#King's Hound IF | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anxietytwist · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐞̈𝐥 “𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧” 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

[ 𝟸𝟹 | 𝟼'𝟺" | Bigender | Demisexual | ♡Poly ]

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⟨𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌⟩

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗗𝗔𝗬: 𝘔𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵 & 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭

𝗪𝗘𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗥𝗘: “𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯/𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘵 & 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴”

𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥: 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 (𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 “𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥” 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳/𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦/𝘦𝘵𝘤...)

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⟨𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖗⟩

𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗨𝗔𝗟: 𝘗𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 & 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩

𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗟: 𝘑𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘳𝘺/𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘴/𝘰��𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴

𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗕𝗔𝗧: 𝘜𝘱, 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, & 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺

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⟨𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘⟩

𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫❤︎𝐆𝐰𝐲𝐚𝐫

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ➙ She/They ʙᴜɪʟᴅ➙ 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 ɴᴏᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀ➙ Across the eyebrow (which damaged the vision in her left eye) ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏꜱ➙ Body fully covered (ʟɪᴍʙꜱ/ᴀʙᴅᴏᴍᴇɴ) ᴘɪᴇʀᴄɪɴɢꜱ➙ Ears (𝟷𝟸) & Nape/Collarbone (𝟻) ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴊᴇᴡᴇʟʀʏ➙ 𝘊𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘵, 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵, & knuckle rings (𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵/𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵 her joints) + the pendant 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 carved

ʙᴇᴅʀᴏᴏᴍ➙ Somber & practical

At 𝟷ˢᵗ 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 was extremely distrustful & even a bit afraid of 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫; his warm demeanor HAS to be some sort of ploy (they must be just like their father; the day she's outed as a 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆 the kind mask they wear will drop & she'll die by their hand... or worse 😰)

With 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧'𝐬 help they've begun 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 their chest 🏳️‍⚧️

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 is mute & communicates via sign language or written word 🙊 (for times when she's around those who don't know sign, without a translator present)

They often wear an blank “emotionless” mask, preferring to keep their own feelings fully hidden inside (internally they're ≈ 𝟼𝟻% anxiety, 𝟸𝟻% self-hatred, & 𝟷𝟶% debilitating empathy 😵‍💫)

Besides her facial ones; 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 has a lot of scars all over her body (she conceals them with clothing & HATES even glimpsing them while nude), she's extremely ashamed of them since they were all received during battle (except the scar through her lips... that was received during the 𝟷ˢᵗ, & ONLY TIME, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐢 was allowed to “train” her 🤕)

They continue to take cold baths & sleep on the floor, always with their back touching a wall & facing the room's point of entry (despite having other “healthier” options... they feel that comfort isn't something they can afford to get used to OR even really deserve in the end 🥲)

Because of her touch-aversion (which developed throughout her early childhood “training”), primarily with skin-to-skin contact, 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 wears 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 (despite her condition she's also extremely touch-starved & currently only finds physical touch with her brother, 𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐚𝐡, comfortable 🫂)

Despite their best efforts, they have a nervous habit of chewing their fingers (wearing gloves mostly helps alleviate this issue + they're unable to physically injure themself if they DO end up biting them 🧤)

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧'𝐬 tattoos help her cope with the dysphoria + dysmorphia she experiences by covering her battle scars (she can focus on the beautiful Celtic art instead of her body ☺️)

They've kept all the trinkets gifted to them by most of their older siblings 🎁 (& keeps them on hand whenever possible); it helps lessen the ache each of their departures left behind in their heart (except 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐢... they felt NO sadness the day she left 🖕😀)

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 does NOT enjoy killing (it makes her sick to even think of those she's harmed... meeting 𝐁𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞 & some of the other knights again is literally her worst nightmare made real) & would gladly avoid fighting entirely if possible (she does enjoy good-natured sparring though)... unless, of course, anyone she loves is endangered (especially 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝) then she will NOT hesitate to incapacitate the aggressor 🗡️😠

Because of their inconspicuous presence (despite being quite tall), 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 has a tendency to accidentally ambush people 🫥

While in real combat she enters into a dissociative state (namely: episodic depersonalization); once she comes back to herself she becomes violently ill 🤢 & often loses consciousness when her adrenaline finally runs out 😵

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 used to be fairly average in height during her early youth, but had a HUGE growth spurt the year she turned 𝟷𝟾 (which resulted in chronic pain in her legs, back, & joints 😖)

Their wavy hair is very long (𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩); they mostly keep it tied back/up in, often elaborately braided, hairstyles 🪮

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧'𝐬 always had a soft spot for children & very much looks forward to getting to know 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 better (she made/gifted him a flower bracelet) 🥺🩷

They have 𝟶 experience when it comes to romance & sex 😳 (partially because of their severe touch-aversion); they've never felt comfortable/safe enough with anyone to even view them in that way (so they're understandably nervous when it comes to their future “spousal duties” 🫣)

𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 tries to limit the overuse of her battle magic; only accessing it during times of life-threatening crisis 💀 (or when her natural strength/endurance is not enough to complete an imperative task)

...

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𝐼𝐹: @the-kingshound

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Picrew used:

🔞NSFW Notes🔞

All 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 really wants is be pampered & cherished, to trust her partners (+ their ability to read her silent cues) so much so that she can fully relinquish control over her body to them.

At their core 𝐆𝐰𝐞𝐧 is a submissive bottom with a praise-kink 🥴

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starry-bi-sky · 8 months ago

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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

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Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.