(Settled on a different direction. Separately, Ima make a personal retcon and say Jon and his classmates are college-aged—considering this story’s tone, I’m not super comfortable writing teens. We’ll keep it simple and say his high-school is a community college with all the same students for the purpose of this storyline)
“What.”
“Athena’s super tiny, okay!?” said Jon. “And it’s something about being a fairy. She can’t stay still, even if she wants to—and fairies are hard to find unless they specifically try to be. They can’t help it, apparently.”
Linda rubbed her temples. Why in god’s name did her new castle even need a 'Fairy Enclosure’ of all things? “Another thing to worry about, then. Great. Wonderful.”
“...Sorry.” Jon pressed his plump, painted lips thin in contemplation. “I’ll find her. Zoe too. I barely know what happened to her.”
“No, it’s alright” Linda said. “I’ll worry about Zoe. Could you keep working on the magic?”
“Hopefully,” Jon said. “I’m not nearly as busy as you are, but… Huh. Who’s that?”
“God damnit, I told the guards not to…” Linda spun around and paused.
Ah. Oh no.
Oh no.
Strolling from the fence gate was Linda’s new husband, Mr. tall-and-chiseled himself, with a warm, picture-perfect smile. His night robes were replaced with a crisp linen shirt, half-buttoned and rolled at the sleeves, pairing nicely with lightweight pants, fit tight and doing masterful work hugging his kingly butt.
Without meaning to, Linda crossed one tantalizing leg over the other. Her body wanted to do other things too, but she did an admirable job pushing those thoughts aside.
Warm dampness between your fat, queenly thighs.
Shut up.
Look at those muscles. That beard. He’s exactly our type.
Shut. Up.
Remember him inside you. How nice it was, letting go of everything.
“Dearest,” said the king, to Linda. He turned to Jon. “Daughter.”
Jon gave no answer. Instead, he stared dumbly, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as if he was about to pass out right then and there. One moment of stupefying silence, then two, and right as Linda was about to break it—
“Karyn?” Jon gasped.
“What!?” said Linda.
“Excuse me, daughter?” His Royal Majesty, King Garyn of the Rainbow Isles or whatever-the-fuck Linda’s town was called now, regarded Jon with his own look of surprise. Then, caught between amusement and indignation, he thankfully went with the former and let out a hearty laugh. “You wound me, Jeanne. Going straight from calling me ‘Your Majesty’ to my name. Please, when will ‘father’ suffice?”
“Turn her back,” Jon said to his mother, ignoring the king.
“Jon—”
“Turn. Her. Back.”
“And risk another insane wish!?” Oh god, Linda could see it too. The facial features, those eyes, the way he moved. A grown man, sure, but everything about him was one-to-one with Jon’s old friend—how did Linda miss that all before? He could’ve been Karyn’s own father, with all those similarities. Why was she made king, of all people!?
…And wasn’t Karyn supposed to be blonde? Why was the red hair so familiar?
“I don’t care! That’s Karyn! Turn her back!”
“Darlings?” asked the king. “Is this a bad time? What is happening—”
“I wish the king wouldn’t realize what we’re talking about,” said Linda, frantic. “As far as you know, this discussion is about… Fuck, I don’t know, normal royal family stuff.”
Flash.
The king gave another laugh. “Aha! Indeed, my darling!”
Jon’s jaw clenched, his voice ice cold. “Oh, but you’re comfortable making impulse-wishes like that?”
“I don’t know the rules!” said Linda. “The compulsion likes it when I control people. It’s ‘queenly’ or something. The compulsion doesn’t like it when I try fixing all this!”
“You could still try,” Jon grumbled.
The king nodded pensively.
“You just told me to stop!”
“Yeah, before this!” Jon struggled to find the words. He settled with waving wildly in Karyn’s direction. “Things have been worst-outcome with the stone. Sure. Whatever. Separately, is there literally anything worse than you being married to my best friend? The one who’s my age?”
Linda’s mouth opened, then closed again. Externally, her fine queenly features gave some expression of contemplative realization. On the inside, things were a little more explosive—mental screaming as the reality of all this truly and genuinely setting in.
Six hours. She fucked her son’s best friend for six hours.
This was indeed less-than-ideal. One might even call it mortifying. The King, Garyn-or-Karyn-or-whatever, reached out and tenderly held Linda’s hand. Her body shivered, and Jon glared more severely than Linda had ever seen before. Yeah, no, she could learn her lesson about self-control another time.
“I wish Karyn wasn’t the king consort anymore!” she squeaked out.
