. Whether that is people or animals coming by, or the house falling into decay and plants finding their way in. This seems inherent human knowledge - we feel more comfortable in houses that are or were recently occupied. Abandoned houses covered in ivy or inhabited by rodents are far less eerie than abandoned urban structures still perfectly as they were when they were left. Horror movies show little creatures scuttling about in still places when they want to give us a break from the terror.

So, it seems we all know the terrible feeling of stuffy air, stagnant energy, stillness, however you may know it. We all know the vulnerability of being motionless in the dark. To some of us it may seem more relevant than others: those of us who get goosebumps from silence, those of us who experience the fear of stillness in our cultures every day. But we all feel it. To those who fear it as much as I, I dedicate the following magic to alleviate and prevent stillness.

Preventing Stillness / Keeping the Evil at Bay

The universal key to life in a house seems to be moving air. Airing out the house is a great remedy, but it can also be your preventative measure - if safe, keep a window cracked and let the air flow through your house while you are gone. However, sometimes the air moving is just not possible. Sometimes you have to close up the whole house, and trap all the air inside of it. What then?

A popular method that appears across cultures is to have charms in and around the house that are very prone to moving. The movement would scare off the evils and spirits, because it would disrupt the stillness they are trying to inhabit. And the kicker about these charms is that they do not need air to move when they're being used against stillness, because the spirits who come to inhabit the stillness will also make the charms move as they invite themselves in. Silly trolls.

One charm I personally very much enjoy is an adaptation of the Cornish witch ladder. I like to make them as is traditional, but with only feathers going in opposite directions, no stones. In my home region of Low Saxony it was also common to use both snail shells and egg shells, which are light but associated with magic and protection, in charms. Whether you used them on a string, made a garland, or any other type of charm that moves easy and can be suspended from the ceiling. Other materials that would lend themselves incredibly well to such charms, the type you hang from the ceiling and let sway in the wind, would be sea shells, small twigs, hollowed sticks and straw, origami pieces, paper spirit crafts, sea sponge, dried flowers, etc.

Houseplants and flowers are another excellent method to keep some of the living present. Especially plants that move throughout the day: those that follow the sun, or whose flowers open and close depending on the light. But any living plants will really do. They will not completely spare you from the stuffy air, but they will certainly lessen the effects of stillness.

A different way to cut through stagnant air is sound. Something that is always producing sound (or only silent when you're not there to see it being silent... supposedly...) is a great way to stop the spirits of silence creeping into your dwelling. That is where a wind chime of any sort may often come in, but there are different ways to do this, such as pipes fastened to catch the wind, so that they howl, or even always leaving the radio softly playing in the background, set to a classical station, like was often done by the richer families I knew in my childhood. This sort of precaution, an auditory one, lends itself extremely well to being outside the house, where the wind enables them to be in near perpetual function. A house that has music coming from it, that appears almost as though it were truly fully alive of its own right, independent of having residents, will always scare away the stillness.

Remedying the Stillness / Scaring Away the Evil

For the most part, chasing away the scary things in the stillness comes naturally to us. We even chase it away, though less effectively, purely by coming home and making our house our own again. But if you are sensitive to it, you don't like it, and you want to get rid of that stagnant feeling as fast as possible, here's some effective methods, to combine or use separately.

Open all the windows, or enough windows/doors to allow air to flow through your house effectively. Both doors on opposite ends of the house are a great option, but so are more-or-less opposite windows, or windows that are directly connected through hallways and open doors.

Play sounds, out loud. Not necessarily loudly, but loud enough that it carries through the house and makes it feel alive again. Music from a speaker, the TV, a laptop with a YouTube video. Even just your own voice singing or talking. If you have no neighbors to annoy you can even bang pots or play an instrument.

Run around, dance, frolic. Visit every room, see how it's doing, move some things around. Shake up pillows and duvets. Fill all the spaces with your presence again.

Make a meal. Cooking will fill the air with the busyness of food preparation and the smell of inhabitants and labor.

Light incense or smoke cleanse your house. Smoke always moves through the air and gives it life back. Smoke is also a great indicator of stagnant air, as in rooms with stagnant air, smoke hangs around, suspended almost motionlessly.

Clean. Sweeping, especially, is a very effective manner of removing stagnation. Some people also like to sprinkle salt and then sweep that from the furthest point of the door, going toward the door, until they have swept all the salt out. A common folk spell to chase spirits off and not have them come back is to sweep toward the door, making sure to get every room, and when you have swept a room and are in the door, say: 'shoo! I'm cleaning here, out of my way! And you had better not track dirt in here!'

There are also those things that you may want to do for safety. Some houses with less modern running water should have the faucets on for a while so the stagnant water is out of the system before you consume it. Things like that often also double as great ways to bring some life back.

However you do it, the life will always come back to a place as long as there are people there. And let us never learn to loathe the stillness: as scary as it is, we can also learn a lot from the spirits contained in it. For some people, a completely still space may be just what they need to talk to spirits, to do divination, to decompress for just a bit. Eerie does not mean inherently bad; 'eerie' is only a symptom of our survival instinct.

I hope you feel inspired to think about the spirits around you, and the role they play both when you can sense them and when you cannot.

[gh0vtzb1og]

Cowpoke pt 1. COWBOY AU / SIMON RILEY X FEM READER

‘Cause I drift with the wind, no one cares where I go.’

‘Ridin the Broncs in the big rodeo’

Notes; teasing, degradation, misogyny

(Cowpoke by colter wall goes well with this series, I suggest listening to them:)

(If you cannot tell I am a country boy/girl, I do barrel racing and farm work. I dress completely country)

You hopped out of the pitch black Chevy that had driven you out to this little ranch out in Montana. The sky above you littered with kisses of white fluffy clouds, the sun smiling down upon you as you looked around the ranch. The Silverado had driven off after you grabbed your stuff from it, a duffel bag of clothes, your straw cowboy hat, and that was about it. You didn’t need much.

The gravel underneath your boots crunched as you walked down the driveway and into the ranch, it was a massive plot of land, the owner said he’d pay you to work on it, his name was Simon Riley if you remembered correctly. Big livestock producer, they raised beef cows. Their herds were massive but maintained, having hundreds of acres to roam.

You continued down the road, seeing the neatly kept scenery that covered the main path, you didn’t know what you were in for. A whinny of a horse from behind you broke the silence of you crunching the gravel, you spun around. Your face meeting a bay mare. She snorted in your face, one of the ranch hands stared down at you from their mounted place on the steed.

“Ya lost lil lady? Dont think you were invited out here were ya missy?” He questioned, circling you on his horse. He was a dark skinned male, hair well kept and short. A brown hat laid neatly on his head as he held onto his reins, his mare chewing on her bit. She looked strong, and mean.

“Here for a job, did Mr Riley not expect me to be coming?” You question, his face immediately filled with confusion, like he had never heard that you were coming. The ranch hand grabbed onto his horses reins, starting to walk away.

“Main house is down the path. He’ll meet you there.” And with that the cowboy rode off, never telling you his name, nobody seemed to be friendly here. The deer, the elk, the bears, the wolves, the bison. Nothing here seemed like it wanted an outsider. Sure you weren’t from the city, you were from a small town. But seeing this ranch? It was 10x the size of your home town.

You moved further into the property, once you got near the main house you saw a man with a Mohawk, his eyes landing on you as him and the masked man beside him paused. Staring at you with curiosity, the man with the Mohawk whispering to the masked man, both looking at you.

You step up onto the porch, both men towering over you.

“Is Mr Riley here, I was supposed to discuss with him about me working here, he said to come, so I did.” You spoke clearly, the masked man stepped forward, taking off his hat from his head and reaching out to shake your hand.

“I’m him. It’s nice to meet you (we will decide on a name, leave ideas in comments), I’m sure you will be a great help on this ranch. After you get settled in, in the bunk house, you’ll go to the stable and pick out a horse, course you gotta earn it first. I’m sure you will though.” He spoke as you both shook hands, his hand was much massive than yours. The man with the Mohawk watched you both.

“This man right here is John. He’ll take you down to the stable to get settled in.” Simon nodded to the ranch hand who left the porch. The rancher nodded to you, signaling to follow the Scot.

John stood about 6’1. He was walking at a quick pace, more so curious on how the boys would react to you. Once you both stopped at the bunk house he stepped in first, the building was a cabin like house, once you stepped in you were greeted with a small kitchen, 12 beds, or 6 bunks in all. All the men inside the bunk house stopped to just stare at you. (Soap)

One with a beard. Short hair, he was about 6’3. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of you, this would be interesting. (Price)

Another man had black hair, he stopped mid conversation to look at you with another bunk mate. His voice was full of a Spanish accent, he was Mexican from what you could tell. Standin at about 6’2 (Alejandro)

The brown skinned male stood by the other guys, he was 6’0ft. A smile on his face which quickly faded at the sight of you, he didn’t seem too pleased. (Gaz)

And then there was an American, he had blonde hair and blue eyes, a scar on his left cheek from a cut wound it looked like. 6’2. (Graves)

And a few other randoms scattered here and there.

“You here to wash dishes? It would give us more time to work on the ranch, you know, the man’s work.” One of them called out, all of them followed with a laugh at the snarky remark. You looked around for free bunks, quickly snagging one and starting to unpack, you made sure to not let your hat touch your bed. Even if it was just a myth, better to be safe than sorry.

The Scot Called out, “(___), this is Kyle, john but he prefers price, Philip or graves, Alejandro, and a few others. Hopefully you’ll settle in just fine, we like our pillows fluffed before we come back in for the night though.” He teased degradingly, gaz graves and Alejandro laughing along with the joke. Like hyenas.

You grabbed your hat, putting it on your head and quickly leaving the bunk house, listening as the men laughed at their awful jokes. You made your way up to the main house, Simon was sitting on the porch.

“You get along good?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at the way your face looked, disappointed and frustrated. “Hm, I see. Why don’t we go get you a horse, something to your liking.” He stood up, Simon stood at a staggering 6’5 he put his hand on your lower back, noticing the way you jolted away from his hand.

He took notice of that, you seemed skittish when touched. Simon led you down to the stable, “most of these horses are broke, but I’ll tell you what, you stay on it while it’s bucking. I’ll give it to you, free of any charge. But you gotta stay on for 8 seconds.”

-

[talonabraxas]

Surya Talon Abraxas The Sun god is the very spirit who dwells in our inner soul. He who dwells in man and who dwells in the Sun is one. -Taittiriya Upanishad Aloft his beams now bring the god Who knows all creatures that are born, That all may look upon the Sun. A way like thieves the stars depart, By the dark night accompanied, At the all-seeing Sun's approach. His beams, his ray's have shown afar Athwart the many homes of men, Flaming aloft like blazing fires. Swift-moving, visible to all, Maker of light thou art, O Sun, Illumining all the shining space. Thou risest towards the host of gods And towards the race of men: towards all, That they may see the heavenly light. The broad air traversing, the sky, Thou metest, Sun, the days and nights, Seeing all creatures that are born. The seven bay mares that draw thy car Bring thee to us, far-seeing god, O Surya of the gleaming hair. The Sun has yoked the seven bright mares, The shining daughters of his car: With that self-yoking team he speeds. Athwart the darkness gazing up, To him the higher light, we now Have soared to Surya, the god Among the gods, the highest light. --Rig Veda 1:50

[aqua-the-smiter]

Decided to be a lil quirky and silly and write a part 2. Featuring a surprise guest! Selkie!Ferrus Manus x Argena Seeva Argena returns the next day and finds out a little more about her new friend. SFW Ferrus's seal form is a leopard seal Thanks to @bispaceual for the idea of squish seal Ferrus Iron Hands divider by @squishyowl

Her heart was starting to beat faster and her hands shook as she tied her bay’s reins to the post again. The mare gave her a look that seemed thoroughly tired of her mistress's antics, and after a moment she instead removed the bridle all together.

“You put up with too much, Fox.” Argena told her, stroking her muzzle. “You’d better not wander off too far, or else.”

She shook out her long black mane and bent her head down to graze. Gena smiled, patting her neck before turning and walking to the edge of the cliff.

She’d been thinking about it all day. It was the only thing her mind really could focus on, and she’d breezed through her day’s work as fast as she could without it becoming sloppy. Practically counting the minutes as she worked, replaying their conversation the day before over in her head. A part of her still wasn’t convinced that it hadn’t been just a lovely dream. But her hand remembered the texture of his fur on her skin. It had to have been real. She was going to meet her selkie again today. He’d promised he would be there, and something told her he wasn’t the lying type.

A real selkie. The thought was thrilling and a little terrifying.

His name was Ferrus, and he had entirely too many crappy brothers.

A part of her wanted to tell everyone she knew about him. Sheer excitement and wanting to share the joy of her discovery with others. Magic was real, and it was still here. Just hiding. The more rational side of her knew that was a very bad idea. At best he would be chased off. At worst, hunted, or have his sealskin stolen again. Not that she thought anyone in her village would be a threat to him. Even the strongest men were dwarfed by her selkie. He was so tall and strong.

She was greeted once again with the sound of waves and the scent of the sea mingling with heather and thistle. Gulls flew overhead, and a group of perfectly ordinary seals rested a ways down the shore. From somewhere behind her a raven crawked in a nearby tree.

But as for her seal…

Scanning the shore where he’d been initially turned up nothing, and her heart clenched for a moment. He wouldn’t lie to her, surely. Either he hadn’t expected her this early, or something had happened to him. Maybe one of his brothers had found him…?

She hoped not.

Where was he…ah, there! Picking her way carefully down the rocky slope, she made her way over to him, bare feet sinking into the sand.

The problem was that she had been looking for him in his human guise. But down the cliff, in a sunny patch of warm, soft sand lay an absolutely enormous seal. His coat was different from the others. Dark gray on his back, light gray on his sides and a white belly, dappled all over with dark spots. His shape was different too. Narrower, sleeker. Longer jaws, a slimmer snout. Clearly, he was a predatory creature. His coat was shorter too, but very dense.

There he was. Curled in a crescent on his stomach, snoozing peacefully in the warm late summer sun. She had to cover her mouth to suppress a squeal of delight. 

He was so cute like that. His seal form would probably be actually quite intimidating if he was awake, but he just looked so…squishy and content laying there. That’s it. He looked squishy. Without the water to support his impressive bulk, all his natural seal blubber just kind of squashed against the ground. He definitely wasn’t as plump as the regular seals that frequented this beach, but clearly he packed enough weight to look just as soft when he relaxed.

“Hello Ferrus.” She sat down next to him and whispered where she thought his ear would be. He didn’t stir, and she contented herself by just sitting with him and watching him nap. The selkie must have been setting a very good example, because soon she’d fallen asleep as well, resting against his side, though unintentionally. 

She awoke to a wet snout pressing against her forehead.

“I didn’t expect you to be so forward.” Ferrus said, with a definite lilt of amusement in his voice, his neck craned around so he could look at her. Also confirming he could still talk in seal form.

Argena sat bolt upright. “I’m sorry! I must have fallen asleep waiting for you. I didn’t want to wake you up since you looked so comfortable.”

He laughed, and this time it was definitely a seal’s bark. “No harm done. I don’t mind at all. You are the only person I’ve been pleased to see in a long time. You can lean on me if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

“That’s very flattering to hear, honestly.” She said, doing just that. He seemed far less grumpy than he had the day before. Maybe the nap had done him some good.

He stretched and gave a bone-cracking yawn, his jaws gaping wide. Showing off a maw full of sharp teeth. Then that bear trap of a mouth shut, and he went back to being rather cute.

“There’s something I forgot to ask you yesterday.” She broached, a little hesitantly. 

“Hm?”

“Why did your brother hide your sealskin?”

Ferrus curled his lip, showing off those teeth again. “I did leave that rather vague, didn’t I? He did it because he thought it was funny.”

“...That’s it? He stole your ability to transform for a prank? What the hell is wrong with your brother?”

“Yes, that is it. At least, that’s what he told me, and I don’t care enough about him anymore to dig deeper. I don’t know what he was thinking, and it doesn’t matter now. I’m not going to talk to him again.”

“I wouldn’t either.” She agreed. “What was his name?”

Ferrus didn’t answer for a moment. “Fulgrim. The more I think about it, the more I’m not sure how we ever became so close. We had some similarities, yes, but we were fundamentally different in far more areas. A part of me wonders if he was ever sincere.”

“Were you close with any of your other brothers? Before…all of this?”

“A few. Vulkan and I always got along. Before I left for good I used to forge things. Weapons, armor, the like. He did too, and we got along very well due to that. He was always kinder than I was, but we still got on. I had no real quarrels with Roboute or Leman or Sanguinius either. I regret not cultivating better friendships with some of them. Maybe I would have had help then. But it’s too late to dwell on that, and I won’t mourn it.”

“It must have gotten lonely though. And your brothers have some very odd names.”

In truth she doubted he would have been so lenient with her if he hadn’t been isolated for so long. On one hand it made her wonder if this would last very long. But on the other…he clearly did place some value in honor. 

“It did. Truthfully I am glad I met you. I doubt I would have gone to seek out anyone of my own volition. It is in my nature, but you have proven yourself good company.” He admitted. “And indeed, they do. But it is what Father called us.”

“Wait. You have a father? Why didn’t you go to him for help? Or are things strained between you and him as well?” She could believe it, with how long Ferrus seemed to be able to hold grudges.

“I didn’t wish to get him involved in what amounted to such a childish spat. I thought it would be easy enough for me to handle. It was, in the end. Even if it required me dirting my knuckles with Fulgrim’s filthy blood. But no. I have no quarrel with Father. He is strange, and distant at times, but he is not bad. To myself or any of my brothers.” 

“Fulgrim was the one being childish. But…maybe that’s why nobody else stepped in.”

“I asked!”

“I know.” She held up her hand. He let out a huffy snort and rested his head back on the sand. “But you said you’ve always been more of a loner. Maybe nobody was sure what to do. You being the way you were, and only really close with Fulgrim. Family spats are always ugly, and not fun to be in the middle of.”

He sighed. “You may have a point there. I suppose if any of them came and apologized I’d be willing to put things to rest. It’s funny, really. With one breath they would make fun of me, and with the next they would praise my work and ask me to make them things. I am not as thick skinned as I thought I was.”

“Or you just got tired of hearing the same thing over and over. I know I would.” She paused, thinking of a way to change the subject. “What did you make? Anything really special? My father makes things out of metal too. He’s a goldsmith. He’s been teaching me to do it too, since I’m the only one of my siblings who seems to have the talent for it.”

“Impressive.” He nodded in genuine approval. “I’ve made a few things like that too. Once Roboute was trying to woo an elven maiden. I made him a diadem to give to her.”

“Did it work?”

“She hadn’t left his side since the last time I saw him, so you tell me.” Ferrus said with a smug smile that looked very odd on a seal’s snout. “It would be nice to work a forge again.”

“Will you be sticking around long?” Maybe she could find a way to help him with that.”

“Aye. I found a decent little cavern in some of the large cliffs down that way.” He gestured with his tail. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving again. This is my home, and I missed it. So maybe I’ll be able to pick my craft back up. I’d like to see what you make as well.”

“Me?”

“Why not? I never thought I would have found such a kindred spirit with you.” He was very pleased with the prospect. It had been one of the reasons he and Vulkan got along so well. “Although it is a little unexpected. I didn’t think women usually took up that kind of thing in this part of the world.”

She shrugged. “Usually no, but Da doesn’t really care. He’s very proud of his work, and more than happy to have one of his children take after him. He’s always been well respected, and so casual about it that I don’t think anyone else really minds enough to make an issue. And it’s not like I don’t want to have my own family someday either. I just haven’t been approached by anyone I consider a good match. Besides, I enjoy the work.”

Or at least, anyone I could show my family. She thought, her mind wandering back to Ferrus’s human form. And it was pleasing to know she had something in common with the selkie.

“Is that why your hands are tattooed? Does it help you with your work?” She asked, remembering another question she’d wanted to ask.

“They do.”

She felt him shifting underneath, and she scooted forward so he could sit up, his sealskin around his shoulders as he shifted back to human. He offered her one of his massive hands so she could take a look. The only unmarked part of them were his fingernails, which were maybe a little bit too long but otherwise as pink as they were supposed to be. She took his hand between hers, studying the inked lines. There was an odd sensation of underlying power in them as she traced the knotwork with a finger. Amusing herself by picking out one line to follow.

“They’re beautiful. How did you get them?”

“Oh, it was a long time ago. I was much younger then. I suppose more adventurous than I am now. But they have proven their worth. And I like the way they look.”

“So do I.” Gena voiced her agreement. “They suit you very well.”

“Heh. Do they now?”

“They make you seem very fierce. Like a warrior.”

“I was, back in the day. All my brothers and I are, actually. There hasn’t been much fighting to do in a long time though. That seems to be all behind us. I can’t say I don’t miss it. And some of my best works were weapons.” The smugness returned. “I was the strongest of them, you know.”

“Oh I just bet you were.” She grinned up at him, taking his mild boastfulness as a jest. “Are you sure being the tallest also makes you the strongest?”

“I was!” He said with feigned offense. “Both of those, actually.”

“I can believe it. You’re such a big seal after all.”

“Oh hush up.”

But there were no teeth in his words. Just amusement. He really did seem more open today. More at ease. She would have been concerned that it was going a little fast, but he had been alone for so long. Whether he acknowledged it himself or not, he must have been at least a little lonely. And for the length of time he hinted at. Centuries, if she was reading it right. He must have been his own beast all right, because that much time alone would surely drive a mortal completely mad with isolation.

And she felt a small thrill as well. His first contact with anyone in centuries had been her, and he’d decided he liked her after a small conversation the day before. She realized that she had been granted a rather hard-to-earn thing, and was determined to make the best of it. She definitely liked him too. He was rough, sure, but there was warmth underneath it. Then of course, there was the mind bending realization that she had, by sheer luck, befriended a real selkie…

They had fallen into a comfortable silence after that, watching the waves. A few pelicans dove in, scooping up fish with their oversized beaks. Once a pod of dolphins had breached a ways away from the shore. She always loved to watch them. They were immensely graceful creatures. Although Ferrus seemed more than pleased to go over just how much faster he was in the water when she asked. Once there was a glint of greenish-blue in the water that made him narrow his silver eyes in suspicion, But he never elaborated on it, and the way his hackles had seemed to raise made her think better of asking. If there was real danger, he would have said something.

The time came for her to depart. As she stood brushing sand from her skirt, she turned to him. 

“Will I see you again tomorrow?”

Ferrus tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I will be here. But we should probably figure out an easier way of meeting up.”

“I’ll give it some thought.” She promised. “I doubt I'll be able to make excuses every day anyway. Much as I would like to. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to talk to someone like I have you.”

Maybe we were both hungering for companionship

“Agreed. This has been remarkably pleasant.” 

Putting it mildly on his end.

“Tomorrow then.” She gave him a bright smile then, and squeezed his hand before clambering back up the cliff. He rubbed his fingers together. Her hands did good work, but they were still so soft…

He stayed out long after she had departed again. But this time he wasn’t left alone. 

There was an odd prickle in his hands, erasing the warm feeling that Argena’s touch had left him with. A raven fluttered down, hopping on its skinny black legs over the sand. Ferrus’s head shot up, and he glared at it.

“Brother!” It-he-crawked at him. “It has been a while.”

“Has it?” His voice was dripping icicles.

In a moment, in the bird’s place was a tall, pale young man with long black hair and glittering black eyes. He was draped in dusty black traveling robes and a cloak, and in his right hand he held a plain wooden staff. 

“What do you want?”

“Oh don’t be like that. You haven’t been seen in centuries. It was pure luck I caught sight of you. I wanted to know how you’ve been.” Corvus said, his tone mollifying.

“As you can see, I’m just fine. You’d better not start spying on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I can see that temper of yours is still as hot as ever.” 

“Indeed, it is.” He hissed. “How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough to see the young lady, if that’s what you were wondering about.”

“If you-”

“I won’t! Ferrus, come now. You know I’m not like that. I only came here out of brotherly concern, nothing more. Father is concerned. So are many of the others. I will tell them you’re alright, and nothing more. Does that sound good to you?”

“No.” Ferrus snapped. “I would prefer if you said nothing at all. You remember what I said before I left?” “I do. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you felt you needed to go to such extreme measures.” Corvus confirmed. “Fine, fine. I won’t say anything unless I’m asked.”

“I suppose that’s the best I can get from you. Storing pieces of information like a dragon hoarding gold. Why can’t you like shiny things like a real raven?”

“It is what I do best. And I do, actually. I just like my shiny things to be of high quality.” He said with a razor grin. “Would you-” “NO!” “I jest, brother.”

“Of course you do. Now get out of here before I actually lose my temper!” “I’m going, I’m going!” He squawked indignantly, before returning to bird form and flapping off with indecent haste.

Ferrus sighed. Seems things might not remain so quiet. Then he cured himself, realizing belatedly he’d forgotten to sing for her. Damn it all. Next time, then.

[quillofspirit]

POTC characters if they had horses

This is now officially a series! Though the next installment is not yet scheduled, inspiration will most likely strike one night, like lightning to a lone tree. Unfortunately, some pictures are not the specific horse, though they do all resemble the idea behind the choice.

Do excuse the various lengths, I had more ideas for some than others. And my skills at moodboards, I am but a youngling in the skill.

I would love to hear your thoughts or questions! either about this or other characters, and other fandoms 😊

Elizabeth Swann

A chocolate Hackney stallion, mostly sweet though also the type to feign coming when called before running away. It was an active young thing that was a gift initially meant for Governor Swann. Elizabeth fell in love with the horse when it almost got away from its holder, at first presentation. Her father was nervous about her having such an energetic animal be responsible for his daughter’s safety, though he quickly realised the love was reciprocated. Its character only part of the reason why she loved that horse, most of it being the freedom it offered. The first time she let it go at a full gallop is the moment she fell in love with the speed, and the muscles beneath her, tensing and relaxing with each stride. She would rarely confess to loving that horse more every time it resisted orders, snorting and pawing in disagreement when they tried to control it by the reigns. She named it Neptune, though she often referred to him as her First Mate.

Governor Swann

A dark bay Hackney gelding, a sweet sweet thing. The type to nudge you for affection, and have enough confidence in its rider to make them a better rider. The Hackney was, and still is, a sought-after breed, known for its trot, as well as its docile and friendly composure. Although the Governor is a skilled rider, having been instructed in all matters of high English society, he still preferred the convenience of a carriage, than riding on a horse. Over time, he found himself growing to love going on rides with Ambassador, but even more when he accompanied Elizabeth on rides. (Though he only ever went in full gallop to hear her laugh from happiness).

Will Turner

A molly mule, though very pretty, he called Hellebore. Named in honour of Rosie, Will initially got the mule with a forge he bought when Elizabeth and him could settle. The last owner left it with the deed, saying he “didn’t know the last time he’d find the thing useful.” Hellebore however, was quick to warm to Will’s soft voice and gentle pats. Mules are known to be smart, social and affectionate. They also tend to be very protective, so the fool who tried to steal from Will’s workshop got a big surprise when Hellebore bit him and trapped him in a corner. The commotion and braying got Will’s attention quickly, and when he arrived, he found the robber trembling in fear. After that, Hellebore became a loyal companion, often nudging Will for more affection, regardless of his half-hearted attempts to push it away while he worked.

Jack Sparrow

A dark bay Spanish Mustang mare. It was left behind by a Spanish general, and Jack stumbled upon it when hiding running from the law. He didn’t know how to approach such a creature, but he found he didn’t have to. It followed him around, until he relented and took care of it. The next night, it came to his rescue when a man Jack owed money to cornered him in an alley. It came charging at the man, snorting and pawing at the ground. When the man attempted to side step, it gave out a big neigh before pushing the man aside. Jack had no other choice than to be grateful, and he named it Maelstrom for it temper. Spanish Mustang are known for their intelligence, their curiosity and their sense of self-preservation. Skills that are most useful when in proximity to Jack Sparrow.

Hector Barbossa

A black Irish Draught mare, intimidating but loyal to a fault. will kick at anyone that tries to steal from the many bags it often holds can often be find stealing apples. Generally easy-going, they need a firm hand to push them to use their athletic abilities, but they are known to be surprisingly agile. Barbossa named her Themis, after the Greek goddess of Justice and Wisdom.

Joshamee Gibbs

A New Forest mare, named Scallywag. It is intelligent, good-natured and sure-footed, and it stumbled upon a drunk Gibbs one night. It jumped over Gibbs, and the first thing he saw upon waking up was the very close, soft nose of a pony sniffing him. He startled, and the pony snorted in his face. At first, Gibbs tried to shoo it away, but the horse was persistent, pushing its fuzzy nose into his hair, and he would have found the gesture endearing, if it did not grab his hat and run away with it. He looked for the horse for a few days, before he found it, moving its head all around and slapping the hat on nearby bushes. In the end, he did find it endearing.

James Norrington

A stunning silver Turkoman stallion. As a military man, James needs to trust his horse. Turkoman horses, now mostly extinct, are renowned for their stable feet, robust body and stamina. They are intelligent, and often form a very strong bond with their owners. James Norrington would be the kind of man to want a reliable horse, willing to wait months for one to be imported. The first few months together, James had to calm it a few times, before it knew it could trust. More often than not, talking to it and pressing a firm hand to its neck sufficed to calm the horse. Now, he's the type of horse to finish a race alone, and win. It has proven itself time and time again, often the calmest amongst the cavalry. He took a few weeks before deciding on a name, finally settling for Aquila.

Cutler Beckett

A white Thoroughbred stallion, it looks bigger than it really is, though with Beckett's stature it's no wonder. Generally, thoroughbreds are known to be strong and have good stamina, but tend to have nervous and stubborn spirits. Riding a thoroughbred requires a firm but knowledgeable hand, and is often the measure of a excellent rider. Lord Beckett called it Triumphant Venture.

BONUS

Davy Jones

If he had another creature at his command, but horse-inspired, it would be a kelpie. HOWEVER! I do think it would have a few lights in its mane, like an anglerfish. It would look like tiny fireflies stuck in seaweed, and might just be enough to attract curious sailors. The kelpie would generally consume all souls, but would bring some back to Davy Jones. I didn't do a moodboard for this one because it gave me nightmares!

These are my dividers, please do not use them.

[the-pen-pot]

'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.' 'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?' Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.' ------ When Arthur assists Merlin in a magical ritual, he realises just how much could truly be his, if he only had the courage to ask for it.

Read on Ao3, or hit "keep reading" below!

Of Root and Sea and Sky

Arthur Pendragon watched the man who rode the pretty bay mare at his side, his seat confident and steady after years in the saddle. Merlin sat straight and at ease, his clothes suitable for travel but far more fine than his baggy servant things. A dark coat of soft leather fit across his shoulders, showing off his narrow frame and the subtle strength that lay within it. The blue tunic beneath, Arthur had noticed as they departed that morning, matched his eyes. Tight breeches clad his thighs, no longer threadbare at the knees and hems, but sturdy and perfectly tailored.

The sight had a detrimental effect on Arthur's composure, and he'd had to tear his gaze away more than once since they'd set out from the citadel.

'Where are we going?' he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. Now was not the time to be caught mooning over Merlin. He could not tell when the unfortunate admiration had begun; only that it had been years. It had grown since their first meeting, unacknowledged as they seemed to careen from one calamity to the next. It was something Arthur had learned to live with: not just the lust that glowed in the pit of his belly, but the love that threatened to bloom in the caverns of his heart.

He was fortunate to call Merlin his friend. He had resigned himself, long ago, to the realisation that anything more was nothing but a fantasy.

'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.'

'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?'

Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.'

That, at least, Arthur understood. After his father had succumbed to a blade in battle and Arthur became king, Merlin had spent long evenings drinking wine with him in front of the fire and explaining the ancient connection between the throne, the magic and the land itself. They sustained each other, the rule of a kingdom going far deeper than the crown upon someone's brow.

In the days before the Purge, magic had been an integral part of every realm in Albion. A mere twenty-five years without it had sent many lands plunging into poverty and conflict. The earth withered, and the corruption his father had railed against found a home in the hearts of ruthless men.

Slowly, that damage was starting to heal, and it was something that could only be achieved by a ruler who took his vows seriously and a sorcerer who used his power well.

One of his first acts as king was to overturn Uther's laws. He had done it for the good of his kingdom, of course, but if he were honest, there had been more pressing, personal reasons to make it legal once more. He cast aside tyranny for Morgana and Merlin, neither of whom deserved to live in fear.

He still remembered, sometimes, how pale they had been when they confessed to him – terrified. In that moment, Arthur's character had been tested. The balance could have gone either way. He could have fallen back on everything his father had told him, leaning into the safe foundation of prejudice, or he could have tipped forward into a future of possibility, one that led his realm into a golden age as the wounds of the past began to fade.

To his shame, it had not been an easy choice, but in the end, he had placed himself firmly on the side of sorcery. Now, more than a year later, Camelot flourished with a new kind of peace.

'Anything we should know?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard as they left the road, guiding the horses through last year's leaf-litter. It rustled as they picked their way through the boles of the trees, following Merlin's lead.

'Not really. It shouldn't take long, but these are holy places to the druids. Swords should be set down outside the edge of the grove. There's a good chance the magic will hide us from your line of sight. Don't interfere. Not unless I call for you, or you'll throw the whole thing off and we'll have to start again.'

Arthur hid a smile to hear the calm authority in Merlin's voice. It shouldn't surprise him. Even as a servant he'd had a way of speaking sometimes that gave others no choice but to listen. Now, with magic legal once more and its study permitted, Merlin only grew stronger and more knowledgeable of his abilities.

And with each passing day, Arthur found it easier to accept the druids' claims. He looked at Merlin and could well believe it when they said that he was the strongest warlock to walk the earth – and the nearest thing the magical community had to a king of their own.

And Merlin was his: his court sorcerer and his closest friend. Perhaps that was why Arthur had not spoken of the way he felt. One by one, so many of his excuses had fallen away, revealing the fear that lay at the heart of his silence. In truth, he had far too much to lose, and so he held his tongue and let his longing flourish unheeded.

A huff from Hengroen broke into his thoughts, and Arthur frowned, focusing once more on their surroundings. At first, he could not understand what had made his gelding tense, but before long he noticed the smell in the air: sweet, dry rot and arid earth. It was out of place in the lush, flourishing woods, tickling at the back of his throat and stirring some prickling, instinctive awareness to life. He was not like Merlin. He could not tap into the living world all around him and hear its hum, but he could detect that something was amiss. His kingdom bore a wound, and he could not leave it to fester.

'Gods.' Gwaine's curse was low and sympathetic as they brought their horses to a halt, staring. The oaks stood in a cluster, occupying a broad clearing amidst the more slender pines. Yet where Arthur would have expected to see tender young leaves, there were instead withered branches. Strong trunks were bleached bone-white except for where dark blisters pocked the bark, and more than one large branch had fallen from the stark canopy to lie, twisted and ruined, upon the ground.

'What happened?' Elyan breathed, sounding devastated. 'What could do this?'

'That's what we're here to find out,' Merlin promised. 'You two stay here. Arthur and I will need to be in the middle of the trees to work out what's caused this and set it right.'

'Be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

Arthur threw a glare in Gwaine's direction, but it softened the moment he got a look at his face. There was no customary leer, and the joking tone in his voice had fallen flat, dragged down by his concern. He and Elyan were more lax with protocol than Leon, but they still took their duties seriously. While they may understand that they needed to keep watch from a distance, that didn't mean they were comfortable having either Arthur or Merlin out of their sight.

'We'll be all right,' he promised as he slipped out of the saddle, the leaves rustling under his boots as he unstrapped his scabbard and set his sword aside. 'Merlin knows what he's doing.'

'Course he does,' Gwaine replied, all unapologetic confidence as he dismounted, stopping at Arthur's side and lowering his voice. 'He'll blast anyone who tries to harm a hair on your head. Just – Be careful, yeah? Watch his back?'

Arthur clapped a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. 'Always.'

Elyan took Hengroen's reins, promising to tend the horses as Merlin jerked his chin towards the grove: a wordless invitation. Each rustling footstep left the knights further behind, their weapons drawn and at rest, ready to fight any danger that made itself known.

'They'll be all right,' Merlin murmured, resting his palm against one of the ailing oaks.

'The trees?'

'No. Well, yes. I meant Gwaine and Elyan.'

'There's plenty of dangers that lurk in the woods,' Arthur pointed out.

'But nothing they can't handle. Besides, I put a up a ward as soon as we entered the forest. It covers more than a mile. If anything crosses it meaning us harm, we'll know about it.'

Arthur's heart fluttered, and he stepped closer, bumping his shoulders and grinning as Merlin nudged him back. He shouldn't be surprised about the wards. Merlin had been feral about protecting the people he called his friends, right from the start. These days, he made sure they were safe without apology, weaving stunning magic as if it were as easy as breathing, and it warmed Arthur through from soul to skin.

'So, what exactly are we doing?' he asked, peering up at the sad remnants of the trees. 'Can you really fix this?'

Merlin's long fingers grabbed the sleeve of Arthur's jacket, tugging him towards the centre of the grove. 'Remember what I said about how, once, rulers of their kingdoms were tied to the land? How they can act as conduits?'

Arthur suspected he knew where this was going. 'You plan to use me in the spell, don't you?'

'Not... exactly.'

Merlin stopped, turning to face him, and in his expression, there were subtle hints of that same old pain that had come to the fore whenever Arthur, in his uncertain past, had twitched away from Merlin's magic. It had happened more often than he'd like to admit, back when he had first confessed. His father's teachings were hard to shake, and Arthur had needed time to learn there was nothing to fear. Not when it was Merlin who wielded the power.

'If I can pour the spell into the land through you, it will have more strength and precision. This' – He gestured at the trees around them – 'is caused by a corruption in the natural magic of the earth. I can cleanse it without you, probably. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just that it would be easier if –'

'Merlin.' Arthur reached out, grabbing his hands and holding on, bringing the rush of words to a halt. He wished he could ease those scars of uncertainty that lingered still, not in his own heart, but in Merlin's. He had spent far too much of his life hiding what he was. Too many years had passed where he had heard, time and again, that magic was something monstrous, and Arthur hated to see him apologising for what he could do. As if his power was a curse, rather than a blessing. 'Of course I'll help you. Just tell me what I need to do.'

Merlin's grin was bright and infectious, showing his dimples and making his eyes gleam, yet he still gave Arthur a probing sort of look. 'Are you sure? I mean it. There are other ways.'

'You're the one who has been harping on at me about how king and kingdom are connected. Besides, I want to help.' He looked at the trees, stark and suffering, and saw nothing more than a cry for mercy.

Perhaps they were not important to the people within Camelot's walls, but there was more to his realm than the souls sheltered in the citadel. The druids had started to creep back in, tremulous and uncertain, but with growing confidence. This was their land, too, and he would not deprive them of assistance simply because of his father's old prejudices. 'You said this was a sacred place. Why? What makes it special?'

Merlin looked up at the window of blue sky above them, criss-crossed by the bare, skeletal branches. 'Oak is supposed to have a lot of magical properties. Different groves have different qualities. Some are meant to imbue strength to those who seek shelter beneath their boughs. Others offer wisdom. This one is a Sōþfæstnes.'' The word rolled of his tongue, comforting to Arthur's ear for all that he didn't understand it. 'A place of honesty. The druids use them for ceremonies and meetings. They believe you can't utter a lie when in one of these. They're used for handfastings, too, so that people know the vows are genuine.'

'Are they right?' Arthur was still not sure where the druids and magic came together. There was a whole system of belief that he knew very little about. It was part of the reason Merlin kept reminding him that he was not a druid himself. He had power, but not the culture that the druids valued so highly. 

'I don't know.' Merlin shrugged. 'In a way, I don't think it matters. The druids believe it's important, so it's worth fixing. Besides, it would be a shame to see these trees die.'

That, Arthur could agree with: on both counts. 'Where do you need me?'

He watched as Merlin closed his eyes, his body falling motionless as a sudden, playful wind swirled the leaves around them. Arthur did not know what he was looking for, but it seemed he found it as he reached for Arthur again, guiding him to a spot that looked like any other. 'Hold my hands, and relax. This might feel a bit strange, but it won't hurt you. If you want me to stop, just say.'

That last part was added in a firmer tone, as if Merlin knew full well that Arthur wouldn't back down, even if his instincts were screaming at him to retreat. It was enough to make Arthur shoot a quick, imperious look in his direction, trying to hide the flutter of trepidation that stirred deep in his gut.

He'd seen Merlin perform magic before. He had stood on the periphery as he wrought his enchantments, revelling in the warm-sunlight sensation. Yet despite all his talk about the importance of the realm's ruler to the balance, Merlin had never invited him to be a participant. He'd always worked alone.

Now, as he watched those blue eyes flare bright, brazen gold, Arthur felt a new world open up within him. It started softly, like the breath of a summer breeze, gradually filling his senses. He could hear the steady hum of life throughout the woods; could sense the birds on swift wing or taking their perch, the dart of deer and the slippery chill of water as it seeped through the roots. The rich, heady perfume in the air intensified, and he could feel the pull and ebb of sap across his skin, sticky and vibrant.

Yet there was more. Hidden within those details there was a sense of something vast and ageless: a slow, steady beat like the pulse of the earth itself, resonating up through the bones of the world. Magic flowed there, pooling and diverging, collecting in knots only to disperse once more: an eternal lightning storm miles beneath his feet.

Yet where they stood, the light had turned thin and frail, its thick branches ebbing to threads as it choked and stuttered. Here, the magic had fallen out of balance. Arthur could feel how it threatened to drain away entirely. It had retreated deep, deep down, leaving the oak trees withered husks of their former selves.

'Ready?' Merlin asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Arthur focused on the man before him. Seeing the world through the lens of magic, Merlin was like the sun, so bright his outline was almost lost. Yet Arthur could feel his heat and life: the warmth of a hearth and the cold splash of water on a sweltering day. He was helpless to do anything but shift closer, pressing near to the interface of that power as if he had been starved for it since the day he was born.

'Ready,' he managed, his voice little more than a rasp that faded to nothing as all that light poured through him and into the earth beneath his feet.

He had expected it to feel overwhelming, a surging tide threatening to eradicate every facet of his being. He had anticipated a struggle to contain it and feared being lost in its surge. He had never thought it could be like this: soft and brimming with love.

It did not smash through him, but whispered down his thighs and filled his chest with its glow. It rushed down to his feet and stirred the fine hairs on his arms into shivering awareness. Each breath tasted sweet, and as the magic reached out through him, he felt the tattered remnants of it in the earth stretch back, curving towards him like seedlings seeking the sun.

He watched them, not with his eyes, which had slipped shut in pleasure as Merlin's power filled him to the brim. Instead, it was as if it were the essence of himself that observed the world. Something deeper than skin and bone, intimately connected in ways he had never imagined. He bore witness to the magic's struggles to thrive once more, and he urged it on with the race of his heart and the mute cries of his being. He lost his breath, somewhere in the tumult of it all, until he felt that his own fate had aligned with the oak trees around him – that in this moment he would triumph or perish, and one was just as likely as the other.

And then, a single strand, as delicate as spider-silk, brushed against the plunging roots, and power surged up through the earth.

Arthur reeled as it exploded through him, his grip tightening fretfully around Merlin's hands. Yet there was no pain. It was euphoria and ecstasy: heat in his blood and the pit of his belly. Every part of him felt alive, tingling and pulsing as the darkness was washed away. It was like sunlight after the longest night, chasing off the shadows and bringing the warm touch of life in its wake.

Distantly, he heard the trees creak, their bark swelling as sap moved once more, sluggish at first, and then with growing urgency. The ground beneath his feet shifted as the roots shook of their rot, and overhead there was an ongoing susurrus as the magic rushed across the bare branches, doing the work of a season in a moment to shade them with a canopy of emerald green.

Yet there was something tenuous about it, and Arthur drew in a shuddering breath as he felt what he had to do. Merlin had provided the power. He had poured it through Arthur's skin and bones and blood, but it was up to him to anchor it in place. Without him, while the grove may not die, it would always struggle to thrive. The land would bear the scar, but with Arthur's influence, it could be healed in its entirety.

His lips parted, a question trembling on the tip of his tongue, but he did not need to speak a word. Merlin's magic was like his hands, strong and capable. It ran up his arms and curved around his shoulder, cupped his jaw and rested over his heart. And with it, silent but sure, came the knowledge of what he needed to do.

There was no incantation to utter – no grand spell to tie everything in place. Through the oaths he had taken and the crown he wore, he and the kingdom were one. All he had to do was accept the magic, and the land would welcome it in turn.

Once, it would have been impossible. Fear had been his foundation, and his father's words were nothing less than poison dripped in his ear. All his life, he had been told of the evils of sorcery, and yet, thanks to Merlin and Morgana, he knew his beliefs were flawed.

Morgana had been the one to show him the human face of sorcery – to bring the issue closer to home in a way Arthur had always secretly feared, but it was the man in front of him who had taken the time to teach him. He had shown Arthur that, in the right hands, magic was a gift. He had challenged his belief that it corrupted those who wielded it, because if there was anyone who Arthur truly believed was incorruptible, it was Merlin himself.

Yet it was also by his gentle explanations that Arthur came to understand that magic was far more than a mere tool. It was a natural force, like the winds or the tides: an essential part of the world that Uther had sought to strip away. To decry its nature was like shouting at clouds, utterly pointless.

And it was thanks to that quiet tutelage – to long nights in front of the fire and Merlin's steady, low voice explaining everything – that he was able to peel aside the lingering veils of his doubts and open himself to the power seeking admittance.

It was... indescribable. A falling star blazing through him, threatening to burn him up even as it chased off every last shadow. Each breath felt painfully inadequate, as if nothing as simple as air could keep him alive. His head spun and his muscles shook, his blood surging as his heart hammered fit to burst, driven wild with elation.

For one, fragile moment, he could feel his kingdom within him. Its rivers were his veins, its mountains his ribs and the valleys the spaces in between. He could sense the blaze of life and the tender cradle of death as existence unfurled through him, and he revelled and mourned in equal measure.

At last, when he thought he could bear it no more, the frothing tide began to recede, draining from him with a lingering caress that stalled the breath in his lungs. Every inch of his skin felt hot and aware, his flesh too tight across his bones. He came back to himself in increments, no longer standing toe-to-toe with Merlin, but slumped in his arms, that surprisingly broad chest holding him up as he sagged against him. His nose was buried in the hollow under Merlin's jaw, and one hand smoothed up and down his spine, coaxing him through it.

'You with me?' Merlin asked, his voice deep and rough. 'Sorry. I should have warned you it's a bit intense.'

Arthur managed a huff of agreement. He felt wonderfully drunk, warm and care-free. His senses echoed and blurred, so that for a moment he was able to enjoy the feeling of the sun on leaves he didn't have and the rich, dark earth between his roots. Gradually, even that dimmed from his awareness, binding him once more in the constraints of his human frame.

Yet there, on the very edge of his hearing, no louder than a breath of a breeze, there was a voice, soft and musical, whispering in his ear.

A truth, our dearest King, in thanks for what you have done for us: he guards his heart well, but he would be yours, if you would have him. He loves you, as you love him.

Arthur blinked, barely daring to believe his ears. At any other time, he might have written it off as the cries of his stupid, desperate heart, but Merlin himself had said that this stand of trees was a place for honesty: one where the truth found its way into the light.

'Arthur? Are you all right?' Merlin's hand was gentle as he cupped his jaw, lifting his chin so that he could look into his eyes.

He swallowed, feeling shockingly naked beneath the weight of Merlin's gaze. There, caught up in that bottomless blue, was everything he had never dared to acknowledge: tenderness, concern and a deep, abiding well of emotion that Arthur felt in kind.

He could feel the pressure of his choice before him – a split path that his life could take. On the one hand, he could retreat back to known territory: the realm of friendship, hard won and deeply cherished. Yet at the end of that road, he could see the end of them. One day the court would force him to claim a queen, and it would be duty, rather than distance, that steadily eroded what lay between him and Merlin.

Or, in this precious moment, he could reach for what he wanted: a life together and a love shared. Something he had thought impossible and still barely dared to hope for.

'Arthur?'

'I'm okay.' He flexed his grip where it was caught in the leather coat, the hide smooth like butter beneath his touch. 'I – I –' His voice hitched, tangled in the briar of his uncertainty. His courage – so dependable on a battlefield – threatened to abandon him, and he swallowed hard, pursing his lips. 'I'm okay.'

'What did you hear?'

He blinked, his gaze darting back to Merlin's in surprise. His hand still cradled Arthur's cheek, soft and careful, as if he were something precious. His body was a firm stretch of heat all down Arthur's front, and his heart thrummed, crying out for more.

After a breathless eternity of indecision, Arthur reached up, grasping Merlin's wrist. He turned his face to brush a kiss – butterfly-light, tremulous and desperate – against his palm. Merlin deserved so much more, and yet in that moment, it was all Arthur dared to offer him.

He heard the quiet gasp stutter past Merlin's lips, but he did not dare look at him. It felt as if he were awaiting judgement, the ecstasy of freedom or the horror of execution. He braced himself for Merlin to make his retreat, excuses on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, Merlin's free hand splayed across the small of Arthur's back, urging him close until they were nose-to-nose, their shared breath whispering between them. His voice was little more than a cracked murmur, laced with raw desperation as he repeated his question. 'What did you hear, Arthur?'

He shivered from head to foot, lost beneath his own, inevitable surrender. 'That you love me,' he managed, swallowing hard as he dredged up the words and laid himself bare. 'That you love me as I love you.'

The kiss scorched him, Merlin's mouth hot over his own as every inch of him sparked to life. It was no sweet, chaste brush of lips, yet nor was it restrained to wanton desire. There was devotion writ in the pressure of Merlin's lips and the stroke of his tongue. It was engraved in the strength of his arm around Arthur's waist, and he surrendered himself to it, clutching Merlin to him. Want and need, love and desire all battled for the upper hand, and Arthur was lost all over again, not to magic, but to Merlin.

He kissed him as if he would die without it. One hand gripped gently in that dark hair, the other crept beneath his jacket to clutch at his tunic, eager and desperate, fearful even now that this was some sort of figment that would vanish with the morning light, as so many of his dreams had done in the past. Yet not such cruel twist of fate found them. Instead, they kissed until they were breathless with it, shaking in each other's arms as years' worth of emotion finally revealed itself.

The only thing that stopped him from rutting himself blind against Merlin's thigh, right there in a grove of sacred oak trees, was the knowledge that Gwaine and Elyan were waiting for them back at the horses. It would only be so long before their knights came looking. As it was, while they might not get an eyeful, they would still find them both flushed, their mouths swollen and their clothes in disarray.

A regretful groan caught in his throat as he eased off, his kisses turning shallow and scattered. Try as he might, he could not pull himself away, and he stayed there, safe in the circle of Merlin's arms as they rested their brows together.

'Clotpole,' Merlin breathed, sounding unbearably fond. 'How could you not know I love you too?'

'You never said anything,' Arthur pointed out, deciding he had to defend himself, at least in that respect. 'You're never normally shy about telling the world how you feel.'

'It took you four years to acknowledge we were friends,' Merlin replied. 'I thought anything else might make you break out in hives.' He grinned, that bright, dazzling smile that Arthur loved so much. A moment later it softened, and Arthur looked into that face and wondered how he could possibly have missed it. Merlin's heart was right there for the taking: Arthur's, if he wanted it.

And he did.

Easing back, he held out his hand, feeling as if he were asking so much more as one word slipped free of him. 'Home?'

Merlin's blue eyes sparkled as if he had heard everything Arthur didn't say. The promises he made and the hopes he carried in his raw and bloody heart. Yet he did not hesitate or turn away. He met Arthur head on, unflinching, as if nothing could stop him seizing the future before them.

Those long fingers brushed against his palm before entwining with his own, and in his answer, there was the subtle glimmer of a promise. 'Home.'

As they departed, shoulder-to-shoulder and hand-in-hand, the trees ruffled their leaves and whispered their truths. One day soon, the two men would return, and there beneath the bower they would be hand-fasted to one another, their devotion absolute. Camelot would have no queen, but two kings to rule side-by-side in quiet triumph and eternal love.

And never would it falter.

[roananddappleranch]

It occurred to me that I never even introduced baby's daddy. R&DR Counterfeit Bronze watching over his baby girl Whiskey. To say that seeing these two together gives me cuteness aggression... major understatement. Like... LOOK HOW HE LOOKS AT THAT LITTLE BEB!!!!!!!

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 7

Rain's fate hangs in the balance.

I'm away on a conference next week, so I had to fit in an update before I left! Hope you won't be too mad at where I left things... jk I've been planning the chapter split here for weeks!

Rating: M Content: violence, imprisonment, injury, imminent threat of death Words: 5041

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hello tag alert-ees! @revengeghoulette @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick

Read below, or on AO3!

Aether, Mountain and Swiss were settling down for their fourth night camping outside of town. As the days passed and no opportunities for rescuing Rain had presented themselves, the plans they discussed had become more and more desperate, and less and less likely to succeed. As well as Swiss bringing Rain food and herbs, they had all kept an ear to the ground while skirting through the streets for news regarding his fate, of any weaknesses in the humans’ plan that they could exploit.

One of the first things they had heard was talk of a stolen horse. From the stables out east of the village, one of the finest mares had gone missing, it's tethering chain melted clean through. They had heard no more on that front; it seemed like Dew had made a clean escape. All three ghouls had struggled not to feel bitter about this, Mountain especially.

There was also talk of hunting parties being sent after the remaining ghouls. Aether had shivered when recounting this rumour, none of them wanting to think about what their fate would have been if they had ignored Dew's advice. They didn't know the fate of their farm, nor did they really want to, but not one of them assumed it could still be standing. It was abundantly clear that they were not going to explain their way out of this situation by saying it was just a mistake, not with the village this riled up and baying for blood.

Quickly, the ghouls had come to realise that they would have to wait until Rain was brought out of his cell to make their escape. The walls of the jail were an impenetrable fortress, and the only entrance was crawling all over with guards. From Swiss’s nightly visits to Rain and the gossip picked up by Aether and Mountain, they had ascertained that the humans were absolutely terrified of him and what he was capable of. As such, it was almost guaranteed that the only time he would be let out of the jail would be when he was being brought to the gallows.

They would have a limited time in which to carry out a rescue, so their mission had to be meticulously planned. They had discussed all manner of approaches, both violent and non-violent, but each option ended up either too dangerous to themselves or too unlikely to succeed. The main issue was their mix of elemental magic: as ghouls traditionally lived in single element clans, there was no reason for them to be protected against each other’s abilities, and if anything it benefitted them to have defensive abilities.

Mountain had suggested causing a large earthquake. He argued that in the chaos, they could simply grab Rain and make a run for it. Aether had quickly shot that idea down, pointing out that it was just as likely to harm them as it was the townsfolk. Only a strong earth ghoul such as Mountain would walk out of that scenario unscathed. Any mistake or misjudgement would not only ruin their chances of escaping safely with Rain, but could also result in any or all of them being returned to the pit. They all secretly wondered though if that would be better than the alternative; their very existence being snuffed out at the hands of malicious humans.

Aether’s plan for Rain was less destructive, but equally unlikely to be successful. He had considered ripping the senses from the assembled crowd, blinding them and leaving him free to take Rain and run. The only issue, Mountain pointed out, was that it would have to be a solo mission. If Aether truly planned to plunge the entire population of the village into darkness then the power of it would be inescapable, even for Swiss with his small amount of quintessence magic and certainly for Mountain. The concentration required for such a large effect would leave little room for Aether to maintain an awareness of his surroundings, rendering him vulnerable and alone.

Swiss had tried his best to envision the outcome of each strategy they devised, but saw no future in any of them. Whether that was because they were all doomed to fail, or were just too unpredictable even for him, he wasn’t sure. The only time he saw even a flicker of life seemed to be when they planned to assemble in town, and no further. Aether had looked at him like he’d grown a second head when he suggested this. Swiss took it as a sign that things were so unpredictable right now, that by attempting to plan anything, their interference was sufficient to muddy the future beyond comprehension.

In quiet moments alone, Swiss wished he could have a strong ability like his packmates, instead of simply being the sounding board for Aether and Mountain’s hare-brained schemes. For now though, he would settle for simply being the go-between to Rain in the jail, the face the young ghoul got to see each day as he smiled down at his with words of encouragement and false optimism.

Visiting Rain every night, Swiss had watched him slowly recover his strength. Maybe his visions were really trying to tell him that they were all worrying for nothing, and Rain would be capable of freeing himself? He mentioned this to Mountain and Aether in an attempt to cheer them up. Both ghouls had been sceptical at first, but the cautious hope they clung to was all they had right now.

Mountain reflected on this turn their lives had taken. It was sad that things had come to this; he thought they had built a good life here. After so long alone, the relative comfort and ease of living with a pack had grown on him. With news of Rain’s continuing recovery, Mountain hoped they could have a chance at rebuilding everything, albeit far, far away from here. They certainly couldn’t stay here, but maybe they could stay together. If only we knew where Dewdrop was… Mountain though that if things turned out well, he might even consider forgiving him.

He was on first watch again tonight, keeping an eye out for any signs that they had been followed back to their camp. So far, his wards were working well: the closest anything had got was a lone rabbit, which they had eaten. He watched Swiss flop down onto his bedroll, the continued exhaustion in him so clear Mountain could feel it leeching into the soil around him.

Mountain shuffled closer, as if pulled by an invisible string. He’d felt an unavoidable need to be near the multi ghoul lately, even before all the events of the last few days. Mountain wasn’t stupid; he knew what it meant, but he’d spent so many years denying himself from even entertaining the thought of finding a mate that this new development felt especially strange and alien.

He observed Swiss’ face as he settled in to sleep, trying to be subtle but probably failing. It really was a nice face, Mountain thought. From the small crease between his eyebrows to the generous dusting of stubble on his chin, Mountain felt like he had only recently started to see Swiss the way he deserved to be seen. Others before him had clearly noticed what he only observed now, that was certain. Every giggling girl who hung off his every word, and indeed off his arm, in the tavern saw it. Hell, he thought even his packmates saw it; the way he’d seen Dew staring at him for a fraction of a second too long, how Rain would blush when Swiss complimented him. Mountain wondered if Swiss felt the recent tug between them too. He hoped so.

As he stared at the wrinkles of concern etched into Swiss’s face finally begin to smooth out with sleep, he saw his expression suddenly contort with pain.

“Swiss?” Mountain hissed in alarm. He got only a low whine in response.

“What’s wrong Snapdragon?” He looked frantically at the now wide awake quintessence ghoul next to Swiss, “Aether! Something’s wrong.”

“Talk to us Spark, what’s going on, what can you see?”

Swiss stared dead ahead, rocking side to side and occasionally flinching as the vision continued.

“It’s got to be Rain,” fretted Aether, “something’s going to happen to him.”

Mountain grasped both of Swiss’s hands, rubbing calming circles on the backs of them with his warm, calloused thumbs. He cooed quietly at the stricken ghoul, trying to calm him as he was rocked by the second-hand pain.

“Tonight,” Swiss finally rasped out, “soldiers, half a dozen of them, they’re going to break into Rain’s cell.”

Mountain and Aether exchanged horrified looks.

“They want revenge. For the girl killed in the flood.” With a final shudder, Swiss looked up at his packmates. “They want to be the ones to kill him, as painfully as possible.”

He took a deep, shaky breath and shuffled closer to his packmates as the vision played out.

“He’ll be hurt, but they won’t succeed.” Around him, Aether and Mountain’s shoulders lowered in relief, but the tension remained. Swiss tried to smile, “Our Rainy’s gonna shock them good, the second they lay a hand on him.”

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Rain was sat on the cold and damp floor of his cell nibbling on the rind of some cheese from his nightly rations Swiss had brought earlier. The rest was safely stowed away on his person. Rain didn’t think he could be too careful with keeping his supplies hidden: he didn’t want to risk anyone discovering that his pack were sneaking into the town each night, putting them in danger. He was especially carefully with rationing out the herbs and elixirs from Aether, wanting to remain as strong as possible at all times in case things went south before Swiss could warn him.

Rain could feel his strength returning. The shock of his power bursting forth after a series of tumultuous emotions, followed by his capture and beating at the hands of the villagers, was gradually subsiding with rest and food. Now, he was able to feel the gentle thrum of his magic under his skin, connecting to it in a way he never had before.

Rain wasn’t quite sure what had happened in the field that morning. Never would he have imagined himself being capable of such deadly feats. He couldn’t explain why his powers had exploded out of him so suddenly, like a geyser, or why he had awoken to a strange buzzing feeling all over his body. It tickled like the anticipation of a thunderstorm, making the fine hairs on his arms stand up straight. Intrigued by the new sensation, he had prodded at it with his mind, feeling the pent-up energy twitching to be released. He had let it, and seen the blue sparks ripple across his skin.

In the days since, Rain had been practicing; he had never seen or heard of any sort of ability like this before, not from anyone in his clan or family. Was it an innate skill he had always been destined to have? Or something unlocked by being in grave danger? Either way, Rain wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hopefully it could go some way to help him protect himself, if he needed to.

In his initially fuzzy mental state, he had waved off all recollections of the destruction he caused as another symptom of his attack. Rain convinced himself that while the flood of memories of his earlier life were very real, and his subsequent unglamouring was likely terrifying to the farmers who had witnessed it, the carnage and death that followed must have just been another hallucination designed to torment him. That must be why he was in the jail – they had seen a monster cowering before them, confused and scared. As he came back to his senses however, it became painfully clear that all of his memories of the day were true, and were the real reason for his incarceration.

Rain had thought Dew was a hallucination too, for a while. If it hadn’t been for the very real food he’d brought him, and Swiss confirming his visit, he would probably still think so. Of all the ghouls in his pack, Dew was the one he would have least expected to risk coming looking for him, especially after how he had antagonised him that morning. A small voice in the back of his mind desperately wanted to blame Dew for what had happened out in the field, for setting him on edge before his day even began. However, Rain knew there was really no one to blame but himself; he was appalled at what he had done even if it was an accident. He could see why the village was out for blood, he would likely be doing the same if it were one of his packmates killed, but couldn’t they see it was an accident?

Probably not, he thought. They didn’t give him a chance to explain himself before knocking him out cold, and no one had stuck around for longer than it took to throw some crusts of dry bread and water his way since. Rain knew it really was just that, an accident, but that nagging voice in the back of his head insisted that he truly was as useless as Dew had insinuated, and if he hadn’t gotten so lost in his own head then none of this would have happened.

Rain sighed to himself, and looked around his cold, dark prison. It was hopeless, the others planning how to break him out. There was no escaping here, unless they could find a way to break through stone. Rain felt the twinge of guilt bubbling in his stomach again, knowing his packmates were risking their lives every night instead of running away while they had the chance.

Rain was shaken from his self-pitying slump by a commotion outside his cell. He could hear raised voices getting closer, angry shouting echoing down the corridor outside. He quickly finished his cheese, washing it down with the last of the water he had pulled from the earth into his metal bowl, and pulled his feet underneath him in a crouch.

There was the jangling of a key in the lock, and the door burst open, slamming against the stone wall. Half a dozen or so men barrelled through it, screaming foul threats of revenge.

“This is for Marina, you monster!” one howled, launching himself at Rain on the floor. Rain tried to talk, but after several days of silence his voice caught in his throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” another one sneered, as the first tried to pin Rain to the wall by his throat. As his back hit the stone with an agonising crack, Rain desperately tugged on the thread of his new magic. The man dropped him with a shout as he flew backwards, whole body spasming.

“The fuck?”

“Get him!”

More of the men descended on Rain, but soon leapt away in pain and shock when they touched him.

“He’s cursed!”  

The men still standing switched to kicking, the thick leather of their boots protecting them from further shocks. Rain curled into a ball to protect his head, and silently begged them to leave him alone. He hurt all over, from the brutal kicks as well as their loud shouts ringing in his ears.

All the noise soon attracted another guard, one who was seemingly tasked with keeping Rain alive for the next few days until his very public execution. He began yelling for the men to disperse and herding them out of the cell. Rain uncurled, his vision blurring but wanting to take a look at his saviour. As he did so, one of the men leaving aimed a final sharp kick into his stomach, and the world went black.

~~~~~~~

Back at the Abbey, Dewdrop, Copia and the ghoulettes spent the afternoon going over their plan. Cirrus was right: it definitely wasn’t Dew’s style. Even if it was all fake, the thought of confessing his supposed love for the ghoul who had, until the events of the last few days, irritated him immensely made him squirm.

“This plan is perfect.” Mist had gushed to him; he suspected she was a little biased. “It avoids anything crazy or dangerous, and it saves the whole village from being exterminated!”

Dew huffed at her,

“I still don’t see why they’re worth saving – they want to kill my friend over an accident!”

Mist smiled serenely at him. It was the first time Dew had ever referred to anyone as a friend. Dew realised it at the same time, and blushed. He wasn’t sure Rain would say the same thing about him, given how he’d treated him in the past.

“It’s not for their sake, trust me,” she added a conspiratorial smirk, “I’d love to watch them burn at your hands, I’m sure you’d do a fantastically thorough job!”

Dew nodded, chin up as if to confirm that yes: if he were allowed to burn the village down, there wouldn’t be a single chair left for him to sit on to survey his work.

“But that would attract rather too much attention, don’t you think? This way we can avoid suspicion for all of ghoul-kind, as well as your pack.”

Dew had to begrudgingly agree with her: if they wanted a chance at a quiet life after this, no matter where, then they had to keep a low profile.

Later that evening as Dew was packing his bag ready to head back to the village, transcribed copies of the law in hand, he found Mountain and Aether’s anthology of plants nestled in the bottom. He weighed the heavy manuscript in his hands; it really was a precious compendium, the culmination of his packmates’ work since before he’d even met them. Dew still felt a pang of guilt at how he had arrived back on the Abbey’s doorstep, demanding help with no mention of any sort of repayment for it. He was surprised Copia had offered his assistance so willingly without discussion of payment – such a debt was why he had brought the book, after all.

That was how things were usually done here, the Abbey may not trade in gold or precious goods, but they exchanges their services for something far more valuable: knowledge. The ghouls and clergy within the imposing walls would offer aid freely to those who agreed to stay and serve as Dew had done previously, albeit only for a brief period. For those who could or would not spare the time, they had an alternative. Taking inspiration from the fabled library of ancient Alexandria, they would request any literature of value be handed over. If the weary traveller would agree to stick around just a little bit longer, while a copy was made, the original would be returned to them, otherwise the tome would find a new home amidst the expansive Abbey library. Dew knew how it worked, he had even helped with a few transcriptions himself, and so he dithered, book in hand, until he was startled by a knock at the door.

“Come in?” Dew called to the door.

Copia opened the door, his robes billowing as he entered. Dew started at him in surprise; he’d never seen him or anyone else of the Clergy’s status in the ghoul wing before.

“Good evening, Dewdrop.” He smiled graciously, “I see you are preparing for your journey tomorrow, I have offered up prayers for a smooth conclusion for you and your pack. Saving your packmate like this is very noble.”

“Thank you Papa,” Dew bowed his head, “that is more than I could’ve asked for.” The book, still in his hands, felt heavy with purpose. Before he could change his mind, he thrust in in Copia’s direction.

“Payment.” He said simply, as Copia looked at him in confusion, instinctually taking the book shoved under his nose. “For your help.”

“Nonsense, my dear ghoul,” Copia’s face softened, “you were one of us, even if only for a brief time, so you will always have a place here.”

Dew shuffled his feet awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such a sincere sentiment. Luckily he didn’t have to: curiosity getting the better of him, Copia had begun absently flicking through the book. Dew watched with some amusement at how easily the man could be distracted by the mere promise of new knowledge.

“This book is... This is incredible, Dewdrop. Where did you get it?”

Dew beamed with pride on his packmates’ behalf.

“Two of my pack have been working on it for years, an earth and a quintessence ghoul.”

“Fantastic…” Copia mused, before finally looking back up at Dew. “If you are serious, I would be delighted to hold onto this for safekeeping until you can next return to us? I know the earth ghouls here would be honoured to transcribe its contents.”

Dew shrugged slightly,

“It’ll be safer here than with me.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Copia murmured, once again leafing through the detailed illustrations, “should you and your pack come and stay, you have my word that we would return it immediately. It would be wonderful to meet the ghouls who wrote it too, sharing in their knowledge and power would be the real gift here.”

Dew made a non-committal noise. He had no idea if his pack would even want to talk to him again after running away, let alone be convinced to traipse all the way back here. Copia reached out with his spare, leather-clad hand to grasp one of Dew’s.

“Think about it, but for now I’ll let you finish packing, and get some sleep. Good luck, Dewdrop. Safe travels.”

~~~~~~~

The day was finally here. The day when they would either get Rain back, or lose him forever. None of the ghouls had slept well. Rain had been looking worse and worse over the last few days: the mirth Swiss had seen was gone from his eyes, now replaced with a dull horror. They’d all soon learned of the attack on Rain, how the band of thugs had broken in with the intention of carrying out their own justice. Less talked about was how Rain had responded. The rumours of his shocking defensive skill were quieter, only talked about by scared guards tasked with keeping him weak but alive.

Clearly they were not trying very hard with the second part. Every time Swiss had visited he looked skinnier; they had obviously given up on trying to feed him. Whether this was due to fear or malice was anyone’s guess. He was now barely responding when Swiss tried to speak to him, instead staring straight ahead at the wall, frozen in fear. The black eye from his original capture had faded to an ugly yellow, but in its place were more bruises, shining angry and purple. Swiss had to assume he was eating the food he brought each night as it had always disappeared by the next day, although he never saw Rain make any move to do so with his own eyes.

Mountain, Aether and Swiss's camp was packed and stowed closer to town, ready for a speedy getaway. Swiss's visions of the day hadn't changed, despite all that had happened with Rain, leaving everyone on-edge and uneasy. He still saw no success in any of their plans, only different variations on their own demise. Leaving Rain to his own devices and simply hovering in the crowd was still the only option that produced even a spark of optimism for the future. So, the ghouls were planning for every eventuality, desperately hoping that when the time was right they would see their opportunity for a rescue. Each of them was prepared to sacrifice everything, should the need arise. It was an unspoken agreement that going full scorched-earth on the village, revealing their cover and undoubtedly cursing themselves back to the pit separated but alive, was a better option than the cold abyss of death. If it came to it, that could be their only choice: a human with murderous intent could easily kill them, but getting caught in an accident? Maybe the pit wouldn’t be as bad as they had heard.

The three ghouls headed into town, their faces disguised by large hoods. Closer to the village gates they found crowds to blend into, locals and visitors alike all pouring in to witness the execution of a supposed demon. As they had hoped, all of the village gates were unguarded: it seemed the entire populous was distracted by the planned spectacle. They filed down the main street towards the central square, mercifully still undetected. The plaza bordered the front entrance to the town hall and the walled inner courtyard with the cells where Rain had been kept. A wooden gallows had been erected specially for the occasion, and a large crowd was gathering in front of it. Swiss paused, before gesturing to a spot close to the gallows and in line with the main gate.

The space around them began to fill with spectators for the macabre show, as the sun crept higher in the sky. When it was almost at its noontide peak a commotion broke out by the entrance to the jail, and a ripple soon spread through the assembled crowd. Something was happening. Mountain, Swiss and Aether shared a nervous glance, and then they spotted him: Rain. It was the first time Mountain and Aether had seen him since he left the farm that sunny morning a week ago. They both shot horrified looks at Swiss, as though to confirm that what they were seeing was real. Swiss nodded grimly.

Rain looked awful. Swiss had watched his steep decline over the last few days from meters away and behind iron bars, but nothing could have prepared him for how completely drained and haggard their young packmate looked while being forced to stagger past the leering crowds. In the midday sunshine it was suddenly all the more apparent how much he was hurting: the bruises that had partially blended into his skin in the dim light of the jail cell now stood out like angry ink splashes up and down his body. Each step he took was laboured, like the very act of contracting his muscles to move his legs was putting him through agony. Some of his wounds looked like they were trying their best to heal, but were layered below more recent injuries.

The guards dragging him toward the gallows were wearing thick, leather gloves and heavy tunics that covered their entire bodies. Swiss was grimly pleased that Rain had been exercising his new talent, although it was clearly not fool proof, and the fact he had needed to defend himself in the first place made him shudder. He almost lost his balance as he was forced up the few wooden steps to the platform of the gallows, stumbling hard. Rain was shaking like a leaf as the town officials filed onto their own podium and prepared to address the crowd.

This was the ghouls’ chance. Until this moment there had been too many eyes roaming around, too many people who could stop them. Now, all eyes were fixed on either the shivering water ghoul, or the town Judge reading his crimes aloud. Mountain and Aether looked to Swiss, silently asking if they should continue waiting or move forward with plan B. Swiss gave a small nod, and they readied themselves to attack.

After much discussion, they had decided that smaller, more targeted versions of their original plans would be most likely to succeed, or at least not backfire completely. Mountain would sow the seeds of distraction by causing a small earthquake. It would not be the ground-splitting calamity that he alone would have created, rending the earth in two in a roar of total destruction, but it would divert the attention of the crowds enough for Aether and Swiss to pounce.

With three packmates also needing to escape alongside him, Aether too had scaled back his earlier plans. Instead of blinding everyone present, leaving them to flounder in an endless sea of black nothingness, he would instead go straight for the guards; lunging forward to incapacitate only those with the ability to hurt or hinder Swiss, who would be following close behind him in order to grab Rain.

Water ghoul in hand, the four of them would then flee the chaotic scene, out the unguarded main gate and back to the relative safety of the trees. There, they would collect their meagre belongings and continue their escape into the wilderness. They would travel for as long as it would take for the landscape and language around them to become foreign; far enough that no word of the events of the last week could follow them. That was, of course, if everything went to plan. They all knew it was a long shot, and the slightest mistake could result in their doom.

“…for your crimes, I hereby sentence you to death!” the Judge’s voice commanded, echoing across the stone square. The silence of the crowd hung thick in the air, the onlookers listening with rapt attention. Aether looked towards Mountain as the ground beneath their feet began to vibrate rhythmically. Mountain looked back in confusion, his eyebrows pulling together as if to say that’s not me.

Just as they were about to start their plan properly, the thudding through the ground became louder and more distinct, morphing into the sound of horseshoes striking the ground. A wave of mutterings spread through the assembled masses as they parted for the reckless horseman. The ghouls decided as one to ignore it, and utilise the distraction for their own gain. Mountain was just beginning to pull at the bounds of the earth, causing it to grate against itself and shake the very foundations of the buildings around them when a familiar voice rang out across the square.

“Wait!”

Three sets of ghoulish eyes whipped around to stare at the new arrival. Aether’s breath was forced out of his chest in a huff of relief,

“Dewdrop.”

[adelaideoldburg]

Belgian Warmblood

Belgian Warmbloods are a modern warmblood breed from Belgium known for their remarkable jumping ability and good temperament.

Aero aka SkyFlyer

Stallion - Adult - H&M All In

Charisma aka Charm

Mare - Adult - Dark Chestnut

Chic aka LittleBird

Mare - Youngster - Chestnut

Cyberpunk aka WorldStar

Stallion - Adult - Black Pinto

Darcy aka RichLove

Gelding - Youngster - Light Bay

Everett aka Thunderbolt

Gelding - Youngster - Brown (Seal Bay)

Giddy aka Glittery

Gelding - Youngster - Palomino

Heist aka MoneyVault

Gelding - Adult - Black

Improv aka UnJoke

Stallion - Adult - Dark Bay

Kilter aka UnBreak

Mare - Youngster - Liver Chestnut Pinto

Maddox aka WonderBoy

Stallion - Youngster - Dapple Grey

For a while I felt like I was begging for a new warmblood the last one technically being the trakhner(???), so these guys were a welcome addition. They nailed the jump animation on them which was my biggest want in a warmblood. IDK what else to say but I love them and am waiting for more color variations~~

9/10

[py-dreamer]

Shadowalkers Au

Ok so I said I was gonna make this so here we go...

(I literally came up with this idea in the subway help) (I'm going to assume y'all have watched the movie)

Basically: Lmk cast in Wolfwalkers.

BUT

There is a little bit of different lore here

For starters, they're not wolves anymore. (it just didn't really make sense to me to make them into a different animal especially since both celestial primates can do the 72 transformations like it's no biggie) They're more like the enormous f*ck you smoke monster that Macaque introduced in his first episode. So you're a person when you're awake and a shadow when you're asleep.

Macaque takes the role of Mammy here and Bai He the role of Mebh Xiaotian plays Robyn and Wukong as Goodfellowe, ok? ok.

Bai He gets to be a little gremlin, Mk is big brother, Wukong is Good Dad TM and while not in here as much, Mac is also Good Dad TM

Now Mk and Wukong are regular stone monkeys from a far away mountain (SWK doesn't have all his OP taoist superpowers here). Their old home was burned down and they were forced to move. Wukong was already serving as a disciple under master Tripitaka when he took in a baby MK as his own. Tripitaka sadly perished in the fire.

The new town they move to is called the Diyu ruled under the 10th king in a long line of monarchs (why the background seemed so dark and a bit sinister in the last pic). Wukong serves as a hunter to get rid of all the shadow creatures in the nearby woods who seem to have a mind of their own.

But why get rid of them? Well you know how in the mythos, the Diyu was the land of the dead? Well in this au, Shadowalkers are known to be real but very rare and they have the power of healing and are said to be able to control the line between life and death. See what I'm getting at here?

Now because of Wukong's intense fear of death, and in this au he'd already been taught by the monk and now has a son of his own to worry about and without the layers of immortality to shield him, I figured, he'd be a lot more cautious and closer to Goodfellowe in this way. He'd still be more carefree and playful of course but he's still under the firm grip of the command of the king. (the circlet thingys on his gloves also signifies this)

The majority of the population here are humans since I wanted to single out Mk and SWK here and it just made sense so for the majority of the time, they wear cloaks so as to not frighten everyone.

Ok so about the abilities of the shadowalkers, oh boy,

One, they can heal. Two, they have their smoke monster like forms. Three, they can travel through shadows themselves and mare most powerful at night. When they travel in the shadows, they're flat like the surfaces they travel on. And like in the movie, a bite from a shadowalker can turn you into a shadowalker too.

Also concentrated light can hurt them. So for example a flame-tipped arrow can hurt them but not a small ray of sunlight.

Mk sneaks out after his dad one day (idk who could play the role of merlin here) and somehow finds Bai He and gets bitten in the woods. They bond and it's just an adorable thing yada yada.

At night, Mk finds out he's become a shadowalker and finds Bai He. She teaches him their ways and he returns home only to be found by the town who freak out. Wukong himself tries to impale him with his staff but fails. Mk is able to escape and make his way into the palace.

He finds a humongous smoke monster in a cage (aka macaque) and deduces that this must be Bai He's missing dad. But when he tries to free him, Mac tells him to get Bai He and leave cause it's to dangerous and Mk gets found by the king himself.

He wakes up in his person body and tells whoever plays Merlin to find Bai He and leave. She doesn't believe this and runs into town to find MK who's working and reluctantly does what she's told but feels betrayed.

Then she hears word that they were going to execute a giant shadow creature that the king had caught and runs to find it as she realized that they were talking about her dad.

She finds him all caged up and to stop her from getting hurt, Mk calls over to the village kids that he's caught the monster and they put her in a wooden cage (noo...the babies...)

Bai He breaks out anyways, runs to her dad and Wukong is told to catch the girl but Mac ain't having that no no no.

He goes from 0 to 100 and bites Wukong in the arm, giving Bai He the chance to escape but being locked up again in the process. Bai He declares war on the town and runs off.

We have the whole confrontation scene between MK and his dad and Mk frees Mac and they run off to escape. And FINALLY Macaque can reunite with his daughter (see I can be nice...)

...before getting impaled by Wukong's magic staff (nevermind)

(how on brand)

Bai He flees with the shadow creatures and the dying spirit of her father while MK tries to follow after them with Wukong holding him back. Mk falls asleep and transforms in front of his dad before the army caught up.

We have the whole climax battle between the imperial forces of the Diyu and the shadows + WUKONG GETS TO TRANSFORM INTO HIS 3 HEADED KAIJU WAR FORM HERE WOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(if you couldn't tell, I have a soft spot for this gremlin)

Then we have my personal favourite scene where the kids heal Macaque and HE'S ALIVE AGAIN YAY

They welcome Wukong into their troupe and FINALLY are able to leave and find their new home...

flower fruit mountain

Gosh that was a mouthful! I'm gonna go to bed now before I get yelled at...

I'll see if I update this au much with like redrawn scenes from the film or headcanons and such but idk, but feel free to drop any ideas in the comments!

(come to think of it, I should also make one of these for shennanigans in space..)

[lilyharvord]

When is your harbor bay fic coming out. I am DYING to read it

Please understand as I write the harbor bay fic that the lyrics are definitely not “Heaven is nothing to her” at the closing chorus; but in my HEART, in MY heart, they are. And it works so much better considering I am lying on my floor looking at the ceiling and thinking about how the music slows to just the beat in the back and those words are so clear and it feels like falling when you listen to it, and I just imagine Cal stumbling down the beach to Mare, barely able to make out her outline, before reaching through the sparks bursting off of her like solar flares and taking her hand in his, and her whipping to face who she thinks is Tyton, or Ella, or Rafe, only for Cal to brave the worst of her lightning and cup her face as the wind from the storm she created whips her hair around, and the moment slows until they only see each other’s eyes, and only feel each others skin, and only hear each other’s breaths (Cal’s still recovering rattle, and Mare’s heavy panting as she comes down) and the sky slowly bleeds from dark to watery grey and then it starts to drizzle because Mare let go of the storm and it opens like a little curtain of relief over a bay that has literally been ravaged by Mare Barrow’s vengeance. 

I swear to god, I don’t not support woman’s wrongs, but I do support their right to tear the world apart over the man they love dying. Like yes girly, kill all the sea life in the bay, sink Iris’s battleship, and literally turn the beach to glass so no one can ever walk on it again. Let them know that your heart has literally shattered and you will tear the world apart over the pain of it. 

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Final Hour (Linked Universe fanfic)

(@artisticgamer, @ludoluck sorry I keep forgetting to tag you guys for my writing)

Inspired by @kikker-oma's amazing Fierce Deity art. Love your talent and your creativity, Oma! <3

Summary: When everything goes horribly wrong, Time desperately attempts everything in his power to fix it. Wind instead chooses to be the self sacrificing Hero, but the end result isn't what Time expected it to be.

(AO3 link)

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Zelda standing in front of him, sad and beautiful and aged beyond her years, just like him. He saw her morose smile, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, her steady resolve despite it all. He saw her play the ocarina as she grew ever smaller and farther away while his hand reached out desperately for her.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Malon smiling sweetly at him, bright and beautiful and innocent, like how he used to be. He saw the freckles on her cheeks pull as she giggled and called him by that nickname she’d made up a lifetime ago. He saw her eyes grow fierce with a desire for adventure as she worked with an unruly mare. He saw her twirl as they danced together.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw Anju and Kafei’s love and desperation and acceptance in their eyes as they held each other, as she said they’d greet the morning together while his hand held hers in a white knuckled grip. He saw them tremble as he turned and ran outside.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw the Heroes of Hyrule, how they were all young, experienced, hurt, filled with power and hope and light. He saw how they emanated a strength that couldn’t be quantified, an inherent resolve and determination to their core that shone through and resonated between each and every one of them, a shared bond and unbreakable spirit. He saw their uniqueness, their wonder, their gifts and quirks.

And he saw them fall, one by one.

The clocktower tolled.

They’d been wounded. They’d been weak. They’d just fought multiple hordes and had been desperately trying to get to the nearest village. They’d known it hadn’t been far, from the forest they could hear the bells of a clocktower in a nearby town.

There had been a split in the path. Time had chosen the route.

The clocktower tolled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen.

The black blooded dragon roared again, held at bay by the few still standing. He heard a scream, and a body collapse on the ground. He couldn’t even tell who was still standing anymore; he’d been one of the last to fall. Nearly everyone had stilled, no longer writhing in agony or sheer force of will.

Except for Wind.

The sailor groaned as he desperately crawled forward, reaching above Time, whose hand was overhead as he’d been grabbing desperately at one of his items when he fell, as he’d been willing to throw his life, sanity, everything away in a frantic attempt to fix this.

The wooden mask barely was within his grasp, propped by a finger.

Despite the severity of the situation, despite the cold silence of his companions, despite the clocktower ringing in his ears, a reminder of time after time of facing death and life and everything in between as his entire journey flashed before his eyes, he wanted to save Wind from this. The mask was too dangerous for anyone else. What good would such a victory do if the child was lost to the darkness?

“Please, Wind… no.”

He had other methods he could call on.

He had other items he could use.

The Hero of Time was nothing if not relentless. He never gave up. Never. Not even now, not even when he was bleeding to death, when the world around him blurred and dulled, when his mind was screaming and running into the past rather than focusing on the present. Not even now. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting three days over and over and over until he could get everything right and save everyone. He refused to let this be any different.

“You said…” Wind pleaded desperately, his voice trembling, tears and blood and phlegm rolling down his face from what little of it Time could see. With a hiccup, he continued, “You said it’s for emergencies, right? It’s okay, I’ll save you!”

I’ll save you. A last, desperate, pleading promise. The others couldn’t be saved, but Time was still here.

Time’s hands fumbled around his belt, desperately searching for the item he needed.

The clocktower tolled. The dragon roared again, any obstacle between it and the last pair of heroes long gone.

The mask slipped from Time’s finger, a rough disappearance as if it had been pulled.

“Sailor,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, his world spinning and fading fast. He had to move.

Wind screamed.

The noise jolted Time out of his stupor, adrenaline feebly trying to awaken what little life essence he had left in him. He had enough energy to look up and see a figure towering over him where Wind originally had been crawling.

The monster bore Wind’s curls, bleached white. It bore Time’s armor, with a decorative fairy pendant dangling in the breeze as it stood stock still. Wind’s face was older, chiseled, once-chubby cheeks pulled taught over cheekbones that shouldn’t be so developed. Its eyes glowed, contrasting the purple and blue markings that cut across its face.

The Fierce Deity.

Time let out a desperate breath, unable to speak anymore, and watched helplessly as the cursed mask made Wind’s possessed body march across the field towards the dragon that awaited him. He couldn’t see the fight, but he could hear it. He heard the grunts, deeper than they should be, the fierce battle cries, the screeches from the dragon as its opponent landed cut after cut. He breathed hastily, feeling his heart quicken, feeling his body begin to grow numb, and he again searched desperately on his belt for the one thing that could change everything.

Warriors was gone. Sky was gone. Four was gone. Legend was gone. Hyrule was gone. Wild was gone.

Twilight was gone.

Time was going to be damned if he would let Wind fall in the worst way possible.

The clocktower tolled.

The dragon screamed, and the earth shook.

And then everything grew silent.

Time gasped for air, trying to raise his head, wanting to call for the young sailor, for the brightest ray of sunshine in the group, for the one last surviving member.

He couldn’t move.

So this is how I meet death? He wondered. On the verge of tears, an utter failure to all who depended on me?

He remembered the people of Termina. He remembered how they all faced death in their own ways. He thought of Cremia and Romani, of Anju and Kafei.

Goddesses. He missed Malon so desperately right now.

Heavy footsteps approached him, and he blinked, the world coming back into focus long enough for his body to scream that he couldn’t take any more of this. A blurry image hovered over him, and he squinted, confused, until his mind registered who he was staring at, and his hands finally found the item they’d been searching for.

The Fierce Deity knelt down slowly, eyes fixed on him. When his knees sank into the ground, he reached slowly, sliding a hand behind Time and pulling him into a seated position. Time cried out in pain with the motion, and the cursed deity paused only a moment before reaching his other hand towards the Hero of Time’s fumbling hands, pulling the ocarina from their grasp. Time tried to protest, tried to fight against his possessed successor’s hold, but he was too weak to do anything. Then amethyst rose into his periphery, and he looked down to see the Ocarina of Time hovering in front of his lips.

“Play, Link,” the Fierce Deity said, Wind’s higher voice pitched into a deeper timber and holding power and energy the boy didn’t usually possess. “Save them, as you always do.”

Time stared at the deity, his fears and thoughts stolen away. The pair was frozen for a moment, the world pausing around them, time itself holding its breath in anticipation. A gentleness fell over the cursed deity’s face, and Time felt the thumb behind his back caress him once, ever so softly. Understanding slid between the two, a heavy, bone deep realization that dug into Time’s mind more than he could fathom in the moment, a certainty and safety and assurance and comfort that he'd somehow always felt but always ignored. He let out a shaky exhale and, with trembling hands, took the ocarina from the Fierce Deity.

And he played.

The world turned white.

Time felt warmth engulf him, like an embrace from tender arms. Magic sparkled inside his mind and heart, a familiar friend, singing and resonating with his song like fairies humming together, a melody entwined in mystery and grace. His horizon shifted, and he was on his feet, set there gently as if floating through the air. The warmth spread from his core to his extremities, the numbness in his fingers dissipating, the stabbing pain of his own armor piercing his gut dulling into nothingness. The blood on him washed away with invisible waters, and an airless breeze blew the dirt off his body. He continued to play, the melody growing steadier as his strength returned, his determination steeling him, tightening his weakened muscles and bringing an assurance that he hadn’t felt since Termina.

Save them, as you always do.

Oh, the countless times he’d played this hymn, this spell, this prayer. Oh, the countless times he’d clung to it desperately as he tried again, the numerous times he’d played it in tears at his failure, the many times he’d nearly belted it in fortitude as he prepared with renewed hope and a plan in place.

Save them, Link.

“Really, old man? You’re playing your ocarina right now? We have wounded, we need to get moving.”

Time’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Legend’s voice.

They were all there, tired and hurt but alive. Sky was leaning against Hyrule, eyes half closed but body stiff with stubbornness, while Hyrule held him with a fierce protectiveness. Legend was watching him impatiently, scraped and bruised but relatively unharmed and clearly anxious to get help for the others. Four and Warriors were bringing up the rear, watching everyone’s backs and growing ever more confused by the turn of events. Wind hovered with some distress between Sky and Wild, who was the other most injured member of the group, though the champion was well looked after in Twilight’s hold as the rancher carried him on his back.

Twilight.

Time stared at him too long, meriting a worried expression from the rancher. “You alright?”

Blinking the oncoming tears away, the eldest Link took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s keep going.”

“That’s what I said,” Legend grumbled, turning back towards the road ahead.

“Yeah, but which way?” Twilight asked, staring at the fork in the road.

The clocktower tolled.

Time pointed left.

“But I can hear the bells to the east of here,” Hyrule noted as he steadied Sky a little. “Shouldn’t we take the path on the right?”

“We’re taking this one,” Time said firmly, brooking no argument. The group followed him silently as he tried to reorient and move ahead like nothing had happened.

His hand slipped into his adventure pouch subconsciously as they walked, and the group started to talk amongst themselves, their voices the most beautiful things he’d ever heard. His heart rate began to normalize, and he closed his eyes, basking in the safety of seeing and hearing everyone alive again.

His fingers brushed against wood in his pouch, and they tingled with warm energy that climbed all the way up his arm, through his shoulder, and into his core. He took another steadying breath, clutching the mask tenderly as an entirely different set of emotions nearly knocked him to the ground, confusion and relief and hope and fear and curiosity above all else.

Another time. Today he tread ahead cautiously and protected his family.

Today he saved them, as he always would.