#pardon my potential lack of content

[alister312]

wah

[yiga-hellhole]

TFTK CHAPTER 20: ENDURING RESOLVE

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

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

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

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

ao3 mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon me. Did I disturb you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghirahim smiled, sighed, and complied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sheikah man would be his first opponent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now is the time to flee. 

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

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

Just like he wanted! Bloodlust made blind! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. I thought so too.”

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

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

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

“Care to assist me once more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At once, the tether to their puppet was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

Ghirahim grinned. “Gladly.”

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

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

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

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

Not to mention, the smell of fresh carcasses. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Satisfied by my handiwork, Twilight King?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was an imp again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sheik, now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghirahim–”

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

“Ghirahim, stop.”

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

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

“Master sent us here to die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… No.

There were two.

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

Zant was dying.

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

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

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

He wanted to be loved.

Please, help him.

Oh, God. What has he done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not one step further, Pebble.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, to get out of here. 

[deceitful-darlings]

Pardon my intrusion! I'm not certain as to whether or not this counts as a request, but I was wondering which twst yanderes would be chillest with an Aroace darling. Idk, I just see an unfortunate lack of content for that sexuality and your content tends to be particularly enjoyable. (alfhlhsd can you tell I'm new to this Anon thing? Hope this was done properly)

Yup, this is a request, and that’s totally ok!

And as for which would be chill with an aroace darling...well, it depends what you define as chill. Naturally, all could potentially be platonic yanderes, but if we’re looking at non-platonic I would say:

Professor Trein

Lilia

Trey

Kalim

And possibly Rook and Silver

These characters can easily slip in to a more caretaker role for their darlings, even without the platonic aspect. Trein and Lilia are both old enough that they aren’t going to be too fussed about the sexual or romantic aspect of the relationship. Kalim is kinda a dunce, so for him he could have to possibility to just treat the relationship as if it were a deeper friendship, Silver is just... Silver. I don’t think he’d care too much as long as you were just there. Rook and Trey are kind of the ‘they may just about be able to keep their dicks in their pants but don’t hold your breath about it’ gang.

[demonslayedher]

Hello!! It’s such an honor to find myself in your ask box. Your work actually helped inspire me to make my own tumblr and AO3! Thanks for giving us such wonderful content! :D <3

My question today: How did Akaza retain his spot as an upper moon when he has such a low appetite? Muzan, Douma, and pretty much everyone else keep insisting that eating lots of humans is essential to building strength. Poor Kyogai even got booted from the ranks once he couldn’t bear to eat any more. But despite Akaza’s apparent inability to eat nutritious women and his preference to gain power through training, he was allowed to keep his spot and even given a special pardon from Muzan. Why do you think this is? Is the whole gaining-strength-mainly-through-training thing an ability that is special to Akaza? Could that be interesting enough to Muzan for him to forgive Akaza for having a weak stomach? Or is this just straight up favoritism because he’s loyal and does good work? I’ve always been confused at how he was able (and allowed!) to keep up with his fellow Moons, because they certainly all eat plenty.

Keep up the good work we appreciate you lots!! :D

Tumblr and AO3?? That is an honor! Thank you for joining the rocks I live under on the fandom internet, I hope you have fun! And thank you for your interesting posts thus far!

As for our favorite gym bro Akaza keeping his spot among the Upper Moons, he perhaps started with way, way, way more Muzan Juice than someone like Kyogai did. Akaza's always had such a focus on training as a means of getting stronger than I think it really does have as powerful an affect as Nezuko's sleeping, for as Daki noted, Nezuko's regenerative abilities were on par with or even faster than Upper Moons. However, we don't know that Akaza lacks an appetite in the first place. Unlike Nezuko he's never had a reason to hold back from eating someone who looks appetizing, and especially in his early days, I'll bet he ate plenty. However, overtime, Akaza has put more faith in his own strength and training, and sets his sights on someone else with a similar attitude, Kokushibo. Kokushibo likes this spirit in Akaza and let him live after he lost their battles (instead of absorbing him like he did with other loser demons), like professional courtesy between martial artists. Kokushibo's problems with Akaza are in his professionalism, not with his lack of eating humans. He's recognized Akaza as having potential as a worthy opponent, whether or not Akaza eats a lot of humans, because by this point, Akaza just doesn't need to. He's not like some lowly Lower Moon who needs to try to do something as crazy as eat over 200 people at once before he's even got a chance of challenging an Upper Moon.

Douma is more like our resident health supplement salesman and I'll bet he's never touched a dumbbell. Although Douma wholeheartedly believes that women are more nutritious because their bodies can support the growth of other human beings, that doesn't necessarily mean he's right. Also, what's most nutritious and beneficial to one demon might not necessarily be the sort of nutrition good for another demon's needs, like who knows, maybe the Snake Demon didn't just enjoy the flesh of babies, but they were easily for her to digest or something. The one common rule is that the stronger and healthier your food the stronger and healthier it'll probably make you, and if you're a strong enough demon to catch and eat a Pillar, that'll probably make for a really good protein shake.

See here for much, much more thought on how eating humans actually works and benefits demons, but even though this is the normal pattern of how demons get stronger, I don't think Muzan cares if Akaza isn't eating humans so long as he's strong anyway. It's annoying that Akaza is such a sissy when it comes to women, but like you said, it probably is straight up favoritism because he’s loyal and does good work. You know, except for that lack of blue spider lily results. Akaza's still an easier underling to have around than Douma, even if Douma is technically stronger.

Could Akaza overtake Douma, and perhaps even Kokushibo if he chowed down more on people, like the Pillars he's killed? While this could certainly help, by this point he's developed his own constitution to be so oriented toward physical training that perhaps digestion isn't even his strong suit (unlike Douma, that show-off who doesn't even need to use his mouth). It make not be that he can't eat, like how Kyogai found his limits, but it just takes more energy than its worth when he could better spend that on training. As for Akaza's eating preferences, he know he likely avoids eating women, and I could see him punching the head off some guy abusing his wife and then nonchalantly eating that guy while the wife runs off screaming, but what I truly wonder if he would had eaten Kyojuro is given the chance. It may be that he'd have seen this as a way for strong people he knew to live on, like mementos of their fights (but this feels like a very Douma style of looking at it), but on the other hand, he may have had too much respect for them and professional courtesy to have found them appetizing. Tanjiro, though, yeah, he'd probably had taken a big bite out of his brains just 'cause he hated him. Not that he'd gain much from eating a weakling like that, though! Eating people of that caliber is probably just like staying hydrated, not a proper meal. But again, this is all guesswork on his actual eating habits!

[generalsangonomiya]

secondsovereign asked:

[CUT LOOSE] - There's music all throughout the streets, and where there is music, there's a moment to dance! Grab someone special and show them your best moves!

In all honesty, he didn't know how he'd ended up following the Melusine into the midst of a crowd of revellers when he'd been set on avoiding the dancing as much as possible. Still, the lack of assigned partners was a boon to the man who'd avoided dancing for the last thirty long years. He can't, however, deny the wearisome sigh that falls from his lips watching the crowd expand and contract, grey hues scanning the horizon in search of someone that was potentially in a similar boat to his when it came from wanting nothing more than to fade into the crowd.

Perhaps that was why he'd passed over the seafoam tinted hair with every cursory glance across the field of bobbing heads that had oh so slowly began to pair off. His resolve is slowly steeled, buttoning his jacket to look like the perfect gentleman that he tried to present himself as a perfect gentleman. He doubted she was much older than Bronya and yet her eyes seemed to hint at wisdom beyond her years in a way that felt all too familiar for his liking, a hint at a storied past that he feared to know the details of lest it be all too familiar.

Breath sucked in as resolve hardened, finely tuned steps that moved ever forward towards the woman that he hoped would indulge the idiocracy of an old man. Only when he stood close enough was he truly aware of the way her outfit invoked the imagery of Koi fish, as if completing a nautical theme that truly suited that as of now unnamed figure. The cane is tucked between body and arm, arm tucked behind his back before the former professor is bowing low in all the formalities that had been instilled in him across a long, long, life.

"Pardon my intrusion, would the lady be so kind as to grant this old fool a dance?"

She's resting on a bench and enjoying the music when the stranger approaches. She would say no - she has, in fact, already turned away a loud, exuberant festivalgoer or two - but...something about the stranger strikes her as familiar.

Something in the way he moves through the crowd. Walking with the weight of a world upon tired shoulders, content to fade into the background and watch where others would rush in. The world-weary search for quiet amidst the clamor, carefully avoiding any attempt others might make at involving him.

...perhaps a kindred spirit in this city of revels, then. Though the familiar exhaustion bites at her limbs even now, she's been able to manage her energy far better without the pressure of unwanted social interaction. Anonymity, truly, is a blessing.

Well...perhaps I can manage one dance, for someone who seems to be trying just as hard as I am to find some peace

Kokomi stands and returns his bow in the Inazuman fashion, then extends a hand. "I'm not much of a dancer - at least not on dry land - but I shall do my best"

@secondsovereign here we go

At Festival's Crossroads

[bonny-kookoo]

Mean (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️✴️🔞

💸 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

💸 Genre: Mafia!AU, Single Parent AU!, Angst, fluff, Smut

💸 Warnings: bad language aka cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of illegal business, manhandling and not the nice kind, tsundere Jungkook, it’s not like he likes you duh, guns, description of violence, restriction of movement and not in a kinky way, protected sex because dude he’s got one kid okay that’s enough, unconventional romance, choking, near death experience, angst did I mention angst

💸 Summary: Jeon Jungkook was kinda cute, you had to admit that- but he was also a massive douchebag with his head up his ass. And a cute kid.

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize to anyone I might dissapoint with this. I've changed up the story concept numerous times- and the first trailer is in no way a proper teaser anymore, since it has nothing to do with this story anymore. I somehow hope you still enjoy the story however. If not- I hope you'll stick around for future content!

Taglist: @drumsofheaven @yzkyzkuniverse @strwberrybtch @kirbykook @teresaisla @park-hera-gi @justzeera @taestannie @bambuzlee (there were several people I couldn’t tag- I’m sorry about that!) 

Jeon Jungkook was facing his worst enemy.

Now, considering his work and all those rumors going on about him, this could be anything really; from an entire army storming his house, to readying himself for waterboarding. But no, this enemy he was currently standing across from was way more vile and difficult to get under control. The situation was slowly growing desperate on his side- this was a life and death situation.

"Mina, come on now." Jungkook pleaded as the toddler vehemently refused to raise her arms properly so he could slip on her dress for the day. He could understand her, to an extend- he wasn't a morning person either, but he had to overcome this in order to be successful- and she had to as well.

Well, success was not really that important at her age, but getting her to daycare definitely was.

"Mina I have a meeting soon and if you continue to be a brat I can't send you off again properly." He tried, knowing how much she hated him leaving in a rush like usually. He'd promised her the day prior as he'd tucked her into bed that he would, this time, at least stay until her friends had arrived, yet he couldn't have known that this situation would occur the next morning.

Sometimes being a single father was way worse than anything he was facing at his actual job.

"There we go!" He cheered as she finally caved in, pouting a bit before she giggled at the silly face her father was making in order to get her to smile. He hated sending her off in a foul mood, knowing that she could be an absolute devil's child if she felt like it. In a way, she was very similar to him, which was to be expected with her mother not being in the picture. He didn't mind it much, however- a cheating spouse was not really what he wanted by his side, if he was being entirely honest with himself. It was enough already knowing that almost all of his 'friends' and 'business partners' were shameless liars. He didn't need to live and raise a child with one as well.

"Tiger!" The young girl cheerfully exclaimed, as the both made their way into the kitchen. It wasn't just a random comment from her side, because her chubby hand already pointed at the cereal box designed with colorful images on the counter, way too high for her but perfectly reachable for her father as he chuckled, balancing her on his hip as he prepared a small bowl for her.

"No funny business though, young lady." He said, as he sat down with her at the table. "We don't have to hurry, but we can't waste time either." He explained, as he watched her eat her breakfast with a concentrated face. He smiled at the picture, sometimes wishing this would be how his days would always start. Sadly, that wasn't the case- most of the times really, her nanny took her to daycare.

Which was another problem.

Her nanny had recently filed in for her termination, her age getting to her as she finally made the decision to settle down for her last years of life, she'd said. He accepted it without much resistance, having build too much respect for the elderly woman over the course of time by now. It left him with a gaping hole however, one that he knew he needed to fill.

But with who?

He couldn't just hire anybody for Mina at this point in his life. People needed to be fully trustworthy to be even given knowledge of his child at all. Most didn't even know she existed- the public unaware of her relation to him. He kept the facade up that she was merely the child of a close friend, just to keep her out of range of any potential enemies he had gathered over time.

His life really wasn't fit for a child at all, but what was he supposed to do?

"Y/N!" A small voice exclaimed behind you, making you look around from where you were cutting apples as the small child appeared.

"Mina!" You answered just as brightly, picking her up as she giggled excitedly. "Did you have breakfast yet?" You asked, as another daycare worker came inside.

"Yeah!" She said, and you looked at her surprised. "Daddy and I had breakfast!" She explained, as you placed her back down onto the ground. "He'ven brought me here today!" She said, and you hummed affirmatively,

"That sounds awesome!" You said, as she beamed up at you. "Why don't you go sit at the table, we're almost having our morning snack. You think you can eat some apples?" You asked, and she proudly nodded, before zooming off, stumbling a bit as she missed the slight gap of the door.

"He didn't come inside." Jenny said, as she watched the little girl sit down next to a boy her age. "I saw that he was sitting in his car, but she got out herself." She explained further, as you continued cutting the apples and making some cuts to have them resemble a bunny. "I swear to god-" She started, as you cut her off.

"We don't know what his life is like, Jenny." You said, as she huffed. "It's not our kid, it's not our life. She isn't unhappy, she's healthy, she's not mistreated. Case closed." You explained further as you discarded the scraps of apple unneeded in the trash, before rinsing the knife you'd used. "I'm not too happy about it either, but we're not her mother." You said, as you dried your hands.

Jenny sighed. "I know, but like-" She said, walking over to you to help you place the banana slices and grapes as well. "She's such a sweet kid. I don't know, but he seems like such a dick honestly. Like, have you heard his phonecall last week?" You snorted. Everyone did at this point.

Mina had had a minor incident, when she'd stumbled and fell. She'd scraped her knee, cried a little, but after a moment everything had been fine again. He however, had been livid upon finding out his daughter had been hurt, even though the scratches didn't even need a bandaid. Even though he'd only been on the phone with your superior, he'd made such a scene out of it that it became like local news around the daycare.

"I still don't know what the fuck that was about." Jenny exclaimed, taking a sip of her coffee as she kept an eye on the kids in the main room. "Like, yeah, she fell, but nothing happened." She said, and you agreed.

Shrugging, you grabbed some plates and napkins, and looked at Jenny. "Again." You reminded her. "As harsh as it sounds, you know me." Jenny sighed.

"I know."

You took back everything you had said this morning.

This prick had the audacity to keep you waiting for more than two hours now, without reacting to any amount of phonecalls you'd done by now. Mina was almost asleep on your lap, and you were angry to say the least. This was supposed to be your last day of work for a week, you were supposed to be curled up on your couch in nothing but underwear and fluffy socks, hidden by a blanket and eating icecream while watching netflix. You were definitely not supposed to sit here at your daycare until even the janitor was about to go home. "Fuck it." You mumble, carefully balancing the young girl on your hip as you grab your bag and keys.

You wave the janitor and cleaning staff goodbye on their way out, and take out your phone for a bus or subway that could drive close to where Mina's address is- but you notice there is nothing in her jacket written that you could use as one. You instead simply call the number written down for emergencies, and wait as it rings.

once.

twice.

"Hello?"

You are a bit taken aback by the voice on the other line, masculine, but clearly not as old as you'd thought he'd sound. "Uh, yeah, this is Mina's daycare, you mind picking her up these days, or not?" You casually say, Mina moving around a bit as to bring her thumb close to her lips. You internally coo at her.

"Shit! Fuck- I, where are you?" He asks, and you furrow your brows. Where the hell does he think you are, or does he seriously not know where his daughters daycare is? Wait, is that even her father?

"I- listen, am I even talking to her father or who is this?" You ask, and suddenly you feel extremely uncomfortable. This was a bad idea, what if this isnt her dad at all? You could loose your job for this!

"Yeah, yes. Listen I'm gonna send someone to pick her up alright? Should be there in an hour or so." He says as if frustrated, and you scoff, making him question you on the other line as if he was just struck by thunder. "Excuse me?" He says, voice low, but you're not intimitated.

"First of all, I'm not convinced. Second of all, and pardon my french, but are you nuts?! It's already way too late for her to be up, and I've finished my shift hours ago!" You complain, and he clears his throat over the line, clearly unhappy about your lack of understanding.

"Jeon Mina has a small beauty mark underneath her lower lip, she hates strawberries for some reason, and her biggest secret is that she is actually scared of unicorns. There, happy?" He grits out, and you chew on your lip. He was good. "Second of all, Miss." He makes sure to pronounce every word. "You're getting paid to look after my kid. If that's all you want I'm paying you extra for the inconvenience-" Oh boy, there we go.

"If I cared about your stupid money I would've called authorities hours ago, S.I.R." You start, careful to tone your voice down as to not wake her up. "And you know what, thats a great Idea actually! Let me just-" You begin, but he cuts you off with a sound that sounds awfully like a door closing.

"Fuck you, I'm there in 20." He says.

Jeon Jungkook was not too fond of woman.

That much was clear ever since he'd been cheated on and left with a kid, but it had always been like that. It wasn't like he was afraid of them, or didn't like them, it was more like, during his life, woman had been the reason for heartbreak and bad news all along. His mother had been an alcoholic, his dad desperately trying to get her back on track. His sister had been involved into shady business early on, a wild child that would do anything to get on peoples nerves. His aunt, which only ever visited to gain money. Women were bad news.

So his own surprise had been very prominent when he spotted you on the bench with his kid in your arms,her chubby arms clinging onto you like a koala. You seemed to be reading something on your phone, careful not to point the device too close to Mina so she wouldn't be disturbed. You were pretty, he had to admit that, even from far away- and you seemed like a confident person, from what he'd heard over the phone. You suddenly noticed him as he drove a bit closer, car tires crunching the gravel and snow underneath while his headlights shut off, to not blind you both. He stepped out, as you woke Mina up to announce to her that her father had finally arrived.

"Daddy!" She screached sleepily, running towards him with stumbling legs. He picked her up with a smile before he turned around, having every intention to buckle her up in his backseat as you came closer.

"Huh. Mind telling me why I shouldn't inform authorities about this?" You asked, and he huffed out a breath with a roll of his eyes, pulling out his wallet. You simply stood there, arms crossed, not at all fazed by the amount of money he held in front of you- you simply raised your eyebrow. "I mean, if money could talk I'd ask your bills, sure. But that right there isn't an answer." You replied, and he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching. Why were you being so difficult.

"Okay, how much?" He said, and you suddenly moved, shifted, as if absolutely offended by his offer.

"Do I look like a streetworker to you sir?" You said, and he closed his eyes for a moment, until another car seemed to pull up.

"You're getting picked up." He says, ready to step into his car as you look at him with confusion. "You don't know them?" He asks, and you shake your head, having every intention to check as he notices something familiar peeking out of one of the car windows. As if on autopilot, he rips his passenger side open, pushes you in, and runs to get inside the drivers seat.

There are shots fired, Mina is holding her hands over her ears as she simply stares at you, who is absolutely shell-shocked.

What the hell just happened?

So yeah, that's how you got here-

In a room that looked awfully like the interrogation rooms in your late night netflix crime shows. There was someone sitting in front of you- Mina's father, watching you, like you were going to do anything. But you were as quiet as a mouse, not saying anything.

"So you didn't know them? At all?" He questioned for the second time in the past ten minutes, and you shook your head. "Hard to believe. Then again, why would you ever tell me that your Dad's brother was sentenced to two years for escorting drugs- only getting two years because he snitched." He said, and your eyes widened.

"Okay what the hell-" You started, but he cut you off.

"Oh, I hit a nerve-" But you weren't having it.

"Oh an I'm gonna hit your pretty nose if you don't stop cutting me off!" You said, making him smirk. For some reason, this was quite entertaining to him- the only woman he ever had in here were so keen on keeping up that shy and innocent facade, that you were a breath of fresh air. "Listen, I don't know why you decided to dig up things that happened when I was literally a TODDLER- or how you even got that information - I swear to god I will really break your nose!" You ended as he had tried to speak again, making him chuckle.

If you weren't being held captive after getting your night ruined you might as well would've thought that was pretty hot.

"I was five years old- I had nothing to do with it, and my dad had no contact whatsoever with his brother after what had happened." You explained. "If you can find that, you can also find that I haven't had contact with my family in years either." You said, leaning back, as he spoke.

"I did. Which is quite confusing to me." He said.

You suddenly went stone cold on him. "It really isnt that deep." You said.

"Were you avoiding them?" He asked. "Because of what happened? Or because your dad got involved into something?"

"Because they're dead." You said.

Well. This was something that made him actually stop and think for a second. He did dig into that nasty part of your family, but he never looked further- their death was something he had overlooked. And by your reaction as you said it, the way you said it, he knew that you weren't lying. "Alright." He said. "But you do realize that I can't just let you go like that, right?" He said.

"Figured." You said. "So, should I stand facing against the wall or with my back against it so you can aim better?" You said, and he took a deep breath. Technically, yes, that would be a logical outcome.

"Neither." He said, and you raised your eyebrow. "I have an offering." He said, and your entire body went stiff, arms crossing in front of your chest. A pure sign of whatever he was going to say, your first reaction would be no. "I need a nanny for Mina." He said, and your lips parted, confusion clear on your face.

He almost thought it was kind of cute.

"You what?" You said.

"I need a nanny for Mina." He repeated. "It's a win-win situation for both of us if you think about it. You get to- in a way- keep your job and a bonus in terms of payment, and I will have someone to take care of Mina. And I also don't have to put a bullet into your pretty little head." He said, leaning forward with the last words.

"This isn't really a question, isn't it?" You said, and he laughed.

"You're smart- I like you."

„But that’s not how daddy does it..“ she wonders, as you tie her shoes for her, before looking up into her eyes. She really does resemble her father. Well, a more innocent version, that is.

„Well everyone does it differently.“ you say, well aware that there were numerous ways to tie a simple bow. „Your daddy probably has learned it from someone who does it like he does. I learned it from my dad.“ you explained as you went to pick up her backpack, carrying it for her as she took your hand.

„yours looks prettier tho!“ she exclaimed happily, a skip in her step as she kept looking at her shoes with a smile. You grinned, a sense of pride filling you. „Daddy‘s always looks crooked on one side-„ she said, before a voice broke through the sweet moment.

„You hurt me Princess. You always said they look nice.“ he hummed from his spot in the doorway, leaned on the frame, looking at you with something you could only describe as unsatisfied, while shooting his daughter a smile.

What the hell have you done wrong now?

This had been something going on for months now. Ever since you started working for him as a nanny, Mina had been nothing but a ray of sunshine- but he, he was not even a raincloud. He was the angry grinch miltiplied by a hundred, ready to piss everyone off twenty-five-eight. Somehow everything you did wasn't up to his standards; the way you cooked for Mina, the way you dressed her, hell, even right now with the way you tied a fucking bow.

You really hoped next time he washed his hands, his sleeves would roll down.

"There's an emergency gun underneath the back-" He started as Mina was out of listening-reach.

"I won't use it." You said.

Jungkook had tried to get you trained at least in the basics of guns- but you practically had an allergy to it, refusing to so much as touch one. He didn't quite know what your problem was, but after a while, he had given up on it- simply sending one of his guards with you whenever he could. By now, you were an easy target as well if found alone, so you had joined him in his place, occupying one of the larger guest rooms. He had said that it was to keep an eye on you, but internally, he simply didn't want you to get hurt.

And yeah, at first that was because he didn't trust you, at all- but by now, somehow, you had sneaked your way into his heart, in a way. Even though he himself would always grumpily comment on it, he loved how you made Mina smile and the entire mansion light up. Things felt a little brighter, a little less tense, and a little less lonely with you around. It felt as if you were an actual family.

And that scared the shit out of him, because in no way was he going to fall for his daughters nanny.

And, after all; you hated his guts.

If Jungkook knew the situation you and Mina had gotten yourselves into, you don't know if he would be proud of her or kill you.

Turns out that the guard Jungkook had sent you out with wasn't actually following his orders at all, but words from a different person entirely- you imagined they were highly likely the one's out to shoot you back when you first met the tall mafia boss and father. Now, the only thing they definitely did not get right however, was that you were Mina's mother- and someone Jungkook valued enough to give up his safety. This was true for Mina; the young child was his everything, and he'd cut off his limbs just to know her safe and sound- but you? That was just absolutely stupid. Sure, you've been living together for quite some time now, and he stopped trying to mentally push you down the stairs every morning as well. But there was nothing more than a mild case of friend- and partnership. You weren't being emo; Jungkook had, after all, said it again and again that he had crossed out the dating game. He's got enough trouble with Mina and you, he had said.

Well, seemed like one of those issues would solve itself.

"Again, what're you gonna do?" You say, as Mina looks at you from out of the vents above you had helped her into seconds ago.

"Crawl where the nice air is, call daddy- and don't look back." She repeats proudly, but you can see it clearly that she's just as scared as you are.

"Exactly, good job princess." You praise, and she nods with a pout. "Once daddy gets you, you'll be safe." You promise, and she wants to complain- but you don't let her, closing the vent again as you hear her shuffling away. This was fine. Mina would be safe, Jungkook would have one person less to worry about- he could move away, bring her to a different part of the country where no one knew her, and she could simply go to school next year and forget all of this ever happened.

You were just a bit sad that you'd never get to see it.

Of course you weren't her mother- but it was hard not to let her inside your heart, with the way she was. The charms her dad didn't have, she got them times ten. She was just so sweet, and you were around her all the time, it was hard not to somehow grow fond of her. You just hoped she'd be alright.

"Where's the kid, whore?!" A guard yelled after noticing you were the only one left in the room. You simply smiled, not answering, before he grabbed your neck, pulling you up as much as he could as he fumed. "Save that stupid grin for your son of a bitch at home." He barks, and you desperately try to breathe- unsuccessfully so, until he forcefully pushes you back down, the back of your head hiding the concrete floor with a sickening crack. You squealed out in pain, holding onto the spot for dear life as if that would somehow help it- but it didn't. "I knew sluts like you have to be tied up. You're all just trouble." He says, pulling you by your legs as another set of people come in, binding your legs and hands. You can already feel your fingers getting cold from how tight your wrists are tied- but you black out from the kick to your stomach before you can quite dwell on it.

"Fuck!" He yells, before he gets up, hands in his hair to somehow help himself not punch the laptop on his table. He's seen it, seen it all- from the moments you would shield Mina like a fearless lioness, the second you had lifted her up into the vents even though he knew your shoulder had to be in horrible pain, to the very moment you had faced the consequences of your actions. He hated that he had to wait, that he had to simply sit here in his office like a coward just to watch you take the beatings.

Because here was the thing with Jungkook; even though he liked to portray himself as someone who always takes the upper hand in things and troubles, when it came to his own personal life far away from his criminal business he ran, he couldn't seem to ever make up his mind. It was like a repeat of his past love affair- but instead of his ex-wife cheating and leaving him with a child, there was you, in some way fighting like a true lionness in order to keep said child safe and sound, even though you didn't even had to. Technically, this would've been the perfect opportunity for you to finally get your freedom back in a way. Because without Mina, there was no use for you being in his grasp anymore. Without her, there was no agreement between the two of you.

And yet there you were. And yet again, he simply watched, simply did nothing.

The entire mansion was already on high alert by now; his most trusted friends Seokjin and Yoongi already out to your location- he could wait. He could wait. He could wait.

Everything would somehow turn out to be just fine by the end of this day. He would successfully take his daughter into his arms, Yoongi and Seokjin would get you out of there, and after a good nights sleep and some first aid for you, things would just return to normal.

But what was normal at this point?

He didn't want things to continue like they did currently. He wanted change, for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you about his inner thoughts, about his desires concerning you and his future. He wanted to tell you that he didn't just want you to be at his home and with him and his daughter just because of some stupid agreement. He didn't want you to stay with him because he forced you to.

His phone began to chime, your face greeting him as the caller ID as he accepts it. "Daddy-" His heart sinks down to the floor as he hears Mina sniffle on the other side of the line. He has to wait, he thinks, repeats like a mantra. He has to somehow calm her down, tell her everything's alright- "They're hurting mommy!" Mina wails, and somehow, those words make him snap.

Fuck waiting.

In a way, Mina was a smart kid. She had been nothing but understanding when Jungkook and her mother had broken up- divorced, and fought until she eventually left for good. She had been a little sad for a long time, thinking it had somehow been her fault; but he had assured her, and later on, explained, that Mommy simply didn't love Daddy anymore. In Daycare, she was one of the most well behaved kids ever encountered- careful, and calm. Of course she got excited and happy and sometimes made a mess; but she also was very careful who she interacted with, what kinds of friends she made, and how much she talked about home. She never complained, never threw public tantrums.

Jungkook truly was lucky- that the only thing left of his shattered marriage had been her.

He never had relationships after that- never dated, never truly searched for someone. No one, in his eyes, was worth the risk- and even after meeting you, that was his opinion. But as cliche as it sounded, you were quite different from anyone he'd ever met before.

You spoke your mind; always saying what bothered you, never beating around the bush. Yet, you weren't being a bitch about things. No, you actually could be pretty cute if you wanted to be- be it the moments he had caught you and Mina sneak a taste of her birthday cake in the middle of the night, or the one time he had been sick.

You had been such an angel to him.

Helping him towards the bathroom, never even scrunching your nose in distaste whenever he had to throw up. You simply rubbed his back, helping him towards the sink to rinse, just to lead him back into his bedroom. You had aired the room out, made the bed, made sure that he was staying hydrated and at least tried to eat every day- all without any complains.

Maybe that was the moment his perspective of you shifted into dangerous territory.

He had somehow become hyperaware of the things you did. How well you got along with Mina, how easy going you were becoming with him- how confident yet nurturing and sweet you were, gently scolding him sometimes to not overwork himself. You always made sure his kid felt happy and was healthy, never so much as whined about your past friendships lost; you had simply accepted the new situation.

In a way, you were what he silently dreamed of at night.

Because as much as he loved the sight of you holding Mina whenever she had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, he somehow also craved to be held throughout the night by your arms. Just like he held his daughter in that moment after she had climbed out of the vent into his arms. He could make out some of her words as he simply let himself feel her tiny body in his arms for a moment. Just to make sure she was really there, really alright, really out of harms way. She kept on crying out for you, for him to help you, to save you-

So it was only natural for him to jump out of his car and run after Seokjin, Yoongi, and their squad, as they entered the building.

Sometimes at night, when you got aware of all the different sounds of the room, you heard the blood rush inside your brain.

Just like now; but now, it was so loud that you could barely hear anything else. Things seemed hazy, fuzzy, your ears stuffed with cotton wool drowning out any sounds might happening around you. Your eyes stayed closed, light way too bright for your raging headache- and the stale metal taste on your tongue wasn't helping either. Your hands had started to tingle long ago, and your knees were hurting from being in the same position for this long. But the moment someone touched you next, it wasn't forceful. It was so gentle, and almost- scared?

You couldn't hear, but you could feel. How the rope was cut, blood rushing painfully into your hands and legs again, pins and needles making them hypersensitive as you were suddenly held- moved, carried?

It smelled like home, that was something your dizzy mind was able to properly make out. It smelled like Jungkooks mansion, and a bit like his office- a faint vanilla hitting your senses, making you faintly smile as your hand reached out, unknowingly grabbing his shirt, holding the fabric as tight as you could as you moaned out in pain when he placed you down again, warmth surrounding you.

Maybe you were dying?

Or maybe not.

Because after some hazy and confusing dreams, you slowly came back to your senses. Eyes opening slowly, there it was; the curtains you knew so well, the balcony opened, air crisp and fresh around you as the door opened. You wanted to move your head, but the fear of triggering another headache was too big.

"Y/N?" Jungkooks voice asked, warm, and almost hesitant. You hummed, and he snapped his head around, noticing that yes- after days of sleeping and slipping in and out of consciousness you were actually awake again. He walked into your field of vision, looking so casual; his white button up undone at the first two buttons, sleeves rolled up as he sat down close to you, palm on the blanket covering you as he-

smiled?

"W-" You had to cough a bit before clearing your throat. "Who are you and what have you done to Jungkook?" You said, and he chuckled, sighing in relief- you had, after all, not lost your charm.

"I think past Jungkook had a moment of self-reflection." He said, watching you as his hand placed itself onto yours, warmth spreading over your skin. "I'm glad you're okay." He admitted. "And thank you. For keeping.. Mina safe." He ended, and you smiled.

"That's literally my job." You said, and he got more serious.

"No, and you know what I mean." His voice was deep and rough, yet held no authority like usual. "You had chances to tell them who you were. That you had no connection to me other than through her; yet you didn't. And we both know why." He said, and you looked at him.

"There are more reasons than just one." You said, eyes drifting to his now empty ring finger on the hand resting on his thigh.

"Does it matter which one I mean?" He asked, and you wanted to scoff.

"It does to me." You said, and he shifted closer after a second, properly holding your hand now as he looked at yours- still a little scratched, but nothing that wouldn't heal.

"You did it because that's the reason you live here." He said. "You also did it because you adore her just as much as I do. And you.." He began, but grew unsure.

"And I?" You smiled, and he looked at you with his typical seriousness.

"And you somehow got stuck in an emotional mess." He explained. "You somehow, deep down, wanted it to be true." His thumb moved over the back of your hand as he spoke. "You wished that.. maybe there was more to it than just, partnership." He said, and you still smiled gently.

"Did I now?" You teased, but to your surprise, he was still looking straight at you.

"I know I did." He humms out. "I still do."

"You're stupid." You said, and he laughed bitterly, taking your words the wrong way as he slipped his out of yours.

"I know." He said, getting up to leave but stopped as you spoke.

"Good." You said, chuckling before coughing. "What, no kiss for me after all I've been through?" You giggled as his wide eyes stared at you. "Rude." You said, and he suddenly realized that no- you weren't rejecting him. You were accepting.

You felt the same.

Noticing his own awkwardness, he leaned over, hands supporting his body as he leaned down, properly placing his lips onto yours. You had never imagined what kissing Jungkook would feel like, but you certainly would've never guessed how gentle and absolutely loving it would be. One of his hands moved towards your cheek, holding it, as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

"Mommy!" Came Mina's excited voice, cries instantly noticable as she jumped onto the bed, burying her head into your chest as you held her, a few tears in your eyes from her jumping.

"Mina baby, be careful okay?" He said. But your words were the reason that he ended up tearing up, at the end.

"Mommy's still hurting baby." You said. "But she'll get better soon."

Not even during the first few magical months of being together with his past ex, had it ever felt like this.

He was euphoric almost; with the way you felt, moved, breathed. It all felt like so much to him, made him feel so.. He couldn't explain it. He had his hands on your hips, fingers careful not to press too hard, but having enough force to move you back and forth over his lap- his length moving in and out of your heat, making you whine, as he watched your breasts in front of him. You fit so perfectly like this, felt so amazing, managed to make him feel needy instead of the other way around.

He turned you over slipping out of you sloppily as he moved positions, now above you as he spread your legs, entering you again easily. He pulled you by your thighs, holding you in place as he began to thrust again, your eyes closing with every movement of his hips.

He loved the sight of it.

Deep down he wanted to take the condom off; he wanted to fill you up, cum inside over and over and over until your cunt would overflow. Not only just to claim you in a weird animalistic sense, but to also make his family complete. He had cut his ties to his illegal activities by now, had settled down with you- and he knew, there was no other person he'd ever have a child with again than with you. "I want to cum inside." He said breathlessly, making you whine in return. "Hm, you'd like that?" He asked teasingly, his thrusts gaining more strength as if to underline his statement. "Stuff you full of my cum, make you leak it and mess up the sheets.." He continues, hand reaching between the two of you to find your clit. "just to make love to you over and over again. I wanna make you cry." He gritted out, suddenly moving you around face down. He pulled up your lower body, entering you again, gliding in easily with the amount of slick you were leaking. "And you'd take it wouldn't you?" He asks, making you nod and groan out as he grows more desperate, faster, harder- throwing you off the edge but never stopping. "You're gonna take it until I cum, don't you dare move away from me." He scolds, holding you tightly, making you gasp out in overstimulation as he continues on, chasing his own high.

He reaches it with a loud groan, burying himself deep inside as he holds you, peppering kisses onto your spine. "I love you, hm.." He whispers out. "So good, so pretty.. all mine.." He huffs, simply falling onto the mattress with you in his arms, cock still buried inside you.

There was a moment of silence, until he spoke again. "I really do mean it though." He said earning only a tired humm from you. He simply chuckled at that, holding you close as he decided to maybe bring that topic up when the timing was a bit better.

For once, he felt like a normal person. Right next to you, in your arms, as you turned around to pull him close, burying your face into his chest.

Right where he belonged.

[atlaese]

(This is a rant, not only no one asked for, but also got out of control in its length. Your opinion might diverge greatly, so feel free to ignore should it upset you. I expect no answer! I just wanted to express my feelings regarding the following topic somehow.)

While I am thrilled for you to get more likes/views on your Matt fanfictions, I find it utterly upsetting for people, only now, that he's been rumoured to appear in NWH, to appreciate the character and for him to get more recognition. As if his "potential" appearance in NWH is the sole reason, for some people, to get invested in him. He's fantastic on his own; his association with Spider-man shouldn't be the only "catch" why people should be interested in him. There's more to him than a simple cameo, best proven by the brilliance that is the show "Daredevil".

Furthermore, and pardon my uncontrollable rant, I sincerely hope they don't mess up his character, should he appear in NWH. (again: only entertaining the possibility, none of us know for sure.)

The Holland Spider-man movies, in my opinion, aren't known for their excellent writing. They mainly serve to display the consequences of other people's (movies) actions and plant the seed for future projects. I know a bunch of people love these movies, which is fine – to each their own. I'm grateful you found a source that provides you with joy and happiness, but I'm certainly not one of those people. I'm worried for them to include Matt, especially, because of the writing. Character development, motives, storyline and plot points, the substance in dialogues and motivations, the stakes, and more, truly lack conviction. It always feels rushed, empty and unearned.

Don't get me wrong, any chance to see more Daredevil is a win for me, but it needs to be done right. I hope they hit the tone, acknowledge his traits and development – that are both deeply explored in his own series – and aren't using him just for the sake of a fun fan serving appearance. I hope they treat his character with respect and acknowledgement. No one wants to see a complete out of character Matt Murdock. I sincerely hope, they take all of his accomplishments, in his brilliant masterpiece of a series, into consideration and further build upon it. I hope they don't prioritize plot over character and, while doing so, mess up the opportunity to include a fully fleshed character to serve the storyline, rather than forcing his character to fit the plot. He is too good of a character to be sidelined or diminished in his achievements.

-love letter anon

I’ll tag this ask with #discourse because I feel like not everyone wants to read this, so feel free to filter that tag!

Indeed, his recent popularity stems not from the character itself, but from a possible minor appearance in a bigger movie trilogy. My opinion diverges a bit from yours on that account. I, for one, only got to know daredevil somewhere in July after I randomly found the show on one of my Netflix quests for new content. Personally, Daredevil or any of the other Netflix shows were never advertised to me, nor did I even know of their existence before (even when I rolled into the marvel fandom somewhere in the beginning of this year). I think so many people now think of daredevil again, because the show ended on such a weird note & people finally see some matt murdock content in the MCU. The daredevil character played by Charlie deserves so many more fans & it's fun to see how the fandom reawakened in a blink! I agree that he is amazing on his own (so is peter parker, tbh) so i think them working together would be awesome? they both love their city so much, are crazy smart and have an alter ego (where one is now discovered and the other one not). i think it would be amazing to see how matt deals with a very young kid that now has the whole world on his back.

I don’t think the majority of the people who are very excited about him possibly appearing (but, let’s be honest, probably not) in the larger movie universe are people who are new, I think they’re just rekindling their love of a very good superhero they missed after the cancellation of the Netflix show. For people who are new, however, I think it’s awesome that they are introduced to this guy, just because there was an arm in a trailer that resembled his! Like how cool is that?? I’ve never seen so many detectives at work as when that trailer came out, lol. So, i agree, there is more to him than a cameo, but hasn’t every marvel superhero had a cameo in another movie? I personally think it would be a very fun way to introduce him to the MCU, but again, that’s my opinion!

I do agree on the writing part in the spider-man movies, and I think I would extend that to all MCU movies and Disney+ series. We were blessed with the Netflix series. They had excellent writing, cast, pacing, character development & storylines. For me personally, I loved Daredevil, the Defenders & Jessica Jones (not season 2, that was horrible imho) because there was so much story to tell and they did not rush it at all. If I compare it to the Disney+ series we’ve been getting the last few months, there is a huge difference. I enjoy the Disney+ series nonetheless, but oh my god, are they rushed. Although I love the MCU movies, some really didn’t hit the same as the Netflix series did. I absolutely loved Tom’s movies so far (his movies are why I rolled back into the fandom too) and I’m super excited for this one. I kinda love that they make a broke kid deal with so much shit from other, better-equipped heroes. I don't have anything to say on the writing, aside that it kind of lacks depth for me. Sometimes it feels like the stakes aren’t high enough, so I hope with this movie, and the reveal of Peter’s identity that that might change!

So yes, there is a huge probability they’d botch daredevil’s appearance in no way home. Although, again, I don’t think matt will be in it, especially with Kevin Feige only recently saying that Charlie Cox would play matt if he’d make a return. (+ I don’t know a lot about the movie industry, but maybe Charlie would have some things to say about how they wrote him in the movie? didn’t he have some input in how much shirtless scenes etc he had to do? Lol anyway, maybe this is too naive, but I feel like Charlie would have some input in the writing process, which would be an absolute blessing!)

Yes, I agree!! Let’s just hope he gets his own series or movies with the same writers as the Netflix show. I think that would be the best possible outcome for good character development following an A+ Netflix series.

if anyone wants to weigh in on this, feel free! i'm just stating my opinion just like anon :))

[infini-tree]

FANFIC: in post

Summary: A unexpected reunion takes place. Captain may be the one who starts it, but its Benjamin who ends it.

A/N: (alternate title - i don’t know what possessed me to write this post in fic form, but its here now and you all have to deal with it)

in post stuff isn’t going to be an ongoing multi-chapter thing, let alone in order, but just a place to put all the little drabbles I have. Unlike what the name suggests not all of them happen after the main story of the AU, though this one definitely does. The only way I can imagine this is after years after the main story has wrapped up.

though lbr i mostly because I got tired of trying to figure out titles for WIPs.

And just in case: slight content warning for verbal abuse from a parent. Its nothing explicit and is just a flashback, but it does take up the entire paragraph chunk its in and starts with “Suddenly he was back at his living room”.

                                                        ——–

Captain comes back to a gymnasium full of people and music, which wasn’t the weirdest part. Nor was the fact that the people were grown-ups. 

No, the weirdest part was that the gym wasn’t the one he had come to associate with Jerome Horwitz. Though, it was difficult to appreciate the novelty; between the sudden noise and people, he feels out of his depth.

His body moved automatically. Every accidental bump into someone was a shock, each trumpet blare was like a blow to his skull, and he dimly recalled thinking ah, that’s it when hearing the sound of snapping in the music. The clothes, while leagues comfier than his counterpart’s go-to, it was still there.

After what felt like ages of wading through a sea of people, he stumbled into a hallway just as unfamiliar as the gym. He really, really wanted to get out of this place quickly-- or at least, bring Benjamin back to deal with whatever this place is himself.

(Which bears the question: why did Benjamin come here? Parties aren’t exactly his Thing.)

The music faded as he moved away from the gymnasium, which helped a little.  Captain forced himself to look around. The walls looked the same as Jerome Horwitz was, but if the details were reshuffled. The lockers were in different places, the corridors weren’t exactly where he expected them to be and neither were the bulletin boards with posters on it-- wait, posters!

There were a lot of random stuff about clubs and other announcements, but one stood out. Its top edges curled in on itself, so he couldn’t read the top part, but the rest read: REUNION.

“Welcome back, class of--” Captain repeated, until--

Someone cleared their throat. He leapt up in the air with a short yell, nearly stumbling over his shoe-covered feet.

The newcomer winced, but nonetheless stayed silent. If the Waistband Warrior could describe her, then it would be... sharp. Sharp look, sharp flat top, sharp gaze. Not mean, though it could be. It reminded her of his sidekicks’ freshly sharpened pencils, ready and full of potential.

“...Are you lost?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’ve been wandering the same hallway intersection and--” she pointed a thumb towards a distant hallway. “The gymnasium is over there.”

Captain blinked for a moment, letting her words sink in. “Oh-- ohhh. Oh no, I meant to get out of the gymnasium,” he said matter-of-factly. “Though yes, I am lost. Do you, ah, could you show me where the nearest washroom or... water fountain is around here, er--”

“Moxie.” It looked like she was expecting something, but when nothing did, her shoulders untensed.

“Captain!” he beamed.

The sharp look turned severe. “Is that a joke?”

He flinched, unsure of what set her off. “U-- uh, no?”

Sensing his nervous energy, the severe look shifted to apprehension. Her brow furrowed. Did she not know either?

“Ma’am?”

“...Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I’m no good with faces.”

Captain paled. Either she knew Benjamin-- which was not a conversation he was equipped for-- or she recognized him as Captain Underpants-- which was a whole other, potentially dangerous can of worms.

“Uh, nope!” he chirped. “About that washroom--”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she said after a moment, pointing a thumb down a nearby corridor. “There should be one down the hall.”

"Alrighty, thank you! Have a lovely night, Moxie.” And with that, Captain rushed to the washroom to wash his face and get out of whatever that was.

And only when he looked in the mirror of the dingy washroom, to the clothes that made it hard to think did he slap a hand to his forehead. He really did just introduce himself as himself while dressed up as Benjamin. 

He was definitely going to read an essay’s worth of complaining after this whole thing.

                                                       ——–

“Hey, Captain.”

Benjamin gripped at his chest at the sudden voice. He just stepped outside and into the parking lot only to find Moxie Swaggerman, straight A student, the envy of literally half the school, now astronaut just...

“Uh, what are you doing out here?” his lip curls up wryly out of old habit-- he’ll address the whole Captain thing later-- what did that idiot do while he was out?! “Got tired of people asking for your autograph?”

She tilted her head, adjusting her aviator glasses. “Oh, so you do know me.” She almost seemed... disappointed by that. “Why, you want one?”

“Urgh, no.” He crinkled his nose. Opinions about her aside, that just sounded... weird to ask from someone he knew, even if said knowledge was periphery at best and non-existent at worst.

Moxie let out an amused huff. “Good, because I can only take so much people trying to kiss up to me.”

Despite himself, Benjamin couldn’t help but let out a laugh, short and loud and practically a cackle. The woman’s brow quirked up as she regarded him.

“What?” he snapped back.

“The lack of hair threw me off, since I remember you with that weird swoop back, but I finally figured it out--” And he couldn’t help but adjust his toupee as she swept back her hands on both sides as a pale imitation of how his hair was all those decades ago. “You were the one who competed against me for Prom Queen.”

Benjamin wanted to say something, but all that came out was half-noises. His entire body grew hot and his hands became clammy as she just... continued to stare. The worst part about all this was that, with the low light of outside, he couldn’t tell why. 

Suddenly he was back at his living room-- but not his, not anymore, he refused to consider that place his own-- staring down at the floor and clutching at the hems. Seeing his brother just peering in in his periphery vision as his mother continued her tirade, each word bullwhip-precise at hitting him in his core. But this was different; he was older and under no one’s thumb.

“A-- and what about it,” he managed to pry out of his throat.

Moxie’s posture shifted, and he could see her surprised expression now. If the circumstances were a bit different, then he would be reveling in the fact. Right now, though, he felt exposed, which was saying something considering who his counterpart was.

“Whoa-- hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” she clarified, and was that a hint of awkwardness? Remorse in her voice? “Honestly, it’s... nice to see you again.”

It was his turn to gawk. “...Really?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s uh-- like, its nice to see, ah... people like me still kicking.”

And it was then that Benjamin remembered the old rumors about Swaggerman-- about why she couldn’t get a nice guy to fall for her, and the girl from the rival school that clung by her side like a second shadow during summer vacation.

“I’ve always wondered for the longest time if you did that whole thing as a...” she paused, pursing her lips. “A joke, or something.”

“Oh,” he managed. “No, it wasn’t.”

“OK.” She nodded. “OK. Good to know.”

“Why, was that eating away at you?”

A passing car lit up her features in relief. When had her annoyingly cool façade been just that? It looked guarded now. A little more awkward. Funny how a few decades of separation can do.

Moxie shrugged. “Would have been nice to know back then.”

Benjamin wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he shrugged sympathetically and began to fiddle with the keys in his hand-- he had almost forgotten why he was out here in the first place.

She gaze followed the source of the glint. “Leaving early? Figure I should head out too.” She sighed. “Thanks.”

“...For what?”

“For making my last night before I get put to my paces a little more bearable.” She stretched her arms in front of her.

“Really, last night before you go to space and you choose to come here,” Benjamin deadpanned.

“First of all, no that’s not--” she shook her head. “Never mind. Basically, I wanted a normal night, and at least I got a bit of that. So, thanks, Captain.”

Benjamin had half a mind to correct her, but the moment had long passed and frankly he didn’t want to break the moment he was in now.

“Uh, yeah.” He waved her off awkwardly. “See you later.” 

She's going to space, idiot, not a weekend road trip, his own mind admonished.

Moxie only nodded in reply before she went off as well-- presumably to her own car.

[orsuliya]

Since you do such detailed asks and give a well thought out answers, I want to know your opinion on the Ma brothers. Zilong, Zilu and Zitan. What do you think about them?

Ah, our three intrepid Ma princes... Wait a minute, why three? It's not like we're in a fairytale and while Zitan is certainly a fool, he's not nearly good-hearted enough to play the role of Ivan the Fool.

But seriously, it seems mightily suspicious of Daddy Emperor to sire three sons in quick succession and then, as far as we know, never ever procreate again. He's an Emperor and obviously fertile, so how come the imperial nursery remains so glaringly empty? Could it be that he has no concubines at all except for his beloved Xie Guifei?

Or... has the Empress been aborting babies left and right, and poisoning her way through swathes of women to boot? Not impossible, knowing her temperament, but it doesn't really make sense within the dynamic presented in the drama. Drama!Emperor hates, hates, hates the Wangs and especially his wife, so it's hard to believe he wouldn't have used this juicy tidbit to weaken their influence. In the book Wanru is allowed to run roughshod over Potato's concubines and feed them contraceptives willy-nilly, but that's because Potato doesn't really care. The Emperor, as we see him in the drama, would have found reason enough to care upon being given such an obvious opening to start a smear campaign against his favourite enemy. Stymying the imperial bloodline?! Why, I think it might be a crime and easily provable one at that!

This leaves the other option - perhaps there aren't any concubines in the palace or, if there are, they're not being, pardon my French, bred. It's not that multiple imperial concubines of lower rank aren't a thing in this universe - Potato gets at least two and possibly more after sitting on the throne for a relatively short time. It's a pity we don't know what's the policy on entering the palace. Is there a multi-stage selection process? There is certainly no indication of that! Xie Guifei might have been an attempt to balance out a Wang Empress, Seagull was Zitan's impromptu choice, Miss Screecher was meant to be chosen by Potato outside of any organized selection and the same could be true for Potato's other concubines. Our only outlier might be Zilu's Mom and even then it's rather doubtful she was ever processed properly as it would have required a lot of effort and luck to conceal an already existing pregnancy. No, Zilu's Mom was most probably a gift of 'peace' from one brother to another.

My guess as to what Daddy Emperor is thinking? If Zitan has been his preferred heir from the start and he very well might have been since it never had anything to do with Zitan's actual qualities, then it's possible that he simply didn't protest - or did so in a purely symbolic manner - when the Wangs started limiting his reproductive chances. Why breed competition? We already know he has no use for any sons lacking powerful backing of their maternal clans, see: his treatment of Zilu. And any son with such backing would be a direct threat to his favourite, not to mention a potential upset to the carefully maitained Wang-Ma-Xie balance.

...or it could be that Daddy Emperor really loved Xie Guifei and wanted no other. Seeing as he's strongly implied to spend his nights in her chambers twenty years after their only and last kid was born, this would make a staggering amount of sense. The same principle applies - he'd still not protest Wang tyranny over the inner courts, only he'd do it for Xie Guifei and not for Zitan. It does seem to fit with Daddy Emperor's general mindset. Let the others do open battle and exert all that effort, he'll just sit there, look sage and reap the benefits!

After this rather senseless and overly long prelude, let's finally get to answering your question. Mind you, those are not going to be organized, thoughtful opinions, just my subjective impressions on each and every Ma Prince.

His Imperial Spudness Ma Zilong

The not-so-little Potato that could not, but still tried! Let's start with the elephant in the room, namely his rapist tendencies or the lack thereof. See, I'm convinced that raping Awu wasn't actually in the cards, at least as far as Potato was concerned. Compromising her, sure, just lure her into an emptied palace and cry wolf. Outright raping her, no, if only because Potato is way, way too weak and soft to execute a plan this ruthless in its entirety. Besides, harming Awu to this extent would be risky as all hell and sure to provoke authentic wrath in both Daddy Emperor and Daddy Wang. The Empress is not stupid enough to give her husband the perfect excuse to do away with her son nor to alienate her main supporter in the same move. Even if she was able to force a marriage in the first place, Potato would be pretty much done for politically unless both Daddies suddenly dropped dead. The most she would be able to get would be a grandson in a privileged position, so she'd be back to square one, only with one more female to share power with. No, what Potato did and what Wanru suffered was mostly courtesy of Zilu's suspicious drugs. Not to say Potato isn't a rapist all the same, but I'd argue for diminished capacity.

As for Potato himself in his shining spuddy glory, I truly pity the man. From time to time we see glimpses of the ruler he could have become and whom he still tries to be, and it becomes clear that there was something there worth cultivating. The problem is that nobody could be bothered to even try. Daddy Emperor certainly didn't, leaving Potato pretty much to his own devices and believe me, it had nothing to do with his talents or the lack thereof. Do you remember that lovely family scene at the beginning of episode 1.? You know, the one where Awu, Zilu and Zitan lure Zilong into a trap and then leave him there to lie amidst icy rocks in the middle of winter? He could have easily hit his head and died right then and there. Or get pneumonia and die a little bit later. Does the Emperor care? No, not at all! Baby!Awu isn't that good of a liar, but even if she was, perhaps it would behoove him to actually investigate. Not from any kind of fatherly feeling, let's not expect miracles, but perhaps from political expediency? Yeah, no. And I doubt that was the only incident of this kind. Potato must have known even this early on that his father doesn't care for him, not even like an Emperor should for his eldest male scion. Moreover, there is no way Mommy Dearest wouldn't harp on about the Emperor's negligence in private, further affirming this awful truth in Potato's mind.

Mommy Dearest might care, but her care is no less toxic than Daddy Emperor's open negligence. Potato is her key to power, her only way to win the game of thrones and make all her sacrifices worthwhile... and this is exactly how she treats him. Oh, she loves him well enough as her son, clings to him in his role as Crown Prince and then Emperor, but she doesn't actually like him as a person. And oh boy, does it show! I get it, he's not this perfect shining prince that would justify her long years of suffering, but then I have this feeling she gave up on him the moment he showed himself to be perfectly average. Sure, she offers him (toxic) love and (conditional) support like nobody's business, but there's always this nasty undertone in their relationship. Mommy knows best, don't even try to think on your own, listen to me and only me. It's no wonder that Potato thinks he's perfectly useless and doesn't bother to try and better himself, if he knows that even his own mother sees him as a perfect nincompoop. Uncle Wang's open derision isn't helpful either!

And yet Potato is, deep down, a decent enough man. Better than the average Ma, I'd say. I mean, he has some scruples! They might be really, really tiny, but they're there, even as he's being subjected to a barrage of mental attacks from both his mother and his wife. Why, given proper support and a competent cabinet, he'd make a somewhat ineffective, but decent enough ruler, his handling of the flood crisis shows us this much. Potato's best quality is that he really tries. Oh, he fails, but he's no Zitan, content to sit in his room and mope while the country goes to hell. When it's important, he can make actual decisions! Which he may then go back on (or not), but it still counts. Also, he's not petty. Like, at all. He'd like nothing better than for everybody to get along and have lots and lots of plump babies. Even his decision to do away with Xiao Qi is not motivated by jealousy, no matter how hard Wanru and Mommy Dearest keep pressing on that particular button.

Is he childish? Yes. But then, he's never been given any real responsibility and for years and years languished under the care of a helicopter parent who never forced him to man up nor face actual reality, hence his disillusionment with Wanru, once she stops being this perfect smiling automaton. Is he selfish? Oh yes and it shows nowhere better than in his last will. But even so, such selfishness is pretty much par for the course when it comes to the Mas and at least Potato didn't wreck a country for the sake of personal spite, which puts him way ahead of his father, uncle Jianning and bro Zitan. And perhaps even cousin Zilu, who cared less for the country than for Huanmi.

At the end of the day, our humble root vegetable is a tragic figure. I can't help but pity him every time we see him bloom under somebody's attention. Give that man some respect and he'll pay you back with the same, weird comments about killing you nothwithstanding. And he did give us Miracle Baby, Our Lord and Saviour!

Our beloved Groomzilla, Ma Zilu

Daddy Emperor must have been stupid, high, blind or all of those in order to let Zilu and his beautiful brain slip through his fingers. He was right there, that defenseless, motherless boy and ripe for the taking too! If after years and years of being neglected and treated as an afterthought, after suffering an obvious slight of losing his love on Daddy Wang's say-so, after being allowed to supposedly run wild with no attempt at parental intervention... If after all this Zilu still craved his father's approval in whatever form he could get it, craved it so much that he allowed himself to be led into an obvious trap, then what kind of loyalty might he have offered, had somebody bothered to nurture him properly?

And it's not like his talents were easy to sweep under the rug. It's not until after he's an adult that Zilu takes up the pretense of being a never-do-well; during his adolescence he was still giving it his all, hoping in vain that his father might notice and offer him some sweet, sweet parental validation. Alas. The lack of powerful backing from his maternal family is an obstacle, but not if one actively tries to fight against consort kin clans and their influence. Or is it only the Wangs who are the enemy? Must be so, otherwise why the hell would one not see Zilu's relative independence as his greatest asset? You don't even have to make him Crown Prince to use him; just instill some sense of pride and validation, feed his need for attention and put him behind Zitan's throne. Okay, maybe don't do that last thing, deadly brotherly competition being a whole thing in palace environments, but still, use him! But no, Huanmi remained the only person to actually see and appreciate Zilu for what he was. Is it any wonder he was so absolutely loyal to her that even when it looked like she had attacked him with lethal intent, he still cared about her safety most of all?

And is it any wonder that he expedited his considerable will and brainpower solely for her benefit? I was absolutely floored when I realized that becoming an Emperor wasn't actually his ultimate goal - marrying Huanmi in the biggest, reddest wedding possible was! Even if he needed to drag the more august guests in at swordpoint. Not to say he didn't want to take the throne for his own sake; he absolutely did, but only as far as it served as a big fat fuck you to every person who kept dismissing him out of hand, so basically every person other than Huanmi. Taking the crown was a power fantasy, an idee-fixe of sorts, but for all that keeping a throne in one's basement can be seen as somewhat peculiar, there are very few - if any - signs of actual delusion in Zilu's actions. The throne is not a goal in itself, merely a way to achieve his primary goal, which is to marry the woman he loves, take revenge for Huanmi's sake as much as his own and build a life worthy of her. She's his Empress and by gods, she's going to be the real deal soon enough, no more cosplaying in private villas, however nice it might be!

Ma Zitan, the one and only Master of Mope

With every Ma Prince I become more and more convinced that there was something seriously wrong with Daddy Emperor's brain. Neglecting Potato makes some sense within the greater political picture, letting Zilu lie fallow is the height of foolishness, yet it's more a matter of criminal inaction than actively doing something wrong, but Zitan? Oh, there is no excuse for the way Daddy Emperor chose to deal with Zitan. If the Third Prince was truly his intended heir from the start and there is little reason to believe otherwise - if Wangs are to go then Potato is done for, Zilu was never even considered and Zitan remains the favourite long after showing his complete uselessness - why not try to prepare him for his future role? True, doing so openly might provoke the Wangs, but it's not like there aren't any ways to present such ruler lessons as something else, even a punishment. But no, let's just hope he turns out okay all by himself!

Now, logically reasoning, if Zitan was Daddy Emperor’s favourite and the prince he originally wanted as his heir, then Zitan should be given all possible help, right? So why wasn’t he taught any actual skills, whether in governance or in military matters? The thing is… they might have tried. In episode 61, when Zitan asks his faithful pair of retainers if he would be able to best Xiao Qi, their first answer is not that he’s the Emperor so it’s a given. Well, that too, but the first, immediate response? You studied the art of war. Which, okay, might be a reasonable guess when it comes to any prince, but those retainers are rather young and only recently-promoted. Before their soujourn at the Imperial Mausoleum they probably served somewhere within the wider imperial household, but not close enough to any great personage to be knowledgeable about what the princes might or might not have studied. Also, that answer, should Zitan’s lessons be limited to his early childhood, would make them look like idiots or bootlickers of the worst sort. But let’s say that Zitan actually studied the art of war and did so longer than his brothers. Or, alternatively, with more famous masters. That would naturally be a subject of some talk, if only within the imperial household itself. If so, then the female retainer, who seems rather astute in general, gave the best answer she could give.

Okay, so maybe somebody actually tried to help Zitan along. It still failed. Zitan at twenty or so is singularily useless and strangely unambitious, and no, calligraphy doesn't count as useful, not if one is an imperial prince and Emperor-to-be!

It's not Zitan's uselessness or even his refusal to feel any kind of reponsibility for his own people (as shown in the Huizhou arc) I have the most issue with. Although the latter is simply disgusting. And... really, really short-sighted. If Huizhou falls, as it surely must, Jianning and Co. get a clear way to the capital, leaving Xiao Qi to play deadly catch-up. Which means that Zitan's family is pretty much done for. Now, he might not care about Potato and Zilu, but surely he should feel something towards his father? Some filial piety, if not actual love? But no, screw the people of Huizhou and screw Daddy Emperor. Still, does he think that Jianning wouldn't pursue him to the ends of the earth in order to eradicate a potential claimant?

No, what really angers me is the way Zitan treats the women he claims to hold dear. And I'm not even speaking of Awu, although it's rather obvious that he cares little for her internality and rather more than is healthy for his idealized image of her. Xie Guifei dies for him, which is not his fault in the least... or is it? See, I'm pretty sure that Zitan's insistence on marrying Awu despite his mother's reservations was what provoked the Wangs to take certain... steps. Provoking a power struggle is all fine and good, if you're at least somewhat prepared for the consequences. Zitan is no fifteen year old well-bred young lady, he's an imperial prince right in the middle of a delicate balance of power, how the hell does he not know or care about possible ramifications? Naivety is theoretically not a crime, but that surely is criminal naivety. Which begs the question - how hard was that boy coddled by his mother? My guess is a lot. But Xie Guifei is but a trifle compared to the elephant in the room.

Xie Wanru. Xie Wanru, who supported Zitan as much as she could while being in a precarious situation herself. And whom he had no problems with asking for further support, going as far as to aim for the throne, disregarding her own and her children's potential interests. Xie Wanru, who didn't make the first move, even knowing Zitan to be a potential threat to her and hers. Xie Wanru, whose baby got a full portion of avuncular love in form of actual torture and was lucky to get away with his life. Xie Wanru, his sister, whose ghost must have screeched with fury upon hearing Zitan laud himself as this paragon of brotherly feelings in comparison to the well-intentioned Turnip.

Oh, and he just sat there like an offended child while the country kept sliding into chaos, simply because some evil old men didn't let him kill Cheng's entire army with his sheer incompetence. Those dastardly old bastards! Let them scramble around and let the people in the provinces keep dying; they all deserve this for not recognizing Zitan's awesomeness! I'm not saying he should have fixed everything. I'm saying he should have done the bare minimum. He killed a brother for that throne, now he should actually do something with it. Other than purposefully provoking the only guy who actually restored peace and stability simply because the man happens to be married to Zitan's first love.

I'm sorry, I cannot with Zitan. There's a lot more to be said about that twerp, much of which has already been said, but at this point refraining from plowing on it's a matter of mental hygiene.

[theonceoverthinker]

437. Please don’t be PIRATE with me over tonight’s Fair Game HC!

Here are some HCs about Qrow, Clover, and their relationship with online piracy!

-Qrow’s...let’s just say Qrow is skilled with a cutlass and has an affinity for eyepatches, okay? Yeah, Qrow can pirate with the best of them. He’s been pirating in some form since Ruby was about six, starting with him stealing Remnant’s version of cable upon hearing about it being done somewhere online. He got in trouble for it once, though back then, being friends with Ozpin had its perks and what basically amounted to a pardon for piracy was one of them (Though Oz did try to give him a stern-ish warning not to do it again.

-Qrow’s annoyed if he misses a show he wants to watch or it doesn’t record, but only because it will be a slight inconvenience to him to have to wait for a torrent to go up and then to pirate the thing, whether through torrents or fanmade/independent free streaming sites. He has a VPN, so he doesn’t worry about getting caught.

-Clover hasn’t pirated in the past himself (He was worried about viruses more than anything, though the humiliation that came with the super strict Atlesian cops finding out and taking him to task wasn’t much of a selling point regardless of the existence of lack thereof of potential viruses), but has seen Qrow torrent before and is quite impressed. Literally any TV show or movie he could want, Qrow can get for him and with a little bit of elbow grease on his end, he can even have it up on their TV. He’s never been a stickler to Qrow about pirating content (He may sometimes be a (In Qrow’s words) “a goody goody two-shoes,” but when it comes to something like this, he really doesn’t care, and that especially remains true when Qrow shows him how to avoid viruses. Heck, Clover even does it a few times, at first with Qrow’s help, but after a few weeks or months, all on his own. Qrow says he’s “so proud” as he rubs Clover’s shoulder.

Tags under the cut!

Tagging @skybird13 @whipped4qrow @mooksie01 @luck-of-the-caw @xwildangel @solitude-of-stars @vastnessofthespiral @o0nashipear0o @unfairgamey @doctorrwby @clover-and-co @megan-atthedisco @wash-my-brain @bisexualdisasterqrow @thursdayseraph @doubledexterity @rwby-things-i-guess @atlas-heartthrob @the-answer-was-bi-klance @compoterie @thuskindlyiboop @oceansquid @transdemion @deltastream21 @mimiori @xya-hunter @delta-altair @dinosaurs-last-day @roman-torchtwink @subatomictealeaves @drbtinglecannon @saphiralunaris @pretentiouskneecaps @amxngsthxmans @ayomez13 @carbonated-table-spices @darkestsiren @chaosgameingkoi @collectingsparechangemadeeasy @michaels-daughter2005 @youmaywanttoduck @lovethewitchofendor @victorious1956 @kendalllwayland @madamoisellesica

Want to be tagged in future Fair Game HC’s (Or untagged, I understand) and be the first to catch all of the romance, fluff, drama, and puns (Sometimes all at the same time)? Send me a reply, PM, or ask, and it shall be done!

Would you also like to check out my old Fair Game HC’s? Who wouldn’t? Well, here’s a link to my Fair Game HC archives!!!!

[ouranor]

I saw your latest hanyo no yashahime post because I followed the tag and I have to say as a victim of grooming myself, I would rather be aggressive towards the adult Sessrin shippers,I do think some of them have pedophillic tendency’s, I know you hate that word being thrown around but how else would you describe people enjoying seeing sexualized fanart/actual porn of child Rin and sesshomaru. And a ship is just a ship yes but when large amounts of people try to normalize grooming I draw the line

Dear Nonny

First of all: I’m so sorry that you had to go through such a horrible experience and thank you for sharing this so openly. I’ll do my best to explain my point of view about the current chaos and how to navigate it as best as I can. In order for me not to repeat myself too often, I‘ll assume that people reading this will also have read my previous post that prompted Nonny to message me.

About the ship itself:

As far as the ending of the manga goes, Rin and Sesshoumaru are blank slates, leaving lots of room for interpretation. What is true for both characters is that neither of them have any romance set up, because neither Rin nor Sesshoumaru are anywhere near ready for any kind of romantic relationship (no matter with who) at that point in time. Rin because she’s a child and Sesshoumaru because he’s an emotionally stunted and immature mess of a man (which is why I find the sequel‘s premise incredibly unbelievable. There‘s no way Sesshoumaru was ready to have half-demon children and this is a flat-out character assassination for Sesshoumaru but I DIGRESS). In the manga, not a single trace of romance can be found, and thus not a single trace of grooming. Giving a growing child a new kimono is not grooming, it‘s common sense.

Now, most people that oppose SessRin do immediately jump to pedophilia and grooming for multiple reasons and, while I don’t ship SessRin, reducing the ship to assumptions like these is not an okay thing to do. I firmly stand by this statement and I’ll do my best to explain why.

Now, because this will be important to understand the thoughts I‘m conveying, please remember these key points:

1) Explaining does NOT equal excusing. I will never make excuses for people that romanticize children in romantic relationships. All I‘m doing is do my best to cut through the very emotionally charged and hardened fronts in this ship-war.

2) We NEED to separate the ship from its shippers. SessRin is an extremely difficult ship to write that needs to be treated with much more care and awareness than most other hetero-ships, but because people abuse Rin as their Mary-Sue and don‘t give the characters actual care and love, you end up with terrible fanfiction that depicts SessRin as „a given / destined / Rin‘s the closest vagina in the near vicinity“. And yet: Sesshoumaru grooming Rin is not the ONLY possible continuation of this ship. I‘ll get back to this in a bit.

3) Grooming is a choice, pedophilia is a mental disorder. While the two overlap at times, they are NOT the same. I’ll broach this issue near the end of this post.

Now, to get the worst out of the way, I’ll agree to this: The interpretation coming from the loudest and most aggressive shippers (Celestia on Twitter is an excellent example) is highly problematic and, as mentioned, shows a lack of comprehension regarding subtility and a lack of emotional intelligence. They‘re very black and white and they romanticize the characters as they were left in the manga, saying (among other things) how Rin is Sesshoumaru’s soulmate and understands him like no other, in spite of being a child, and THAT raises all kinds of alarm bells. Because this is exactly the rhetoric used by predators towards impressionable children. People claiming that this isn’t the case are being willfully ignorant and I usually don’t tolerate such people and use the block button generously.

But this is the WORST manifestation of this ship. Notice how I say the worst, not the ONLY.

Unfortunately, this worst interpretation usually comes from the laziest and most aggressive shippers that simply lack the creativity to imagine anything else. I’ve read many a SessRin fanfiction that built this relationship up in a believable way, taking its time and addressing the potential pitfalls, unfortunately this type of dedication or writing talent is not easily found in a fandom as vast and trope-y as Inuyasha. But I‘ve also read a ton of fanfiction where SessRin is a „logical conclusion“ because the author is actually writing an InuKag fic and has no idea what else to do with Sesshoumaru and Rin, hence: Another pairing to make babies with, yaaaay. SessRin happens by proxy, which is a huge NO-NO. This echoes one of my mantras: In order for Sesshoumaru to even get into a romantic relationship (NO MATTER WITH WHO), there is an entire story and development that needs to be told first. The same goes for Rin because again, by the end of the manga, she‘s not much of a character at all. “Why do you even read SessRin if you don’t ship it??” I hear you ask (not you, Nonny, I mean this and the following in a general sense). Because I keep saying that every ship has its merit and I’m interested in the stories that can be told. I keep saying that all ships are legitimate and I don’t want to miss out on any potentially amazing stories, especially because those were seriously hard to come by back in the day (anyone remember the 2000’s? Anyone?). I’ve read fanfiction from literally every Inuyasha ship under the sun. So if I see the tell-tales of a bad SessRin fic, I leave the author and their world behind and move on to something else. I’ll use this short interlude to say this: It has become such a horrible trend in fandom to put the sole responsibility of one’s fanfiction-experience on the author instead of taking responsibility for the content one might consume. There’s an incredible lack of self-sufficiency, a lack of ability to just move away when people read something they don’t want to read without taking personal offense. Now, I’m not saying that you have to be like me, but at least take responsibility for your own experience. ANYWAY, back to the topic at hand.

So again: In order for Rin or Sesshoumaru to get together romantically at any point in the future, a LOT needs to happen first. A lot of development, a lot of questioning, a LOT of build-up, because this relationship needs a heck of a lot more explanation than most other hetero-ships out there, but most fanfic writers and shippers are too lazy to set this up properly, leading to problematic romanticization, sugarcoating and hand-waving away of serious subjects that need to be addressed. Most of these types of SessRin shippers I see are found on Twitter and Tumblr (many are Spanish, too, wth is up with that), as mentioned, and they are are extremely questionable, seeing no issue at all with this ship, and here’s my opinion on why that is: Given from what I’ve seen, these types of shippers equal Rin with themselves. If you read how they justify this ship, it has nothing to do with her being a child, and everything to do with the blank slate that she is (like Bella Swan in Twilight). Rin has endless potential and it’s much easier to project ones own fantasy on a character that has yet to BECOME an actual character you can write a love story WITH. Of course, shippers don‘t realize this, because projection is usually done on an unconscious level. But to someone who’s been observing in this fandom and lurking for years, this seems incredibly obvious. Neither Rin nor Sesshoumaru have any agency, because they’re fictional, and that’s why SessRin is such a ticking bomb, always has been. They can be turned into whatever you want.

Now, that’s of course what fandom is for: Fulfillment of fantasies and works depicting any dynamic from fluffy to dark. But here’s the second main problem: Because SessRin is usually depicted as your typical, trope-riddled “male is alpha, woman is beta at best” romance, it falls right into heteronormative standards. Heterosexual relationships are TEEMING with extremely lazy writing (and normalized abuse, but that’s a subject for another time) and for some reason, I’ve observed how hetero ships have this insane entitlement to “purity”. What I mean by that is that hetero-ships are much more likely to attract fans that need their ship to be canon, otherwise they can’t function. This is EXACTLY what happens with SessRin. If you just had SessRin shippers doing their thing, I don’t think we’d be in this situation. But because of the sequel and its excellent marketing strategy, SessRin shippers are full of hope and, worst of all, grasping at straws and lording their ship’s superiority over everyone else with renewed fervor. If Takahashi/Sunrise weren’t such absolute cunts (pardon the language), we’d not be in this situation. Because SessRin is now a “possibility” in the sequel, people suddenly see the fulfillment of their own personal fantasies within reach. Let me repeat: This is about the fulfillment of their OWN PERSONAL fantasy and has nothing to do with Rin. She just happens to be the female character that’s closest to Sesshoumaru. The fact that she’s a child does not factor in this particular scenario, even though it SHOULD.

So again: The ship is fine on its own, because it’s literally a blank slate that you can go in ANY direction with. It’s the people that desperately grasp for canon and have decided that SessRin is a foregone conclusion WITHOUT any build-up or explanation that are the true problem. They look to the sequel and their own interpretations to justify their lazy and problematic interpretation of the ship. They make the ship into the potential grooming/pedophilia shitstorm that many “antis” are caught up in, but that’s not the ships fault.

Speaking of which, let’s talk about the grooming and possible pedophilia.

I’d ask people, after reading all of the above, to remember this: If there is any grooming at all, it has yet to happen, because NOTHING has happened between Sesshoumaru and Rin after the manga. Hell, they didn‘t even speak to each other in the charity chapter. They are still the same blank slates now that they were back then. Whether or not grooming happens is in the hands of any creator that decides to take their dynamic further.

As for pedophilic tendencies: I will not deny that there are traces of that in SessRin shipping (some prominent people also ship Zabuza/Haku from Naruto which is telling), but I swear to you that 99% of SessRin fanfictions I’ve read do NOT depict Sesshoumaru with a child Rin (except for 1-2 dark fics that portrayed the dangers of a relationship with such a power imbalance, which are extremely important works as well imo). Same goes for the art. This again because Rin is not treated as a proper character, but as a vessel for wish fulfillment.

I have said many negative things about the shippers that are triggering the entire fandom at the moment, but people that oppose this ship need to be honest with themselves and acknowledge that them jumping to the conclusion of “SessRin ALWAYS equals grooming and pedophilia” also lack creativity and the ability to differentiate between different paths and outcomes. Accusing others of pedophilia is inappropriate and uncalled for, not matter how upset you are. I too have had to learn and accept that pedophilia is a mental disorder and needs a proper diagnosis and treatment. What happens because of a mental disorder should never be excused, no matter if it’s depression, bi-polar disorder or pedophilia, but what we can hopefully all agree on is that mental disorders are not something you choose.

So the only thing I can say to you, Nonny, is this: If you see something that looks like pedophilia or grooming to you, absolutely do report it. As someone once told me: The block button is a form of self-care. Use it! I have done the same over the last couple of days and it’s cathartic. If something triggers you, avoid it and find someone/somewhere to vent to if necessary. Your feelings are extremely valid, your aggression towards others (if you have shown any, that is) is not. Your experiences were horrific without any shadow of the doubt, but the way this possibly influences how you react to and treat others is absolutely something that is YOUR responsibility.

What I would, again, ask all of the people aggressively opposing SessRin is that you reconsider your stance on pedophilia. Its potential consequences are inexcusable, but accusing other people of being pedophiles because you’re jumping to conclusions is in extremely bad taste and leaves you not only on the same intellectual level as the shipper you’re accusing, but possibly even lower than that because you’re cherry-picking which potential mental disorder you’re discriminating against. It’s a free world, of course, but I’m sure we’re all trying very hard not to be hypocrites.

I wanted to TL;DR this entire post, but there’s honestly no way to do that without skipping over important parts. So thank you if you’ve made it to the end of this massive ramble. I understand that this is a very delicate subject and I am open to any and all people that would like to discuss this further. Special thanks go to Nonny for giving me the opportunity to talk about this more. I hope I answered your question, even if it might not have been what you wished to hear. Have a wonderful day and please take good care of yourself!

[haledamage]

Wayhaven Week Day 7 - Shatter

@otomefandomevents

Detective Kira Kingston spends a night out walking around in the big city alone, meets some old family friends and learns some new things.

The city at sunset was a completely different creature than Wayhaven. Somehow both busier and lonelier, a place where a person could get lost in a crowd or down a side street without even trying. Kira walked down the street, head down, hands in her pockets, steps long and purposeful. Just another face in the crowd.

No one called out to her in greeting. No one even so much as glanced her way as she weaved through the dinner rush outside an outdoor cafe on the way past.

Perfect.

She turned left down a small, one-lane street. There was no destination to her wandering, content to simply let herself be guided by instinct and whim. 

It had been a long month, a month spent in the spotlight, trying to stay two steps ahead of a potential diplomatic incident. The months before it hadn’t been much easier, full of change and pain and uncertainty. It felt good to stretch her legs, to get some fresh air and some distance between herself and the rest of her world. No matter how much she loved her friends and her mum and Wayhaven, no matter how surprisingly comfortable she felt to be on a team, it could all be… a lot.

She would go back to work tomorrow, to go back to her sleepy town and her detective work and her team, but that was tomorrow. Tonight, it was just her and the city.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the faint echo of music caught her ear, standing out from the hum of city life and shattering the almost meditative state she’d been in. Familiar music, somehow lively and somber and sensual at the same time. She turned on her heel and followed the sound through a back alley.

She followed as it got louder and louder until she turned a corner and light and noise spilled out onto the sidewalk towards her, laughter and a staccato drum beat and the clarion call of a trumpet. The sign above the door blinked in yellow neon, “Harper Hopkins’ Lounge”.

It was louder inside. The trumpeter and drummer were accompanied by a steel guitar, a group of women at a table near the small corner stage filling in for the band's lack of singer by belting out the lyrics themselves, a lively tune Kira knew well enough to recognize but not enough to name.

The wall between the door and the stage was lined with low, round tables crowded with low, round chairs. The opposite wall was taken up by a long bar made of worn but polished dark wood. Behind it, two people moved between patrons, speaking over each other in a decidedly familial way. The whole place smelled like woodsmoke and bourbon and rain.

The wall behind the bar was lined with bottles of alcohol, but all the others had rows of musical instruments hanging from them, guitars, basses, violins, banjos, some of them brand new, some of them so old that the frets were notched and the bodies scuffed and bruised.

It wasn't very crowded yet, but Kira could already tell it wouldn't stay that way as full night fell. She made her way toward the bar so she wasn't blocking the doorway anymore. She found a place near the wall that would give her a clear view of the stage while not worrying about too many people crowding around her, leaning her elbows on the smooth wood of the bar to wait until one of the bartenders noticed her.

“I know you.”

She turned her head to look at the man who'd just spoken to her. He leaned against the wall next to her, casual and relaxed in an open, brightly patterned shirt over a white tank top, khakis, and brown and white oxford shoes. He had a round, handsome face, with dark brown skin, a smooth shaved head, and bright, summer sky blue eyes.

His smile was wide and friendly, displaying a dimple on his left cheek. It was hard not to be charmed by him.

Kira persevered anyway. “No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, unperturbed by her brusque answer. His accent was peculiar, somewhere between London and the American Southwest. “But I know of you, Miss Kingston.”

“Detective,” she corrected automatically.

“Pardon?”

“Detective Kingston. Not Miss.”

“Well, Miss Detective, I’m Reggie. Reginald Hopkins.” He offered a hand for her to shake. “I own this bar. And I think I knew your dad.”

She shook his hand, and as she did she looked him over again. He looked to be barely older than her, maybe thirty at most - but then, she’d spent enough time among supernaturals to know that didn’t really mean anything. He could be thirty and he could be three hundred.

Better to play it safe either way. She smirked, not a friendly expression but not a hostile one either. “Sure you did, mate. I’ve heard that line before.”

“I bet you have.” Reggie just chuckled. “Damn if I didn’t think I’d seen a ghost when you walked through that door. Rook used to come in and play for us sometimes. Had a gift, he did.” A shadow passed over his bright eyes. Grief. It was gone almost as soon as Kira could acknowledge it. “D’you play?”

“I do.” There was no harm in admitting it, especially in a place like this.

He nodded toward the wall near them. “You’re welcome to pull one down if you want.”

She was surprisingly tempted, her eyes tracing over the various guitars that lined the wall behind him. She shook her head. Maybe some other time. “Did he come here a lot?”

He nodded. “Two or three times a month. Brought Becca with him a few times too.” Kira barked a surprised laugh; she hadn’t heard anyone call her mother ‘Becca’ since she was a kid. “Don’t think it was her scene, but she went where he went.”

Reggie paused, the humor falling from his face in an instant. “I’m sorry about what happened to him. He was a good man. Bet that’s what everyone tells you.”

Kira crossed her arms over her chest as if doing so would ward off the old, familiar stab of pain. “You’d be right about that.”

He reached out a hand toward her. It hovered in the air for a moment, waiting to see if she’d move away. When she didn’t, he let it drop onto her shoulder. “You know, this club is named after my baby sister, Harper. She’s got a son about your age. Named him Jonny, after your old man. He rescued her from Trappers when she was a teenager. Got himself shot in the leg by putting himself between Harper and a bullet.” He gave her shoulder a warm squeeze. “Kingstons are always welcome in my bar, Miss Detective.”

“Kira.” She smiled finally, bright and friendly, and Reggie’s smile grew to match it. “Call me Kira.”

“Well, Kira, what’re you drinking? First one’s on the house.”

[petglue9-blog]

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Police officer primarily stems from the 1500s English word 'cap', indicating to seize, from Middle French 'caper' for the exact same word, and possibly linked additionally to Scicilian and also Latin 'capere' implying to record. The full form Copper is partially derived as well as use reinforced via the metallic copper badges put on by very early New York cops sergeants. By the way the patrolmen had brass badges and the captains silver ones. cloud nine/on over the moon - severe happiness or euphoria/being in a state of severe joy, not necessarily however possibly due drugs or alcohol - cloud seven is an additional variation, yet blissfulness tends to be the most popular.

Words and also language may transform gradually, yet the noise of a fart is just one of life's more sustaining attributes. consume crow - recognize a mistake, suffer embarrassment - the expression's origins are American, from imagery and also mythology from the late 19th century. Crow would certainly have been considered an instead distasteful dish, similar to the original English Umble Pie metaphor from the 1700s. According to etymologist James Rogers, eating crow ended up being the topic of a tale reported in the Atlanta Constitution in 1888, which informed the tale of an American soldier in the Battle of 1812, that fired a crow during a ceasefire. A British policeman matched the bear up his shooting as well as asked to see the weapon, which when handed to him, he switched on the soldier, reprimanding him for trespassing, and also compeling the soldier to consume a piece of the dead crow. However, on having the gun returned to him, the soldier quickly transformed the weapon on the policeman, as well as made him consume the rest of the crow.

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Hoag paid off the authorities to get away prosecution, however eventually paid the rate for being also creative when he tried to reduce the police out of the offer, resulting in the pair's arrest. In explaining Hoag at the time, the police were allegedly the initial to use the 'wise aleck' expression.

If you have very early recollections of use or ideas of exact origins or authors of any one of the above expressions please let me understand, and I'll release the searchings for on this page in the main listing. Let me recognize additionally if you desire any mysterious expressions contributing to the list for which no published origins seem to exist. Can you help discover the earliest beginnings or precise resources of some fairly current expressions and numbers of speech? Below are a couple of interesting sayings for which for which completely pleasing beginnings appear not to exist, or existing explanations welcome growth and even more information. The primary advantages of using these lotions like rapid virgin spray is that they are made from entirely natural herbs hence lack any type of kind of type of adverse results. Older people with even more thorough photo-ageing, serious skin laxity, or exceptionally droopy skin on the neck aren't terrific prospects along with might need surgical procedure.

The basis of the definition is that Adam, being the first guy ever, and also therefore the farthest eliminated from anybody, symbolizes a male that any person is least likely to know. Out of passion, an 'off ox' would have been the monster drawing the cart on the side farthest from the motorist, and for that reason much less recognized than the 'near ox'. This expansion to the expression was American; the 'off ox' as well as various other expansions such as Adam's brother or Adam's foot, are just created to exaggerate the distance of the acquaintance.

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The above usage of the 'black Irish' expression is perhaps supported since it was also a term given to a former servant who took on the name of an Irish proprietor. Whether this was in Ireland, the West Indies, or in other places is not clear, and in any event is not likely to have been the primary derivation of the expression provided various other more common aspects. containers - eyeglasses, or the eyes - an easy reducing of words field glasses, initially appeared in English c. 1930, potentially from the armed forces or London, for which this sort of short-form slang would certainly have been normal. almanac - diary - either or both from the Arabic 'al manac' indicating 'the journal' and/or from Saxon term 'al-mon-aght' suggesting 'all moon follow', which was the record of new as well as full moons. Cohen suggests the beginning dates back to 1840s New york city City defrauder Aleck Hoag, who, with his wife posing as a prostitute, would certainly burglarize the consumers.

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Dosh appears to have originated in this form in the US in the 19th century, and afterwards reappeared in a lot more preferred use in the UK in the mid-20th century. doss-house - harsh resting accommodation - the term is from Elizabethan England when 'doss' was a straw bed, from 'dossel' meaning package of straw, in turn from the French 'file' meaning package. Before c. 13th century the word was dyker, from Latin 'decuria' which was a trading system of ten, initially utilized for pet hides. dead pan - expressionless - from the 1844 rhyme (' The Dead Pan') by Elizabeth Browning which told that at the time of the crucifixion the cry 'Terrific Frying pan is dead' swept across the ocean, and 'the responses of the oracles ceased for ever before'. dandelion - wild flower/garden weed - from the French 'dent de lyon', indicating 'lion's tooth', due to the jagged shape of the dandelion's fallen leaves. According to Chambers the plant's name came into English in the late 1300s originally as French 'dent-de-lyon', progressing with dandelyon, additionally generating the surname Daundelyon, before reaching its present English kind.

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London meteorologist Luke Howard established the first extensively approved cloud name and classification system, which was published in 1803. The system is essentially still in use today, albeit raised from Howard's original seven-cloud framework.

Names of blossoms are amongst numerous other usual English words which came into English from French in the late middle-ages, the reason for which is discussed in the 'pardon my French' beginning. In much of the expression's common usage the meanings seem to converge, in which the hybrid 'really feel' is just one of domination/control/intimacy in return for payment/material reward/safety/protection. Using the expression as a straight insult, where the significance is to examine an individual's parentage, is found, but this would not have actually been the beginning, and also is a much more current retrospectively used definition. dachshund - short-legged dog - the dog was initially a German breed made use of for hunting badgers. Words appears to have pertained to England in the last 19th century. cop/copper - police officer - Some recommend this is a phrase from 'Constable On Patrol' however this is a retrospectively applied description.

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The 'bottoms up' expression then normally referred to looking for the King's shilling at the bottom of the flask. If you recognize anything more regarding the origins of "throw me a bone" - particularly the expression taking place in a language aside from English, please inform me. The flag is a blue rectangle with a solid white rectangular shape in the center; 'peter' is from the French, 'partir' suggesting 'to leave'. In addition,, heaven and white 'blue peter' flag is a basic nautical signal flag which stands for the letter 'P'. The letter 'P' is connected with the word 'peter' in lots of phonetic alphabets, consisting of those of the English as well as American military, as well as it is feasible that this phonetic language organization was affected by the French 'partir' origin.

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ciao - Italian greeting or farewell, and also typical English colloquialism meaning 'goodbye' - noticable 'chow', is derived from Italian words 'schiavo vosotro' indicating 'I am your slave'. Chambers and also OED are clear in showing the earlier Latin complete type of 'carnem levare', from medieval Latin 'carnelevarium', and that the derivation of the 'val' element is 'doing away with' or 'getting rid of', as well as not 'saying goodbye, as some recommend. OED as a matter of fact states that the connection with Latin 'vale', as if claiming 'goodbye to flesh' results from 'preferred' etymology. by and large - generally/vaguely/one way or one more - one of a number of maritime terms; 'typically' literally implied 'to the wind as well as off it'.

An additional analysis, and also certainly a belief when held by some, is that sneezing expelled ghouls from an individual's body. A contributory element was the organization of sneezing with the Black Death which ravaged England as well as specifically London in the 14th as well as 17th centuries. In more current times the expression has been connected to the misconception that sneezing creates the heart to stop beating, further strengthening the Bless You personalized as a protective superstitious notion. blarney - persuasive yet vacant words - from the spoken laziness tactics of Cormack MacCarthy, 1602, in holding the castle of Blarney in Ireland, near Cork, despite consenting to commend the English as component of the surrender terms.

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Keep in mind that a wind is described according to where it comes from not where it's mosting likely to. Sailing 'by' a South wind would suggest cruising essentially in a South instructions - 'to the wind'. box and die/whole/hole box and pass away - see see 'entire box and die' feasible meanings and beginnings listed below. Bars and also drinkers familiarized this method as well as the customized of alcohol consumption from glass-bottom flagons began.

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[chaosbcrne]

i've contemplated making this post for some time now and kept struggling when trying to find the right words to even begin with. i've come to the conclusion that there's no one good way to do this, especially coming out of nowhere as it is, so i'll just preface it by saying, to you, whoever might be reading this, you are under no obligation or expectation to read any further.

i am making this post to address as much as i can think of addressing, as a way of having proper closure here. this is not me trying to make a comeback or anything of the sort, it's just me trying to close the book for myself and anyone else who might feel concerned. so please, if you know enough to know why i disappeared, if hearing from me stresses you out, if my presence makes you feel unsafe to any degree or you know it might have a negative effect on your mental state or even just your mood, please do not feel any pressure to read on. you will not be out of the loop if you do not read this, this post will have zero impact on you or the community. this post will not be deleted or edited either, so if you can't stand to just ignore it, feel free to come back to it later.

before i get into anything, i want to apologize for any potential bad timing; i have not logged in here or otherwise seen the state of the dash since roughly two or three weeks after my last post (so about four months ago). i do not know who is or is not following me or who otherwise might see this post , i do not have the slightest idea of how the community fares these days. i apologize if this happens to be published at an especially bad time, or on the contrary it's a particularly good one, it's purely coincidental, and i encourage you once again to simply come back to this when it's more convenient if you do feel like you ought to read what follows.

as stated previously i have had no contact with this blog or any of the blogs that were previously associated with it in a few months now. i have no idea if what happened where i'm concerned was addressed publicly or not. i do believe it would have warranted a callout post, but i don't know if one was actually made. it makes it difficult to address when i don't know what people generally do or don't know, so i'll just say this: everything you've heard, if you've heard anything, is probably true.

the abuse, the gas-lighting, the suicide baiting, the mean or passive-aggressive comments, the talking smack about people in private. all of it happened, and it was happening for several months, and i'm not here to try to deny or justify any of it. i'm sure anyone who paid attention to the dash was able to observe that i had questionable vibes at best, and i'm here to tell you that it was much, much worse in private, and it was much, much worse for those who endured it than i could ever make it out to be.

for most of the time i was on here, i tried to advocate against elitism, clique culture and all around bad energies while being one of the main people to perpetuate them. i never questioned myself and if anyone confronted me, i took for granted that they were wrong and argued around it. i had a 'assume people are shitty until proven otherwise' mindset that resulted in a lot of unwarranted aggression, mistrust and guilt-tripping towards many people. i caused an immense amount of tension and distress, both on and off the dash, and never took responsibility for any of it at the time. for that, i am sincerely sorry.

there's only so much i can say without starting to list everything i've done to people individually - which i think would be inappropriate considering i am making this post without speaking to them first or otherwise knowing whether they've recovered or would be okay with me disclosing the details of our involvements. 

however, i don't want to simply dismiss my actions by confirming i did them and moving on, either. if there are any allegations i should address or at least acknowledge in more details, please let me know. i just quite frankly don't know how to publicly take accountability for things that went on over the course of a long time, or that weren't always explicit, or that i may not realize the full extent of even now, seeing as i've never gotten to actually discuss them with the people concerned. i don’t want to make this a potentially triggering read for those who were involved by bringing up details without their permission, but i don’t want those who weren’t involved to assume my actions were minor offenses only because said details are lacking, either. it's important not to underestimate the gravity of the harm i've caused, and far be it from me to try and sweep it under the rug. in that sense, the only thing i can say is, make no mistake, i am 100% guilty of all of it.

what’s more, me admitting to my wrongdoings is only me going off of what i can remember. i can guarantee that all i've done is even worse than i make it sound, seeing as it's worse than i'm able to comprehend, for i was never the one on the receiving end of my behavior.

for the longest time i wholeheartedly believed i couldn't be a bad person because i never /meant/ to hurt anyone. i was wrong. i was a bad person because even when i knew that i was capable of unintentionally hurting people, i did not take responsibility or seek to correct my behavior. i always had (pardon the language) bullshit excuses to justify my actions and invalidate the pain of those i hurt, whether it was to myself or to other people. i thought my initial intentions mattered more than the effect they had, and therefore no harm was ever actually my fault because i hadn't intended it.

it's an incredibly toxic mindset to have. it's the same rhetoric with which racists, homophobics, ableists and such people can get away with racism, homophobia, ableism and so on without guilt- by convincing themselves that if they don't mean it that way, then it absolves them of blame, and whatever harm they cause is technically the victim's fault for taking offense to it. it's a very harmful thought process, and not at all the kind of person i want to be, and i'm sorry i hurt so many before i came to understand this.

for what it's worth, i am getting help. i am seeing a therapist once a week since may, with the goal of understanding where my abusive and manipulative reflexes come from and getting rid of them. beyond our weekly sessions, i was given an exercise to do on my own time, on a daily basis (or at least as often as i interact with others), meant to help me learn to believe in the inherent goodness of people and develop a kinder and more optimistic disposition towards them. i have also taken a summer course in communication in hopes of (re)learning how to properly listen and be more receptive of people's thoughts (and especially criticism), although that has admittedly not proven quite as effective as i'd hoped, so i am looking to consult with a specialist in that department when post-pandemic re-openings allow it.

obviously, none of these efforts make up for what i've done. they are quite frankly too little too late and will never erase the pain i've inflicted. unfortunately, they are also the only concrete action i can take to make amends after the fact, now that the damage is done. or so it seems from my current perspective.

if there is anything else i can do to make up for even a fraction of the harm i've caused, i would be very thankful to hear about it. if there is something i am at fault for that i may not be taking accountability for, i would also like to know. keeping in mind that, while knowing exactly how my behavior was problematic would allow me to better take the blame for it, this is not an obligation or expectation in any way. please only let me know about such things if you feel secure in doing so; do not feel pressured if you feel it would compromise you. my growth is no one's responsibility but my own. that being said, i know that i scared and bullied a lot of people into silence in the past, and i feel like inviting you to speak up about the stress or pain i've caused you is the least i can do to make up for it. if it's more empowering for you to ignore this and move on, by all means, just ignore this and move on.

if at all possible, i would also like to apologize for my behavior - more than just generally. i honestly believe that i have caused some manner of torment, whether directly or indirectly, to everyone in this community, and that everyone is deserving of an apology. i am fully aware that most of the people concerned likely feel unsafe at the idea of being in touch with me in any way, so i will not be reaching out to you directly myself, but with your permission, i would like to personally and individually apologize to anyone willing to indulge me for a brief exchange. i am not doing this to earn your forgiveness; i am doing this because i genuinely feel bad. if i can contribute to your finding closure by acknowledging how i've wronged you, it's the least i can do. i promise that i have no intention of using this as an opportunity to renew contact and that, should you do me this favor, you will be more than welcome to completely cut ties after the fact with no hard feelings on my end.

i can be reached in a fairly timely manner (as in, i am logged in on those accounts on my phone) on discord (Eph#2409) and tumblr ( @friendlifyre ). if a less instant method of communication is more comfortable for you, the e-mail crimsonxblur@gmail.com is at your disposal. if you don't mind the wait, you can also give me a nudge on this blog, as i will be (albeit rarely) logging in here to work on old drafts (without publishing them) until they're finished or i otherwise feel content with leaving this part of my life behind.

as a small addendum, i am humbly asking to please be civil if you use any of these methods to reach me. while i am arguably deserving of the death threats and insults coming my way, i am sharing these specifically to make open communication possible, and to make it easier to avoid me for those who wish to do so. i will not silence you if you choose an aggressive approach as i recognize it's ultimately what i deserve; i only ask that you at least consider that i am really just trying to do something right in the wake of all the wrong i've done, and i would appreciate if all related messages could remain constructive and not just mean for the sake of being mean.

as a conclusion i can only apologize once more for the bad vibes i brought into this community. it will be months if not years of active work on myself before i can confidently say that i have made progress and become a better person, yet i suspect a good number of people may carry with them the tension and fear i've instigated far longer. i am truly sorry. i can only offer, for what little consolation it might be, that not at single day goes by that i don't regret my actions and feel the weight of them.

if i could give my past self any advice, or anyone who indulges in similar attitudes, it would be to keep questioning yourself, to stop assuming you know better. just because your intentions are not bad does not mean they never affect people in a bad way. just because you can recognize abusive behavior in others, does not make it inherently impossible for you to be abusive. make an effort every day to consider those around you as individuals, even when it's easier to view them as parts of a bigger whole, of a community. learn not only to be kind but to think kindly, to catch yourself when you think mean thoughts and condition yourself to a more positive approach. assume people are good until proven otherwise. if there's anything you want to get off your chest that you wouldn't want divulged to the whole world, even when you think you're just harmlessly venting, you are ultimately spreading negativity and should work on getting rid of it from within instead.

it's always more work to improve than to stay the way you are, but you owe it to everyone else if not to yourself to be someone who's good to be around.

thank you for taking the time to read this if you have. regardless of who did or whether there is any kind of response to this, i will continue this work-in-progress that is my self and try to make sure i never put anyone else through what i've been putting people through here. i am glad i have the opportunity to acknowledge at least some of my problematic behavior and apologize, as it seemed, for quite some time now, the only logical step i hadn't taken yet in my journey to moving forward.

once again, thank you for reading this, and, assuming this is the last interaction we'll have with one another, i wish you the very, very best.

[sweetbyte]

Lessons in Magic 

Intro

Rated | T

Pairing | Bakumomo (Friendship/Brotp) | Implied/Mentioned Todomomo

Harry Potter AU Short Stories

    She huffed as she pushed the portrait closed behind her and closed her eyes in efforts to keep a calm composure. If she knew him as well as she thought she did, (and she really should after 14 years or so) he would be at her door very shortly and she did not want him to see any cracks in her façade. She started counting numbers in her head, not bothering to move from the entrance, enjoying the stillness of her dorm. She got up to 75 when she felt his hard, impatient knocks from the other side and tried not to jump in surprise.

She gave herself another 10 seconds before reaching for the door.

“You’re overreacting.”

“I beg your pardon?” She frowned, the portrait being completely shoved open.

“You bloody well heard what I said, Yaoyorozu, don’t act coy.” He bit as he pushed his way into her living quarters and plopped onto her sofa.

“I hardly think I am! Additionally, you cannot just barge your way into my dorm!” She chastised, exasperated, while softly closing the portrait who was outraged at the ‘unmannered brute’.

“S’never been an issue before, princess.” He replied, eyebrow arched, arms folded behind his head, feet kicked on her coffee table.

“Must you be so difficult?” she sighed, as she made her way to the small kitchenette to prepare tea, seeing as her uninvited guest was obviously not leaving anytime soon.

“Not anymore than you.” He snorted from his seat.

Momo rolled her eyes as she continued to make the tea in silence. When finished, she carried the cups into the living room where a lounging Bakugo had proceeded to rest his head back, eyes closed, in her absence. She ‘tsk’d’ at the sight of his feet still on her table and nudged them off as she set down the cups of tea. He growled “witch” but she briefly returned to the kitchenette in order to get sugar and a small jar of milk.

Momo sat down and prepared her tea to her liking aware of Bakugo’s staring. She finally looked up when she felt her skin prick at the intensity of his gaze. “Yes?”

“What good is it being the brightest witch in class if you don’t even use your magic outside of it?”

“One doesn’t need magic for everything. You know, muggles have managed to build empires without it. It’s rather fascinating, really.”

“You’ll end up sending your mother to St. Mungos if you keep talking like that…” She narrowed her eyes at him in warning causing him to roll his eyes. “Please, I’m far from being a bloody snitch”

“You maybe far from a snitch, but being a pureblood supremacist makes you no better”

“You’re overreacting-“ Bakugo hissed out again. “You know I don’t care about that blood bullshit.”

“You called him a mud-“Momo trailed off, feeling vile at the thought of completing the word causing Bakugo to scoff.

“Am I wrong? He is-“

“Enough!” Bakugo froze at her outburst as it was not in her nature nor upbringing to loose her temperament. “I do not know what it is that you have against that poor boy, but you must quit being so despicably cruel! We are not like our ancestors who fought and lost in an unnecessary prejudiced bloodbath, or even our parents who refuse to learn from their mistakes!” She quiets to regain her composure before continuing. “We are all people Katsuki; muggles, wizards and witches...even werewolves to some extent. We all have a right to live, regardless of blood status.”

  “When did you turn into such a righteous bleeding griffindor?” She pointedly chooses to ignore him and continues.  “Furthermore, to answer your previous question, you are in fact wrong. Midoriya’s parents are not muggles you know. You’ve been calling him an incorrect slur this whole time.”

 “So you’ll feel better if I call him a squib instead? Doesn’t matter, his mother is a-”

 “I would appreciate you stop tormenting him, period. You can’t call him a squib either since he can indeed use magic. His magic is quite brilliant you know, if you would set aside whatever grudge you have on him you would see an immense similarity between the both of you.”

 “You expect me to look over the fact that he was born a sqiub and suddenly has awoken a fucking ‘grand magic potential’ just after being snuck into this school?”

“It could have been dormant...”

“Not likely. He is stealing that magic, and I’m going to prove it.”

“Doubtful.” She mutters, more to herself and they settle into a moment of silence.

“So, are we going to prance around the fact that you’re suddenly so invested in muggles because of your infatuation with that half-blood?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Momo responds, grateful she hadn’t been drinking tea for she surely would have choked.

"Don’t be daft now, I told you it doesn’t suit you.” Bakugou drawls, amusement very much evident in his tone. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“It would be hopeless to lie to you, I indeed fancy him....” She sighs in defeat knowing full well that he can read her better thank anyone else.

“He’s a ponce”

“Regardless, I’ve been rebellious enough, don’t you think?” Her voice is small as she begins to fiddle with the handkerchief in her lap.

 “You? Rebellious?” He snorts

“One thing is getting myself sorted into Ravenclaw-“ “Were you not just lecturing me about this?’ He sneers, and she huffs. “This is different...”

“What happened to change and shit?” He demands, and she can only shake her head at him.

“I will fight for change, I’ll make sure our child’s future is different. They won’t be raised into the same toxic environment we were”

“Or you could be the change and fight now and be happy. Honestly, what’s stopping you?” He’s pushing her, like he always does when he knows she is lying.

“I’m afraid.” She confesses, finally bringing herself to meet his gaze. “You are my safety net, you know. We’ve been betrothed since before we could walk and while you can certainly be exhausting to deal with at times, you are also always there...”

“Fuck, now I’m the bloody ponce.” Bakugou groans into his hands before standing from his seat to hover over her resolutely.

“Look, we’ve been together for a long arse time, but breaking this” He gestures between them. “doesn’t mean you’re losing me. I’ll still be there to fight the bad guys for you, even if I have to start with our parents.”

“Why?”

“You’re my safety net too, you dense witch, but I don’t want to keep being told what to do and how to live. I told you I don’t care about that shit. Let my parents strike me off the damn family tree. I’m the only heir they have.”

“Katsuki!” He only shrugged in response before plopping next to her and bringing his feet to the table again, making her his in distaste and swat at his legs. He, of course doesn’t budge and she just resigns with a final half-hearted shove.

“What happens now?” She asks out loud, more to herself if anything but he scoffs nonetheless.

“Court his trousers off, shouldn’t be too hard.” He nudges her as she tries to lean against him, and she starts to play with his hand in retaliation.

“I’m not exactly the type to court others, it’s usually the other way around.” She pinches

“Oh?” He teases

“I didn’t mean it like that! I’m just saying it’s not in my set skills. I’m extremely awkward, and I’m aware of it.” She blushes.

“Come off it, awkward or not, you’re quite the number. Blokes feel the need to let me know all the time. I’m apparently extremely lucky, blessed even” He boasts

“I’d rather you not tell me. I don’t want to be seen as just a number to impress.” She sighs

“Impress him with that bloody brain or yours then. I’m sure he’ll find that sexy. Or, maybe shorten that skirt, you’ve got killer legs.” He suggests, mischievously.

“Please, do hush up.” She implores

“Then again, you’re quite virginal. A walking wet dream.” He continues

“I will banish you from my quarters, after I spill this tea over you” She threatens

“We both know you won’t.” He dismisses

“How they made you Head boy is truly beyond me.” She mutters

He smirks.  “Because I’m smart as fuck.”

‘Not smarter than me’ She thinks

A/N : Yes, hello I live! I'm slowly getting out o my writing block/hiatus so please take this as an offering? Life has been dominating every aspect of me and I apologize for the lack of activity, specially when updating Say When. Thank you for sticking with me. 

Also I just binged a whole bunch of HP content so this came about, it'll just be a type of anthology/drabbles. enjoy

[with-fists-and-folded-steel]

Himiko

If there were a man more insufferable in all of Kugane (more like all of Othard, if she were being honest with herself), Azumi had yet to meet him in her thirty years on this Star. How she’d love nothing more than to put a permanent end to his ceaseless prattle about his fishing techniques, his family (She doesn’t know whether to pity them for having that coming home to them every night, or be very concerned about what sort of people could stand him for more than a single night), and his utterly unimpressive collection of antique swords, or whatever the hells else happens to cross his mind. Unfortunately, for as maddeningly bored as she was, killing off one of your most important suppliers was generally considered to be bad for business. That, and her boss would have her hide. And Azumi was rather fond of her hide. It’s a nice hide. She opted for the friendliest smile she could manage to fake instead as she took a sip of her tea.

… He just. Would not. Shut. Up. It would be fine if she could convince him to just skip to the business at hand, but no! She thought her boss was joking, but the horror stories were true. He needs to ramble for what feels like bells before finally getting around to any important matters! And it’s everything Azumi can do to stop herself from clawing her eyes out. Or better yet, his. She glanced down at the remains of her meal, and frowned. There were barely scraps left, and she couldn’t even begin to remember when she’d finished it. She needed something. Any excuse to get away from him. Even for just a bell or two.

“—Oh! Have I mentioned that my son has begun to take an interest in the family business of late?” He had. At least… three times, last she paid him any mind? “He’s already shown remarkable talent with customer relations! Why, he’s almost as good as his own fath—“

His words were thankfully cut off by sudden angry shouting in the nearby markets. People flocked over to see what all the fuss was about, and crowds quickly formed. Azumi silently thanked the Kami for the distraction, and seized her chance, springing to her feet. “What in the hells is going on? We should go check it out.”

“But what about my food? I haven’t finished yet! And what of our discussion?”

“Why don’t you stay here and finish eating, and we can conclude our talks another time? Sound good?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, already rushing off to the source of the commotion.

She sighed in relief, having rid herself of the man, and began weaving through the crowd, quickly making her way to the front. Upon arriving at the scene, she finds an irate shopkeeper muttering curses, as a samurai grips a young roegadyn child’s wrist tightly, and wrenches a large melon out of their hand. The child is of no more than… eight? Nine years? Almost alarmingly thin, covered in dirt and grime, with long, unkempt black hair. Probably a girl, by Azumi’s reckoning.

“Let me— Let. Me. GO!” The girl grit her teeth, struggling in vain to yank her arm free of the Sekiseigumi’s grasp.

“Shut up, you mangy little thief. You’ll get what you deserve soon enough.” The merchant spat at her.

The little girl growled at him, baring her teeth, and the samurai sighed as he turned to hand the melon back to the shopkeeper, “Here. This little one will be dealt with in accordance with the law. Thievery will not be tolerated.”

Azumi's interest had begun to fade. She'd started turning to leave, but the way the roe's eyes widened before flashing dangerously, her expression darkening, made Azumi pause. The roe girl stopped struggling, glancing between the samurai restraining her, and the smug merchant holding her prize.

She stomped on the merchant’s foot as hard as she could, before turning her hand to grab the Sekiseigumi’s wrist, twisting roughly and forcing him to release her hand as she wrenched his arm behind his back, and shoved him into the shopkeeper. In the confusion, she made a dash for the melon, and ran off into a stunned crowd, shoving onlookers out of her way.

Azumi blinked in astonishment at what she’d just witnessed. That scrawny little girl had just successfully escaped a trained samurai and slipped through their grasp. That? That, she could work with. There was definitely potential there. She had to find her. Before the samurai could finish helping the merchant to his feet, Azumi rushed to pursue the roegadyn, weaving her way out of the mass of people as quickly as she could.

She just managed to catch a glimpse of her already half-way across the bridge, barely visible. By the time she made it to the bridge, the Sekiseigumi and the angry merchant had just barely shoved their way past the crowd, and the girl was seemingly nowhere to be found.

Best bet, she’d have cut under the bridge and either double back around to the market back alleys, or head for the docks. Were it just the merchant after the girl, she’d guess one of those. But with a samurai giving chase? Those would likely be the first places checked, and Azumi had a feeling the girl was smart enough to have taken him into account. There’s… the Rakuza District, but… a street rat barreling in there with a large melon was going to draw some attention. Unless…

Azumi spotted a large group of ijin being led by a guide across the district bridge. There were so many new, exciting sights for them all to take in, they probably wouldn’t have noticed her slipping among them. And the place may be a fancy tourist trap, but there were plenty of alleyways for a small child to go unnoticed. She followed the group into the district, keeping a respectable distance to watch out for the girl splitting off.

After about ten minutes of the group wandering the streets, she spotted the girl trying to slink away from the ijin. She barely waited until she rounded the corner into a nearly-deserted alleyway to start jabbing into the melon, digging in as soon as she could manage to secure a chunk of it as she continued making her way to wherever she planned to hide out.

Azumi stalked after her, slowing her pace down to keep the roe from noticing her. To anyone else, she was taking a leisurely stroll. After a few minutes, the girl froze suddenly, and quickly scanned her surroundings. Azumi maintained her pace, avoiding making any sort of eye contact. After a few moments, the roe girl seemed satisfied there were no immediate threats, and resumed her journey.

She finally came to a stop at what appeared to be a makeshift shelter, cobbled together with bits of broken crates, and barrels, and suchlike. Not content to live entirely inconspicuously, there were obviously stolen paints littered outside, and drawings of cute animals adorning the outer walls of the shelter. Azumi sighed at that. Clearly, stealth was not this child’s expertise.  Still, what she lacked in that department, she could absolutely make up for with her fighting capabilities, if nurtured properly.

The little roe sat the remainder of the melon on the ground next to the entrance of the shelter before flopping dramatically down next to it and breathing a deep sigh of relief. She glanced down at her wrist, angry, dark marks marring her reddish-purple skin having been left by the Sekiseigumi’s treatment, and pouted as she began rubbing gently at it. The girl reached back into the shelter to grab a couple long strips of cloth, and tenderly wrapped them around her wrist and hand.

As much as she would have liked to continue observing, Azumi came here with a purpose, and with the sun’s light beginning to die out, she was reminded of all the time her business associate had wasted already. She strode confidently towards the girl’s hideout.

“So, how does a little girl get the better of a warrior more than thrice her years?”

The child snapped towards the sound of Azumi’s voice, and her face flashed with a mix of surprise, fear, and confusion. “I’m not a-…” She stalled for a second, seeming to reconsider, “I am NOT little.”

“Uh-huh. You’re, what? Six years? Seven?” Azumi smirked as the girl bristled at that, “You’re entirely skin and bones. And I’ve seen roe girls your age. You’re a full head shorter than they are. You. Are. Little.”

She turned her head away from Azumi and grumbled quietly.

“But we’re getting off topic. You didn’t answer my question: However did a child like you pull off such a feat?”

The child regarded her warily before responding, “Why d’you care?”

“Because I am impressed. That trick of yours isn’t exactly common, and for a scrawny little thing like you to make it work against a Sekiseigumi warrior while retaining your prize suggests talent. Talent I’d like to help see transformed into skill.” A thoughtful expression formed on Azumi’s face, “And by the way, next time? A solid punch to the kidney’ll buy you more time.”

Eyes-wide, the girl slowly nodded her head, trying to process everything Azumi said. She looked away and sucked in a shaky breath, “Mmmthrttme.”

“Pardon me?”

“M-my… My mother taught me. Just in case.”

Huh. Not quite the response Azumi expected. “And where is your mother now, little one?”

The roe girl hugged her knees to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. “I-I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay. Sensitive topic. The world being what it is, Azumi couldn't help but suspect the girl's parents were dead. Accident or otherwise, it was clearly the wrong thing to inquire about. She didn’t have much experience with comforting children (And to be honest, she wasn’t overly fond of them to begin with), but if she was going to take this child under her wing, she had to figure it out fast. She slowly lowered herself to the ground next to her, and tentatively placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder, hoping to calm her down. “No, no. You don’t have to. It’s okay. Really.”

The roe girl sniffled a bit, and nodded, arms still wrapped around her knees. A ray of light from the setting sun caught her hair. It wasn’t quite black, like Azumi had initially assumed, but more of a darker purple. It suited her.

Azumi slowly withdrew her hand, thankful that she seemed to avoid causing outright sobbing. “How about this instead? Why don’t you tell me your name?”

She hesitated before replying shakily, “I, um… H-Himiko?”

“Himiko, huh? Are you sure? You don’t sound very certain of that.” Azumi hoped the gentle teasing would help the poor girl relax a bit.

“Y-Yes.” That doesn’t seem to have quite relaxed her, but she appeared a bit calmer. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, speaking more confidently, “My name is Himiko.”

“Well, Himiko, my name is Azumi. And as I was saying before, I’d very much like to help you develop those talents of yours.”

Himiko’s brow furrowed in confusion, “But… why would ya wanna help me?”

Azumi took a moment to consider, “I think you have potential. And I am none too keen on letting that go to waste. I’ve seen far too much potential squandered in mine own time. I want to see what you could become.”

“And… how’d ya do that?”

“We’d work on building upon what you’re good at. You’ve clearly no head for the art of stealth—“

  “—Hey!” Himiko loudly protested.

Azumi raised an eyebrow at her, “… You were caught because you tried to steal a melon, little one. The largest one that merchant had, in fact. Not the most inconspicuous of targets. And you’ve made no attempt whatsoever to hide those expensive paints.”

The roe girl briefly opened her mouth to argue that, but couldn’t think of a response, and settled for crossing her arms and pouting.

“A master thief, you are clearly not to be. No, your talents lie elsewhere.” Azumi reached over, gently taking Himiko’s injured wrist in her hands. She took the ends of the cloths between her fingertips, and looked in the girl’s eyes as though asking permission. When she nodded, Azumi idly undid the loose wrappings, and began fixing up the bandaging. “What I saw was a young girl who analyzed her situation. Who recognized that she could not defeat her opponents with simply brute force and determination. That would not be enough.” Azumi began wrapping the cloth around Himiko’s hand, threading the cloth between each of her fingers. “A girl who knew she was being underestimated, and turned the situation on her captors. Now, imagine taking that same person, and giving her the benefit of proper training, and experience,” Azumi paused to poke Himiko’s shoulder, before finishing wrapping her hand and wrist up securely, “and maybe a bit of meat on her bones. Imagine what she could do with that.”

Himiko stared at her hand in wonder as Azumi delicately took her hand in her own, and closed Himiko’s hand into a fist. “What. Do ya want me t’be your soldier or somethin’?”

Azumi frowned, trying to decide how best to respond, “It’s… not really about what I want you to be. If I wanted, I’m certain I could groom you into an excellent henchman or bodyguard or something. Or even hand you over to my boss and see what she’d make of you. But… think of it like a kind of experiment, of sorts. I want to give you the tools you need to choose your own path, and I want to see what you do with that. The choice is yours.”

Himiko glanced up from her hand thoughtfully at Azumi, “And what if I refused yer help?”

“I’d be dreadfully disappointed, but… I would respect your wishes, and not press you on the matter.” The older woman pouted dramatically. “But yes. You could be anything you wanted. A soldier, a mercenary, my personal Enforcer— I hear they’re making good coin these days— even,” she glanced briefly at the paintings on the young girl’s shelter, “an artist, if the life of a fighter is not the life you desire.”

“I’m not… I don’t... kn—” Himiko stared hard at her wrapped-up hand, biting her lip as she considered the older woman’s words. Azumi half-expected to see smoke rising from the cloth.

Laughing, she patted Himiko’s shoulder, and rose to her feet. “Don’t worry, little girl. You are not expected to come to a decision this very eve.”

“I-I’m not?” A wave of relief washed over her. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a sigh. She muttered what sounded suspiciously like, “Oh, thank the Kami” under her breath.

“The day has been eventful enough without my burdening you with life-altering choices out of the blue.” Azumi reached behind her, and took out a pouch of koban, tossing it at Himiko’s feet. “In the meantime, take this.”

Himiko picked up the pouch, and opened it. She gasped softly and then looked towards Azumi, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, “I mean, thanks, but what’s all this for?”

“Something to keep you out of trouble while you decide. Think of it as… an investment in your future.” Azumi turned to walk away, as the roe girl held the pouch to her chest in both hands. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Azumi had a feeling she needn't worry about being bored in the days to come.