#away from borders. But the other clans… they’ll always be there. Trying to ruin those innocent kits with their poisonous rot

[righteous-pines]

The last living relative of the great Pinestar. As his granddaughter, and as an extremely talented young warrior, in her own right, great things are expected of Alpineknoll. Only time will tell if she will fulfill this presumed destiny, but thanks to the careful rearing and training of her grandmother, Graypelt, she shows great promise towards her destiny.

[bangtaninink]

Kisses down low by Kelly Rowland, yoongi, mafia au😊

Kisses Down Low

here’s the song!

“You better start talking, Lee,” Jeongguk says, smirking as he wipes his knuckles with a dirty cloth, swatting away the single lightbulb that dangles from the ceiling. “Our boss here doesn’t really understand the concept of mercy.”

“Fuck you,” Lee says, spitting out a mouthful of blood at Yoongi’s shoes.

“Oh, you’ve gone and done it now,” Taehyung taunts, throwing his head back as he laughs loudly from where he sits in an old wooden chair, much like the one their hostage is currently tied to. “Say your final prayers. I’ll make a note to let Namjoon hyung send your wife a kids a little parting gift once we’ve buried you in your shallow grave out back.”

At the mention of his family, Lee’s eyes grow wide, demeanour changing completely. He opens his mouth, ready to plead and beg for lenience, but it’s of no use. Yoongi chuckles lowly, resting a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent invitation for the younger to step aside.

“I didn’t realise the Silver Serpent Clan has started to employ weaklings,” Yoongi says, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Usually it’d take more than just the mere mention of a child before they start cracking under pressure.” He doesn’t turn when Taehyung stands, arm extended to take Yoongi’s jacket once he’s slipped it off, returning back to his chair. “Hyunwoo must be getting desperate.”

“Mmm, but what’s new, boss?” Jeongguk says, fingers splayed in front of him as he inspects the back of his hand, knuckles red with blood. “The Silver Serpents have always been a bunch of pussies.”

“That’s true.” Yoongi rolls up his sleeves, while Lee struggles against the ropes tied around his body and wrists, stressed groans turning into desperate whimpers, almost sobs. “There’s no use struggling, Lee. Taehyung and Jeongguk tie ridiculous fucking knots. You won’t be getting out of those alive unless we cut you free.”

“Which we won’t do,” Taehyung says, grinning; Jeongguk laughs.

“Now. Jeongguk has already asked nicely—”

“Nicely,” Taehyung repeats, sniggering.

“But I won’t. So, again: who is your supplier? Surely Kang is not imbecilic enough to forget that there is only room for one clan to coordinate all the drug operations in Korea. I think we’ve got a pretty firm grasp on that. Wouldn’t you agree, kids?”

“Absolutely, boss,” Jeongguk replies, nodding firmly.

“Ditto,” Taehyung adds.

“I think it’s pretty disrespectful for the Silver Serpent Clan to think they can bring in a full shipment of cocaine without checking with us if that’s okay. And now, look. You’re here having to take the brunt of all the hate.” He twists off the rings that decorate his fingers. “Hold these for me, will you, Jeongguk? _____’ll kill me if I get blood on them.”

“You got it, boss,” Jeongguk says, holding out his palm.

“Funny that a woman has so much hold on you, Min,” Lee mutters, chuckling lowly.

Yoongi stills, staring Lee in the eye.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi asks.

“You paint yourself as almost godlike. Yet you worry about some blood on a couple of measly rings, and all for a girl? I don’t think you should be so quick to call the brethren pussies when you’re not much diff–”

Yoongi fist swings before Lee can finish, knuckles connecting with his jaw. 

“You should be careful what you say,” Jeongguk says, laughing. “The more shit that spills out of your mouth, the less likely you’re going to make it out alive from this.”

“Fuck!” Lee cries out, another mouthful of blood spat out onto the cold cement. “You son of a fucking b–”

Yoongi swings once, twice, three times more in quick succession, watching with a smirk as Lee’s head lolls forward, chin tucked against his chest as he pants.

“I’d answer the boss’ question quickly if I were you,” Taehyung teases, giggling. “Otherwise, you’re gonna die, and we’re gonna go grab another one of your “brothers” and beat the livin’ shit out of him too until we get an answer.”

“Listen, you idiots,” Lee says, panting. “I-I don’t have an answer.”

“Wrong,” Yoongi declares. His fists swing once, twice more, hitting his jaw and cheek. A trickle of blood spills from Lee’s lips to stain his white dress shirt red. “Give me an answer, or Jaehee and Junho get one of daddy’s fingers on a necklace each.”

“They’ll look fabulous, I’m sure,” Jeongguk cackles. “All the other kids’ll run home and tell mommy and daddy all about their classmate that came to school with a thumb hanging from their necks.”

“T-that’s sick!” Lee cries.

“No,” Yoongi says. “What’s sick is–”

The sound of a ringtone cuts through the air and interrupts Yoongi. Sitting up, Taehyung pats down Yoongi’s suit jacket, feeling the vibrating phone against knee. He pulls it out, looking down at the caller.

“_____, boss man,” he announces.

“Speaker. My hands are dirty.” The ringing stops, Taehyung tapping at the screen. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby,” you say. “Busy?”

“Eh. I got time for you. Why? Bored?”

“Commercial break. Whatcha doin’?”

“Just an interrogation with Taehyung and Jeongguk. Nothing major.”

“You should really be here, _____,” Jeongguk says, grinning. “Boss man’s really swingin’ his fists hard tonight.”

“Ah, fuck. I’m missing out on that?” you ask. “I’m gonna shoot all of you in the kneecaps next time I see you. I can’t believe none of you called me over to watch.”

“But I thought you needed to find out if Sohee ends up remembering Minsung after all,” Yoongi says, chuckling.

“The drama can wait. Who’re you interrogating anyways?”

“Lee.”

“Wait. Silver Serpent Lee?”

“Mhm.”

“…can he hear me right now?”

“Loud and clear, baby.”

“Listen, motherfucker. You ruined my favourite pair of jeans last time we met. I ripped a hole in them trying to break your fucking arm, and now I can’t wear them anymore. You fucking owe me,” you say, huffing. “Baby, you better throw in an extra punch or six for me.”

“Noted.”

“Also, on your way home, can you pick up some ice cream for me?”

“Mint chocolate chip?”

“Eww,” Taehyung says, wincing.

“Shut up, you boysenberry-lovin’ bitch,” you laugh. “Yes, please.”

“You got it. I’ll be home soon,” Yoongi says.

“Thanks, baby. Have fun.”

“Oh, you know I will.”

“Bye, _____,” Taehyung and Jeongguk call out.

“Bye, guys!” you reply.

Taehyung ends the call, and the room falls quiet again for a moment with only the sound of Yoongi’s phone going back in his suit jacket pocket.

“Where was I?” Yoongi says. “Ah, yes. What’s sick is how Hyunwoo thinks he can just mosey around Korea without a care for the rest of society, shifting the societal dynamics, all for his own personal gain. Don’t you think that’s sick? Hyunwoo’s blatant disrespect for the existing balance of the world is very disappointing. I don’t know how you can stay loyal to him.”

“Kang Hyunwoo is more of a man than you will ever be, and I can’t wait until the Silver Serpent Clan overrules the Bulletproof Brotherhood,” Lee says.

The room is unnervingly still, Taehyung and Jeongguk exchanging wary glances, nervous about the way Yoongi doesn’t move for what feels like hours.

“I see,” Yoongi eventually says, nonchalant; Taehyung flinches, and Jeongguk shivers at the comment. “Well. Third time’s the charm, so I’ll ask one more time then: who is your supplier?”

Lee meets Yoongi’s gaze – or at least, as best as he can with one black and swollen eye.

“Fuck… you,” he spits.

“Hmm.” Yoongi smiles, and Taehyung exhales loudly, shaking his head as Jeongguk sighs. “Alright. You’ll be happy to know that I’m not gonna kill you.” He watches Lee’s eyebrow twitch with the beginnings of confusion. “But what Jeongguk and Taehyung do to you… well. I can’t give you a guarantee regarding that.” Taehyung and Jeongguk turn to look at each other, grinning; Lee’s expression falls. “Before I leave though, I did say I was going to throw a few extra punches for _____, and I am a man of my word; but – again – I’m not gonna kill you, so you don’t have to worry about that. It’s been nice getting to know you, Lee. Taehyung?”

“Yeah, boss?” Taehyung says, already preparing a towel to wipe Yoongi’s hands with.

“Be sure to give my condolences to Minha, Jaehee, and Junho, will you?”

“I’ll ask Seokjin hyung to prepare a nice gift basket when we’re done, boss. No worries.”

“Excellent.”

Yoongi splays out his fingers before curling them back into a tight fist. He watches with a smile as Lee starts to struggle against the ropes again, pleas spilling from his lips, the legs of his chair rocking against the cement floor.

“Give my regards to ol’ Lucifer when you see him, Lee,” Yoongi says, before rearing back to swing his arm.

                                                       〰️

“Would you like us to take him to the Han River afterwards, boss?” Taehyung asks, holding out Yoongi’s suit jacket as the elder tosses the bloodied towel to one corner of the room.

“Hmm, I think the slaughterhouse is more fitting,” Yoongi says, sliding his arms into his jacket. “The one just on the border of the Mapo district.”

“Ooh, I like that idea,” Jeongguk says, grinning as he picks up a thick and heavy chain. He glances over at Lee, unconscious, but not dead, head lolling to the side, face bloody and bruised. “I like it a lot, boss.”

“Mmm, I thought you would. Now, if you both will excuse me, I have some grocery shopping to do.”

“I maintain the idea that mint chocolate chip is disgusting,” Taehyung says. “But enjoy, boss. You have a good night.”

“And you as well,” Yoongi says, chuckling. “I trust you both will do an exceptional job as always.”

“You can count on us, boss,” Jeongguk says, saluting Yoongi. “God fucking damn it. I should’ve brought my lucky bat.”

                                                      〰️

“We’re here, boss,” Jimin announces, pulling up the hand brake.

“Thank you, Jimin.” Yoongi picks up his suit jacket and the plastic grocery bag, reaching for the door. “Remind me again why it’s you that drove me home tonight.” Jimin huffs, slouching in his seat a little.

“I lost a bet with Jooheon.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head.

“Child’s play. You have a good night.”

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

Yoongi steps out of the car, sending a little wave goodbye over his shoulder as Jimin drives off. He walks into the apartment complex, nodding at the doormen and guards as he passes them on the way to the elevator, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. 

He hums quietly as he walks into the apartment, shoes clicking against the marble floor as he makes his way into the living area where you’re sitting on the large sofa, legs outstretched, dressed in nothing but a large shirt – presumably his – and underwear.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out, singsongy.

You tear your eyes away from the television to look in his direction, grinning and standing to walk over to him.

“Hi, honey,” you say, playing along. “How was work?”

“Mmm, work was good. Everything’s running smoothly.”

“That’s good to hear. Did you buy the ice cream too?” Yoongi holds up the plastic bag in his hand wordlessly. “Mmm. You’re the best.”

You take the bag from him as he throws his suit jacket carelessly onto the sofa, reaching in to pull out the tub of ice cream, ready to run to the kitchen to grab a spoon and dig in. Yoongi seems to have other plans though, reaching up to hold your chin between his thumb and fingers, tilting your head back to get you to look at him. You furrow your eyebrows, ready to question him, but he cuts you off, leaning forward to press his lips to yours, tongue already swiping across your top lip.

When he pulls away, you laugh, and say, “at least let me put the ice cream in the freezer, Yoongi.”

“Fine. But hurry up,” he says, taking a step back to let you walk to the kitchen. “I’ve been wanting to eat your ass out since I got in the car.”

“Should I be concerned that you always get horny after killing someone?” you ask, swaying your hips just a little bit more as you walk off, knowing Yoongi won’t take his eyes off of you.

“I didn’t kill him, baby.”

“You didn’t?” You carelessly throw the ice cream in the freezer, kicking the door shut. “That’s a shame.”

“Jeongguk and Taehyung did.”

“Ah.” You walk back over to him, his hands already reaching out to grab your hips and pull you close. “You didn’t get blood on your rings, did you? I swear to God, if you di--”

Yoongi cuts you off with another kiss, one hand leaving your waist to hold the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, baby,” he says lowly, panting softly against your lips. “Come, on the other hand... I can’t guarantee that the rings’ll stay completely clean when come’s involved. Especially if it’s yours.”

You hum and tilt your head back when Yoongi leans down to mouth at your neck, fingertips pressed to your scalp, your hands coming up to undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt.

“I guess I can make an exception for that.”

“Bend over,” he says. “I want that beautiful fuckin’ ass on my mouth right now.”

You roll your eyes, but grin anyway, stepping back to stand on the sofa and fall to your knees. “Yes, sir.”

You turn so your back faces him, and you miss the way Yoongi looks at you with hooded eyes, dark and hungry as he steps over to run a hand down your back to grab one of your ass cheeks, fingers dimpling your flesh, rings cold against warm skin. You exhale softly, back arching instinctively to push your hips out closer to him, and Yoongi hums with appreciation.

He hooks his fingers around the garter of your panties, tugging them down to pool at your knees, pushing up the hem of your shirt to bunch up at your waist. You lean on the back of the sofa, shifting your knees apart as you turn to look at Yoongi over your shoulder, biting your lip at the way he looks down at your body and runs his hands across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He grabs your ass again, squeezing tightly with a restrained groan at the way your flesh complies but resists simultaneously. He draws one hand back, only to bring it back down to give your ass a light smack, and you moan softly, turned on by the sound alone.

“God, fucking look at you,” he says quietly, dropping to his knees behind you, shuffling forward until he can lean in to nip lightly at the back of your thighs. You arch your back more, leaning back until his nose bumps against your ass cheek. “Christ, you’re so fucking perfect, baby. Look at this fucking ass.”

“All yours, baby,” you say, grinning.

“Fuck. This is all mine, yeah. All fucking mine.”

You watch him lick his lips before he leans forward, dragging his tongue up from your slit to your asshole, making you gasp and moan loudly.

“Oh, fuck,” you say, watching as he spreads your ass cheeks apart with his thumbs, leaning forward against to tongue at your asshole, lewd, wet sounds quickly drowning out the sound from the television. “Fuck, baby. Just like that.”

Yoongi groans against you, flattening out his tongue to swipe it over and over against you, spit dripping down to his chin as his hands squeeze your ass tightly. He shuffles forward on his knees, getting impossibly close to you, shutting his eyes as he continues to lick and suck with fervour.

“Yoongi,” you whine, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes tightly, nails digging into the leather of the sofa as you resist the urge to rock back into him. He holds his tongue out, shaking his head from side to side, and your knees start to shake, skin so, so sensitive. “Yoongi, please.”

“Please what?” he asks, teeth digging into the flesh of your ass. “What do you want?”

“I want... w-- fuck me.”

“Want my cock?”

“Need it, baby.”

“God, you are sin,” he groans, pushing himself up to stand, pulling his shirt off and reaching down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his slacks. “You want it like this?”

“Any way you want, baby,” you say, looking at him over your shoulder again, watching as he undresses, pushing his slacks and briefs off in one swift motion.

“I want it like this. Take your shirt off.”

You sit up and pull your shirt up over your head and throw it off to the side; he feels a tinge of pride strike his core at the black ink that covers your back, the gang’s crest displayed proudly in front of him, his fingers running over the intricate lines of the lioness’ head and the chain of bullets around its neck with awe, as if it were the first time he was seeing it.

“Baby?” His snaps out of his little trance, blinking as he meets your eyes. “You good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I was just...” He chuckles softly, reaching out to cup your jaw, pulling you close so that your back is pressed up to his chest. “I love you.”

You grin and reach up to grab his neck, pressing a kiss to his spit-slick lips.

“I love you too, baby,” you say, nipping at his bottom lip. “Fuck me?”

He presses his forehead to yours, nodding. “Of course, angel.”

Yoongi wraps one arm around your waist, the other gripping his leaking cock to slide it between your ass cheeks teasingly, grinning when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh, hips jerking back suddenly. You gasp when you feel the tip of his cock rub against your clit; you throw your head back against his shoulder, trying your best to return the little pecks he leaves at the corner of your mouth as he slowly pushes himself into you, both of you moaning at the sensation.

When he bottoms out, Yoongi stills and lets you adjust, mouthing sloppily at your lips and jaw, overcome by the feeling of you warm and tight around his cock. He reaches up to play with your nipple, tugging gently at the metal bar pierced through it, relishing in the way you keen against him.

“Baby.” He hums against your cheek. “Move.”

Yoongi chuckles, drawing his hips back to then slowly push forward, thrusting his cock back into you. Your mouth opens in a wide O, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling you up to even make a sound; but he understands -- of course he does; he always does -- and he presses another kiss to the spot just below your ear before he drives his cock into you again.

It isn’t long before he builds up a steady rhythm with his hips, the obscene sounds from both your bodies colliding easily making you forget you had been watching anything else earlier. You reach up to tug at the blonde locks of hair on Yoongi’s head, pushing your hips back to meet his halfway, spurred on by the way he moans lowly in your ear every time you clench your walls around him.

“Perfect, baby. So fucking perfect. I can’t believe you’re all mine,” he whispers, praises spilling from his lips like a prayer. You let out a whine, feeling the tension build in your core, the faint traces of a climax slowly surfacing.

“I love you,” you moan. “I love you, baby. Don’t stop.” You feel him shake his head next to you in reply. “Oh, I-I’m gonna come, baby.”

You feel his thumb nudge your bottom lip, and you straight away engulf his thumb in your mouth, sucking fervently until it’s dripping with spit. You barely register the quiet, good girl, that he whispers in your ear before he pulls his hand away to reach in between your bodies, and before you know it, you can feel his spit-slick thumb rubbing circles around your asshole.

You moan so loud that, if the both of you even had neighbours, someone would definitely be banging against the wall.

Yoongi bites at your earlobe while he slowly pushes his thumb into you, hips unrelenting as he continues to thrust his cock into you, making the pressure in your stomach grow with no end in sight.

“Yoongi,” you whine, tugging on his hair.

“Come for me, angel. Let me see you come all over my cock,” he says. “Play with yourself for me, beautiful.”

Your hand moves without you even realising, fingers rubbing circles on your clit, and you’re panting hard, moans and whines filling the air around you.

“B-baby.”

“Come for me.”

You arch your back, still in Yoongi’s embrace as you come with his name on your lips. With a moan, Yoongi stops thrusting his hips, knees twitching as he comes inside of you not long after, filling you up to the brim.

                                                      〰️

Yoongi holds you close to his chest, nose buried in your hair as you both try to catch your breath. He manoeuvres you both to lie across the sofa, too exhausted to worry about the way your bodies seem to stick to the leather of the sofa.

He stretches his arm out to act as a makeshift pillow under your head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you pull his arm over you, shifting back until there’s no space between you both.

“So,” Yoongi says. “Did Sohee remember Minsung in the end?”

You groan quietly, reaching down to entwine your fingers with his, fiddling with his rings absentmindedly as you glare at the television.

“It ended with a fucking cliffhanger, baby,” you reply, frowning. “If I’d have known it was gonna end like that, I would’ve come over to kill Lee myself, that sone of a bitch.”

Yoongi chuckles quietly, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“I love you.”

[wandering-chronicler-blog]

The Wolf of Farore - Chapter 23

An Ongoing Zelda/Witcher Fusion Fic - Updates Wednesdays/Thursdays

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Summary:

War has come to The Kingdom of Hyrule.  The people cry for a savior as monsters and spirits stalk the once green fields of the provinces.  Famine grips the populace as the Gerudo Tribes and their blin allies strike along the borders.  Hope for peace begins to drown in the blood spilled in No Man’s Land.  But Hyrule doesn’t need another hero.  It needs a professional.

The Story So Far:

Link retold Shad the events that lead to his desertion and why he is still fighting even though it is no longer with The Kingdom of Hyrule. After careful consideration and a tense moment, the scholar agrees to sneak out of the castle with the help of Link and Midna.

CHAPTER 23:  ESCAPING THE CASTLE

They started walking through the streets. Link had seen Castle Town at night many times before. This was however the first time he’d seen it in detail with the curfew in effect. Only guards walked the streets in pairs, while some soldiers. A couple cafes that would have been open in peaceful times were closed up tight. Torches were lit, but there were no conversations. The midsummer festival that was usually held long into the night was empty in the heart of the town. He watched another patrol of guards march towards the castle as they neared the northern exit. In silence, the two walked past the guards there. Link glanced at one of them for a moment as they stepped onto the bridge and walked into the camp outside the walls. Given the hour they didn’t encounter many other guards or soldiers and by keeping quiet, they slipped through.

There was always the fear though. The fear that one minor mistake would have them get caught. And as they neared the edge of the camp, Link stopped cold as he heard voices from one of the tents.

“Lana will be here tomorrow,” a man said. “She is coming with one of the Chosen.” Link quickly moved to between two dark tents, Shad right behind him. He could see into one nearby. A pair of guards stood outside and light from within let him see a woman. She was dressed in long purple robe with white accents and was leaning over a table. The sleeves seemed particularly large. Her short white hair was bobbed close. For a moment he saw her glance up before going back to the table.

“They don’t trust me to handle something like this, so they call my sister in, typical…” the woman replied. “How many times must I repeat myself then? The information was wrong. We made a mistake. The commander made a mistake. And if we make that move the general is talking about, we’ll be leaving the Southern Pass open. And this time it won’t be a stream of refugees. It’ll be cavalry. Gerudo light cavalry and bulblin war boars to wreak havoc on the farmlands to get a foothold. They do that, they’ll be able to strike along the river. Even this far north. And our wind mage can only do so much.”

“Your sister isn’t coming to aid in operations like you are. She’s coming to assist in the investigation and provide additional security.”

“One Chosen and a Tower Sorceress aren’t enough?” He saw her shake her head in a way that was all too familiar to him. If not for the circumstances, he’d have smiled a little. She always did that when she was feeling ignored.

“Given the fact that we may very well be able to cut the head off the snake we can’t afford those chances.”

“That may be but…” Link felt the charm around his neck beginning to shake. Shad stopped at the edge of the tent and looked back. He felt his fingers curling, ready to grab the sword off his back.

“If we have to fight our way out, this is going to get bloody fast,” Midna whispered in Link’s ear. The wolf continued to shake. He felt it warming up even against his chest. For a moment, he saw her glance out the doorway. He didn’t know if she spotted him, but was ready to bolt, with his blade drawn if he had to.

“Shad, get ready to run,” he whispered. “Go north past the ruined sanctuary and then follow the road East. There’s a pass before you get to Kakariko. Take it and you’ll make it to the goron village.”

“But…” he began.

“Don’t argue. You’re caught with me they’ll hang you for sure.”

  “Lady Cia?” the unseen man in the tent said. “Is something wrong?”

She pushed her hands off the table. “Perhaps… Perhaps I’m a little tired…” she said. Link felt his charm stop shaking and saw her rub her forehead. “I can’t help but feel there’s something we’re missing, but it’s so late we’re not seeing it. Tomorrow we’ll take another look.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stepped out of the tent. “Goodnight, captain.” Once outside she took a right and was no longer in their vision.

“That was close,” Midna said in his ear.

“Too close,” Link said. “Let’s get going before we run into another.” He was sure she’d realized he was there, but was thankful she didn’t reveal his presence. Link quickly headed past the tent with Shad still behind him and as the moonlight was obscured by a cloud, slipped out of the camp.

   They walked for another hour before reaching the small sanctuary and graveyard that had been long burned to the ground. As they approached, Link spotted smoke and a couple shapes moving around the ruins. He looked to Shad, who looked ready to collapse from the walking in the chainmail.

“Midna,” Link whispered. “Drop the illusion.”

“Are you sure?” he heard her ask. “I’ll go check what’s ahead in the shadows if I do.”

“I’m sure.”

“You had people there already?” Shad asked.

He shook his head as the illusion around him broke apart. “They’re probably refugees.” Link started for the ruins again. He kept his right hand back, ready to pull his shield. They walked forward.

“Five of them,” Midna said, returning to his shadow. “Two men and a woman. Two children too.”

“Refugees. Any weapons?”

“What?” Shad asked.

Before Midna could respond there was a snap and a whistle. Link quickly pulled his shield from his back and moved so he was standing in front of Shad. A crossbow bolt shattered against the steel.

“Don’t come any closer!” a voice shouted. “Just turn around!”

“Not here to fight!” Link cried back. “What’s your name?”

“I…”

“What’s your name, stranger?” Link put his shield on his back and raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. He glanced back at Shad quickly. “Put your hands up.”

“But he has a crossbow,” Shad whispered.

“It’ll take him a few seconds to reload it. I can get the shield again to block it and if I have to I can close the gap with Farore’s Wind.” Link looked back at the man with the crossbow hiding behind the wall in the ruins. “My name is Link. And I’m trying to help a friend get away from the fighting!”

“You’re not a soldier?” He saw the figure lowering his crossbow. It could mean he was accepting the story, or was readying to reload.

“No. We had to sneak past the camp outside town.”

“Alright…”

“What’s your name?”

“Trevor.”

“Trevor, we don’t want trouble. We’re tired and it’s dangerous to go anywhere alone in No Man’s Land. May we stay with you this night?”

“I…” He looked back for a moment. “Yeah… Yeah you can stay with us for tonight…”

  A minute later they were huddled around the fire. A rat was on a spit over the fire while the children slept soundly and bundled in blankets. The ruined sanctuary provided little shelter, but the intact walls at least made it defendable. At the north end of it was the shattered stained glass that had once depicted the creation of the world at the hands of The Golden Goddesses. The woman was huddled close to the children and had a sword in her hands, ready to protect them while the two men were both awake. Link could tell they were all in bad shape. Their simple clothes were stained and tattered. They were likely carrying literally everything they owned on their backs. Their faces were dirty and the men had clearly not had access to any sort of grooming in weeks. Trevor sat down by the fire, keeping his crossbow handy.

“You seem surprisingly well-equipped, Link,” he said. “Sword, shield, a small crossbow… Never seen armor like that before though.”

“Pays to be prepared,” he said. Link looked at Shad. “This is Kelen. He was drafted.”

“Hello,” Shad said, waving a hand.

“Drafted?” the other man said. “Things are getting worse then if they’re taking people not cut out to be fighters.”

“It is,” Link said.

“So why are you two traveling together then?”

“Simple. I was paid to get him out.”

“Ah yes,’ Shad said. “I need to get you that payment… And the books you’re carrying for me.”

Link nodded. “Are you five headed to Holodrum?”

“Aye,” Trevor said. “Anywhere’s better than here. Even if the clans up there are barbaric. At least there you know what you’re getting.”

“It’s a different concept of honor for the clans up there. Battle is a way to serve the Seasonal Spirits. And they don’t have a single throne like Hyrule. It’s a collection of clans and the jarls who lead them.”

“Then how do they maintain order?”

“Council. Each clan has representatives and their jarl leads them. Like the Zora Senate in Snowpeak.”

The group was silent and Link wondered if he should’ve played stupid then. Trevor looked to the woman. “Fiona? That true? You’re from Holodrum.”

“My family was,” she said. “But I was born in Hyrule.”

“You’re not lying by any chance, stranger?” the second man asked.

“I’m not in the habit of lying,” Link said. He could’ve sworn he heard his shadow snickering at the remark. “I do a lot of traveling. Odd jobs for people who need it.” He looked at Shad again. “Such as helping people escape this war.” Link let out a yawn then. “Speaking of which, Kelen, I need my payment.”

“Oh, right,” Shad said. He dug into the pouch on his belt and handed him a piece of paper. Link took it and quickly read it over. It was a pair of songs and his elegant handwriting, telling Link the notes to play and specifics on the two melodies; the Song of Storms and Song of Healing. It also stated that both had been known to remove curses, but he was unsure which would work as such information was sealed away in the Royal Archives. Either way though, he was sure one of them would work.

“A pleasure doing business with you.”

“We could use a sword to help us,” Trevor said. “Would you be willing to help us get to Holodrum?”

For a moment, Link considered the offer. He knew they needed help, but there was more at stake here. He bowed his head. “I would, but I have another contract. I have a noblewoman trying to escape this war and I need to honor it.” Link looked back at the fire and the group around it. “I will give you some advice though to help make your travels safer for no charge. First, avoid the rivers. It’s hard when you get to the pass that takes you to Kakariko or up Death Mountain, but try to use trails and roads that don’t look like they’re as used. Patrol boats are looking for deserters or people who they can press into the war effort. If you find a ruined town or hamlet, check it quick, but don’t waste your time there. Bandits are known to set up ambushes.” He took a deep breath. “Most importantly though, never stop near a tree of hanged men.”

“Why’s that?” Shad asked.

“Deserters and prisoners of war hang. Their last moments are filled with fear and hate. Their souls cannot pass on to The Goddess’ embrace and so they become poes.” At the mention of the wraiths, the entire camp fell silent. “And you cannot kill a specter like that through blade or bow or even magic. You may get lucky and destroy its body, but it will reform when the moon rises again.”

“Then how do you stop them from returning?” the woman asked.

“You must grant the bodies a proper burial. Or burn them on a pyre.”

“And given how we are, I doubt we’d be able to handle them,” Shad said.

  They talked a little longer and Link provided them with advice to surviving in the fields. Most of it was aimed at gathering food and fresh water, but also ways to avoid trouble. It wasn’t long though before the woman and Trevor were asleep, leaving Shad, the other refugee and Link the only ones awake. The books Shad had wanted to take with him formed out of Link’s shadow and rested next to him.

“I’ll stay until morning,” Link said quietly. “Then we’re going back.”

“Are you sure about this, Link?” Shad asked. “Going right into the palace?”

“I’m sure.” He yawned himself. “There’s another way in. And it’s why I wanted us to go out this way.”

“There is?”

Link nodded. “In ancient times, an escape tunnel was built that leads through the dungeons.” He looked to the stained glass window. “It’s still intact.”

“And what about getting out?”

“I have a couple ways out. Getting in is the issue. Do this right though and no one will even realize I was there until they notice the ocarina is missing.”

“And if not he can always sneak back out in a trainee’s uniform,” his shadow whispered.

He glanced at his shadow with a slightly annoyed look on his face before looking back at Shad. “I’ll make my way to Death Mountain as soon as I can as well. Make sure you’re settled in and safe. Just in case though, listen to your instincts. If they tell you something is wrong with the group here, go with it. Make it on your own there.”

“Okay.”

Link smiled a little. “Thank you, Shad. I know how tough this is.”

[triggeringthehealing]

marked

Stiles/Derek | PG13 | ~3.3k | AO3 Content notes: future fic, establlished relationship, canon divergence, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: They play with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat.

A/N: Written for the fandomwritingchallenge, June prompt: brand A/N 2: Once again, sorry about the late posting :/ 

Stiles figures it out by accident.

He’s been researching the latest big bad that is threatening the fragile peace in the supernatural community of the Northern California area when he comes across a hunter pack that seems to be in the area.

“The McKennas? Oh hell,” Chris reacts when Stiles mentions them.

“Well that sounds awesome,” Stiles replies, gearing up for news of the Gerard variety.

“Think Gerard and Kate combined,” Chris says, and Stiles shivers at the thought. “I have some info about them, I’ll get it to you. But it’s not pretty.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned that a lot of the hunting side of all this tends to be ugly,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Not that I think we’ll ever reach the rock bottom of either side, to be honest.”

When Chris gives him the info and Stiles starts looking into the hunter family and what they do — besides the typical hunting — he gets really close to declaring it the absolute bottom of the pit. He has seen hunters who were bad. He has seen monsters — Jackson included, back in the kanima days — who were terrifying. But what he’s seeing on the pages makes him almost appreciate Chris’ comparison to Gerard and Kate. Almost, because there’s no way he can genuinely appreciate something that makes his stomach turn just at the thought of it.

They play with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat. Which in itself is obviously not pleasant, as Stiles has learned now that some of the pack have procreated.

“They do what?”

Every person in the pack has that exact reaction when they find out. Well, almost everyone who’s present at the pack meeting when they discuss the threat. There’s one person who’s suspiciously quiet in the face of the information, but at first, Stiles is too busy too busy relaying what he found to notice.

He tries not to go into too much detail, but Lydia is looking over his shoulder and making gagging noises already, and he sees Isaac cringe away when he throws a glance at the pages Stiles printed out.

“Chris, why are they allowed to continue operating?”

It’s John who asks the question, and Melissa pulls him back from looking at the details. She is a fierce nurse, has seen things that would cause permanent trauma to some people, and Stiles knows it’s instinct in her to be protective. John returns the protectiveness the same way, but Stiles always rejoices a little when she reminds him that she’s in his corner when it comes to keeping John from too much stress.

“As you can guess, they’re not really controllable,” Chris says, sounding angry and defeated at the same time. “They think that they don’t need to follow a Code, or any rules. They see themselves as some sort of vigilantes, controlling the werewolf population by any means necessary, because none of the other hunter clans do enough in their opinion. And they are solely focused on werewolf packs, no other supernatural creatures are seen as a threat. They just… make sure that the werewolves are punished for existing.”

“That’s insane,” Danny pipes up from the laptop where he’s already sifting through the information that Stiles threw together.

“If there ever was anyone that Kate,” Chris spits out the name like it’s poison, “was looking up to, it was the McKennas.”

Stiles feels the moment that the name reaches Derek’s ears. He knows, because Derek’s grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens to the point of bordering on painful.

“Not again,” Derek whispers, low enough that only Stiles seems to hear.

Everyone goes back to looking at the information, and they start talking about their possibilities, but Stiles can’t. He doesn’t move, not even when Derek’s grip eases as he moves to join the others.

Stiles can’t follow, because his brain is already connecting Derek’s quiet comment with everything else he knows. With information that he found, snippets he dismissed as impossible and didn’t include in the printouts or files that the pack is discussing. Because there were things that he thought were rumors, too outlandish even in light of everything else he saw.

Branding, he thinks, his mind conjuring the images that he spent half the night before trying to forget.

The McKenna clan doesn’t kill all of the werewolves they capture. Most of them don’t survive the torture — things like being locked in tight spaces, which was what made Isaac step back earlier — and some get killed as part of the process. But a few, usually only one out of a pack, get released after some time. Those who do ‘get away’ aren’t left unmarked though. Stiles clenches his teeth when the vivid images of a branding iron and a blowtorch cross his mind.

All of a sudden, he realises that Derek didn’t just know how to make a tattoo permanent because the Hale pack had been into tattoos, or because he’d encountered the method in New York’s tattoo parlors that specialized in non-human clients.

It’s the thought of the city that makes Stiles finally step forward, and he strides over to his laptop, then nudges Danny to make him move. His fingers are flying over the keyboard moments later, filtering through the information on the hunters’ known locations and movements. As he does so, he’s already remembering the date of that fateful night when he dragged Scott into the Preserve to search for what turned out to be Laura’s body. When he lands on a match, his sharp intake of breath makes the pack turn around in unison.

“What?” Jackson asks, the first one to speak into the brief silence.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles mutters, and he closes out of the file he was looking at before Danny — who’s already walking over — can see it. “Just… all of this,” he waves his hand at the screen and nods towards the table with the papers.

There’s no way he’s talking about it in front of the whole pack. Not when Derek clearly isn’t sharing it with anyone, not when Stiles is pretty sure that no one besides Derek knows, including Peter.

But he’s sure now, has zero doubt that at some point between the Hale house fire and Laura’s return to Beacon Hills, Derek had an encounter with the McKenna clan. He’s also sure that said encounter is the reason why the Hale triskelion is in such a prominent place on Derek’s back.

Like a target, he thinks and cringes, the implications more horrific than he wants to think about. His mind wanders though, like it always does, and he can’t stop it any more than he could stop the world from spinning. He manages to act like he’s scrolling through the files on screen, but he’s not seeing anything that’s on there. Instead, he keeps thinking back to the Derek he met years ago, alone and angry at the world, the one who all but growled at Stiles and Scott. The one who spit out “This is private property” like they were set on destroying the last thing he had left — the land that belonged to the family Derek no longer had.

He thinks about Derek before that, the one he remembers from the days when werewolves were just special effects in horror movies to him. The Derek whom Stiles knew as the high school’s basketball team star. The same one he recognized at the ruins in Mexico when no one else did. And he thinks about the Derek who gave in to Scott’s pleas, the one who picked up a blowtorch and made his own brand on Scott’s skin, ignoring how he was given the one on his back.

“Stiles?” It’s Derek’s voice that brings him back to reality. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles says a little too quickly.

“You’ve been trying to scroll down this page for over a minute after you got to the end,” Derek points out, and Stiles blinks. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says. “Well, no, it’s just all this,” he nods at the screen. “What can we do?”

He’s not just asking Derek but also the rest of the pack. And there’s no response at first, everyone equally shaken by what they’ve been looking at for… well, Stiles has no idea how long he was lost in his thoughts.

They don’t find a solution that night. Not that anyone expected it — the McKenna clan is a whole different ballpark of horror movie villains — since they only just figured out what they’re facing. Chris leaves first, with the promise of finding out more, putting out feelers to more friendly hunter clans. Isaac follows shortly after, joined by Scott and Allison who are already sticking close to him, no doubt preparing for the nightmares that they’ll need to soothe him through. Stiles winces in sympathy when he thinks about the images of the cellars and the lockable boxes covered in claw marks. It’s only a memory for Isaac now, but Stiles imagines it’s not one that’s easy to shrug off.

Erica and Boyd rush off when they get a call from Boyd’s Grandma — they leave Alicia, their three year old, with her during pack meetings, but she gets antsy when things are as tense as their current situation. Derek explained once that for children that young, the pack bond isn't completed, but they still feel everyone’s distress much like human children get upset when the adults around them do.

Stiles melts into a hug from his dad before he and Melissa head out for work, John’s arm around her shoulders as he mutters things to her that Stiles isn’t sure he wants to hear. It’s still pretty new, them dating, and they’re not too old to be giving the younger couples a run for their money in terms of PDA. Stiles deals though, because his dad is happy again. And Scott’s now his brother for real.

Peter lingers, along with Jackson and Lydia, until they gather up all the information. When Danny eventually tugs Jackson away for a project that they apparently have a deadline on, Lydia asks for a ride home.

“You staying?” Derek asks Stiles when the loft is almost empty.

“Dad’s on a double,” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t mind claiming the couch.”

Derek nods, and then he heads over to the corner where Peter’s sitting on the spiral staircase, glowering at the floor. They fall into conversation so quiet that Stiles has no way of hearing or understanding, so he finishes tidying up the table and puts the laptop away instead. His mind circles around the dates he saw earlier again, and he remembers snippets of what Derek disclosed over the years.

There are little things, like the way Derek said “I couldn’t” once when the discussion veered to his arrival in Beacon Hills after Laura was killed. The time when they talked about the Hale family history, and Jackson asked if everyone had a tattoo of the triskelion. Derek’s “no” was that little bit too harsh for Stiles to know there was a story behind it. Like then, he’s not planning on asking anything outright.

He also doesn’t want to act like he didn’t figure out the connection between Derek’s triskelion and the McKennas though. They promised each other a long time ago that they would try to be as honest and open with each other as possible, and Stiles isn’t planning on breaking that promise. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Or rather, seeing as the whole situation is already out in the open, and it’s only a matter of time before someone else — Stiles wouldn’t put money on whether it will be Lydia, Danny or Peter — connects the dots, Stiles doesn’t want to pretend that he didn’t.

He wants Derek to know that he knows. That there’s no judgment, and no expectation of Derek talking about it if he doesn’t want to.

When Derek sits down on the couch, Stiles startles and glances around, then realises that they’re alone now.

“Peter?”

“Went to his apartment,” Derek says, leaning back in the cushions, looking a lot more relaxed than during the meeting.

Stiles can see right through that though, sees the way Derek’s fists are still clenched, the way his muscles are tense.

“He said there might be something more in the old notes in the vault,” Derek continues, seemingly oblivious to Stiles’ concerned look. “He’ll go check it out tomorrow. We’ll have another meeting in the afternoon.”

Stiles nods and hums in acknowledgment, watching as Derek closes his eyes and breathes deeply, in a way that reminds Stiles of his own methods to shake off panic attacks. Carefully, he moves his hand and lowers it on top of Derek’s, then twines their fingers when Derek turns his palm up.

“You sure you want me to stay?” Stiles asks a few moments later.

It’s not that he wants to leave, or thinks that Derek being alone is a good idea, but he’s not going to make decisions for anyone. If Derek needs time to process, Stiles will give it to him, no questions asked — at least not until later.

“Please,” Derek whispers.

“Okay.” Stiles nods, and sits up. “I’m gonna get my pillow and a blanket. Then I’m gonna need your furry butt off this couch, it’s mine.”

“This couch?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because I do recall your protests about how it’s ugly and not comfortable enough,” he says with a more relaxed smile.

“It grew on me,” Stiles shrugs. “Well, not literally, but me and the couch are bros now. We have an understanding. I don’t diss it, it doesn’t make my back hurt.”

“I don’t really think it’s sentient enough for that, Stiles,” Derek says, this time with an actual chuckle. Then he pauses and Stiles looks at him, a little unsettled by the silence, and not at all comforted by the way Derek’s brows are furrowed.

“What?”

“What if you…” Derek starts, then he glances down on the coffee table. “Would you…?”

Stiles waits him out. He would anyway, but today he’s just that little bit extra determined to let things unravel at Derek’s pace.

“Want to come up?” Derek finally says, and it’s so quiet that Stiles only hears it because he’s right by Derek’s side.

It’s a big deal that Derek is asking. Not because they wouldn’t be in a “spending the night together” stage of their relationship yet. They have, in Stiles’ room, here in the loft on the bed that’s still in the corner — it somehow survived all refurbishment and is used a lot during pack movie nights — and in Stiles’ dorm and later his apartment when he was away in college. Back then, they even spent time together in Derek’s place in New York, the small house outside the city that Laura had bought years ago.

The thought, coupled with what Stiles has put together now, sends a shiver down his spine.

But here in Beacon Hills, in the loft that’s seen so much bad and has been rebuilt to mean so much good, barely anyone goes further than a few steps up the spiral staircase. Sure, Peter likes to sit there and watch, and occasionally Boyd or Erica use the small spare bedroom to let Alicia have her nap when the pack is all gathered downstairs. But other than that, the only person who goes up is Derek himself.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, fingers tightening around Derek’s. “I want to. I have wanted to. But since you never asked, I assumed it was a werewolf thing.”

“Like, my den of werewolfy solitude?” Derek asks, eyebrow lifted along with the corner of his lips.

“More like your own space not intruded on by my human stench,” Stiles shoots back, and he leans a little against Derek’s arm.

Instead of replying immediately, Derek turns his head and buries his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and he breathes in deeply. Then he pulls away just enough to speak while Stiles is trying to ignore the Pavlovian response his dick has to Derek’s stubble on his skin.

“I like how you smell,” Derek says, then takes another deep breath. “It’s… calming.”

Stiles takes a moment to reply, then he can’t help but chuckle.

“Wow, okay, that’s gotta be the only time anyone ever called me calming,” he says, and he gives Derek’s hand a squeeze.

“Well, most of the time you’re moving too much,” Derek says, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t try to argue with that. He knows he’s a fidgeter, constantly in motion. It’s what unnerved him so much about the Nogitsune, what should’ve been a dead giveaway to everyone. Derek told him that it was, eventually, but he wasn't around enough to point it out to others.

He’s so lost in the memories of those times that he almost doesn’t notice when Derek gets up. Their hands are still linked though, and Stiles startles a little, then looks up and meets Derek’s eyes.

“Come on,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles nods.

They walk up the stairs in silence, holding hands all the way until they’re in Derek’s room, and Stiles can’t help but stare then. He’s not trying to memorize the bedroom, and it’s not like he’s seeing anything particularly shocking, but still, it’s Derek’s space and something about being there feels special. When Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand to change, Stiles follow suit, and moments later they’re lying down on the soft sheets, facing each other. Then — and it’s not the first time either — Derek turns around and Stiles slips closer, pressing his chest against Derek’s back, against the triskele that’s stark black on Derek’s body.

He can feel the trembles in Derek’s chest when he puts a palm against it, and he bends his head just enough that his lips land just above the outline of the ink. Derek reaches up, links his fingers with Stiles’ and takes a deep breath.

Stiles kisses along the curve of Derek’s shoulder, lips trailing from the side towards the back of Derek’s neck, and then down, until he reaches the tattoo. He drops a kiss there, gentle and as soothing as he can make it, then he moves up until his lips are right below Derek’s ear.

“I know,” he whispers, and he feels Derek tense. “I saw the dates.”

Derek’s breathing is shallow, shaky, and Stiles presses himself closer, holds Derek like he’s trying to stop him from falling apart. And maybe he is, maybe it’s helping. He hopes that it is.

“I’m here,” he says in between breaths. “I’m always here.”

He can feel the quiet sobs rocking Derek’s body, the trembling that reverberates through both of them, and he holds Derek closer, tighter, all while whispering “I love you” over and over against his skin.

It’s not until some time later, when Stiles is trying to fight off sleep, wanting to be there for Derek but too tired to be completely awake, that Derek settles down.

“I love you too,” Stiles hears, and when he feels Derek’s breathing even out, he closes his eyes and follows him into sleep.