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malarign · 1 year ago

Note

hi can i get an enhypen when you are jealous ? also can you tag @chmberfve that’s my account but i’m not logged in at the moment 🩷

invidia

contains: ot7 x fem!reader | genre: angst, fluff | tw! mention of nam joohyuk and stray kids’ bangchan and felix, honestly idk what else i have no energy to read that sorry | wc: 1,6k

author’s note: sorry it took so long @chmberfve!! hope you like it though!

Lee Heeseung | 이희승

heeseung really loved it whenever you came backstage with them during promotions

it wasn’t something unusual though, since you were one of their stylists

but apart from preparing his makeup, you had to sometimes take care of the others

which well, he didn’t really enjoy watching

no matter how many times it happened he just couldn’t get used to it, especially today when you had to do pretty detailed makeup for jay

“Can you hold your head straight? I’m begging you Heeseung,” one of the stylists sighed countless time and just forcefully made him face the mirror and not the two of you.

He huffed and tried to watch you in the reflection of the mirror but to his dissatisfaction, you were completely out of sight.

“Open your eyes now for me,” you asked Jay, completely unaware of the simmering with jealousy boyfriend who maybe didn’t see everything, but he could hear everything.

His stylist went to grab another brush was his cue to grab a chance and take a look at the situation to his left. The view made him open his mouth slightly and furrowed his brows.

“Maybe just sit on his lap, wouldn’t it be easier that way?” he blundered out, making you stop and finally realize what your boyfriend has been going through.

You covered your mouth, in an attempt to suppress your laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” he mumbled under his nose, not completely aware of two hair rollers on his bangs that made him look rather hilarious.

“Kinda, yeah.” Your voice came out muffled.

He wanted to argue more, but he got interrupted, by his poor stylist, who now didn’t waste time to ask him, but just forcefully moved his head, saving you from another nag.

Park Jongseong | 박종성

let’s just say you shouldn’t have covered heeseung when you spotted him napping

poor boy got woken up by jay snatching it from his body

too confused to ask questions he thankfully just got on his side and continued sleeping

while jay stood still with the said blanket in his hand

giving you one of those disappointed looks

“How about you cover your boyfriend when he’s taking his nap?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Babe, you’re going to wake him up,” you reasoned and brought your pointer finger to your lips.

“I don’t care, why do you do?” he said even a bit louder and quicker.

He would look intimidating with the way his jaw got tense and palms squeezed in fists, if not for the pout on his lips. You couldn’t help but smile while taking a few steps to get closer to him.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” you mumbled against his lips before planting a soft peck on them.

His brows raised. “Me? Jealous?” He pointed at his chest with his pointer finger. Nodding you noticed a pair of eyes watching you from the couch.

“That was so disgusting,” said Heeseung, clearly awake now and disgusted from your mushy moment.

Sim Jaeyun | 심재윤

the moment he saw you talk with felix and chan he was so happy

he really wanted you to meet them and get along

but ig he didn’t expect you to get so close in just one gathering??

unfortunately for you (and him) he’s a pouty jelly bf

so the moment it was just the two of you he asked you an unreasonable amount of questions

“Do you like Felix more than me?” You could swear he was just on the other side of your living room yet he somehow teleported next to you causing a mini heart attack.

“What? No, of course not,” you said confused, scanning his sad eyes and pouty lips.

“How about Chan? Do you think I should work out more?” he continued his interrogation with you.

A smile crept to your lips watching his manic state, but you finally had to stop this madness. Cupping his cheeks managed to make him shut his mouth and finally look at you after minutes of him avoiding your gaze.

“I’m overreacting, right?” He bit his lower lip and smiled sheepishly.

“Maybe a little,” you chuckled and gave him a quick peck. “You have nothing to worry about, though. I don’t want them, because they’re not you.”

Park Sunghoon | 박성훈

now you would definitely know when his feeling jealous by his unusual silence at home

not even your lame jokes would make him utter a word

and today you completely crossed the line by borrowing a hoodie from sunoo

tbh you knew that he would react like this but c’mon

at least you had an excuse to cling to him even more, as an apology

Sunghoon brushed past you coolly for the nth time that evening, this time nonchalantly taking a juice from the fridge you were currently rummaging through. You followed with your eyes his silhouette and scanned his features — nose raised high and adamant look typical for his jealousy now decorated his whole demeanor.

“So you’re really jealous about that hoodie.” You closed the fridge and leaned on the kitchen island.

He slowly turned his head to face you, still unimpressed. “No,” he answered shortly.

“So you are!” You poked his side and he glared at you. Before he could say something you already climbed on your toes to plant multiple kisses on his jaw, cheeks, and finally lips. “Nah, you’re not going to bribe me with kisses,” he shook his head after you were done.

“You didn’t oppose it though.” You smiled triumphantly, making him roll his eyes.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t ask me, your boyfriend, to lend you a hoodie. You know I have plenty of them since you’re constantly cold, yet you asked none other but him…”

Kim Sunoo | 김선우

he really rarely gets jealous, though there are times he just breaks

massages his temples and sighs, doesn’t matter if you do this on purpose

unfortunately (for him) you manage to make him lose his cool with a huge success

“what about me???”

It wasn’t the first time Sunoo recommended a drama, but your excitement and investment in new episodes were definitely higher than usual. And he couldn’t blame you, who wouldn’t fall for Nam Joo-hyuk? However, your obsession started to concern him, leading to his jealousy. But you skipping edits of your own boyfriend only to watch edits of your new favourite actor was the complete crossing of boundaries.

“What are you watching?” Sunoo said snatching your phone and throwing it on the other side of the couch. You opened your eyes wide in shock and somehow managed to not throw hands at him.

“Sun, that was very important!” You tried to get it back but he stopped you.

“You must’ve lost your mind to think he is more important than your boyfriend! Hello? I’m right here!” He argued, holding your phone as far away as he could, while you fought for your life and wellbeing.

“If you saw that edit you would understand!” You tried to bribe him.

“I’m sure engenes edits are much better. Or my fancams. Anything!”

Yang Jungwon | 양정원

now it’s not easy to either make jungwon lose his patience or get jealous

but when he is he rather communicates it with you

telling you he didn’t appreciate the way you ignored him and just talked to heeseung

or how you showed your soft spot for riki and not him (honestly how could you?)

though he has one (1) weak spot which is sleeping on the shoulder of somebody who isn’t him

Jungwon tried really hard not to glare at Sunoo, though it was much harder said than done. You were peacefully sleeping, and after eight long hours of running errands, you just dozed off on his shoulder.

Why couldn’t you just wait a second for him to come back from the bathroom? He left you for not even 5 minutes yet you managed to drift away.

“Are you comfortable?” he suddenly asked, a little too loud.

Sunoo frowned and held his pointer finger against his lips. “You’re going to wake them up. And yes, I am. Thank you for your concern,” he replied and continued scrolling social media.

Jungwon pursed his lips in a thin line, knowing there was only one last thing he could do. “You know she’s sometimes drooling in her sleep, right?”

His question made Sunoo look up, first, he glanced at Jungwon then at you. “Y/n? You can now lean on your boyfriend.” Poor boy got scared of a pool of saliva potentialy forming on his jacket and quickly woke you up.

Confused you looked around and smiled at the view of Jungwon, unaware of his blatant lie continued to slumber now on his shoulder.

Nishimura Riki | 西村力

THIS BABEYY

pouts, sulking and crossing his arms were the main indicators of his jealousy usually caused by you daring to laugh at sunghoon’s jokes

they’re not even that funny? his jokes are way funnier than any of them

multiple sighs and clearing throat interrupted his every word now, all of this accompanied by his intense glares

talk about being petty and sassy

He knew what awaited him the moment he heard your laughter through the door to their dance practice room. Rolling his eyes he walked in nonchalantly, lowkey expecting you to stop but you dared to continue to be in convulsions. Tears ran down your cheeks as your hands grabbed your stomach.

“I can’t!” you managed to utter through giggles, unable to catch your breath properly.

Riki watched you carefully, waiting for you to finally acknowledge his presence. Finally, he cleared his throat, gaining your and the rest of his members’ attention.

“Hi baby,” you said, leaning on his shoulder. He usually would lay his head on top of yours yet he didn’t, making you sit straight. What hit you instantly was his visible pout. “Oh, you’re sulking?”

“I’m not,” he mumbled, but his pout sold him out.

“Ohh, somebody’s jelly!” Jake pointed to him causing a fit of laughter and the teasing began.

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

#kflixnet #enhanet #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen heeseung #heeseung x reader #niki x reader #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #sunoo enhypen #enhypen jungwon #enhypen riki #enhypen niki

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on-a-lucky-tide · 17 days ago

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Your tags make me want to read Price getting to pat Nik. Please? 🥺

Nik's hair is a reflection of his character.

cw: none (partly inspired by a post by @panchulien with a young Nik and Price).

Price had realised he was obsessed with Nik's hair quite early on. When they had met, it had been a harsh buzz cut; a number two all the way over at the very longest, with a clean shaven jaw. It hadn't suited him. Not even in his blue uniform and cap. His eyes were too warm for the austere, minimalist impression the rest of him was trying to communicate. It was like his internal conflict had manifested in his physical appearance; the severe officer battling the warm-hearted Russian patriot.

After Price had "liberated" him, or rather, encouraged him to turn informant and cut his own path towards liberation, Nik had grown his hair out. Price remembered seeing him for the first time after freeing him from the detention centre in which his own government were going to execute him. Nearly a year had passed, and Nik's hair had grown into an unruly mane. Close to a mullet, but with erratic, thick black curls paired with roguish facial hair. He had reminded Price of a musketeer or a Renaissance poet. The sombre misery had been replaced by an almost manic charisma.

That had suited him. It set off the wildness in his eyes. But that wildness had manifested in other, more dangerous ways. Price and Nik had fed off of each other's anger and their penchant for violence in those early days. When they were on op together, their lack of boundaries had led them to dark places; Nik, without direction or purpose beyond point and shoot, and Price with a chip on his shoulder.

Price had watched those thick curls fall across a blood smeared face after Nik had beaten a man to death with his bare hands more than once, the crooked smirk that followed revealing a flash of something raw and in pain beneath the surface. They crossed lines, violated boundaries and codes of ethics, telling themselves it was for a higher purpose that not even they had much of a handle on.

Mac had tried to keep them apart. Had warned Price away and told him to get a grip. Dogs that bit the hand that fed them were put down eventually, one way or another. But Nik had been intoxicating. His rage completed and complemented Price's in the worst and best ways.

Nik needed to heal. They both did. It took years. Years of dancing around each other, of finding the limit of what they would do for the "greater good", working out what that even bloody meant in the first place. They carved out their own morality, separate from the hypocrisy of the institutions that had made them, and slowly, slowly, the rage, the bleeding wounds, inside Nikolai had healed. Price had fallen in love with that wild, uncontrollable maniac, and he had stayed in love with him once he had found enough peace to stop his own self-destruction.

Price sat across from him in the little boat they had hired for a tour down the River Oder. Nik had wanted to show Price Wrocław, the Venice of Poland. Twelve little islands connected by over a hundred little bridges, with one of the biggest markets in Europe. Nik had spent the morning dragging Price down side streets to find some of the three hundred odd little bronze gnomes scattered throughout the city. "To commemorate the Orange Alternative movement," Nik had explained, his big hands gesturing expressively towards the Gothic Town Hall, tone excitable and boyish, "they used absurdist humour to protest against communist rule in the eighties."

Nik was at peace now. Nearing his fiftieth birthday, his hair was receding into a deeper widow's peak, smoothed back and neat, with slight curls at the back and beneath his ears. His stubble flattered his jaw and Price liked raking his nails through it when they kissed. Not too wild, not too austere. A perfect balance that reflected the equilibrium in Nik's heart.

"John?" Nik asked, his eyebrows raised. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, comrade," Price said, flashing rueful smile. "Just thinkin' about old times."

"Ah." Nik scratched up his bare forearm to the fold of the sleeve at his elbow. "Well then," he picked up his glass of krupnik and Price did the same, "to old times."

"And all the good times to come, cheers." Price knocked back a mouthful of the liqueur and grimaced. "Jesus fuck, Nik, this shit is fockin' 'orrid." He tipped the remainder of the glass overboard. "Could murder a man for a decent stout."

Nik rolled his eyes. "You take the Englishman out of England, but..."

Price kicked his shin lightly. "Yeah yeah, Mr World Wide. I'm a simple man with simple tastes, not all of 'em good."

"Oh, I don't know," Nik hummed. "You are dating me after all."

And there, just for a moment, was a flash of that wild, curly-haired man that had first stolen Price's heart in the devilish little grin on Nik's face, and Price's blood ran hot in his veins.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #prikolai #meta-ish headcanon ramble #sorry Rogue this went off piste #but it is hair related!

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quack-quack-snacks · 4 months ago

Text

Time Will Tell - Chapter 1.23

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Hyun-su meeting his monster, reader is a cutie pie, the beginning of the basement and spider monster scene. Word Count: 1,443

prev | current | next

It was dark when Hyun-su opened his eyes, the only light a strange watery reflection on the walls he was surrounded in. Somehow, he knew what he was experiencing wasn’t real, and that thought was solidified when he sat up and saw himself standing 2 meters in front of him. The only difference between the two of them was the fully black eyes of the one standing.

“What are you?” Hyun-su asked the boy who looked like him.

“I don’t know,” the monster answered honestly, his face devoid of any emotion as he spoke.

“What?”

“I honestly don’t even know what I am."

A rush of calm washed over him as a strange but pleasant sensation ran across his forehead. The monster in front of him seemed to feel it too, because they both sat there in silence, not trying to find out what it was that made them so calm. Rather, they were just enjoying it. Enjoying the strange feeling in their hearts as the touch continued.

It was only after a minute when the feeling left completely that the monster spoke again, his motives much more clear with his next words. “You can start over in this place. You can live however you want now.”

“But if I reveal my desire, I’ll become a monster?” Hyun-su asked from his place still on the ground.

The monster’s face formed a manic smile at his words. “Yeah. So tell me what you really want.”

The monster snickered as the original Hyun-su stood up and walked over to him, suddenly holding his spear. “Fuck you,” he said before jamming the spear into his other self.

Except, the spear didn’t touch flesh. It stuck itself into a mirror, shattering it so that the monster Hyun-su in the reflection seemed to multiply.

“Fine. Good luck, then,” the monster taunted before the same calming sensation passed over their foreheads.

Hyun-su took a step back from the mirror and dropped the spear. The smile dropped from his monster’s face and he seemed more at peace than the entire interaction Hyun-su had just had with him. The touch moved down until it stopped at his upper arm, and all he felt was contentedness. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in years.

“Oh, I see,” his monster suddenly said. Hyun-su snapped his head back to him from where it had shifted away. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Just as he was about to respond with a question, asking what it was his monster meant, his eyes opened. He found himself back in the arcade room, lying down on a few crates with his head on a soft fabric cushion. A warm hand rested on his upper arm, just like the feeling in his dream, and it caressed little shapes with its thumb. He raised himself from the crates, looking over his shoulder at where you sat reading. Or well, you were reading. Now, you were looking at him with a soft smile but concern in your eyes.

“You’re up,” you said softly and pulled your hand away from his arm. He instantly missed the touch but did nothing to try and get it back. “I was worried about you. I am worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” he said on instinct and you gave him a light glare.

“I know that’s not true. You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me, Cha Hyun-su. I’m not sure if you trust me already, but I hope you feel you can someday.”

“I do,” he whispered, looking back down at his lap.

“Hm?”

He hesitated for a moment, taking that moment to look up at you again with such a sincere look in his eyes that you felt your heart skip. “I do trust you.”

Your heart skipped again at his words. “You… you do?”

He nodded, interlocking his fingers and averting his gaze back to his lap. You smiled and nodded, your face heating up despite his words being so simple. So simple yet so powerful.

“Now be honest with me. How are you really feeling?” You asked him after the two of you sat in silence for a long moment.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured you.

“That’s not what I asked, Cha Hyun-su. I asked you how you were right now?” He sighed almost imperceptibly and looked down at his lap, staying quiet. You sighed too, reaching down and pulling out the first-aid kit again. “Now this is familiar, isn’t it?” You teased as you pulled out the band-aids in the kit. “If you don’t want me to see where you’re hurt, that’s fine… but you should treat them. They might heal quickly and you might not die from anything as serious as infection, but you still need to take care of yourself,” you whispered. You took out one of the band-aids before grabbing his hand and wrapping his fingers around the box holding them. Then, you gently lifted his right arm up, presenting the scars on his skin to you. You unwrapped the band-aid you took out and placed it over the healed wound. Then, as a response to the intrusive thought when it popped into your head, you pressed a gentle kiss onto it. Your face flushed and you glanced up at him embarrassingly before gently placing his arm back into his lap. “Goodbye, Cha Hyun-su,” you whispered before turning around and escaping out of the room. Your face burned as you played the whole interaction you had with him over and over in your mind.

Eun-yu, who had originally come looking for you when she didn’t find you in the nursery when she returned, had seen everything and was smiling so brightly. She was serious when she said you were her best friend all those days ago. She didn’t have many friends, so even you showing her the sliver of kindness that you did made her want to keep you in her life forever.

She walked away from the door since you escaped through the other exit and immediately saw her brother and Yoon Ji-su walking towards the door; her brightened smile disappeared immediately when she realized what they were there for.

The night passed by quickly when you fell asleep next to your siblings, holding them tightly and keeping watch until your eyes were too heavy for you to hold them open. You ended up being the last one to wake up. Everyone decided to leave you in peace until you rose on your own, something you were equally frustrated and grateful for.

When you did get up, the first thing you did was head straight to the arcade room and check on Hyun-su. You weren’t sure if he would be upset about what you did yesterday but you didn’t want to avoid him just because of that fear, especially when everyone else made it seem like he was the physical embodiment of the plague.

You walked into the arcade room, expecting Hyun-su to be sitting there and staring off into space but finding the room empty instead. You felt anger but also confusion as it flared inside you. You weren’t sure what they could possibly be sending him up for this time but you were going to find out.

You slammed the surveillance room door open when you got to it and opened your mouth, ready to curse Eun-hyuk out again. You stopped when a familiar figure was staring directly in the lens of one of the cameras.

“Hyun-su?” You asked into the air, but it was quickly replaced with a gasp when his body got flung backwards and was left dangling in the air by a string. It looked like a giant spider web, but you wouldn’t be surprised if the monster was a spider.

“Shit,” you heard Eun-hyuk mutter but your gaze was too trapped on the screen showing the boy you were slowly starting to grow affection for getting wrapped up in the webs of a giant spider-looking creature. “Han Du-sik, you’ll stay here and watch the cameras,” he then turned to you, grabbing your attention away from the screen and directing it to him. “You too.”

“What? No! I need to be down there with you guys!” You protested.

“No, you don’t. What you need to do is be here with your siblings in case something goes wrong. They need you,” he said, and you could tell by his tone that he wanted the same to be true about him and Eun-yu.

You waited for a few seconds, turning the idea over in your head before letting out a sigh and nodding. “Okay, just please bring him back safe.”

“We will.”

#Time Will Tell 💌 quack-quack-snacks #sweet home #cha hyunsu #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsu x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #cha hyun soo #sweet home x reader

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nastyaromatherapy · 1 year ago

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"Can't handle myself" (18+)

After killing yet another person, Ethan can't handle himself around you.

pairing - ghostface!Ethan Landry x fem!reader

short, 969 word dark fic

warnings: non-con, dark themes, PIV

"Ethan, we really shouldn't," you started, desperately trying to go against his advances. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and your stomach felt like moldy Jell-O. Ethan just killed someone, the third guy this month. He was unphased, blood splattered on his mask and clothes. You on the other hand, were frantically hiding all of the evidence.

"Why not sweetheart? I thought you liked the mask," he said, gently stroking it in his hands as if it were his child. "I do. But I don't like fucking on the same dirt you killed a man on!" You screeched, gesturing towards the dismembered body. You slightly felt a gag build up in your throat.

"You know I'm irresistible," he whispered in your ear, caressing your hips, his hands moving up to your waist. Ethan had this thing where whenever he killed someone, his ego goes from zero to one hundred. Really fast and really fucking hard.

You grimaced at his manic breath, tapping fingers at your side anxiously. "Come on," he coerced. "I'll have you screaming for me in minutes."

You met Ethan through a friend, Quinn. He was her dorky younger brother that you guys would poke fun at and laugh about during sleepovers. That was until one day, you two grew attracted to each other, and started to see each other behind Quinn's back. It didn't take long for her to find out though. Her and your other friends.

It didn't take long for you and Ethan to lose your virginities to each other, not long for Ethan to follow you to your college. It took no time at all for you to find out about him and his wicked family's little secret.

Quinn knew how livid Ethan would be if you were to ever leave him. She betrayed you that day. Blackmailing you on your birthday to stay with the young man. You were young yourself.

Your stomach twisted in a familiar way as Ethan touched you, feeling over your body. He started to kiss at your neck, but you pushed him away. Ethan looked at you worriedly and wiped his slobber covered lips. "You okay, babe?" You shook your head and threw up your arms. "No! Nothing is okay. Can you at least get rid of the fucking body before doing this." Ethan just shook his head. "But you're so sexy baby, I can't handle myself."

He overpowered you and bent you over the counter beside the bathtub where the chopped up body laid. "I'm sorry ma. I really can't." You internally rolled your eyes. Of course he could. He ripped a hole in your leggings for an opening. "Ethan!" You scolded, again trying to get up but he held you down. "Sorry," he repeated again. "I'll get you a new pair. How's that sound?" He asked tenderly.

"Horrible," you muttered to yourself.

His hands hooked your panties aside and got a feel for your folds. Dry. He leans in and spits on them, making you clench. "Just making you slick for me, baby," he says as a response to your jolt.

"Ethan please, just stop," you whined. You were clearly not at all in the mood. A dead, rotting body was the least sexiest thing ever. He kept going anyways, slipping two fingers into you. You responded with a grunt.

"This okay?" He asked you. "No, it's not." You said firmly, again making your way up only for Ethan to push you back down on the cold surface. He leans down to kiss your neck and takes out one finger. "There, better," he whispers. That was clearly not what you meant. He thrusted the finger, his ring, in and out at a slow and steady pace. Your breaths got heavier as you tried not to make eye contact with your mirror reflection.

After about five minutes of fingering with no response from you, Ethan gets needier. He takes his cock out, it was red and extremely wet. You gasp when you sees it in the mirror. "Ethan, no. We can't. I got off of my birth control." You say. It was true, but you knew he would be disappointed due to his breeding kink.

"What? You're playing with me." He says, smiling obliviously. You shaked your head, assuring you were not. He sighs and looks very disappointed, and you see his cock twitch as he thinks to himself. "It's okay," he says, turning you on your back and lining himself up with your entrance. "I'll just pull out!" You shook your head as the tip comes in contact with your pussy. "Ethan I don't trust you, stop- Ethan!" You screamed when he pushes into you anyways.

"I'm sorry baby, it'll only take like six minutes okay," he huffs out while thrusting shallow thrusts. "Then I'll pull out and you'll be good, okay?" Your eyebrows furrow in fear. "Ethan, let's just quickly go to the store and buy some protection okay? Just don't, I know you," you plead, aware of his horrible pull out game.

"J-just trust me," he stuttered out, already feeling close. You didn't get what pleasure he found in this. You were clearly uninterested and not even wet. His thrusts become slower, deeper, and you could feel him pulsating inside like a heartbeat. "Fuck I'm close," he whispers, falling forward with his hair covering his eyes. "Ethan fucking pull out right now," you beg with tears in your eyes as you hear the victim's roommate's car approaching. "I-I can't," he whispers breathily. You shake your head a no, using your feet to try and push his tall frame away.

"Fuck!" He screams with a final thrust, filling your cunt with his cum. "Ethan," you shakily let out, choking on tears.

"Babe, where are you? The craziest shit happened at work today!"

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ieatedyourcrayons · 6 months ago

Text

Ticci toby x gn!Reader

Wandering into the wrong woods.

warnings!: mentions of axes, blood, and violence

You got bored and wandered out to the woods by your house. You’ve done this plenty of times, sometimes you’ll even take a book or some snacks with you and have some self reflection on a fallen tree.

This time you just brought yourself, not thinking much about it. As you walk through the woods the only noises are the sounds of nature and the sound of leaves and sticks crunching under your shoes.

You lose track of time and how far you’ve gone out, too lost in your daydreams and the imaginary scenarios you were creating in your head. Eventually you tune back into reality only to realize these woods look very different and dark.

Chills run down your spine as you come to terms with the thought that you’re lost, you turn around, not remembering if you took any drastic turns or detours to get here, mentally slapping yourself for not paying attention and getting lost in your head so easily.

Your racing thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice, “You-u-agh lost babydoll?” you quickly snap your body around and see a man standing a good amount of feet away from you. His body jerks and snaps, and he lets out a few little noises and sounds.

The man has orange tinted goggles pulled up on his messy brown hair, a blood stained tan and black hoodie with dark blue jeans that also appear to have blood and dirt caked on it, He has a stripped mask covering his nose and mouth, and the axe he’s holding to his side has blood dripping down it.

Your heartbeat picks up as your brain demands you to run, run as fast and as far as possible, but you don’t listen to it, “Uhm.. nono i’m fine..” you say, failing to sound confident. The man laughs at your poor confidence and fearful expression.

He takes a few steps closer to you, twitching and jerking his neck, each and every movement he makes sends shocks down your spine. “Hm is-is t-that so?” the man stutters out , almost like he’s mocking you.

“Yes. i’m fine. get away from me.” You respond quickly, the anxiety evident in your voice as you take a few cautious steps back.

“Oh-h darling.. i’m n-no-not going to h-hurt-ugh you” He teases as he points at you with his blood stained axe, his eyes are extremely dilated and bloodshot, a manic expression placed on his face. He thrives off your anxiety.

You end up backing up into a tree, finding yourself helpless as the anxiety keeps you frozen in place, you give up and let the tears fall , “Please just leave me alone!” You cry out in a pathetic attempt to keep him away.

The man laughs manically at your cries, “awh? s-some-one s-s-scared?” He says between laughter. You say nothing in return as you continue to sob.

“ugh, Gah! s-shut up already!” He screams at you, The masked man getting fed up with your stupid cries. He waste no time flipping his axe over the the blade-less side and knocking you unconscious.

You body falls limp onto the damp forest ground. Toby stands over your body, breathing heavy and shallow, he straps the axe to his belt loop and picks you up, dangling you over his shoulder with ease.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticcy toby #tobias rogers #fanfic #drabble #oneshot #creepypasta fictive #toby rogers #toby erin rogers #forest #crayons writes

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g00seg1raffe · 1 month ago

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Y'all the worldbuilding is getting intense rn, I'm having so many thoughts, because Elrond is a mosaic of dozens of different people, so many facets and multitudes, and different people see different things in him. People see his starry grey eyes and dark hair and hear his Voice and think of Lúthien, think of Maglor. They see his braids and attribute it to Turgon’s preference for traditional styles rather than that well-known Fëanorian obsession. His gracious courtly manners are from Melian or Idril, though clearly taught by Maedhros, who learned from Finwë. His skills and wisdom and bearing are clearly passed down from any or all of the 20+ different kings, queens, lords and princesses he is associated with. He dances like Lúthien and Idril. He is as courageous as Fingon and Beren and Eärendil, as fierce in battle as Fingolfin and Maedhros and, Eru forbid, Fëanor. He speaks archaic Quenya, just like the Gondolindrim, if only one ignores the Fëanorian accent. His giggle is Elwing’s, birdlike and odd; his laugh is rich and merry like Finwë’s; that half-despairing chuckle is Beren’s; the endearingly awkward titter is Finarfin’s; the exhilarated whoop is Fingon’s; the manic mid-battle cackle is Fëanor through and through. He fights left-handed like Eärendil and Maedhros, plays the harp right-handed like Fingon and Finrod and Maglor; he can write with either hand, producing a spindly scrawl with his left (so like Maedhros, so like Elwing) and authoritative calligraphy with his right (so like Fëanor, so like Thingol). His eyes are the chasm of the heavens - he gets that from Melian - but did Maeglin not also inherit his piercing gaze from Aredhel? He has his father’s jaw and his mother’s hair, or was it Turgon’’s jaw and Finwë’s hair, or maybe those angular bones came from fair Nimloth and the little flick of a curl at his temple from Beren. In certain lights he’s the spitting image of Thingol - or was it Fingolfin? The tilt of his wrist is as bird-like and fragile as Dior’s, as graceful and deliberate as Idril’s. His cheeks dimple when he smiles, just like Fingon, and his eyes crease when his face softens with fondness, just like Tuor, who looks little like Haleth but in moments like this. When he’s concentrating, the furrow of his brow is Thingol’s and the lip between his teeth is Beren’s, who took after Bëor. That eyebrow raise brings to mind 15 different people, all of them dead. One may look at Elrond and see a lost loved one in his profile, until the light shifts just slightly and he becomes the one who killed them, before he turns his head just so and suddenly looks like a complete stranger. Elrond is a Silmaril of ghosts, each facet a memory, love and terror and awe and joy and grief reflected and refracted upon one another again and again, radiant, hypnotic, infinite.

#elrond #eldritch elrond #eldritch peredhel #silmarillion #this dude is a one-man ghost town #somebody help him #no one is normal about him #he just wants to be elrond cant he just be elrond #why does he have to have the face of your greatest love and your deepest regret hes just a lil guy #dont tell him who he looks like he doesnt want to know who you see in his skin because he knows it isnt him #god he misses elros #he never used to see strangers in the mirror when he saw elros

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fluffysucker · 1 year ago

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Bad Things

Bucky Barnes x Reader

TW: Violence. Fighting. Brief mention of torture. Steve is alive and well.

The only way out was to awake them. And you did.

A/n: Heavily influenced by oxytocin by Billie Eilish. No like you will find lyrics throughout. Listen to it while reading, please.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Main Masterlist

You were sure that if you weren't driving the motorcycle, your legs would be bouncing, your hands would be shaking, and your palms would be sweating. But you were focusing on the road ahead despite feeling like you were driving on autopilot. You may not look like it, but you were a mess. Internally, at least. Anxity from the plan, danger of the situation, horrors from flashbacks, and uncertainty of the results. You were bitting your lips that you were close to feeling the metallic-tasting liquid on your tongue.

The darkness that grew, the further you got close to the agreed upon location, wasn't helping either. For someone who did this for a lifetime, you were spiraling. You wished you could cancel everything and come up with something different, but you couldn't.

Can't take it back once it's been set in motion.

You started to regulate your breath, take control of your mind, and keep your heartbeats in check once you saw the warehouse. It was now. There was no going back.

You stopped the motorcycle abruptly, causing the sand and dust around you to fly away. You took one last breath before taking the helmet out.

You got up and steadied your posture. The suit was never comfortable on your skin. Today, you felt like it was crawling on your skin, trying to devour you. You hid the suffocating feeling and put the act into action.

If you only pray on Sunday,

Could you come my way on Monday?

Confidence and peril were displayed. A strenuous look on your face. You were back in her.

"I thought you weren't coming." His voice annoyed you so much that you wanted to cut his throat open.

"I gave you a word, didn't I?" You came to a stop with enough distance between you and him. Even your voice was different in your ears.

"It's not like you had many choices." His laugh sent shivers through your body that you were able to hide.

"I always believed in your intelligence, moon." You pulled your hands into fists to stop any visible reaction from coming out of you.

The name was only associated with corruption and cruelty. Something the man in front of you strived for.

"With both of your capabilities, we will go back to the top of the world." The evil smile was more telling of his intentions than his disturbing words.

With the mere mention of him, you felt the air get thicker, the wind blowing harder, the stars dimming their lights, and the rocks and pebbles shaking on the floor.

He was here.

"Great. We didn't have to wait long for him." The man almost clapped in excitement.

In the sea of the darkness of the night and the void you were in, he appeared. His black suit made him almost unseen in the darkness of the night. But his heavy footsteps made him known.

The golden in his arm reflecting the light of the stars and the mask covering all his face except the eyes were making him even more fearful.

In person, he was much more terrifying than the stories and myths.

However, the crazy man didn't think so.

"Would you look at that?" He said once that the two of you were standing next to each other. You wanted to hold his hand, seeking any sort of comfort and reassurance, but you knew it would blow out your act.

"The Winter Soldier and Wicked Moon. Together and back at their home."

Dugal, the man speaking, had been the bane of your existence for some time now. Every mission, every warehouse, every file, and every piece of evidence all trailed back to him.

The manic, who had been obsessed with bringing Hydra back to life,.

With the right allies and calculated steps, he was able to achieve most of his plans in secret, but why show yourself now? Why draw attention to you now?

Because it was time to get Hydra's greatest weapons back.

You and your husband.

You and Sergeant James Barnes

Wicked Moon and The Winter Soldier.

You and Bucky shared the same life. Kidnapped by Hydra, injected with the serum, erased and brainwashed, trained to maximum efficiency. You reached levels of skills that were unmatched.

Despite the different start, you and Bucky were the faces of the same coin.

You were taken a bit after Bucky. Hydra had the goal of making both of you into its lethal duo. Unbeatable and unpredictable. You and Bucky became the ghost story for decades. Never once seen or traced.

You were a myth that terrified all.

And for decades, you spent all your days with Bucky, or who you called soldier at a time, because you didn't know his real name. Nor did he know yours, and he called you Moon.

You shared a cell. You trained together. You were sent on missions together. You were tortured together. You were used to each other's screams and pains. You were the same person in many ways.

While Hydra was blinded and happy with your success rate and obedience, they failed to notice the deep connection that was forming between the two of you.

The comfort you found in each other. The conversations without words. The accustomedness. The long eye contact and gaze The gentle touches that only you provided each other with. The worry and panic if one went on solo missions.

You understood each other. You trusted each other. You empathized with each other. You prayed for each other's freedom.

You loved each other.

So, looking at Bucky with questioning and worried eyes above Steve Roger's unconscious body after you disobeyed the direct orders of eliminating Steve and following Bucky to save him from death by drowning, Bucky knew he could never leave you. He took your hand and ran away.

Other people wouldn't stay

Other people don't obey

You and me are both the same

You should really run away

It was a long and bumpy road. Gaining back your memories and learning how to live. But you held each other's hands. And in the face of all the hardships, you stood together.

You fought it all until you finally settled into your shared apartment in Brooklyn. Almost ten years after escaping Hydra.

You thought life was finally good. You knew who you were. You got back your identities. You were healing bit by bit. You finished therapy and were officially pardoned. You were allowed on missions, but more importantly, you were allowed to turn down missions. A luxury you and Bucky never had.

You were so happy for Bucky, who got to have his bestfriend back, Steve, and make a new one, Sam. You were happy that one of you could have someone, especially after finding out that you had nobody, which made you the perfect target for Hydra in the first place.

But being the good people they were, Steve and Sam instantly took you in like family. They could easily tell how much you meant to Bucky. Even from the first day. Whether on the bridge or in Bucharest, The uncontrolled urge to protect you despite being perfectly capable of looking after yourself. The care and admiration in his eyes whenever you were around or your name was mentioned. All and more signs that exposed Bucky's feelings for you.

They were more than happy when Bucky told them that you got married on the very long, overdue vacation that you went on.

You were everything to Bucky's. His love. His life. His rescue. His salvation. You were his reason to keep going.

While he felt bad that you had to go through the tough life you had, he couldn't imagine how his life would have looked if he had never met you.

So when the danger of Hydra taking you away from him arose with Dugal's appearance, Bucky almost lost his mind.

Dugal seemed insistent on taking you and Bucky back. He was destroying places, terrorizing, and hurting innocent people. Dugal heard you were trying to be good people, so he played on your conscience. He was pushing you and Bucky towards this moment. The moment you caved and gave up. The moment you returned to Hydra.

So, with his knife on Cass's neck, you surrendered. You promised to meet him and do whatever he wanted. And you promised to bring Bucky as well. He wanted the both of you.

And you listened.

Here you were. In the suits you thought you would never put on again. Triggering the two people you buried so deeply within. In front of the warehouse of an enemy, you fought for and against your whole lives.

"This is your home. This is your purpose. Not fake heroism. You were made to serve the greater good. To protect and serve Hydra." Dugal's voice made its way to your ears.

"You belong to Hydra. And Hydra only."

'Cause as long as you're still breathing

Don't you even think of leaving

Not gonna wanna look away, look away, look away

You're gonna wanna get involved, involved, involved

And what would people say, people say, people say

If they listen through the wall, the wall, the wall?

You kept the stoic expression on your face, refusing to let him see the effect his words had on you.

The door of the warehouse opened, and walking out of it were Dugal's two trusted men that you saw everywhere with him. Nedward and Alexios. They stopped behind him.

Following them, hundreds of agents came out of the warehouse. They surrounded you and Bucky in seconds. You looked at Dugal, confused.

"I want to make sure you are still the best. I want to know where to pick up from." His smile was wicked and filled with bad intentions.

"Call it a test. A test of Wicked Moon and The Winter Soldier's abilities." His wicked smile wasn't flattering.

You got into a fighting position quickly, not willing to lose this. You felt Bucky take position, too, his back turning to you. You were back-to-back, moving in slow circles, assisting the situation.

And once the first agent threw the punch, it was nonstop.

I can see it clear as day

You don't really need a break

Wanna see what you can take

You should really run away

While the agents largely outnumbered you, they were at a disadvantage. You and Bucky fought like one. You had a never-seen-before fight style. You designed it so that you used each other's strengths to the full and utilized the weaknesses as power points. You used your full bodies in fighting. You were familiar with each other's bodies and movements. You grabbed weapons that were strapped to the other's suit. You twisted around each other to reach as many targets as possible. You trained until you perfected it. No flaws. No mistakes. No room for lacunas.

It didn't take long before the last agent was down on the floor. You felt like it was harder to breathe. There was a ringing noise in your ears. Your hand wanted to start shaking. Tears were rushing to your eyes. You were having a panic attack.

Memories of missions and assignments you did throughout your life It all looked like this. You standing above the fallen, waiting for your destiny to be decided by an evil organization that thought of you as an object of killing.

Dugal's voice gave you a sense of where you were and the situation around you. Quickly, you pushed your emotions inside and regained your focus. A trait you learned from your days at Hydra. Human emotions were never well accepted by Hydra.

You shook your head as you looked at Dugal, who was clapping slowly.

"Excellent. Great job." He moved a bit towards the both of you.

"It seems you haven't changed. Still the best." You succeeded in his test.

"You did cost me all the agents in the base. But we will bring more." Dugal was proud of the two assets.

"So it's only us in here?" You were hoping to get a specific answer.

"Yes. Tomorrow, I will bring agents and recruiters. Also, scientists who know how to treat and handle great weapons like you. This will be Hydra's biggest base." Dugal seemed excited for his plan.

However, once the words left his mouth, chaos erupted everywhere.

Bucky caught the shield in his hand as Sam and Steve landed on the ground and attacked Dugal. You and Bucky moved to Nedward and Alexios. Each taking on one.

Cars and vehicles appeared everywhere, lighting up the deserted place.

This was the plan all along.

No matter how much time passed, Hydra's men would always have something in common. They were arrogant. They had an ego big enough for an entire population. And that made them stupid. That made them vulnerable to mistakes.

You and Bucky knew that more than anyone. So the plan was to trick Dugal with your alliance until he was defenceless. It was risky, but it worked.

You only let go of Alexios once handcuffs were secured around his wrists. Same with Bucky and Nedward. You turned to see Sam and Steve holding Dugal until Torres handcuffed him.

"You think you won?" His words were more direct towards you and Bucky.

"You think you can ever escape this? You think you can be free? You are delusional. Hydra will never die." Dugal continued. Torres handcuffed him, letting Steve through him in one of the more armored cars and strapping him more.

"Cut off one head; two more shall take its place. Hail HYDRA!"

Steve closed the door of the car.

They weren't planning to cut off one head. They were planning to burn down the whole bunch. No mercy. No stopping until they were all gone.

Once his voice was muted and you couldn't see him anymore, you couldn't hold up any longer. You sat on the ground, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to get hold of yourself, trying to reconnect, trying to disassociate from what just happened.

Like you, immediately after the car started to move, Bucky threw the mask off his face, finally breathing. He hated everything about this mask. Trapped like an animal behind it. Deprived of any form of humanity.

He prayed he never had to put on again.

"You okay?" Sam asked his friend, worried about the mental toll this whole act may have had on him.

Despite having his nephews being the ones in danger, Sam was against this plan. He cared about you and Bucky dearly and didn't want to know how stepping back into your assassin personas would hurt your healing. You had come a long way.

While your quick response to save his nephews and willingness to do this for them touched his heart immensely, Sam couldn't help but feel like they should come up with something else.

But both of you insisted, and it worked, but was the cost expensive?

Bucky nodded. They were okay physically, at least.

Bucky turned around to see you still sitting on the sandy ground, face in hand. He knew it wasn't just today, but the whole thing. Hydra still haunted you, messing with your progress. He understood.

Bucky sat on the ground next to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling into him and letting you lay in his laps, both of your legs on the side of his thigh. You nuzzled into his neck, holding his gear in your hand. You wanted to disappear in him.

"It's over. You're fine. You are okay. You are safe." Bucky's voice whispered in your ears, the end of his long hair touching your face and his hands wrapping up your back and waist.

You felt the tension leaving your body a bit by bit, making yourself only focus on Bucky's voice and letting yourself breathe. You knew you were surrounded by people, but you didn't care.

You only cared about Bucky right now.

You moved away from Bucky so you could look at him.

"We are okay. We are safe." You said to Bucky.

Because you cared about Bucky more than you cared about yourself. You loved Bucky more than anything. Bucky was the reason you were still alive. Bucky was your everything.

You wanted him to know that he was okay, too. You both survived this. You weren't back in that cell. You were going to your home.

Being the good-hearted person he was, Bucky always felt responsible for you. Even when he was the Winter Soldier. That's how the spark between you kindled. His instincts to protect you and care for you took a big part of him. And that made you fall deeper in love with him.

But you loved him just as much, if not more. You wanted to protect him from the hell you went through. Because he didn't deserve it. None of it.

The bigger burden of today wasn't the possibility of falling back into your old selves. It was the possibility of losing your partner to Hydra and watching them lose themselves once again.

You both came in with one goal. Protect each other to death.

And you succeeded. You were fine.

Bucky looked at you with love pouring out of his eyes. Bucky didn't understand how, after so much evil, he was still able to feel such strong emotions of love and adoration. But you melted him and lived in his heart. You were printed on his soul.

He nodded with a smile. You were okay. He leaned in and kissed you. It was a slow and gentle kiss. A reminder that you were both still yourselves. You were free. You were okay.

"Let's go home." You spoke once the kiss broke.

Home. Bucky was going home to the city he grew up in. He was going home to a place he had chosen to live. He was going home, where he would take a shower and lay on a comfortable bed. Bucky was going with his wife. Bucky was going to hold on as you both got rid of the remains of tonight. Bucky was going to hold you as you both drifted to sleep, dreaming of your future together.

Hydra didn't win. You were okay.

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hmserebusadjacent · 5 months ago

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Playing with his hair

The moment I made my post about Emmrich's hair in the new trailer, I just knew I had to write a story where Rook plays with Emmrich's hair. And here we are.

Emmrich x Trans Male Rook (Established relationship, musings on a shared life together, a self promise of a future love confession).

Word count: 1,481

AO3

It had all started with an accidental brush of Rook’s fingers. He had been innocently enough trying to even out a crease at the collar of Emmrich’s shirt when his fingers had brushed the short hairs at the back of the mage's neck.

Emmrich might have been embarrassed by the noise of delight he let out if all of his nerves weren’t tingling at once.

“Darling?”, Rook questioned, not concern in his voice but curiosity instead as he abandoned his pursuit and came to stand in front of his lover instead. Emmrich knew his smile must have looked triumphant and perhaps a little manic because Rook’s answering smile was extremely fond.

They knew each other very well at this stage, even with only knowing each other for a few months. In that time Rook had tried to get know Emmrich more than some of his colleagues had in ten plus years. It was a truly special relationship they had. With every moment, Rook proved that Emmrich’s very being, his very spirit even, had never scared him and never would.

His beauty had truly never scared the rogue, and it never would.

“I'm alright, my sweet. It's just…”

The mage paused for a moment to compose his words and Rook just waited patiently, taking hold of one of his lover’s hands as something to do more than anything else.

“You touching my hair was…electrifying. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Rook’s smile turned truly soft, and he took a step forward into Emmrich’s space.

“When was the last time someone played with your hair?”

Hmmm. The truth was, Emmrich couldn't remember the last time someone had played with his hair. Maybe his mother or his sisters had done it, but those days were long ago now.

Not being intimate with anyone before Rook hadn’t given Emmrich the opportunity to ask for or to receive such an intimate experience.

“I don't know.”

Then Emmrich decided to be brave, his own smile feeling shy as he felt his cheeks blush.

“Would you play with my hair?”

Rook’s grin was instant and delightful, making the mage feel so, so safe all over again. His lover had always been kind and gentle, and he knew he would be now too.

He adored him too much for anything else, and that was wondrous. To see Rook’s adoration always plain to see in his gaze, always present in every touch and every word.

Emmrich Volkarin had never felt more treasured in his entire life.

“Of course I can, Emmie. I always want to make you feel good.”

“You always do”, Emmrich assured, walking over to the chair that Rook motioned for him to sit in as Rook followed along behind. The very prospect of having his hair played with was now making his fingers itch to play with Rook's hair too. To sink his hands into autumn curls, to feel the way his lover's hair sprung and twined around his fingers. To release that heavenly scent of lavender and chamomile soap.

As the pair of them passed the floor length mirror that Rook seemed to be using more and more nowadays, Emmrich paused, mind swirling with an idea.

Then he grinned at Rook, holding up a hand, asking him to wait.

Shuffling a chair over took little time at all, and watching his lover's brain catch up with Emmrich's idea via his blue gaze brightening was brilliant.

“That's a nice idea”, Rook commented as Emmrich settled himself in the chair, crossing his legs at the knee.

“I always want to see you.”

Then Emmrich looked up and saw Rook in the reflection, saw himself in the reflection, and his very soul cried out with joy at how right they looked together.

Elf and human. Young and old. Grizzled but kind and optimistic and kind.

Emmrich didn't really believe in fate, but Rook made him want to believe that fate had destined to bring them together. Like the Hero of Ferelden and his former assassin. Like the Champion of Kirkwall and his beloved. Like the Inquisitor and his most treasured magister.

Would the history books talk of him and Rook with such romance, he wondered. More specifically, would Varric talk about them so romantically?

The necromancer really hoped so. More than that, he hoped they all lived to see the book published.

“Emmie? You've gone into your own mind again, haven't you?”, Rook prompted, gently squeezing his lover's shoulders and bringing Emmrich back into the present. He adored that Rook let him have those moments where he just got stuck looking at Rook himself, lost in his adoration for him.

“Sorry, I uhm…”

Being honest was always best.

Raising his hands to put them over his lover's hands, Emmrich smiled at Rook's reflection.

“I was thinking that if fate does exist, I'm glad that it brought us together. Like something out of a fairytale.”

Rook's smile properly crinkled, his eyes closing a little and revealing his laughter lines. Spirits, he was beautiful.

“The best fairytale of them all, my darling. Finding you was one of my greatest treasures of them all.”

Coming from a man who had seen so much, seen so many beautiful places but had shared his very first relationship with Emmrich, those words meant the absolute world.

“I adore you, Rook”, Emmrich whispered, turning his head to press a kiss to his lover's left hand.

“I adore you, Emmie”, Rook whispered back, leaning further round the necromancer to steal his lips for a very tender kiss. One that spoke of soft mornings, and passionate evenings. One that spoke of many years to come in their relationship and so many joys along the way.

A kiss that spoke of love too.

Emmrich would have to tell Rook that he loved him soon. There would be no hiding it soon enough.

But for now, Emmrich Volkarin was content.

Very, very content.

When the kiss ended, things could only get better from there.

Indeed, the first gentle pass of Rook's fingers through his hair, from the base of his neck to the crown of his head, was so soothing that it had Emmrich bowing his head and sighing happily.

Rook may as well have been a mage for the sheer amount of tingles he managed to produce across the necromancer's scalp. His touch was so soft, so light, brushing aside salt peppered hair easily and deftly. Emmrich tried to keep his eyes open, to keep a watchful eye on their reflections but the sensations were enough to have him slumping slightly in the chair.

“It's alright, Emmie. Just relax”, Rook encouraged, and that was all it took for the mage to close his eyes and enjoy the sensations.

Clever fingers smoothed through his hair in different directions with each swipe, making a mess of his usually neat hair but Emmrich didn't care in the slightest. He adored that Rook didn't just focus on the longer hairs near his crown, but also ran his thumbs through his sideburns and the short hairs at his nape. Feeling the pads of his fingers run round his hairline was also wonderful, Rook tracing the signs of age that he wasn't present to witness. Rook was almost tracing through time with his actions, running through events that had shaped Emmrich and how time had shaped him too.

It humbled Emmrich in the moment to think that he would be with Rook when Rook himself started to go grey. There were a few grey hairs now on his lover’s head that Emmrich thought were very distinguished looking, but the prospect of seeing Rook go fully grey was the best kind of promise. Of years to come and shared experiences, of both of them taking care of each other through thick and thin.

Emmrich Volkarin once thought he would spend the rest of his life alone. But now, knowing that he would be with Rook for a good long time to come, Emmrich couldn’t imagine ever feeling lonely again.

And that thought was what had Emmrich blearily opening his eyes and smiling dopily at his lover’s reflection, taking in all of his glory.

“If you play anymore, I fear I may actually fall asleep”, Emmrich admitted sheepishly, watching as Rook smiled and nodded, his final act being to sweep the mage’s hair back into place.

“Thank you, my sweet. You make this old man feel very treasured, safe and content.”

There was that glorious crinkly smile again, one that Emmrich hoped mirrored the love that he stored inside of him for Rook.

“I’m glad.”

For a moment Rook seemed to consider something, his gaze lingering on Emmrich’s hands. Then he was grinning, his eyes bright and shining.

“Could you play with my hair?”

As Emmrich nodded and beamed a smile at his lover, he knew that his future had never looked brighter and more full of love.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich volkahrin #emmrich volkarin x trans male rook #emmrich volkarin x rook #dragon age the veilguard #i love emmrich so much it's unreal #I can't wait to meet the gentleman necromancer #erebus adjacent writes emmrich volkarin #erebus adjacent writing adventures

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mykoreanlove · 2 years ago

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dating ban

It was a warm summer night in Seoul. Hyunjin sat in his large downtown apartment and overlooked the panorama before him. He loved watching the sunset, he loved observing all the pretty lights being reflected on Han river but most of all he loved to look at the moon. It was a full moon tonight, clear as day. He sighed heavily, his mind unable to stop, his worries racing through his head relentlessly. He took a fistful of his black hair into his hands and mumbled manically: “This can’t be true. This can’t be true. This can’t be happening to me, what the hell…”

As he took a sip of his strong drink, he thought of the day it all went haywire.

“Hyunjin, listen to me.”

He looked up pleadingly into the stern eyes of his manager.

“You are aware that you are not allowed to date. Why are you acting like this?”

Hyunjin bit on his lip contemplating just how much he should share.

“I understand that you fell in love, but listen, you have to break up with her.”

His blood turned cold the second he realized what was demanded of him. Big, frightened eyes stared back at the manager.

“I can’t do that. Hyung, please. I can’t!”

The desperation was evident for everybody in the room. Hyunjin turned to Chan begging for help:

“Chan, please, do something! I can’t break up with Y/N!”

Chan looked at him with the utmost compassion, his eyes filled with hurt as well.

“Hyunjin, I am so sorry. But you know it’s for the best. We have a huge comeback planned. You know how this industry is… The fans need you to be single. We need you to keep that image alive. I am so sorry but it’s for the best.”

Hyunjin was unable to control his emotions, his eyes giving him away. His blood boiled as he shouted at Chan:

“The best for whom? Hm, hyung? For whom?? I don’t want to break up with Y/N, I love her! Don’t you all get that?”

He breathed heavily; rage filled his whole body. He didn’t give a fuck about the manager or Chan; he didn’t give a fuck about anybody at this point – or so he thought.

“Kid” – a compassionate voice appeared behind him, almost silently calling for him. Hyunjin turned around, faced by JYP himself.

“I understand your concerns but is it really worth it? Is she worth giving up your career for?”

Hyunjin turned silent. Memories of the last years flooded his mind. All the hard work he put into this, into himself and the band. Excruciating late night dance practices, singing lessons, hurt ankles, lost friendships, mean scandals, hateful lies spread about him, sleepless nights and overworked days. But he also thought of all the joy it brought him: the friendship with the guys, the ability to express himself artistically, the high of being on stage, the love from fans, the luxury it offered him, the security he provided for his family.

In that moment he knew he had to give you up, as he was not ready to give up on his passion just yet. Hyunjin took another good look at the moon and wondered if that was the right decision back then. He took another sip and pulled out his journal.

He wrote to you all the time, even though he never sent those letters. It gave him peace imagining it was you. He bought a special notebook just for conversations with you – he found it in an antique bookstore he used to go to with you. As he opened it, he noticed how many pages were already filled. He took the pen into his hands:

Dear Y/N,

How are you doing? I hope you’re okay. Because I am not. I miss you so much, I fear I am going crazy without you. I keep thinking about you all the damn time. I thought I made the right decision back then but I’m not so sure anymore. My days are filled with sorrow and longing for you. Have you moved on, yet? I can’t even bare to think about you with someone else. I am so sorry, Y/N. I am so sorry I brought us into this situation.

I knew it was wrong from the beginning. You and I both knew that it was forbidden to date. But I couldn’t help myself. I mean, how could I?

You are so special Y/N, I fell for you the second I saw you. You are so beautiful. I am surrounded by idols and models daily and trust me not a single soul could ever compare to your beauty. And I’m not even talking about your outer appearance. I am talking about all of you, about your soul. Angel, to me you are divine. When I was younger, I often asked myself how my future wife should be. I wanted her to be beautiful and cute. I wanted her to be charming and funny. I wanted her to be smart and expressive. I wanted her to be compassionate and kind. Oh, and I wanted to be with her and feel light. You know? Happy, loved, at peace – like my life was in perfect flow. And once I met you, and got to know you, I met someone who exceeded all of my expectations. You are so much more than the things I wished for. And you were mine. Oh my god, I was the happiest man alive. I couldn’t shut up about you, I was always bragging about you. I wanted everybody to know how amazing you are. Because you are. I care about you so much; I really mean it. I want you to be happy, even if it can’t be with me.

I beat myself up a lot over what has happened. If it weren’t for me, we’d be together right now. And I would hold you in my arms, placing soft kisses on the top of your head. I would whisper into your ear how much I love you and that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Y/N, you would look at me with your bright eyes and smile. That pretty smile of yours always makes my heart flutter. I would spend the rest of my life making you happy. Taking you out on dates, holding your hand and giving you sweet kisses. Listening to you when you’re sad and comforting you with all my love. I’d paint you all the time because you inspire me so much. I’d pin you down on the bed and made love to you all night long until you no longer could scream my name.

I’d hold you in my arms and tell you what a good girl you were for me and ask you about marriage and kids. I can’t shake the feeling that you and I would have been so happy together.

Y/N, do you know how your number is saved in my phone?

It’s LomL.

Love of my life. These words now taste bittersweet. I really love you. I am sure I will never stop loving you. I can’t ask you to wait for me, I know that’s not fair. I can’t tell you all those things because it makes it harder for you to let me go.

Hence, this is all I got. My confessions to you, forever kept in this lovely journal. I guess I was tired of talking to the moon about you and needed a change. I’m sure the moon misses you as badly as I do. In another world I would have told you that I will always be by your side, that I would never leave you. I would tell you that our love was special and unbreakable, no matter what happened. Sadly, I can’t. I couldn’t keep my promise. So, I had to let you go.

I hope you feel better than I do. I hope you are not weighed down by our lost love like I am. I love you Y/N.

Forever yours, Hyunjin.

Tears were staining his cheeks once again. Hyunjin looked up at the moon and wondered if there was another solution. Why couldn’t he have it all? He remembered what his mother used to tell him when he was a kid:

“Jinnie, if you want to go into show business, I will always support you. You are so talented; you can do anything. But please be aware. You have to pay a high price for fame, your life won’t be yours anymore.”

He remembered nodding eagerly.

“That’s okay Mom, I will pay the price. I will make it, just wait and see!”

He wiped away his tears, smiling back at his little self.

“You fool”, pity in his voice, “you had no idea just how much you’d have to pay.”

Part 2 🖲️

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yiga-hellhole · 2 months ago

Text

TFTK CHAPTER 25: RECRUITMENT UNDER THE TWILIGHT KING

After Zant seized the Triforce of power, the next-most important phase of his plan enters: rebuilding his army. Old allies are in need of rescuing and, conveniently, they happen to be trapped right in his fortress of choice.

aaand welcome back! the next 4 chapters have been up on ao3 for a bit, but i only just got around to the promo art. thank you all for your patience! inspo for the top panel comes from kentaro miura's berserk, chapter 86 [MIND CONTENT WARNINGS IF YOU HAVEN'T READ BERSERK BEFORE], because i wanted this moment of tenderness to look unnerving. YAY <3

speaking of content warnings. CW this chapter for gore and graphic violence. this chapter was betaread, as usual, by @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte ! thank u so much!

ao3 mirror

A ludicrous fantasy Ghirahim would once have mocked was now reality: Zant had claimed the Triforce. Its power thrummed in his veins like a second heartbeat, felt in shocks with the slightest touch. He felt it when Zant’s hand plunged into his chest to take their blade; he felt it when they shared a bed, ramming against his cheek when he laid his head upon his chest; he felt it when they as much as crossed gazes. Always deep, resonant, and rhythmic, the heavy beating of a drum right in his ears. It was alive – breathing that life into that wilted thing of a host, who had died two times too many.

It’d been in his possession for mere days, and already their enemies were grasping for cards. None knew whether to storm wherever he lingered, or to evacuate wherever his serpent eyes sought their next siege. Ghirahim stayed by his side as his scabbard, as his retainer, and, somewhat discreetly, as his lover, march after march, watching the shimmering ocean of battles carried out in their name below, but finding far more intrigue in seeing their flames reflected in the Twilight King’s eyes. There was coldness in them, ruthless like a natural-born killer, but through it burst the sparks of a manic joy. Of elation, that tugged at the corners of his lips. These days, it was getting more and more difficult to read him.

This was the fourth day. They made it to the Temple of Souls in record time. Winter had not been kind to it – where once a labyrinth of lush roses grew rampantly on its estate, there was now a nonsensical mass of dead, black thorns, so brittle to the touch Ghirahim couldn’t imagine them piercing skin. Yet they must have been, because there rang the occasional whine from their soldiers chopping the paths down. Ghirahim quietly thanked the fact Yuga was stuck in prison somewhere in that dark, gloomy building. The Sorcerer surely wouldn’t have liked to see what had become of his prized garden, much less what Zant’s forces were doing to it.

When they broke through this first line of defense, the second stood waiting. Four days was not many to prepare against a siege, but it had been enough for Hyrule to put them in a small spot of trouble. Their forces were struggling, a sea of thorns at their backs to be pushed into, and wooden clubs meeting their match against tempered steel.

But Zant seemed unperturbed. He simply stood and stared at the Temple, watching as the last snowmelt dripped down the balcony. He turned to Ghirahim almost casually, held out his hand, and said, “Perhaps it is a little early for a spring cleaning, but we might as well start, no?”

His Blade answered wordlessly, took his hand. Fingers entwined, they stepped past their frontlines and into contested ground… Only for a shockwave to tear through the opposing forces, and cleave them a path. Those that didn’t perish from the impact launched backward, slamming against the stone staircase leading up to the temple. They traversed this carpet of fallen soldiers almost without a care in the world, undisturbed by those who attempted to break past the force fields around them. Their steps forcing the blood out of crushed organs beneath, crimson splatters colored the ground where petals once lay. The occasional, opportunistic allied soldier would dart past them, but up until the doorway, they cleanly passed down their aisle.

What would normally require a battering ram and the effort of dozens of men, took Zant nothing but a forceful shove of the palm. The stone door before them thudded and shrieked, a spiderweb of cracks digging into its surface. It gave way soon after. Down it crumbled, the parts of it still intact creaking inwards on loose hinges. Past the rubble, dust, and pebbles, the next wave of Hyruleans greeted their intruders. The first fool to close in on them would feel a sword sneak past his gorget, and then, feel nothing at all. Blood fresh on his blade, Ghirahim struck down the next, and the next, and the next, fighting tirelessly to guide the Twilight King through the crowd.

But where were they headed? They knew nothing of where their prisoners were kept. Digging in his memory, Ghirahim recalled nothing vaguely even resembling prison cells in the entire building. The Temple was an archive, a sanctuary, a mansion. It was not meant to know enemies, much less to harbor them. Moreover, the place was a veritable maze. If they ran around recklessly in search of their lieutenants, they would certainly get ambushed.

At the risk of losing his focus, he started to dowse. Yuga… Though a powerful mage, his presence had always been weak. Ghirahim did not typically track smaller targets, but for the sake of speed, he attempted nonetheless. He honed in on a sound, a smell, a memory… Shrill laughter, rosewater, and a wicked glare from across the studio. Weak chimes in his core confirmed his calibration.

Yuga was upstairs. But, barely, it seemed… Whatever that meant. He had no time to linger upon it. Amidst his faltering concentration, Zant had slid in to defend him. This sight filled him with such an instinctual feeling of disgrace he took not a split second of hesitation to grab him by the arm, and promptly warped the both of them to the top of the stairs.

Hyrulean troops were sparser here, but they would not be for long once word spread they’d arrived here. Ghirahim looked left, looked right, hoping for a confirming chime to ring out.

Left wing.

Zant kept pace with him, but Ghirahim felt his burning look of inquiry at his back. “Yuga is kept this way,” he hissed out as they ran down the hall. “It’s best we get to him quickly.”

Oh, he could hear it already. How reckless it was to rush ahead with their troops lagging so far behind. How the path should have been clear before breaking out a prisoner. But the fool dragging behind him now had far too much power to worry about such practicalities. They cleaved through the hallway, right past the windows, the paintings –

… This seemed familiar to Ghirahim. He had a feeling he knew where they were keeping the Sorcerer. Very quickly, he found the thought of it alone tacky.

To his chagrin, they found the jail room a mere few turns later. Steel bars had been fitted over the door and the stained glass windows around it. Before it stood waiting a handful of guards, who rushed toward them at once. Yuga was imprisoned in his own atelier.

Ghirahim sighed and took the first of the guards down. These men were slightly more competent, he noted quietly. They would have to be, considering who they were trying to keep in. It took a few nicks on his skin and clothing for him to find a moment’s respite to turn to Zant.

“You can break through those bars yourself, no?”

He nodded in response, hesitating but a moment to step closer to the door. “Right, before we head inside. Yuga is going to be in an incredibly sensitive state. I think it would be wise if I led the conversation,” Zant said, ignoring the guard rushing towards the both of them until he sent the man sailing down the hallway with a flick of his hand. “I fear you might lack the tact for it.”

“Lacking tact? Me? You have some nerve,” Ghirahim growled, refusing to humor him with his usual light air of banter. “You’ve spent far too much time buttering me up to start insulting me now.”

“It’s just a piece of perspective you lack. I mean nothing bad by it,” Zant responded, his hands raised defensively.

Arms folded loosely as to not lose his grip on his sword, Ghirahim frowned back. “And what, pray tell, is it that I lack? Or do you think me too stupid to comprehend whatever you’ve got planned?”

“Come now, not so hasty. It’s just an observation I made. Your disdain for mortals makes you miss out on crucial details, Ghirahim-ili. Do you have even the slightest idea as to what could make him… Distraught?”

Ghirahim sighed, furrowing his brow. “Yuga is distraught to tears at the drop of a hat, to begin with. Were he to be upset in particular about witnessing the defeat of our Master, or something as juvenile as his precious roses being torn down, he would have little more reason to grieve than I do.”

Rumbling down the hall. Some crowd was approaching, whether friend or foe. They both ignored it completely in favor of their conversation. Zant smirked at Ghirahim’s response. “As I thought. I must specify. Had you listened, you would have caught that Lorule is a kind of mirror world. In it, a doppelgänger of each living being is born… Yuga, as it would seem, fills the role of Ganondorf in his world.”

His esoteric trivia again. Ghirahim found it odd timing, frustrating almost. He certainly didn’t enjoy the implications this one carried. “... I see. What about it?”

“A bit of sympathy is in order, is all. To give you some perspective. To lose Ganondorf, to him, would be akin to tearing your scabbard from you, and leave you without a hand to wield you. You could live, certainly…”

Ghirahim’s furrowed brow relaxed, his face now solemn. Zant was prodding at sore spots and he knew it – Ghirahim had experienced both of those, in relatively short succession, in the past few months. He was forced to speak aloud what he’d kept quietly to himself that entire time. “... But I wouldn’t be complete.”

“Precisely.”

At once, Ghirahim was annoyed. Must he have been reminded of such agonies now, and share them with one he was so cross with? He had long opinionated himself about Yuga’s incessant clinging to what was supposed to be his Master, but this bit of empathetic pampering from Zant drove a nail right into his ire. Yuga was no more special than he. Even less so! What was a failed copy to a loyal blade!? How infuriating.

“Hah! And you speak of tact,” Ghirahim exclaimed, frowning with a nasty grin. He decided there was little point in bickering in the hallway. So he marched on forward, giving Zant a stiff shove in the back to hurry him to the door. “This entire lecture could have been condensed to a simple, ‘Ghirahim-ili, let me handle this’. Not a snide comment necessary!”

Zant hardly stumbled, but easily swayed by him as ever, did exactly as he wanted. “Perhaps you are right, but I wanted to even the scales on the snark you’ve been giving me the past few months, just a little.”

“You are very lucky I can’t break through that helmet, Twili.”

“I’m thankful for it every minute.”

With the doorway now free to open, Zant opened the door with silent care and slithered inside. “Yuga, Lord of Lorule. We’ve come to free you from death row,” he announced.

When Ghirahim followed behind him, he realized instantly what Zant must have meant by a ‘sensitive state’. The atelier had been completely thrashed. Broken bottles of pigments littered the floor into a desolate rainbow amidst the toppled furniture. Strewn around the room, some crooked on the wall, were the remains of portraits, their faces burned off. There was but one painting intact enough to discern its subject – though for all of them, it could easily be gleaned. The scene unfolded just by the tall windows, covered in bars and thorns as they were, the grey skies beyond them shrouding the room in a cold, dull light.

Ghirahim felt an icy chill under the golden gaze of his late Master, piercing through him from across the atelier. The last depiction of Ganondorf he might ever see again, rendered in this loving detail, captured him in an instant, with his wild, fiery hair, his powerful build, and that stern, ambitious look that drove him to grovel every time it turned to him. So engrossed was Ghirahim, that he hadn’t noticed the figure wilting before it.

Yuga sat at the base of the portrait, leaning into a nearby chair for support, as if he once had collapsed there and hadn’t gotten up since. He was shrouded in black, the only color on him now being from his own hair. The once so-well-kept ringlets that bounced on his shoulders had collapsed into an unruly mass of curls, and just then, shifted across his back as he blearily turned his head.

Some glint of surprise passed through his face, but Yuga did not seem to have the energy to have it linger. As he turned to them, Ghirahim’s eye landed on one particular detail. In his madness, Yuga had ripped the casing of a decorative pillow to shreds with his teeth.

“... Zant? Ghirahim? You – Am I seeing ghosts?”

Zant stepped closer into the light, a dull white interlaced with the shadows of prison bars. “Worry not for your sanity, Yuga. We are very much alive.”

“But… The Desert… We were certain you had perished,” Yuga tried to reason.

Zant’s helmet clattered and folded in on itself. Beneath it, he smiled sympathetically. “By the skin of my teeth, I survived. I have Ghirahim to thank for it.”

Yuga turned to look at Ghirahim again, who, struggling to keep his expression straight after such a grating comment, nodded in acknowledgement. “I would be glad to see you, but, my friends, look at the state I’m in. My masterpieces. Our army. Our Master,” he prattled on, gesturing pathetically to himself. Before Ghirahim could ponder on how pitiful he looked, Yuga’s words took a bitter turn. “Why didn't you assist us?”

Excuses at the ready as usual, Zant responded quickly. “I was bedridden, still, the day Ganon fell. And if I hadn’t been, I doubt our late Master would have wanted us to come to his aid.”

Barely suspended disbelief crossed Yuga’s squinted eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Ganondorf betrayed us. That desert was meant to be our deathbed, and we failed to comply to his wishes by refusing to be buried in it. I suspect he had been displeased with us ever since our defeat at Death Mountain, and has been attempting to get rid of us since.”

Liar. Filthy, snake-tongued liar.

“... That – I had no idea, to think that he would…” Yuga was still for a long time, for as far as the chaos outside allowed for stillness. “Fool I was. To be so close to him, and so blind to his plans. But what does it matter now? You say you are here to free me. What, exactly, is left of me to free? I’m nothing, now. I’ve failed, I’ve been humiliated, and now, I am more powerless than I’ve ever been.”

And Yuga was buying every word of it like it was on discount. How fragile grief made the mortal mind! It was getting more and more difficult for Ghirahim to mask his disgust. But he could not simply zone out, close himself off from this exchange. These were lies that the both of them would have to hold dear, as to not betray to Yuga that they were complicit in the fall of Ganon. It would be a very, very bitter lie, for possibly centuries to come.

Again Zant walked closer to his frail lieutenant. He stood across him now, mere steps away. “On the contrary, Yuga. You will be instrumental in my plans.”

“... Plans? Oh, Usurper. Don’t tell me,” Yuga laughed weakly.

Those final steps were crossed. Zant hunched down, taking Yuga’s hands in his and squeezing them. “But I am. Yuga, you have wit. You have magic. But more importantly, you have my trust. ”

Zant then laid his hands on his shoulders, staring him down with those wide eyes of his. “Tell me, Yuga. What is it that you wish?”

His solemn chuckling having just come to an end, Yuga’s malicious side slipped through the cracks of his composure. He shook his head, cackling to himself through gritted teeth. His next words were growled through tears. “That horrid land gone. I wish all of Hyrule to fall on its knees before me, its people begging us to forgive what they've done. Then, I want it reduced to dust.”

“Then we share similar goals, Lord of Lorule,” Zant smiled. He sensed weakness and dug his jaws in. “What of our Master? Would you not wish him back?”

Fury bulged through the veins in Yuga’s neck. “... Pay… They’ll pay for taking him from us. From ME! Of course I wish for him. It feels like I’ve lost a limb, Zant. Like a part of me has atrophied. But a childish wish like that…”

Just as Yuga faltered again, Zant held him tighter, leaning into his field of vision. “Would you believe me if I told you, that there is a way? To feel his presence, for his power to dwell in you?”

Yuga’s head fell, his voice whittling down to a whimper. “... Mercy…”

“You say you want vengeance. To reduce Hyrule to dust. Then we have that in common, Lord of Lorule!”

As fiercely as he did tenderly, Zant cupped Yuga’s face in his hands. At once forced to look straight at the other man, the first face he’s earnestly met in what may have been weeks, Yuga widened his eyes in surprise. Then, as the sad figure froze in his hands, Zant lunged down and kissed him firmly on the forehead.

Yuga yelped in surprise, his frame seizing up. Then convulsing, as a powerful pulse emitted from the both of them, strong enough to rattle the room and all its inhabitants. A grey, runed pallor spread through Yuga’s skin for just a heartbeat. As small as that glimpse of power had been, it was enough for him to burst into tears. Clinging to Zant’s breeches, he sobbed, and wailed, and pleaded. As simple as that, a new allegiance was forged.

Ghirahim’s eye trailed from the gray hand stroking and soothing the mourning sorcerer’s shoulder, up to Zant’s face. When their eyes met, a triumphant, subtly vicious smile flashed back at him. What a dangerous ally he’d made.

Time came to free their other prisoner. By now, their forces had fought all the way up to the door to Yuga’s impromptu holding cell. A proper entourage was waiting for them at last. The last words exchanged and his tears dried, Yuga shifted in his seat. In his lap, he still held a black handkerchief, greyed, faded, and laces frayed, where listless hands had wrung the wetted fabric.

Their lieutenant made some wantful gesture behind him. “My crutches, please, I –” He struggled for a moment, hissing against the movement of his sore legs. “My apologies, I haven’t moved from this spot in quite some time.”

One of Yuga’s crutches turned out broken, doubtlessly during the same chaos that razed through the room he was confined in. Yuga paid the rest of the room no heed as they departed, making a clear effort to aim his gaze at nothing but the exit. Unpracticed as he was with but one crutch, Ghirahim joined his vulnerable side. It was a sorely uncomfortable affair. Both of them, in mourning, regretting the death of the one who symbolized their previous Masters. Yet, Ghirahim himself was composed, while the one currently hanging on his arm was a blubbering mess. Hidden behind a black veil was he, with reddened, puffed-over eyes, his gaunt cheeks, and the flaky skin on his fingers, drenched in tear-stained eczema. His despair truly made him ugly.

Though, he supposed Yuga had stayed by his Master’s side until the very end. Abandonment, betrayal, such forces would never come to stifle whatever sadness came to rear its head in the poor wretched Lorian.

Ghirahim knew the raw spot his companion carried on his person now all too well. In his envy of such open weeping, he felt inclined to rip it open. At the risk of a warning glare from Zant, he broke his silence.

“I have to know, Yuga. That final hour. Did he die with glory?”

Yuga swallowed, sucked in a choked breath. He stumbled for a moment. Was it truly so easy to topple his composure like this? How delightfully weak.

“Never before have I seen such power. Such raw, glorious fury, encapsulating all he stood for. He was everything, Ghirahim,” were the words he landed upon, final like the closing of a book.

Their violent chaperones huddled like a shield around the three of them, they traversed the swirling halls of the Temple. They did so in silence, mostly, with Zant too focused on tracking the Ring Spirit’s vague magical aura, and the other pair, too engrossed in their own thoughts to waste any words. The deeper they crossed into the Temple, the less disturbance they received. Snarling against their foes, the Bulblin soldiers guarding their flanks fought off the few that dared pursue them into this labyrinth.

As though breaking free from a spell, Yuga mustered the decency to speak to the one assisting him in walking. He turned to Ghirahim with a slight smile. “You have contempt for him, don’t you, Ghirahim? He broke his promise to you.”

Ghirahim did not respond. The way he shifted his gaze to the floor could have been taken as a refusal to answer, but really, he was just considering the thought for his own curiosity. Contempt? Was he capable of feeling such things for his Masters? How would he go about picking such feelings out from between the mountain of disappointment, sadness, and guilt? This overall inadequacy?

Yuga did not let him consider for long. His smile turned wistful as he spoke. “I tried for you, you know. When he was in one of his rare, fair moods, I’d approach him, and I’d ask, ‘Master, would it really be so terrible if you took him to your next battle? That boy cares for you so, it pains me to see him so neglected’. And do you know what he said?”

Yuga’s words almost shocked him. Fond reminiscence over mutual loss of a meaningful person. Common among mortals, but unheard of for him. How quaint. He’d never had a conversation like this before. The novelty of it alone made Ghirahim set his frustrations with Yuga aside, if only to see as many sides of this exchange as possible. “No. What did he say?”

Yuga mustered a laugh, lowering his voice somewhat in imitation of their Ganondorf. “ ‘That ‘boy’ of yours,’ he said, ‘is a millennia old weapon. You’d do better not to make him go soft’. A hopeless affair, it was! Even for me!”

The realization that Yuga had vouched for him, pleaded for wishes in his stead, without his knowing or urging, weighed on a part of his mind he didn’t recognize. What a strange favor… Ghirahim looked to the man beside him, now seeing an ally… No, a friend, he hadn’t known he had.

His own ignorance, paired with the thorough typicality of Yuga’s words, brought him a burst of laughter. Yes, that was how their Master was, exactly! “He was right, you know.”

And though Yuga joined him in his laughter, Ghirahim turned away just as his companion was distracted by nostalgic mirth, to hide sadness of his own. That simple exchange confirmed it. The truth settled heavily in his soul. Ganondorf never intended to wield him. Never had, never would. He swallowed the finality of it all and bore the thorns it drove into his throat with silence.

After a long trek through foggy corridors, Zant stopped. To their right stood a door, at first glance unremarkable, with its mundane size and simple wooden frame. Stepping closer, one would notice it completely plastered in talismans. Different colors, shapes, sizes – Ghirahim thought he could even distinguish different scripts. The Hyruleans were thorough with their wards, for even the Demon Lord felt an unpleasant sting standing near the door. Had Wizzro been kept there, these wards would certainly be keeping him firmly trapped inside.

To the living, though, such things were mere strips of paper, and Zant began idly picking at their edges to peel them right off the door. As he did so, Ghirahim cast a bored look to where they came from, squinting against the persisting fog. He wondered if they’d be able to make it back.

With the talismans removed, the lot of them passed through to find some matter of lodging, perhaps one meant for servants or guests. Its furnishings were mostly empty, save for some boxes and trinkets scattered around the shelves. But, more importantly, there sat a plain jewelry box upon the dressing table, a big, bright red talisman sticking it shut.

Zant seemed to notice his gawking and sidled up beside him. “I do believe I have kept you bored this entire siege. If you would like to do the honors…”

Yuga now taken off his hands, Ghirahim accepted Zant’s offer. He approached the box, and though the talisman itched his fingers through his gloves, he peeled it off no problem.

Almost immediately, the jewelry box began to shake. Cacophonous jingling of little accessories grated the ears, until a murky, groaning sound muffled all else. At once, the box shot open, a shadowy form bursting forth with clawed hands and gnashing teeth.

“A damn fool you are, to let me out of –” Wizzro roared, only to sheepishly fold into himself once he saw who stood before him. He let out an awkward chuckle. “Ah, erm, gentlemen. Hhhhi.” His mouth closed, then shifted into an eye, which darted between the three men before him. He lingered particularly on Zant, whose magic output evidently made him the biggest presence in the room. Naturally, a Spirit such as Wizzro couldn’t wrestle his attention away from such a phenomenon if he wanted to. “You’ll have to excuse me for the outburst. You see I’ve been eh, locked in that box for – How long, Yuga?”

“Beats me,” said Yuga, unenthused about being involved in the conversation.

“Yes, you get the idea. Quite a bit. Stewing in rage the whole time. You know how it is.”

Ghirahim raised a brow, having stood there deadpanned this entire exchange thusfar. “Sure.”

“Either way, so,” Wizzro said, turning away from them to hide his face. He rummaged around in the box for a bit, plucked his own ring out, and twisted it nervously around his finger. “There’s something… New, housing itself in you, isn’t there, Zant?”

Zant simply stared.

“I take it we’re under new management?”

Now, Zant smiled. “You learn fast. Yes, Wizzro. I will be requiring your services.”

“How much… Bargaining space, do you allot me, Twili? You should know, a spirit like me is in high demand.”

“I know every inch of that fickle mind of yours, Wizzro. You shall have nothing to complain about. And if you did, I would give you reason not to.”

“ Oh yeah. You haven’t changed. Good, good. Very well, then. When do we start?”

“Right away, Wizzro, my good man,” said Zant, holding out his hand as if offering to shake it. Pointedly, his right, so that Wizzro would have no choice but to join hands with his ring in the middle. Ghirahim exchanged a look with the poor sod as he floated by to accept, and found him more nervous than he’d ever seen him.

The shriek that rang throughout the room the second they shook on their pact confirmed that Wizzro had good reason to be nervous. Something told Ghirahim the conniving rat wouldn’t be giving them too much trouble from here on out. With that out of the way, the group of them, reunited at last, turned back down the hallway. There were still rats in the Temple, after all, and no King worth his salt would be caught dead with vermin in his home.

One last ally remained, and he may have been the most difficult to persuade. Frankly, Ghirahim wasn’t enthused about this one, but they were strapped for commanders. His personal opinions, therefore, meant very little. So, there they stood, at the mouth of the Northern Eldin Cave system. Naturally, as they had succeeded in doing so before, their army would greatly benefit from recruiting an entire clan of dragons. Now that Hyrule had succeeded in doing the same, they could not afford to lose their own.

Thus Zant described it to his co-lieutenants. It was just the two of them today, leaving Yuga to rest and Wizzro to tend to administration. Ghirahim was simply tagging along as his scabbard, as he usually did, these days. To-day, he was glad for it. He wasn’t particularly enthused about the idea of holding a conversation about the dreadful bore that was Volga, Dragon Knight. And he was certain it was Volga they were meeting with. The Dragons of this world hold boundless wisdom, though very few are equipped with the ability to relay it in mortal tongue. This left the Fire Dragons of Eldin with no option but to send their representative before the Twilight King. With the occasional gigantic serpentine head peeping in from the tunnels, Volga met them in solitary attendance, held emphatically close by the entrance of the cave system.

“Sir Volga. We meet again,” announced Zant.

Volga, though clearly displeased by even the sight of his two ‘guests’, kept an impressively stiff upper lip before them. “You know very well I do not bother with formalities. State your business.”

“My conquering of the Seer’s territory surely has not slipped your notice.”

“It has not.”

“You will also expect that I am not content with this alone. Even after Ganondorf’s defeat, Hyrule remains contested ground. Your people, too, have stakes in this. This dwelling alone convinces me. Your relatives hunching through the tunnels behind you, I presume, are far too large, too numerous, to dwell in the caves of a nursery. You wish to expand.”

With a pound of his spear, Volga scoffed, though he did not smile. “Clearly you know everything. Yet you bother to come and interrogate me. Why?”

“I simply thought a little sympathy might prove my good intentions to you.”

Volga, unlike many, saw through Zant’s sweetened words remarkably quickly. That was just about the one of the few things Ghirahim appreciated about him: the man’s resolve was like steel. “Silence! I will not hear another word. Shadow Lord, you are an open book. Next, you thought to offer some grand compromise, a way to use my people as your pawns.

I decline!“

At lack of response, Volga held his pike at the ready, fire pooling from between his teeth. “I will not repeat myself. Leave!”

Zant chuckled from behind his helmet, padding backward in resignation. But Ghirahim could see this surrender was completely false. Inside those massive sleeves, his fingers itched and twiddled. So Ghirahim steeled himself, his hands tense behind his back.

As he predicted, once Zant joined his side, he jerked his head toward him with violent anticipation. With a snap of his fingers, Ghirahim’s cloak disappeared, his chest exposed. Zant hesitated not even a second to rip his scimitar from its scabbard and bear down on the Dragon Warrior with voracity.

Ghirahim, naturally, could not stand idly by. Volga’s fighting style was far more exciting to him than the dolt himself, and Ghirahim eagerly seized the opportunity to witness it up close. With a whirlwind-strength spin of his polearm, gashes formed across the torsos of both Volga’s opponents. Yet it deterred neither of them. Furious blows were exchanged between the embers bursting through the air, the temperature in the tunnels at once reaching a scorching heat. Had it just been him and the Dragon, Ghirahim thought, this battle would have been delightfully equally matched, and he would have been eager to tear victory from his clawed gauntlets at the very last second. As it stood, Zant was there also, weakened only by his lack of killing intent. Ghirahim had almost gotten carried away by the thrill of battle – they were there to oh-so-diplomatically convince Volga, not murder him outright. Playtime was over soon. The butt end of Volga’s spear shot towards him, and he surrendered through a refusal to dodge. As Ghirahim tumbled back onto the stone floor, he watched as Zant stood poorly guarded before the warrior now barreling towards him… And suddenly, the Twilight King disappeared.

There was a mere flash of confusion when Zant vanished from sight. Volga had but a second to check his surroundings before his adversary appeared behind him, his spell-drenched hands now enclosed over his eyes.

A sizzle. He screamed. Ghirahim could only catch a glimpse of what Zant had done between Volga’s frantic clawing at his face, but it was enough to draw the conclusion. Slowly, but surely, a metallic, black mask was spreading across his eyes and fusing to his helmet. As Volga stumbled around the corridor, swinging wildly to find either an anchor or the wicked man who did this to him, the darkness down the cave began to clear.

Looming above the group of men was the rest of the draconic Clan, glaring at them with piercing teal eyes. Some bared their teeth in rage, tongues lashing and sulfurous drool burning holes into the floor, while others swelled their throat sacs, bright and glowing with kindling flame.

Yet Zant stood comfortably, almost oblivious to it all. Ghirahim came to put himself between the Twili and the panicking knight, with his blade drawn to threaten the foes before them. But something told him that even without this measure of protection, Zant would have had the same poise.

Zant spread his arms amicably. His upturned hands served as a gesture of peace, but the slight shimmer in the air betrayed it as a somatic command also, for shields to protect him from the dragons’ rage.

“You wish to have him back, no? Volga is a formidable warrior.”

Deaf and blind to his surroundings, Volga began to shift, as if cracking through the shell of his current form could save him from this blight. It did not – red scales turned to pitch black, jagged and pulsing with cyan magic. Ghirahim kicked the nuisance in the horn when he threatened to get too close.

Zant continued his oration. “Then hear me! If it is Eldin that you want, then my Kingdom shall have space for you. I merely request one favor in return: assist me in taking over Hyrule Castle. Doubtlessly, the Princess will have similar plans to my own, and I need the might of your people to overpower her.”

The teeth of his helmet clattering to expose half his face, Zant smiled. “Does that not sound so violently simple?”

The serpentine heads above them growled, their wild eyes darting between each other. Some snarled, baring their teeth, others squinted, and yet others bowed their heads in resignation. With the loss of their interpreter, the beasts had no way to communicate with this strange adversary. But, after what looked like some squabbling, of nipping at one another and snorting steaming breaths, the hostile among them hesitantly turned and retreated into the caves. The largest dragon remaining locked eyes with Zant and nodded.

Zant’s gentle smile from before turned into a wide grin. With a clap of his hands, Volga stopped struggling. At once, he shrunk in on himself, his draconian features reverting back to humanoid ones. But he was different from before. His armor remained pitch black, jagged and pointy, his eyes covered by a visor that seemed melded to his flesh.

“I will return him to you when Hyrule Castle is secure and my usurpation is finished,” said Zant, nonchalantly under the eyes of the shocked dragons. Doubtlessly, they expected him to revert the curse. “Until then, he will follow me just like this. I’ve found he gets rather uppity when you don’t keep the reins tight… Now, farewell!”

Volga followed Zant wordlessly, like a drone, as the latter cheerfully turned to waltz right back out of the cave. Ghirahim shot one pitying look at the Dragon Warrior’s remaining clan, whose hearts collectively crumbled, and turned to follow.

With three more high-ranking officials under his belt, Zant’s life as a royal stabilized, turned almost mundane. The Temple claimed as their home base, the next phase of his conquering creaked to a slow start, gears a-turning. Piles upon piles of correspondence stacked on his desk, Zant himself laid low, having his commanders at their territory’s borders keep his little place free from violence. It seemed to be working splendidly, because their pretentious pontifex of a King was taking full liberty to have some time off. Ghirahim stood at the staff entrance of the Temple, hands in his sides, waiting for the shadows in the distance to get a little closer.

Drawing near were Zant, riding the very same Bullbo he once carried the defeated Zelda on (he’d developed a fondness for the beast and was very pleased to discover it was still alive); and Lord Dargas, reigning Duke of Tarm. The plan seemed to be to pamper that wretched noble… Something about guaranteeing them a spot in Holodrum, in case they wanted to expand territories. Ghirahim watched the man fuss over his mustache and depend on three separate pages to get his arse down from his ludicrously sized horse and wondered if they couldn’t have picked some other vaguely rebellious province for that scheme.

Ghirahim stepped aside to let through three Bulblins pulling a cart containing the spoils of their hunt, to find Zant trailing not far behind them. Said Twili came up to him smiling brightly.

Such a smile did nothing to Ghirahim. “So. Did you have fun dodging your responsibilities with our good Duke? I don’t see what you’re stalling for.”

“To you it may seem like stalling,” Zant said, handing the massive spear he’d wielded over to a waiting squire. The weapon was so stupidly large, even an oaf like him wouldn’t miss. “But this, too, is part of politics.”

Ghirahim bumped him just a touch too casually for polite company. Said polite company pranced past them, his suit fully in order and dusted off, and the three of them exchanged a cordial greeting.

Ghirahim’s expression soured the second the Duke was out of view. “You’re trying to win simple favors, now? How very unlike you.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve put it to the test,” Zant began, placing a hand on Ghirahim’s shoulder to lead him into the garden. “For a King, there are two ways to assert his authority. The first would be appeasement; the second, tyranny, forcing obedience purely through violence. Considering your status as Demon Lord, I need not guess which of the two you are more familiar with.”

Ghirahim grinned. “And you are not?”

“Oh, I am. Most intimately, in fact. Tyranny is how I claimed Hyrule initially, and it is how Ganondorf led his army, as well. Coincidentally, both attempts failed, resulting in our deaths.”

“So you’ve decided to play nice,” Ghirahim teased, nudging Zant’s hand so it could slip to the small of his back.

“Not exactly… Relying on appeasement alone would require resources that we lack. Those of noble blood want extravagance and their every wish fulfilled. Which is where my experience with Twilit politics will serve me well…” Zant trailed off a moment, kicking a perished rose branch into the shrubbery. “Tell me, Ghirahim-ili. What impression would it give to freshly war-torn people, to be met with a new competitor of the throne, who immediately throws luxurious parties?”

Ghirahim gave it some thought. “I’d imagine it could go either which way. Either you assert yourself as resourceful, or you might strike them as a pompous prick who doesn’t know how to handle his own wealth.” Which wouldn’t be too far off, he thought to himself.

“Precisely. That is a gamble I cannot afford at this stage. So, we show them hospitality, a willingness to listen to their demands… But, just as Hyrule does, we have a trump card.”

Zant lifted his hand, his long sleeve dropping down to flash the mark of Power.

“Connection to the divine. I have claimed the Triforce of Power, as none before me could ever achieve, and I’ve wielded its power to seize the North. Any unwillingness to cave to my demands will be quickly snuffed out under the threat of such a force.”

“A solid middle ground, then.”

“So you could say.”

“I take it, then, that our Summit is being held soon?”

“Yes. The Duke of Tarm just so happens to be the first to arrive,” Zant said, turning to the stables behind them. Just as he stood and watched, the prey he’d claimed was being wheeled in through the back door – a large boar, only marginally smaller than his mount. Both found it macabre, a bit of a cruel joke, one that made Ghirahim turn back and Zant grin all the wider. “I’ve extended invitations to just about all our former allies. Not a soul will be missing out – Unlike Ganondorf, I will not be playing favorites. Our forces need to know they can depend on us.”

Such a bold comment made Ghirahim shake off his discomfort in an instant. He sidled up closer to his monarch, nudging him through his thick robes. “Ah… So you have no favorites, none at all?”

Zant smirked, locking this boldness in place by curling his arm around Ghirahim firmly, affectionately. “Well… Perhaps, Demonkind as of late, has been landing on my good side quite often…”

Laughing, making jabs, huddled in the arms of a man who could crush him. To once again linger in the shadows of a greater ruler, but never losing prominence – like the gem-lain hilt of a blade glistening in the shade of a warrior’s cape. No longer would he have demand over the absolute spotlight, but rather, he would share it with a King, who in turn was completed by the sword he’d wield, his deadly tool of choice. A thousand years it had been, from his point of view, since Ghirahim had last lived like this. It was as nostalgic, as the lethargy of it all made his skin crawl. For now, it did little good to struggle against his overshadowing. He reminded himself that this feeling was what he’d chased ever since his revival… But his choice of pseudo-wielder was, to put it lightly, irking to a painful degree.

The playing field had to be leveled a little bit. He reached over to deliver a harsh pinch to the delicate underside of the Twilight King’s upper arm and reveled in the pathetic shriek it evoked.

#bearwrites #beararts #ghirazant #zant #ghirahim #yuga #wizzro #volga #hyrule warriors #tftk #loz fanfic

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