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sanemisfleshlight · 2 years

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Innkeeper

kinktober day one. even though this was posted at 1:15am we're counting it!

Akaza x reader

warnings: underage blogs DNI, slowburn, jealously, fingering, unprotected sex, mating press, cervix fucking, & squirting.

edited: 03•18•23

Deep in the chilling mountains stood a homely, rustic Inn. The only sight of civilization for miles. With busting winds and heavy snows got in the way of Sun coming up anytime soon. Good thing for Akaza because he's been scrambling for shelter for a few hours now. If he was in a warmer climate there'd be no hope for him. He could see the chimney billowing out smoke, and seen a warm, dim lighting seeping through the cracks of the shutters and door. At this moment he didn't care if the sight of him scared the patrons of the Inn. If they have a problem with him, they can be his breakfast.

He enters the Inn, with a ring of the bell alerting his presence to you beautiful, young woman in furs pouring a cup of tea to a man who's back is to him. "Just take a seat anywhere and I'll be right with you." you said while finishing up filling the man's cup, and finally able to make eye contact with Akaza. He was expecting a fearful look in your eye, for you to cower in fear. But you didn't, at least not yet "You.. sure?" he questions. You shown with no indication of fear, no quiver to your voice when you said "Of course" with a smile. He just stood there shock and dumfounded. You walked over to add another log into the fire. Once finished you turned over to notice he was still standing there.

You give a sigh, "You're not the first of your kind to be here, and you're certainly not the last." You proceed to gesture to the man you just served. He turned his head to give Akaza a wave, with long fingers with sharp claws. And deep, green eyes that resembled a snake's. The moment he read 'Upper Three' in Akaka's golden eyes, he proceeded to tense up, stood straight up, and gave a bow. "I-Its and honor, sir" he said still bowed over, trembling. "your good." Akaza waved off the suck up, in a disinterest tone. Akaza proceeded to sit by the fire to embrace the warm flame, even though the warmth isn't needed. You proceeded to hand him a wool blanket for comfort. Then bend over start to pour him a cup of Tea. Which shown a shown your cleavage, despite to be covered in furs. He gave a flustered thanks, while blushing and trying his best to avert his glaze, and took a gulp of your homemade tea. Which taste of citrus and.. blood, animal blood to be exact. He definitely believe you know that the lower demon and himself weren't your first demonic customers. "This.. taste great, thank you, ma'am." which made you giggled. "No need to be so formal, I'm just an Innkeeper who serves anyone who stops by, I'm assuming you need a room until sunset?" you asked. "Uh.. yea" he replied starstruck still surprised a beautiful human could easily accept his existence and company. "Alrighty I'll grab your key, feel free to pay after your drink." you said with a gorgeous smile and walked off to your counter. And all he can do is watch after you, seeing your hips sway despite your layers.

After his first encounter with you, Akaza has become a regular patron of yours. He's been visiting you for half a year. Whenever he's able too, even if it's an inconvenience for him. He even almost burned to a crisp rushing up the mountain too see you, now that summer is here. He knows the risk but he cant pass off your warmth. Especially now you've change your wardrobe from thick wools and furs. To skirts and shorts that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. he'll never admit it but it's definitely his guilty pleasure to watch you real closely whenever you lean over to serve anyone or himself. Whether he gets a peak of your lace panties you seem to always wear, or the matching bra he'll see when you bend down to serve him tea. He'll drink copious amounts of tea, despite the downgrade from human blood to animal blood.

He used to always judge men, for being so weak with their urges. To the point that they'd be creeps, now look at him stooping to their level. He's never felt this attracted to anyone before, not even his late fiancé. He certainly loved her and respect her, But something about you is absolutely ravishing. Not only that but your so sweet, funny, and charismatic. He feels the need to be in your company constantly. But sadly he can't keep you to himself, especially since Douma has caught wind of his extra curricular activities.

Which completely enrages him, Douma notice Akaza's changed in demeanor. And of course took it upon himself to figure out way. In doing so he's been having quite fun pushing Akaka's buttons relentlessly. By lingering his hands on your hips while he passes you, to holding your hands awfully long whenever you pour him a cup of tea, To paying you in extravagant jewels and kimonos that would compliment your features. Which makes Akaza want to rip his head and throw it out the window on a sunny day. Knowing that Douma's trying to win your heart just so he can defile you, and kill you. Whenever he sees you in the same room with Douma, he will refuse to leave until Douma does. if he arrives to your Inn, to walk into Douma's scent not only around but on you does to his handsy self. He'll stay for a whole week till he's sure Douma's busy with his cult.

Which leaves him sitting by the fire, clutching on to his cup so tight its starting to crack, visibly shaking with rage. Watching you fall into Douma's lap, due to an 'accidentally tripping over something' due to it being orchestrated by Douma himself. Of course Douma used this 'opportunity' to catch you with his hands grasping your thighs, surprisingly your skirt isn't showing your panties, despite it being rid up so high that its almost getting to that point. Which gave douma the courage to start whispering dirty pick up lines in your ear, in making you blushing beet red. "Uh.. L-let me go" you gulped out "gr-grab your tab.. for you" you muster out while slipping out of his lap. Scurrying off to go behind your counter while Douma lets out a chuckle. While maintaining unsettling eye contact with Akaza across the room, bring his tea to his smirking lips, and giving Akaza a wink. Which resulting in Akaza shattering his cup, and spilling his blood on his pants. Which brought out a busting laugh from Douma.

You turn to see what the commotion is all about. You proceeded to let out a gasp when you see the blood pouring from Akaza's hand. You rush over to him and quickly grab his wrist and whip out a rag from your apron to wrap around his hand. "It's alright. I've healed already" he says while gentling grabbing your hand of the rag to take off. You looked down, your eyes widening in surprise. Blushing for being an idiot for forgetting. Which made a gentle smile graze Akaza's face, he couldn't resist with how cute your blushing face is. "W-well your pants are ruined! You must come with me, I have an extra pair for you" you explained. You grabbed his hand and proceeded to pull him out of his chair, leading him upstairs to your room. Which honestly made his undead heart skip a beat to you inviting him to your room.

Upon enter room, he scanned the room to see your taste. Furs on the bed, an large collection of herbs and candles, a dying fire from the hearth, dried flowers over the mantle, & a large brown bear skin run in front of the fireplace. "Go on and take a seat on the bed" you said while opening a large chest in the corner. "You wouldn't even believe how many people leave their pants in the room, to be never returned." you searched through while grabbing a few pairs. Bringing them over for Akaza to review while you take a seat beside him. "T-thank you" he says while looking through the pants, always surprised with how much kindness you’ve treated him.

"So.. what drove you to hurt yourself" you asked, which made him look like a deer about to get trampled. You two proceeded to sit in silence, staring at each other. He went through a whole list of excuses running through his thoughts. But watching the warm light from the fire glaze over your face, make your eyes glow so beautifully. He decided to tell the truth "I didn't like watching Douma flirting with you" he said while looking away into the fire. "H-how come?" you asked with a nervous gulp and blush. Your heart fluttering hoping he's going to say what you've been wishing for. After bonding and getting to know him for the past few months. "Because he's a prick trying to get with you to make me jealous" he said angering, while glaring into the fire. You wanted to comfort Akaza, you really did. But you couldn't help but smile. "Does.. Does this mean you like me?" you ask hopefully. Which caught him off guard, so he turn to look at you. Expecting an interrogation, instead witnessing the most beautiful smile. "Y-Yes, I really do"

If you weren't sitting, you'd be jumping. You had the most giddiest smile, you just couldn't wait no longer. You grab his muscular shoulder, and lock lips with him. Honestly Akaza needed to reboot for a minute, he was wide eye, trying to process what just happened. Once coming to his senses, he grabbed your waist with left and ran his right through your hair, Deeping himself into the kiss while pulling you closer.

After a few minutes of making out, he gently laid you down onto the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Slipping his hand up your skirt and in between your plush thighs. Rubbing against your folds with your wet panties blocking complete access. Which released a breathy moan from you. Which encourage him to rub circles on your clit, bringing out more moans from you. While a tight tent grows against his bloody pants. He moves from your lips to your neck licking and sucking, searching for your sweet spot. In the haze of this you didn't realize he moved your panties to the side until he was already a knuckle deep into you. Pushing his finger passed your folds and deeper into you. Which gave an unexpecting loud moan from you.

Akaza gave an aroused groan from that wonderful sound. In half a second he manage to rip off the front of your shirt and bra. Releasing your breasts from their confinement, making them bounce. He immediately took one in his mouth and grabbed the other with his free hand, giving it a soft squeeze. You couldn't believe this was happening, it made your heart swell that you finally got what you've wanted. Since living in the secluded part of the mountains can be awfully boring. At this moment instead of adding a second finger, he added three. Which practically got you screaming. Akaza couldn't care less in being gentle anymore. He has such a huge ego boost, He wants to make sure Douma hears EVERYTHING from downstairs. So he knows he doesn't get the satisfaction to bring such pleasure to you.

His tent in his pants started to get very uncomfortable, if his pants had a zipper and he wasn't a demon. His little fighter would be a goner. Since he knows you won't let him leave in the pants he's been wearing, there's no point in keeping them intact. He proceeded to pause what he was doing to literally rip off his own pants, the same way he ripped of your shirt. You prop yourself on your elbows, to get a look. You couldn't help but bite your lip while looking up at him on his knees. Starring at his seven inch, veiny member. You'd be more nervous of his girth if you've haven't been anticipating this for so long.

He got on all fours, his hands resting beside either sides of your head. He gave you a fury of gentle kisses, while he teases his tip against your entrance. Rubbing his precum against your folds, then started to rub it against your clit. Bringing out breathy moans from you, since the rest of your voice was trapped in your throat.

After enough teasing he couldn't wait, his animal instincts took over. He went all in, bottoming out in one go. Which let out a scream out of you, since you weren't prepared. With no chance of adjusting but you don't blame him. You've both have been waiting too long. He grabbed on your hips and went at it, no mercy. He had to hold on you tight, otherwise he'd push your head into the fire.

You'd be embarrassed of how quick he got your legs shaking, if you weren't so focus of his girth rubbing against all your walls. He got up on his knees, to flip your legs over his shoulders. Holding onto your thighs making them bruise. Angling his hips upwards hitting your G-spot, over and over. Having you a screaming, panting mess, while your eyes roll over into the back of your head. As he's watching your tits bounces so aggressively, he's watching you struggle find anything to grasp onto. Settling to grab onto the bearskin rug your laying on. "Ugh-FUCK!" Akaza groans out loudly. "By Muzan your so fucking tight, I can't believe I've waited this long" Akaza exclaims.

As he's about to reach his high and by the looks of you being a babbling mess, your about to as well. He folds your legs against your your chest, making your tits squish together making them look fantastic. This angle make his tip kiss your cervix perfectly, making you sequel. He pounds into your cervix repeating, to the point your gushing fluids all over his cock, soaking his chest. Which makes you blush so red that you start to cover your face and arousing him so much that he release the good ole dad sneeze. Milking your cunt so good, to the point its starting to cream that the base. Once your highs have been ridden. He pulls out and spreads your legs to watch his cum to start dripping to your anus. Before it can he fingers it back up to your pussy and pushes it back in. Then proceeds to lay beside you on the rug. Pulling your hands away from your face and giving them a kiss in reassurance.

"Don't worry, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen" he tells you, earning another blush from you. You giggled and cuddle up to him "That- was amazing". "I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself" He smirks while putting his hands through your hair. "Now if you don't mind, I'd appreciate if we go again. To assure that Douma doesn't bother you no more." Which made you give him a smirk, as you sit up to straddle his lap. "Why of course I don't mind" you then give him a deep kiss.

#Demon Slayer #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #kny smut #demon slayer #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #akaza #akaza smut #akaza x reader #Sanemisfleshlight #douma #kimetsu douma #kny douma #akaza x y/n #kny akaza

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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I've been dreaming of the Benevolent Sovereign of the Oasis.

Sun and shadow. Two existences, locked in a perpetual cycle, unable to be without the other.

It hurts to part ways, but reunion is that much sweeter.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

His eyes flutter open, and the instant his awareness hits, so, too, does the lightning in his veins. He throws his covers off and scrambles out of bed. His phone is in his hand in seconds, the calendar app opened.

It's just as he anticipates.

“Today’s the day!!”

Kalim's exhilarated shout stirs the entire mansion. Various hired help glance up from their tasks—private chefs in the middle of their prep work, housekeepers tending to the laundry, gardeners watering the flowers—and tut or sigh.

"There goes the young master again," they’d murmur amongst themselves. "He's so excitable."

It's not an unusual occurrence, but this time is especially special. The notice had gone out months in advance, the most skilled laborers called in from all corners of the world for the event. He had counted down the days, cancelled all his meetings.

Just for this.

Kalim breaks into a sprint down the corridor, his sandaled feet pounding the polished floors. He skids around a corner and continues his frantic pace, almost knocking over a valet. The servant stumbles, but Kalim grabs his hands and pulls him up into a spin.

"It's today, it's today!!" he squeals, earning a blank stare from the valet.

"Yes, sir. The staff are all aware. The preparations are well underway, so you needn't be concerned."

"Gahahah, everyone's already hard at work this early in the morning!" Kalim’s boisterous laugh bounces off the high ceilings. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh no, please leave the work to us... Y-Young master? Young master, where are you going?!"

"I'm going to check up on some things, don't mind me!!" Kalim calls back. He has already taken off, leaving the valet stunned.

"... Well, he's certainly become more proactive."

Kalim sticks his head into the dining room. The table is large enough to host his entire family plus several guests, but today it is set only for two. The seats are intimately situated across from one another, their best plates, silverware, and cloth napkins set out to welcome the diners.

The centerpiece, an ice sculpture of a viper with its hood flared out, sparkles in the morning sunlight. It would be a puddle by now, had it not been enchanted to never melt.

Servants are busy setting up a banquet: crisp vegetables, steamed fish, crusted breads, seasoned meats. His stomach tosses uncomfortably when he passes the seven kinds of curry laid out in a row--but he reassures himself with the reminder that his guest is sure to love them.

The kitchen didn't skim on the beverage selection either. There are sparkling juices, rich soups, spiced coffee, and black tea, accompanied by a large pot of white sugar with which to sweeten it. For dessert, fresh fruits (no dates!), flaky layered pastries, ice-creams, and cakes dipped in sugar syrups, topped with crushed pistachios and candied orange peels.

"Care to sample, sir?" a servant asks Kalim. They offer a trey of appetizers, each with an odd stone-colored dollop.

He obliged, popping one into his mouth. "Mmm! What's this gray stuff? It's delicious!"

"The head chef's secret recipe, young master. He thought to bring it out of his recipe cards today in honor of the celebration."

"Wow, he's really going above and beyond for this!!" Kalim glances at his staff. Now the orchestra is filing in with their instruments, and a massive roast duck on a bed of fried garlic and scallions is being laid out on the table. Another team is stringing up lanterns, and a skilled animal tamer enters, hauling a crate of colorful parrots. "Everyone is. I really appreciate it.

"... Oh, hey!" He snaps his fingers, a spark in his eyes--as though he has just come up with a great idea. "I know! Since you've been putting your all into this, I think it's only fair you get to get off work early and have a chance to relax too!"

"Erm, sir--that's very generous of you, but we aren't even done setting things up yet. The decorations especially..."

"It's fine, I've got this!" Kalim turns to the rest of the workers calls out, waving his arms. "Hey, everyone! You're free to go! Grab some nice food from the kitchen on your way out. I can handle the rest!"

The staff look confused, but not one of them protests. Some shrug and immediately exit, others anxiously wait for their peers to go before they follow. Before long, the room is cleared.

"Alright, let's do this...!"

Kalim produces his magical pen and waves it in an arc. Golden sparkles rain down, animating nearby objects.

Plates, forks, spoons, and knives march to the long table themselves. Flowers settle into crystal vases. Banners and lanterns float up, pinning themselves in place.

There we go.

"Squawk, squawk, squawk!!"

Kalim follows the cacophony to the cage of parrots left behind by the animal tamer. They're scrambling around, looking longingly at the decorations that had been raised to the ceiling.

He brightens with understanding. "Oooh, I get it! You want to get out and stretch your wings too!"

Kalim hesitates, turning the choice over in his head. "'Hmm, well... Technically, you're not supposed to be released until he gets here."

A showy spectacle--that is how Kalim envisions it. A whirlwind of flashy feathers to welcome him back. But the longer he looks at the wide, wet eyes of the parrots, the more the sadness swells in his chest.

Poor little guys, bound to a cage.

"... Okay, I've decided! You can come out and stretch your wings, I'll just need you back on the ground before the big surprise. Then you can fly all you want when he gets here."

Kalim kneels, fiddling with the lock on the cage. The door easily slides open, and--

FLAP, FLAP, FLAP!!

The entire flock rushes out, sending Kalim flying back onto his bum. He braces against the powerful beating of wings, the talons and beaks nearly scraping his skin.

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Kalim!"

Someone tackles right into him, forcing him to the ground. The world violently tilts, and suddenly Kalim is staring at a ceiling swarming with golden lights and a vaguely shaped shadow looming over him.

"I thought you had matured a little since I departed, but it looks as though you still have your moments where you're hopeless without me. I didn't think the first thing I'd do when I got back was protect you, but here we are."

He blinks rapidly. His vision slowly corrects, lines drawing together and forming a crisper image.

That face.

He recognizes it.

His old friend, dressed in sandals, khakis, and a bright yellow T-shirt embroidered with pink tropical flowers. He wears a cap that resembles a cartoon character--a dog with floppy black ears. The man had entered with suitcases, which were dropped by the door the instant he jumped to Kalim's defense.

"Jamil...!"

Kalim yanks him into a hug. His face turns, tears welling in his eyes. "Y-You came!! And you came so early...!!"

"Of course I did. I promised you I'd return home after my travels," Jamil sighs, patting his emotional friend's back. "I was planning on surprising you first, but..."

He gives the dining room and its extravagant flourishes a glance. Parrots are roosting in the banners, popping the balloons, or stealing vegetables and fruit from the flatters.

"... It looks like you've beaten me at my own game," he says tactfully.

"Yeah!" Kalim sniffs, wiping at his tears. "I... I wanted to welcome you home with a huge celebration!!"

"... Idiot. I didn't come back for any of this. Not food, not music, not pets, not decorations. There's one thing that the Scalding Sands has that no other place in Twisted Wonderland does: my best friend."

"Awww, Jamil...!" Kalim's eyes wet again. He lets out a happy sob, reburying his face in Jamil's shoulder. "It's good to have you back!!"

He sighs deeply. Despite this, Jamil still manages a smile. "It's good to be back with you, Kalim."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Kalim Al-Asim #Jamil Viper #Scarabia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #I've been dreaming...#twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twst anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #twisted wonderland anni

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allmyocsarebritish · 8 days

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Kiss, maime, kill - ch 1: the devil of delusion

Pairing: Alastor X killer! fem reader

Warnings!!!: Reader is a serial killer, convinced she is in the right, descriptions of murder, it goes without saying but I really don't condone this, Al's surname in this is Altruist cause it's even more ironic, but yes I know that's not canon

Word count: 1.1k

1927

Louisiana, New Orleans

You wouldn't consider yourself a crazed murderer. Murderer, yes, but crazed? Certainly not. Any and all lives you took were but a waste of space, and, as fucked up as your morals may have been, they were there, and that was all that mattered. You weren't an equal opportunity killer, there was always a means to an end, and, what started with clearing your once impoverished family's debt, became playing the hero in so many stories that one may believe you had grown some sort of bloodlust.

But you hadn't. You wouldn't.

That was what you told yourself as you wiped your bloodstained hands on your jacket, the ebony fabric clinging to your torso, drenched in the vital liquid. An adrenaline rush was only natural after such a heinous act, and revelling in the sinful delight was part of moralistic killing. Right?

*graphic content warning*

The corpse of your seventh victim was still bleeding from both the spinal chord and the liver; a painful death with no means of escape, though the man had long since taken his final breath. Experience had taught you a lot, from how to efficiently off those of which you targeted, to the best methods of disposal. Butcher's knife still clutched firmly in your hand, knuckles turning white with the tension, you began to hack at the joints and muscle connections, making for an effective burial.

Thankfully, this time you had thought ahead, and chased your prey into it's final destination before the hunt truly began. It made the cleaning process substantially more efficient. The small copse you had chosen as a final resting place for this man was carpeted in a thick layer of grass, something that would mask the grave. You took your shovel and began to dig.

Further, further, further. Deep was still too shallow. The thrill of the hunt ebbed away to a new kind of rush: not being caught. The familiar tingle engulfed you as your hands began to tremble and a sadistic smile etched its way onto your features. You continued digging.

Never one to recklessly abandon evidence, you shrugged off your jacket, used it to wipe down your knife, and dropped it in the tomb. A shame really, you had always favoured that one. Nevertheless, you began to fill the hole. 8ft or so, should you have had to hazard a guess. The strain on your muscles caused by the ruthless exercise was beginning to take a toll, and thus your pace slowed in covering your tracks. The exhaustion was rather overwhelming, albeit so much less than when you first started. Each kill became easier, and thus more enjoyable. Though of course, you still only committed these crimes for the good of your community. Right?

A gentle pat on the soil and you were finished; such a stark juxtaposition to the merciless way in which you took the life of the man below the Earth. That would teach him not to...

Well, you couldn't exactly remember what this one had done, but it didn't matter anyway. It had to have been bad enough to warrant death, you were sure of it.

Shovel and butcher's knife in hand, you made your way out of the copse, ducking behind trees in order to remain in the shadows - something that what was either to be the biggest mistake or blessing in your entire existence.

Your mind was filled with sadistic delight, as you twirled your weapon between your fingers, humming a gleeful tune. Pride coarsed through your veins, the adrenaline rush slowly wearing off. But it was okay; you could always kill again. There were plenty of bad people in the world. yourself included

SNAP

You whipped around, panic and thrill creating a pounding in your head. Nothing. Of course, you were in a forest: there was bound to be animals nearby. Still slightly shaken, and feeling more alive with each passing second, you continued on your way, albeit at a much faster pace.

SNAP

There it was again. Now you were convinced this was no animal. Footsteps were drawing nearer and nearer, shattering twigs and debris in their wake. The soft thudding rang sharp in your ears and sent the earth trembling beneath your feet. This was it; you had been caught.

SNAP

A final deep breath before you succumbed to your fate. You dropped the knife, and raised a palm, although keeping hold of the shovel with your dominant hand. Just in case. Turning around slowly, you weren't met with the sight of cops, nor police, nor any kind of law enforcement. No, instead you were met with a slender figure, clad in classy, dark attire, glasses perched on his delicate, upturned nose. His hair was sleek and brunette, shade deepened by the low light of nighttime. His heavy lidded eyes, framed with dark circles, held an aura of mystery and suspense, something that excited you and drew you in, locked in the gaze of this stranger. (This is so cliché I'm sorry)

"Are you some kind of detective?" Your voice was shakier than it should have been and you strengthened your grip on the shovel.

The stranger simply chuckled and couched down, picking up your knife and inspecting it closely. "Quite the opposite, my dear. In fact, I am one of you." His charismatic voice held a transatlantic accent, familiar to you for reasons you could not decipher.

"A killer?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A hunter." His smile grew, a sadistic gleam in his eyes reflected by the moonlight. He held out a hand to you, still gripping your knife with the other. "Alastor. A pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure."

"Y/N. Wait, Alastor? As in Alastor Altruist? The radio host?" That's where you knew him from. His voice was much smoother in person, without the overlay of static.

"The very fellow." His pride at your recognition was not remotely disguised.

"So, are you going to kill- uh, hunt me?" You stuttered awkwardly, cringing at your lack of social skills.

Alastor laughed again, truly a charming sound, despite the obvious malice it was masking. "Of course not, dearest! Where would the fun be in that? I want you to join me."

Your blood ran cold at his request, yet any fear or doubts that may have sprang in your mind was overshadowed by the thrill of adventure. Sadistic adventure.

"On what conditions?"

"What a cautious one you are! And rightfully so. I want to form a partnership."

"Why?" You were incredibly skeptical now; why the fuck did he want to ally with you?

"Why does anyone do anything? Sheer absolute boredom!" He dragged his hands down his face in a dramatic manner, causing you to suppress a laugh. "So, my dear. Do we have a deal?"

You thrust your hand into his waiting palm.

"Deal."

Ty @passifaggressifnahjustaggressif for help with the banner

Part 2!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin alastor imagine #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor

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oharamwah · 9 months

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♡ଓ — 8° celcius : waking up with your husband on an extra chilly morning → 730

husband!miguel x fem!reader

contents : newly-ish wed!miguel being the sweetest most warm husband in the world, living together, implied that reader doesn’t speak spanish, fluuuuuffffff

p.s : 8°c is around 46° f soooo pretty cold

i’m writing this bc it’s freezing in my house

posted july 25th - to be edited !

waking up next to your partner is possibly one of the most intimate activities. knowing that your minds feel safe enough to fall asleep next to each other is the next best way of declaring your love.

you and miguel have lived in this house for no longer than a month. you two recently got married (and by recent i mean within the last 2 years) but living together has certainly shifted things a bit. ever since you moved in together, the privacy is actually existent, meaning you two have been taking advantage of the silence, that is the absence of his abuelita.

nights with miguel are lovely. you’ll be preparing dinner and he’ll have his hands placed gently on your waist, slightly hunching his back so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. he’ll be humming along to some songs you don’t understand, but he doesn’t mind — they’re all about love and he would be embarrassed if you knew.

then you two will eat and have endless conversations about god knows. nights are when miguel dedicates all his attention to you. he could listen to you for hours.

but mornings, they are so unappreciated.

something about the sun peeking through the blinds and shining right on your eyes, waking you up and facing you with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. the sun sits on his cheeks like layers of pure gold, his hair is unkept and falls on his eyelids. he has this solemn look when he sleeps, his eyebrows are knitted and his lips are slightly parted. you can hear his steady breath and soft snores. everything about waking up next to miguel is so perfect.

except for this morning.

this morning, you wake up in a dim room with goosebumps painting your body.

‘it’s cold as hell,’ you think to yourself, but all that comes out of your mouth is a soft grunt. ‘i must’ve forgot to turn on the heater.’

you raise your hand up to rub your eyes as you shift around under the covers, stretching and trying to get as cozy as possible. you look at the alarm clock on your bedside — 5:42 am. the sound of your movement wakes miguel and he heavily exhales. your gaze shifts over to him and you see his bare chest rise and fall slowly, his scarlet eyes slowly fluttering open. he looks like he had a bad sleep.

“it’s cold as hell.” he mutters, replicating your exact thoughts. he looks over at you, confused, as if you made the room this cold.

“good morning baby,” he continues, smiling a bit. “you cold too?” he brushes your cheek.

you smile to yourself. “no, miguel, that’s why i’ve created a burrito of myself with our blanket.” you kid. his smile is endearing, he looks at you with nothing but pure adoration.

you’re in a bit of a silly position. you’re practically wrapped like a newborn with only your head sticking out of the sheets, but miguel doesn’t mind. he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire universe.

“c’mere,” he says with a small gesture. he has one hand to rest his head on and the other is already gently tugging on you to come closer. you inch yourself into his hold. even in a thick blanket you can feel the warmth of his unclothed torso radiating through the fabric. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead once you’ve fully adjusted yourself.

“how do you sleep shirtless in the winter?” you implore.

miguel looks at you with one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. “are you suggesting i stop?” he laughs quietly. he’s teasing you.

“mmm.. not what i said.” you reply with a sheepish smile. his smile only mimics yours. he presses another soft kiss, this time on your temple.

you rest your head on his chest and he searches for your thigh in the cloud of blanket that it’s hiding in. he wraps his hand around the soft spot of your leg and uses his thumb to caress it.

you feel his chest rise again and he sighs, a gentle breeze on the top of your head. “i love you so much.” he says out of the blue. you look up at him, smiling softly. he’s already looking.

“what?” he asks.

“nothing, nothing,” you giggle, “i love you miguel.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fluff #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara i love you #miguel o’hara one shot #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv

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marvelmusing · 2 years

Text

Misplaced Attention

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aleksander wears a new kefta, and a particular feature drives you to distraction.

Warnings [18+]: suggested smut.

My Masterlist

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“…and one of our supply routes in the South has been moved into the next valley due to a landslide.” Aleksander’s words barely register in your mind, as the majority of your focus remains on his lips as he speaks. Once again, your gaze drops down over the stubble that covers his neck, clearly visible due to the cut of his new kefta which features a more dramatic neckline than his previous one.

He might not have realised the reason behind your averted attention, but Aleksander has certainly noticed the distance in your eyes as he speaks.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?” He asks. The corner of his mouth quirks, and there’s amusement dancing in his eyes along with a layer of concern.

He often worked late into the evening, and you would always wait for him to return. Instead of going straight to bed, the two of you had made a habit of sitting before the fire and talking about your respective days.

You nod, though your eyes still don’t move to meet his.

“Supply route’s been moved because of a landslide. Of course I’m listening.” A small smile tugs at your lips, and Aleksander’s expression softens even further.

“Forgive me milaya, but your attention seemed to be elsewhere. Is there something on your mind?” You watch as he shifts in his seat, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, allowing his head to rest on his palm. From this angle, the firelight catches along the line of his throat and warmth blooms over your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you manage an answer.

“Your kefta. It’s very distracting.” His brow lifts as he looks down at his kefta, before remarking,

“I would say that black is one of the least distracting colours in existence.”

You shake your head.

“Not the colour.” You clarify, gesturing towards his neck vaguely as embarrassment prickles over the top of your cheeks. “This.”

His expression remains bemused.

“This?” He repeats incredulously.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a small huff before you continue to grumble, struggling to find the words to explain your struggle. “You, showing off your neck like some sort of harlot.”

His eyes widen, and he breathes out a sudden laugh.

“A harlot?” He echoes in a faux scandalised tone, which pulls a soft laugh from your own lips. Glancing at your husband, you smirk as you stand, taking a few steps towards him. He leans back in his chair, giving you the space to settle on his lap - which you do.

Trailing a finger along the hem of the new kefta, your knuckle grazes over the skin of his throat, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze startles you.

You hum in agreement, hooking your finger under his jaw, and smoothing your thumb over his cheek. His stubble prickles over the pad of your thumb, but you pay it no mind as you stare into his deep, dark eyes.

Leaning in, you replace your thumb with the soft brush of your lips. His hands settle on each of your thighs, keeping your body flush against his as you leave a trail of kisses down his face. His smirk softens into a small smile at your tender expression of affection, but you hear his breathing shift when your lips press against his jaw. Your lips follow the line of his jaw, his stubble scraping against your tongue, and you feel him shudder beneath you.

Then you drop your head down further, and your lips graze against his neck. A soft moan hums in your throat as you finally have an opportunity to taste him. Your tongue roves over his neck, his pulse thundering under his skin. It always sends a thrill through you, that the stoic General of the Second Army falls to pieces once you get your mouth on him.

His hand slides into your hair, cupping the back of your neck to ensure that your lips don’t stray far from his throat. Not that you’d want to stop your current actions. Especially when Aleksander’s soft moans begin to deepen.

You can’t help yourself, you nip the tender skin between your teeth, and Aleksander groans, tightening his grip on you.

“Milaya,” he breathes out quietly, his voice almost lost to pleasure. “My beautiful wife, let me take you to bed.”

You lick an unbroken stripe from the hollow of his throat up to his jaw, drawing a growl from him. He stands, keeping his arms around you, and you squeal as you wrap your legs around him.

The door to your bedroom is open, and it’s only a few of Aleksander’s strides before you’re being placed onto the black sheets of your shared bed. He withdraws himself from you, and you watch as he shrugs his kefta away from his shoulders and allows it to drop to the floor.

Once the fabric hits the ground, you reach towards him, eager to get your lips back on his skin. He steps back, away from you, much to your disappointment. He tilts his head aside, his dark eyes glinting,

“You’ve had your fill milaya, it’s my turn now.”

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling x y/n #the darkling x you #the darkling imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #ben barnes

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eddiebabygirldiaz · 8 months

Text

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @rewritetheending @eowon @forthewolves @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @hippolotamus

thank you darlins! muah!

a little bit of cute domestic fluff from paint sex fic and i swear the smut is actually on the horizon so hooray

Herding a sleepy and slightly displeased Buck towards the bedroom is a bit like trying to make a toddler go to bed when all they want is to stay up to watch one more movie or read one more story.

There is a lot of stumbling and soft, murmured complaints and fluttering eyes rubbed over by lazy palms, but Eddie is nothing if not an expert at this by now, so he knows to keep a firm grip on Buck’s hand and to press his fingers into that certain spot on Buck’s hip to get him to go where Eddie wants him to go and that his voice needs to be low and soothing but not too cajoling and that Buck needs directive words disguised as praise–praise which Eddie always means but certainly uses to his advantage–and that the combination of all of that will get Buck to give in to the tiredness layering itself over his bones. Getting into bed is a familiar dance, one whose music is made up of sultry, intimate violins, their strings plucked and played so delicately within Eddie’s body, vibrating with a lilting frequency that guides him into every single step, each movement ingrained into his very cells, something he could never forget even if he didn’t do it every single day. It’s such a normal, mundane comfort, something he can rely on, a tiny piece of his day that never changes much, his and Buck’s bodies moving around each other like this is the only thing they were ever meant to do, exist in the same space, make room for each other and rotate around the bright core held within themselves, fabric covered skin brushing and hands reaching and eyes meeting. It’s something Eddie always looks forward to, awed and pleased that he has this kind of stability in his life, stability offered to him by someone else and that he offers in return, passed from hand to hand like a ripe fruit shared between lovers, sweetness clinging to their skin and sticking them together with a tart, melodic heat that swirls in Eddie’s mouth and paints his teeth with rose and amber and sky blue. Eddie smacks his lips as he slips beneath the covers and wonders if those colors are glittering and glowing enough for Buck to see. He glances over at Buck, who is pulling the blankets up to his neck and burying his face into the pillow as his whole body does a little shimmy. A smile forms from the sugar-coated hues that live in the cavern of Eddie’s mouth, tucking into his cheeks and bursting into the world.

tagging: @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @diazass @paranoidbean @bigfootsmom @anxieteandbiscuits @jeeyuns @diazblunt @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @bucks118 @cowboy-buck @cowboy-buddie @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @buddierights @the-likesofus @heartshapedvows @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @eddiediaztho @transbuck @transboybuckley @messyhairdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @bekkachaos @gayedmundodiaz @rogerzsteven @911onabc @spotsandsocks @devirnis @honestlydarkprincess @folk-fae and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie wip #paint sex fic #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #ryan writes #seven sentence sunday

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hannahmanderr · 6 months

Text

No one ever said being caught in the crossfire of cosmic power was easy.

Danny's about to find that out first hand.

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Whatever Frostbite had wrapped him in felt amazing. Like slipping into one of those fancy ice baths he’d been craving ever since the first episode earlier that morning. Or like that one time when he’d been playing hide and seek with the yeti cubs and had the brilliant idea of burying himself in a snow mound (somehow he’d still been the first to be found).

The heat in his core began to cool, and he found himself relaxing more and more. For the first time in what felt like hours, his mind felt clearer, even with the unfamiliar memories still swimming around.

He wasn’t completely better, not by a long shot. The hot grip still squeezed at his core, but the pain had thankfully dulled from sharp, stabbing knife wound to annoying heartburn. That, he could manage.

See? You will be fine, little Prince.

Prince?

Prince.

Oh, Ancients.

The title suits you.

No way. Not in a million years. Not in this realm or any.

Well, you can certainly use King, if you prefer. Both are fitting.

No!

His eyes flew open.

“I’m not a king!” He surprised himself by the sudden ferocity in his voice.

Judging from the many pairs of eyes staring at him, they were just as surprised.

Silence fell over the chamber, save for his labored panting. His cheeks flushed cold; he could feel all those eyes on him. Especially…

He glanced up to the center of the table. Master Kala’s stormy gray eyes scrutinized him. Under his gaze, his memories mingling with Danny’s own, Danny felt tinier than ever. Like his very existence offended the Ancient.

Nonsense. You have authority over him anyway.

The gasp escaped his mouth before he could stop it. He wrenched his hands out of Kalliope’s and gripped his head. Please, he begged silently, just leave me alone.

“Danny?” A soft hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see Sam and Tucker. Their faces were blurry, no thanks to the tears pooled in his eyes, but he didn’t need to see to be able to taste their love and concern. Without entirely realizing it, he leaned further into Sam’s touch.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Slowly, he lowered his hands and grabbed the edges of the cloak, burrowing himself into its cool folds.

Wait.

He frowned and ran a thumb along the outer edge. “Where did this come from?”

“From I, Great One,” Frostbite said. “I’d meant to give it to you as a gift for the Solstice. I think it’ll serve you well now, though.”

Tucker whistled. “It’s wicked cool.” He picked up an edge, but quickly dropped it with a shudder. “Emphasis on ‘cool’.”

That earned a grin from Frostbite. “Precisely! The inner layer has been woven with yeti fur and imbued by a powerful spell of mine to absorb your cold energy and reflect it back into you. The outer layer is reinforced with a protection spell. It won’t prevent all harm, but it may offer you a little extra safety.”

Danny twisted to get a better look. The outside was a deep black, dotted with specks of white that he couldn’t decide were little stars or little flakes of snow. The edges were lined in a silky, pure white, and the hood had a thin lining of yeti fur. He opened up one side and nearly gasped when he saw the inner layer. The fabric was covered in a beautiful pattern of icy fractals, sparkling in the dim light of his own glow and the torch flames. The pattern itself glowed a soft blue - not enough to turn the entire inside blue, but enough to give the illusion of the layer being made of solid ice.

“It’s really nice,” he whispered. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt silly; this was far beyond ‘really nice’. The care that had been put into the cloak was clear, and it warmed his heart to think that Frostbite had gone to such an effort just for him. He looked up to meet the yeti’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Frostbite beamed. “Think nothing of it! It should be a much more practical solution to keeping your core temperature down than me having to hold you. And now, you can consider it a coronation gift,” he added with a wink.

The mention of a coronation sent Danny’s stomach into knots all over again.

Indeed, it is lovely. Very befitting of a king.

“I’m not a king,” he said again. Whether it was in response to Frostbite or the voice in his head, he didn’t know. “I-I don’t know why anyone would think I’m supposed to be some king.”

“It’s not a random choice,” Pandora said. “It is Kilaris’ choice. It finds you to be a worthy champion, and thus it is trying to unite with you. It explains why your core is under the duress it is.”

“I still wonder if his suffering isn’t due to his… uniqueness,” Kala mused. “He is half-human, after all.”

Danny blushed again, and Sam’s eyes snapped back towards the Ancient. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she retorted. It was almost enough to make Danny smile. Leave it to Sam Manson to stand up for him like that.

“I mean, he’s not entirely wrong.” Zunje looked up from her tablet long enough to meet Danny’s eyes. “Your core makeup is gonna be different just by your nature. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fascinating stuff! But… yeah, there’s not exactly a lot of history on how being half-human can affect a core. You’re one-of-a-kind!”

“But he’s not the only half-ghost,” Tucker said. “Vlad’s one too. He was having trouble with whatever those quakes were too. Just, not as bad as Danny.”

Kala hummed. “My point stands, then. All this could simply be a matter of the child’s youth and unique core.”

“I disagree.” Frostbite stood to his full height. “I sensed a taint to the Great One’s core. Almost as though something had attached itself to it. That would not be a consequence of his core makeup, however unique it is.”

Danny bit his lip as his heart picked up speed. The idea of something attaching itself to his core…

But how else could he explain the hot hold around it?

He taints you. He still holds what he has no right to.

Like that explained anything. If he was going to be stuck with this voice in his head, couldn’t it at least be useful?

It explains everything, little Prince.

A thought began to form in the back of his mind. He couldn’t put words to it, not yet, but it was enough to worsen the nagging feeling he already had in his gut.

“Only a force as strong as Kilaris could directly affect someone’s core without physical contact,” Pandora was saying. “If it is unable to truly connect with his core, it could turn volatile. It would explain the increase in his core temperature.”

“Then why does it not simply make the connection?” Storm clouds began to gather around Kala again. “This is the Heart! This is not child’s play! It is more than capable of forming the bond itself!”

“Unless if something still holds it,” Pele muttered. Neither Kala nor Pandora appeared to have heard her.

Danny did.

The nagging feeling grew stronger.

Think. You know the answer.

He wasn’t so sure about that.

Zunje also seemed to have heard Pele. She frowned and opened her mouth. “Wait, that’s -”

“Do not act like it is a matter of flipping a switch!” Pandora said, her voice rising in volume. The flames of her plume began to rise. “This is a bond unmatched by any other! It does not form overnight!”

“I never made such a claim!”

Danny looked back and forth between the two arguing Ancients. His heart pounded as he racked his memory, trying to remember what he’d heard.

Unless if something still holds it, Pele had said.

He was so close. He knew it.

Think back, little Prince. Think back.

Danny wasn’t too keen on trusting mysterious voices in his head. One experience with Freakshow’s crystal ball had been more than enough to turn him fearful of the idea in general.

Still though, something about this voice… It didn’t have the same feeling of pressing up against his head like a hot dagger, like Freakshow’s mind control had. It didn’t seem to want to control him, period. The thoughts flowed as naturally as his own, almost as if they were his own.

And he could trust himself, right?

Trust yourself.

So he did. He thought back, scrolling through memories as fast as he could, even the ones that weren’t truly his.

( “- was that - that earthquake, or whatever you call it!” The human girl sprang to her feet and - )

( - couldn’t be right. The shade never changed. It never changed. It was impossible! It was - )

( - he brought a shaky hand up to touch the Crown, now completely absent of its fire - )

( - why did it seem so right? Like… like finding a part of himself he’d never known he was missing - )

( - was almost frightening how welcoming the power felt, and how much he found himself yearning to welcome it back. If only - )

( - The Heart was in desperate need - )

( “- something’s not right… It shouldn’t have attacked -”)

( “- leave him with the Crown. It will remain locked in the Sarcophagus -”)

( “- the presence of the Heart in its chosen. Kilaris does not… leave the King all at once -”)

Danny’s eyes snapped open.

“It’s stuck.”

Somehow, those two words were loud enough to silence the arguing Ancients. They turned and looked at him with wide eyes. It took every last bit of will for him to avoid shying away under their gaze.

“What’s stuck?” Of all the people to speak, he hadn’t expected it to be Kalliope. Still though, he was grateful it had been her and not someone as intimidating as Kala.

He swallowed. “The… the Heart. It’s stuck. It can’t… break free.”

The way Zunje stared at him with a hungry look in her eye made him want to wince. “How do you know that?” she asked eagerly. Her excitement was palpable across the room.

Kala, on the other hand, was nowhere near as eager. “Yes,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. Danny got the impression he was being examined inside and out under his gaze. “How would you know that?”

Oh. That was a good question, wasn’t it?

Why wouldn’t you know that?

“It’s…” His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Ancients, he hated attention. And now with it all on him and his seemingly impossible knowledge…

Relax, little Prince. Simply tell them the truth.

Right. That easy.

Right?

He fidgeted with the edge of the cloak. “You… you guys did something to it, right? To keep Pariah from having total control over it?”

He’d expected one of the Ancients to jump in and take over after that, but they simply continued to stare at him, bewildered and curious.

Go on…

“You… you put the Heart into something.” As he spoke, the thoughts and memories became stronger, more confident. “Something you could take away from him, if you needed to. Like… a failsafe or something.

“And - and now, it’s… it hasn’t been able to get out of that. Whatever happened to keep it in… it’s working too well, isn’t it? And so it’s… stuck. So even if it wanted to bond with me or - or something, and I’m definitely not saying it does, it can’t. Because it’s trapped.”

The room was silent. Only the faint crackling of the torch flames could be heard. Danny’s heart pounded in his ears.

His heart.

Your Heart.

He wanted to throw up all over again.

“He’s right,” Pandora said, so quietly, almost like she was scared to break the silence. “We bound the Heart to a physical vessel. To two physical vessels.”

“We swore never to speak of this!” Kala hissed. Thunder rumbled in his cloudy cloak. “There is a reason we swore ourselves to secrecy!”

“Wait, so you guys took your literal lifeblood or whatever, locked it away, and then decided to keep it a secret?” Tucker asked. Frustration tinged his voice.

“And here I hoped that ghost government would be a little less corrupt than human government,” Sam muttered.

“We had no choice!” Kala slammed one of his hands into the table. “Do you realize the chaos we would have put the Realms in? And no -” he said sharply, interrupting Babel as they opened their mouth, “ - not a productive chaos. Do you know how many beings would go to any length to obtain the power of Kilaris?”

“Then why even do it in the first place?”

“Because of Pariah Dark,” Danny answered Sam. “They - you guys were really worried about him. You wanted to be able to take the power away if he went too crazy with it.”

“We had no choice.” Frostbite’s words echoed Kala’s, but his held gravity. “The Timekeeper warned us.”

“Never mention that traitor again!” Kala roared. “He brings nothing but disorder and lawlessness!”

“The Timek- you mean Clockwork?” Danny asked incredulously.

Kala’s fury was on him in an instant. “Do not speak his name!”

“Enough of this!” Pandora stood, the flames in her plume reaching higher and higher. “He is a child and he is your king! You will treat him with the respect he deserves!”

Pele leaned forward and pulled out her iPhone again. “This ought to be entertaining.”

“That child is no king of mine until the Heart speaks it so!” Kala spat back. “I do not know how he has forbidden knowledge, but it means nothing! He is unfit, inexperienced, and he has offered no proof that the Heart has even chosen him!”

I don’t even want to be king! Danny wanted to shout, but something held him back.

The one who rejects power is often the one best fit to wield it.

“He has aided the Realms time and again!” Frostbite said. His arm of ice glinted dangerously in the light. “He has laid down his life for them and everyone in them! Is there not anyone more worthy?”

“And who are you to speak for Kilaris? You would let your favoritism for the boy blind you to justice?”

He is right.

Danny blinked. What?

He does not speak on behalf of the Heart. That privilege is only bestowed to the one who hears. The one who is one with the Infinite Realms.

He almost wrote the answer off as yet another nonsensical thought. Almost.

How did you hear those memories, little Prince?

His breath caught in his throat.

“It told me!” he shouted.

He nearly expected the chamber to fall silent again, like it had minutes ago. Unfortunately for him, the Ancients’ bickering had grown too loud. Angry auras flared, filling the room with tumult. Sam and Tucker gripped him tightly. Their fear and determination tickled Danny’s nose. Kalliope simply watched the argument unfold, horrified.

He didn’t know what to do. These were the Ancients. The only ghosts powerful enough to put Pariah away. To lock the lifeblood itself away. To them, he was just a kid. Just some dumb human kid who’d somehow managed to stumble his way into their world. Some child who’d overreacted to a little change in energy.

Kala’s right, he thought, dismayed. I shouldn’t even be here.

Why would you believe in such a lie?

Did he have much other choice? He himself still barely believed it was truly the Heart speaking to him. And if he didn’t want to be king, why even bother trying to convince them?

This is more than a crown. This is more than a bid for power.

Do what you have to do.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

Even with the Realms at stake?

He stopped. That… that had been the reason they’d come in the first place, hadn’t it? To figure out what was going on with the shudders? To try and help fix them?

Frustration bubbled in his chest. The voice was right. The Realms were in danger, and its most powerful beings were squabbling like kindergartners. Over one person, at that. Why waste time focusing on this when there were bigger problems?

Couldn’t they see the bigger picture?

They cannot. But you can tell them.

Easier said than done. Clearly, none of them really seemed to be in a listening mood.

Then make them listen.

Do what you have to do.

Make them listen.

He knew what to do.

With a newfound strength, he pushed himself off the ground and lifted into the air. He ignored his friends’ questioning looks and focused inward.

He’d done it just a couple hours earlier after all.

He inhaled. The scent of anger was sharp on the air, so much so that he could taste its spice. Coming from ghosts as powerful as the Ancients, the spice nearly made his eyes water, but he steeled himself against it.

He inhaled again. Breathed in their anger. Breathed in their heat. Let it fill his lungs. Let it fill his core.

But not his heart.

It was easier to find the root of his cool energy wearing Frostbite’s cloak. Whatever magic he’d cast on it worked wonders for amplifying the elemental side to his core. He latched onto it and drew on it. Let it overtake him. His lungs, his body, his heart. Drew on it more and more until it overtook the spice of anger.

Focused his heart. Focused his core.

And he exhaled.

Energy flooded out. Just like he’d done with Sam earlier, he allowed it to release into the air. He inhaled and exhaled again. With each inhale, he took in the hot anger. With each exhale, he redirected it and let it out, cooler and calmer than before.

Yes. Just like that.

It honestly surprised him how good it felt. Redirecting emotional energy always felt so manipulative, but this…

Not manipulation, little Prince. Restoration.

Restoration. Yeah, that sounded nice.

He didn’t know how long he floated there, allowing himself to filter the anger out of the air. He didn’t mind. It just felt so right.

See? You are meant for this.

He still wasn’t sure about that. But if he could do something productive…

“Danny?”

Tucker’s voice cut through his daze. His eyes fluttered open.

Everyone stared at him again. Of course.

“Sorry,” he muttered, wringing his hands. He knew that Sam and Tucker both knew about his emotion eating, and they always insisted it was natural for him, but he still hated acknowledging it around them. And then to try and pull off such a risk in front of the Ancients…

To his shock, though, Tucker laughed. “Don’t be, man, look at you!”

“What?” He looked down at himself and found himself taken aback by how brightly he glowed. It radiated off his body; the fractal pattern in his cloak caught the light and threw it back out, casting shards of gentle blue glow around the room like a crystal in the sunlight. The cloak itself had billowed around him, allowing the light to be thrown even further.

He felt like his own little star.

Before he could react further though, the hot grip around his core returned full force and twisted, sending a wave of heat and dizziness over him. The glow died away and he swooned, his vision going dark for a dangerous second.

Was it just his imagination, or did he hear the echoes of a furious roar?

“Whoa, whoa!” Sam reached up and directed his fall into her arms. “You okay?”

“‘M fine,” he mumbled. Why did he feel so drained all of a sudden? “Just a lil’ tired.”

“That was so cool!” Tucker said. “Whatever that was anyway. How’d you do it?”

Danny shrugged limply. “I dunno, I just… did it.”

And you did excellent, little Prince.

As he felt Sam push aside the cloak to dig in one of his belt holders - hopefully for one of his emergency supplement pills - he became acutely aware of the Ancients’ eyes on him again.

“What is it with you guys and staring?” he grumbled. Screw the consequences for talking back, he was tired.

“Incredible,” Zunje breathed. “Stars above, that was a-maz-ing! In all my years I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of mastery over emotion energy! And to that kind of degree? Against a bunch of powerful cores? Eeeee, I knew I was right about you!”

“It’s nothing special.” Danny accepted the pill Sam held out to him and popped it in his mouth. “Jus’ a tri’,” he said around it.

“Nah, nah, I know tricks, kid.” Babel jumped off Zunje’s shoulder. “That was more than some trick. There was some juice behind that!” They eyed Danny critically. “You sure you don’t have socks with green polka dots?”

“Enough with the socks,” Kala growled. His attention turned to Danny, and his heart skipped a beat. “This still proves nothing! My judgment still stands! Until the Heart itself speaks -”

Whatever else Kala said was drowned out by the rush of static in Danny’s ears. “Are you for real right now?” he snapped. Yeah, he really didn’t care about the consequences now.

If looks could kill, Kala’s would have him fully dead. “Listen here, Phantom, I -”

“No, I’m done listening!” Oh yeah, he was so dead for interrupting again, but he was not about to let things devolve into yet another argument. He set his jaw and locked his gaze onto Kala’s. “This time, I need you to listen to me. The Realms are in danger, and you guys are just standing here arguing! Don’t you have a job to do? Like seriously, who cares if I’m supposed to be king or not?” I do, he added silently, but he pressed on. “Can’t it wait until after we fix the Heart or whatever?”

Hmm. Elocution could use some improvement, but otherwise well said.

Elo-what now?

“But don’t we need to figure out who Kilaris has chosen to tame it?” Pandora asked, and with a jolt of realization, Danny realized the question had been directed towards him.

Just say your piece and be done, Fenton. “But that’s what I was trying to tell you. You guys can sit here all day arguing over who’s supposed to be the king, but it’s not gonna change the fact that the Heart is stuck. It has to be freed before it can actually choose anyone!”

Kala looked about ready to erupt, but thankfully Zunje jumped in first. “He may be on to something!” she said, snatching her tablet back from Babel, who’d opened up a Talking Tom app. “It’s the piece we all forgot about! The Heart’s been separated this whole time! Which might be why…” She tapped a couple of buttons before leaning back in her seat and blowing a strand of silvery hair out of her face. “Yeesh, no wonder things are so whacked out!”

“You put the Heart into something you could take away from Pariah, if worst came to worst,” Danny said, cutting back in, mostly in an attempt to stave off Kala’s explosion. “I don’t know how, but you did. And it never got let out.”

“How do you know that?” Pandora asked. Rather than accusation, her tone was laced with curiosity. Danny suddenly got the impression of Mr. Lancer sitting there, trying to probe an answer out of him during literary analysis.

He averted his gaze. “I… I mean I can’t - I don’t know for sure, but I think… I think the Heart might have… shown me?”

“Shown you?”

“Yeah.” Feeling self-conscious, he pulled the cloak tighter around himself. “It… I saw all these things. Like memories, but they weren’t mine. I really don’t know how, but… I think it’s trying to show me for a reason.”

“What’s gotcha thinkin’ it’s Kilaris?” Babel asked. Despite having had the tablet taken away, their voice sounded suspiciously like Talking Tom’s.

Danny hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s just… a gut feeling, I guess. Like it’s trying to tell me without actually telling me.”

Why not tell them the truth?

Frankly, he didn’t know if he could handle the truth himself right now. To say it out loud, to make it all the more real…

Why shy away from who you are meant to be?

Meant to be.

Yeah, that would be exactly why.

And what if I don’t want to be that? Challenging the voice felt vaguely pointless, especially if he was right about it being the Heart, but banter had always helped him feel a little less out of control.

Destiny often finds you, whether you want it to or not.

Memories of a button, green lightning coursing through his veins, and the impossibly infinite sensation of being ripped apart and put back together again and a dead dimension using his body to blossom to life ripped through his head.

If this voice was going to constantly assault him with random memories, couldn’t it at least give a little warning?

Of course, little Prince. You need only ask.

Danny blinked. Needless to say, the unexpected concession took him aback.

Tucker, ever so astute, narrowed his eyes at Danny. Of course he did. They’d known each other since pre-K, why wouldn’t he key into Danny’s behavior so easily? “Did it just show you something else?”

“Um…” He loved his friend to death and beyond, but he was so gonna make him pay for calling him out like that. “It’s… I’m not…”

Remember your priority.

Right.

He shook his head and set his jaw, drawing his shoulders back and standing tall. It was a stance he’d perfected playing hero for Amity Park, and despite his doubts, slipping into it felt like stepping into his favorite starry pajamas.

The other thing he’d perfected as Phantom was his ability to focus. Make his goal his number one priority. Take in every detail of the battlefield, of his opponent, of the resources available, of the civilians in the crossfire. Leave behind all worries of anything that had happened before or would happen after. Center himself on the duty at hand.

He did that now.

“Look, I know it’s probably important to figure out,” he said. Though his voice carried confidence and determination, his heart still trembled. “I mean believe me, I’d love to know what’s going on with me. Or what all this king stuff is about, because frankly, I’m with Kala.” He jabbed a thumb in the Ancient’s direction. Hopefully the proverbial olive branch was obvious enough. “I’m not exactly sold on me being the best choice for king. But that’s not the most important thing right now.

“Here’s what it comes down to: the Realms are in danger. We all know that, right? And you guys have already figured out that it’s got to do with the Heart, right? So we gotta focus on that. There won’t be a need for a king if the Heart ends up tearing the worlds apart just to put itself back together.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. “And once it’s all said and done, then we can come back here and figure out this whole king mess, alright? I… I promise I won’t fight against it or whatever. I’m not just gonna leave the Realms hanging, you know? But…” He trailed off. How did he even want to end that sentence?

Did he even want the Infinite Realms dependent on him for survival yet again?

“I just think our energy is better spent trying to stop these energy waves or whatever. Since they’re… not normal. I think.” Top ten lamest finishes to a speech in front of a room full of ancient, god-like ghosts? Most definitely.

But he’d said his piece. Laid out his cards.

Well done.

It might have been his imagination, but he swore Kala’s eyes grew a little less stormy, and the clouds shrouding him receded just a bit. “It is no simple claim, to say that Kilaris speaks to you. The consequences of lying would exceed any you could fathom. And if you are wrong about these… visions…”

Danny shrugged. “What do you have to lose? It’s either trust me for like, five minutes or run the risk of the world falling apart.”

All six Ancients regarded him for a long moment, and it took every bit of strength he could muster not to cower under the sheer intensity of their focused gaze. Even though he knew at least Frostbite and Pandora would side with him, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being scrutinized, picked apart, analyzed, and put back together again.

Maybe that was one of their weird, Ancient-y powers. Intimidation tactics.

“I agree.” Surprisingly, the first one to speak was not Frostbite or Pandora. It wasn’t Zunje either, one of the other ones he figured he’d have an easier time convincing.

Pele had spoken.

She’d set her iPhone face-down on the table and was now watching him carefully, hands clasped in front of her. “A wise warrior knows when to fall back to duty when presented with an opportunity for power.” To add to Danny’s surprise, for the first time since he’d met her (which, to be fair, had only been a bit ago), she cracked the smallest of smiles. “You have chosen your battle well, Phantom.”

He couldn’t help the blush that creeped up his face. “Thanks,” he said shyly. Sure, it felt lame, but what else could he say?

“Our authority may be granted by Kilaris, and for that, we owe it our eternal servitude,” Pandora said. “Should it not also be our prerogative to serve the Realms that it so diligently gives life to?”

“I also agree!” Frostbite stood with a wide smile. “The Great One is right. We may not have a chance to select a new king if the Heart is in peril.”

“Well, I did have a croquet game with the queen of Sheba planned,” Babel said, looking at a planner consisting of hundreds and hundreds of individual sticky notes, “but, eh, what the heck! Queenie’s been dead long enough, she can wait a little longer. I’m in!”

Zunje looked as though she might keel over as she stared in horror at Babel’s version of organization, but she managed to shake herself out of her stupor. “First thing we’re doing after all this is teaching you the wonders of proper planning,” she muttered. “Anyway! You already know I’m down. I’d be totally fine either way, really! I’m practically swimming in new data and it’s fantastic! Just thinking about how long it’ll take to sort through and organize, it’s gonna be so much fun! And the graphs? Oh, don’t even get me started on those, I -”

“Enough, Zunje,” Kala rumbled, but much of the threat behind his voice had dissolved. He had not taken his eyes off of Danny the entire time, and it was becoming harder and harder to remain resolute under his stare. Had agreeing with him been the right play?

Ancients, he hated waiting.

Was it weird to say ‘Ancients’ like that when they were right in front of you?

“While I hesitate to trust the source of these visions,” Kala began, “I am willing to set aside the matter of the Heart’s champion. Temporarily.” His eyes narrowed at Danny, and Danny found it surprisingly unreadable. “The matter of the safety of the Realms is the higher priority. We will address it first.”

“Oh, good! Because I was thinking…” Zunje trailed off as she searched for something on her tablet.

“Is no one gonna ask us what we think?” Sam muttered.

Danny couldn’t help the grin he cracked. “Like you guys would fight me on this.”

“Hey, just because you might be some big bad ghost king doesn’t mean you get to tell us what to do.” Tucker punctuated his comment with a playful nudge at Danny’s ribs.

“You have my support too, mikrí.” Kalliope floated forward with a reverent head bow. “I am not much of a fighter, but I will offer my services here wherever I can.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to think of Tucker’s comment, or how Kalliope’s offer felt like a pledge of service to a leader, but for the sake of the moment, he bottled those up for later. Future Danny could deal with those.

“Right, here!” Zunje held up her tablet triumphantly. Danny couldn’t decipher anything from what he saw. “These were the readings I was talking about earlier, yeah? Like it looks like what a typical energy output from the Heart would look like, but it’s just so slightly skewed. And it hit me when Phantom said it, like duh, of course separating the Heart would have some serious impacts on it!”

Yeah, no duh, Danny thought dryly to himself. Getting yourself forcibly ripped apart isn’t fun. Been there, done that.

Which is why you can understand better than they can.

Yeah, yeah. Something something half-ghost half-human. Same story, different day.

Good. Then you’re in agreement.

Well…

“But then why didn’t it give you problems when you first put it into the Crown and Ring?” The words popped out of his mouth before he even fully registered them. Crown and Ring?

( - the weight of a pulsating ring lifting from his finger - )

( - and the angry flames of a crown trying to reject him - )

For what felt like the millionth time that day, all eyes in the room fell on him. He wanted to punch something. Or scream. What would it take to get them to stop staring?

“Wait, so you didn’t just lock it away, you shoved it into a couple of tiny pieces of jewelry?” Tucker said slowly. “Jeez, no wonder it’s mad.”

“How do you -” Kala began to ask Danny, but he stopped himself with his mouth hanging open. After a minute, he shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, we forged the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage for containment of Kilaris. We do not need to rehash the details.”

Pandora gave a little hmph. Danny’s tongue felt itchy; he could tell she wanted to protest that, but she held her tongue. Keeping her eyes on Kala, she instead said, “It was not an easy task. But we managed it. It seemed to operate well with the setup… until…”

“Until we first tried to separate the Crown and the Ring,” Zunje finished quietly. There was a deep sorrow behind her eyes, one that Danny could taste on the air. “It… wasn’t too keen on that. It’s like it knew that’s what we were trying to do.”

( - and power upon power tumbled through the Realms and ripped into the land and ripped into the sky and bled black inky tears and cried with the anguished wail - )

“It didn’t just fight back.” Danny’s voice was little more than a whisper himself as the haunting memory flashed before him. “It was ready to tear things apart. Like, for good.”

Pandora nodded soberly. “It’s the reason we elected to keep the Crown and the Ring close to each other when we secured Pariah away. One in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep with him, one left just outside of it. We wouldn’t run the risk of attempting to separate it from its host or itself. It was better that way.”

“It was our only choice,” Kala said. His shoulders hunched and his brow creased, his eyes staring blankly at the table in front of him. An oddly vulnerable position for someone who presented himself so boldly.

He’s just as worried about all this, Danny realized with a start. He doesn’t want to mess up again.

“Wait, wait.” Sam waved her hands. “Like I get it, it makes sense, but if it was fine for all those years - and I’m assuming it was since we’re all still standing here - then why is it suddenly not fine now? Pariah had both the Crown and the Ring when Danny locked him back up.”

If the dropping in Danny’s stomach before had been like a stone, the way it dropped now was nothing short of a boulder.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. It’s my fault. All this is my fault.

Not so, little Prince. You did not know.

He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. His mind filled with static. Nausea washed over him.

All that effort to keep everyone safe… everything he’d done to stop the tyrant king… coming face to face with death for the second time in his short life…

It had been for nothing.

In saving the world, he had doomed it.

One of his friends laid their hand on his shoulder, clearly sensing his distress, but he shrugged it off. His core and heart were beginning to race again and -

( - Each labored breath pushed his overworked lungs closer and closer to the brink of giving out - )

- he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. His fears and doubts began telling him everything he’d done wrong. Taunting him. Laughing at his failures. Singing songs of his unworthiness.

And they want someone like you to be a king? they said. They expect you to actually help? All you do is get people in trouble.

He wanted to sob, even as another voice cut through the cacophony in his head.

You mustn’t listen to them, little Prince. You cannot let fear be your enemy.

Was it his enemy? Because right now, it felt a lot more like his master.

His fingers felt numb. Dizziness began to overwhelm him.

It was his fault. His fault his fault his fault.

As if to nail the head on the coffin, the hot grip around his core squeezed harder and twisted. He cried out in pain as he fell to his knees.

And now you’re going to fail again, his fears whispered to him. Their collective voice was beginning to take a shape. He didn’t know how he knew. You will fail. That is who you are meant to be. A failure.

No. No. He didn’t have to be. He could still fix this. He could…

He could…

He couldn’t…

Don’t listen to him. He wants you to doubt yourself. You will be playing right into his hands.

He?

The fears cackled. Their voice became clearer and clearer and somewhere in the back of Danny’s mind, he felt like he could recognize it. There’s no sense in fighting back. It will only result in more hurt. Give in to me. Give in to me and perhaps I will spare you long enough to see the world of your creation.

This time, he really did sob.

He knew that voice.

“Please…” he whispered, though he couldn’t tell if the word actually left his mouth or not. The hot grip still held relentlessly tight on his core. Instinctively, his core began to pour out more cold energy, and somewhere, Danny could feel it being reflected back into him, thanks to Frostbite’s cloak.

But it wasn’t enough.

You will not win this, ‘little Prince.’ Where the voice that had originally began calling him that said it with all the tenderness and care, this new voice held nothing but mockery and a desire to inflict pain.

He remembered what he’d been trying to say during the onslaught of memories. How could he have forgotten? How could he have let himself get so selfishly distracted?

He needed to warn them.

It’s too late, the voice of the fallen king said in his head, cackling again. You will never be able to keep me from what is rightfully mine. You are nothing.

No. No, he…

Do not listen! The right is yours and yours alone. You mustn’t let him take it.

Like he could keep that from happening. He’d come within inches of death the last time - a full, proper death, not the impossible space he’d fallen into when he’d walked into that portal. He’d barely been able to survive the last battle, and that had been with a mech suit that had granted him a slew of extra power.

The king was right. He was nothing.

Yes, that’s it, the voice purred. Let me win. Choose the easier path, little Prince. Maybe I will find it within me to expedite your death.

Hands found his shoulders again, and this time, he didn’t have the energy to throw them off. He was too lost within himself, too far gone.

You are never too far gone. You have more within you than he ever will. Where he holds weakness, your heart holds strength. It has always been within you. You must realize this.

You must do your duty to the Realms.

You must do what you need to do.

He couldn’t.

Not this time.

What a good little Prince, the king laughed. So obedient to his King. And as a reward for your obedience, I will make your pathetic human village my new throne. I will raze it to the ground and rebuild it into glory. It will have the honor of being the first conquest of my new reign.

The words sent a jolt through him, one so strong it nearly knocked him over. Amity Park, being threatened again…

He could deal with being berated in his own head. He could deal with whatever threats got thrown his way. He could deal with whatever the king could attack him with.

He would never stand for a threat against his people.

In this world or any.

That’s it. You draw your strength from a source more potent than he could ever dream. You draw your power from within, not about. Where do you draw that from, little Prince?

He gritted his teeth. Forced himself up onto one knee. Where did he draw his strength from?

The hands on his shoulders, one from each of his friends, answered his question.

He focused on the image of their faces. Of Jazz’s face. Of his parents’. Of Frostbite. Princess Dora. Mr. Lancer. Valerie. Pandora. Wulf. Cujo. Dani.

Where did he draw his strength from?

More images came to mind. Dash playing fetch with his little dog in the park. Ember headlining a concert. Mr. and Mrs. Foley laughing together at the dinner table. Desiree smiling as she granted a child’s wish upon a star. Wes standing triumphantly in front of his conspiracy board.

Where did he draw his strength from?

And now places. His home, with the portal and his room and the kind of perfect chaos only a Fenton could create. The Far Frozen, with endless snow and ice and an entire tribe of yetis who welcomed him with open arms and a safe bed for him to rest whenever he needed it. Casper High, with all the little nooks and crannies he’d discovered for hiding places and the students and teachers who’d learned to deal with ghosts right alongside him and tiny wonders like the little blob ghost clan living in the condemned girls’ bathroom on the second floor. The sky, with its endless expanse and absolute freedom and the stars he adored so much. The Ghost Zone, with clouds of ectoplasm to swim in and new adventures behind every door and the perpetual thrill of something supernatural that drew him back every time.

Yes. He knew from where he drew his strength.

Some deep, secret part of him still doubted himself. Still wondered if there was truth to the fears being fed to him. He knew he was putting on a little bravado.

But if it meant fighting to keep the balance… To keep everything and everyone he loved safe…

The hot grip faltered.

Insolent child! the king snarled. Crown or no, you are powerless against me. Whatever you love, I will tear it down. I will make you watch as I kill each of your precious humans, one by one. I will burn your cities and I will force you to light the flame. Would you truly subject them to such torture for the sake of your own pathetic revolt?

The king’s words almost sent Danny grinding to a halt again, but he felt something prodding in his core. Something new, yet familiar. Something that he swore carried what could only be described as the promise of spring. It wanted let out.

He didn’t know how to let it out.

But he focused on it. Thought about Amity Park in the springtime and seeing its citizens emerging after a long, gray Midwestern winter. Thought about visiting the Realms and hearing about all sorts of traditional festivals of fertility and renewal and rebirth celebrated by all the different people of all the different realms.

Yes. That’s it. Focus, little Prince. You will not let him win.

For once, he felt in tune with the voice in his head.

And it felt right.

He stood. Focused. Just like they had when he’d calmed the Ancients, his emotions calibrated themselves to his breathing. Only this time, he needed it internally.

Inhale the good. The light. Exhale the darkness.

You think you can free yourself of me so easily, the king said with a sneer. What good will such naivete serve when I bring you to your knees and assert what is mine?

Focus. The good. Mr. Lancer’s proud smile when he turned in a book report on time. Frostbite teaching him how to sculpt little flowers out of frost. Unabashedly cuddling up next to his mom on movie night.

He could feel the king’s rage. It burned against his core. He wanted to cry out against it.

He didn’t.

Clockwork’s patient eyes as he explained intricacies of time. Him and Cujo playing fetch in the sky. Sam and Tucker, ever loyal and always by his side.

The burn began to fade.

The fuzzy feeling of saving a civilian. The purpose he felt helping a spirit move on. The duty he had to both his worlds.

The duty he had to himself.

And what will you do about that duty?

“I messed up,” he whispered. This time, when he spoke, he knew he did so aloud. He couldn’t find it in him to talk much louder than that. The echoes of the king’s voice were still too loud.

“No you didn’t,” Sam said immediately. “Why would you say that?”

“No, this time I really did.” He swallowed. “I took the Crown away from him before…” He trailed off. No. He couldn’t revisit those memories.

Not yet.

The room was quiet for a moment before Pandora spoke up. “So… he does not have the Crown? It’s not with him?”

Danny hesitated. “No. But he’s looking for it. Right now.”

“What?”

A doorbell rang.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #danny phantom fanfiction #fanfic #dp fanfiction #hannah writes #supernova #i still have no clue how i tagged this before lol

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anubiarts · 3 months

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hi ! I have to learn pixel art for a game development class im taking.... do you have any tips to perhaps get started? (i have aseprite alr :3) thank u!!!!!!!!

Hi! I'm not the best person to ask this (my only projects for game dev were unfinished projects very early on), but I'll try to help

There's 3 important things that I'd say you should know about pixel art for game development specifically: Tiles/Tilesets, Character Animation, and Consistent Sizing

Let's go for one by one

Tiles/Tilesets

While you can make completely hand-drawn scenes for games, it's certainly way harder to do, as it requires a lot more time to achieve, and with things like deadlines on the way, you'll probably have to crunch yourself to achieve it on time, which I wouldn't recommend, especially if you're just starting out

This is where the Tiles/Tilesets come in handy. To put it simply, a Tile is a pattern that can either repeat horizontally/vertically/in all sides, or also a pattern that doesn't exactly repeat in any direction, but can be used to give a smoother end to something, like a corner. There's way more uses for Tiles, but these two are the most common types you'll see

A tileset is a collection of tiles, commonly with the tiles being together with those they work well with

Below is an example of a (messy) tileset along with how the tiles work together!

Basically these two allow you to make scenes quickier and easier, which is a lifesaver most of the time

Below is the most common type of tileset (for platformers and side-view games)!

There's a variant of this which adds slopes and smoother cornes on the insides, but this is still a good starting point

Basically these tiles allow you to cover most sizes regarding ground/wall tiles, which work well in things like gameboy games for example

As for Aseprite, in the latest update they added tileset layers, which makes it way easier to reorganize tiles, along with the existing Tiled mode, which duplicates your current canvas in all axis (or a specific one, depending on which one you pick) to see how the tile connects with their surroundings

You can enable Tiled mode by going into View > Tiled Mode and picking the best option that suits your tile. As for the tileset layers, there's this video that goes far more into detail on how it works:

youtube

Character Animation

I want you to look at this set of animations

How many frames do you think were used for each one?

The answer is 4 or less!

The idle animation has 3 frames, the walking/running animation has 4, and the sliding animation has 2! (which technically is the exact same image, but slightly moved left and right between each frame)

If you're starting out with pixel art, I'd really recommend to minimize the amount of frames you use in total, as it'll make it way easier to work with if you don't know much about pixel art/animation, plus you can still manage to add tons of personality into each frame

In Aseprite, you can add tags (by clicking the frame number and "Add Tag"), which helps to separate specific animations. Also, depending on your game engine/tool, it'll pick animations either by a sprite-sheet or by separate png files. I'll cover spritesheets here as that's the most common method

In Aseprite, if you go to File > Export, you can choose to export a Spritesheet, which is essentialy a set of frames connected into a single image, which can then be imported into a game engine/tool and be tweaked there

There's 4 buttons in the Export Spritesheet prompt, "Layout", "Sprite", "Borders" and "Output"

In "Layout" you can select how the frames should be arranged, along with setting constraints on them

In "Sprite", you can select the source of these frames, along with specifying if you want to export a specific layer/tag or all of them

in "Borders" you can specify if you want to add padding or remove space from your exported file

and in "Output" you can enable the option to export the spritesheet (in "Output file") along with a JSON data file if you want

Tweak these options depending on how your game engine/tool handles spritesheets, and you should be good to go!

Consistent Sizing

if you do art with backgrounds already, this shouldn't be hard to do, but it's still important!

This one should be straightforward; Keep the sizes of the characters and scenarios around the same size! Unless you're making something like Grounded, a character will look out of place with a normal house 20 times it's size

Work between the sizes of the tiles and characters to make consistent sizes all around

You can break this rule somewhat if it helps portray better your idea, like here:

but don't go too over the top with it!

I hope this helped a bit ^^

(sorry for the delay with this btw)

#anubi asks #gamedev #pixel art #i hope it helps ya ;w;

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shoujomangathoughts · 4 months

Text

Shoujo Thoughts - Banana Fish

I decided recently to rewatch Banana Fish. I have a lot of thoughts on this series (it's in my top three, if not my favorite series) so I doubt I'll be able to go over everything that I could. This will contain spoilers for the series so here's the warning for that.

I won't spend a ton of time going over Ash and Eiji's relationship because I feel that's the conversational ground that others have covered the most. What I will say though is that I don't really see BF as a BL series or even really think that Ash and Eiji necessarily love each other in a romantic way. This series certainly inspired a lot of LGBTQ+ stories but I've always liked that Ash and Eiji's relationship seems to be in some sort of gray area; it feels ambiguous enough to remain interpretable. I don't want to take away from any queer elements that people may like about the story, but I also think it's sometimes important for media to display emotional intimacy between men, as I feel a lot of stories don't let this aspect exist unless they're romantically involved (or sometimes it's the setup for gay jokes). I like that this series kind of walks the line, though I'm sure many will disagree since BF has had a reputation for being a BL especially after the anime and it's modern popularity.

Something interesting about the relationship between Ash and Eiji for me is the "selfish" reasons they seem connected and how that relates to parts of their character arcs. To Ash, Eiji has an innocence that he tries to protect, as his was trampled on at an early age. It's interesting to see this shift, things like giving Eiji a gun in the beginning to refusing him one when escaping Golzine's mansion. This aspect of Eiji also grounds Ash in a sense - conversations they have like when Ash talks about his fear of pumpkins shows a more innocent side to Ash that can't frequently be on display because of everything around him, but it reminds us of how young he actually is (Ibe notices this as well). Eiji's perspective on things and his experiences are so vastly different that it helps balance Ash out. Eiji, on the other hand, sees Ash and his role in helping him as a way to not quit something. He quit pole vaulting after an injury that also led to some psychological barriers, and in some sense he sees the events that take place as a means of not repeating what he believes to be past mistakes. In some ways, it also comes across a little bit that Eiji almost has a hero complex when it comes to Ash. I don't mean this in a negative way at all, but I think it also demonstrates some of Eiji's naivety (albeit still good-natured) by thinking that it would be so easy for Ash to start over. Their relationship obviously has other layers as well, but I've always found these aspects interesting and they're not as often brought up when it comes to the nuance of the how the characters in this story feel very "human'.

Another aspect I want to talk about is the antagonists. I feel as though characters like Dino come across well and as intended, but some of the others don't or feel as though there might be a bit of missed potential. I feel like Yut-Lung didn't quite live up to his full potential; the way he acted in the beginning versus when he was working with the mafia is a bit confusing at times as he used to use secret techniques and trained moves but then ends up in a bit of a damsel situation. His motivations however are solid and show off what his role is well in my opinion. Fox is the other antagonist that people seem to have issue with. While I think his role is fine and does a good job at reinforcing the fact that Dino really does have connections in all sorts of places (and the parallels to Ash being legally 'dead'), his shift into essentially being the "final boss" doesn't work for some and I see why. He wasn't really built up to be that significant so it doesn't feel as satisfying as it should. Most of the other "villains" in the series are more interesting and end up being more memorable characters (Dino, Arthur, Yut-Lung, Blanca).

Something else that I appreciate in this story is the plot device of banana fish itself. The mystery of the drug is far more prominent early on, but I appreciate that as the story progresses, there is no magic cure developed that makes previous characters feel like they only had a case of bad timing. They outright say there is no cure for the drug and the story sticks to that, which is an aspect I respect. People also say that the plotline with the drug ends up taking a backseat, which I partially agree with, but it's also important to recognize that its role changes. At first, it's the core of the mystery and after that's uncovered, it turns into something that is more political in nature. I feel like some didn't like the change in role it had and that's why they say it's not important after around the halfway point. Not saying that the execution is without flaw, but the drug has a role, even if more in the background, throughout the whole series. The moment when Ash tells Sing to let the briefcase go is the moment Ash decides to let the existence of the drug die with the man that was at the head of it all (not to mention all the scientists and whatnot that had already been killed). It may seem unsatisfying, but Ash would rather just let its existence be wiped than deal with anyone else trying to do something with it, not to mention that he values Sing's life enough to help him even at the expense of something he'd chased the whole series, which shows that being around Eiji probably helped him open up and shows that some of his morals are in check.

The end of the series, while being somewhat controversial for some, is something that I still find myself liking. Honestly, the first time I watched the series I expected Ash to die; from the many moments of foreshadowing and knowledge of other mafia/gang series that show many of these people never being able to truly escape the world they're in. The story on a whole is about Ash and throughout the story he found solid people to love and trust, most specifically Eiji and Max (I'd also say he found strong allies in characters like Sing and Cain as well and Shorter was around before the series began). People always say they wished Ash could go to Japan to start over but I'm not of the opinion that an ending like that would suit the series. I've seen the ending being labeled as senselessly tragic or as some sort of cry-bait but I disagree. I know the mangaka made comments at one point about how at least part of her decision to end it with his death was due to all the death he caused, therefore claiming the ending was justified in her mind because of some sort of karma. I understand why people are rubbed the wrong way by this because of how traumatized Ash is, but I do think that's an angle that makes sense as well (keep in mind not all of Ash's killings were in self defense). Ash gets stabbed in a moment where he saw an opportunity to try again and is then reminded that he still has enemies. It reminds me of the look on his face when Dino dies; he doesn't seem relieved like he probably expected he would. Part of this is probably because he doesn't know what to do with his "freedom" because he's never allowed himself to think that far, but I think another part is that even though Dino is dead, he doesn't really feel free. I know some get upset that Ash gets fatally wounded by a "nobody" character like Lao (which some are under the impression that Ash wasn't fatally wounded and merely chose to bleed out due to a missing line from Lao in the anime), but I think it suits what Yoshida was going for and also reiterates the smaller, more petty enemies that Ash made throughout his life. Dino and some of the other big shot villains being killed did not automatically free Ash of being a part of this world. Ash gets to die knowing that there are people who care for him and that's a feeling that he'd never imagined himself having. He dies a person that experienced genuine care for him after having been starved of it his whole life. It comes across that he dies satisfied. I see why the ending doesn't work for some but I've always thought it made sense.

For now I'll stop here as these were just some observations I was making on rewatching the series knowing how I and others felt about certain aspects. I may end up making another post or something someday on BF because the series really means a lot to me. Thanks for reading!

#banana fish #anime #manga #shoujo #akimi yoshida

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benjaminthewolf · 11 months

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Wolven Storm (Remastered)

Been giving some old stories remasters recently. "Prey saved from elements" is still one of my favorite tropes.

****

Your bitter, icy, ragged breath shakily shudders in and out of your frigid, frost-glazed lungs, as your cornea-searing, visceral, salty tears begin to rapidly freeze over your face. The Snowy Isles had, indeed, been known to get undoubtedly horrendous blizzards around this time of the year, but they had never, ever, EVER been THIS bad before!

Hesitantly risking opening your eyes after a couple of seconds just shivering, (there was, after all, a very real possibility that doing so could cause your poor, rawed, positively depleted eyes to become frozen solid instantly) you are, in fact, only greeted with what you had ultimately gone into the perilous commitment expecting, at the furthest end of it all. White. Pure white. Nowhere, no one, nothing. Just white.

Your stunted, frail, meager, jittering body did what little it could at this point to keep itself vitally chugging along in spite of everything within current reality. You had practically, yet staggeredly, buried yourself underneath the snow in keeping to this instinctive task, reasoning that at least because you were mostly out of the wind, you could ignore the windchill to some degree. Still, with the many frozen layers currently rubbing against your stiffening being and paralyzing its skin to the touch, you only knew, upon a visceral twinge of your heart, that unless you were discovered soon, your heart would be doomed to slow ‘till it stopped, just as the hands of time would cease to turn their hands around your poor being.

As your decidedly non-conscious body risks an utterly heat-and-energy-sapping shiver, you can feel yourself beginning to lose consciousness. One, final tear finds the resolve it desperately needs to roll all the way down your scrunched-up cheek and into the snow, for you now knew that, as all the available evidence made it blaringly obvious in your mind, you were never to regain consciousness again.

****

To be entirely honest, I wasn’t exactly able to see much through the brutally whitened, blistering storm myself, either.

I could, however, smell. And because of that, I could track. And, because of THAT, I could most certainly tell that someone had passed this way by before me, although their footsteps had obviously been covered up by the ever-layering, brutal nature of the snow. No civilization at all existed anywhere even near this blistering area, as it was just a huge nature preserve, and at this stage of the horrid storm, if anyone that was not adapted to the cold like I was just so happened to have gotten trapped within its unforgiving, freezing suspension, their chances for survival were indeed, all but none.

That, you see, is exactly why I had chosen to come here, and it did now seem to be the case that my searching had not been in vain.

Only your head was still visible above the snow, (as much as anything was visible at all in these conditions), but that was all that I needed to be able to check if I wasn’t already too late. Thoroughly sniffing over your form with my powerful wolf nose, (which was actually just about as big as your head, surprisingly enough), I am not able to detect any of the distinctive whiffs of rigor mortis or decomposition upon it, and, after gently placing an ear up to your relatively small, frigid neck, a pulse is just barely audible. It had slowed to a near fatal level at this point, however, and the clock was ticking quite fast.

As a result of my examinations, I knew the only option now was to get you somewhere warm. And I also knew, quite well, as a matter of fact, that the only two places I had at my current disposal that could accomplish that feat you so needed, was, indeed, my maw, and, far more practically, my stomach.

Steadily unveiling onto your unconscious being, my pink, slimy, smooth, yet heated tongue, I allow a few heaves from my lungs to brush some warm air onto your body before I begin to stroke the hot muscle all across your numbed form, getting it positively soaked in my warm, sticky, and thus preparing you for your lengthy journey up ahead.

The moment your being is doused thoroughly within my fluids, I gently dig you out from the compounding feet of layered snow you are trapped beneath, before carefully maneuvering my lower mandible underneath you, and gently lifting you up into my maw. The snow I inevitably end up scooping in alongside you almost instantly melts from the heat, as front after front of warm air is brushed up onto your being. At last, I lock my jaws tight around you, not daring to allow even the most miniscule sliver of cold breach inside. Now, you are safe in my maw.

I proceed to gently wrap my cushiony tongue around your form, so the sensation of physically touching a warm object could help your rigid skin slowly recover. I swish you around between my cheeks for a while, before eventually unwrapping the slick, smooth muscle from your being, and slipping the thing underneath you, so that you may be gently pushed towards the back of the maw, and into my wide open gullet as such.

The top of your head gently brushes against my uvula as you are carefully lodged into my gullet. Tilting my head back slightly as I initiate the tight swallow, I am able as such to feel your being getting squeezed deep into my esophagus; a natural, small bulge swiftly forming inside my throat as I do.

Your currently limp, unconscious body has absolutely zero ability to resist as you are rhythmically kneaded and squelched down by the cushiony walls of the throat.With each pulse shoving you further and further into my form, more and more heat gradually replaces the horrid brutal, freezing cold that had once gravely threatened your body. Now, however, you were safe, and as your body reaches the lower esophageal sphincter, you are gently squeezed out into my stomach, the gurgling, churning organ expanding and contracting its walls all around you as the warm, harmless liquids continue to splash and slosh their heat upon your unmoving being.

Your head now lying comfortably against the squishy, flexible walls, I casually let out a satisfied sigh as I am able to feel your form settling down within my guts. Now, I had to bring you back to civilization. And thus, forwards, within the blinding, stiffening, brutal, vicious storm I must go.

****

The very first thing you were able to detect upon regaining a slight bit of consciousness was the deep, echoing pounding of my heartbeat, a baseline which was swiftly followed up by the gurgling and growling constant melody of the churning stomach around you, as you begin to shuffle about within your current state of conscious being.

Slowly opening your eyes in order to confirm you weren’t dead, your gaze naturally picks up the soft, shifting, pink walls of the organ around you, though at this point you didn’t exactly know you were in an organ, much less a stomach, specifically. You lightly brush a hand against the slick, goopy walls. You steadily heave in and out a breath of air. It all seemed too real to be some sort of near-death experience hallucination. And it was right then and there that the reality of the situation set in. You now knew you were alive, and the storm had not, in fact, killed you like you were so sure it would’ve back there in the snow.

You weren’t exactly sure how you had ended up here, or what this place even was, but, for the time being, that really did not matter at all. All that did matter was that you were alive, and would therefore live to grace civilization once again. You give a couple of gentle pats onto the warm, snug chamber, before laying your head back down, and snuggling yourself deep into the walls.

I, on the outside, could sense all this happening in real time, but I chose not to speak up for the moment being. You had already gone through enough already. The initial instinctive panic you would inevitably experience over hearing that you were currently inside of a stomach was most certainly not something I wanted to put you through at this point.

Thus, as all four of my padded wolf paws continued to make print after print within the rapidly gathering, blinding snow, I could only give a subtle smile to myself, knowing that my humble search today had, indeed, saved a life.

#soft vore #vore writing #vore stories #vore story #safe vore #male pred #male predador #furry pred #gt vore #unaware prey #unaware vore #protection vore #protective vore #wholesome vore #endosoma #extreme cuddling #pov vore #reader prey

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blueiskewl · 1 year

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The Largest Group of Ancient Bronzes in Italy Found at Sacred Baths in Tuscany

Lying on the bottom of the large Roman 'vasca' or pool, the young and very beautiful ephebe seems to be sleeping. Next to him is Hygeia (Igea), the goddess of health who was the daughter or wife of Asclepius, with a serpent curled on her arm. A bit farther away, also partly submerged, you can see Apollo, and then other divinities, matrons, youths, and emperors.

Protected for 2,300 years by the mud and boiling water of the sacred pools, a never-before-seen votive array has re-emerged from the excavations at San Casciano dei Bagni, in Tuscany, with over 24 extremely finely wrought bronze statues, five of them almost one metre tall, all complete and in a perfect state of preservation.

"It's a discovery that will rewrite history and one which more than 60 experts from all over the world are already working on," archaeologist Jacopo Tabolli tells ANSA in an exclusive preview.

The young professor from the University for Foreigners of Siena has been leading the project since 2019, on a permit from the Ministry of Culture and the support, also financial, of the small town's municipal council.

It's an "absolutely unique" treasure trove, he underscores, which has been accompanied by an incredible quantity of inscriptions in Etruscan and Latin as well as thousands of coins and a series of equally interesting plant offerings.

After taking up office only a handful of days before, Minister or Culture Gennaro Sangiuliano has already visited the conservation laboratory that has just welcomed the statues and now applauds "an exceptional discovery that confirms once again that Italy is a country full of huge and unique treasures".

"The layering of different civilizations is a unique feature of Italian culture," enthuses the head of the Collegio Romano.

"It's the most important discovery since the Riace Bronzes and is certainly one of the most significant discovery of bronzes ever made in the history of the ancient Mediterranean," says, beside him, the ministry's director general of museums, Massimo Osanna, who has just approved the purchase of the 16th century palazzo that will house the marvels yielded by the Great Bath in the village of San Casciano, a museum which will be flanked in the future by a full-blown archaeological park.

Luigi La Rocca, general director for archaeology, shares their enthusiasm and stresses "the importance of the method used in this excavation", which as was the case of the most recent discoveries at Pompeii, also here saw the involvement of "specialists from all disciplines, from architects to geologists, and from archaeo-botanists to experts in epigraphy and numismatics".

Fashioned in all likelihood by local craftsmen, the 24 statues that have just been found can be dated between the second century BC and the first century AD, explains Tabolli, speaking alongside the field director Emanuele Mariotti and Ada Salvi from the Superintendency.

The shrine, with its bubbling hot pools, its sloping terraces, its fountains, and its altars, existed at least from the third century BC and remained active until the fifth century AD, Tabolli says, when in Christian times it was shut down but not destroyed, its pools sealed with heavy stone pillars, and the divinities entrusted respectfully to the water.

It is also for this reason that, having removed that covering, the archaeologists found themselves looking at a still-intact treasure trove, in effect "the greatest store of statues from ancient Italy and in any case the only one whose context we can wholly reconstruct," says Tabolli.

Partly arranged on the branches of a huge tree trunk set into the bottom of the pool, and in many cases covered with inscriptions, the statues, like the countless votive offerings, came from the great families of the local area and beyond, members of the elites of the Etruscan and the Roman worlds, landowners, local lords, affluent classes from Rome and indeed also emperors.

Here, surprisingly, the Etruscan language appears to have survived much longer than what has hitherto been assumed, and Etruscan knowledge in the medical field appears to have been recognized and accepted in the Roman era too.

In short, it is a great shrine that appears to recount itself as a unique place for the ancients too, a sort of a bubble of peace, if you think, as Tabolli explains, "that even in historical epochs in which the most awful conflicts were raging outside, inside these pools and on these altars the two worlds, the Etruscan and Roman ones, appear to have co-existed without problems".

Perhaps, the archaeologist posits, because of the fact that water had since its origin remained the presiding deity with its divination, force and power: "Here time passes, language changes, even the names of the deities change, but the type of worship and the therapeutic intervention remain the same." The excavation work will now stop and resume in the spring.

Winter will be used for restoring, studying and understanding.

"It will be team work, as it has always been so far," proudly smiles Tabolli.

The work will involve the university, the ministry, the local town council, and specialists from other universities from all over the world. All together, with a unique opportunity for writing an entirely new chapter in ancient history.

#The Largest Group of Ancient Bronzes in Italy Found at Sacred Baths in Tuscany #bronze #roman bronze statues #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient tuscany #ancient bath house #roman history #roman empire

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endofthelinegang · 2 years

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𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 - 𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐮

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ khonshu x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ khonshu remembers what it was like to be happy

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ angst, fluff

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you have all begged and pleaded with me to write for the bird, here is the first of many and NO ONE BETTER YELL AT ME. (3.2k words) yeah get your readers out this is long as hell

song: i see the moon by nancy sinatra

I see the moon

Burying bodies and burying memories are a lot alike. Both take so long, are such a mess, and can cause such a stir. Do you know what doesn’t do these things? Causing a massacre, leaving, and calling it vengeance. Especially when you have control over someone else, watching them commit heinous acts in your honor as you sit above them wishing you could do that to those who hurt you. Which might it be known that it’s easier to do all of that then remember that what you lost still exists and the chances of you getting those things again are slim to none. Layers of pain, so easily masked (literally and metaphorically).

It’s beautiful nights like these that Khonshu wonders what you see when you look to the moon, do you see who he was? What the two of you had? Or the alternative. Are you haunted by what he looked like right before he was banished? Are you scarred by what you had heard he had done to get him in that position? He wasn’t able to talk to you or do anything towards you past that point. All he could do was look to the sky at the very same planet that sat on the top of his staff just wondering, remembering.

The moon sees me

“I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful and uncomfortable at the same time.” You lurched forward with a small movement at the sound of a voice coming from behind you. You had been standing idle watching as a sunrise festival carried on.

“I’ve never even seen you.” He had taken notice of the fact that even though you lacked the ability to breathe properly throughout the duration of the gathering you had fully stopped the moment he spoke and only did you breathe again once you had spoken. But nevertheless you had looked over your shoulder momentarily to see who it was then faced forward once more.

“Yes, well, you do not visit the cosmos or where the universal grimoire is stored.” You hadn’t noticed how much taller he was than you when you smiled at his comment, that he could simply turn his head to the side and see your expression.

“My apologies, I’ve been a bit busy fighting others battles, I was also unaware there was even a way I could go through the cosmos or that there was a reason for me to go to the place of the grimoire.” Taking a small step forward he was standing to where half of his body was directly behind you.

“Do you wish to only know what you already know for the rest of eternity? You have no interest in the vast and alluring universe?” You may have just met but he was certainly good at getting and keeping your attention. In fact he was so good at it you turned around to face him, more like look up at him but regardless your back was no longer turned.

“The opportunity to explore any interest in that realm has never presented itself.” If this turned into any more of a challenge you would be circling each other.

“Then what do you call this?” He tilted his head ever so slightly and looked down at you more.

“I’m not sure what to call you, I have yet to hear a name.” You may have been raised in the same place, taught the same way until given a gift or task, but you couldn’t name him even if you tried. The best hint you had was his ensemble, how it was covered in moons.

“Khonshu.” Instead of putting his hand out to shake yours he picked yours up from your side, and examined it, letting the skin on the inside of your fingers rest on top of his palm.

“Y/n.” Yet again air had left you, you were frozen, you hand limp on top of his.

“I apologize for leaving just as soon as I appeared, but my time seems to be arriving,” He looked towards the sky where the sun was moving upward to light the sky, but to the human world it was setting. Which meant he had to attend to his godly duties, “Before I go I’d like you to keep this,” turning your palm over he sat a rock in the middle of your hand, “if you ever want to see what the night sky truly shines like speak to this, I’ll hear you.”

“You want me to talk to a rock?” You snickered a little bit as you let your fingertips graze over the rocks edges, hand still placed above his.

“A piece of the moon, the place that I should be right now.” Khonshu closed your fist for you, allowing you to keep a hold of the rock without his larger hand having to catch it if it dropped.

“Thank you for the moon.” You smiled at him before nodding to him and walking away quite quickly. Not because the interaction had made you uncomfortable, but because something about it had you giddy, almost too happy.

Dance through the leaves; Of the old oak tree

“Khonshu? Are you there?” Swift moments were all that two of you had shared, though you had enough of them that if you added them together it would be months. Sitting in a tree on Earth hiding from the sun you talked to the rock on your finger that was wrapped in silver.

“What’s troubling you?” Had he not caught the guard of your sword in his wrapped hand he would’ve been in a lot of pain seeing as to how you did not expect him to just pop up.

“I guess I was sick of seeing the moon the same way over and over again, plus I think I have the right to visit the planet that I’m constantly helping keep safe.” Through the last sentence it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself of what you were saying. Pulling your blade back you slid it back into the scabbard it came from.

“Hm, well, sadly the humans cannot see you, me, or any of the work any of us do for them,” Khonshu looked at the staff in his hand, twirling it a bit thinking some to himself, “they do get quite a view of the sky from this angle.” He turned the conversation back to the night sky.

“They really are the lucky ones, the moon really does shine here.” Rather than looking at the sky you were facing him, as the moonlight did in fact shine across his face, across yours, casting shadows of the branches onto the tree.

“Is this your way of telling me that it does not shine well enough for my equals?” The head of the bird-like headpiece that sat on top of his head sparkled a bit as he turned completely towards you.

“Well, if you want me to be honest, it’s more like in our sky the moon shines like the sun, just casting a really bright light. Here the moon shines in a glow, it’s a different kind of beautiful.” You were still looking at him, in fact you hadn’t faced the moon since he had appeared next to you.

“I am not the moon.” Khonshu had made that clever comment in reference to the eye contact you had yet to break.

“Oh but you are,” you were more than happy to defend your position, “You are bright, calming, ethereal. You hum when you read, you wander through spaces you have seen a hundred times for hours as if it’s the first time you’d seen it, you get all dressed up but the moment you are in another space you get into more comfortable attire, and you throw moon rocks from yourself onto other planets so that others can have the moon with them when they find it. You are the most important part of the moon, you are the magic.” There was a passion in your words that struck him like an asteroid, the way each syllable fell with a knowingness of meaning.

“Do you want to know how I do it?” He spoke unusually quiet as you nodded, smiling at him, “To create beautiful things you must first find something beautiful. Then you must study that thing and make sure that you are doing everything in your power to grasp that beauty. Lastly you keep the feeling that you have everytime you look at that beautiful thing and project it outward.”

“The moon is a fantastic muse I’m sure.” You smiled at his long drawn out analogy of how he created the magic to make the moon shine.

“The moon is captivatingly divine because you are.” Khonshu gestured his staff towards the planet in the sky next to both of you that had seemed to grow closer the longer you sat together, “You talk to plants, planets, and other non verbal but living objects as if you can hear them and they you. You laugh no matter how many times you hear the same story or joke. You leave little scribed messages of good fortune and gratitude to those who you deem your love to. You are always where someone needs you to be and you never ignore those around you. You are light, you are a semicolon, you are hope.”

“I love you.” There were no other words, thank you did not amount to the feelings you felt in that moment. Nodding and smiling was not nearly good enough to respond to such a speech, such a confession of many feelings.

“I love you to the moon and back.” Khonshu had you smiling, laughing, face turned to the moon.

Please let the light; That shines on me

That phrase, “I love you to the moon and back,” he had said it just for you. He had given it to the humans to say to one another in hopes that one day you would hear that and remember that night. But as time passed hearing the humans profess their love the way he had made him want to rip that phrase from the entire planet. To rip love itself off the face of the Earth. He couldn’t do it, that wasn’t in his power but by the gods he wished it was.

The moonlight casted itself down onto Khonshu, following him the way it always had, but he even convinced himself that the moon that once traveled with him like a spotlight was now more like a way to just see shadows. There was nothing he hated more, he was bitter, so was the moon. Shadows of memories, of words.

“This is perfect.” You sat on a ledge leaning your body weight into his with the night sky so close that if you reached forward you could touch it.

“Of course it is, it’s what you wanted.” He implied that it was only that way because of you, that the night had gone in such a perfect line because it was what you wished.

“Is this what you thought this little rock would turn into?” You flexed the knuckles of your left hand that he held in his right.

“Yes, if not this then what? Did you think I had ill intentions when I approached you the first time? You know better than most that the gods' only intentions with one another are to have each other's hands to continue the perfect pyramid of life.” He was speaking quickly and poking fun at the true fact of the mess that was marriage in the godly world.

“Ill intentions? No. Strange intentions? Yes. I did not expect matrimony from a rock, I honestly expected to be tracked, that maybe I had made a dire mistake during one of my nightly hideaways that would lead to my demise.” You spoke dramatically as you picked your feet from out under yourself and stood on the ledge.

“Ready to jump already? It’s only been an hour of marriage, though we have lasted longer than the average span.” He was joking with you as he kept a tight grip on your hand.

“Anpu and Bata?” You joked rolling your eyes back into your head and falling into his lap backwards, almost like a trust fall.

“We might make messes but we are most certainly not that messy.” Khonshu let himself laugh and held you close to his chest.

Shine on the one I love

“Are you sure the humans won’t see us? Or that they won’t be the least bit suspicious of the weather?” You laughed as Khonshu pulled you through a thicket into a broken stone pavement where the pebbles in each crevice made a pattern on the ground.

The rain soaked your skin as you looked up at the cloudy sky above, then to your husband who was more than dead set on doing this little escapade rather than his job.

“They’ll just do what we’re doing, they love phenomenons they can document.” He was adminet on this even though it would most likely get him in some kind of trouble. He was getting awfully risky with what he was willing to do. A freeness cascaded through him more frequently than not.

“Khonshu.” Nothing but his name left your lips as the clouds parted to show a blood red moon, a beautiful and full red moon that made the falling rain look like a beautiful sunset coming down onto the planet. Any existing shadow shone almost perfectly black as if it stood on its own, as if they were tangible.

Both of you heard humans running around, talking, dancing, cheering, and acting like whatever they were seeing was a miracle of sorts. The sound of distant music encouraged the two of you to dance, he never liked dancing or anything that was overly creative in nature. But he would’ve done anything to never let that dance end. The most perfect moment of all, he spun you out of his arms and all of a sudden everything around him that wasn’t you was static. The way the rain drops stuck to your hair and still shone the sunset glow, your eyes lit up in a light orange, your jawline visibly sculpted with your head tipped to the sky, and the way you gripped his hand so gently, your ring pressed against the bend in his hand.

“Humans will be so lucky one day.” Khonshu whispered as he held you close to his body.

“Why’s that?” You knew he was going to go on one of his lavishly loving speeches.

“You will be documented through someone else, but I will make sure their depiction of you is absolutely perfect, even if I have to do it myself.” He could hear your quiet chuckle muffled by his own body.

“I love you.” Another whisper from your throat made its way to his ear.

Over the mountain

“I fear for you.” You were thought to had been asleep as Khonshu sat on the edge of the bed looking at you as he needed the peace.

“There is nothing to fear, not of this world, not of any world, not of me.” He put what was supposed to be a comforting hand on your bare calf.

“I can feel them getting tighter.” You felt the bandages he was wrapped in as of his last punishment tight around his now freezing cold skin.

“You are just worried, they feel no tighter to me.” He lied so quickly it was like he had a silver tongue knowing that if he agreed with you that you may never quit worrying. You hadn’t yet opened your eyes to even look at him, you knew he was tired of being caged from his opinions and actions that he believed were completely correct.

“What happens when nothing is left of you? When they’ve turned you all to bone?” Your voice almost cracked at the thought of them taking someone you loved so dearly and turning him into a walking corpse, let alone a walking skeleton.

“Don’t let your mind climb mountains that are barely in sight.” Khonshu knew you were right, but he also knew how you hated when he held his tongue, or when he was dishonest in any manner. You had always told him to live his truth no matter what that may be, and to be convincing while doing such.

“I hope those mountains stay distant, because if they get any closer I’ll only be able to look over them at you, you wouldn’t let me jump off with you.”

“If that’s my fate, then you cannot suffer it with me.” He sighed pulling you down to where he sat on the bed picking you up and moving you around like you were a doll just to hold you close. Maybe he thought that showing you his physical strength would convince you that he was going to be okay, that nothing was going to happen.

Over the sea

“Do you truly believe this is worth it or are you just angry with your fellow council?” You held his upper arms in your hands as best as you could manage. He looked so panicked, sick almost, like something had happened. The crescent shaped moon on his forehead was looking less like a mark of a visible gift and more of bone.

“I love you.” He bowed his head down and grabbed your face in his hands before kissing your forehead. Khonshu knew that was going to be the last time he would be able to feel you like this. He was soon to be cast away into a skeletal mummy-like form. He had truly done it this time. So he cherished what little feeling his fingers still had against your warm skin.

“I love you to the moon and back.” Tears brimmed at your eyes knowing what that meant. He had already gone and done exactly what he had spoken of earlier. But even worse, he was in trouble, and he was going to face whatever punishment they had next for him. You were no fool, you knew that after the bandages tightened one last time he would be nothing but bones.

“Khonshu!” There was a long scream coming from the other side of the door, a deep shout creeping under the door and grabbing him away.

“I’m so-” Before he could even begin to give his sincere apology he screamed in pain, the door slammed open against the wall, and you had to walk away. You couldn’t help him and you certainly couldn’t watch him writhe on the floor facing his final punishment. By the way they were treating him you knew he would be banished. The gods were never kind but never that cruel. There was no turning back, tears flooded down your face into the collar of your dress, the sea couldn’t rival the way you pushed water from your eyes. The tides you could see in your own eyes as everything turned blurry. With one last turn you saw the bird head he had worn form into a skull. Bones.

That's where my heart; Is longing to be

“Are you there?” Khonshu whispered to the moon as he waited for Marc to return from the cavern after committing the most heinous act. He would never tell Marc or anyone inside of Marc. Luckily the three of them could barely figure each other out, let alone the god.

“Khonshu?” He stilled. He knew he had to have mistaken Marc’s voice for that of a female’s . Unless…

#khonshu x reader #khonshu imagine #khonshu is....khonshu #moon knight x reader #marvel moon knight

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Chapter Two: Don't Flinch First

A/N: Yeah, so there's a barely edited chapter two for this medieval AU (part one is here). Two chapters is as far as I've gotten in planning, so this may be the last chapter for a little while (and I'm not quite satisfied with it yet, but I'm tired of staring at it). If you have any questions, please ask, I love answering questions about this AU! Feel free to comment, I also love feedback :)) Chapter Two is under the cut (CW for some cursing and implied mind control at the end, non-important implied death in one paragraph, vague description of (mental?) suffocation - if I need to add anything else, let me know)

Chapter Two: Don't Flinch First

Rhythmic, pounding, the clock thudded as the second hand pushed on through the tightening wrap of time on Kendra’s lungs. Close your eyes, listen to the clock, slow your heartbeat. Breathe in, wait for four ticks. Hold, wait for four ticks. Breathe out, four ticks once more. Open your eyes again. Don’t move, don’t worry, don’t panic, don’t move.

Kendra reminded herself of this time and time again as the second hand slid easily, mockingly, forward alongside every slide of makeup that covered her face. With every soft brush of the bristles against her face, tickling her skin, a cold, chilling shiver shuddered down her spine like a sharp slap of pain. Instead of letting this sink into her, though, she closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and opened them once again to face the mirror in front of her.

She sat in the wooden chair, unmoving. The worn cushion beneath her crinkled as she sat, and the curved, lacquered wood, unlike its appearance, could barely come into contact with skin without leaving behind a splinter. Yet, Kendra tapped her fingers against it, alongside the clock. Every tick of the clock called for another brush of makeup, and for every brush, for every tap, another lie settled heavy in her mind.

Don’t move, Kendra chanted to herself. Move, and the makeup would smudge. Move, and they would have to start over. Move, and the lie would become a little less believable. The air slid as sludge through her, around her, dripping off her limbs, and pooling in her constricting lungs. Ever going forward, it continued, slow and thick, as did the silence. They dredged on together, an inseparable duo.

Kendra, tense as a wooden board about to snap, suppressed the urge to shiver as the brush moved closer to her neck, where most of the work focused. The modifications needed to look perfect, completely real and true. If a single flaw merely existed…

Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Open your eyes again.

Alyssa, if Kendra remembered the handmaiden’s name correctly, focused intensely as she applied the different products, building an amazingly fake recreation of gills on either side of Kendra’s face. They emerged from the side of her neck, protruding in layers. From there, red and orange scales lingered, thick in an initial circle around the gills before scattering, spreading up on her cheek and down to her shoulder. The job took time, certainly, but Alyssa understood this when taking on the burden—and the large paycheck that came with it.

At younger ages, Kendra had been assigned Lena as her makeup artist, alongside a mentor for her said-to-be emerging magic. Ever since she abdicated from her position as queen, Lena had much time on her hands. But, as she moved on to a full mentor position to Kendra, she became much busier, and a new hire came along.

Though, Kendra supposed ‘new’ couldn’t aptly describe Alyssa. Alyssa Carter, and the rest of the Carter line, by extension, worked along the Burgess line for what felt like centuries. Always paid handsomely, it began with Harrow Carter, many years ago. Despite avid researchers’ attempts to find the moment Harrow and Patton Burgess met, nothing could be found. Harrow, a man of humble origins, became Patton’s personal gentleman-in-waiting after an encounter between the two in the woods, and as far as the story went, that seemed to be it.

Since then, ladies-in-waiting alongside other gentlemen-in-waiting became extremely close friends to the Burgess line, whether they were the current kings, queens, princes, or princesses. It stood as perhaps—other than the royals and nobles themselves—one of the highest paying jobs in the castle.

Kendra and Alyssa had once been good friends, if Kendra remembered correctly. Once upon a time, in a different place, a different setting, their bond had been set up for success. Back then, no pressure had yet been set upon Kendra’s shoulders, and so she could walk and talk without first having to sift through her vocabulary for the right words.

But, over the years, more and more pressed upon her, begging for her immediate attention. Issues and responsibilities tugged at her clothes, grabbed her with reckless abandon, and Kendra worked to satisfy every single one of them. She busied herself with the issues of others, and they were satisfied. Relationships such as the one she had with Alyssa had no immediate pressures. Their bond led to no stress, so it began to fall last in her to-do list, an unkept friendship. An easy responsibility Kendra soon forgot about.

And now, they sat in silence.

While Kendra’s grandparents never pressured her specifically to give up the friendship, looking back, Kendra knew she would have to eventually. Princesses didn’t have such close, irresponsible relationships with their ladies-in-waiting. Instead, they went out, socialized, and found others in similar roles as themselves. Then, later, they would find someone to court.

Leaving even less time for a friendship that did not matter on a political, royal scale. Leaving no time for Alyssa.

Before, Alyssa would have been hard to leave alone in such a way. As a bright, energetic person, she always commanded attention, even as a servant. She had a light in her that sparked like a fire, and a smile that warmed up a room, and hair bright and wild as gold. Her and Kendra slid down banisters, snuck into the king and queen’s bedrooms, and even out into the city, without a single consequence. No one recognized them, and even if they did, no one stopped the princess.

Yet, as Kendra began to back away from that old frame of mind—understanding the mistakes she could no longer afford—Alyssa dissolved from sight. She hid in the background, in a way that Kendra never understood. She became another face in the crowd, nothing original, nothing outstanding. Her voice quieted until Kendra didn’t remember what it sounded like.

Kendra, between one point and another, hadn’t recognized her. With dull blue eyes and blonde hair barely brushing her shoulder, Alyssa became a stranger. Nothing about her brought attention to her, instead everything focused on causing the eyes to easily slip past. Move on to other things, leave her behind, and let her stay in her quiet corner.

Not the person Kendra knew, once upon a time.

Maybe she too had grown to understand consequences and regret. Maybe Alyssa understood that with one wrong step, one slip-up, one mistake, street corners would herald the news with glee. It would echo and reverberate, and it would shatter their lives as they knew it. The news would sink into their subconscious and haunt them for the rest of their lives. Because those who lived in the castle, those who had a presence, were nothing more than someone to look at, admire, win over, and then betray as soon as they made one single mistake.

A dweller in the palace, held with a reverence akin to a saint; a pretty face able to be dressed up, fantasized about; a statue on a pedestal, made for the public to throw their misplaced insults and anger onto them instead of the world… that’s all they were.

An idol, a doll, a punching bag, a thing.

And such things did show: the gills, crafted carefully with artisan’s hands; the dress which fell down around her ankles, bright fire-colored fabrics and gems alike coming together to shine like a flame on her body; and the way she could barely stand straight, stand still, when she saw people’s eyes focus over her, judging something as simple as her every breath.

A thing.

…Though, the dress did have pockets, something which Kendra first looked at with glee and thanks. In fact, she remembered showing them to Lena with the purest joy she had felt in years. The shoes, as well, were something comfortable, flat, so she could keep her balance in a place serving drinks that could easily stain.

But, all of this still continued, in her mind, to be tinged with a sour taste. Comfort, as it stood to be, still needed to be beautiful. Events such as these still included being dressed up, placing a mask over the face and body, and laughing with a fake smile that stretched over one’s entire personality. Made to be a marionette, pulled into dances with strings, talking in a voicebox with the same few polite phrases. Then, after the fact, a wretched homesickness for the ease it put upon her mind to simply be pulled along.

…But the pockets were nice. Truely.

Alyssa stepped away a moment later, and Kendra craned her neck to see the faux gills on either side. They looked so realistic, so natural that it became uncanny to her.

“…And that’s the point,” Kendra said to herself, trying to reassure in a way that put her mind at ease.

Alyssa did not look over at her, nor did she give a single indicator to show that she even heard Kendra’s voice. She simply began to pack up her things and try to wipe the excess makeup off of her dress, a light pink and yellow thing, like the clouds in the faint afternoon. A frown played upon her face as she let her eyes glaze over everything in the world, careful and practiced motions the way she carried herself through life. Routine, all of it.

Kendra recognized the way Alyssa moved through life. Quite similar to being pulled along by invisible strings on a line, she supposed.

The clock ticked on.

Alyssa had done a wonderful job, as the point stood to look in such a way that magic affected her very being, running through her veins as much as blood. Because, as her grandparents described it, magic did run in her veins. According to her records, a trace of the Source had been obvious since her birth. The Source cradled her in its arms, and it gifted her with power to help her public.

According to the Church of Light as well, when Kendra had been around the age of seven, the Source saved their lives. During the spring months, the obituaries of her maternal grandparents, Hank and Gloria Larsen, spread. The news devastated the whole family. Demons—also known as people or monsters changed by Void magic to the point where they could no longer be perceived as human—attacked their home at the edge of town. While barriers were in place to keep most monsters out of their cities—Festival Nights as exception—demons had an advantage, as they technically started as humans. These demons were unable to be caught, as only a little more than a month later, an attack shattered the regular schedule of the castle, ravaged by an unknown group who hoped to rid the world of the Burgess line. In the attack, many servants passed alongside the prince and princess at the time—Kendra’s parents.

The Church of Light believed Kendra’s magic helped mask her and the people around her at the time. It created a barrier of sorts the demons either couldn’t pass through—or perhaps avoided subconsciously, magically distracted and refocused elsewhere. Afterwards, Kendra became heralded in the church as a saint of sorts. Her new position in society became a weight on her shoulders, respect ebbing from the people as they bowed.

Conspiracies existed, of course. Rumors of the “truth” behind the Burgess and Larsen deaths were exchanged in whispers in the dead of night, where the Church and the Castle could not hear. They believed the deaths were connected, or perhaps orchestrated, or some other number of things that Kendra shoved from her mind any time someone dared utter the words in her presence. For her, only one conspiracy existed and only one.

Kendra could not wield Source magic.

At one point, one time, perhaps she could. She could as a child, and before half of her family seemed to die off, she could. But after that fateful night, as soon as she became praised and revered and feared… The light vanished from her fingertips and had yet to return. For years, she tried and tried to harness it once more how the Church of Light told her she could. Once it became evident she had no such ability left in her, Lena taught her how to lie. Her grandparents fed her the lies she needed to stay in order to appease the public and the church, and she repeated them as told.

And if either the church or the public ever found out…

Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Open your eyes again.

Kendra couldn’t let it come to that. So, Alyssa put the makeup on, made it seem as if Kendra harnessed the power daily, and Kendra spit those lies from her mouth as often as she could. If needed, there were plans in place for desperate times. Lena had magic from the Source from birth, though slightly fainter, and illusions were easy if you were the one controlling the stage, the scene…

The puppets.

Kendra, when first asked to choose an animal—mammal, fish, or invertebrates—she took inspiration from Lena’s own scales on the back of her hands. Scales, or gills in Kendra’s case, were easier to replicate. Other Source modifications were more difficult to create, such as vertical pupils like a goat, or delicate bee wings growing from the back. One person especially, in Kendra’s own family line, could cut off and regrow their limbs, exactly like a starfish.

Amphibian, reptile, and bird additions, meanwhile, were reserved for Void magic. Its usage could be shown by warts, scales, feathers, or in the very rare occasion, bird wings. These changes were meant to be obvious, because if so, they could find a traitor within their ranks. They could not hide, not from the Source. Some myths were present with the idea that the Source imprinted the additions onto humans, if only to present one’s loyalty or traitorous ability.

Of course, some changes, such as aforementioned scales, could flow from either magic type. But, if the questions were expressed to the point of someone accusing your use of magic, then your reputation within society became the singular thread holding you above the raging waves. Kendra would never in her life be accused—certainly not publicly—and neither would the rest of her remaining family.

They were royals.

They were perfect.

They had to be perfect.

“Thank you,” Kendra quickly whispered out to Alyssa, last minute, as she opened the door. Yet, Alyssa persisted on in her silence as she slipped from the room. The clock continued, now the only noise penetrating the empty air, rattling around in the space until it settled deep in Kendra’s heart. The second hand hadn’t yet passed a minute before the door swung open once again with a graceful ease Kendra could never fathom possessing.

Grace could not well enough describe Lena Burgess. As a previous queen, ruling alongside Patton Burgess—one of the most well-known kings who brought an age of prosperity to the kingdom—she had a reputation as well. After King Burgess’s untimely death, Lena stepped up to the role for years until the tumultuous era ended, the waters calmed. She led them through a time of darkness and grief, a light for all the people. Once she felt her responsibilities began to return to routine, she abdicated, giving the role to Patton’s nephew she knew would serve the country well. The family line continued, all the way down to Kendra’s grandparents. Lena still lived, the Source running through her veins, keeping her alive for longer than humanly possible.

Kendra often wondered if Lena ever struggled. If so, she hid it well from others. She presented herself perfectly, not a spot or smudge out of place. Her dress fell halfway down her shin, a shade darker than a handmaiden’s, though still a very light pink. Her hair laid long, now fully colored with gray, only small strips of black still within it. Her eyes were soft as she stared at Kendra through the mirror. Scales covered her gloveless hands, deep purples and reds.

Kendra wished she could have a fraction of Lena’s composure, or perhaps one true scale as they were on her hand. Everything that Kendra worked horribly to achieve, Lena could do effortlessly. Without a single word, she could create a ball of glowing light. Without any effort, she used magic as if it guided her, and she guided it in return. Lena stood as a compass, and Kendra followed dutifully.

Lena’s hands, light and cold, brushed around the makeup. A slight sense of relaxation creeped up Kendra’s neck as she felt Lena create a seal, protecting it from water, from smudging, and from anything else that may attempt to show its falsity.

“…Do you believe I’ll ever be able to do that?” Kendra carefully hovered her hand over the seal. Seal, an easy spell as Kendra knew, something most adolescents with access to magic knew how to do. Yet, Kendra couldn’t muster enough for something as simple as that. She felt her heart drop once more as Lena did not immediately answer, instead placing a steady hand on her shoulder. The cold of her hand, while it could be felt, did not seep into Kendra’s being as she expected it to.

“You may be able to do this in time,” Lena murmured, a warm smile on her face. “So, do not fret your little mind too much over this matter. Some do not have their full aptitude unlocked until their late twenties. As of right now, you are still a child.”

“I’m seventeen. I’m essentially-”

“You are not an adult. Not yet. Cherish these years, don’t try to rush anything, or you’ll regret it later in your life. Let yourself be a child.”

Kendra watched as Lena stood tall above the mirror, her fingers carefully separating Kendra’s hair into sections, beginning one, thick braid on the back of her head. As she began to braid, Kendra considered staying quiet, staying still, but she had been sitting, silent for so long.

“What if I’m never able to?” Kendra asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The words barely left her mouth, barely audible. She shouldn’t have said anything at all, shouldn’t have let that doubt leave her mind in such a way that would only lead to her capsizing over the thought. She needed to be confident, had to be confident, or the lie may fail, and her family could be put into danger-

“Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Open your eyes again.” The words resounded as soon as they were in Lena’s voice rather than Kendra’s own. Lena seemed to sense her panic, her utter despair over the idea, as she carefully held the unfinished braid. “I would advise you to wait until you’re an adult and see what happens then. If new magic never shows, then I suppose that is that. The Source knows what is meant to be, and maybe your magic always had the chance of running out.” Lena paused. “That does not mean the Source dislikes you, or hates you. It doesn’t mean you are worth less or have somehow failed someone. You know that, correct?”

Kendra paused, her mind turning over Lena’ words. “If I don’t lie with a certain precision, if I mess one thing up, my entire family could be in danger. The weight of my whole family is on my shoulders…”

“And it shouldn’t be. You’re seventeen, for Source’s sake.”

Kendra only stared at the faux gills on her neck through the mirror. “Then how much longer do I need to keep this charade up for? People with Source magic live for longer, proven by your very existence, so… How long? How long do I need to keep blatantly lying to everyone I see, everyone I meet?”

Lena paused. “Maybe, eventually, you and your grandparents can ease the Church, the public, into the idea.”

Kendra nodded, slowly, wanting to laugh a little bitterly, wanting to give in ever so slightly to the inherent anger that flared in her chest. Instead, she stamped the feeling into the ground, tapping the arm of the chair, letting her anger flow over her instead of into her.

“We both know that isn’t happening anytime soon,” Kendra said, quietly, softly. Even four months into the future, after she became an adult, she would still not be able to make her own decisions—not without her grandparents’ guiding hands on her shoulders, the public looming behind her. “I wish I were old enough now. Old enough to know, to decide my own path and future.”

With an apologetic look, Lena stared at Kendra, a mix between a smile and a frown on her face. “I understand, and from your point of view, it makes quite a bit of sense. You want the freedom to choose, and I want that for you as well. But,” Lena laughed a little, something light and loving, “you do not want to be old yet. Be young. Live without creaky old bones like mine.” Lena smiled, and Kendra smiled back.

She disagreed, Kendra did. An elegance could be attributed to her wrinkles, to the spots on her skin. Instead of blemishes, she wore them as small, shining suns. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, and her gray hair shone. Though her bones were weary, her mentality continued to be something worth admiring.

“I don’t know. I think, when I’m older, I would want to be like you.”

Lena stayed still for a long moment, and Kendra could not tell what raced through her head at the time. A slight sigh escaped her lips, and she carefully moved to the front, blocking her view of the mirror. “I imagine you do. But, I am more interested to learn what you are like when you are old, not me. You can take inspiration, sure, but at the end of the day, you must be yourself, and you must craft your own identity. I am more interested in Kendra than I am a reflection of my mirror.” She moved to the side, and Kendra stared back at herself for a very long moment. Lena once again rested her hand on Kendra’s shoulder, a familiar, comforting weight for Kendra. Softly, she spoke, “I am so very interested to see who you become.”

“…A lot of people are.”

Lena sighed, eyes saddening as she stared at Kendra for a long, quiet moment. “You have too much tension in your muscles for someone your age. Wise beyond your years, and yet…” She shook her head again, as if she were about to say something and stopped.

“Yet what…?”

Lena shook her head again. “Nothing. I simply believe differently than certain others. I believe you needn’t worry about your future quite yet. Not in the deep, prying way you do, dear.”

The future terrified Kendra more than should have been humanly possible. She had stared at pleading citizens before their execution and murderers on trial, she had even faced the disapproving face of the public, her family, and none of it could be quite as terrifying as the future.

An unknown in a world of endless possibilities—endless, an intimidating number. The pure expanse of which there were alternate futures where things were better, worse, different, cautioned her against estimations of what the future held for her. If the future held infinite possibilities, there were worlds where her biggest dreams were fulfilled, and there were other worlds where her family line ended, as it seemed destined to.

“The future doesn’t always sound inviting.”

“…How do you feel now? Right now.”

“What?” Lena gestured for her to continue. “I suppose I’m alright. Not doing too bad.” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and yet Lena had a slight—somehow comforting—smirk on her face.

“From another perspective, right now could be seen as the future from another point of view. When you are a young child, the future is the moment you become an adolescent. When you are an adolescent, the future is when you’re an adult. You are constantly living in the past, present, and future at the same time. Right now is already the past when mere minutes ago, we knew it as the future. Time is a constant that will not stop, but it will also allow gradual change. There will not come one day when you are suddenly cast into your older self’s life. You will grow into it, you will understand it, and you will be able to face the future prepared. You craft every moment you live, meaning this very second, every minute, you’re painting your present and future.”

Kendra slowly nodded.

“I’m unsure if that helps,” Lena said, her voice hesitant with Kendra’s uninsightful response. “But, someone very dear to me imparted that wisdom to me in his dying moments. There is a certain terror that comes to those who age unnaturally. To know you will outlive everyone you love is…” Lena paused, looking at Kendra and shaking her head. “Nothing you will need to worry about at a time like this. Just know that if you are worried about losing those you love, they stay with you, whether in photographs, memories, or legacies. They stay with you, stick to you like a sap, and the same can be said for the past. You carry the past with you with every movement you make, while moving on to the future to make new memories. Memories, new or old, can help carry you along the tide, ebb and flow of time.”

Lena carefully finished the braid, styled so intricately, in front of her left shoulder for her to see. Smaller braids were woven in the singular, thick braid, and two small face-framing pieces lay beside her head. “And when you make those memories,” she continued, “I hope you look back and wonder why you were scared at all.”

The ticking of the clock, ever present, became a little less cumbersome as Kendra stilled her tapping fingers. She stared at herself for a long moment, a deep breath rattling within her. “I need to go downstairs soon. Did you hear, there are rumors that guests from other countries are coming to the Gala tonight.” Lena didn’t seem to mind the quick change in topic, nor did she have any comment on the behavior.

Kendra spoke the truth, despite her weariness. The party would start at six, as the Galas always did. Preparations for the next day until three, rest until six, and celebrations until the sun rose. This, of course, excluded all Knights other than her brother and grandmother, needed more for the politics of the castle than for the protections Warren instead had deftly handled, at least until the party finished. Afterwards, Seth and her grandmother would go back to their duties.

As it began, the Galas of Seasons only included citizens within the same city as the capital, Fable. But, as time went on, more and more surrounding cities and towns began to arrive, taking the week away to come and visit the city and its sights. They knew that their government would protect them when it came to the Festival Night. This year, however, many rumors of other countries’ ships arriving at the docs floated through the halls—something Kendra’s grandparents had yet to mention to her or the general public, if the rumors were true at all. If Kendra had to guess, considering the situation she all-too-well understood she found herself in…

Lena lifted the circlet from the top of Kendra’s desk, placing it carefully, delicately on her head. “And these guests,” Lena said, “why do you believe they are here, now of all times?”

Of course Lena knew. Kendra should have guessed Lena knew practically every goings-on within the castle walls, not excluding Kendra herself. After a long pause from Kendra, Lena continued. “You’re meant to start courting someone.”

The clock began to tick again, this time with deeper, more resounding clicks closer to funeral bells. It spun its hands around her lungs and squeezed as tightly as it could; the pointed ends stabbed into her, causing her to deflate as she sat there.

The tapping on the arm of the chair began once again.

Kendra slowly nodded and began to talk, her voice gaining speed as she continued. “I’m meant to choose a groom soon, or at least start to pursue someone in hopes of marriage later on. I’m getting closer to eighteen, and the expectations were destined to be placed upon my shoulders sooner than later. If I don’t start soon, the people will begin to ask questions. Instead, I need to figure out which country we may benefit the most from if they were to be our…” her voice faltered, “ally—in such a way but I’m not sure-”

“Or,” Lena interjected with a slight shrug, “You could follow your heart, as my dear husband once did.”

Kendra rose from her seat, turning from the mirror and instead beginning to walk towards the door. “I… I can’t. I have to choose a prince or a young king. If I don’t then there’s a wasted opportunity there, a potential better future that I’ve walked past for us—that we’ve all walked past,” she added quickly. “I have the option to use this for the betterment of the kingdom, and I will.”

As Kendra walked closer to the exit, Lena followed. “Is that what your grandparents did?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then why would they expect the same thing of you?”

Kendra didn’t have anything to say to that, instead pushing open the old, creaking wood door to the hallway. Sure, her grandparents weren’t pressuring her directly to court a prince or king, but the responsibility came with her current situation. One never has to make a good decision, but it’s always better advised. Kendra understood that.

“Dear,” Lena said, catching Kendra only long enough to move a small strand of hair from in front of her face to behind her ear. “Marry someone you love, if you wish to marry at all.”

Kendra waited for a long, stretched moment before speaking again. “Lena, maybe in your and grandma’s time, marriage didn’t have as heavy a precedent as it does now, but the world is in tense collaboration more often than not. If anything, anything goes wrong, then that tension will snap, and we need allies. If marriage is a way to get one…” Kendra sighed. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

Lena’s smile slowly fell into something much sadder. “Why?”

“Don’t ask me questions like that,” Kendra muttered, and Lena gave a slight, small laugh. Kendra didn’t often break her formal manner, but for Lena… Well, it happened more often than not, a surprising fact for someone as prominent and important as Lena. One might think Kendra would wish to be more formal with her, and yet that could not be farther from the truth.

“…Seth doesn’t have to choose anyone soon, not that I know of-” Kendra began as she started down the stairs. Before she could finish, or before Lena could ask another question Kendra knew she would dread, the door at the bottom of the staircase slammed open. Kendra could hear someone running up the stairs, breathless.

Seth—speak of the devil—appeared briefly in the layers of stairs below them, leading to a preemptive sigh from Kendra. As he got closer, almost running into and over them, he stopped, eyes widening. He leaned against the railing, smiling in such a way that every bone in Kendra’s body revolted.

“What did you do?”

“I haven’t even said hi,” Seth said, still trying to catch his breath. Pointedly, he continued with a smile, “So, hi Lena, Kendra.” He nodded. “What time is it?”

“Don’t you have a watch on you?” Kendra looked her brother up and down. His outfit, nothing fancy, had such a rumpled look to it that she perhaps didn’t even want to know of his previous actions. Of course, it didn’t help that his eyes darted to the corners of the room as she watched “You’re not even dressed yet, and the Gala is starting in less than an hour. Seth-”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll go see Calvin in a second.” Seth seemed to be practically vibrating as he switched between one step and the next, obviously feeling forced to talk. “But for right now, what time is it?”

Lena pulled out a golden pocket watch from her dress, the chain connected from within the many folds. On its back were engraved lily pads, the gold shining and textured to resemble a rippling pond. “It’s a quarter until six.”

Seth simply blinked, staring at her.

“Five-forty-five,” Kendra supplied. “We need to be down at six.”

“Right, thanks!” Seth began to go up the stairs once again before stopping and turning. “Do you have a compass in your room?”

“Why do you need a compass?”

“Reasons. Yeah or no?”

Kendra rolled her eyes, barely. Lena looked between the two of them, a smile still prevalent on her face. “Use your own compass, I think you stole my last one. My only one, to remind you.”

Seth waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fine. I’ll use one of my own.” He paused again. “If I can find one,” he said, mind wandering as he started back up the stairs, murmuring to himself.

Kendra continued walking down the steps, trying to ignore the pooling feeling in her gut, not of… dread. No, something much more wary that stirred in her, compelling her to follow. But, Kendra knew she had a duty, things she needed to do. She couldn’t be burdened to watch his every step anymore.

So, she continued down the echoing steps. Lena watched, almost seeming to evaluate Kendra’s actions. To the depths of her heart, Kendra wished to ignore any kind of judgment Lena had to offer. Lena had the ability to look through Kendra, see almost everything within her, more than Kendra often understood.

“Do you ever wonder what he’s doing?” Lena asked, innocently, as she continued down with Kendra.

“Sometimes.” Kendra shrugged. “I did when we were kids-”

“You both still are children-”

“-but I’ve almost given up. He’s everywhere at once, and I can't even attempt to keep up with him as well. There are plenty of other things that I need to keep my attention on. Besides, I have… bare minimum trust in him. I just hope he’s not taking that and running with it.”

“…He’s becoming the Captain of the Guard in around four years, is that correct?”

“Once he turns twenty, yes.” The door upstairs squeaked as it opened, slamming shut with a reverb. “And I have never been more concerned for this country’s safety than when I heard that news.”

Lena laughed, the sound casting itself back over the two of them, surrounding them, and the silence outside of Kendra, the rushed words within her, settled ever so slightly.

Smoke curled into whisps, rising high from the churchwarden pipe as another breath exited the man’s lips. The night’s chill rose to surround him, wrapping him in a shivering embrace as he stood in the middle of the immaculate garden, something belonging to the Burgess family. Cool metal dug into his back from a bench he leaned against, feeling much too restless to ever sit.

Dedicated, the bench claimed, to Marshall Burgess, an old king of Fablehaven. This ‘centerpiece’—one of many—professed legacy, money, and sophistication. Despite this, the man saw no beauty in it. All of the flowers in the garden were crafted carefully with Source magic, perfect down to the veins in the petals. Created for beauty, nothing more and nothing less.

Fake. The whole garden felt fake.

The man scoffed, taking another breath from the pipe as he moved away from the bench, closer to the lake. The lake, something more loved, a more permanent thing than anything else in the museum of a place, enticed him more. The lake had imperfections, rocks set deep into the earth with small plants growing up and over the stones. Flowers of all kinds, natural flowers, twisted up between the rocks. The water rippled with every wind, green tints from growth underneath peeking through. Fish flashed under the water between lily pads, and the man slowly brought himself to his full height as he watched.

The man rightfully believed the previous queen established the pond, many years before her abdication. She often frequented the quiet spot to sit and read with her husband while he lived. Now, it stood to be more of a sentimental place, people often said, where she sat in silence, in mourning and in grief.

Not that the man particularly cared. Better to know your opponents and understand the actions they may take, rather than be surprised by them at a later date. He knew how loyal she could be when it came to family, to those she loved. And, the man knew the treasures she held in the pits of the castle, unknown by most, even those who lived within the same walls. That became the thing that intrigued him.

Most of his… endeavors started on a smaller scale. A penny here, a silver piece there. Once he began to amass more followers, more friends, in his trade they began larger operations. A Duke left without his riches, a tax collector out of a job after all of the money he collected mysteriously disappeared. On and on, the man could name stories of people he had fucked over, and he would smile and laugh while telling the tale. Yet, this time, his hire offered him more money than he had ever seen in one place at a time—and the man had many times found himself in the vaults of rich nobles.

The man pulled each finger of the glove off of his hand, one at a time, sharp nails exposing themselves to clear air. He bent over, holding his hand above the water before a snap movement ended with a small fish in his hands. He watched it struggle for a moment before holding it above his head, letting it slip from his fingers into his mouth.

Of course, his mouth extended a little too far, his teeth a little too sharp in a few too many rows, covered by his gums. His tongue, a deep black color, flicked from his mouth as his illusion shuddered. No longer stood a rich, snobby prince. Instead, something more akin to, something better described as, a so-called monster stood in his place. Citizens, if they had seen him, would have raised their torches, calling for a hunt. Unbeknownst to them, one small note, one small hum, and he could easily lure them into an apathy or entice in them a sense of desire, whatever he wished.

The man quickly replaced his glove as he heard the faint noises of a door opening. It closed, swift and soft, without a noise. From it, a girl walked onto the path that led to an exit back to the town. She wore a lady-in-waiting’s dress, makeup foundations smeared across her hand and arm. She held a small clutch, and a hooded cloak laid over her head, short blond hair barely escaping its heavy folds. Her eyes, partially hidden, had a slight red quality to them, puffed as if she had been crying.

Emotion, as many people who worked with the man always eventually realized, stood as a weakness whenever he got involved. If he could weasel his way into one’s mind, through the olive branch they extended to him, he could control the direction of the situation. Charm had cost many people a fortune, and it had paid him back that same amount. He could earn what many people did in a lifetime’s amount of work with a simple bow and flourish.

“Um, hello!” The man called out, hearing his illusions skitter and bounce in the area back to his own ears. No longer low and grinding, his voice sounded high, much like a pubescent, snobby noble from a neighboring country. “Are you quite alright? I’m afraid I got the time wrong for when the Gala starts. I wondered if you would be able to help me with something.” He held out his gloved hand, and with a slight hum filling the air, the girl’s eyes began to grow a light purple sheen like a second eyelid.

“My name is Casey Hancock.”

With a slight hesitation quickly overruled by the growing purple tint sliding across her eyes, she took the man’s hand, shining in the pale moonlight, a reflection off of the lake.

“Alyssa Carter.”

Casey smiled wide. “Nice to meet you, Alyssa.”

The whisper floated through the night, the wind carrying it high into the stone building, and Kendra felt the hair on the back of her neck stand.

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #fhdw #kendra sorenson #alyssa carter #lena burgess #seth sorenson #casey hancock #lmdm au #hopefully we'll see the grandparents next chapter #fun fact I believe I never used the word was in this entire chapter? I could be wrong though

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storm-leviosa-fanfics · 10 months

Text

car ma vie, car mes joies, aujourd’hui, ça commence avec toi

It's finally here!!! My fic for the @batfam-big-bang!!! I got to work with my brilliant beta @enchantingruinscandy and the amazing artist @jube-art on this. Best team!! Thanks a million guys <3

Rated: Gen

Summary:

Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet, but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training... Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage. or, Damian falls in love with dressage. How could he not? It is a beautiful, elegant sport, one that rewards control and accuracy and precision. The problem is that Damian does not have a horse. But that’s okay - he has Goliath. The dressage world will never be the same. Certainly some of the judges are never coming back.

Chapter 1 - starting from zero

The stables out back hadn’t been used in decades - well, except when Drake had lived in them for some god forsaken reason, but that didn’t count - which was why Damian was inspecting them. And it was a good thing he was: cobwebs so old they were thick with dust hung heavily from the rafters, the hinges on every door were rusted near to disintegration, and to top it all off, the rat holes made the stable floors themselves unstable. He didn’t dare inspect the hayloft. If the main stables were this bad, he dreaded to think what the upstairs was like. Most likely, it was more dangerous than swinging across Gotham’s rooftops.

In other words, the stables required intensive work to make them inhabitable. And making them inhabitable was the bare minimum really; Damian would not settle for any less than perfection.

He tapped the pen against his chin, scribbled another note. He could see how the stables would look once restored to their former glory. The high ceilings with strong wooden beams stained to keep out the rot, the dirt floors covered with concrete, rubber matting, and a thick layer of fluffy shavings, the hinges, kick bolts and stiff sliding bolts replaced with top-quality sliding doors, the shutters on the back windows replaced so the outside world was visible. It needed far more than a fresh coat of paint, like father had claimed (though a fresh coat of paint was also sorely needed) but all was not lost.

Damian’s newest project had come to him early in the morning in the form of a letter slotted into his window frame telling him in no uncertain terms that Goliath could no longer be kept on the island. Alternative arrangements must be made for him. Damian had put the letter down, gone to eat breakfast, and mentioned it to no one.

When, later on, he had passed a TV showing a sports channel inexplicably playing a video of horses dancing, he had thought to himself ‘Goliath could do that’, and then stopped. The rest of the morning passed in a blur, as Damian was slowly sucked into this sport he had not known existed until that very moment. Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet , but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training. Damian needed to find a new home for Goliath. The connections were made and there was no turning back.

Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage.

… He just needed somewhere to keep him first.

The supplies Damian needed to fix the stables could not all be bought from a hardware store, or a farm supply store, nor could he do the fixing himself. It chafed at him, the need for outsiders, but there was no getting around it. Pennyworth was insistent. He could take a long-handled broom to the cobwebs though, so that was how he spent his Saturday afternoon: bandana firmly tied around the lower half of his face and broom in hand as he attacked cobwebs that had been spiderless before he was born. By dinnertime he had cleared one stall. It was the slowest of slow progress.

He came back the next day with a new bandana and a leaf blower and no adult supervision.

All the stalls were clear of cobwebs but Damian was grounded. This mattered not at all because now the cobwebs were cleared, Pennyworth’s favoured handyman could come in to replace the doors and windows. By the time he was ungrounded, the stables would be almost ready for their newest occupant. In the meantime, Titus needed walking and if he just so happened to swing by the stables while doing so, well, that was just a coincidence.

By the time he’d finished painting the stables, everyone had figured out something was up. Grayson had asked, Drake had made comments, Father had narrowed his eyes suspiciously and hummed. Pennyworth knew everything of course, but it would not be down to him whether Goliath came home. He would have to ask Father, and that made him nervous.

Asking made him nervous, so he didn’t ask. He simply told Father at breakfast that Goliath was coming home.

“I will require the Batplane this afternoon,” he said, solemnly, “the one with the large cargohold.”

Father asked no questions, so he told no lies.

“You know what happens if you don’t bring it back in one piece,” he warned instead. Yes, Damian did know what the consequences were if he destroyed the Batplane. Luckily for him, this was not any kind of mission, merely a transportation need.

“I’ll be back in time for patrol,” he told Father, and Father grunted, then returned to his tablet. WE had been…difficult lately, and taking up far more of Father’s time than he would like. It boded well for Damian though, that Father was distracted. A distracted Father was one less likely to complain about another pet that Damian had acquired.

Goliath did not want to get on the plane, did not want to stand in the hold, did not want to leave the island, or eat treats out of Damian’s hand. He was scared by the movement of the plane, by the sound of the engines, by the strangeness of his environment. And Damian did not have Maya with him this time, did not have Jon to call on to help, or Colin to regale his adventures to. He was alone, with a terrified beast and a plane to fly and he may be just a little bit out of his depth.

But Damian Wayne does not give up easily. Damian Wayne did not need help. He could fly a plane and placate Goliath and keep everyone safe and Father would never know about this brief set-back. Except Goliath was well and truly panicking, tugging at his leadrope and pawing at the floor, whites of his eyes showing as his eyes rolled in his head. Damian looked at him, looked at the controls of the plane, looked at the med-kit stashed in the cubby, looked back at Goliath. He had two options here: one, he could ditch the plane, fly Goliath home, miss patrol and face the consequences, or two, he could see how much sedative was in the med-kit. There were no other safe options.

They did not have enough midazolam to be particularly useful, but Damian wasn’t looking to knock Goliath out completely, just relax him a bit. If he used all they had, it would probably be enough - there weren’t exactly textbooks about anaesthetising Goliath’s species, but he could guess based on size. Sure enough, a quite frankly alarmingly large injection of sedative later and Goliath was no longer hysterical in the hold of the Batplane. Damian was cleared for takeoff.

It was time to go home.

When Damian returned, Father was a fuming, fussing volcano in the middle of the batcave. Damian’s hackles raised, and he had scarcely landed the plane before he and Father were arguing. Sharp, barbed words and vicious insults flew and Damian did not have it in him to regret. He knew Father likely would not either. This was a fight for Goliath, but in the heat of it Damian forgot about the beast, still tied up in the belly of the plane, the midazolam wearing off. By the time Father had stormed out of the cave, Damian had received a thorough tongue-lashing and a grounding and benching that he barely cared about. Goliath would be allowed to stay in the stables. All would be well.

Unable to leave the house, Damian poured himself into research - equipment, dress, exercises, tests to learn. A rule book was in his sights within hours. He found a database of instructors specialising in dressage in the state, did more research, made a pros and cons list for each, short-listed them, emailed several, and waited impatiently for replies. None were Gotham natives, but that shouldn’t matter over much. Dressage was dressage after all; these instructors had to teach only him. He could handle the rest alone.

Only one of the instructors replied to his emails, around the time his jodhpurs and helmet arrived. He answered all his questions in the same curt, business-like tone that Damian had emailed with to begin with. He seemed the type to take no nonsense, which he appreciated. His prices seemed reasonable, his credentials were significant - regional and national champion to prix st georges level, a longtime trainer of his own horses, a student of an Olympian that Damian, with only his new knowledge, did not know - and he was willing to travel to Gotham, which was only an added bonus. Pennyworth had approved the visitor for a week from now, though with pursed lips and a suspicious frown about his forehead, and so Damian’s first lesson was written into the family diary.

His name was Stephan and he arrived dressed to impress. Stepping out of a sleek black Land Rover in a tweed suit did not earn him respect from Damian or his family, but he was not to know that. Damian took him round to the stables, which he declared ‘quaint’, explained their lack of menage, which he claimed would not be an issue until the back end of the season, provided they had a field to ride in, and then showed him Goliath, tacked up and ready in shining new gear. Stephan’s nose wrinkled. His lip curled. Damian resolved to hate him. He also resolved to prove his first impression wrong.

In the field, Damian mounted and awaited instruction. Stephan told him to warm up, but Damian had never done that before. He did not know what he needed to do. He did know that dressage was not an aerial sport - Goliath would need to stay on the ground - and so he would need to use his legs to get him to go and not a flick of the reins. He dug in his heels and, with a brief lurch of surprise, Goliath set off at a marching walk.

Damian thought he was doing quite well really. He’d seen the horses walking on the TV and they didn’t go fast or slow, they picked their feet up in a short, eager stride, or else they had a long step with their head lowered. It wasn’t that hard really. Stephan urged him into a lurching trot, which had Damian bouncing all over the place no matter how hard he tried to remain still and serene, and then something akin to a canter. Poor Goliath’s legs didn’t move quite right for it to be a true canter, and Stephan’s face was not a happy one when Damian eventually stopped.

“Well he’s never going to be good,” he said, bluntly, “but we can work with what we’ve got I suppose.”

They worked on the canter because that was the bit that Goliath got most wrong, it seemed. Stephan barked orders from the middle of the arena for Damian to get him “rounder. I said rounder,” or else to “use your legs; I know you’ve got them.” By the end of the session, Damian was exhausted and Goliath was drooping. They still could not canter well.

“Practice,” Stephan said. “I’ll see you next week and I want to see that canter looking halfway decent.”

And so it went on. During the week, when Damian was not at school, he would practice just like Stephan told him to, until he and Goliath were sweating and trembling with exertion. On weekends, Stephan would come, shout at him for an hour, and then the whole cycle would begin again. He learnt how to tuck Goliath’s head in and get him to pick his feet up like the horses on TV. He learnt the drama of it all, the hard word and pain of popped blisters that hadn’t yet turned to calluses on the soft sides of his ring fingers. He learnt how to hold tight, and how to push so even Goliath’s thick skin could not ignore him.

He hated it.

There was something miserable about the endless nagging and tugging and fighting, something wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Damian had watched so many videos, had seen so many pictures, and the riders at the top? They didn't battle with their mounts every day; they didn’t struggle and chip away at their horse’s will until it submitted. They didn’t move , some of them. Watching them, Damian had never felt further from his goal.

Finally ungrounded, Damian started patrolling again. It was…a manageable schedule. If anyone asked, he was not exhausted and didn't get up before 6am to feed Goliath and then shower before school to get the "stink" off, and then get driven to school by Pennyworth for half 8 and then surround himself with plebeians for 7 hours before getting driven back from school by Pennyworth, then down to the stables to train and feed and do whatever jobs he hadn't done in the morning, and then dinner, and then patrol until whatever time Father brought them home. He fell into bed and slept like the dead until his alarm went off at quarter to six. It was never enough sleep, but who in the world was going to notice? Certainly not Ffather, who only rarely had the time in the day to look at his face without a mask. Not his brothers, absent in mind and body. Not his teachers or classmates, who all had similarly deep bags under their eyes. And besides, it was worth it, the exhaustion, because Damian and Goliath were finally making progress. Stephan was almost pleased with them at their last lesson, and had suggested a competition to announce themselves to the world. “Just a small one,” he had promised, “no need to be nervous.”

Nervous. Hah. What a joke. Damian had never been nervous a day in his life.

His hands were sweaty, but it was a hot day - nothing at all to do with his upcoming competition. Training took priority and the exercise made him sweat even in cold weather, which late spring was not, and his hands definitely were not slipping on the reins. Surely not. What a ludicrous suggestion. There was nothing to be nervous about and he had all the time in the world.

He did not have all the time in the world. A week from competition day, entries submitted and test sheet printed, Damian abruptly realised that he was not prepared. It was perhaps the first and only time in his life that this had occurred. His test sheet remained in the bottom of his desk; he had not checked the start times or list of entrants since entries had closed; he had not given Father or Pennyworth directions to the venue. He hadn’t even checked the rule book. And this was where he came unstuck because Damian, in all his reckless bullheadedness, had disregarded even the most basic rules of dress. He had jodhpurs and boots and gloves and that was enough, yes? Evidently not.

At the level he would be riding at, tailcoats like what were seen on TV were not only avoided, they were outright prohibited. Likewise, there were strict rules about the colour of the jodhpurs and gloves and shirts he was allowed to wear. He needed a special kind of jacket, boots and chaps, or else tall boots that took months to break in. None of these he currently owned, and a week was far too short a time to procure them. No tailor worth his price would agree to a show jacket made and altered in under a week, and the boots Damian knew from experience would take far longer than expected to get used to. Could he wear his Robin boots? He didn’t see why not. They were, after all, the least recognisable part of his costume, and ticked all the boxes: large enough heel, tall, black leather, provided the correct support. He would raise it with Father after a good patrol, he thought.

The jacket was more of a problem, and Damian began scouring the rules for some kind of loophole, spending hours that he did not have looking for something that did not exist. He wondered if League dress would count as cultural attire for the sake of this. As little as he wanted to remind himself of those times, the clothing still fit and it might as well be useful rather than collecting dust and mothballs in his closet. Surely a tailor could alter the outer robe to look like a short jacket given a week to work with.

They could, as it turned out, and Damian soon had a beautiful coat to wear. Emerald green and smooth as silk, it was a perfect fit. One problem down, so many more to go. He consulted the rulebook again and ordered some jodhpurs in a pleasing cream colour. He already owned gloves, because he valued his hands far too much to damage them being an idiot and dragging Goliath around without something to protect them. He practiced his test over and over and over again, until Father or Grayson no longer had to stand at the fence and call it for him, and he could see the pattern in his sleep. He memorised everything he could, read the rulebook cover to cover, checked his tack, his dress, trotted Goliath up to ensure he was not lame, found a blue ribbon to indicate that Goliath was a ‘stallion’ and to be avoided, though he couldn’t imagine many people venturing close to him.

And then the morning came. Stephan rattled up the driveway before most of the manor’s inhabitants were awake with a large horsebox and invited himself in for coffee. Then, it was time to groom, boot up, and put Goliath on the box.

Goliath did not want to go on the box.

This was entirely understandable but still frustrating.

“I thought you said you were prepared,” Stephan fumed. Damian said nothing, just tugged on the leadrope once more and offered Goliath’s favourite snack. Goliath did not move. He continued to not move until Stephan grabbed a nearby broom and swatted him gently on the hindquarters, upon which Goliath shot up the ramp like he’d been lit on fire. It was an alarmingly effective method.

They pulled into a large grassy field and parked beneath a spreading tree. His excitement growing, Damian hopped out of the truck and, as he made his way around to lower the ramp, caught sight of the warming up arena. Everything seemed to stop, just for a moment, as he watched the pristine horses prancing. He had wanted to prove everyone wrong, show them that anyone can do dressage, but now… he found he did not want to take Goliath out of the truck, did not want to get on and join the other competitors. He was not unprepared, was the thing; Stephan had said that he was “as ready as you’ll ever be,” which was high praise from him, and Damian had memorised the test, brushed Goliath until he gleamed, polished his tack and boots and mutilated his League clothing to make dressage-legal attire. He was more than ready for this. But he suddenly felt very small and very scruffy, when faced with all these people on much more typical specimens. It struck him then, with all the force of Killer Croc on a rampage, that he was not going to win this competition.

Stephan saw him staring, and stood next to him. He said nothing, but Damian knew he could see his uncertainty on his face.

“They are all much better than me,” he said, quietly.

“If you think that, you’ve already lost,” Stephan replied. “Now get that beast of yours off the wagon and tacked up. We’re on a schedule and your dawdling is going to put us behind.”

Damian lowered the ramp.

His nerves followed him through tacking up, through signing in at the secretary’s office, through the walk to the warm up arena, and would not let him be. His hands did not shake - they never did - but his knees had no such restrictions. They twitched, as if a nerve had been trapped or a reflex had been tripped, and Damian could only hope it would not have an effect on his aids. In the warm up ring, near every horse was driven wild by Goliath’s approach. It did not make him grin, but it did make him wonder if, maybe, he stood a chance after all. It was not a very sportsmanlike thought but then, Damian was not always a very sportsmanlike person. He ignored them, the shouts and whinnies and stamping feet, and mounted. Goliath blew air through his nostrils and reached his head round to look at Damian. Really, he seemed to say, you’re making me put up with this. Damian rolled his eyes. Such drama.

The thing about horses is that they are cowards but they are equally forgetful, and so within a few minutes, the warm up arena was back to normal. This unfortunately meant Damian had to pretend to ignore his fellow competitors riding perfect canter circles and square halts for far longer, but also meant that none of them were looking at him. This was, he thought, a positive, considering he had very little idea what he was doing and was trying his utmost to hide it. Twenty minutes later, Stephan was calling him to the gate. Damian took a breath and did not stiffen. He was the combined strength of both his families. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne did not get nervous; he did not tremble or stiffen or gulp; he was completely unfazed - cool as a cucumber, as Grayson would put it. He rode into the ring, white boards gleaming and banners fluttering lightly, and stayed carefully still and poised. First impressions counted here more than anything. He held Goliath in something akin to collection: neck arched, feet picked up cleanly, ears flicking back and forth. He saw the judge look up, do a double-take, stop speaking to her writer, leave the box. Damian did stiffen then.

“Young man,” she called, voice tremulous. She was an elderly woman, Damian noted, evidently with many years of experience. Stephan had seen her name listed as the judge and nodded, saying she would be fair. Not kind, but fair. Damian was as grateful for it as he was confused.

“I am afraid I may have to disqualify you under DR119 section 1, if you do not provide me with some kind of identification. I am not certain that your mount is, in fact, a horse.” Damian was lucky. Damian had prepared for exactly this scenario. He turned to her and said, voice far more level than he was expecting,

“My coach has Goliath’s passport to hand. If that does not suffice, please be aware that your stated rule declares that dressage classes are open to ‘horses, mules and/or ponies of any origin’, and that ‘a horse is an animal over 148 cm without shoes, and 149 cm with shoes.’ Thus, as Goliath is over 148cm without shoes, and is an animal, he is a horse.”

“That,” she blustered, clearly trying and failing to regain her composure, “is completely besides the point.” She then stalked over to where Stephan was standing, hands on her hips ready to give him a piece of her mind. After a few moments of wild gesticulation, she returned to the judge’s box without so much as a glance in Damian’s direction. Goliath flicked an ear and snorted. It was the first time in a long time that he had been actively ignored. People being scared of him? Pretty par for the course. People wanting to cuddle him? Weird but sweet; Damian could relate. Ignoring entirely? Goliath wasn’t the only one to take that as an insult. He leaned forward and scratched the fluff behind his ears, just the way he knew Goliath liked it.

“Let’s go show her how it’s done, hmm boy?”

The sun was in his eyes as he rode down the centre line. He tried not to squint, while also smiling, because he’d already ruined his first impression and whatever he could salvage by smiling was worth it. The combination of the sun, the smile, and the squinting most likely resulted in a pained grimace instead, but an attempt was made. He turned right, kept trotting, held himself steady, felt Goliath’s mouth down the reins, his muscles flexing beneath his legs. He squeezed with his right leg and opened his left rein to bend onto a twenty-metre circle. He changed the rein across the diagonal and held Goliath in as he tried to plunge his way across the arena. Another circle. Another change of rein. He gently heaved on the reins and Goliath came back to a walk. Lumbering and laborious, tThey made their way around the ring, and it became worse as Damian released his hold on the reins for a free walk. Goliath was not good at free walk; they had not practiced and Goliath did not have the long and elegant neck of the fancy dressage horses. He tried, and Damian tried, but it was never going to be perfect and this was worse than usual. Damian was relieved when the time came to trot again. Picking up his reins and trying to hold Goliath in some kind of shape, he squeezed him into a trot that had at least a little swing, before asking for a canter. It had come up very quickly, and the movements within the gait would only come more quickly still. A circle, up the long side, another circle, return to trot over the centre line. Breathe, Damian, you have survived. Time to change the rein and once again hold Goliath back, then repeat the canter movement again. By the time the canter was over, Damian was so tight that he was almost almost trembling with exertion. Now, however, was the final centre line. Damian needed to smile again, he needed to pull himself together, except the turn was coming up far too quickly and…

He overshot it by maybe a metre, and salvaged the line by hauling on his inside rein. It pulled Goliath off balance, but he at least made it to the centre line. After a scrambled, embarrassed, halt-immobility-salute, Damian gave Goliath a pat on the neck and removed himself from the arena. He dared not look at Stephan’s face; he dared not think about the scores.

It took far too long and not long enough for the scores to be out. Long enough to have lunch, certainly, long enough to receive a thorough tongue-lashing from Stephan, not long enough to redeem himself.

Sixty-three percent.

That was… Damian wanted to say it was terrible, but looking at the scoreboard he was, surprisingly, far from last place. Out of a field of about ten, he was solidly middle of the pack. Fourth was not where he had wanted to be, was not an acceptable position, but when put up against what he had seen in the warm-up? Those beautiful, elegant animals performing like it was the Olympics themselves? Fourth place was not so bad really.

It did not matter what he tried to tell himself. Fourth place was not going to be showing anyone anything about his, or Goliath’s, ability. It would not win him any ribbons or championship qualifications. It was just…in the middle. Average. Average was not good enough, when you were Damian Wayne.

They drove home in silence. Damian had nothing to say, and Stephan had got his disappointment in Damian’s performance out of the way early. There was nothing he could say that Damian had not already told himself. He was disappointed, yes, but also furious, also confused, also mortified. From birth, he had been the very best: the best heir, the best son, the best Robin. And now he was merely average. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried: he’d tried so hard, practiced so much, been as prepared for this as Drake had to be for patrol, but it had amounted to nothing. The entire hour drive, not a word was spoken, and it felt stifling.

At home, Father hung the green ribbon in pride of place and Pennyworth picked out all the positives on the scoresheet Damian had been too outraged to look at and Grayson demanded to see the professional photos that had not yet been made available. Drake, on his way out the door, patted his shoulder and said “better luck next time, squirt,” as if Damian were a normal little brother and not a trained vigilante who could kill him five different ways with just his shoelaces. It grated on him, that they were being so positive when something was wrong, when he had done nothing to deserve their praise.

He had done badly, there was no kind way to say it, except Grayson told him well done for trying and Pennyworth thanked him for coming home with no broken bones or lacerations and Father? Father had smiled that small, secret smile that was just for Damian and said he was proud of him. Why? There was nothing to be proud of, no congratulations to give. Commiserations may be the more prudent action. But Father was proud, and Damian wanted so badly to accept that without thinking about it that he ached.

Another week, another lesson, and this time Damian had read the scoresheet and knew exactly what he needed to work on. Except that wasn’t what Stephan wanted to work on.

“Rounder!” he barked, “rounder, more hand…not like that - I said rounder, not slower, are you deaf?” Damian, feeling Goliath fight and pull against his hands, feeling him chomping uncomfortably on hard metal, found that he hated Stephan a bit. This was not what they needed to work on and it was making Goliath unhappy and Damian wasn’t particularly happy either.

He did not ask Stephan to come back the next week.

Without Stephan, he drifted a bit. He practiced what he knew, worked hard on the things he thought he needed to work on, but he had no goals in mind. Goliath seemed happier, and that was important to him, more important than ribbons, but still that score grated on him, that fourth place ribbon. He didn’t want it to end like that, but he refused to go crawling back to Stephan and admit defeat. Stephan was wrong, and Damian would prove it…somehow.

#batfam big bang 2023 #batfam #fanfic #damian wayne #working title: usef rules are bullshit #dressage #goliath dc #fluff #light angst #lots of emotions #look the title is from an edith piaf song that is the most dressage song of all time #just trust me

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