#sorry it's so long i will defend miles until my last breath

[skylarbee]

Over the years I have seen many fandoms and fans of all kinds, but yes, in fact lately the AM fandom is really becoming something unmanageable for anyone even for those who perhaps follow the band for the music without wanting to know anything about the gossip. I think this is also partly the fault of Tiktok which has led many young people to want to follow the band and therefore to become attached to certain characters without knowing what they have done in the past, they want to throw shit at people they didn't know until two years ago like Miles for example and blaming him for everything is saying disgusting things towards him that really, just reading it brings tears to my eyes. I don't know what will happen as soon as the tour ends, I hope things calm down even if it's hard for me given Amanda and Matt's attitude in the last few days

yes to all of this! the only times that i've searched for gossip were when i already heard a lot of rumours against my will and i wanted to see if they were true (other people should do this too instead of immediately believing/disbelieving something they've read on the internet...). other than that, the moment i open any social media, it's all there without me having to press a single button, and i'm sure that lots of other people have it the same way.

i do think too that tiktok might have something to do with it. i wasn't this deep in the fandom until only like three years ago, so i don't know what the situation was with younger fans before that. i also said a lot of stupid shit on the internet when i was really young, so i can't expect much from the young fans, especially the ones who have no idea about how problematic LV is and love her to bits. the extremely sad thing is that i've seen SO many people who do know a thing or two, and they still think that she's done nothing wrong (like ppl saying that she's a 'queen' for being the one alex cheated with, that she should be proud of it and brag about it, or the ones that congratulate her and say that they would've done even worse things just to get in alex's pants - just some vomit-inducing stuff)

the thing with miles makes me the saddest, i feel you anon. there are loads of people out there who spread false information and call him things that he's not - but what's even worse than this is there are people who have no idea about these things, and still hate on him and make fun of him for absolutely no reason. like he said, we have to accept the fact that this is the way it always will be; i can't even get mad anymore when interviewers constantly bring up alex/tlsp when talking to him. i don't think it will ever change. let's all learn from LV and do the opposite of what she does - when we see people talking shit, we should just click that block/mute button and go about our day without paying attention to it and posting on our stories about it (if i were to sit down and argue with every person on twitter who says something bad about him, i'd do that 24/7). miles' fans are the sweetest people out there (like artist like fan) and we should focus on not ruining the pure and good vibes that miles transmits to us via his IG (reason why i don't tag these posts with his name). if he can take some minutes out of his life (almost) every day to post cute things for us, we should also send him back positive things - out of tens of fake people in am's circle, he continues to be the only genuine, honest, and pure-hearted person - let's not take it for granted.

i imagine that after the tour ends all we'll have will be L&A's stories, specifically LV's stories where she'll position her phone so that we'll be able to see alex's elbow and lose our minds over it; and similar shenanigans. i am not looking forward to it. this community will be rotten for as long as those two will be present in the boys' lives (i wish it wouldn't be true, but everything has been going downhill since 2018/2019)

#sorry it's so long i will defend miles until my last breath #alex turner #arctic monkeys #matt helders #louise verneuil #amanda blank #anon

[toska-writes]

Clone commandos request if possible. 😁 Could you do delta squad. where on a mission they get captured along with the Padawan, and get protective when they try to separate them or interrogate them.

So i thought about writing a fic based on todays bad batch episode (but I need to get some of the requests done- if you wanna request some Wolffe *wink wink* that’s ok)

“Got your back”

Summary: a mission goes south with the delta squad but they have your back

Paring: The delta Squad/ republic commandos x padawan!reader (PLATONIC OFC)

Warning: slight mentions of injury and imprisonment nothing too bad… the most scary- not proofread

Word count: 1688

Notes: Delta Squad fics are not my “most popular” but ones I always do so much for and I don’t know why

Also I swear to god someone asked to join the Taglist but I can’t remember nor find it so let me know!

"Can you focus for one second Scorch? EVER?" Fixed screamed through the comms, you could see his tense movements from a mile away as the squad ducked once again behind a wall.

Boss could only nod this head, he quickly spun around from where you, Sev and him were hiding to shoot an incoming droid.

"Sorry Scorch I can't defend you this time it's not looking good." You spoke between gasp of your own breath, the adrenaline from the long hours fighting wearing on you and the whole group.

Sev leaned heavily on Fixer from where you could see him, though Scorch as of now was doing a good job covering them.

"Boss," You yelled over the hiss of a smoke bomb going off- the contents of which were going in your eyes and making you cough. "I'm all out of ideas here."

The comando spared you a glance for a second, you feared what his face would have looked like if his helmet was discarded.

Boss looked down at the padawan for a moment. A thin cut ran along their cheek way too close to their eye for Boss’s comfort. He watched their head whip around looking through the fog desperately before a huge bang went off.

After a moment of slight ringing Boss felt the bump of another person against his side. The padawan looked around frantically for the force of the bomb before looking up to the comando.

In a more solemn voice they asked. “Boss what are we gonna do?”

Boss thought about their options then. Backed into the corner of what should have been an abandoned outpost, on of their men injured and the rest ready to collapse from exhaustion. He as a leader thought he was better than this but Boss felt as if he walked his squad right into this trap.

“The missions easy enough for us.” Boss had said only hours before. A knot sat in his stomach but the team needed an easy mission, a break from their last fiasco with the bugs.

He’s never been more wrong in his life.

While he was lost in thought, Boss nearly missed Scorch sliding up next to their leader, his panicked voice tried to fill Boss’s ears.

For a moment the other comando didn’t realize the trooper in yellow was talking until Scorch made a shhh gesture with his hand.

That’s when you noticed it too, the complete lack of noise. No more clanker chatter or blaster bullets from each side. Just the low hiss of the fog that didn’t seem to die down.

You opened your mouth to say something before the unmistakable scraping of metals filled your ears.

“Rollies! get down!” Scorch shouted pulling you and Boss to the floor with him. About 5 Droidekas emerged from the smoke…. Lucky you guys.

“Scorch handle them.” Boss yelled using his hands to signal something at Fixer and Sev at the speed of light. His gruff tone scratched your ears but you all seemed pretty fed up at the situation.

Blaster bullets were blocked by your lightsaber left and right until the next words made your heart drop all together. “Out of hand grenades sir.” Scorch ripped his blaster out now but the shields were too strong on the droids.

“Down the hall!” Fixer yelled as both He and Sev passed the 3 of you, a way out hopefully planned.

You felt them before you saw them, you tried skidding to a stop before turning into the next hall as a hand shot out to grab Boss.

“Shit.” Was the only thing you could say, before they could question what you meant a group of comando droids emerged with guns drawn.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Sev rasped out, his arm shook while he tried to lift his blaster up and fire. The tiredness leaked off of him though you were sure it did for everyone.

A ring of blue light hit the wall behind you. It didn’t make sense though, comando droids weren’t the type to show mercy.

Your lightsaber flashed along the darkened walls trying to keep the nimble droids away, why couldn’t the separatists just send the normal clankers.

Once again the hall was engulfed in a think smoke. You heard more blasters going off but you feared you were getting more and more disoriented. After a moment you heard a sickening thunk next to you and you assumed the worst.

In the blink of an eye you felt the blast hit its mark and half your body go limp. Unlike the bulking clones you were with it only took about 2 hits before you were out.

•✩•

Boss was the first one to awaken. His head bobbed around and his eyes fluttered open. Boss reached his hand up only to finally realize that his armor was gone.

He laid there for a moment, confusion laced his face. What had happened to him? To them….

In a split second Boss shot up to a sitting position , which his head greatly protested, and looked for the rest of his squad.

Relief was one of the best things in the galaxy in this moment. In the dim light of the ray shield keeping them in Boss could count the 3 other comandos and the form of their padawan knocked out next to Scorch.

Sev still looked bad as now Boss could get the full view of his gash along his side- the blacks on all of the men seemed to be tattered.

Boss observed their surroundings for a moment before giving a light tap to Fixer on the foot. When that didn’t work the first time a much hard kick was implemented.

Fixer gasped awake along with Scorch after a “friendly” tap from the clone comando.

I didn’t take Scorch long before he leaned back against the wall and groaned, clearly he knew the situation at hand.

Boss could only stare for another second at Sev, guilt rummaged through his insides as he helped his injured brother up ultimately waking him as well. This was his fault and Boss couldn’t shake that.

“Fixer start working on those bindings.” Boss ordered unable to keep his gaze on the unconscious padawan. Clearly to the eyes of their captors the Jedi was the bigger threat.

Sev hissed for a moment now finding a new brother to lean on.

You came to with the feeling of someone’s exposed hands brushing against your arms. The pounding in your head was present but the blanket of confusion was much scarier.

“Thanks for joinin’ us.” The unmistakable voice of scorch chimed in. Your eyes strained against the darkness but you could tell what the problem was.

The cool metal hurt your wrists as Fixer fiddled with them muttering a small apology every once in a while.

Boss’ low voice filled the cell, plans of just how they would get out to fight another day. Your eyes scanned the worrisome group.

Scorch sat fidgeting with his hands trying desperately to listen but you could see the worry in his eyes as clear as day.

Fixer sat in front of you cursing and apologizing but he just couldn’t seem to do anything useful without his tools and data pad.

Sev’s eyes closed everyone once in a while and you could see the fight to remain in the moment, though his scowl never seemed to be wiped off.

And finally Boss. His voice was level and low just like the countless other times you heard him give directions, however this time was different. He knew this wasn’t in their favor and he was worried beyond belief.

Someone had to stay strong for them all.

Your heartbeat beat out of your chest, a dull throb started in your temples the feeling seemed vaguely familiar.

“I think someone’s coming.” For the first time you were unsure in the force. Fixer faltered for a moment before meeting your eyes. “It’s probably these. Messing with you.” He shook the bindings.

Though to your surprise, and relief in a way, someone did make their way down the hall. Boss spoke out quickly as you averted your gaze, sweat started to form on your brow.

“We need a medic.” It was hard to call it pleading despite where Boss said it from his position on the floor, but it was definitely more of a demand.

2 masked figures approached though they seemed to ignore Boss all together.

“We need the Jedi.” The cool voice stated only once.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment unsure about which group would make the first move.

“Get up.” Was demanded at you and you glanced around meeting Boss’ eyes for only a moment before you gripped onto the sleeve of Fixer.

The ray shield was down now and the larger figure stepped in. “I’m not asking again”

“Like kriff they’re going with you.” Scorch stood in front of you now. His full height filled up their line of sight.

“Move clone.” For a second Scorch was pushed back that was until Boss stood as well and shoved their captor away from his brother.

Before the other could react with their blaster Scorch was all over them. Fixer taking the hint that their time was now scrambled to get their other brother still on the floor.

Your eyes were blown wide with the loud alarm that was set off. You felt someone grab your arm as you were still in a little daze.

“I hope you didn’t think we were really gonna let them take ya.” Scorch said as the group rushed down the halls.

You thought about that for a moment, had there truly been something to worry about while you were surrounded but the Delta Squad, your brothers?

A smile broke out of your face and Scorch seemed to get your reply.

“I hope you know.” Scorch called over his shoulder. “You’re never picking the missions by yourself again Boss.”

An angry yell was heard from somewhere behind you replacing the fear in your body with a laugh. “You were the one to pick the bug mission Scorch!”

______________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

#star wars #star wars clone wars #the clone wars #clone wars #the clone boys #my writing #toska-writes #clone boys #the delta squad #delta squad x reader #delta squad #republic commando #clone commando boss #clone commando fixer #clone commando sev #clone commando scorch #x platonic!reader #padawan reader #reader insert

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK CHAPTER 20: ENDURING RESOLVE

Ganondorf has gone into hiding. His two most loyal servants guard the desert in his stead. Hyrule approaches, knowing not what kind of death awaits them, deep beneath the sands. Zant tests out his blade.

FINALLY DONE! sooo sorry my beloved tumblr readerbase. this update has been available on ao3 for a little over a week now, but i had to steam through a pretty bad art block to get this promo image done exactly how i liked it. so without further ado, here it is!! i have a real doozy for you all today! again, thanks so much to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading the chapter! there's a couple secret languages in this chapter again... thanks very much to @unironicallycringe for helping me with figuring out Akkadian. as for the translations, well... you go puzzle it out!

content warnings this chapter for: graphic violence, animal death, medical gore, domestic violence/physical abuse (for lack of a better term)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

ao3 mirror

They rose before the sun had even fully set, thieving their love-nest of its purpose hours too early. Any preparations they could do, save donning arms and armor, would have been too late in this final moment before battle, but they had to be ready to defend themselves at any moment. The air was tense, dead-silent so as not to alert any potential enemy scouts. But in that deep silence, every nervous sigh, every jingle of chainmail, grated the ears from miles away. 

So sat Zant in his chambers, eyelids still thick and heavy with sleep, but nonetheless perched at the edge of his bed, gazing out into the night sky. Ghirahim lied where he’d left him, sunken into his pillows and layers of sheets. In this companionable silence, there was as much to be said, as there was a lack of words to convey them. Indecision to what topic could suit the last hours before this all-out battle, they spoke of nothing at all. Yet there was deep understanding in it, a bond between them that only needed a glance of the eye to be conveyed. 

Pacing anxiously was unnecessary. Ghirahim lay comfortable; to him, nothing enriched the soul like battle, and he was ready to rise every minute of the day. No need for armor, for food, for a minute to come to his senses. He could jump up the second the warning horns blared.

Thus, he dozed, his eyes on the tense Twili beside him until they wandered to the portrait above him. When had he moved it above his bed, he wondered? To think a man so reserved could be so vain. The gold of its canvas glittered in the weak light, egging on the stars in the sky beyond with its own splendor. Ghirahim felt a smile creep up on him and his eyes drew to a close.

He didn’t quite keep track of how long he lay there simply sifting through the favorite contents of his core, before that line of thought was interrupted, and a warm static forced itself through his mental imagery. It started deep in his chest, washing over his every extremity in waves. His skin tingled, his breath hitched. A contented sigh dragged out from him and joined the warm air in the room. This feeling, how long ago it was since he last felt it. It could only be…

Sat on the carpet beside the window was Zant, the Demon Scimitar before him. Moonlight could not hope to pierce the deep black of their blade; their masterpiece was a shadow among shadows. A vibrant teal glow pulsed throughout the veins in its fuller, like light beneath the ocean waves. That glow slowly grew richer, occasionally interrupted by the stroke of a cloth across the blade. 

Ghirahim shuddered. There was the source of that odd feeling, that sent shivers up his back and caused his face and stomach to flush an embarrassing red. Soon Zant caught him staring at him past the mound of sheets and met his eyes – glowing, giving him no choice but to witness them – with a smile.

“Pardon me. Did I disturb you?”

“Disturb is a strong word,” Ghirahim said, unable to suppress a shuddering groan. From fingerguard to its point, the cloth rubbed away every speck of dust and smudge of oil.

The sound that escaped him piqued Zant’s interest immediately. Eyes that should pay attention to the razor-sharp edge of their sword widened at him. “You can feel this?”

Taps of powder against the blade. Puff, puff, little clouds of white dissipating in the gentle breeze. “To some degree, yes.”

Bright, amber eyes narrowed. “What is it like?”

Adjusting comfortably, Ghirahim sank back into the sheets, hiding half of his face. He stared him down no lesser, though. “There is hardly any equal to this feeling, Zant,” he hummed, pleased by the sensation of gentle polishing. “But if I had to describe it… Something akin to having my hair brushed, or hands stroking my back, I suppose.”

Zant’s eyes turned to the sword, now carrying a certain spark. He beheld it in a different light. “I see. How fortunate to know.”

Ghirahim shifted, curling himself in the mass of sheets to get a better look at his machinations, but without abandoning the glow of their joint warmth. Their companionable silence returned, the quiet room filled only with the whisper of cloth against metal, and the gentle churning of his core. Warmth buzzed through him in waves, like fingers with long nails tapping and tracing the features deep in his chest. That so-abstract sensation turned ever warmer, more squeezing, when that familiar smell of cloves arose, and Zant turned to oiling the blade. Ghirahim cocked his head, watching intently. “Tending to it again? So soon?”

Zant only glanced at him before returning to his focus. “Our sword is in its infancy, Ghirahim. It has to be nourished in its first year.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Ghirahim smirked.

“You hardly gave me any choice, Ghirahim-hasir,” Zant smirked right back.

Another honorific! He laughed fondly, ever-so-amused by Zant’s habit of slipping into mother tongue. “That one is new! What nonsense are you up to, this time?”

“No more than usual,” Zant hummed, a touch of cheer in his voice. “Now get back under the covers and leave me to do my bidding. We must be in top shape before dawn, you and I,” he crooned, stroking the cloth down their blade in emphasis.

Ghirahim smiled, sighed, and complied.

That morning, Hyrule conquered the southern settlements in a matter of minutes. The market streets the pair had grown so familiar with, committed to memory through the smells of spices, pastries, and smoked meat alone, decimated at once. Not that they’d made it particularly difficult for their adversaries; a minimal amount of monstrous troops were stationed there. This was their bait. A little trick tucked in falsely heightened morale, to fool the Hyruleans into thinking them weaker than they were. Besides, the locals stationed within sight would surely be healthily enraged by the sight of their beloved settlement being torn to the ground. Zant had planned for a bloody start.

The two of them were thoroughly locked away in the North. The Gerudo Temple Complex was a dark and swirling thing, a monumental goliath of sandstone and brick, its dimly lit corridors designed to trap anyone outside the clergy in the bowels. Deep within, it hid the Coliseum. A holy ground to desert peoples, later desecrated by Hyrule and turned into an executioner’s oubliette. Better known as, ‘The Arbiter’s Grounds’. Since its reclamation by the Gerudo (according to Zant, one of the few good things brought on by shattering the Mirror of Twilight), Hyrule was to never touch it again. The labyrinth would guard it for as long as it stood.

In other words, it was the ideal place to watch the battle unfold from afar. Their intel detected signs of three commanders: Link, the Goddess’ favored hero; Lana, still missing her counterpart; and an unfamiliar Sheikah warrior. Knowing the Hyruleans, they likely had more tricks up their sleeves. They needed caution above all. 

Zant was eerily silent for most of their stay, retreating within his helmet. Had Ghirahim not known any better, he would have suspected him of sleeping on the job again. On the contrary, the Twili could not have been more alert. The ace up their sleeve was heaving and buzzing restlessly deep underground below their feet. The Twilit Bloat, Queen Mother of Zant’s favorite pets, spent days spewing forth countless Shadow Insects, which he’d hidden away in every nook and cranny he thought would make a decent vantage point. They were acting as his eyes in the field and to keep track of them all required his utmost concentration. 

Until at long last Zant withdrew from meditation, the segments of his helmet squeaking as he straightened himself and turned toward his co-lieutenant. 

“They are inching closer to the oases. While they busy themselves there, now is the best time to start our preparations,” he said, beckoning him with a wave of his hand as he made his way through the keep.

Ghirahim, glad to finally have something to do, grinned. “You mean to set up the… Shadow puppets, you mentioned, yes?”

“I have told you of my plan,” Zant agreed, scaling the steps to the decrepit altar at the center of the Coliseum. His visor rolled up to reveal a grin. “But not yet of its execution. It should be most familiar to you, however,” he turned, his hand outstretched and palm facing the skies.

Ghirahim smirked and followed, taking his hand to have him lead him further up the steps. An arm curled around his waist, and he rested his on Zant’s shoulder in return. “How courteous of you, Twilight King. Won’t prancing about distract you from your own casting, though?”

Zant smiled in turn. With a small pull at his waist, they quickly sank into a rhythm, waltzing under the sunbeams that peeked through the stone walls. “We must enact our spell in utter synchronicity, Ghirahim-ili. This is the best way.”

A pulse coursed through him. Diamonds rose from their footprints, flickering with signs of their blooming magic. The beating of their feet and chiming of his core accompanied their dance like a dozen tambourines. Through their joined hands, sparks of power crossed into one another, melting together until the pictures in their minds became clear as day, a single being.

“I shall be the source, and you, my conduit. My power is yours to steer, puppeteer of mine,” Zant’s words echoed, but Ghirahim couldn’t be sure if they came from his lips, or snuck into his mind without his notice. How cheeky. 

And soon, that power manifested into being. Rising from the shadows, Ghirahim’s second pair of eyes came into view – or rather, he came into its view. A second Ghirahim took shape, its features growing more defined by the second. Terrible vertigo struck him, causing a temporary lapse in his steps. There was a disconnect, a duplication of his sight, but no identical one. He could see through his own body but through his double’s, too. His core swirled as he looked himself in the eye, standing in the sand with its muted colors and stiff stance.

“It’s easier if you close your eyes,” Zant whispered with a low croon, “try not to think. Let me lead you, my Blade.”

Easier said than done, he’d say, did it not make such a drastic difference. Ridding himself of his second-sight made it all the easier to at least gather his bearings without the spinning surroundings there to distract him. But reaching this double somatically remained a challenge. It was like trying to steer a phantom limb. The tether was weak, but undeniably there, and getting it to move was akin to timidly pressing the keys on an old harpsichord. All the while this buffoon requested him to dance.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Channeling their magic? He was no stranger to their bodies becoming one, in many senses of the term. It wasn’t just his own magic he had to focus on, but the force linking its fingers with it, too. 

Synchronicity. The picture through the eyes of his double became vibrant and clear as day.

His double twitched its fingers until they were veritably his, then took a stumbling step. Then another. Then more, stably, rolling its shoulders and bouncing on its heels. The shuffling of dancing feet was soon nothing but background noise, far removed from where his mind settled. Housed in this spectral clone, Ghirahim grinned, braced his fingers, and snapped.

The desert heat felt like room temperature. Or rather, like nothing at all, in this doubly-false skin. Having teleported himself, he stood a ways from the Southern Oasis, surveying his surroundings. Friend nor foe had spotted him yet, concealed as he was by the heat shaking the sights of their surroundings, but they’d have no choice than to witness him soon. He sprinted across the desert, intending to snicker to himself, only to find not a sound passed his lips. 

A gap in their illusion. How embarrassing it would have been! What if he had attempted to taunt their foe, only to be caught missing his voice? He quickly suppressed the urge to scold Zant for failing to inform him of this flaw. To cause dissonance between his two selves would collapse their plans like a house of cards. Which, obviously, he couldn’t afford, as he was already perched on the walls of the Oasis Keep, staring right into fiery red eyes that pierced into him with malice. 

The Sheikah man would be his first opponent.

His perch high up above did nothing to deter this stranger whatsoever. A long dagger whistled through the air just past Ghirahim’s ear, missing him only thanks to his own last-minute dodge. Ghirahim hadn’t yet the chance to righten himself before his adversary took a running start and leapt against the corner wall, kicking himself off to clamber up and meet him at eye level. It hadn’t even taken him five seconds to get to him. 

This was going to be interesting. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t lose his composure so early in the battle, but a warrior so quick and nimble made the stars dance in his core. The Sheikah was upon him in a split second, a long knife in each hand, eyes red and full of death. His strikes were lightning-fast and precise, but not fast enough to break past Ghirahim. This man was an entirely different territory from that white-haired dog. Where Impa combined her tremendous speed with heavy blows, her replacement depended entirely on the fleetness of his feet. And it carried him well. The two of them danced across the walls, locking blades like a pair of cats fighting atop a fence.

But, truthfully, Ghirahim was only humoring him. Against another human, the slashes of the Sheikah’s knives would have been lethal. But to Ghirahim, razor edges struck his sword with gentle taps at most. He had to put this boy in his place. Hilt in both hands, he boldly raised his blade to bait him with an opening – swung down quickly, to bait a crossing of knives, and catch his sword in between. 

The Sheikah were a near-ageless folk, living potentially centuries longer than Hylians, if they so chose. This very moment, the Sheikah proved his youth, his inexperience, despite his prodigal martial skill. He acted exactly as Ghirahim predicted. 

Now locked, Ghirahim shot him a grin, before pushing his bulk into his sword and tossing him sideways. The Sheikah shouted in surprise, stumbled. With the assistance of a showy flip and roll, he dropped off the wall and down into the dirt, quickly righting himself in fear of being ambushed.

Not a second too late! Ghirahim leaped for him, point of his sword aimed for the heart. Or, rather, aimed for the dirt, as the Sheikah darted away quickly. The pair exchanged blows, barraged each other with throwing knives, but their mutual bulk and speed resulted in nothing more than superficial injuries. 

Ghirahim couldn’t outspeed him. So, he’d just have to surprise him, instead. With only a small chime to announce his departure, Ghirahim disappeared into diamonds and landed himself square in the Sheikah’s way. The boy gasped in surprise, only barely managing to stumble out the way of the obsidian sword that flew toward him in a pitch-black streak. Now, all bets were on discombobulating his foe. The Sheikah was forced to face him more carefully, locked in a fierce combat. For every escape, every attempt at sprinting away for another trick, he was punished by the phantom that appeared in his shadow and threatened to rend him to pieces. 

Dark blue Sheikah armor tore to show flashes of skin and bleeding gashes, staining a deeper red every second. But Ghirahim found himself not as unscathed as he’d normally be – this puppet was fragile, meaning even the small enchantments on this warrior’s knives could hurt him. It wasn’t the same pain as he’d feel on his surface when injured. This was a magical, conjured pain, manifesting as a headache and stuttering of his core. But, injuries or not, he was winning. The Sheikah was slowing, growing into an easier target for his thrusts and merciless cleavings with every pace. And there he darted off again, some desperate manner of escaping! Of stalling time! Blood hung in the air, its particles catching delectably on his lolling tongue. He chased its source hungrily, wishing so it was his true self instead who would get to kill this wretched little thing, a mere pup in comparison to his superior. Ghirahim ached to run him through with this blade! Just a few more paces, another leap –

There was a track in the sand. In the corner of his eye, he spotted another. The Sheikah stopped at the joining of lines, readying something curved and golden.

The harp. The harp! His eyes shot to the Sheikah, who grinned at him with a squint, fingers at the ready over his blasted holy implement. Ghirahim looked back to the ground, where he now spotted an outline… And himself spot in the middle of it. An ominous hum, a faded glow, resonant below him as fingertips tensed the strings. Ghirahim turned to flee, but a second too late. With a mockingly cheerful tune, the magic glyph was activated, and a blinding field of light magic launched him out the gates of the Oasis Keep.

He skidded to a halt, clouds of sand trailing his heels as they coursed through. In his concealment, he was fortunate to find his first flaw; a black patch, crackling on the surface of his puppet. Their illusion was falling apart. 

Now is the time to flee. 

They thought it simultaneously, with Ghirahim immediately annoyed by Zant’s meddling. 

Shielded by this cloud of sand, he turned tail and fled. Soon enough, fleeted feet dashed through the sand a little ways behind him.

Just like he wanted! Bloodlust made blind! 

The next phase of their plan was imminent. He had to cross the sands to get to the cliffs, where he could funnel this little songbird into its cage. This seemed easier said and done, because the Sheikah’s tendency to make pot-shots at the enemy made it increasingly more difficult to conceal the black cracks left on his surface. He kicked up as much sand as he could in his sprint to keep himself shielded from prying eyes.

It was a mad chase. In short bursts, his adversary seemed to be faster than him, leading him to blink around to get away from the scatter of needles flying his way. A haphazard, zigzagging trail of metal pins traced their trajectory. Yet, the Sheikah seemed to be letting him escape, at least a little bit. Did he hope he was fleeing to some kind of hideout, and lead him straight there? Oh, if only he knew!

It was a good thing he didn’t. They crossed into the Cliffs Keep, revealing a dead end. Realizing it’d been a trap, before the Sheikah could fully turn, the gates slammed shut behind them.

The enraged eyes of a cornered animal met with a dark grin. The two men flung at one another, daggers in hand. But Ghirahim felt weakened – the magic holding this form together barely persisted through its many cracks, and it was slowing his reflexes. To save himself some power, he dismissed the false cape, at once revealing the web of deep black fractures spreading across his skin. 

This staggered the Sheikah for a moment, but baited him all the same. Daggers crossed, he lunged forward, and drove the tips towards his core. They tangled, tipped over, and landed in the sand, Ghirahim pinned between steel and soil.

For all this man knew, this was how a Sword Spirit died. The daggers sank into his chest, and Ghirahim let the illusion crackle into shards with a pained groan.

But not before leaving his parting gift. The Sheikah choked out a breath, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Ghirahim had driven a dagger right into his side.

He didn’t have the privilege to see if this caused his opponent to collapse or not, for his eyes caved into dust soon after this deceitful blow. Then followed the rest of his body, leaving only a cackle to fade on the wind.

Deep black turned into an outrageously bright light. With a gasp, Ghirahim came to, finding himself held up by Zant’s arms. Never before had he felt this unsteady on his feet, this jittery like a newborn foal. His shadowy double was gone, which left him to deal with the dizziness of returning to his body. How convenient that this animate coat rack of a man was there to assist him in doing so.

Ghirahim patted Zant on the sleeve, wobbling to righten himself. “Deliciously dramatic timing, Twilight King.” 

“Thanks. I thought so too.”

Zant laughed, patiently assisting Ghirahim through the last seconds of his vertigo. Once Ghirahim collected himself, Zant parted from him, again turning his gaze meditatively to the skies. “We shall let them struggle with this predicament for a little while. Then, I will take your place on the battlefield, Ghirahim-ili.”

The battle unfolded just about how they expected it would. The gates they so merrily left open were breached by opportunistic troops zealously at first, but with the imprisonment of their Sheikah general, anxious caution took the wheel. Nevertheless, critical movement took place: Lana, who had been moving through the desert, succeeded in capturing the Northern Oasis; while Link, having first guarded their home base in the Bazaar, crossed the southern sands to attempt a rescue mission. 

This was their cue. While their demonic troops clashed against Link’s brigade, Zant hopped back on his feet, extending his hands.

“Care to assist me once more?”

Locked again in dance, they watched as a shadowy form knitted into being by their pedestal. The illusory shape of Zant, darker and more muted than usual, readied itself for its host. Much to Ghirahim’s chagrin, Zant was clearly more adept than he at shifting his consciousness, as his double was up and moving in mere seconds.

“You close your eyes too, Ghirahim-ili.”

“Then who will keep watch of where we’re putting our feet? Moron.”

Ghirahim jested, but nonetheless allowed himself a brief respite, and did as he was told. Behind his darkened eyelids, he saw (though subtly) the world through the eyes of Zant’s shadowy double. He briefly worried if Zant had been spying along with him, too. Then, he felt some smug satisfaction in the knowledge, as he thought he’d made for a riveting battle just then.

Not a second longer did Zant let his puppet stick around and promptly sent it away. Just in time for Ghirahim to spin the both of them around and prevent them from tumbling off the altar.

Ghirahim’s impressions of this battle were vague, bestowed upon him in flashes through Zant’s incomprehensible sense of sight. The world was a blur of overly saturated colors in the Twili’s eyes, splitting into sharply defined contours at every moving object. Of course, the rapidly approaching emerald green and blue was then clear as day, as was the glowing blade that cut through the air towards him. 

But Link could not land a single hit on the Usurper’s false shape. Zant blinked himself across the sand and clapped his hands pompously, a playfully mocking tribute to Ghirahim’s favored spellcasting. At once, every gate in the battlefield slammed shut, isolating the three generals in their own death traps.

Wrathful Gerudo, Bulblins, and Stalfos poured from whatever crevice they could force themselves through to descend upon the now-isolated warriors. Whether they would surpass the Hyruleans in martial prowess remained to be seen, but surely, they’d leave not a shred of their morale untouched. 

Yet Zant led the Goddess’ little hero away from the onslaught, seeming to prefer a one-on-one duel, though there’d be nothing honorable about it. This battle was an absolute waste of time, drudging Link along through the scorching desert to chase after his constantly teleporting apparition. Even if his opponent couldn’t hear it, Zant couldn’t help but giggle. With such a jovial mood, one would expect victory, but aside from Zant’s violent retaliations, his health rapidly failed him. Not only was his double on the verge of collapse, but nearly every hack and slash it endured bore down on its host. Dancing with a smile, blood gushed from Zant’s nostrils with every hit he took. Ghirahim doubted whether the desperation on his double’s part was an act –  it contorted, stomped, flailing its arms and hurling wild bolts of magic at whatever blue banner-bearing shape it could see. But Zant seemed at peace, even as his puppet raised its arms to ready a bomb of pure, hexing shadow, only to find itself ran straight through by the Knight’s holy blade.

At once, the tether to their puppet was gone.

“... That’s it… Our first ruse is up,” Zant mumbled, before slumping forward, just barely caught by Ghirahim’s frame. The blood trickling from his nostrils was worrying still, so Ghirahim allowed him to collapse, lowering him carefully to sit at the edge of the pedestal. Yet, Zant declined any fussing over him, preferring instead to retreat into his mind again and survey the damage they’d done. With his ‘death’, every single gate in the battlefield flew back open – save for the Temple complex. Sitting side by side, Zant relayed what he saw through the eyes of his countless insect servants. Among the Hyruleans, there was relief, rallying cries spreading through the battlefield as they once again rushed forth to seize new territory. Their own forces still held fast. The defeat of their Lieutenants sowed seeds of anxiety, which their captains and commanders did not allow to sprout among the common infantry. Though the full plan of today was relayed to very few, every officer of repute knew not to lose hope when all seemed over. 

They’d seen the captured beasts in their chains, after all, and had yet to see them surface in this battle.

One unexpected problem remained. When the gates to the Sheikah commander’s imprisonment were opened, he was already long gone. The trail of blood scaling the cliff wall toward the Temple clued them in where he could have gone. He was trapped in here with them, somewhere. Zant seemed to take nothing but amusement in that thought.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for a surge in confidence among the Hyruleans that would raise their might and lower their guard. If this took mere minutes or hours, then the blood spilled to tip the scales would simply have to be an acceptable sacrifice. Time ticked away mostly in silence. On occasion, Zant orated an update from the battlefield with his vacant, manic gaze. Ghirahim stared at the man beside him, bloodstained as he was, and wondered how far the gray blight had crawled up his arms today.

Zant perked up sooner than Ghirahim expected and turned to him. “Their bases are almost settled. They are transporting their goods. Now is the time, Ghirahim. Will you do the honors?”

Ghirahim grinned. “Gladly.”

Within a blink, Ghirahim disappeared from the Arbiter’s Grounds and materialized far below the earth. Deluge streams of sand poured down from above – he found himself in an underground cave, discovered long ago by the Gerudo when digging for water reservoirs. Quicksand pools from above fed this ever-filling chamber with gold, like an hourglass that would never tip. Behind him was a nearly-buried gate leading to the old waterways. In front of him were cages. He didn’t want to keep the beasts inside waiting any longer; he’d kept them unfed a little too long. They frothed at the sight of him, spurred on by Zant’s blood caked into his suit. 

“You’ll find something far tastier on the surface, my dears!”

One, two, three showy snaps of his fingers, and the chains bearing the monsters down disappeared. With a flex of his hands, his fist cloaked itself in glowing, purple magic. He took a running start, heading straight for the back of the cages (where the monsters’ eyes hungrily followed him), and launched himself at the massive lever that stood there. With one solid punch, the old mechanism screeched back to life, and past all its rust, the switch was flicked. A rattling that could only be produced by a machine at the end of its life echoed throughout the room. Tugged upwards by heavy chains, the cage doors were lifted, and out stormed their inhabitants. 

But before they could make for the little creature that stood antagonizing them, a cascade of sand cued them in on the blue skies above. A ring tunnel of diamond magic pried open the quicksand pitfall in the ceiling and allowed these beasts the first glimpse of sunshine they’d seen in weeks. 

Not to mention, the smell of fresh carcasses. 

The Manhandla, a four-headed, man-eating plant; threw itself against the wall and clambered up through its web of roots. The Molduga, the very giant sandworm Ghirahim had stolen away scarce a month earlier; took to the skies and flew through the opening. The Lanmola, a cyclopean centipede; swam up the stream of sand.

But that was merely the first wave. This was the Southern Desert’s treat: the North would get its very own collection of nuisances. His next teleportation took him to the mesas in the northeast, where six pairs of eyes furiously eyed him down from within their cave prison. The caverns in these rocky mountains were straightforward tunnels, opening right into the deserts. After opening the cages, all he had to do was give them an incentive to break free.

So, naturally, he brought the entire cave to a collapse. As soon as the beasts panickedly rushed out of their prisons, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and perched himself on the Mesa’s edge, overlooking the monsters’ exit holes. 

The first to break free were the two Dodongos, bulky, rock-clad lizards; curled up and rolling, shot out like cannonballs. Then came the Helmaroc King, a giant prismatic bird; shrieking wildly and leaving a storm of feathers in its wake as it beat its wings and flew off. Finally, poking out one head after the other, came the Gleeok, the three-headed dragon; with stout little legs and clumsy, serpentine necks, it sauntered to the mouth of the tunnel somewhat timidly. But at the first sight of prey below, it roared viciously and spread its draconic wings, and set off in pursuit of violence.

Ghirahim returned to his post at once, finding Zant just as vacant as he’d left him, but with far greater amusement sketching his face. The Twili didn’t appear to notice him as he sidled up next to him, hands in his sides. 

“Satisfied by my handiwork, Twilight King?”

“More than, Yima Zeeioitneit,” he responded. Zant had cleaned himself up a bit in his absence, but was looking no less gaunt. “Would you like to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Gladly, I would,” Ghirahim said, keeping his apprehension about Zant’s intrusive, meddling magic to himself. 

Zant shook himself out of his daze, at once standing with his eyes bright and glowing. “Then allow me some time to recuperate. I will share my clairvoyance with you in the meantime, Ghirahim-ili.”

Before Ghirahim could utter a word of questioning or protest, Zant’s shape turned pitch-black, becoming no more than a silhouette with shining eyes. A rustle sounded as the shade before him ducked down and turned into nothing more than a smudge, and, shockingly… Melted into the floor. Just like that, Zant seemed to have crawled into his shadow. There was the alarming presence of magic, certainly, but otherwise, he felt not a thing of it. At least, not until Zant fulfilled his promise. Ghirahim then learned, intimately, just what he meant by ‘clairvoyance’. 

A sudden burst of droning visions took over his sight, shaking him into an unsightly stumble. Each flashed by for mere seconds before Zant flicked him over to the next, all blurring into the same haze. Only after sitting there, hands in his hair and groaning audibly, did he piece together just what he was looking at. It seemed that Zant had planted more of his Shadow Insects on the skulls of their monsters, and thus, allowed the both of them front-row seats to each individual rampage. 

To the north, the Helmaroc crested to dizzying heights, carefully eyeing its companions. Yards below it, the Gleeok was circling the desert, scarcely avoiding flurries of arrows from piercing its wings. It found its point of interest in a line of provision wagons, which already had its many hands full with the giant lizards besieging it from both sides. Claws extended, it swooped down in an instant, plowing through the line of them with its razor-sharp talons. 

Now out of a meal, the twin Dodongos sought their fortune elsewhere. They turned straight to the oasis, where they expected to rake in the biggest rewards, only to find the place heavily guarded. Grimoire in hand, Sorceress Lana nervously eyed down the two approaching beasts. She was a nimble woman, swiftly evading raking claws and blazing fire, but she did not take well to being surrounded. From the eyes of this Dodongo, she swooped in dangerously close. Just as the massive reptile thought to swallow her down in one gulp, a large, translucent cube was lodged in its gullet, and with the touch of the Sorceress’ hand, electrified. It shrieked and convulsed, reflexively clamping its jaws hard enough to crack its teeth, and just like that, collapsed.

This Dodongo was down for the count. But before its Shadow Insect died with it, it captured just a few more seconds. From the sound of blazing fire and the screams of their opponent, the beast’s twin appeared to hold fast.

The southern desert was similarly infested. The Manhandla had dug its roots throughout the sand, sprouting additional heads across the desert to drown it in a poisonous haze. Soon, only the dead could wander here, and the very bold. Those who dared approach the floral menace disappeared quickly past its massive teeth. Monitoring this monster led the pair of lieutenants to begrudgingly note that one of its four heads seemed to have gotten hacked off somewhere along the way. Though, they doubted they minded. If the victory was all too crushing, there would not have been any honor in it. Much less satisfaction. 

This next vision was fully dark, until it burst with sudden light. How the fragile insect managed to cling on to this creature through all the sand was a mystery. From the shrill bellowing, these could only have been the sights of the Molgera, soaring through the skies in pursuit of prey. And what a target it had chosen! Skidding away from the sandworm, bow and arrow boldly drawn but visibly alarmed, was their favorite green-clad menace, his blue scarf long lost in the scuffle. He had felled the Lanmola in record time. From the look in his eyes, that wouldn’t be his only trophy of today. Whether he would fulfill that ambition was another question. The Molgera roared and dove for him, but shrieked when an arrow pierced it someplace unseen, and veered off course. It burrowed beneath the sand once more, plunging their vision in darkness. Through the roaring of sand surging past the giant beast, there was a sound; footsteps, hurrying away. The Molgera homed in on its source and launched for the surface. 

It breached, it opened its maw. A scream was heard, then muffled by the resounding clap of the Molgera’s jaws snapping shut. As the Molgera twisted itself through the air, not a trace of the Hero of Legend remained.

Cackles and shouts of triumph and astonishment echoed through the Arbiter’s Grounds. Had the Twili stood beside him, rather than lie hidden in his shadow, Ghirahim would have embraced him and thrown him around the arena for good measure. What an undignified end for the little Hylian! Ghirahim was ecstatic. Already he swell with pride over the thought of informing their Master of this victory. The pair of them sang praises of this magnificent sandworm. Even after they’d treated it so cruelly, it hadn’t let them down in the slightest. Whether it could hear their words conveyed through the Shadow Insect, wasn’t their concern. 

Amidst their celebration, the Molgera suddenly groaned. Shuddered. Slowed in its flight. It contorted itself, squeaking in pain, until it tore its mouth open in a shriek. The Shadow Insect lost all functionality. Its host could only be dead.

What happened? It was in the air – how had it perished!? 

Zant apparently had the same questions. He frantically browsed through the Insects still alive, until he found a proper view of the events through the eyes of the Manhandla. The Molgera fell from the skies, its spiked belly slit wide open. A rain of blood and guts splattered onto the ground before its multi-ton body hit the sand, sending forth an explosive dust cloud to shroud the battlefield from all.

Surfacing from that shroud, visible through the makeshift sandstorm by a glowing silhouette, was a newcomer to today’s battlefield. Fi, doll-faced as ever, but her blue gemstone surface now tainted with viscera, had surfaced from the Hero’s blade, and freed her ‘Master’. Offering her wing, she stuck herself halfway into the Molgera’s eviscerated stomach to pull Link free, soaked in mucus and blood. The morbidity of it all seemed completely lost on her gentle smile, as she stood watching him gather himself.

Ghirahim grit his teeth. “It seems they’ve taken a page out of our book, Twili… They’re hiding commanders!”

“And where there is one, there may be more. They think they have us for fools.”

With the appearance of Fi, a Hyrulean war horn sounded in the Southern Desert. The troops in the North responded. Surfacing from Lana’s shadow was none other than Midna, who immediately clenched a keratin fist around the head of an ambushing Bulblin commander. A sense of fury bubbled forth from his shadow, and lingered somewhere in Ghirahim, too. But as much as the arrival of the Twilight Princess spelled trouble, something about her appearance soothed Zant’s mood into a bubbly giggle. 

She was an imp again.

The war horn sounded in the North. Two responded; one from the Western mesas, and one from the South. Through the eyes of the Helmaroc King, a far more alarming sight poured into the desert. The troops they had fought so deftly to thin out were filling their numbers again. Vast swathes of Zora and Gorons arrived through glowing portals and raced to assist the overthrown Keeps. Only to then clash against equally large numbers of frothing demon forces, pushing each other back and forth past a faultline of trampled steel. This visceral desperation of gnashing teeth and battered armor only left the frontlines in stasis for so long. The Zora Princess, her arrival announced by a tidal wave sweeping along her own troops in massive schooling, forced an opening through the simple measure of washing away everything in her path. She came out the other end of the first line of infantry clad in silvery armor, spear in hand, looking back at the dizzied and drowning mass of demonic forces behind her. This very measure would carry her to the northern desert, where she quickly joined Lana’s side. 

Lana startled when the Dodongo just in front of her was sucked into a maelstrom and launched across the sands. When she turned to find Ruto, some sort of sentimental conversation was surely being carried out. Watching from the Gleeok still soaring above the keeps, neither Ghirahim nor Zant cared to hear it. Their despairing, confused prattles were far more interesting.

The Gleeok swept in closer, ducking out the way of an impending lightning bolt sent from the Sorceress’ grimoire. 

“I don’t understand, Ruto,” Lana cried. “Ghirahim and Zant were defeated, but their armies haven’t slowed down whatsoever!”

Ruto intercepted an incoming belch of fire with a watery shield, bursting it apart in glittering projectiles as she dismissed it. The Gleeok shrieked when one of its many eyes was pierced. “Desperation, it must be. It takes a pair of cowardly men like them to rig such posthumous traps!”

“Are we sure it was really them Sheik and Link defeated?” Midna cut in, surfacing from Lana’s shadow to glare down the limping Dodongo in the distance. “Like you said. They’re cowards! I’ll bet my entire treasury that the foes we saw were nothing more than illusions!”

A troubled expression dawned on Lana, which soon turned to anger. She burst out in front of the Zora Princess, spellbook at the ready, and sent out another burst of lightning. Though, this one was different. It broke apart like fireworks, each spark lighting its own deadly branch, that darted in zig-zags through the air. The Gleeok, hopeless to dodge such a flurry, lost one of its wings to countless tears and perforations and then crashed to the ground. 

Before the beast could stomp its way inside the keep, Lana blocked its entrance with a crackling barrier and whipped around to look at her companions. “Then- The real Ghirahim and Zant… They must be hiding somewhere, commanding from afar!”

“Oh, they can’t be that far. Those two draw to carrion more than a common fly,” Midna grimaced, squinting to peer out into the scorching desert. “Just so happens, I got just the trick up my sleeve to get to the bottom of this. Ruto! Cover me!”

Ruto nodded, readying her spear to join Lana’s side. Lana’s barrier did not hold much longer. Every passing second, the Gleeok was driven to madness by two voices balking commands into its triplet minds, and could only think to throw itself at the magical wards harder. Finally, it burst through, and wasted not a moment to start snapping at the two warriors in its way. Lana fought grimoire in hand, turning scattered parchment into razor-sharp projectiles, while Ruto threatened every impending bite with a thrust of her spear. 

While the Gleeok was rapidly losing scales to the combined assault, Midna stretched out her hand, readying a spell amidst the chaos. A gap tore itself through the fabric of reality, manifesting as a spreading shadow on the ground, soon thrumming and glowing with runes.

Stepping out of the shadows was a little girl, no older than eleven, who curtsied under the protection of her parasol. “Agitha has waited patiently as you ordered, Miss Kitty! How can she be of assistance?”

Lana was almost as disturbed by the girl’s appearance as Ghirahim and Zant, but clearly for different reasons. “A-Agitha? But… The two of you can’t just go out there alone. There are still giant monsters alive!”

The Zora Princess glanced over her shoulder, the second of distraction nearly costing her a fin to the jaws of the Gleeok. “Sorceress, if you wish to accompany them, We will hold down the Oasis.”

“Ruto, are you sure? In this weather, the Zora-”

“Do not doubt the resilience of Our people,” Ruto interjected, jabbing her spear between the plates on one of the dragon’s jugulars. “We know where their limits lie. Place your trust in Us. Now, go! Waste no precious seconds!”

“My, what a shame,” a voice echoed from the dragon. “They’ve become aware of our little plan quicker than expected.”

Zant figured to broadcast his mockery through the Shadow Insect still perched on the dethroned creature. Bleeding heavily from one of its throats, its still-living heads contorted their faces into toothy grins, the Gleeok puffed out its chest and stanced imposingly. The spread of its wings blotted out the sun above the keep, casting it in shadow.

Ghirahim found it a fine idea. “Then let them come find us! We’ll finish them off right away!”

Thus, precious seconds were wasted. By some incomprehensible measure of lollygagging, Midna stuck around while Lana and Agitha made for the desert. The pair of girls slipped past the Dodongo only thanks to Midna’s uncouth taunts, who sent wolves yipping and nipping at its front legs. A little of Zant’s own hatred for the Twilight Princess must have leaked into it, then, because the beast took the bait hook, line, and sinker. So focused it was on the hounds and the woman cheering them on behind them, that it failed to notice its remaining surroundings. Its maw opened wide, readying a blazing inferno, and aimed straight for its annoyance. 

Only for said target to dodge out of the way at the very last second, dragging the Zora Princess out of the trajectory along with her. Instead, the hellfire launched across, square into the chest of the already wounded Gleeok and melting everything in its way. A weaving path of coarse glass glittered in the sand, tying the two monsters by a thread of aggression. Their dragon could not resist retaliation and lunged for its treacherous comrade.

Thus, in the Oasis, two of the beasts were tearing each other down. In the sand wastes, one last beast made itself useful. The King Helmaroc, contrary to its name, was an obedient creature, and soared as high or hovered as low as they needed it to. Through its eyes, they saw Midna had joined the pair a little after her charade of chaos. 

From this vantage point, Ghirahim and Zant quietly observed their desert trek. At least, until Zant clicked his tongue, seeming annoyed. “I see now why they brought the girl. I should have expected this.”

“Somehow, even when we share the same thoughts, you manage to puzzle me. Get to the point.”

“Look closely. They have a Goddess Butterfly. It will lead them straight to us, and the labyrinth will not keep them.”

Once again, silence fell between them. Less time wasted in the labyrinth meant fewer opportunities to whittle down their strength. With this many enemy commanders, such a head start was crucial.

Even so, the thought of their plan failing ever so slightly, filled Ghirahim with a strange sense of excitement. “An unfortunate twist, but… Frankly, I was getting bored. I’m itching for a fight.”

Then, as if Zant had taken note of his excitement, he felt the warmth of a smile inside his mind. “Ghirahim-ili… When they arrive here, let us fight our hardest.”

Of course, the Helmaroc understood nothing at all of such banter. It was far more focused on the triad of two-footed creatures zipping through the sand sea. To a bird, this entourage of warriors must have looked awfully like a line of ants. 

It dove down for them, talons outstretched, as if they were. 

The first to react was not the Sorceress, nor was it Midna. Instead, the young girl turned a pouting face to the sky and popped the cork off a glass jar.

In an instant, a massive, emerald beetle appeared from thin air and swung its horn full-force into the Helmaroc’s gullet. Their eyes in the sky shrieked. An explosion of feathers obscured their vision as the panicked bird flailed its wings, knocked entirely off balance by the throttling of this massive bug. Zant’s quiet marvel for the adversary’s familiar was drowned out entirely by Ghirahim’s rage. How preposterous! This massive bird of prey, knocked out of the sky by a mere insect!? He took the reins immediately. 

The beetle now dismissed, the Helmaroc King chased after the girls on foot, pouncing at them with its claws and jabbing with its beak. But just as it started to get the drop on the group, the Temple complex was in sight, and the doorway they slipped through would never fit their bird.

When the Helmaroc was left behind them, squawking and pacing indignantly at the gate, the trio chased the little glowing insect through the Temple’s ever-twisting halls. Following this journey proved to be a pain. Zant had only set up Shadow Insects in so many corridors, and tracking their trajectory was a dizzying flurry of different angles and crowding soldiers. Yet, Zant managed to follow them in glimpses. Hyrulean and Demon soldiers alike had swarmed the place, fighting pointless battles in corridors leading nowhere. Undead gaolers were already scavenging the heaps of dead and injured, either locking those still breathing in chains, or ripping the bones from the freshly deceased to replenish their own limbs. Thus, the pair of women led a child over this carpet of corpses. The girl’s fighting ability mattered very little here – they were under the protection of Midna and her wolves, but even then, little ‘Agitha’, as they’d called her, looked too stunned to do anything but keep running. 

Along the way, found tearing the talons of a Dinolfos to replenish his throwing needles, was the Sheikah warrior. He had forfeited his turban to use it as a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. The group swiftly urged him along. Striking down whatever station guards stood in their way, they reached the deeper bowels of the temple, where lines of defense grew more and more scarce.

The three eldest of the company grew more skeptical with each step. Midna leaned closer to Agitha, whispering something the Shadow Insect could not perceive.

“The Goddess Butterfly is never wrong, Miss Kitty,” the young girl assured. She seemed to have full confidence in the butterfly’s sense of direction, and faltered not even a second in chasing after it. And that confidence was well within her right, for Ghirahim recognized these corridors. They would reach their location in no time flat.

Soon, the ground beneath the group’s feet turned sandier and sandier, until the stone tiles were completely covered. They reached a dark chamber, lit only through the cracks of ventilation slits above the massive stone door across them. The butterfly fluttered across without a care, landing on the dusty surface of the door, and fanned its wings in rest. Agitha was about to tromp right after it, but the Sheikah stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. He pushed her back, right into Lana’s protective embrace. 

Painfully slow, annoyingly cautious, the Sheikah inched into the clearing of the room step by step. He could check for traps, he could listen for mechanisms and dowse for curses or enchantments, but he would find none. Instead, something found him.

A stinger, tall enough to almost scrape past the ceiling, shot out from the sand, and jabbed at the intruder. Its menacing needle missed only by the grace of the commander’s reflexes, pushing the tail out of its trajectory with a talon dagger, but failing to crack carapace. Shaking itself out of the sand, the final bastion had revealed itself. The Moldarach, a massive scorpion of centuries old, screeched and chittered a word of warning. Its pincers snipped menacingly, tendons tight and fierce. Yet, under the threat of its lightning-fast stinger, the little girl was least afraid of them all. 

Agitha looked up at the Moldarach in awe and rummaged in her basket, not taking her eyes off the creature once. “Ohh, I’d hate to hurt such a beautiful bug… I’m sorry, li’l one! But I don’t have a big enough bottle to keep you in!”

From it she retrieved an armful of glass jars, brandishing them as if they were explosives. Her entourage backed away hastily, clearly knowing far more about the contents of those jars than the Moldarach could. She tossed the jars with a sweep, racking them on the scorpion’s hard carapace at first impact. Out swarmed dozens of glowing, spectral butterflies, that headed straight for the first sign of soft flesh they could find: the Moldarach’s eyeball. The beast recoiled, pawing at its face in an attempt to shake the pests off, but it was fruitless. It could now only depend on the eyeballs hidden within its pincers, but in doing so, it revealed the soft tendons holding its claws together. Midna and the Sheikah exchanged a look, seemingly sharing an idea. 

Getting up close to this creature proved to be a challenge. Lunging in to take out its claws also meant being subjected to the monster’s lightning-fast reflexes, and Midna found herself trapped in its clutches soon enough. It squeezed, digging the teeth of its claws into her flesh dangerously. They hardly even needed the Shadow Insect for this – they could hear her cries of pain through the door. A little more and it might have killed her, had the Sheikah commander not severed the tender meat in its other claw. Its grip on the imp loosened in its distress and she managed to slip away, evading its gaze long enough for it to lose sight of her. The clash of claw, stinger, and blade continued, though the Moldarach grew more fatigued by the minute. Butterflies continued to eat at its face and attached themselves to whatever nerve opening they could find. Thus the creature slowed, its jabs and lunges losing their accuracy, until at long last it ceased its attacks altogether. They saw no use in waiting until the monster fully died; their little band of foils took this earliest opportunity to flee and push through the door.

The door slid open, grinding down coarse sand of centuries old as it slotted into the wall, and allowed the quartet of Hyruleans into the Coliseum. In the center they saw Ghirahim, lounging atop the Keep’s crumbling walls and examining his nails. 

Midna scowled, her fangs bared. She felt at the wounds on her chest, already scabbed over – so quickly? – and glanced to her side, where the child stood waiting expectantly. “Great work, Agitha. Now get out of here.”

At this command, Agitha looked to the Sheikah man with big, glittering eyes, smiling when he met her gaze with a nod. She curtseyed – if Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was at him – and, with a dainty clutch of her frock, hopped down a Twilit portal.

“There you are, Demon!” Midna turned to foul, biting language the moment less-matured company was out of earshot. “Just you, huh? Go on. Cough it up! Where’s Zant? I don’t believe we got rid of him back in the desert. Not one bit!”

Ghirahim laughed, once again donning his gloves. Now more appropriately dressed, he hopped down from his perch and landed with a feathery flourish. Now that he seemed to be alone, and outnumbered at that, he decided he could afford a bit of taunting. He hummed, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with a wildly exaggerated gesture. “Oh, who can say? You make such a poor host out of me. All these questions, yet I’ve no intent to answer them!” Resting his hand on his cheek, he turned to Midna with a grin. With a puff of diamonds, he vanished, then reappeared before Midna, leaning down to glare at her with one pair of big, buggy eyes to another. “Say, I have one of my own. You look different. New haircut?”

Midna bared her teeth in a snarl, the fist at the end of her ponytail balling tightly until its fibers threatened to give. She lunged for him, the massive orange hand open and clawed. When his defending sword caught on the curved metal of her bangle, she leaned in with a grin. “Real jester you are! I take it this was your idea, then? That gaudy-masked imp told me to send you its regards.”

Majora. Ghirahim winced. It was getting a little too quiet on the Arch Demon’s front, he’d thought. But to rear its head again and mess with the Demon King’s enemies… There was no telling of its little plans. He turned his blade with a flick of his wrist, threatening to sever her hair at the shackle, and forced her back. “If I wanted you to be cursed, I’d ask someone more reliable.”

His eye flicked to the ground. Where he stood now, the low angle of the light stretched his shadow to that of the Keep’s walls… 

Zant emerged from the shadows in an instant, mere inches behind Midna, and swung at her like wings on a windmill. She shielded herself with the hair-clad hand of her ponytail, only to realize within a split second that the Twilight King’s new blade cut right through it. Ducking quickly out of the way, she spun through the air, launching herself to stand closer to her two companions. 

“It is a shame about your plight, Twilight Princess. I would have preferred to fight you in a more dignified form.”

When Midna forfeited a reply to glare him down, he laughed, turning to the altar behind him. “Nostalgic, is it not?” Zant waxed, his arms spread as he spun himself to the center of the coliseum. “The birthplace of our people. And perhaps, where the last of us will meet our end.”

Midna then made the grave mistake of taking his poetics as an opening and launched for him, the hand on her ponytail outstretched. The giant fist clenched around empty air when Zant promptly warped out of her way. Placing himself beside her momentum, he swung his scimitar down like a cleaver.

In an instant, magical wards were shattered. Showered in a foreboding glitter of gold, Midna cried out and smacked to the ground. But before Zant could lift his blade again and cleave her in half properly this time, the Sheikah dashed in to intervene. Only to then, himself, be driven to his knees by the daunting force of the Twilight King’s blade. It was two against one; each time Zant had subdued the one foe, the other would step in to try and take him out through his flanks. But Zant was too quick, his blade too sharp. Screeches rang out when the scimitar coursed past the edges of the Sheikah’s daggers, filling their cutting edges with worrying chips. Then, the first of them shattered to pieces completely.

Amidst it all, Zant cackled maniacally, madness tugging at his sweat-drenched brow with each swing of his sword. “Witness me, Ghirahim! We are unstoppable!”

But Ghirahim had very little time to witness. Lana had chosen him as her opponent and did everything in her power to keep him from uniting forces with his co-lieutenant. Frankly, he was a little amused that the Sheikah had not dared to face him a second time. But moreso, insulted, that the Demon Lord was not deemed a terrible enough foe to require backup to challenge. Tongue lolling from his lips in mockery and Annihilation in hand, he decided to make the Sorceress severely regret underestimating him.

Scratches tore through his robes and the strikes that hadn’t broken through his leather mail had surely bruised him, but Zant didn’t seem discouraged by injury whatsoever. Instead, he pushed through, seeking risk after risk and tearing through everything that opposed him. Soon, that boldness was awarded. Midna held up her hair-clad fist to defend herself, and Zant carved through two of its fingers as if it were made of wet paper.

Zant screeched with delight. “Your weeks of bedrest have atrophied your skills, Princess! While you lay there rotting in your own misery, I have gotten stronger!”

Midna growled, ducking behind the Sheikah to conceal herself from his bloodthirsty glee. Ghirahim, though, could see everything. Portals appeared in the shadows and from it surfaced a trio of wolves, each raising its hackles before bursting past the Sheikah and charging at the Usurper.

“Such cheap tricks will not work a second time,” Zant clicked his tongue.

Then, with a gust of wind, he launched himself backward and well out of range of the two warriors. With a single twirl, he drew a circle in the sand with his feet, and raised his arms to the skies. When he parted his lips to speak, every shadow stilled at once, slithering beneath the feet of each combatant, turning the air thick and heavy.

The air grew heavy, stopping every warrior in their tracks. A pale blue light shone from above, but none dared take their eyes off him to look for its source.

One by one, limbs limp and gangly in their descent, three creatures fell from the sky. Upon hitting the ground, their bodies contorted as they rose, each more bizarrely and stiffly than the next. They were massive, gray things, fitted with stone masks upon their faces and a mass of wet, slithering tentacles pouring from their faces.

Without even having to command them, the monsters galloped on all fours to throw themselves at the hounds. They entangled in a mess of rune and shadow, tumbling through the dust in a bestial scuffle. Midna looked on with horror.

Her companion had different concerns. Distracted by the sounds of magic, she whipped around. “That spell… How does he know that spell!?”

Just as Lana yelped, beset once more by the Demon Lord’s blade, Zant scoffed. “Did I not say I have gotten stronger!?” he taunted, knocking another brittle dagger out the hands of the Sheikah.

“Stronger!? And yet you rely on them?” Midna shouted, hurtling herself past her fellow commander to throw herself at Zant in a raging flurry. Where Zant could not parry her, he settled for shooting her from the air at point-blank with his projectiles. “How dare you utter even a word of affection toward our people, when you force their mutilated bodies to fight for your own gain!”

“Make your dogs stop attacking them, then,” Zant said, thoroughly nonplussed. At last, he forced both combatants off of him with a resounding shock wave, rattling even Ghirahim’s core where it rested in his metal.

When the ringing in his mind subsided, a different, familiar sensation took over Ghirahim. A blinking sound deep within him, imperceptible before, now alerted him to the presence of his kin. Fi – and by extension, most likely the green-clad knight tagging along – was fast approaching. “Oh, thank Our Lord, your cavalry is arriving. I was worried it would get a little too easy.”

Lana fell to the ground as Annihilation jabbed into her ribs. Its point bounced off stronger wards than he’d been met with before, and though Ghirahim didn’t exactly break skin, she clutched her chest with a groan either way. All three of their opponents exchanged a worried look, doubtlessly contemplating how to best gang up on them as they were bound to do.

Just as each of the Demon lieutenants took a step forward, deciding whose head to lop off first, new presences made themselves known. Pointing the glowing Goddess Blade forward in dowsing, Link entered through the stone gate, with Fi soon joining by his side. This second of distraction, a spark of hope for Hyrule, was just enough for the lot of them to scramble back to their feet and cluster into tight formation.

“Everyone, watch out,” Lana shouted, grimoire at the ready. “Only those with the Triforce can wield that magic!”

“He still has it?” Midna asked, eyeing Zant with her fangs bared.

Not expecting that reply, Lana turned to Midna, eyes wide with shock. “Still!?”

“Oh, so you remembered,” Zant chimed, making his way to the clustered group without hesitation. “Our Master is quite generous with his gifts. A small piece of that power is all I need to decimate the lot of you, who now have none at all. You would do better not to underestimate us!”

Midna’s eyes darted between her companions. A heaving, determined sigh tore through her. Then, her enraged expression twisted into a malicious grin. Her arms raised, she placed her hands on either side of her helmet. “Doesn’t matter. I could best you then, and I can do it now!”

The Coliseum was bathed in shadow. Midna drew darkness to her like a cyclone. Where Zant’s shadowy magic was warm and suffocating; a pulsing, all-consuming parasitic disease, hers was an eerie chill. From the pitch-black surrounding her feet, three ancient stone artifacts, the Fused Shadows, surfaced and encased her like a tomb.

When the first spidery legs burst forth from the bottom of the Twilight Princess’ stone-hewn armor, Ghirahim found himself beset by his own opponents. Link, drenched almost completely red with monstrous blood, ran for him, aiming right for his chest. Disappointed, almost, that the boy had learned nothing, he took hold of the blade with his bare hand, flicking it aside just in time to be able to step out the way of Fi’s impending kick. They were teaming up against him again, just as their other, more wounded companions were now piling on Zant. Where worry once would have possessed him, Ghirahim was now buzzing with nothing but thrill. The boy was already exhausted. He would get to tug the cords of his life from him strand by strand, and he hardly had to break a sweat to do so.

With that ever-lasting nuance and his dancing blade demanding his every second, Ghirahim couldn’t spare a glance at his battling compatriot. Not even as tendrilous arms, gnarled and glowing like smoldering branches of wicker, scampered around this battlefield, their incessant thumping shaking the rubble off the walls. Dust and pebbles rained down from above, only to be meticulously carved into halves by his sword. Some time ago, the duo of Link and Fi had bested him. 

But back then, he didn’t have this blade. Annihilation soared and carved, striking hard enough to make even the stone-faced Goddess Blade wince as he parried her swinging legs. With this power, enemy numbers didn’t matter – he would win.

A twinge of anxiety simmered in him nonetheless. While he could indeed not spectate the battle behind him directly, he caught impressions from the piece of himself, wielded by his co-lieutenant. A screech of metal, a beast recoiled. Hair-coiled fists he so easily carved through minutes past now felt solid as rock. Midna could not find a way through his defenses, and the ground shook as she struggled away from his offenses. Those that dared to try left a taste of blood upon his blade, however slight. Weapons crashed into each other in such a cacophony he could no longer distinguish the flashes of light in his own battle, from the ones imposed on him by Zant’s hands. To any mortal, such a barrage of violence would render them collapsed in the confusion, but to Ghirahim, it was Paradise.

Yet, this could not last long. Caught in bladelock with Link, he swiftly kicked the boy off of him when an alarming sensation overtook him. The part of him resting within the Demon Scimitar overloaded him with visions. With the uttering of strange words, Lana had bypassed Zant’s wards. Metal groaned eerily, then exploded, shrapnel shooting into the sand. An inky-black fist clutched around an equally black steel javelin, then threw it whistling through the air. But Midna didn’t aim for the now staggered Zant – she aimed at the ceiling. Chunks of stone and wispy sands rained down, blinding all who waited below, until the dust cleared. Zant noticed it before anyone else, and burst out into a shriek when sunlight flooded every corner of the Coliseum. 

They hounded him like a pack of starved wolves. More blinded than ever and his skin blistering, Zant couldn’t defend himself from the Sheikah’s assault, nor Link’s, nor Lana’s, all the while Fi kept Ghirahim across the arena. His guard dog, forced away from its flock. With every second in the sun, Zant was weakening. He simply couldn’t keep up, not while blinded and in agony like this. With desperate flings of their sword, he only barely managed to deflect the blows that would have otherwise sliced his head off. Blood stained the sand around him as strike after strike tore through his armor like it was no more than air. When his weapon finally fell from his hands, Midna took it as a sign, and grappled his battered body with a tendril for each limb. When he lifted his face, his stare was aimless, but full of malice.

“Sheik, now!”

Lana commanded, desperately eyeing the still-bleeding Sheikah commander. He complied with a nod too serene for such a boyish warrior. A glow gathered in his palms, abstract and foggy at first, until he grasped it, held it before him, and drew the string. Fuzzy sparkles shed from the light-made object, revealing its true form.

A bow. With a single blink, the Sheikah’s eyes turned from red to crystal blue.

It was the Princess! Ghirahim’s body froze over. In Zant’s current state, that single arrow would be fatal. What could stun their Master was deadly poison to his underlings.

An inhibition, once hard-coded into every fiber of his being, now shattered. Annihilation felt feather-light in his hands but crashed into Fi with the force of a stampede. A single facet chipped off her core, and would still be floating in the air when Ghirahim bolted to the center of the arena. Step, after step, after step, pummeling the sand into craters. The arrow nocked and braced, was then released. Ghirahim disappeared. A whistle, fletchings quivered in the air. Ghirahim burst into view in the middle of the Coliseum, arms outstretched. He grabbed Zant by the shoulders, and with a chime of diamond magic, they were gone.

The arrow pierced into the Keep wall. A piece of Fi’s core fell into the sand. Out of the five warriors present, none of them had been able to prevent their escape.

He needed shadows. There was only one place that would suffice. Around them, the world turned monochrome. With the Twili tucked carefully in his arms, he set his sights far beyond the labyrinth and took them both to the Palace. Nowhere would be darker than the quarters of the Twilight King.

Sheets hastily ripped off, bedding drenched in darkening blood. Zant lay stiff and unmoving, gasping like a fish, struggling none as Ghirahim ripped his clothes from him. A decorative fastening pin flew and clattered across the tile floor. Zant’s portrait above them looked on with a smirk.

Hyrulean weapons had gone right through his armor. He was a mess of red-stained wool and torn leather, gaping wounds pulsing fresh blood. Far too much of it. Ghirahim ripped the cork off a potion bottle with his teeth and shoved the glass opening to Zant’s lips, who coughed and sputtered as the thick liquid gushed down his gullet. 

“Just this- Just this, and you will be alright. Stay with me,” Ghirahim hissed, keeping a close eye on the Twili’s battered body. Wounds closed up, but too many remained raw and open. Cursing under his breath, he snipped his fingers, keeping one hand – glove bunched underneath his grip – pressed heavily to a gash on Zant’s thigh. And what a useless measure it was. This wound was just one of many that needed his attention. The sheets he tore from the cupboards, drenched in water from his nightstand washing table and spilled bourbon, soon lost their white cleanliness to deep, deathly red.

Needle and thread summoned themselves with a snip of his fingers. Sewing implements, but Ghirahim had little else in his reach. Zant cried and whined when the makeshift gauze was now pressurized by a knee, Ghirahim’s hands too occupied with the needle. Bent into a rounded angle around his finger, sterilized with a flame. He thread the needle and set to pushing it through flesh.

“I’d say your crying brings me misery, Zant,” he grinned, an expression creeping on him purely from his nerves, “but do not stop. At least then I know you are alive and conscious.”

Pierce, tug, tie, and snip. Rhythmic and perfect, Ghirahim mended wound by wound. He knew how to carve flesh, so too, did he know how to sew it back together. Each wound bled with different severity. His midriff, his legs, his chest. There, he’d been carved down to the rib, surrounded by irritated flesh and glowing veins. The body tormented by these injuries cried and cried, but had not the strength to even writhe. As focused as Ghirahim was, his eyes still strayed and flicked to his right. Zant’s naturally pallid complexion helped him absolutely none in telling how much time he had. But his fading patterns did. Their teal glow almost ceased. Another potion. This time, he poured some of it directly on the still-opened wounds, hoping their sizzle would burn the veins shut. Zant was awake enough to swallow the rest of it, but not to protest against the drops that snuck into his windpipe. Only when Ghirahim had turned him on his side to tend to his back did the healing liquid’s magical effect rejuvenate him enough to rasp and hack it up. He shrieked immediately when the sudden jolt caused Ghirahim’s needle to stick him.

“Keep whining, please,” Ghirahim muttered. “If you have enough energy to act childish, then…”

Zant hissed, growled, snarled, every tug of the thread now an affront. His toes curled and his fingers dug in the sheets, weakly, but characteristically, either way. When every wound he could see was stitched, Ghirahim took the cords of lacing out the loops at his back and rid Zant of his final layer. Red, white, black; teal slowly returning, if it wasn’t simply the phosphorescent glow of the room around them. In a few days, this body would be a rainbow of bruises. Should he last that long.

Only then did Ghirahim allow himself to draw breath. Not as a necessity, but as a soothing tic, to come back to his senses and for a second empathize with a mortal man. He slumped onto the bed, his head resting on Zant’s chest. It was in this rest that the full gravity of the past minutes reached him. Rather, it jumped full force onto his back, its weight forcing him into immobility and sinking him into the bed. Ghirahim couldn’t recall when he started weeping; he’d been on auto-pilot from the second Zelda nocked her arrow.

Zant’s heartbeat thumped against his forehead, hard and heavy as it would whenever the Twili had a lump in his throat. Its pace quickened when Ghirahim spoke. “I almost lost you.”

Zant’s hand raised, then dropped onto Ghirahim’s back. Cold fingers stroked him softly. “You may still, Oibedelrik, Yima Daegge Esweteli,” Zant whispered hoarsely, forcing his words out with the nigh manual contracting of his rib muscles. “Odowuni kem idzidiy Iya, ee Iya-” he murmured, his eyes rolling to the backs of their sockets. His eyelids fluttered shut, then shot back open, revealing darting pupils as if he’d just remembered where he was. “I am not yet bandaged,” wheeze, “and when my blood returns to me,” wheeze, “I may yet fall to fever.”

“Shut up.” Banish the thought. As if he would be so negligent! A doctor, he was not, but as much as he could bring death, he could also spot its tellings, and he did not intend on letting it rear its head again. Ghirahim closed his eyes, listening intently to his pulse – as if it would slip away if he turned away for even a second – then raised himself to finish the job.

He had to go back to the battlefield. There was no telling whether all their beasts had been defeated or not, or whether they even had a chance to take down Hyrule’s commanders. He would return, alone if he had to, Ghirahim decided as he stroked a warm, wet cloth along the dried blood on Zant’s torso where his stitches did not taint him. But he’d only leave when Zant was stable. 

In his spiraling, Zant’s hand had found its way to his hair, running its fingers through the strands. For once, Ghirahim cared not how bloodstained he would get. Zant’s weak voice muttered, slipping between heaving breaths. “All of them, at once… I foresaw many, but every caste and clade…”

“I know, I know,” Ghirahim responded, wringing the blood from the reddened cloth. “But the more we whittle down today, the less prepared they’ll be when Master strikes.”

“There is no ‘we’, Ghirahim. I cannot fight like this. I was bested once again.”

“I will take care of it,” Ghirahim muttered, a frown on his brow. He thought it ripe time to change the subject. “The Princess, disguising herself as a Sheikah... I’d almost say she exceeded us in trickery today.”

Zant sighed, his arm quickly becoming deadweight in his hand as Ghirahim took it for bandaging. That strange gray on his skin had spread almost no further. “Posing as a substitute for General Impa, I reckon.”

Ghirahim left Zant to his musings and grew oddly giddy with his own. The thrill of battle and clawing his companion away from death’s door scalded him from within, filling him with an inexplicable well of energy. 

“But if the Princess is here… That’s good news, wouldn’t you say?” Ghirahim began to prattle, a manic tug at his brow as he pinned the last few bandages in place. “Fewer commanders are guarding the palace than we expected. If we hurry and inform Master Ganondorf, surely–”

“Ghirahim–”

But Ghirahim did not hear him. Whatever he said then, he could not even recall himself, so thoroughly he was caught up in a whirlwind of plans.

“Ghirahim, stop.”

The pair met eyes in silence, one still wearing a bewildered grin, the other lying grim and pale on what was almost his resting place. “There is no point. Your revelation will fall on deaf ears. We were never meant to leave this desert.”

Ghirahim’s expression dropped, managing only a slight grin in his confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Master sent us here to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ghirahim frowned, fighting off a pit of dread in his gut. This was just his usual delirium, he thought. The same madness shaken into him by fear and injury, like it had Volga.

Zant, however, did not take his struggle kindly. He frowned at him indignantly. “You call me ridiculous? You deceive even yourself. Face it, Ghirahim. We are two against seven of Hyrule’s finest commanders. This was a suicide mission from the start, as I suspected Death Mountain must have been, too.”

“... But-” Ghirahim struggled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Zant was a liar, he knew this. But now? To him? About something like this? Neither possibility, not Zant deceiving him so brazenly, nor being abandoned by his Master, computed in his mind. “We were- What could I have done to displease him to this degree? Why would he want to be rid of me? You speak nonsense!”

“You did nothing, Ghirahim. You are perfect. Your sole crime was associating with me. For me, it was only a matter of time until he did away with me. He is unworthy for the throne, and, one way or the other, I would have stopped him from seizing it.”

Ghirahim froze. Pieces fell on the ground before him but he didn’t dare to watch them assemble. Something hot and furious was starting to thaw the ice of his shock from within. “What?”

“Your surprise tells me he did not even bother to confirm his suspicions before abandoning you.” With a huff and groan, he shifted, trying to prop himself upright on his pillow. The grimace he pulled in his pain remained in his face, molded from rage and hatred. “I detest him, Ghirahim, and finally he has noticed it. He must have known I wished for his death, and that I intended to follow through.”

Ghirahim staggered away from the bed as if pushed. An instant revulsion forbade him from staying anywhere near the wounded man before him, and in his disgust, he willingly followed this instinct. He scowled at him, wide-eyed and vicious, tongue lashing and drenched with venom. “So your title was given to you for good reason. I cannot believe my ears. Immature little boy, you are! Our accursed usurper, unable to keep his grubby claws off any throne when he grows the slightest bit displeased. You ungrateful wretch!”

“Ungrateful? You know not what you speak of,” Zant scowled right back, tears of rage welling up in his eyes and his teeth bared. The Lord of Twilight turned to him unflinchingly, hunched like a pouncing beast as if his drive to convince him had filled him with fresh vigor. “In my time, Ganon was to me what Demise was to you. My God, I adored him,” he waxed, hands covering his face in grief. “I did his bidding. I worshiped him, freed us both from our decrepit prison. Yet, when I gave my life for him, he broke his promise to me. Instead of freeing my spirit to rule by his side, he took everything I ever worked for. And then- then-” Zant paused, hands falling limply into his lap. “When defeated by his little foil, when the strings of his soul dared touch upon mine to beg for my assistance, I denied him.”

Zant’s eyes turned to him again. The first hints of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “You understand, don’t you? It was no hero, no princess, who slayed the Demon King in the age of Twilight. The one to deliver the final blow, was me.”

That very second, a little part of Ghirahim’s world shattered. When he realized the consequences of plotting alongside a man so treacherous, the rest shattered with it. Right under his nose, Zant had made an enemy of his Master, and by extension, of Ghirahim. There were questions he wanted to ask, insults to be hurled. He could only think of one question, that bubbled to the surface of his heart like scum in a boiling pot. “How long have you plotted this?”

Zant lowered his gaze, for as far as the stare of a near-blind man mattered. “From the very start,” he admitted, sighing. “After such a betrayal, to awaken to another manifestation of my tormentor, and have him once again demand my services… He may as well have spat in my face. Though, I admit, for a little while, I buckled. Somewhere, I must have loved him still, drawn to his power and our shared hatred for Hyrule as I was. I wanted to see if I could trust this version of him, who seemed so noble. But after your stories, Ghirahim, how his incarnations cast you aside so carelessly… I made up my mind. Ganondorf does not change.”

“So then all of this was just a lie, part of your plans?” Ghirahim asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t care for Zant’s excuses, not when they pulled every minute he spent by his side into question. Not when they sabotaged everything he’s ever stood for. “I, too, just a little scheme for you?”

Zant gasped, inching closer to the edge of the bed to look at him in pleading. “No, Ghirahim. How could I have foreseen this? I came to you seeking an ally, and I found a new reason for my heart to beat. For every lie I have told you, I have spoken to you as many truths tenfold, in how I’ve grown to love you. It is only because of you I have made it this far. You’ve given me peace, soothed my soul when I threatened to bubble over. And, more importantly, Ghirahim-ili, you have made a warrior of me.” Zant urged, attempting a smile, his hand outstretched. “Which is why I ask you to join me.”

Ghirahim was too stupefied by his words to answer. So Zant took advantage of his silence to continue. “You know now of my hatred, my every motivation. Yet you stay loyal to him, even if you must know he will not spare you. He has not spared you, for he resigned someone so loyal to him to the same fate he did a traitor.”

His arms snaked around himself, his nails digging in the false skin of his arms. Ghirahim took another step back; the Twili’s presence alone made it feel like insects were crawling inside his steel, tunneling through him like termites. His mind hit a roadblock, reached a final terminal, and the logic Zant asked from him sat horizons away where his tracks would not reach. “... Then if Master wills it-”

Zant shot up in his seat, snapping at him before he could finish his sentence. “Do you know how it hurts me, Ghirahim? To see someone so precious to me tear himself apart over someone who would shatter him on a mere whim? After all you do for him, he denies you at every turn and punishes you for the barest things. It has taken every shred of composure I had not to tear into him when he threatened to hurt you. If I had not hated him before, the way he treats you would have convinced me to.”

He’d avoided his eyes up until then, but Ghirahim now shot his gaze straight at him. They exchanged a scowl, each gnashing teeth, one from hatred, one from love. Desperation seized him and sharpened his edge. 

Ghirahim made for him and pushed him back into the pillows. “You know not what you ask of me. To think I would care what hurts you now, after what you’ve told me! You speak of whims? You’re asking me to abandon my every purpose for something as small as your mortal love. My purpose is all I have. It is me. To ask me to betray Demise is to doom myself to scrap, Zant.”

Zant had refused a squeak when he was shoved. With tears in his eyes, he simply laid there, glaring at him. He cradled a freshly ruptured suture through its bandages. “You are not yourself when you speak of him! Listen to the words you spew! Scrap!? So highly you think of yourself, you carry yourself as the priceless artifact that you are, yet when around him, you are degraded to the ranks of mere tools.”

Ghirahim gripped his hair in wild frustration. “Because- I am precisely as perfect as I am because of Him! Without Him, without a hand to wield me, I am nothing.”

Zant stared at him, perturbed, before groaning in his agony and sinking into his pillows. For a moment, he wilted again, speaking bitterly as he resigned himself. “Then you have been, and will be nothing, for a very long time.”

In an instant, his vision went red. “How dare you!”

Ghirahim pounced him, hands outstretched and clawed, landing square upon his chest, ignoring the grit of Zant’s teeth, his squirms, his pained squeaks. All he paid attention to were his wide-open eyes and the fear he could milk out of them. He gripped him fiercely by the shoulders and shook him as he spoke. “It’s all your fault, isn’t it!? Why he would not wield me! Why I could not gain his trust!? All because of your greed, he now sees me as a conspirator to your rotten betrayal.”

His hands found Zant’s throat and squeezed. Ghirahim leaned in close, fangs bared. Zant did nothing. Just the sight of those glowing pupils fueled the fire of his rage. “A thousand miserable years I’ve waited, working hard to see him again. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Your puny, mortal mind could never comprehend the lengths I’ve gone to!”

He reared back his fist, and still Zant did nothing. “Now I can wait thousands more, and he will never wield me again!!”

Ghirahim panted amidst his accusations, tears streaming down his cheeks the second they beaded in the corners of his eyes. He scanned the Usurper’s eyes for substance, for anything that wasn’t pity. When he didn’t find it, he snapped. Before he knew it, his fist connected to Zant’s cheekbone. Crack. “How could you do this to me? We were going to win!” Crack. “I would finally have been happy, after I’ve been alone for so long, and you RUINED everything for me!”

Crack. Snap. A whimper. There wasn’t an inch of Zant’s face untainted by blood and bruising, and still, that horrible fool did nothing to stop him. “I should kill you!”

He sent Zant’s head twisting left to right, right to left, with each punch. His heart had broken twice over today. First, shattered to pieces from all hope of becoming his Master’s blade. Then, its shards were trampled by the very man below his relentless assault, who had punished him so severely for daring to open himself to that mortal love. What a complete and utter fool he’d been. He should have expected to be punished like this, for entering a world he didn’t belong in.

And still, past the swollen, blood-smeared skin, Zant did not take his gut-wrenching eyes off of him, trying to fool him into loving him again to save his own measly life. It was an outrage! A betrayal this massive, and Zant had the gall to try and garner his sympathy. To assert they were alike in fate. There was only one who had lost everything, whose prospects were null, and who was only living on borrowed time. Only one banished from his home, his every goal snatched from before his nose. Only one whom his Master truly abandoned, to never be forgiven.

… No.

There were two.

Before his fist could crash into him once more, a convulsion tore through Zant’s body below him. Within the blink of an eye, he changed. His skin lost all color, turning a deep, shadowy black, while his patterns dimmed, and his hair bristled into a brittle white, like spider’s silk. 

Zant was dying.

The ties to the Demon Scimitar pulsed in his chest. There lied that rebellious little dagger, the one that thumped against the walls of his core whenever this wretch would look at him in his strange ways. Did it not feel good? Its little voice whispered in his mind. Even if it was such a small piece of you in his hands, did it not fill you with joy? Master will not wield us, and this world has so few who are worthy of us. Is it not better to rest part of you in capable hands, than in nothing at all?

Ghirahim clutched his head, begging for silence. He could not handle even a second of doubt, of weakness. If this man were simply dead, everything would be so much easier. If he were the one to kill him, Master would forgive him. But are you ready for him to die? 

He was. He would have to be. He wanted to be. It would be so simple. He just wanted to be wielded. To be held in someone’s hands, to be part of something greater.

He wanted to be loved.

Please, help him.

Oh, God. What has he done?

He detested the despairing little squeak behind him as he walked away from that deathbed. Even more, he reviled himself, for glancing behind and allowing the teeth of guilt to sink into him at the pitiful sight of that beaten creature. 

What he hated most was how he’d been convinced to return after his brief departure, healing elixirs in hand, and seeing tear-drenched eyes looking at him with a bloody smile. 

Don't look at me like that, you horrible man. You’ve ruined my life.

But that pitiful part of him felt relieved how Zant could smile at the sight of him still. How Zant was glad to see him, even after attempting to take his life mere seconds earlier. A withered hand shook as it reached out for him. Ghirahim took it and squeezed.

The room was silent as Ghirahim nursed Zant back to health. Far, far into the desert outside, chaos was unfolding. The few remaining giant monsters were now surely being slaughtered, and their troops would have to cherish idle hopes of succeeding in their reign of terror, in their commanders’ absence. Deep, deep below the ground, Gerudo and Bulblin who could not fight were taking shelter in the dungeons, waiting for the pounding footfall to fade away and leave them in peace.

Neither side knew they were here. They would sit in this room, disturbed only by the glare of Zant’s portrait, judging this pathetic display. Zant strained to breathe. His complexion had inverted almost to its original colors, while his hair returned to its original, rosewood shade. However, some strands retained that ghostly white from before. Ghirahim hoped it would be permanent. He hoped he would remember this accursed day every time he was confronted with his reflection. 

Never before had shadows bothered him. Now, in the deep darkness of Zant’s bedroom, it suffocated him. Neither of them said a word. There was nothing to say, but in this stifling pit of nothingness, he began to crave the slightest noise. He wished he could go back to a time when this dark was comforting, to be filled with nothing but idle chatter and the grappling of their bodies. Like this, through noise, through touch, Ghirahim could only think to hurt him.

So, Ghirahim seized the bridge of Zant’s nose and cracked what cartilage he hadn't shattered back into place. He took hold of his jaw, counted to three in his head, and popped the crooked thing back in its sockets. If Zant had cried out in pain at any of this, he wouldn't have noticed. The ringing in his ears was just too loud. His handiwork now finished, he trusted the potions to do the rest. 

Then, he waited. For anything, really. For the battle raging outside to dissipate. For their forces to come bursting through the castle gate cheering with glee, or for the enemy to come raid it of every worth and woman inside, and drag the two of them to the gallows, while they were at it. But mostly, he waited for any change in Zant. 

Look at him. He cannot even raise a finger to hurt you. You could end this right here, right now, Ghirahim thought to himself. Yet he sat and did nothing. When his eyes met the ones that stared glossily back up at him, filled with agonized gratitude, that thought snuffed out, and its wicker would burn no longer.

Ghirahim swallowed his apprehension, inhaled sharply, and sighed. “What will you have me do?”

Zant opened his mouth to speak, but the shards of crumbled teeth fell into his throat as he uttered his first syllable. Ghirahim sat and watched as he choked and spat them out on his pillow.

“We are to wait out the right time to strike back for the throne, but today, we cannot. So we will have to fool them with one more ruse. Return to the battlefield, Ghirahim,” he wheezed, swallowing the blood from a dry throat. “Strike at whoever is closest. Be vengeful. Be fierce. You must fight like you never have before.

Zant breathed deeply. With each chug of air, another wound closed up, though their scars and deep black bruises remained. “You are to disappear with me. They must be convinced that I succumbed to my wounds.”

You should have.

“And, to their knowledge, you will take to the grave with me. Come closer,” he said. His hand searched beside his face on the pillow and retrieved a shard of tooth, long and pointy, almost complete. With a tiny crack, he then reached over, and fastened it to Ghirahim’s earring, to an empty link remaining there. “A memento, to convince them of my death.”

Ghirahim rose again in silence. A little piece of bone so small dangled from his ear, but the weight of its burden could tip him over. Zant continued to speak as if this was the simplest matter in the world. “Take our blade. My power rests within it, still, and it is all the help I can afford you.”

Listlessly, mechanically, Ghirahim rose from his seat before Zant even finished his sentence. The sword lay by his bedside, hastily thrown to the side along with Zant’s armor. He picked up that shard of himself and apologetically wiped it of its grime. 

A roar reverberated from outside, echoing past the sands and through the castle walls. Zant called to his attention again with his glowing eyes aimed straight at him. “The Gerudo are innocent in all this. The least we can do is scare this vermin away from their homes. I trust you to have tricks up your sleeve, Yima Mionaida.”

Despite it all, his little nicknames stirred in his chest. Ghirahim clenched his fist harder around the grip of the Demon Scimitar, as if to smother it. His Diamond. The miserable, manipulative cretin that he was. And Ghirahim was doing all his bidding. 

Just before he could turn his back to leave, he was halted one last time. “Ghirahim,” Zant started, but he knew saying his next words would only draw his ire. His face said every letter anyway. I’m sorry.

Ghirahim ran. Within a flash, he was back in the sweltering heat of the desert, bolting from the Temple Complex and kicking up sand trails in his escape. He tore past keeps, the slain corpses of their monsters, and field battles still unfolding between forces too stubborn to believe the war was won. Those who dared bar his way were dealt with swiftly, their heads rolling. He left the perfect trail like this. A pristine white lightning bolt with a sword sharper than the cruel edge of time, such a description could only fit one man. The eyes he sought snared onto him. Enemy commanders, skeptically scouring the desert and leaving not a stone unturned for a trace of Ganondorf’s finest. Now, they found him and were giving chase just like he wanted. 

Blood and plate mail carpeted the vast sands racing below his feet. Rock outcroppings raced past; trampled patches of desert scrub – Safflina and a type of sagebrush. The smell of drying vegetation filling the air was the same as when Zant held sprigs from them up to his nose for inspection – and, finally, the gate to the bazaar, zipped past him. Almost, he, the false deserter, had gotten away with leading the lot of them out into the wider desert, until a familiar rumble ripped him from his concentration. 

Ghirahim swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding a boulder that barreled past him. It skidded to a halt before him and unfolded, though he didn’t have to see that transformation to know what nuisance stood before him. There was, once again, Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes.

“Not one step further, Pebble.”

The sight of him was enough to startle even Ghirahim, though he was too jaded to find any delight in it. Darunia’s torso was heavily scarred, and his right arm, gone. In its place was a jumble of machinery, with pistons and gears whirring noisily to heave the weight of a massive hammer at the very end of the prosthetic limb. Beyond a solid steel helmet, the Goron Chief wore a wide grin, though one less eye stared back at Ghirahim than last time.

“Thought to slip by us, did you? All on your lonesome?” said the Goron Chief, brandishing his weapon. “I wasn’t looking forward to facing off against that nutcase anyhow, but a lil’ something tells me my siblings took care of that for me…”

Ghirahim looked back. The peaks of Gerudo Palace were no longer in sight. For whatever chaos he would unleash… This would have to be far enough. All he had to do was stall for time until the rest of the Hyrulean commanders caught up to him.

“You truly wish to keep me? Very well,” Ghirahim replied, holding the Demon Scimitar up to the sun. Sand powdered his bodysuit from top to bottom, crusting gray and gold in every crease. But their blade remained immaculate. Its silvery edge still shone into his pupils, like teeth flashing in a hungry grin. “Make this worth my while.”

Darunia’s hammer pounded into the ground fiercer than ever. The springs on his arm, hefty as it might have been, gave him untold speed and force with each swing. Ghirahim couldn’t stop the speed of that hammer anymore – where there were once bulging veins now sat machinery, forged from a steel he dared not chip the Demon Scimitar on. So, he had to settle for the rest of this massive creature. They clashed like this for what felt like hours, neither showing any signs of tiring. The resounding clanks of the warhammer striking upon resonant steel had surely deafened them both, and everyone daring to come near them. It was thoroughly inelegant. Ghirahim hissed, roared, lunged at him with wild swings wielding a sword leagues to big for his frame. Such wild desperation hampered him as much as it worked in his favor. A grief-stricken foe was always quickly underestimated. Even with his new accessories, Darunia would not leave this battlefield unscathed. A blade made from the heart would know how to find another without effort. As he riddled the Goron’s bulging ribcage with scars, a foreboding chime in his core once again alerted him of his pursuers. They were getting closer. He could feel it. 

Then, for a second, he could feel nothing at all. A split second of distraction cost him dearly, when it allowed for Darunia to come within arm’s reach and drive his hammer straight into him. The flat of the giant hammer drove into the side of his head with such a deafening impact he thought his head might snap clean off. Instead, he remained intact, launched across the bazaar to tumble through ruined market stands and trampled carpets. When he came to a halt, all he could see was dust, the approaching Darunia not more than a shadow in the clouds of sand. Ghirahim stood up, a hand to his wounded cheek to find it just that – wounded. Through his false skin, he could feel chips taken out his face, like little razor-sharp dimples on his cheek.

The rest of them were approaching now, right outside the gate. Ghirahim found the least he could do was give them a proper welcome spectacle. Concealed by the dust, he launched forward at the shape of the Goron Chief in ambush. Its wicked, curved tip aimed at the jugular. Darunia staggered away, but every twitch of movement just made the scimitar slice him deeper. With just one more stumbling step, Ghirahim got the vengeance he wanted. An arc of blood gushed from the Goron’s collarbone, splattering to accessorize Ghirahim’s wounded face. Clutching his bleeding wound, Darunia thrust his metal arm forward to push the Demon away from him and hobbled back into the dust. 

Ghirahim gave chase until he remembered his task. Wind whipped through his hair and took the sands with it, revealing at last his surroundings to him. Standing in an arc around him, barricading his way to the desert, stood the mightiest of Hyrule’s army. There was nowhere left to lure them, this would have to be his final stand. He could not fight all of them at once – not Link, not Fi, not Zelda, not all of the other pompous royals gathered here. But he could make them see. The blade, the tooth dangling from his ear. Now, he would make them witness his sorrow. To their knowledge, it would be grief for a fallen friend, but in the depths of his core, he felt nothing more than disgust for obeying the word of another.

Tears gushed from his eyes. He was doing this – he was betraying his Master. Ghirahim (was he even worthy of a name?) contorted his face into a maddened grin. The carnage, the destruction, the pure, unfiltered chaos this final gambit would unleash might have pleased Him, but it would not be in His name. It was moot! He should have accepted his fate in the Arbiter’s grounds. He should have stood patiently waiting in executioner’s row, to be pierced by the very same arrow that he saved his conspirator from. If his Master willed him to shatter, to turn to dust and forgotten in the eyes of history, then that was to be his fate, and nothing more. 

Instead, the Sword Spirit glared down the approaching Hyrulean commanders with the same manic grimace, and readied his spell.

“Šamu dullu-ya, Majora! Bēlu ellāmu-adāni, Lā Naparkû Umṣu! Anāku bussuru kâti bursaggû, naqrabu napištu. Banû annûm āra-šu ašītu, baqāru tidintuka!”

He danced and danced through the sand, flickering himself atop every surface he could find to evade the grasp of his assailants. Midna and Lana were the first to stiffen, to call for someone to put a stop to this, but none of the arrows sailing past could hit their mark. Every word drained more and more energy from him. This was a true summoning, a bargain driven. Within the first uttering of the Arch Demon’s name, he could feel it watching, stalking around him like a wolf with gnashing teeth, licking its lips until it found his offer sufficient. 

He would have thought it an infernal illusion, ripping him to some other plane of existence, did he not notice the straw hat atop the mask and the blue sky expanding behind it. The Skull Kid floated before him upside down, looking him dead in the eye. With a single tap on the nose, it shook him out of his paralysis.

“Took you long enough. Don’t let me get bored again, Ghirahim-ili!”

It mocked, it shrieked with laughter, and it rattled its mask. Arms to the sky, it hovered squeaking and groaning with strain, and then with the same great effort, swung its clawed little hands down as if pulling a massive lever. Then, it waved cheerfully and disappeared within a blink. 

Silence. Nothing at all. The commanders still around him stood waiting with caution, alarmed by the Arch Demon’s arrival, and just-as-sudden departure. Only when a rumble shook the pebbles on the bazaar grounds did they think to look up.

Not Ghirahim. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the skies for even a second. He saw it the second Majora disappeared. A small dot, a mere speck in the endless blue of the cloudless heavens, approaching rapidly. The Moon was falling down on Gerudo Desert.

Cries of panic, of retreat. Chimes of magical transportation rang around him. Hyrule’s commanders were fleeing en masse. Perhaps he would not strike his intended targets, but he didn’t care. This battle would find no spoils or prisoners. Nothing but a wasteland would be left, leaving not the slightest bone for the vultures to scavenge. Swirling clouds of condensation shrouded the Moon in its rapid descent. It was hypnotic, almost, Ghirahim thought, standing in the center of its massive shadow. He considered then what would happen if he simply stayed here. The clouds dissipated as the Moon crossed their threshold. By all means, he was insane for dawdling here, and yet he took the time. 

Head cocked curiously, but eyes blank, he peered up at a giant visage that scowled back. Like it challenged him, almost. He was forged to survive any impact, surpassed only by weaponry that rivaled him in magic ability. But he’d never been hit by a meteor before. Would it shatter him? Did that matter? Oh, how tempting the thought was. He was a dead man walking either way. Where would he go if he survived such an impact? Master would break him. 

Ah, his trump card was getting a little close for comfort now. He could feel the heat of its approach on his skin, its tremors shaking the ground beneath his feet. There were mere seconds between this moment and the inevitable crater the Moon would leave. He turned his stare away from the skies and turned to look around. Not a soul remained in the bazaar, but the soldiers that fled – be they friend or foe – certainly weren’t far enough to escape the blast radius. They’d be dust soon, blend in with the sands.

Playtime was over. He’d fantasized plenty. Zant was waiting for him; whether he’d find him succumbed to his wounds, or in a prime state to kill him himself, he’d have to see when he got there. Whether he’d have the guts to see him to his end…

Now, to get out of here. 

#beararts #bearwrites #zant #ghirahim #ghirazant #hyrule warriors #loz fanfic #now theres a lot of characters in this one... give me a moment... #sheik #link loz #zelda #fi loz #lana loz #darunia #princess ruto #midna #agitha #skull kid #majora #tftk #whew thats all of em i think

[beann-e]

“ honestly Suna sometimes it feels like your just sitting there — calculating — thinking of ways that you can piss me off” you let out in a huff of anger as you slammed your hand onto the arm rest placed in the middle of the car. Voice loud enough to be heard from a mile away and then some “ And then you don’t even fucking care “

“ I’m sorry you feel that way “

“ seriously ? seriously Suna “

“ oh I’m sorry would you like me to say it jokingly? “

The silence that towered over the both of you was tall and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon “ WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY “ his hand came up to run down his face as he sighed

“ look I'm sorry baby but — “

“ but nothing — I'm tired Rin—I'm tired of you screwing with me“ you groaned “ honestly at this point just fuck off “

he moved to pull the keys from the car unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door as your jaw hung open “ what the fuck Suna — “

“ I'm fucking off you ungrateful bit—“

“ you asshole — all of a sudden you take everything literal right ?? huh only when you want to right “

“ y’know what— no you fuck off —ok y/n “

“ see that’s what I'm talking about “

“ honestly I doubt you even know what you were talking about in the first place “

your steps quickened as you followed after the male who stopped at your front door imputing the code and opening your house door “ This is what I mean by you keep fucking with me Suna “

“ oh “ he moved to sit down on the couch arms flung behind it and legs spread wide out in front of him. “ is it really— because , the 40 minute argument in the car about your best friend hitting on me didn’t quite make that clear “ he scoffed shaking his head along with it “ your shitty reasoning must of gotten lost on one of the many streets of Japan y/n “

His eyes glowing body perking up with his next sentence “ yknow what how about you go find it hmm then we can have this little talk sometime later -- preferably when I'm sleeping id hate to be awake for another one of your hellish complaints babe.”

your anger was only growing as the argument continued “ you fucking douchebag I bet you don’t even know why I'm pissed off “

He let out a small sigh of a laugh his legs shaking and hitting each other in a wave before they resumed their earlier position “ I don’t“

“ and you don’t care either do you “

“ I don’t “

Your heart broke for the first time ever in your relationship with the stoic male after hearing his words and tone. In all the time you and your boyfriend had been together you two never argued about his lack of emotion or care.

It never bothered you

It never affected you

until it did

4 hours ago

You smiled up at the taller male as his mouth continued to run while talking to the rest of his volleyball team. This was the first time you’d ever seen him talk for more than 5 minutes with anything other then yeah’s and small mhmms.

The both of you had been invited to a class reunion and you only decided to go because of his new teams constant nagging

Suna had been telling you all week to find something else to do and that you didn’t have to go with him. That it would be too boring and long and that you would be better off having fun without him.

Of course you put up a fight but, ultimately lost and decided to hang out by yourself for the earlier half of the day spending last weeks paycheck on this weeks shopping spree

it felt nice to treat yourself but you couldn’t help but want to treat your boyfriend too. The thought of him being bored alone plagued your mind and you had to get it out.

The only way to do that was to go to the reunion.

Now how you imagined it would go is you show up in your fancy new dress surprising him smile a bit , talk up some of the host and sneak your way in and then mingle and go home and cuddle and kiss your boyfriend all night

funny thing is somewhere in that prewritten script you had created you didn’t realize imagination is not always reality.

The sight of your boyfriend leaning against a wall with a glass in his hand and his other on the string of your best friends dress had you reeling in the disgust that you wanted to spill so badly on the floor right now

All you’d done was go to the restroom but now you sat with your eyes widening while you watched his eyebrows come together in annoyance with the string that wouldn’t come undone.

Your best friend faced away from him back to his chest and a small smile on her face. Cheeks heated from his touch and in that moment you cursed her for having a look on her face that made it visible how much she enjoyed his warmth. You wished she didn’t make it so obvious how the closeness to your boyfriend was making her feel

how it was encouraging her

Your heart broke when you seen Suna finally relax and blow air out of his cheeks before nodding softly almost thanking the gods that he figured it out and it was over

Your feet moving before you could even process what to say to either of them.

“ y-y/—“

your hand came in contact with your best friends face before she could even finish the loud slap echoing through the room as everyone turned to find the source of the noise

Eyebrows raising when they noticed it was not only a slap but a full on one sided battle between you and the girl who everyone seen as nice and quiet during your school years

They never knew of the undercover bitch that was lurking behind the surface. They’d never see the way she was smirking as she took every hit given to her in stride. Your boyfriends hands wrapping around your torso as he looked down and seen that you were hovering over her ripping her to bits

You never letting go of the grip your thighs held around her own as she whispered to where only you could hear “ aw poor y/n’s defending someone that doesn’t even want em—gonna go to jail for someone so unloyal huh “

Your eyes lit up with pure hatred as the security made their way over to you reaching to take you from Sunas hold and lessening your grip on the woman beneath you

“ sir we need you to let her go “

“ don’t touch me until you actually make it all the way to police academy you fucking lowlife. “ you spit out “ how the hell do you only make it to security much less high school reunion security “

“ the hell do you know — you don’t even know how hard police academy is asshole “

“ ah I bet your kids’ll be real proud “ your eyes squinted at his name tag “ todd — you kiss your wife with that mouth “

you laughed eyes rolling from him to suna “ or are you like this asshole and kiss your mistress with it instead ? huh toodles ? “

“ ha — ‘m gonna have fun with you--ya little prick. sir — let ‘em go or else i’ll pull out the big guns — they snuck in here and now their disrespecting an officer “

“ big guns “ your laugh circulated through the room “ ‘k sure let me stop before I get pepper sprayed “

“ my hands already on the trigger you lil bitc— “

“ hey “ sunas voice growled behind you “ watch who the fuck your talking to toodles“

“ just— get—get the fuck off dude I didn’t go to police academy so I could avoid this — their full on disrespecting me come on man get off“ your face scrunched up in annoyance as you saw the security look like they were about to cry

“ well I mean — “ he sighed “ it’s not like your a real officer right“ suna sighed out as he began to bite his lip in worry “ I mean we can let this slide right ? “ he nodded looking towards the males name badge “ uh toodles“

He coughed “ todd — I mean todd “

“ I’m sorry but, even if I could “ his gaze dead set on you “ which I really don’t want to — seeing as though they disrespected me “

His voice sounding proud as he continued “ and I'll have you know I'm security guard of the mouth asshole “

“ oh whoop dee fucking do Tinkerbelle ”

“ y-fucking-/n “ you could feel the way Suna was seething above you breath hot and you could tell his face was made up in a snarl “ if you don't shut the fuck up I swear on Atsumu’s unwashed boxers ill leave your ass prison letters starting tonight “

“ see —— sir I'm trying “ he sighed “ I really am trying to let this go but — “

“ their with me — “

“sure “ he scoffed “ I'll need to see some relations or — “

“ their my s/—their my plus one “ his eyes moved to look at everyone surrounding you guys then back to the position he now held you in before finally dropping you to the floor. Your heart dropping and ears tuning everything out from that point on.

Everything on mute until you got in the car and were finally met with his low voice as he buckled you in and walked to his side turning the car on “ y/n “

You turned to look out the window “ y/n that — “

His voice was so hard but so weak “ y/n that was so fucking embarrassing “ Your body shivered at his words

“ having to watch my fucking s/o almost get fucking arrested “

His hands tightened their grip on the wheel “ then turning around and having to talk you out of it in front of our whole graduating class “

his voice went deadpanned as he swerved a bit on the road mixing lanes “ and — and my team — oh fuck my team “

he started to breathe a bit heavier as you began to feel bad hearing the sadness in his voice. His body shifting in his seat “ all so you could “

he laughed a bit at the situation “ all so you could take your ugly ass insecurities out on your friend ? “

he scoffed looking from you to the road and back to you “ when did you two even stop being friends huh ? did I miss that or ?? do friends just go out and leave bruises on each other or is that something new? What-- is it like a new TikTok trend -- a fashion statement huh ?? the fuck is it because, I'm not a friend person so maybe you know something I don’t “

He scoffed “ maybe — maybe I'll never be a friend person after something like that. If friends are just beating each other’s asses in broad day light out the fucking blue then I'll just stick with ‘tsumu at least I know I can beat his ass if he were to pull some shit like that “

‘ friend ‘ you thought silently

“ poor kid didn’t even see it coming “ he shook his head at you turning back to the road “ holy hell that’s shameful y/n “

he whispered “ I don’t even wanna think about the rumors that’ll spread about us tomorrow “

The car was quiet only for a minute as Suna re arranged his thoughts before he could beat into you again “ friend Suna ? “

your voice was dry “ Rin do friends help each other out of their clothes ? “

your eyebrows creased “ do they focus so intently on another woman while their own is in the same room “

“ I didn’t know you were there “

“ SO YOU ONLY TAKE FRIENDS CLOTHES OFF WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ NO I “

“ YOU ONLY TOUCH OTHER WOMEN WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ y/n jus— “ he took a deep breathe and let it out “ just shut up its not like that “ he let out an uncomfortable and tired scoff of a laugh “ it wasn't like that “

“ it’s always shut up Suna it’s never ‘ what’s wrong y/n ‘ ‘ are you ok y/n ‘ it’s just ‘ shut up I don’t wanna talk so you don’t wanna talk either ‘ “

you locked eyes with the male in front of you “ I'm done Rin I'm— I'm done “

“ you cant leave me-- heh not after that shit you pulled back there  “ 

“ fuck if I cant--you don't look like my legs to me and as far as I know their still Bluetooth connected to my mind so-- “

“ you'll be an overnight clown you-you need me y/n “ he shook his head “ we need each other “ 

“ no you need volley ball because you need money-- because guess what asshole as of right now-- your homeless”

“ fuck you as if “

“ we’re over Suna don't let my words finally hit you when you walk out the shitty door”

“ that’s fine by me “ he scoffed “ get the hell out for all I care — I'll pack your shit for you “

“ no— I'll pack your shit asshole your living  in my house bottom feeder “

“ if you don’t shut the fuck u— “

“ then what ? huh what — you’ll leave me “

“ I swear to god I'll —”

“ you’ll what cheat on me with my best friend ah I'm so scared — “ your voice holding nothing but mock enthusiasm “ I can just imagine the way you’ll kiss her when I'm not there — these thoughts for some reason almost feels real y’know “

you watched as the man you’d taught yourself to love for 7 years since high school finally walked out the door. His perfume from earlier still hanging in the air long after the door slammed. Your mind racing when you were finally brought to one thought

‘ how did we end up like this and how the hell do we get back ‘

#Suna #suna headcanons #haikyuu suna #suna x reader #suna angst #Suna Rintarou #suna rintarō #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu rintaro suna #suna rintaro angst #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x s/o #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #suna rintaro x you #suna rin

[angelofbloodlust]

Bunny (Billy Loomis x Reader)

A/N: Long time, no see, y’all 😳 sorry for my disappearance, I’ve been going through quite a lot but I’m happy to be back! I apologize if this story isn’t the best, it’s been a long time since I’ve written something like this and I’m still trying to get back in my groove- but if this ends up being well-received I’d be happy to try writing a part 2! <3 hope u guys enjoy!!

—————————————————

Your eyes scan over the backyard of the tan house sat in front of you once more, zoning in heavily on the blackened windows as your boots take hesitant steps forward towards the home of your fellow peer that you’ve been watching for weeks now. Shallow breaths escape you as your chest begins to pound, a flurry of both panicked and thrilled emotions swarming your stomach as your hand tightens on the butcher knife in your hold.

You were finally about to experience your first kill, after taking so many precautions and endless planning. You figured now would be the perfect time with the other murders that has had Woodsboro in chaos, the police department has already got themselves absorbed in solving the murders of Casey and Steve, if you manage to get through this unscathed you could easily let the other nutjob take the blame and get to work on your next plan.

But, that’s easier said than done.

You suck in a breath through your nostrils as you cautiously approach the cracked window ahead of you, the one you’ve witnessed be pushed open by the student’s mother each night before bed, just like clockwork. Though of course, you ensured that neither of her parents would be home that night, and you were glad they were dumb enough to trust their daughter enough to be able to defend herself with a psychopath on the loose.

Your teeth remain clenched as you slowly lift yourself up and climb through the window after pushing it open, being careful to not let your costume get caught and allowing your jaw to relax once you step from the marble of the countertops down to the wooden plank flooring below. Anxiousness to get upstairs and cut the girl’s head off stabs at you as your eyes find the stairs from your view out of the kitchen, though you force yourself to keep your pace as you take light steps on your path towards your goal, and feel relief at the fact none of the floorboards have creaked so far. Annoyance swiftly follows after as you notice the stairs aren’t carpeted, internally grumbling a couple curses while readying yourself to have to take your backup plan in case you accidentally make a noise and wake the girl up.

You make your way up slowly, begging in your mind for each step not to creak, and as you’ve made walked up all but 2 steps, you can’t help but feel a smug grin curl over your lips underneath your mask as you relish in the fact that everything’s gone so smoothly.

And immediately you regret that thought, once you and the short brunette standing in front of the bathroom door both freeze up in shock from the sight of the other.

“Shit, you’re not supposed to be awake!” You groan out, scowling at yourself once you process that you accidentally said that out loud.

Your body tenses as your words seem to have triggered the girl out of her state of shock, a blood-curling wail slipping from her lips at the sight of the knife in your hand before she runs to attempt scampering back into her bedroom to hide from you, sobs and screams pouring from her as you growl under your breath while bolting up the last couple steps and over the carpet towards her.

“Stop yelling!” You whine in panic from her loudness, before narrowing your eyes at your sudden idiocy with the situation. Why the fuck would she listen to you?!

A frustrated huff leaves you as she manages to slam the door on you, leaving you to violently push and slam on the now locked door while spilling out any indecent word your brain can think of in the moment. How could this have gone any worse? Your plan was all for nothing now!

Anxiety twirls in your gut as you look between the door and the stairs, having to make a quick decision as you’re sure the cops have been called by now and won’t take long to arrive. You exhale out, before making the final call to abandon the plan and speed back down the stairs, hopping over anything in your way as you head into the kitchen and back out the window.

Brief relief hits you as the soles of your shoes meet the grass again, taking a swift glance behind you while running for the patch of woods ahead of you. Your exhale out is interrupted as you suddenly collide into something, which you thought was a tree for a split second until the object ahead of you slips out a grunt once they stumble back slightly.

You look back forward in surprise, shock waving you as your vision is taken up by the same white and black mask morphed into a scream that you previously slipped on after making the discovery the other killer had worn it. A squeak leaves your lips as the man in front of you takes a rough grip on your upper arms, shifting around to face your towards the woods and push you forward as he gives a huff out.

“Go, I’m not gonna let you get us caught.” He hisses out, balling the back of your costume into his fist to ensure you keep moving as he leads you further way from the house while you struggle to wrap your head around what’s happening.

“H-How did you know I was-”

“We were in the area prepping, and we could hear that bitch’s scream from a mile away.” He huffs in response.

“Oh..” You mumble, embarrassment now filling your cheeks as he continues to guide you like you’re a disobedient child, wanting to pull from his grip but feeling unsure of how he might react. “...Did you say we?” You question suddenly as you shift your head to look back to him.

“Yes. No more questions, I think I have a right to be the one questioning you instead. Who the fuck are you?” He asks in a strict tone, and despite his mask covering his expression, you could somehow feel the rage radiating off of him at your presence.

You narrow your hidden eyes, “Why would I tell you that?? I don’t even know who you are!”

“I said no more questions.”

“I think it’s a pretty reasonable one if you’re gonna only ask questions I don’t wanna answer!”

“Fine, if that’s how you want to be then we can both remain anonymous. How about this, instead?” He hums, “Did you even kill her? I don’t see any blood on you.”

“..No.. She locked the door on me before I could grab her, I wanted to kill her in her sleep but she was awake once I got inside.” You admit in a sheepish mumble.

He scoffs, “A door stopped you?” You scowl as he chuckles in amusement at your actions. “I suppose that’s reasonable, you are pretty small. Wouldn’t expect you to be able to be able to break it down.” He teases, causing you to grumble out as you wiggle from his grip and turn to face him.

“Hey, it was my first time, and I was panicking! Take it easy on me.” You demand with a pout.

He crosses his arms as he looks down to you, “Tsk, you tried to do it all on your own? No wonder you failed.”

“I spent months planning it, I thought I would’ve done well..” Your voice cracks through your sentence, leaving you to attempt sighing away your urge to cry while you turn back to keep walking, your eyes sticking down to watch your steps while the man with you gives an exhale as he follows at your side.

“Alright, alright, I’ll quit being so harsh. But it takes someone naturally skilled to be able to do it on their own, you know? You think you have everything you need, but even the littlest thing that doesn’t go to plan can fuck it all up. Maybe for you, you just need a bit of teaching to make sure you’re ready for anything.” He shrugs.

“Are you.. offering to help me?” You question gently through the mix of shock and confusion in your chest as to why this stranger is willing to take you under his wing, tilting your head slightly up to him.

“Maybe. But you need to prove that you’re serious about this.”

You begin to question him on how you can prove it, before stopping at the beginning of your sentence once the two of you cross through the patch of woods and up to a parked car on the lone street in front of you. An unsure sensation fills your gut as he makes you stay back while he walks over to the driver’s side window, and you begin to question to yourself if this might really be a safe decision to go with the psychopaths that you were about to frame.. But at the same time, this might be your real chance to be able to finally learn the proper ways of murder.

Soon enough, he walks back over to you and gestures to your mask. “To go any further with this, I need to see your face if you’re going to see ours. It’s only fair.” He requests you in a calm tone, and you hesitate as you frown as you pick up sudden worried thoughts. What if he just wanted to be able to rat you out and let you take blame for everything?

“Hey, you know you haven’t really proved your loyalty to me, either.. What if-”

You freeze as his hand reaches up for his own mask, watching him pull it off to reveal his cold, yet neutral expression as the guy you recognize to be Billy Loomis from your school stands in front of you. Your face reddens at the sight, you know him enough about him to have a thorough crush on him, though you suppose you didn’t know him quite enough to have realized that part of the reason you had been so drawn to him was the fact you were more alike than you had known.

“I’m risking everything for this. Do you know how much this could fuck up everything with us letting you in?” He sighs, and you watch as his lips form in a displeased pout. “The last thing I want is you getting caught doing this dumb shit, and if you’re going to steal our costume you at least need to not act like a moron while you’re in it.” He huffs with narrowed eyes.

“God- fuck, whatever. If you guys end up killing me, I have nothing to lose.” You grumble as you pull off your mask, holding your own pout while he takes up a smirk while looking you over.

“Just as cute as I expected you to be, bunny.” He purrs out in a playful tone, which causes you to give him a questioning expression through your heated cheeks at the nickname.

“Bunny?”

“You’re small, cute and quick. Like a bunny.” He grins.

“I will actually deck you if you call me that again.” You hiss out while he starts to lead you towards the car.

“No, you won’t. I could tell you liked it.” He chimes in a proud tone, laughing out once you reach to smack his arm with your face on fire.

“Shut your mouth, Loomis! You’re so annoying!” You whine as your voice pitches up with your embarrassment.

“Get your ass in the car, Y/N.” He snorts out as he nudges you towards the backseat.

“..You know my name?”

“You’re in my Physics class. I recognize you.” He chuckles gently, flashing you a brief smile before slipping into the passenger’s seat.

“Oh.” You hum, feeling content as you feel joy at the fact that he recognizes you, holding your own smile as you get into the back of the car before pausing once Stu Macher shoots you a grin from the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Y/N! Billy says you wanna join us, that true?” He asks through his classic happy tone, starting up the car while you manage to get yourself to nod as you confirm to yourself that the man you had only ever expected to be the class clown to be Billy’s partner in crime, though you weren’t entirely sure why you were caught off guard with the insane amount of loyalty Stu’s always shown to Billy over the years you’ve watched them be friends.

“Yeah.. Uh, sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you. Didn’t think you were this kinda guy.” You snicker.

He gives an unbothered shrug, “Well, people always have their secrets, don’t they?” He chuckles, causing you to quirk an eyebrow once he flashes a grin over to Billy and laughing out once he smacks his shoulder in a manner to tell him to shut up. Stu smiles back at you again through the rear-view mirror, “It’s nice to have ya join us, though. I’m sure it’ll be real fun for the three of us.” He purrs, and you can’t help but get an unsettling feeling from the tinge of malice in his smirk, which you couldn’t tell if it was meant to be towards you.

You could only hope not.

#scream 1996 #scream #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis and stu macher #billy loomis x reader #slasher x reader #ghostface x reader #slasher x you #hopefully this ain’t too bad I wrote it all in one sitting 😭

[ficsforeren]

Pff friends to lovers or enemies to lovers or or fwb to lovers

no wait fuck some ideas just popped up in my head

IMAGINE THIS ANON

Friends with Benefits (NSFW)

Eren is in a band and he goes on tour as an opening act for one of the biggest stars out there. He's just starting but he's popular as fuck. Being his childhood friend, it's a wonder why he still keeps being in touch with you. Maybe he's just comfortable having you around cause unlike other girls, you're not screaming his name at the top of your lungs whenever you see him. Well, not yet anyway.

You have a crush on him, everybody does, because he’s just that physically attractive. You haven’t really thought about dating him, though, and you're not sure how he feels about you. One night, as he performed in his hometown, he asked you to see him on stage and you did. He invited you to the after party, had his arms thrown over your shoulders as you got so drunk, you could barely walk straight. He drove you home, said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek but instead of stepping out of his car, you caught his lip between yours and before you knew it, his tongue was in your mouth.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"I don't know." you kissed him again and this time, his hand slipped underneath your shirt.

"I don't want to stop," he moaned against your mouth, trailing wet kisses to your neck.

"Then don't."

It was the first time you slept together, but it wasn't the last. You both wanted to keep it casual. He was afraid of commitment, and you knew you'd be constantly jealous if this became serious. You slept with him whenever he was in town, promised to not get attached. One day, as you stepped down from his bed, you didn't linger around for long to have a conversation. You had a date with this cute boy named Armin and you couldn't afford to be late.

"Going somewhere?" Eren asked, a rolled joint stuck between his teeth as he lit it up. He was bare naked underneath the sheets, with tattoos painting his arm.

"Yeah." You hooked your bra together, throwing a little smile over your shoulder. "I've got a date."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"But we just had sex."

You laughed. "Yeah, so?" you walked away from the bed, searching for your panties.

Eren didn't respond but there was a little scowl on his face. You didn't see it, even if you did, you shouldn't pay any attention to it 'cause you were keeping this casual, right? There was no right for him to be jealous.

He kept quiet as you dressed back into your clothes, fixing your hair and re-applying your lipstick on the vanity mirror that his hotel room provided. When you were finished, you grabbed your purse and walked to his spot. "Goodbye," you kissed him on the cheek once but before you could step away, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you back down to the bed. His mouth tasted like weed and a little bit of you from when he went down on you earlier. "Eren--" you tried to push him away by the shoulders but he pinned your hands against the sheets, tying your wrists together and holding them above your head with one hand, while his other one slipped underneath your dress. "Wait--"

He wasn't stopping, his tongue sliding against yours, his fingers rubbing against your clit from above your panties. Your body responded to him naturally, like how it always did. He pushed your underwear to the side, broke off the kiss just so he could suck on his fingers and coat them with saliva before he eased not one, but two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of you until you were clutching hard against his shoulders. "Fuck, why--" you couldn't form a sentence. He crooked his fingers inside, scissoring them, and applying pressure to your clit with his thumb. His mouth was painting bruises on your neck, teeth gritting against your sensitive skin. He drove you all the way to the edge but when you began to squeeze your legs around his hand, ready to be washed away by your orgasm, he stopped.

Eren retracted his fingers, brought them into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks around them. He darted out his tongue, licking your juices off his digits, never taking his eyes away from yours as he did it.

"Have fun on your date," he said, smirking before he stepped down the bed and walked toward the bathroom. "Oh," he stopped, propping an arm against the doorframe. "It's gonna show." Seeing you frown, he tapped one finger to his neck. You blushed, knowing that you wouldn't be able to go on a date with his love marks plastered all over your skin.

***

Enemies to lovers

Imagine being his enemy from day one ever since you met each other. he's hot as fuck but he's been nothing but an ass to you and you can't stand him. One day, Eren sees you eating by yourself in the cafeteria, so he grins and walks to your table with spring in his steps.

"This is just sad," he coos, casually sitting in front of you with a cheeseburger in his hands. "So you have no friends, no lover, and your hair smells like sewer? I feel sorry for you, Sweetheart."

"Fuck off, Jaeger, I'm not in the mood." You grumble. "Also, I'd appreciate it more if you don't sniff my hair. Ever."

"I can smell it from a thousand miles away, idiot, take a shower for once." But when he doesn't hear any retort coming from you, his face grows concerned. "What? Did someone die?"

"No," you sigh, "It's just..." Your eyes dart to where Jean is sitting between Connie and Sasha, laughing so loudly that he's starting to gain everyone's attention. He's the school's jock and earlier this morning, he tripped you with his foot and whistled at you when he saw a glimpse of your panties. It was downright humiliating and you wanted to fight back but you didn't want to make a scene. you avert your gaze away before Eren notices, clearing your throat. "It's fine. Just a bit under the weather that's all."

Eren frowns, noticing where you've been looking. "Is it Jean?"

"No, it's--"

"It's fucking Jean, isn't it?"

"Eren--" but he's already back to his feet, rushing to Jean's table and grabs him around the collar.

Jean chokes out, "Yo--what the fuck--"

"What did you do to her?" Eren says through clenched teeth.

"Do what--I didn't--" Jean notices you're standing behind him with your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh. I don't know what you're talking about, Jae--"

"I'm gonna ask this one more time, you fucking horse face." Eren tightens his grip around his collar. "What did you do to her?"

Everyone is staring and you feel it's more embarrassing to keep this up so you stroke Eren's arm and pull him back to you. "Eren, nothing happened."

"You look like you're gonna cry, you idiot, something must have happened." He glares back at Jean. "Apologize to her."

"Why are you defending her so much?" Jean retorts. "Aren't you two supposed to hate each other?"

"Yeah, she's a bitch but she's mine," he growls. "And if you ever lay your fucking hands on her again, I'm gonna make sure you pay for it."

#didn't double-check this so there might be grammatical errors or typos #did this in like 10 minutes? 15? #bear with me anon this is right off the bat #i just had a realization #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren headcanons #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader

[stylistiquements]

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

#sapnap smau #smau #mcyt smau #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #sapnap series #129 days #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #sapnap fluff

[shemarmooresfedora]

If the World is Ending, I Want to Fuck You First

Summary: You need to do one last thing during the zombie apocalypse.

Pairing: Kyle Orfman (MGG character in Life After Beth) x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

Content/Warnings: swearing, smut, blowjob, praise kink, sub!kyle, gun violence (used against zombies), vaginal sex, choking, fluffy ending (let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: okay i know this is a lesser famous mgg character but i beg of you to give this fic a try because i think it’s my best smut yet and i love the ending. you don’t need to have watched the movie to understand (i give a few visuals).

Masterlist

“Open the goddamn door, Jacob,” you pounded on your ex’s door, “I want my shit back.”

A car with sirens pulled up in the driveway. Great, you thought, the cops. But when you turned around, it was just an old tan sedan with ‘Briarwood Security’ written on it.

You turned back around, “Jacob, I know you’re fucking home, you cheating son of a bitch.

“What seems to be the problem here?” a tall, lean man with a slicked back undercut dressed in a beige security uniform approached the front door.

“My cheating ex won’t give me my stuff back,” you continued to pound at the door, “I have a laptop in there!”

He sighed and spoke quietly, “This is technically still trespassing because he didn’t necessarily steal it but let me see what I can do.”

“Jacob Peterson,” he knocked on the door, “This is Briarwood Security. I need you to open the door or I have the clearance to break it down.”

He whispered to you, “I actually don’t,” and you giggled.

Jacob swung open the door with your bag of stuff.

“Take your crap and go,” he shoved the bag into your arms.

“Gladly, asshole,” you checked to make sure everything was in there.

You nodded to the security guard and Jacob slammed the door once again.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked, noticing your lack of a car.

“I live like a mile away so I just walked here but yeah, if you don’t mind, that would be great,” you accepted.

He opened the trunk for you to put your bag of belongings inside.

“Kyle,” you hummed, looking at his little name tag.

“And you are?”

“Y/N,” you stuck out your hand for him to shake and he accepted it.

“Kyle, I have a proposition for you,” you said as you entered the passenger side of the car.

“Okay…” he looked at you.

“Let me suck your dick.”

Kyle stared straight at you for a minute, not moving.

“Hello?” you asked, waving your hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he snapped out of his daze.

“Let me suck your dick,” you repeated, “I don’t want his,” you pointed to Jacob’s door, “to be the last dick I sucked and I want him to see your car still parked out here, knowing exactly what we are doing. Plus, you get an orgasm out of it.”

“I’m on the job,” he tried to resist.

“If you really don’t want to, that’s okay. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just think this could be a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Kyle nodded, putting the car in reverse and starting to back out of the driveway. He made it about halfway before he braked and put the car back in park.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Please,” he begged.

You looked down and as your eyes adjusted to the evening darkness, you could see the obvious bulge strain in his khakis.

You leaned over the center console, untucking his uniform and unbuckling his belt. You slowly unzipped his fly to tease him as he squirmed underneath you.

“Patience, my sweet boy” you hummed and your warm breath fanned out across his dick.

His needy whines were beautiful. You sat back up and removed your shirt, leaving you in just a lacy bralette.

“Please,” he pleaded again.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you leaned back down and licked a long strip up from the base of his dick to the tip, swirling your tongue at the top.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands moving to your hair.

“Hands off,” you ordered and he whined but complied.

You took him in inch by inch. He was certainly the biggest you’ve ever been with. You gagged when he bottomed out in your throat.

You could feel him using all his self-control to restrain his hands to his side.

You bobbed your head up and down, taking up a quick pace. His melodic groans filled the car.

“I’m gonna-” he panted, “Can I please cum?”

“Yes, you’ve been such a good boy for me, baby. Let go. You can touch me now,” you spoke.

His hands moved to your hair just as his hips bucked up, shooting his load into your mouth. You accepted it all with a moan and swallowed.

You took a few more gentle sucks before releasing him from your mouth. As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, Kyle stared at you adoringly.

“Ummm, thank you? I’m not really sure what to say,” he finally spoke.

“Just drive,” you laughed.

-

You woke up to a loud crashing sound coming from downstairs. You reached for your cell but it was dead even though it was plugged in. The power must have gone out. You grabbed your emergency battery-powered flashlight from underneath your bed and your bottle of pepper spray.

You quietly snuck down the stairs but when you turned the corner, you came face-to-face with your old kindergarten teacher who died a couple of years ago. She was definitely dead but still walking somehow. You screamed as she tried to grab you as you ran for the door.

You burst out of the door to see the street crawling with zombies of dead people you used to know. You ran towards the direction of the police station. You got about a half a mile until the deceased retired high school football coach tackled you to the ground.

You fought and kicked and screamed, trying to avoid him biting you. You thought it was over until you heard the sound of a gunshot and the zombie limply collapsed on top of you. You pushed it off with a yelp.

A hand reached down to help you up, you looked up to see Kyle standing there in a slightly bloody orange jumpsuit.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded slowly.

“We should get off the street but I’ve cleared this whole neighborhood so we should be okay,” he grabbed your hand.

You looked down at your interlocked hands, “I don’t know if it’s just the adrenaline talking but if the world is ending, I want to fuck you first.”

Kyle smiled softly, “It would be a hell of a last memory but I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He pulled you towards his house and jumped the fence to his backyard.

“I don’t think zombies can climb,” he said, looking up at his childhood treehouse.

“This is a first,” you laughed softly as you headed up the ladder with Kyle right behind you.

“I can feel your eyes staring at my ass,” you said as you climbed the ladder.

“It’s right in front of me! Where do you want me to look?” he defended himself.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you smirked.

Immediately upon crawling into the treehouse, your lips were on his.

“How do you want it, baby?” you whispered into his ear.

“Ride me, please,” he whined.

You put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back onto the wooden floor. You unzipped his jumpsuit hastily, ripping your shirt and shorts off in the process.

You released his dick from the confines of his tight black boxers and stroked it a couple of times.

“You ready?” you asked as you lined yourself up above him.

“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically.

You sank down on his dick, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Kyle’s head fell back in pure pleasure.

You wrapped a tentative hand around his neck, only applying more pressure when his moans increased in volume.

His hips were bucking up to meet yours at a ferocious pace.

“Ah fuck! I think I just got a splinter in my ass,” he yelped.

“Shhh baby, you can take it. You’re fucking me so good, my sweet boy,” you continued to ride him and guided his hands up to your boobs.

Kyle groaned at the praise, “I’m close-God, I’m so close.”

“Give me a few more seconds. I know you can, baby,” you frantically rubbed your clit in order to finish with him.

“Okay, fill me up like a good boy,” you whispered into his ear.

Kyle’s hands grappled at your hips as he bucked up into you one last time. As you both came down from your highs, you collapsed on top of him.

The two of you just laid like that for a while. Catching your breath while soaking up the skin-to-skin contact.

“You know I was going to go back to your apartment and ask you on a date? You know…before the whole world went to shit. Besides giving me the best blowjob of my life, you just seemed like a really cool, beautiful girl,” Kyle admitted.

“Too bad you didn’t get the chance, I would have said yes.”

“Can I leave you here for just a second?” he asked quietly.

You hugged him closer, “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Well, I would prefer it if you stayed up here where I know it’s safe. I need to get supplies and I’m armed,” he reasoned with you.

“Promise you’ll come back,” you had tears in your eyes.

“I promise,” he held out his pinky and you wrapped yours around it, both of you kissing your fists.

You and Kyle got redressed and you watched him climb down the ladder and head into his house with his gun fully loaded. And then, you waited. You counted the seconds. You were at 381 when he finally returned.

“Thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

He started to unpack the bag he brought with him. He pulled out a blanket and set it on the floor for you both to sit on. Then, pillows. Next, he pulled out leftover cold pizza.

“Ah, gourmet,” you jokingly smiled.

He pulled out red solo cups and placed one in between you both, putting in a rose he plucked from his mom’s rose bush.

Finally, he pulled a very expensive bottle of whiskey from the bag and filled your cups.

“My dad was saving this for a special occasion, I think zombies coming back from the dead and the world ending qualifies,” he grinned.

The world didn’t end. In fact, you were just starting your new life with your future husband.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187

#no minors please #mgg fic #mgg smut #mgg x you #mgg x reader #mgg oneshot #mgg fluff #kyle orfman #life after beth #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader

[comfortwriting]

Possessive - G.W

George Weasley x Fem Reader

Masterlist, Request Rules

About: While working at the twins shop, a male customer makes a move on the reader and tries to grab her. The reader calls out for her boyfriend, George, who comes over and beats up the man, causing Fred to close early. George and the reader go to their flat and whilst cuddling, George gets possessive in a smutty way.

Warnings: heavy, filthy smut, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, arousal by tears, slapping, female receiving oral, aftercare and swearing.

“There's no more boxes down there, Freddie.” You called out, walking over to the shop window, carrying three large boxes in your arms. “These are all we have until next week.” 

Being able to work at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with your fiancé and soon to be brother in law made life more enjoyable after the losses you experienced during the war, you were so thankful that your fiancé (now missing an ear) and the rest of the Weasley's made it out alive - many people you knew weren’t so lucky.

“Cheers for letting me know, love!” Fred replied, shouting over the crowd of heads of customers “I’ll make sure to order more in for next week!”

With the summer holidays coming to a close around the corner, the joke shop was almost stripped bare each day with students coming in to stock up on Skiving Snackboxes and the variety of Fred and George’s special WonderWitch products.

“The Pygmy Puffs are due anytime now!” George called out, causing more customers to ask when and how they could get their hands on one.

Getting down on your knees you opened the boxes and started to place more love potions out on the shop floor, squeezing past the many customers who were overflowing the place. 

With every Love Potion, Extendable Ear and Skiving Snackboxes you placed out, they were running scarce within minutes, George barely had a moment to shoot you a loving glance or a cheeky wink; but you were over the moon that Fred and George had made such a huge success after their family had struggled to get by for decades. 

Fred and George had to find a new manufacturer after the demand got too high - they couldn’t keep up with it by themselves.

The twins continued to help out and serve as many customers as they could, the crowd finally dying down, giving them time to breathe before the next bout of essential shoppers and die hard fans came crashing back in. 

Getting down to your last box of Reusable Hangman, you placed them out on the shop floor. Feeling relieved that the final re-stock of the day had finished, you took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from your brow. 

Walking around the shop to check everything was out, you accidently bumped into a much taller customer viewing the Love Potions.

“I’m so sorry!” you panicked “I was miles away-”

The customer turned around and smirked at you, his long and silky black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, his piercing green eyes searched yours, making you feel as if he was reading into your soul.

“Not a problem, darling.” He replied, cocking up an eyebrow. 

Feeling embarrassed and flustered, you apologised once more and tried to hurry away to other side of the shop but the customer stopped you, grabbing you by the arm.

Fred caught the guy out of his eye and nudged George, telling him to keep an eye on him closing in on you.

“If he comes onto her one more time, I swear-”

Fred shushed his brother and forced him to keep working.

“Hey, Hey, don’t go running away now sweetheart.” the man said with a chuckle, pulling you back over and putting you in the corner. “so, what are these love potions then?”

The man held the glass heart bottle in his hand, staring at it before looking back into your eyes.

You swallowed hard and sighed, you knew this man was toying with you and that he was getting off on making you flustered, you had dealt with the odd one or two customers before but none had never grabbed you like he did. 

“Uh, the label on the back should tell you.” you replied nervously, pointing at the obvious description on the bottle. “we added that so customers wouldn’t get confused.”

George, still serving customers watched you like a hawk, Fred reassured him that you would kick him out if needed, like you had done with plenty of customers before.

The man turned the bottle and looked at the little label, then held out the potion in front of you “I would prefer it if you could explain.” he smirked again, pissing off George. 

You sighed again and gently took the Love Potion from him, if you knew any better you would kick him out straight away but you knew how much Fred and George relied on the sales they made this time of year to keep their shop running smoothly.

“They cause the drinker to become infatuated or obsessed with the person who gave it to them.” you answered, becoming inpatient. 

The man bit his lip and studied your face “go on..”

“Sick bastard.” George muttered under his breath, slamming the till shut.

“George, not yet-” Fred tried to warn his brother but failed.

George slowly made his way over to you, his hands were clenched in tight fists, the veins in his arms and hands bulging, his knuckles turning white - he wanted to rip this mans head off.

“The Love Potions work regardless whether the giver is present or not when the recipient drinks it. The longer you keep it, the more potent the effects become.”

Wanting nothing more than to walk away and finally have a satisfied customer, you walked out of the corner he trapped you in, and pushed past him until you felt his hand tighten around your arm once more. “Don’t walk away-”

Trying to free yourself from his grip you panicked and called out for George, searching around the shop to spot where he was hiding.

“Don’t lay another finger on my wife!” George yelled, swinging his arm and punching the man across the face. 

The creepy customer instantly let go of you when he took the blow, you moved out of the way almost tripping over, accidentally smashing the love potion. 

Fred kept yelling at George to stop, but he wouldn’t and he didn’t want to.

Hearing George’s fist collide with the customers face over and over was enough to make Fred get the other customers out of the shop, apologising to them and saying he’ll open up earlier tomorrow to make up for closing so soon at such short notice.

“Don’t ever touch her, again!” George yelled again, grabbing the man by his collar and punching him again.

George could see so much red the man didn’t have enough time to defend himself, George’s right hand was busted, his knuckles cut open, bruised and bloody. The customers nose was also busted and leaking out blood, his bottom lip suffering a cut and his face slowly swelling up.

“George, please!” you begged, running over to him.

You grabbed George’s left arm that was gripping onto the mans collar and kept pulling. “George just stop!”

Not wanting to lash out and accidentally hurt you, George let go of the man and got to his feet, kicking him in the stomach before walking away.

“Fred, kick him out.” George ordered, stomping up the stairs to your shared flat. 

Fred nodded and walked over to the now whimpering man, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck, you opened the door and Fred pushed the man outside, kicking him in his lower back before slamming the door shut.

“Fred, I’m so sorry-” 

Fred pulled you into a tight hug “don’t you dare apologise, the dodgy perv had no right to put you in such an uncomfortable situation” he pulled back and watched the man scramble to his feet and walk away.

“We’ll make sure he never steps foot in here again.” Fred glared through the window, walking behind the till and pulling out the cash register, the sickles and galleons sliding around inside.

You grabbed out your wand and cleaned up the Love Potion, walking over to your soon to be brother in law, you took the cash from him. 

“I’ll sort it” you said quietly “George is up there and probably wants to be alone.”

Fred nodded and handed you the shop keys, walking over to the door “see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“see you, Fred.”

After locking up, and going upstairs into the office, you placed the cash register on the table and sat down, checking everything and handing your tiny tawny owl a letter to deliver to the manufactures regarding current stock shortages and requiring more products.

Finally finishing for the day, you walked into the bathroom and noticed blood in the sink, going into the bedroom you found George laid down staring at his bandaged fist. You sat down on the bed and took his hand in yours, using your other hand to lift up his chin so he could look at you.

“It’s okay Georgie.” you reassured him softly “It’ll never happen again.”

George’s hard and stone cold eyes softened when they met with yours.

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, I should’ve kicked him out sooner.” He muttered, chewing on his lip.

“George, just stop. I’m okay, everything is okay.”

For the rest of the evening you and George cuddled naked in bed, listening to your vinyl records, the two of you not speaking a word to each other. Whilst cuddling George ran his hand over your body and up your inner thigh squeezing it.

“Ruddy sicko, thinking he could have you.”

The hairs stood up on the back of your neck and a chill went down your spine, you loved it when George became possessive, when he made it clear you were his property and no one else could even utter as much as a look or word to you.

When George was like this, you loved toying with him, making him jealous and more possessive - it was that side of George that riled you up more than any other. 

“You called me your wife” you breathed out, smirking slightly “which I’m not... we’re not married yet.”

George’s hand travelled up to you heat, his soft and long digits stroking your clit, his hot breath resting against your neck, George placed his mouth by your ear, teasing you.

George suddenly sat up in bed and pulled your naked body down the bed, towering over you he strikes you across the face and grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re mine.” he growled “do you understand?”

You stayed quiet for a moment, adjusting to the hot stinging on your cheek, you looked into George’s eyes and noticed the rage he the had earlier. 

George cocked an eyebrow at you and slapped your clit, making you jump and yelp out.

“I’m yours! I understand!” 

He smirked at your reply and lowered himself down, pulling your legs over his shoulders. George sucked on his index and middle finger before spitting on them, inserting them inside of you, pumping gently.

George looked up at you for a moment and looked down at your wet pussy, attacking it with kisses and long, fast strokes with his tongue. 

The pleasure was nothing short of incredible, your G-Spot and clit being stimulated at the same time, over and over, had you arching your back and moaning George’s name like it was the only word you knew.

“George... oh George...”

George sucked on your clit whilst swirling his tongue around the head, making it go red, every now and then he would pull away from your pussy and spit on it, his silky, warm saliva running over your clit and between your folds.

His fingers switched from pumping inside of you to repeating the ‘come here’ motion against your G-Spot, the squelching noise you were making against his fingers made George’s cock even harder.

George lifted his head and looked at you, feeling more lust ignite inside him as he watched you become a moaning mess, running one of your hands over your breast, caressing it. 

“I don’t hear you moaning that mans name” he said softly, a little bit of pride shining through his voice.

You bit your lip and felt daring, you didn’t want leave George feeling satisfied with himself just yet.

 “I never got his name.” you replied, seeing George’s proud expression drop.

George immediately withdrew his fingers that were now coated in your juices, he got up from in between your legs and grabbed you by the hair, pulling your face down beneath him.

“Open your dirty fucking mouth”  he ordered, slapping you across the face once more when you didn’t comply.

Finally opening your mouth, he forced his fingers inside your mouth, ramming them down your throat and making you gag, causing your eyes to water.

“suck your juices off my fingers, taste yourself.”

Doing as you were told, George quickly pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed you back into the mattress, letting go of your hair. He slapped your tits and went back in-between your legs, stroking his cock and slapping it against your pussy to tease you.

“is that what you want?” George asked, mocking your whimpers and pleas. 

You nodded your head and you blinked out the tears forming in your eyes. 

“Yes, I want you inside me.” you pushed yourself against George’s erection.

George smirked and took both of your legs in his hand, placing them against one of his shoulders, holding them in place. He spat into his hand and spread his saliva all over his cock before pushing himself inside your tight pussy. 

The two of you moaned out in pleasure, George adjusting to your tightness and you adjusting to his size. George slammed into you, his cock hitting your G-Spot each with each and every thrust, with his free hand still coated in his saliva, he rubbed your clit in quick circular motions.

The feeling of your clit and G-Spot being stimulated at the same time over and over became incredibly intense, you bucked your hips against George and he stopped holding your legs, bending over you instead and holding you down.

“I can feel you tightening around me.” he grunted “don’t you dare cum.” 

You shook your head and more whimpers spilled out of you “please-”

George shook his head “you’ll cum when I say so.” he continued to fuck you and play with your clit, causing you to shake beneath him.

“George, please-” you begged, your tears flowing from your eyes and running down your cheeks.

You couldn’t hold yourself back for much longer, your clit became sore and red, your pussy felt swollen and the desperation to cum was starting to become unbearable. 

“cum for me then, love.” George approved “cum all over my fucking cock.” 

George kept slamming into you and kept rubbing your clit, liquid squirting from beneath you, your head dropped back and your legs rattled like an open door in the wind. Your cum all over George’s cock and your liquid soaking the bed. 

George felt himself getting closer from seeing you get off from him continuing to toy with you, making you cry. 

“George” you wailed, gripping onto the edge of the mattress. 

“I’m going to cum” he groaned “cum again for me, I know you’re desperate.”

Reaching the top of the rollercoaster once more, you felt yourself plummet down, cumming again, the inside of your pussy and your clit incredibly raw and red.

George picked up his pace and pooled himself inside of you, planting a kiss on your forehead before pulling out and laying beside you; the two of you panting and exhausted. 

Once the two of you recovered, George sat up and walked over to the bathroom, running you a bath.

Coming back into the bedroom he studied your face and turned the side of your face he slapped, looking it over.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly “I didn’t break any boundaries did I?”

You shook your head “no not at all” you replied “I’m a little sore though” you chuckled.

“I’m sorry” he gave you a soft look and stood up, lifting  you into his arms, carrying you into the bathroom and placing you into the bathtub.

George climbed into the tub and sat behind you, washing your back and you hair, placing kisses down your neck and onto your shoulders.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking about how easy it was to get under George’s skin but you felt so relieved knowing that he was there to protect you when you needed him most.

You leant back into his arms and looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes. 

“When will you make me your wife then?” you smiled.

George smiled back and stroked your face “sooner than you think.”

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #Weasley #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #hogwarts #smut #angst #fluff

[caffeineforbucky]

As Time Goes By...(Chapter three)

A/N: This one took a while to write. I've just been so busy doing absolutely nothing all while procrastinating, so special thanks to that. No, but I really hope you like this, fellow reader. If you like the series, let me know if you want to be tagged!

(Side note: I've been playing RE8, thirsting over lady D, and dying over and over...it's going great! It's part of the procrastination...)

Also, has anyone seen the Bridgerton musical tiktoks? I swear I've had the 'burn for you' song in my head all last month and if you've been living under a rock...here's the link:

https://youtu.be/EwY9_m5qeow

Word Count: 2,299

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I don't know....angst? As always, John Walker!?! AKA; Fake Cap. Umm...If I missed any let me know.

(A little PSA: I don't hate John Walker: or the actor. John is a well-written character. This is just strictly for the purpose of where my story is going. I'm more reiterating how Bucky treats him in the show. Thank you!!)

You groan, rolling from your left side to lay flatly on your back, arms spread out beside you. You inhale deeply, becoming aware of the moistened dirt and crushed wildflowers beneath you as they release their aromatics. Birds chirped around you, the busy sounds of traffic fading away while you lie still in the field, oxygen feeling heavy in your lungs.

"Y/N?!"

You barely heard the worrisome calls of Sam over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You lift your head, the view of icy mountains in the distance, blurry figures making their way towards you while you somehow managed to sit up. Your head was spinning, a sharp ache on the side of your thigh.

Your eyes flickered down, taking note of the small paring knife lodged in your thigh. You exhaled softly, nodding your head at the sight of it. "Okay," You grumble in agreement. With shaking hands, you wrap your fingers around the handle, bracing yourself by taking intervolved breaths before carefully pulling it from your thigh.

You worked fast, ignoring the crunch of rocks and dirt under the acknowledgeable footsteps of Sam and Bucky. Taking babochka, you cut off the end of your pant leg, wrapping the spandex around your wounded thigh before securing it with one of the holsters, tying the ends into a knot. You remain quiet, carefully pushing yourself up to your feet, transferring all of the weight to the opposite leg, eyes drifting up to meet the guys. "Are you guys okay?" You murmur, dusting off the clumps of dirt and dead leaves from your jacket.

"Are you?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "You're bleeding!" He points out, gesturing to the bright red staining the skin of your calf as it dripped down to your boot. The wrap might've held the wound shut, but that didn't mean blood wouldn't have soaked through.

"Oh, this?" You ask, glancing down at your leg, the wound throbbing in agony, but you did your best to avoid it. "I've had worse." That was true, from all those years fighting as an avenger. Getting shot, kicked, stabbed, beaten until you were purple, and undergoing mind control. This tiny stab was the least of your worries. It still hurt like hell, and you couldn't hide the discomfort in your features.

"Do you want a piggyback?" Bucky asks suddenly, slightly annoyed at your nonchalance and still concerned nonetheless. You weren't expecting it, the odd but kind offer, especially from the menace himself. Though you weren't one to pass up being carried. With a hesitant nod, you agree, watching Bucky crouch just a bit, allowing you to climb on his back.

The position was awkward for both of you. With his hands tightening on the back of your knees and your arms wrapped around his neck, neither of you could think straight. Yet, you were still thankful. The road to the airport was a long one, and you weren't sure if you could make it in your state. Bucky held you as if you weighed nothing, his super-soldier strength showing off while he carried you on his back, footsteps matching up with Sam. He didn't mind doing it, especially since he was the one who offered, and the proximity was just a bonus.

"Sorry about Redwing," Bucky muses, breaking the silence while the three of you sauntered down the empty road. There was nothing for miles, only empty plains of grass and dirt. Young trees scattered, lacking the greenery around them, evident of the cold weather in Munich.

"No, you're not," Sam remarks, narrowing his eyes to a pinprick at the winter soldier. "You've always hated Redwing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry about it," Bucky grumbles, tightening his hold on you as he felt you slipping. You gasp at the sudden strength, clinging better to his shoulders as well. "How're you doin' up there?" He asks, jaw clenching from your touch.

"All things considering," You sigh, pushing aside the butterflies in your tummy at how close you were to Bucky. "I've been better. We've gotta find out where that super serum is coming from."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, glancing at you. "-And how the hell after 80 years are there eight super-soldiers runnin' loose?"

Loud honks of a horn ring in your ears, tires treading on the gravel as an army jeep slows down beside the three of you. "So, that didn't go as planned, huh?" John chuckles, pushing the door open only for you to keep walking, paying no mind to the man in stars and stripes.

"Okay, keep going," John utters, signaling the driver to keep up as he pulls the door shut. "Look, at least we know what we're up against, huh? And I'm pretty sure it's one of the big three...so,"

"Aliens, androids, or wizards," Lemar comments as John nods his head in agreement.

"There's no such thing as wizards!" Bucky grunts, keeping his eyes forward, hands on the back of your knees.

"Fine, aliens or androids," John settles, sharing a look with his best friend beside him. "Look, it's 20 miles to the airport, and you guys need a ride. Gary, stop," He instructs, the wheels slowing down. John opens the door once again. "Get in," He sighs, motioning all of you inside the jeep as Bucky and Sam's footsteps came to a halt.

Bucky gently sets you down, taking note of the small whimpers falling from your lips. No matter how tough you appeared to be, you still carried so much vulnerability. "You okay?" He asks, eyes filled with so much concern it almost scared you. He hadn't looked at you like that in a while. "Do you want any help?"

With a soft nod, you oblige to Bucky's ask, needing more help than you anticipated. You didn't want to add any strain or force to your injury. You didn't even realize it happened, and that part of it was Sam's fault for swooping to grab you while you had a knife in hand, but you weren't going to start pointing fingers. You wrap your arm around Bucky's shoulder, using him as support while he boosts you up on the jeep after Sam climbs up first, helping you settle beside him.

"Woah!" John exclaims, almost rising to his feet at the sight of your thigh, your hands stained with blood. "Are you okay?"

With a curt nod, you adjust yourself to relieve some of the pressure while Bucky takes a seat on your left, leaving you to be right smack dab in the middle as he pulls the door shut. You blow out a breath, knowing damn well if it hadn't been for the mishap, you would've walked the damn 20 miles.

"Lemar, hand me the first aid kit," John instructs, pointing to the steel case beside his friend. You wanted to protest, but even you knew that the strap wasn't going to work. Mouthing a thank you, you take the case from Lemar's hand and clip it open.

"Okay, so we got eight super-soldiers on a bulk supply run," John continues, the jeep beginning to roll down the road. You hand the case to Sam, asking him to hold it while you searched for gauze, medical tape, and butterfly bandages, you were probably going to need stitches, but you'd worry about that later. "Why?" John asks, watching closely as you patched up your wound.

"They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during the blip," Sam answers, handing you another strip of tape. "Maybe they're just tryna help."

"They had a funny way of showing it," Bucky adds, his eyes trained on you, a hiss slipping through your lips as you roll down the remaining spandex. You sigh in relief, the ache becoming dull as you shut the case, giving it back to Lemar.

"Better?" John asks, earning a single nod as a response. "I don't think we've properly met. John Walker," he smiles, offering a shake of his hand, but you didn't move, only staring at the outstretched palm in front of you. "Does she talk?" John mumbles suddenly, looking to Sam or Bucky for a reply.

Your eyes cast down, gaze hardening at the sight of the shield in his grasp. Flashes of Steve running through your mind, the many times he'd catch you trying to throw it like he would. Steve Rogers meant a lot to you, having joined him in not signing the Sokovian accords, being an outlaw, and helping to clear Bucky's name with Sam. So, seeing a man who wasn't Steve hold the shield awoke something in you. Something unkind and hateful.

"When she wants to," You claim, John squirms in his seat, sensing the tension as your eyes flicker to his. "And frankly has no desire to speak to you."

"You don't even know me," John defends, glancing at Bucky, a sly smirk on his lips, and Sam, who rendered quiet, his eyes looking elsewhere. John sets his attention back on you, lips razor thin.

You scoff, shaking your head softly as you fold your arms over your chest. "Jonathon F. Walker," You begin, leaning back in your seat, your eyes never leaving his. "Former Captain of the U.S Army's 75th Rangers Regiment. Graduated at the top of your class from the United States Military and the first person in American history to receive three medals of honor, ran RS-one missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue."

John's tongue darts between his lips, a frown spreading throughout his forehead at the information you were giving him. Either you did research on him or, you just read his file, which you had done both. You were not one to go into a mission without potentially knowing who you were up against. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"So you saw the news?" John chuckles, the frown falling from his features while he shrugs. "Big deal, so did the entire world."

"Custer's Grove High school alumni."

John's smile falters.

"There you met, Lemar Hoskins and your current wife," You tilt your head in curiosity. "Olivia, right? Or am I getting it wrong?"

Clearing his throat softly, John broke eye contact with you. So you did know him, and you probably knew more than you led on. "Do they always just stare like that?" He gestures between you and Bucky, who had displayed the same distaste for him.

Sam glances beside him, observing the matched body language you shared with Bucky, its no wonder Bucky had taken a liking to you, even if he'd never admit it. "You get used to it," Sam smirks, turning his head back to Walker.

"Okay..." John drags, eyes flickering to the more sensible one of the trio, and that was Sam. "Look, that serum doesn't have the greatest track record, no offense," He waves his hand, dismissing the insult directed towards the only super-soldier in the car.

"We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here?" Sam asks, "The flag smashers."

"Uh," Lemar murmurs, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't track them. We tracked you through Redwing."

"You hacked my tech!?" Sam gripes, straightening out his back as he sat up.

"Sorry," John laughs, "It's not exactly hacking. It's government property...kind of the government. Alright, you know things have gotten kind of..."

"Chaotic," Lemar adds.

"Yeah," John nods in agreement. "The GRC, they're doing their best to get things up and running smoothly post blip. If you guys teamed up with us-"

"No." Bucky interrupts. He couldn't let Walker finish that sentence.

"I've got mad respect for all of you," Lemar praises, looking between the trio before him. "But you were getting your asses kicked 'til we showed up."

"And who are you?" Bucky bemuses, cocking a brow at the man next to John.

"Lemar Hoskins," You mention, "I could've sworn we've been through this." You shake your head at the old man, for being 106, he couldn't hear a thing.

"I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear," Sam shrugs, "I'm gonna need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins."

"I'm Battlestar, John's partner."

"Battlestar?" Bucky repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lemar as he nods, confirming his alias. "Stop the car!" Bucky shouts suddenly, brakes screeching as the wheels come to a stop in the middle of the road. Bucky pulls open the handle, ducking, as to not rail his head on the bar-frame above him before hopping off the jeep.

"Look, I get it, okay?" John sighs, calling after Bucky. "I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky. And I'm not trying to be Steve!"

"Good," You interject, rendering John to settle his eyes on you. "Because you will never be. And just because you're the one wielding it..." You grab the bar above your head, using it to pull yourself up. "It doesn't make you Captain America." And with that, you carefully jump off the jeep, following after the heated super-soldier.

Sighing in frustration, he rips his eyes away from your retreating figures. "I'm not trying to replace him either. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be." He explains to Sam, hoping the falcon would cut him some slack. "-And it'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingman on my side."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, his tongue darting between his lips. "It's always that last line," He scoffs, shaking his head as he jumped off the car, following you and Bucky.

John's lips thin out, face scrunching in a scowl. "Let's go," He instructs. The sound of the jeep leaving making its way to your ears.

#james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky/reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnesxreader #bucky x y/n #james barnes fanfiction #james barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws x reader #tfatws #samuel wilson #sam wilson #john walker #angst #anger #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #tfatws fanfiction #anti john walker

[hannie-dul-set]

“i'll take your word for it and no one else's.” [lee jeno]

SUMMARY | maybe snooping through your friend’s phone wasn’t that much of a good idea. or maybe it was. either way, you didn’t regret it. PAIRING | lee jeno x reader GENRE | friends to something, fluff, lots of bickering JHDFJ WARNINGS | swearing, invasion of privacy (LMAO idk) WORD COUNT | 2.1k TAGLIST | @danishmiilk​ @lucyinthesunshinee​ @sehunniepot​ @nct-writers​ @czennienet​ @neowritingsnet​

a/n: i didn’t think i’d turn another one of my dreams into a fic, but here we are HAHHAHA i tweaked a few bits and pieces to make it work (setting + added some dialogue + changed the ending because i WOKE UP before it could finish hmph) but please enjoy this unscheduled fic!! <3

early summer afternoons were warm.

bright rays of the sun were showering on your skin as you lounged on the park bench, hot enough to make you feel the season but not too hot to singe your skin. it was the perfect weather to waste the day outside, and your younger brother and cousin decided to haul you outside so they can play basketball at the park.

but you didn't know why your friend jeno decided to come along.

"your brother messaged me," he grinned at you, plopping down beside you with a long, refreshed sigh. a towel was slung around his neck and he used it to wipe the sweat on his face. "what? why are you staring at me like that?"

"since when were you close with my brother?"

"am i not allowed to be friends with the little guy?" he joked, but apparently he took the unamused look on your face completely the wrong way. "oh my god, are you afraid that he'll take all my attention away from you?" to further tease, he brought his smug face closer to yours that was dumbfounded in shock, his stupidly irritating smile moving in closer.

sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.

but you loved him nonetheless.

"like hell i want your attention," you sneered, lightly shoving him away with a glare. he only laughed at your display of annoyance. "go back to playing with the kids or something, you goof."

the never leaving grin in his face seemed brighter against the sun, and he playfully ruffled your hair before running off to disappear into the court.

"as you wish, m'lady."

you let out a huff of air, rolling your eyes as your cheeks were involuntary tugged upwards, prompting a smile to form on your lips. you brought your hands to your hair, fixing the mess that jeno left with, and your gaze landed on the phone he left beside you. the screen flashed on. someone was calling him.

brows knitted together, you picked up the ringing phone, unable to recognize the caller id. you brought the device to your ear, standing up walking towards the court— you figured that you'd just answer whoever that was now and just pass it on to jeno once he was at reach.

"hello?"

"oh, hello there!" there was a pause from the caller "is lee jeno around, miss? would you mind giving the phone to him?"

the voice was that of a middle aged woman's, but it wasn't someone that you recognized. you assumed it was a relative of his or something because you'd know that this was his mom if it were her. "ah, give me a moment! i'll just look for him."

your feet stopped at the edge of the court, the sound of a ball bouncing into the concrete jarring against your ears. not bothering to look at the scene in front if you, you covered the mic with your hand before deciding to shout.

"jeno! someone's calling you!"

there was no usual prompt answer from your friend.

"he's not here!"

the loud voice of your brother answered instead, causing you to narrow your eyes into the court scene with a tinge of confusion masking your expression. there was indeed no mop of blue hair within the area, and you were only confused even further.

"where did he— aish, nevermind."

scratching your head, you swiveled your heels and decided to just head back to the bench. "hi, sorry. i'm not sure where he is right now. so if it's fine with you, can you call him again later? or maybe i could just tell him to call you back when he returns?"

"oh, then can you just relay this to him? it won't take that long, i promise."

you inwardly sighed, but agreed nevertheless. oh, you were definitely gonna ask him to treat you and the kids dinner later. why the fuck did he just disappear like that? now you were responsible for memorizing whatever this woman was telling you (apparently it was about an architecture summer program he was interested in— the lady was a head from his department and she was just calling to tell him that he was accepted. she says she'll be forwarding more details later through text).

"alright, thank you! i'll be sure to inform him when he gets back."

the call ended, and you groaned. you were about to close the phone, but then all of a sudden a notification appeared with a quiet ding!

[haechan 🌟 liked your retweet.]

ding!

[ohhh shit why do i feel like i know who this is.]

"huh."

you knew that you shouldn't be snooping inside your friend's phone. you knew that you shouldn't be invading his privacy no matter how enticingly juicy the bait was. you knew that it was flat out wrong. but—

"ah, just a peek," you clicked on the notification. "payback for making me deal with his stuff."

a hint of excitement rushed through you. jeno never told you his twitter. actually, you didn't even know he had one. he was always buried with studies, sports, and friends so you didn't expect him to keep up with social media— this fact enough was surprising, but the moment the screen finally loaded the tweet

you were even more surprised than you were a few seconds ago.

[@markly tweeted: "it's kind of funny how sometimes we just meet random people at the most random of moments and you don't expect it but they just end up sticking by your side until now"]

[@leejeno quoted: "yeah. a few years back, i saw this girl while i was walking. it wasn't the usual path that i took to school. i saw her having trouble crossing the street because there was a dog hanging around (she's scared of them) so i decided to help her. she couldn't even look at my face back then out of embarrassment but earlier we were calling until four in the morning. if i took a different path that day or if i didn't help her, i don't know how i'd be like right now because she's become one of the most important people in my life."]

your heart skipped a beat. two beats. three. it was running a mile a minute and you could barely even breathe to catch up.

[@do0 replied: how are you two right now?]

[@leejeno replied: "we're good haha. i'm going with her and her brother to the park later. we're still really good friends.]

[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]

"hey, sorry for running off there. i went to get some— whoa. whats up?"

oh my fucking god.

you shot up, eyes wide, and you automatically turned off the phone. broken stutters left your lips, as the leaping of your heart to your throat prevented you from saying even a semblance of a coherent sentence. all you could think of when you met his worried gaze, the way he rushed to your side to check on you, was the last thing you read. your grip on his phone tightened.

but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there

you were gonna fucking lose it.

"hey, are you okay?"

quick, gentle hands landed on your cheeks, fingers brushing against your skin like a match igniting a flame. you nearly got lost and tongue-tied all over again, but you quickly slapped his hands away in a scolding fit. "jesus christ, i'm fine. you just surprised me. are you a ghost or something?" you glared at jeno, but it only lasted one second because you couldn't bear to look at him without your insides going crazy. because of that, your eyes flicked to the plastic bag he dropped onto the bench. he brought you something to eat.

"a-and before you ask—" you defended yourself indignantly when he didn't even accuse you of anything. "i wasn't snooping. the school called. it was about your summer program. you got in."

"oh? they called already?" you nodded. "ah, let's talk while walking— the kids are mad because i only got you food. they're asking me to buy the entire store for them to compensate," he released an airy laugh. you mentally scolded yourself.

keep it cool. you repeated the mantra inside your head as you strided beside jeno, your brother and cousin racing ahead of you. street lights were lighting up and the sky was fading into the night. cool cool cool cool cool. keep it cool.

the walk to the store felt way too gruelling than it normally would. it wasn't even that far. you told jeno everything the lady had told you, including the more detailed texts that she'd be sending later on. you thought that he'd be a lot more excited after hearing— he was interested, after all. but to you, he just seemed dismissive. "should i go?" he mindlessly asked.

"what are you talking about?" your brows furrowed. "yeah, of course. you wanted to, right?"

"but it's gonna last an entire month this summer," he yawed, stretching out his arms and hooking you by the neck, causing you to halt and stumble into him. you held back a squeak, and he looked at you, eyes gleaming with curious anticipation. a car sped by. "you still want me to go?"

those damned words that you read echoed inside your head again. you wondered if it resonated into the fucking nerves of your heart, as well.

"i—i mean," you stammered. "it's only one month. and it would also help you a lot in the future, right? you'd make a lot of connections during the camp. so yeah, i do want you to go."

he blinked at you. a hum sounded from his closed lips. he let go of you and resumed walking. you gaped when he left you behind.

was this karma?

"hey, what the hell?" quickly, you caught up to him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt so that you could hang on to him. "why are you being sulky? i didn't do anything wrong!" technically you did do something wrong, but he didn't have to know that.

"you said you wanted me to go."

"you're a baby," you scrunched your nose is disapproval. "i only said that because you said you wanted to go."

jeno abruptly stopped. maybe you were causing a scene in front of all the passersby, but you really didn't give a fuck anymore when your head was in a looped up mess. all thanks to your extremely difficult friend who apparently doesn't want to just be your friend. you swore that he was driving you insane on purpose.

he pulled out his phone and faced the screen to you. your sweat dropped.

[@leejeno replied: but i'm not sure if i want things to stop there."]

"even after reading this," he started. "you still want me to go?"

"w-well."

he just had to be so fucking sharp. well, you weren't exactly slick either. maybe he saw a glimpse of the screen before you got to turn it off earlier. heat started to rise from your neck into your face, a grinding mixture of embarrassment and desire to be hit by a moving truck afflicting your nerves. why were you the one suffering? shouldn't it be him?

"no."

he hummed, turning off his phone and shoving the device into his pocket. arms crossed, he leaned in to your face, bearing a look of feigned innocence. "but you said i'd make a lot of useful connections."

"you can make those anywhere."

"and it's only a month, right?"

"that's thirty days too long."

"and—"

"oh, come on!" you exclaimed, balling your fists in vexation. another car sped by with an accompanied honk. jeno simply wore a look of faint amusement at your little outburst. "i don't want you to join your stupid summer program. happy now?"

"well, if you say so."

you stared at him. he patted your head, eyes disappearing into a pair of crescents with a smile.

"i'll take your word for it and no one else's."

you were left frozen and dumbfounded in the middle of the sidewalk as jeno brazenly spun his heels to chase after the runaway kids that went before you— literally leaving you behind. letting a curse slip past your breath, you also went after them. he was definitely driving you insane on purpose.

sometimes you wondered if this was the same boy who helped you cross the street the first time you met.

this was one of those times.

"you said you weren't gonna go, you asshole!"

"payback for snooping through my phone!"

but you could still love him nonetheless.

© hannie-dul-set, 2020.

#NCT-WRITERS #czennet #neowritingsnet #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #nct jeno x reader #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno scenarios #jeno scenarios #jeno fluff #lee jeno fanfic #jeno fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff

[albaedhoe]

promise

pairing : venti x gn!reader

summary : many people say promises are meant to be broken, but this one? It has been nurtured and cared for for millennia.

contains venti’s story quest spoilers

Unlike Barbatos, who was only a wisp among the thousand winds at the time, you were a young, lesser-known god. For plot sake, let’s say you’re the god of health. Having similar views and wanting to allow humans to have atleast some form of hope, the two of you became fast friends and stuck together within the confinements of old mondstat.

“Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I promise that I will never even think of leaving you, Barbatos. I, Y/n, God of Health, swear my power and life that I will keep this promise until the day I fall from Celestia.”

“W-Wait- you didn’t have to go that far!”

You were there during the events of the rebellion and fought along side those who were trapped under the rule of Decarabian. You were by the side of Barbatos the moment he had become one of the seven, the god of anemo and later changed his name to Venti.

“You took the form of your friend?”

“I...I don’t want to forget what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save him on time, I can tell he meant a lot to you.”

“It’s fine! His sacrifice will never be in vain. Just don’t leave me too, as you promised.”

“As I promised.”

A few hundred years pass and growing tired of responsibilities, it didn’t take long for Venti to garner a need to escape, so he did, but not without taking you with him to the human world. While he took on the role of being a bard who played the lyre for others, you preferred a more stable subtle occupation that actually brings home money, such as being a teacher. This way, you can keep tabs on the younger generations of the people of mondstat without suspicion and to make sure that the city won’t fall into ruin because of the lack of education. After all, if that were to happen, everything the rebellion had fought for would be for nothing.

The grass grows green, leaves wilt off the trees, snow falls from the sky, the flowers start to sprout from the ground. The cycle repeating who knows how many times now. But one thing is for sure, Venti is lost. Mondstat does not need nor has needed of the god of winds for a long time. He comes back late to your shared cottage out in the open plains filled with dewy grass and blooming cecillias. On that night, he asks you a question. “Would... Would you allow me to rest for a few years..?”

Don’t get him wrong, Venti would never think of leaving you purposely. He’s just so tired. Your silence and furrowed eyebrows made his heart sink. He didn’t and couldn’t blame you if you had said no. After all of these millennia, you had kept his promise with undying loyalty and sincerity, and here he is, feeling as though he is selfishly taking advantage of your kindness. You even swore on your life and power!

Hanging his head low in shame, he didn’t notice you walk up to him and wrap his head with your arms, burying his face to one of your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you, rather, I’m upset to think you see me so highly that you need to ask my permission for something, despite being an Archon.” Lifting his head so you could face him, you cup his cheeks and wipe the tears threatening to spill from his eyes with your thumbs. “I only ask that you allow me to spend these last days with you,” you whisper. “Of course,” he responds.

True to his word, he had spent every waking moment with you. Frolicking in the fields, listening to his singing while you read, braiding his hair, cooking dinner.

“V-Venti! You’re not supposed to add that much sugar!”

“Ehe!”

Until the final day came. The sun was bright and the breeze was gentle. Sat in the middle of a field that stretched out for miles, you were fiddling with a flower crown while venti stares up at your beauty with his head atop your lap. He thought about the years spent with you and treasuring every single memory. He thought about how much he appreciates and loves you. He thought about how much you will miss him, if at all and hopes that you won’t find someone to replace him so soon.

“When I’m gone, don’t go off running to find someone to replace me!”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re dying-”

“Done!” You hold up the finished crown of daffodils and cecillias. Venti chuckles at your antics. Gently placing the flower crown to fit his head, you look proud of your work. Comfortable silence fills the air as the two of you enjoy the atmosphere. Taking your hands to cup his face once again, he leans against your touch. “I will be dreaming of you,” Venti says. Leaning down so that the both of your foreheads were touching, you close your eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I hope you rest well, zephyr.” And with that, Venti dissipates into the breeze, only to be awoken when he is ready. Staring at the clouds above you, you smile gently as the winds made your hair dance and birds fly past your vision. An ache in your chest starts to form, “Oh dear...,” you laugh while your left hand rests above your heart.

The clock struck 12, the latest time Venti had ever been out drinking. He had told you earlier on that day that he had earned quite the tip for his entertainment and since he hadn’t drank in so long, he had asked you if it would be alright to splurge it on Master Diluc’s dandelion wine. Who were you to say no? You’re rather proud of him doing something he enjoyed and being rewarded for it, however, despite being an archon, you couldn’t help but worry that in his delusioned state, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he were to bump into the wrong crowd.

Slipping on a thick coat, you discreetly transport to an alleyway near Angel Share. Since it was a Friday night, opening hours are much later than other days of the week so no wonder the lights were still on and playful banter could be heard inside. Opening the door, the shouting only got louder. First thing you saw was the owner of the bar, Diluc, looking quite amazed and curious at something, or rather, someone.

“Good Evening, Master Diluc. Would you happen to know if a certain bard is here?”

“Good Evening. He’s actually right infront of you.”

Confused, you looked down at your feet. And low and behold, Venti was sprawled on the floor, cheeks flushed, hat crooked and he was muttering nonsense, you deadpan. Looking back up at Diluc, you reach to grab mora from your pocket.

“How much did he drink this time?”

“Around 37 glasses.”

You honestly weren’t surprised at this point. As you were about to hand over the money, Diluc stops you. “It’s fine, honestly. Watching you have to drag him back to your home builds enough pity in me to spare him the bill.” Waving goodbye and a quick thank you at the young bachelor, you silently think to yourself, ‘Your descendants have the same heart as you, don’t they, Vanessa?’ Slinging Venti’s arm around your other shoulder, you hoist him to his feet.

“For a guy that took form of a young boy that was practically skin and bones, you sure are heavy.” Teleporting to your shared abode, you shuffle to the bedroom. Forcing him to sit on the bed so you could at least change him into more comfortable clothing. “I kneeewww *hic* you’d come for meee *hic* Y/n!” Venti bellows out, arms wiggling as if to set himself free from your touch.

“I’ll drop you.” You threaten, but your hold on him so that he sits up only tightened more. Loosening his corset and unbuttoning his top, you make him put on a casual tunic. “You looooove me too much!*hic*” Not bothering with the bottom half of him, you tuck Venti underneath the covers. Slipping under the blankets with him, you interlock fingers and have eachother. Although his breath stank with alcohol, you couldn’t really care less.

“Thank you for not leaving me after all of these millennia and despite the things you go through just to be with me...” Venti whispers, eyes closed as sleep nearly takes him. Smiling softly, you joined foreheads with him. “I promised to never leave you, Zephyr, remember?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti #venti x reader #x reader

[crowdedimagines]

Worse Days - Aaron Hotchner

The faint dripping of water pulls me back to reality. The same sploosh happening over and over. Minute after minute. I pull my eyes open blinking, forcing them to focus. The swaying back and forth, left to right, doesn’t help ease the dizziness I feel.

“Looks like your girl is finally up.”

I look around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Wake up, sunshine!” He finally sits in front of me, taking my head in his hand. His fingers are coarse and strong. He forces me to look him in the eyes, his grip tight on my cheeks. He tilts my head to the tripod over his shoulder. The red light on the camera blinks back at me.

“Smile for the camera.”

This is not at all how today was supposed to go…

Twenty-Two Hours Ago.

“Alright, we’re looking at four women, murdered and found on the beach in Miami. All from different classes and backgrounds, but similar age groups” JJ hands us each our files.

“He takes them for three days, before brutally dismembering them. The morning of the fourth day, the woman is always found.”

“He takes risks. Each of these women were taken from high traffic areas.” I comment.

“There’s more.” Garcia suddenly takes over.

“He also sends a live feed to the family of the victim.” She reluctantly pulls it up on the TV, a live feed of the women pleading for their lives. Saying their goodbyes.

“He’s definitely a sexual sadist. He finds pleasure in knowing that families are watching their loved ones last moments.” I clear my throat, pulling my eyes away from the screen.

“That’s what he gets off on.” Derek agrees. “He likes knowing that there’s people in distress on the other end of the camera.”

“Wheels up in thirty.” Hotchner simply says before excusing us all.

As soon as we land we start the process to find the unsub. It begins with all of us splitting up and going to the scenes where the bodies were found. All of them were ditched on the beach, early morning before anyone was out.

We get nothing from the populated beaches other than sand in our shoes.

We sit down and look at the profile and determine the man is bold and try to analyze the footage we have from the previous victims. Penelope is trying to find any identifying marks from the videos to see where they come from. Based on the way he treats the bodies, we’ve determined he’s likely a white male in his early thirties. 

“It looks like they’re on a boat.” I say, we’ve been watching the videos on an endless loop. Trying to catch any new details. 

“The camera is steady.” Morgan argues, looking at the TV now too.

“But look at her hair, it’s moving when she’s not. It’s like the rocking of a boat.”

“It’s possible considering he’s ditching them on the beach.” Reid comments. 

“That’s why no one sees him dragging a body all across the beach. He already had them on a boat.” Ross puzzles together. 

“The most recent body was found this morning, that means he’s going to take his next victim tonight.” Morgan says.

“We should visit where each of the women were taken. Try and get an understanding of how he was able to do so in such populated areas.” Hoctchner announces, “Prentiss and Morgan, go to the grocery store where Hannah Lane was taken, Y/n and Spencer, go to the parking garage where Amy Bryant was abducted and Rossi and I will go to the last two locations.”

We all nod and go off in our separate directions. Spencer and I get in the car and drive to the parking garage where Amy was taken. We drive around until we reach the second level and get out.

“Even for a parking garage, it’s bold. It’s packed with cars on this level. Anyone could show up at any time.” I look around.

“You’re right, they could.” A voice calls out behind me before everything goes dark.

Present time.

“Morgan, you owe me twenty bucks. I told you it was a boat.” I stretch out my neck that has a kink from hanging loosely while sitting up in the chair for so long. It feels heavy, like I’ve been in this position a long time.

The man in front of me rolls his eyes, huffing loudly.

“You picked the wrong girl if you were counting on me melting like puddy in your hands. You forget that I know exactly what you want. You want the tears and the begging.”

“Trust me. You’ll get to that point.” He smirks. “They all do.”

He leaves the room, loudly pulling the door shut behind him as he goes.

“I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks.” I plead with the camera, knowing that my team is on the other side of it. I can only imagine what they’re all feeling. We’ve had close calls with team members, it’s not any easier to be in their position right now. You feel helpless. 

“Definitely on a boat, but I think we’re just at a marina or a pier. I can hear seagulls, we aren’t rocking that much.”

I lean forward as best as I can while still being tied to a chair. There’s a small window along the ceiling allowing me to see blue skies.

“It might be a ship. I’m above sea level, I can see the sky.” I try to give the team as much information as I can possibly gather. Anything could help.

“Sorry that’s about all I have right now to help.” I look around the bare room for any other details that could help, “I think I have a concussion, and maybe a cracked rib. I can’t take a deep breath.”

Suddenly the man comes back in, just as quickly as he left, he takes the camera in his hands.

“That’s all of your Y/n time today. You should get to trying to find me, because I am going to have a lot of fun in the meantime.”

Back with the team at the Miami police department...

The feed cuts out leaving the team in silence and shock.

“There’s nothing we could’ve done. We couldn’t have known-”

“We could have waited.

Spencer looks down at the ice pack in his lap. As if the guilt wasn’t eating away at him enough before. He also received a concussion. Only he woke up on the ground, relatively nothing compared to the person he was sent out with.

“There was no way for us to know that the unsub was going to come back to visit the last scene of the crime.” Emily defends. She can see the pure anger in Aaron’s eyes. Completely unwavering, and only focused on getting Y/n back to the team.

“But that’s the thing. He wouldn’t, that’s not in his MO. He moves on to his next target. Once he kills these women he feels nothing, it’s all in the buildup, he feels nothing at the scene of the crime.” Rossi says, thinking out loud.

“Y/n helped JJ talk to the press. The unsub could have seen her then. It’s likely that he would follow the case, especially once it was announced that the FBI had joined the case.” Spencer rapidly explains.

“She’s the right age, she fits his type.” Rossi nods.

“So, he sees her as more of a challenge. He’s escalated. He knows that she is a higher risk person to take.” Emily comments. 

“Y/n, said she’s on a boat.” Morgan says, bringing up the clue that Y/n gave them before the feed cut out. 

“We’re in southern Florida, there’s thousands of boats within just a hundred miles of us.” JJ sighs, looking around to the group around her.

“Four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two within 75 miles of here.” Spencer pipes up.

Hotchner cuts him a look. Still trying to find anyone to blame, but himself. He’s the one who sent her in to that parking garage. 

“Garcia, can you locate her based on the feed the unsub has sent us?” Aaron asks, looking at the plain black screen, hoping to see it come back on so he can see the girl behind the camera. 

“No sir, he’s using a different routing server, just like he did with all of his previous victims.”

“Y/n is not a victim.”

---

It takes some time while the team continues to try and work out locations and who the unsub could even be. He wasn’t afraid to show his face on camera, which makes things a little more difficult. He has no record, making Garcia’s life a little harder. 

The TV in the conference room lets out a crackle before the familiar room comes into their view. Everyone sets down what they had been working on and halts all conversation. It’s been several hours since we’ve seen anything from him. Y/n has been gone for eleven hours at this point.

“Welcome back to the show!” The unsub grins. 

He moves out of the way to finally put Y/n in the frame. She’s hunched over, she doesn’t look as good as she did before. It’s evident that things have changed off camera. 

“His name is Nick.” Y/n mutters, picking up her head as best as she can. “He’s five ten and approximately a hundred ninety pounds.” 

“Don’t you learn to shut up?” Nick pulls back on the hair at the back of her head. In doing so it reveals new bruises that have taken home on her. 

“Baby, we talked about this. No more sharing with them, or else you know what happens.” Nick brushes her hair out of her face now. 

“This is his dads boat.” Y/n looks at the man who has taken her with spite in her eyes. It seems in his hours spent with her, he hasn’t learned that Y/n doesn’t like to be told what to do. And that she’s tougher than she looks. 

He lands a sharp fist into the side of her head and takes a step back. He lets himself take a deep breath, trying to gain control. He doesn’t want to kill her yet, that would be over too soon. Now he can step closer again, he lets one hand wrap around her throat, halting any oxygen of reaching her lungs.

He waits for Y/n to start to struggle in her chair before he lets up. 

“You just don’t like to learn, that’s okay. I’ll fix you.” Nick takes her hand, which is still tied to the arms of the chair she’s sat in. He pulls her pointer finger with care, before sharply pushing it straight up, breaking it. 

“Garcia-” Y/n picks up her head struggling to fight against his hands, she’s coughing now still trying to gain her breath back, “You don’t need to see this. Please. Turn it off.”

“Of course, Y/n is the one being tortured and she’s worried about other people.” Morgan turns away, himself unable to watch this continue. Listening to Y/n’s screams and shouts are going to be enough to stick with him. Rossi forces himself to watch the girl he’s grown so close to since joining the team, brutally tortured in front of him. 

Everyone on this team has love for this girl. She’s managed to worm her way into everyone’s life in some way or another. Y/n always knows exactly what each person needs, and she meets it. She holds the team together when they’re all falling apart. If anything were to happen to her, it would destroy them all. 

Especially Aaron. As reluctant as he would be to admit it, this girl has wormed her way into his heart. Different to everyone else on the team, though. He saw her beauty and kindness. It was hard to him to imagine a woman ever entering his life like Haley did, but Y/n did it with such grace, and without even trying. Y/n helped him out with Jack when he needed it, and made them meals when Aaron just needed to catch a break. She didn’t even need a thank you, it was just part of her.

Without even trying, Y/n became his person and all he can think now is that he never got the chance to tell her, never even got the chance to thank her, and that he won’t let happen.  He wants to see Y/n’s face in person, not bruised and bloody through the screen on the wall. He needs to get out to save her.

“Garcia, does that help you narrow your search.” Hotchner asks their tech who is still on speaker. 

“We’ve got twenty-two Nicks with boats in the Miami area.” She explains. 

“What about Nicks who have wealthy fathers? Or boats that weren’t originally in their name.” Spencer asks. 

“That leaves me with one. Nick Hoffman.” Garcia cheers, “Sunset Harbour on 1928 Sunset Harbour Drive” 

The team takes off without a second thought, quickly trying to save their girl. They manage to get there in record time and find the boat with success. Y/n was right, it’s more like a ship with its size. 

“Morgan, Rossi, work your way around the main levels and then below. Emily and I will lead the upper level.” 

The team takes off to clear the boat. It took a few empty rooms until Emily finally opens the door to where they are. Nick holds a knife to Y/n’s throat. He’s essentially using her as a shield, ducking behind her. 

“If you take one more step in here, I will slit her throat.” Nick shouts. 

“We don’t want that to happen.” Emily negotiates, Hotch finally stepping into the room. 

“Hey! I told you guys not to move!” He presses the blade down tight against Y/n’s neck while she lets out a shudder. 

“Let her go.” Hotch declares. 

“I want a deal.” Nick grovels. 

“Men like you don’t get deals.” Emily says, her eyes trained on him and all of his movements. 

“Not even for your precious Y/n’s life?” He grins, looking down at the girl below him now. 

“Go to hell.” She mutters as best she can., 

“Maybe killing you would be worth it.” He smirks, “Then we could go out together.” 

“I’ve got better plans.” Y/n throws her head back into Nick’s disorienting him enough that Hotch has a clear shot, and he takes it. Nick’s body falls and Emily kicks his knife out of reach.

“Get me out of this chair.” Y/n shakes, squirming to get out of the spot she’s been constrained to. “Get me out of here, please.” 

Hotch and Emily both holster their weapons and rush to help her. They quickly untie her and when her legs fail her, Hotch scoops her up. He quickly walks her down the stairs and doesn’t stop once he reaches the dock, he takes her all the way up to the ambulance. 

Without hesitation, Hotch gets in with her. There isn’t anything that could keep him from leaving her now. 

“Wow, that was a dramatic ending, huh?” Y/n grins. 

“You can’t seriously be cracking jokes about this now.” He sighs. 

“I mean come on, aren’t you going to even ask how I figured out his name was Nick? I figured it out when he ow-” 

Y/n cuts herself off when the paramedic starts feeling her ribs to see which are cracked and if any are broken.

“Y/n, we can talk about this later.” Aaron smiles. 

“Am I hallucinating? Is it the lack of oxygen, because you’re smiling.” Y/n comments, finally turning to look at her boss who has a smile that she knows he saves for Jack. 

“You’re back. That’s reason to smile.” 

They make it to the hospital to find out that Y/n has a concussion, one broken rib and three cracked ribs, and one broken finger. Not to mention the trauma to the trachea. 

“The gangs all here.” Y/n smiles, noticing Garcia has flown down to join the group. Everyone has been gathered in the room since everything settled down, “What are you doing here?” 

“Y/n, you were kidnapped.” Garcia states, still in shock, “You could’ve died.” 

Tears fill Penelope’s eyes and Y/n opens her arms from her hospital bed for a hug, which she easily accepts. 

“Ehh, I knew you guys would find me.” Y/n grins. “I’m fine Pen, I’m getting discharged in the morning and we can all go home.” 

“Yes, speaking of, we should all get some rest. Especially Y/n.”

Slowly, the rest of the team clears out, giving hugs on their way. 

“Not taking your own orders?” Y/n asks, noticing her boss making himself comfortable on the small couch in her hospital room. 

“I don’t think I could leave if I tried.” Aaron admits. 

“And why’s that?” Y/n asks, carefully turning to lay on her side to face him. 

“Because I love you.” He confesses, “I have for a while now, and it’s alright if you don’t feel the same, or if my position with this team makes you uncomfortable. I just don’t think I can go any longer without you at least knowing.”

“You love me?” Y/n asks, her voice cracking. Aaron finally has the courage to look over and she has tears in her eyes. 

“Yes.” He clears his throat, “The way you have become a part of my life, and Jack’s for that matter. You bring so much light with you everywhere you go, even after a day like you’ve had today. You manage to still be the brightest person I have ever met.”

“Please don’t make me get out of bed to kiss you, because I think I would crack another rib.” Y/n sighs. 

Hotch lets out a soft chuckle before getting up from his spot. 

“Only if you promise to go to bed after this, you need rest.” 

“Promise.” 

He leans down to connect their lips, it’s soft. Y/n can tell that he’s being gentle with her. She reaches up a hand to thread them through Aaron’s short hair, using it to her advantage to hold him there and pull him a little closer. They pull away eventually, Y/n stealing one more peck before fully letting go of him.

“Ok, maybe I’ve had worse days.” 

---

AHHHHHH my first time writing for criminal minds! i hope you guys liked it! 🥺

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #agent hotchner #hotch

[marjansmarwani]

that’s alright, my heart is okay

2.8k || ao3

The Reyes come to dinner, Owen shows up late (with the limes), and TK has some words with his father. But most of all: Carlos has a victory, and TK and Carlos share some moments. -------- A 2x11 coda

-------------

Yes this coda took me forever to write, but here it is: the dinner scene I wish we had gotten to see. 

--------------

It was the third muttered curse that brought TK into the kitchen. The first two had caused him to look up from where he was setting the table, but the third slightly louder and forceful “fuck” from his usually even-tempered boyfriend grabbed his notice. 

“Anything I can help with?” he asked as he stepped into the kitchen area, surveying the scene to locate the subject of Carlos’s ire. 

“No,” Carlos responded, voice weary and full of frustration. “I just can’t get this damn sauce to thicken.” 

“Maybe add more cornstarch?” TK suggested. “What?” he said defensively when his boyfriend tossed him a surprised look, “I pay attention! How could I not,” he added, stepping closer and placing his hands lightly on Carlos’s hips as he closed the distance, pressing himself against the other mans’ back, “watching you in the kitchen might just be one of my favorite pastimes. It’s really something to behold.” 

He was rewarded by the sensation of Carlos’s body shedding some of its tension at his touch and a slight shiver as TK’s words brushed across the exposed skin of his neck. He pressed a light kiss on the side of his neck and watched as he took a deep breath. 

“You’re right, that should help. Could you grab it for me?” 

TK pulled himself away from Carlos to cross to the cupboard with the backing ingredients. He grabbed the box of cornstarch and headed back to Carlos, stopping short and holding the box just out of his reach. “Only if you relax,” he said and Carlos raised an eyebrow. 

“Is this a negotiation?” 

“Yes,” TK confirmed. “I hate seeing you so tense. They’re your parents, Carlos. They love you and that’s not going to change, no matter how runny the sauce is.” 

“I know that,” he admitted, looking back down at the pan simmering on the stove. “I just want everything to be perfect. It’s their first time officially meeting you, and I want them to love you as much as I do.” 

“I hope not,” TK quipped, “that could get awkward.” When Carlos didn’t return his grin, he sobered. “I get why you’re nervous,” he admitted, “I’m nervous too. But stressing over the food or swearing at your stove isn’t going to change that. All we can do is relax and be ourselves because that’s who we want them to see. Us, just like we always are. We make a pretty good team, remember?” 

Carlos turned down the burner and stepped closer, wrapping a hand around the arm holding the cornstarch and pulling it down so he could step closer to TK, “We do,” he asked with a soft smile, “don’t we?” 

“Always have and always will,” TK confirmed. “Besides, if we can handle my parents, we can handle anything.” 

Carlos chuckled and leaned forward, stealing a kiss before he stepped away again, holding the cornstarch. “There is that,” he agreed. 

---------

Carlos is surprised by how normal it all is. 

From the moment his parents arrive, they fall into a rhythm. His mother apologizes for messing up TK’s name that one time, his dad gives him shit about it. TK jumps in, tossing him a teasing smile and then they’re all smiling. There is the brief crisis of the limes but TK swoops in, saving him from his own anxiety as he so often does. From there though, things go smoothly. He watches, a fond smile on his lips as TK patiently answers all his mother’s questions about growing up in NYC only to turn the tables and get her going about stories of his own childhood. He fakes a scowl when his boyfriend grins at him after a particularly embarrassing story, but he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s pretty sure it’s impossible to feel anything but complete bliss at this moment: watching his parents banter and laugh with the man he loves in the home that they share. It felt so surreal, but also so right. 

After a few more stories though, he felt the need to stand up for himself: “Mami,” he protested in a tone just short of a whine as his mother finished telling TK of the time he had run through the family bbq naked at the ripe age of 2. “Really?” 

“It’s cute!” she defended, and he shot a look at TK when he snickered. 

“Oh c’mon Carlos,” he retorted, grinning at him, “it’s not like you haven’t heard all the embarrassing stories from both my parents already. It’s only fair that I get some from your childhood as well.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes, but he had to concede the point. Both Owen and Gwyn had been more than willing to share stories from TK’s youth during their time spent at the Strand house - there had even been pictures involved. But the mention of TK’s parents brought something else to mind. 

“Did your dad say where he was on his way from?” he asked lightly, not wanting to cause any undue worry, “it’s been a while.”

Too long for the two mile distance between the two homes, he added to himself. 

Though he didn’t verbalize his concern he could see TK coming to the same conclusion as he frowned and glanced at the clock on his phone. He bit at his lip before he rose from the table, phone in hand. “I’m going to call him real quick,” he said, “excuse me.” 

He stepped away and Carlos tracked him with his eyes, well aware of the panic TK was trying to hide. TK placed the call and Carlos pulled his eyes back to his parents who were both watching him. 

“¿Todo bien, mijo?” his mother asked softly. 

“Sí,” he responded quickly but when his dad raised a skeptical eyebrow he sighed, “Owen had surgery a few days ago, and TK’s worried. He’s not exactly known for taking it easy and TK is concerned he’s going to push himself too hard.” 

“What kind of surgery?” his father asked. 

“To remove the last of a tumor from his lung,” Carlos responded absently, his gaze turning back to TK who was lowering the phone from his ear with an anxious look. He got up from the table, crossing over to where TK stood in the living room. 

“Hey,” he asked gently, “what’s going on?” 

“He didn’t answer,” TK told him, looking at him with fearful eyes. “Carlos, what if…”

“No,” Carlos said firmly, “don’t go there, Ty.” 

“I can’t help it. What if he tried to do too much and put too much strain on his lungs? What if…”

“Try calling him again,” Carlos urged, “maybe he just didn’t hear his phone the first time. If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll figure something out.” 

TK took a deep breath and nodded, tapping at his phone again and lifting it back up to his ear. Carlos watched anxiously as it rang, heart sinking when the voicemail picked up again. TK met his eyes and Carlos hated that they were so full of fear. 

“Okay,” he said evenly, “we can go over there, just to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“But your parents…” 

“Will understand,” Carlos said firmly. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure everything’s fine. It’s probably just a simple mix up.” 

Before TK could respond the phone in his hand began to vibrate. He barely gave the screen a glance before he answered it, speaking quickly into the phone, “Dad? Are you okay?” 

“Of course I am, sorry I missed your calls. I just got tied up while running errands, I’m on my way now. I’ll see you all in a few minutes.” 

TK hung up the phone and looked at Carlos, who gave him a smile, “See,” he tried, “he’s fine.”

“Is he though?” 

“What,” Carlos asked, “you think he’s lying?” 

“You don’t?” 

Carlo had to concede that it all did sound fairly suspicious, but there was no point in dwelling on it now. “He’s on his way here and we can figure it out then,” he said instead. “It’s going to be fine.”

TK took another deep breath, chasing away the last remnants of panic before he nodded, squeezing Carlos’s hand. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, “and we should really get back to your parents, we’re being rude.” 

Before Carlos could so much as protest, TK was crossing the room and sliding back into his seat at the table, a wide and bright grin plastered on his face; masking the anxiety Carlos knew was still roiling through him. He followed suit and the easy conversation flowed between them - TK as it’s eager facilitator - until there was a knock on their front door a few minutes later, as promised. 

Carlos watched as TK crossed to the front door, opening it to reveal his father, holding a bag of limes triumphantly. 

“I hope this means Margaritas,” he said jovially, his bravado never wavering under TK’s analytical gaze. He offered no explanation for his prolonged absence and after a moment, TK seemed to accept the inevitable as he stepped aside to let his dad in. 

He gave no indication that he was anything less than perfectly content as he facilitated the introductions, but when Carlos caught his eyes out of the gaze of the others he shook his head and Carlos understood: he wasn’t letting it go, but he would wait. He was almost certain his boyfriend had zero intention on letting his father leave their home tonight without answers. 

So he followed suit, squeezing TK’s arm in silent support as they passed in the kitchen; following along as he made conversation. Despite the tension it was still an enjoyable night and Carlos was still marveling at how easy this all felt. It felt as if it should have always been. This was further reinforced as his mother insisted on joining him in the kitchen to put the final touches on dinner. 

As they stood side by side, transferring the food from the pans to platters she leaned into his space, placing a hand on his wrist and squeezing it gently. “I like him Carlitos,” she whispered, eyes on the group at the table, TK laughing at something Gabriel had said. Carlos followed her gaze and could help but smile wider when TK met his eyes. 

“I like him too, Mami,” he agreed, “an awful lot.” 

She smiled at him, eyes moist as he patted his wrist again, “I’m so happy for you, mijo. All I’ve ever wanted for you was to find someone to love you as much as you love them.”

Carlos turned to his mom, meeting her eyes for a moment and seeing the moisture in them. He gave her a smile and set down the dish he was holding, placing a hand on top of the one resting on his wrist. 

“Me too,” he agreed, “and I did.” 

---------

Eventually, they parted ways for the evening. 

The Reyes left first: Andrea with a kiss for both the boys and Gabriel with a hug for his son and a handshake for TK. Carlos saw them to a door and with a wave in Owen’s direction, they were gone. 

Carlos shut the door behind them and silence fell over the living area as TK looked to his father. He tried for a smile, but TK didn’t return it. 

“Are you going to tell me what you were really doing? What actually happened?” he asked instead, and Owen froze. TK could feel Carlos coming up behind him, silently offering support but he didn’t pull his gaze from his Dad’s face. The silence stretched on and eventually, TK shook his head. 

“Thanks for bringing the limes, I guess,” he muttered, turning away. 

“TK…” 

“What, Dad?” TK asked, his tone exhausted. “Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on? Are you finally going to listen? Because if not, I don’t think there is anything more to say.” 

He turned and walked to the door, feeling both Carlos’s and his dad’s eyes on him the entire way. He opened it and turned back, eyes seeking his father once more.

“I think you should leave, dad.” 

“Son,” Owen began again, walking towards him. 

“You’ve made it painfully clear that what I think isn’t important. I just want you to be safe, to do what is best for you but it’s like talking to a brick wall!” he exclaimed, causing Owen to freeze and Carlos to step closer. He closed his eyes and took a breath - yelling wasn’t going to help anyone. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself,” he said instead. “But I want to help you, dad. I just want you to be safe.”

“This is about something bigger than you or me, TK,” Owen said instead and TK had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

“It always is, isn’t?” 

He watched as his dad’s expression faltered. Then he shook his head and walked towards the door, pausing next to TK. He glanced at him and for a moment looked like he had something to say. TK waited but a moment later Owen shook his head and stepped out their front door into the night. He took one step down the path before pausing and turning back. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow” he said, and TK wasn’t sure if it was more a promise or a question.  

“I guess that depends on what you have to say.” 

With that TK shut the door, pressing his forehead against it and closing his eyes. He stayed like that for several moments, until he felt the warm weight of hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns against his skin. 

He opened his eyes and turned so he was facing Carlos, who was studying him with concern. 

“I’m okay,” he told him softly. “He’s just…” 

“Frustrating? Stubborn?” Carlos offered. 

“Infuriating,” TK concluded with a groan and a shake of his head. 

Carlos hummed sympathetically, “But he’s also your dad, and I know how much you love him and care about him.” 

“I do,” TK agreed, “which makes this even more frustrating.” 

They were quiet again as they each considered the implications of the last few minutes before TK flopped forward with a groan, burying his face in Carlos’s chest. “I’m sorry he ruined dinner with your parents,” he muttered into the material of his boyfriend’s sweater. “I know how important this was to you.” 

Carlos laughed lightly and wrapped his arms around TK, “He didn’t ruin anything.” 

TK pulled his face from Carlos’s chest to give him a dubious look and Carlos continued, “Yeah, maybe he could do with a second impression,” he conceded, “but he didn’t ruin anything. They came and we all had dinner together. My parents and the man I love all ate dinner together in our dining room, and it was fine. Better than fine actually: they really like you.” 

“You think so?” TK asked, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice. 

“I know so,” Carlos confirmed. He grinned at TK for a moment before his expression shifted and he reached out a hand to caress TK’s face.

“I never thought I’d be able to have this,” he admitted. “For so long I figured it was either my family or whoever I decided to date, never both. But,” he added, a smile spreading across his face, “someone very smart told me that nothing ever stays the same. Turns out, they were right.” 

“This person was very smart, you say?” TK asked, a grin breaking through the cloud of emotions. 

“And handsome,” Carlos added. “and kind and a terrible cook, but I won’t hold that against him.” 

“I think their cooking skills have likely improved,” TK quipped, playing along. “But you better be careful Reyes, they sound like they might just be a keeper.”

“They are,” Carlos agreed, “and I intend to, for as long as they want.” 

“I can’t speak for this mystery man,” TK replied, “but I think the answer to that might be the same. I don’t think he has any desire to go anywhere else either. I think you might be stuck with him for a long time.” 

“That’s good,” Carlos agreed, leaning forward to press a soft and gentle kiss to TK’s lips, “because my parents kind of like him; I think my mom would be upset with me if I let him slip away.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” 

Carlos hummed, pulling back just enough to see TK’s face; to memorize this moment of all of his childhood fears being proven wrong. It had happened in small bits each, a little at a time, but this moment — a kiss shared in their living room after dinner with his parents — seemed to be the culmination. He never wanted to forget it. “No,” he agreed, a smile on his face as he ran a thumb over TK’s cheek, “we can’t.” 

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #my writing #911ls #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #usermaximus #tuserjamie #tuserpaige #userbones #maizsnex #hierophvnts #buckybarnesalways #reyeslonestartag #immortalstrand #guaranteed I am forgetting people #but I'm tired so I'm sorry

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

#obey me #om satan #om belphegor #om diavolo #om barbatos #fun request!

[4stars-uswnt]

I’ll Be Home for Christmas [Lindsey Horan x Reader]

requested by anon: Bro you’re amazing!!! I was wonder if you could do one with Lindsey where Reader is like a badass military person who has been away for a long time and like surprises her at team dinner or something. And Tobin is totally in on it and helps reader out. Bonus if reader is totally soft for Lindsey.

A/N: thank you anon! you’re amazing for this request! i rly hope you enjoy it even tho it’s a lil on the short side :)

also check out some of the USWNT holiday vids:

Secret Santa, White Elephant, Caroling, Caroling pt 2

“Linds?” Emily snaps her fingers in front of her best friend’s face. “You there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Lindsey shakes her head, pulling herself out of her daze.

“Well,” Sonnett drawls, “as I was saying, I have your sweater here.” The defender holds up an ugly Christmas sweater with snowmen and reindeer adorning it.

“My sweater?”

“Remember? We’re all matching!” Emily exclaims. The youngsters and Kelley had all planned on wearing matching sweaters to the USWNT’s holiday party that this was evening.

“Oh, yeah,” Lindsey sighs with realization, her thoughts still miles away. Noticing her friend’s distant eyes, Emily’s face softens.

“Lindsey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she huffs. “I just miss (Y/N) so much, and I wish she was here to celebrate Christmas with me.”

The blonde defender feels her heartbreak for her friend. “Linds, I know she misses you just as much as you miss her, probably even more.”

The two women both let out a soft laugh at that, as you were completely smitten with your girlfriend.

“And I know,” Emily continues, “that she wishes she could be here with you too.” She reaches out to squeeze Lindsey’s hand.

The midfielder nods and gives the other woman a small smile. “Thanks, Em.”

“Anytime,” Sonnett says with sincerity lacing her voice. “Now, put on your sweater. We have a party to go to!”

Lindsey just laughs at her friend’s antics, as the defender jumps up from the bed and heads out the door. After pulling on the ugly Christmas sweater, Lindsey glances down at her phone, staring longingly at the photo of you and her on her lock screen, before heading down to the conference room.

—————  

As you slide into the backseat of an Uber, you feel your phone vibrate, as a text from Tobin appears on your screen.

Tobin:

Hey u on ur way?

(Y/N):

Yup, leaving the airport rn

Tobin:

👍🏼 we’re about to start white elephant

We’ll be in a conference room so j text me when ur here and I’ll meet you in the lobby.

(Y/N):

Will do. Thanks Tobes

Shutting off your phone, you turn your attention to outside your window, taking in the streets of Denver you’d missed so much.

For the past year, you’d been deployed overseas in Afghanistan, meaning, except for the Skype calls and the occasional letters, you haven’t seen your girlfriend, Lindsey, in almost thirteen months. But now, after few complications on your last tour, you had been honorably discharged and were now on your way to surprise Lindsey at her national team camp.

The last time you spoke with your girlfriend, you had told her that you wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with her, but you after hearing the news you’d be able to go home, you schemed with Tobin to surprise the blonde midfielder.

So here you are, sitting in an Uber, stilled dressed in your green camouflage uniform and combat boots, on your way to the DoubleTree hotel in downtown Denver to crash the USWNT’s white elephant party.

Meanwhile, at the hotel, Tobin joins her teammates in the conference room, where there’s decorations all around and presents on the front table.

Seeing that everyone has arrived, Megan gets up from her set and moves to the front of the room, where she starts to give some instructions. “Alright, everybody, we’re gonna get started. Did everyone pick up a number on their way in?”

The girls nod, waving their slips of paper in the air, a chorus of yeses wave amongst the crowd.

“Okay, the rules are simple. When it’s your turn, you can either go up and pick a gift from the table,” She gestures to the table crowded with bags and wrapped boxes. “Or you can steal someone else’s gift who picked before you.”

“And you can only steal before you pick a gift,” Becky adds, earning a couple snickers from the veterans, as they remember HAO’s mishap all those years ago.

“Yes.” Pinoe nods. “And if your gift is stolen, you then have the option to steal or pick another one. Everyone got it?”

With no objections, she claps her hands. “Alright, let’s get started. Who’s got number one?”

Tierna raises her hand and gets up from her seat. “Me.” The young defender approaches the table and scans the selection of gifts, before ultimately picking a small rectangular box wrapped in polka dotted paper.

“What is it?” Kelley calls out, eagerly bouncing in her seat.

“Trader Joe’s chocolate,” Tierna reveals, waving the gift for all to see.

This routine continues down the line of women, the first steal not coming until number 10, when Ash decides to steal Mal’s scarf.

As Sonnett, who had number 13, one before Lindsey’s, picks out a gift, Tobin feels her phone vibrate.

(Y/N):

Here in the lobby.

Tobin:

👍🏼 cool. I’ll come get you in a sec. it’s Lindsey’s turn next.

“Who’s next?” Emily shouts, as she returns to her seat with the phone case she’d unwrapped.

“Me.” Lindsey gets up and makes her way towards the table. But before she can pick a present, Tobin stops her.

“Wait, I forgot to put my gift up there.”

Many of the women who had already chosen voiced their displeasure and annoyance.

“What? Come on, Tobin, seriously?” Kelley exclaims.

“We already started! You can’t just add your gift into the mix now.” Emily whines.

“Chill, you guys.” Tobin just smirks. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Lindsey would’ve stolen this gift if any of you had chosen it.”

Sonnett just mutters something under her breath, still not satisfied that she’d missed out on another gift option.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t pick yet,” Tobin tells the younger midfielder, pointing at her.

Quickly, Tobin jogs out to the lobby, where you’re standing awkwardly with your duffle bag on the floor next to you.  

“(Y/N)!” She calls out to you from across the room. Hearing your name, you eyes perk up, and you smile upon seeing your friend. As Lindsey’s girlfriend of almost three years, you’d spent quite a lot of time in Portland, meaning you’d gotten quite close to the older woman.

“Hey, Tobes.” You pull her in for a hug.

“Missed you, (Y/N/N).”

“I missed you too, T,” you say, nerves evident in your voice.

Sensing your nerves, Tobin chuckles. “You ready to see your girlfriend?”

You just nod, unable to find the words to describe the emotions you’re feeling.

“Well, come on then.”

As the two of you make your way down the hallway, you can hear the loud voices and laughter of the team, and you feel the anticipation bubbling up inside you. But when you approach the door to the conference room, you push down whatever nerves you have, as you catch a glimpse of your girlfriend and hear the sound of her voice for the first time in a little over a year.

“I’m back,” Tobin announces. “And with my gift this time. I hope—”

Before the midfielder can finish, Lindsey spots you over Tobin’s shoulder and lets out a scream.

“Oh my gosh!”

A wide smile breaks out across your face, as you drop your bag to the ground and open your arms. Lindsey immediately runs across the room and crashes into you, bringing you in for a bone-crushing hug.

As she buries her face in your neck, you can feel tears wetting your skin. Cradling Lindsey’s head, you whisper sweet nothings into her ear, tears pooling in your own eyes.

“I’ve missed you, Linds. I love you so so much. Shh, baby, I’m here now.”

Lifting her head to look at you, Lindsey breathes in adoration and shock, her eyes teary. “How?”

“I’ve been honorably discharged,” you explain, as you brush the blonde hair out of her face, taking the time to admire your girlfriend. “So I’m home for good. So long as you’ll have me?”

Lindsey just shakes her head in disbelief and lets out a wet chuckle before connecting your lips. You melt into the kiss, ignoring the cheers and whistles from the women around you, as you revel in the feeling of Lindsey’s body against yours.

Pulling back, you grin. “Gosh, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She pecks your lips again. “So much.”

“C’mon.” You take her hand, intertwining your fingers. “Let’s go sit and celebrate.”

As she leads you back to her seat, the rest of the team, who you’ve also gotten to know quite well, stop you for smiles and hugs of their own.

“Welcome home, (Y/N).” Ashlyn slaps your back, squeezing your shoulder.

“Thanks, Ash.”

“(Y/N)!!” Emily shouts, hopping onto your back.

You laugh at the defender’s childish behavior. “Come on, Sonny, get off.”

“Fine,” she pouts, jumping down, before hugging you. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, Em,” you whisper.

Once you sit down, Lindsey plops herself down in your lap. Instead of protesting, you just chuckle and wrap your arms around her waist, placing a kiss to her neck.

“I love you, Linds.”

“I love you, too, (Y/N),” she hums, relaxing into your embrace. “My very own Christmas miracle.

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