#rituals prompt

[linksthoughtbrambles]

Sightholder

A short story for Zelink Week 2022’s ‘Rituals’ prompt (see end for notes). ~3,500 words. (Tagged nsfw for implied sexual relationship. Does not contain explicit sexual content).

‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~

“We’ll get the crown set just right, Princess,” Ria says.  “Last time, it pulled and broke some hair.”

“It’s of little importance, Ria.” How typical of her lady’s maid to perfect the inconsequential.  Those attending the Blessing Ceremony will be too far from her to observe the minutia of her hair (and her power’s awakening ought to outweigh her appearance).

As for her appointed knight, he will see what he wishes to see and no more, as always when he looks at Zelda.

“Broken hairs become flyaway.  Better to avoid it.”

Were Zelda invested in the length of her hair, she would concur—but for her, flyaway hairs matter only when the wind plasters them to her eye sockets (an inconvenience when working the slate, to be sure).  Clips keep the worst offenders in order.

“There… is that comfortable, Princess?”

“Yes, thank you, Ria.  I appreciate your help.”  She’d appreciate speed to a greater degree, but she omits that detail in favor of preserving their recently-cordial relationship.

“…You’re welcome, Princess.”

Zelda swivels her head at Ria’s hesitation. Her maid’s face confirms her suspicion; Ria, unlike Link, knows when Zelda hides something from her.  Link… he is her lover in all but the act, deep in the throes of unfettered adoration.  It blinds him.

Ria has no such rose-colored filter for Zelda, but she’s not immune to distraction.  “Perhaps we’ll see Myrri next time?”

A deeply-lined grin blossoms on Ria’s face at the sound of her daughter’s name.  “It may be, Princess.  I haven’t told her yet.  I rather thought today, it was important to get an early start."

“Of course.  Thank you again.”  Zelda supposes a small child in her bedchamber would slow the dressing process considerably.  Well—there’ll be other days.  She hopes to hear Link’s rhyming games with the little girl, for too few of his plays on words ever pass his lips.  She’d not have known he had a sense of humor at all were it not for the Sheikah Slate.

She sighs, reaching for the slate as Ria makes her exit, eyes alighting on the blank screen twice as her other hand grasps her satchel’s shoulder-strap.  “Well, Zelda.  Nothing for it.  Do not look at the slate.”  Link had likely been mulling over his words for the ceremony.  She fears what he might say (for his sake, not hers, for he tends toward discomfort in public… to put it mildly), but she doesn’t want to spoil the moment: she’d like his words to be exactly that, and not echoes of thoughts she’s eavesdropped upon.

“Do not look.” Her fingers twitch.

She very nearly taps the screen.

“Later.”

The pad of one finger feather-brushes the slate’s surface and it chimes on, but Zelda averts her vision from its glow and the words splayed across its screen.  Those would be Link’s most recent thoughts.  The corner of her eye sees the text scroll upward toward the ‘Log’ heading, and she presses the screen against her chest.

No.  “Much later.”

Every word within his mind, entirely unfiltered—bare to her.

“Satchel for now.”

She’d fallen in love with those words—with a self he’d struggled to keep private.

He thinks it still is.

Her grip tightens on the slate.

“I truly ought to tell him.  I ought to.”

Once she does, he may be disillusioned of her.  She’s seen what he thinks of her—all brilliance, beauty, and strength of all kinds.  She doesn’t recognize that woman.  He loves an incomplete version of her.

She must tell him soon.

“…Not now, though.”

They’ve a ritual to complete first.

“Satchel.” She places the darkened slate inside it, her grip firm.  “Door.”

A chorus of greetings meet her in the hallway where her guards and Link’s family wait, but his sister’s rises easily audible above the others: “Wow! Your sleeves are so long!”

Zelda giggles.  Link’s straw-haired, gangly young sister is a welcome reprieve from the usual mix of vacant flattery and ‘discrete’ disapproval Zelda tends to encounter.  “Indeed, Chee.  These sleeves are quite impractical.  Not at all my usual choice of dress.”

Zelda officially greets her two night guards, then turns a wide smile on Link’s mother (she’s so like her son in appearance, how could Zelda resist?).  “Junilla.  I take it Link is preparing?”

“Yes, Princess,” Junilla says with her ever-present warmth (it had already evoked memories, mostly-forgotten and entirely blurred, of Zelda’s own mother humming).

“He takes FOR. EH. VER making his hair all pretty,” Chee says with a forcefully-emoted eye-roll and slumped shoulders.  A brief pang runs through Zelda’s chest—she’d never been free to behave that way.

Zelda hums a little laugh despite it.  “I’ll be sure to examine it thoroughly when he emerges.”  (It’s an excellent excuse for a few moments’ indulgence.  It wouldn’t do to stare at her appointed knight without reason—not yet).

“If you look really carefully, you’ll see all the lines by his ears where he’s tried different places to pull it back.”

“Enough, Chee,” Junilla says with a light brush of her daughter’s arm.  “Don’t make fun of your brother, especially as these two gentlemen report to him.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Sir Oron says with the smallest hint of a smile.  “He has our respect.  And… we’d already noticed the hair.”

“HA!  See, mom?”

Chee’s giggles spread to Sir Oron and Zelda joins them.  Her knight’s foibles are among her favorite things about him.

The door just past them opens, a rather trepidatious-looking Link emerging in a champion’s tunic hanging slightly off-kilter at the shoulders—her fault, not his—his newest pair of tan trousers and his usual boots, slightly scuffed.  She hadn’t considered that.  She ought to have suggested a new pair for the ceremony.

She’s not sure why the state of his boots concerns her more than her own hair.

As for his hair, he’s made even more of an effort than usual—every strand in its proper place, pulled without a single deviant wave or furrow into the hairband at the top of his spine.  He’s left a good deal of it to hang free as always, framing his face.  A sudden curiosity strikes her, for it isn’t a style adopted by most Hylian men.  Her fingers itch to check the slate.  What crosses his mind when parting it just so?

“Oh!  Oh, look at you, Link.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so handsome,” Junilla says.

Her knight’s eyes go wide as they flick around the hallway, and though his expression remains still, an upward jerk of his chin gives his surprise away (at least to Zelda).

It’s clear Link’s embarrassed, and while his mother apologizes for it (and Link insists he’s not embarrassed, which, of course, he is—which of course threatens to set the night guards laughing, which in turn leads to further embarrassment), his eyes find Zelda, initially communicating a single word: help!

Then, those eyes of his change.

They settle unwaveringly on hers (despite what she knows it does to him—Zelda feels she can sense his rapid pulse, his chest constricting).  His lips part and he visibly struggles not to examine her entire form—Zelda sees it in quickly tamped movements in his neck and shoulders, and even in his cheek-muscles.

She has to act today.  She must make her affection for him public.

If she doesn’t do so intentionally, the vicious gossip will explode again (especially if Link keeps turning those poe-fire eyes on her)—but a single kiss in public should metamorphose rumors about illicit activities into tales of courtly romance.  The Blessing Ceremony provides the perfect opportunity to do so in front of a large crowd.

She… should have told him of the slate last night. The order of her actions will worsen the consequences, won't it, if her transgression changes his feelings for her?

Last night, she'd lost herself in his love-blind eyes and lacked the resolution to confess.  She lacks it now, as she struggles not to study the flecks of blue topaz in his irises.

“You actually look pretty nice, Link!” Chee says, returning Zelda to the present.

Zelda thinks Link’s gaze will leave her, then, but it doesn't.

“…Thaaaaanks, Chee,” Link says, eyes flickering blue flames on hers.  How is it possible for him to speak so frankly with that directed toward Zelda?  Two weeks ago, she doubts he could have managed it.

Chee clearly does not notice.  “What?!  You do!”

A small huff leaves him.  “It’s not that, Chee,” he says, even voice at utter odds with those furnace-flares.  Zelda’s heart gives a single, sudden lurch against her ribcage, but she has long practiced her statuesque stance.  She gives no outward sign at all.

Link’s sister seems to notice (finally) that Zelda is part of the equation (she’s swiveling her neck back and forth between them).  “What is it, then?!”

Zelda focuses on keeping her breathing serene as Link’s mother expertly diverts her daughter.  She stops processing the words, though.

Link’s eyes are still on her.

Perhaps, had he not warmed her shivering hands, arms, and mouth with his own yesterday morning, or had she not drawn him into the curtain wall for a hurried, anguished kiss that afternoon, or had he not knelt at her window last night and left her wanting with whispered assurances of desire, she could continue to remain composed under that stare—but its intensity is as the weight of a falling star, magnified by its singularity (for it is hers and hers alone) and by the emptiness he’d left her with yesterday.

She can’t bear it much longer—not in public.  (She couldn't in private, either, but there she'd have more options than to calm herself).

“Well, Sir Link,” she says, stepping further into the hallway, the movement an excuse to blink at the floor and breathe.  “We’re prepared quite early.”

“We could head to the sanctum now if you like, Princess,” Link says, “so we don’t have to fight our way through throngs of people to the sanctum.  We can pick up Mipha on the way if she’s ready.”

Of course, they should pick up Mipha—of course, they should.  They would be remiss not to.

‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~

The Blessing Ceremony is so unlike the Champions’ Ceremony, Zelda may as well be in another castle. Her father speaks with renewed vigor and the crowd buzzes with hushed excitement.  The change exhilarates her.  Weeks ago, the sensation of Link’s stare on her back would have set her jaw and fists clenching.  Today, it tethers her to hope, not only against the Calamity but for herself.  With her power discovered, they stand far more ready.

She allows that hope to overtake her, even returning her father’s smile.  Perhaps doing so would feel more natural someday.

When Link kneels before her, an echo of that first blessing at the ceremonial ground rings in her mind’s silence.  She hears her own voice as it was then: resigned, hesitant, and while not insincere, lacking in that power of tone which conveys true faith—she’d had nothing righteous within her to express.  Link keeps his face downturned—invisible—now as he had then, but the depth of his prostration bridges the space between them, speaking his love for her with a clarity rivaling his fevered words the night before.  He’d sworn his fealty all those months ago, and he’d meant it—but today he holds every muscle in his body prone as possible without unbalancing himself entirely: a message written in form and the tranquility of his breath.

Zelda extends her hand, and as she does she feels the force of Link’s love for her as a tangible sensation.  It’s as though it strikes her fingertips, traverses her arm, entwines with each muscle fiber, transmuting her to living steel.  A flutter of thought—that Link has re-forged her, a woman of tempered metal—precedes her voice as she blesses him with the full might of blatant truth.  He is her Hero, chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness.  He has shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity.  (He’s shown himself far more worthy of Hylia’s blessing than she).  He and his sword will undoubtedly grow stronger as one, and her own voice ringing effortlessly through the Sanctum stokes an ember which had long cooled, blackening in her sequestered heart, air-tight before Link breached its walls: the hope she, too, will grow with him, and the Calamity itself will suffer swift defeat before their combined might.

The audience’s awe as she lowers her hand echoes her own, and the realization strikes that her steel and her ember are not hers alone.  They shine, they burn, for all of Hyrule.

Link remains prostrate, woven into the tapestry of her words.  The need to stir him from his silent reverie shoots a twinge of loss through the left side of her chest. She feels tethered to the ardor expressed in the curve of his back and bow of his head, but no flawless moment can last forever; time will always tarnish it, demanding new forms of perfection as the world changes around them, even if they remain still. “Sir Link?” she whispers. “You may rise, now.”

He doesn’t.

His neck cranes back with measured deliberation and his eyes of the open sky lock to hers once more with a hope-struck smile, fueling her ember, a glow of shared joys warming the inside of her skin: of cranberry scones, too many children climbing on Link, racing through the bailey, moments stolen to spread a far more physical type of heat as they worshiped each other’s skin, and wishful futures glimpsed each time they stood too close or lingered on each other’s fingertips too long.

“This is exactly where I should be, Princess.”

A short exhale escapes her—a heat-sink.  “Usually, the one kneeling is the one being blessed,” she says.

“This’ll be a little different.”

Her mouth quirks at his language, so at odds with his fervent devotion in her court-centered experience.   “Hmm.  Very well, Sir Knight.”

Zelda attempts to keep her face encouraging as her extraordinary knight begins to tremble.  It had taken him such effort to speak to her in private; she imagines how unnerving it must be for him to orate before a large audience, particularly as the words are of his own making.  He releases an uneven breath and swallows, and for a moment she wonders if he can’t continue.

Then, his speech comes: the softness and warmth of his voice somehow echoing throughout the chamber with clarity despite the tremor in his frame.

“Princess… the Goddess incarnate… you are the light of dawn that shatters the twilight.”

Zelda’s heart thrusts itself against her ribcage; her lips fall just slightly open.

“No blessing I can bestow could make you greater.  You are already the light that shines on this world.  You illuminate my path.”

Dear Holy Goddess—she has never heard or imagined the existence of such words directed at her.

Her rational mind reminds her with logical cruelty that a blind man cannot recognize illumination.

“You already have my blessing, and you have since the moment we met.”

Her lower lip moves to tremble.  Tears attempt to well out.  She will not allow it.

“We were already bound by magic and by fate.  Then we were bound by the sword.”

It seems her heart cannot resist full immersion in his adoration for her.  She wants him too badly--him and his words.

“So… today, what I offer isn’t a blessing, exactly… because my- blessing- wouldn’t be anything new.”

Her mind can resist.  Her mind must, or she shall never tell him the truth.  He mustn’t love her sightless.

“…Instead, I offer a gift.  The one thing I haven’t freely given, Princess—my courage to speak.”

It does take courage.  She sees it in his twitching fingers and vibrating form, even through the salt water blurring her vision.

“You had my faith.  My belief that you will light the way even if I falter.”

She must try to have equal faith in him and his love for her—that it would not be easily broken.

“You had my loyalty.  My pledge to follow wherever you lead.  To serve you in all things.”

He already does so—her ever-present knight.

“You had my protection.  My sword is your instrument.  I wield it for you.”

He’s already done that, too.

“And now, you have my voice.  That you may know my thoughts.”

That she may… know his thoughts?

“And that you may speak through me.”

That she may know his thoughts!

“In the name of the Goddess Hylia, I offer this to you… and you alone.”

The vacuum left by the absence of Link’s voice fills with hushed sounds of stifled emotion, their sources scattered all about them.  His love for her leaves no vacancy to fill.  It remains as present as it had been while he spoke.

It would be so effortless to lose herself in his reality of unconditional devotion, for she loves him as he is; of that, she has no doubt.  She so desperately wants the gift he offers, the ardency of it evident in his carefully-chosen words, far beyond the aspects permissible in public.  She wants his hands to speak his love for her in the language of caresses, the warmth of his mouth on her skin as the vibrations of his voice flow through her, an act as intimate as she imagines the fullness of lovemaking to be.  And by the Goddess, she wants that—his body above hers with his intertwined confessions of love and desire in her ear.

Yet she knows the woman he loves is illusory.  She’s far more certain of it now than she had been before Link’s beautiful words.

The real Zelda had already taken the gift he would freely give her.  She already knows his thoughts.  She’d read them secretly, sometimes repeatedly.  Could any betrayal be so complete as that?  To unlock a secret place only to find its contents pilfered by the very person they were intended for?

She cannot allow her tears to fall here and now, but must tell him, and soon.  He must see her for who she is. He must love her for who she is, or he must not love her at all.

Please, please, Hylia, let him still love her.

“R-rise, Sir Link.  I… humbly accept your gift.  Be assured I shall treasure it as my most valued possession.”

She already does.

As Link rises, as his knees shake beneath him, as his eyes search hers (perhaps for approval or a sign of what the tears in them mean) she gathers her courtly demeanor about her.  The ceremony has not yet concluded.

“I-it so happens I also have a gift for you,” Zelda says, calling the seamstress to bring it forward.

Her knight blinks in surprise, and she can’t resist the touch of a fond smile despite her worried musings.  Zelda thanks the seamstress as she accepts two freshly-made Champion’s Tunics from her: one to replace the tunic bloodied in defense of her, the other in apology for the poorly stitched seam resting on Link’s shoulder.  She has something else to tell him—something she needs him to know right now (before later when she might ruin everything), for the words of his blessing and his gift to her had so clearly said, ‘I love you.’

Zelda takes a deep breath.

She lets it out in words.  “Sir Link, I bestow upon you this sacred garb… again.”

There’s his sweet, silly, lopsided smile reserved only for her—just a shadow of it.  (He’s right, isn’t he?  Her gift of shirts is rather funny).

She thinks her next sentence will not be.

“This time… it was made with love.”

She’d thought she’d already seen pure devotion on Link’s face.

Perhaps she had.

If so, it pales before the look he turns on her now.

Her message, it seems, has been received.

She holds the cloth out to him.  He hurriedly moves to accept it, and once he does, she cups his face, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.  She kisses him chastely but lingers long as a murmur of emotion ripples through the crowd, as his cautious breath warms her neck.  When she pulls back, she sees her knight’s face momentarily unguarded, and a vision of it, exactly so, as he expresses his love for her physically flashes in her imagination.

She mustn’t.  She mustn’t think of that.

He must love her for who she is, or not love her at all.

If she is to illuminate his path, he must first be able to see.

The true gift she must give him is sight.

She must tell him of the slate.

She must tell him tonight.

Would it be wrong to kiss him just once more before she does?

Please.

Please, Hylia.

Let him still love me in the light.

‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~‿⋰⩹~

[Notes: Sightholder isn't in the dictionary. Zelda has been witholding the truth (that she's completely invaded Link's privacy with the slate's log feature), and she feels like she sees herself much more clearly than Link does--like she's sighted and Link's not. She feels as if she holds the power to give him that same sight.]

[Note: Zelda is so conflicted here with so many different concurrent emotions that the narrative ends up conflicted, flip-flopping between them. It might be jarring! (But I feel it's true to Zelda's state of mind in these moments).]

[Note: This fic is part of the Adventure Log+ AU which you can find on my fic masterlist. It’s concurrent with a chapter in Link’s Thought Brambles.]

Here's my fic post list for Zelink Week 2022.

@zelinkweekofficial

[ash-and-starlight]

what if we eloped in the earth kingdom 👉🏼👈🏼 and we were both girls 🫣😳

for mailee week day 2 // post canon

((heavily inspired by Uemura Shōen’s whispering beauties <333))

[ID: a colored digital drawing of Mai and Ty Lee. they’re drawn from the thigh-up, standing. Ty Lee is behind Mai and leaning close to her, tucking a white magnolia flower behind her ear. Mai’s head is slightly turned, and she’s looking softly back at Ty Lee. they’re both wearing kimonos in tones of green. the drawing is colored to resemble ukyo-e prints]

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[chiquilines]

Ochako my relatable academically exhausted queen

[andromedasdomain]

Prompts for your Grimoire: About You Page.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

✦Your name.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

✰Your correspondences✰ ✦Your zodiac signs (Sun, Moon, rising, Venus, etc.!) ✦Your birth chart ✦Your Element ✦Moon phase on the day you were born. ✦Birthstones/ birth gems. ✦Tarot cards associated with your birthday ✦Your numerology ✦Crystals associated with your birthday or birth month ✦Herbs associated with your sun sign or birthday/month ✦Colors ✦Symbols (example: scale for libra) ✦Runes associated with your birthday

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

✰Extra Ideas✰ ✦Deity/Deities you worship ✦Spiritual beliefs ✦Type of witch you are/want to be.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[cassimothwin]

Finally did a flip through video of Carved by the Garden, my folk horror journaling game. I wrote and illustrated it!

You can find it on my shop if you're interested!

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 236

The ritual is complete, blood staining stone and fires cut short, snuffed to ash. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t have gone wrong. It should technically be over and done and successful. The cultists look from their bleeding hands to each other in panic and slight hysteria, clothing torn apart. 

They would not speak of this, and fix it right away! R-right away… fix it? They can… oh they can’t fix it um. No one will notice, right? 

….

What do you mean it’s affected everyone in the world?!

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Something like Prey except the Yautja takes it as a courting thing (cause you can’t tell me a race like that doesn’t court through battling each other and bringing trophies and such to their intended) and instead of killing the main, backs off and retreats.

The main is super confused and just keeps getting more confused when random animal skulls keep showing up on his doorstep and whatnot. Yautja is just trying to impress him and doesnt exactly know how to do so in human ways.

Yautja showing someone mercy (or vice versa) is a sign that they have an interest in the being they've just given mercy to.

So either main gives the Yautja mercy because they don't really see a point in killing something that hasn't done anything (at least to their knowledge) and just because they're different. Yautja takes it as interest and, he won't lie, he's also interested and if the situation was reversed he fully would have shown mercy first.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Chaos Gremlin and they Know it

Walk with me for my next bit of madness.

What if…what if…What if between Obi Wan and Qui gon, and later Anakin and Obi wan, Obi Wan was considered the more chaotic one. Like the reason that he hadn’t been knighted is because the council is honestly a little afraid about what they would be unleashing on the galaxy if he no longer has any supervision (Rancis Oppo secretly had a study done, any mission that Obi Wan undertakes without Qui Gonn there every minute is 25% more Ridiculous, capital intended, over all). And the council is concerned about giving him Anakin to raise, but not for the sad(barely knighted, watched his master die, trauma) reasons but because no one knows what will happen with two like Kenobi.

Just picture Mace Windu finding out about Anakin’s secret relationship, his violent tendencies, and his slight instability and he drops his head into his hands and goes ‘Thank the Force, he takes after Qui Gonn’. Also picture Mace Windu hearing about Ahsoka Tano getting herself captured and hunted for sport with other younglings and somehow rescuing them all and just bursting into tears because ‘Fuck, it skipped a generation.’ 

When they landed on Tatooine, Qui Gonn Jinn very deliberately left Obi Wan behind. From hard won experience he knew that if Obi Wan set foot on a planet with as much as a single slave ring he would immediately be abducted by a slaver. Then he would somehow start no less than four slave uprisings, rescue some endangered or unknown creature, break at least 3 bones, and then find, make worse, and fix the only blood fued on the planet.  And frankly Qui Gonn does not have time to deal with restructuring a planet's economy after his little chaos gremlin collapses the one that was based on sentient trafficking, not today. Not again.

By the way, Anakin is the 4th ‘Chosen One’ that Qui Gonn has brought home in five years in an attempt to get the Council to knight his Padawan.  Qui Gonn loves his Chaos Goblin of a son dearly but he’s tired, he wants to start going on missions that don’t end in ridiculous again. Or be hyper paranoid when they go normally. 

Half the Jedi were confused or resistant to the fact that the Sith were back. Until they heard who was on the mission. Then they all went ‘That tracks’ and moved on.  Anakin thinks that he is being watched for ‘Chosen one’ reasons. He is not, the Council quickly realizes that he somehow is also a mitigating influence on Obi Wan (the amount of ridiculous and chaos in the mission drops by a full 75% with Anakin, this however does not drop it down to even a solar system's distance to anything normal).

Mace Windu is deeply, deeply impressed by Anakin. And it is mostly due to the fact that he has spent more than three days in constant contact with Obi Wan without turning strange, or a cult leader.  Mace Windu, personally, knows about 6 cults throughout the galaxy dedicated to Obi Wan Kenobi. Three only exist on their own planets (one of which is the entire planet’s religion.), two involve multiple planets in specific sectors, and there is one down in a particular section of level 37 on Coruscant (Anyone who enters it comes back a little strange).

Look, I am not saying that this Obi Wan is an Eldritch Horror wrapped in a Disney Princess, but… this Obi Wan is an Eldritch Horror wrapped in a Disney Princess. There are scattered reports that the three of the last beings that tried to mug Obi Wan blinked awake 6 days later, having reevaluated all of their life choices, and now in contact with some heretofore unknown long lost relative that they desperately need to help.

It should be noted that Palpatine abjectly hates Obi Wan, not just because he is Anakin's master.  It is also because he can sense that if Obi Wan even hinted he wanted more power it would be given to him, no questions, plots. 

Every couple of months the Council debates sending Obi Wan to work in the Senate for a while, just to see what would happen.  It always boils down to the fact that they may actually need that building at some point. As an excuse it gets weaker all the time.

And Anakin is kind of in the dark for most of his padawanship. He thinks the council hate him, they do not. He thinks that Obi Wan is the perfect Jedi. If he had said that to anyone in the Jedi Order at any point (including Obi Wan), the Jedi in question would hurt themselves laughing. Palpatine tries to use that, to some success, until Palpatine uses his influence to get Anakin knighted young.

Through some hand waving series of events Anakin brings up to Mace Windu that the Council didn’t want him knighted because they don’t trust him. Windu just blinks at him for a really long moment before telling him that it was not him they were concerned about. He goes onto say that yes, that without a war and in normal circumstances the council would like to give Anakin a few more years of missions with other masters, so he could see what actual normal missions look like (Frankly no one was surprised when Obi Wan went looking for a bounty hunter and managed to find a clone army) and he is a little younger than the average knight but that is offset by how well Anakin has handled having Obi Wan Kenobi for a Master. 

Anakin just goes ‘What?’ very quietly.

Windu sighs. ‘Do you understand how impressive it is that you have spent the last 10 year in almost constant contact with Obi Wan Kenobi and haven’t developed some weird ability (Bant Eerin, Quinlan Vos, Reeft), accidentally rediscovered a lost darkside faction to follow you around clucking (Garen Muln), develop a habit of finding the weirdest Force artifact in any given location (Luminara), or have become a really obvious cult leader. And if you have become a cult leader I thank you for being discreet.’

‘Cult leader!!?’

Windu shrugged, ‘Current official count is 6 cults dedicated to Obi Wan specifically, though I’ll eat my left boot if the 212th doesn’t become the 7th within the next six months, I am already prepared for the fact that it will spread to the entire GAR in a year’

Then he hands Anakin a piece of flimsy, telling him that this was an official approval of his marriage by the Jedi council, on the grounds that the marriage was clearly ‘The Will of the Force’. While Anakin gapes at him, Windu clarifies that this covers Padme in case of pushback for marrying a Jedi. She would be considered as part of the Order under a religious exemption.  She may have to recuse herself from Jedi matters in the Senate (that was up to the Senate Ethics committee) but it also means that the next time she gets a death threat, they could deploy all of their resources instead of just whatever the Senate approved of. 

‘The Will of the Force’ Anakin said weakly.

Windu smiles, ‘you have no idea how much joy it gives me to be able to write those words on an official report to the senate. The pedantic bastards can’t argue against it because of the treaty with the Jedi Order. You have my thanks for that alone.’

Overwhelmed Anakin blurts out what happened on Tatooine, with the Tusken village. Windu clicks his tongue absently, “Hmm, I had wondered why your aura had become a bit darker, but I thought it was because of Geonosis. I’ll get you set up with my therapist, they handle most of the Shadows as well. Once they sign off, we’ll get in touch with the Tuskans to see if there are any reparations you can make.”

And Anakin is just standing there, Absolutely flabbergasted because the Chancellor had him completely convinced that those two secrets would be the WORST things that he could admit to.

Wnidu throws out another deep sigh, ‘Do you think that you are the only Jedi to act in anger with huge consequences? I created an entire lightsaber form because I had so much anger that I needed somewhere to put it. Half the Shadows have actively fallen, some multiple times. Your own Master was abducted by slavers at 16, two hours later their ship landed on an inhabitable world, they unlocked the cages, and the entire crew committed ritual suicide. To this day we have no idea what Obi Wan did to them. We preach self control so much, Anakin Skywalker, because Force users have the potential to do massive amounts of harm in a very short timeframe but because such small slips have such huge consequences we have a rather…different view of what is unforgivable.’

Two months later Anakin’s 501st is in battle with the 212th. He thought his men were a bit unhinged (and liked it like that, everything is better with the proper application of explosives) but then Grievous kicked Obi Wan into a large stone/small cliff so hard that it rattled Anakin’s teeth. 6 troopers immediately stopped firing to sprint through blaster fire to Obi Wan’s position. Anakin could have sworn that the blasters bolts simply passed through the 212th’s medic, Fizz, without slowing. At the same time three companies of the 212th, led by Cody and Ghost, roared and dogpiled Grievous, with his four lightsabers, and the 30 battle droids that he had with him. They also stopped using blasters at about that point. Anakin had not known that the clones were strong enough to rend metal apart like that. 

The 501st can only stand and watch in befuddled awe and horror as the enemy is decimated by a suddenly feral 212th. The carnage only stops when there are no more enemies and the medics declare that Obi Wan will be ok with some time in a Bacta tank.  

It is not long after that battle that Obi Wan finds out about decommissioning.  He is on Coruscant, in the council chamber itself, but the atmosphere on planets, moons, and planetoids (both inhabited and not) across the galaxy begins to tremble. For a brief moment residents of Coruscant would swear that the sky turned 212th gold. 

Shaak Ti reports that decommissioning is written into the contract that the Republic/Jedi have with the Kaminoans. That it is not something that the Kaminoans can just stop. 

Obi Wan decides it is time that he speaks with the Senate about this. The Council effectively gives him a thumbs up, shoves him out the door and are very very glad that they do not have to deal with any of this. 

There is no recording, nor any true recollection, as to what Obi Wan Kenobi says to the Senate that day. Only at the end, the Kaminoan delegation (along with nearly 6000 other delegations) is crying with shame at their actions, Palpatine and a good half of his closest supporters are bleeding out of their facial orifices, and a bill has been passed giving the clones rights, pay and backpay, and a planet of their very own. 

[brekitten]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake & Danny Fenton Characters: Danny Fenton, Tim Drake, Original Characters Additional Tags: Fentonic 2024 (Danny Phantom), Percy Jackson References, Implied/Referenced Torture, Summoning, Summoning Circles, Cults, Undercover Missions, cabin in the woods, symbiosis Series: Part 22 of Cat Soulmates Fentonic 2024 Spoilers Summary:

Tim went undercover in a cult to find out just what the cultists were trying to summon.

He found out firsthand. And got a King stuck in his body.

This is all Octavian's fault.

Symbiosis | Cabin In The Woods

Okay. Day 22 is one of my absolute favorites. I love the idea, and I really had fun writing this. And no, I was not aware that there is a very similar Tumblr post. @catnek-writing-things

Ignore how late this post is, I almost forgot to post it to Tumblr, oops

[linksthoughtbrambles]

WIP Wednesday - 'Rituals' Prompt

A WIP snippet of a short story for the 'Rituals' Zelink Week 2022 Prompt. The snippet is from mid-story. The story tells a part of the Link's Thought Brambles longfic from a different point of view (Zelda, 3rd person). @zelinkweekofficial

-----

As Link knelt before her, an echo of that first blessing at the ceremonial ground rang in her mind’s silence.  She heard her own voice as it was then: resigned, hesitant, and while not insincere, lacking in that power of tone which conveys true faith—diminutive in emotivity, for she’d nothing righteous within her to express.  Link kept his face downturned—invisible—now as he had then, but the depth of his prostration bridged the space between them, speaking his love for her with a clarity rivaling his fevered words the night before.  He’d sworn his fealty all those months ago, and he’d meant it, but today he held every muscle in his body prone as possible without unbalancing himself entirely: a message written in form and the tranquility of his breath.

Zelda extended her hand, and as she did, the tangible sensation of his emotion’s force struck her fingertips, traversed her arm, entwined with each muscle fiber, transmuting her to living steel.  A flutter of thought—that he’d re-forged her, a woman wrought of tempered metal—preceded her voice as she blessed him with the full might of blatant truth.  He was her Hero, chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness.  He had shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity.  (He had shown himself far more worthy of Hylia’s blessing than she).  He and his sword would undoubtedly grow stronger as one, and her own voice ringing effortlessly through the Sanctum stoked an ember which had long cooled, blackening in her sequestered heart, air-tight before Link’s breath had breached its walls: the hope she, too, would grow with him, and the Calamity itself would suffer swift defeat before their combined might.

The audience’s silence tasted of awe as she lowered her hand, and the realization struck that her steel and ember were not hers alone.  They shone, they burned, for all of Hyrule.

Link remained prostrate, woven into the tapestry of her words.  The need to stir him from his silent reverie shot a pang of loss through her chest, still tethered to the ardor in the curve of his back and bow of his head, but no flawless moment may last forever—time would always tarnish it, demanding new forms of perfection as the world would change around them, even should they remain still. “Sir Link?” she whispered with a regretful sort of resolution, “You may rise, now.”

He didn’t.

His neck craned back with measured deliberation and his eyes of the open sky locked to hers for the third time that morning with a hope-charged smile, fueling that ember, an unbidden glow of shared joys warming the inside of her skin: of cranberry scones, too many children climbing on Link, racing through the bailey, moments stolen to spread a far more physical type of heat as they worshiped each other’s skin, and tender futures promised each time they stood too close or lingered on each other’s fingertips too long.

“This is exactly where I should be, Princess.”

A short exhale escaped her—a heat-sink.  “Usually, the one kneeling is the one being blessed,” she said.

“This’ll be a little different.”

[thepenultimateword]

Short Prompt #78

"I'm not marrying you!" the knight cried, scrambling to the other side of the cavern with a clang and a clatter of heavy armor. Their sword already lay bent and useless on the stone floor.

The dragon's tail lashed the ground impatiently and flame licked between their teeth as they spoke. Even in this humanoid form, they made the knight want to do nothing more than shiver in their chainmail.

"I took you, that means you're mine." They let out a puff of smoke that closely resembled exasperation. "Really, learn the customs."

[pollyna]

Carole teaches a lot of things to Maverick, things that he's sure he's never going to use because he will live on a base, or on a boat, forever. He can't live on a plane because sadly that would solve half of every problem. But she insists and Peter can't tell her no, doesn't matter how much he tries. She teaches him how to make a roast, how to iron clothes, how to take away some strains and how others are a lost cause. A Sunday morning he teaches him how to shave someone else's face and here Mav is in the depth because why should he ever learn something like that? But he does, without shaving Goose because that's is a them thing, and learns how to shave in the most perfect of the ways because he's fucking Pete Maverick Mitchell and he is the best. He learns and puts away all this little domestic knowledge that will forever taste of Carole's pudding and smells like Goose's aftershave.

Then Iceman changes his plans completely and he finds himself using every little trick Carole taught him in the years: small thing but they make a Naval house their home. Shaving comes a bit as surprise but it's out of necessity and Maverick takes the first step: Ice's wrist is in a cast for two weeks and he has to make his one week beard go away because Monday and lessons and protocol. Maverick protest very loudly when his boyfriend announces so over breakfast and that he's going to get shaved in a little barber shop he saw the last time he was in town. No need babe, I can do it myself Mav announces and even if Ice is perplex he lets him do the work.

The works ends up being not half bad, shut that trap I did a perfect job, and he starts to get why Carole didn't let him shave Goose. It's strangley intimate for something so common to do, but being between Ice's legs, a razor in his hands and Ice completely focused on him and him alone? Wow.

We should do this again, Ice whispers before kissing him, once he's sure everything in Mav's hand is back in it's place, and his skin smells so good and it's so smooth under Mav's palms he could spend entire days just kissing this man and nothing could be wrong. Yeah, yeah we definitely should he answers before kissing Tom back again and again.

[anonymousangstmonster]

Prompt #15

Jack crushes Danny’s head with a giant hammer for some sort of ritual thing to protect the town and that’s how he became Phantom.

[theladycarpathia]

“I don’t really think this is magic,” Steve gasps weakly. 

Billy licks his lips, a slow drag over his plush cupid’s bow. His chin is red from kissing, lips slick with saliva. Billy has such a pretty mouth that it should be illegal. Steve’s been fixated on it - the curve of it, the pink from the cold, that full bottom lip. Kissing that mouth has been heaven. Watching Billy do sinful things with it has stolen Steve’s soul right from his body.

“How would you know?” he asks, reminding Steve that before Billy arrived in Hawkins only four months ago that Steve had no idea of magic, or spells, or witches. Billy was born a witch on his mother’s side, enough magic running in his veins to cast curses, summon rain or have flowers grow right up out of the ground. Steve never would have had any idea of it, would have kept on living his mundane life, had he not seen Billy that night at the Halloween party. Shortly after that, he and Nancy had imploded. A relationship doesn’t work when both parties want other people.

It had taken weeks. Billy wasn’t quick to trust - not as a gay witch in a small conservative town - and especially with a father that despises everything that you are. To everyone else Billy dates around, a different girl after every basketball game. He’s the jock, the asshole, just the same popular guy you get in every high school.

But in the quiet of Steve’s bedroom, when they lie together on Steve’s bed and Billy casts glittering lights that dance on the ceiling, Steve can see who Billy really is. Something wild and magical, someone beautiful who wants to grow vines around his fingers and makes it snow in Steve’s bathroom while they lounge in a steaming tub. 

“I just don’t…you’ve never cast magic like this before!” Steve sputters. Because Billy is hovering over his bare crotch, wearing that smile and looking like sin. Even with Steve’s limited knowledge of magic, this feels more like foreplay.

“I've never needed to cast magic like this before,” Billy corrects, tracing a single finger over the delicate skin by Steve’s hip bones. The soft pad of a finger, followed by the sharpness of a long fingernail, weaving patterns into Steve’s skin makes his cock twitch. 

“Right,” Steve pants, feeling vulnerable and desperate and drowning in love all at once. He’s completely naked on his bed, while Billy hovers over his dick, closely enough that he can feel Billy’s warm breath on his skin. They’ve never done this before, not like this. The few short weeks that they’ve been officially dating have been entirely brief, frantic hand-jobs underneath their clothes, making out that has ended with them coming in their jeans. Steve’s never stripped off for Billy before and the process has left him feeling exposed and more turned on than he’d ever admit.

But he trusts Billy. He adores Billy. And he wants more than anything to have Billy know that, truly know that so he never doubts it. He needs Billy to know. 

Billy’s mom left years ago, leaving her small son with an abusive father and growing powers, all of his magic inherited from her. There’s no magic in Neil Hargrove but plenty in his son. That combined with her bright blue eyes, her golden curls, is enough to ensure that Neil hates just about everything Billy is.

“And this will make a bond between us, right?” Steve asks, because he’s still fuzzy on the details. He doesn’t really get how magic works, even when Billy tries to explain it to him. And tries, because magic is mostly instinct to Billy and the process doesn’t really translate into words. Billy had turned up this evening, with another dark bruise on his cheek, eyes glittering with fury and tears, and had crumpled into Steve’s arms the minute he’d crossed the doorway. Fuck knows what Neil had done it for, Billy hadn’t wanted to talk about it. But Steve had said anything and everything to the man curled up in his arms, just wanting Billy to know that he was loved.

It had worked, somehow. Billy wanted to do a spell, something that bound them together.

And now they are here.

“Right,” Billy agrees, and licks a stripe down Steve’s belly. The sound that Steve makes is something feral, a high wail that is pulled from his lungs. He wants Billy so badly that he’s red and leaking, and the mere idea of Billy’s delicious mouth on him has him half ready to come. 

“It’s something witches used to use for their familiars,” Billy continues, as though Steve isn’t spread out and dripping obscenely right in front of him. “So they always knew where they were and what they were feeling.”

“You’ll always know what I’m feeling?” Steve asks, trying to wrap his mind around it. It half terrifies him, sure that Billy won’t want anything in his heart.

“Not always,” Billy amends. “Just the really strong ones. Like pain or joy or anger. That shit, you know? And you’ll always be able to find me.” This last part is said quietly, hesitantly, like he’s not sure that’s something Steve even wants. Steve reaches down to wind his fingers with Billy’s.

“And bodily fluids are required?” Steve asks, because this is the part he’s skeptical of. But Billy gives him a wicked flash of teeth.

“Hey, sex magic is powerful shit, you know, Harrington,” he purrs, eyes turning dark. “That’s why we haven’t fucked yet, as much as I want to.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, heat climbing up his body. He’s clinging to Billy’s fingers like an anchor.

“That’s important, powerful magic. Not to be fucked around with,” Billy explains, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s. “Do something like that without thinking it through and you’ll lose control of it. Magic runs on emotion - gotta have the right fuel behind it - so I have to be prepared for the first time we do it or I’ll blow out every street light in the neighborhood or turn you into a frog or something.”

“That would be the weirdest fucking fairy-tale I’ve ever heard,” Steve quips and Billy snorts.

“I’m definitely not fucking you to turn you back,” he says bluntly. “So we’re doing this first, so I can get a taste of you. Get used to how you feel…how you make me feel.” Steve flushes and then remembers something. He props himself up on his elbows to look at Billy in the faint moonlight. 

“But you’ve had sex before,” Steve says, hoping he’s not about to completely kill the mood. Bringing up other guys this close to a blowjob and sex magic is a risky idea. “You slept with Tripp Heskin at the camp out by the lake.” And Steve’s gut had been squirming with jealousy, staring into the bright fire and knowing that at that moment Billy was being licked open, spread out on someone else’s fingers, moaning on fucking Tripp’s dick. Tripp’s an asshole.

“Yeah but that’s not the same,” Billy says hurriedly, brow furrowed with anxiety. “Fucking like that doesn’t matter. It only counts when I…with the person I…” He stops, the words going unsaid, but it doesn’t matter. Steve stares at Billy’s red face, trying to let it sink in. Billy loves him. 

“Oh,” Steve says, overwhelmed, and tugs Billy up so that they can kiss. Billy digs his fingers into Steve’s hips for balance, licking into Steve’s mouth like he’s starving. His belly rubs against Steve’s dick, the soft cotton of his t-shirt setting Steve’s skin on fire. Steve whimpers into Billy’s mouth, almost crying with the stimulation. Billy bites down on his bottom lip and shushes him, gently stroking Steve’s hips with his fingers.

“Not yet, not yet,” Billy whispers gently, peppering kisses against Steve’s jaw. “Save it all for me, yeah?” Steve nods weakly, tears gathering against his lashes. He chokes down another breath as Billy slides back down his body, clearly deciding that it’s time. Whatever conditions he’d been waiting for have been met.

When Billy licks up Steve’s dick, a long, slow drag up Steve’s overheated skin, he stops to wind his tongue around the tip, gathering the taste of Steve on his tongue. He sits back, face rapturous like Steve’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every salty drop. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. He’s not going to last, not when Billy makes faces like that from sucking on his dick. 

“Here we go, baby,” Billy whispers and lowers his head.

[bestialchorus]

I was wondering if you have any headcanons for your werewolf girlfriend’s (and possibly her packs) reaction to her mate (female) being ready to mate and expand their family and then after their precious wolfies have arrived??

Probably a bit of a weird ask, but I adore the idea of a mated couple expanding their own little pack within the pack 🥺

HELLO! I'm genuinely so sorry about how long this took! Below is part 1, thanks so much for the prompt! Part 2 coming soon!

image credit

PART 1

“THE LEAD-UP”

-You remember the soft smile you wore on your face as you rode the train home. For months you had been juggling a major project at work alongside finally graduating from night classes. You watch a warm sunset from your seat as you think about your partner’s support through all of it; for months, she had been covering the chores, waking up early to make you breakfast and pack you lunch, all while easing your nerves and loving you as much as she could. Your smile grows as you finally reach your stop and cross the street to your shared apartment. You’ve decided that tonight was the night you’d tell your partner you were finally ready to start a family with her, and god, you couldn’t wait to tell her. For years you’ve been discussing what it would mean to start a family; everything from what it meant to having hybrid children, how pregnancy may differ since you were human yourself, to even how getting pregnant would work, etc. There wasn’t exactly a book on being a werewolf’s mate….let alone an alpha. Luckily for you, you had an entire pack in your corner, willing and ready to support you both in every sense of the word.

-The love of your life was plating food from your favourite takeout place down the street; she immediately stops to greet you with a kiss. Despite years of dating your alpha, you were still thrown off by her height now and again; you notice it now as she gently picks up as you try to reach for a mug high up. You can’t help but giggle and lightly smack her arm as you know it’s her way of reminding you of how “teeny” she finds you. You both fall into your domestic routine, discussing each other’s day. She doesn’t miss the giant smile on your face as you admire her, wondering how you ever got so lucky. “hehe, what’s with that look? You do know I’ve had this sexy scar for years right?” She jokes. You instead place your hand over hers, creating an immediate shift in the air as you lock her gaze. She matches your serious energy and waits for you to speak, “baby…I think I’m ready.” You say with a whisper. Confusion covers your alpha’s face, not sure what you’re referring to, “ummm I’m so happy to hear that but…what exactly are you ready for?” The smile on your face grows as you squeeze her hand, “I’m ready to make you a parent, to make us parents.” Realization slowly starts to light your partner’s face until she gets up and looks at you speechless, towering in front of you. 

-“You’re ready?” She whispers; you notice tears start to well up behind her eyes. You quickly nod your head, “I’m ready. I think it’s time. I wanna make you a mom, or a dad, or a parent, whatever you want to be called, but I want to have your child.” In a split second, you’re grabbed into a crushing hug, followed by a searing kiss. Once you pull apart, you see tears down your lover’s face, “I love you. I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. If you’re truly ready, then I would be honoured to have a family with you.” You’ve never seen your 6’6 foot tall alpha look so gleeful, and you can almost see her tail waving in her human form. You gently hold her face, “There’s no one I’d rather have children with….or should I say pups?” The adoration in her face only grows as you use werewolf-specific terminology, showing her how committed you are to her culture. She captures your lips once again, her tongue dominating yours as your cheeks grow hotter.  You speak in between kisses, “how soon can we start?” Your voice is low and suggestive. You spend the night “practicing”. 

-The next day, you both head to her pack’s village deep in the woods on the city’s outskirts. You immediately visit the pack’s healer, a blind woman named Vesna, whom everyone claimed saw everything and more. A faint chime announces your presence, and she greets you, “Ah hello dear Alpha, and sweet (y/n). I see you’ve finally decided to expand the pack.” She gives you a warm hug as you flash your partner a surprised look, knowing full well that neither of you have told anyone. Your alpha gives you a soft smile and shrugs. You confirm Vesna’s claim, and sit in her office, discussing what the next steps are for a healthy pregnancy. An hour or so later, you all decide that it’s best that you spend your maternity leave here with the pack. Apparently, carrying children of werewolf backgrounds is not the easiest, let alone for a human, so it’s best to be around the pack and their help. You can’t help but ask if hybrids are a common occurrence and how they’re often received. “Children of mixed backgrounds are not especially common, but they’re far from rare in this day and age. Regardless, your child will be accepted and loved here.” She says, easing your anxieties. Near the end of the discussion, your oh-so-noble partner makes a small cough and says, “now, strictly for pregnancy purposes….how exactly will I be able to….breed..my love?” Her attention fully on Vesna, cartoonishly failing to hide the excitement behind her eyes. You can’t help but give her a raised eyebrow that says, “really?” To which she immediately defends in her usual over-the-top voice, “IT’S A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION, MY LOVE!” You roll your eyes with no malice behind it, fighting back a smile as you love how shameless she can be. Vesna warmly smiles at your exchange. The healer hands you and your partner small jars filled with a purple mixture and a list of rituals necessary in lead up to the event. Vesna also gives you a large bag of plants that should be added to your diet in preparation. You leave feeling the weight of this decision, it suddenly felt much more real than before, and you couldn’t be happier.  Your Alpha plants a soft kiss on your head as she begins loading the car with your new pregnancy items.

“RITUALS”

-The first ritual required a circle of salt with wood shavings and leaves from the pack’s sacred tree. You enter the circle first as your Alpha recites a passage from an ancient text while smudging a symbol on your forehead, heart space and abdomen. Once she finished reciting, she enters the circle with you, and you’re meant to embrace each other. Once fully embraced, you ask your pack’s gods to bless you both with a child, a child born of the gods’ love and your shared bodies.

-The second ritual takes you to a large waterfall under a bright harvest moon. You and your Alpha cover your faces with a scented oil made of various flowers and root plants before entering the water together. This ritual involves you standing on one side of the waterfall and her on the other, hands intertwined. You both recite to the other a list of family members who have passed away within your lives, asking them for their guidance while also stating how their lives with always be remembered and valued. At the end of the ritual, you’re meant to thank the people on each others’ lists for protecting the other and leading them to this moment. The ritual ends with your partner releasing a powerful howl to the moon above, thanking her for bearing witness to this moment.

-The final ritual involves both you and your Alpha but also her entire pack. You both sit in front of a roaring bonfire, covered in ancestral furs and artifacts worn by past Alpha pairings. Each pack member provides a small offering to the brilliant flames, each offering representing love and support for a healthy pregnancy. At the end of the night, the pack bows before you both, submitting to you both as your Alpha gives a brilliant speech of thanks. Her natural charisma captures the hearts of the crowd before you, but you know her well enough to see her fighting back the tears, knowing how much she takes her position as leader seriously. A silence falls onto the circle as you realize your partner asks you if you’d like to say a few words. You swallow your nerves, knowing you are nowhere near the public speaker, but you speak from the heart nonetheless. You tell the pack how grateful and humbled you are to be a part of this family, and something within your lover finally cracks, tears streaming down her face. The Alpha throws a protective arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to her as she initiates a final pack howl. The rest of the pack follows her lead, filling the night air with familial warmth.

“THE NIGHT”

-You can’t help but feel nerves throughout your body. Thoughts of “what ifs” fill your head as you worry about “failing” after all of the work gone into preparing for this night, especially by the pack. Your lover catches the anxiety behind your eyes, knowing you well enough to catch the rumination often missed by others. She gently holds your hands in hers, “I can hear your thoughts from here, my love.” A sad smile appears on your face as you avoid her eyes. You take a moment before answering her; she gently rubs your hands. “I just….what if it doesn’t work? What if me being human is just not enough?” Your lover flashes you a small smile, “oh yes, I’m sure us both being cis women is nothing to worry about either.” You can’t help but crack a smile, realizing how fantastical this process was from all angles, with or without you. She pulls you into a warm embrace, softly rubbing your back as she takes in your scent, “I promise, regardless of what happens, no one will blame you. Not the pack and especially not me; we all love you, my sweet. Tonight is not about pressure, but a miracle only possible because of love.” You continue to embrace each for quite some time, suddenly feeling like you have all of the time in the world.

-Time somehow both stops and blurs into itself as you make love. One moment you feel her kissing along your neck, trailing down your body…when suddenly pretty whimpers and moans flow out of you. You throw your hands over her broad shoulders, pulling her flush against you. You hear your lovely alpha grunt against your ear as she feels your nails leave crescents into her skin. Warmth floods the moment and everyone in it. You somehow feel the most connected that you’ve ever been with her and somehow completely free from your body, running solely on sense and desire. She whispers how beautiful you are, how you deserve to be worshipped by armies upon armies but promises she can and will love you even more than they could. She tells you how you make her feel both woman and beast all at once, nipping at your neck before taking a breast into her mouth. It feels like her hands are simultaneously all over you, eliciting sensations you’ve never felt before. You feel your Alpha straddle you, aligning her dripping core against your own. A husky moan leaves her as she begins to thrust. You try to hold back your moans as she ruts against you, each thrust becoming more and more desperate. She pants into your ear, begging you to let her hear you. Once you do, you see her inner wolf come out; teeth suddenly sharper, eyes glowing yellow, muscles pulsating under your touch. You hear and feel her viscerally grip the sheets next to your head, easily ripping them to shreds. She captures your lips with a heated kiss, and you can barely hold onto her as she thrusts into you with inhuman speed. The sound of flesh slamming against flesh fills the air alongside your moans. With the little strength you have, you whisper into her ear, “it’s okay, don’t hold back. I want to be yours, all yours.” She releases a loud, almost growl-like grunt in response. You begin yelling profanities as you suddenly feel completely overcome by pleasure as your Alpha rams against you, the bed violently squeaking under you. You feel a familiar build-up between your legs, and somehow, you also sense something similar in your lover. You feel crazy at first until she locks your gaze and tells you she’s close. Without warning, you both come together, she immediately collapses against you, and you give her cheek a chaste kiss before holding her. You both instantly fall asleep, more exhausted than you’ve ever felt.