#best i could do glass shattering wise

[nationalhammerleague]

can you hit andre burakovsky with a hammer but he shatters into a million pieces because he's made of glass

hitting andre burakovsky with hammer

[bunji-enthusiast]

hiii i just saw your lancelot x vampire!reader and i loveddddd it!!! i was wondering if you could do lancelot x tristan's (twin/younger whos like 15) sister??? idk just thought it would be cute

anyway hope you have great day/night!!!♡

The thousands of fluffy scenarios one could dream up is absolutely adorable, anyway I hope you like this! Have a great day/night as well anon ❤️

Your elder brother's supposed best friend Lancelot was quite the cheeky bastard you've come to know him as, but there wasn't to say that he had quite a decent amount of other sides to him. So you had wondered if you were ever going to be very close friendship-wise to find that out however.

Despite the soul-sucking hardships of life that came with growing up, being around him and your family had been made a lot easier. Though you were worried to say the least when he had disappeared a few years back, and was somehow a completely different person. As if his power was now vastly different then yours.

The sense of longing to know him again, was like a pit of despair you had no reason to want to make friends with. but life eventually pitted you against the vary thing you waned to experience, of course life always finds a way. That stupid little saying you always heard your mother say, worms into your mind for situations like these.

Every whisper is turning into voices that you began to discern as noises, the crumbling cesspit of despair that banged at the door of your mental fortitude. You always ignored the pain of what it did to you, you wanted to remain ignorant to whatever have may have happened to Lancelot. The distant look in his eyes sometimes, made your heart hurt.

Of course you had no place in the matter, only watching from far ahead as you had trained to get stronger, to get even better then your elder brother. The nagging pool of thoughts welling in your mind, eating away at your mind and will, scolding you for your inability to be unable to offer just a bit of help at all. You really hated it, but it had often made you wonder about other things, if it was ever like this for your mother and father. Tristan too, the burdens placed upon your brother's shoulders must inconvenience every aspect of his life.

Only you wished you could be none the wiser, and just be a little dumber. Rarely had you been offered chances to rest, be at peace and allow your mind to re-charge and stay ready.

The sheets were itchy, and the wind blowing across the shattered scars of the glass made your mind wrought with awakened thoughts. No sleep could overcome you, and it was a harsh inability as you clambered over to the balcony of your room–compared in stark contrast to your brother’s large bed and room, you had a small bed but a view like nothing else. 

Another day came and went, and you had nothing unique to show for it as another vein of your useless work came to be part of the royal family. You let out a low growl, sighing as your thoughts buzzed incessantly, becoming your only noise of conversation as you admired the stars. 

“That sad mood of yours can really kill one.” Your eyes flickered over to the source of the voice, familiar as it is. You couldn’t find it in yourself to use whatever energy you had to look, for that matter. 

“Look who’s talking.” You snickered in response, making him roll his eyes. White shoes clacked against the resounding hard-stone floor, you could feel the warmth ease right up to your side. It had almost made you want to ease right up to his side, a natural habit of gravitation in the human-like body to crave warmth if the body was otherwise cold. 

Looking down was often an act you regret, even from the security of the stone-railings, heights had always scared you. 

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, yet his tone seemed to be so… soft? As if he was considering the noise level for your comfort, but you sincerely didn’t want to narrow down on such a miniscule thing for no reason. So you shook your head, your eyes blinking to a close. Sleep clambered onto the edges of your eyes, and you really hated that, everytime you really were about to fall asleep–it ran away from you. 

With all the energy you could muster; “Not really.”

“You?” You asked, trudging your hand from the dusty cracks of the railing, resting your head against the smallness of your palm. Lancelot hums, an agreeable noise in response. 

One blink, two. You wondered what he was here for, but you weren’t awake enough to care or know why. So you kept the thoughts to yourself, and kept wondering as Lancelot’s company seemed to be staying longer then expected. 

Like whom a moth frolics, it was always attracted to a flame. 

“Do you ever feel powerless sometimes?”

The question hung in the air, as if it were an unspeakable thing you had decidedly dared to utter. You didn’t know what else to say, but you couldn’t stand the silence that wrangled far and high between the both of you. 

Maybe that was a definite answer. 

His eyes flickered over to yours, brief and unseeing. Yet Lancelot hadn’t allowed his gaze to linger any longer, “Plenty of times.” 

Your eyes shone with a derelict diamond, roughened in surprise at the admittance to your question. Seemingly starred such a vein and vulnerable air stout about Lancelot’s being; and you weren’t the mind reader here. 

And up high above, the stars shone brightly, as if they were commending the blonde teenager for something that would otherwise be such a difficult thing to admit. “Glad to know I'm not the only one then.” You said, letting out a breathy laugh. 

Oh way down the vice grips of your mind, you wished you would've said something completely different. But being social, let alone with someone you would know since childhood is a difficulty like no other. 

Falling was eternally a state of mind, you weren’t: brave, fearful, strong, or kind. No good qualities to note out of the two bodies standing still at the cold top of the castles, looking out from the safety of the balcony. A teasing chuckle tore you out of your thoughts, causing you to shoot him a glare, not unprepared for whatever Lancelot may say next. 

“Being vulnerable and being strong naturally equate to the same thing.” He mentions, nodding at you. 

A spotty habit, residual of your childhood years where you had sometimes joined Lancelot and Tristan in their bouts. The teasing and the banter, it was something you had come to expect come that time and age, and truly was a breath of fresh air more or less. 

You sigh, propping your chin up against the flat of your palm, “What are you implying?”

“You need to get something off your chest.”

Immediately, you rose with caution. Taking heed as you adjusted yourself, moving your elbows from the dusty pins of cracks within the stone-railing and instead leaning on your hands now. 

“It really isn’t important.” You warned, watching as Lancelot raised his hands in surrender. Yet something deep within those eyes of his told you something. 

Was he… worried about you?

[zyvel-writez]

Hello pookies! I've made this one because i saw a very VERY hot edit of Johny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow and of course, I'm a simp and into older people. so I hope this explain a lot.

Also you can also read this in my Tumblr acc.!

__________________________

"Captain, are you sure this is a wise idea? I mean, were in Tortuga. What if he knows were here?" One of your crew asked, as you and the crew stepped out of the ship one by one.

You turned around to face them. A stern look on your face.

"Its fine, beside we've been sailing for two years and land is the only place where that bastard Jack Sparrow can't steal nor touch my things," You explained. Ever since Jack had heard of your name and titles, Jack has been visiting you and your crew for almost 1 and a half years now and it annoyed you so much that you could murder anyone.

"Were just gonna have a little walk and try to relax today. Were gonna meet here again and leave tomorrow at 7 in the morning. For now, just enjoy the time." You finished your sentence and the crew nodded to you.

"Aye aye, captain!" They cheered happily before walking away into different directions.

You sighed tiredly as you started to relax your tense body.

maybe today will be a relaxing day.

You then walked around the place, visiting different store and even went to a library. You decided to stop at your favorite bar but as you get closer to the main entrance, you saw a huge fight, people gathered around and shouting, others even bet some money of who will win. You stopped at your tracks and turned back around. You couldn't and won't ever waste your precious time hearing the sound of fight and the sound of glasses shatter into small pieces. You sighed irritated but took a deep breath to calm yourself. You won't let anything ruin your day today.

I guess the library is the best choice then.

You walked back to the library and spend the rest of your time there, reading books, novels, and even learned something on the books called Science. You were sitting at the same place which was in the corner of the huge room, enjoying your time alone until you heard girls squealing. You turned your head to the direction of the annoying voice and saw 2 girls, looking at you with a clear blush on their cheeks. You blinked your eyes multiple times, but nonetheless, ignored the two girls.

Time passed and you continue to ignore the girls until you couldn't take it and dash out of the library. You looked up to the sky and a cold breeze hit your cheeks. You figure out it was the best time to go and drown yourself with rum, after all, you don't have anything to do now. You sigh in relief once you saw that the fight earlier had died down and you let yourself enter the bar.

You sat at the tool and ordered a bottle of rum. Once the rum have arrived, you brought it to your lips and begun to drown it. The hot feeling of the rum running down on your throat made your body relax more. This continued three more times and once you were on your 3rd bottle, the door of the bar opened and the guy sat next to you. You couldn't see their face because of the freaking hat he was wearing. You dropped your bottle of rum down and closed your eyes, feeling a bit tipsy. You were savouring the moment of relaxation not until the feeling of your bottle slipping away from your grasp.

You opened your eyes and looked at the man next to you, now the man's hat was on the table and the first thing you recognize is his brown hair and dreadlocks. You glared your eyes at him, already feeling annoyed.

"What in the name of Davy Jones are you doing here?" You spat, keeping your eyes at him no matter what. 

"Oh, hey there captain. Fancy meeting you here." He simply said, having his signature smirk on his soft lips. You rolled your eyes at him and snatched your rum back to you.

"Hmm, I wonder why? came to take something you want, perhaps?" You slurred, as you looked around the bar and people continued to increase each seconds. 

Jack's grin only widened more, he knows his getting under your sleeves again. "Not actually, just came for the love of my life." He said and you raised your eyebrows.

"You mean this?" You asked  as you pointed your finger at the rum on the table. 

"Yes...and no." Jack replied while fidgeting with his fingers, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes. 

"You really expect me to believe you won't steal anything from me?" You said with a chuckle following behind, "I know you Sparrow and you won't fool me this time. not like the others." 

Jack furrowed his eyebrows and took a swig of the rum, "Oh come on love, you really believe those rumors about me? well I'll tell ya', I'm not a liar but a man of my word." He slurred, looking at you with his teasing smile.

"It's captain l/s to you, Sparrow." You sneered, giving him a death glare. And then there was the annoying feeling again, it was like something was moving inside your stomach that made your whole body tense. There it is again. so annoying.

You took another swig of your rum while Jack looked at you in silence.

"You know, you've been calling me by my last name and never heard you say my name. Do you perhaps fancy my last name, hmm?" He states, moving his body to face your sides, acting like he's the one in charge, "Because if you want it, I can replace yours into mine."

The liquid that was just about to go down to your throat, suddenly burst out of your mouth and onto the table. You slammed down the bottle of rum, wiping your lips with the hem of your sleeves while looking at Jack with wide eyes full of shock.

Jack's smile only grew wider once he saw your reaction and he's loving it. You on the other hand, were looking at him with many mixed emotions. You tried to say something back at him but your voice won't even come out. The tingling feeling came back to your stomach and this time, you felt your cheeks getting really hot.

"What? cat caught your tounge, love?" He asked, still looking at you teasingly which only brought your cheeks more hotter.

You tear your eyes away from him and looked around the bar.

The way he looked at you, you could tell he was enjoying every second of him teasing you like this.

You stand your ground and clear your throat before speaking to him, covering your emmbarassment.

"Let's get this straight and tell me upfront, why exactly are you here?"

You can see Jack smirk before letting out a deep breath and you can feel your body tense each second. "I've been planning on stealing your heart for a while now, but I seem to be having a really hard time achieving it." Jack mumbled quietly, and it made you confused. Why does Jack Sparrow need your heart? Did someone order Jack to kill you and take your heart out?

"For the fucking last time. What do you want?" You gave Jack a death glare and your hand having a tight grip, showing him that you're not playing the game no more.

"What do I want?" He chuckles, before pulling out his pistol and pointing it at you, " Oh no dear, it's not a want but a need."

You furrowed your eye brows together, looking at Jack's pistol then to his eyes again, "And what exactly do you need from me?" You asked slowly.

Jack tapped his pistol on your chest where your heart lies inside, and slid his pistol under your chin,

"I need you on my side, forever until my very last breath here on earth."

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK: CHAPTERS 21&22

Ghirahim copes with the aftermath of his conspiracy. What is a blade to do, without a hand to wield it?

I'VE kept you all waiting for quite a bit haven't i. well i'm making it up to you! 2 chapters in one go! one VERY big thank you to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading these. quite a bit happens in the aftermath of zant's betrayal... i'll let it speak for itself.

the promo art for these chapters was heavily inspired by, and is basically an homage, to Houseki no Kuni's volume 7 cover! HnK influences a lot of my writing tone and symbolism. i really recommend it!!

this chapter has a bonus of another new language... protogermanic! it's written in elder futhark. you'll have to wiktionary the rest! teehee! (it's not plot-relevant, just a little easter egg for you all!)

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 | Part 15 | Part 16

CW for: graphic violence, toxic relationship, suicidal ideation (brief mention)

From the shadow of one colossal threat, into the other. This one weighed on him far heavier. Ghirahim stood in the cold dark of Zant’s chambers, for a moment, taking refuge in the first second before his eyes could adjust. Ever-so-indulgently, he blinked just a little longer than he had to, shrouding himself in the comfort of that shadowy blanket and shielding himself from what he would now have to undertake. When he opened his eyes again, he glared at the shape lying on the bed. When he strained his ears, he could hear a squeaky wheeze, little grunts of pain spotting through his breath. 

Perhaps he had been a little too optimistic, hoping for Zant to have succumbed in his absence. Ghirahim approached the bed, the injured Twili upon it heaving his blankets with his arduous breathing. Neither of them had noticed he was still holding the Demon Scimitar. What good would it have done, to be any more aware of that frivolous thing? Ghirahim could forget about any urge, any fantasy, of using it to pounce upon him and flay him where he lied. With every step closer, that little dagger all but shook in his hands, cheering to see its beloved alive, though not well. It exploded into a cloud of diamonds, each shred and particle snaking back into Ghirahim's core by a trail. Such bothersome affection was best left where he could keep watch of it, and lock it away, deep where he could no longer feel it. All until this rotten fool would recover, rip it from him, and drag him about by the strings of his weakness all over again, no doubt.

Six seconds. That was how long he spent in that chamber, up until that point, when a flash of light broke through the gaps in the curtains, and briefly cast the room in dim light. Another second and the thunderous roar of a massive impact followed. The whole castle shook, dust raining down from the ceiling, the contents of shelves jolting in place and tumbling to the floor, glass and ceramics shattering on the spot, and wooden furniture rattling on their legs. The screws from Zant’s canopy bed gave way. A curtain rod, drapes and all, dislodged from its place and bared the fallen Twilight King to the little light that made it through the windows.

The tremors subsided at last. All of the palace – no, the world, was eerily silent. Sand, carried across the desert by the shockwave, pelted against the outside walls and spewed through the curtains. Ghirahim approached the bed, grains crunching beneath his feet.

Peering at him through swollen eyelids, Zant turned his head ever so slightly. “Your last gambit, I take it?”

Ghirahim deigned to answer. A last gambit, indeed, but one he never wanted to play. Majora’s words rang in his head, clear as day.

“... use it wisely, for when the tides of war turn irreversibly against your favor.”

Oh, and how the tides had turned. In one fell swoop, Ghirahim had lost both the battle and his Master, both of these promises doomed for failure from the very start. By accepting Majora’s allegiance, all in the name of the pitiful man now lying wheezing before him, those very tides crashed into him again, only from a different angle. Now that he stood there, wave-beaten as he was, the water cleared from his eyes. He could see just how laughable of a trap he’d fallen for. In calling Majora to his aid, Ghirahim silently wondered whose hands he had played into.

Zant stammered through this silence. It seemed he could not go a single minute without ushering his little plans along. “We cannot stay here. In the next few hours, those taking refuge in the dungeons will free themselves from their barricades and swarm through the Palace. If they find us–”

“Our lives will not remain secret” Ghirahim interrupted. “I get it. You want me to find some alternate place, yes? Or, even more probable, you already know exactly where you want to go?”

Zant averted his gaze. If Ghirahim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was an expression of guilt. Though, a playful one, like that of a prankster caught in the middle of their schemes. It may as well have been, to a man like him. 

“Do you remember… That ruined little village in the woods?” Zant asked, finally.

“I do.” 

Questions he once would have freely blurted out with a wry smile now refused to move, lodged somewhere in his throat by their barbs. They buzzed in place, instead, like cicadas stuck in their husks. Was there even a single house intact? Would such shabby lodging truly be up to his standards? But to return to such banter, nothing would feel more unnatural. In choosing to remain with this man, his capricious yet determined self was cut off from whatever steered him now. 

So Ghirahim stood and said nothing further; simply stared.

Zant took his silence as a prompt to continue. “I spied one house on the outskirts, I believe, that could at least shelter us until I recover. I was considering our base at Eldin, first, but I do not trust it to be properly deserted. For the time being, if you could take us there…”

“Yes. Fine.” Zant’s words were full of implicit little meanings as usual. Teleport us there. Clear the coast. Bring bandages. Bring bedding. Steal whatever food you think we can use. Take every God-damned thing that you value because we are not coming back. And don’t get caught. 

Once, he thought reading into his every word was a skill, a convenience that made the two of them more efficient than any other pair. How awfully intrusive it felt now! As if Zant, instead, wormed his way into his mind, and commandeered him as he pleased!

Ghirahim’s arms hooked under the fold of Zant’s knees and around his shoulders all the same, cradling the injured man to his chest. To let that line of thought go any further was to suspect a past weakness where he had once seen strength. He thoroughly had enough of those today. To dig any deeper, to realize –

Zant’s head slumped to the side, burying his face in the nape of Ghirahim’s neck. He was burning up. Of all the wounds he’d sustained that day, one of them was bound to fester. Ghirahim supposed he would have to snatch some coriander along the way for a tincture or two, and –

Oh, Hell. 

—

Their arrival at the abandoned town had been uneventful. War was raging on beyond the treeline, miles and miles away, but in this forest, the simple cycle of life and death turned and turned along as though the world had been quiet. Birds rooted around in piles of fallen leaves for their morsels, bucks bellowed for their harems further out in the woods, and rodents hurried for cover, away from these strange new arrivals, as though they’d been the only disturbance for years. It felt thoroughly undeserved. Ghirahim’s life was on fire. It would only have been fair for this place to feel its cinders, too. 

But if everything was judged by his standard of fairness, he never would have left Ganondorf’s side. Zant would have been wearing his usual stupid, blindly loyal smile beside them both, and they would have Hyrule’s ashes stomped to coals beneath their feet. Instead, Ghirahim stood inside the last standing house of this village, surrounded by bare necessities. Zant lay in a makeshift cot, sweating a fever away tucked in the shadows of the room. Finding a spot for him had been a bit of a challenge. The place was littered with uncovered windows and a hole in the roof let in a persistent beam of sunlight even if he managed to fashion some curtains. Ghirahim sat against the wall across the Twili, face buried in the comfort of his favorite cloak. Termites and lichen made their home in the logs pressed against his back – how this place hadn’t collapsed along with the rest of the village, Ghirahim couldn’t say. Zant would probably have some long-winded theory about it all, but if he heard even another squeak out of that man before sundown, he wouldn’t hold himself responsible for whatever happened next.

And night did fall, after hours spent in nothing but solitude. Ghirahim sporadically flitted about the house, passing through like a ghost. Through the windows, the forest’s naked branches clacked in the wind like the dead waving their skeletal arms. One way or the other, he supposed the memory of those he wiped from the face of the earth in Gerudo Desert, sent its regards. But the Desert was far behind them now, their belongings scattered across the floor or bundled up in chests throughout the little house. They would not return. 

Ghirahim sat outside as the sun sank below the treeline, poking at the cinders of a fire pit he’d set up a little ways from their shelter. The night air was a little easier out in the open, without the soft sounds of suffering keeping him so dreadfully on edge. To sit by Zant, with so many accusations to sling at him but no motivation to do so, filled him with such a terrible thunder. He couldn’t stand another minute in there with him. 

Of course, he was enraged at Zant. Somehow, that maniac had managed to deceive a Demon, and, with how Ghirahim so piteously carried him to safety, had gotten away with it, too. It was infuriating, as much as it tore his heart to pieces. They had loved each other then, and though Ghirahim had let it shatter, the shards of this love still remained within him.

Zant meant no harm to him, this he knew. But what the Twili did not seem to get through his thick skull was that in threatening his Master, that threat extended to his most loyal blade. 

What other choice did Ghirahim have, though? He didn’t have the authority to be selfish, but deep inside himself, he cherished that wish, still, to have his true purpose fulfilled in the hands of his Master. Removed so far from Him now, for the first time, Ghirahim confronted his wish head-on. He could not bear dying a second time, without his true purpose fulfilled. So, even if this incarnation of Demise would not wield him, he could at least try to live on, and wait for the next. The only way to safeguard that childish desire now, was to remain hidden away, by Zant’s side.

Plop. Plop. Plop. Something was close to burning in the pot he was tending to. Bubbles rose through the thick liquid and popped into tufts of steam at its tawny surface. He took the pot, but a little rattle behind him urged him to turn before he could return to the cabin. Yet the ruined village around them was quiet, his idle scrying sensing nothing out of place. Dismissing the disturbance as another quirk of his agitation, he kicked a serving of sand over the smoldering ashes of the fire pit and headed back inside.

Zant sat propped up in his bed. His hand was raised to his face in a puckish, half-hearted attempt to conceal that he had been poking at his stitches mere seconds earlier. Ghirahim ignored those silly traits and handed him a bowl.

Raising shaky hands, his scarred ear straining to twitch, Zant took the bowl with surprise. Wide eyes peered inside. “I… Did not know you could cook.”

Ghirahim curled his lip, offended both by his carefree attempt at small-talk and at the underestimation of his abilities. “I am Demon Lord. I hold encyclopedic knowledge spanning thousands of years, and you think I wouldn’t know how to prepare a simple gruel?”

“... Forgive me for inquiring,” Zant mumbled, bringing the bowl to his parched lips. 

A moment of silence passed between them, with Ghirahim again hunched down against the far wall. Sitting there, staring at Zant somewhat struggling to feed himself through tremoring hands and an injured throat, became quickly unbearable. 

Ghirahim was tending to one of his daggers, a leather case full of them beside him, when Zant interrupted their silence again. “I must say, Ghirahim… I did not expect you to want to care for me, as grateful as I am for it. I remain a little jarred.”

Ghirahim furrowed his brows. Rose from his seat, made his way over to the cot and loom over the wicked thing nesting there. “Simple. It would be inconvenient if you died now. I have put everything on the line for you, Zant, and to let you perish from something as simple as a fever would mean I’ve wasted valuable time. I’m a deserter now, thanks to you,” Ghirahim hissed, looking down on him from beside his bed. “Do you understand? You owe me everything.”

Zant for a moment seemed intimidated. A long, spindly form, normally so towering, sat folded in on himself more fragile than a newborn bird. He blinked up at him with his big eyes, before resigning himself to nursing his bowl of food. “I know, Ghirahim. I know. And you shall get it. All in due time…”

That was how Ghirahim spent hours. Days. Cleaning bandages and watching a traitor eat porridge. Oh, Demise Mercy. He must have been defective. The both of them, fools locked in a little hut, each robbed of their sound minds. Back in the Palace, Ghirahim must have knocked the last sense out of Zant when pummeling him for his transgressions, or he would have realized the idiocy of his plans by now. In that same vein, he himself must have had his reasoning beaten out from him with the hammering of steel. Otherwise, he never would have tagged along. The Demon King was not an enemy one could meet in any way other than prostrated, begging for a quick end. Yet here he was, persuaded to betray him, head-on.

This exact line of thought repeated ad nauseum in his mind nigh every hour of every day. Either Ghirahim would hush it with some excuse, or let its flame run its course, quietly, yet viciously, behind dark eyes aimed straight at his conspirator. Today was one such day of well-contained rage, tempered as he tended to the last of Zant’s injuries. Despite the many ills he would wish upon the man in his darkest hours, Zant’s health was indeed improving, leaving only lethargy and persistent pains, both of which motivated his loud complaints. 

And how he cursed this recovery. Every bit of care sparked an affectionate streak in the Twili. Zant spent what little energy he could spare on conveying his gratitude, carefully at first, but growing ever more bold. Ghirahim flinched from his touch in these early hours, until it angered him, swatting his hands away at the slightest provocation. But at the first solid contact, the laying of those pallid fingers on his false skin, he realized he was powerless. 

He had missed it. Ghirahim craved to be touched by him. It was the closest thing to a disease he had ever felt.

There could have been many things that made him stay. It could have been Zant’s bizarre kindness, his devotion, and all their fond memories. But above all, Ghirahim was a Blade. He followed power. Even when laying there, too ill to move, there was a spark of determination in Zant’s eyes. A deep grudge that had rested in smoldering tar until finally ignited, burst into flame deep within the Twili, and would not cease burning until he got what he wanted. Zant had died not once, but twice, and came clawing out his grave with the same deathly resolve each time. Narrowly escaping death a third time, the fire still lit in his soul proved it. There would be nothing stopping that man from taking Hyrule, promised by his expression alone. How horrifyingly familiar it was.

So Ghirahim allowed it. All of it, his affection, his schemes, and his weakness, as Zant lay there shallowly breathing. Even in the chance his comparison was false. His captor, his usurper, had trapped Ghirahim so thoroughly by his side that there was no choice but to remain. And through his efforts, past something so cruel, Ghirahim loved him still. Zant would take everything the Demon King ever had, starting with His blade.

As Ghirahim lamented this, he loomed over him, tugging the stitches out of a freshly sealed scar. Out of all moments, Zant thusly decided to be possessed by another one of his honey-eyed fits. He reached his hand – a little steadier this time, but hesitant, still – to Ghirahim’s face, to trace a thumb along the blemished skin of his cheek.

Only to recoil. Zant tested again, running his thumb along the little dimples left by Darunia’s hammer. “Did I do this, Ghirahim? In convincing you to betray your Master, did I damage you?”

Before Ghirahim could get past his perturbation and respond, Zant looked at him intently. His hand flat on his jaw, Zant spoke gravely. “If I cannot do this without hurting you, I have already failed. You are a collateral I cannot accept. I wouldn’t forgive myself, and, by the Sols, would not expect you to either.” 

Pallid hands found his own. Zant stroked past his fingernails, talons that they were, beneath his gloves. He guided this hand, and pointed its nails at his heart. “Tell me, then, if I am to blame, and, should you wish it, to repay my crime against you… Kill me.”

Ghirahim paused. For a moment, he indulged the thought. He imagined rooting past his ribcage and ripping out whatever strange, beating organ lay beneath. Only to find the appeal fall flat. If he had any cheer in him, he would have had to stifle a laugh at this bizarre request. He must think I’m stupid, he thought. It’s a bluff. He knows I’m in too deep to conspire against him. 

Pathetic, wretched man. Is this the only way he knows how to express love? Empty threats on his own life, gored upon my blade?

“Don’t go on such ridiculous tangents,” Ghirahim said, wrenching his hand free. “It was Darunia.” He turned his back on him, then said no more. 

Silence fell, one of the many unbearable ones they kept on having inside this house. Without looking back once, Ghirahim made for the door.

Zant interrupted him, right as he placed his hand on the door handle. “... Ghirahim, please-”

“Please, what?” Ghirahim snapped, glaring at him over his shoulder. “After everything you’ve already taken from me, you have the nerve to ask any more from me? What could you possibly want?”

Zant startled. “This is what I mean! Do you intend to sit and simmer in silence for the entirety of our cooperation? You are bursting at the seams with unsaid frustrations, and yet, you remain with me. So do us both this favor and hurl whatever you have bottled up in there my way. Clearly, this tension benefits neither of us!”

Ghirahim froze. Did it truly take this many days for Zant to wonder? Was it so inconceivable to him, up until this point, that anger would remain? The urge to snap at him was irresistible. He pushed the small crack in the door he’d pulled open back shut with far more vigor than necessary, and whipped himself around.

“You wish to hear it? Fine. I’m astounded I even have to spell it out for you. Aren’t you so smart? So cunning? You’ve ruined my life!” Ghirahim shouted, stomping his way to the center to the room. “Every chance I’ve had in this war, to build my reputation, to bond myself to my Master, you’ve sabotaged. With your ridiculous plots, your manipulative little distractions. And then, oh so merrily, you lay there on your deathbed and say, you intended to have the one man that matters to me, killed!? What a terrible fate you’ve strung me up with!”

In all technicalities, it was impossible for Ghirahim to run his voice ragged. In his frustration, it still had. His words tumbled out of him moreso than he spoke them, tripping over hitches and bumps on their way out. “By all means, ‘sitting and simmering’ is the most charitable thing I could do to you. I ought to tear you limb from limb and feed you to the pigs!”

Ghirahim heaved breaths through clenched teeth, fast-paced in his rage, but gradually slowing. Before him, Zant looked petrified. How cathartic! To cause him even the slightest fraction of pain, after he himself was hurt so deeply! 

But as much as it soothed him, the sight also fizzled out his drive. Ghirahim knew he couldn’t tear into him forever. So, his hackles going slack, he resigned himself to solemn reasoning. He looked at him bitterly as he spoke. “But I won’t. Because what good would it do me? You’ve made sure every home I ever had in this wretched time is burned to the ground, and every ally, gone with it. You give me no choice but to go along with your schemes. I’m trapped in here with you, so I will act as damned frustrated with the part as I please.”

Throughout his outburst, Zant had cowered, his eyes wide and on the verge of tears. He’d looked hurt, like for once his plans weren’t packing out the way he expected. This changed when Ghirahim’s temper grew calmer – where Ghirahim’s resolve faded, Zant’s grew. His eyes narrowed, his lips drew to a tight line, and his back straightened. Zant looked thoughtfully down at his hands in his lap. “I see. So you think you are blameless in all this?”

“Don’t you dare –”

Zant’s face snapped up towards him, once again freezing him inside that all-consuming gaze. “No, no. Ghirahim, you act as though I’ve forced your hand at every turn through this. I must make one thing crystal clear to you, it seems.”

Zant took a deep breath, his eyes closed, and sighed it back out. His patience gathered, he spoke. “When Ganondorf first summoned me, Ghirahim, I was ready to die. I had been since Cia resurrected me, too. And though I indeed intended to stray from Ganondorf, it was only ever a wishful thought.” His tone grave at first, he soon grew wistful. “Had you not accompanied me, my Blade, and showed me the vastness of this world, I would not have wanted to remain in it. I would have lost myself to a drone-like state and fought to the death without aim, as I had before.”

“And,” Zant said, eyes aimed straight at his core. “Had you not taught me swordsmanship, had you not given me our scimitar, I would not have become as strong as I am now.”

Ghirahim could see it now. The full extent of the trap he’d fallen into. Strings intertwined. Each bound by their wrists, twisted and tangled. Forcing each other closer, and closer, until their laced fingers tied together and soaked red with the blood on their hands.

Zant saw the moment the dots connected behind his eyes. Despicably so, he almost looked smug. “So face it. We have sculpted each other like this, for better or for worse. You chose to return to me. On Death Mountain, in the Temple of Souls, and even after I revealed my deceit to you, you came to me of your own accord. Do not dare blame me for the impulses of your own heart.”

All throughout Zant’s words, Ghirahim felt a storm brewing inside his chest. Thunder threatened, rolled, deep within, until at long last, it snapped free at such simple words. 

“My heart?” Ghirahim scoffed, grit his teeth. The elation of his next words nearly sent him into delirium. He glared at him madly, wearing an incredulous smile. “I do not have one!”

Somehow, a statement of truth evoked instant distress in Zant. His eyes went wide along with the cracking of his temper. Biting his lip, huffing almost childishly through his nostrils, Zant reverted to his old ways with tears beading in his eyes. 

“Why must you always quarrel with me?” Zant whimpered, composure finally gone. “I saw you exploited, in danger, and I took you with me. I cannot deny you your nature as a blade, this I know. B-but even then, all I wanted was to place you in safer hands!”

Ghirahim’s expression, on the other hand, did not change. He folded his arms, his nails digging into his skin even through the cover of his gloves. Fabric nearly creaked beneath his grip, straining at the seams. The stupidity of it all was almost enough to pacify him. Keep him safe? A living weapon, in time of war? Zant was a little boy living in his own reverie. 

Ghirahim was at once disappointed with this spineless response. He sighed. Narrowed his eyes, then growled his next words. “Then you failed.”

Zant bared his teeth, similarly balling his fists. “Perhaps I may have. But in banishing us, Ganondorf, too, forced us into this fate. If it had otherwise meant dooming you to scrap, then my conscience is spotless.”

He felt the corner of his lip twitch with involuntary rage at this. Such a presumptuous face was just begging for a fist to be planted square in the middle of it. Ghirahim wanted to step forward, to grab him by the collar of his nightgown and rattle the mess of his brain some more, but a different part of him begged for him to be reasonable. 

Ghirahim would never get the chance to wrestle past whatever held him back. Before he could set another step, a tremor shook him to a standstill. At once, the gentle, golden rays seeping in through the ceiling cracks turned red. Not the warm vermillion of sundown, but rather, a sickly crimson, stifling every other bit of light like a bloody fog. At once, the woods around them turned dead quiet. Not a leaf dared to rustle. Then, another tremor, rattling the rusty nails in the floorboards and shaking dust loose from the ceiling. At once, Ghirahim felt it. Deep in his soul, a roar and a magnetic pull, urging him to flee the house. Yet, he remained frozen in place.

Zant looked up, peering intently out what little window he could see. He whispered.

“Ganon.”

Ghirahim did not notice when he stepped into Zant’s range, but he must have, because a hand suddenly clasped around his wrist. Zant stared at him intently.

“It’s time. Take us there,” he insisted, clamping on with a tightness a man this frail shouldn’t be able to manage. “Somewhere safe. A vantage point. I must see him perish with my own eyes – I’ll trust no one’s account on it.”

Ghirahim furrowed his brows, revolted, but soon stopped struggling against him. Either way, there was a deep instinctual need that drew him to the battle Ganon now was entangled in. If he dragged Zant along, the man could do very little harm to begin with. But what allured him most, was the thought of leaving him there to be discovered. Zant’s naive drivel had, once again, drawn his ire. The effort Ghirahim had spent in keeping him alive may very well have been a fallacy, should he change his mind now… But to bring him directly before his old Master may very well reinstate his position by Ganondorf’s side. 

And, if he was lucky, in his hands. This was his very last chance. 

—

As they arrived, within a second, Ghirahim saw his last chance slip from him, vanishing into thin air. He had taken Zant with almost suspicious eagerness, situating the both of them atop the cliffs that surrounded Hyrule Field. Stroking a hand through his hair, he propped the man in the shadow of a great tree. Leaning on makeshift crutches as he was, lacking his helmet, he would need to be a semblance of safe. Or at least feel the part. 

But when Ghirahim turned to face the battlefield, to where his Master was bringing chaos to the lands of Hyrule, he lost any hope he had. The source of the ground-shaking pounding of hooves, of the malice-filled roars, was unmistakable. There rampaged Ganon, Demon King, reducing the once-green fields to a barren wasteland under the deep-red skies. He was colossal, resembling the man he knew only by his fiery red mane. Now, he tore through barricades in the form of a boar, with tusks like battering rams and clawed fists decimating men by the dozens just by galloping past. In his wake, keeps had crumbled, monsters had feasted, and a gigantic sword had lodged itself in the most suitable pedestal of all: Hyrule Castle.

Zant limped to the edge of the shadow to stand behind Ghirahim, close enough for him to hear the manic giggle under his breath over the carnage.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? All that power. That is what the Triforce contains.”

It was. He was dazzling, awe-inspiring, enough to bring the demon to his knees, eyes and mouth agape. The world trembled before the Great King of Evil, who had brought ruin to the once-so-grand Hyrule Castle, and swept any resistance aside with a single swing of his hand. But it was also terribly, terribly, wrong.

“... He’s lost his mind. I have seen this before. Ganondorf, as we have known him, is gone. There will be no more negotiations, no more allegiances, and no Kingdom to rule. The Princess must have pushed him over the edge –”

“And he’s taking everything down with him,” Ghirahim finished, the words leaving him in a quiver, like it was the last breath he would ever take. He fell to his knees.

Zant had the gall to snicker. “Oh, but he will not win. He cannot, not if – Ah, there you have it.”

As if struck by some unseen force, Bestial Ganon recoiled. Attacks once focused on the Demon himself now veered to the Colossus Blade lodged in Hyrule Castle, instead. Ghirahim remembered this sword – forged for the hands of Giants, only to be seized by the clutches of Hell, and made into a conduit for the Demon King. If it functioned anything like the one kept in Demise’s palace, it would have served as an amulet, to cast a protective spell over its Master. 

And now, it was being bombarded by a deluge of shimmering arrows, and wicked little birds carrying explosives in their talons. It all pitter-pattered on the midnight steel like prismatic rain, but the shriek of cracking metal was no less foreboding. Though Ganon chased them down, with the arrival of the Rito, all troops were heading for the Castle to reclaim it. Ganon tore through brick and mortar with enough force to crack one of his horns clean off, but it was too late. Launching the demon boar back, the Colossus Sword shattered. Though no less dangerous, Ganon was now vulnerable. 

Ghirahim whipped around to glare at the man behind him. Those eyes looked on the ensuing chaos like nothing was out of place. “You know more than you let on. Spit it out.”

Zant squinted his eyes nearly shut with a wide grin. “Ah, well… It was a gamble on my part, but I confess. Do you remember Chancellor Meherat?”

Ghirahim grimaced at him fiercely enough that no words were necessary to get him to continue.

“I intercepted her in the desert, buried her in a shallow grave. But not before planting a letter on her body, detailing some… Educated guesses, on how he might attempt to conquer the Castle. I’d hoped her traitor-sisters might find the body and give her a proper burial, and I was correct. I’m almost a little taken aback by how well something so brash seems to have worked.”

Ghirahim at once flew back to his feet and lunged at the Twili. He grabbed him fiercely by the tabbard, tugging him down to eye-level with his fangs bared… But past his enraged panting, found he couldn’t force a single word to form. With every anguished bellow behind him, his grip on Zant slackened. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look. So he buried his face in the fabric of Zant’s cloak, and let it soak up every tear he spilled. When Zant brought his hand to his back and stroked it softly, he wanted to recoil. He wanted to shake off his wretched affection, sprint down to the battlefield and come to his Master’s aid, but all was hopeless. In this state, Ganon would not even recognize him. Not as his ally, not as his blade. He would shatter him to splinters on the spot.

Ganondorf had broken his promise. Ghirahim would never return to his hand.

So, defeated and ensnared in the Twilight King’s web, Ghirahim gave up. He hid himself from the sight of his dying Master, as the monomaniac he clung to looked on in fiendish delight, nearly drooling at the power he coveted.

Until, as the clamor continued, Zant prodded at him to catch his attention. “Ghirahim,” he hissed. “We have been spotted.”

Mind gone muggy from his despair, Ghirahim sluggishly turned to where Zant urged him. Surely, at a distance, there stood a trio of blue-clad Hyrulean soldiers – two Hylians and a Rito. They were almost mere specks in the yards between them, but certainly eye-locked, nonetheless. 

Zant leaned in, whispering as though they might hear from such a distance. “It is in our best interest that Hyrule believes we are dead. We cannot afford witnesses.”

Ghirahim stared a little longer, but soon the Rito braced himself, flapping his wings to take off in flight. 

“So, what are you waiting for?” Zant chimed, extending his bony hand in the direction of the now-fleeing group. “Go, Yima Gradiegra. Kill.”

Ghirahim hadn’t realized how he’d hungered for such words until the command alone blazed fire within him. Before he’d even registered it in his mind, his feet took off in a sprint. All his fatigue, his listlessness, had disappeared, peopling his mind instead with this newly-acquired purpose. With bloodlust.

Kill. 

The first head rolled. The next drew a sword on him, only to find his blade flying into the dirt and himself skewered in a flash. Downy feathers fluttering down from above reminded Ghirahim of the Rito, who had taken off beyond his reach. With a snap of his fingers, Ghirahim sent a cloud of daggers whistling through the skies and plunging themselves into the plumed flesh of his target. With a squawking scream and a few futile wingbeats, the Rito sank in the air, and plummeted down to the ground. 

Only when he pounced on the already corpse-bound soldier to carve his throat for good measure, did a call of his name snap him out of this droning state. Without even looking back at the carnage he’d left, he winked himself back to Zant, and hid himself in his arms.

“Excellent work, my Blade… You and I, we shall have Hyrule at our feet.”

Those words, those hands stroking his back, encouragingly… Something burned within him and it sickened him. Enough to burrow further in those wretched arms. It was not just the sights of war Ghirahim hid from. Not just the unbearable reality of watching his Master die before him a second – no, third time. Most of all, he hid from the off chance he would meet Ganon’s eye from afar and have him see the spark of delight that lingered there. The shame it would bring to admit he had followed another man’s commands – a mortal, – and found joy in it… It would be far easier, were He to die without knowing of it.

So Ghirahim let Him. In the shadows of the Twili’s cloak, he could see nothing, but the deafening sounds of the clash behind him spoke volumes. An army of demons, falling to the hands of flesh-born men. The mightiest of them all, slain by the powers of light. As he had time, and time, and time again. For once, Ghirahim had the privilege to avert his gaze from his Master’s fall. Though he took it, he regretted it in an instant. 

But this regret did not last long. His eyes snapped wide open when he heard a low rumble, followed by a horridly familiar giggle. A shockwave soon launched the both of them back. Ghirahim, still hidden in Zant’s arms, landed on top of the injured man completely unceremoniously. When he raised himself to see what pushed them back, he came upon clear amber skies of dusk, and Hyrule Field green and spry as if nothing had ever touched it. A crumbled land, bathed in golden light, stretched out before him.

“Ghirahim, my ribs,” groaned the man below him. Though addressed, Ghirahim lingered just a few seconds longer than necessary, before turning to sit beside him. Listlessly, he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Now, I truly cannot go back.”

“No,” said Zant. “But we can start anew, once more.”

Ghirahim deigned to respond. He supposed they would have to. 

So, they returned to that little forest town, as bit by bit, the World returned to normal for the victors. The two of them noticed nothing of these efforts, other than their bond slowly returning, as much as Ghirahim wished to struggle against it. With his last tethers to his True Master now gone, there was little, so, so very little, tying him to the wishes of his past life. Day, after day, Ghirahim’s walls chipped away, allowing that old fondness to peer cheekily at him through the cracks in the mortar. Captive and Keeper, Victim and Tormentor, Blade and Master. Conniver, and Target. Such words he would once have used for their dynamic, but he had no word for what it was melting into. The life they led, sheltered in these woods, defied everything he knew. 

It was bare, it was calm, it was quiet, this one-man sick bay. These days, the most excitement Ghirahim got was the occasional target practice on a woodland bird, that he could then feed to his patient. If they’d wanted, they could have fled, then, a pair of deserters never to be heard from again. But, deceptively, in these moments of peace, Zant was letting his plot simmer. A man like him would never have been content with a simple life. 

Neither was Ghirahim. Not for one minute did he consider this drag of an affair his possible future life. If he could not have Demise, then he would at the very least have vengeance. Now that Ganondorf could not give that to him, he would take it himself. Hyrule would burn for what it did.

Ghirahim dapped a wet rag on the gash by Zant’s forehead. Arterial scabs were stubborn to heal, and on Twili, this seemed to be no different. By all means, there was no reason for him to keep doing this. Zant was able to sit up by himself just fine and had long abandoned his fever. Yet, with so little to do but wait, not even an army below him to amuse himself with, he’d rather care for this fool and feel useful than sit around. When he finished reapplying the bandages, Zant thanked him with a coo and a stroke of his thumb across his cheek. Then, he requested from him his field guide, that strange hobby of his. Though he’d traded calligraphy ink for graphite, Zant was no less eager in his scholarly pursuits and would sit, hunched, working on sketches and descriptions of creatures whose appearances he’d long committed to memory. Ghirahim was thankful for these moments. There were only a few forces in this world that could rip Zant from his concentration now, and he wasn’t up to such nonsense that day. 

So, he did what he would every time the house got quiet. He went for a walk. At first, he would just explore the ruined town at his leisure, perhaps turn over a stone they had missed when they first came here and find anything of intrigue whatsoever. On the third evening, though, far into the woods, he began to hear voices. Whether it was the fairies, or huntsmen, or soldiers looking for the last monstrous hideouts, he was not keen on finding out. What if, upon the sight of him, they would scatter, and spread word of his survival to Hyrule? No, he would much rather ambush them than seek them out. Since then, he’d taken to calling his habit of wandering a patrol.

On the eighth day of his roaming, an unfamiliar sound sent his hair standing on end, and his fingers braced to summon his weapon. It was a rattle; not like the clacking of branches, as he was used to, but like the shaking of an instrument. Hollow… As his eyes scanned his surroundings, he remembered something Zant said, so long ago now. He, too, complained of hearing such a sound at the edge of the woods when Ghirahim himself could perceive no such thing. Did he, somehow, transfer this madness to him?

But madness it was not. For soon, the rattling returned, this time accompanied by a troubled little whine. Then, out from the bushes, a strange creature barely the height of his knees came toddling towards him. It seemed to be entirely made out of wood, with stumpy limbs, antlers like branches, and a painted leaf stuck to it, serving as its face. Once it had confirmed Ghirahim could see it (doubtlessly through his bewildered, and somewhat disgusted look), it spoke.

“ᚺᛁᛏ:ᚾᛖ:ᛊᛁ:ᛊᛈᚱᛖᚲᚨᚾᚨ:ᚹᛁᚦᚱᚨ:ᛃᚢᛉ:ᛁᛏ:ᚷᚱᚨᚢᛏᚨᛉ:ᛒᚱᛖᛊᛏᚨᚾᚨ:ᚾᛖ:ᛚᚨᛁᛒᛁᛃᚨᚾᚨ! ᚠᚢᛚᚷᚨᚾᚨ:ᛗᛖᚲ!”

Of course, Ghirahim understood not a word of what it had just said, but had an idea of what it wanted. It waddled away from him with great urgency, only to turn and jump up and down a few paces later. Ghirahim looked behind him, thinking what would become of Zant, were he too stray too far… Well, if he was spirited away, that wouldn’t matter to him anymore, would it? With his true purpose gone, his sense of caution had also gone almost entirely slack. He decided he didn’t much care for the consequences of following woodland creatures into the thicket. So he just did that, and set off after the panickedly bouncing creature. Every once a while, it hopped high enough to see past the tall grass. Which was a thoughtful, but unnecessary gesture. He had long since set his dowsing to the odd little thing, and could follow it to the ends of the continent if he had to. 

It had already been later in the day when Ghirahim departed their shelter, but the light in the forest grew ever more ochre as he chased after his odd chaperone. They passed through wisps of fog, which were familiar in their chill… For a moment, Ghirahim thought the moment of his disappearance must have arrived, and the soaring sound of wind seemed to agree. Until, with just a few steps, the clouds pulled away at once, and his sight could not have been more clear. The wooden creature guiding him then came to a sudden halt, refusing to go any further. When Ghirahim stopped behind it, it quickly grew anxiously irritated. Squeaking some unintelligible request, it got up behind him and started pushing him in the calves, urging him to go on. Generously, he complied. Less generously, he took offense to this undignified interaction, and promptly kicked the creature off of him. It led out some little cry of pain, tumbled backwards into the brush, and, alive nonetheless, scurried out of sight.

The last stretch the pixie expected him to walk was short, as soon he waded past a juvenile treeline to find a clearing. In the middle of it, hovering above the gnarled stump of a felled tree, was Majora. And, the poor sod it inhabited, slumped over in the air like a marionette at rest. The second Ghirahim stepped closer, though, the puppet came to life. Glowing a deep purple, it shrieked a little, before rapidly jerking its arms to and fro. Having sufficiently awakened, its mask leered down at him.

“Ahh, how nice of you to join meee, Ghi-ra-hi mmm,” spoke the mask, hitching on each vowel like a rusty hinge. Majora’s host convulsed, creaked, its master forcing its head into jittering angles. 

Somewhat unnerved, but unwilling to show it, Ghirahim crossed his arms and managed a pleasant greeting. “Good evening, Great Gluttony. Your vessel is looking a little worse for wear.”

“Yesss-s-s-ss, it is becoming… Too small for me ee e. Crampedddd d. T t t. But it matters not. Not for me, and not for it. W itness me.”

The puppet stopped shivering. Its arms fell limply by its side. Hand by hand, it then began to grasp at its face, feeling around for the edge of the mask. Gloved hands, their talons poking through the fabric, found the opening of the puppet’s jaw and yanked. 

From its open mouth, a claw surfaced. More curled around the rim, one by one, until an entire draconic hand forced itself through the far-too-small opening, and slammed itself into the ground. From this anchoring point, Majora pulled itself out. Wild, iridiscent manes pooled from the defenseless Skull Kid in an avalanche, until from this mass of fur, an armored dragon burst outward. The mask, once stuck to the vessel, now rooted itself to the dragon’s face, leeching into its flesh by pulsing, pink veins.

It bristled and shook. The last of its body wormed itself unnaturally from the beak of its vessel, like a snake shedding its skin. With a single flick of its furred tail, it had completed this metamorphosis, and discarded the Skull Kid against a nearby tree with a thwack. 

Now before Ghirahim, the towering mountain of armor and mane that it was, stood Majora, the spitting image of its former self. Once, it was more massive than this, yet Ghirahim was dwarfed before it. The tips of its horns almost grazed the lower canopy of these infant woods as it sat. Where its colors were muted and meager millennia past, the bright colors of its sealing curse had turned it into a veritable prism. Through the trees, the light of the setting sun enshrined its wispy fur in an infernal halo, leaving Ghirahim imprisoned in its shadow. The Great Gluttony, Arch-Demon of the Timeless Lands, had returned to this realm.

Well, for as long as that mask could keep this form up, at least. It rumbled with satisfaction, shaking out its head to dislodge its fur from its triple set of horns. As it moved, the plates of its armor clanked together like cymbals. Ch-Ch-Chsss!

“Charmed. Anyhow,” said Ghirahim, thoroughly unamused and checking his manicure. “A little woodland sprite hassled me to come pay you a visit.”

Majora grimaced, for as far as a reptilian face could do so. It dropped itself to the ground, folding its claws comfortably. “Messing around with fairies? Have you learned nothing from our last encounter?”

Stepping back slightly from the gnarled purple face leering closely at him, Ghirahim kept his countenance cold. “I’ve learned to spot a trail when I see it. Now, what do you want from me? I’m a very busy man.”

Majora wagged its head side to side almost cheerfully. “Oh, I wanted nothing more than to say my thanks for the little nudge you’ve given me. And, of course, to have you witness my return to glory,” it said and raised its behind. Curving into an arc, Majora stretched out its long-dormant body. “It’s been soooo long since I could properly stretch my legs!”

“I don’t recall doing a single thing for you. But, if it gets you out of my hair, then I most gratefully accept.”

Sitting back down with a gasp, Majora had its eyes wide and grin wry. “You truly must give yourself more credit, your lordship! Had it not been for your oh-so punctual summoning, I wouldn’t have had enough power to feed!”

Majora sat up on its haunches, coloring its words with gestures of its claws. “With the lives you sacrificed in the Desert, I could finally clamp my jaws into a long-desired target. All of Ganondorf’s misery, mine, all mine!”

Standing in the dragon’s shadow, Ghirahim widened his eyes and covered his mouth in shock. But before he could sink into guilt over complicity in his Master’s death, Majora took his expression alone as a cue to keep babbling. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. How else do you think Hyrule returned to peace so quickly? This place would have been a wasteland, had even a drop of his rage been left to simmer. By all means, I’m such a nice little demon! The Hylians should love me.”

Amidst that self-satisfied prattling, Ghirahim could have been gnawing his nails clean off. Had he not accepted Majora’s offer, then it wouldn’t have been able to, ‘eat Ganondorf’s misery,’ as it said. But then, did this contribute to Ganon’s defeat? Had he, by purging Gerudo Valley, ensured that untimely demise? Or was Majora merely a scavenger, picking the scraps off the Demon King’s carcass? 

Could he be certain Zant hadn’t known all this, the second they left those woods, mere months ago?

Nail polish sticking to his teeth, he was quickly snapped out of his thoughts by large, shimmering talons pawing at him. “Ghirahim!! Lookie-look! My little vessel seems to have survived. How quaint!”

Just by the tree where Majora left the little creature, small squeaks and groans emitted from a beaten form. It sat up shakily, patting at itself. Said vessel’s true face was now revealed. It was a featureless, shadowy thing, with two glowing beady eyes and a sparrow’s beak. Soon, that beak burst open, freeing an anguished wail. Unintelligible babbles poured from it, prompting the two distraught fairies beside it to start dragging it to the shrubbery, doubtlessly perturbed by the pair of demons glaring down at them. But being parted from what was once its mask only made the childish thing shriek harder. Nevertheless, the fairies prevailed in their escort, as more and more of them poured from the woods to help pull it away. 

“Poor thing,” tutted Majora, watching along. “It must have gotten attached to me. And who can blame it? Power is alluring, even as it devours you.”

Ghirahim turned, feeling thoroughly addressed, to indeed find Majora looking at him closely. When their eyes met, it flashed its teeth with a grin and got back to its feet, prowling circles around him. Ghirahim felt his hand itching for his blade. Why did he come here unarmed?

“Either way, once more,” Majora purred, teeth still bared past its lips. The marks on its mask coiling, coiling, coiling, in the illusion of its shimmering scales. “I thank you two for your generous assistance. Consider your debt from the Lost Woods… Thoroughly repaid.”

Yet the intimidation display shook Ghirahim none. It could prowl around him all it wanted, he would not be prey. 

“Us two?” Hook, line, and sinker. “So, you were aware of Zant’s intentions, all along? Have you both wound me up in your cahoots behind my back?”

Majora stopped in its tracks, but Ghirahim would be hard-pressed to find even a split second of insecurity in that wicked face. “Cahoots? Oh, I didn’t have to get involved with him whatsoever to know his intentions,” it said. “They were clear as day! But, even though I poked around him a bit… He most likely does not even know I exist.”

So, his two tormentors just so happened to get viciously lucky. Ghirahim didn’t believe a lick of it. Though, the idea of the Arch-Demon breaking past Zant’s mental wards unnoticed… It was as unlikely as it was intriguing.

Guilt turned to contempt in a flash. He now saw Majora as responsible for the death of his beloved Master, rather than a tool that ran haywire under his watch. His apprehension, as such, disappeared just as quickly. Anger scrubbed every courtier’s discretion from him, and returned to him his true foul temper of a Demon. Ghirahim crossed his arms and faced Majora. 

“If you supposedly know everything, surely you can tell me if Zant is hiding anything else from me.”

He very quickly saw that boldness cost him. Majora approached him, placing each claw carefully before the last in an elegant prowl, and burst into laughter once it was right before him. Just then, it braced itself, bristled its fur to become a mountain of shimmering fleece, and hurled itself at him.

Ghirahim yelled out as he was pounced. Had he thought quick enough, he could have summoned his sabre and buried its tip in the pink flesh of its throat, bared as it was when it guffawed at him. But he hadn’t, so pinned between its claws, he stumbled to the floor, and let it loom over him.

“You are getting greedy, imp,” hissed Majora, inches away from his face. The colors in its eyes pulsed with warning. “By all means, I have been generous with my information… Yet you demand more? Knew I not steel to taste terribly…”

“You cannot blame me for trying –”

“I can,” it growled.

Yet in its rage, Ghirahim found his escape. His one hand concealed under the bulk of the dragon’s scaled claw, he snapped his fingers, and promptly disappeared from under its grip. Instantly annoyed, Majora hobbled in a circle, only to find Ghirahim sitting on a branch above just out of its reach.

“Right, then, I suppose I will have to find out some other way,” said Ghirahim, idly swaying his leg over the edge of the branch. “If neither of us have anything else to tell each other, I assume our little parley ends here.”

Majora flexed its talons, for a moment looking as if it would jump up and scuff him. But it narrowed its eyes in a relinquished temper. 

It sat back down. “If that’s how you want to part, fine by me. You’re dismissed, ‘Demon Lord’.”

“Wonderful. I hope to be seeing very little of you, Great Gluttony Majora. Enjoy the new skin. I found mine suited me quite well.”

With another snap of his fingers, he was out of sight of the clearing. He felt like a buzzing in his head finally faded, while he hadn’t even noticed it come on as he spoke with Majora. With a few more paces, it had gone completely. Just as he, Majora had departed. As it did, the forest took just a moment of quiet; held its breath. Then, it sighed collectively, a knee-height plume of fog pouring in through every crack. Above him, at his feet, and every which way, chittering and chirping filled his empty head in gratitude. He supposed, for now, the annoyance of fairies was preferable to the hatred and regret he’d left simmering on the backburner after the encounter of mere moments ago. 

It was time to head back.

Ghirahim shambled back through the treeline. Gossamer fog pulled away from him like a sigh the further he departed from that clearing, the fairies’ cries faded with every step. As luck would have it, he’d let himself be lured into the woods by the Fair Folk, and they hadn’t even had the decency to spirit him away.

Back he went to his house of conspiracy. With that excuse for escape now locked behind him, Ghirahim felt an odd sense of peace. A resigned one, but peace nonetheless. 

Ghirahim neared the edge of the forest, but did not yet surface from it. Through the leaves, the last light of dusk colored his surroundings golden, tree trunks carving big black pillars of shadows all throughout this dying light. These shadows made for a fine hiding spot, but not at all from the man looking for him. It then struck him just how long he must have spent with Majora, even if at the time, it seemed like minutes.

Which meant all the more that he should quit dawdling. Ghirahim stepped through the mouth of the little elephant path he’d followed before and entered the town. 

His King was waiting for him there. Zant sat on a stack of firewood outside the house, staring at the first stars speckling the skies. On his hands, he was idly letting some kind of beetle tromp along his wheeling fingers. He perked up from his thoughts when Ghirahim’s arrival rustled the thicket. The two met eyes.

“Gone for a bit of an evening walk?”

“Indeed. You don’t mind, do you?” Ghirahim scoffed. “Surely, you can manage an hour or two without me?”

Zant smiled, turquoise flashing through the marks of his forehead. “Yes, I can, but I would prefer not to,” he responded, beckoning him over to sit with him. Ghirahim only half-refused, opting to lean against the shack wall behind him, instead. 

With a brief pause, Zant looked over his shoulder to address him. “Right, ah… Listen, Ghirahim. I wish to divulge the next step of my plans with you.”

Ghirahim hummed, cocking his head. “Just about time, I’d say.”

While Zant should have expected snark, he clearly didn’t. A little caught off guard and flustered, he continued. “... Yes, my apologies. I –”

“Oh, please,” interrupted Ghirahim. “I don’t want any excuses. Just tell me.”

Zant nodded sheepishly, then scraped together what little dignity he could. “I will allow myself a few more days of rest, six at the latest. We will reclaim the Triforce of Power first, but we cannot take the Valley with just the two of us. We will need troops.”

So, that’s what he wanted all along. Ghirahim couldn’t even find it in him to be surprised. Perhaps somewhere, he’d hoped that Zant was content with Ganon’s death alone. But, always there was more. His Master and Zant, both, thirsted for Hyrule’s throne. It was to be expected that he would follow through, and, with enemies like theirs… They’d need some seriously hefty tools for the job. Taking the Triforce was the next logical step. 

‘We can start anew,’ indeed… They were back at square one. 

The lack of response made his companion nervous. Somewhat anxiously tapping his foot in the dirt by his seat, Zant continued. “The Bulblin Clans have been loyal to me before, and they are easier to persuade than most. When I have recovered, we will recruit them first thing.”

Eyes cast to the ground, Ghirahim hummed, crossed his arms. So, their little getaway was to end so soon.

Zant shifted in his seat. He looked up at him. “But, in the meantime, Ghirahim, I want to ask you a favor.”

“And what would that be?” Ghirahim asked, tipping his head. Might as well humor him.

“I have been resigned to bedrest for too long, and I fear I have grown sluggish. For both our sakes, Ghirahim, teach me how to wield you again.”

Ah, this was it. Just as he’d predicted, Zant was to break through his walls, and free what part of himself he had so thoroughly kept locked away. Smothered no more, the little dagger that loved him so pressed itself to the gate of its prison, and awaited its opening with bated breath. They would give it what it wanted. The Demon Scimitar was made to be wielded, just as he was. At least a part of him should feel that satisfaction.

So, saying nothing, Ghirahim pulled the Twili to his feet. In doing so, the wobbly creature stumbled into him, squeaking in surprise. That saved him the trouble of pulling him close, he supposed. Hands at his sides, Ghirahim craned his head up to look at him, daring him to act. Zant had wronged him, worse than he thought he ever could. Yet, Ghirahim saved his life, twice over. The least he could do now was show him that he at least had the guts to assert himself. Ghirahim would not lead this dance.

After some deliberation, the wide-eyed gawking of his amber eyes and wiggling fingers on reserved hands, Zant made his move at last. One lanky arm curled around his waist, as it would always do, while the other hovered above his chest. For once, it was Zant avoiding his gaze, not the other way around. All this effort, all this plotting, all these meticulous efforts to secure his usurpation… And now he could not even touch the one he called his lover. He was a fool. A coward. And Ghirahim would not stand for it. So he tested what Majora claimed it had done.

He pierced through that frail, mortal mind at once. Of course, against his Gradiegra, he’d built no wards. Ghirahim seized him firmly by what tethers he could grab, and commanded him.

Look at me.

With a yelp, Zant obeyed at once. And when those glowing eyes found the deep, void pupils of his own, Zant faltered. His hand fell on his chest and the Scimitar was beckoned. Their souls latched together, just like that. Crack, crack, Twilit magic slowly peeling away the skin to his core to lay bare that precious gem. Where he was once apprehensive, Zant quickly became eager. For a powerful blade was just that, and he would chase after such an allure without cease. Even if it meant toying with the heart of the one who mattered most to him. Especially then. But it was not just Ghirahim’s deepest self brought to light – he still had Zant ensnared, like fingers wrapping around his throat. As his questing magic lapped at the edges between them, Ghirahim saw every inch of him. Through his mind, through his hands, and through his eyes, so close to him now.

So was the truth to be revealed. Zant had not changed. After parting his veil of lies, Ghirahim expected to find a completely different man hiding behind. But he did not. All that had changed was the light he saw him in. And how dazzling it was, pointing at his every nook and cranny, bright as day! He’d torn him open, baring every ugly rotten part of him, that stabbed and plotted and hated, so, so deeply, sticking out from his flesh like hooks to gutted fish. And yet, amidst all now in plain sight, Zant’s eyes looked at him that very same way. A laughably simple plea for affection glinted in the wetness of his eyes. Somehow, even when orchestrating a grander scheme than Ghirahim could even dream of doing, a deathly weapon within reach, Zant could think to wish for his companionship – No, to strive for it, to hold it tight and make it his own. As if it could be of any importance, as if Ghirahim cared, as if he expected him to simply forgive him overnight. All just because he loved him.

They were the same, in this way. They’d ripped each other apart and sat panting across each other, hands drenched in each others’ deepest parts. In this idiotic, violent act, the borders between them had blurred and slurried together.

Oh, how they were the same. And how gently Zant traced his fingers along the measly wall that kept them separate. Hoping, perhaps, that a tender touch now might ease the violence that would come later. It would not, but the sentimentality of it all would bring mirth to even this demon. Nevertheless, Ghirahim groped his wrist, dragging him along to place his hand square on his chest. Ghirahim then wished nothing more than to be breached. To return the favor, to mend what was broken. The gentle flutter of eyelashes and Zant’s shaky breath tickling his skin made the wait unbearable. All at once, the heat in his body gathered in his chest, and its surface cracked. His core was within view, within touch. Enter me. Let us blur together some more.

So, Zant’s fingers slipped past him. Dodging his sharpest facets, and plunging directly into the molten heat of his core, Zant made his way to that promised hilt. And as his hand drew closer to its goal, so too did their bodies draw together. They hid in each other, their faces buried into the napes of each others’ necks. Like this, Ghirahim could feel every wince, every drop of sweat from that awful Twili, who struggled through his endurance to keep his hand in the blazing heat of his chest. Ghirahim smiled a wicked smile, and at last, embraced the man who tried so hard for him.

“By the eighteen Hells, I hate you,” Ghirahim hissed. But how I missed this love. 

“Then, forged by the fires of those Hells, and your burning hatred, Yima Oibede, let me draw our blade.”

Ghirahim laughed in mockery. Yet, all the same, he jut his chest forward, and in doing so, pushed the pommel of the blade he’d hidden into Zant’s hand. Such tenderness had earned him this gift; embraced as he was, with each engrossed in nothing but the other. For a sword was equally made to be held, as it was made to kill. 

Spindly fingers finally dared to curl around the grip of him. But when Zant tugged, he found it stuck. Once again, the blade was incomplete – after such a betrayal, the image of their bond had irrevocably changed. So, the little dagger that embodied it had to change, too. This time, when the blade sapped Zant of his strength, he did not yelp, he did not even flinch. Readily, he poured his magic into it, and let its threads be woven into a truly wicked sword.

Ghirahim hated it. He wanted that composure shattered and he wanted it fast. So he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of Zant’s neck and let him squirm. And, though indeed, his reaction was as delicious as the taste of his blood, it only lasted so long. Zant, driven by what could only be instinct, snarled with bared teeth and bit him back. Like two wild dogs entangled in strife, they took from each other, one pulling at shards of the soul, and the other savoring drops of blood. Ghirahim let ichor leave him past the holes left in him by needle teeth, and Zant lapped it up, even if by all means, it could poison him. 

Zant whined at him through black-stained lips. “Ghirahim-ili… How I’ve longed to rule with you by my side.” 

With that promise, Zant freed the blade with one last tug. It burst from him, spurting an arc of white-hot liquid metal in its trail as Zant held it by their side. The Demon Scimitar has returned to his hand, once wicked but now gnarled, black and red in hatred and the love of a bleeding heart. Even with this blade in his hand, as instrumental a key it was in his plans, Zant never took his eyes off the scabbard in his arms.

When they kissed, it was like lightning. Fierce, shocking, and above all, bold, serving to release their bottled-up affections and frustrations both. With the taste of iron on their lips, they sealed their blood pact in this way. A promise of carnal pleasure, turbulent love, and of course, with blade in hand… The violent glory of battle. 

When they parted, neither of them could say how long they’d stood there in lip-lock, though the smearing of blood and cosmetics gave them an idea. 

Now, Zant stepped back, his arm still loosely resting on Ghirahim’s waist. He finally took the time to survey the changes to their blade. A grin stretched across his face… He likely didn’t even notice it did.

“Beautiful, Ghirahim-ili,” he said, turning it in his hand to drink in every angle. “I would go to war with no other blade.”

Ghirahim slipped from his embrace and laughed. “Then prove it. Let’s fight.”

Ghirahim drew his own blade, one simple and heavy. He did not have the concentration to summon anything more thoughtful, for his core hummed and buzzed far too erratically to let him even think of a careful choice. The man whose hands just plunged into his soul and pulled out his own piece stood before him… With his stance too wide and his arms wobbling. Where Ghirahim wanted to again spiral into conflict and despair, he now puffed out a laugh. 

“Last time I struck you in the chin for such sloppy stancework, Zant, but I’m a little hesitant to do so, without your helmet to guard you.”

Zant grinned. “I don’t think you’re hesitant at all.”

“You’re right,” Ghirahim chimed. At once, he launched for him. Zant flinched, but did not falter, swinging upwards to catch the offending blade on his fingerguard. Of course, Ghirahim didn’t fight him with all his vigor… They were only practicing, after all, and Zant was recovering from the brink of death, still. But every few swings, he found he could hit harder than he anticipated. Only once did Zant’s hands shake enough for their clings to slip, and land him a painful jab to the wards in his armpit. He was still just as careful, as analytical, and as fierce as he was before his bed-ridding… Taking advantage of the new, thorny shapes jutting from the Demon Scimitar, he flicked Ghirahim’s swing off course. 

When Ghirahim was then struck, he stumbled, and realized how he’d been tricked. 

“ ‘Teach me how to wield you again’ ? What an awful excuse! You remember what I’ve taught you just fine,” Ghirahim grimaced, poorly masking a grin with fake rage as he brought the flat of his blade down on Zant’s shoulder. “Deceitful fiend! You baited me.”

“Indeed, I teased you,” Zant whistled through gritted teeth, prying the both of them apart through the locking of their swords. “But I could use the refresher.”

They trained for what felt like hours – not from dull exhaustion, but because the minutes melted away as they clashed their blades under the setting sun. Zant’s joy was infectious – or was it he who had started laughing? – and soon, they chased each other in a true mockery of swordsmanship. They then cared not what bruised or what tore. All that mattered was this dance.

Inbetween manic giggles, Zant reeled him in with glee. “Don’t you feel it, Ghirahim-hasir? The thrill of sparring again? Day, after day, how I’ve longed for this!”

Ghirahim could have berated him then, for having dared dream of such childish things while bringing him such suffering. But to reject this shared joy now, nothing could feel more unnatural. So, he went for the next best thing: a swordmaster’s scolding. He had been merciful with Zant’s sloppy mistakes up until then, but no longer. Whacking right into the Scimitar’s sharp edge, he trapped Zant’s blade in his and wrenched it from his hands with one sweep of his arms. With nothing left to protect him, Zant flinched, staying perfectly in place to then be kicked square in the chest and knocked to the ground.

Sword planted firmly in the soil right beside Zant’s face, Ghirahim stepped over him, one foot at each side of his chest, and leered down. “Then, you ought to long for tomorrow, too, Twilight King. You’re getting rusty.”

Blinking up at him and panting, Zant was frozen in place from his startle and exhaustion. A drop of ichor falling on his cheek thawed him out quickly enough. His fingers curling around his victor’s blade, he smiled.

–

And so, six days went by, with Zant retiring from his bedrest and taking up their blade once more. Before the sun rose, Ghirahim was shaken from a daze to find the bed next to him empty. Stood waiting at the window, eyes wide and staring miles ahead of himself, was Zant. The day to recruit their soldiers had arrived.

They joined hands. Zant knew just where the Bulblins would be that season, and could warp the both of them there, without Ghirahim’s assistance. Since the event of Ganon’s death, Zant had recovered almost to the point of being his old self, if one ignored the gray hairs, the scars, and the dent along his jaw. Magic flowed through his veins once again – if Ghirahim had to hazard a guess, he must have been conservative with it before, not wanting to draw the attention of their Master. He wondered, idly, if sharing a piece of the same Triforce came with a bond he could not have had. Ghirahim shut this line of thought, very quickly, before he could vie for the attention of a dead man all too severely.

They arrived at the outskirts of the Bulblin settlement shortly, just as the sun began to set behind the dry grass. The expanse colored ochre in the light of dusk, almost bloodstained, to cast the camp in a similar light. It was a tall-fenced enclosure, with only some shacks on the outside for the occasional pastoralists… Who were now glaring at them with great scrutiny. Upon wandering a smidge too close to the gate, a small troupe of guards marched up to halt them. Only to then, where they’d been blinded by the sun before, realize who stood before them, and sent one of their numbers to inform the Earl post-haste.

Led through the sea of tents and cabins, they arrived at a large, black, goat-hair tent at the nexus of the settlement. Inside, they found – eyes led to the center by racks upon racks of ornamental weaponry and tapestries – the Bulblin Earl, Lord Hallra, seated upon a wooden throne, and surrounded by smaller blins. 

Upon their entry, Lord Hallra laughed, his arms spread and clutching a massive axe in his right hand. “Shadow Lord Zant,” he shouted, beckoning them to approach. “What a surprise. Word had it you’re dead. Or has your Master resurrected you once more?”

Zant bowed his head, just to be polite. Ghirahim did no such thing. “No, Lord Hallra. I am alive and well. And, here today, of my own accord.”

The Earl leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knee. He wore a cheeky grin. “Then, I take it that you need something from me.”

“Indeed I do,” said Zant, prompted to continue by a gesture of Lord Hallra’s meaty hand. “Your hospitality is much appreciated, Your Excellency, and assures me that our favor with you has not yet faded. I will keep it short. As soon as our forces are ready, I will march for the Valley of Seers. To do this, I need soldiers. Your clans happen to be the finest that I know.”

Flattery. How bold. Ghirahim decided to sit this one out – he had very little to do with the brutes around them, as interested as they seemed to be in him. Doubtlessly, the smaller Bulblins peeking at him through the spear racks were making plans to make some room for him in the armory. 

Lord Hallra, meanwhile, rumbled thoughtfully and sank back into his chair. He ruminated on the offer for a frustratingly long time. Finally, he shook his head, rattling the decorations on his horned helmet. 

“My people have sworn ourselves to you before, Shadow Lord. You are strong, I know this, but we have already pledged our allegiance to Ganondorf before. By all means, he was your superior, and still he failed. I see no reason to join forces with you again.”

Such words were poison to Zant, made vile by the mentioning of his former Master. Zant recoiled accordingly but did not back down. “Ganondorf was a fool, and so was I, when I followed him the first time. He was under the impression that he could rule alone, abandoning those who served him to keep his throne of ashes to himself. He did so in the Age of Twilight, and he would have done so again. My usurpation of Hyrule now will be very different from back then. I will not settle for a mere piece of the Triforce. This time, we will claim all of its power in full, for our own.”

Though he seemed ready to have the two dismissed just seconds before, Lord Hallra sat back in his throne, scratching at his beard with intrigue. “Curious, then, how you didn’t attempt taking it before.”

“Back then I did not know I could. The Triforce will only settle in the palms of those with its birthright. Unless you know how to tear it from them.”

“Hah! I don’t suppose you can simply tell me?”

Just then, Zant exchanged a glance with Ghirahim. They at once spotted a weakness in Lord Hallra’s otherwise powerful stature. An obvious fracture to Ghirahim, but seemingly, just as clear to his companion. Zant was a demon in this way. A desire – and if the Earl had something to wish for, so did the Twilight King have a bargaining chip.

Naturally, Zant sunk his teeth into the opportunity with a smile and amicably raised hands. “You spoke of our allegiance before. Centuries past for you, and mere months ago for me. I remember it clearly. Particularly, how you abandoned your bond to me when Hyrule’s Hero bested you in battle.”

At the first sign of a frown from Lord Hallra, Zant stepped closer. Sand puffed up from the tapestry below his brass slipper. “The Bulblins are an honorable people. You follow the strongest. With Hyrule’s victory over Ganondorf, I do suppose that would make Queen Zelda your superior, but I know neither of you would fancy such an alliance. Instead, I propose the following.”

Reaching behind him, Zant took the hand of his Sword without having to look for him. He held him as if escorting him to a dance, feather-light. “Lord Hallra, I challenge you to a duel. If I am the victor, the Bulblins will serve me with their numbers in overtaking the Valley of Seers once more. Should you win, I will surrender, and with it, bestow the knowledge upon you that shall lead you to the Triforce. It will be yours to command, and yours alone.”

As Zant spoke, the pudge of Lord Hallra’s cheeks dented more and more under the force of his knuckles as he leaned his face upon them. With that last sentence, a spark of greed lit in his eyes and raised his brows – the bane of all Men. “... Hah! You pillock. Ganondorf would never have proposed such a promising offer.”

Zant’s smile did not even twitch. Slowly raising his hand, he led Ghirahim closer. “Did I not tell you my rule would be very different?”

With a chuckle, the Earl lowered his eyes, hiding his gaze behind wrinkled lids and plucky lashes, like straw stuck into his skin. He leaned into the whispers of a Blin beside him, nodding all the while, until so boldly, he grinned widely, and defiantly shook his head. His hand firmly clutched his armrest. He sat up and boomed his answer. “Aye, that you did. Very well. I accept your terms!”

As the sun set, torches lit around the camp. Zant fitted himself in his form-fitting armor and plates beneath his robes, though his helmet remained as absent as it had been. The Earl’s squires, in the meantime, clad him in chainmail, helmet, and banners, every splinter of metal glittering in the flickering light.

In this almost companionable silence, Zant drew the ire of every bulblin in the room, and lightly addressed his fellow duelist. “I must ask for reassurance, Lord Hallra. For the sake of your people, I hope you have procured some heirs.”

Lord Hallra’s eyes remained ever hostile, until the weight of Zant’s words hit him. Jagged teeth bared, he erupted into gut-shaking laughter, pounding the staff of his axe on the ground beside his throne. His underlings burst out in a heckling chortle beside him.

“Shadow Lord. I have lived to see fifty-three monsoons, and in this time, taken four wives. You tell me if you think I have heirs.” Creaking his chair, he leaned forward with a mocking grimace. “Do you?”

“Oh, I do not expect to need them,” Zant waved him off. With a single tug, he pulled his Demon into his arms, one hand bracing on his shoulder. “Ghirahim, our blade, if you will.”

So was the Demon Scimitar drawn. Their entourage was led behind the Earl’s throne room to an open-air battlefield. At the sight of their leader, clad in steel and axe in hand, clamor burst out throughout the camp. Every blin and mount, be they green, red, or magenta, just about plastered themselves to the fence to watch the battle unfold. All were eager to witness their leader off another poser. His people were confident in him and cheered thrice as loud, wishing him his fortunes in defeating their former lieutenant.

And, truth to be told, Lord Hallra was formidable. Decades of pure, honed strength jettisoned his every swing. The massive axe flew through the air, never losing its edge no matter how hard he cleaved it into the dirt. More and more of their arena was destroyed, both men leaving decimation in their wake. The Earl pushed Zant off of him with shoves of his axe handle, or kicks of his feet, or swings of his horns. Against anyone, man or beast, Lord Hallra would fall to no weapon.

Had his opponent not been Zant. Ghirahim could see it in his floaty gait – he was simply stretching time, perhaps to allow this washed-up senior his last moments of glory in front of his people. But when Zant drew his blade; truly drew it, with killing intent palpable enough for Ghirahim to feel it in his soul, it was over in seconds. Shadows trailed Zant as he burst forward, then assailed the Bulblin General from all angles in wicked tendrils. One slice of the Demon Scimitar, and the first of Lord Hallra’s armor was torn through like paper. A second swing, and yellowed fat tissue pooled free from a blood-drenched wound. Before the third could land, the hammer-end of the axe crunched into Zant’s upper arm, but it wasn’t enough to save Hallra’s life.

A flash of darkness. A splatter, a deafening silence from the crowd. Zant limped to the severed head now on the floor and raised it before his army. Their contract was sealed.

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskers in the Wastes

Ellie Williams x 🐱!reader | one shot

W/C: 10K

Summary:

In the post-apocalyptic world of The Last of Us, a resilient stray cat navigates a brutal landscape of survival, loss, and unlikely companionship. Told through the cat’s perspective, the story follows its journey as it forms an unbreakable bond with Ellie and Joel, protecting them in moments of peril and finding purpose in a shattered world. From stealthily aiding Ellie in her darkest moments to confronting danger head-on, the cat becomes a silent guardian, witnessing the depths of humanity’s cruelty and the sparks of hope that endure.

A/N: did this because I think it would be so cute for Ellie to have a pet cat… and I love cats 🐱 ♥️

——-

I wake up in a pile of leaves, the scent of wet earth and decay heavy in the air. The world outside is harsh, but I’ve learned to survive. My paws, soft but strong, touch the cold stone beneath me. The shadows stretch long across the alleyway, the remains of once-bustling city streets now silent except for the rustle of wind through the empty windows.

I stretch, every muscle in my body reminding me of the fight for each day. My eyes narrow, scanning the area. No sign of infected, but the air is always tense, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for danger to strike. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, honed over the years of running, hiding, and sometimes, pouncing.

The humans—those few who remain—have long since stopped noticing me. I am a ghost, a shadow, darting through the broken streets, scavenging when I need to, but mostly staying out of their way. They have their own troubles. The ones that still remember their old lives cling to each other, afraid of the monsters that walk on two legs. And then there are the infected—their grotesque forms stumbling and growling, but they’re no match for me. Not yet.

I lick my fur, my tongue rasping against the dirt that’s accumulated over the last few days. There’s no time to waste on grooming now; the sun will be gone soon, and that’s when the world grows darker, more dangerous. I slip between the cracked windows of a nearby building, careful to avoid the glass. Inside, it’s quiet, save for the distant sound of a door creaking on its hinges.

I pad through the hallway, my claws clicking softly on the broken tile. I know this place; I’ve been here before. Humans used to live here, or maybe they still do. It’s hard to tell anymore. There’s no warmth, no smell of food, just the stale air and the faint scent of something rotting. I stop by a pile of old clothes, drawn to the scent of something fresh, something alive. The humans—one of them has left a trail.

I don’t know if it’s wise to follow them. They have their weapons, and I’ve learned to avoid them. But curiosity is a hard thing to ignore, and the world has become too quiet without it.

I slip through a door that opens onto a narrow balcony, my tail flicking in the breeze. Below, a small group of humans moves cautiously, their eyes darting around, alert to any sign of danger. One of them carries a heavy pack, likely full of food or other supplies—things I could use. I crouch, my body still as stone, waiting for the right moment.

They’re not paying attention to me, too wrapped up in their own survival. I could jump down, land silently on the balcony below, and perhaps take what I need without them ever knowing. But then, I hear it—the faint sound of a Clicker in the distance. My fur stands on end, my ears pricking. They haven’t heard it yet, but I know it’s coming. I want to warn them, but I can’t.

I turn and slip back into the shadows, my paws light on the ground. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s best not to get involved. Humans don’t trust me, and I don’t trust them. But I know how to survive on my own.

As I retreat deeper into the building, the echoes of Clicker noises grow louder, more urgent. I hear the humans talking in hushed voices, confused, unaware of the danger that’s closing in. I can’t help them. I can’t save them. But I can run.

I leap from the second-story ledge, landing with silent grace on the ground below. The night is still, the world waiting. My whiskers twitch in the breeze, my heart racing in anticipation.

There’s a distant growl behind me, and I don’t turn back. I run through the streets, my paws hitting the concrete with rhythmic precision, my senses sharp. I won’t stop until I find somewhere safe—somewhere quiet, where I can be alone. Because, in this world, that’s all a cat really needs: silence, darkness, and the promise of another day.

•

I’m weaving through the rubble of an old city block when I sense it—something different in the air. The familiar scent of decay is heavy, but underneath it is something else. Something… alive. My fur prickles, and my paws pause mid-step.

A low sound, almost a hum, drifts toward me. I flatten my ears instinctively, trying to pinpoint the source. It’s coming from behind a stack of fallen concrete. I take a step closer, my body tensed, muscles coiled for flight if needed. I’ve learned to keep my distance, to observe before I act. There are humans—some are a threat, some aren’t—but they’re always unpredictable. Still, something about this one doesn’t sit right.

I slink around the corner, staying hidden in the shadows, my green eyes glinting in the dim light. Through a broken window, I see him. A man, crouched low, his back pressed against the wall. His clothes are torn, his face a map of dirt and weathered lines. His hands grip something long and metal—probably a weapon—and his eyes scan the area like a hunter.

He’s waiting. For what, I’m not sure.

I hesitate, watching him, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He doesn’t seem to notice me, too focused on whatever danger lurks nearby. I can’t smell any infected on him, but that doesn’t mean much. Some humans hide their scent well.

The moment stretches on, and I can hear the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. He shifts slightly, his movements deliberate but not hasty, as if he knows time is against him. His posture speaks of exhaustion, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze—a readiness to strike if provoked.

A noise from behind him—a distant growl—reaches my ears, and instinct takes over. He doesn’t seem to hear it, but I do. It’s a Clicker, and it’s not far off.

The man’s hand twitches, his finger brushing the trigger of whatever weapon he holds. He looks towards the noise, and for the briefest moment, our eyes lock. He doesn’t flinch or make a move toward me. Instead, his gaze narrows, studying me like I’m something out of place in his world. I freeze, not sure what to do. But then, he makes his decision.

He pushes off from the wall, slowly and cautiously, his attention now fully on the Clicker noise. He doesn’t even glance at me again.

I don’t wait to see what happens next. The air is thick with tension, and I know better than to linger when danger is near. I turn on my heels and dart into the shadows, my body moving like a whisper through the ruins. I’ll survive on my own, just like I always have. I’ve learned not to rely on humans—not to trust them, not to get close.

But something about the man sticks with me as I slip away. There’s something different about him—a quiet strength. I wonder if he knows what it takes to survive this world, just like I do.

I’ll never know. But for now, I’ve got my own path to follow.

•

I’m moving through the wreckage of a broken building, careful not to make a sound. The world feels tense, like a string pulled taut, waiting for something to snap. The air smells faintly of old food and dust, and I take a slow breath, letting my senses sharpen. I’m alone, but I always am—until I hear footsteps.

It’s faint at first, but then it grows louder. Not the heavy, deliberate stomp of a man—this is lighter, quicker, almost playful. I stop in my tracks, my ears twitching. The scent reaches me before I see her—something familiar, yet different. It’s not fear or danger. No, this is something… softer. Almost like a memory.

I peek around a crumbling wall and there she is—a girl. She’s moving cautiously, her eyes scanning the ground like she’s looking for something. Her hair is messy, unkempt, and there’s a slight bounce to her step, like she’s used to being quiet, but her movements betray an innocence. She’s alone.

My whiskers twitch, and something stirs deep inside me. I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before. But there’s something about her, a warmth that pulls me in. It feels… safe. Like a corner of the world I’ve long since forgotten. A place where I could settle down and rest, a place that feels like home.

She’s closer now, and I can see the way her eyes move, the way she’s searching for something—perhaps someone. Maybe Joel, the man I saw earlier. The one who looked at me like I was just another shadow in the world. She doesn’t notice me at first, too focused on her own thoughts. But I can’t stay hidden anymore. Something inside urges me to step forward, to get closer to her.

I emerge from the darkness, my paws silent on the cracked ground. She stops when she hears me, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. There’s a flicker of surprise, then curiosity. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to figure me out, but there’s no fear in her gaze.

I take a step forward, and then another, until I’m close enough that she could reach out and touch me if she wanted to. I don’t know why, but I stay still, waiting for her to make the next move.

She doesn’t speak at first, just watches me with those bright, questioning eyes. And for a moment, the world feels still. It’s as if everything else—the infected, the danger, the uncertainty—disappears. It’s just the two of us in this small, broken space, and somehow, it feels like the safest place I’ve ever been.

Without thinking, I step closer, my body moving on its own. Her hand hovers just above my head, hesitant at first, like she’s afraid I’ll run away if she touches me. But I don’t. I’m not scared of her. Something inside me knows that she’s different.

She finally lowers her hand, and I lean into it, the warmth of her touch grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. She smiles softly, a quiet, almost sad smile, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe this world isn’t as empty as it seems.

I don’t know her name yet, but somehow, I know it. It feels like the last piece of a puzzle I didn’t realize I was trying to solve.

She stands there for a moment, her hand still resting on me, before pulling it back with a sigh. She glances over her shoulder, probably checking for Joel, and I instinctively follow her gaze. But the moment passes quickly, and when she looks back at me, I’m already moving closer, more comfortable with her than I’ve ever been with any human.

She crouches down in front of me, her eyes softer now, and she talks to me in a low voice, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “You okay, little guy?” Her voice is rough, but there’s a tenderness to it—an honesty that I don’t find in many humans.

I let out a soft purr in response, the sound rumbling from deep within me, a quiet affirmation. She laughs, just a little, like the noise is a surprise. I don’t care. It feels right.

I don’t know why I feel this way, but something about Ellie makes me want to stay. Maybe she’s lost too, just like me. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone.

And when she slowly stands, looking toward the horizon, I follow her. Not because I have to, but because, for once, it feels like the right thing to do.

It’s not much—a girl and a cat, walking through a broken world—but it feels like enough.

The world feels heavy again, the air thick with tension. The faint scent of danger drifts in from the distance, but for now, it’s just Ellie and me in this small, fractured moment. I sit at her feet, my tail flicking lazily as she watches me with that quiet, curious smile. There’s something about the way she looks at me—gentle, like she understands that we’re both just surviving.

Then, I hear it. Footsteps. Heavy. The unmistakable sound of someone moving with purpose. Joel.

Ellie doesn’t notice him at first. Her attention is still on me, her fingers brushing through my fur as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. But then the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can sense him before I see him—his presence feels like a storm that’s about to break. The air grows tense again, and I feel a sudden, instinctual pull to back away. But I don’t.

Joel steps into the small, broken space where we’ve been, his boots crunching against the rubble. Ellie jumps slightly, startled, and looks up at him. I can see the way she stiffens, almost protective. She doesn’t want him to take me away, I can tell.

“Ellie,” Joel’s voice is rough, but there’s concern behind it. “What are you doing?” He stops a few feet away, eyes narrowing at me. There’s a flicker of disbelief in his gaze, like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. A girl with a cat? In a world like this?

Ellie stands quickly, brushing the dirt off her pants as if she’s been caught doing something wrong. She’s hesitant, but there’s a determination in her voice when she speaks. “I—I found him, Joel. He’s all alone”

Joel doesn’t seem convinced. His eyes flicker between Ellie and me, and I see the way his grip tightens on the rifle slung across his back. It’s not aimed at her, but the tension in his posture tells me that he’s ready for anything.

“A cat?” his voice low, the disbelief clear. He takes a step forward, his eyes scanning the area like there’s more to this than it seems. “Ellie, we don’t have time for this.” His tone softens a little, though, when he looks at her. He’s trying to be patient, but I can see the worry in his eyes.

Ellie crosses her arms over her chest, her expression defiant but also uncertain. She stands her ground, looking up at him with that fierce fire she’s got. “He’s not a threat. He’s just… here, okay?”

Joel sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to fight off a headache. “You can’t just pick up strays, Ellie. You don’t know who—or what—they belong to.”

I watch the exchange from a distance, tail swishing lazily. I’ve been a stray my entire life, and I know what it’s like to be passed over, ignored. But there’s something different about Ellie. She sees me, really sees me, and I can’t turn away from that.

Ellie doesn’t back down. She steps closer to me, her hand lingering near my fur again. “He’s not dangerous, Joel. He’s just… here. And he’s not hurting anybody” Her voice softens, the fire dimming into something more vulnerable. “I just… I don’t know. It felt like… like I wasn’t alone for a second.”

Joel watches her closely, his expression unreadable. I can feel the conflict inside him, the constant struggle between keeping her safe and understanding the oddity of this moment. Finally, he exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine,” he mutters, the word reluctant but resigned. “But we keep moving. You don’t know what else is out there.”

Ellie nods, the spark in her eyes never leaving, and crouches down to pet me one last time. “Come on, little guy,” she says, her voice almost playful again. “We gotta go. Joel’s not a fan of pets, but you’re still coming with us.”

I stand, stretching my back with a slow arch, my eyes glinting in the low light. The world may still be broken, but for now, I have Ellie. And in this wasteland of ruins and threats, that feels like enough.

Joel watches us for a moment longer, and I can feel the weight of his gaze. But he doesn’t stop us. With a quiet huff, he turns and starts to move forward, motioning for Ellie to follow. She does, with me trotting along beside her, the familiar sound of our footsteps echoing in the silence.

For now, we’re together, and that’s all that matters.

•

As we walk, the world around us feels quieter, the distant echoes of danger just that—distant. Ellie’s hand brushes against me every now and then as she keeps pace beside Joel, her movements a mix of calm and alertness. I can feel her growing more comfortable with my presence, the way she talks to me under her breath like I’m just another companion. It’s different, the way she’s not afraid of me, the way she’s already made space for me in this broken world.

We turn a corner, and I pause for a moment, my ears perked up at the sound of something moving ahead. Ellie stops too, looking at me as if she knows exactly what I’m doing. She smiles, that spark of light still in her eyes despite everything.

“You’re quick, huh?” she mutters, bending down to look at me, and I tilt my head, watching her. “Maybe you’ll be good for something other than looking cute.”

I blink slowly, a low purr rumbling in my chest. It’s easy to feel at home with her.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice suddenly thoughtful, like she’s mulling over something important. “You need a name, don’t you?”

I look up at her, my green eyes wide, waiting for whatever words she’ll choose. She’s been talking to me in that casual way, but now she seems to be seriously considering it. I’ve never had a name—not in this world. The humans I’ve crossed paths with rarely bothered. But here, with her, it feels like I should have one.

Ellie bites her lip in concentration, her brows furrowed. “What about… Beans?” she says, her voice almost playful as she watches me. “Yeah, I think you look like a Beans.”

I blink, considering it for a moment. Beans. It’s strange, but somehow it feels right, like it fits. It’s a name that holds warmth, something simple and unassuming, just like me. And for the first time in a long while, I feel like I belong to something—someone.

I walk closer to her, nudging her hand with my head in agreement, letting out a soft meow, as if telling her I like it.

Ellie laughs, a sound that’s free and light, even in a world that’s anything but. “Alright, Beans it is,” she says, ruffling my fur. “Let’s keep moving, Beans. You’ve got a lot of world left to see.”

I follow her, my tail flicking behind me in rhythm with her steps. For the first time in a long time, the road ahead doesn’t feel as long. The world is still broken, but for now, I’m not alone.

The sun is starting to dip behind the jagged skyline, casting long shadows over the broken city. Ellie, Joel, and I move quietly through the ruins, the weight of the world pressing in on us. Ellie keeps glancing down at me, a small smile on her lips every time I meet her gaze. “Beans,” she whispers every so often, testing the name like it’s still new. Each time, I answer with a soft meow or the flick of my tail, and she grins like I’ve just told her the funniest joke.

But the air changes as we round a corner. I can feel it before they do—my ears twitching, the fur along my spine standing on end. The faint clicking sound reaches my ears first, barely audible, but unmistakable. Infected.

Ellie freezes as soon as she hears it, her hand instinctively reaching for her knife. Joel’s already ahead of us, his posture stiffening as he pulls his rifle into his hands. He raises a hand to signal Ellie to stay back, his voice low and firm. “Ellie. Don’t move.”

The sound gets louder, and my instincts scream at me to run. But then I glance at Ellie. She’s watching Joel, her body tense, her breathing shallow. She’s scared but trying to hide it. And something inside me won’t let me leave her.

The infected appear suddenly—a small group of Runners spilling out from behind a collapsed building. Their snarls rip through the quiet, their movements frantic and erratic. Joel takes aim and fires, dropping one immediately, but there are too many. They’re closing in fast, too fast for them to handle.

Ellie steps back, her knife gripped tightly in her hand, but I can see the panic in her eyes. Joel’s shouting something, but I don’t hear it. My focus narrows to Ellie, and I make my choice.

I dart forward, weaving through the debris, letting out a loud, sharp yowl that echoes through the street. The sound draws the attention of the infected, their heads snapping in my direction. I keep running, my paws barely touching the ground as I lead them away from Ellie and Joel. Their guttural snarls grow louder behind me, but I don’t stop.

I leap onto a pile of rubble, my movements quick and fluid, and then down the other side, disappearing into the shadows. The infected follow, their blind hunger driving them, their clumsy bodies crashing through the ruins. The noise fades as I lead them farther and farther away.

Back at the corner, Ellie’s eyes are wide with fear and disbelief. “Beans!” she shouts, starting to move after me. But Joel grabs her arm, pulling her back sharply.

“Ellie, no!” he snaps, his voice firm and unyielding. “You can’t go after him.”

She struggles against his grip, her voice breaking. “He’s gonna get killed! We have to—”

“No, we don’t,” Joel says, cutting her off. His tone softens, but it’s still resolute. “He did what he had to do, Ellie. He’s buying us time. We can’t waste it.”

Ellie shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes as she looks in the direction I disappeared. “He saved us,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He saved me.”

Joel’s expression is grim as he pulls her along, forcing her to keep moving. “I know,” he mutters, his voice heavy. “But that cat made his choice. Now you’ve gotta make yours.”

Ellie stumbles after him, her face a mix of anger and heartbreak. She glances back one last time, her voice trembling. “Beans…”

I keep running until I can’t hear them anymore—the infected or Ellie. My body aches, my paws sore from the rough ground, but I don’t stop until I know I’ve led the danger far away. Finally, I slip into a narrow crevice between two crumbled walls, my chest heaving as I catch my breath.

•

The city is quiet again, save for the faint sound of wind through the ruins. I’m alone, just like always. But this time, it feels heavier, emptier.

Still, I know it was the right thing to do. Ellie is safe. And as much as it hurts to leave her behind, I’d do it again. Because something about her feels like home, and I’d do anything to protect it.

I close my eyes, my body curling into a small, weary ball. The world is cruel, but for a moment, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my way back to her someday.

The days blur together, a constant haze of survival. I roam through the ruins of the world, my paws padding silently across cracked pavement and broken glass. Hunger claws at my belly, but I’ve learned to live with it. The infected are everywhere, their snarls haunting the nights, but I’ve always been quick, quiet. I stay ahead of them.

Still, there’s an emptiness that I can’t shake. I dream of her sometimes—Ellie. Her voice, her touch, the warmth in her eyes. And every time I wake, I’m left with the same hollow ache, the same question: Why did I leave?

But today is different. Today, the wind shifts, and I catch it—her scent. It’s faint, barely there, but unmistakable. It cuts through the noise of the world like a thread pulling me forward. My ears perk up, and my heart quickens. I don’t hesitate. I follow it.

Her scent leads me through the shattered remains of a town. The buildings loom like skeletons, their jagged edges casting long shadows across the ground. I weave through the wreckage, climbing over debris and slipping through narrow spaces. Every so often, I pause to sniff the air, making sure I’m still on her trail.

The scent grows stronger as I move deeper into the ruins. It’s mixed with other smells—Joel’s, faint traces of blood and smoke—but hers is the one I focus on. It’s warm, familiar, and it pulls me forward like a beacon.

I hear them before I see them—her voice, low and serious, and Joel’s gruff reply. My ears twitch, straining to pick up the words, but they’re too far away. I move closer, creeping through the rubble until I finally spot them.

They’re camped out in the shell of an old building, the walls crumbling but still standing. Ellie sits by a small fire, her face lit by the flickering flames. She looks older somehow, more tired, but her eyes still hold that spark of defiance, that fire that drew me to her in the first place. Joel is nearby, checking his gear, his movements methodical and practiced.

I stay hidden in the shadows, my heart pounding. I want to rush to her, to feel her hand on my fur again, to hear her call me Beans like she used to. But something holds me back. What if she doesn’t want me anymore? What if she’s angry that I left?

Then she speaks, her voice cutting through the silence. “I still think about him, you know,” she says, her tone softer than usual. “Beans.”

Joel doesn’t look up, but I see the way his shoulders tense. “Ellie, we talked about this.”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice sharp with frustration. “But I can’t help it. He saved me, Joel. He didn’t have to, but he did. And now he’s… gone.” Her voice falters, and she looks down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

Joel sighs, his tone quieter now. “I know it hurts, kid. But you can’t hold on to everything. This world doesn’t let you.”

Ellie doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between them. I can see the pain in her expression, the way her shoulders slump just a little. And I can’t stay hidden anymore.

I step forward, my paws crunching softly against the rubble. Ellie’s head snaps up at the sound, her eyes wide as she searches the darkness. Joel is already on his feet, his rifle raised, but Ellie grabs his arm before he can aim.

“Wait,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Joel, wait.”

I step into the light, my green eyes meeting hers. For a moment, everything else falls away—the fire, the danger, the broken world. It’s just us, just me and Ellie. Her expression shifts from shock to disbelief, and then to something I can’t quite name. Relief? Joy?

“Beans,” she whispers, her voice cracking. She doesn’t hesitate this time. She’s on her feet and moving toward me before Joel can stop her.

I don’t run. I let her come to me, and when she kneels down and scoops me into her arms, I press my head against her chest, letting out a soft purr. She laughs, a sound that’s raw and broken but full of something real.

Joel lowers his rifle, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned,” he mutters, but there’s no anger in his voice. Just resignation.

Ellie holds me close, her fingers tangling in my fur as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear again. “I thought you were gone,” she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. “But you found me.”

I don’t have words, but I press closer to her, letting my purrs speak for me. I’ve found her again, and this time, I’m not going anywhere.

•

The days roll on, and I’m still with them. Ellie doesn’t let me out of her sight now, her protectiveness matching the fire in her personality. Wherever she goes, I’m by her side—or sometimes sneaking ahead to scout. She calls me Beans so often that even Joel starts saying it, though he always tries to act like it’s no big deal.

At first, Joel barely acknowledges me, his focus always on the road, the infected, or Ellie. But over time, something shifts. It starts small—just a glance, a low hum of approval when he sees me catch a mouse and drop it proudly at Ellie’s feet. Then one night, as we sit by the fire after a long day of traveling, Joel surprises me.

“Here,” he grumbles, holding out a small strip of jerky. He doesn’t look directly at me, but his hand stays steady, waiting.

I stare at him, unsure for a moment. Joel isn’t exactly the cuddly type, and I’ve spent enough time reading people to know he’s got walls higher than most. But the smell of the jerky is too tempting, and I step closer, cautiously sniffing before taking the offering.

Ellie notices immediately, her eyes lighting up. “Wait, you’re feeding him now?” she teases, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “I thought you didn’t like cats, Joel.”

Joel huffs, leaning back against his pack. “Didn’t say I didn’t like him,” he mutters, his tone defensive but not harsh. “Figure he’s earned his keep, same as the rest of us.”

Ellie grins and looks down at me, scratching behind my ears. “Guess you’re part of the crew now, huh, Beans? Even Joel can’t resist you.”

Joel doesn’t respond, but I catch the smallest flicker of a smile on his face before he turns his attention to the horizon.

Over the next few weeks, Joel’s actions speak louder than his words. Every so often, he slips me a piece of jerky when Ellie’s not paying attention, his expression always neutral as if it’s no big deal. But there’s something in the way he watches me that feels different. He doesn’t talk to me like Ellie does—no playful chatter or nicknames—but there’s a quiet understanding that grows between us.

One night, when Ellie’s fast asleep, her head resting on her pack, Joel sits by the dying fire, his rifle resting on his knee. I settle near him, my tail curling around my paws. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at me before pulling another strip of jerky from his pocket and tossing it my way.

“Figured you’d show up when she needed you,” he says quietly, his voice low so he doesn’t wake Ellie. “Don’t know how you did it, but… thanks for keeping her safe.”

I blink up at him, my green eyes meeting his. He doesn’t expect an answer, of course, but I purr softly, letting the sound fill the quiet space between us. He nods, as if that’s enough.

“You stick close to her, you hear?” Joel adds, his tone firm but not unkind. “World’s got too much out there tryin’ to tear her apart. She doesn’t need to lose you, too.”

I stretch lazily, letting my tail flick against his boot, and he chuckles—soft and brief, but real. For a moment, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, the fire crackling softly between us.

Joel doesn’t say much after that, but I can tell I’ve earned a place in his quiet, guarded heart. And even though he’ll never admit it, I know that in his own way, he’s started to care.

The days grow colder. The wind howls through the hollow buildings, biting at skin and fur. Joel, Ellie, and I keep moving, but the silence hangs heavier between us now, like we all feel something waiting just beyond the horizon. I stay close to Ellie’s side, padding quietly through the snow. Joel doesn’t say much these days, but he still tosses me jerky when he thinks Ellie isn’t looking. I think he knows I’m watching out for her, too.

Then it happens.

We’re ambushed. The fight is a blur of shouting, gunfire, and chaos. Ellie’s screams pierce the air as I dart between shadows, trying to stay close to her, to keep her safe. Joel’s a force of nature, his fists and rifle moving with brutal precision, but the numbers are against us. And then I see it.

Joel shouts—a raw, pained sound that I’ll never forget—as a man tackles him, and they fall hard against broken rebar jutting from the ground. Time slows as I see the way it pierces through him, his face twisted in agony. I yowl sharply, panic hitting me like a wave, but Ellie doesn’t freeze.

“Joel!” she screams, her voice breaking as she rushes to him. I follow her, ears pinned back, my heart pounding. Joel is pale, sweat beading on his brow, but he’s still conscious, trying to push her away even as he grips the rebar sticking from his side.

“Ellie… no,” he growls through gritted teeth. “You… you gotta go.”

“No!” Ellie snaps, her hands shaking as she kneels beside him. “I’m not leaving you. Don’t even say that.”

I watch, staying close to Ellie’s side, growling softly at the sounds of the fight retreating into the distance. Joel’s breathing is ragged, his eyes glassy. He’s not getting up this time—not without her help.

“I’ll fix this, okay?” Ellie mutters, more to herself than to him. Her voice is shaky but determined. “I just need to—just hold on.

She pulls him off the rebar, Joel letting out a pained yell that makes me flinch. He slumps against her, too heavy for her small frame, but she doesn’t stop. Somehow, Ellie gets him onto the horse we found days ago, her hands trembling as she grips the reins.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” she whispers, over and over. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

I follow alongside the horse, my paws crunching in the snow, refusing to let Ellie face this alone. She glances down at me occasionally, her expression torn between fear and relief. “Stay with me, Beans,” she says softly. “Don’t leave, okay?”

I don’t. I stay with her all the way back to a crumbling cabin she finds in the middle of nowhere. The walls barely hold out the wind, but it’s shelter. Joel’s pale and barely breathing when she lowers him onto an old mattress. His blood stains the sheets, his face tight with pain even in unconsciousness.

Ellie doesn’t stop moving. She wraps him in blankets, sets a fire, and does everything she can with what little supplies we have. I sit by her feet, keeping watch as the snow falls heavier outside, my ears twitching at every distant sound.

Days pass. Joel’s fever worsens, and Ellie starts talking to him, her voice a mix of desperation and hope. “You gotta wake up, Joel,” she whispers one night, her hand resting on his forehead. “I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

I nuzzle her leg gently, as if telling her You’re not alone.

She smiles faintly, running a trembling hand down my back. “At least I’ve got you, huh, Beans?” she murmurs. “Good kitty.”

The day he finds us, Ellie is out hunting. I stay close to her as she moves through the snow, her rifle clutched tightly in her hands. She’s tired, worn down, but still fierce—still Ellie. That’s when we see him: a man standing at the edge of the forest, watching her.

“Hello there,” he calls out, raising his hands slowly, as if to show he’s no threat. His voice is calm, too calm, and something about him makes my fur bristle.

Ellie stiffens, her grip on the rifle tightening. “Who are you?” she demands, her voice sharp.

“Name’s David,” the man says with an unsettling smile. “I mean no harm, I swear. Just a traveler, like you.”

I let out a low, warning growl, planting myself between Ellie and the stranger. My instincts scream at me that he’s dangerous, and Ellie feels it too—her posture stays tense, her eyes darting around for any sign of an ambush.

David notices me, his smile faltering just a little. “Well, would you look at that. A cat. Haven’t seen one of those in… well, a long time.”

“Don’t touch him,” Ellie snaps, her voice hard as steel.

David chuckles, holding his hands up again. “Fair enough. Just looking for food, same as you. Maybe we can help each other.”

Ellie doesn’t lower her rifle, and neither do I stop glaring. I stay close, my tail flicking sharply as she follows him cautiously toward his camp. I don’t trust him. Neither does she. And I know, deep down, that I need to stay with her now more than ever.

Something about David feels wrong, like a shadow creeping closer. I don’t leave Ellie’s side—not as she takes his offer of food, not as he talks to her with that unsettling calmness, and definitely not when he watches her with an expression that chills me to the bone.

Ellie looks down at me as we sit by the fire, her voice low. “I don’t like him either, Beans,” she whispers, her hand brushing my fur. “We’re gonna get back to Joel. I promise.”

I nuzzle her hand softly, silently agreeing. Whatever happens, I’ll stay by her side. I’ll protect her—just like I always have.

The first thing I notice about David’s camp is how quiet it is—too quiet. The people there watch Ellie and me like predators sizing up prey, their hollow eyes fixed on her every movement. Even the wind seems to stop, the weight of the air pressing down on my fur. I stay close to Ellie, my ears twitching at every sound, every shift in the snow.

David keeps talking in that smooth, calm voice, like he’s trying to weave a spell. “You’ve got someone waiting for you, don’t you?” he says, crouching down to inspect the deer Ellie shot. “Someone who needs help.”

Ellie doesn’t answer right away. She keeps her rifle close, her knuckles white around the grip. “Maybe,” she finally says, her voice guarded. “Why do you care?”

David looks up at her with a slow smile, his hands raised as if to show he’s harmless. “Because I can help. I’ve got antibiotics. A little penicillin could go a long way for… whoever it is you’re looking after.”

Ellie’s jaw tightens. I can see the battle in her eyes—the desperate need to trust him just enough to save Joel, but the gnawing fear of what it might cost her. She glances at me, her hand brushing my head, as if drawing strength from my presence.

“What do you want for it?” she finally asks, her voice sharp.

David’s smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “A trade. Half the deer for the medicine.”

Ellie hesitates, her gaze flicking to the deer and then back to David. It’s a steep price, but she doesn’t have a choice, and she knows it. “Fine,” she mutters. “But if you try anything—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” David interrupts smoothly, standing and gesturing to one of his men. “James, fetch the medicine. Quickly now.”

I watch as James disappears into one of the buildings, my tail lashing the snow as unease coils in my chest. David’s too calm, too confident, and I don’t trust him for a second. Ellie doesn’t either—her fingers twitch against the trigger of her rifle, her eyes never leaving David.

A few tense moments later, James returns, holding a small vial of penicillin and a syringe. He hands it to David, who holds it out toward Ellie with that same unnerving smile.

“There,” David says. “A fair trade.”

Ellie snatches the medicine from him, her eyes narrowing. “Fair,” she echoes, her voice dripping with distrust. She doesn’t lower her rifle as she backs away, the sack of venison slung over her shoulder. “Thanks for the help. Don’t follow me.”

David chuckles softly, raising his hands again. “Of course. Safe travels.”

We don’t linger. Ellie moves quickly, her boots crunching through the snow as she leads us away from the camp. I stick close to her side, glancing back once to see David watching us, his figure framed by the dying light of the day. There’s something in his posture, something in the way he stands so still, that makes my fur prickle. He’s not done with us. I know it.

When we get back to the cabin, Joel is where we left him—still, pale, and burning with fever. Ellie doesn’t waste any time. She lights the fire, lays out the supplies, and kneels beside him, her hands shaking as she prepares the syringe.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispers, her voice cracking as she injects the medicine into his arm. “You have to be okay, Joel. You hear me?”

I curl up near her feet, my tail wrapping around my body as I watch her work. Her determination is fierce, but I can see the exhaustion in her every movement. She hasn’t slept much since Joel was hurt, her focus entirely on keeping him alive. I nuzzle her leg gently, and she glances down at me with a faint, grateful smile.

“Thanks for sticking with me, Beans,” she murmurs. “Couldn’t have done this without you.”

Joel stirs faintly, a low groan escaping his lips. Ellie’s breath hitches, and she leans closer, her voice soft. “Joel? Hey, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on, okay?”

I settle in, keeping watch as the night deepens. Outside, the wind howls, and somewhere in the distance, I think I hear the faint echo of footsteps on the snow. My ears perk up, and I stay alert. David isn’t done with us—I can feel it.

But for now, Ellie and Joel are safe, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.

•

The snow falls heavier now, blurring the trees into jagged, white-streaked silhouettes. Ellie’s breathing is sharp and labored as she rides the horse through the forest, leading David and his men further away from the cabin. I follow close behind, my paws sinking into the fresh snow with each step. I stay low, my body blending into the shadows, far enough not to be seen but close enough to track her every move.

Ellie glances over her shoulder, her eyes fierce despite the fear I can smell on her. She’s trying to keep them off Joel’s trail, sacrificing her safety for his. My instinct screams to run to her, to protect her, but I know I can’t blow her cover. If David spots me, he might figure out she’s not alone.

“Come on!” she shouts, her voice breaking through the cold air. Her horse gallops ahead, kicking up snow as she maneuvers through the dense forest. David and his men follow relentlessly, their shouts carrying in the wind.

I trail them silently, keeping low and out of sight. My sharp eyes never leave Ellie. She’s clever, steering her horse through tighter paths, forcing her pursuers to slow. I catch glimpses of her determination, her resolve to lead them far from Joel at all costs.

Then it happens. A gunshot rings out, sharp and echoing, and the horse stumbles. Ellie screams as she’s thrown from the saddle, hitting the snow with a hard thud. My heart races as I crouch lower, watching from the shadows. She scrambles to her feet, clutching her rifle, and starts running, leaving the fallen horse behind.

“Spread out!” David commands, his voice colder than the wind. “Find her!”

I follow as Ellie weaves through the trees, her breath visible in the freezing air. She’s fast, but the men are closing in. My muscles tense, ready to pounce, but I hold back. Not yet. I can’t risk giving us away until the moment is right.

Ellie reaches an abandoned building nestled among the trees, its roof half-collapsed under the weight of snow. She slips inside, her footsteps muffled by the snow-covered floor. I creep closer, my ears swiveling to catch the crunch of boots as David’s men approach.

“She’s in there,” one of them mutters, his voice carrying on the wind.

“Take it slow,” David replies. “She’s a smart one.”

I slink around the side of the building, my movements silent and precise. Inside, I can see Ellie crouched behind an overturned table, her hands gripping her rifle tightly. She’s trembling, but her eyes are sharp, scanning for an opening.

David steps inside first, his footsteps deliberate and slow. “Ellie,” he calls out, his voice almost kind. “You’ve got nowhere to run. Come on out, and we can talk. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She grips her rifle tighter, her body coiled like a spring. I crouch just outside a broken window, my tail twitching as I watch the scene unfold.

David moves closer, his hands raised slightly. “You’re a fighter. I respect that,” he says, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But this doesn’t have to end badly. You’re just a kid. You don’t have to die today.”

Ellie lets out a sharp breath, then bolts from her hiding spot, firing wildly. The gunshots echo through the building, and David dives for cover. His men rush inside, shouting orders, and chaos erupts.

This is my moment.

I leap through the broken window, landing silently on the snow-dusted floor. The men are too focused on Ellie to notice me. I creep closer, my eyes locked on David as he maneuvers toward Ellie’s position. She’s cornered now, her back against the wall, but her glare is defiant.

“You’re not getting me!” she shouts, raising her rifle again.

Before David can make his move, I pounce. My claws sink into his leg as I let out a fierce yowl, startling everyone in the room. David curses, stumbling backward, and Ellie’s eyes widen in shock as she sees me.

“Beans?!” she gasps.

David kicks out, trying to shake me off, but I hold firm, my claws raking against his pants. Ellie doesn’t waste the opening—I hear her rifle crack again, and one of David’s men goes down with a grunt. The others shout, momentarily distracted by the chaos.

I yowl , darting across the room to draw attention to myself. She doesn’t hesitate. She bolts for the door, her boots crunching on the snow as she disappears into the forest.

David snarls, clutching his bleeding leg. “Get that damn cat!” he growls, but I’m already gone, slipping out the window and vanishing into the trees.

I circle back through the forest, following Ellie’s scent. She’s ahead of me, running for her life, but I can tell she’s headed back toward Joel. She’s not giving up—not on him, not on herself. And I’m not giving up on her.

David and his men might have the numbers, but we have something stronger: the will to survive, and a bond that can’t be broken. Together, we’ll make it through this.

•

I lose her scent in the snow. The storm rolls in heavier, thick sheets of white falling so fast I can barely see beyond the trees. Ellie’s footprints vanish, and my heart pounds in my chest as I pace, searching for any sign of her. She’s gone.

I let out a low, frustrated yowl into the cold silence, the sound swallowed by the wind. Something’s wrong—I can feel it in my bones. David and his men must’ve caught her. My fur bristles, and I push forward through the blizzard, retracing where I last saw her. I don’t stop, even as the snow stings my face and my paws grow numb.

Hours pass before I finally stumble on it—the faint scent of blood and struggle, Ellie’s, mixed with something else: men, leather, metal. My claws flex against the frozen earth. They took her.

I know I can’t charge in headlong—not yet—but I’ll find her. I have to.

By the time I locate David’s camp, the snow has started to ease. The buildings are broken and eerie, surrounded by tall, bare trees that look like reaching hands. I crouch behind a pile of old crates, my eyes narrowed as I watch the men move through the camp. They’re tense, muttering about the girl David caught. My ears perk up at that. Ellie.

Slipping through the shadows, I creep closer. My paws make no sound on the frost-crusted ground. I see the main building—the kitchen area, judging by the faint, sickening smell of food—and my fur prickles as I hear her.

A faint, muffled voice.

Ellie.

I slink around to a broken window, staying low. Inside, I see her curled up in a small, rusted cell. The metal bars look brittle but strong enough to hold. She’s awake, her face pale but angry, her hands gripping the bars tightly. David sits nearby at a table, his hands steepled, watching her with that unsettling calm I’ve come to hate.

“You’re very special, you know,” David says softly, his voice carrying through the empty room. “All that fire. You remind me of myself.”

Ellie glares at him, her lip curled in disgust. “I’m nothing like you.”

David chuckles, like she just told him a joke. “Oh, but you are. You’ve survived. You’re a natural leader. It’s why I like you, Ellie. Why I’m offering you a place here.”

She spits at him, the sound sharp in the silence. “I’d rather die.”

David’s expression hardens, his false warmth slipping just a little. “Careful now. I’m being very generous.”

I growl softly from my hidden spot, the sound low and dangerous, but David doesn’t hear me. Ellie’s jaw tightens, her knuckles white around the bars of the cell. Despite her anger, I can see the fear in her eyes—she’s trapped, outnumbered, and alone.

Except she’s not alone. I’m here.

I stay hidden for hours, watching and waiting. David finally leaves the room, locking the door behind him. Ellie slumps against the wall, her breaths shaky. I slip through the window carefully, landing silently on the tile floor. Her head jerks up at the faint sound, her eyes wide.

“Beans?” she whispers.

I pad up to the bars of the cell, my tail flicking. She stares at me like she’s not sure if I’m real, her lips parting slightly. Then, a small, broken laugh escapes her.

“You little weirdo,” she mutters, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “How’d you find me?”

I nuzzle against the bars, letting out a quiet trill as if to say, I told you I wouldn’t leave you.

Ellie crouches down, her fingers brushing my fur through the bars. Her touch is gentle, though I can feel the tremor in her hands. “You’re a good cat, Beans,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I sit back, my ears swiveling. Footsteps. Someone’s coming.

“Hide,” Ellie whispers urgently, pointing to the shadows. I dart behind an old counter just as the door creaks open and David steps back inside, carrying a plate of food.

“Dinner time,” he says, his voice sickeningly cheerful. He sets the plate down near the bars and crouches to meet Ellie’s glare. “You’ll change your mind,” he tells her. “You’ll see.”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She just stares him down, unblinking, as he stands and walks away, locking the door behind him once again.

As soon as he’s gone, I creep back to her side. Ellie eyes the plate of food, her face twisting with disgust.

“I’m not eating that,” she mutters. “Who knows what it is…”

I give her a look, as if to say, We need your strength.

She sighs, shaking her head. “Now you’re telling me what to do, huh?” But she tears a bit of the bread apart anyway, eating just enough to keep herself going.

“Don’t worry, Beans,” she whispers after a moment, her voice soft. “I’ll get out of here. I’ll find Joel. And we’ll make these bastards pay.”

Her words are full of quiet fury, a promise.

•

I sit close to her cell, my eyes on the door. She’s right. We’ll get out of here—together. I’ll keep watch, I’ll stay close, and when the time comes, I’ll fight for her like I always do.

David doesn’t know it yet, but he’s underestimated us.

And soon, he’s going to regret it.

David comes back, his movements deliberate, his calm demeanor masking something darker. His footsteps echo in the quiet kitchen as he approaches Ellie’s cell, that unsettling smile stretched across his face. I stay hidden in the shadows, my fur bristling. Something feels different this time—more dangerous.

Ellie stands as he approaches, her eyes defiant despite the terror I can smell radiating from her. “What do you want now?” she spits, gripping the bars like they might keep him away.

David crouches down, his tone almost soft. “Ellie, Ellie… why do you make this so hard? You and I—we’re not so different. You could have a place here, with me. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

Her lip curls in disgust, and her voice is cold. “You’re sick.”

David’s smile falters, and something shifts in his eyes—something predatory. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll learn to appreciate me. In time.”

Ellie’s expression twists with rage, and without hesitation, she reaches through the bars and grabs his hand, bending his finger back with all her strength. A sickening crack fills the room, and David lets out a roar of pain, staggering back.

“You little—!” he snarls, but before he can finish, another man bursts into the room, drawn by the commotion.

Together, they unlock the cell, dragging Ellie out despite her wild thrashing and kicking. “Let me go!” she screams, her voice raw with fury. I leap out of my hiding spot, claws extended, letting out a ferocious yowl as I latch onto David’s leg.

“Damn cat!” he shouts, shaking me off. I try to scramble back to Ellie, but the other man kicks me hard, and pain explodes through my side as I crash into the wall.

The world spins, darkening at the edges, and the last thing I hear before I black out is Ellie’s furious scream.

•

When I come to, the kitchen is empty, and the faint scent of blood and sweat lingers in the air. My body aches, but I force myself to my feet. Ellie’s scent is faint but fresh, leading toward the dining hall. I stumble forward, my vision swimming, but determination pushes me onward.

The first thing I see when I enter the dining hall is Ellie—bruised, bleeding, and clutching a machete, her chest heaving with adrenaline. Across the room stands David, his face twisted with rage, holding a knife.

“I warned you,” he growls, stalking toward her. “You can’t win, Ellie. You’re nothing but a scared little girl.”

Ellie doesn’t respond. Her eyes burn with hatred, her grip on the machete tightening.

I spot a candle flickering on a nearby table, its flame small but steady. An idea sparks in my mind. Despite the throbbing pain in my ribs, I leap onto the table, nudging the candle with my head until it topples onto the stained tablecloth.

The fire catches quickly, licking up the fabric and spreading to the nearby curtains. The room begins to fill with smoke, the air growing heavy with heat.

David notices the fire but doesn’t care. His focus is entirely on Ellie. “You can’t hide from me!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the growing inferno.

Ellie moves like a shadow, slipping around the overturned tables and scattered chairs. David’s eyes dart wildly, his patience unraveling. “Come out!” he snarls, his voice cracking with desperation.

I stay low, watching as Ellie circles behind him, her movements quiet and deliberate. The fire spreads, casting flickering shadows across the walls.

Finally, Ellie makes her move. She lunges from behind, the machete flashing in the firelight as she strikes. David lets out a strangled gasp, his body stiffening as the blade sinks into him.

Ellie doesn’t stop. She screams, her voice raw with all the pain, fear, and fury she’s endured, hacking at David until he collapses to the floor.

The room is an inferno now, the heat blistering. Smoke fills my lungs, and I let out a loud, insistent meow, trying to catch Ellie’s attention.

She turns, her face streaked with blood and soot, and sees me. “Beans!” she calls, coughing as she stumbles toward me.

I dart toward the exit, glancing back to make sure she’s following. Together, we burst out into the cold night air, the flames consuming the dining hall behind us.

Ellie drops to her knees in the snow, her body shaking with exhaustion. I nuzzle against her, letting out a soft purr.

She looks down at me, a weak but genuine smile breaking through her exhaustion. “You did good, Beans,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

I sit beside her, keeping watch as the fire roars behind us. We made it. Ellie’s alive, and David’s gone. For now, the world feels just a little bit safer.

The crackling of the fire fades into the cold night as Ellie kneels in the snow, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands still grip the bloodied machete tightly, her knuckles white, as if she’s afraid to let go. I sit close by, pressing against her side to remind her she’s not alone.

Then I hear it—the faint crunch of footsteps behind us. My ears flick toward the sound, and I turn sharply. A figure emerges from the dark, unsteady but determined. Joel.

“Ellie…” his voice is hoarse, quiet, but it carries through the freezing air like a thunderclap.

Ellie jerks upright, her body still wired for survival. She whirls around, the machete still clutched in her hands, and without thinking, she swings.

“Ellie!” Joel stumbles back just in time, the blade slicing through empty air instead of flesh. His hands shoot up defensively, his voice low and urgent. “Hey! Hey—it’s me!”

Ellie freezes mid-movement, her eyes wild as she stares at him. The fire’s glow behind her paints the scene in stark reds and oranges, the flames licking toward the sky. She’s trembling, her chest heaving as reality crashes down on her.

“Joel?” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“It’s me, kiddo,” Joel says softly, his face lined with exhaustion and relief. He takes a cautious step forward, his hands still raised. “You’re okay now. I got you.”

Ellie stares at him for a long, frozen moment, as if she’s trying to convince herself he’s real. Then, the machete clatters to the snow, her fingers releasing it as though it burns. She lets out a choked sob and collapses forward into Joel’s arms.

Joel catches her, his own body unsteady, but he holds her tightly. “I’m here,” he mutters, his voice gruff but soft. “I’m here.”

I sit back, watching as Joel wraps Ellie in his arms, sheltering her from the cold and everything else the world has thrown at her.

Ellie’s sobs echo softly in the stillness, muffled against Joel’s shoulder. Her hands clutch at his coat as though afraid he’ll disappear, and Joel just holds her, one hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair.

“You—you’re alive,” Ellie stammers, her voice breaking.

Joel lets out a quiet, shaky breath. “Damn right I am. You kept me alive.”

They stay like that for a long time—Joel grounded but weak, Ellie raw and broken but safe, both of them holding onto each other as if to anchor themselves to the moment.

Finally, Joel lifts his head, his tired eyes landing on me. He gives me a faint, almost incredulous look, as if he’s just now noticing the small, soot-covered cat in the snow.

“And you…” he murmurs, letting out a quiet huff. “You’re still here too, huh?”

I meow softly in response, padding closer to them. Joel watches me for a beat, and then a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Good cat,” he says gruffly.

Ellie pulls back slightly, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she follows Joel’s gaze to me. “Beans didn’t leave me,” she says quietly. “Not once.”

Joel’s brow furrows, a mixture of gratitude and disbelief flickering across his face. “You’ve got yourself a little guardian angel, huh?”

Ellie sniffs, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles as she reaches out to stroke my head. “Yeah,” she whispers, her voice soft. “I do.”

Joel shifts, letting out a faint groan as he steadies himself on his feet. “Come on. We need to move before someone comes lookin’.” He glances back at the inferno behind us, the fire now fully consuming the dining hall. “Can’t stay here.”

Ellie nods, wiping her face on her sleeve before picking me up gently. I don’t protest. She cradles me close to her chest as Joel places a steadying hand on her shoulder, guiding her forward through the snow.

We move together—three broken souls bound by something unspoken, something stronger than blood or fear.

And for the first time in a long time, the world feels just a little less dark.

[llondonfog]

my whole life and all my heart; you're my whole life and all my heart.

part 1/?

the human child cries in the shattered remains of its cradle, its raspy wails an echo of the nameless grief swallowing lilia's stilled and barren heart whole (and what a lie that is— his grief certainly bears a name, two in fact, and he cannot speak of them, cannot think of them lest he open his mouth and choke on the ash-slick shards of his own anguished screams—). his fingers tremble around the wrapped handle of his weapon, and if baul happens to notice, then he is wise enough not to say anything.

he could kill it now. he could smite it from existence, send it hurtling towards the same miserable and all too merciful fate that had befallen its damnable progenitors. he can taste it— the tantalizing blush of blood against the battle-lust atmosphere, the smooth swing of his blade cleaving air and infant in two.

he could kill it now. he could.

(he cannot. it had been one of her last requests, he cannot desecrate her wishes though oh, how he rages to—)

"i hate you," he snarls down at the sniveling little beast with its scrunched up watery eyes, and his talons score gouges deep into the edge of the delicately painted cradle. "you have taken everything from us, and i hate you."

"...you will do then as the queen wishes?" dear baul, voice a low and thick dam behind him that creaks and groans beneath the weight of the guttural despair weighing down upon them; he still calls her by empty title, as if that might manifest her return, and lilia half feral with grief nearly believes it might— who else but baul, the most staunchly loyal of them all, could recall her from the vanished? who else could call her back home?

(certainly not lilia— her failed general; her failed knight; her failed friend)

and thus, he is chained to this wretched creature by both grief and guilt. to have spared the child's life with the thought of her own, he simply could not understand it. by her grace alone does this human live, and he stiffly beckons a soldier over to pluck the hiccupping babe from its tucked in blankets.

and still, at death's very door, did she manage to best him; the audacity, to have made him promise to look after both children. for her son, he would have conquered the world. for this child, he would have ended it.

"and what of this place? will they not come searching for the prince?"

lilia does not look at the broken scales that litter the floor like obsidian glass. he does not look at the scorch marks scouring the stone walls. he does not look at the bloodstained sword.

"burn it, burn it to the ground." he kicks at the sagging cradle, the torn blankets spilling out in a weeping heap.

"and you can use that as kindling."

[decks-writing-blog]

Here to Stay Drabbles: Perfect Dog

Summary: Tommy worries about his personal experiment.

[A/N] After writing drabbles from Bubby and then Coomer's POV's I wanted to do one from Tommy's to round out having written from everyone's POV at least once. I was gonna have him interacting with one of the others but this is what I came up with instead.

~

If Dad knew what Tommy was doing, he wouldn’t be happy. Tommy wasn’t technically bound by the same rules as he was when it came to interfering but this project pushed that allowance. Not a lot but enough to be risky. Pushing Dad’s employers wasn’t wise, even if Tommy had never seen or meant them personally, Dad had made very sure he knew that about them. And pushing Dad wasn’t wise either… maybe. Tommy had never done it before. It was finally time for his rebellious stage though, quite a few years later than when human typically had it but he wasn’t human – even if his disguise as one was more stable than Dad’s, no funky eye colours and, in his opinion, a more normal speech pattern – and thus that was fine.

He’d managed to keep it secret. As far as Dad or anyone else knew, Tommy was just acting as a scientist in Black Mesa for fun. Which was partially true, but he was also working on his secret project. And today was the big day for it and thus all this anxiety bottling up inside him.

There were so many things that could go wrong. Dad’s employers might find out about it and put a stop to it or Dad himself might. The experiment could fail as soon as he opened the tube. Or it might seem fine at first only to reveal itself as a failure later, possibly even several years from now. Or… or… who knows what else? Probably a thousand things could go wrong. Going through all of them wouldn’t make any of them any less likely so there wasn’t any point in doing so.

So he should stop pacing and wondering the halls, wringing his tie until it was a mangled mess and go open the tube already. … Or to the lab the tube was supposed to be in because what if it wasn’t anymore? It might’ve been found out by supernatural entities or just the mundane scientists of Black Mesa and moved and/or destroyed as a result. An accidental breakage would be the worst; his little puppy lying on the ground amongst the shattered glass of her tube, possibly pierced and cut by it.

With a whimper, Tommy turned on his heel and started going in that direction, almost running. Late at night, few folk were out and about in the halls and thus he didn’t run into anyone who might slow him or be curious about why he was in such a rush.

The tube was hidden in a small unused room near the back of the lab that had been used to grow the perfect scientist – Tommy hadn’t met them but hoped to one day. It was one of the tubes used in the early phases of that experiment, before they’d moved onto human sized things. He’d even gone over the notes for that project. They’d helped a lot in making her perfect. His perfect little hopefully immortal, hopefully alive and still there, doggie.

Upon reaching the door, he fumbled with the key, almost dropping it twice before getting it into the keyhole. … Inside the tube was still there in the back, hooked up to all its equipment. Thank goodness!

The puppy floated inside it, just visible through the goo that had grown her. She was moving, her ears and paws twitching. It was time to decant her and then hope for the best. And then he would finally get to name her. Ooh, he was so excited! Still nervous too of course but delaying any longer would only feed that so it was time.

First he set the fluid to draining. A slow process but he managed to make himself hold still for it. Mostly anyway; his hands returned to wringing his poor tie, twisting it into knots he might never be able to undo. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d ruined a tie so.

Once that was done, he opened the tube and pulled his poor soaking wet puppy out and laid her on the table. Working as fast he could – and grateful to finally have something to do with his hands – he used the suction machine to clear her lungs and airways of the tank’s fluid. Even before he was done, she was squirming and wiggling the exact same way new born pups did. Pulling the tube out of her nose, she let out a small sneeze that was the cutest thing Tommy had ever heard.

He’d succeeded! A living breathing perfect dog! Alive, healthy, and wonderful! Whether he’d succeeded in using his powers to make her immortal was hard to tell but he seemingly hadn’t harmed in her in the attempt and thus hopefully had succeeded there too. One day it would be tested and he’d know for sure. Hopefully it would be the realization that she wasn’t deteriorating with age and thus a peaceful, no stressful way to find out.

That was something to worry about later though. For now, he gently dried her off with a towel before wrapping her in the fresh one and picking her up to hold close to his chest.

“Now I gotta come up with a name for you.” There were lots of good options. He’d narrowed it down to either naming her after one of his favorite sodas or one of his Beyblades. OSHA had been in contention too for a while but naming a dog that seemed wrong since dogs couldn’t be OSHA approved or disapproved. “We can um… maybe test some out while I take you to my room. I already got everything there to feed you and stuff. You’re gonna be the happiest, most loved dog in the whole wide universe, I promise.”

[mikasas-biggestwhore]

Aot headcanons (Last part)

a/n: I got hella busy and had to heavily slowdown on my requests so this is a headcanon post to make up for it. I’ll be back to posting regularly posting soon just hang in there ‼️

Okay now that that’s over, most of these hcs are modern ones. Enjoy :)

Includes: Erwin, Levi, Hanji,

Erwin

This is probably a common headcanon and Erwin definitely makes dad jokes. You can’t do anything around him or else he is definitely going to make a joke out of it some how in someway.

I know a lot of people see Erwin as more as a history teacher guy and don’t get me wrong I do too but I feel like he would need more action. I can see him being a firefighter that rescues cats out of trees or a police officer that has a trained dog by his side

Erwin was definitely right handed and losing his right arm was a very big L. Of course he adapted and in the end he actually is a better lefty then righty. Like his hand writing before was good but now??? Shit looks elegant.

I see him as a romantic. Not like a stereotypical romantic though. Sure he would kiss your knuckles and walk you like the gentleman he is but at the same time he’ll declare to race somewhere out of nowhere and then shove you so he can get a head start.

Going off of that Erwin is a cheater bruh. Not relationship wise but if y’all ever play a game he’s def cheating. I mean he did use his soldiers as pawn for personal gain so it makes sense. NO NOT PLAY BOARD GAMES WITH HIM. He’s either stealing money from the bank while your not looking or either he’s distracting you so you forget it’s your turn. 

Levi

I’m pretty sure it’s canon but Levi is amazing with animals. He’s the type of person that could just be minding his own business and suddenly he finds a kitten that is in desperate need of help and clings to him immediately.

Another thing a lot of people probably agree on is that he’s more of a cat person. I can’t see him ever liking dogs because of how ‘messy’ they can be and how much work and training they require. I have both and can agree cats are less work then dogs 💀

He has a soft spot for little kids. As cold and clinical Levi is I genuinely don’t think he has it in him to be upset with like a 5 year old. Sure annoyed because who wouldn’t be but mad? Nah never. There’s an age limit though if your 12 and up your feeling his wrath regardless.

This is another common headcanon and it’s that Levi runs a tea shop. Okay cool but Imma put my own twist. He runs a tea shop and bakery that connect. Like let’s be fr I know this man knows how to cook. He’s literally so good at anything else why would he not be able to cook? So if he ever opened a tea shop just know there would be a bakery right beside it.

If there was a line of work I could see Levi in it would be the FBI or federal government type of stuff. That or he would be a private investigator. All his skills work out for either and I feel like he would be on of the best in the business. No question about it at all.

Hanji

Hanji has broken several pairs of their glasses. They never break them like a normal person either- What do you mean you dropped them in a enclosure at the zoo? You shattered them from one of your experiments? Do I even wanna know why they are split in two? Yea they constantly break them.

Hanji is an animal person and literally has the most outrageous pets. They have a wolf dog just because they have the space and time for one. The have caracals that live in their house with their own space. They totally have capybaras and prairie dogs too. It’s practically a zoo at their house.

I feel like Hanji is one of those people that just had bad luck. They have no clue what they did to upset the universe but things only happen to them. Say they’re having a nice outing with Levi and Erwin and it starts to rain. They all pull out their umbrellas. Why is Hanji’s the only that breaks.

Hanji is 100% an adrenaline junky. Like they would go skydiving and swim with sharks for fun. It’s something about the rush that makes them so excited and they love having that feeling. It’s not odd at all for Hanji to come back and tell everyone a wild and crazy story

It sounds plain to say if Hanji had a job they would be a scientist. So instead I think they would be a biomedical engineer. Imagine them making fake organs to save people. Or they would go into the field of prosthetics. I just think that they would want to be in a field that includes medicine and helps people. 

Wooo we are finished with aot hcs unless yall make requests 🤭

Part 1

Part 2

[roses-dreams-andthorns]

Love Me!

Yandere Ṙ̴̭̝̩͙̠̳̠͍̤͕̥͇͇̦̰̦͔̯̥̲̻͖̦̘͕̭̼̎̋͛͌̚͘ĩ̴̧̢̨̡̢̨̡̛͚͔̜̝̮̺͈͚̞̼͇͍̠̲̩͖͙̮̺͇̖̭̠̲͈̪̹̬̪̠̙͈̠̯̫̬̪̬͆̂̓̎̂̍͋̈͛̋̓̓͐͛̈́̉̏́̈́̉̾̍̾͌̿͊̆͛͑̓̆̃̅͌͋̿̾̂͗̋̌̄́͒̓̒́́̚͝͝ͅd̶̡͕̩̤̮̮͔̪̪͚͕̪̩̭̺͉̖̘̮̭̲̝̓͐̓̒͊̈̅͜͝ͅͅd̵̢̧͔̗̮̮͚͓͇̖̮̝̦̔͋̐͊̈͜͜l̸̡̢̧̨͓̫̗̗̰̖̞̣̩̬̠͉̦͔͇̥̣̻̯̯̦̪̥͕̲̖̱̼̖̼̲̟̭̤̮͍̫̰̙̝̣͓͉͖̜̻̝͍̹͈͎̯̀̆̅́̌̂̅̏̿̽̈́͛̓̀̈̏͌́̍͜͜͠͠ͅę̷̨̨͎̣̬͕̪̠̦̲̳̦̼͚̩̦̤̰͚̰̯͉̞͙̟̺͙̐͗̃͐̽͒͂̉̑̆̎̃̿͆̑̾̍̀̆̅̌͝ͅͅ x Male reader part 3

TW: Stalking, mentions of blood, broken glass, horror themes, insanity.

You chose... Run. It's not safe here.

This action may have consequences.

Instantly, at the sound of the shatter, you jolted up from your position. Should you run? Or should you try to find Riddle?

Your instincts are telling you to run, and you do just that, your first thought for a quick escape was the mirror you entered through, not thinking twice about it. Unfortunately, nothing is ever easy, and you find the mirror that was shattered was the one that would have guaranteed your escape. How it broke? Some sort of impact. A strong impact, like a hammer. But there was no hammer in sight. You figured you should be continuing to run, but it wouldn't hurt you to investigate a little bit. The glass was no doubt broken by a tool, as there was a round, circular dent where the source of the impact hit, most likely a hammer.

You kneel down and pick up one of the larger pieces of glass, being careful not to cut yourself. The sharp looking edge was no doubt as sharp as it looked. Perhaps this could be used for self defense if paired with the right materials, so you store it away for durastic measures.

You suddenly hear another noise, coming from the bushes, it sounded nearby, but luckily not too close for comfort, but it enabled your flight response. Your ears told you the sound came from the right, so your main options were to head for the building, or go left to try to lose whatever could chase you. You figured, that if you entered the building, it may be easier for a persuer to catch you because of the winding halls of the dorm, but there would be more beneficial hiding places, like closets, underneath beds, etc. but the rose maze to the left is vast, and more winding than the halls of the building, if you navigated them right, the persuer could lose your trail, but there are less possible hiding spaces, besides hiding in the bushes, but at the same time... this possible persuer could be a Heartslabyul student, who knows the layout like none other, if so, you may be screwed.

Though, it may be possible to do both. You could lose the persuer in the rose maze, then flee for the building, but that would need futher strategy. Or you could try to contact a friend to come and save you. Ugh... if only someone else were here with you besides whatever lurks within the confines of the Heartslabyul dorm with you at the moment, it could attack you at anytime, so think fast, Ramshackle prefect.

4 options, please chose wisely.

> Enter the left-most rose maze, I'm a fast runner, I can get away easily.

> Head for the building. Hiding and Stealth is my specialty.

> Strategize. A bit of both never hurt no one, its do or die, now or never.

> Try to contact someone. I want out. ASAP.

^^^^^^^

(An optional additional choice that you can preform during the other 3 choices, but you can try to just stand there and call someone, but spoiler alert! thats probably not the best idea...)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

4 Options this time! Choose wisely~ Poll for these options will be posted soon!

Also, remember the glass piece you picked up? certain places can help you to find more materials to assist in self defense! Weapons are a key thing when it comes to survival against the "unknown", am I right? hehehe....

tbh I'm actually kinda starting to scare myself with this...? I may or may not have nightmares of Riddle with the face of a monster from a horror movie chasing me while on all 4s like a spider tonight... /j

Hope y'all don't get that image stuck in your heads

Sorry if I give you nightmares with that description-

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

The caller you are trying to reach does not exist.

In the wise words of Robert Smith - not that I’ve ever listened to him  nearly as much as you  used to -  it’s always the same. Exactly the same clean room, exactly the same clean bed,  except you’ve shattered all over the floor  and smeared the walls with his musical strawberry cream,  and I’ve gotten inside  to stare at you  as the seeping, knowing mouth.  (Please stay.) 

If you were you, you would laugh  and make fun of me, probably, for referencing The Cure in my poem.  Probably say something like- “Hey, c’mon, dude, that’s my thing!”  Accuse me  of impersonation.  I wish you would. I wish it was you.  And I wish you would hate what isn’t me. 

There was some equation  we (our gone selves) learned in class about sound and distance  but I don’t remember it, of course.  (Not many, but some of my memories  got gobbled up.  I was hungry when I killed me.)  (I want to think it’s more important that I was scared  when I became me.)  I do remember that you said, “Echoes are a sort of mirror.”

I am my own echo. A disconnect signal  bound red around my throat  bouncing in a starving vacuum  before being burnt to a crisp.  I am my own echo, and you are  a million glittering pieces of reflection  divine stained glass in a citadel, broken  by the black rock that arced down  while your eyes were blinded by the sight of the sun.  (Mine were always blind; I did not know sight  until I choked  and ate my own color.  Not that that matters. I just want to make you  feel better.)  whole again.) 

I will find a way to pick up and piece together the you  that you were.  I will find each sliver of you, even if I can’t see  the way they glint against reality. We learned about echolocation in class. I can listen  for the sound of you instead and I will cut my stolen hands on the shards.  I can’t regurgitate myself. This is the best I can do. 

I want to keep you safe. I will bow  to your puppet strings  that dissolve me into deadly-dark curtain-folds and slide razor-edged shadow, shadow-edged teeth through our prey  if it means we stay together. I will stay  with the shell of you.  I don’t mind the sharp edges. 

Maybe it’s better if I’m not here  as much. It’s always the same-  can’t have one  without the other.  Less of you  means less of me.  Equal amounts. Reflection image. (I still can’t see. Not in the way the old me could. Mirrors are taunting,  and empty.)  It’s okay. I’m not sure I want to be myself  around you when you aren’t you, anyways. 

Just keep the both of us safe.  I’ll be here when you come back. 

Don’t stay away too long this time.

[ask-healthy-light]

As Spike grabbed another glass of water for himself with his back turned to Frost, he nodded wisely at the comment she made, and he smiled, for although he did not yet know what she had been through, it was clear that she was an outcast, too; so after Spike hopped down from the counter, he politely told Frost that he was there for her, but she did not have to say anything if she preferred not to.

Despite the continuous kindness Spike had shown her in the short time she knew him, Frost was still pleasantly surprised to hear no lie in his words, unlike what she had experienced many times before in the past; but she was uncertain, for while many wounds in her mind had healed, and she would not pick at the ones that had hurt her too deeply, she was not sure whether Spike would be as cautious.

For a moment, Frost's fears got the better of her, and she shook her head as she quietly apologised to Spike for keeping him away from his friends and Family, before she kindly told him to join them, and that she would be all right again in due time; but the warm smile on Spike's face did not fade, and he sat down next to Frost, where he reminded her that she now was a part of that group as well.

Though it would be lovely to spend time with the others, Spike added talking about countless things over lunch, or simply being generally close by when doing something entirely separate, he knew they they would understand why he stayed with her for a while; and he promised that he would stay by her side until she was ready to go, even if he was only there to listen, or to be a shoulder to cry on.

When she realised that her eyes had started to well up with tears, Frost admitted to Spike that she was afraid to tell him, since she would not know if her story became too much for him, until it was too late; but also, through no fault of his own, she was worried he would accidentally stumble into an area best left untouched, and ask her about terrible times, to where she never wanted to return.

But before Frost continued, Spike repeated the promise he had made to her, that she did not have to utter a single word about her past if she did not want to, and he would understand if she wanted to leave that time far behind her; but if she did want to talk about it, he promised to do exactly the same thing for her in return, so she could tell him only what she was comfortable with him knowing.

A peaceful silence fell between the two Dragons, until Frost slowly took a deep breath, and grabbed hold of Spike's claw, which she squeezed ever so gently, before she quietly said that she never did tell him why she was given such a strange name; and although Spike figured that her Dragon-Fire was not truly extinguished, he hid his immense eagerness to find out, and nodded to Frost with a smile.

The reason she said they were both one-of-a-kind Dragons, Frost began, is because she knew how much they stood out amongst everyone around them, but whereas Spike was a Dragon living nigh exclusively with Ponies, she did spend part of her life with other Dragons; but even before she had hatched, it was clear she was not a usual Dragon, since her egg would get damaged if it got even slightly warm.

Whether it was due to the environment she was born in, her fellow Dragons, or simply Frost herself, she was entirely opposite to any Dragon they had seen before, since she preferred to stay cold, and she grew healthier and stronger the longer she was away from heat; but she easily stood out because of this, so she became a target of bullying for every Dragon of her age, for countless leagues out.

Pushing and poking became ridicule and rejection, which swiftly worsened into burning and breaking, and then to slicing and shattering of what had been broken already, until even the Great Dragons of the land, and Lord Torch himself, had to intervene to save her; but despite their mutual dislike of each other, the older Dragons cared for her, while others of her age banded together to target her.

Then, Frost let go of Spike's claw, and as she gritted her teeth, with tears in her eyes, she said:

"I remember the day things changed… And so does every single other Dragon."

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

[silvergolddraco28]

Hazbin Hotel RP Starter- Shattered Soul

What happens when a soul is placed under so much pressure and stress? What happens if that soul is as old as time itself and isn't a human soul? How will the realms react to the fact the most powerful soul to ever exist reforms in a way none could have predicted?

1

Red and gold eyes looked at the red sky and the ‘sunset’ fading from view before turning back into the spacious yet sparse tower of a room. Golden magic closed the doors while several glowing blue-tinted white letters rested on the desk all demanding the same thing. Retribution. Gold-scarred hands racked through golden locks as golden cracks slowly spread from the red and golden eyes swimming with pure distress and pain. Chaotic arcs of black gold and white energy seeped out of the growing cracks with heavy pressure growing in the room. In a blink, the being seemed to *shatter* like a glass mirror with a pulsing energy at its core splitting into three before the shards haphazardly reformed one shorter and the other taller than the one that was already in the room. Red and gold eyes blinked before slipping closed, being caught by the taller one.

“Are you sure that is wise?” the smallest questioned with a frown, white wings with gold undersides fluttering in uncertainty.

“He would have spiraled and tried to pull us back. You and I both know everything already before being given individuality. This is the best solution right now. We need to start cleaning house before dealing with that mess.” the taller replied settling the very much unconscious one on the bed to rest.

“…you want to rope Alastor into helping by baiting him with breaking his chain and healing him into a contract deal?” The smallest deadpanned to the tallest.

“Unfortunately Alastor is the most informed of what’s going on in Pride and if we want to clean house we need him on our side and not trying to undermine us.”

“He won’t do anything unless given something of equal worth over.”

“I already have an idea on what to do.” The tallest smirked fixing their hat with a purple snake wrapped around the base holding the golden crown and black apple in place.

Helel came to the dark heavy wooden door with antlers and glowing green symbols scattered about its frame before summoning his black cane with a simple black apple on top and using it to knock on the thick wooden door. “I know you’re up Alastor. I can hear your static from here. Open the door or I’ll simply continue talking about the fact you have some debts to pay.” Helel called voice firm as he waited giving the demon a minute before he would force the door open.

Helel looked over his claws taking note that his were absent of any scars that Lucifer had but were still a few shades blacker than Lucifer’s almost looking like the typical gloves Lucifer wore. “Times up Bambi.” Helel called raising his cane and tapping it to the door letting bold red magic with black electricity shimmer over the door and smirking when it unlocked and swung wide open for him.

(End Starter)

[jazzy-man13]

Request rules/info

Hi there, I'm a life-long Transformers lover that sometimes writes stuff. On the off chance that anyone really likes my writing and wants to make a request, here's the information you need!

side note: I'm incredibly inconsistent and there's absolutely no way of telling when I'll get your request done. That doesn't mean I'm ignoring you, I'm just acoustic

Continuities I can/will write for:

Transformers mtmte/Lost Light

Transformers Armada

Transformers Cyberverse

Transformers Prime

Transformers Earthspark

Transformers rid2015

Transformers g1

Transformers wfc/foc

Transformers rotb

Transformers idw comics (I know some of it, not all)

Continuities I will write for in the future once I've finished watching/reading them:

Transformers animated

Transformers energon

Transformers rid2001

Transformers beast wars

Transformers shattered glass

Transformers Titans return

Transformers netflix wfc trilogy

Transformers prime/combiner wars

Transformers bayverse

Transformers rescue bots

Transformers victory

There's probably more that I'm forgetting, I'll add them later if I remember

What I will/can write content wise:

Fluff

Angst

Comfort

Robo-gore (probably not too intense)

Romantic scenarios

Platonic scenarios

Trauma (might deny if I'm uncomfortable writing it)

I will probably add more to this list- if there's anything not on here, feel free to ask!

What I won't/can't write:

NSFW (suggestive flirting/dirty jokes are fine)

Minor x adult ships

Incest

Yandere

Any ships I'm uncomfortable with

Basically anything that falls into proship categories

Again, I'll probably add more later!

Types of ships I will/can write:

Character x reader

Character x Character

I will not do ocs or you personally x canon characters, just because I have difficulties with that. I could change that in the future, who knows-

Types of readers/features I can write:

gender neutral, masc, fem

Trans/any type of genderqueer

Specific pronouns

Autistic, adhd, ocd, etc.

Specific body types/features

Specific races/ethnicities

Non human/cybertronian

Any combination of these

Note: I have very limited experience in writing, and even less in specific reader types. I will do my absolute best to represent your request accurately, but please let me know if you have any specific part of said request that you want me to include! I never want to unintentionally offend or misrepresent someone <3

Scenario request do's and don'ts:

DO be specific in your request (what character(s) you want, the situation, headcanons or one shot or smt else, etc.)

For reader fics: DO describe your reader, do you want the reader to be male? Female? Neither? Human? Non-human? Bot or con, or smt else? (or you can leave it up to me, I usually default to gn cybertronian readers)

DON'T request smt like "autobots react to reader with blonde hair"- that's a bit too vague, and it isn't really a scenario

DON'T request non-transformers related fandom crossovers, chances are I probably won't know it

Remember that I write these for fun, I'm not obligated to do anything for you- be sure to respect the rules and my boundaries <3

Also- I love writing for uncommon blorbos and ships, I especially love femme bots and underrated characters- send me your silly little uncommon blorbos to write <33

(Vehicons/drones, titans, and Elita-1 are my personal special little blorbos)

Again, if there's anything you want to request that isn't on here, please ask/request it anyways! The worst I'll do is change your request to fit the guidelines, or just say nah

Have fun requesting!

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Breakups Masterlist

Always gonna want you back (ao3) - bewareofcamels calum/ashton G, 4k

Summary: They called it a "mental-health" - break over social media, even though it was more of a "Ashton broke up with Calum and now we kind of have a problem band wise" - break!

caught up in distractions (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 2k

Summary: “Come on, Calum. Clearly something’s wrong, you’re harassing Matt. Is this about Luke?”

Calum sighs. What a dumb question, he thinks. Everything is about Luke.

“He’s not here,” he says quietly.

Chrysalis (ao3) - jbhmalum michael/calum T, 49k

Summary: When Michael breaks up with him without an explanation, Calum is left confused as he tries to pick up the pieces. He just doesn’t realise they’re not meant to be put back together the same way.

dancing through our house (ao3) - sunshineash luke/ashton, calum/ashton T, 3k

Summary: Calum Hood shows Ashton Irwin that he could fill the hole Luke Hemmings left in his life

or —

luke dumps ash and calum makes him feel better

if we make it through december (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) luke/ashton T, 28k

Summary: “I didn’t tell them,” he blurts. Ashton falls silent on the other end of the line. “My family. I didn’t tell them about the breakup. And I know that I should’ve and I swear I will, but Gram asked about you today and it’s probably her last Christmas with us and you know how much she loves you. I couldn’t do it. It’d break her heart, and I can’t do that to her. Not right now. So if you– I mean. What I’m trying to say is that you’re still invited to Christmas, if you want. You don’t have to, I can make an excuse for you, and I swear I’ll tell them after the holidays, but I thought maybe… maybe you’d want to see them one last time.”

I'll Admit I Feel Alone (ao3) - 5seconds_of_jessica luke/ashton E, 4k

Summary: Ashton wanted Luke to learn to live without him so he did. Ashton got a girlfriend and Luke was okay, the two even started to become friends again. Until Luke performs a song he wrote and it brings up tons of old emotions

i'm caught up in distractions (fatal attractions) (ao3) - mukelftv T, 1k

Summary: a ydgtp fic.

Love me like you did (ao3) - screamtobeheard michael/luke E, 9k

Summary: “You idiot! Where did you go?” Calum shouts immediately. “You know the way you always suspect the worst of me? This time you’re right,” he says. “Oh my god. You’re taking him to warped tour? What did he do?” “He agreed actually,”

After Luke and Michael break up, Michael is miserable. He decides a roadtrip to warped tour could fix things.

maybe there's no point in holding onto something closely (ao3) - hideforalifetime michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: He’s run this moment over and over in his head. Every day for four years, Luke’s imagined every possible scenario which would result in a face-to-face with Michael Clifford. His ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend Michael Clifford with the huge square-framed black glasses sliding down onto his round little nose, blonde fringe falling over his green eyes, and the dark bands tattooed on his forearms that Luke liked to trace as Michael glared at a textbook with smoldering intensity. Now here he is, shitting his pants at the prospect of seeing the man again, all while in a restaurant’s clammy, damp, tiny bathroom.

paper valentines (ao3) - dafeedil michael/ashton M, 31k

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and Michael and Ashton have erased each other from their respective memories, along with the entirety of the last two years they’ve spent together.

However, sometimes erasing past mistakes only means you’re ultimately doomed to make the same ones all over again.

rebuild it like a vase, or a shattered crown (ao3) - hideforalifetime michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: ‘Happy Birthday, @mikeclifford. You’ve been a constant pillar of support and a source of comedy through some of the most confusing years in my life. We had some great times together, and here’s hoping you’re out there somewhere, thinking of me as you read this. Have a good one, mate.

Cheers.’

Michael and Luke broke up in college, then went their separate ways. Luke went on to become an insanely successful musician, and Michael's still where Luke left him, barely scraping his rent together.

A birthday fic for our lovely lovely Michael.

The Peace in Your Eyes (ao3) - FalseDevotion calum/ashton T, 37k

Summary: “Calum, we can’t do this again.” Ashton didn't turn around, but he could still imagine the hurt in Calum's eyes burning in his eyelids. And the way Calum's voice sounded when he finally spoke up, small and broken, only confirmed it. “...please?” Ashton squeezed his eyes closed harder, hand clenching too on the folders. “Just… I saw you this morning. Couldn’t… I didn’t get to say hello.” Ashton took a deep breath in, deep breath out, his heart squeezing inside his chest. “Cal.” “Please.”

Or,

A young musician comes back home for his sister’s engagement party on New Year’s Eve, and falls straight back into the best relationship he’s ever had, but only for a weekend.

the tragedy of leaking ships and uneven docks (ao3) - The_Lady luke/ashton T, 1k

Summary: “Can I ask you a question?” Luke bites his lip, hands fidgeting on the edge of the passenger seat.

Ashton doesn’t take his eyes off the raindrop-covered windshield. Even in the dark, Luke can see how his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. He nods. His set jaw becomes visible in the rotating street lights, clear one second and gone in the next. Maybe that’s them, too, a flash of brilliance swallowed by the vacancy of the world.

we were just two kids thrown into the flames (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor michael/ashton T, 8k

Summary: Ashton Irwin's name is picked during the reaping for the 75th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, so is his little brother Luke. But then, Michael Clifford is volunteering for his brother. Ashton has to figure out how to make sure he stays alive, but the love of his life also stays alive.

You Don’t Get Me High Anymore (ao3) - orphan_account ot4 T, 1k

Summary: The boys deal with their post-breakup feelings.

[colleenmurphy]

"Colleen..."

"You don't ever get to call me that ever again."

An audible sigh as Dave Sullivan shifts from foot to foot nervously. He had broken her heart in front of virtually everyone they knew plus some summer people so he deserved everything she could throw at him and more, he rationalized with himself.

"Mary..Miss Murphy.."

"Mary'll do. Spill it because I've got shit to do today, Mr. Sullivan."

He noticed that the woman he remembered was gone. Her soft curves had melted away and in its place there before him stood a woman that was akin to every legend of a battle ready warrior he'd ever heard. Her body had toned and firmed and she was much more tan that he'd seen her in either of their lives. Her eyes even seemed to change from their luminous green to a light blue green that reminded him of tropical waters. Her long dark hair had lightened a little in the sun revealing its hidden red undertones to the naked eye. Even in the beat up t-shirt advertising Guinness beer to the cut offs and flip flops she wore he knew that he had to choose his words wisely. His jaw still ached from the last time he'd opened his mouth.

"Florida was good to you wasn't it?"

The rhythmic polishing she was doing to the bar top stopped and then started again, this time harder as if she was about to wear a hole into the top. Her jaw was set in a way he'd never seen. She brought her eyes up to his and pinned him to the spot.

"Out with it!"

Her words rang clear as a church bell in the empty tavern.

"I just wanted you to have the original paperwork for the bar. Lawyers got all the signatures he needs to make this official. I..I can't tell you how sorry I am. About everything."

She had gone back to putting clean glasses up on the over hang and she nodded.

"Y'know I'm sorry too..."

For a second Dave's heart leapt into his throat.

Would she take me back?

He wondered to himself as he watched her work. This time emptying ashtrays. The last of the ashes swept off the bar top she took out her own cigarette case from her shorts pocket. He noticed that she had painted her nails a very vibrant shade of red. Flicking the gold tone zippo with her initials engraved in script on it she took a deep inhale.

"I thought that we were going to grow old and grey together. Raise a family, run this place die here."

He now knew she wasn't smoking just any normal cigarette. The heady smoke enveloped him as her arms once did once upon a time. He felt himself being pulled closer.

What the hell..

Grabbing a bottle from the second shelf up he watched her pour herself two fingers of Bacardi 151. He had only seen her drink when her father had passed. She took another deep drag from her cigarette and a generous sip of her drink before she sat down on of the Naugahyde barstools.

"Now..I'm just sorry I ever met you."

If you must go I wish you luck You'll never walk alone Take care, my love Miss you, love

The sound system came blaring on overhead nearly making him jump out of his skin. She snorted as she finished her drink and held out her cigarette after taking one last puff.

"Jesus. Didn't think it was that loud last night. Think you may need this more than me. See you when I see you."

He watched as Mary got up and walked quietly into the back kitchen area. He was left with nothing to do but to stand there. His chest seized for a moment and he could have sworn he'd heard something shatter.

It was with that David Sullivan realized that he had lost the best woman to ever walk into his life. As she disappeared into the back he saw all the could haves that would have made their life here in the town they're grown up in. He now knew that he had lost his only chance at true contentment and happiness. He made the trek back out to his pick up, loaded down with everything he owned and set out southward. Flicking through the radio stations as he pulled away he thought he saw her one last time.

She wore faded jeans and soft black leather She had eyes so blue they looked like weather When she needed me I wasn't around That's the way it goes, it'll all work out

He was not the praying kind, he conversed with God regularly as he put it but he wasn't one for strict prayer. He pulled to the side of the highway in Annisquam.

"Please let C..Mary find true happiness. Let it all work out for her."

[famousnerdtragedy]

Destined Shadows

Chapter 1: Growing Distance

Bella Mayfair sat in the Mystic Grill, absentmindedly stirring her drink as her eyes flickered toward the Salvatore brothers across the room. Her heart clenched at the sight of Damon laughing at something Elena Gilbert said. The easy banter between them was everything Bella feared.

Of course, he loves her, Bella thought bitterly, squeezing her fingers around the glass. Why wouldn’t he? She’s perfect.

As the youngest member of the powerful Mayfair witch family, Bella had always known she was different from the other teenagers in Mystic Falls. Her magic ran through her veins, an ancient gift passed down through generations. But despite her powers, she felt vulnerable around Damon—because he was so much more than her best friend.

He was her mate.

At least, that’s what her magic told her. The bond between them was undeniable, something Bella had felt for as long as she could remember. But when Elena came into the picture, it shattered Bella’s hopes. How could someone as beautiful and fragile as Elena not win Damon’s heart?

The door to the Grill creaked open, and Bella’s breath hitched. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Damon. His presence, dark and magnetic, pulled at her magic, the connection they shared flaring to life the moment he entered the room.

“Bella,” his voice drawled, sending a shiver down her spine as he approached her table.

Her fingers tensed around the glass, and she forced a smile, looking up to meet his intense blue gaze. “Hey, Damon.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed slightly as he sat down across from her, his jaw tightening. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries.

Bella bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been busy,” she lied. In reality, she’d been doing everything she could to stay away from him. Being near Damon only made the pain worse.

Damon leaned forward, his eyes burning into hers. “Cut the crap, Bella. I know when you’re lying.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as her mind raced for an excuse. But before she could speak, Elena’s voice interrupted them.

“Hey, Damon!” Elena smiled brightly as she approached their table, her presence instantly drawing Damon’s attention.

Bella’s stomach twisted painfully, and she took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed, leaving before Damon could stop her. She needed space—distance from the one person who unknowingly held her heart.

Chapter 2: Secrets and Sorcery

Bella hurried through the woods, her steps quiet as she approached her family’s ancestral home, the old Mayfair mansion that stood at the edge of Mystic Falls. The house had always been a sanctuary for her, a place where she could practice her magic without fear of judgment. But today, even the protective wards around the house couldn’t shield her from the turmoil inside.

She opened the front door and walked straight to her grandmother's study. The walls were lined with old grimoires and artifacts, the air thick with the scent of sage and ancient magic. Her grandmother, Rowena Mayfair, looked up from her spellbook, her wise, knowing eyes instantly zeroing in on Bella’s troubled expression.

“You’ve been crying,” Rowena said softly, her voice calm and soothing.

Bella sank into a chair across from her grandmother, her composure breaking. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Damon… he’s… he’s my mate.”

Rowena’s expression softened, her sharp features relaxing as she studied Bella. “Ah, so the bond has revealed itself to you.”

Bella nodded, wiping her eyes. “But he’s in love with Elena. How can he be my mate if he loves someone else?”

Rowena sighed, leaning back in her chair. “The bond between a witch and a vampire is ancient and powerful. It cannot be broken easily. However, Damon may not understand it yet. He may be drawn to Elena for other reasons, but the connection he shares with you is something much deeper.”

Bella frowned, her heart heavy. “Then why can’t he see it?”

Rowena’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Vampires are complicated creatures. Sometimes they need time to realize what their hearts already know. But you, my dear, cannot ignore this bond. If you keep running from him, you will only cause yourself more pain.”

“I can’t face him, Grandma,” Bella whispered. “It hurts too much.”

Rowena reached out, taking Bella’s hand. “You’re stronger than you think, Bella. And when the time comes, Damon will realize what you mean to him. But you must have patience.”

Bella nodded, though her chest still ached with doubt. Patience was never her strong suit.

Chapter 3: Damon's Realization

Damon stood in the middle of the boarding house, his mind replaying his last encounter with Bella. The look in her eyes, the pain she tried so hard to hide, gnawed at him. She had been avoiding him for weeks, and he was tired of it.

Stefan walked in, a knowing look on his face. “You look like you’re about to rip someone’s throat out,” Stefan commented, pouring himself a drink.

“I’m fine,” Damon muttered, though his mind was far from it.

Stefan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Is this about Bella?”

Damon shot his brother a sharp look. “What about her?”

Stefan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “She’s been distant. Ever wonder why?”

“Of course I’ve wondered,” Damon snapped. “But she won’t tell me.”

Stefan’s gaze was steady. “Maybe you’re not looking at the bigger picture. Think about it. Bella’s your best friend, but you’ve been spending a lot of time with Elena lately. You think that might have something to do with why she’s avoiding you?”

Damon frowned. Elena? That didn’t make sense. Elena was important, yes, but Bella… Bella was everything. She was the one who understood him, who had been by his side through everything.

Stefan's voice broke through his thoughts. “How do you know you’re in love with the right girl?”

Damon froze, the words hanging in the air. Bella? He had always felt a connection to her, deeper than he ever allowed himself to admit. But love? The realization hit him like a tidal wave. It wasn’t Elena he wanted—it had never been. It was Bella. It had always been Bella.

“I’ve been a fool,” Damon muttered quietly.

Stefan smirked. “You finally figured that out?”

Damon’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to let her slip away. Not now. Not ever.”

Chapter 4: Claiming His Mate

Bella was in the forest, practicing her spells in a quiet clearing when she felt a familiar presence behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to recognize Damon’s presence. Her heart raced, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“Bella,” Damon’s voice was low, but there was something different about it—something urgent. She turned slowly to face him, her pulse quickening.

“Damon, what are you doing here?”

Damon closed the distance between them, his eyes intense. “I’ve been an idiot, Bella.”

She blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He took her hands in his, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. “I’ve been chasing the wrong person,” Damon said, his voice soft but fierce. “All this time, I thought I wanted Elena. But I was wrong. It’s you, Bella. It’s always been you.”

Bella's heart raced, her mind spinning. “Damon, I—”

"I love you," Damon interjected, his eyes locked onto hers with intensity. “You’re my mate. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

Tears welled up in Bella’s eyes as her emotions overwhelmed her. “But you—Elena—”

"Whatever I felt for Elena pales in comparison to what I feel for you," Damon said confidently. “The bond we have… it’s real, Bella. And I won't let you escape from it."

Bella’s breath hitched, her heart soaring. “You really mean that?”

Damon cupped her face, pulling her close. “I’ve never been more convinced of anything in my life.”

Before she could respond, Damon’s lips were on hers, claiming her with a passion that left her breathless. Bella melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back, the bond between them flaring to life, stronger than ever.

When they finally pulled apart, Damon rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and possessive. “You’re mine, Bella Mayfair. And I’m never letting you go.”

Bella smiled, her heart finally at peace. “I wouldn’t want you to.”