#so much is conveyed in the moments of silence in this update

[roscolate]

UGHHHHHHH MY HEART HURTSSSSS 😭😭😢😢

BGM - Family - Super Mario Galaxy

ACT 1

ACT 2

ACT 3 - 1 <<< 12 / 13 / ⚡️

HOOOOOOOO BOY Did this take FOREVER. UGHHH this is what I get for trying to wrap up the Peach scene SNKWSNKANSKKKM

I felt so evil making this scene HUEHUEHUE. Feels good. Feel free to listen to the BGM for EXTRA EMOTIONAL DAMAGE.

The image with Luigi letting go of Lumalee was inspired by @roposhipin and their drawing of Geno!

[rieamena]

everything i wasn't and everything you were.

day 15 of inotober'24

fem aligned/intended reader

riea's comments: writing this made me cry bro

"please…" your voice came out strained and raspy from crying a few moments before, "come back safely."

"for you?"

"not just for me," you shook your head and drew attention to your extended arms. your brother's white and black wrapped weapon was sitting in your hands; his luxury watch atop it, twinkling slightly, "for him too."

takuma just stared down at it, frozen in shock. he knew what it meant, he just didn't want to believe it. "it's kind of funny, you know," you attempted to break the deafening silence although the tears welling up in your eyes betrayed you. "when he brought you to the shop for the first time, he told me that if anything were to happen to him, his watch and weapon would go to you." the man, only a few years younger than you, tore his gaze from the items, looking at you instead. your cheeks glistened with dried tears, new ones forming in milliseconds. "at first i brushed him off, my brother? nanami kento? the best sorcerer i know, bested by some curse? m-maybe he should've become a fortune teller instead of a sorcerer, maybe then t-this wouldn't have…" the memorabilia in your hands shook as you held your head down, the tears dropping onto the concrete below.

takuma dug his nails into his palm to stop himself from crying. he hated to see you like this, so broken, disheartened, and weak. and yet, nanami would know that there's still a mission to complete. that there's still people to protect. you to protect.

"ino, i know you." that's how his superior started, taking a sip of his chamomile tea afterwards. the cafe was homely, polished wooden tables and cushioned booths filled the space. the overhead lights hung low enough that if nanami jumped directly below one, it would hit his head. "i know that you're not the best at keeping things under wraps." he set his cup back down on the napkin, not wanting to possibly create a mug ring on the table itself. taking a deep sigh, the man intertwined his fingers and stared at his junior. takuma felt his hands get clammy and sweat run down his back. he doesn't even know what he's nervous about until nanami spoke up again, "you're dating my sister."

"please." you begged, wrapping your arms around him, eyes wetting his black crewneck. "please, takuma. stay alive." the man in question held onto his mentor's watch and weapon as he hugged you back tightly. "please. don't do something you'll regret and—" you continued, choking on your sobs, and that's when takuma felt himself break. he didn't care about being strong anymore, he let himself cry. to feel his grief and to understand your own.

"i will be back. nothing will stop me from coming back to you." he pressed his lips against yours in a gentle and sweet manner, wanting to convey just how much you meant to him. you kissed him back instantaneously with so much affection and force, hand slipping up his neck and under his beanie, fingers intertwined with his hair. you both pulled away and takuma kissed your forehead endearingly, rubbing your shoulders.

"i love you," were the last words he said before rushing into battle, and you didn't even get to say it back.

all that could be done was to wait, so you waited. hours turned into days. days turned into weeks. weeks to months. and months to years. sometime between then, you received word that takuma would be shipped off to the states for more advanced testing and healthcare. you still weren't able to see him. in the beginning, shoko would update you from time to time on how he was doing. you couldn't go and see for yourself though. he was in a high security hospital, no visitors allowed. shoko's updates got less and less frequent and the last time she contacted you was to say that he would be entering surgery soon.

you'd be lying if you said you moved on. on the day of kento's funeral, you stayed back and sat on the rain beaten grass, talking about whatever came to mind. you laughed at the irony of it all. it was always like this, you talking your brother's ear off and him occasionally saying something in response. he would always be less stoic around you, sometimes he'd even make a joke once in a while. you sat there for hours, talking to his gravestone, your heart anticipating a response but your head knowing that you'll never get one again.

the grass crunched under your shoes as you made your way through the cemetery, basket full of bread in hand. you made it a habit to visit your brother at least once a week, always making sure to bring something special, something that he loved.

"you're probably wondering about ino, huh?" you started, taking out a slice and spreading his favorite topping on it slowly. "i lost him too. don't get me wrong, he's not dead—at least i don't think he is—but i haven't heard from him since the day he went into the fight. i can only hope that he's safe and healthy or in the process of doing so—here's your slice." you set the bread on the stone, reaching back in the basket to start on your own. "i just wish i knew more about everything. you jujutsu sorcerers always kept things so secret…"

the crinkle of a bouquet of chamomile flowers against your brother's freshly cleaned marble gravestone made you jump. the bread and butter knife in your hands fell right into the basket you carried upon hearing a voice.

"keeping secrets isn't my thing. i'm sorry for making you wait so long."

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @discipleofthem

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@stillnotherapy @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes @cupcaketeddybehr @tomikixd

@e-dollly @ozdramaqueen @nymphsdomain @beeksyurr @colorcode

@baekhyunsbestie @vorfreudevortex @leuriss @xaithings @jtoddlover 

@corvid007 @babysoo-meu @nickxz444 @strawbzies

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"Meet in the Middle" (pt. 13)

a/n: hello again! another fic added to the universe. this one is not as wild and crazy as the last but a nice little look in at where Andrei and Keely's relationship might go.

word count: 5.2k warnings: none! masterlist

When Andrei’s phone buzzes, he is in the middle of untying his skates after practice, the laces tight in his hands. His eyes glance over, the text message preview shining brightly on the screen and Andrei’s movements stop when he registers the name of his agent. And his heartrate increases when he reads the three-word message.

Mark Call me asap.

Andrei can’t stop his mind from spiraling. There was absolutely no reason his agent should be texting him, especially not with that cryptic message that conveyed a dire sense of urgency. He wasn’t in danger of being traded or put on waivers or anything else that would prompt this text from Mark. Unless, it was something else; an outside source implicating Andrei in something that could be damaging to his career.

The confusion and small hint of fear coursing through him causes Andrei to finish his post-practice routine in record time, racing back to his car before calling Mark back. The nerves do not settle when his agents voice comes through the speakers of his phone.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Andrei?”

The question catches him off-guard even more that his agent’s previous text, something that Andrei expresses with a vocal bewildered ‘what?’

“I received a very interesting phone call today from one Heather Griffith,” Mark explains. “Do you know she is?”

“No,” Andrei answers, the name not pulling any image into his mind, the hesitancy painting the single syllable response.

“She is a publicist, known in music circles. And today, she reached out to our office on behalf of Keely Halloran. Do you know her? She performed at the All-Star Game last month.”

As if Andrei could forget about Keely Halloran. As if he hadn’t spent the last month gathering every scrap of information that he could about the rockstar that had crashed into his life that weekend in Toronto. As if he still didn’t see her face and hear her voice in his dreams and feel her touch in his dreams.

Of course, he doesn’t say any of that to his agent. Instead, he just responds with a small affirmative hum, enough for Mark to continue.

“Well, apparently Halloran was wondering if there was a time that the two of you could get together during the Canes upcoming northeast road trip.”

“The New Jersey, New York, Boston trip?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Mark responds. Through the speakers, Andrei can hear him flipping through some papers before he speaks again. “She says that she could either have you meet her at her recording studio in New York City or at her apartment in Boston; whatever works best for your schedule.”

There is a beat of silence as Andrei takes in the information. In the month after Toronto and he hadn’t heard anything from Keely. Her social media hadn’t even updated and any news stories that she was involved in had either been rumors or old new. There were moments when he wasn’t even sure that she would ever reach out to him. He had been – still was – willing to wait for her, just like he promised. But the complete radio silence had him wondering how long he was supposed to wait. A month? Six? A year?

That question was clearly irrelevant, now that his agent was telling him that she wanted to see him.

“Andrei, you still there?”

Mark’s voice breaks him out of his reverie and he clears his throat before responding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Um, New York would be better since the travel between Jersey and the city isn’t as much as New York to Boston. I mean, I could do Boston also but I’m not sure.”

“Let’s just stick with New York. I’ll reach out to her publicist to confirm and we’ll work out details from there.”

Andrei continues to sit in stunned silence, listening to the clack of a keyboard and more flipping pages until Mark sighs again.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Andrei?” he asks, his voice haggard as he repeats the question posed at the very beginning of their phone call.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do I have a rockstar’s publicist on my answering machine? How did this even happen?”

Andrei can understand both his agent’s confusion and his concern. He knows that he should tell Mark everything, give him all the information he could because that was Mark’s job. His agent didn’t only help Andrei navigate contracts but also navigate the world as someone with a spotlight on him. And news like this, his connection with an insanely popular musician, would just draw more eyes to him.

But something stops him from telling Mark exactly what happened – what was happening – between him and Keely. Perhaps he wanted to keep Keely safe, protect her as much as he could. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t exactly sure what he and Keely shared.

“I don’t know,” Andrei replies, choosing to give Mark an abridged version that still had glimmers of the truth. “We connected at the All-Star game and I asked to keep in touch. Now, this.”

“Fine,” Mark says, a defeated sound coming from his chest and Andrei can picture the shake of his head. “Just, whenever you know, please tell me. Might need to high more PR or at least a crisis consultant.”

The last sentence is more muttered than spoken but Andrei hears it all the same before the line goes dead. Mark’s concern digs into Andrei, making him think deeper about his agent’s questions.

He didn’t really know where this – whatever he shared with Keely Halloran – was going. He initially thought it might have ended a month ago. He didn’t know if it would last past this next week. It was tenuous, delicate. And he knew that fragility wouldn’t disappear even if their bond strengthened.

That was just what happened, considering who she was. Who he was.

But he tries to let those concerns roll off him, like water off a duck wing. There was no point worrying about a future when that wasn’t even certain. That mindset made him a good hockey player and he knew that mindset would make him good for Keely.

If she wanted him.

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*~

The electronic voice of Andrei’s Google Maps directs him to turn off 17th, down Greenwich Ave. His legs may have been a little sore from the morning skate plus the 30-minutes he had been walking but Andrei could easily count the positives.

Like the fact that no one had stopped him since leaving the hotel, or that it was a pleasantly warm day, or that he had almost arrived at the studio, or that he was about to see Keely again.

His app tells him the Electric Lady Studios is coming up on his left and Andrei takes out his headphones. He looks ahead on the sidewalk for a sign or anything other identifiers. He doesn’t expect for his identifier to be the small group of men with cameras lingering outside but Keely did warn him about the possibility.

The sight of them gives Andrei pause, his steps slowing. He’s sure that he is unworthy of getting a phot taken, the men most likely looking for higher list celebrities. But just to be safe, Andrei adjusts his sunglasses and pulls his baseball cap a little lower. With a deep breath, he walks up to the front door and pulls it open with as much casualness as he can muster, hoping that the paparazzi thought he was just another worker or security guard.

The sound clicking camera shutters do not hit his ears and a sigh of relief flows through him. Quickly taking off his meager disguise, smoothing his hair with his hands, he walks up to the front desk where serious woman sits, typing on a computer.

“Hello,” he says, causing the woman’s eyes to look up at him over her horn-rimmed glasses, her eyebrows raising. Andrei tries not to let himself falter under her stare, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m here to see Keely Halloran.”

“Name.”

“Andrei Svechnikov,” he replies, waiting to see if any form of recognition crosses over her face. But the receptionist, unfazed, simply picks up the landline, tapping a few numbers before murmuring Andrei’s information to the person on the other end. Andrei watches the small nod of her head before she is placing the phone back down and fixing her eyes on him once again.

“Studio D. Down the hall to the left.”

Andrei leaves her with a polite thank you, receiving only a hum in response. He walks across the plush carpet, following the receptionist’s directions as well the signs hanging on the walls until he arrives at the recording studio labeled with the letter D. After another slow deep breath, he pulls open the door.

It is nearly silent when he steps into the room but he can hear the soft somewhat muffled sound of Keely’s singing. The room is on the smaller size, the main attraction being the giant switchboard facing a huge window. Two men were standing in front of the board, giant headphones on their ears and he could see their fingers moving. Andrei looks past them, through the window, and sees Keely.

After a month of only seeing her through a phone or computer screen, the sight of her in front of him takes his breath away. She was beautiful – no photos could compare seeing her in person. Photographs could never capture the beauty of her entire essence: sitting in the live studio, her own headphones perched on her head as she sings into a microphone, her eyes almost closed, her hands emoting with every word.

Andrei just stands back, not wanting to disturb the moment, content to watch Keely in her element. She pauses, looking back towards the window and it is then do her eyes flit up to Andrei. The skip of his heart is noticeable when her smile grows exponentially at the sight of him. She sends a soft wave in his direction as a silent hello, before her fingers curl to indicate ‘one moment.’ He just nods, patiently waiting as she does a few more takes before she takes off her headphones.

Keely gets up from the chair she was perched in and walks through the connecting door, smiling at Andrei before turning her attention to her producers.

It is fascinating, watching her work. He assumes that this is how people felt watching him skate.

Keely looked so in her element, leaning over the switchboard, her hands holding her headphones in place, her head moving with the beat. He watches how she talks to her producers, humming and singing, brainstorming ideas about the music and lyrics. Her smile never leaves her face, not even when a soft thank you fall from her lips. Her producers get up from their seats, receiving a warm hug from Keely before they depart. And then, finally, she turns her attention to Andrei.

“Hi,” she says, the lingering happiness painting her words.

“Hey.”

It’s one of the only words Andrei can say, still in shock that he was able to see her again. Still surprised that she reached out to him after a month of silence.

“Sorry again about the whole fiasco of setting this up,” Keely laughs, pushing the door open to the other side of the recording studio, holding it in a silent invitation for Andrei to follow behind. “I hope you were able to get here okay.”

“It was fine. New York is beautiful so it’s nice to walk around.”

Andrei’s words slightly trail off as he walks into the live room. He wasn’t able to see the entirety of it until now. It is cozy; the warm paneling, a myriad of couches and chairs, and even plants sitting on many surfaces. But it is also so obviously a recording studio with every different type of instrument placed along almost every wall. He watches Keely sink down onto one of the couches, her blue eyes looking up at him, the excitement of seeing him and having him here, in her world, evident. Andrei returns her smile as he sinks into the cushions opposite her before continuing.

“And don’t apologize. I’m honestly just happy you reached out,” he continues, letting his smile widen ever so slightly. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“Grow tired of waiting for me?”

“Never,” he responds immediately with a sharp sincerity. “Although, if I got your number back in Toronto, it might have been easier to remind you that I was here.”

Keely laughs, her head tilt indicating he made a good point but her laughter fades as she looks back at him with that genuine expression that made the temperature of his body increase.

“I wouldn’t need a reminder,” she softly says. “I never forgot about you.”

This woman. A part of Andrei wondered if she’d ever stop making his heart do flips in his chest.

“Really?” he asks, the question lifted with an air of uncertainty. His shock is once again noticed by Keely who only laughs that bright laugh in response.

“Of course. You think I let any random guy I met once into my recording studio?”

Andrei shares in her laughter, never ceasing to love how confident and carefree she was.

“It is a beautiful studio.”

“Thank you,” Keely replies, looking around the space before training her blue eyes back to Andrei. “I hope this isn’t too weird but I was wondering if you’d be comfortable having lunch with me in here? There’s a mini fridge that I keep stocked with food or we could order in.”

“You have a fully stocked mini-fridge?”

“Never know how long I’ll be working. Don’t want to interrupt the creative process by having to walk outside and grab a bite to eat, y’know?”

Andrei replies with a soft chuckle of understand because he did get it. There were moments in practice where he did not want to leave the ice until he perfected a specific technique or a specific play and then repeated it until it became muscle memory. He could imagine writing a song might operate the same way.

“I’m fine with whatever,” he says, his shoulder shrugging, leaving the decision entirely up to her.

“Cool. I think I’ll order some food then. There’s this Italian place a few blocks away that to die for,” Keely replies, lifting herself up and grabbing her cell-phone before turning to Andrei. “Chicken and pasta, right?”

“Yeah,” Andrei confirms, his smile growing on his face. “How’d you remember?”

“Like I said, it was hard to forget about you.”

Andrei leans back and lets Keely type their order into her phone (although he does offer his own card to pay but she shoos his request away, saying she invited him). She settles back down on the couch and while they wait for the delivery, they talk, catching each other up on what had been happening in their lives.

It was surface level stuff at first: how the season was going for Carolina, how many times Keely had been in the studio. When their food arrives, their conversation turns more intimate, talking about smaller, non-headline items. Keely shows him videos of her dog Gigi and some other photos of Boston from her point of view. Andrei recounts the absolute freak-out that Seth Jarvis had when Andrei sent him the video they shot up in Toronto. He can’t contain his laughter, even going to show the all-capital multi exclamation point text messages that he received, causing Keely to laugh as well.

“Well, if that’s how he reacts to a video, I can only imagine what he’d be like if I ever meet him.”

“Do you want to meet him?”

“Maybe. You think I will?” Keely says, responding with her own question and Andrei can see both the gentle tease in her eyes as well as the sincere hope. The hope that maybe meeting each other’s friends was were this could be heading, growing from a chance meeting to something real.  

“I guess we’ll find out,” he replies, his own eyes surely sparkling with that same hope.  

“Guess we will.”

“You look great by the way. I’m not sure if I’d told you that yet.”

“If you did, I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing it again.”

“Well, you do,” Andrei compliments, his gaze darting down her body.

She always did look fantastic but this felt different. Her outfit matched her demeanor: casual and relaxed. Another monochrome outfit of a tank top, pants, boots, her hair in two braids, that made her seem so effortlessly cool. His eyes trace the lines of her necklaces and down to the bracelets adorning her wrists before noticing the ring on her middle finger. He recognizes it as the same one from her jewelry tray in her hotel bathroom.

“I like your ring,” he says, gesturing. “I saw it… well, that night. It’s very unique.”

Keely’s eyes follow his gesture, her right hand lifting as she takes in the jewelry, a small chuckle falling from her lips.

“It’s actually one of the most common rings you’ll see in Boston. Especially South Boston.”

“Really? What is it?”

“It’s called a Claddagh ring. Old Irish tradition,” she explains.

She holds her hand out and Andrei doesn’t hesitate to take a hold of it. There is a notable shiver that runs through Keely at his touch, a smile appearing on her face – one that Andrei matches, his thumb running over her knuckles. She lets out a small shaky breath before continuing.

“The heart represents love, the crown loyalty, and the hands friendship,” Keely says, pointing to each element of the ring. “Most girls get one when they turn seventeen or eighteen. It’s actually a way to show relationship status. When it’s on the right hand – like mine – and the bottom of the heart is pointing out – like mine – it means that your heart is open to love. If the heart is pointed towards the wearer, it means they’re in a relationship. And then on the left hand, pointed out means engaged, pointed in means married.”

“Sounds complicated,” Andrei laughs, making sure his voice stays light as to not offend.  

“Only if you don’t know the traditions,” she teases back, taking his jest in stride.

“You wore it the other way for a while,” he comments. There is a silence that falls and Andrei’s eyes dart up to see Keely staring at her ring, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Tan line is still there,” Andrei explains, his thumb running over the ring, pulling it slightly to the side to show the – albeit very faint – tan line. Keely’s hand slips from his as she brings it closer to her own eyes, taking in the lighter skin.

“You think it would’ve faded by now,” she sighs, rubbing the finger, the ring twisting as she looks away, her eyes distant.

Andrei just sits there, taking in the sight of the vulnerable woman sitting in front of him. It still hurt him, how much pain that she had obviously gone through. But it also made his heart soft that she was this open and trusting with him after only a few interactions.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m sure you know the story,” she says with a humorless chuckle, her eyes darting over to him.

He didn’t want to tell her that yes, he did. After he left Toronto, he looked up as much as he could about her, trying to understand who Keely Halloran was. There was a lot of noise to dig through: internet trolls, overly critical journalists, people who had nothing to say but still said it as loud as possible. But he did know the story of her recent breakup and the fallout that followed.

“I haven’t heard it from you.”

Her blue eyes dart up to him and he hopes she understands that he wanted to hear about what happened from her perspective; the perspective of the person who lived through it all. Not to satiate some sick hunger to get information from superstar Keely Halloran but because he cared about her.

It seems as if his expression conveys enough because that self-deprecating smile softens. She lets out a small sigh before speaking.

“The short of it… is that he cheated on me. The long of it is that he cheated on me multiple times, in multiple places, in the five years we were together. Told me everything after we broke up. I wrote a song about it, got crucified for writing said song, disappeared for a few months, and now – here I am.”

“Multiple times in multiple places?” he repeats, shocked that there was a guy out there that was just plain stupid. Keely just shrugs.

“The danger of dating someone who travels for their job. It’s pretty easy to hide infidelity when you’re in different cities.”

“But he told you?”

“Yeah,” Keely chuckles, her eyes rolling. “Wrote me a letter, in fact.”

“The Late-Night performance,” Andrei whispers, remembering the messy scrawl that was projected across the soundstage.

“Yep. I don’t know if he was asking for forgiveness or wanted to cleanse his soul or some other bullshit,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “The funny thing is, him doing that is what caused everything else to happen. He could’ve gotten off scot-free if he just kept his mouth shut. But then again, I suppose I didn’t have to write a song attacking him.”

“No,” Andrei says. Keely glances back over at him, her eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. “If he didn’t want you – a singer – to write a song about how he hurt you, he shouldn’t have hurt you.”

 He can see Keely blink a few times, her body shifting, leaning back in surprise at his words and the conviction in his voice. Another sly smile tugs at her lips, her blue eyes fixed on him.

“Where were you a year ago?” she asks, her voice lilting in a gentle tease.

Andrei responds with a chuckle of his own, blushing as his head ducks down, scratching the back of his neck. He glances back up at Keely, her gaze taking him in, that cool casual demeanor thrown over her again like a security blanket.

“What about you, Andrei? Any past relationship drama I should know about?”

“No, not really,” he replies, gently laughing off her question.

“Really? No gossip that I can dig up on social media or through Google,” she says, relaxing him by gently poking fun at herself and her fishbowl life.

“Nah, there’s not much to say. My job and all… it – it keeps me busy. I only have summer really to date. But then hockey starts again and I’m travelling and… yeah,” he explains with a shrug. “Most of my problems have been physical: injuries. Missed last year’s playoffs because of my knee.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, that’s gotta suck.”

“It’s fine. Well, it wasn’t but… I’m all good now.”

“Back and better than ever?” she muses, that bright smile returning to her face.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Something we both can relate to.”

Andrei matches her grin as the two of them sit in that comfortable silence of a deeper understanding. Their worlds, while slightly different, were oddly similar as well. They had outside eyes on them, unsolicited opinions on their careers coming from every direction. But they both loved what they did. It was an intrinsic part of them, something that they couldn’t suppress even if it might be easier for them if they did.

“What were you working on? When I showed up?” Andrei asks, moving the conversation to what he hoped was lighter subject matter. His heart flips when he sees Keely’s eyes light up, the expression so like the joy he expressed on the ice.

“Just a new song. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with it yet. Might be scrapped, might be on the next album. We’ll see,” she explains.

“Can I hear it?”

“For you? Of course.”

Keely jumps up from the couch, careful not to knock over any of their empty takeout containers. She tells him to wait as she disappears into the control room. Andrei can still see her from the other side of the window fiddling with the control board. The instrumental somewhat startles him when it starts playing through the speakers. He can tell that it is a work in progress, not as completed as the songs that he hears on the radio. But he sits and listens to the snippet played.

Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve and fuck like a demon. Do it like nothing, I am disgusting, I’ve been corrupted and by now I don’t need no help to be destructive. I’ve been gone. Yeah, I’ve been on this road too long.

The track stops and Andrei looks back at Keely through the window. She smiles, giving him a questioning thumbs up to which he responds to with one of his own. He watches as she practically bounds back in and sits down in her previous spot.

“Yeah, no idea what it’s going to turn into, if it’s going to be anything. One idea that I had that I’m really attached to is adding this cool skip effect to the word ‘corrupted’ just to emphasize that meaning. But any way… what do you think? Honest opinion.”

“I, um, I don’t know a lot about music. I don’t want to offend,” Andrei slowly replies. Keely just playfully scoffs at his explanation, rolling her eyes in a teasing jest.   

“Please, you know my life. It’ll take a lot to offend me,” she laughs. Andrei replies with a tilt of his head, silently telling her that she made an excellent point.  

“I like the music. I’m not sure about the lyrics. They’re a little… dark?”

“Dark?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t seem like you. But maybe I’m seeing a different side of you that makes me feel like that,” Andrei explains, looking up at Keely with shy brown eyes. This time, it’s Keely that tilts her head in agreement to his statement.

“You might be right. Well, maybe you’ll like these lyrics a little better.”

Keely once again pops up from her sitting position, walking swiftly over to the wall of guitars, and grabs one without hesitation. He watches as she gently sets it down on the couch across from him, before taking one of the smaller amps and bringing it up. With a practiced ease, she connects the instrument, pulling it into her lap and tuning it.

She strums a few notes, making sure everything was correct before she starts playing an upbeat chord progression, her foot tapping to the beat. The melody of the guitar already makes a smile appear on Andrei’s face, one that only widens when she starts singing.

“You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk. You should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong. And I had a boyfriend who’s older than us. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months. I go through phases when it comes to love. I’m nothing that you want but I must say:

You’re so gorgeous, and I ain’t just talking about your face but look at your face. (ah-huh-ah) And I’m so curious. Your mind got me feeling some type of way. What can I say? You’re gorgeous. (huh, huh, ah-huh-ah)”

If there was one thing that was for certain, it was that Keely Halloran would never cease to surprise him. That was the thought repeating in Andrei’s mind as he watched her sing. She was so at ease, the weight that had been so evident on her shoulders seemingly vanished and all that was left was the music. The soft smile on his face remains even as she stops playing, her bright blue eyes looking up at him.

“I’m still not sure how I feel about that one,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as she rests the guitar against the couch cushions. “I think if I figure out the lyrics, I might send it off to another artist.”

“I like that one,” Andrei says, his voice painted with soft admiration.

“Well, I hope so. It’s about you after all.”

Those electric blue eyes seem to sparkle with the intensity of a million stars at the quiet confession. Andrei was slightly taken aback, not fully realizing how much he impacted this woman’s life until now. They only interacted with each other a minimum of three separate times, not including this one. What did she see in him? How had he not messed this up already?

“Well, I love it,” he says.

“I wrote another song about you,” Keely says, dropping the information so casually as if discussing the weather. Andrei wasn’t sure if she was emboldened by his sincerity or just liked to see him flail but whatever the reason, Andrei loved the way that it looked on her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I already sent it off to my friend Damiano. The moment I wrote it I knew it would fit perfectly on his band’s new album.”

“Can I still hear it?”

“You’ll have to wait for it to come out, just like everybody else. Besides, you already got enough of a sneak peek.”

The comfortable silence falls again as Andrei watches Keely return the guitar and amp to their homes. It’s almost perfect, a glimpse into what a potential future with her would look like. That is, until the sound of an alert shatters the peace. Andrei recognizes it as his alarm tone and he fishes out his cellphone from his pocket. The alert on his screen makes his heart slightly drop that it was that time already.

“Sorry, it’s an alarm I set,” he explains gently, turning off the noise and shoving the phone back in his pocket before lifting himself off the couch cushions. “I’ve gotta head back to the hotel.”

“Hey, I understand,” Keely says, walking with him out of the recording room, back into the control room and the door to the studio. Andrei stops, turning back to Keely, his hat and sunglasses in his hands.

“Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“No. I planned on staying in the city for the rest of the night, have some dinner with my friends, before heading back to Boston. Plus, me, at a Rangers game? Can you imagine?”

“Well, the Bruins game, then.”

“So confident,” she smiles, the words a glimmer of those exchanged in Toronto. “I think that is a definite possibility. I’m planning on going to TD Garden for a friend’s concert the night before the game anyway so, I’ll be in the area.”

“Would you be rooting for me?” he asks, a playful tease painting his words, one that makes Keely’s lips twist in her own mischievous grin.

“I don’t know, Svechnikov. You’ve gotta be pretty amazing for me to forsake a lifetime of hockey loyalty.”

“I’ll make sure to play my best game just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“You’ve written two songs about me. I’ve gotta catch up.”

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster @svexhenthusiast

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[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. 

[olet-lucernam]

i first started on ff.net in 2012. and while i love ao3 as my home base, and a lot of us will mercilessly mock the height of the ff.net era for the unadulterated Cringe (rightfully so- but then again, we're in fandom, so we're all a little cringe, you are not immune and need to embrace it) one of the biggest things i miss is the community culture we had.

for those who've never been on ff.net: instead of comments- like ao3 or wattpad- it has "reviews". people would write them, post them, and that's it. there is no reply function. so you'd think that would result in lower engagement, less conversation, especially between the writer and reviewers/commenters/readers, right?

nope. instead, we got the infamous author notes.

before each chapter, and often at the end too, the writer would "talk" to their readers- a bit like notes on ao3, but basically built-into the text of the chapter, since there was no such function on ff.net. it would usually be marked with "a/n:" or set in bold/italic to differentiate it from the actual chapter.

and it would often be the writer thanking people for reading, and talking about their personal life updates- but they'd also often give a shout-out to their reviewers. sometimes it was just a quick "thank you to X, Y, and X for reviewing!". but a lot of writers would also answer questions from the reviews, or tease at future updates or sequels, or say whether a review had correctly guessed where a plotline was going.

and sometimes they'd set up challenges- like mentioning there was a hidden detail in the chapter, and challenge the readers to find it and say it in their review. then, in the next chapter update, they'd congratulate whoever got it right. sometimes they'd even offer prizes, like the reviewer getting a character cameo in a future chapter, or the author writing the reviewer a one-shot.

it was fun. it was a conversation. i loved being part of it, both as a writer and a reviewer.

and while i've seen a lot of posts bemoaning the shift in fandom culture to the "consumption mindset", it's always focused on the readers, not the writers.

because we're guilty too!! we are!! i always try to find a way to reply to any comments and feedback, but- i also get a reverse-anxiety when i'm replying to comments. every time before i hit "post", i'm wondering if i'm talking Too Much, or sound weird, or didn't phrase my appreciation well. especially here on tumblr, where i'm less au fait with the culture and constantly terrified i'm about to make a faux pas.

(shoutout to the first time someone asked to be put on my taglist if i'm doing one, and i went sure of course absolutely! and then spent three hours doing panicked research into what the hell is that, how do i do it. instead of, you know, just asking them what that was. i wanted them to think i was cool okay)

and as a writer, i don't do those things that i used to, back in 2012. i don't do those hidden challenges anymore, or put notes before the chapter encouraging people to guess where this is going, and really open engagement up from the moment i post.

it's not because of the switch from platforms- it's a shift in the culture.

if i don't want my readers to default to silence, maybe i have to be the one to break it first.

on one final personal note, i'll put it in writing, for anyone who reads my stuff: whatever your feedback is on my work, i want to hear it. seriously. including and especially criticism! please!! if i have messed up somewhere in my writing, or if there's something not making sense, or something you're not crazy about- i will really sincerely appreciate you telling me! please let me know!!

because- since i wrote it, i genuinely do Not have a good gauge on whether it's actually any good or not. like. my eyes will completely skim over errors. i'll dislike something i wrote and have no idea why, and need an outside opinion to point it out. i'll have the entire plot on my brain and assume i conveyed something important in the chapter, or set a certain tone, but absolutely haven't. and i will not know unless someone tells me.

and okay yes, i might disagree with you on something, or think you're missing the point, or something, but- i will never ever get offended. ever. don't even worry too much about phrasing- because hey, if i'm confused about what you mean, i'll ask, and we can talk!

i will always always always appreciate that you took the time to tell me what you thought.

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

[songmingisthighs]

[14.45] mingi × reader

⇀ you're so lucky to have him

⇁ I DREAMT ABOUT THIS ON THE NIGHT OF THE MV RELEASE AND I CAN'T GET OVER IT and if it's unclear, yes i am a big mingi simp and i am very much in love with him. ask anyone who talks to me in a daily basis, they can vouch for my frustration over how perfect mingi is to me

You both rushed around the house, trying to leave as soon as possible but you both kept getting distracted by each other. First, it was him trying to convince you to pick his choice of dress but you know you can't go to a wedding with the front side slit so low to your belly button, your family will be there. Then, it was him trying to find his one specific belt to go with his whole outfit. You couldn't complain because you actually love how handsome your boyfriend looks and the jealous stare of literally everyone when they saw you walk in with him so you helped him find his belt. And the last thing was you having to reapply your lipstick again and again because Mingi kept kissing you which meant that Mingi had to wipe the remnants of the lipstick that transferred from your lips.

So you both ended up rushing to your car as fast as you could to make sure you both won't be late.

During the first five minutes, you kept fussing over your dress and your makeup. Mingi kept glancing at you, chuckling to himself at you being so worried over your appearance.

"Baby, you look perfect. Stop stressing over how you look!" he told you in a reassuring way. You stopped wiping at the invisible bleed on your lip, to turn and pout at him, "Easy for you to say, you look like a Greek God," you whined. Mingi rolled his eyes at your dramatics but a side smile appeared on his face, "I only look as good as you think because you yourself look like a Greek Goddess," he glanced at you for a second to send you a wink.

Your arms dropped and your body visibly relaxed. "Really?" you asked, heart fluttering. Mingi chuckled lowly as he nodded slowly, "Definitely. If we live in the olden days, Hera would curse you for being more beautiful than her. If you don't believe me, you should hear how the guys told me that you settled for me," he scoffed lightheartedly.

From his compliment, you couldn't help but coo. He was being so adorable and loving and you just feel so lucky. "Aww, baby... That's so sweet of you to say," you leaned into him to peck his cheek carefully to make sure your lipstick doesn't transfer, "Thank you."

You leaned back on your seat after putting your mirror away and throwing the tissue on the small trash bin Mingi put in one of the cup holders.

There was a comfortable silence in the car, the only sound was from the radio. Mingi always has a playlist ready for drives, a playlist he updates maybe on a daily basis and somehow it always fits your mood. One of your favourite activities is just spending time with Mingi. While most couples like to go on activities to be engaged and to connect with their partners, you both feel like you connect best when it's just the two of you, in a quiet place, just existing with each other and it felt great. Of course, you both love couple activities, but the time spent just soaking in each other's presence, it's indescribable.

As your thoughts drift, your head turns to look at Mingi. You love how he looks so soft in his glasses, how his skin seems so soft, how the black turtleneck and blazer make him look so hot, and how his eyes are so perfect in your eyes, the eyes that conveyed so many emotions, the eyes that gaze at you with much love. You love every bit of him and you don't know how you got so lucky.

Without you realizing, your gaze drifted down to his hand on the gear shift and out of instinct, your hand reached forward to wrap your pinky around his. At that moment, you crave contact with him.

Mingi noticed when your pinky slowly wrapped itself around his own. He chuckled before completely enveloping your hand and bringing it up to his lips. You blushed as he pressed his lips to the back of your hand and you couldn't help but bit back the growing smile from how long he kept his lips there.

Initially, you thought that he'd simply let your hand go but after detaching his lips, he simply held your hand and the steering wheel together and continue driving. His fingers had even started drumming against the steering wheel, following the rhythm of the song playing which is a sign of him being in a very enjoyable state. You love this side of him so much. You love HIM so much. Times like this, times when you can just appreciate him as a whole, as a person, is when you feel very connected to him and when you truly feel an overwhelming feeling of love for him.

He might always say that he was the lucky one, but you beg to differ.

You're beyond lucky that you have a person like him loving you.

"Do you think they're gonna have a cheese platter at the wedding?"

"Mingi, what?"

taglist :

@rdiamond2727 @ikonic-loser @kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @seoulscenarios @forjupiter @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @seonghwarizon @noonaishere @jo-hwaberry @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye

[keziahcore]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐠

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: druig x gn!eternal!reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Druig and the reader have been married for over a year now, they have a beautiful baby. They both reminisce some beautiful memories from their relationship and express their gratefulness for each other late at night, laying next to each other.

𝗞𝗘𝗭𝗜𝗔𝗛 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗦: oh. my. god. It has been WAY too long since I wrote last on here. So much has happened in my life in the past few months: including entirely losing my passion to write. But I am so happy to say Harry's new album sparked some inspiration in me back again! This is just a small blurb, but I hope to get inspired and motivated again like before so I can give constant updates! Love you all <3 feedback is always appreciated xx

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: none, just fluff :))

Me and Druig find ourselves laying next to each other, my head leaning against his as my hand is resting against his cheek, caressing the soft skin of his cheek with my thumb. It has been over 2 hours since we laid in bed to sleep, but instead we drowned ourselves in conversations, and none of us feel like pulling out of these talks.

Our bodies are pressed together, and a warm air looms around us. The dim lighting of our room makes the atmosphere around us more cozy.

"You're so gorgeous," He mumbles, softly taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss against my palm. I smile at him, snuggling closer to him.

"So so gorgeous," He adds on. I look at him, and he suddenly breaks into a smile, his cheeks lighting with a soft pink. It amazes me how it has been so long since we've belonged to each other, yet each time we compliment each other and simply look at each other, we can't help but feel all those fireworks in ourselves again.

My mind goes over to our little daughter who is sleeping peacefully in her crib in her room. Years ago me and Druig dreamed of living together, and simply being there for each other. And now, watching the dream become a reality sometimes is the most overwhelming thing to think about.

"Time flies by fast, doesn't it?" I say, memories of times when we promised each other eternity flashing in my head.

"It does," Druig says, softly intertwining his hand with mine. "It seems as if only yesterday I confessed my feelings for you. And now we have our own daughter."

"I am so so lucky to have you alongside in every step of my life, I couldn't have asked for more." I smile at him, as I press my lips against his. It is a short kiss, but it's big enough for the two of us to convey the feelings which can never be depicted through words, just through small things we do for each other.

"Remember when I used to stand in front of your hut each day in Babylon and used to await you with fresh strawberries? Strawberries from Sersi's field used to be your absolute favorite. I used to ask her for strawberries each day so I could see your eyes light up at their sight," He remembers. I sigh with content thinking about the fresh basket of strawberries he used to hold for me.

"I do, I miss those a lot," I say. A silence falls over the two of us, as I look out the window at the moon and the stars. I once wished upon the stars to bless me and Druig with a relationship which lasts for an eternity, and today to see my wish actually came true makes me so grateful.

I notice Druig's eyes beginning to fall close due to the tiredness lying heavy on them. I begin to softly move my fingers against his scalp. He moves his head onto my chest, and I continue to play with his hair and softly massage his head.

In just a few moments Druig, the love and light of my life has fallen asleep in my embrace.

masterlist || join my taglist

TAGLIST: @gloryofroses19 ,, @awkwardfangirl2014 ,, @alone19-24

It would mean so much to me if you could check out my sideblog @dolcexlatte ! It's for aesthetics, moodboards and such. I hope to post more on there too <3

[serpentargo]

Hello, can I please have some sambucky fic recommendations??

okay this is gonna be long (these are all my personal favourites, if you were to ask me to choose one of them i would rather die hehehheh)

feel free to add more everybody!!

a great cuddler (and maybe more) by finnicklover69 on ao3 (word count: 2470)

Summary: Bucky doesn't convey his feelings very well. Eventually, he gets the hang of it. 

still feel the pull of you by napricot on ao3 (word count: 44382) (p.s. this was written before tfatws came out, but it’s so unique and amazingly written. definetely worth reading)

Summary: "The frantic pulse of fear doesn’t ease until Sam catches sight of Barnes for the first time since the end of the battle: he’s dirty and disheveled, and still, somehow, impossibly, the best thing Sam’s ever seen. The gallop of Sam’s heart slows, and the tightness in his lungs eases so suddenly that it’s like he’s gone buoyant, ready to float away without the help of any wings. Barnes turns as if he can sense Sam looking at him, and when he meets Sam’s eyes, he smiles, and it’s the brightest damn thing on this battlefield, a shock of sweetness in the midst of so much dark bitterness and confusion. Sam smiles back, giddy with joy and relief.

He thinks, thank God Bucky’s okay.

Then he thinks, wait, what the fuck?"

After realizing there are some unexpected side effects for those who've been brought back to life after the Snap, Sam and Bucky slowly but surely learn that if they want to be loved, they must submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known [via soul bond].

When We’re Old and Gay by 42hrb on ao3 (word count: 3724)

Summary:  “The paparazzi will get pictures from our wedding and call it a friendship ceremony.” Sam was frowning at his phone. “We’ll have a one bedroom apartment in the Avengers retirement community in 50 years and they’ll talk about how we’re such good buddies.”

weary traveler by mistilteinn on ao3  (word count: 15000)

Summary: come close, weary traveler,

rest your head on shoulder mine.

though your feet drag in the night,

you have crossed a hundred lands

and burned under the sun’s light.

“Coulda’ used the shield,” he can’t help but say, still half breathless. Sam rolls his eyes, tinted red by his flight goggles, and shoves him away. It’s enough to knock his equilibrium off, and for a moment, Bucky’s dazed. He looks up at the clear blue sky in wonderment.

Maybe Steve’s watching them from up there, he thinks. If he is, he’s definitely laughing his ass off right now.

What I've Been Living For by OhHelloFandoms123 on ao3 (word count: 2828)

Summary: He grabs his keys and starts heading out. He’s going to see Bucky again. He was nervous, excited…He’s never felt happier. “Sam,” Sarah teased, “looks like your boyfriend arrived.”

“Thanks, but he’s not my boyfriend.” he chuckled.

“The kids started calling him ‘Uncle Bucky’, might as well be your husband.”

OR

Post-TFATWS Finale where soft feelings and emotions happen.

Louisiana Sun by Siancore on ao3 (word count: 1499)

Summary: “Thanks for today,” Sarah said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Haven’t seen my big brother smile like that in a while.”

“He’s always happiest when he’s helpin’ people,” said Bucky with a fond smile that caused his eyes to crinkle in the corners.

“That is true, but that’s not what I mean,” said Sarah, offering Bucky a small, knowing grin. “I meant that he was smiling like that because of you.”

a thread of guessing (with goodness at the end) by milucient (hopefulChange) on ao3 (word count: 1963)

Summary: Sam comes to think that his feelings are more than he lets on. Bucky sees it too.

Static in the Dark by wickedwitchcraft on ao3 (word count: 4989)

Summary: Prompt from abc-easy-as-123 on tumblr: So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

where you belong by faerialchemist on ao3 (word count: 7204)

Summary: “Wait, what do you mean ‘that’s good enough’?” Bucky managed to ask, matching Sam’s stride before he could be left in the dust on the docks.

Sarah gave him a small grin that Bucky couldn’t help but return. “C’est mignon, Sam—”“No, no, we are not going there,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head at his sister before returning his attention to Bucky. “And I just meant that it’s good you don’t know French.” A smirk slipped onto his lips. “We can talk shit about you in front of your face and you won’t have a clue.”

(The Wilson family speaks Louisiana French. Bucky doesn't. He finds a home with them all the same.)

something gave you the nerve (to touch my hand) by lovecamedown on ao3 (word count: 10738)

Summary: a reimagining of the hand holding in 1.05: what if they kissed in that moment?

and the aftermath, navigating this new territory.

/

“She thinks it’s weird I don’t call you my boyfriend,”

“Huh,” Bucky remarks indiscernibly. “Do you think it’s weird?”

Sambucky Stories by Trode19 on ao3 [an updating series] 

Summary: A collection of Sambucky stories I’ve written, all together for easier reading :)

i believe in you (so get over yourself) by bothsexuals on ao3 [an updating series] (p.s. OH GOD DO I LOVE THIS ONE pls this series is so so good)

Summary: A series of me being really good at writing sambucky despite watching like, ten minutes worth of content.

[threadofdestiny]

Magnolia Chapter 9 (Bakugou x f!reader

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know :)

Taglist: @bakugous-mamas​, @bnhastories​, @brittkimm​, @ ellieitstimetosleep, @belladonna-the-aphrodisiac @samkysnks, @saintsukiyomi​

Chapter 1, Chapter 8, Chapter 10 (Coming soon)

Author´s Note: 

Finally! After so many months of silence, I finally finished the chapter. I am so sorry that you had to wait so long. I had to restart the chapter 3 times because I simply didn't like it. My husband even had to help me out a bit with tactical maneuvers, as I was getting so muddled myself that it was starting to become unbelievable in my eyes. On top of that, I just couldn't get into the writing flow because of the pregnancy. Hormones are a funny thing. I even wasnt able to take the rest to read a good book. Everything in my head was just about our upcoming life change. I also found out a few weeks into my pregnancy that I was expecting twins and that threw me completely off track. I was so afraid for a long time whether I would be good enough for two little, helpless humans. Gosh, I was so down most of the time, doupting myself. On top of that all of a sudden our apartment was also too small for another unplanned creature. So we had to move to a larger apartment at short notice. The pregnancy was very exhausting, full of hurdles and incredibly nerve-wracking, but now I'm about to give birth in a few days and I finally feel ready to welcome my two little girls into this world, while i will be trying to be the best version of myself for the both of them. Maybe I am not going to be perfect. I certainly will be doing quite the few mistakes, but i will love them with all my heart and going to do my best.

With the new life change, of course I don't know how fast I'll get on with the chapters, but I'll definitely keep on writing. Especially the first weeks will surely be a double challenge for my husband and me, which is why there isn't much time to spare, but I hope you'll still keep waiting for my updates and rejoice with me as we reach one more milestone after another in this story.

Thank you for your support! I appricate it!

Chapter 9

Aftermath

"Where is Kaminari and Shinsou? I want to know how such chaos could break out under our control!", snarled Bakugou angrily after lowering his injured wife into Kirishima's arms, before getting off his horse himself with clenched teeth. Like an angry bull, he stampeded toward the two samurai, who were already hurrying to meet them, before rearing up in front of them with a dangerously tense posture. "Kirishima told me that he had sent a relief for you, Shinsou! Where is he?" Both samurai looked stiffly to the ground as they bowed deeply to their master with apologetic gestures. There was nothing left of the relaxed, almost friendly atmosphere between them and their shogun. At that moment, Bakugou’s body language conveyed that the hierarchy between them was to be clearly observed. At that very moment, he radiated the powerful aura of the bloodthirsty samurai who was feared throughout the land for his mercilessness.

Shinsou cleared his throat briefly before he began to explain the situation in his typical monotone voice: "The samurai who was supposed to relieve me for the moment cannot be found. However, traces of blood have been discovered where the carriage was previously standing. Shoji-san and Koda-san are already searching the area." Cursing, Bakugou clenched his hands into fists as he turned meaningfully to Kirishima. He, too, appraised him with a concerned expression as he carefully lowered his ladyship onto her own legs, then propped her up with a proffered arm. Shortly thereafter, the Shogun lowered his attention to his wife, who nervously held onto the red-haired man's shoulder to relieve the pressure on her injured ankle. (Y/N)'s fingers clawed quaveringly at the red-haired warrior's armor as she returned her husband's gaze, searching for answers. The young woman did not dare to speak. Too much tension was in the air, while all eyes were on Bakugou, waiting for the instruction on how to deal with this situation. For a moment they looked at each other in silence before the Shogun looked back up at his closest confidant. "Double the number of guards until we know how to proceed! Have Kaminari and Shinsou stay with her. At least one of them is always near her. Without exception! Choose the most loyal people to assist you with the guard. No one else is to even approach her without my permission." "Understood!" both samurai replied as if from the same mouth. "As we had already guessed, the last-minute changes in travel arrangements have left security gaps. I want them closed as soon as possible. Kirishima, double-check every person accompanying us. We do not trust anyone who has not proven their loyalty to us or who can be identified by someone they know as a member of this convoy. Also, bring me the coachman. The horses could not have broken away so easily, and the formation of the carriages should have made such a maneuver difficult as well," Bakugou continued analyzing the situation at hand, while (Y/N) listened anxiously to her husband's words. The young shogun looked like a person who would normally leave nothing to chance. The way he clenched his jaw suggested how unacceptable he found this chaos right under his watch. Guilty of having put him in this position, the young lady tried to take a step toward her husband. She was aware that the changes in travel arrangements had taken place because of her. Her careless action at the feast a few days earlier had led to these late consequences and had only caused her newlywed husband more inconvenience than she had already been aware of. Worse yet...she had put them all in danger. Again.

As she tried to put weight on her injured ankle, (Y/N) buckled to the side, gasping in pain, which is why she began to lose her balance. Immediately, Kirishima's grip on her upper arm tightened to stabilize her.

Bakugou's arm also shot out to reach for her as he gloomily watched her facial expressions. Guiltily, she looked up at her husband as she tried to stand up straight again. She wanted to apologize to him. To ask for forgiveness. But when she had regained her composure and carefully tried to start a sentence, not a single word escaped from her quivering lips. Bakugou, also silent, took in the pained expression on his wife's face and then tightened his grip on her upper arm for a brief moment. Beneath the grim facade of his stony countenance, the expression of concern flashed in his eyes for a few seconds, but it was gone as quickly as it had emerged. It had seemed as if he too had wanted to say something to her before turning away after a moment of hesitation to gesture Kaminari to take care of his wife, while he kept his silence towards her. He watched as the latter dutifully stepped closer and offered his wife an arm, which she accepted, disappointed in herself, while carefully letting go of Kirishima so as not to lose her balance again. Only when she had shifted her weight to the other man did the Shogun finally let go of (Y/N) as well, turning to her guards one last time: "Send for her personal maid and have her injuries treated as best you can. Have her do this as quickly as possible so that we can make further arrangements on short notice if necessary," Bakugou ordered curtly before turning away from them to be followed by Kirishima to take control of the situation.

Nervously, (Y/N) bit her lower lip as she looked anxiously after her husband. It was hard for her to comprehend how routinely he could act in spite of such chaos, while she had difficulty even thinking clearly. She followed him with her gaze until he disappeared behind a wall of soldiers running around, busying themselves  cleaning up the mess of the escaping horses. Only when Kaminari tried to lead her gently in the opposite direction, she finally turned away with her head down in shame to follow him slowly.

In a society like theirs, a young lady was considered an adult as soon as one had married a man. In the eyes of her fellow men, she was now a part of a completely different world than she was used to. But basically she still felt like a little girl, dressed up in her mother's clothes, trying to mime a person she was supposed to be, but wasn't really yet. As if she was just playing pretend. She was afraid that Bakugou saw exactly the same in her. A young girl who was nothing more than a burden to him. Not fit to fill the role of the new lady of his household. A burden that had been imposed on him by his emperor, much to his disgust. Perhaps this also explained why he avoided her so much. She was probably just another helpless stupid sheep in his unloved flock of needy people that he had to take care of. Not only had she apparently disappointed Bakugou in their marriage bed. Her husband had now had to rescue her several times from various situations, as if she were just a careless child who kept going astray. How many times would she maneuver him into awkward situations? Never before had she felt so foolish and simple-minded as in the past days. It seemed to her as if she was committing one mistake after another and at the same time not even being able to identify many of these mistakes, even though she herself had always striven so hard for perfection and was always praised by her mother for her self-reflection. She knew the etiquette and behaviors of the society in the capital. She had been taught to fulfill her role as a young well-mannered lady satisfactorily. But now she felt like she had unlearned everything, or at least that none of it seemed applicable in the presence of her newlywed husband. (Y/N) felt lost and scared. Unprepared and overwhelmed. This was no place for someone like her and yet she was bothered by being so dependent on the people around her. To be so disoriented in the flow of events. Feeling like she was drowning.

But she didn't want to feel that way. She wanted to be more of value. She wanted to be a person who had earned the respect and trust of her husband. Just like the men who just led her from the chaotic clearing, but on a completely different level of course. She was no worrior, nor does she want to be one. But she was his wife but only in title it seemed.

Thoughtfully, she wondered if she could have contributed something helpful to the situation if she hadn't been hurt or simply knew better what to do. How was a young lady to behave in such a situation? How could she support her husband in such times without burdening him even more? Should she stand quietly on the sidelines and wait for others to take care of the mess? Was there nothing she could do?

Sensing his lady's discomfort, Kaminari patted her arm reassuringly with an encouraging smile on his lips. He slowed his gait a bit while leaning down to discreetly address her: "Don't worry. We have everything under control. Nothing will happen to you!", he misinterpreted her mood confidently, while Shinsou spoke to two more samurai a few meters in front of them, who started to follow him instantly. Immediately, (Y/N) gave her companion a faint smile while she nodded her thanks. She had almost forgotten in her self-pity that they were in an avoidably dangerous situation, but she covered her surprise as best she could before replying: "I have full confidence in all of your abilities, Kaminari-san." she replied placatingly to keep up her facade as they flanked her on all sides and safely led her to a more secluded but manageable spot.

.

.

.

Breathing in sharply the fresh spring air, (Y/N) placed her trembling hand on her cramping thigh while trying to keep her leg as still as possible. Her long-time maid wrapped clean strips of cloth around her injured ankle as carefully as she could after rubbing it with a cooling ointment, but she couldn't quite prevent the pain her lady felt in the process. Just like the rest of the servants and soldiers, Mina had assumed a tense posture since the incident with the carriage. No one could explain how such a situation could have evolved. But all of them secretly feared the worst. Contrary to her usual disposition, Mina had been gloomily silent since arriving at her lady's side, having convinced herself that she had suffered only scratches and bruises besides her injured ankle before treating her with gentle care.

In such a situation, what did one say to each other to lighten the atmosphere a bit?

Just the idea that someone might have tried to make an attempt on her mistress triggered an uneasy feeling in the young girl. Her attention kept wandering over the numerous trees that circled the clearing like lurking shadows, while she tried to suppress the trembling in her lower lip. "How could such a terrible thing happen?" the usually bright maid murmured dejectedly, finally making her concern known, but (Y/N) shook her head directly, waving it off, not wanting to show how worried she was as well now that she had been able to collect herself. "Bakugou-sama is about to find out what had caused all of this. We should just stay calm and wait. He will know what to do," (Y/N) replied hesitantly after she had weighed her thoughts internally. Nodding, the young maid agreed with her mistress before sighing softly. "Who would have thought a few weeks ago that we would soon find ourselves in such a situation?" she then whispered softly while shaking her head in disbelief.

With her travel fan flipped open, the young lady covered her pained expression as she patted Mina's arm guiltily. "I'm sorry for tearing you away from your life in the capital," (Y/N) apologized dejectedly, but Mina only shook her head vehemently in response. "I don't regret my decision to follow you, milady! I won't be deterred that quickly. If any hoodlum even gets too close to me or you, they're going to get the shock of their lives. Nobody messes with us!", protested Mina with newfound self-confidence. As a demonstration, she clenched her hands into fists and threw them into the air with momentum, as if she wanted to punch an opponent under the chin. Immediately, her mistress' shoulders slumped a bit as she visibly relaxed, according to her companion. Suppressing a soft giggle, (Y/N) nodded in agreement before turning to look at the four guards who surrounded her on all sides. All of them stood with their backs to the two ladies in order to keep a close eye on their surroundings and at the same time to give their lady a certain amount of privacy as long as a part of her skin was uncovered. But (Y/N) thought she could recognize how Kaminari's shoulders started to tremble slightly after her maid's statement, as if he would have to suppress a laugh despite the atmosphere. Since she couldn't look at his averted face, she turned back to her maid to confirm her statement: "When one has you as a guard, one doesn't need to be afraid anymore," the young lady confirmed mildly joking, while Mina, with a small smile on her lips, finally fastened the bandage to her mistress' foot and reached for a clean stocking to carefully slip it over her leg.

It didn't take long for the mood to fade again, however, after silence returned between them. Both women were hung up on their own thoughts, and yet they were going in the same direction. Who would have thought that just a few days after leaving the capital, something like this could have happened? And how many times would they be exposed to such a situation? Was this now a danger they could expect at any time?

It felt completely surreal. Not even a week ago, the young lady had lived sheltered in a handsome mansion in the center of the capital, while now she was sitting surrounded by countless strange men in a forest unknown to her. She had not been prepared for something like this. How could she have prepared herself for something like this?

The warm spring air and the lush green of the leaves in the treetops made her situation seem deceptively idyllic, but secretly she was aware that, according to her husband's statements, the accident with her carriage probably could not have been caused by a series of coincidences. Concerned, (Y/N) raised her fan a little higher in front of her face, so that only her eyes flashed out over the rim decorated with gold thread. Attentively, she looked at her surroundings with a critical gaze, as if she would be able to recognize a potential enemy purely from the body language of the people, if she would only look attentively enough. But what should she pay attention to? Except for a handful of people, all these people were unknown to her. Even her guards were strangers. Only Kaminari had been a person she had barely known from her past in the capital, before she had met Bakugou. So how was she supposed to interpret the body language of the people around her?

Shrouded in silence, (Y/N) watched as a few meters away from them, the shogun followed by Kirishima paced furiously up and down past his warriors while keeping a close eye on his men. However, it was not long before one of his samurai, followed by another person, stepped out of the crowd to approach Bakugou. Stumbling, the second man, who turned out to be the coachman, stepped in front of his master before he threw himself to the ground at his feet and pressed his forehead against the floor. Darkly Bakugou stared down at him while silently listening to the words of the samurai who had accompanied the scared coachman. The latter pointed to the part of the woods that had been behind (Y/N)'s carriage, while the kneeling man remained trembling on the ground.

She would have liked to know what they were talking about, but the young lady was too far away to understand what the men were saying. Only the sheer panic written on the old coachman's face when he briefly looked up to clearly answer a question her husband must have asked him, told (Y/N) from her position that it must have been very bad news.  

.

.

.

"Explain to me why some of the horses were able to escape and why my wife's carriage was apparently not properly secured!" the Shogun ordered somberly, after having had it explained to him why he had had to wait so long for his men to find the coachman in the forest with some of the runaway horses. "I-I cannot explain it, master. We went through the steps as usual. One of my assistants had fastened the horses as usual, while I had secured the carriage with wedges under the wheels as usual. I then went to the soldiers to take a break. Normally, the assistant should have been on hand to check the carriage's axles, as my legs are not taking the long kneeling on the ground very well anymore. Before I could return, however, the horses had already bolted," the older man explained tremulously, before pressing his forehead anxiously against the stony ground once again.

 Snorting with rage, Bakugou glanced over his shoulder to have Kirishima confirm the coachman's statement. The latter nodded after a moment as he recalled the arrival at the rest stop in his memories. "That's right. I can confirm that the carriage had been secured by the gentleman before I joined you."

"What about the assistant?" continued Bakugou, after turning back to the old man. The latter thought for a moment before quivering his voice in reply, "I haven't seen him again after the incident. I was busy securing the captured horses. Actually, it would be his job to help me with that." Bakugou and Kirishima then fell silent for a moment as they processed what had been said. "Describe the boy to us so we can have someone look for him!" the red-haired samurai echoed in a calm voice as he took a step closer to his master.

"H-he is quite a small fellow, almost petite, and doesn't stand out much because of it. However, he is quick and skilled, which is why I hired him on short notice after you quickly ordered more people to join the convoy. At first I thought he was a girl because of his soft features and big eyes. He always wears a cap, so I don't know what color his hair is, but his irises are the color of honey," the coachman described gesturing before continuing timidly, "I-I just pulled this out of the hind leg of one of the horses, though, which had dragged its leg a bit behind it," the kneeling man stammered before pulling an object out of his pocket and holding it up with trembling hands. Silence spread among those present as they looked at a small distinctive throwing knife. Blood had dried on the tip, which probably came from the injured horse. With a serious expression, the Shogun took the small weapon from his subordinate's hand and examined it insistently before giving him an appraising look, "Did you observe anything else?" The coachman then shook his head vehemently before replying, "No, Your Grace. Forgive me!"

Vigilantly, Bakugou watched his counterpart's every emotion before finally turning away from the older man, "You may go. See that the horses are supervised throughout. If something like this happens again on your watch, you will have operated a carriage for the last time," Bakugou threatened dangerously calm as he finally dismissed him. The shogun waited as his subordinate gratefully departed before giving Kirishima a meaningful look. "The samurai who was supposed to guard the carriage was found dead a little deeper in the forest. He was found with a stab wound just above the throat. Normally we probably would have had trouble finding the body, but one of the escaped horses was found there and happened to blow the cover. For one thing, to kill a samurai in this manner, the person would have had to have been somewhat smaller and quite agile to be able to stab upward so precisely past the throat guard. Also, the person would have had to get close enough to him first without arousing direct suspicion. The assistant is small and inconspicuous and, moreover, can no longer be found. We should keep this in mind. Judging from the forging of the knife, one of Shigaraki's assassins has sneaked in among the servants and is trying to make the attack look like an accident for the time being so that he can disappear into the chaos afterwards. I will have the servant searched to verify this assumption," the red-haired samurai concluded quietly as he let his gaze roam over the soldiers and servants. "We must still assume that the assassin remains in the vicinity to make sure that his mission has been accomplished. There may be others lurking among us as well. On the other hand, the assassination attempt was quite messy. Shigaraki seemed to have wanted us to know he is behind all of this. Otherwise there would be no evidence like the knife that was found, but that doesn’t mean that there would be no other attempt. We need to get my wife out of here as quickly as possible and then figure out how to proceed," Bakugou decided grimly as he looked thoughtfully over at (Y/N), who was guarded away from the convoy by four of his samurai. "The carts are slowing us down too much and making sure she'll be an easy target now after the cover that her carriage had provided is gone..." he muttered more to himself before turning back to Kirishima. "Get the fastest horses ready! You will take her with Kaminari, Shinsou, Koda, and Shoji to the next town. There, you are to rent smallest inn as possible that can be easily supervised and wait for us. From there we will discuss our further procedure!", the Shogun ordered after a short moment. Kirishima nodded resolutely and beat his fists demonstratively against each other in front of his chest. "You can count on me! I'll make sure nothing happens to her!", the red-haired samurai confidently proclaimed before turning to get the horses ready.

The shogun strode purposefully towards the group guarding his wife. Once there, he turned to Kaminari and pointed to Kirishima who was hurrying in the opposite direction. "Follow him and help him get the horses ready! You, Shinsou, Koda, and Shoji will ride ahead with him to get my wife away from here," Bakugou ordered before walking past him. Without asking further, the straw-blond young man nodded before going on his way. Surprised, (Y/N) stared up at her husband as the shogun walked up to her without further ado and leaned down to her. "Come, Kirishima will take you away from here!" repeated Bakugou curtly before lifting his wife, without hesitation in his arms to move her away faster. Inhaling sharply, the young woman sought a hold on her husband's shoulders as she looked up into his face in alarm. "W-what about you?" she asked quietly, while she cast a quick glance over his shoulder to glance uncertainly at the rest of the guards, who followed them silently.

"I'll take control of the convoy here with the rest of my men and catch up with you later," he replied after lowering his gaze to her for a moment. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as she blinked at him from under her lashes. For a brief moment, she was silent as she weighed whether to speak her thoughts freely. "... Isn't that dangerous? What if you're attacked?", she finally asked with concern, but Bakugou only snorted derisively in response before shifting her weight in his arms. "Shouldn't you be more worried that you'll be attacked?", he growled resolutely before pausing briefly and clearing his throat: " Which you don't have to. Your guards are capable of protecting you!", he added harshly, as if he awkwardly tried calm her after his statement. Before (Y/N) could say anything in reply, the clacking of hooves sounded behind them. The young shogun turned to the small group of samurai, who approached them with brisk steps before nodding to Kirishima. When the young lady caught sight of the horses, she turned again to her husband in alarm. She faltered briefly as she realized what she was about to reveal, but she shook her head in embarrassment as her husband lowered her to the ground, before attempting to lift her onto one of the horses a moment later. She gently tapped her fingers against Bakugou's upper arm to get his attention before quietly clearing her throat, "I'm sorry, but I never learned to ride," she murmured softly. The Shogun rolled his chimney red eyes before pressing his heavy hands to her waist right under her ribs. "You're riding with Kirishima!" he countered as said man stepped closer towards the couple, giving his ladyship an encouraging smile.

Before (Y/N) knew it, she was jerkily put on astride the huge warhorse on which Kirishima usually sat alone. When the mighty beast beneath her began to shift its weight, the young woman clung awkwardly to the animal's neck, which pawed unimpressed with one of its hooves. Only when she felt Kirishima sit down behind her and grab the reins around her body, she began to had the feeling not to fall down at any moment. Only then did she dare to take her attention off the huge colossus and look over to Bakugou one last time. The latter returned her gaze grimly before tapping Kirishima's forearm dismissively and stepping back. "See you later!" the redhead announced with a confident smile on his lips before putting his spurs to his horse. Immediately, his companions did the same, each covering one unprotected flank of Kirishima to offer them as much protection as possible through this formation. (Y/N) had no time to turn around to the clearing. She was too busy wishing she would not fall down breaking her neck at the speed. With cramping fingers, she held onto the saddle while pressing her thighs against the horse's rump. "Don't worry, milady! Just try to match the horse's movement. Otherwise, your legs will cramp after a short while!", shouted Kirishima past the whirring wind after interpreting her stiff posture. “You are going to be safe, promise!”, he added before he whistled to spurr his horse even faster after that, while leaning forward a bit to defy the wind. The cool metal and leather of his armor pressed against (Y/N)'s back as she tried to match him. It was strange not to be near her own husband and be in the presence of another, but the thought fled right back out of her mind as she anxiously began to ponder what lay ahead of them, as well as behind of them.

Again, she asked herself how she could steel herself against all that was to come? But she was certain that no matter what would happen, she had to keep trying not to float uncontrollably in the air like a feather in the storm.  She was aware that her journey only had begun, but she didn't want to lose hope even if doubts will plague her constantly. (Y/N) was going to grow into her role, to gain Bakugous respect and trust. At this point, she didn't know if love wasn't too ambitious a goal, but this... this she wanted to achieve by all means and for that she had to stop playing pretend and needed to begin to grow.

[angelicmichael]

Imminient Annihilation sounds so dope - Chapter Ten

Michael Langdon X Reader

Summary: Reader and Michael continue to work through their issues and finally start to warm up to each other even further. 

Words: 5.9k+ …oops

Warnings: just normal IA warnings (swear words, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, enemies to lovers, slowburn, etc) anddd maybeee a bit of fluff 👁

A/N: hey guys! Sorry I haven’t updated this in a few months but hopefully this is satisfactory hehe. This chapter is kinda a turning point in the fic so I hope u guys like it!! Also I watched Jennifer’s Body as I finished this so.. do what u must w that information 😌 djdjd

Previous Chapter

Rain was never something you were accustomed too. Spending so much time in Los Angeles had made you partially spoiled when it came to the weather - which is why you knew immediately your day was going to be shit when you woke up to rain.

You tried to convince yourself that the emotions you were feeling weren’t complete disdain but rather just a pessimistic version of indifference.. or that’s what you hoped anyway.

You knew realistically that your day wasn’t already doomed before it even started; and that the rain was nothing more than a mere inconvenience.. However; you still felt justified in complaining, considering today was the day you were ripping the band-aide off and moving in to the apartment Michael had oh so graciously chosen to give you.

Your pessimistic mood surrounding the entire situation was inevitable, and that was something you didn’t even bother to resist or fight. It didn’t take long for your thoughts to quickly go south as you quickly packed. Hatred that seemingly came out of nowhere (but that you realistically knew was only temporarily dormant) wasted no time in blinding your judgement - making you feel a nearly nauseating amount of jealousy and anger for people who actually seemed to be fucking happy in their relationships and werent forced into.. whatever shitty living situation you knew you were bound to find yourself in.

An apartment with no strings attached was way too fucking simple, and you knew it was too good to be true. You knew you were basically walking into a trap, and for what reason were you doing that so willingly? Just so that maybe Michael could start to tolerate you? You resented yourself for even agreeing to this but you also understood you really had no other option.

However; personal feelings aside.. you still had a mission to accomplish. You still had to attempt to seduce Michael, and even though you were doing a shit job at that so far - you still had to try. You knew realistically it was only a matter of time before Cordelia would ask about the progress you've made, and you would have to tell her something.

You had to do this.

That's why you were (semi) blindly choosing to move in to a building you knew you absoluetly couldnt afford; and why you were sucking up your pride and choosing to become semi reliant on Michael.

No one from the coven knew, and for the time being you intended to keep it that way. After all, even though Mallory didnt exactly know that Michael gave you a whole ass fucking apartment - your sure she probably suspected that something important happened between you and Michael just from the short conversation you three harbored together. But for the time being, you didnt have to worry about that. You had bigger things that were on your mind.. like the actual apartment door itself that you currently stood in front of.

You held the keys limply in your hand, your bag slumped next to you as you procrastinated something as fucking simple as opening a door. How pathetic.

You continued to stall in the hallway regardless - thankful there was no one passing through to witness how ridiculous you looked. Your gaze fell south down to your keys which were cold in your hand. Dripping slowly with the subtle rainwater that managed to linger on them, along with the rest of your clothes.

Your skin stung from the cold that seemed stubborn to leave, and a nice change of clothes and a hot shower wouldnt be the absolute worst thing in the world..

Fuck.

You bit your lip in order to prevent letting the profanity from rolling off your tongue. Quickly getting a better grip on the keys (which only made you somehow colder) and numbly, hastily unlocking the door.

You pushed it open, letting the door hit the wall and taking a few steps inside before dropping your bag to the floor.. as well as your jaw.

No words could possibly convey how you felt as you noticed how the room was already illuminated with not only natural light from the already huge windows you could see.. but also with a warm, yellow artificial glow.

Was someone already here?

What the fuck?

The hatred and resentment you previously felt toward others earlier rapidly started to return - except this time it was targeted at one very specific person.

It didnt even register in your mind that the light could've been left on by accident or that people besides Michael actually existed that could be present in the room but.. you didnt care. Anger was the only emotion that was solely present in your body as you fully abandoned your bag by the door. Advancing forward; and only feeling more shock and disbelief with every step you took at the thought that he could very possibly be in (what was supposed to be) your space.

"Michael, I swear to God-"

"Y/n?” said a soft, feminine voice.

It was practically automatic how you froze. Just getting close enough to notice that it wasn’t Michael after all that was on your bed in your new studio apartment, but a woman sat on your bed instead.

For about two seconds, you were scared it was Madison but.. that was a stupid assumption within itself. The company you were with was from a far different nature than of which Madison was, even though at first glance the two woman might look or sound similar. There were so many qualities that distinguished Mallory from Madison. Brown, auburn hair.. dark eyeshadow.. and her classic black boots. It didn’t take long for your anger to fade away as you tried to not think about how logically this still didn’t make sense - walking closer to your bed anyway.

"How did you get in here? And since when did you ever break into peoples rooms?" You asked with a laugh.

Mallory echoed your laugh back, seemingly watching you and your behavior. As if she was expecting you to do something or to act a certain way.. like perhaps leave.

"I didnt break into your apartment but.. you should probably sit down." She spoke, before nodding off to her side. Nonverbally suggesting you to sit next to her.

You did as you were told. Noticing briefly before you sat down how nice the apartment actually was.. including the bed.

The walls, and most of everything in the apartment was a solid black. It looked sleek, and even though black paint made most rooms look small - the natural light helped keep things looking open which you appreciated. It was no surprise that the bed matched the dark theme too. The sheets were silky, black satin. You almost laughed at how comfortable the bed was once you sat next to Mallory, the entire situation was so ridiculous it nearly hurt for you to not laugh out loud. The two of you sat in the silence for a moment.. you were each incredibly anxious, that was more than apparent.

You looked up at Mallory, expecting her to speak first and explain herself since after all.. shes the one who broke into your apartment but she still remained quiet.. Stalling, you could only guess.

"So, why are you here? How did you even get in here? Is everything okay?" You asked, your words speedy and rushed.

Panic started to temporarily set in when you realized that something could be serisouly wrong with the coven, even though you knew how completly irrational it was to think that way with no evidence. What if witch hunters found them? What if someone preformed the seven wonders and it went wrong? What if the plan had suddenly changed with Michael?

Mallory seemed to pick on how anxious you suddenly were, putting a hand on your upper arm before making you meet her gaze. Her soft, hazel brown eyes immeadietly making your breathe slow. That was another reason you were so thankful for Mallory - the soothing, calming effect she seemed to have on everyone she met was something you never took for granted.. Espically now.

"Hey, nothing's wrong and nothing happened. I promise. I just wanted to see you and talk to you, and I figured we should catch up after Michael basically made me leave," Mallory explained.

You quickly nodded. Feeling guilt start to creep into your system once you remembered how Michael previously treated her.

"Yeah, youre right. I've been wanting to see you anyway and I'm sorry I didnt just call you last night or something.. and I know I cant control him but I'm still sorry for how Michael treated you. I shouldn't have brought you into that-"

"(Y/n), stop," Mallory said urgently. Shaking her head slightly in disagreement with your words. "Sure, Michael was acting like a dick but.. it's nothing I'm not exactly accustomed too. It was harmless," she ended her words with a smile. One that was meant to comfort you both at the epiphany her words brought.

You sat with her words for a moment. The realization suddenly hitting you like a truck-

"Wait.. what? Do you know Michael?"

Mallory fell completely silent. Looking at you almost in a.. guilty manner. Her gaze fell downwards before she looked up to meet yours once more, licking her lips anxiously before she uttered out a quiet reply.

"I wasnt going to tell you because I knew it would make you upset but.. Michael called me last night-"

"And you answered?" Your voice raised up a few octaves unwillingly. Threatening to break as you tried to process what you were hearing.

As much as you wanted to immeadietly jump to conclusions, you had to remind yourself that this was Mallory you were talking too. Your best friend, Mallory. You knew she would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.

You noticed Mallory was also starting to get tense. Her spine suddenly a bit too straight and her shoulders were rigid. It was nice to know you werent the only person in this situation who was feeling this way, although you would be lying if you were to say that you werent curious for why Mallory felt tense.

"At first, no but he kept calling so I figured it would cause no harm to see what he wanted so, I answered," Mallory said cautiously.

It was obvious she had more to say and as much as you wanted her to keep talking and fully explain herself - you were more than happy that you didnt have to cut her off again. It was too much. This was too much.

You pinched the bridge of your nose before loudly exhaling with a shallow growl. Not really caring that it probably was coming off like you were mad at Mallory when in reality, that wasn’t the case. Mallory wasn’t the problem; you were really just beyond fucking pissed at Michael.

But at this point.. that wasnt new news.

"I told him that we shouldnt be talking, but he insisted," Mallory continued with a shrug.

You tried to sit up straight again; trying to exhale some of the pure fucking anger that was currently coursing through your system. Your vision was spotted black when you opened your eyes - your gaze pointed upwards at the smooth, blank ceiling. Quickly wishing that you were anywhere else, or really anyone else at the moment.

What you wouldnt kill to swap bodies again.. but then again, who knows what the hell Michael was currently doing at the moment.. He couldnt be trusted.

That was more than obvious now.

You should've known that he would contact Mallory, but how he even got her number was beyond you.. Unless-

"How did he even get your number?" You asked. Your tone strikingly calm.

Mallory looked incredibly spooked when your head suddenly snapped over to look at her. As if she was worried you were angry at her still, and as much as you wanted to reassure her otherwise, you really didnt have the energy to do so anymore. Not at the moment anyway.

"You can't be mad when I tell you the answer, okay?" She said softly.

Your features immeadietly softened at her words. The rest of your body relaxed as well; your shoulders dropping and your jaw unclenching.

"Mallory, I could never be mad at you. You could never piss me off, i'm just.. frustrated at Michael. It's not at you, I swear," you said. Trying your best to make your words sound reassuring and genuine.

Mallorys reaction wasnt one that was verbal but immeadite nonetheless. Her arms suddenly shot out and wrapped themselves around you. Her body temporarily pressing into yours as your hands went to her back, before she quickly broke the hug.

"Promise?" Mallory prompted. Brown eyes looking diligently into yours.

"Yeah.. I promise. Just tell me what that idiot did,” you said halfheartedly.

"So.. I've had his number for a while. Not for too long but just since you two switched. But, we never really talked," Her voice stalled as she watched your reaction. Your mouth grew dry as you really tried to let it sink in that they've known eachother since- well for atleast a week. "But I knew immeadietly that it wasnt you.. that day. I'm sorry I lied, but Michael made me promise."

"Why didnt you just tell me?"

Mallory looked at you in a guilty manner. Her lips pursing shut as she looked solemnly at her shoes, avoiding eye contact. You knew exactly why she was being quiet - she didnt want to admit why she had lied but.. the answer was pretty obvious.

Even though Mallory was one of the strongest witches - almost stronger than Cordelia on some days, she still was scared of Michael and that was nothing worth holding a grudge over. After all he was still the antichrist, no matter how (mostly) harmless and idiotic he seemed to you now.

"Okay.. I guess that doesnt really matter," you admitted with a laugh. Figeting with your hands as you heard a shallow laugh omit also from Mallory, which made you smile. The shallow pit that resided in your stomach finally starting to let up. "But.. What did he call you about last night?"

Mallory hesitated again before giving you another subtle smile.

"It was mostly about you.. I know how you feel about him y/n, but its working. I promise you. Hes finally warming up to you. I just wish you could hear how he talks about you,” she spoke. Taking your hands into her soft, warm ones.

"I wish I believed that," You admitted.

"I wouldnt lie to you. Hes finally starting to warm up to you, plus it was obvious yesterday-"

"Yeah; It was obvious how strong he was coming onto you."

Mallory laughed again at your words. Shaking her head slightly in protest.

“Y/n you know that’s not true. The only reason why he was flirting with me was just to get to you.. I thought that was obvious.”

“It was obvious I just.. didn’t know that you knew that. I mean, Michael has Madison.. or he did so you think that would at least satisfy his flirting needs for a bit but.. Michael faking to be interested in you, that would mean he wanted a reaction out of me on purpose? Why would he-“

“You know why. You need to start cutting yourself slack and realize that maybee this rivalry is starting to be one sided.”

You pouted at her words at the realization that they actually held more truth in them than you were willing to admit. If Michael didn’t hate you anymore, if he was truly actually willing to be civil.. then why were you still so upset? Were you the one who was unintentionally causing problems now? Was it now you instead of Michael that was holding the relationship back?

How fucking stupid.

“I can’t trust him, Mallory. How can I when he and Madison literally tried to kill me. I can never forget that they did that to me.”

“I’m not asking you to forget what he did, y/n. I’m just saying that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to start having an open mind around him, and see where it gets you.”

You were struck silent, knowing that Mallory was completely right. If you wanted to have any hope at all of making things right with Michael (even though you really didn’t do anything wrong..) you would have to try a different approach because obviously; what you were doing now wasn’t working. Being snarky, and vaguely threatening him every chance you got was fun of course but- it wasn’t working. Even though Mallory was probably the sweetest person you knew, the fact your own best friend had to (very politely) make a intervention was.. not a good sign. Although, you knew Mallory was doing this for your best interest because if she didn’t say anything, then Cordelia certainly would.

And sadly, Mallory was actually right.

If you wanted things with Michael to advance any further; or to advance at all you needed to step things up but, you could always worry about that after Mallory left.

“So what, are you guys besties now or something?” You sneered.

“Shut up!” Mallory said with a laugh, playfully pushing you over a bit. “He’s barely even my acquaintance. The only reason he’s being nice to me is just to get to you, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I mean that’s the goal-“

“Do you think that’s the only reason?” You interrupted.

Your throat automatically tightened after you spoke, the threat of your words potentially being true coaxing you to silence. Your not sure why the thought of Michael using you made you upset.. it’s not as if you didn’t think he was doing it before but this time it was different. Perhaps it was because you finally thought Michael actually had some type of interest in you.. and to have that suddenly ripped away?

That would leave you beyond broken.. you knew that for certain.

Mallory looked at you solemnly, as if she was already resenting her words before she had to say them outloud.

“Look, I don’t exactly know Michaels intentions and I’m not going to pretend too.. I don’t really think anyone does at this point but I do know that regardless of your feelings, or even his feelings that.. you have to try.”

You let out a loud exhale.

“I mean you said it yourself.. Michaels so unpredictable, there’s no point in guessing how he feels so.. maybe I should just.. ask him?”

Realistically you didn’t know how good of a idea that was- but.. trying to remain realistic was something you gave up on days ago. Pretty much the same day you switched and that definitely wasn’t a coincidence by any means.

As soon as Mallorys mouth opened, you heard three loud knocks. Quick and rapid with no hesitation between them. The apartment nearly shook with the force of whoever happened to be at your door, and you certainly didn’t doubt that your neighbors heard the knocking as well.

Mallory looked at you in utter confusion, but stayed on the bed nonetheless with no sign of getting up. Naturally, you found yourself scooting closer to the end of the bed, knowing it was you who was going to have to get the door.. and that made you scared shitless. Not because you were necessarily scared to open the door but because you had a horribly bad feeling on who was on the other side.. There was only one person that you knew of that was aware of where you lived, and you knew it wasn’t matience or staff.

You knew standing up was the logical thing to do but you still stalled. Hands starting to painfully dig into the soft, expensive sheets that lie underneath you. You mouthed a silent, ‘what the fuck?’ to Mallory but your head snapped back at the door..

Three more knocks which were only louder and more persistent than the last.

“Coming!” You quickly called out.

It was pure anxiety that fueled your next actions. You quickly stood up from the bed, trying to walk hurriedly to the door as fast as you could and trying your damn best not to think.. Hoping Mallory also had a idea of who was at the door and also happened to get the fuck out of view.

You didn’t want a repeat of yesterday happening again today, and you knew you wouldn’t hesitate to slap Michael if he tried to flirt with her again. Even though, you knew you weren’t supposed to act like that anymore.. but why should you have manners if Michael refused them as well?

Opening the door swiftly and without a second thought; you stood breathless as you saw a familiar blonde standing in front of you.

You both stared at each other at first - each not daring to have the balls to say ‘hello’ or anything else for that matter.. You noticed how Michael first eyed you up, fully looking up and down your body (as well as peering behind you, hopefully not making eye contact with Mallory). You made a point to just look into Michaels eyes, refusing to do what he was doing.. whatever the fuck that truly was.

“How did you know I would be here?” You breathed.

“I knew it was just a matter of time before you’d come, but it also never hurt to charm the hotel staff a bit,” Michael responded swiftly without a second beat, almost as if he anticipated your words. His lips upturned slightly at the edges, in a way that nearly made your stomach sick.

“The hotel staff-?!”

“I have connections everywhere y/n, I thought you knew that,” he sneered.

He brushed past you as you continued to stand in shock. Your mouth slightly falling open as Michael took a few steps into your apartment - looking curiously around, almost as if he knew Mallory was here..

“I did.. I think that’s obvious,” you shot back hurriedly. “But thank you for the apartment again, Michael. I still feel weird taking it but it is nice I’ll admit,” you continued. Hoping to make him turn around to look back at you and hopefully not find Mallory.. Which worked. At least for a few seconds at least.

Michael made direct eye contact with you for a moment, almost as if he wanted to speak but was deliberately choosing not too. Instead he turned around, walking in deeper in the apartment.

Your mouth immediately dropped open - your feet carried yourself forward as you started to feel a bit numb with shock- not knowing even in the slightest how you were going to handle the situation if Mallory didn’t fucking move.

Sure enough..

“You always manage to linger.. don’t you?” Michael spoke.

It took only a couple steps for you to fully realize he wasn’t speaking to you. You only saw his backside as you approached them. Quickly meeting Mallorys gaze as you came into view.. Her brown eyes darker than ever as she peered up at you.

This time it is nearly impossible to distinguish whether she looked in agony from Michaels appearance or yours; since you apparently interrupted them. Her gaze quickly returned back to meet Michaels before you could think anything of it.

“I’m not here to see you, Michael.” Mallory announced. Her tone harsher than what you were expecting what apparent friends would use.. Were they even really friends?

Mallory suddenly stood up while Michael was still standing a few feet in front of her. Making eye contact with Michael for a split second before almost ducking around him before she stood in front of you.. leaving Michael speechless behind her. She quickly hugged you, her arms only embracing you for a split second before leaving. It was obvious she was in a hurry to leave now but.. you weren’t sure exactly why.

“I should get going, you and Michael have a lot to talk about,” she subtly smiled before turning to leave.. not letting you reply or have any sort of reaction to her words.

You stood solemnly as you heard Mallory’s footsteps gradually go farther away, before hearing the door open and close. You watched Michaels back as he refused to turn around.

“How was your nice chat with Mallory?”

“Why are you asking? Am I not allowed to see her or something?” You bit back. Your words possibly twice as venomous as his were.

Michael hastily turned around, looking at you with utter disbelief. His blue eyes looking into yours, as if he was suddenly surprised by your tone and how you were acting - as if his behavior didn’t proceeded yours.

“You need to relax,” he snapped. He approached you until he was right in front of you. “I wasn’t asking because I’m trying to control you, I know that’s what your thinking,” His words fell soft until they were nearly inaudible. “I just wanted to ask what she talked to you about.”

“About us?” You prompted.

“Well what else would she be talking to you about,” he snickered. His words spoken as more of a statement than a question. His laughter quickly dwindled off after he saw how rigid your frame suddenly looked. “Kidding. For the most part.. she said she was going to talk to you, and I figured I should actually speak to you this time rather than her.”

“Are you.. actually trying to trust me, Michael Langdon?” You teased. A smile, as well as laughter escaped from your lips at the mere thought.

Even though the thought was amusing on its own, you still didn’t completely trust him. Even now when he had Mallorys trust (for the most part), you still didn’t doubt that he had a ulterior motive.

Michael finally stepped back, hesitantly breaking eye contact before inaudibly beckoning you to follow him.

“I’m trying, just like how I told you I would,” He hauntingly reminded you.

You followed him silently to the long leather couch that sat by the overly expansive windows. Sitting down next to him in a way that felt almost too casual.. but being casual around Michael and not borderline fearing for your life was something you would have to adjust too.

You noticed how he instantly slipped his shoes off; drawing up his feet on the couch.. his arms and as well the rest of him contained. Away from you.

“So if your trying.. now,” you suggested uncertainly. “Then.. tell me why you came here to talk suddenly again? I mean why not just go through Mallory again like you’ve doing previously?”

“(Y/n), please. Take me seriously and just trust me for once,” His words came out quick and stern as he spoke them. “I was being serious yesterday, as well as all the other times when I told you I wanted to start.. putting effort in and trying.”

You stared at Michael utterly dumbfounded.. Feeling a bit hopeless that you actually felt almost.. touched by his words. That’s if he was actually being serious, anyway.

“What does trying mean to you?” You asked carefully. Your mind naturally went back to Madison.. were they even broken up yet? Was that even something that Michael was willing to do for you, and how was that something you could just ask? “What about-“

“Madison’s fine. She’s fine.. with everything,” he replied hesitantly.

You simply ignored the fact that he seemed to pick up what you were talking about almost immeadietly.. focusing on rather the latter part of the sentence.. that she was okay with everything?

“So she knows? That you’re here?”

“Yeah. She knows but that’s besides the point. Madison isn’t a part of the equation anymore, I don’t want to talk about her,” He spoke as if his words were final and not to be argued with, but his tone wasn’t angry. He was just done.. and you were too.

You wish that wasn’t the case though. Cutting Madison off didn’t sit right with you in the slightest, and it would definitely have to be something that would have to be mended later. That was a given.

Madison and Michaels relationship was far too close for them to suddenly split and remain like that forever - it was temporary, but so is everything really. That shouldn’t phase you but - it still managed too.

“Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ you started.

“It’s fine. I knew you would ask.. She’s the reason why I’m here actually,” His eyes broke contact and averted down to his hands. “I don’t mean that as in I’m not here to see you but, it was something she said that brought me here.” He continued, his voice almost growing soft now at just the mention of his ex girlfriend.. and now, you felt like you actually were starting to understand his point of view. Not fully but, it was clear that Michael was trying to be more open with you, and this time he wasn’t ‘fake’ drunk.

It took nearly everything in you to not immeadietly retort but just like the night where you were at the party; you tried to fully hear him out since this was apparently one of the few times he was being civil.

“So Madison gave you advice and you actually took it?” You said while laughing softly. Trying to lighten the mood since Michael seemed to be brooding.

Michael didn’t laugh back but instead his gaze flickered up to meet yours for a moment. The corners of his mouth upturning in a shallow smile that only lasted for a few seconds.

“I did because it made sense.” He said, his tone still remaining serious. You noticed how careful he was being with his words.. something that was typical for Michael to do but this time it seemed a bit too deliberate. You wanted to ask what exactly Madison even told him to do but.. that felt wrong. “It was also the right thing to do.. Being close to you is something I should’ve done a while ago, probably immeadietly-“

“But what’s in the past; stays in the past. And since your so adamant about being close to me.. we can always try now,” you cut in.

Michael continued to sit a good distance away from you; you thought it was ironic how he could talk about wanting to get close with you but wouldn’t dare to move any closer. That thought made your pride a little bit too happy.

Right before he could open his mouth to say something; his phone rang. The sound suddenly earsplitting and blaring but Michael didn’t bother to flinch. Instead he stood up and answered his phone.. making sure to nearly trek across the apartment before he said anything into the phone.

You stretched and casually examined him as he talked, you had a feeling who it was on the line..

After how tense things were with Mallory - you knew they probably weren’t going to be on friendly terms anytime soon.. especially in front of you. And judging by how.. oddly relaxed he seemed (yet timid when he caught your gaze and realized you were staring), it had to be one person.

You were about to sink back into the couch and try your best to not speculate what they were talking about, but before you could fully turn - you realized Michael was sauntering towards you.. clearly still on the phone.

Oh fuck.

Before you could ask what was wrong, the look he gave you alone ushered you to silence.

He quickly held the phone away from his ear. A quick glance at the screen confirmed that the call was still active.

“You said you forgive Madison.. right?” He spoke lowly. His words barely audible, more so mouthing the words than actually speaking them.

You looked at him with a expression you’re sure looked as if you were furious but you were really just completely confused. You wanted to ask but.. there was no time if she was on the phone, but knowing what you were about to get yourself into would also be nice to know.

His eyes had since lost the sharpness that had nearly cut you earlier, instead swarming with urgency and a bit of panic.. It had to be Madison. The only person that could ever have that effect on Michael was Madison.

You simply nodded in response. Not trusting yourself to speak quietly outloud but you also didn’t exactly trust your response because it wasn’t exactly truthful, but Michael seemed to be level headed.. for now.

Michael immeadietly turned and held the phone back up to his ear, this time staying in closer proximity and within ear shot. Putting on his shoes as he continued to hold the conversation he was having.

“Okay

...

So when are you coming?

...

Great, see you then. . . Bye.”

If you didn’t just hear the words that you thought you had heard.. you knew under normal circumstances your heart would’ve ached when you realized how Michael hesitated before he said goodbye, most likely catching himself before he said ‘I love you’. Instead though, you felt a gruesome wave of nausea suddenly rise through you.. urging you to shakily stand up and speak without thinking.

“She’s coming to see you?”

Michael barely gave you a second glance as he turned around and started to head for the front door of the apartment.

“Yes. You’ll be seeing her too, don’t worry.” He spoke before he quickly let the door shut behind him.

You continued to stand, utterly speechless.

Part of you wanted to run after him and the other part merely wanted to scream in anger that he had already made fucking plans but instead you felt numb. Numb and calm.

You returned to your bag and unpacked, trying your best to not let your emotions consume you like they previously had too many times.. until you finally broke down and called Mallory.

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @king-with-no-crovvn @melodylangdon @littledemondani @langdons-pinkyring @celestialrequiem @sojournmichael @mindlesschicca

Let me know if u would like to be added or removed to the taglist!!

[saffron-nova21]

I'm Sorry (B.K.)

The Next Chapter Masterlist < Previous Chapter • You Are Here • Next Chapter > Warnings: Bokuto's "emo mode" is depicted as a panic attack, crying, a bit of angst to comfort

Bokuto couldn't concentrate on his spikes and soon he just stopped trying altogether, easily alarming the two men he'd been training with.

Watching you work with Ushijima didn't help Bokuto's steadily climbing guilt. Had he known what Kuroo had been up to, exactly? Not quite. Not to mention, he had no clue you would still be so upset, seeing Atsumu and Suna. He'd never heard the whole story, just knowing that you had gone to live with Kenma because you'd had a lot of issues with your family and school.

He should have pieced it together, though. He should have known. He should have figured it out. What kind of friend was he? He had helped Kuroo convince you to come here, after all.

Staring at you while you continuously set the ball to Ushijima, Bokuto found himself having the worst "emo mode" he'd had, since high school. Suna watches him, a bit concernedly, while Atsumu brings a hand to the former captain's shoulder. He wasn't as used to calming Bokuto down as some of the other people on his team are, but he could try, at the very least. No one else was around.

Before Atsumu could speak to Bokuto, though, your voice rang clear through the gym. Excusing yourself from where Ushijima stood, you duck under the volleyball net so you can talk to Bokuto.

You don't even acknowledge the piss-blonde as you stand in front of your friend, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. "Bokuto, hey, bubba. What's wrong?"

With your affection, that Bokuto really thought he was undeserving of, the male begins to tear up. He flounders for a moment, opening his mouth, only to close it, repeatedly, at a loss for words. But how was he supposed to explain everything he was feeling? He feels thankful when you pull him away from everyone else, waving the other three on to continue.

"Kōtarō, hey, hey, it's okay. Bubs, I'm going to need you to breathe with me." Was he having trouble breathing? He wasn't quite sure. All he knew was everything felt like it was deafening, right now. He assumed you understood that with the way you brought your hands to the sides of his face to gently cover his ears, your thumbs caressing his temples. He knew he didn't deserve your compassion, right now, but it was so hard to refuse something that felt so nice.

You always had been able to help ground him, so easily.

"There you go, doing so good for me, bubs. So, so good." He wasn't even quite sure what you were encouraging him for - he wasn't doing anything.

"I'm sorry," He feels out of breath as he speaks, "I didn't know what Kuroo was doing, but I should have figured it out. I'm sorry, Y/n, I'm so sorry. I'm such a bad friend. You didn't deserve that." He's scared you'll stop him or get angry, so a hand comes to grip your shirt gently. "Please don't hate me, I'll be smarter, I promise."

Bokuto watches as you knit your brows together and confusion crosses your features. Though, he also notices when the realization finally strikes you, piecing together what he was talking about. And even as you take a moment to process, your hands don't leave his face. In fact, you seem more tender than ever as your thumbs roll gently over his cheeks.

"Bokuto Kōtarō, listen to me. That was in no way your fault, alright? It wasn't your job to be prepared for Kuroo to meddle in things he shouldn't. You didn't know and I understand that. How could I ever hate someone like you, bubs? You've always been one of the best friends I have, Kōtarō, that's not going to change for something someone else did." Relief begins to wash over the silver-haired male and he's sure by the soft words of encouragement that fall from you that it shows on his expression.

"You promise?" A sniffle escapes him as he begins to calm down, tears slowing to a stop, only a few stray tears slipping away here and there. Only you and Akaashi could bring him so much comfort so quickly. He wouldn't have it any other way, though. Akaashi was his best friend and you... Well, he wasn't quite sure what you were, or what he wanted you to be, to him.

Though childish in other opinions, you hold up your pinky with a light-hearted smile, "Would I ever break a promise to you, pretty boy?"

His pinky doesn't meet yours for but a second before he's pulling you into one of his infamous rib-breaking hugs. That's when he whispers words for only you. And though they might not be the most special thing he's ever uttered, he's not sure how else to convey his gratitude other than whispering soft 'thank you's against the skin of your neck.

He can feel the way you tense at first and he's unsure if it's the intimacy of the situation or if it's from discomfort. Either way, he's relieved when your arms tighten around him. You don't say anything, but maybe it's better that way.

Maybe the silence is what assures Bokuto that he'll never forget this moment with you.

Or maybe it's when you pull away and your eyes met his. When your hands come to his cheeks and your thumbs brush away his tears.

Or maybe it's the way his hand comes to hold yours, both of your eyes widening at the action.

Whatever it is, he'll also always remember Iwaizumi's awkward cough when he enters the room. "Bokuto, Akaashi's here for you."

The moment is violently ripped from you both when Bokuto jerks away in excitement to quite literally run from the room. He's not sure if he's so quick to get away from you due to his own embarrassment, or if it's because he's excited to see his best friend.

But either way, he leaves you nearly frozen in place... Until someone comes to save you from the situation.

You and Bokuto have had a lot of here and there moments since you'd both met one another but neither of you know how to address them, so you just... Don't.

Suna hates watching you with other guys. He knows he shouldn't, he ruined everything for you both, but he does and he hates it.

All of the boys are kind of infatuated by you. Mostly because of how bold you are when you decide to flirt, but also just how you interact with each of them. It leaves them wanting more.

I promise I'm trying to get through these chapters. I just keep writing and rewriting them. But I did finally get through this one at least. I hope you're all enjoying, so far! When we get back into the actual text chapters, updates will be more timely, I promise!

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General Taglist

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The Next Chapter Taglist

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[hawkland]

(Mostly) Destiel Fic Recs #5

This is a LONG recs post because it’s been a while since I did an update and I fell hard into reading one author’s work (DeanRH). In fact I could easily do a rec post just of their fics alone, but for this round I’m just going to pick out a handful of my absolute favorites so far, the ones I’d recommend to start out with, along with more other authors’ works I’ve especially enjoyed lately.

Absolution at the Five-and-Dime by DeanRH (125k)  - this is perhaps THEE DeanRH fic to start with if you want a good, long read with a little bit of everything (Roadtrips! Intriguing casefic! Americana! Tasty Dean/Cas pining! Wing!kink and unique angel lore! Kinky soul fisting and tentacles!) It’s kind of two of parallel stories in one: the first, a flashback to Dean and Sam's first year hunting on their own (as well as trying to avoid hunting, and John in general); the second on how Dean and Cas finally get together during an unusual case and when Dean is able to really let go of his past trauma and accept himself/accept love from Cas. 

What I love about DeanRH’s work is that they write from the unique point of view of a drifter, so they understand living on the road, traveling place to place, and the highs and lows of that life like no others I’ve encountered in SPN before. (The author’s notes are often as much fun to read as the stories themselves). They also write a kickass angel!Cas and never lose sight of his non-human traits and background. Their writing style is unique - almost poetic in nature, and I know some readers have found it difficult to get into. But it works really well for me in their SPN fic...gives it the flavor of oral story telling as might actually happen at a drifter’s camp (with one story written exactly as such). Be warned this particular fic does play up the idea of John Winchester being mentally abusive and Dean having to turn tricks when he was younger in order to support him and Sam, so there is some dark stuff. But as someone who grew up with mentally abusive parent, reading this was extremely cathartic to me and believably written (unlike some stories that go too over the top with abusive John, or just don't understand how that kind of abuse leaves lifetime psychological scars.)

The rest of this round’s recs below the cut.

Carnevale by DeanRH (18k) - Actually the first fic by this author I read, because I just couldn’t resist a story set in my favorite place in the world, Venice, Italy. Castiel is the Angel of Venice, banished there for so long he does not even know or remember the reasons why. But Carnevale season is the one time a year he can let his wings out - figuratively and literally. And during this particular Carnevale season, he meets an intriguing masked young American tourist there with his brother and their one night stand turns into something far more powerful than either expected. This one’s hot, romantic, and achingly sad at the end as it all ties together unexpectedly with canon-verse...though with a hint for the future so it’s definitely not totally sad. I loved how DeanRH clearly understands Venice as a fellow lover of the city, the side of it most tourists never see unless they spend a long time there. This story made me cry just from wanting to be back in Venice again.

Ice cream was sweeter, food more satisfying, everything was an epicurean delight. There was just something magical about Venice, and he had lived here in the city for hundreds of years, so the shine should have worn off by now.

But it didn't, and there was always something more, something wonderful to discover around the next corner. The painted eaves of a church. The beauty of two women dancing with flowers in their teeth across the Piazza San Marco one day, overcome by the sheer joy of just being there. The way the university students still created Venetian masks, like Castiel's extravagant volto mask and Dean's humble servetta muta, with crafts that had been handed down across the generations. The morning silence that lay against the stones.

Hard Landing by DeanRH (26.9k) - A bit similar in theme to Carnevale. A pre-series Dean and Sam are sight-seeing in Spain when an angel, struck by a babel-spell, crash lands right in front of Dean. A strange yet seriously hot encounter with the angel turns into something much more complicated when the brothers return home and realize something more serious is afoot and they are both trapped in the middle of it. This is another story where things are very much not as they seem at first (as fun as that is!) It features master strategist Cas at his best, with a side helping of delightful trickery care of Gabriel and Balthazar as they deal with Lucifer, Michael...and a few others along the way.

The Sacred Band of Thebes by DeanRH (14.5k) - The last DeanRH fic I’m gonna allow myself to include in this round up, because it’s just very soft and sweet and beautiful - for a story about Dean & Cas being magically transported back in time to ancient Sparta! This is another story infused with a great knowledge of place and history, with some wonderfully delightful original characters added in that make it all the more enjoyable to read.

And now on to some other authors, I promise!

IPAMIS OL OLPRIT by emmbrancsxx0 (56k). A really wonderful fic that take a different look at what might have happened with a temporarily resurrected John Winchester during Season 14. Dean & Cas are in an established relationship here, and John here isn’t too happy about it — though mostly because he sees Cas (and Jack) as monsters, the kind of monsters he spent his lifetime hunting. This is a great fic for the emotional complexity of how John, Dean and Cas are all handled. John isn’t a cardboard evil dad, Dean is struggling between his loyalty to his father and to Cas, and Cas is increasingly bitchy/frustrated at Dean still being so desperate for his father’s approval (and all the more complex for not just being a quietly suffering perfect supporting boyfriend.) There’s some great action sequences in this too along with the emotional angst and a delicious dose of hurt!Cas if that’s your thing (as it is for me :D)

Abrenuntio by Neonbat (51k). A very dark but compelling AU take on the/a apocalypse universe. Dean, Sam and John are all alive in this post-angel war-apocalyptic world. They are part of a group of human survivors fighting against the angel army when they manage to capture “Blue” — a particularly feared angel of death. Dean is tasked with bringing Blue in for interrogation and he becomes a prisoner in their camp after John is killed. As mentioned, this is a pretty dark/sad fic (with some rather gruesome torture scenes) but I still found it quite compelling as a look at how things could have gone in some other parallel universe. And somehow the author manages to make the Dean/Cas relationship come together despite them starting out as complete enemies. This is one of those AUs that works for me because the core of the characters really shine through despite the differences in the setting.

if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee (37k) - a gorgeous post-Empty rescue fic that takes an approach I haven’t really seen explored in detail before (despite being something I’ve actually thought about as something that could’ve happened.) What if Cas has spent so long denying himself happiness, and then trapped in regrets and false-rescue scenarios created by the Empty, that he can’t trust that his rescue is real? And so he runs off to be on his own - literally stealing the Impala because he can’t handle being in Dean’s presence one moment longer - and only slowly comes to terms with the idea that it’s over now and he can be happy with/around his friends and family. This one’s both deliciously angsty and at times funny/sweet, looking at Cas’s relationships not just with Dean but with Sam, Jack, Claire, even Eileen. It does some fun stuff with other returned angels and demons who now find themselves back on Earth (and human), and...I just really enjoyed this one a lot.

Both Saved and Lost by angelfishofthelord (13.7k) Gen Cas character study, absolutely gorgeous and sad and one of those fic I couldn’t stop thinking about the day after reading it. AU where Apocaverse!Cas isn’t immediately killed by our Cas during 13x22 but instead hitches a ride back to the main ‘verse. Dean and Sam want to keep him alive for information on Michael; Cas is torn and trying to figure out just how similar—or different—they really are. Some great angel stuff here (I also highly recommend this author’s Jack & Cas “dadstiel” fics, they’re equally lovely and heartbreaking at the same time.)

flesh of the mighty by Mudprophet (2.7k) - THEE “What exactly did Dean eat in Purgatory, anyway?” fic you’ve probably already heard about. *cough* I’ve been trying to work up the courage to read this one for a while and finally gave in and OH MY CHUCK I’m so glad I did. It’s perversely disturbing and beautiful at the same time, Cas is wonderfully DERANGED and ALIEN in that way that I love it when fics managed to convey just how much angels are NOT human. Do heed the tags.

Full of Grace by ilovehowyouletmefall (11k) - Another one for the weird-as-fuck-angel!Cas lovers’ list. Heaven/canon-compliant fic where Dean knows he should feel happy and at peace but he just...isn’t, even with Cas and all of his friends and family there. He finally goes looking for Cas when he’s been absent for a time and, for the first time, gets to not just see but experience his true form. Another one that hits some kinks I knew I had and others I didn’t...until now. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

don't ask me where i've been by saltwound / @1x06 (8k) - I can never resist a good 09x06 fiction gap fic! What makes this one really stand out is how well it captures Cas’s internal voice - his struggles adapting to human senses, limitations and emotions versus what/how he experienced things as an angel. The longing and feelings between Dean & Cas here are so achingly beautiful and I just wanted to cry when Cas says he misses hearing Dean’s prayers, so Dean, he...oh, I’m not going to spoil it. *happy sigh* Just read it.

this room is wrong by DarkHeartInTheSky (12k) - Sometimes I like torturing myself with some good 15x03 divorce arc angst and this fic hit that button just so. It’s an alternative take on where Cas might have ended up after leaving the bunker and features some great Cas & Sam friendship feels, when Sam sets out to try to bring Cas home. It’s all the stuff you’d wish the writers would’ve let them talk out in canon.

Well that’s more than enough for this round! Go forth, read and give some great writers some kudos & comment love!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Orbital Drop Assault

As the species of the universe began ever expanding from their home world it became increasingly common for different species to meet each other on the galactic stage. Some were met with caution, unsure of the others intentions. Others were met with joy and celebration, confirming that they were not alone in this wide open universe. More often however, these meetings were the prelude to open conflict and war. The last option was unfortunately what resulted in the first contact between the Zigellie and Humanity.  A Zigellie scout ship entered the human controlled system of Lopalla and made their way to the colony world of Hayden 9. Due to the systems numerous asteroid belts a series of asteroid displacement guns had been spread across the planets atmosphere in high orbit which shot down any asteroid that reached close enough to be deemed a threat. Because the weapon system was not programmed to register any other vessel aside from human vessels the weapon emplacements mistook the Zigellie scout vessel as an unnatural asteroid and opened fire destroying the craft after several salvos.

The Zigellie interrupted this as an attack unwarranted as their ship had been merely exploring and had shown no hostile intentions. Before calmer heads could prevail a hastily assembled strike force was dispatched to Hayden 9 and in short order destroyed the orbiting asteroid weapons and then left the system.

Without the orbiting defense weapons a series of asteroids fell upon Hayden 9 and destroyed much of the established colony including the atmosphere generators. Without these terraforming devices the surviving population quickly began to choke and die from the naturally toxic environment. With both sides claiming to be the victim it did not take long for the rousing calls for war in the government buildings to be conveyed into the thunderous roars of the populace and within a year both sides had mustered for war and it was Humanity that made the first opening move by a critical strike on the Zigellie's military rallying world of Havona. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Human fleet holding orbit above us commander." The war room was eerily quiet for such a tense moment and the sensor officers announcement cut through the silence like a thunder clap. In an instant the room began swirling with activity as officers relayed status updates and mobilization orders to all forces stationed on the planet all the while commander Yel's eyes were transfixed on the display monitors.

They had been gathering their military strength here for several months now and by the last count there were one million Zigellie warriors on the planet waiting for transport to human territory. With the exception of the transport vessels the navy had remained in a neighboring system's dockyard facilities making final preparations to escort the transports and begin the campaign. No one had expected the human fleet to arrive so quickly let alone knock out the orbital defenses in such short order. Now the human fleet had taken high orbit over the military headquarters  leaving the Zigellie waiting for the next hammer to fall. Before Yel could even speak the sensor officer cut him off. "Contacts dropping from human fleet!" "On display, now!" At Yel's command the monitor switched to an orbital view of the area just above the military headquarters. A series of red icons were breaking away from the human fleet and from their trajectory were heading straight for the compound.

"Are they firing on us?" "Sensors are reading the objects are a solid mass; no energy signatures." "Fire thermal lances and smash them from our skies!" More commotion as the monitor showed several lance batteries aligning to the targets. Massive columns jutting out of the ground like spikes, the thermal lances focused heat and discharged it in a concentrated arch strong enough to turn stone to lava. "Lances firing." came the gunnery officer, and the screens were filled with searing light. The monitors traced several orange lines that sprouted from the base and were slowly drawing nearer to the descending targets before finally impacting.

"Hits confirmed on all targets." A rousing cheer came from the command staff at the sensor officers remark, but before Yel could join in he saw a flash of disbelief come across the officers face.

"Targets are still closing!" they shouted as the cheers died instantly. "No change in their trajectory."

"That's impossible," one of the nearby officers said, "those guns can melt through anything."

"They must be heat resistant!" one of the nearby officers called out as they examined a data screen. "Fire again!" Yel shouted and once more the monitors were blinded with light from the weapons fire. The searing light once again shot towards the encroaching targets and hit them.

"No change in target!" The sensor officer was panicking now, "Impact in sixty microns!"

Yel grabbed his communicator and practically screamed into it "Attention base, brace for incoming fire!"

The command staff braced and Yel took hold of the nearest console and closed his eyes, expecting his life to finally come to an end after a lifetime of service for his people.

A series of earth shattering impacts rocked the entire base. Lights were ripped from the ceiling and thrown across the room, consoles fizzled and exploded, and the command staff let out collectives wails of despair as the chaos felt like it would never end.

Finally the shaking stopped and Yel opened his eyes. The command center was a mess, with officers scattered around like thrown dolls, but the building still stood. One by one they began steadying themselves to their feet and assessing the situation.

"Status report?" Yel's commanding voice cut through the dim aftershock and officers began resuming their posts.

"Objects have made landfall inside the base and have damaged the vehicle depot and armory."

Before Yel could begin issuing orders when he stopped himself. It was very faint but he could hear something just outside the command bunker; the sound was strange and almost barking in nature.

"Enemy units are in the base!"

"WHAT!?"

Security officers were huddled around their screens as warning alarms began blaring. "Confirmed, enemy units have breached the compound and are engaging our forces."

"On screen!" Yel nearly threw aside one of the security officers so he could take a closer look at the security feeds.

Figures clad in strange black and grey armor were methodically sweeping through corridors and streets gunning down any Zigellie they came across. Yel watched as one of the figures kicked down the door to a barracks block and opened fire on full auto before chucking a strange black device in and moving to the next. Shortly after a crushing explosion ripped through the barracks leaving it a burning husk.

"Where did they come from!?" Yel rounded on his sensor officer and picked him up by the scruff of his uniform. "Did you fail to notice troop transports!??!!!"

"There was nothing!" the officer replied as they wiggled in his grasp, "There was nothing but the mass icons in the skies!"

Yel was contemplating snapping the officers neck for his failure when he heard the loud barking coming from outside the command room.

"They've breached the building!"

"Defend yourselves!" Yel roared as he cast aside the sensor officer and reached for his weapon. He had just enough time to grab it and bring it to bear on the entrance just as the human drop troops blew open the door.

[bluebuckstallion]

the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

-

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.."  he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

[shiftysdogtags]

In His Hands

@phoebewrose I really hope you like this and i used the two prompts for Nixon. It's a bit angsty but i happy ending. As always feedback is appreciated. 

‘Hi I was wondering if I could request something from your prompt list? I really like #3 and #59, for either Lewis Nixon or Ronald Speirs. You don’t have to combined both of the numbers you can just pick one, it’s completely up to you! I just love your writing so much!! Thanks😊’

Prompt 3: “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” “You better not screw it up then.”

Prompt 59: “C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” 

Gif isn't mine.

 2.2k words

The train station was filled with hope and sadness. Hope for the safe return of all those who will leave and yet sadness at the reality that many won’t. It reminded Y/N of a waiting room of a funeral home except the dead were still alive at this point in their inevitable journey to the unknown. They walked around not knowing they were yet dead. 

Each had their own story, their reason for wanting to serve their country and with a glance around Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what they were. Perhaps an only son wanted to bring glory to his father’s name or a younger brother wanting to follow in the elder’s footsteps. Maybe it was as simple as wanting to do good but that didn’t sit right with her. 

The sombre tone of all the voices begging for promises that can’t be kept turned Y/N’s stomach yet it couldn’t stop her from asking for one of her own. “Lew, promise me you will write, at least once a week.” Y/N squeezed his hand letting him know she was serious. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” Lewis held her cheek, forcing her to look at him. He wanted to memorise every freckle and the way her eyes glittered in the light. “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” It was unromantic in the most romantic way possible. It was the Lewis Nixon way. 

When the fog cleared from her head, with the help of the station master screaming for the last stragglers to board, Y/N had realised she hadn’t answered him. “You better not screw it up then.” It was her way of accepting and asking him to stay alive and be okay without actually asking him. She couldn’t ask him something like that it wouldn’t be fair. It was a vow he couldn’t keep, and she wouldn’t ask him to make it to only break it. 

Lew held her hand the whole time, not letting go until he had to. To her, it was her physical confirmation he was there with her, he was safe. Once he let go, he was gone, as far as she was concerned. If you had asked Y/N, the moment Lew left was the moment his hand slipped from her death grip to pick up his rucksack. For Y/N, it symbolised him slipping away from her like he was gone and wouldn’t return. 

A bittersweet smile briefly crossed his face and was washed away with the final whistle of the train. This was it, the final goodbye. A brief yet passionate kiss was their final farewell before he took all that was his to basic and to war. 

The train pulled out, and with one last wave to her lover, Y/N willed him to come back to her. She silently prayed with all the others left behind that their loved ones will return safely and unharmed by the sorrow and long hand of death. 

Y/N stayed until the train was long gone and for some time after that. She had never felt so alone. 

……………………………………………………

She had never realised how much she appreciated Lewis’s company until he was gone. She had to learn to rely on herself more and learn to enjoy her own company again. Every week he was dragging her to some event his father insisted he attend or to some fancy dinner and a show. With his absence came a wave of free time she didn’t want. It only served to fuel her constant worrying and longing to hear his voice again. 

The void Lew left grew bigger as each day passed. Trying to fill the silence and the emptiness in the pit of her stomach Y/N tried to take up some extra hobbies such as painting to pass the time, but she was never very good, and it was short-lived. Everything without him felt so wrong. She was left behind in a comfortable house with everything she could need while the man she loved was on the other side of the world sleeping in a ditch or some bombed-out farm shed. It was all so wrong.

Lew’s mother was good to her. She offered constant updates in her frequent letters and words of encouragement. Her reassurance and confidence in her son allowed Y/N to find some sliver of comfort. 

Letters from Lewis himself were plenty in the beginning, keeping his promise to write at least once a week but once he was sent to Europe they took longer and longer to arrive. That was if they arrived at all. It was understandable that he was busy, but it didn’t stop her from writing to him. 

Often wondering if he got her letters at all, Y/N thought of all the useless things she had told him with her perfect handwriting. Somehow her words meant very little, yet they meant everything. The ink conveyed the link between them, they kept him close to her, as close as he could be in a time of uncertainty. It was like the ink the bled through the page held the truth of what she wanted to tell him, how much she missed and longed for him. 

The dreaded letter asking her to stop her pointless ramblings never came and she took it as a good sign. If he didn’t want to hear from her, he would surely tell her. Of that much she was certain. Whether or not he read what she wrote was another thing entirely. She was trying and that was the main thing. 

As the war dragged on and eventually ended relief washed over her. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones who would eventually come home. Y/N can’t remember a night she slept so peacefully. The knowledge of his imminent return replaces the endless and reoccurring nightmares. It was his hands that usually soothed her back to sleep. The intricate and random patterns he drew on her back as he held her close to him made her feel like he wouldn’t let anything come between them to cause her harm. 

Although there was no set date for his return, Y/N held her breath every time the mailman came around. She had hoped he carried the precious letter that contained a clue that would give her something to look forward to. Such a letter never came. Yes, Lewis wrote to her, but scarcely and never about when he would see her again. He never mentioned wanting to see her or even missing her in the slightest. He never mentioned his proposal on the platform either. 

Many men had begun to return from their various corners of the war but never her Lewis. She waited and waited. And waited. And waited. The waiting for his return was almost worse than not knowing if he was safe. Weeks had passed and still nothing. Nothing from him nor his mother, even she had no notion of when he would come home. 

It is not that he didn’t want to tell her, he did, he just couldn’t find the words. What was he supposed to say, ‘Hello, sorry I haven’t written in months, but I will be home in two weeks’? It felt disrespectful of him. He thought it was best to explain and ask for her forgiveness. 

When the day finally came a sickening feeling settled into his stomach. It reminded him of the war he eagerly wished to forget. He couldn’t shake it even though he tried to cover it up with false confidence. Lewis caught a glance of her through the window and he stared. All plans on storming up the front garden to slam the front door open were gone. He watched her potter about doing her daily cleaning routine. It brought him a sense of joy to know she hadn’t changed something so simple while he had been gone. 

He couldn’t help himself but watch her in all her intricate simplicity. She moved throughout the house with that serious and determined look that he loved so dearly across her face. It reminded him of how determined she used to be and how she always saw a task to the end. There was an air of invincibility about her. She appeared to not let anything bother her; nothing shook her. It gave him peace of mind of knowing that no matter what happened to him she would be alright. Come what may to him, but his little lover would be unchanged. 

Y/N was unaware of the eyes prying into her home and disappeared to continue her cleaning. The weight of his sack that sat uncomfortably on his shoulder and the fact he couldn’t see her anymore forced him to come to the reality that it was time to ring the doorbell. 

Normally very confident, Lewis was a wreck. In the few seconds it took for Y/N to answer the door he suddenly regretted all the letters he didn’t write or refused to send. He regretted leaving her hanging on the uncertainty. The uncertainty he had given her was now returned in the uncertainty of her reaction to his return. Behind the door stood his reason to come home and he had hoped she would still want him, that she would accept him for everything that he now was. 

The front door creaked open in the slowest way possible. Every second felt like an hour. It was the calm before the storm of emotions they would have to work through together. Y/N’s eyes drew a long look from his feet to his face, yet her brain didn’t register who was standing in front of her. It was as if her brain had forgotten what he had looked like or the fact he was once a real person she knew and loved. A few blinks later and Y/N jumped back with a hand to her mouth. Her loud gasp and the sight of her physically standing before him and not in the form of a creased and ripped photograph caused Lew to drop his sack to the floor. 

“C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” With arms outstretched to dramatically announce his reappearance Lew chuckled at her shocked reaction. 

At first glance, she could have sworn it was her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Y/N had to all but pick up her jaw from the porch floor and steady her breathing again before she could answer him. He had given her the fright of her life. She was all too aware of his survival in Europe, but she felt like she was talking to a ghost. 

“Where the Hell have you been?” She answered his question with a question of her own. He noticed the look of surprise on her face before she could change it to mock anger and frustration. 

With a raised eyebrow, he gave her his signature puzzled look. It silently said, ‘you know where I’ve been’. For a split second, he was left to wonder if she would slap him or kiss him. He couldn’t begin to describe the feeling that blossomed in his chest when she pulled him in and chose the latter. 

All emotions shared between them was poured into this single action. All the unwritten words and lack of letters he wanted to write but couldn’t bring himself to do was channelled into this kiss. For a moment they had reverted to who they used to be on the train platform all those years before when they had been what felt much younger and innocent. The long-awaited kiss secured their bond with one another. Their past is forgotten and their future promised. 

His touch which she so desperately craved he willingly gave to her. It was his silent apology and she accepted it thousands of times over. For a man who grew up in the privileged environment of extreme wealth and fortune where he learned the skill of having a silver tongue, he couldn’t express his feelings for her with his words. It was through his touches she knew his heart's true intentions. They conveyed everything his word couldn’t. It was a spark shared between them that kept her coming back for more. 

They both pulled away at the same time as they knew they could continue to kiss and kiss and kiss until the sun went down and maybe even for some time after that. They needed to get reacquainted with each other and the new people they had become. Learning to fall in love with someone you never stopped loving to begin with would be one of the most difficult things either of them had to do. But they were willing to do it together. 

Lewis held his hand out to her, hoping she would accept it. He discreetly asked her if she would still have him in the way he wanted her. Y/N tiled her head to the side with a sweet smile on her face and gladly placed her smaller one into his. His hand although rougher than she expected made her forget every little worry she had ever had. He would have a lot of explaining to do but he could do that as time passed on. For now, Y/N was content with having his hands in hers and she vowed from this day forward he was not allowed to let hers go. He was back and, in his hands, she was home.

@curraheewestandalone @liebegott @vintagelavenderskies @inglourious-imagines @happyveday @easy-company-tradition​ @sydney-m​ @josephtoye​ @50svibes

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 4 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: None really

1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.

Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.

It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.

After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.

Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.

Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.

***

Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.

The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.

It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—

A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.

“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.

“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.

“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.

Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.

“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”

“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.

As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.

Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”

Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.

Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”

Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.

She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”

Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”

Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”

Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”

“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.

Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.

***

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—

“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.

Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”

Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.

She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”

He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?

So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.

Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”

Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”

Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”

His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She nodded and he picked up his call.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.

“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.

Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”

He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.

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