#multi cloud hosting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xuchiya · 2 months ago

Text

married to the stage || choi san || chapter 1

| genre: fluff. marriage-of-conviniece. angst. idol! san. ceo! female reader | mentions: sasaeng. scandal. SA . cursing. fake marriage. also getting a divorced.

back to masterlist || chapter 2

He was untouchable. Unstoppable. A king in his domain.

And yet, even kings had shadows lurking behind them.

San exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting over the sprawling cityscape from Mingi’s apartment window. The neon lights flickered like distant stars, the streets below alive with movement, yet his mind wandered elsewhere. Ateez’s latest comeback had taken the world by storm, and ever since the music video dropped, his name had dominated the headlines. After months of keeping the secret under wraps, the overwhelming rush of success felt like floating on cloud nine.

But that wasn’t the case of his uneasiness at this very moment.

She was waiting for him. She always was.

She had been a ghost in his shadow for years, lurking at the edges of his world. The letters smeared with red lipstick, the eerie DMs that found their way to private accounts, the glimpses of an unfamiliar figure outside his dorm, the company building, every place he once considered safe. Security had tightened, but she was relentless. Every comeback only fueled her obsession, and latest comeback had pushed her to new extremes.

It wasn’t just about watching him anymore. She wanted more. She wanted him.

San ran a hand through his hair, tension winding tight in his shoulders as his phone buzzed beside him.

Hongjoong [10:47 PM]: You okay? Seonghwa said you haven’t come home since yesterday.

San [10:47 PM]: No and please tell Seonghwa-hyung I’ll be staying at Mingi’s for a while.

Hongjoong [10:48 PM]: Okay, but is she still following you?

San [10:49 PM]: She’s outside again.

Hongjoong [11:05 PM]: I told the company. We added extra bodyguards. Don’t go anywhere alone.

San [11:06 PM]: I won’t. But she won’t stop, hyung. She sent me something earlier.

He hesitated for a moment before forwarding the message.

I want to see you up close this time, San. And I will.

A few seconds later, Hongjoong’s call lit up his screen. San sighs, the heavy truth of the reality settling on his shoulder as he answers his Captain’s call. He leans against the window, gazing mindlessly.

“You’re not going back to your place,” his leader’s voice was firm, laced with concern. “Stay with one of the members tonight.”

San sighed, rubbing his temple as he paced the room. “I'm already at Mingi's and I wasn’t planning to come home tomorrow, tell Seonghwa-hyung I’m sorry.”

A soft crackle of static carried through the line before Hongjoong spoke again. “He says it’s okay and that come back home when everything has calmed down… “ There was a short silence before Hongjoong spoke again, “You need to lay low. Maybe even disappear from your usual routine for a while.”

San dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. His mind drifted to the invitation he’d received from Johnny, his childhood friend. Johnny had worked his way up in a multi-media company and was hosting a party to celebrate not just the success of their new CEO but also his own promotion to COO.

“This party tomorrow—Johnny invited me,” San murmured. His situation right now could only heighten the risk of that sasaeng being near, but at the same time he had made a promise.

“Is it important?” Hongjoong asked after a pause.

San’s gaze flickered to his calendar, where he had circled the date in red. He and Johnny had been through everything together—childhood, struggles, triumphs. Through every high and low, they had promised to stand by each other. When San debuted, Johnny had been there. Now, when Johnny was achieving one of his greatest milestones, San couldn’t bear to miss it.

“I promised him, hyung. I have to go.”

A heavy sigh came from the other end. “I know how much this means to you. If you’re going, at least take security with you.”

Despite the tension coiling in his gut, San felt a wave of relief. Hongjoong wasn’t forbidding him. There was still a looming threat, but for one night, he could still be there for his friend.

“I will,” he promised, a small smile breaking through the worry that clouded his mind.

The party was in full swing by the time he arrived, the venue bathed in golden light, a soft hum of laughter and music filling the space. Time must have been so slow that San wasn’t sure how long he had been gripping his drink, but he could feel his fingers growing cold around the glass. He should’ve been enjoying the night—celebrating Johnny’s promotion, breathing in the ease of a well-earned break. And also an excuse to be somewhere she wouldn’t expect.

San scanned the venue, taking in the lively atmosphere. A few familiar faces stood out among the crowd, but most were high-profile CEOs—polished, composed, effortlessly exchanging laughter and deals worth millions. It was a scene he knew well, yet something pressed against his chest, a weight that refused to lift.

The ice in his glass clinked softly as he set his drink down.

"Need an out?"

San turned at the familiar voice, met with Johnny’s knowing smirk. His old friend stood beside him, posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp—too sharp, like he had been watching San the whole night and had finally decided to step in.

Johnny had always been perceptive, picking up on the smallest shifts in San’s demeanor, the barely-there stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers toyed with the condensation on his glass instead of actually drinking from it. Even now, in the middle of his celebration, surrounded by people congratulating him on his latest milestone, he still noticed San’s unease.

Johnny’s hand came down on San’s shoulder, firm, grounding. A quiet reassurance.

San exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Johnny’s smirk widened as he scanned the room, “I think I just found your escape, bro.”

Before San could react, Johnny clapped him on the back with more force than necessary, making San stumble slightly. “Come on. Trust me.” San huffed out a reluctant laugh but let himself be led through the crowd. The tension in his chest eased slightly, if only because Johnny had always been good at reminding him what it was like to just breathe.

For the first time that evening, San felt something other than discomfort—relief.

The moment they reached a quieter corner of the ballroom, Johnny finally turned to him, grinning like he had just pulled off the greatest trick of the night, “Man, I can’t believe you actually showed up.” Johnny nudged San with his elbow as he handed him a glass of champagne. San knew how much alcohol he could take and this could be his last glass before he passed out. “When was the last time you willingly went to one of these things?”

San scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

Johnny gave him a deadpan look.

San sighed. “Fine. Maybe I am that bad.”

Johnny laughed, shaking his head. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have felt right without you here.”

San looked at his friend, really looked at him. Johnny had worked hard for this, chasing his dream position with the same relentless determination San had seen in him since they were kids. And now, here he was—standing in the middle of a celebration thrown just for him.

San’s lips curled into a small, genuine smile, patting his friend’s shoulder. “You deserve this, man.”

Johnny grinned. “Damn right, I do.”

They clinked glasses in a silent toast, a moment of ease settling between them. For a little while, San allowed himself to get lost in the comfort of familiarity. Johnny was one of the few people who had known him before all of this—before ATEEZ, before the fame, before the pressure of living under a microscope. Here, San wasn’t an idol. He was just a friend celebrating someone’s success.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the pair of eyes still watching him from somewhere in the crowd. But almost wasn’t good enough.

Because the moment he let his guard down, fate had other plans.

San turned his head at the wrong moment—just in time to catch a glimpse of her.

His heart stuttered.

His stomach twisted.

And suddenly, the walls start closing in.

Johnny noticed the shift instantly, his eyes darting around. He knew about the situation that San is currently in and he expected his friend to decline or won’t show up on his party yet here he is, a champagne in hand.

“San?”

San’s throat tightened. “She’s here.” He felt it before he saw her. A stare, heavy and unshakable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his gaze swept across the room—then stopped. Near the bar, a woman stood slightly apart from the crowd. Elegantly dressed, she blended in yet somehow stood out, an unsettling contrast that sent a chill down his spine. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she raised her glass, her eyes never leaving his.

It's her.

His blood ran cold. He knew she would go to lengths to follow him, but this—this was bolder than ever. San could feel it. The way the air in the room felt slightly off, the phantom sensation of being watched, the familiar suffocating tension pressing against his ribs. She wasn’t in the shadows anymore. She was stepping into the light, bold, fearless, and dangerous in ways that made his skin crawl.

Johnny’s expression darkened, his grip on his glass tightening. “Where?” San wasn’t able to move nor speak and Johnny followed his gaze and cursed under his breath. “Alright,” he muttered, turning back to San. “We need to move. Now.”

San turned sharply, his mind racing for an escape plan—yet he was moving too fast, too recklessly to notice the figure in his path. The moment of impact was sudden. A collision of warmth. A sharp inhale. A startled gasp.

Time seemed to slow.

You stumbled back from the force, the world tilting—but before you could hit the ground, steady hands caught you. Strong, firm. Heat seeped through your back where his fingers curled, anchoring you.

San’s breath hitched. His gaze locked onto yours—wide, startled, unguarded. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moved, held in a strange, breathless pause.

And then, something shifted. His mind had been a storm mere seconds ago, chaotic and desperate, but now—now, it was silent. Suspended in the space between heartbeats.

The soft glow of the lights above cast a halo around you, catching in your hair, tracing your features in gold. For a fleeting second, his thoughts derailed, stolen by the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your lashes fluttered as you processed the moment.

Beautiful.

The word formed before he could stop it. A realization, unspoken yet undeniable, settling into his chest with an unfamiliar weight. His fingers flexed against your arms, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were real, that this moment was real.

Your eyes searched his, confusion flickering across your features, but before you could voice it, something in his expression shifted again—sharp, calculating. Reality snapped back into place. His grip tightened, not in discomfort, but with urgency. A silent message passed between you—something unreadable yet impossible to ignore.

Then, his next words came, low and urgent, barely above a whisper."Play along." It wasn’t just a request. It was a command wrapped in desperation, in something unspoken. Before you could question him, San moved—swift, calculated. His fingers slid from your arms to your wrist, pulling you closer, pulling you into something you didn’t understand yet.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez choi san #san ateez #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fluff #ateez san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez atiny #choi san fluff #choi san x reader #choi san ateez

99 notes · View notes

chukys-mouthguard · 10 months ago

Text

please please please

“if you wanna go and be stupid, don’t do it in front of me”

featuring -> matthew tkachuk x female reader

genre -> fluff/angst

word count -> 1.4k

*not proofread

-> short n’ sweet masterlist

Surely there was no way that Matt could even think about alcohol after his multi-day bender after winning the cup. But somehow, he was knee deep in the sand, and knee deep in his fifth margarita. Jumbo margarita to be exact.

You’d begged him to pace himself, mostly concerned his body would shut down on him in protest of not being able to digest any more alcohol. But he reassured you he was good to go!

The vacation was something he’d planned spontaneously, wanting some time for just the two of you before he’d have to retire his party boy ways and get in gear for the upcoming season. Though he’d now gathered quite a reputation from fans and haters across the internet for his persona after winning the cup.

People were calling him all sorts of things, simply because he had been living his best life on cloud nine. Though you knew nothing they said was true, you were a bit unsure of how you’d deal with drunk Matt on this vacation all by yourself.

Thinking back to day three of no sleep when he thought it was a good idea to host a drunk belly flop competition at your house, only for two of his teammates to puke instantly after hitting the water. Not a fun cleanup for those involved, and Matt still won’t live that down in your heart. But this vacation was a good start to him getting back on your good side.

He’d planned a couples massage, a nice moonlit dinner on the beach, the whole nine.

“Matty, I love you.”

He smiled at you from his beach chair, the word drunk practically branded across his forehead and written in his eyes. Eliciting a chuckle from you as he simply whined, hating when you laughed at him when he’d been drinking.

“You say you love me, then you make fun. Not nice.”

“Babe, I do love you. But I also love when you’re acting goofy like this. It makes me smile, it’s not to make fun I promise.”

He just shrugged it off, reaching his hand out for yours as he closed his eyes to enjoy the moment.

“Matthew Brendan Tkachuk, if you don’t hurry up we are gonna be late.”

You scolded as he continued taking his sweet time getting out of bed. His jumbo margaritas having caught up to him and making everything difficult. A groan fell from his lips as he slid off the side of the bed, stumbling to his suitcase to look for clothes to put on.

“Babe, I laid your clothes out already. Come on! We are gonna be late!”

As much as you loved Matthew, he was getting on your last nerve. This vacation was supposed to be a turn from the crazy Stanley Cup celebrations. A chance for the two of you to have a moment for yourselves before training camp and another crazy season got underway. Matthew having told you the trip wouldn’t be consumed with drinking as he was sure his liver couldn’t handle anymore after the week long partying he’d done back home.

You should’ve listened to his dad and Brady, both of them telling you that Matt wasn’t done celebrating yet. Though you wanted to believe he’d retire the alcohol for even a few days to make the most of this trip with you.

He smiled at you with rosey cheeks as he grabbed the clothes from the dresser where you’d set them out, heading into the bathroom to quickly rinse off and get changed.

Checking your watch you knew you were at risk of missing your reservation, this dinner being something you’d looked forward to since the first day here. Matt had put so much planning into it, and soon it would be all for nothing.

“Okay hun, let’s go!”

Matthew finally emerged from the bathroom, the buttons on his shirt proving to be a challenge as none of them lined up properly, causing you to chuckle as you rushed to fix them.

“Matthew, stop it now!”

You scolded him as he was walking along a ledge of the beach, pretending he was on a balance beam at the Olympics. While it was funny at first, the wall had grown increasingly higher and you were nervous that he’d injure himself and put himself in hot water with the organization come training camp in a few weeks.

“Relax babe, m’fine! See!”

He sped up his pace as he quickly put one foot in front of the other, laughing down at you as you tried to keep up with him. Your heels in hand as you weren’t trying to break an ankle chasing down his drunk ass.

“And now for the dismount.”

He stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath as he turned to face the sand, a concentrated look on his face as you pleaded with him to not do something stupid. Keith and Brady’s words replaying in your head have fun trying to keep him in check. You were very much hating them for ever putting those ideas into the universe right now.

“He’s going to attempt a front tuck, will he stick the landing.”

He flashed a smirk to you with a wink, ignoring your pleading for him to stop. Telling him to think about the upcoming season, training camp, the team would kill him if he ended up with a season ending injury because he was drunk in Mexico pretending to be an Olympic gymnast.

But Matthew surely didn’t listen, attempting his flip only to fail miserably. His groans immediately sobering you up from any drop of alcohol you’d had, though nothing compared to him.

“Matt, are you okay!”

He rolled in the sand grabbing at his shoulder as he groaned, and your fears had come true. A torn ligament, broken bone, surgery, his season would be in jeopardy.

“Matt, come on tell me what’s wrong?”

His groans soon turned to chuckles as he smiled at you, your concern immediately turning to anger as you smacked his arm.

“Are you fucking kidding? What the fuck is wrong with you! Get yourself back to the hotel, I’m done.”

He quickly realized his joke was nothing but, running after you and stopping you in your tracks. His hands were holding tight to yours as he frantically apologized.

“Baby I’m sorry, okay, it wasn’t funny. You’ve just been so stressed and worried about me all trip, I thought you needed a good laugh.”

“So you pretend to fucking get hurt? Everyone told me this trip would be me baby sitting and got were they right! You promised this was a trip for us, to relax after the hype of the Cup celebrations. But here we are with you drunk everyday once again. I should’ve known this would turn into a multi day binge for you.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him. Matthew cursing himself for fucking up this trip, one that he’d planned and promised to be anything like the last month or so. And yet he’d fallen short, living up to the expectations of everyone that told you that he’d not give up the partying.

“Baby please, okay I’m sorry. Please stop.”

Matt stood in front of you, his hands caressing your face as he tried his best to apologize.

“You’re right, I promised this vacation was for us. And I ruined that by getting so drunk. And that joke wasn’t funny, I know you’re just worried about me doing something stupid. Which, I fucked that up. Clearly. But, please don’t be mad at me. Let me fix this!”

You tried your best to keep your stern look and be mad at him, but as he peppered your face with kisses. Moving to your neck before he picked you up and spun you around, earning a laugh from you and knowing he’d won you over.

“See, I knew you couldn’t be mad at me for long!”

Rolling your eyes you kissed him back, running your hands through his curls as you sarcastically smiled up at him.

“Well I’m still mad, but if you promise to not do any more stupid drunk shit like that, maybe I’ll forgive you.”

He nodded his head, stealing another kiss before he started walking towards the water with you in his arms.

“Matthew, what are you doing? This feels like another stupid drunk thing!”

The closer the two of you got to the water the more you fought his grip, knowing he was planning to take you for a swim. Matthew laughed at you as his arms held tighter to you, ready to dunk the two of you into the ocean despite your pleading for him to stop and turn back.

“No, no babe, it’s not I promise. The water will help sober me up quick! But they say night swimming is dangerous alone, I’ve seen plenty of research studies!”

#matthew tkachuk angst #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk #nhl imagine #nhl fics #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb

249 notes · View notes

lvrgrls-wrld · 9 days ago

Text

Bliss

WC: 2k

Summary: You meet an annoyingly hot stoner at your favorite smoke spot.

Warning: smoking and language

Authors note: I can only hope that this is better than the original. But, I do have an end goal to this fan fiction. I’m open to any constructive criticism !! Enjoy <3

You felt the flashing lights on your skin and named the colors with every flash. Blue. Green. Red. Purple. Why do disco ball lights never have warm colors? They're always so harsh.

An elbow gently nudged your ribs, Kiyoko sat next to you with her eyes low and eyebrow raised. “Are you ok?”

Yes, maybe? No. You settled with a shrug.

You and your best friend, Kiyoko, decided it was a good idea to go to one of Atsumu’s infamous parties after eating an edible. Spring break has begun, and the best way to distract yourself from your steady fall of your grades was a good high, mediocre music, and junk food. Unbeknownst to Kiyoko, you had two of the multi-colored gummies instead of the recommended dosage. It was a stupid move even if one gummy didn’t get you high enough.

“Hey, do we need to go,” Kiyoko’s voice sobers you briefly. She still managed to act like the more responsible one even while under the influence. She’s such a good friend. You sit up, “No, I just need some water I’ll be fine,” You move to get up, and she raises her brow, noticing your struggle to regain your balance. “I’ll come with you,” she starts to stand, but you stop her with your hand to her shoulder. “Stay, I can handle myself. If anything happens, I know where to find you.” She shrugs her shoulders, knowing that you can hold your own. She’s seen you cuss out your fair share of men that tend to get too… touchy.

You walk across the room and give her a thumbs up to ease her nervousness before making your way out of the living room. There was a significant number of fewer people in the kitchen, causing you to take a sigh of relief. Everyone seemed to be drinking in the garage or loitering in the living room. Some people even made their way to the bedrooms even though on the flyers it said anyone caught in the bedrooms would ‘suffer public humiliation.’ It sounds stupid, but with Atsumu as a host, you don’t doubt his power to actually do so. Making your way to the fridge for a drink, you get lost in your thoughts.

College classes were kicking your butt. Luckily, spring break provided a buffer before the stress began to really get to you. You went to sit on top of the counter but stopped yourself, knowing Osamu would have a fit. So you decided to make your way to the back porch. At the beginning of the school year, this was your go-to spot when coming to Atsumu’s parties. The perfect place to smoke without worrying about strangers that would ask for a hit. You weren’t looking for a smoking spot this time, but the visuals out there were pretty good.

“It’s rude to stare,” a deep voice rumbled, you could hear the rasp from him inhaling. “It's also rude to blow smoke in strangers' faces,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

However, you weren’t welcomed with the smell of clean-cut grass but with a large cloud of smoke. Flinching away, you turned to glare at whoever blew it. All you saw was the glowing red end of a… blunt? You squinted at the dark stranger. Who are you?

He chuckled, “It’s not rude if I didn’t know you were going to come out here,”

“But, why would you blow smoke in front of a door,” you blinked into the darkness.

Silence. You smirked knowing you had him, “Exactly.”

“Listen, I came out here to be alone, not talk to more people. Now, if you’d kindly leave, and close the door on your way in.” he huffed, displeasure evident in his tone. You stared at the shadow of a person with a scrunched up face. Who does he think he is?

Crossing your arms, you scowl at the arrogant prick. “Why are you at a party if you don’t want to talk to people? As a matter of fact, don't answer that, I don’t care.” You quickly turned to face the large backyard, choosing to save your high, before he really got you mad. The moonlight shone on a patch of grass, almost beckoning you to sit on it. So, you popped your earbuds in and walked over, plopping on the grass.

After you had your fill of creativity, you decided to check your socials, you had an instagram and tiktok account that had short stories of characters you’ve drawn. Slowly you’ve been gaining followers by the hundreds this past month and even got a little money from it. Whenever you saw the comments that would share their love and sometimes criticism, your heart would swell. You appreciated your followers, especially the ones that have stuck with you since your first post.

You wanted to completely ignore the person in the corner, so you chose a song from your favorite playlist, then looked up at the starry sky. It was beautiful, unsurprisingly. Your imagination ran free, letting yourself come up with stories of intergalactic princesses and badass warriors. If I knew I was going to have a creative surge, I would've brought my sketchbook. Drawing was your passion, but you never went to art school because you knew the love for it would've been lost. Luckily, you first realized it when you took art classes in middle school. However, you took creative writing now, which fed into your interest.

The feeling of cold water droplets fell onto your skin, momentarily pausing your movements. You whipped your head to the forgotten stranger. But, this time, he wasn’t in the dark corner. This time, you saw him fully. Your eyes dragged from his jordans, to the dark grey jeans, and up to his compressed t-shirt. Was it supposed to fit like that? His lean muscle was glaringly obvious, through it. A sleeve tattoo wrapped around his arm and peaked through his collar, but it didn’t compare to his eyes. They were low and red and hot.

Fuck me, why is he so fine? You glanced down at his lips and noticed his smirk.

You sighed, “Did you- Did you throw water at me?”

“It's rude to stare,” that dried you up real quick. Once again, with the displaced manners.

“Yes,” he said, “I was trying to get your attention, but you were stuck in your phone.”

Yep, It was time to go. You texted Kiyoko to ask her man to take you guys home.

You saw water droplets that fell onto your phone. He threw water at you again. You flicked your eyes up at his stupid face with his stupid smile. “Are you kidding me right now?” you asked, a scowl on your face.

Plopping next to you on the grass, he stretched his legs out and leaned onto his hands. The smell of his cologne hit you, kind of a deep cedar, with a hint of sweetness to it. “Whatever,” he said chuckling, “I didn’t want to talk, and now I do, I can’t change my mind?” You gave him a dumbfounded look.

“I’m bored, let's talk,” he responded. Flicking the blunt onto the floor, he makes his way to your moonlit patch of grass. “What happened to wanting to be ‘alone’, and ‘not talk to more people?’” you mocked him. He might be handsome, but his personality was pretty fucking ugly.

He sighs, “You're right I was being rude, let's start over” he stuck his hand out to you. You looked at his hand then his eyes, then back again. You didn’t trust that glint in his eye.

Fortunately, your phone dinged, meaning you got a text, but before you could unlock it, it was yanked from your hands. You watched him put his hand behind his back, and stick his other hand out to you. “My name is Suna Rintaro, a close friend of Atsumu Miya, and I major in photography. Tell me about yourself.”

“I sat here and introduced myself, and you still decided to look at your phone for the third time tonight. I’m just trying to help your addiction,” Shrugging, he put his stretched out hand down.

Your jaw dropped. Is this his way of flirting? Ew. “Um, you can’t just take my phone.”

“Firstly, I don’t have an addiction, I just don’t want to talk to you. Second, I need to see if my ride's here. So, if you could hand me back my phone I would greatly appreciate it.” This time you held your hand out but, for your phone, not to shake.

“Introduce yourself, and you’ll get your phone,” he gave you a bored look.

Grimacing at his reply, you finally responded, you told him your name, your friendship with the brothers and your love for creative writing. There was a pause after you spoke.

Then he shook your hand, grinned, “see it’s not that hard,” and handed your phone to you.

You quickly took it back, and looked at the message on the phone:

He’ll be 20 minutes

You good?

you never came back

I’m in the backyard

Mb i forgot to let you know

You’re good

Should I come back

Unless you wanna talk to people besides me, no

You looked up at him and caught his gaze. With a quirked brow, he tilted his head “Problem?”

At least five minutes pass, and you take a peek up at him, only to see him staring back at you. “You tried and failed,” he mumbled, then looked at the sky. “Excuse me?” you asked

“No, just that I’m not leaving as soon as I would like,” you huffed and fell back onto the grass. Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I pretend to take a nap. You close your eyes and wait. Then softly snored, to really sell the nap taking place.

“Nothing, just noticing your stupidity.”

I wonder if his ass ever gets jealous of all the shit that comes out of his mouth.

“Wait for real? You heard everything I said, in my head,” you sat up, eyes blown wide. He leans down to your height and grins, “Everything,”

He laughs. Hard. Like a lean back and giggle from your gut, laugh. “I said that out loud,” you sighed. As he wipes tears from his eyes, he tries to speak, “ye-” then he bursts out laughing again. Is my inner monologue outering? “Yes,” he responds.

“Yeah right,” you say scoffing, “then tell me this ‘everything’ you're referring to.”

“Nothing, just a bunch of questions, and then how you think I’m-” he tilts his head, and taps his chin, as if he’s trying to remember something,”what was it…Fine?”

You sit there and stare at each other, tension creeping between the two of you. The seconds seem too slow, and you didn’t mind it.

“Yeah you're fine,” admitting to your previous thought, “personality’s shit though.”

His breath hit your face as he sighed, then looked back up at the sky. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Those 30 seconds felt like an hour, and you couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet.

You lay back, and he follows. He didn’t speak, and neither did you, nothing but the distant sounds of clattering cups and boisterous laughter was heard. This lasted for five minutes until he broke the silence, “hey,” he waited.

“Yes?” you ask.

“Tell me about yourself.”

This time you do. You tell him about your love for drawing, and creating stories. Even about your growing popularity on your social media accounts, to that he nudged your soldier and asked if he was ‘meeting a celebrity.’ You both laughed, and then you told him more, it was simple things like your favorite color, food, song, and a whole bunch of nothing. But, he listened like it was everything.

Cross-legged and upright, you told him your life story, how you got to where you are now. With your knees touching his side, you two seemed, almost, intimate. He felt it, the gentle sparks, igniting on his side. But, you were too busy telling him when you first got high. As he watched you speak so animatedly, he realized he actually enjoyed your company, which was a first.

The ding on your phone came faster than you thought, your enthusiasm slowly faded as you finished talking. Then you glanced at your phone, not wanting to check the message.

“Time to go?” he asked, noticing your shift in mood. “Probably,” mumbling, while picking up your phone.

TANAKA’S HERE!!

Finally i’m ready to get out of these clothes.

omw

Feeling his gaze on you, you slowly lift your head, giving him a sad smile. “Yeah, I got to go,” you huff as you get up, and then watch him get up as well. You didn’t realize he was so tall. Sitting down, he looked tall, but it was completely different when you actually stood up. You stared into his eyes and then glanced down to his lips, the wry smile he had curved at the end of his mouth.

“Well it was nice talking to you,” you say, taking a step back. You waited for his response, but none came. Instead of embarrassing yourself even further, you turned to leave. But, his hand shot out and gently gripped your wrist, “It was nice listening.” The heat from his compliment blossomed all over your face and tickled the top of your ears. With that, you made your way inside the house.

I plan to post every Sunday, including this upcoming one!

#purple dividers #anime x reader #haikyuu x black reader #anime x black!reader #x black reader #anime x black y/n #haikyuu x black y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #suna x blackreader #suna x black y/n #stoner suna #stonersuna x reader #suna x reader #suna x y/n #sunaxblackreader #suna rintarou

49 notes · View notes

hermesserpent-stuff · 7 months ago

Text

Potential script idea for billy batson s radio show segment

The whizz radio intro tones-

Billy Batson then starts speaking through a slightly crackly radio as Fawcett is a city someone lost to time, given its connection to the Rock of Eternity.

---

Welcome to WHIZZ Radio: where we give the latest news, truths, and view in Fawcett City. Brought to you by your host, me, billy Batson.

Starting off with community news, make sure to visit the shrine of Atlas sometime this week with an offering. Cap mentioned that there might be a need for endurance next week, and we should all probably listen. Additional reminder, the festival of Zeus will be happening this Saturday. Stay away from odd looking geese, metal poles and don't fulfill any selfcrearting proficies in a fit of hubris.

Onto traffic!

Main Street and Fifth Avenue are both still under construction from Dr. Sivannas attack and the demon portal last Thursday and Friday. Ms. Marvel and Cap. both played a role in clearing the debris, but there are still major cracks and fissures to Hades. Expect delays.

Now the weather.

Today's forecast includes thick over cast clouds; a good time for summoning souls. Be sure to greet both the living in the dead while going about your day and don't for get that umbrella! There is a slight chance of curses with intermittent showers.

Alright! Time to quickly cover the Capes and Crooks news bulletin. Dr. Sivanna is still missing after his recent bout with Cap. Since he interrupted one of Mercury's races down at the track, no one is quite sure when the Roman god took him. If you happen to see him, please be sure to give Cap a ring to come pick him up.

Keep your eyes peeled for Mr. Mind. The worm escaped prison… again. Holy moly. You'd think they'd make better prisons for him. What is this, the fourth time in two weeks?

*Noise indistinct*

I know, I just figured that out listeners would likely have the same comment. I don't see why I shouldn't point it out of its true

*Indistinct noise again*

Alright! Fine. Moving on from that.

Today's radio broadcast is brought to you by Saturn's candy. Nothing so sweet as a stick of magic you can eat! Try their Caramel cookie candy bars, now with cooked in bloodline curse protect. If your looking for a spot of luck, try their cinnamon apply candy sticks. Saturn's candy. A proud sponsor of WHIZZ Radio!

*Little jingle*

Welcome back to the program. Time for our sister citys segment.

This reporter has just been told by his producers to issue an apology to Black Adam for statements said during this segment of yesterday's broadcast.

*An aside*

Do I have too?

*Indistinct noise*

Fine.

I am. Sorry. For calling you a craized up old fart with too much free time.

There.

Moving on!

Kahndaq currently is continuing negotiations with both the Justice League and the UN to gain a seat at the UN table. Or be allowed in the UN room. While Fawcett recognizes Kahndaq as sovereign, the rest of the world stills sees the country as illegitimate.

Aside from tense meetings, and Black Adam being a kook who keeps coming to mess with Cap due to having a grudge unbecoming of a literal king and ancient man child, Kahndaq is doing fine. The economy is flourishing, despite limited imports and exports due to sanctions. The letters sent by Fawcetts finest and kindest citizens were well received and we should hear back soon if Mercury has anything to do with it.

It's time once again for Billy's opinion of the day.

This week!

Cans and their many used.

Not only do cans offer one of the best ways to have long term storable food, but they also make awesome weapons! We got to see this on Friday when Marvel Jr. and Captain Marvel went toe to toe with demons using a barrage of cans. And the food was still good to eat after the fight!! I love it when things are multi purposed. Now if only they could close the rifts down to Hades…

*Chimes*

Oh! Mercury just dropped a fresh bit of mail! Thank you Mercury! Watch out for old men wandering around. It seems like the Greek and Roman gods are looking to bless and curse some folks today.

Do good, and good will follow.

And keep an eye on the sky for lightning!

This has been Billy Batson, signing off!

#hermes speaks #billy the radio host au #billy batson #shazam #captain marvel

101 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

Text

I have never seen anything like this- it's a mansion in the middle of a residential area. Built in 2000, in Dallas, TX, it has 0bds. 1ba, & is listed for $2.4M.

Surprise! The beautiful entrance foyer. Does anyone want to buy a Bitcoin Mining Center?

This looks like a break room.

According to the description: Formerly AT&T, this upgraded turnkey Tier 2 Data Center is a Full Liquid Cooling Immersion System. True multi-use facility whether you need AI services, cloud hosting, traditional data center, servers or even Bitcoin Mining - this site has it all! This property comes with all equipment included!

I don't even know what I'm looking at.

Steel Reinforced CMU, 3 Phase Power, 2 Power Grids, Backup Diesel Generator, Sites on Main Branch Lines of Communication Infrastructure for Dallas, Fire Suppression, Electronic Access, Bulletproof Glass, Double Safe Room Door, Raised Floor. There's a safe room?

Upgrades include: 500kw 3 Phase Panels with digital monitors, Full Liquid Immersion System, 500kw Dry Cooler, 3 Phase Pump, 3 Slic Tanks, 5 New HVAC Units.

So, they can just sell all this? They said it's turn key. So, is it bitcoin or what? I wonder why they're selling it. That's suspicious- maybe it's not making money, anymore.

Out back. That's all they have, a wood stockade fence around the property?

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/13229-Southview-Ln-Dallas-TX-75240/118222349_zpid/

#hidden in plain site house #weird homes for sale #bitcoin mining house for sale #house tours #business for sale

100 notes · View notes

high-five0 · 11 months ago

Text

•FIC MASTERLIST•

So this is basically every fic I’ve reblogged so I can access them and see them organized! (Also kind of a fic recommendation post) If there’s any recommendations of what I should read please let me know!

Most of these fics will be platonic!

-Formula One-

•Platonic Grid•

“Martins Grid walk” -taking over the grid walk is not for the faint of heart

“Slow Down, Red Flag” -what the reader does when the racing comes to a stop

“Pure Chaos 2, 3” - amazing multi part smau

“Caffeine of Choice” -a few drivers don’t get your choice of energy

“Golden (Son)” -Prema driver with OP81 as a grid dad

“Early Risers V. Night Owls” -some just don’t understand the morning grumpies

“Line Up” -Pole position equals pissy fans

“Dear Spa” -the Belgium track takes another (read for a good cry)

“Reality” -the cameras not capture everything

“Grill the Kid” “Grill the Grid” -two fics based on the quiz show

“Annoying little brothers” -self explanatory

“Grid Kids”

“Monopoly”

•MV1💙•

“Block Out the Haters” -Max defends his teammate

•CL16❤️•

“Don’t get Squeezed” -Charles little sisters position at the Chinese GP has her worried

•CS55❤️•

“Human Shield”-podium celebrations can get messy very quickly

“You don’t like spicy food?”-trying to play mermaids with chili

•DR3🩶•

“Be your Wingman” -a little crush on a sky sport reporter has someone being a tease

•SV5💚•

“Films of Anger” -Racing incident has too childhood friends explode at eachother (very brocedes core)

“Learning how to Drive” -she can driver at over 200 mph but not on a normal road

•KR7❤️•

“Very Sleepy One Bed” -long races and sharing hotel rooms

“Future world Champ” -a talk with Kimi and Seb about the new driver

“Giddy Goodbyes” -ending the season can be sad but a helmet swap can make it a little better

•LS2🩵•

“Team USA”-Logan supports his girl competing as an Olympic surfer SMAU

“Rookie Reflections” -Logan befriends the new rookie (first f1 fic I’ve ever read)

•OP81🧡•

“Rewatching love” -a group of old Prema drivers watch their old f2 videos

•LH44🖤•

“Driver Headcannons”

•PA17🤍•

“Crash Into Me” -enemies to lovers with the one bed trope what’s not to love?

-Women’s Basketball-

•PB5•

“Courtside”- “what are you doing here? I thought you had to study”

“Teammate Headcannons”

“Sleepyhead”

•KA2•

“Dating Headcannons”

•KM20•

“While we’re young” -the aces play the liberty and 2 lovers are joined together

“I wanna listen to the sound of you breathing” -just 5 more minutes

-FC Barcelona-

•Braça Femeni•

“Head in the Clouds”

“Scrubber” -la Roja debute”

“First” -Scoring your first club goal

“Priorities” -being late to practice opens up a new can of worms

“Numb” -nobody likes a rough game

•ML4•

“Protection” -injury on the field

•JF11•

“Joao with a formula 1 driver”

-Call of Duty-

•Task Force 141•

“Ain’t that a kick in the head” -just some Headcannons of new recruit

“One hell of a first mission” -your first mission goes sideways

“Migraines”

•Ghost•

“Right Behind you” -Ghost wants to keep his distance but can’t (first cod fic I’ve ever read)

“Headcannons”

“A Bedtime Story” -it’s not your fault ghost has a soothing voice

“Like Riding a Bike” -ghost finds out you never learned to ride a bike

“Picture Perfect” -snoring on the plane home

“Rodan”

-Top Gun-

•Dagger Squad•

“Friendship Bracelets”-making brackets for your squad

“Rookie” - not everyone a fan of the new recruit

•Rooster•

“Personal Space” -you like your personal space, a certain aviator likes it too

•Iceman•

“Blood in the Water” -a crash scares everyone

-MCU-

•Deadpool and Wolverine•

“Two pease in a pod”

“Troublemaker” -Wolverine seems to be there for you more times than anyone else

“The Spiderling”

“Oscar Worthy Performance”- the cops cannot be called, so you find one man to vouch for you

•Moonkight•

“Recruitment gone right?” -the avengers sent you to recruit a mercenary

•Daredevil•

“They’re Gonna Taste my Venom”- Venom and his host stumble upon a lawyer

•Spider-Man(s)”

“Art with Hands”- Hobie is the best sign language teacher

-Star Wars-

•The Clone Wars•

•Fives•

“Smugglers” -stealing treats from another commander

“Food Fight”

•104th Battalion•

“Cuddling the 104”

“Mama Wolffe” -Wolffe was grump and unnerving… to most

•Delta Squad•

“Headcannons”

•The Mandolorian•

“Come and Get Me” -Din will always come back for you

-The Last of Us-

“So Far From It”-you get into some trouble but know exactly who to call

“Carved Over the Door” - Joel finally figures out your secret

“The Tunnel” -not a very good get away driver

-Na’vi-

“Angry Spirit” -doing anything for your siblings

•Neteyaem•

“Golden Child” -A battle for the paise of your parents

“And your Brother is Here”

-Random-

•Arcane•

“Stumbled Upon” -Silco stumbled upon one of Vanders Kids

•The Hunger Games•

“Swear” - Finnick helps the new victor

#star wars #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #the clone wars #f1 imagine #across the spiderverse #the bad batch #lando norris #top gun #top gun x female reader #top gun x reader #the last of us x reader #joel miller x you #Star Wars x reader

36 notes · View notes

spacetimewithstuartgary · 3 months ago

Text

Cosmic anomaly hints at frightening future for Milky Way

A terrifying glimpse at one potential fate of our Milky Way galaxy has come to light thanks to the discovery of a cosmic anomaly that challenges our understanding of the universe.

An international team of astronomers led by CHRIST University, Bangalore, found that a massive spiral galaxy almost one billion light-years away from Earth harbours a supermassive black hole billions of times the Sun’s mass which is powering colossal radio jets stretching six million light-years across.

That is one of the largest known for any spiral galaxy and upends conventional wisdom of galaxy evolution, because such powerful jets are almost exclusively found in elliptical galaxies, not spirals.

It also means the Milky Way could potentially create similar energetic jets in the future – with the cosmic rays, gamma rays and X-rays they produce wreaking havoc in our solar system because of increased radiation and the potential to cause a mass extinction on Earth.

A re-think of galaxy evolution

"This discovery is more than just an oddity – it forces us to rethink how galaxies evolve, and how supermassive black holes grow in them and shape their environments," said lead author Professor Joydeep Bagchi, of CHRIST University, Bangalore.

"If a spiral galaxy can not only survive but thrive under such extreme conditions, what does this mean for the future of galaxies like our own Milky Way?

"Could our galaxy one day experience similar high-energy phenomena that will have serious consequences for the survival of precious life in it?"

In the new study, which has been published in Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society, researchers unravelled the structure and evolution of the spiral galaxy 2MASX J23453268−0449256, which is three times the size of the Milky Way.

Using observations from the Hubble Space Telescope, the Giant Metrewave Radio Telescope, the Atacama Large Millimeter Wave Array and multi-wavelength analyses, they detected an enormous supermassive black hole at its heart and radio jets that are among the largest known for any spiral galaxy, making it a rare phenomenon.

Traditionally, scientists believed that the violent activity of such colossal jets of supermassive black holes would disrupt the delicate structure of a spiral galaxy.

Yet, against all odds, 2MASX J23453268−0449256 has retained its tranquil nature with well-defined spiral arms, a luminous nuclear bar, and an undisturbed stellar ring – all while hosting one of the most extreme black holes ever observed in such a setting.

Adding to the enigma, the galaxy is surrounded by a vast halo of hot, X-ray-emitting gas, providing key insights into its history. While this halo slowly cools over time, the black hole's jets act like a cosmic furnace, preventing new star formation despite the presence of abundant star-making material.

How this compares to Milky Way

Our own Milky Way has a 4 million solar mass black hole – Sagittarius A (Sgr A*) – at its centre, but this is currently in an extremely quiet and dormant state.

That could change if a gas cloud, star, or even a small dwarf galaxy were to be accreted (effectively eaten), the researchers said, potentially triggering significant jet activity. Such events are known as Tidal Disruption Events (TDE) and several have been observed in other galaxies, but not in the Milky Way.

If large jets like this were to emerge from Sgr A*, their impact would depend on their strength, direction, and energy output, the researchers said.

One pointed near our solar system could strip away planetary atmospheres, damage DNA and increase mutation rates because of radiation exposure, while if Earth were exposed to a direct or nearby jet, it could degrade our ozone layer and lead to a mass extinction.

A third possibility is that a powerful jet could alter the interstellar medium and affect star formation in certain regions, which is what has happened in the galaxy the new paper focused on.

Astronomers believe the Milky Way likely had large-scale radio jets in the past and although it could potentially generate them again in the future, experts aren't able to say exactly when because it depends on many factors.

Dark matter clues

The team of researchers also discovered that J23453268−0449256 contains 10 times more dark matter than the Milky Way, which is crucial for stability of its fast spinning disc.

By revealing an unprecedented balance between dark matter, black hole activity, and galactic structure, the experts said their study opens new frontiers in astrophysics and cosmology.

"Understanding these rare galaxies could provide vital clues about the unseen forces governing the universe – including the nature of dark matter, the long-term fate of galaxies, and the origin of life," said co-author Shankar Ray, a PhD student at CHRIST University, Bangalore.

"Ultimately, this study brings us one step closer to unravelling the mysteries of the cosmos, reminding us that the universe still holds surprises beyond our imagination."

TOP IMAGE: The giant radio jets stretching six million light-years across and an enormous supermassive black hole at the heart of spiral galaxy J23453268−0449256, as imaged by the Giant Metrewave Radio Telescope. Credit Bagchi and Ray et al/Giant Metrewave Radio Telescope

LOWER IMAGE: Colour image of J23453268-0449256, which is 300,000 light-years across, as captured by the Hubble Space Telescope. It is shown alongside a depiction of our own Milky Way galaxy, which is three times smaller. Credit Bagchi and Ray et al/Hubble Space Telescope

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics

10 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-lunatic · 1 year ago

Text

INFO ABOUT FITZ WEEK 2025 →

Fitz Week: 2025

SO EXICTED TO ANNOUNCE THAT I'M HOSTING FITZ WEEK! Fitz week is a week dedicated to our favourite overly hated, overly glazed, teal-eyed Golden Boy! This week entails ships, interpersonal conflicts and silly AUs. It runs from 1st to 7th of December, 2025.

Guidelines/FAQ

📍Tag all posts with @multi-fandom-lunatic (me, the host). NOTE: there is no separate ship week account, it’s just my account in use.

📍Tag all posts with #fitz week 2025

📍You may submit any form of fanwork (fanart, fanfic, podfic, playlists, edits, etc)

📍You may post on Ao3/other fanfic websites and link your fanwork in a Tumblr post

📍Use your creativity! Interpret prompts however you’d like!

📍Goes without saying, but let’s be respectful (we all know that Fitz is among the most hotly debated characters in the fandom, let’s just keep it respectful)

📍Feel free to send any asks (anonymous or otherwise) with absolutely any question. No such thing as a stupid question :D

All of this is just to keep things ultra clear for me, your host (tags and @’ing and stuff like that) so please try your best to follow them. Ultimately, I’m so excited I get to host a week for one of my favourite KOTLC characters and I hope you are too :D

SCHEDULE AND THEMES: TBA

Hi I'm Multi/Luna!

Can't donate to any causes

FANDOMS: Keeper of the Lost Cities Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir The Owl House Chucky (TV series) House MD

Banner art by @chainlxnk

Some stuff about me:

She/her

I write fanfiction on my ao3

Very staunch Booktok hater

Also a HP and Marauders hater

Bigots DNI

TALK TO MEE

Matching pfps with @the-soul-detectives and @icantrememberwhoiwaslastdecember

FANFICS:

67 Cinderellas (And Two Princes) - Kotlc Keefitz fic (theatre/play/human AU) featuring Fitz Vacker, who's friendship with Keefe turns into something more, while he battles his interpersonal struggles.

Happy Birthday, Keefe - kotlc Keefitz oneshot (human/ghost AU) in which ghost Keefe watches Fitz navigate the pain of his death, succumbing to alcohol.

Colours of the Rainbow - Kotlc Kam fic (modern/human AU) centring around Tam and Keefe growing up and discovering their sexuality and their crushes on each other.

Every Ice Blue Cloud Has A Silver Lining - Kotlc Kam fic (canon divergence AU) in which Keefe is kidnapped and forced to join the Neverseen, where he meets (and falls in love with) Tam Song, who met a similar fate.

No Strings Attached - Pjo Solangelo fic (soulmate/high school AU) where Nico di Angelo, who is hopelessly in love with Percy, makes a poorly thought out, life changing decision with his red string before he realises his love for Will Solace.

Keeper of the Lost Secrets - Kotlc Keefitz fic (Canon divergence AU, kinda) that's a rewrite of the original Kotlc book one, entirely from Fitz's POV, which the unexpected but welcome romance of Keefe and Fitz.

Where Flowers Bloom - Kotlc Keefitz fic (Hanahaki AU) where Fitz Vacker, hopelessly and totally in love with Keefe Sencen, has choose between death or forgetting who Keefe is when he discovers his ailment.

A Choice In Our Favour - Kotlc Keefitz oneshot (Canon divergence AU) where Keefe is the original, failed version of Project Moonlark, and Fitz Vacker falls in love with him.

Three times, to make sure it's real - Kotlc Keefex oneshot (Slumber party/spin the bottle AU) in which Dex has to contend with his crush on Keefe Sencen, and navigate it when the two get shut behind closet door for seven minutes.

Leave it all behind (and there is happiness) - Kotlc Fitz oneshot (Canon divergence AU) featuring Fitz Vacker, betrayed by Keefe after him and Sophie get together, who decides to run away to the Forbidden Cities (minor implied Keefitz). Based on the song happiness by Taylor Swift.

It's Golden (Like Daylight) - Kotlc Keefitz oneshot (Canon divergence AU) with Keefe Sencen, who discovers after running away from the Lost Cities that he has to to back, For Fitz. Based on the song Daylight by Taylor Swift.

A New Era - Ghosts CBS/Hamilton Nisaac/Lams oneshot (Canon Divergence AU, Crossover) featuring Lams in the Ghost CBS universe, where Isaac hides his relationship with Nigel from Lams in fear of homophobia, not knowing that Lams and the two are much alike.

Hope is a Double-Edged Sword - Kotlc Sokeefe oneshot (Canon Divergence AU) that's the evens of Sokeefe during chapter 42 of Stellarlune, with far more toxicity and honesty.

Piece of Cake - Kotlc Kam shortfic (Bakery AU) in which Tam, a barista at Slurps and Burps Bakery, falls for the new baker, a non binary Keefe Sencen, and through mutual pining and idiocy get together with the blond.

BESTIES:

@the-soul-detectives: THE ONE AND ONLY. NO EXPLANATION NEEDED. ILY.

@SmolLikeAFrog: AHH BESTIE SO GLAD YOU'RE *FINALLY* HERE! My bestie and partner in crime (and writing), ily.

@cassieisinthebasement: My cognate and go-to person for gay kotlc needs.

@geo-rosey: The emotional intelligence of a wet sock.

#the Lunatics: me and @the-soul-detectives. The best crew EVER.

#making chaos with sienna: @icantrememberwhoiwaslastdecember and I making fandom-related chaos.

#booktok anon: the anon who sends me Booktok related asks to discuss/vent about. Highlight of my day.

#taylor fish asks: any thing related to @elliedafish the one and only and Taylor Swift. (Does anyone get the tag joke??)

#lane speaks: @shadowofcrimsonmist and I conversing.

Rants:

Booktok's white feminism problem

The merging of YA and Adult Lit

The merging of YA and Adult Lit (continued)

Non Booktok book recs

Is Booktok that bad? (yes and no)

Racism and queerphobia in the HP and Marauders fandom

The problem with the current book boyfriends

Bootok's problem with fandom tropes

Wattpad, fanfiction and original literature

The Tiktok ban and it's effect on Booktok

Is fanfic to blame on Booktok's demise?

The anti intellectualism present in Booktok's book boyfriends

The inherent social privilege in common tropes

How nostalgia keeps shitty tropes from dying out

Is the misogyny in romantasy a trend (or around for a while)?

Booktok: the death of creativity

Is it bad to read romance? (No and here's why)

The misogyny in the romance genre

Anti Booktokers' parasocial relationship with Booktok

Booktok romance and how POC aren’t a part of it (and the racism in The Owl House fandom)

The inherent misogyny of the 'not like the other girls' trend

Romantasy series' are too long

Booktok and the writing industry

Booktok's shitty, shitty diversity

White authors need to be rewarded for diversity

Can I just read HP?

White people's outlook of Desi culture is disgusting

Booktok's silence when it comes to racism

Response to anon hate about HP (ultimate essay)

Replacing the cultural phenomenon that is HP

White women's obsession with being chased

Rick Riordan isn't the saint you think he is

It's okay to write tropey books (mini rant)

Give your FMCs personalities, please (very mini rant)

Booktok pretending to push boundaries

Booktok has ruined fanfic

Booktok’s weird obsession with the manic pixie dream girl trope and the ‘not like the other girls’ trope

Transracialism and race as a social construct

Percy Jackson vs The Sunbearer Trials: offensive portrayals of mythology

Booktok's role in the normalisation of abuse and the silencing of minorities and how it contributes to the book bans

Booktok is all the same (fanfic tropes and the role of consumerism in literature)

Other stuff:

Would've Could've Should've, song of all time: lyric analysis

Please please please send me asks about this stuff! I love answering them.

On the left: ME according to @icantrememberwhoiwaslastdecember

On the right: Alex, Sienna and I <3

#introduction #kotlc #fanfic #intro

32 notes · View notes

yiga-hellhole · 1 year ago

Text

TFTK CHAPTER 19: TWILIGHT KING'S REVERIE

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

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

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

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

ao3 mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Ganondorf, King of Thieves, King of Demons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Zant? What’s keeping you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If I may, King Dragmire.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not out of his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghirahim. You’re beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

He needed his help.

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

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

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

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

The Demon Scimitar.

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

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

“I’m right in your hand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

32 notes · View notes

peskellence · 1 year ago

Text

Rule Of Nines

Betrayal Pt. 2

Explicit content, Graphic Violence

(18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: AU, Multi-Chapter, Lovers to Enemies, Kidnapping, Crime and Violence, Oral, Anal, Dom/ Sub

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a world where loyalty is currency and compromise is weakness, Gavin Reed, a ruthless mobster, lives by his own rules. When an old enemy resurfaces with a deadly demand, his life is thrown into chaos-as his trusted second-in-command, Nines, is put to the ultimate test of allegiance. Will he stay committed to Gavin, or will the loyal guard dog begin to stray? (Human Mob!AU)

Warnings: Major Character Death (before events of the story), Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Dubious Consent

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

If you would like to be added to the tag list for future projects, please let me know♡

It took until sundown for Gavin to realise that Nines wasn't coming back. The wait persisted well beyond this, extending into the night. There were no calls, progress checks, or even the slightest indication to suggest the man was still breathing. Just dead air on the radio. Continual, droning vacancy.

His second in command had never done this—would have never dreamed of it before today. Clearly, he had gotten held up wading through the mountainous shit expelled during his recent temper tantrum. No doubt wallowing around like a despondent pig. One that just found out its sibling was being turned into bacon.

Maybe that was where he'd scurried off to. Charging headfirst into DeLuca's hideout on a misguided suicide mission to save his brother. The thought alone would've made Gavin laugh had it not inspired such bitter resentment.

Best of luck with that, dickhead.

Salvatore hardly ran a prestige operation, but he wasn't stupid. He and his boys would be waiting for them, armed to the fucking teeth. As soon as they realised Connor's 'saviour' had arrived empty-handed, it'd be open season in the abattoir.

Nines was good, but he wasn't made of kevlar and steel. When a man came faced with a hail of bullets, the bullets were going to win. No matter his physical prowess, he'd be hosting his family reunion six feet under the ground.

Gavin cursed under his breath, his head lolling against the pillows as his eyes squeezed shut. The sweat beading on his brow started to trickle lower, charting a course down the bridge of his nose.

Instead of bottling his frustration, he attempted to refocus its energy into current licentious activities. The movements of his hand quickened as he brusquely dismissed concerns of doubt or culpability.

If Nines was taking an extended dirt nap, it would be the fault of his own stupidity. A fitting penance for allowing sentiment to cloud his better judgment.

Bleeding hearts had no place in the miserable shit they dealt with. If that lesson had been learned the hard way, so be it. Hopefully, it would serve as a reminder for the next dolt Gavin let slither under his sheets: Do not step out of line unless you're ready to face the consequences.

His mind was bubbling over, hissing like a tea kettle, as he released a barrage of insults at a currently imagined Nines:

You selfish, ungrateful piece of shit.

Entitled, pompous asshole —

He missed him.

The bed felt unbearably empty, as did every attempt to fill the void. His body howled with need, seeking a carnal depravity that no amount of self-indulgence could hope to satisfy.

Maybe he ought to have hired the hooker. At least then, he could have secured the feeling of something . An opportunity to escape through the forgiving darkness of tightly closed eyes, where he could imagine the floundering mass on top of him belonged to someone else…

He plunged deeper into himself, arching back as far as he could in pursuit of greater leverage. It would have still been better than condemning himself to the current arrangement of listlessly gripped hand and equally sad rubber stand-in.

His toes curled from added exertion as he hissed in what he tried to convince himself was some degree of pleasure. If he continued to tell himself that, perhaps the sensation would manifest. The 'fake it til you make it' principle: like it was a goddamn job interview.

The movements continued as he abandoned his hardness in favour of running a hand up the length of his torso. His remaining fist grew increasingly agitated, anger permeating every mite of the increasingly rough pumps.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

There was a knock at the door, ending the ill-fated venture with a sudden jolt of paralysis. Gavin gawked at his ceiling, trying to confirm—somewhat hopefully—if he was hearing things. Then it happened again, prompting him to reach over and study his phone's lock screen.

It informed that the time was 3:07 A.M., leading to the conclusion that this style of intrusion was getting extremely old.

Shooting up, he removed Nines' lacklustre understudy from his body. He craned himself towards the door, boring holes into the surface of the already beaten-up wood, his mouth snarling in an uncanny mimicry of a feral dog:

"What the fuck do you want?"

There was no reply save for a steady—and entirely undeterred—pace of knocks.

You can't be serious.

After tucking his shame securely into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he ripped away the scant covering of his sheets. Whoever the mystery arrival was, they clearly wanted to play games—ones that the mobster was in no mood to be joining.

Either that or their appearance formed some style of divine intervention. The Big Man upstairs, tenuously apologising for all the recent smites in the form of a squishy sandbag on which to offload his grievances.

Whoever the person was, they were persistent. Refusing to let up on the incessant pounding for even a second despite having aired him just moments prior.

Gavin wrestled with a pair of boxers, attempting to wrangle them over the prominent hardness between his thighs. They were lucky he even did that much—in half a mind to answer the door butt-ass naked, making exposure to his trouser snake part of the karmic retribution.

"Do I need to put opening hours on my goddamn door?" he suggested bitingly, as the fervance of his movements resulted in a small tear of fabric. "It's the middle of the fucking night, what is wrong with you people?"

To their credit, there was likely some underlying motivation behind the visit. Given how desperately the unknown figure sought to grab his attention—and the fact he'd made it clear that 'Connor Torture Porn' didn't constitute an emergency—it was probably something serious.

Assuming Nines hadn't managed to get his brother mulched, they still had a few hours before DeLuca took care of business. That being said, it wouldn't have surprised him if Connor had decided to croak ahead of schedule.

The man had been in bad shape during his last on-screen appearance, barely clinging to whatever life was left to live after being gutted and carved worse than a grade-schoolers jack-o'-lantern.

Honestly, news of his untimely death was probably the only thing that could temper his current foul mood…

Swinging the door open, he prepared to lambast whatever slack-jawed goon was bumbling around behind it. Upon seeing who it was, his mouth went dry, and his snarled lips clamped shut.

"I'm sorry, Gavin, I know it's late." The words lingered on their tongue, chasing each delicate curl of the muscle. "I hope I didn't wake you."

…Well. Except for maybe that.

Nines stood in the archway, arm extended above his head, propped against the lip. He loomed over Gavin, simpering gently and exuding a stunning degree of confidence for someone who had just played hooky for the past fourteen hours.

Unfortunately, his current appearance made it extremely difficult for Gavin to stay pissed off. Nines had ditched much of the zombie chic he'd adopted over the week, taming the hair that had been clinging listlessly to his scalp. It was now washed and combed, pulled into its usual slicked-back style. The unsightly stubble that had started to bloom across his jaw had also been trimmed, made more apparent as he jutted it forward.

The movement was undoubtedly calculated as it rumpled the collar of his loosely draped trench coat. Sleek leather caught conspicuously against the lights above, encouraging his gaze to trail lower…

Oh, I see how it is. Sneaky son of a bitch.

While the garment wasn't short, on the lofty man filling the doorway, it might as well have been lingerie. The hem barely covered his thighs, revealing svelte lengths of smooth, marble-white. The tenuously secured belt slackened with every twitch, causing the material to part and reveal a growing sliver of torso.

If the legs weren't already a tip-off, this seemed to prove irrefutably that Nines wasn't wearing a lot underneath the jacket. If he was wearing anything at all.

The notion alone sent Gavin's mind into a pronounced tailspin—and while he was aware his second-in-command was still speaking, it might as well have been French. Words were leaving his mouth, but absolutely none of them were being processed.

He attempted to downplay his interest with an inward press of his thighs as he strategically tilted his body towards an adjacent wall.

"Look who's decided to drag themselves outta the gutter…" He feigned indifference with a click of his tongue; all the while, his arousal twitched insistently between his legs. "Where the hell have you been, jackass?"

Whatever conversational threads had led Nines to this question remained a mystery. In any case, his response was flawless—smooth and candid, deftly withholding any sentiment:

"Wrapping up affairs at the docks. It took longer than anticipated; I had to take care of a few witnesses."

This was a lie.

All other men who had attended to the incident returned hours ago, ensuring any and all 'annoyances' were dealt with briskly. Despite this, the questionable statement almost demanded belief, in line with every stoic recount the man had ever delivered…

Whether it was genuinely convincing, or his ungodly degree of horniness was warping his judgment, Gavin wasn't sure. All he knew was that his libido was screaming for him to let it go. To tug Nines by the crotch across the threshold so he could stop spewing mundane excuses and start pounding him into the mattress.

But he couldn't do that—because he was angry—and trying to make a point of not rewarding bad behaviour. Folding his arms across his chest, he maintained his outward scepticism despite all internal protest.

Just when he thought Nines might have the balls to proceed with his current deception, the focus shifted to the elephant doing handstands in the back of the room.

"...I needed some time to think." The playful expression faltered in line with his stiffening posture. He glanced over Gavin's shoulder, eyes fixed on the bed. "If you could let me in, we can discuss things more privately."

As he leaned in, a smooth brush of skin came tantalisingly close to the shorter man's cheek. Cologne trailed the deft movements, igniting his senses, as a chin gently skimmed his shoulder. The touch was featherlight, and it could have easily been missed if Gavin hadn't been so keenly aware of everything Nines was doing.

His ulterior motive was painfully brazen; it might as well have been illuminated on a neon sign above his head. Such an abrupt and shameless shift back to their usual routine, it was fucking hysterical.

Because what did Nines know about privacy? He clearly wasn't opposed to attracting some attention, given his current attire. He would've had to pass through the meeting room like that, no doubt crossing paths with several lingering night owls.

Perhaps he'd wanted to get a rise. To imagine at least one of their cohorts had gotten desperate enough where they might be amenable to the idea of bending him over the card table—

Gavin's mind began to run wild, chasing all manner of depravity his twisted imagination could conjure. He forced himself to rein it in, swallowing back the dense lump forming in his throat.

He then clicked his tongue in feigned indifference, his crossed arms locking tighter over his chest. Unable to help himself, or perhaps out of habit, he made a point of flexing forward—puffing his chest and calling attention to the toned definition of his limbs.

"What exactly do you wanna 'discuss'? You're being awfully vague right now."

Nines' attention flitted downward, a quirked eyebrow the only crack in his otherwise stony veneer. He gave nothing else away, his response measured and enigmatic.

"I took some time to remind myself what is important, to determine where my loyalties lie..." His gaze returned to Gavin's face as piercing eyes studied his features. A rogue spark ignited beneath them, completely indecipherable. "Now that I have done this, I think it is time to make amends."

His leg shifted, and the coat followed suit—coming dangerously close to revealing the junction between his thighs. If it were a robe, Gavin was confident Nines would be twirling the tie in circles, teasing him further.

He was showing off, so sure in his conceit that he could play his boss like an upright bass.

This assumption was correct, obviously, but that didn't stop Gavin from being incensed with the mutinous bastard he called his dick. Fearing it might spring off without immediate attention, he obliged the request through gritted teeth.

"Get in."

As Nines entered the room, it became apparent that 'talking' had factored little into plans for their exchange. His subordinate slammed the door behind him before skillfully switching their positions and pinning Gavin against it.

The handle pressed into the small of his back, as he was all but moulded onto it. He couldn't give less of a shit—feeling utterly giddy, mind reeling, as it ignited with vibrant bursts of excitement.

Then Nines kissed him—biting, wrenching, capturing flesh between his teeth and mercilessly pulling back. Gavin could taste the warm copper pooling in his mouth, and it may as well have been syrup because nothing had ever tasted so sweet in his entire fucking life.

As a streak dribbled down his chin, he roughly shoved Nines away. Passion tempering long enough to recall what had brought them to their current frenzied encounter.

"You're going to have to put in some serious fucking effort if you expect me to forgive you." Crimson specks propelled from his lips as he wiped them with the back of his hand. "Don't think you can shove your tongue down my throat and expect bygones to be bygones."

"Of course not," Nines hummed. His lust-filled voice was irresistibly rich, purred like auditory velvet against his pulsing neck. "I have every intention of showing you just how sorry I am…"

Gavin was lost immediately. His bravado deflated as he slumped against the other man's hold, hopelessly ensnared. A rush of endorphins prickled his skin, in line with the indulgent nips being dotted across it.

The raging pulse in his boxers grew even more apparent, straining the material in a way that proved impossible to ignore. It pressed against Nines' leg, and he rutted forward shamelessly, desperate for friction.

He wasn't left neglected for long. As his subordinate continued to tease his neck, he reached a hand into his boxers—brushing the concealed length with the same fluid motions. He traced it with the tips of his fingers before applying more targeted pressure, forcing it down with the heel of his palm.

"How about I start with taking care of this?"

Gavin winced under the touch, resisting the sharp yelp pressing at his lips. His companion took this as a challenge. Stopping shy of using fingers to prise them open, he opted to coax the cry with steadily increased weight.

Pain stormed sensitive nerves, testing the bounds of his tolerance, as Gavin's hands balled into fists. They secured themselves into his jacket, clawing at the material in a frenzied attempt to strip it away.

He wanted to feel Nines—all of him—and was becoming increasingly agitated by the barrier preventing this.

The rigid flesh of his arousal continued to be forced back until it rested flush against his pelvis. Anguish had started to wind him, making it difficult to hold himself upright.

"The hell are you doing?" Gavin growled in protest as his physical resistance started to wane. He then doubled over, drenched in sweat and panting madly as though he'd just completed a marathon. "Touch me, you sadistic asshole."

"I believe you'll find I already am," Nines rebuked, emphasising the point in line with the pitiless force of his hand. "If you stop squirming, I'll gladly give you precisely what you want."

"I'm only squirming because you keep—"

The sentence was aborted as Nines' fingers contributed to the evolving barbarity. Nails brushed the underside of his arm before digging into it, creating a series of harsh grooves.

Gavin was unable to hold back the screams he had been fighting so hard to suppress. As much as he enjoyed the rough play, even he had his limits—and feeling like his dick was caught between a blender and a hydraulic press was cutting it pretty fine. Before he could protest, however, a stern voice interjected:

"Don't tell me what you do," it stipulated, more warning than suggestion. "Not when we're like this. Isn't that the arrangement?"

Gavin's mouth flapped open, desperate to argue, until he found himself unable to form anything coherent.

Well. You've got me there.

This was extremely annoying, given the satisfaction Nines seemed to garner from the implicit confirmation. The current power shift was being indulged a little too profoundly, beyond the expectations of their usual salacious roleplay.

He wasn't left to dwell on this long, as without warning, the oppressive force of Nines' palm relinquished. It was replaced by a gentler hold as neatly wound fingers enclosed his tortured flesh.

Relief washed over him, overwhelming and immediate, as the small bursts of light that peppered his vision burst into flames. He flung his head back, groaning deeply, as Nines moved his hand in well-practiced motions.

There had been no lie in his promise to deliver. The strokes came with sinful finesse—applied with flawless strength and precision, adjusting to his responses as though Nines had a direct line to his brain.

It was delicious in its familiarity. Exactly how Gavin wanted it, the way it was supposed to be.

Any bout of insanity that had gripped his subordinate was coming to an end, assuring him it would not inhibit the enjoyment they were about to share. Nines had remembered who he was—and what they were together.

At some point, his boxers had been removed, left abandoned at his feet. With unfettered access, a thumb was flicked across his tip, tracing the slit in a languid stripe. The effect was addicting, a greater high than any drug he'd ever experienced. He wanted more, pleaded for it, as he fisted a hand into the back of Nines' hair, using it to anchor himself.

After a few more teasing trails, Nines re-established his grip. His hand moved in measured pumps, gradually increasing the pace. Gavin whined helplessly, bucking forward in a feverish attempt to maximise the friction.

He chased the movement with his hips as his desire grew progressively brazen. Culminating with meticulously styled strands wound around his fingers, tugged back in line with a moan—

The motions stopped as the delicious winch gripping him was unceremoniously removed. Before he had a chance to question this, he was shoved away, striking the door with a dull thud.

"Get on the bed," Nines ordered, as darkened eyes trained his superior with predatory focus. If the look wasn't enough, he clarified the gravity of his demand with a curt: "Now."

Gavin shuddered, less from the tone and more from the sudden loss of heat. An unpleasant chill nipped at his arousal, but rather than bemoan the shitty insulation in his room, he decided the more constructive approach was to do as instructed. Which he did without any concern for pride or shame.

Twisting around, he stumbled back on quivering legs until his calves struck the edge of the bed. He promptly collapsed against it, allowing himself to become engulfed in a tangled mass of sheets.

He'd barely had a chance to settle before Nines made his advance. Discarding his coat with a decisive shrug, he positioned himself at Gavin's dangling legs before firmly wrenching them apart.

Fuck yes.

Nines then slid between the opening, sinking to his knees—maintaining a distinct air of control despite the submissive position. Grabbing the other man's quads, he manoeuvred them over his head before planting them securely on his shoulders. His grip lingered, digging into the skin with possessive fervour as his head began to lower.

The heat returned as a tongue swept across the bottom of his swollen length. Gavin attempted to crane himself forward in order to secure a better view of the beguiling show unfolding in front of him.

And damn, what a show it was. Nines repeated the movement, lapping his cock in gliding stripes. His mouth was agape, revealing an expanse of velvety pink walls. Trails of moisture coated his companion's skin, brushing at charged nerves which tingled appreciatively.

All the while, he stared at him. Grey eyes bore intensely, refusing to relent for even a second.

They fit perfectly with his face, complementing the rest of his sharp features to a near-inhuman degree of perfection. His defined cheeks hollowed further as he captured the swollen tip, suckling firmly.

"Oh my fucking god ." The mobster struggled to string together anything more coherent as the cavern of warmth lowered, claiming him greedily. Nines moved slowly, inch by inch, until the erection struck the back of his throat.

Gavin was in ecstasy, washed away by a rising tide of pleasure. He rode it greedily until the resulting delirium knocked him back, unable to stay upright. Nines set an excruciating rhythm, pulling away almost completely before thrusting back down with a subtle gag. His tongue swirled around the hardness, exploring every pore, combined with a gentle graze of teeth.

The sensation was indescribable, making Gavin realise just how deluded he'd been to think he could find even a modicum of the same pleasure with anyone else—'seasoned professional' or not.

If a night with a hooker was a cheap motel, being with Nines was like a trip to the Ritz. Opulence that couldn't be replicated, providing the exact level of attentive worship his body craved.

"Yes—that's it," he praised keenly. His eyes balled shut as he dared once again to run digits amorously through silky brown locks. Hips bucked forward, goading desperately, as he sought an increased pace.

To his surprise, Nines permitted this, relinquishing some of his circumstantial control so he may seek to satisfy his needs. There was no delay in doing this as Gavin made full use of his mouth. Assaulting it with spearing thrusts, pounding against the spongy foundation with reckless abandon.

His companion spluttered around the intrusion, struggling for air. This failed to deter his efforts. If anything, it spurred him on. He arched upward, plunging deeper, as he riveted their head in place.

Pressure built in his gut as his arousal twitched and swelled, signalling imminent release. No consideration was made to warn Nines—and with a final, quivering buck, his passion spilt over. Filling his mouth in thick ribbons, until the excess started to dribble from the corners of his mouth.

"Goddamn..." Gavin sighed, teasing out a final, shallow thrust before his length began to soften. He flung an arm to the crease of his brow, wiping at a dense film of perspiration as he struggled to catch his breath. "Better late than never, I guess."

Nines hummed distantly, ignoring the jab as he pulled himself upright. He then flicked a thumb across his lips, removing the salty traces. "Are you feeling satisfied?"

The man knew damn well that he wasn't. He never was after a single round, two or three being their established minimum. Still, his companion never missed a chance to tease him over his salacious insatiability.

There wasn't a chance he'd be letting Nines dip before the main event, under any circumstances.

"Hell no." He scoffed, somewhat amenable to the playfulness but maintaining an distinct undercurrent of demand. "If that's all you're planning on giving me, I'm going to fucking riot."

His companion nodded, expression unshifting in a way that might suggest to a less seasoned lover that he simply wasn't interested. There was, however, a distinct glint of intent mingled in his hardened gaze, betraying his intentions.

He wasn't done, either. Not by any stretch.

Splayed palms planted firmly to either side of the mattress. Nines soon accompanied them, inching himself across the sheets until he had formed an animate cage around Gavin. The steady rise and fall of his chest synced with the fanning of blanketing breath, boasting unshakeable dominance.

"I thought you might say that."

One of the hands steadily lifted, running across the entrapped man's face. It trailed the fleshy canvas, assessing stubble and dotted scars before drawing back to strike them, painting a vivid streak of red.

"Move yourself up," he demanded, with all the composure of someone well-seasoned in using violence as an incentive. "Towards the wall."

It didn't take an expert to see where things were heading, and Gavin was no less than ecstatic. He dutifully complied, sidling up the length of the bed until he was just below the headboard.

"Lift your arms."

Anticipation gripped him in dreamlike delirium as his spent arousal twitched, excitement renewing. Nines had not joined him yet, reaching beneath the bed in order to grab something.

He had a pretty good idea what, and it only caused the excitement to mount.

There had always been too many 'supplies' to fit in the nightstand alone, with this now relegated to solo enjoyment—but in the time they'd been doing this, the collection had grown substantially, amassed in several containers.

This one was his personal favourite. A small leather box secured with a clasp, which Nines clicked open with a neat flick. The sound met his ears at blissful resonance, and it was a struggle to keep his arms up as the muscles began to quiver restlessly.

Then Nines pulled out the rope, wrapped together in tightly bound coils. He started to unwind it until a section was held between his hands. It was flexed testingly before being pulled taut, the fibres straining audibly, creaking under his powerful hold. Gavin felt his mouth go dry.

"Don't move."

This command was completely redundant. There wasn't a chance of him going anywhere. Not in a million years.

As he was strung to the bed, wrists bound by braided cord, Nines handled him with practised precision. Each stroke of his palm and brush of his fingertips was carefully planned, designed to elicit a response. The act of tying him up alone felt better than half of the ill-fated fumbles he'd had in his twenties.

Hardly aggressive competition, nor was it particularly surprising.

No one else knew his body like this, had ever bothered to learn—or even put in the effort to try. There was only Nines, with no other comparison that could possibly be drawn.

If he were being honest with himself, the depth of the other man's feelings had been obvious for quite some time—but Gavin had always overlooked it, adopting a philosophy of selective blindness.

Because he didn't want to confront that, to risk ruining all of this. It was the closest to Heaven he'd ever get, and he didn't want it to end…

Oh shit.

I missed him.

"You're being so good for me," Nines praised, promptly derailing his bleak introspection. "So obedient—"

The crisis was forgotten, as the ends of the rope were hooked through a rickety metal grate before being pulled back. He made it look incredibly easy, still finding time to tease his companion throughout the process. He secured both arms, followed by legs, as he rushed his body with a series of suckles, kisses and bites—all he could think of to get a rise.

"Now, continue to behave yourself and keep still." He returned attention to Gavin's face, positioning himself at the crook of his neck as he nibbled at his ear. "I don't want you wriggling away, not with what I intend to do to you."

The promise was drizzled decadently, passing the shell and running in streams down the sensitive canal. It clogged his senses, deafening him to anything else.

Gavin arched back as far as his restraints would reasonably permit, groaning shamelessly as he did so. "Do it quicker, you asshole," he snapped, levelling the man with an accusatory glare. "Whatever you want, I don't give a shit."

Nines pulled back momentarily, regarding him with a bemused expression. His eyebrows were raised as he huffed gently through twitching lips.

Then, without warning, a hand was brought across his face again. It moved harder this time, the resultant imprint burrowing into him like white-hot needles.

Gavin howled before the noise was forcefully halted. His cheeks were captured in the grip of the unforgiving hand, its thumb and fingers closing in until his lips were crushed together.

"Just remember, this is what you asked for." The twitch on Nines' mouth persisted until the corner curled upward, forming a subtle smirk. "It is going to be an extremely gratifying experience; I guarantee it."

He slipped away, ending the degradation as unceremoniously as it had begun. Dipping back into the box, he rummaged through its contents until he secured a small, silken scarf. He held it up to the light as though to show it off before the glow was quickly extinguished.

The cloth was wrapped around Gavin's eyes and secured in a tight bow. There was no care to ensure comfort; the knot anchored against his hair, catching several strands. Nines pressed down on his face to secure his leverage, pinching lids and ripping lashes in the process.

"Tell me, do you still want this?"

It wasn't really a question. Before Gavin could even think of responding, hands were running in parallel lines down his chest. They traversed lower, passing his abdomen until they nestled on the protruding bones of his pelvis. The man traced them in enticing circles but refused to fan inwards—much to his dismay.

He more than wanted it. He needed it, with every inch of his being crying out in primal desire.

Despite this, he was powerless to speak, the words snatched from his increasingly barren throat. He instead settled for a whine; lips parted desperately. A parched man pleading for water.

Nines seemed to accept this as an answer. In spite of his blindness, Gavin knew he was watching closely—evident by the continuous beat of puffs assaulting his face.

"Remember what I said. Keep still. If you don't, I may be forced to do something drastic."

The weight of his domineering presence diminished, coinciding with the release of pressure on the mattress. His subordinate was gone for some time, amplifying the tension to a maddening degree as he struggled to control his increasingly ragged breaths…

The build-up lost its excitement as he grew impatient.

His whines transitioned into frustrated groans, and his body squirmed against the covers, craving the attention being cruelly withheld.

"What the fuck is the holdup?" he eventually complained, attempting to reposition his pulsing wrists. The dig of the binds no longer felt gratifying, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. "Seriously, how hard can it be to pick something to smack me around with?"

Then he heard it.

The metallic click of a magazine sliding into place, followed shortly by the frigid touch of steel being pressed to his forehead:

"I'm sorry, Gavin, but I don't think I'll be listening to you anymore."

The world paused, holding its breath. A rush of blood flooded his ears, drowning out all other sounds, as his heart hammered against his ribs—ramping to a bruising pace as realisation began to sink in.

Gavin Reed, you fucking idiot.

After all the self-imposed chiding for letting trust go too far, for allowing too much leniency, he'd still let Nines walk him into such an obvious trap.

"... Dirty. Conniving. Double-crossing. Bastard ." The words were spat in embittered fragments, too mangled by rage to boast any structure. "You really are just like your brother, aren't you? I should've known, should have seen it sooner."

"I remain loyal to those who prove deserving." His voice was cold and unyielding, in line with the barrel against his flesh. "You've given me no other choice."

"Bullshit ! " Gavin bellowed, growing increasingly incensed, as molten speckles propelled from his mouth. "You could have chosen me , you son of a bitch! After everything Dad did for you, after everything I've done for you—"

"And I could have had what, exactly?" The other man snapped back. "A lie that continues to be perpetuated? Some fallacy that I matter to you?"

"Oh, boo-hoo , poor little baby." The jeer came with a mocking tremor of his lower lip as he proceeded to wrestle wildly against his restraints. "We already went through this jackass. I never lied; I told you exactly what this was. It's not my fault if you got your wires crossed."

The barrel was pressed harder against his head, forming a deep-set groove. At the same time, the weapon trembled as though the wielder was being trounced by a sudden rush of hesitancy.

Gavin was forced to wait like an old dog being taken out behind the farmhouse. Held in limbo as its owner debated on whether to go through with the act. It was a humiliating, demeaning role, one that he resented deeply.

So he decided to flip the script, leaning further into the muzzle, practically mounting it to his temple. He felt strangely calm as he did so, his adrenaline pumping, providing a steadily increasing numbness. "If you're going to shoot me, then go ahead. What the hell are you waiting for?"

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating but simultaneously fueling his resolve. He revelled in his renewed control, drawing from it a warped satisfaction before goading his assailant further.

"Seeing as you're jerking around, you may as well take off the blindfold." The suggestion came as a saccharine taunt punctuated by a humourless cackle. "Look me in the eyes while you blow my fucking brains out."

The captive's heart continued to pound, echoing in the hush of the room. His adrenaline was starting to taper, turning to apprehension before creeping into fear. He refused to let this show, as his jaw hardened in bitter defiance, all the while bracing for the worst.

It was too late to go back—and if the worst did happen, at least it would be over quickly. He wouldn't be forced to endure the continued sting of Nines' monumental betrayal.

Then, with a sudden jerk, the blindfold was ripped away. His vision was blurred momentarily as it attempted to re-adjust to the murky light. Once the haze cleared, he was able to see his face.

Grey eyes were glazed with immeasurable pain, focus lost to detached longing. It was as if he were imagining a whole other life, separate from the bleak fate assigned to them. A future that would never exist, breaking apart and crashing around him in striking detail.

Tears started to roll down his cheeks as his stricken face crumpled with anguish. His breath hitched, and with a laboured shudder, Nines lowered the pistol.

Gavin watched as he wept, grappling with the undoubtedly boundless weight of his lost pride and shattered yearning…

Until laughter rumbled in his chest—before bursting from his lips, loud and unrepressed. It was partly out of relief but mostly borne of spite, as he barked in the traitor's defeated face.

Struck by a sense of marked vindication, he gleefully twisted a knife into the mangled remains of his spirit:

"I knew you couldn't do it. You might act like tough shit, Nolan, but deep down, you're weak . Guess you can't help that, though—it runs in your blood."

The defamation seemed enough to snap Nines from his despaired stupor, renewing his anger tenfold. His eyes bulged wide, flooded by loathing, as any tenderness he may have held for the man as part of his fantasies promptly disintegrated. It was replaced with something decidedly sinister—as he carved the flesh from his bones with the serrated edge of his stare.

"You are not worth the energy it would take to end your miserable life."

Then, as quickly as it emerged, the rush of emotion was gone. Rising from the bed, he retrieved the discarded coat from the floor before calmly slipping it on. After securing the belt and levelling the creases in the rumpled material, he smoothly turned away.

Despite how exposed he still remained, there was a pronounced air of indifference about him. A cruel detachment that was undoubtedly dignified, as much as Gavin loathed to admit.

"I don't need to do anything to you." His level tones demonstrated a disquieting lack of humanity as his focus honed on the nearby door. "They'll do it for me."

He cleared his throat, glaring at the weathered panel with silent demand until it steadily creaked open. Shadows shifted in the hallway, lining in wait before the rest of the family started to emerge through the threshold. A poisonous atmosphere surrounded them, exacerbated as sights trained on their boss.

With decisive confirmation that his second-in-command was far from the only backstabber in his ranks, Gavin felt his stomach sink—newly replenished confidence dwindling at an alarming rate. He was reminded of his current position and how woefully unequipped he was to defend himself from the pronounced physical onslaught approaching.

Nines showed no sympathy as he coolly stepped around the men, striding for the exit. This was until he reached the doorway, where he lingered longer than necessary. Gripping at the fraught wood, a few of the mindless drones began to look over, presumably awaiting further instruction.

With a sharp squeeze, splinters ripping into the tender rise of his palm, he did just that. Issuing a final command before disappearing from view, not so much as glancing back:

"Keep him alive."

#dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #dbh fic #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900

18 notes · View notes