#Holy Miracles Temple

[buddhismlearning-blog]

聖蹟寺祈福法會 植福迎春

巴沙迪那市佛教寺廟聖蹟寺（Holy Miracles Temple）大年初一至於初五期間舉辦迎春祈福法會，前往禮佛祈福的善信男女絡繹不絕。（聖蹟寺提供） 聖蹟寺祈福法會 植福迎春 世界新聞網 洛杉磯訊 2024-02-12 19:56 ET 巴沙迪那市的佛教寺廟聖蹟寺（Holy Miracles…

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#第三世多杰羌佛 #聖蹟寺 #Holy Miracles Temple #南無第三世多杰羌佛 #世界佛教總部

[gojos-thot-patrol]

M E A N D T H E D E V I L W A L K I N G S I D E B Y S I D E

Sukuna isn't the type of person to say "I love you." He's not the type of person to love. He was a demonic warlord, known for his cruelty and lack of empathy. What part of that screams "lover boy" to you?

baby, you're a haunted house

Society will tell you that playing with ouija boards is a bad idea. this fic begs to differ. a demonic Sukuna smut

close calls

Love is scary, Isn't it Reader? Sukuna thinks it is. but at least he's facing his fears for you. a soft Sukuna smut.

sacrilegious

Feeling holy? Maybe a little less than holy? Do you want to have your guts rearranged by a God in his own temple? yea, me too. a holy Sukuna smut.

unholy

Did you like the idea of the previous fic, but think you'd relate to it better if the reader was of the male variety? well, do I have news for you! A smutty Sukuna drabble

seven minuets in heaven

Maybe you're feeling something a bit more modern reader. Something more relatable? Like a college au where you lose your virginity to a frat boy named Ryomen. A modern day Smut

better off as lovers

Dating is hard and falling in love is harder. Ryomens love isn't up for debate, but if he's truly ready to give up his playboy life style for you is a little more questionable. Part two of Seven Minuets in Heaven. A smutty hurt/comfort fic

new mistakes

I would say being left at the altar was the worst thing that could have ever happened to you, but I think the revenge sex with Ryomen makes it all worth it, don't you agree Reader? A modern day revenge smut.

bad miracle

Gojo has always been an idiot, but he's really done it this time. He's kidnapped the wrong girl, and now, leader of The Syndicate Ryomen Sukuna has to figure out what to do with you.

A Mafia Au smut

heir to the throne

Sukuna never wanted to be a father. Why why hell would he want that? A sticky, stinky, ball of chaos that feels the need to destroy everything. Why would he want that? It's no surprise you hid your pregnancy from him for so long.

A Dadkuna fluffy fic

urban legends

You don't see the point in it; chasing myths on Halloween night, going deeper into the woods than you ever had before. You'd rather be at home than chasing ghosts. But, your best friend insists on finding evidence of the local urban legends, and surely she won't abandon you the moment you find what shes been hunting, right? A TrueFrom!Sukuna smut.

change of plans

Funny how something as small as a grain of rice can cause such a shift so massive in so many lives. Deny all he wants, you're having a baby and now Ryomen has to comes to terms with being a young dad. Part of the Frat Boy AU Some introspective fluff

tiger hybrid! headcanons

We've all wondered what he would be like as a tiger hybrid, right? Right? some Smutty Headcanons

breaking up headcanons

While you would be entirely within your rights to leave Sukuna, what on earth made you think it would be that easy? some more smutty headcanons

feral nights

Ryomen always got what he wanted, it was a simple rule of life. And ever since he caught your scent, you were all that he wanted- your previous bond mark be damned. And you must have wanted him too. Why else would your window be open in the middle of your heat? An omegaverse Smut

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna masterlist

[magnetothemagnificent]

Holiness and miracles lie in the contradictions.

The bush that burns but is not consumed.

The hail that burns but does not melt.

Those who pass but do not die.

The seen thunder and the heard lightning.

The cows that eat but do not grow.

The jug that spills but never empties.

The Temple courtyard that never crowds.

Why then do we not treat gender deviance and contradictions with the same reverence we do any other miracle?

#jumblr #if jew know jew know #queer jews #trans jews #trans #THIS POST IS ABOUT QUEER JEWS NOT “VAGUE RELIGIOUS UNDERTONES” #judaism #trans musings

[yellow-yarrow]

did you know that the Insulandian Phasmid quotes from the bible? I got curious if looking at the context of the bible quote would add anything to the interpretation of this scene, and maybe there are some parallels. Meeting the phasmid is like a revelation, just like how in that part of the bible god talks to Isaiah. (I can't belive im reading the bible out of all things for a video game lmao. god damn it.) yeah yeah maybe it's not supposed to mean anything other than the phasmid loves this world but it can be fun to look into it. maybe it is that deep

think of this as more of a web weaving post

You - I exist too. Insulindian Phasmid - Tell me what it's like for you. You - It's *wunderbar*. Insulindian Phasmid - Yes, holy is the lord of hosts. And all the Earth is filled with his glory.

Isaiah 6 BSB

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted; and the train of His robea filled the temple.

Encyclopedia - (..)An Innocence is a continuous, compressed event, a sacred human being. It is an honour and a glory to live when one is in office. You - Is one in office now? Encyclopedia - No. We are alone.

Insulindian Phasmid - You are a violent and irrepressible miracle. The vacuum of cosmos and the stars burning in it are afraid of you. Given enough time you would wipe us all out and replace us with nothing -- just by accident. (...) You - Have I always thought this way? Insulindian Phasmid - No -- you're only thinking it *now*. This is a revelation.

Above Him stood seraphim, each having six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling out to one another: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of Hosts; all the earth is full of His glory.” At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook, and the temple was filled with smoke.

In Hebrew, the word saraph means "burning"

Insulindian Phasmid - Tell me what it's like for you. You - Fire, burning.

Insulindian Phasmid - You were right. Little bubbles form on the mouthparts of the creature -- on its segmented lower lip. It looks to be foaming, slowly. The foam is white, then yellowish... Perception (Smell) - The faintest smell, like you've never felt before. Like burnt roses.

Insulindian Phasmid - The foam slowly turns a darker shade, like burnt caramel -- as the insect moves its mouthparts, masticating. The little bubbles begin to burst, one by one... Perception (Smell) - Letting out that same smell, like summer burning.

Then I said: “Woe is me, for I am ruined, because I am a man of unclean lips dwelling among a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of Hosts.” (..)

The Deserter - "I've seen the *real world*. In '06. The flags unfolding. Young people marching, being kind to each other. They dreamt of a million years in the stars. This here..." He looks down at the ashes. "Is pale in waiting."

The Deserter - "Straight to Yekokataa for this old revisionist." He gives you a little nod. "At last -- atonement for my sins: revisionism, reactionary ideation, desertion..."

The Deserter - "The material base for an uprising has eroded." He nods and blinks his black eyes. "The working class has betrayed mankind and themselves..."

(? maybe? idk.)

Then one of the seraphim flew to me, and in his hand was a glowing coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And with it he touched my mouth and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your iniquity is removed and your sin is atoned for.”

maybe this one is a stretch (like the others too lol)

You - Lick your finger. Interfacing - It tastes like... sugar. Very faint. The arthropod towers above you, tufts of reeds pointing from limb and head alike. Perception (Taste) - Odourless, mostly comprised of water.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying: “Whom shall I send? Who will go for Us?” And I said: “Here am I. Send me!” And He replied: “Go and tell this people, ‘Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.’ Make the hearts of this people calloused; deafen their ears and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.” Then I asked: “How long, O Lord?” And He replied: “Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left unoccupied and the land is desolate and ravaged, until the LORD has driven men far away and the land is utterly forsaken. And though a tenth remains in the land, it will be burned again. As the terebinth and oak leave stumps when felled, so the holy seed will be a stump in the land.”

Insulindian Phasmid - Everything your eyes touch goes back there -- behind the nerve mirror. What if you blink? Are we still here? (Please don't blink). What if you misplace us all one day -- or just forget? You - Have I always thought this way? Insulindian Phasmid - No -- you're only thinking it *now*. This is a revelation. You - This is the Gloaming I've been waiting for. Ever since I woke up in the hotel room.

Man with Sunglasses - "About *what?* You don't look like a cop..." He inspects you. "You know what you look like?" You - "Like a prophet?" Man with Sunglasses - "Not the prophet shit again..." He looks away.

Evrart Claire - "It says..." He looks in the folder. "Oh yes... very interesting. It says you're more like a mad prophet than a cop. Always rambling about the end of the world... I'm sure these stories are exaggerated."

Cop of the apocalypse (early version from the game files):

or perhaps

Rhetoric - You -- against the atom, the charm and the spin. Where the whole world failed -- matter failed to bend to human will; human will failed to get out of bed and tie its laces -- you alone, single-handedly, will rebuild the dreams of the working class. You are The Last Communist.

well regardless, the quote is another instance of christian symbolism in elysium

#disco elysium #de meta #'are my theories too wild' no. i need to get weider

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

Behold, a bracket!

Text form below the cut because trying to copy all the 256 into the alt text sounded.... horrifying. Warning for 128 matchups, seriously, this list is long, and so I've avoided adding the artists until the polls.

a note: the pinned post has started misbehaving, so only open polls will be directly linked. closed polls instead have the results page linked in the set header, all the polls are linked from there

Set 1

The Lament for Icarus (Miao He) vs The Lament for Icarus (Herbert Draper)

The angel came to me in a fever hallucination, perched upon my bed as I returned from the bathroom. vs Sweet Brown Snail

Figures vs A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery

Happy Shoppers vs Hubble Deep Field

Lovers Painting vs Bath Curtain

Dr. Helen Taussig vs Une Martyre

Orangoutang étranglant un sauvage de Bornéo (Orangutan strangling a Borneo savage) vs Can’t Help Myself

Rape vs Technicolor Hiroshima

Set 2

A Walk at Dusk vs Based on “Autoportrait with the Model” by Maria-Rayevska Ivanova

Diary Page vs Les Jours Gigantesques (The Titanic Days)

Dead of Night vs You Won't

Christina's World vs Bobby

Untitled (I’m Turning Into A Specter Before Your Very Eyes And I’m Going To Haunt You) vs Two Sisters (On the Terrace)

Sharecropper vs Lustmord

The Parca and the Angel of Death vs Untitled (Zdzisław Beksiński)

Stress vs The Fallen Angel

Set 3

Device to Root Out Evil vs Travelling Light

Diana vs Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire that Consumes All before It

The Plains, from Memory vs Exotic Bodies

Doubting Thomas vs Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror

Empty Nest vs Somebody Fell From Aloft

Anguish vs If I Died

Cat in Obsolete Bath vs You're Not Boring Anymore

Salvator Mundi (Savior of the World) vs Untitled (billboard of an empty unmade bed)

Set 4

There Will Be No Miracles Here vs Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace

Fox Hunt vs Tarpaulin

Khajuraho Group of Monuments vs Ranakpur Jain Temple

ปราสาทสัจธรรม (The Sanctuary of Truth) vs Grande Panorama de Lisboa

Heroic Head of Pierre de Wissant, One of the Burghers of Calais vs The Weather

The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit vs If this is art

Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh vs Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices)

Fountain vs Judith Slaying Holofernes

Set 5

Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands) vs Cave of El Castillo

Chauvet Cave Bear vs Uffington White Horse

Laocoön and His Sons vs Winged Victory of Samothrace

Crouching Aphrodite vs Statue of Taweret

Guardian Figure vs Kūya-Shonin (Saint Kuya)

Ancient Greek doll vs Arena #7 (Bears)

Enbu (炎舞) (Dancing in the Flames) vs Yearning Shadows

Belfast to Byzantium vs Freedom

Set 6

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayan vs Portraits

The Blood Mirror vs Nighthawks

Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers): Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate vs "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw vs Forgotten Dreams

Saint Bride vs Pixeles (a group of 9 works)

War Pieta vs The Sunset

The Handmaidens of Sivawara Preparing the Sacred Bull at Tanjore for a Festival vs Ajax and Cassandra

Nāve (Death) vs Abstraction

Set 7

Yes vs Meeting on the Turret Stair

Hacked to Death II vs Stańczyk

Closeness Lines Over Time vs Voice of Fire

The Maple Trees at Mama, the Tekona Shrine and Tsugihashi Bridge vs Portrait of Sir Thomas More

Survival Series: In a Dream You Saw a Way vs Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Death blowing bubbles vs The Kitchen Table Series

Painting 1946 vs In the Grip of Winter

Untitled (Black and Gray) vs NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

Set 8

Blue Plate Special vs Red Cedar

Palace of Fine Arts vs Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba

Le Château des Pyrénées (The Castle of the Pyrenees) vs Susanna and the Elders, Restored - X-Ray

Moby Dick vs Viva la Vida, Watermelons

Venus Envy Chapter One (Of the First Holy Communion Moments Before the End) vs how to look at art

St. Sebastian vs Untitled #12

Carroña vs The invincible one

Untitled (Two Dogs) vs The Dog

SECOND HALF

Set 9

David (Donatello) vs David (Michelangelo)

The Other Side vs The Temptation of St. Jerome

Seated Woman with Bent Knees vs Starry Night

Headdress - Shadae vs Untitled for the Image Flow's Queer Conscience exhibit

Woman with Dead Child (Frau mit totem Kind) vs Les Amants (The Lovers)

Siroče na majčinom grobu (Orphan on Mother's Grave) vs You Make My World a Better Place to Find

Fighting Against SARS Memorial Architectural Scene (弘揚抗疫精神建築景觀) vs Fallingwater

Resting vs The Hull

Set 10

Olive Trees vs Worship

Glow vs Wheatfield with Crows

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X vs Untitled (He Plays Very Badly)

D.I.Y. by John Wiswell vs The Tragedy

Judith and the Head of Holofernes vs Beethovenfries (Beethoven Frieze)

The Memory of Me (How Could I Forget) vs oh god i had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but i’m too drunk for words

I am happy because everyone loves me vs 瀕危形態 (Endangered Forms)

Three Scaffolders vs Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

Set 11

San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk vs Water-Lilies, Reflection of a Weeping Willow

The Grief of the Pasha vs Monolith in Vigeland Sculpture Park

Passion vs Space Diner

Hamlet and Ophelia vs Two Earthlings

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth vs Seer Bonnets

Photograph from "SNAP OSAKA" Collection vs Clytemnestra after the Murder

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) vs The Lovers (TIE)

Kedai Ubat Jenun vs Orange Store Front

Set 12

The Apotheosis of War vs Portrait of the Dancer Aleksandr Sakharov

Julie Manet vs Mouth

The Icebergs vs Kaleidoscope Cats III

Maman vs Caza Nocturna (Night Hunt)

The Book of Kells Folio 188r: Luke carpet page vs Ardagh Chalice

Yusuf and Zulaikha vs Dome of the Rock mosaics

Rowan Leaves and Hole vs Untitled (prisonhannibal)

Le Désespéré (The Desperate Man) vs The Dedication

Set 13

Deimos vs Dog and Bridge

The Mocking of Christ vs Prudence

The Broken Column vs Siberian Ice Maiden shoulder tattoo

Transi de René de Chalon (Cadaver Tomb of René of Chalon) vs Head of Christ

The Day vs Spirit of Haida Gwaii

Eleanor Boathouse at Park 571 vs Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban জাতীয় সংসদ ভবন (National Parliament House)

Juventud de Baco (Bacchus Youth) vs Barges on the Seine

Oath of the Horattii closeup vs Visit hos Excentrisk Dam (Visit to an eccentric lady)

Set 14

Christ Crucified (With Donor) vs St. Francis

Thunder Raining Poison vs Piazza d'Italia

The Grove vs Among the Waves

Pintura Mural de Alarcón vs Sagrada Família stained-glass windows

Noonday Heat vs La Dame à la licorne (The Lady and The Unicorn)

Matroser i Gröna Lund (Sailors in Gröna Lund) vs Gielda Plakatu

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks vs The Garden of Earthly Delights

Kuoleman puutarha (The Garden of Death) vs Haavoittunut enkeli (The Wounded Angel)

Set 15

i've wasted a lifetime pretending to be me vs da oracle

minus #37 vs Panel from Fun Home

Excerpt from illustrated edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner vs La Mort de Marat (The Death of Marat)

The Veil vs Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast)

Capriccio vs Zodiac calendar for La Plume

The official imperial portrait of empress dowager Cixi vs José y Maria

Blooming Lilacs vs Lágrimas De Sangre (Tears of Blood)

An Interlude vs Boy Staring at an Apparition

Set 16

Mermer Waiskeder: Stories of the Moving Tide vs The Gran Hotel Ciudad de México Art Nouveau interior

Unfinished Painting vs To Arms!

Memorial to a Marriage vs The Island

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn vs A Few Small Nips

Saturn Devouring His Son vs Guernica

Fairy Princesses vs Lamentation over the Dead Christ

Mummy with An Inserted Panel Portrait of a Youth vs Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party

Agnus vs The Cup Of His Murders Is Flowing Over And In His Coat Shall Be Many Curses

#art that fucks you up tournament #announcement #links are in the read more!

[unclewaynemunson]

Eddie hated Christmas. He hated it ever since that time in primary school when they had to put on a nativity play and everyone but him seemed to care about that stupid Jesus story; he didn’t even know what it was about until his teacher pulled him aside to explain it to him (which only happened after Brad made fun of him for it). He hated it ever since that time they had to craft some stupid paper mache Santa, when he jumped on a table to yell at all his classmates that Santa wasn’t even real (after which his teacher scolded him and made him stand in the corner for the remainder of the day). He hated it ever since that time their classroom got a Christmas tree and his teacher demanded that he’d participate in decorating it, while refusing to let him bring a menorah from home instead.

He didn’t understand why he was forced to participate in this thing that wasn’t even his. He didn’t understand why his teachers never allowed him share the stories that his uncle always told him during the darkest days of the year: stories about the bravery of the Maccabees, the holiness of the Temple far away in Jerusalem, and the miracle of the candles. His uncle usually never talked much, but whenever they had a holiday to celebrate, he’d share the most wonderful and captivating stories in his slow, solemn voice. (Eddie had believed that his uncle was a rabbi until an embarrassingly late age).

When the first Christmas after he started dating Steve came around, he dreaded it. It was obvious to him that Steve was the kind of guy who’d care a great deal about Christmas. He’d probably want to do it all properly: hang a ridiculous amount of lights, have a big dinner, put presents under a neatly decorated tree... Eddie wanted to be on board with that, for Steve, but by G’d, he hated Christmas.

Little did Eddie know that Steve hated Christmas, too. Steve hated it ever since that Christmas dinner in some hotel in Paris, or Dubai, or maybe it was Buenos Aires, when his parents had systemically refused to talk to each other and the tension in the room was nearly sharp enough to cut the turkey without any knife. He hated it even more ever since his parents gave up on doing holidays altogether and Christmas became nothing but a check and a greeting card for him.

Eddie was baffled when Steve, on a dark evening in early December, told him how much he was struggling with the idea of turning the holiday around to make a new tradition with Eddie. Eddie laughed, full of relief, and told him he shouldn’t worry about it. They both delighted in the discovery that the other also hated Christmas, and Steve was genuinely excited to learn all about Chanukkah instead. Eddie invited him over to the trailer every evening, where they’d light the candles together and eat sufganiyot, and Wayne would tell them all the stories that were so familiar for Eddie and so new to Steve. And even though Steve didn’t share in their history, this tradition became theirs, more than Christmas could ever have.

#jewish eddie? thoughts? #strangerthingsfestivefun #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #christmas #hanukkah #stranger things #fruity ficlet

[sheydgarden]

Shamir Worm, 2021.

the shamir worm is one of Jewish folklore's "miracles of creation," made at twilight on the sixth day (along with things like the rainbow and Moses' staff): a tiny creature that could cut stone - either by its piercing gaze or with its mouth - it was used by King Solomon to build the first temple, due to the fact that no iron tools or other potential instruments of bloodshed could be used to build a holy monument to peace. some say it was also used to engrave the tablets with the 10 commandments, and to engrave the names of the 12 tribes of Israel on the stones in the priestly breastplate. the mystical shamir is a symbol of creative destruction and a reminder that powerful things can come in tiny forms.

prints available here

#jumblr #jewish art #shamir worm #jewish artists #jewish folklore #monsters #mythical creatures

[aphroditestempleimagines]

Mortal - Chapter 2

A Geto Suguru x fem!Reader fanfiction

Words: 1871

Warnings: abusive household

Summary: Mimico and Nanako get into a horrible car accident after a drunk night with their friends. Geto is called to the hospital where he discovers you, a human plagued by a cursed spirit, who saved his two precious daughters' lives from the fire.

Chapter info: After the burns you suffered when saving Mimiko and Nanako from the crash, your father, disgusted by your skin, brings you to a temple where a miracle healer is known to work. Little do you know the monk you are meant to meet is none other than Suguru himself.

"They're going to open a new cat cafe in Shibuya!", Nanako excitedly shoved her phone to Mimiko. They sat together in their futons, the floor around them filled with various curiosities Geto had brought to keep them entertained during recovery.

"It looks so cuuuute!", Mimiko squeeled.

"Nanako...", Suguru sighed as he put some of the various books and board games back in their place, "I don't see what's so exciting about a place with so many of those monkeys"

"But it will have so many kittens as well!", Nanako turned the screen of the phone towards him.

Suguru smiled at the small basket of kittens that lay among pink pillows in the middle of the brand-new cafe. Nanako slid her finger on the screen and changed the picture with one of the countless cat-paths that ran along the walls of the establishment. "Focus on getting well and we'll go", he ruffled the girls' hair with his large hands.

"We are already better, we could go now", Mimiko pouted.

"Your cursed energy is still pretty drained from healing", said Suguru, "If the worst happens you won't be able to defend yourselves". He gave a warm smile to the girls' frowns. "It's only one more day", he promised before getting up, "Now, I’m going to work. Behave"

The day passed slowly. Time after time a human would show up in the large audience chamber and plead for salvation. It was not unusual for these people to have curses latched on them, in which case Suguru fully exploited his technique to gather more power for himself. Neither it was entirely uncommon for him to crush one of these vermins like a bug for his own entertainment, after they had no curses nor money to offer him.

"Filthy monkeys", he murmured in disgust when a mother and daughter left earshot, "Do we have anyone else?"

"Just one more pair is waiting"

"Fine", Suguru let out an exhausted breath,Bring them in"

His eyes widened as they fell upon your slumped form, walking shyly next to a man. Your hands were still covered in bandages, your face had a few scars. You kept your eyes low and disinterested as you walked towards him. He wondered whether you'd recognize him if you lifted them up. No. It did not matter. Your body was plagued with a number of parasitic curses, more than the day he saw you in the hospital. You had come to the temple for one reason only, just like all the rest of your weak kind.

"Greetings your Holiness ", Suguru had forgotten about the man who escorted you. The man had a strange aura about him; he was leaking cursed energy constantly, much like all humans, yet it gathered around you to create more curses to plague your body. "I would like you to help fix my daughter", the man said.

"Fix?", Suguru repeated the word.

"Look", you winced as the man grabbed your arms to show Suguru. He pulled away the tidy bandages to expose your blistered skin. "She went and got herself like this", the man complained, "She was already ugly as it was, now no one will want her"

Suguru clenched his fists as he forced a smile on his face. "Of course I can do that", he said getting on his feet. He walked towards the man and placed his arm between him and you. "Come let's talk some details in private", he guided him away into another room.

"Thank you", said the father, "She's already such a disappointment honestly. She's becoming an old maid, she should be married by now but you know how women are now. They want careers and money and forget their place"

Suguru could feel a twitch creeping up to his eye. He had to stay calm. "Of course. I understand", he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. It would be easy to kill him. His fingers trembled in excitement at the thought. His eyes dared the man to utter more of his depraved opinions even though the man never noticed them. "Please wait here for a bit", Suguru pulled his hand away.

His gaze turned into stone as soon as he turned to walk back to the hearing room. He wanted to kill this man more than anything else but he wanted to make sure what your reaction would be. He did not want you panicking and causing commotion around his newfound home. He did not want to have to silence you too.

He slid the door closed behind him. Your head lowered, your gaze was focused on the little soda embroideries on your socks.

"I never expected a woman who ran straight into a fire to remain so silent", he let his critisism be known with a stern voice.

Your eyes seemed surprised as they met his scolding gaze. "It's you..."

Suguru walked towards you. He gestured to your wounded hands and you gave them to him to examine. His touch was soft and careful as it unwrapped the bandage to check the blisters underneath. He raised his gaze to the scars on your face. "Do you mind?", his hand hovered over your skin. You nodded in approval. He pulled your hair away from your cheek. He took out a small handkerchief and wetted it on his tongue before bringing it to your face. His hand held yours so you would not pull away when you tried to avoid it. The cloth scrubbed your make-up off the slight purple taint of a bruise.

"These are uh....these are older", you said.

"I can see that", his voice brimmed with disgust and rage.

He lowered his hand to stand over your shoulder and summoned the lot of your curses in his command. They turned into dust, forming little black and gold marbles in his palm.

"How does that feel?", he asked.

"Huh?", even with just saying that you felt the tremendous amount of weight that was removed from your body, "Oh. Wow! What did you do?"

"That is my secret", Geto smiled.

You stopped to observed him. "Why did you do that?", you asked.

Suguru frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Why did you help me?", you said, "I thought...I had a feeling you didn't like me"

She was right. She had seen right through the fake joyous expression he put on to please those around him. His smile faded away. He did not know what to respond as he was not himself sure of why he had helped.

"Look at it as repayment", his fake smile returned, "For saving my daughters".

Yes. That's what it was. Just repaying a debt to a lowly human. He was the sorcerer, he had to honor his debts, even to a monkey like you.

"Now let me take a look at your arms-"

His arm wrapped around your waist to guide you to a table at the other side, but as he touched you your body winced in pain. Suguru's smile fell once more. He took heavy breaths. If your face was marked then your body had to be too.

"Please. Lift your shirt", he kept his lgaze on the ground as he gritted his teeth.

You took a few moments to answer reluctantly "I don't want to".

"Are there more bruises?", Suguru fisted his hands. You shook your head. "So, there are", Suguru surmised.

"It's okay", you told him, "I'm used to it"

Those simple words flipped Suguru off like turning a switch. He saw the twins locked up in a cell, the whole town pointing their fingers toward them as they sent people to torture them. He saw Haibara, his body splayed on a table, never to cheer anyone again. He saw Riko, her wholesome smile beaming on her face before a bullet split her skull.

"Mr monk?", your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Your eyes were examining him in confusion.

"It's Geto. Suguru Geto", he muttered as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Oh. Then Geto-san. Tha-"

"How much do you hate your father?", Suguru asked with a murderous gaze, "Do you loathe him? Would you like to be free of him?"

Your brows furrowed. "I don't think I like your tone", you challenged his gaze.

Suguru was surprised to see the fire behind your eyes. Where had it gone, he wondered, when your father stood next to you. "Apologies", Suguru smiled, "I see what you could have thought. I only meant to offer you a room here at the temple so you'd be able to escape the house"

"O-oh", you stammered, "I don't think he'd let me leave". You had tried to get away from the house before. Gathered money to rent a place outside Tokyo for a while. Until your father found it and took it for himself, saying that a good daughter takes care of her parents.

"I shall handle that", Geto smiled, "I'll just say I need some time to...heal...you as he put it. I guess it is not a question of if you want to anymore..."

He buried his hands in his sleeves and gave a slight bow before turning away to the door. It was not long before he reached the man in question. Suguru forced a pleasant expression in his face. He thought about killing the man right then and there but he surmised that would shock you enough to run away. And he could not have that. He needed you there, close to him, so he could protect you like he could not protect all the others. But still, he could not leave that bastard walk out unscathed.

"Sir", Suguru smiled as he returned to your father. He threw his hand over the man's shoulder. "I'm afraid this will take a little while", the curses he had gathered from you were released to plague the man s body, "She'll be safe with us at the temple. You can come visit in a few days"

The man's breath turned laboured by the curses' weight as he was guided outside. "A...alright...as long...as long as you bring results I guess"

Geto smiled at him until he disappeared under the stairs of the courtyard. He hastily pulled out his disinfectant and sprayed it around his body and even all around the room.

"All done!", he said as soon as he returned to the room.

"Your eyes widened. "Seriously?", you exhaled in disbelief.

"Of course. Come now, i'll see you to your room"

He guided you by the hand to a guest apartment he kept. He ordered one of his servants to fetch you some things from your house that you wanted and provided you with everything else. He bid you goodnight before returning to his room.

He leaned back on the wall. He looked at his hand, your warmth still lingering between his fingers. What on Earth was the matter with him? Why did he help you more than it benefitted his goals? You were a monkey. He should not care whether you lived in peace or despair. Yet there was something about you that reminded him of his days in school. Something of Satoru. Something of Shoko.

Something of Amenai.

#suguru x reader #jjk #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru

[posletsvet]

A bunch of JJK season 2 headcanons:

(because I had nothing else to occupy my mind with while on a train trip)

Nanami has a few stomach problems, so he's very mindful about his diet. He eats bread on his cheat days. He also has mild lactose intolerance.

If there's anybody in the series with a 'my body is a holy temple' attitude, it has to be Gojo. He never smokes and rarely drinks because of that. Others used to make fun of him for 'being a princess with such delicate tastes', but he certainly did use it to his advantage by being insufferably annoying after parties/celebrations. He ended up not being invited.

Shoko smokes to wind down, so she sticks to some pleasant flavours. Her favourite ones are cherry and coffee, and she gets annoyed with tobacco shop workers for confusing the latter with chocolate.

During school Shoko carries around a handful of sugarless candy or gum to chew on in order to resist a tobacco craving. Gojo makes a habit of stealing a couple or more from her.

Geto smokes to numb his senses, so he usually goes for nasty foul things, nothing fancy at all. He also buys cheap cigarettes because he doesn't like the prospect of spending too much money on it. Once Shoko tried to snatch a cigarette from him, but ended up putting it out without finishing.

Geto actually hates the smell of cigarette smoke, so he has a separate set of clothes for this purpose. Gojo doesn't like it either, and he whines about it every single time Geto goes for a smoke because that means he can't hang out with him without smelling it.

Adults in Geto's life are usually fond of him, especially his past teachers, and his reputation of a model student is important to him. This is partly because his previous classmates tended to treat him as an outcast due to the rumors around him.

Haibara comes from a rural area and still has a great share of childlike wonder towards everything around him. He's more than excited to live in the capital city.

Haibara has a bunch of older siblings as well as a younger sister. By some miracle, he manages to get along with everyone. You guessed it: he is the miracle.

Utahime's hair tie is actually Shoko's gift.

Utahime's hairstyle was something that inspired Shoko to grow out her hair. She started by growing out her bangs. Before that, she had worn a bob haircut for as long as she could remember. Her mom insisted on it -- she thought longer hairstyle wouldn't suit her as her hair was rather thin. Turned out it wasn't true.

Shoko was raised by a single mom.

Nanami pierced his right ear, then backlashed by becoming too self-conscious about it and grew out his hair to hide the piercing.

Gojo is effortlessly good at everything he puts his mind to. When he started seriously studying chemistry in order to further improve his Limitless, he turned to Shoko for help, but then turned out to be a frustratingly quick learner. She would idly throw things at him for it.

Geto is a morning person to the marrow of his bone. His habit of getting up early stems from his childhood when he used to do so in order to get a few spare hours just for himself. He took to mindlessly cleaning up his room back then as well -- as a means to relax by organizing his life at least a little bit and feel in control of it.

Geto also cooks pretty well and is used to looking after himself. He's not that much of a foodie, though, and at some point of his life struggled with an eating disorder. He relapses during the Premature Death arc.

As someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Gojo doesn't know what household chores even are. After he takes Megumi and Tsumiki under his care, for quite some time it doesn't even occur to him that doing all the housework by themself isn't a normal childhood activity for an eight-year-old.

Gojo tries to give Geto a sweet tooth by being obnoxious about Geto having his drinks sugar-free and trying to sneak sugar in his beverages. It results in Geto gradually taking to drinking his tea/coffee with just one piece of sugar. Gojo thinks it's a win.

Gojo forgets to buy presents every single time. Untill he brings Geto and Shoko ridiculously expensive gifts that one time when they came to the decision they're not buying anything for each other this once due to low budget.

Gojo is an albino and has very sensitive skin. (That's why he was wearing a hoodie in Okinawa!!) Moreover, if it wasn't for the Six Eyes, he would have poor eyesight.

Geto's skin tans very quickly in the summer and he gets freckles easily. He ends up burrowing Satoru's sunscreen a lot.

Haibara is the only dog person of the group.

Shoko was involved in the jujutsu world from pretty early on since her technique is so rare and so valuable practically -- therefore her laid-back and nonchalant attitude.

Gojo has a severe case of being touch starved. He's constantly leaning in somebody's personal space and initiates touch a lot. Usually Geto doesn't mind it, but on bad days it rather unnerves him as he sometimes just needs his privacy.

Utahime used to chew on her lips when deep in thought or feeling nervous, and that made wearing lipstick a problem. She broke that habit after graduation as she started to gain confidence.

Geto and Utahime have the best handwriting among the group. Geto's is more graceful, swift with prolonged fine lines, and Utahime's is smaller, neat and round and with a lot of curves. Nanami's letters are refined and tidy, but somewhat formal as if it's typed rather than written. Shoko has pleasant handwriting as well, but she usually writes really fast and doesn't care whether it's nice to look at or not. She's got messy notes only she herself can navigate through. Haibara's writing is almost childish, big and legible and somehow brings to mind the image of a smile. Gojo's writing is like chicken scratch honestly. He couldn't care less and finds it funny when it's impossible to read.

Haibara more often than not forgets his lunch money. Nanami and Geto are usually the ones who share with him when it happens. Afterwards Gojo always demands that Geto share with him as well.

Last but not least: Gojo has migraines from time to time. He claims that laying his head in Geto's lap is the only thing that helps him.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #utahime iori #nanami kento #haibara yu #sashisu #i love them your honour #i love them so so so much #i hope nothing bad ever happens to them #anyways don't mind me #it doesn't have to make sense it's just my therapy #are there a few too many smoking headcanons? #probably #i have a couple of tokyo trio hcs as well #but i think they deserve their own post #will i ever make it? #who knows

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Saturday Morning Session

Come Ye That Love the Lord

Conducting: Dallin H Oaks

The Morning Breaks

Sustaining vote – in the morning session? Normally afternoon

Church audit report – in the morning session? Normally afternoon

Did You Think to Pray

Jeffrey R. Holland

Awwwww the most fortunate of men!

More concentration, focus on the Savior, hope on His word, etc.

“Thanks are the highest form of thought. Gratitude is Happiness doubled by Wonder.” – Chesterton?

God hears every prayer we offer.

- Prayers are often answered differently than we expect

Our prayers are our sweetest hour, our most sincere desire, our most purest form of worship

Hesitation to pray doesn’t come from God.

Prayers should be spoken out loud. -It is a conversation with God

Listen to the spirit to know how to pray

If you don’t know what to pray for, just pray anyway!

Even the Savior had to pray to be closer to His Father – even He could pray “more earnestly.”

J Anette Dennis

You can look for a deeper meaning in all the things you read – how does this bring you closer to the Savior?

Jesus Christ is the center of ALL covenants we make.

Covenant relationships bless us, but it is out choice as to how,

Everything done in the Temple points to Gods plan for us. -Prayerfully seek the further meanings

Our symbolic outer clothing is only worn in the temple. Other than the garments, although those show that Jesus covers us.

Armor of Light – which is Christ

Choose to have a relationship with God by making and keeping covenants with Him

Alexander Dushku

Restoration began with a boys desperate prayer and a pillar of light

Rather than a pillar of light, the Lord sends us a ray of light – and then another, and then another

How do you experience the rays of light from the Lord? -Peace, impressions, desires, testimonies, hopefulness, prayer, feeling the love of God as you serve others

If we’re believing and repenting, we ARE living in revelation, even if we don’t recognize it or think we are experiencing it.

You cannot always expect big miracles and pillars of light – the Light comes line upon line, precept upon precept, here a ray and there a ray

Experiencing depression and anxiety make it difficult (sometimes impossible) to recognize the Spirit - Sometimes we don’t even know we are feeling the Spirit at all until after the fact!

Perhaps one ray is not enough for a Testimony, but together they can become a Light that will scare away the darkness.

D&C 93:36 “The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”

D&C 50:24 “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.”

Press Forward Saints

Ulisses Soares

Covenant confidence through Christ

When we enter the Lords house, we embark on a sacred journey to become like Christ

What happens IN the temples is important

Remain Confident in Christ

Confidence in the covenants made with Jesus Christ is something you should pass on to your children

“My disciples shall stand in holy places and not be moved.”

Go to the temple with confidence and humility - Make preparations to go – not just for those going for the first time. We should be perpetually preparing - Will help with anxiety about worthiness

Home centered, Church supported, Temple Bound - Being Temple bound connects us to the Savior

Cast not away your confidence, instead let your confidence wax strong.

Jack N Gerard

Jesus Christ is our exemplar. - Integrity means being true to God, to each other, and to our identity.

Do what is right, let the consequence follow.

Exercise integrity in your choices

Would others see God through my conduct?

A life of integrity is not a life of perfection - Due to the fact that during this life you literally cannot be perfect - Perfection exists but not in me

Christian kindness is not a substitute for integrity - Meaning don’t be fake in your kindness? - Don’t be hypocrites?

I Know that My Savior Loves Me

Henry B Eyring

Story about going to the temple and finding out after the sealing that people have lost houses (teton dam break) and they left their kids at home and had to spend the night in a hotel and couldn’t make it home

“How can you sleep at a time like this?” - Whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple. We have made covenants - Apostles at gethsemane

John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

God will not abandon His relationship to all those who have covenanted with Him - He will never tire in His efforts to help us, and we will never exhaust His willingness to support us

Light and hope can come from keeping covenants, and they are opportunities to draw closer to God

We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet

#ldsconf #tumblrstake #genconf #general conference #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints

[wyvernne]

III. In which the Holy Knight wins Diluc’s favor

for @mmmairon

read on ao3

The moment you step through the tavern door Diluc levels you with an irritated look. You grin, knocking the door shut with your hip. “That’s quite the way to greet your guests, sir.”

Even from this distance, you can see his jaw working in irritation. Can he smell the blood?

“You look awful,” he says quietly. You make yourself comfortable at the bar, sighing at the ache as you settle down.

Today the Inquisitors were kind enough to personally spar with you, four to one. You didn’t stand a chance. Especially considering half of them wield visions.

“Thanks,” you respond dryly. It’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a few sparse customers spread across the tavern, mostly keeping to themselves. “What’s on special today?”

Diluc sets a glass in front of you. “Water.”

You scoff, flicking the glass with your finger. “Do you think I’m a child?”

“I cannot, in good conscience, give you alcohol when you’ve got wounds like that,” he says firmly.

You lift your head, squinting at him. “How can you tell?”

You already know the answer. He can smell it. Diluc doesn’t take your bait.

He startles you when he reaches out, thumb wiping against your jaw. He pulls away, lifting his hand for you to see. You missed a spot then.

“You’ve got blood all over you. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference between yours and others.” He has immaculate self control, seeing as he merely wipes his hand off with a rag. Waste of a perfectly good snack.

You wince, rubbing your temple. “Diluc, I’m really not—“

There’s a clatter, and you stop short. Diluc motions to the jar he’s just dropped in front of you. “At least put salve on that nasty cut on your temple.”

You’ve got far more than that, really. Those bastards in white didn’t hold back at all.

“Give me a glass of wine first,” you grumble.

Diluc sighs. He’s lucky he’s got a nice face. It’s a miracle he keeps customers at all with that sour attitude of his.

———————————

You’ve had far too much to drink. Charles, in all his infinite kindnesses, has supplemented Diluc’s rather stingy bartending with a generous flow of mixed drinks. It’s only you that Diluc is withholding liquor from, seeing as the tavern has gotten infinitely rowdier as the night has gone on.

Diluc chats idly with a patron at the other end of the bar. It’s hard not to watch him, honestly. It feels like a sin not to. Not when the Divines’ most perfect creation is right in front of you, hair tied back with a black ribbon.

Can ribbons be sensual? They look like it on Diluc. Gods. They’re practically a sex symbol when he wears it. Everything is.

The alcohol has dulled both your thoughts and the pain from the wounds the Inquisitors left behind. Hangover or not, it’s worth it now, when all you need to think about is how good Diluc looks.

Gods, he looks so good.

“Are you alone?” You barely manage to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as a man sidles up beside you. You didn’t come here tonight to look for a partner.

“I’m quite content by myself,” you reply. As if he could draw your attention when Teyvat’s most beautiful being is standing feet away. You turn away, and for a single moment catch Diluc’s gaze. Okay? he mouths.

“Listen,” The man’s hand slides up your back. You swat at him, scoffing. Take a fucking hint. “How about you and I get out of here?”

“Fuck off,” you reply sharply. You’re too drunk to deal with a nuisance like him delicately.

“Don’t be so standoffish,” he coos. You flex your fingers. It’s hard to mitigate your strength when you’re intoxicated, but you have no qualms about sending this bastard flying.

His hand slips to your flank. Enough. You shift back, raising your fist.

You don’t get the chance. It takes you a long moment to realize Diluc has one hand around your wrist and the other yanking the man away from you by the collar.

“If you’re going to bother my patrons, get out,” he says firmly. The tavern falls quiet.

The man laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

Diluc releases him, shifting to block you from his view. His fingers are still clasped around your wrist, but you haven’t the mind to shake him off. Not yet.

“I wasn’t bothering you, was I, sweetheart?” he asks, peering around Diluc’s shoulder to see you.

You nudge Diluc to the side, shaking free of his hold. “Go fuck yourself.”

The man’s smile drops. He scowls, yanking his collar away from his throat. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

Something crosses his face and he grins, leaning close to you. “Ah. Does the Church know a monster is going around masquerading as a citizen of Mondstadt?”

You swing.

————————

You grin, giving Diluc a thumbs up. “You’re welcome. I wouldn’t say no to a ‘thank you’ drink, mind you.”

He sighs, pressing a cloth to your nose. “Keep it there until the bleeding stops.”

“Just give me a drink, for fucks sake,” you grumble. You’re still far too drunk to be making rational decisions, but no part of you regrets throwing that punch. Bastard got what was coming to him.

“No.”

Diluc is angry. He must be, seeing as you struck a paying customer square in the face. That bastard is lucky his elbow caught your nose by pure chance as Diluc was pulling you back. You would’ve concussed him without a second thought.

Diluc speaks again after a long beat, setting a glass down in front of you. “Please, don’t go starting brawls in my tavern again.”

You take a tentative sip, frowning at the realization that it’s just juice. “I was only defending your honor.”

He laughs dryly. “My honor has been stamped into the dirt for decades. Don’t bother yourself with it.”

A hand touches your shoulder. Not again.

You turn, half ready to swing again, but it’s only Harry. He grins heartily at you.

“I’ve come to retrieve this,” he says to Diluc, nodding to you.

Diluc’s jaw ticks. He almost looks murderous, if you could focus your vision for long enough to tell. “Back to the slaughterhouse already?”

Harry bows. “You wound us, Sir. We’re only doing our jobs. I heard a commotion and thought I would fulfill my duty and lend a hand. It’s no surprise this one was the cause.”

“Are they angry?” you manage, tossing the rag onto the counter. The bleeding hasn’t exactly stopped, but it’s slowed enough for now.

Harry scoffs, tugging you off the stool. “Take a wild guess.”

Your head is spinning. Only bad things wait for you back at the Church.

Diluc catches your arm. You turn, surprised. Deja vu, and in the span of such a short time. It’d be romantic if only you were a touch drunker.

It’s hard to gauge the expression on his face when you can hardly focus on the floor in front of you.

“Tell the Church their Knight has been delayed,” he says firmly.

“If it’s a matter of the bill—“ Harry begins.

Diluc raises a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t believe your Knight is well enough to make the trip back. I insist on providing lodgings for the night.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think I’d leave one of our own under your care? This intoxicated?”

“I have a room upstairs just for situations like this,” Diluc says. He tugs you out of Harry’s grip.

“Tell the Church to fuck off,” you offer with another thumbs up. It’s probably not something you’d ever say sober, but you’ve enough alcohol in you to dull any reservations you’ve had about criticizing the Church.

“You fuck off,” Harry mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t come whining to me when the Inquisitors find out.”

“You won’t say a word?” you ask. You’re not far gone enough to ignore the warning he’s giving you.

“I never saw you here,” Harry grumbles. He turns on his heel, clearly irritated.

You don’t dwell on it. Diluc lets out a breath, and heaves you over one shoulder without a second thought for the onlookers around you. “To bed with you, then.”

———————

“Let me know if you feel like you might get sick,” Diluc murmurs, pulling a chair up to the bedside.

“I’m not that drunk,” you slur. Your head is throbbing, but it’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you were hit in the head today. Twice, at that.

“Is the Church always so rough during training?” he asks.

You open one eye, peeking at him. He’s trying to act nonchalant, leafing through the book left on the nightstand, but his words are pointed enough. “Trying to use the wine against me, eh?”

He scoffs, but doesn’t glance up from the pages. “You’re sober enough to snark back, aren’t you?”

You sigh, rolling onto your side. “I’ve been injured more during training than I have out on the field.”

He looks up, finally, mouth pressed into a firm line.

You sling your arm back over your eyes, grumbling. “I don’t need your judgment.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies quietly. He doesn’t have to. You know better than anyone how twisted the Church’s “traditions” are. Severe injuries during training within the Knights are accidents. Severe injuries during training within the Holy Knights are standard practice.

You can’t even count how many birthdays you’d passed with black eyes from the Inquisitors. It never gets any easier.

Diluc says nothing more. There’s only the soft rustle of pages turning and the steady sound of his breathing to lull you into sleep.

———————

“Diluc,” you press. He’s irritatingly fast, stride just a touch longer than yours so you have to jog every other step to keep up with him. He either doesn’t notice the difference or doesn’t care. You’re not sure which one irks you more. “Have you decided to bring me on yet?”

“I’ve no intention of taking a Holy Knight under my employ,” he replies curtly.

You click your tongue. “I caught up to you. Shouldn’t you reward me?”

It wasn’t exactly easy to catch him just as he was exiting the city gates, especially given how early it still is. There’s also the lingering feeling that he could have left unnoticed, had he so desired. He could’ve left you far behind. It’s hard to decipher his actions, sometimes.

He made enough noise as he was leaving the tavern to alert you, hungover or not.

Diluc ignores your provocations in favor of raising a hand in greeting. You peer over his shoulder to see Elzer, waiting just beyond the end of the bridge.

“Good morning, Holy Knight,” Elzer says warmly.

You repeat the sentiment, but the nagging uncertainty in your stomach only grows at the sight of him. Diluc wouldn’t need his closest aid if he were merely returning to the winery.

“Tagging along?” Elzer asks, as much to Diluc as to you.

“Hardly,” Diluc grumbles. “But I suppose I’ve been left with no choice.”

“I’d rather not return for morning mass,” you mutter. Besides, there’s no doubt the Church has already caught wind of your little brawl in Diluc’s tavern. If you’re already going to be punished, what’s a few more transgressions for the list?

“You should do well to remember your vows. I have no interest in catching the Church’s attention just because they can’t keep their knights in check,” Diluc sighs, exasperated. “Especially after last night.”

Despite his complaints, he makes absolutely no effort to stop you from trailing behind him. Elzer, in all his good graces, slows his pace to match yours with a warm smile. Your hangover has slowed you enough to be a nuisance, but Diluc makes no comment of it. Besides, you’re sure your face is quite the sight, given all that’s happened.

Your little trip ends far sooner than you’d expected, only a ways down the road from the city. Diluc halts abruptly, arm shooting out to stop you.

There, a group of Fatui stand only a few yards off the path, obscured by the overgrowth of trees. It’s not exactly the most secretive of meeting places. It’s… it’s almost absurd, how easy it was to spot them. Anyone with their wits about them could catch sight of their ominous presence just beyond the green.

“Don’t speak,” he says quietly. You sigh, but you’re not stupid enough to disobey him. You trust Diluc far more than any order that could come from the Church. He knows that well enough.

Elzer steps in front of you as you approach. You’re certainly not wearing any favonius insignias, but the Fatui spend their share of time monitoring the Church. There’s no telling if any of them might recognize your face.

From bartending to meeting with the Fatui only hours later. Once again, Diluc’s intentions are impossible to understand.

It’s a small team, only three soldiers and a commander. They seem relatively low-ranking, given their badges. You stay obediently back, only nodding your head towards the group in acknowledgment.

“Sir,” the Commander begins, opening his arms wide. Diluc is pulled into a haphazard hug. You’ve seen the greeting enough between Snezhnayans, but the Commander should know well enough that Diluc is put off by the gesture. He must be testing his boundaries.

Diluc’s expression remains unchanging. You tune out most of the business talk the moment it begins. It’s not what you followed Diluc for, after all. You already know most of what they’re saying is likely coded beyond anything you’d hope to decipher.

Regardless, any intent you had to soak up the information from this little transaction of his falters when you see the weapons. The Fatui are all heavily armed. Every nerve in your body goes alight. Diluc seems strangely relaxed, given the situation.

Even Elzer doesn’t spare you a glance. He has that same, unfaltering smile, pleasant to the point that it’s eerie.

You don’t even have a sword at your hip. It’s utterly belated, but it’s only now you realized neither Diluc nor Elzer have a single weapon. Even all your training is nothing when faced with the sheer firepower each Fatuus holds in their hands. It feels like too obvious a trap.

The talks drag on for nearly an hour. Wine, grapes, mora. Simple business transactions, if taken at face value. But still… there’s something in the air that has your stomach in knots. Something about the way Diluc and Elzer are so utterly nonchalant, even when speaking with their supposed enemies.

The Fatuus just to the right of Diluc shifts. It’s hardly anything noteworthy at all, really, but you can tell from his stance.

He’s stiff, as if he’s preparing himself for something. Everything else drowns out. You can focus only on that rigid figure across from you. His arm shifts suddenly, and it’s—

Well. You can blame your stupidity on reflexes, at best.

You jolt forward, shoving Diluc to the side just as a bang resounds through the air. He catches himself easily, but the words don’t make it out of your throat.

You’re an idiot, truly.

Maybe being around Diluc has dulled your sensibilities. All you can focus on is how hard it is to catch your breath. It feels like you’ve been punched. You grapple blindly at your shoulder, and to your surprise your glove comes away darkened with blood.

An odd sound escapes your throat at the sight. Blood. You’re bleeding.

Whatever Diluc’s intention was, it’s clear you’ve utterly fucked it all up. The thought has your stomach lurching. Idiot. You’re such an idiot.

There’s a deafening commotion, a scuffle only a few feet away. You can’t focus on any of it. Your mind isn’t functioning correctly. Shot. You were shot. It’s hard to breathe. There’s so much blood.

You gasp for air, doubling over. Diluc shouts some distance away and suddenly Elzer is by your side, coaxing you down. You’re bleeding, but your hand grapples to your throat, slick with sweat, as you try desperately to fill your lungs.

“I can’t breathe,” you wheeze. Elzer leans you back, pressing you flat to the ground.

“There, just like that,” he soothes, pulling his jacket off. He folds the fabric over your shoulder with quick efficiency.

“Deep breath,” he instructs. You’re fucking trying. He puts his weight onto the mess of your shoulder, wincing as you sob in response. Your heels kick against the ground, trying to escape the pressure, but Elzer holds firm.

“I don’t feel well,” you manage. You sound like an upset child, voice unsteady and weak.

You can’t even focus on Elzer’s face. You feel hot and deathly cold at the same time, strewn between breathlessness and nausea and feeling like your heart is about the burst any moment.

Diluc comes into view, blood splattered across his cheek. He ducks down, replacing Elzer’s hands with his own. “Doctor is coming. Hold on a little longer.”

Oh no. Just seeing his face has your emotions welling up again, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. “Diluc.”

“I’m right here,” he replies. Diluc’s fangs are out. You can see it when he speaks, that threatening glisten of ivory hiding just behind his rosy lips.

He should drink while he has the chance. Make good use of whatever blood hasn’t already spilled out into the dirt around you.

You repeat his name, but this time your voice catches on a sob.

He hushes you. He’s shaking. You can feel the way it vibrates through your body. Or maybe you’re the one shaking. It’s hard to tell.

“Elzer, go meet him halfway,” he orders sharply.

“How?” you ask. He seems to know what you mean. You were hit only… minutes ago? It’s hard to judge how much time has passed. Certainly not enough to fetch a doctor, even given how close the city is.

“I ran,” he mutters. Right. He isn’t like you. He isn’t human. He would’ve been fine, even if the bullet had hit its mark. How stupid and thoughtless could you be?

You swallow. “The Fatui?”

“Dead,” he answers dismissively. Diluc swallows. “You’ve lost a lot of blood already. Don’t waste your energy needlessly.” There’s something strange in the tone of his voice, but you can hardly mull over it. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it might. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. You just feel sick.

“It’s okay. Elzer will be back with the doctor soon. Just— just hold on.” Diluc almost sounds frantic. The pressure he’s putting on your shoulder is starting to ache, but it’s hard to focus on what, exactly, hurts.

“I’m going to be sick,” you manage.

Diluc shifts you onto your side just as you begin retching. Maybe it’s by the grace of the Anemo Archon that nothing comes up, but it’s no less embarrassing. Especially in front of Diluc.

When the fit ends he eases you onto your back once more, pressure firm over your shoulder. If it hit an artery, you’ve no more than a few minutes left, at best. The expression on Diluc’s face makes it hard to gauge just how bad it really is.

He’s pretty, at least. A nice view to die before. It’s a petty, shallow thought. Especially given how upset Diluc looks at the situation. Maybe you are an idiot after all.

——————

Getting put on house arrest seems rather unfair, given all the circumstances. Not dying should be celebrated under the Anemo Archon’s grace, according to everything the Church preaches to the masses.

Except, perhaps, when the whole “almost dying” happens because you directly disobeyed orders from the Inquistors. According to them, of course. You were merely helping out an acquaintance.

It only takes a day, locked in your room, for a bottle of wine to miraculously appear on the windowsill. It’s hard to tell if it’s a gift from Barbatos himself or the goodwill of a certain red-haired beauty. You don’t ponder it. Wine is wine, after all. And it’s a welcome treat to pass the hours and stave away the nasty ache in your shoulder.

You’re not one to question a heartfelt gift.

#deadass let me know if you catch mistakes because i only reread it once LOL #i didn’t feel like making a new banner soz #wyvernne’s ramblings #genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact fanfiction #diluc fanfic #vampire diluc #vampluc #ugh what tags #drabble #diluc ragnvindr fanfiction #genshin fanfic #vampire diluc fanfiction #snrjjddnksdjksjdfj

[kendrene]

avatrice and... clocks

“She’s off by five minutes at least.”

“I am aware, Lilith.” Beatrice doesn’t even bother looking at her stopwatch.

“She’s not gonna make it.” Lilith continues, seemingly delighting in pointing out the obvious. “Again.”

In the staging area Camila set up for her, Ava is fiddling with what appears to be a slab of stone. No junctures are visible on it, no handles or buttons or possible keyholes. Still, Ava sits in front of it, probing at the smooth surface with agile fingers, pressing at one spot, rapping her knuckles over another. Beatrice’s focus is all on Ava’s hands, nimble, nervy, tendons standing out like taut lengths of rope when she flexes her finger against the stone, seeking some sort of purchase.

She sighs. The telltale pressure of an impeding headache gathers at her temples. She pinches the bridge of her nose, hard, wishing she could leave the overbearing neon lights of the warehouse they’ve been using to practice for the sunlit wharf outside.

“Time isn’t up yet. Maybe she’ll surprise us. Besides, she says she learns something new about this type of lock with every run.”

“She’s said that-” Lilith checks the tablet they’ve been using to keep track of each attempt. Smirk, like she’s reading something funny. “235 times before already, give or take. Just tell her she’s fired already”

“Camila says she’s the best there is. If she can’t do it, no one else can.”

“Yeah?” Lilith’s smile is nothing but teeth. “And where did Camila find her, on Craigslist?”

“I’m only on Tinder.” Ava’s voice crackles over the comms Beatrice belatedly realises she’s left open. “Also, I’m wheelchair-bound, not deaf. So, I can totally hear you, and you’re distracting me.”

“Sorry,” Lilith says, not meaning it.

“Yeah. I bet you are.”

The overhead lights switch from white to strobing red. Ava’s out of time. Were this the real thing, every door and window in the Vatican Museums would automatically lock, security teams would do a sweep and they’d spend a good amount of time in prison. Beatrice refuses to think of what Adriel’d do to Shannon in the meantime.

“We’ll have to take it from the top, Ava.” She relays into the comms. Considering how little progress they’ve made, she’s surprised her tone is so steady “Do you need to take a break?” 

“She needs a miracle.” Lilith throws the tablet down, disgust chiseling her features into a scowl. “Divine intervention or something.”

“Wanna give it a try?” Ava rolls herself through the door of the observation room, careful to tuck her elbows in as she squeezes past the threshold. “I’m sure you could convince the lock to open for you with one of your charming smiles.”

Lilith glowers. Ava, somehow immune, just grins. Lilith storms off.

“You should try not to antagonise her.” Ava opens her mouth, probably to retort that Lilith is kind of a jerk. “I need everyone to get along if we are to succeed.”

Ava pauses, mouth open, then shrugs. “You’re the boss, boss.” Beatrice doubts that’s the end of the teasing. She elects to let this particular fight go. They have a far more important battle yet to win.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, Capitan.”

“Ava.”

“Sorry, sorry. Joking to cope with stress is kind of my thing.” Ava rocks the wheelchair back and forth. “Do you want me to go again?”

“Don’t you need more time to rest?” 

Ava lifts a hand. Wiggles her fingers. “Nah. These babies have loads of stamina.” 

Beatrice can feel herself blush.

“By the way.” Beatrice has no time to come up with a clever reply or deflection, because Ava keeps on talking, which she has learned in the 72 hours they have spent in close proximity, is a thing that Ava does. “This holy frisbee we’re stealing from the church to get your friend back. You don’t really believe this Adriel dude will keep his word, do you? Like,” On the other side of the glass, Ava’s fingers have resumed their dance, and it’s hard for Beatrice to follow what she’s saying. “He gets the artefact, he can just kill us all. Is what I would do, anyway.”

“That’s comforting.”

“What? Surprised I can think like the bad guys do?” A low rumble comes from the slab of stone, revealing a much more complicated inner mechanism. It gleams copper under the lights. “I’m not a bad or a good guy, Bea.” Plenty of people shorten her name; nobody makes it sound half as sweet. Ava smiles at her, triumphant. “I’m a thief.”

#avatrice #warrior nun #ava silva #sister beatrice #ava x beatrice #heist au #dren writes

[magnetothemagnificent]

When people say "lol just get over the Holocaust", aside from the obvious antisemitism, they're all misunderstanding how Judaism sees the world.

See, to us, history isn't a story or something that happened a long time ago. It's a memory.

Time isn't exactly linear in Judaism. Time, like many things in Judaism, functions more like a circle. The seasons cycle, according to some, souls cycle, and time...well, we don't exactly see ourselves as moving further away from the past.

We don't "move on". With every anniversary of a loved one's death, we commemorate their life and renew our connection to them. Our ancestors, no matter how long ago they lived, are still our ancestors. Avraham and Sarah are as much our ancestors as our great-great-grandparents are.

Every year, we mourn the destruction of our holy Temples, and each year we feel the catastrophic loss as if it just happened, even if it was thousands of years ago.

Now, the Holocaust wasn't a long time ago. Not by any measure. There are survivors alive today, and there are perpetrators alive today.

But, even if the Holocaust was hundreds, thousands of years ago, we'll never "get over it". Because we don't forget. Our cultural memory has allowed us as a people to survive for thousands of years, even though we're constantly attacked and murdered and slaughtered, even though we're less than 1% of the global population. We never forget because our memories are sometimes the only thing we have.

So no, we'll never get over the Holocaust, just like we never got over the Farhud, the Inquisitions, the Crusades, the Ghettos, Dhimmitude, the Pogroms, the Roman Occupation and Enslavement, the Macedonian Occupation, the Babylonian Occupation and Enslavement, the Persian Occupation, the Assyrian Occupation, Slavery in Egypt....

We remember the good times, too. We remember the victories, the miracles, the glory, the unity....

When we're in the darkest, bleakest of times, all we've had our memory. We won't let you take that from us as well.

#felt mad so here you go #judaism #antisemitism #history #jewish history #holocaust tw

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK CHAPTER 19: TWILIGHT KING'S REVERIE

there's some real utena type shit happening here i think (special thanks to @orfeoarte for the lettering and also the beta reading!!)

CHAPTER 19 IS DOOONE thank you all for your patience. this time we're diving into the depths of zant's mind again. what's he thinking about so soon before (what may be) his final battle? well, read and find out!

AAAAGGHH I'm sooooo excited to drop this chapter!! I've been looking forward to writing it ever since i started making this fic into a full-length, multi-chapter story!! i really hope you'll enjoy it. thanks again to @bulgariansumo and orfeoarte for giving it the once-over!

CW this chapter: Suicidal ideation, self harm, graphic violence. once again past the three asterisk *** mark the chapter gets erotic undertones, but with high plot relevance, i hope you'll give it a look either way!

ao3 mirror

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

“If there is anything you desire, then I shall desire it, too.”

So spoke the colossal face before him. Zant stood there, frozen in a gaping stare as this massive, golden specter hovered before him. He had run to this balcony to shout his woes to the skies, losing himself in flagellant grief, in the fragile hope enough beatings would keep his anguish at bay. Perhaps if he cried out long enough, something would answer. Either something that would, by some miracle, save him from his predicament…

Or, more likely, grant him the willpower to fling himself off the balusters.

Yet, when he raised his face, the dreary ombre skies were nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a swirling, black orb blotting out the clouds, droning deeply to chatter his teeth in their sockets. It swallowed him whole.

After bidding him that promise, the sea around him shifted. From its depths, a shadowy hand surfaced to part the waves. It reached out to him, claw outstretched. Large, sharp enough to impale him with a single prod, yet Zant felt not a scrap of fear. He knew all it would do was fulfill its words. The tip of its finger touched his forehead. Souls touched, one so, so grand, dwarfing his, and chained together. Through this tether, a bolt of power crossed, and shook him to his core.

It was euphoric, a pure, blinding bliss as this being of pure magic entered him. He was his savior, his guardian angel, watching over him in his darkest moment and deciding He would help. With every breath, foggy ambrosia filled his lungs and leached into his veins. It clouded his thoughts, dulled his every sense, and smothered it all with a warm, tingling numbness. He had never felt more full, yet emptier all the same. His every nerve coiled in on itself – had he any breath to utter it, this ecstasy would have unlodged a whimper, to echo into this space of all spaces. Whatever being he had just communed with, it was in him and snaked its way into his every inch. One finger twitched, then another, until his hand moved on its own. With tenderness he didn’t know rested within his flesh, his thumb stroked past his, their, cheek, and rid it of its tears.

In this single second, he felt more divinity than he’d ever had, in all his years praying to his lesser gods in the palatial temple. How he wandered the wastelands clutching and clacking beads in search of a solution to their plights. What he worshiped then were mere vestiges compared to this all-encompassing force, little pieces of holiness his forebears dragged with them in tatters when they were condemned to this dying world. That world that had gurgled its last breath in its septic lungs before they’d even entered it, and hacked and coughed it out as they made their home there. 

This Being – Ganon – laughed within him, His manic glee spreading through him like a rot. There was no doubt about it; true, pitch-dark malevolence had made him its host, a being of pure vengeance that tangled with his own as if by fated embrace. But even as his mind darkened, a faint glimmer shone, kindled there by his own hand.

Hope.

More hope than he had ever felt in his life. This was no mere ancestral spirit. Far more, even, than a curse. This was a God. 

Just as he adjusted to this new force, convulsing and embracing himself, true darkness shrouded him again. When the haze cleared, he did not find himself on the balcony. Instead, he was hovering in the air, looking down at a most familiar scene. There stood Ganondorf, heaving in pain against the Master Sword lodged in his chest, facing two beings of Light that antsily waited for him to die. Zant knew they needn’t wait much longer.

Zant blinked, tilting his head curiously. The man below him winced, but did not perish. Watching the dreadful stillness at his feet, he spoke. “Why did you bring me here again? Are you truly so fond of dying?”

He spoke off-script. The illusion broke, the curtains of their stage torn, not drawn. Ganondorf growled, gazing at his clenched fist that bore a faintly glowing mark, until it did not. “This is the moment I first wished to seize my power back from you. This time I will not fail.”

Zant smiled as he watched his flesh-made God raise his hand toward him. “Once, I may have said you would have to wrench it from my cold, dead hands, but even then, you did not manage it. It is time that you learn, Demon King, that this power is mine and mine alone. As is this vessel. And they shall forever be!”

The illusion broke when he descended, landing before the towering man and grasping the grip of the burrowed sword in his hand. A wet giggle escaped him as he tested the blade, watching as it dug deeper into the gaping wound in Ganondorf’s chest. Ganondorf growled, cutting his laughter short with a fist clenching around his throat, but only enabling his amusement. Such violence begged for retaliation! Both hands wrapped eagerly around the grip and pushed. The master sword sunk deeper into Ganondorf effortlessly, earning him a wheeze of pain, and a once-king before him on his knees.

Zant kicked him over, straddling his chest with the sword before him. His fingers trailed up the blade — just as sharp as he’d remembered it, slicing through his fingertips and blending their streaks of blood. Just that little bit of unity could be indulged, he supposed. 

“No wonder the Ganondorf who torments me now remembers me so little. The piece of him that knew of my vengeance has rested right here, with me, all this time,” he giggled, sentimentally holding a hand over his chest. “And now, here you are. Does it vex you?”

He could only laugh at the burning hatred that glared up at him. Hands grasped over his, attempting to pull the sword out that he so playfully kept pinned down into him. The grip would break his fingers awfully soon, but Zant didn’t care. He had to make this perfectly clear. 

“You have passed your torch, old man, and will walk the living world no longer. The only one to control this body now, is me!”

Zant wrenched himself free and grinned toothily as Ganondorf frantically pulled at a sword that would not move. Odd-angled fingers ignored, he grasped his head in both hands, cackling in pleasure and pain, and twisted.

A dream… A memory? Oh, only if it were.

He awoke in a bed that was not his own, but at this point, it may as well have been. Still sheltered from the sun, he lay buried under the covers, with merely the crown of his head poking past the cloudy white, duck-feather comforter. So dreadfully cold it was in the North this time of year… And how warm he lay here now, with steel knees tucked against his bottom and an arm draped lazily around his chest. The dark beneath the blankets kept him in that fluffy, hardly-woken daze, leading him to think with instincts first, and rationality second. He grasped the hand that laid across his stomach, and with his eyelids fluttering back shut, ran the pads of his fingertips along his beloved’s. No longer as cool as they were during the day… Ghirahim’s skin always warmed, bit by bit, whenever he’d join him for a night, only growing their old frigid when pursuing some pastime or other while Zant lay sleeping.

His thumb quested further, stroking across his glossy nails, before finding the tops of his fingers. Each was diligently inspected, rubbing from knuckle to knuckle. He could visualize those hands behind his eyelids just from touch, by now. How delicate and elegant they were, not a callus in sight, even if he bore the brunt of much labor, and tore through so many in bloodshed. He could drift away again like this, lacing their fingers together, and inching back to nestle closer to him. How much time until dawn, he wondered? 

Lips that pressed into his shoulder shook him into a wide-eyed stare, his cheeks growing hot. His private little moment of affectionate touches was not so private after all… Not when he remembered Ghirahim did not sleep and was perfectly aware of his fiddling. 

Ghirahim hummed, voice hushed as he spoke. “Another nightmare?”

A tight, joint-popping stretch of his spine and legs forced a groan from him, settling him back in his arms soon after. “Oh, not at all. I found myself in the loveliest dream,” Zant yawned.

Ghirahim huffed behind him, unconvinced. “You’re certain? You sounded tormented.”

His hand laid over his, Zant peered over his shoulder, smiling contentedly. “How could anything come to haunt me, when I am protected like this?”

This answer pleased him. “Come to me, my lover,” Ghirahim purred, tugging him closer into his embrace. His fingers now pressed firmly into the supple skin of his stomach – surely, how fiercely such a term flushed him did not pass his notice, clearly felt in the arteries of his gut. “Haha! You asked me to call you such, and now, you fluster?”

A whine escaped him, prompting him to burrow further into his pillow. “To hear it fills me with such glee, Ghirahim-ili. I cannot help it.”

Yet his escape did not prove fruitful. Wherever he hid himself, the heat at his back pulled him back into their intimate contact. Zant was captivated, then, by how warm his core felt, how each churn of energy sent a buzz up his spine that made his face heat up all the brighter. Ghirahim seemed not aware of this, but that enigmatic gem, his heart, his brain, his soul, it made a sound. Like a knife being sharpened, dragged against whetstone as a bow and violin – a crystalline hum. Zant needed only to listen to gauge his mood these days… That is, if the demon could stop being so enamored with the sound of his own voice, to let him hear that telltale song. 

Through his musings, Ghirahim held him, cheekily grasping at his breast in the hope of evoking a laugh in them both. Hands that wished to hold, that wished to be held, made part of something greater than himself. 

Were he to linger in them any longer, he was sure to never rise. How lovely, how adored! His heart fluttered to and fro like a songbird caught in a cage, and his body reacted all the same. Besieged by a fit of giggles, Zant kicked his feet and wrestled his way out of his embrace. Once he sprung free from that iron grip, he launched himself across the bed, stanced on all fours as if Ghirahim might pounce him any moment. If his heartbeat, sending the blood racing through his ears, was to be believed, he would. 

For a moment too bewildered to speak, Ghirahim stared at the grinning creature across him. He grit his teeth in a smirk of his own, before hunching down to prowl towards him. Zant darted from his advance, leaving the sword spirit to thud face-first into the sheets behind him. Sanding down his skills for the fun of it, surely! Else he would have caught him!

Ghirahim huffed, meeting his panting and snickering with a pout. “How juvenile. Pray tell, how old are you again?”

He clawed himself forward twice in a crawl, again playfully scurrying away, until the question prompted him to think. How long since their advance..? What day did he die? 8496 turns of the Twilit Hourglass, three-hundred-sixty-five turns of the Sun in this odd world. Side-by-side, how many days apart, would be… 

Zant blinked in their little stand-still, pulling free from his absent gaze. “Ah. Twenty-nine, as of two weeks ago.”

A quizzical expression crossed Ghirahim’s face. Did such a number mean anything to him, he wondered? Would he think him young or old? But he had little time to pick apart what he might be thinking. For soon Ghirahim grew bored of internal queries, and was upon him in a flash, tumbling the both of them back into the pillows. 

After the protesting squeaks were over with, Zant relented. Now happy to be huddled up with him again, Ghirahim questioned him. “Is the passing of another year not typically celebrated among Twili?”

Zant groaned in thought, squinting his eyes shut. Idle hands drummed on the back splayed across him. “It is, but what a pointless affair it would be. Who would I celebrate it with?”

“What about me,” Ghirahim cooed, prodding a finger at his hostage’s cheek.

“Tracing the days back, I’m sure on the day itself you were once again in my quarters, sharing my company. This, I am plenty content with.”

Such an explanation seemingly bored the Sword Spirit to no end, with how it made him sigh and sink further into the blankets. Zant supposed he was always more of the lavish type, and would not be sated by an answer so sappy and mundane. Perhaps he could think of a gift of sorts to neg him for, but for now…

“We have lingered enough. I would much prefer to dress myself before the sun rises any further. After all, Master needs us to accompany him to the desert sooner than later,” he sighed, nudging at the heavy form atop him to hopefully shake him into action a bit. Zant was perturbed by the gaze that caught onto his. For once, Ghirahim was called to duty and met it with reluctance.

Their arrival at Gerudo Desert was one of eerie calm. Ganondorf awaited them by the gates, watching bemusedly how his chamberlains fussed over the supplies necessary for what would only be a short stay. In warping together, they would have to combine their powers. One hand for each lieutenant, he reached out for them to accept in open palms. A rustle, a chime, a blaring hum – all overlapped in a striking chord. In an instant, the Temple was out of sight.

Zant reflexively wheezed when the new scenery came upon him. Oppressive heat, smothering him from all sides. The dark shelter of his helmet only offered some respite from the dry, sweltering air that crept in through his visor slots. How he cursed the possibilities of an ambush, forbidding him from dressing lightly! 

Permitted by Ganondorf’s advance, the pair of lieutenants turned, watching the Gerudo traverse the sands that led to the city gates mere paces away. To once again be in the desert, watching him march to his goal in this sea of gold, evoked a memory of not long ago. But when the world around him looked far, far different.

—

Weightlessly he hovered in this void expanse, knowing not how long, remembering not how to even care for such a thing. Beckoning again beyond the veil, stirring him from the deepest of slumbers, a shimmer of gold plucked at the strings of his soul. The Sorceress again? It couldn’t be. This was its own power, dark and primordial, of which a mere echo once lingered within Cia. He recognized it, he…

The golden light raced past him now, enveloped him like curtains had been drawn. With a ragged gasp, dry, warm air filled his lungs once more. The tips of his fingers, his ears, his cheeks, all felt red hot with the newly returned sensation of pumping blood. He was alive again. 

Before him, there he stood, fulfilling his promise of centuries past. 

Ganondorf, King of Thieves, King of Demons. 

Yet, this was a different man. The thrum of past power confirmed it. Somewhere, the beaten and defeated fury of an older Ganondorf still weakly snarled from the very void he was just ripped from. A realization struck them both at the same time, causing one to smile, and the other to recoil. Where his supposed God had failed to revive him, his descendant did so without persuasion. 

Whether from his weakened legs, or the force before him commanding it so, he fell forward into a kneel. Ganondorf approached but Zant could not muster the strength to raise his head and witness more than his boots. He felt his fingers shake in their sleeves. With the shouting in his mind, he couldn’t possibly bear to look at both of them at once.

“Shadow Lord Zant, Demon Lord Ghirahim. I have released you from the bounds the Sorceress has placed upon you, and with it, freed you from your imprisonment. From this moment forth, you will follow my every command. Your life is in my hands as the Demon King, and I will snuff it out when I see fit.”

Ganondorf paused, scanning the pair before him with burning eyes. This descendant was forceful. He did not arrive with bribes and promises, he demanded subordination within seconds. 

Seemingly satisfied with the lack of protest thus far, he continued. “The Triforce of Power was stolen from me by the Sorceress’ former half. I enlist your military prowess to assist me in this campaign to seize it.”

Something was missing… Zant realized it, as did the man clawing at the back of his eyes. Only then did the Twili dare lift his face some, to study for an additional spark of austerity, or some telling that he was to be beaten more thoroughly into submission. 

Nothing. There was none at all. Ganondorf glared them both down equally.

How very interesting… This Ganondorf remembered him in name and power only, but not the feud that tied him and his predecessor together for all eternity. Did the shock of death rid him of the memory of his betrayal? Such ignorance could only work to his advantage. If this reborn Demon King needed a servant, he could certainly play the part. What did he have to lose? Arisen anew, he couldn’t let this opportunity to have Hyrule at his feet slip through his fingers again. This third chance could be his last.

The man beside him was clearly much less amicable to the idea. Ghirahim, as he was introduced, had not moved a muscle since surfacing from the gate beside him, his features tightened into a scowl. Zant looked on curiously as the pristine white being burst into laughter.

“Perhaps Cia will be desperate enough to beg for your alliance, but I will not. How low the Sorceress has sunken!”

A peculiar energy buzzed forth from this man, lashing out angrily as his hair bristled and his fists clenched. “You dare to bear the title of Demon King? You are but a mere human! In what realm do demons bow to mortal men!?”

Hands threw up in the air, massive pupils narrowed to slits and his teeth bared in aggression. Certainly an animated character. “It is an insult… A disgrace to my Master! I’ll have your head for such a transgression!”

With a snap of his fingers, a rapier was summoned in the Demon’s hand, but before his fingers could fully curl around its grip, Ganondorf burst toward him like lightning. A swift strike of his fist sent Ghirahim tumbling, skidding through the dust. He came to a halt by the Demon King’s hand, who had gripped his throat with golden-clawed fingers. Sword lost in the dust a few feet away, Ghirahim was powerless against the mighty hand of the Master slamming him into the ground. A choked groan rang from his throat with each impact, his struggles in vain. He was pounded once more into the sand, and Ganondorf held him pinned there, leaning over him with a growl. Ghirahim kicked his legs in a show of defiance, until suddenly, he went still. Even beyond the kicked-up dust, Zant could see it. From his left hand, a faint golden glow shone through his gauntlet – empty but waiting, matching the deep black aura that wafted from him like licking flames. 

“I have no use for a peon that will not obey me,” Ganondorf snarled, pulling Ghirahim closer to his face before dropping him to the ground. “I will not warn you again, Blade.”

Zant followed him with his gaze as Ganondorf marched back to his former place. Their eyes met briefly, gold stumbling upon gold, and in an instant, that familiar scowl drilled into his consciousness. The same man, but not quite… Yes, with such a display of power, he’d decided. It was in his best interests to have this Ganondorf trust him. And so, he smiled at him in return, bowing his head in respect of his Master. Ganondorf grunted and continued his march, setting out for the tents that stood in the shade at the edge of the desert. 

“My home has been ravaged by vermin in my absence, and I intend to reclaim it. I expect you to join me in my tent for reconnaissance. Should you refuse, I will not hesitate to crush you along with the rest of the intruders.”

After nodding affirmatively, Zant turned again to where his fellow to-be commander was left, and found him sat up, panting and clutching his chest. He stared out in front of him but his mind was someplace else. Curiously, he approached him, cocking his head. He could only guess that Ghirahim had a similar revelation to himself, but was taking it far less in stride. 

Tentatively, he held out his hand, offering to help him rise. Someone ought to snap him out of it. “You recognized it too, didn’t you? That power.”

Ghirahim blinked, a haze clearing from his deep, large pupils. Before fully meeting his eyes, he had already swatted his offered hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

Zant straightened himself, towering above the man sitting before him, and retracted his hand to clasp them behind his back. 

A squint locked Ghirahim in eye contact almost too easily, and somewhat nervously, he stammered again to speak. “I did, but… How..?”

Zant broke the trap of his gaze and looked toward the tent, where Ganondorf had just disappeared into. “The very same curse that brought the Princess and her guard dog back for another round, I assume.”

Ghirahim rose to his feet, joining Zant in staring at the tent. He didn’t speak, still, just glared in deep conflict at the sight before him. It was almost pitiful.

And so, Zant decided to take off and kick his plans into motion. “You can do as you wish, but I am hesitant to make an enemy out of the Demon King. I suppose I will meet you on the battlefield, one way or another.”

Quite a few paces he walked alone, his helmet reassembling itself to spare him from the burning rays of the sun. Now thoroughly concealed, he felt safe grinning when footsteps joined behind him, slowly but surely.

“Zant? What’s keeping you?”

In just that split second, the sword spirit seemed to turn into an entirely different being. The Ghirahim he knew then was all points and edges, eager to drive his endless wit under his skin until he had no choice but to bite back at him. And while this urge to annoy him never left him, he was different, now. There was an undeniable softness to him. Words that once would have left his lips in a sneer now warmly lingered with genuine concern, sweetly sticking to his tongue like honey. 

It was a testament to how blades were not merely used to destroy, but also to mend, to cure. Bit by bit, he’d taught a sword how to care.

When Zant smiled at him in return, picking up after him in a rush, the desert sun sparkled in his deep black pupils. Zant joined his side soon after, relishing how his attention did not leave him even once. 

“The heat must have gotten to my head for a moment there,” he hummed. “We’ve come all the way from the North, after all.”

Counting on being out of earshot of their Master, Ghirahim chuckled, jabbing at the Twili with his elbow. “You can survive martial combat, but the climate gets the better of you? It’s embarrassing to wear your weaknesses on your sleeve like this, Zant.”

Zant scoffed. “Ah, yes. As opposed to wearing them with a target on your chest, of course.”

Were they subtle in their dawdling at any point, Ganondorf surely noticed his servants bickering behind him from that point on. With only a brief pause in his gait, he marched to the Palace. The Demon King was off to settle his final arrangements before bidding his most loyal men farewell, for good.

The evening of Ganondorf’s arrival was as celebratory as it was solemn. The governesses were as pleased to see their King in his full power as they took his arrival as an omen. The final stand was at hand, and the strategy briefing of mere hours earlier conveyed that Gerudo Valley would not come out of this battle unscathed. Any bit of leisure and merrymaking was precious, and as such, the wizened Court was masking themselves with as much cheer as they could muster. Ghirahim and Zant, seated at the end of the table reserved for those of higher military ranking, overlooked the governesses squabbling over opportunities to converse with the man who would change their lives for good. In between filling their cups and chattering amongst one another, on occasion, one of the women would rise, and approach Ganondorf’s seat to give him their blessings. To which the King, of course, took to with great warmth and integrity.

Among them was a woman with an empty stare, who gradually darkened and secluded in her own mind as the night went on. Zant recognized her as the head of foreign trade, who left an impression on him as a boisterous, steadfast woman. None of her usual sparks could be seen as she stood up from her seat and approached Ganondorf, who was caught in conversation with the governess beside him. 

“With the Seven to guide me, this ends today.”

Candlelight reflected off a polished surface not there seconds earlier. Taking shelter behind the backrest of Ganondorf’s chair, the Courtswoman pulled a dagger from her robes and thrust it toward the Demon King. 

It was a mess of bodies. Those who cowered in fear, and those who threw themselves at the assailant to wrestle her off of their King. Among the latter were even elderly women of the Court, whose feeble arms tore like paper under the meticulously sharpened dagger, the King’s retainers, and of course, his very own Ghirahim, who bolted toward her the second he smelled steel.

But before an obsidian blade could run her through, Ganondorf himself clenched his massive hand around the Chancellor’s arm. With a sweep, he flung her over the table, sending her skidding across the floor and into the hall’s central corridor. A streak of blood followed her, the ominous sign of falling upon her own blade. Groaning and heaving, but still fueled by rage, she rose in spite of her injuries. Blade in hand, her fierce drive to kill had not yet ceased.

The commotion all around the mess hall soon tested her resolve. As if melting into a single being, the shrieks and cries of enraged troops dawned upon her like a tidal wave, claws and calloused palms reaching for her in a mob’s desire for violence. 

“Halt,” shouted Ganondorf’s thunderous voice, sharp enough to crack air as if it were a thin sheet of glass. He raised a hand, forcing every single being in that hall to freeze on the spot. “None may approach her. We will hold Chancellor Meherat’s trial right here, and now.”

Those who were injured in the scuffle were promptly escorted from the hall, and a deathly silence befell what was once an infernal atmosphere. Though Ganondorf had forbidden anyone from nearing the accused, there was a shuffled footfall in the servants’ entrance, leading to the courtyard… The preparations for her execution were already underway. 

And what a foolish act it was! With the Triforce under his command, no mortal blade could truly harm Ganondorf. No, not even Zant dared dream of such a hands-on approach, now. The consequences of such a fit of passion were unfolding before him, a lesson of their own.

Those left in the mess hall arranged themselves in cold, courtly fashion. The commanding and governing forces seated in their makeshift magistrate, and the crowd of soldiers, their jury. Ganondorf leered, his eyes scanning the room to command its silence. Gazing at the center of it all, the trial commenced. 

An odd tone of pity stained his rigid voice with mockery. “Now, speak. What has clouded your judgment, Chancellor? Only pure madness could drive a woman of your stature to defy her King.”

“The only madness in this room lies within your own Court, Ganondorf,” the Chancellor snapped, resulting in a scandalized, furious heckling from the crowd behind her. She paid it no mind. “All our people wanted was peace – dignity! And you have befouled the noble name of the Gerudo by aligning yourself with demons. Monsters! Your actions are beyond the retaliation for which we rallied behind you. They are annihilation! There is no salvation in the death you rain upon Hyrule. What use is there to be found in a land we cannot thrive in? Every single one of you is blinded by vengeance! I will stand for it no longer.”

Ganondorf straightened in his seat, solemn, yet unimpressed. His countenance was calm, but the racket from the crowd surely could only stem from their King’s inner rage. “Then I take it there were no conspirators?”

“None that had to persuade me, Demon. My sisters are innocent. But mark my words – With every settlement you scorch, every monster you set free on your homeland, our people’s trust in you wanes. The streets of Gerudo City are ripe with whispers of your cruelty. There will be more like me! If I must die to set this example, then I shall face the Heroines with a smile!”

Meherat was manic, burning with conviction, even as the loss of blood rid her of the strength in her legs. Her eyes desperately sought support, or at least recognition in the eyes of the Court before her. Whether she found any, Zant could not discern from this angle.

Ganondorf sighed, crossing his hands before him on the table. His tusks bared, a flash of aggression amidst his air of grave stoicism. “It is a pity, Chancellor. I hoped to grant you a swift death.”

It was thus – Chancellor Meherat was to be put to death. Her bridges burnt, the love of her sisters lost, and the sound of her name condemned. A rich life suddenly thrown away in an assassination attempt that would never have worked, forged as it was in the blinding darkness of despair and twisted justice. All for the sake of peace. Peace. Peace. Peace! What hideous neglect, what decay, and what fetid blood had been spilled for that wretched word! Oh, how she had almost pinpointed the wrongs in this selfish King’s leadership, but as many before her, concluded so terribly misguidedly. A conclusion once shared by a woman of equal beauty, equal love in her heart, and equally bright, amber hair. 

Zant was snapped out of his train of thought by the splinters that jabbed into the underside of his nails. Fresh grooves tainted the dining table at his hands. His eyes tracing the pale wood he’d uncovered, he decided he refused to sit idle, and took the seat of Magistrate.

“If I may, King Dragmire.”

All eyes vested on him in an instant. He ignored the dark scowl already brooding in the shadow of Ganondorf’s bushy eyebrows. “Why not simply… Send her in exile? If it is peace, or dignity, as she says, that she desires, I gladly invite her to seek it with our enemy. Perhaps then she will fully realize how our brutality serves to shield Gerudo against that which the Hyruleans would happily inflict.”

Ganondorf clicked his tongue, but a smirk crooked the corner of his lips even still. “Your offer is as absurd as it is intriguing. I will not risk sending a traitor that threatens my army for the indulgence of a satisfying punishment.”

“I beseech you to consider,” Zant stated, his fingers interlacing on the table before him. “How many of our commanders have been captured, and when has this ever hampered us? All this crucial information they have doubtlessly forced from their throats, and yet, the Triforce is still secured in your palm, My Liege. There is nothing she can tell them that will harm you now, not when Hyrule Castle is so close to falling at your feet.”

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes. Whether he was genuinely considering it, or merely playing along to placate him, was difficult to tell. It kept him talking either way, so Zant didn’t quite care. The Gerudo continued picking apart his plan, perhaps to catch him in a fumble. “Who is to say she will not become a willing collaborator, rather than their prisoner?”

“We have sent spies before, Master, and nearly every single one of them has had their head mounted on a pike. Hyrule will consider her no different, surely.”

Ganondorf scoffed in laughter, “Very well. Guards! Seize the Chancellor. You are to escort her to the desert and ensure she does not return,” he demanded, his hand outstretched in the final verdict, emphasized with a clenched fist. His attention turned to the court member to his left. “Furthermore. Grand Mistress Kotoji, her name is shunned from this day forth. See to the eradication of her records from administrative documents. We will appoint her successor at dawn.”

The cogs in the machine started turning in an instant. Armed and shrouded Gerudo marched up to drag away the sentenced Chancellor, whose angered cries for the Court to join her cause splattered against the walls of every room she would traverse. The crowd was tense, her claims of more traitors running amok and the possibility that her enervated speech would hatch more of them, doubtlessly sowing suspicion. Surely, Zant’s suggested verdict, and the baffling acceptance of such a bloodless sentence, undoubtedly had a similar discordant effect.

The consequences of which soon beckoned him. As the table returned to a semblance of calm, Ganondorf summoned him with a snag of his eyes and a wave of his hand.

“You are walking a very fine line, Shadow Lord,” Ganondorf growled at him, sheltered by the uproar of the dining hall. “This battlefield is not yours to play games in. High treason, and you set her free? I will send men in her pursuit before sundown.”

“There is no need to worry, Master,” Zant smiled, bowing in submission to have his whispers easily heard. “On her own, without supplies, the desert will claim her before making it even a quarter of the way. Besides, to butcher their once-beloved Sister before their very eyes will give us an ill will from your remaining Court. Certainly, you know this too, My Liege, or you would not have accepted my terms.”

Ganondorf furrowed his brows at him, before leaning back in his seat, contemplating the hall before him in deep scrutiny.

His every breath was a test; Zant knew very well that Ganondorf suspected him. Did he not, he never would have sent the two of them here. Zant was peering into his open grave and awaited the firm-handed push that sent him down there with a grin. Not a shred of his reasoning just now had been a lie, but the plan itself was audacious – essentially an offer to send out a counter-spy scot-free. And yet, Ganondorf agreed with it. What did he have to lose, at this point? Very likely, he would do no worse. 

This Ganondorf was powerful and charismatic. He tore down keeps with his bare hands, wrapped countless court officials around his finger. His own Ganondorf had been lonely and bound himself to him thus – this One was less stubborn, in that way. But in that strength lay a fatal flaw: he was cocky. In taking them to this damned place, to protect a mission that could only fail, surely he thought he was rid of those thorns in his sides.

It was all too merciful. No, he was not soft, he was naive. Clearly, Ganondorf saw neither of them as a threat big enough to dispose of on short notice. So, before he could depart, what else could he do to burrow himself deeper in his ire? What punishments would they evoke? Reduce the number of his troops? Bait out an ambush? Would he see him poisoned, or cursed? Master, what could I possibly do to you, for you to slay me, right here, and now?

Zant would never get his answer. The adrenaline now worn off, Ganondorf had noticed a minor flesh wound by his upper arm and sought to have it treated. Just in case the blade had been poisoned. Bit by bit, the mess hall drained of people, and at some point, Zant had wandered out with some other crowd of them. The metallic clanking of his soles just barely made it past the ringing in his ears. 

Oh, indeed. Ganondorf needn’t worry. Not about Meherat, at least.

As he’d predicted, there she ran. So far away from the city, the gibbous moon and sea of stars shone vibrantly above, joining hands to light the way of this condemned runaway. Three hours since her banishment, and the sands already took their toll on her. Trudging through silky sands filled one’s legs with lead, he knew this intimately by now. Yet, she was making decently good time. Of course, Ganondorf hadn’t listened to his final call and sent an executioner’s party after her the minute his wound was flushed out. To no avail, however. The Chancellor was clever and well-informed, so much so that she’d swerved out of sight of the Demon King’s outposts that scattered sparsely throughout the deeper sand wastes. 

But not out of his. 

With no more rock outcroppings to hide behind, Zant could only shelter in the skies, a black smudge hovering against prismatic blue. But hours in the dark had made her eye too keen. She looked behind her once, twice, just to check, before opening her mouth in a soundless scream and breaking out in what she hoped to be a sprint.

He would not let his Master’s troops take this from him. Wind soared through his helmet, sand whipped up around him, and before he’d known, that panicked face was mere inches from his own, his fingers wrapped tightly around her throat.

“You are a kind woman, Chancellor Meherat – Too good, to survive in our midst. But that is precisely where our predicament lies. Hyrule would listen to you, for good people like you are exploitable, even if the chances of your rescue are slim…” Zant hissed between the two of them, looming over her while squeezing ever-tighter. “Forgive me, forgive me…”

Under the fierce grip of his hands, the Gerudo struggled, clawing at his arms and kicking at his gut with every ounce of might she still had. Before long, she at last grew limp and dropped to the floor, now free of him.

He recalled another being just like her, whose misplaced kindness in the end spelled doom for her people. And though his goals aligned with this one, he could not afford her getting in his way. So swiftly he struck her, his scimitar driving between her ribs, simultaneous mercy and execution.

“May the sands reclaim you, Chancellor,” he muttered in idle prayer, before kneeling down to hide a piece of parchment among her robes. 

He stood there, watching as the desert winds gently buried her, the light of the stars above brought him clarity. Now that he beheld her beyond the fog of his mind, her hair wasn’t as orange as he thought it to be. It was really more of a carmine.

Zant sat at his triptych mirror, begrudgingly accepting the assistance of the morning sun as he applied the black lines to his lower eyelids. His Dagger lingered about him as if he had any input on the matter, but soon found some way to fuss over him nonetheless. Fingers threaded through his hair, scratching pleasantly past the grown-out fuzz at the back of his head.

“I think we ought to preen you a little before we head to battle again, Zant,” Ghirahim hummed thoughtfully.

Finishing up his one eye, Zant puckered his lips, looking back at him through the mirror with a bit of a frown. “Already? Is it so drastic?”

“Your shave is growing out again. Just a touch-up, is all.”

And yet, he couldn’t help but indulge him. His eyes darted between his reflection and that of Ghirahim’s in the mirror, before he leaned back to resume accessorizing his other eyelid with a smirk. “Hmmm… Without Yuga to safeguard me, will I be alright, I wonder…”

“Hah! You doubt my skills, now? Some nerve you have,” Ghirahim sneered.

A dip of his brush in the bottle of pigment. “I wouldn’t dare. Yuga simply is a bit more amicable to my wishes, is all.”

“Only because he can’t stand the pout you give him when you’re uppity. Is this about those odd bangs you insist on growing out? Never did I know why you keep those,” was the response, emphasized by the grasping of his longer locks, which fell through his parted fingers like flowing water.

“... Well, ah,” Zant hesitated. Was such a subject appropriate? If it was, would it anger him? How forward it would be. In any other circumstance mere ethnographic fact, but with the bond they shared, carrying such implications! But perhaps the truth would settle the matter. 

He placed his brush down and rested his hands in his lap in a reserved gesture, avoiding his gaze. “In my people’s customs, that is where I will receive my braid, if I am to be wed.”

Ghirahim perked up at his words, his face subtly tugging at its sculpted features. He quickly retracted his hands to fold them at his chest. Picking at the edges of his gloves, he seemed conflicted as he considered his next words. “Right. Such matters will be of concern to nobility, once the war settles, of course.”

Zant turned to him now, gauging his expression in full. A worry lingered there, of neither wanting to impose nor be imposed upon. Did Ghirahim assume himself to be excluded from potential marriage candidates? To which degree did this trouble him?

Yet this troubled state joined hands with its twin, leaching into Zant’s mind. Though his own wishes on the matter were not quite aligned, to wed another than him could prove more politically efficient, down the line. He could never bear it, Zant decided, to degrade the first to profess his love for him to the ranks of a mere concubine.

So he banished the thought from both their minds, pulling Ghirahim into his embrace. For a moment, Ghirahim flinched, startled that the action could serve as a confession. These fears were quickly cast away when Zant craned his head up to grin broadly at him.

“How you fret over mortal matters! Ghirahim-ili, the red on your cheeks may fool me into thinking you might be of the same flesh and blood as I,” he teased, resting his chin against his chest.

The flush of his cheeks and ear only grew stronger. “If you so intend to mock me, you would do better to do so after fixing yourself. Your cosmetics are completely asymmetrical!”

Zant laughed, freeing him from his grip and turning back to his mirror to resume his daily grooming. “Alright,” he chimed, holding the brush to his cheek with care. “You ought to make yourself scarce either way, Yima Dinifen. My chamberlain will arrive with my breakfast any moment now.”

With just one knock at the door, a jingling of chimes announced a departure behind him, and the white shade in his mirror erased its presence.

And so, their days resumed. After Ganondorf returned to his post in the Temple, the pair were left to their own devices to prepare for the Hyruleans to take the bait. And take it they did, for mere days after the Demon King visited the Palace, the first scouts were sighted scurrying about the desert. Undoubtedly to catch a glimpse of their developing formations! 

Those glimpses would be allowed. The first days were ones of deception, of placing troops haphazardly in a feint, only to slaughter every last vanguard that would come looking from thenceforth. Zant’s hand trailed the map – they would have to route cages for their beasts to each corner of the field. That way, they could adequately trap their foes in the center of the valley, and whittle away at their composures.

So deep in thought was he, that he had not noticed his co-lieutenant joining him in their strategy room, laying a hand on his elbow. “Off in your own little world again? You mustn’t forget to relay your schemes to me, Zant.”

His mind struggled a moment, forcing itself through the barricade of his focus to direct his attention to the one beside him, instead. Yet when he looked upon him, with a gaze so tender yet hiding tantalizing conflict behind a shroud of yearning, that reluctance faded in an instant.

“All in due time, Ghirahim-ili,” he murmured, laying his hand over his. “What do you require from me, to approach me in such solitude?”

To be addressed suchly took Ghirahim aback for a moment. Ah, he knew this look. These were the characteristic signs of a very specific mood of his; where his mind was troubled, but he hoped to assuage it through physical affection. To correct his course elsewhere, where he needn’t think or discuss his woes. 

With their lives treading on such a fine line, Zant wasn’t interested in such avoidant behavior. Ghirahim was snagged on by the question a little too easily.

“With our Master’s true coronation so close on the horizon, Zant, I’ve been occupied with far more thoughts than are becoming of me. You’ve experienced the same, I'm certain.”

“Oh, when do I ever not sit and worry,” Zant giggled. He was tempted to press a kiss to his cheek but decided not to interrupt him.

“As you say,” Ghirahim laughed at his quip. “Among these thoughts were that of my future, but moreso of our past, and what it will come to mean. It’s childish, but I was reminded of the first words of love I gave to you. I thought then to have deceived you in giving you that promise, but now I know it is not so.”

Taking advantage of the loose occupation of his hands, Ghirahim guided his arm, making room for himself in-between, and stepped into his embrace. 

“This love, as you have described it, long I have assumed it as being entirely alien to me. Yet, with every minute I spend with you, Zant, my doubts about this long-held belief grow ever larger. I cannot ignore them now, because the contrary could not be more clear. The way you love, Zant, aligns with my own with every passing day. As does my love grow to resemble yours,” he began to wax, fondly amused by the red tinge he awakened in the Twili’s face. “And I find it perplexing, for us to be connected this way, for in being made of flesh and blood, you and I could not be more different.”

Ghirahim paused, taking a moment to capture his hand and behold their contact. Observing thoughtfully. “What makes us different, mortals and I, is that I know my purpose. The second I was forged, I knew what my existence meant for me, and I delighted in it. Mortal men- humans, I believe, you are listless,” he emphasized, now lacing their fingers. His expression darkened, losing its shine to a sullen face. “Fickle. Because there simply is no purpose but to live. Your myriad of choices blinds you, burdens you, whereas I have none, and I adore the way I am supposed to be. I thought I would never understand that restless sort of existence. But now I do. Master will not wield me.”

To Zant’s mortification, yet soul-stirring delight, Ghirahim grasped his hand tighter and placed it on his chest. In that moment of silence, where both of them held a breath, there was that song again. It chimed and pulsed so strongly he could feel it in the pads of his fingers. Those saccharine shocks resonated through his arm, pressing kisses to every nerve and sinew it tore past, and in its crescendo delivered its fiercest affection to his heart. It was a call, a plea for a matching pulse, saying far more than Ghirahim could ever dare to. Now, guarded as they were amidst the glittering shards of Zant’s mind, he would never have to.

Ghirahim winced as those fingers indulgently dug deeper into the skin of his chest, but soon grew to relish in it. “I cannot promise you my entire self, Zant. The thought alone could shatter me. A piece, however, I can afford.”

With a flourish of his hand, his velvet cape scattered into a glittering whirlwind of diamonds, warm like embers as they brushed by Zant’s skin. As his garment disappeared, Ghirahim leaned back, resting more and more of his weight in his arms, and baring more and more of his most vulnerable places to him. His lean neck, the underside of his chin, and more prominently so, the diamond keyhole at his chest. 

His breast heaved, taking a breath that never reached any true lungs, then dipped back down in a shudder. Zant felt his own chest tighten, his heart pounding to his ribs, as Ghirahim spoke his offer. 

“Reach within me, Twilight King. Take part of me, as you have taken a part of our Master. It is yours.”

***

Zant swallowed. He felt the pulse of his core behind his chest, concentrating at its center. With a jolt of Ghirahim’s body, that ivory surface cracked, revealing at last that silver gem, his hand curled around its facets. Anticipation tightened their bodies, for this contact alone, as profound as it was, would only grow more intense. To breach inside would require magic.

A deep inhale, wind brushing past a dry throat, expanded Zant’s chest. Such a feat could not be done without hurting him. To plunge his hand within him, even if done with utmost gentleness and intimacy, would not leave him unscathed. Months ago now, he’d picked inside the labyrinth of his core, but only ever with a proxy of himself. No, this was much coarser work. He would have to use his magic to pry him open and force his hand through the jagged crevice. To wrench free whatever he offered him.

Such a violent act… And Ghirahim trusted him to do it. He wanted him to. No, within his eyes, he saw. Ghirahim would be heartbroken if he didn’t. If he declined this offer, he’d bear the gift prepared for him like a lodged arrow until it festered out from him.

Summoning every inch of will in his body into this one hand, he prepared his incision. The magic such an act required made his peripheral vision turn pink and the sight in his heat pits red-hot and useless. Ghirahim winced when that barrier keeping him – him, his essence – safe from the outside world began to crumble. Yet it did not crack, it simply faded beneath his hand. Zant gasped in awe as his hand dipped beneath this permeable edge, and its disappearance bore to him a sight untold.

Crimson. Not sterile silver but a fiery red. What an astute metaphor it was! Beyond that cold, icy surface, to hide something so burning and true! Within him, a gem of cycling colors tucked carefully into a burning, molten cavity. It was black – no, red, or perhaps a golden, changing every second under the candlelight and the lively fire of his own being. A garnet, a ruby, a brilliant red diamond. He could only liken him, for doubtlessly, he was one of a kind.

“Ghirahim. You’re beautiful.” 

He reached inside, and it was warm. His hand sunk in effortlessly, circling his wrist with a bright white light. By the time his senses figured out whether that inside his core was an icy cold or searing hot, Ghirahim had tipped back, only barely caught by the arm hooked around his waist. Warm pinpricks tickled his skin, filling his hand with static at every twitch and curl of his fingers. Any sensible instinct that would tell him to recoil from the heat was smothered in an instant, snuffed out by the soft groans from Ghirahim that teased him for so much more. His fingers bumped into something. Leather-bound, and long, and… It fit in his hand perfectly.

It could only be a sword. How could anything else rest within his heart?

“Ghirahim,” he whimpered, “you must be certain of this. Once I pull this, you cannot take it back.”

The scabbard in his arms laughed almost belligerently as if annoyed for being addressed. Yet the big, black pupils that met his eyes were fond. “I know.”

Gritting his teeth, overtaken simultaneously by feeling and the burning of his skin, Zant pulled. He keened, for despite the blade being offered to him, it would not be unsheathed without a test of mettle. The very sword began to pull at him – not his flesh, but at his soul, draining him of his magic. It was then that Zant realized that Ghirahim did not trap him, or any of the sorts. The weapon was simply not finished. 

He needed his help.

His magic were like antennae, poking and coiling around the abstract shape of the sword. With every drop of energy that poured from him, he felt it sculpt into being beneath his touch. Double-edged, they decided, but with curvature. Corners and edges to hook rival swords and rip them from lesser hands. A weapon that favored brutality over elegance, but would prove to be both in capable hands. Hands that were now worthy of such a blade, molded into a swordsman by the very forge they stuck within.

Both men cried out in exertion with the final pull at the sword. Ghirahim arched as its pommel surfaced from him, followed by the grip, the crossguard. White-hot and glowing, the blade came free from his chest with a single draw. 

But before he could set his eyes upon it, overcome by his intimacy, Zant pulled his limp body closer and pressed a kiss to his jaw. A piece of him, in his hand, freely gifted, and smithed by their joint efforts. Here he now held his most prized possession. A stream of incoherent Twilit and Hylian bubbled forth from him, singing his praises about his beloved, about their bond. It was time to witness what they made together.

Zant held it before him, watching its prismatic white darken into a deep, all-consuming black, So dark was it that its surface hardly shined, save for its sharpened edges, for little light could leave it once touching it. Interrupting this deep dark was a pattern of glowing cyan, bleeding out from a magenta gem that graced its crossguard. A legendary artifact was made today, fit for the palatial treasury.

The Demon Scimitar.

Ghirahim turned his head to look at his shaking grip and let out a faint laugh. “It is a two-handed blade, you oaf.”

Delighted to hear him speak, Zant turned to his weakened lover, but frowned at his suggestion. “I do not want to drop you.”

“I’m right in your hand.”

Yet, he compromised. Leaning him onto his shoulder, he pulled him back upright. Just as when they lay together, Ghirahim was warm when he pressed his back to his chest. His heart was open, bleeding molten metal into itself. Such a precious thing must be handled carefully. Zant reached forward with both hands now to behold his gift, the sword spirit in his embrace holding himself upright by leaning his arms on his. His legs slumped, but his gloved hands laid gently over the ones grasping at the hilt.

Zant blinked, a smothered sob wobbling his lip, unable to take his eyes off their creation. “Ghirahim, it’s…”

“Beautiful? Breathtaking? The most perfect craftsmanship you’ve ever laid your eyes upon? Of course it is. It’s a piece of me, after all,” Ghirahim waxed, his voice tongue-in-cheek where it would normally be completely serious.

“Yes, Ghirahim, but not so simply,” Zant laughed, peering at the blade past the tender slope of Ghirahim’s neck. “It’s beautiful because it’s us.”

Tears ran down his cheeks. No one had ever done anything like this for him, nor would they ever, for Ghirahim was the only one who could. How he entered this land with vengeance and bitterness in his heart! Now, here he stood, holding the one he never expected to care for. After such years of loneliness, to be then coaxed into comfort, affection, and declarations as mates… How could he do anything but fall in love?

The sounds of his whimpers and the tears dripping on his shoulder drew Ghirahim’s attention. A gloved hand stroked Zant’s jaw, as Ghirahim planted a kiss on his cheek. “As easily moved as ever, aren’t you?”

Zant could only swallow, wheeze out a laugh. Between his hiccups, he took his one hand off the grip. Shaking out this arm, he lowered his sleeve, and bared his wrist.

Ghirahim’s amusement faded instantly. His voice left him in a snap. “What are you doing?”

“Should anyone else be the first to taint this new-forged blade, I would carry my envy for them with me to whatever wretched afterlife awaits me,” Zant spoke coldly, but a maddened spark tugged at his features. “The first blood to feed this sword must be mine.”

Shaking hands were stilled by a perverse drive for this vow, to carve into himself in a clean slice that honored such a blade. Its edge, sharpened so meticulously it shone silver, cut through his skin as if merely lingering in the air. Were it not for the sting of friction, and the dark blood pooling out from him, he almost didn’t notice being cut. A sharp gasp, sucked in through bared teeth, tore through them simultaneously as he stained their masterpiece red. Sated by the cold sweat in his neck, and the comforting, downy feeling that lulled his mind into silence, Zant smiled. Grasping the hilt in both hands again, he held it skyward before them, swelling with pride over the visceral union now proclaimed.

Two pairs of eyes stared at the fresh blood coursing down the sword’s pristine edge, as though the world around it had ceased to exist. There was only them, their embrace, and the pieces of them each had ripped out the other, in their joint hands. Crimson rolled down, staining grey fingers and white gloves alike. Zant sharply inhaled through his nose, but Ghirahim stayed deathly silent. Yet his back grew warmer, hotter, scorching pressed against his chest, and that song from his core returned. By no means a symphony, it screeched in one unanimous tone, his mind set on but one thing. 

In an instant, the blade was dispelled – shared, but Ghirahim’s body, first and foremost – and with it took its gift of blood. Swirling, churning, for as long as it could hold, to leave his trace inside the essence of Ghirahim’s self in near-permanence. It was a memento, a shred to attain immortality, to remain long after his flesh has rotten and his bones turned to dust.

His hands now free of a sword, but within his arms still holding another, Zant was frozen in place. A fierce grip broke him from his self-petrification and yanked him down by the collar. Lips crashed against his, clacking teeth and poking stray strands of hair into his eyes. But for all its aggression, to the Sword Spirit, no show of love could be more earnest. He drew his eyelids to a close and locked him in a reciprocated embrace, only to deprive this dark, stuffy room from any more of their affection. Shadows crept up on them from every corner of the room, hurrying to their master’s command. Shrouded in this black, the rustling of this magic enveloped them, to finally leave the strategy room empty.

#zant #ghirahim #ghirazant #ganondorf #tftk #tloz #hyrule warriors #bearwrites #beararts

[pastel-omegas-blog]

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING!!! THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN MATURE THEMES AND VIOLENCE PLEASE LEAVE IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I DO NOT NEED THIS BOOK TO BE REPORTED . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.( Mentions of suicide, bullying, blood/torture ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️( This book is going to have more matured themes  compared to my others, from smut scenes to non-con, lactation, drugging, hypnosis, abuse of power and over obsessiveness. Porn with plot? ( For the love of God you have been warned)

Chapter one

The loud ringing of  holy bells sent an uproar of excitement through the capital city.  

People of different species. Humans, Elves and beast folk all  gathered at the city square, their throats going sore from letting out cheers of  joy.

Young women and children throw flower petals into the air, men laughing merrily and breaking out into songs that told scared stories and sang praises to their most high, their scents all merging together to create a sweet smell of flowers and honey a scent of pure unfiltered happiness as the made their way to the Temple .

It was finally here.

After waiting for twenty five long years for the sun to clock perfectly into position the Siveria  Empire could finally celebrate the one who created their bountiful, vast and rich lands. The one who had been watching over them from for the very beginning, giving them plentiful harvest and good weather for majority of the year round. 

         ‡ †The Sun goddess Åpollonia† ‡ 

The beautiful dark skinned woman, who was born from a drop of pure sunlight falling into the rich earth and had risen with a heart as pure as gold, giving life and blessings to the domain under her rule. And now on the day of her birth as the Holy scriptures hard marked down, it was only fair that those under her protection would all gather to worship her and show their gratitude, singing her praises and sharing testimonies of her miracles.

 Who better to lead the whole week long festival than the child of light she appointed herself ? The saint who the goddess had graciously given them so they may continue to learn  how to be pure of heart and follow the ways of righteousness.

 The pride gemstone of their empire, a beacon of hope to the common people, who found it heart warming that a noble would leave the comfort of their wealth to come and educate and care for them. He was viewed as the epitome of perfection by the Siveria temple, being blessed to control sun and light månå.  Two very rare månå elements that could decide to show up  once in four generations, had been combined and was now being wielded by the man.

It wasn't much of a surprise since he was born into a prestigious Noble family, known for creating prodigies in mastery of swordplay, mystic and magic, but even with that he was already classified as a genius never before seen in his family or the Empires history, his skills going on to even rival that of the imperial family.

All these skills given to just one man. And an omega at that.  

That had been a let down at some point. The people had wanted a big strong alpha filled with charisma that could lead the people on the path of righteousness with a strong will, like all the previous saints. but after a while they grow to adore the soft spoken and kind male, who's  charms and caring personality were alluring to the eyes and sweet scent calmed even the rowdiest of folks to become soft mellow beings, despite his soft appearance, he had a strong voice that only fueled the people's belief and strengthened their resolve to do better for their beloved Empire and their glorious goddess. He was a person the people turned to for closure, for advice, for more teachings. He worked harder than all of his predecessor combined.

  He someone that had all  the people smitten by him, someone they could look upon without a doubt  and proudly say he was their  ' ØURÅ '

                       † SAVIOUR †

After everything he had done for them, they believed he deserved a  title befitting of his position.  Saint L/N was a blessing the people believed was too good for them.

The crowd gathered at the temple all holding their breaths in anticipation as they waited for the heavy wooden oak  doors decorated in ancient golden carvings to open, so the ceremony could officially start. 

Slowly but gradually the heavy doors pushed open, all falling silent as they entered the sacred marble building.  Quickly the crowd made their way to mass hall, bowing their heads to show respect to the giant golden statue that had been carved in the likeness of their goddess, then going to find seats so they could start the festival off with a  prayer and standing in the middle of the huge room, next to the alter to greet the people on this special day was none other than the Head priest himself.  A tall man standing at 6'0 and dressed in the ceremonial white and gold robes for the special occasion, his long silver hair braided neatly so they wouldn't get in his face, making his grey eyes visible, his thin peach lips pulled into a calm smile.

Caleb Treavon.

The first Head priest ever from a commoner background and the youngest one at just the tender age of 29 ( very young since until him all the other priest got their position in their early forties ). And he had  was a beta. That was a recipe for disaster

There had been much debate during his debut, and at a point even assassination attempts were made on his life, but once they saw they couldn't forcefully get rid of him they mellowed down and started to spread rumors. Whispers going about the air. ' He's far to young ' they cried out ' A commoner?!! He's not well educated the Holy temple will lose its prestige and fall. What was the former head thinking? ' they wailed. ' Not to worry. It's only a matter of time before he steps down. He will soon realize that such a hard job wasn't meant for someone like him. He's just s boy with his mind lost in the clouds '. They sneered and then they mocked, all patiently waiting for the young man to drop and give up, only to watch in horror, distaste and very few in awe as he shattered their expectations. He established new laws in the temple and destroyed the old ones that treated commoners like dirt and favoured the nobles more. He said. 

 " Everyone is Equal in the eyes of the goddess and they shall be treated so in her holy ground "

His actions caused  the Nobles rage, but He had already won the support and heart of the common folk and his brave display during the harsh attempts on his life and finding a middle ground between the two social classes made the Emperor bestow him with a medal of bravery, that made him untouchable.  He had achieved so much at such a young age and the people grow to love and adore him, the only person more respected than him other than the imperial family was of course Saint L/N. No one would ever be able to compare to their lovely omegan saint.

Caleb's smile grow even more as the crowd of people cheered for him, but with a flick of his right hand they all immediately fell into perfect silence.

The way they obeyed immediately sent a surge of power and smugness through him​ 

He cleared his throat before his loud voice resonated through the huge building.

" Dear brothers and sisters. Children of Åpollonia. I graciously welcome you all to the opening of the 874 Sun ceremony. We all managed to live to see such a blessed day and for that we have only to the goddess to thank for "

thr congregation erupted into a soft appulse , before they all fell into a silent prayer, reciting ' the song of doves ' a prayer point from the holy book.

Once their attention was back on him Caleb continued.

" During this festival we usually have a member from the imperial family open  with us, but the imperial court has been facing some difficulties lately, so that will not be happening today "

A mummer  rushed through the crowd. They were used to the nobility not joining them because of the class difference,but the imperial family was a different matter. They were the monarchs of the empire and not even one of them being free to attend such an important event called for worry. Was the Empire going to war, was a famine happening? What could be going on?

" Not to worry though, the crown prince will arrive later to greet you during the sun drop event..... "

the crowd visibly relaxed a little

" But until then the rest of the ceremony will be blessed by the presence of our Lovely Saint L/N, who has managed to spare enough time from his busy schedule to be available through this week's long festival "

whatever worry the people had left disappeared as an excited chattering took over the once gloomy hall.

' oh my goodness?! Saint L/N is coming?? '

' Uwwah~ That's so cool!! I thought we would only be able to see him during the last day '

' Can you believe he made time in his busy schedule just to start the sun ceremony with us?  His heart really is made of gold '

' My heart is pounding so fast that I think if I see his beautiful face now I might die from a heart attack ' 

' Who needs the imperial family if we can see our lovely saint everyday of through out this week. They should miss more of the important festivals then if this is always going to be the outcome '

 Another hand in the air was enough to silence the people once more and the beta male's grow more.

" Yes. So without further ado.....

       WE WELCOME HIS HOLINESS , THE  FIFTEENTH SAINT GIVEN TO US BY THE GODDESS ÅPOLLONIA....  "

The huge white doors on  the farther side  of the room opened and everyone watched as a thick red carpet rolled down to the alter, followed by two lovely little rabbit hybrid girls,  dressed in matching pure white silk dresses and flower baskets in their hands. They giggled softly to each other as they dropped rose petals on the carpet leaving a lovely trail of flower petals behind them.

After the girls had made their way to the alter they both held hands and cutely courtesied to the crowd, drawing an appulse from the people, before they ran to one of the temple attendants, the giggling happily as their care taker picked them up to join the other temple children in the backroom.

The room fell into silence as the sweet and calming scent of  lilac and cherries wafted into the air. He was finally here.

A dainty figure walked in, the robe he wore following behind him and hiding his delicate form. For such an important figure the robe he wore was simple, but the gold embroidery designs on the material made him look elegent. In his right hand he held the Sun drop staff, the staff said to be created from the same drop of sunlight as Åpollonia herself and an ancient artifact that has be passed down to all saints/saintesses through the ages and he held it with pride and dignity

It looked as if he was floating on air as walked towards the alter. The people watched awestruck, their gazes never leaving his form and even with everyone watching him like a hawk, the smile on his lush pink lips never faltered. 

How could they not though?

Milky white skin.

Rosey pink hair

Diamond like blue violet eyes

He was an angel.

       

    His Holiness Saint Oriol L/N truly was an angel sent by the goddess herself.

 *†*†*†*†*†*†*†*†*†¢∆×∆×∆×¢†*†*†*†*†*†*†*

" M/N! M/N! Did you see us? " a small red haired rabbit girl squealed as she hugged her s/c caretakers side a big grin on her on her face.

"Yeah! Yeah! Did you see us? We led the pretty saint in with the pretty dresses the head priest bought for us " another rabbit girl added, her long blonde hair bouncing around her as she jumped up, her small hands gripping his robes tightly,

" Oh of course I did Penelope you were so cute, you too Annabelle. You both  are turning into lovely ladies "  the e/c male praised , making the two kits giggle around him, as they followed him to the common room. Their laughter making the baby in the baby in the h/c male's arms squeal in excitement despite not knowing what was going on, the action making M/N smile.

They walked further to a rather secluded place in the huge building, stopping in front of a large door, excited chattering could be heard on the other side. Shifting the pup gently in his arms to free up his other arm, opening the door he couldn't help how his heart melted at the sight before him.

Children running around in a rather small room with bunk beds, laughing and playing games with each other. It stung when he remembered they had been denied of being present for the opening of the ceremony.

 After all nobody wanted to associate with the children of criminals. The offspring of  traitors  who betrayed the Empire. Even though they were all to young to properly understand what was going on, yet they were still being judged for the sins of their parents.

The chatter died down as the children turned to look at who was at the door, their tense shoulders immediately they saw their sisters and baby brother, their loving caretaker standing calmly behind them with his usually sweet smile not one of those mean monks.

The silence lasted for a few moments, before they all cheered and rushed towards them, gushing over the girls and asking questions.

" oooh~ your dresses are so pretty! Did you really walk the saint to the alter ? " Phoebe a cute little elf girl asked, her purple eyes filled with awe as she gripped the book she had been formerly reading closer to her chest,  and penelope puffed up her chest in pride  nodding eagerly " uh huh. Me and Annabelle pulled out roses and spread them on the carpet for him " the red head said her green eyes glimmering with a smug look as she put her hands on her hips.

" Yeah. Yeah. See? My hands still smell like roses " Annabelle said bringing her hands forward and Phoebe smelled them, nodding her head in agreement. " Yeah they really do. Wow it must have been nce to do that " the elf girl said, her usually preppy voice lowering down a bit, and M/N couldn't stop his smile from falling a bit at her disheartened look.  " Don't worry FiFi I'm sure we'll be able to go out for the festival ceremony this event, so cheer up "  the girl perked up as a hand touched her shoulder, her smile coming back as she saw the source of the nice words. " Mmhm. Yeah your right Robin. Then we'll be able to see the fireworks too " phoebe gushed excitedly, penelope and Annabelle joining her, making the older boy laugh. " See that's the spirit " he added as the three girls started dancing around him in a ring, joining in when they dragged him along. The petite s/c male watched laughing when they fell down in a pile, their playfulness causing the baby in his arms to giggle at the sight as he stretched his chubby arms towards their direction. " Their a rowdy bunch aren't they " a soft voice said, causing M/N too grin as he recognized the voice. " Are you sure Sophia ? You know, I can still remember having to climb up the oak tree in  temple garden to get you off because you got stuck in and couldn't get down. None of them have gotten to that level of mischievousness yet " the h/c man teased the tween black haired girl by his side, making her huff. Her cheeks turning red.

" I... I saw a Cryter bird a..and I got curious. T.. that's d.. different " the girl huffed out crossing her arms around her chest, making her guardian chuckle. " Hah! As if. You wanted to beat me in a tree climbing contest and obviously I won. You just got to scared to climb down on your own like the big baby you are. " Sophia's face burst into deep cherry red colour as she turned over to glare at the person mocking her, her stare hardening at the smug look like on his face.

" Shut it Tobi! I wasn't scared. L..like I said I got distracted and stop calling me a baby! " Her words only made the dark skin boy laugh, her blush growing worse at his actions and she stopped over to him,and the began their usual petty and bicker.

M/N shook his head softly at the sight, but his smile never left as he watched the children with found eyes. " Your big brothers and sisters look like their having fun, right Louis? " He whispered gently to the baby in his arms, causing the pup to smile at him, showing his pink gums.

Despite everything they had gone through they all still managed to be playful kids, no trauma from their past being strong enough to hold them down and M/N wished he could do more for them because of that. Wished he could give them all the childhood they were entitled to enjoy. And he was getting closer to it too.

He was happy the Head priest had listened to his suggestion, using the girls to introduce the saint. It was cute and it would tempt people to try and adopt the children staying in the temple. They needed better homes, as much as it would break his heart to see them leave he knew it was for the best.

A loud cough behind him snapped him out of his thoughts and made him flinch, the noise startling the children in the room and the pup in the omega's arms, making the h/c male start to rock him before he started crying.

The faint scent of mint and lime filled his nose and M/N felt his stomach tie itself it knots as he realized who it was. He turned around and bowed at superior, not raising it up until he was given permission and e/c eyes looked up to meet condescending blue ones

Ezekiel Mist

A recessive alpha that tended to be mistaken as an omega due to his feminine face and ' soft ' scent, but coming from the influential Mist household, ( a house known to birth only alphas ) quickly made people abandon the thought. He was seen as someone who had good morals, because  he gave up his lavish life style to help with running the Temple. A well recognize member of the temple who was known for being a perfectionist and followed the rules.

His dedication earned him the spot of being Saint L/N's personal assistant, despite having joined the temple only a year ago. He was well respected among the other members of the temple and the treated them well enough. Well all of them except M/N, but then again no one in the whole temple usually gave the s/c male the time of day.

Ezekiel stared at the smaller male and the pup a bit longer before his eyes trailed to look inside the room, the emotion in  his eyes turning to disgust for a brief moment, then going back to normal as he looked back to the s/c nun, clicking his tongue at his disheveled state.

His one size to big uniform was a mess of wrinkles and baby powder and he reeked of milk. His hair was going every where and the dark bag under his eyes was an indication that he hadn't been getting any proper sleep. Ezekiel's lips formed a sneer at the sight.

" M/N. I thought I told you to get ready by one? Your the one in charge of looking after the sitting arrangements for the nobles, then going through the files sent by the imperial court, after that the elder monks need you to go to harbor side and retrieve their order of Rose thorn essence for the cleansing ceremony tommorow morning. With how long you've been learning under the temple anyone would think you would have learned to prioritize your time by now "

The h/c male stood their not saying a word as he waited for the man to finish talking, occasionally letting out apologies. He needed to stay calm. The children were watching, he didn't need them getting in trouble because of his silly mistake.

Ezekiel let out a frustrated sigh and brought his hand to rub his temples, muttering under his breath " No wonder lord L/N decided to disown you, completely useless in every way possible. " The comment made M/N go stiff, his past flashing through his eyes for a split second and he felt his throat go dry.

The children could only watch the scene unfold to scared to speak up. The youngest on the group hid behind the three older ones, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tried to block out the man's harsh words.

Once the blue haired recessive finished the omega nodded his head in obedience, handing louis over to Sophia, his chest growing tight as he noticed the frightened look on their faces, but his hands were to tied to try and comfort them, he could only send a calming smile their way  as he walked out. 

" Oh and make sure none of them leave this room, the sight of them during the festival could stir up unwanted trouble " M/N's e/c hues widened in panic.

This hadn't been part of the deal he had with the Head priest a month ago. He promised after doing all those a necessary task, and arrangements ( instead of using the money the imperial family had sent for the occasion )  that he would allow the children to leave for the festival this night. That had been their damn agreement. He opened his mouth to protest, but the icy look sent his way made him close it just as fast and he weakly nodded his head in agreement, watching helplessly as the taller male walked away.

The words made Penelope, Annabelle and Phoebe cried louder, their vioces making Louis start to whimper and join in. Sophia,Robin and Tobi tried to calm them down, but M/N didn't miss the crestfallen look on their faces and his heart squeezed tightly at the sight.

He begrudgingly closed the door and started walking away.  He had work to do. But first..............

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Standing in front of the huge doors M/N took in a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart.  His hands shaking making the silver tray in his grasp shake a bit,the contents in it almost spilling. All he had to do was drop the tray and get out. Balancing the tray in one hand he used the other to knock on the door, almost immediately a soft voice told him to come in. Wanting to get this over with he entered.

On the other side of the door was a study. The walls painted a soft white and gold colour with ornate paintings covering the ceiling.  White marble tiles plastered on the ground. Tall shelf's filled with books could be seen at every corner of the room, a lounge chair with cream coloured leather was placed next to a huge open window, the soft sun rays spilling into the room and in the center of it all was a pure white mahogany desk, with stacks of paper work resting on it's surface and seated behind the desk was none other than the holy Saint himself.a warms smile on his lips as his jewel eyes watched the smaller male enter.

" May the sun keep you guarded and blessed your holiness " the smaller omega greeted, bowing his head, his actions making a huff leave the pink haired male's lips.

" Come M/N. I've told you to stop calling me by my title when it's just the two of us. You should call me by my name " Oriol said softly, his voice almost having a scolding tone to it as he watched the h/c male set the tray in his hands in front of him, his sharp eyes not missing how he flinched at his request.

" I'm sorry , but I can't do that my holiness. That's disrespectful and I might get in trouble for it. The walls have ears " the h/c man replied, not missing how the larger omega's lips fell into a scowl for a moment, quickly reverting back to his calm smile. Bowing to the seated male, standing up and trying to get to the door so he could leave, only to hear papers crashing the ground and a small gasp following it followed by a flurry of apologies.

" I'm so sorry M/N I wanted to eat and work at the same time, I didn't mean to honest. Could you please help me ? "

     Not like you can refuse.

It was something the two of them knew, and forcing a smile on his face M/N shook his head as he walked over to the scattered pile on the floor. " It's not a problem your holiness,  you must be stressed because you've been so busy. There's no need to beat yourself over it " the s/c nun said as he bent down to gather the pile, trying to ignore the eyes fixed on his from.

Gathering the last visible paper M/N tried to stand up only for Oriol's voice to stop him. " Ah. Sorry but some papers fell under the bookshelf, could you please get them for me? " The pink haired male asked innocently smiling at him as he brought the teacup to his lips to take a sip and for a split second the h/c male regretted not dropping the poison he had into the drink. Nodding his head M/N lowered his upper body to the ground as he glanced under the shelf, his back arching upwards, making his hips go up in the air, his usually oversized uniform hugging his form and showing off his curves for a few moments, before the smaller male sat up, a frown on his plump lips. " There's nothing  here sir " he said waiting for a reply, receiving a shocked look first then a sheepish smile.

" Really? Ah then I'm sorry, I've wasted your time haven't I ? " M/N tried to speak up to get cut off. " No no. I know your busy yet I still kept you here. Look how bout I make it up to you later ? " Again the s/c male tried to protest but was cut off.

" I insist M/N. I expect you to be in my chambers around ten. I have something to give you, also we need to have a talk about the children under you care. It would be in your best interest of you came. Besides I have a letter from Father~ "

What followed after those words was a tense silence, then a defeated sigh. " I will see to it your holiness " M/N replied dropping the neatly stacked papers on the desk before quickly walking out, closing the door softly behind him.

Once he was outside in the hallway, the petite male resisted the urge to scream. His brother could never take no for an answer, he always found a way to get what he wanted.

M/N could bet he was just going to gloat and mock him behind closed doors, tell him how much of a failure he was. Tell him how he was a stain to the family name.  

He could bare it. This wouldn't be the first time someone had done. He could handle it. He just needed to be strong. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he quickly hurried away. 

He had work to do.

 Firstly to the harbor for the herbs

°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^^^°°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^

It was almost 10:56 when  M/N stumbled finished his duties and managed to put the children to sleep, soothing them was a hard task when they could hear the fireworks and celebration happening from the room. Louis was the hardest to calm down, the pup was angry and it took longer than it usually would to calm him down.

The petite omega was sore all over, once he was done with this damn meeting he was going to take a cold bath and take off the stupid scent collar he had around his neck them have a well deserved sleep until three the next morning when this brutal cycle will begin all over again.

The side of temple that belonged to Oriol was heavily  guarded knights at every corner. Monks could be spotted roaming around the place awake to keep vigil on this holy night, the smell of rosemary herbs burning in the air to ward off evil.  Only the best protection for the Empire's most prized possession.

Gulping down his anxiety , he walked down the hallway, his gaze on the ground, trying his best not to flinch at the harsh gazes directed towards him.

Taking in a deep breath he ran over the plan in his head. He just needed to apologize for being late and get this whole ordeal over with.  He stopped when he reached his destination, his form  shrinking at the sight of the two heavily armoured knights standing guard at in front of the door. Gulping down his fear the omega spoke up. 

" U..uum I'm here to see his Holiness. H..he requested for me earlier today " he managed to stutter out, wincing at how shaky his own voice sounded. The guards stared at him, seeing his description matches to the one they were given they moved aside and let him pass, said male quickly entered the room wanting to be away from their judging eyes.

The door closed behind him with a loud thud and M/N let out a sigh of relief, the relief quickly dying as the strong smell of phermones along scent of lust and silck filled his nose violently snapping him out of his thoughts as he coughed trying to clear up the smell and desperately trying to take in a breath of fresh air and failing miserablely as all he could inhale were more phermones.

What was going on? 

He has been so focused on trying to breathe that he hadn't noticed anything else in the room. A very loud wanton moan echoing in the huge space did that for him.

The sound made his s/c cheeks turn red in embarrassment and he tried to process things at a more faster rate, all thoughts dying as he watched the scene in front of him unfold.

There was the blessed Saint of the Freverian Empire, the one said to be as pure as lamb, completely undressed. His normally neat and tidy hair sticking to his sweaty face, his clear milky pale skin covered in purple and red bruises from his neck to his chest, rosy pink buds hard and seeking any form of attention. His dick standing erect between his thighs and M/N couldn't help but notice he was larger than the average omega, those factors were shocking yes, but the icing on the cake was that the pink haired male had his ass and mouth stuffed with the cocks of two other larger male's and if the loud moans spilling from his lips indicated anything it seemed he was enjoying himself

Very much

 Other than the saint's slutty moans ,the sound of skin slapping against skin , squelching noises and the hard creaking of the king sized bed were echoing in the room and how he didn't even hear the noise before he didn't know, but one thing was for sure he needed to leave. Yet he couldn't find the strength to tear his eyes away from the seen, his e/c eyes glowing with curiosity as he watched. 

 Even though Oriol's skin was marked it still had that eternal look to it, seeming to glow in the moonlight spilling in through the open windows though to the smile shin of sweat, his eyes trailing lower to watch how his ass seemed to swallow the member entering him without any difficulties, his round ass jiggling everytime he took the man's dick to the hilt, his soft skin smacking the knot  of the man underneath him, as everytime he slammed back down harder it seemed like it would actually slip in and keep him in place. E/c trailed up, wincing a bit when he noticed the huge bulge in his throat as the pretty male wrapped his lips around the other male's cock. The same lips he would use to smile innocently at the crowds of people during parades while preaching words of the holy book. The peoples precious Saint commuting such a sin on the very first night of the sun ceremony.

M/N knew he was supposed to leave, slam the door open and run away from this place, but he just couldn't tear his gaze away from the pink haired male as his eyes trailed upwards only to freeze as he felt his heart drop to his stomach, his already dry throat going parched.

Staring back at him was blue violet eyes that seemed amused? The way he lowered his eyes making pink lashes flutter gently on his cheeks gave him an even more seductive look. With how focused his gaze was he  probably been watching the petite h/c male since he first entred and thought made M/N's blushed grow worse.  Oriol knew he had been there since the very beginning yet he didn't stop, with how the flushed head of his cock seemed to be dripping out precum it seemed the attention on him turned him on even more. A tantalizing shock ran down the s/c male's spine and he could feel his underwear getting tighter.

He needed to leave. Now

Cursing at himself for staying so long he turned and tried to open the door realizing that no matter how much he pushed it pulled it wouldn't budge, if anything the noise only attracted the attention of the two larger male's in the room.

Oriol watched in amusement as the petite male tried to open the door, laughing in his head at how bad he was failing and decided he had teased him enough. He sild his mouth off the recessive's dick, releasing the pulsing appendage with a wet 'pop' sound, watching as it twicthed helplessly in the cold air covered in saliva and precum. To bad he had grown to bored of it to give the man his release. Ignoring the whimpering alpha in front of him, the smaller male pushed himself up from his sitting position, taking the other Alpha's dick out of him, ignoring the blond male's whine as he climbed down the bed.

A growl from him was enough warning for the two to not touch themselves, before he  sensually walked over to the still desperate h/c male, frowning when he noticed their was no scent on him, catching glimpse of the scent collar around his neck.

Oh well he could deal with it later, he had waited years for this moment, he could wait a few more for the stupid scent collar, but first....

Using his larger frame to his advantage, Oriol pinned M/N's hands to the door, leaning in closer to let his breath fan against his face, letting out his scent to try and intoxicate the more submissive male and get him to submit easily ( but he wouldn't mind a struggle, got his blood boiling ), leaning closer and purposely grinding his leaking cock on the s/c male's clothed ass, not caring about how he stained the fabric, as a groan left his lush lips feeling the soft skin of the others plump ass through his clothes.

His actions made M/N struggle harder a broken plea leaving his lips and Oriol laughed. Not the sweet laughter he gave to the people or his friends he considered close. It was cynical and mocking.​

" Ne~ your begging me to let you go, yet you were the one who just stood there while watching your younger brother get dicked down, and you even got hard from it? My my ~ I never knew you were such a pervert big brother. Sadly I can't let you go. We haven't discussed your punishment for coming late yet ~ "

The way the pink haired male purred out his words in such a silky soft voice only sent a cold shiver down the s/c male's spine and his struggling stopped for a moment to see the smug look behind him.

And for the second time in his life ever since the first incident, despite his angelic appearance, M/N saw Oriol as the devil he really was. 

Only this time he wasn't sure he would be able to escape.

Hi guys. So umm.... I have no excuse other than being horny. It's shitty I know , I know, but if I stay up all night because of this so will you. Still hope you like it.

* this story is actually on a hiatus on quotev because I lost the motivation for it, but I wanted to post the chapters I've written here. I hope you all enjoy *

#omegaverse #mc #x omega male reader #x male reader #nobility #omega male reader #x bottom male reader #smut #dark #Holy Grail #Oriol

[writeious-hand]

Holding Out for a Hero: Part 1

"Fine, I'll do it myself"

After watching the D&D movie yesterday, I have had *brain rot* for Xenk Yendar. And no fic has been posted. I want romance. And you know what they say - If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Probably will be multiple parts if the writing bug bites again.

Please be kind, I haven't published fanfic in years, and never on Tumblr.

After defeating Sofina and saving Neverwinter from the Wizards of Thay, the Thieves did try to lead a normal life.

Honestly.

However, it wasn't a surprise when on more than one occasion, Thay assassins showed up to try and kill them. So often in fact, that they had to constantly travel in order to stay ahead of their hunters, who would reanimate within hours of being killed, no matter how bloody Holga or Doric made the scene. They had made an enemy of Szass Tam after all, and he was not the forgiving sort.

Finding a letter on the corpse of their last assassin (they had taken to "liberating" all of their would-be killers' belongings before they were able to revive, as it really delayed the next time they would meet) showed that the tide of undead assassins would not be slowing any time soon. By order of Szass Tam, they were to be killed in the most painful ways imaginable with a mighty prize to whoever was successful.

So Edgin and the troop once again tracked down the illustrious Xenk Yendar to find a way to put the assassins in the ground, permanently. You couldn't always count on an overfed dragon to do the job for you.

"What do you mean, a cleric? Clerics are healers!"

Xenk turned to face Edgin. "Clerics are the holy warriors of the gods. They can use the light to perform miracles, yes, but they also can harness the gifts they have been given against the undead in ways unparalleled by even the mightiest warrior or wizard."

"For the record," Simon spoke up from behind Edgin, "I also thought they just stayed in their temples healing people. So do we just stay at one until they catch up with us again?"

While it would offer the party safety, as temples are normally built or given hallowed ground and no undead can step foot there, it was decided (mainly by Edgin) that they would have to set a trap if they wanted these assassins gone for good. And they would need a cleric. The only connection they had to a holy order was the Emerald Enclave, who supposedly had dealings in the past with a traveling cleric.

There had been a small faction of the Church of Eternal Winter which had frozen a swath of land in their forest. This cleric had come through and removed the taint of Auril and in return was given a seedling of their largest oak tree and a promise of a place to rest whenever they passed through the area. According to Doric, the cleric was an elf, though she didn't know which god she was in service to. The last time they had passed through was before Doric was born.

Their journey brought them to Loudwater, the city of grottos. In searching and questioning in the section of the city populated by elves, they did not receive a warm welcome. Asking around at the many temples of Lathander and other woodland gods, there were no clerics who traveled or were willing to leave on such a dangerous quest. The party upon exiting was stopped by an orcish man.

"Sounds like Lyra. Why are you looking for her anyway?" He looked the party up and down with suspicion. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

Edgin served his role as face of the party. "No, of course not, it's just that-"

"We heard she can kill our enemies."

"HOLGA!"

After the misunderstanding was cleared, the orc who introduced himself as Zedroar Brittlebone brought them out to the Forestview Gate and into the town of tents and other less permanent structures where the orcs who labored in the fields had lived for a long time.

"Lyra's been here for a while now, keeps saying she'll leave soon but always finds a reason to stay. Says there are stories left to be told but I think she'll just miss us."

As they passed through the camp they could see the relaxed atmosphere of the community that had been built. Ahead on the path, there was a whole crowd of children orcish, human, and a few mixed in of other races and combinations. They were all sitting around on blankets or each other, listening to a woman tell a story.

"And the mighty warrior let out a fierce roar, saying You'll never get her, fiend!" The children squealed with excitement and laughed at her attempt at a deep heroic voice. She was elven, most likely a sun-elf with her golden complexion. At the sight of her, Xenk began slowly backtracking but was caught by Edgin.

"What are you doing?"

"I never should have come here." His eyes never left her.

"What are you talking about? Do you know her?"

Xenk was able to pull his eyes away, and look into Edgin's soul. "If she sees me with you, she will never agree to help."

"Now wait just a minute."

"It is high time for me to return to Mornbyrn's Shield"

"You are afraid of her." Edgin knew he was right, when Xenk stopped struggling to get away.

"i am not afraid," Now Xenk wouldn't look him in the eye, "I just don't wish to reopen old wounds."

"Come on, man. We need both of you if this is going to work. Take it from someone who has had to deal with their past catching up to them almost constantly for the past few years. The only way to get closure, for whatever happened, is to face it head-on." Edgin reached a hand to where Xenk had taken cover behind one of the wooden buildings. "I'm sure she's probably forgotten about it, since you both have been around for a long time."

Approaching the group, their other companions turned to face them.

"Where were you guys?" Holga looked them both up and down suspiciously.

"Good news," Simon smiled, "Lyra agreed to help us, right?"

The elven woman turned around from gathering her things and saying goodbye to some of the children. The casual smile on her face fell as she locked eyes with the paladin.

"Xenk"

"Alariel"

#xenk yendar #xenk the paladin #honor among thieves #dungons and dragons #fanfic #OC #dnd hat #non canon #szass tam #multiple parts? #delete later maybe #xenk x oc #hofah hat 1