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mirkodoesstuff · 4 months ago

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The Announcer's Gijinka Design!

Well, sorry for a bit of long wait for my another Gijinka/Object Heads/Anthro-Objects (I don't know which name to use tbh!), however I was wondering... Wondering how I was supposed to explain my own vision of him, explain his family, his even headcanoned backstory, why he's that way he is etc., however after a while I've finally found a way to tell you all about my headcanons + gijinka design for the Announcer!

Original creation date: February 16th, 2024

So, yeah, he was shortly created (read: drawn one day later) after I drew the Gijinka design for TV! And additionally, what I tried to archive was to make the design for the Announcer, that wouldn't copy tons and tons of Object Heads designs for him, and that would make him give the feeling of "Hmmm, this person seems to be harmless, however why I feel like he'd kill me on spot?" type of beat.

And yes, my Announcer's design is fat, what are you gonna do about it?

Well, just like with TV's post, there's headcanons below!

Warning: the below section features themes of death, failed marriage, implied abuse, implied forced weight loss, implied mental issues, implied bloodbath, implied war, and implied xenophobia

Read that section at your risk!

Family headcanons (+ some backstory)

The Announcer, real name - Panretor, was born on January 20, 1960, on a weirdly-dark purple planet called "H.F.S.B" (acronym for "Home For Speaker Boxes") to two other speaker boxes - a dark red speaker box called Rekt (father) and an azure speaker box called Kotl (mother).

He was the only child to his family, which he would later mention, that he wished he did have any siblings (sometimes he's jealous of some people, ex. Leafy, who have such big families).

He never met any of his grandparents, due to Rekt not wanting him to meet his grandpa, and Kotl because of her parents being simply dead. However, there's a possibility, that Kotl's parents could actually be alive, and she just lied to her own son, however since she's dead, there's no confirmation about it.

The Announcer's real name, alongside his parents' names, have meanings - they're not a silly words someone made for 5 seconds, but actually a part of the very old Speaker Boxes' language, called "speakling". Panretor means in this language "Monarch/The Creator" depending on the context when the word is used, Rekt means "Confident/Bravery", depending also on the context and Kotl means "Cheerful".

Originally, Panretor's name was supposed to be "Kirk", which was suggested by his mother. The word "Kirk" itself means "Happiness", as she wanted his son to be "someone, who will bring the happiness upon the H.F.S.B", however his dad decided against naming him "Kirk", due to him wanting someone, who would lead a future war against the species he hated the most - Light Shimmers (yes, the same Light Shimmers from I.I), and that their child should be named after a leader (it implies, that he meant the name "Panretor" to mean "The Monarch"). Kotl attempted to try to change Rekt's mind about choosing that name, considering that both species had a friendly relationship back then, however he told her, that the "future could change it", and that they "needed to make sure the future generation would take great care of the war, while we're hiding somewhere", which, much to Kotl's hidden disagreement, their son was called "Panretor".

Their son himself had no clue why he was called that way, as he often thought "Panretor" meant "The Creator" (he didn't know it could mean "the monarch" too), so whenever he asked either of his parents, they would immediately tell him, that the word "Panretor" meant one thing - "The Creator"

Both of his parents, specifically Rekt, were from the middle layer of the Speaker Boxes society, who could decide the future of the planet - Rekt was the major of the Army, while Kotl had a close relationship with the king - Blisk (Perservance) The Third, who ruled the whole planet, when Panretor was born.

About the personalities of the Announcer's closest family - Kotl was known to be cheerful, helpful, wanted the best for her family (especially her son), however her major flaw was, that she never suspected her husband of doing something, anything, that would cause the war with the Light Shimmers, and that he would abuse his power as the major of the Army, in order to do so. In spite of that, she would not really think of the possibility of the war, which would lead to her ultimate demise. However, Rekt was known to be the "more chaotic of the two" (not in the positive sense of the word), as he would often cause various arguments, problems, troubles for anyone he either: a) saw as a treat, b) wanted to get rid of them and c) knew, that in doing so, he would immediately be brought to the public attention (he really loved the public attention!), so he would often do stuff, that would bring the sweet, sweet attention... Even, if it meant he would often be questioned as why he still was the Major of the Army, why he was still even allowed to represent such a high position in the whole community, why he was still liked, etc. However, no one questioned how far he would do, to achieve fame, to get the attention.

Due to Rekt's personality, which lead to a war between Speaker Boxes and the Light Shimmers, because of him murdering Solaris (Light Shimmers' Leader)'s son, Casper, he had to come to the Earth with his so-hated father.

His ex-wife was Jasmine from the house of Baird - a Scottish and Italian Goikian, who was 30 years old, when he married her back in 1984. Their marriage wasn't really... The happiest marriage in the world, because not only they didn't exactly love each other, but because it was forced marriage. He was forced to marry Jasmine, because he needed money to survive in Goiky, as he couldn't find any stable job, that would provide money, due to some Objects not trusting him enough, or being hateful towards him, and since she had lots of money (she came from pretty rich family), his father forced him to marry her, telling him, that she was the only one, who could save him from getting into poverty, from being completely moneyless.

However, sometime after TV was born, she left him, completely alone to deal not only with Remote, who had many mental problems, but with a literal newborn too.

He had to raise TV on his own, and help his oldest daughter, which was pretty hard, however... One day, sometime in 2005, he met Cherry Jam (@classypartynerdpalace OC) in the shop, alongside her only child - Donut. Due to seeing, that they were in the same situations (being single parents), he and her got along pretty well, and after a while (sometime in 2007), they got together.

When they got together, he felt really happy, being with someone, who did actually care for him, who wanted to be with him, who was there for him, who he married because he loved her, not because he was forced to, like it was the case with Jasmine.

Relationship between his children (and wife!)

He and his daughter are getting along pretty well nowadays, however it wasn't always that way - when Remote was younger, they had a pretty complicated relationship, as she would spend more time with her biological mother rather than him, even when she didn't want to. This did affect Remote, as she would have lots of mental issues, which he really tries to solve them all, which isn't easy as many people would tell him, that it was. He does support her decisions, for example he supported her deciding to date Liy - a woman, with mysterious and dark past, and even supported her into joining a group, that was all against preventing death and creating trust (and basically dating the whole group... Well, it does happen).

With his son, TV, it's more complicated, as he would try his hardest, try his best to raise him alone, try his best to help him with functioning normally, however finding out, that his own son had atypical autism and genetical depression (probably inherited from someone from Jasmine's side, or from his side, he never found out about it), he felt lost about the whole situation, not knowing how to handle a kid with such conditions. However, when he did his own research about those conditions, he actually attempted to understand his son a lot more, rather than just doing whatever he thought would help him (which wouldn't help even a bit in that case), so he started to try to help him, however... Even having such a caring father wouldn't help, as TV's personality would be complicated and his son himself would feel like "father's love" wasn't enough for him.

He and his adopted son - Donut, ironically enough, have a really great relationship - they treat each other like they were actually biologically related, they see each other as equal as father and child. The Announcer's himself feels pretty proud of what he managed to do - to make him feel accepted within the Aurelious' family, within his family. However, sometimes they do have both fallouts, due to having different opinions on things, seeing things in different matter, and even having different views on various situations.

As it was mentioned earlier, he and Cherry Jam are happy together, because not only they have a lot in common (the main thing being, that they were single parents), but also they genuinely love each other - they would always tease each other, call each other names like "Honey" or "Dear", or even - "Honeybee" (that's the nickname the Announcer gave Cherry Jam after they got married), they would do things together, like watching TV, spending time with their kids, talking etc., or even share their pasts with each other. Of course, he wouldn't go far with his past, as he doesn't like mentioning a lot of details about his past, however he would mention to her, that he used to live on a completely different planet, that he used to go by the name of "Panretor", that his father was the Mayor of the Army of the planet, that his father was "insane", was a maniac, even, that his mother was such a sweetheart, however he would leave details such as why the war between his species and Light Shimmers happened, how brutal were Light Shimmers etc., as he doesn't want her to hate Light Shimmers because of the past, he wanted her to form her own opinion on them.

About his ex-wife - Jasmine... The marriage was forced, as it was early mentioned, it wasn't genuine at all, they were forced to marry each other, because of the whims of one person (Rekt), and because the public opinion LITERALLY wanted the pink smartphone to marry anyone, even a poor person like the Announcer! So, the whole marriage wasn't even done out of love, but out of the interest of the third parties (in the Announcer's case, it was because of his dad - Rekt, in Jasmine's case - because of the public). Due to the nature of the marriage, he and her would often be awkward, when they were with each other, feel uncomfortable being in the same room together, feeling pressured, when they were doing dates publicly, wanting to be apart from each other, however were forced to stay together, and even - they both felt like they should divorce each other, that they should leave each other, however it didn't happen up until after the birth of TV, where Jasmine left the Announcer shortly, without any warnings, leaving him to raise a toddler alone. It was a tragic day for him, because not only he'd have to raise his only son alone, but also he had no one else living in the big mansion (which belonged to Jasmine, but she let him have it, because she didn't want him and her kids to be homeless), with the exception of Jasmine's former butler - a black and white Anthro-Cat with amber eyes called simply"Spots", whose he and him had pretty good friendship. Sometimes he misses Jasmine dearly, however he's aware about how their whole marriage was forced, and he just hopes she's doing alright.

Other Headcanons!

Even though he does lack mouth, he can eat. How does it happen? Well... No one really knows, however all they know is that, when the Announcer puts the food near his lower part of the head, and then - the food goes through the lower part, while the sound of it being "smashed" by something could be hear. It is speculated, that the Announcer DOES have a mouth, however it is invisible for anyone else. Surprisingly enough, he can give kisses to people he cares deeply about (ex. Cherry Jam), and they can describe it, like he really kissed them, despite his lack of the mouth, which does support the speculation of him having an invisible mouth.

The reason, why he changed his name from "Panretor" to "Announcer" was because that one time, when he was hanging near the local dog park in the Cherryfields (a town filled with plant objects, food objects and other type of objects), he overheard a conversation between a postman paper object and a torch object, talking about people, who described themselves as "the Announcers", because of them announcing very important stuff, like when a party would happen, what was added to the town, what was renovated, etc. Because of that, Panretor decided, that he should name himself "The Announcer", because it does fit him better than his previous name, and that it could make people treat him way more seriously, than before.

In the past, he was way more thin than he is now, due to the weird culture, that was exclusive only for Speaker Boxes, where a thinner person was, a better treatment they would receive, and because of him being from a well-respected family of the H.F.S.B, he was forced to eat a little, only two meals a day, without eating any other stuff in-between, was forced to do sports WAY harder than normally, and was on strict diet. However, after he landed on Goiky, and after his dad's death, he decided to let himself be treated way better (and as a way to assimilate with Goikians' culture), he started to eat more, do only necessary exercising, to keep himself healthy, started eating three main meals a day, started to eat in-between, which resulted in him gaining weight.

The Announcer does love gossiping about various situations, for example about what someone, who's not from his family, faked/hid/escaped something, that caused a scandal, how someone became rich out of nowhere, what happened to someone, if a situation was an accident, or was planned, etc. However, he doesn't gossip with his kids, because Remote and Donut both hate gossiping (especially Donut), and TV doesn't care enough to gossip with his father as he'd rather gossip with other objects.

His favourite shows are quizz shows, adult cartoons, shows, where you can win a prize, detective shows, telenovelas (he absolutely loves them!), and some of horror movies (but horror movies, where there's also comedy in it).

When he found out, that his father died due to shooting happening in the bar, he felt, at first, empty, because he had no clue how he was supposed to react at the information, however after processing the whole thing, he felt relief. Relief, because the one, who caused the whole war between two space species was dead, was murdered. He was just... Happy, that his own father died.

He doesn't like talking about Light Shimmers, due to how brutal they were during the war, that his own father caused, as he could see them being merciless, being literally bloodthirsty, being vengeful. Of course he tried to understand them, as they were doing it to avenge Solaris (Light Shimmers' leader)'s son, however he just... He just felt like they shouldn't have done that, that they shouldn't be that brutal, especially to innocent civilians. He does try to forgive them for the past actions, however it's quite hard to move on from them.

He did meet the Algebralians, and lets say, he does find them... Interesting. And weird, especially weird, because how come they're aliens based on numbers, however they're trying to hide by taking forms of Anthro-Animals, that fit their personalities? How come does that work? Nonetheless, he does find them intriguing, because of their odd culture, their wacky shenaningas, and because of a disturbing past between them and Goikians...

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lazykatie · 5 months ago

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Game, Set, Love: A Yu Qing Romance - Chapter 5

The next day arrived in a flash.

Qi Lin was the only one left in her classroom she stared longingly out the window when a cough caught her attention.

"Siyang! How'd you know I was here? I'm sorry for making you wait," she expressed. Packing up her bag as quickly as possible, when Siyang replies with a stoic face, "There's no rush. I just went here since Zhou Zhi said I could find you here."

"Okay, but I'm done packing already. Let's go to the office," she says, stopping in front of him as she gives him a warm smile. Siyang just stared at her dazed with his still poker face as he processed what she just said.

As they were walking towards the office, they passed by some students, who started gossiping at the sight of the two of them. Qi Lin starts to unconsciously hug herself. Siyang took notice and moved closer to her as his way of comforting her, but that only raised more looks from the students. Luckily for Qi Lin, they're at the front of the office already.

Siyang, being the gentleman that he is, opens the door for her. Qi Lin, on the other hand, can only bow at him for the gesture and hurries inside. Once she made it inside, she was finally able to breathe in deeply and try to compose herself. "Are you okay?" Siyang asks worried that maybe he was also a factor as to why she was agitated.

"Just fine," she muttered. Siyang nods and starts walking towards the stairs, while Qi Lin remains in her position, staring at her feet. "Aren't you coming?" He invites her. This broke her out of her train of thought and replied, "Coming!" and followed him up the stairs.

They settled themselves at the center of the room.

"Sooo. What are we gonna talk about again?" she starts.

"I just want to ask if you're interested in becoming our manager, since you're already helping out Coach Qi, why not make it official?" he said,

"I don't know about that." She instinctively answers as she stares at the ceiling.

"You don't have to decide right away, I just want to ask you and maybe take some tasks off Ah-Yan's plate."

She ponders some more then looks at him in the eye asking, "What tasks will I need to do if ever I agree to this?"

Siyang thinks of the tasks that he, Yan Zhiming, and Dayong have been doing before answering, "It would mostly be arranging some practice matches within the club, and some training regimens for the regulars and other team members. Collecting data about the other teams."

Qi Lin thinks and looks down at the table.

The advantage would be I could spend more time with Mom and spend my time on more useful things. The disadvantage would be hmmm... None? maybe less time to myself, which I just use to sleep so-

She then meets the Captain's eye, "Sure, I'll try my best."

Coach Qi then enters the room, "I see you're getting acquainted with the Captain well."

"Yeah, Captain Siyang was just asking me if I'd like to be their manager and I agreed."

"That's wonderful," her mom replied to her and turned to Siyang saying, "Please always look out for her Siyang. She's my precious baby-"

"Mom! I'm not a baby anymore!" Qi Lin interrupts her mother.

"Sure, but you're always my only daughter," her mom counters as she envelops her daughter in a hug.

Siyang just stared at the two when his eyes were drawn to the clock. He slightly coughs to get their attention. "Sorry to interrupt your mother-daughter time Coach but it's almost practice hours. We should get going and introduce you guys to the team."

"Of course, my bad Siyang. Let's go now." She said as she led the way to the outdoor courts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were on the courts when the three spotted Huang Jing ordering around Xiuwen to get the ball from the speakers.

"Mom, that kid really spells trouble. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Let's just see what I can do, later." She responded and called out, "Siyang, can I borrow your racket?"

Siyang unzips his racket bag and hands one to the coach.

"Qi Lin, would you like to do the honors?" she asks her daughter.

"I'll pass, Mom. Besides, I'm already pretty rusty not being able to use my dominant hand."

"Suit yourself," Coach Qi said then picked up a tennis ball that was just lying around and aimed it at the ball at the top of the speaker.

Coach Qi swung the racket, sending the ball toward the speaker. The ball struck the other ball, dislodging it.

Huang Jing flinched at this and looked back only for him to see the 'middle-aged woman' holding a racket.

Coach Qi smirked triumphantly as she returned Siyang's racket.

"Wow. you still got it, Mom." Qi Lin said proudly.

With a satisfied nod, she turned her attention back to the regulars practicing their swings.

"Everyone! Gather around." Siyang announces.

Jiale was the first one to notice the three and said, "Huh? Coach you're back!"

"Hey Qi Lin! You're here too," he adds.

Qi Lin just waves at him as the team gathers around them.

Siyang starts, "Let me introduce you to our Coach, Coach Qi. And her daughter, Qi Lin, who is going to be our manager. To prepare for the National Junior Tennis Selection Coach Qi has returned this semester to coach us, while Qi Lin will be helping out on the practice matches and data gathering within the team."

Coach Qi adds, "After being away for a year, I'm happy to see so many familiar faces in our club and we also have newcomers. Anyway, our goal never changes. We aim to win the national championship. For you, studying comes first. Only hardworking students can enter the qualifying matches. You have to be good at schoolwork and school tennis competitions. Then you may have the chance to compete for honors for our school."

She ends with her monologue asking the players, "Do you have the confidence to do just that?"

Everyone answers 'Yes' loudly.

Siyang then adds, "The qualifying match grouping details will be posted later. You can have a look then be prepared and keep practicing. Don't let your guard down!"

Everyone went back to practice, but Coach Qi specifically called out one person. "Huang Jing, come here."

Qi Lin smirked at this as she and Siyang went back to the office to fetch the groupings for the qualifying matches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the two were at the office, Qi Lin went to her mom's desk to grab the papers while Siyang tried to find some tape.

Qi Lin took a look at the papers when she saw on the fourth page that Lu Xia was on it. Mom said before that the qualifying matches are only for grades 11 and 12. How come they considered Lu Xia?

"Found it already?" the voice from behind her made her slightly squeak and jump. Turning around she notices that Siyang already has the tape at hand and some scissors.

"Yeah. I did. I also noticed that Lu Xia is already part of the qualifying list. I thought that the qualifying matches were just for the seniors and juniors?" Qi Lin asked.

Siyang gestures for the papers before answering, "Well, typically freshmen aren't allowed in the qualifying matches since their skills have not been assessed yet."

Qi Lin hands him the papers as he continues, "However, Lu Xia has played a private match. Even if it was against the club's rules, I still had the time to assess his skill set."

This leaves Qi Lin to ponder how the captain knew about the match.

"Let's go"

She snaps out of her trance and follows the Captain out.

----- To be continued -----

Previous: Chapter 4

Up Next: Chapter 6

cross-posted from wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/359772976-game-set-love-a-yu-qing-romance

#prince of tennis #netflix adaptation #mu siyang #mu siyang x oc #lu xia #qi ying #coach qi #he xinglong #tang jiale #yan zhiming #zhou zhi #chi dayong #zhang baiyang #qiao chen

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blackypanther9 · 2 years ago

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Alastor x Reader – Intruder

In this one Reader has no specified gender. Have fun reading this small piece.

You were always intrigued and drawn to places where scary shit happened. You heard about the New Orleans, Louisiana forest, where rumors had it that a Serial Killer and possible Cannibal lived in. He was torn up by dogs and got a bullet sent through his head in the year of 1933.

The bank took the whole forest with his house as their own property, but no one bought it after dead bodies everywhere were dug up. Many said that the Killer buried them to hide evidence and to do Voodoo Magic on them, while others said that all of that could have been a fraud and it wasn’t the man who got so brutalized before a bullet finally freed him from his pain.

You were very intrigued none the less. You went to hunt down the man’s house. If you remember correctly the guy’s name was Alastor Hazbin. He was in his alive time a very well known and beloved Radio Host. You could almost say that he was a star.

No parents left alive, no wife and no children. Not even a pet he owned. Poor guy must have been so lonely…

Suddenly you spotted an old looking house, but it didn’t look run down. Someone must have taken good care of it. You rushed over to it and looked through the windows…no one was there.

You touched the doorknob and tried to open it, which did.

‘Weird…’

You stepped inside it and looked around.

“Wooooow…”, you said in awe.

The house smelled good, it smelled like wood…a smell you adored. The house looked so old inside, no TV, no Smoke Detector nothing electrical at all. Just lamps and a radio. A very old fashioned looking Radio.

You closed the door softly and then went over to the old Radio, picking it up gently and examined it.

“It’s so pretty…Why are our Radios nowadays so damn ugly ? This must be worth hundreds of dollars seeing how old it is and how well it is still in shape. I wonder if it still works…?”

You slowly moved your hand to the button that looked like the on and off button, but stopped shortly and pulled your hand back.

“I better not mess with it… Would be a shame if I accidently broke it…”, you mumbled and gently set it back down.

Then you went into another room that had a piano in it, a couch and a small table. You went over to the piano and pressed a key, it gave a deep sound from it. You giggled and sat down.

You tested out every key and then thought of a song. You smiled and started to play the piano. The song you played on the piano was ‘Not Alone’ from Alan Walker. You were so observed in playing the song, that you didn’t notice that the owner of this property was in the house as well, watching you.

As you finished you chuckled softly and got up, brushing your pants straight.

“If that Alastor guy also played the piano…? A supposed Serial Killer playing piano ? Hard to imagine and yet….somehow I can picture it very well.”

The owner hid in the shadows, you didn’t spot him.

“Hmmm…”, you hummed and looked around the room.

“Gotta admit…it’s pretty here.”, you said and then moved again.

After some time you saw every room in that house and only the Basement was left. You didn’t touch anything while you continued to look around, besides that one old picture that you carried with you and looked at the whole time.

‘Who were they ?’

On the picture was a kind smiling man and a smiling woman, sadly it was black and white. Did this Alastor have a wife after all ? Were they his parents ?

You even admired the old microphone that was in a glass cabinet. It looked really pretty and expensive.

“Y/N ?! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU ?!”, a male voice called.

“Oh shit…Brother !”, you cussed and quickly hid in the Basement.

You didn’t want your Brother to find you. He always yelled at you and he always dragged you out of the house, even though you told him many times that you don’t want to come along. You always run away when he wasn’t looking.

You went down the stairs and then hid in the darkest corner on the basement.

“Y/N ?!”

You held your breath and stayed silent.

“Y/n !”, his callings got more quiet.

He distanced himself from the house again and you took a deep breath, then came back up and out of the Basement. You were back in the living room and eyed the Radio in curiosity.

You picked it up again and then turned it on. There was static to be heard, which made you sad.

“I thought it was set on a channel for some music already…”, you whined.

You put the Radio down and turned it off, huffing in disappointment. Then you sat down on the floor and eyed the Radio. It was so damn beautiful…

Then you jumped in utter fright.

The Radio just turned on by itself and the static was back, but also something else. There were whispers of some kind. You eyed the Radio in fright.

“The flippers ?! Is that Radio broken already ?! Oh crickets !”, you cursed.

“Hello ? Who am I talking with ?”, a voice came out of the Radio, it sounded like a male.

He sounded curious. You listened.

“Heeelllllloooooo ?”, he asked again.

“Ummm….I guess whoever called him dumped him by a phone prank. Damn so sorry for him.”

“Ah ! There you are Darling ! Can you please tell me your name ?”, the male asked.

“EHHH ?! Wait ME ?!”

“Of course you, Dear !”

‘Oh shit… What kind of Magic is this…’

“My…my name is Y/n… Yours, Sir ?”

“Pleasure to meet you Y/n, Darling ! The name’s Alastor ! Alastor Hazbin !”

At that your eyes bulged almost out of your skill.

“NO WAY ! THE ALASTOR HAZBIN THAT WAS KILLED 1933 AND WAS RUMORED TO HAVE BEEN ‘THE BUTCHER’ AND A POSSIBLE CANNIBAL ?!”, you yelled in shock.

“Why yes, indeedy ! That would be me !”

“Oh shit…”, you wheezed.

“You alright there, Darling ?”, he asked chuckling.

“Y-yeah…Uummm…How has the afterlife been, Sir ?”

“It is just peachy !”

“That is good to hear !”, you said happily.

Then the Radio turned off.

“Why thank you Darling~”, the same voice said, but the Radio was turned off.

You looked at the front door and screamed in shock. In front of you stood a creature. It had red and black hair with two big mountains on his head, one on each side, a big, yellow, sharp teeth smile, red glowing eyes, wore a red tailcoat with a black bowtie and red dress pants, had a monocle on his right side of his face and wore black dress shoes.

“What and who are you ?!”, you screamed at the thing.

“My Dear, it is me ! Alastor Hazbin. I apologize for scaring you so badly. I forget sometimes how fragile you humans are. Hahaha !”, he said laughing and playing a laugh sound track.

“Holy moly…you look…different. What happened and what even are you ?”

“Ah…I am a Deer and Radio Demon, my Dear ! I don’t have the faintest idea why I am a Deer, but the Radio bit I understand ! I was a famous Radio Host !”

“D-demon… So Hell and all that jazz exists…Holy Moly…”

“Yes, indeedy ! Now I have to ask though, what encouraged you to invade my lovely home ?”

“Ah ! You still LIVE here ?! I thought someone just took care of it while the bank is still trying to sell the property off ! So sorry ! I didn’t mean to intrude !”

“Applesauce, my Dear ! I am not as pissed as I was a few minutes ago when you just entered my house ! I thought you would rob me, but all you did was look around, enjoy the view and examine some of my things. You never stuffed anything into your pockets !”

“Still, so sorry ! But…ummm…I did keep something of yours, trying to figure out who these two were… Here.”, you said and handed him back the picture you tried to figure out.

He took it from you and looked at it, then chuckled.

“Ah. That would be my dear beloved, sweet Mother and me. I just got my job at the Radio Station and we took a picture of what I wore. Always said she wants a lot of pictures of me in my handsome years.”

“To be honest with you, Sir, you look very handsome in there. Nowadays there aren’t as many that actually have such a friendly and handsome face.”, you said and looked away blushing.

“Oh~? And what do you think about my present form now ?”, Alastor purred.

“W-well, you did scare me quite good at first, but to be honest…You look adorable and dangerous. I mean your teeth surely could even tear metal apart by how sharp they look, but the rest, looks adorable. It is just the big smile that makes you look a bit scary.”

Alastor had a slight red tint in his face at that.

“Why, thank you for the compliment, Darling !”

“Were you really the Killer ?”, you asked softly.

“I sure was !”

You only nodded and sighed.

“Shame, always are the good guys dead first…”

Alastor tilted his head in slight confusion.

“You look so nice and adorable…Man wish I could have met you to your alive times. You probably wouldn’t have been an abusive best friend.”

“Do you have such friends ?”, Alastor asked slightly worried.

You nodded.

“My friends are toxic and rotten to the core. My best friend even tried to force me into a relationship with her Brother/Sister. And I once had a Boyfriend/Girlfriend that tried to drug me to have his/her dirty ways with me. You may have been a Killer, but I bet you had some standards and boundaries…”

Alastor looked at you disturbed and then his smile became menacing looking.

“Do you have any pictures of them~?”, he asked dangerously sweet.

You got out your phone and showed him some pictures of them.

“Thank you, my sweet. I will be back shortly.”, he said and was gone.

It had been 30 minutes and then he came back, covered in blood.

“Are you okay ?! What did you do ?!”

“I am just peachy, my Dear ! I killed the scum that dared to call you a friend and abuse you.”

You stared at him in utter shock.

“Something wrong, Dea-MMM ?!”

You jumped on him and kissed him on the lips, hugging him tight as he held you.

“Thank you so much, Alastor !”, you said happily after you parted from him.

“N-no problem, my Dear.” He said blushing.

You smiled and kissed his cheek.

“You are cute when you blush.”, you teased.

He blushed a darker shade of red and you giggled softly.

END

#Hazbin Hotel #Alastor x Reader #The Radio Demon #Halloween Oneshot #Happy Halloween

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ventismommy · 3 years ago

Text

SIREN SONG- PT 1- VENTI

You’d always pictured mermen as...bigger.

The merman who tumbled out of your net now was a little shorter than you in terms of height- height? Length? You weren’t sure of the correct terminology. He had dark blue hair, with two lighter sections in the front pulled into braids and adorned with little seashell beads. His tail was a vibrant teal, with gossamer fins that seemed to stir in the wind...if anything, his tail looked like that of an angelfish. As he shook his head like a disoriented puppy, you couldn’t help but smile softly...he was quite cute.

You bent over him a little bit with a teasing smile, pulling a piece of seaweed off of his face. “Now what’s a cute little thing like you doing in my net, hmm?”

The little merman just giggled, a little “ehe!” That made you smile even wider. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to ruin your catch. The name’s Venti!” He gave a little stretch and a yawn too, his fins flapping a bit with him and a little pink tongue poking out as he yawned. “I was just heading for those rocks over there to sing.”

“Sing, hmmm?” You asked as a wicked idea started to form in your head. Without much warning, you reached down to scoop him up, and he giggled again, this time out of surprise. “Well, no need to go all the way over to those rocks! Why not sing for me, hmm? Here, let me show you to my cabin~”

Venti seemed to know what your intentions were if the little gleam in his eye was anything to go by, but he didn’t say anything, only happily wrapped his arms around your neck as you carried him to your quarters belowdecks. “Alright, I suppose I could give a private show of sorts!” He chirped, already humming a little tune to himself while you opened the door and set him gently on the bed, not even minding that he was still damp with seawater. If you’d gotten the right impression from him, a little saltwater would be the least of the messes on your blanket by the end of the night.

You settled yourself behind him under the guise of giving him something to lean against, and the merman turned out to be quite the little perv, immediately turning his head to give you a cheeky little wink. You grinned right back at him and oh-so-subtly threw an arm around his waist to help him lean back against your chest. “Now, go on- I’m most curious to hear this song,” you teased. Venti only smiled again and cleared his throat before starting to sing.

His voice was truly heavenly, clear and bright as a bell. It really made you wonder what it’d sound like under...different context. And yes, true, curiosity killed the cat, as they say, but satisfaction brought it back...

Your hands wandered up his torso “innocently”, seemingly just helping to steady him- until, of course, your thumbs brushed over those little pink nipples, and he gasped mid-verse. Though you couldn’t see it, his face instantly flushed a little pink, and he squirmed a bit, stopping his song for a moment. But you were having none of that, and ran your fingers over his chest again, circling his nipples again with your finger and a featherlight touch. He gasped again, an adorable little sound, and stiffened a bit, even as you pulled him boldly into your lap.

“No no, go on...sing for me.”

He squirmed again, about to start once more when you gently stroked over his tummy with your hands, trailing them back upwards and pinching at his nipples lightly. That made him let out a little breathy cry, and he shook his head. “I c-can’t- if you’re gonna-ah-“

You chuckled, only continuing your ministrations and relishing in each little gasp and sound. “Awww, that’s okay- I can make you sing for me a different way if you want~”

Though the question seemed teasing, you waited with bated breath to make sure this was indeed what he wanted, and nearly sighed in relief when he managed a high pitched, quick little “yes, please-“

Your hands trailed downwards towards the edge where his scales met skin. “Now I’m not quite sure how this works-“ you started to say, but just as soon as you did, you became transfixed by the fact that his scales were slowly rippling down his body, stopping at his mid thigh, and there, where there had been scales, was the start of two human legs, and a cute little cock already half hard and flushed.

Squealing internally at how cute he was squirming around on your lap, you reached down to stroke over the head of his cock, and the end of his tail gave a wild little flick in response to go with his adorable, whiny little gasp. “Is this all from me? Just from teasing that pretty chest of yours?~”

Venti managed a whimper and a nod, and bucked up into your hand a bit, already chasing that pleasure desperately. You smiled into the crook of his neck where you nuzzled your face into. Biting down on the soft skin of his neck a little bit, you couldn’t help but give in to the needy little buck of his hips, sliding your hand down around him. “Awww~ it’s so cute~” you cooed as your hand stroked up and down his cock. Venti let his head fall back against your shoulder and turned his face into your neck, as if flustered by your praise- but he still bit his lip to muffle the little sounds coming from his throat.

You weren’t having that- quickly and carefully you lifted him to lay him on his back on the bed, towering over him a bit as you resumed the steady pace of your hand around his cock. “Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me now~ I wanted to hear you sing, remember? Moan for me, pretty boy.”

It seemed that was all it took to break his resolve, and a desperate little whine poured out of his mouth. His tail still flicked around wildly as you stroked him, so your free hand reached down to hold it still, rubbing comforting circles into it. His moans are so cute- high pitched and breathy and desperate in a way that made your heart seize up a bit. He squirmed restlessly underneath you as if searching for something more, something better. And, having a feeling you knew what it was, you gently slid a hand under where his knees would be were he human. “Can you pull your tail up for me, angel?”

He did so obediently, another whine pushing its way up his throat. The hand that had been holding his tail moved up to circle a finger around his little hole, cooing over how cute he was when he thrashed in response. “Y-Yes, yes, to-touch me there!” He whimpered.

You giggled at him, leaning down to kiss his cheeks. “Alright, alright- there, you say?” You asked with a teasing tone, running a finger over his tip to collect the precum beading at his tip and smearing it over his hole. “Don’t worry, I will. I promise.”

He didn’t have time to respond before you’re sliding in the first finger, as carefully and gently as possible. His whine as you searched for his prostate is long and drawn out, but it stops abruptly when you find it and is replaced by a moan, his hips jumping up a bit in response. “Does that feel good, angel?” You murmured, bending down by his ear and covering his neck in kisses and bites. He nodded feverishly and moans again in response, the moan only getting louder when you slip a second finger in. The stretch stings, but he can’t deny that it feels good- so good.

God, he truly was adorable- squirming all over and moaning for you, his eyes shut tight and his lips swollen a bit from him biting them. You just couldn’t resist leaning down and kissing him gently, nudging his nose up with yours for better access. His lips were so soft, and you delighted in catching his little whimpers with your kiss- if the way he kissed you back was any indication, he quite enjoyed it as well.

When your thumb ran over his leaking tip at the same moment that your fingers pressed right into the perfect spot, his back arched sharply and he whined, a loud, adorable little sound. He was trembling now- you couldn’t help feeling bad for him, so you settled in next to him in a way that let you cradle him into your chest while he thrashed weakly. His mouth hung open now, stunned from all the pleasure.

“S-S-So- go-good-“ he moaned almost sleepily, like he was drunk off of the feeling you were giving him. You chuckled and nuzzled his neck a bit. “Good, angel, I’m glad it feels good.” He leaned into your touch in response, his eyes half opening for just a moment to give you a pleading look.

“M-More?”

Your heart just melted at that, and you nodded, kissing at his neck while you sped up the pace of your hands. His hips twisted in pleasure and nearly lifted off the bed- he was close, you could tell. “What a cutie,” you murmured as he squirmed and whimpered. Venti turned his head in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder as his hips jumped upward a bit once again. “H-Hah- cl-close, m’ clo-ose-“ he keened weakly, and you hummed in response, kissing the part of his cheek that you could reach. Working your hand faster, you paid special attention to the spots he liked as you stroked him, and it paid off, each movement pulling another little whimper from the adorable merman.

And then, he gasped, losing his breath. With a loud moan, he came, spilling over your hand and wriggling around like it was too much for him. “Good boy,” you purred, nudging his face out of your shoulder so you could press kisses to it. He whined softly, a tiny little smile gracing his face. And then, he opened those teal blue eyes, and met your gaze.

“M-More?”

You had a feeling this little merman was going to be absolutely insatiable.

#Genshin smut #venti #venti smut #venti x reader smut #genshin impact x reader smut

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krispytidalwavesheep · 4 years ago

Text

Hopes and Dreams II

First of all: HOW AMAZING ARE YOU PEOPLE?! You gave me so much serotonin. All the reblogs with added tags, all the comments and favs and all the new followers, you are amazing. I will add a taglist for future chapters, so if you wanna get tagged, hit me up, and you will be added to that list. Seriously, I love you guys. ***

“Will you be able to walk?” Alcina asked and you just shrugged and motioned for her to lead the way. You walked in companionable silence for a while, which gave her the chance to take a longer look at you. You were pretty tall, even though you were still rather small compared to Alcina. She was pretty sure that you were taller than Heisenberg though, and that made her feel odd. You held yourself with a confidence she wouldn’t have expected after everything that happened in the last few minutes, reminding her again that you were not unfamiliar with the supernatural. It unnerved her to no end, and she found herself wanting to solve the mystery that surrounded you. Where did you come from? Exactly what is it what you were doing here? Would you turn into a threat or into an ally? Alcina wasn’t stupid, far from it. She knew that Mother Miranda’s hold on the Lords was slipping, Heisenberg’s silent plotting was proof enough. Did Mother Miranda know that you were here? Alcina sure didn’t, and the other Lords didn’t mention a stranger roaming the village and the surrounding woods. Although Heisenberg mentioned that an unusual amount of Lycans had disappeared.

Her eyes roamed your figure again. Your hair was kept in a neat undercut, colored in a hideous blue that still looked good on you. You were clad in a black Hoodie and equally black Cargo pants, as if the cold didn’t bother you at all. It was the middle of the winter and yet you strolled through the cold as if it was springtime. Which made her wonder if you were really just a mere human. Everything she experienced with you implied that you weren’t ordinary and that intrigued Alcina greatly.

“You could just ask me about myself, you know?” you said and smiled up at her knowingly. Alcina flustered and wiped some non-existent lint from her long dress. So, you were aware that she was watching you.

“We usually don’t see strangers in these parts, especially ones who seem to know more than they should. Which raises the question why exactly you are here?”

“Considering that we just met, my lady, it wouldn’t be wise to reveal my whole tragic backstory. And further considering that I don’t know if I’ll see the light of day ever again if I were to enter your castle, forgive me if I won’t trust you with my motives yet. All you need to know for know is, that I am a traveler and have been for my whole life. I search for artifacts, among other things, that my benefactor can sell for good money. He took me in when I was just a child and took great care in training me. He is the closest thing I have to a father figure, although most people think me insane for the trust, I have in him. And as for why I am in Romania, I don’t really know to be honest, or wasn’t when I first got here. It was a gut feeling telling me to come here, and I find that I can trust those feelings, whenever they arise.” You said and stretched.

“I won’t keep you locked in the castle if you don’t give me a reason to mistrust you. There is a reason why no one come to these parts, so I am very wary of strangers. I have daughters to protect after all.” Alcina said, musing about what you said. If you were a traveler looking for artifacts, it would explain why you look at the supernatural as if it was a normal occurrence.

“You will have to see for yourself then, but I can assure you, that I am not here to hurt you or your daughters. My last mission… Didn’t go well and I originally came here recharge a bit, if you know what I mean. Again, forgive me if I am being too careful, but I have more enemies than I have friends, and I really like living.” You said carefully and Alcina kept staring at you. You didn’t seem dangerous to her, how could you, looking like you did, but she was still wary. She felt the sudden urge to protect you from whatever enemies you were talking about, but you were strangers. That realization hurt her more than it should, but with your past lives, it was so different. She always knew who was in front of her, whenever she met you, but this time around was just so complicated.

She felt drawn to you, even with your boyish looks you were still immensely attractive to her, and the way your blood sang to her made you all the more alluring. More than ever before if she was honest. But that is the problem, you were still familiar to her, but not as much as before and it scared her. You still had the potential to destroy her, even if you didn’t know about that.

***

You could practically smell the curiosity rolling of Lady Dimitrescu. She was wary of you and yet there was something in her eyes that you couldn’t quite place, even though it made your heart soar to new heights. She was as much a mystery to you as you were to her, and you felt so drawn to her. Like a moth to the flame. You briefly wondered if it had something to do with her nature. She seemed like a careful person, but considering from what you heard in the village, you totally got that. Which is why her next question caught you quite a bit off-guard: “Do you actually have a place to stay or are you just roaming around the forest, picking fights with Lycans?”

“Are you offering, my lady?” you said, wearing a Cheshire grin and wiggling your eyebrows. The blush that colored the Lady’s cheeks was worth every punishment you could possibly get from that comment. You still valued your life though, so you said: “I don’t mean you any harm. I just enjoy some friendly banter and it has been ages since I felt comfortable enough to do so. To answer your question, no, I don’t really have a place to stay. I’m helping someone with their housework every now and then though, so as a thanks they let me sleep on their couch whenever possible.”

“What kind of housework?”

“Nothing much, some cooking and general repairs.” You shrug and the smile she gave you was positively sinful when she asked, “What else are you able to do with your hands?”

It was your turn to blush and blushing you did; you even felt the tips of your ears go warm and it didn’t help at all that Lady Dimitrescu started chuckling. Still, you weren’t one to miss an opportunity so you said “Well that’s for you to find out, my lady” with a smaller voice you would have liked. How had one woman such a power over you?

“Hmmm, maybe I will, my dear,” she said and winked, making your brain short circuit. You stumbled in your steps and her hand steadying you didn`t help one bit. Sparks shot through your arm when she touched you and you felt something niggling at the back of your mind. No one ever had such an effect on you, no matter how stunningly beautiful they were. Suddenly, shivers ran down your spine, and not the good ones, so you took a protective stand in front of Lady Dimitrescu and said “Careful. Someone is watching.”

And just as you spoke the words, a shadow descended upon you and your instinct started to kick in. Your knife was out in seconds, a voice in your head urging you to protect your Lady. So, when the shadow descended upon you, you had it pinned down, snarling furiously. You felt your fangs elongating and your sense grew ever sharper. Well, seems like the cat was out of the bag now.

“Let go of me!” the girl you had pinned to the ground snarled, but her attempts to flee were futile.

“Give me one good reason to not kill you on the spot. How long have you been stalking us?” You snarl, feeling your blood start to boil.

“Let go of her, dear. She had no ill intentions.” Lady Dimitrescu said, and against all odds, you calmed. Huh. That had never happened before.

“Is this a new plaything, mother?” the girl asked, and you started snarling again, but a hand at the back of your neck made you freeze.

“Don’t be rude, Daniela. She is our guest, and she needs some medical attention. So be nice.” Lady Dimitrescu said and the girl, Daniela started pouting and muttering something under her breath. You were still on edge, bare containing the snarl that wanted to leave your throat. The hand around your neck tightened in warning and another shiver ran down your spine. One of the good ones.

“So, I was right about you. You are not entirely human.” Lady Dimitrescu purred, and you had the sudden urge to bolt and hide away. You noticed how much she must have hold back until now, the danger rolling of on her in waves was something you never once encountered.

“I told you that something happened to me. If you promise not to harm me, I will tell you what happened. But I can promise you that I am no danger to you or anyone else, if not properly provoked.” You said and dusted of your knees. She let go of you and turned to Daniela, conversing with her in Romanian. Daniela looked at you with sudden intrigue and a nasty smile. She practically screamed trouble, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

“Come now, it isn’t far anymore. Daniela will alert the castle of our arrival, to avoid any nasty surprises.” Lady Dimitrescu said and led you away. And sure enough, a few minutes later you reached the castle gate, three figures awaiting you. One you recognized as Daniela, so the other two must be her sisters. One of them looked at you with mild interest, while the other one looked at you with a spark of recognition in her eyes. Had you met before on one of your travels? You were pretty sure that wasn’t the case, but let it slide anyway, since you had bigger problems right now.

“Bela, would you please prepare the sitting room in the west wing? I will need some antiseptic and bandages, warm water would be wonderful too. When you are finished with that, prepare the guest room next to mine. We will talk later.”

The one who seemed to recognize you from somewhere left in a flurry of… bugs? What the fuck?

“Cassandra, Daniela, please prepare a light super. I will talk to you two later two. Just bring the food into the sitting room when you are finished, yes?” The order was given gently and in another flurry of bugs, you were alone again.

“You can explain yourself when I am cleaning and dressing your wounds. Come now.” She said and led you into the castle. You were still processing the abilities of her daughter, so you followed her silently into the dimly lit entryway. *** Taglist: @imdreamingblo

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Note

Can we get the fluff 28 from prompt list#1 🥺👉👈? I imagine Jaskier being afraid of the dark while he's in witcher's keep for winter for first time (he's just little scared of sounds around and since it's winter it gets dark faster than normaly) and goes to Geralt to feel save.

I must admit, I have completely lost track of what prompt list this was supposed to be from, I reblog far too many. HOWEVER, you still sent me an entire prompt so I just ran with it!

I hope you don’t mind and that it doesn’t disappoint! (And I’m sorry I’m a chaotic disaster)

And I very much thank you for sending a prompt! They are my life blood! Original thought? Don’t know her.

Jaskier was an adult, and that meant that he had left all his childish, irrational fears behind him.

Or so he had thought.

Laying in bed, hiding under the blankets in his room at Kaer Morhen, he was starting to wonder if he had been lying to himself all along.

Another creak of the old keep made him squeeze his eyes shut. Surely there was nothing there, nothing to threaten him in a keep full of witchers.

Surely.

That knowledge should be comforting to him. And it might have been if he could see anything.

Jaskier had thought of many possible problems that might plague him during his stay at Kaer Morhen over the winter, but he hadn’t even considered the one real challenge he’d had to face every day so far.

The darkness.

The days were short at the keep, and the nights long. The clouds blocked the sky most days, limiting sunlight and any light that would have been provided by the moon and stars. The witchers perhaps didn’t notice, used to it, but they lit very few torches, their eyesight being better than his own.

And he’d managed to get used to that; having just a few light sources wasn’t normally a problem unless he needed to read something. But then, when it was time to turn in for the night, the wonderful witchers of the school of the wolf extinguished all light sources. Jaskier was able to scamper to bed first but once he was there, things stayed dark.

He would light a fire every night, but it cast such a low light through the room, elongating shadows, it didn’t really help. Every noise he couldn’t identify made him cringe, and he really couldn’t identify any of the weird noises the old keep would make.

He tried to justify the noises, explain them away, but he kept coming back to the same horrible thoughts of monsters and mages and bandits and anything else that would put him in danger.

Another creak echoed through his room, long and drawn out.

Nope.

Jaskier surged out of bed, lunging for the torch he kept near his door and hurried to the fireplace to light it. Swinging around the torch, Jaskier looked around the room, unsure of what he would do if he found anything but feeling better being able to see. His hands were shaking, his breathing ragged in his chest. There was no way he could do this for another night.

He could only think of one possible solution.

Geralt.

Jaskier slept just fine while out camping with Geralt, the noises not a bother, knowing his witcher was there to keep them safe. Perhaps, at least for tonight, Geralt wouldn’t mind sharing a room.

Jaskier certainly hoped so, he wasn’t sure how he would manage to sleep the rest of the winter otherwise.

Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, Jaskier slipped on a pair of shoes and set out to Geralt’s room. It wasn’t far, directly up the spiral staircase to the next door. Jaskier hurried up the staircase, his eyes flicking around, trying to see past where the torches light shined. Reaching the door to Geralt’s room, Jaskier pushed it open without pausing and shut it firmly, leaning against the door as his heart raced even harder.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was gruff with sleep. He was sitting up in the bed, hair mussed and eyes squinting against the light of Jaskier’s torch.

“Ahh, hello, Geralt. I hope you don’t mind me popping in for a bit.”

Still squinting, Geralt frowned, “What do you want, Jaskier? It’s the middle of the night.”

Jaskier floundered a bit, staring back at Geralt with wide eyes, “I just… thought perhaps we could have a bit of a sleep over. For old times sake. Share a room and all that.”

“Why?”

“Just for the fun of it.”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier pleaded, “don’t make me say it. Just let me stay with you tonight.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Jaskier.”

Jaskier grunted in frustration, sounding much like Geralt himself, “I’m afraid of the dark and my room is quiet and I haven’t been able to sleep so can I please just stay here with you tonight.”

Jaskier’s words were rushed, not even bothering to pause to breathe. Geralt stayed silent for a beat, watching Jaskier, before he threw back the blankets, gesturing to the empty side of the bed.

Jaskier blew out the torch quickly and ran to the bed, slipping into the sheets and pulling a blanket up to his chin.

Geralt lay down beside him, “Will you be able to sleep now?”

“With you by my side, my dear witcher, I could not feel safer. I am quite sure I’ll rest easy tonight.”

Geralt reached out slowly and wrapped a tentative arm around Jaskier’s waist, drawing him closer, “It doesn’t have to be for just tonight.”

“Well then, you’ll have to help me move my things tomorrow.”

Check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @stinastar @feraljaskier @bastardofmothman @hailhailsatan @moonysourenza @its-onions @elliestormfound @dapandapod @geraskier-trashh @jaskierswolf @fontegagrilledcheese @negativenuggetz @veritasrose

#the witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #ficlet #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier is afraid of the dark #but geralt will protect him #kozkaboi

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savagesbonergarage · 4 years ago

Note

A quickie with Maul WITHOUT PLOT

Hmmm....

Wise of you to add that on the end there.... But is it gonna be effective? We'll see.

I'm gonna make this 100% just self-indulgent porn since that's really all it needs to be right

I'm malfunctioning how did they get there what's the occasion and the timeline and the state of the relationship and the galaxy and ahhhhhhhh okay I need to get it together

UPDATE: LMAO IT’S SO LONG AND THERE’S KIND OF SOME PLOT, I FAILED SO EXPONENTIALLY HARD. 🤡

(A/N - General ns/fw, definitely more explicit than not, but overall still not super hard stuff?, quickie, bj, power kink I guess?, hidden feelings, I think that’s about it honestly, if I’m missing something let me know)

Throne sex? Throne sex.

Maul

"... And Prime Minister Almec's influence has recruited warriors from among the civilians who would join our cause," you reported.

You stood alone before Lord Maul, who sat in his signature pose with his mechanical leg propped up atop the throne of Mandalore, resting his head on his hand as he gazed out the large transparisteel pane with a look of complete boredom and disinterest. He didn't even bother to look your way as he responded drily. "Fascinating."

You were tempted to raise your eyebrow sightly, but even though he wasn't looking at you, the fear of confrontation kept you from doing so.

"Will there be anything else, My Lord?"

The zabrak finally managed to direct some of his attention to you, his menacing eyes looking you up and down as his countenance changed with an ominous smirk. "Yes. How long before my blissful solitude is once again interrupted?"

You immediately checked the chrono on your datapad, afraid that you may have caught your new leader in an agitated state. The last thing you wanted was to be a recipient of his anger if you displeased him somehow, so you opted to simply be efficient in the tasks you were given. "You have a meeting in about eight minutes, My Lord."

"I see..."

Something about the way he was intently gazing at you made you uneasy, as though you weren't quite finished here and were expected to know why. You straightened your posture and put your datapad away before you geared up to leave. "Do you require anything else of me, Lord Maul?"

There was a new look in his eyes, something you hadn't ever seen until now, and the sudden change in contrast from before of his full and immediate attention on you sent a strange, yet not unwelcome shiver coursing through your body. Somehow you felt the previous uneasiness slip away and in its place was...dare you acknowledge it...want? Whether it was involuntary or not, the powerful man before you had you wishing there really was more you could do for him.

His gaze was nearly leaving burning holes everywhere his golden eyes tracked on you, each place they lingered a pathway into some rather inappropriate thoughts as it was fairly obvious exactly which parts he was shamelessly staring at. What's more, you didn't mind it in the slightest. You felt a little exposed, but in such a delicious way. Could you truly be tempting him, or was he simply teasing you in some show of authority over you - or was he really just that bored?

Suddenly, your train of thought ended when Maul planted his leg back onto the ground and unflinchingly brought his gloved hands down to work at the sealing strip of his pants. You barely registered what was happening before an impressive phallic appendage was gloriously revealed, held between two of his fingers at the base as an offering. Despite being synthetic, it twitched and leaked just like-

"Well?" he implored nonchalantly with his non-existent brow raised in a curious manner.

It was too late to conceal the slack of your jaw and flush of your face, your heart pounding as you finally processed the reality in front of you. Reflexively, you swallowed and looked over your shoulder and then back to find that this wasn't some kind of joke or game, but a genuine request. It was a miracle you managed to speak coherently at all.

"Erm, right now, My Lord...? In eight minutes-"

"Seven, now," he interjected, adjusting himself to present his lap as a rather inviting seat, "but surely your schedule permits?"

He did have a point - and who were you to deny the needs of your handsome new ruler? You did make an obligation to yourself to do your tasks efficiently, and it wasn’t as though you were hesitant about the prospect of it, either. No, with an opportunity having presented itself like this, it would be suboptimal not to show your enthusiasm, wouldn’t it? Not to mention time was of the essence now, unless you were fine with a group of officials walking in on you fornicating with the dangerous zabrak...which, as you pondered the possibility, it only served to send that pluming heat within you to entirely new heights. He certainly wouldn’t stop if that were to be the case, and a hidden part of you hoped that it would indeed work out that way, if only so you could feel more like Maul’s favored slut.

You wondered if this was solely due to the influence of the beckoning sith atop his throne, or if you had secretly always been such a promiscuous person - in any case, it hardly mattered. The priority of the moment was in being a good little subject and serving your master, and perhaps if you did a suitable job, you’d be given the privilege of doing it again. In a bout of courage that faintly surprised you, you found yourself at the foot of his throne standing mere centimeters from his legs, careful not to touch him unless instructed to as you ardently asked the most important question of the evening.

“How would you like it, My Lord...?” You didn't bother to hide the sultriness in your voice, which seemed to please him immensely as the corner of his lip curled into a scheming smile, his hands quickly moving to your waist to pull you in closer as he answered.

"I trust in your discretion to satisfy me. I believe you already know what I want, and it seems that you're certainly eager to give it."

His hand slid over your thigh and to the source of your radiating heat, burrowing his digits between the crevice that the fabric of your pants was unfortunately shielding from the supple flesh there, yet that didn't prevent his touch from being any less euphoric. It might have embarrassed you somewhat at just how apparent your eagerness was, however it was clear that the man working at your own sealing strip was enjoying the spoils of your arousal already. His words still rang throughout your mind, making you relish in the freedom and permission that was implied there - he was asking you to be as slutty as you wanted, knowing full well that you were ready to be his whore the moment you first laid eyes on him.

He wasn't wrong.

With his affirmation to take charge and the ever-present knowledge that you were pressed for time at the forefront of your mind, you relaxed your inhibitions and got to work. After a few more ruts against his hand, his grip followed yours to your waistband and aided in tugging the annoying material to the floor, returning one to it's former place on your slick flesh as you stepped out of your pants and boots. It was impossible to suppress the moan that escaped your lips, however, you were aware that this wasn't solely for your pleasure.

Six minutes left.

You quickly got down on your knees and carefully handled his cock, licking your lips before you kissed the tip of the wet slit and wrapped your hot mouth around the circumference of the ridge, swiftly lapping your tongue around the head before you started sucking. His groan of approval fueled your movements as you gradually unhinged your jaw and began going deeper, bobbing your head with every stroke and eventually taking him as far as you possibly could. You gagged a little, but it didn't deter you in the slightest as every time you choked on him, a moan was drawn from his lips.

Not only could he feel everything despite not having an organic organ, your ministrations were proving to be more than what he was anticipating as he groaned and moved to grab a fistful of your hair to still your actions. Your hungry eyes meet his as you drew your head back and released his cock with a loud, echoing, wet pop and licked away the string of saliva that connected it with your bottom lip.

"Is everything all right, My Lord?" you inquired with a perverse lowness in your voice, already drunk on lust as he held you in place for a moment before slapping your waist in a gesture to rise through his uneven breaths.

"Up."

You complied with his order, lifting yourself back onto your feet as Maul practically pulled you into his lap by your thighs in a hasty move that nearly had you falling against his chest, but you were able to brace yourself against his arms. His dick rested against your abdomen, still warm and wet from your tongue as his fingers found their way back to your entrance to prep you for his cock. The way he tilted you upwards to lightly jerk himself with your own slick as he lined up with you was so tantalizingly good that you nearly forgot about the time constraint you faced.

Four minutes.

Your canines pierced your bottom lip as he entered you, the galvanizing pressure against your walls as you adjusted to him being so invigoratingly good that your hands gripped his shoulders without warning as you moved to sink down completely, ripping a gasp from the both of you in unison. You knew that you’d need an entire minute just to get used to the feeling of being so full, although sadly you couldn’t afford that kind of time in the present moment.

Maul, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be too preoccupied with that particular technicality and held you firmly by your hips to keep you from shifting, and in an unanticipated move he rested his forehead along the curve of your neck. The heat of his skin and breath tingled across your own flesh, the sensation strangely more intimate than the actual joining of your bodies - rather, it felt like a different kind of intimacy entirely. It wasn’t merely in the way his grip on you remained solid or the new titillation of his lips against your skin; it was in the stillness of it all, how instead of insisting you ride him immediately, he preferred to simply feel you for an evanescent occasion, no matter how brief.

You momentarily forgot the apprehension you had when the compulsion to kiss him infiltrated your mind - not the sort of lustful kiss that would be more appropriate for the situation, but a tender, more profound one. Would he mind such a gesture, you wondered, or would he even be able to discern the difference? One of his hands had moved from your waist up to the nape of your neck as you thought this, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth as he lured you in closer to him until you were chest-to-chest, the indication of the motion prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck so that you were symmetrical to one another.

Two minutes. Only two minutes until...

There simply wasn’t time for this kind of lenient indulgence or immersion, nor did the circumstances permit for the kind of casual affection you wanted to deliver. There was also the fear of him retaliating against a more tender action if he caught one to consider, so with a whisper of a sigh, you started rocking and bucking your hips against him.

Maul had been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, an audible “oh!” escaping him as you continued your movements and utilized your nether muscles to grip his shaft with an ample amount of tightness. You fully planted your knees on either side of him and adjusted yourself so you could ride him properly - and in this case, that meant clutching onto his dick for dear life while you jerked up and down along his entire length like a jackhammer.

His head rolled back and his eyes became half-lidded, the rapid rising and falling of his chest indicating his closeness as he kept one of his palms on your leg to grip the meat of your thigh for support. For the first time in minutes, he finally spoke again through a strangled groan.

“That’s it, stars it’s so...”

His train of thought seemed to leave him as you worked him even harder, somehow taking him even deeper when you kegeled with the entirety of his cock inside. A twinge of pain indicated that his cockhead was nearly breaching your cervix, a fact that might have concerned you if there was any reason to believe you could get pregnant - and even if there was...you weren’t so sure you would care.

Less than a minute-

Luckily, it wasn’t long before you felt the crimson zabrak tense up beneath you and hold your hips tightly against him once more as he came, the spasming of his cock followed by the release of heat that filled your insides as he stilled and...

...and kissed you.

He had grabbed the nape of your neck again and brought your mouth to his all in one swift movement, capturing your lips with his own in a surprisingly graceful manner. It wasn’t chaste, his tongue immediately finding yours and warring with it as the dual beating in his chest matched the continuous pulsing of his gradually softening dick, but the action still caught you off-guard nonetheless. It certainly wasn’t unwelcome, and you found yourself matching his pace until he eventually relaxed, breathlessly parting from your lips and leaning back into his seat.

There wasn’t much time to even think, as over the sound of your breaths you could hear the faint echo of footsteps down the hall fast-approaching. You quickly pushed yourself off of Maul’s lap and frantically gathered your pants, managing to hastily get each of your legs through the proper channels and hoist the waistband over your hips, still fumbling with the sealing strip while you faced your master as a barrage of stomping boots was perceived behind you. You ruler had managed to tuck himself back into his own trousers in time, a sly smirk hidden beneath his otherwise fierce countenance as he addressed you.

“We’ll continue this conversation where we left off later tonight.”

Your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat. He was wanting to see you again, to have you service him again after this agreeably satisfying evening. You nodded, a faint smile gracing your features as you bowed and turned to leave, brushing past the officials entering the throne room who were none the wiser about the sinful conduct you’d engaged in with Lord Maul of Mandalore.

You still secretly wished the session would have continued longer than it had despite the newfound company.

And you certainly hoped to continue meeting and surpassing Maul’s expectations in the bedroom - or wherever he saw fit - for a long while to come.

#darth maul #maul #maul x reader #maul x you #darth maul x reader #maul smut #lemon #star wars

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houseofglass · 3 years ago

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Hmmm, this spn prequel seems to have ruffled a lot of different feathers. My dash has provided me with Jared hate, Jensen hate, confused tinhats, and even a splash of Cockles/Destiel opinions.

Here’s my take. Spoiler alert: unpopular opinions ahead. I’m not linking anything because I’m in the middle of an unprecedented heatwave and I don’t feel like finding all the sources. Do your own research. Or not. Whatever. I just want to get this all out as coherently as possible. Here we go:

From the beginning, Jensen has been a professional. He didn’t let the drama on Dark Angel get to him and he’s said that he actively avoided having that same drama on the set of spn. He’s known as One-Take-Ackles because he brings his A-game every time.

Jared liked to mess around on set. Take after take after take after take. There was reddit post about how the crew would be working 13 (?) hours to get everything set up and still had six hours of teardown to do and then bam! actors messing about and making the day longer. Like, just say your lines dude. Anyway. Jared liked wresting, getting others to break, and pranking. I think he even pranked Misha by ruining his car more than once. Not cool, IMO.

J2 had a massive fight on set in season two. I recall it being about Jared egging Jensen on to fight but Jensen just stared him down until Jared left the set. They made up and agreed to never do that again as it promotes a bad workplace. Keep your shit contained, kind of thing.

But Jared didn’t, not really. One incident in particular is the wrestling with Osric Chau. Osric is a trained fighter and Jared was apparently going to slam him into the concrete. I repeat, into concrete. Osric dislocated Jared’s shoulder as a result. Jared still didn’t back off and Osric dislocated it again, this time Jared needed surgery and rehab. The wrestling finally stopped.

In all of this, J2 became good friends. I, personally, believe they started messing around sexually right after they auditioned for the parts and then got serious early on. They lived together, and Jared had his first breakdown immediately before announcing his engagement to Gen.

J2 are a good match. Jensen grounds Jared and Jared helps Jensen to be more outgoing while ‘on’ outside the set. Jensen seemed reserved and shy before Jared and was more confident and comfortable with Jared by his side. Jared can spin almost out of control and Jensen helps keep his feet on the ground. They also have an energy that’s been described as lightning in a bottle.

Fast forward a whole bunch of years. They’re still on the same show but have other interests. Each of them ensures that the other has the spotlight in turn. When one has a project, the other is quiet on social media so the focus won’t be taken away. They tell each other everything, as evidenced early on when PR and managers tried to play one off the other. They simply didn’t allow that to happen. Nope. Instead, they stepped back so one could shine. Jared opens a bar and Jensen is supportive. Jensen opens a brewery and Jared is supportive.

During all of this, they still perform at cons for fans. For a while, near the end of spn, I noticed Jensen seemed to be drunk/drinking often. He had a flask while getting a tattoo, he was spotted with fans while drunk and kissed one, the Bad Idea Instagram post. This isn’t unusual. He’s an adult. He can drink. I just thought it odd that I was noticing it more and asked myself, was he always a frequent drinker and he just stopped hiding it or is it a result of the rise of cell phones and constant casual photos?

But then Jared was arrested. He was drunk. Not tipsy or having a good time. Drunk. He assaulted an employee. A lot of people said he was just a big puppy and he didn’t mean anything by it, but that didn’t sit well with me. By this point I’d heard too many stories about Jared being a bit of an asshole. Also, I don’t think Jared has depression. I think he has bipolar disorder. He’s had too many incidences of mania for me to believe it’s just depression. He feels emotions deeply, that’s obvious to me, but he also has emotional swings that remind me of my own bipolar disorder. Am I self-inserting? Maybe. But I know the signs and I see them in Jared. BTW, depression meds can bring on mania if you have bd. You need a different cocktail for bd, and you shouldn’t drink while on them.

By the time J2 announced the end of spn, Walker was already in the works. I knew something was up when I saw Jensen advertising himself at every opportunity. The whole King Bacchus thing and him showing up at after parties/events that are designed for networking kinda cemented this for me. I figured he was parading around looking for work and wondered why Jared wasn’t doing the same. Then Walker was announced.

Now, I admit, my timeline there might be a bit off. Maybe Walker was announced before Jensen was King, but my brain is melting and I can’t remember. Either way, I did note that Jared had plans for post-spn when Jensen didn’t.

The wives started getting involved. Gen is on Walker and Danneel is part of Chaos Productions. Me, being the tinhat that I am, thought this was to ensure the wives have an income and are tied to their husbands. From a non-tinhat pov, I can see their involvement as a natural, nepotism thing that happens.

Jared is doing well on Walker, or so I’ve heard. I haven’t watched the show. Jensen got a role on The Boys and is filming now. Cool. Cool cool cool. Both have acting gigs.

Then Jensen announced, on social media, right before the Walker finale, that there’ll be a spn prequel that’ll be narrated by Dean.

Right. Before. Walker. Let that sink in. All these years, J2 have always stepped aside for one another to ensure they have the spotlight in turn. But now Jensen is hogging it? Jensen is taking the focus off Walker and putting it on himself? Not cool man, not cool.

Also, there was no mention of Sam in the prequel. No mention of the other half of spn. Jared has said, publicly, that he’d drop anything to work on spn stuff, so he’s available. So why wasn’t he ‘in the know’ about this? How could Jensen have slipped this past him?

Jared was seen in Colorado during Jensen’s birthday, just before Jensen went to Toronto. So they’ve seen each other. Even if, in the minuscule possibility, that Jared didn’t see Jensen that weekend, they’ve admitted to talking to each other a lot. So why didn’t Jensen, at any point, tell Jared about this prequel?

Then Robbie Thompson tweeted. Jared was hurt even more. Apparently, I heard through this blue hellsite, that Jared wanted RT to write for Walker, but RT refused. Why? Who knows.

Let’s go back in time, shall we?

Jared messed around on set. Jensen didn’t. I can believe that some crew members/writers/producers/directors would have hated working with Jared. Yes, I said that. Not everyone likes a goofball or prankster. Some people think those people are bullies in disguise.

Maybe, just maybe, the lines were drawn when spn ended. Some people supported Jared, others Jensen.

Before anyone yells at me too loudly, answer me this: how did Jensen - and everyone involved in the prequel including Kripke - keep this from Jared? Didn’t anyone at any point ask how Jared felt about it? Or if Jared was available? Or if Jared would have input? “He’s too busy on Walker” doesn’t cut it as an answer to me. Spn was about two brothers, always two brothers, and now a prequel will only feature one brother?

So I came to the conclusion that the industry deliberately took sides in this whole thing. Nobody told Jared because they didn’t want to work with him again. He has his own show, he’s busy, - these are easy ways of handwaving him out of the equation.

Bottom line, finally, is that Jensen stepped in some shit when he didn’t tell his co-star, his partner, his friend, about a prequel to the show they worked on for fifteen years.

Will I ever know all the details of why Jensen would do this? Nope. I’m not in the industry.

I still believe J2 were/are in a relationship and their wives are beards. I believe they have a wonderful friendship and were as close as two people can be. I don’t want to think that relationship is over. I don’t want to believe they’ve gone separate ways. But man oh man, Jensen fucked up big time here.

I can’t wait for a tell-all book thirty years from now.

#anti Jared #anti Jensen #cockles #destiel #J2 #J2 tinhat #tinhat #spn #prequel gate #prequelgate #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #Misha Collins #osric chau

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nattikay · 3 years ago

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So I saw this post while browsing toa tags the other day. While I don’t think being obsessed with the school mascot automatically makes Toby a furry (though it is funny to joke about lol) since “being a furry” actually just means “being a fan of anthropomorphic animals” and doesn’t necessarily require any form of costuming or interest in such, it did get me thinking, hmmm...if he was a furry, what would his fursona be? 🤔 And from there I started wondering what Jim’s and Claire’s would be as well because y not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT WAIT, I hear you say--haven’t you already drawn the trio as werewolves and wolfwalkers etc.? Wouldn’t those be their fursonas??

Well yes....but actually no.

I guess it’s a little hard to explain, but there’s a nuance between “[person] but as an animal” and a proper “fursona”. While a fursona is an animal character used to represent its person, it doesn’t have to physically resemble them at all as you would expect [person]-but-as-[animal] to. For example, if you were to design me but as a cat, you’d probably give it light brown fur and green eyes like I have irl. But my fursona, unlike my human self, actually has blue fur and purple eyes. You can give your fursona matching physical traits to your own if you want to, and some people do, but most use only a pinch of their irl appearance, if any at all.

The choices people make when designing their fursonas vary wildly from “it looks like me irl” to “it looks like who I want to be” to “I just really like this color scheme” to “this particular color/marking holds deep personal meaning to me” to “this particular pattern represents a particular defining moment in my life” to “idk it looks cool and i vibe with it” etc. etc. etc. Everyone has different reasons of varying depth for the decisions they make in designing their fursona.

Therefore, to design a fursona for Toby etc., it’s less a question of “what would this character look like as [insert species here]?” and more of “how would this character choose to present himself with his own [animal] character?”

And that’s a much trickier game than just transferring a character aesthetic to a new species. ^^; We have to kinda dive into the characters and makes some guesses about how they, if given infinite creative freedom to design an animal avatar with no rules or limits, would choose to present themselves.

So all that said, here’s what I came up with:

Starting with Toby because he’s the one who inspired the post. I think Toby might choose a wolfdog fursona. A lot of people who choose wolves as fursonas consider themselves to be overwhelmingly loyal to their friends, a trait that fits Toby very well. However, while Toby likes to be “cool”, I don’t think he really thinks of himself as much of an “alpha” type--he’s more of a sidekick, and he knows that, and he’s ok with that. He’s the wingman. So what better way to incorporate that than to add dog into the mix? Man’s best friend=Jim’s best friend. Sociable, humorous, and unwaveringly loyal. Wolfdog it is!

With the species decided, we can move on to the design itself.

I can’t imagine any form of Toby in anything other than warm colors. This is extra emphasized by the flamelike patterns on his legs and tail, which both speaks to his desire to be totally awesome-sauce as well as acts as an allusion to his flaming warhammer. It’s fairly common (not universal, but common) for people to give their fursonas a more “ideal” physique than the person actually has as a sort of way to live by proxy physical goals or fantasies they’ve been unable to attain irl for whatever reason. Given that we’ve seen Toby struggle with fitness from time to time, it wouldn’t shock me to see him take this route. His wolfdog self is still relatively short and stocky, but it’s all muscle, babey.

This fursona is strong, fun, boisterous, and generally just kicks butt. Concentrated awesomesauce flows through his veins. Just don't mess with his friends, or you’ll feel the flames!

Moving on to Jim. Jim was the hardest to nail down, and most definitely the hardest to keep my personal biases out of oof. Which I may have failed to do anways because yes, ok, I made my favorite character a blue feline, sue me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But hear me out first!

For Jim I ultimately settling on a cheetah/lion hybrid.

Cheetahs, in a way, are sort of the underdogs (er...cats?) of the feline world--at least, in their local ecosystems. They are built wholly for speed, not strength--and as such, just about every other large predator in their environment has them beat when it comes to raw strength. Remind you of a certain Trollhunter? plus the long lanky legs. don’t forget those lol

However, because of this disadvantage, cheetahs...usually surrender. They know it’s not worth it to defend their kill from larger, stronger opponents, so they’ll give it up and just catch something else. This aspect doesn’t quite fit our protective, selfless protagonist all too eager to risk everything to save his loved ones--so a pure cheetah may not be the right choice.

So what animal is brave and protective? That’s where the lion part comes in, of course!

Why not just make him a pure lion? Well, a little similar to making Toby a wolfdog instead of a pure wolf. A straight-up lion feels a little too “chad” for our sweet Jimbo. Too much of a jock.

Jim has the humble underdog nature of a cheetah as well as the bravery and fierce protective drive of a lion. Cheelion? Leetah? idk, but let’s design it!

Like Toby and warm colors, I don’t think I can possibly associate Jim with any color but blue. While it’s never directly stated, given that we’ve never really seen him wear any other color (with the exception of the Eclipse armor), I think it’s pretty safe to assume that that’s his favorite. Blue sweater, blue jeans, blue shoes, even his backpack and bedsheets are blue. So naturally, his fursona would be predominantly blue as well! Plus some yellowish accents to (somewhat) match the natural colors of his chosen species(s).

I imagine he originally designed the character without horns, but then added them after becoming the Trollhunter, since it became such a major and impactful aspect of his life.

His lion’s mane also continues down his back in imitation of the “mantle” found on baby cheetahs. This youthful feature could subtly represent the fact that he’s been forced to grow up too fast and take on so much responsibility so young--so his fursona can still be young and carefree as long as he likes even while his real self struggles with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This fursona is relaxed, calm, and confident. He’s not just cool--he’s crispy!

Lastly but not leastly, we have Claire. Out of the three, I think Claire was actually the easiest to choose--or at least, I had the clearest idea of what I thought she might go for.

Claire is a bit of an interesting duck, because while she’s shown to be fairly popular at school, she’s definitely far from the stereotype of The Popular Girl™. Yes she’s smart and pretty, but she’s also a little spunky or even a bit quirky--she’s a theatre kid, she’s a huge fan of hard rock band Papa Skull, and while I wouldn’t quite call her “rebellious” per se, she’s certainly willing to bend some rules if she feels the situation calls for it (not telling her parents that she was going to the concert with Steve, literally sneaking into Jim’s basement to try to find out what was up with him, etc).

That said, I think Claire might go for a hyena fursona--something a little out of the box, but not totally out of left field. (she also shows a slight Gurl Power™ streak here and there “the staff was not meant to be wielded by man--” “I am not a man!!!”) and if you know anything about hyenas...well, yeah lol)

I think Claire would lean into her punk-rock “rebellious” side with her fursona design. This character is completely free of the pressure of being the councilwoman’s daughter and having to maintain her mother’s public reputation, and thus allows Claire to express a less restrained side of herself. She has a bold semi-edgy color scheme with bright accents (and some earrings to match her person’s hair clips) while still remaining feminine and (her own brand of) fashionable.

This fursona is spunky and sassy; she’s spicy and sweet all rolled up into one. She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to chase it down. She lives her own life and she’s dang proud of it.

....sooooo yeah there’s my take on what Toby’s, Jim’s, and Claire’s fursonas could hypothetically be. And I guess since this post was inspired by a joke about Toby’s infatuation with the school mascot, here’s just some quick thoughts on how they might approach fursuiting to end us off:

Jim I don’t see as much of a suiter. He might try it once or twice if given the opportunity, but at the end of the day it’s not really his cup of tea--he’d rather act as the “handler” for his friends, if anything.

Toby and Claire, on the other hand, I could definitely see as suiters. In fact, with her interest in acting, Claire would probably particularly enjoy it--she’d be one of those suiters who really gets into character, absolutely refuses to break the magic publicly (outside of any actual medical emergency), and popular at cons because she just performs so well.

Toby, meanwhile, would be the more chill type--uses his normal voice in-suit, isn’t really too stressed about “breaking the magic”, just kinda hanging around like he would normally except “look I’m a talking dog, cool right?”.

also while I was typing this it occurred to be that since Eli is canonically a cosplayer then he could be a fursuiter as well; in his case i imagine he actually made his own suit it’s a protogen and it’s full of little LEDs and other electric gadgets, it’s not the prettiest thing ever as sewing is not his forte but boy did he try!! good for him. good for him

#so anyways I put way too much thought into this...enjoy I guess?#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #furry #my art

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superman86to99 · 3 years ago

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Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late. An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible. While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour. It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling. We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places. A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail. Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines. I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation. Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers. Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois. The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are well-done and tensely paced. While sometimes I think the pupil-less flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking. Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me. I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas. The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me. The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing in these pages. The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either. So, another rare misstep from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion. STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline. A lesser book might not have acknowledged any time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to. Huh? How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman. If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib? Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer. She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

#superman #dan jurgens #joe rubinstein #cat grant #adam morgan #toyman #dan turpin #joke guns that only exist in comics #cat grant the dark retributor #coming soon to image comics

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nebulein · 3 years ago

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🖊, 👖 and 🧠?! 🥰

Hi Ann, thanks so much for sending these! 🥰

From the fanfic ask game if anyone else wants to send some in.

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

Pantser all the way. Plot and I are mortal enemies, which is why I don't write it. I only deal in feels and smut. 😂 I need to be in a scene in my head for me to write it, which means I have tremendous trouble writing anything where I know what needs to happen (e.g. "A needs to confess their love to B") but I'm just not feeling it. I therefore never plan my fics, because I couldn't stick to that plan anyways.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Hmmm. I have this concept for a fic in my head that's about heat in omegaverse, and how I'd love to portray it as something as realistic as possible, where you maybe don't fuck like bunnies for 12 hours straight(ow, chafing), but instead you're constantly so preoccupied with sex that you basically can't do anything else because you can't focus on anything else, definitely not enough to stay disciplined for a full 2 hour hockey game. Basically heat brain is ADHD brain without meds (oooh, squirrel!) and also you're horny all the time. And we all know our favorite hockeys can't afford to lose more braincells (affectionate). 😂 I had a vague idea of using Bennguin for this, but I think Drygras could also work very well here.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Here's a snippet from something I've written today, fresh off the press. Set in my goalie feels verse (originally Kevin/Flower), but because I needed to process, have some comfort Jonny/Kevin (hello, I'm neb, and I love rarepairs 😅). I'm not sure yet whether this will ever see the light of day on ao3, but here's what I got (rated M)

It's late. Jonny's camped out on Kevin's bed in his hotel room, their knees knocking together, Jonny one long line of warmth against Kevin, and when Kevin blinks over to look at Jonny he finds Jonny already looking back at him with those big, round, dark doe eyes of his.

"I...," Kevin starts and breaks off. Jonny's so close somehow, his face only inches from Kevin's. "With Marc, we..."

"Do you still talk?" Jonny asks, voice low and a little rough, and something curls tight in Kevin's stomach at that, Jonny's eyes never leaving his.

"Sometimes. But we, uh, ended things." Kevin clears his throat, has to look away for a second, breathe through the feelings threatening to bubble up inside him, a tangle too complicated to unpack right now. "I didn't-- he's in Minnesota now."

It's not an answer. Not a real one anyways. But maybe Jonny understands, because he nods slowly. "Yeah."

They fall into this awkward pause, neither of them really knowing what else to say but both of them unwilling to look away, snap this tension that's building between them, Jonny's eyes tracking over Kevin's face as if he's drinking him in, the sight of Kevin for the first time, Kevin doing the same, really looking at Jonny. At the scar on his chin hidden under his three day stubble, the faint lines around his eyes and on his forehead, his hair unstyled for once and sofly falling into his face. He looks soft, old, warm. And Kevin wants, can feel himself straining closer, wondering what those lips would feel like pressed against his own, Jonny's calloused hands on his skin, if Jonny would be gentle or as demanding as he is on the ice, always directing the play. "Jonny..."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jonny asks, hesitancy clear in his eyes even as they keep wandering over Kevin's face, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Maybe not," Kevin allows, close enough now that their noses brush together, that he can feel Jonny's huffs of breath on his face. Jonny's hand tightens on Kevin's waist, keeping him close. Jonny hasn't drawn away yet, and Kevin allows his eyes to fall closed, his lips brushing over Jonny's. "But you do have a better one right now?"

Jonny makes a sound, pained and choked off, a moan, hand on Kevin's waist pulling him in even further and then their lips are pressed together, Kevin's body melting into Jonny's as Jonny pulls him on top, the two of them kissing, clumsy and a little desperate, too starved for contact, connection, touch, to hold back.

Jonny's different than Marc. Kevin knew Jonny would be, it's one of the reasons he picked Jonny, but he wasn't really prepared for it, just how different it would feel. Jonny's stubble is rough under Kevin's tongue, his hair shorter, everything of Jonny more solid than Marc had been. Marc liked to toy with Kevin, fingers dancing over Kevin's ribs in a tease, tiny sipping kisses that always left Kevin straining for more, coaxing Kevin where he wanted him with his melodic voice, his soft French lilt. Where Marc used to dip and sway and laugh, keeping Kevin on his toes, a constant chase, Jonny is straightforward in his desire. He kisses Kevin like he knows what he wants, and what he wants is Kevin. There's no doubt, no second guessing what Jonny might mean when he pulls at Kevin's shirt and demands "off", no double-entendre in Jonny's words when he rolls on top and asks Kevin straight out how far he wants to take this.

Kevin thinks about it, asking Jonny to open him up, to press inside and maybe that will fill the void that's been yawning inside him ever since Marc pressed one last kiss to Kevin's lips and told him to "be good, cherie, I'll be watching".

It doesn't seem fair, though, to ask that of Jonny, and Kevin doesn't think he could deal with it tonight if his plan failed, doesn't want to be left feeling even emptier than before, faced with the certainty that he'd never be able to fill the cracks, the ragged broken edges that Marc leaving and ripping Kevin's heart out in the process left him with.

"Just your hand," Kevin whispers and feels stupid with it. "Can you, just-- Hold me, please."

But Jonny doesn't laugh at him, doesn't look disappointed, rearranging them so they're both on their sides, one of Jonny's massive legs thrown over Kevin's, one arm underneath him keeping him close.

"You wanna keep kissing?" Jonny asks, thumbing at the hinge of Kevin's jaw and Kevin nods, closing his eyes when Jonny tips his chin up to bring their mouths back together.

"I got you," Jonny murmurs and holds true to his word, keeping Kevin close, wrapped up tight as he strokes Kevin with a firm hand, strong, efficient strokes that leave Kevin gasping, his own fingers pressing white spots into Jonny's shoulders.

#ask memes #neb talks #writing #fanfic #neb writes #jonny-toews ask

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

„Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

“Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

“Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

“I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

“I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

“Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

“Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

“Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

“Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

“Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

“Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

“Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

“I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

“We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

“Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

“Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

“Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

“Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

“Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

“It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

“Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

“Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

“She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

“Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

“Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

“Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

“Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

“Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

“Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

“This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

“No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

“Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

“A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

“A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

“Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

“You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

“I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

“If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

“I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

“If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

“Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

“Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

“Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

“Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

“Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

“Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

“Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

“Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

“We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

“She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

“Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

“You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

“First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

“I—”

“Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

“I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

“No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

“I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

“Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

“Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

“Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

“Sylvain, what do you want?”

“Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

“How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

“Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

“In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

“To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

“If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

“A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

“Because I have eyes in my skull.”

“Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

“You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

“Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

“What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

“Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

“You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

“Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

“I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

“Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

“That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

“I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

“That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

“Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

“You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

“You wanna bet—”

“That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

“Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

“I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

“I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

“But?”

“But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

“Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

“Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

“Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

“No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

“Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

“He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

“Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

“Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

“I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

“Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

“Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

“That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

You groan.

“But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

“He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

“What?”

“The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

“I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

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