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heyitsani · 3 years

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I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 7

Word Count: 11,458

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Notes: I’m sorry! Just it’s really sad, so I’m sorry. There’s some cute fluff in there, but it’s still really really really sad.

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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Damian hesitated outside of the small shop Victor had directed him to as Madame Xanadu’s storefront and home. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to happen in there, but he was nervous all the same. This woman knew secrets that Victor and his father had been unwilling to share. His father had said there was no point in burdening his heart and Victor had simply said it was not his secret to share.

So that was how he ended up making his way into the lower levels of the city with Victor just behind him.

“You do not have to do this,” the guard told him, looking at him from his post near the door. “Your father is not wrong. You do not need this burden.”

“And what would you do in my place?”

Victor was silent for a beat before sighing, nodding his head in agreement. “I, too, would want to know. But knowing what the truth is, I would also wish I didn’t.”

“You are entirely unhelpful.” Victor shrugged before reaching out and opening the door for Damian, taking the decision out of his hands. With a glare and then a sigh, Damian slipped into the shop and straightened his spine in preparation.

“Your Highness,” a gentle voice greeted him. Turning he spotted the woman with pale skin and kind eyes. “I did wonder when you would make your way to me. I could not see that future very clearly. But at this time, it does make sense.”

Damian considered her closely, frowning at her words. She didn’t look exactly like he had imagined, but he wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting to begin with. He could feel the power coming off of her though and wondered if everyone could feel how strongly it resonated with her. Glancing around the room, he took in the various potions and vials. There an entire wall covered with powers and other items, that he assumed she used to make her goods. A small portion of wall was comprised of books and Damian was curious what was written within their leather bounds.

“Have you come to me for a reason, Your Highness?”

Clearing his throat, Damian pulled his eyes away from her belongings to look at her again. “Yes, I have come to discuss my father.”

“Hmm,” Xanadu hummed, nodding sadly. “The country will be in heavy mourning sooner rather than later.” Damian’s jaw clenched. He knew that, but no one had been willing to say it up until now. His grandfather had been silent on all of it and the doctors had tried to give them hope. But Damian knew the truth. He had been watching it happen for years.

“It is a broken heart, isn’t it?” The woman hummed again, and Damian felt as though a hand had gripped his heart. “Ever since that day, he seemed to be only a shade of the man he was with Ser Jason. He did try so hard to keep it hidden. To remain strong. Those nights we sat together were not enough to quell his pain.”

“It never is,” she confirmed. And Damian had figured. Though he had never addressed the man as such, he had always thought of him as another father. And it had been difficult to light his pyre and mourn him. To this day, his heart still ached with that loss. But he knew it was so much more painful for his father. Damian had never known that kind of love, not yet at least, but he had seen its rarity and beauty through the two of them. “But this is not why you have come to see me, is it Your Highness?”

“It is not,” he confirmed. “Do you have somewhere more private we can discuss this? Or is it safe here?” She tilted her head and he waited, watching her watch him. Then she waved him forward and he followed her through a curtain covered doorway into a back room.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of fresh rain. It was so striking and so surprising, it made him pause. It was all he smelled despite the two separate tables covered with various substances and mixing bowls. The next thing he noticed was the fact that he could no longer hear the outside world. It was silent.

“An enchantment,” Madame Xanadu explained when he turned questioning eyes onto her. “The scent can be too strong most of the time and the sounds distracting. No one can hear us either. So, you may speak freely here.” She gestured to a stool as she sat on another one. He nodded and took a seat, back ramrod straight as he steeled himself. “Now, what is it you wish to know?”

Taking a deep breath, Damian let it out slowly. “My mother,” he started, watching her closely. “She had a part in Ser Jason’s death.” The woman only nodded. “Did you?”

“No,” she said simply.

“But you knew of her involvement in his death?”

“Not until after it had happened. She went outside of our city in order to seek the help she needed. I do not have the kind of power required and none, including myself, in Gotham who do would have done what she wanted.”

Damian considered that a positive at least. His father and Ser Jason were at least loved enough to inspire that kind of loyalty.

“And before you ask, Your Highness, I do not know who she got to do her bidding. I would have told your father if I had. They, too, should be brought to justice.” Sighing, Damian slouched slightly in defeat. He thought maybe he could make something right in a situation where he had no control. “Do you want to know the whole story of your mother’s deeds?”

“I do, if you would be willing to tell me.” The woman regarded him for a moment before nodding and gesturing for Damian to sit on one of the stools. Once he was comfortable as he could be, she went to her table and began sorting through some dried plants.

“Your mother came to me when you were about the age of eleven,” she talked as she worked with her items and Damian’s eyes tracked her movements with thinly veiled curiosity. “Though disguised, I am skilled at the art of aura reading and hers was always quite…demanding, I suppose you could say.” That seemed about right. The woman had been known for her headstrong nature. “But I played her game and listened to her woes.

“She spun a tale of a man she wed and gave an heir, a man she had fallen in love with but who had not fallen in love with her. She made mention of a man her husband loved but could not be with for family and duty. She said she knew her husband could love her if only this man were not around. That was when I told her I would not kill for her, no matter what she paid me, and she asked for a compromise. She asked for a curse that would destine them to always be within reach of the other, but never be allowed to really be with one another.”

Damian gripped the edge of the seat he was on and clenched his jaw. He knew his mother was mean spirited, but he had never known her to be outright cruel. She had asked to strip two men who loved each other of the chance to love each other freely and wholly. “And you did what she asked?”

“I did,” she looked up at Damian with a sad nod. “I did because I knew she was desperate enough to go to another if I did not.” His shoulders lowered as he sighed and nodded. She certainly would have. “I gave her what she wanted with a stipulation attached to it.” Straightening his spine back up, Damian held his breath. This sounded like hope.

“I told her I would make the curse for her but should one of them fall before the age of ten and six that the curse would be broken and they would be reunited.”

Furrowing his brow, Damian tried to decipher that. “Reunited as in the next life?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“But you do know?”

“I do,” she confirmed. “But as I told your father, they have many lifetimes of suffering between them before they will finally be allowed to be together. From that day and all lifetimes after it.” It was a minor comfort to know she had at least seen it. He was sure his father had felt the same. “I did do your father a favor when I told him of his wife’s hand in his lover’s death. I gave him a potion to take that would separate the thread between him and your mother until the lifetime they are to be reunited.”

“And he took it.” It wasn’t a question. Damian knew there would be no chance his father would not want his former wife’s presence gone from his world for as long as possible. But that left his existence in question then. “What does that mean for me?”

Xanadu didn’t answer immediately. Instead she placed her various plants she had been grinding down into a fine powder into a vial before adding some liquid to it and stirring it together, whispering words that seemed to ignite whatever was in there and turned the liquid from clear to blood red.

“For you, my future king,” she said as she capped the vial with a small cork, “it means that you will not be of his blood. But your presence is in as many of his lives that I have been given insight to.” She rounded the table and Damian slipped off the stool to stand when she stopped in front of him.

“Will they remember? Will any of us remember?”

“To an extent all of you mortals remember your previous lives. Perhaps not always evident, but they linger just below the surface of your minds.” The act of keeping herself out of the “mortals” comment did not surpass him, but he knew better than to question. Instead, he thought about the pain his father and Ser Jason were to face with lifetimes of loving each other but not being able to be with one another.

“Can you make us forget? Can you spare them the pain that would come with the curse?” He questioned her, though part of him wondered if she already knew he was going to ask. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you require. Please do not make them carry that pain into each life.”

She held out the vial of blood red liquid and Damian hesitated a moment before he took it into his palm. It was warm to the touch and the power within the glass made him clench his jaw. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this was the answer he sought.

“Your payment?”

Holding up a hand, Madame Xanadu shook her head. “I require nothing. But be sure you give this to him before you are crowned. I do not know how much longer he will be with us.”

Clenching his hand around the vial, Damian gave her a bow. “Thank you.” Her soft laughter caused him to jerk upright in surprise.

“I apologize, Your Highness. I just see so much of your father in you. Bowing to a lowly healer, imagine.” She chuckled as she moved toward the entrance that would take them back out to the main shop and Damian followed. “Before you are crowned, do not forget.” He gave a nod as they stepped into the main room and toward the exit where he knew Ser Victor would be waiting.

“Thank you for telling me, Madame. You owe me nothing, but now I owe you much. Please call on me should you find yourself in need of my service.” He gave another bow, much to her apparent amusement, before stepping out of the store. “Come, Ser Victor. I desire some tea with Father.”

The soldier looked at the prince before looking back to the shop in confusion. Damian raised a brow in question and watched as the man shrugged and gestured for Damian to lead the way.

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“Richard, honestly,” Damian could hear his Uncle Timothy berating his father on the other side of the room, but he tried to block the two men out as he continued to run his quill across the parchment. He had started and stopped the letter to Jon far too many times now and had decided to simply write whatever came to mind and hope that it made sense to the other man.

He had been putting off requesting the other man’s presence since finding out about his father’s illness, but he wanted the older man there when he was crowned in less than a week’s time.

“Nephew, please. I require your assistance…” His uncle’s voice came closer until he was standing beside where Damian was seated. When his words trailed off, Damian glanced up and found the man’s blue eyes on the letter.

“What do you require of me, Uncle?” Damian asked, not bothering to hide the contents of the letter. He did not for a moment think his uncle wasn’t aware of Jon’s feelings and what had transpired between them when Jon had shown up before abruptly leaving the same day.

The man looked at him with a sort of understanding in his eyes and Damian held his breath for a moment. “He will not hesitate to come once you ask him to. But I do not know that he will make it in time for the crowing, Nephew. Not if your rider does not wear his horse out.”

Damian nodded, knowing the rider needed to leave soon if there were to be any hope, but he didn’t say anything.

“Now, I cannot for the life of me get your father to eat.” Damian frowned and looked over at the man. His father was wrapped in a warm blanket despite the warm early summer day and him being on the window seat, basking in the sunlight. “No matter what I try, he tells me he is not hungry. I do not think he has eaten since yesterday morning.”

“No, he probably hasn’t,” Damian spoke softly. “And I do not know that I will be able to influence him any more than you can, Uncle. But I shall try. Might I finish this letter first?” His uncle smiled and squeezed his shoulder before walking back over to where the king was seated.

Damian watched them for a moment longer before turning back to finish the letter begging Jon to come. Father is sick and I am to be crowned early and would like you there scrawled across the page, conveying his pain and desperate need for his best friend. He did not mention the change of law his father had done for them or the fact that he had figured out his own feelings for the man. He simply requested his presence in one of the most painful and trying times of his life.

“I shall be back in a moment,” Damian called to the two men, who nodded in response, before hurrying out of the room to find his usual rider. He spoke quickly with the man and requested he take the fastest horse, even if it were one of Damian’s or the king’s. The man agreed and accepted the letter before turning to head back to the study where his uncle and father waited.

“Your Highness!” Frowning, Damian turned to see his rider rushing back toward him with someone just behind him. “Perhaps you might give the letter to Prince Jon yourself,” the rider teased, handing the letter back just as Damian realized it was Jon who was there.

He stood frozen with the letter in hand as his rider made his exit and Jon closed the remaining distance between them. There were no words, no vocal greeting, and no warning before Jon was engulfing him in a tight embrace. Damian didn’t hesitate in returning the embrace, sinking into the familiar feel of Jon’s lithe form and the familiarity of his scent. He took the comfort he didn’t allow others to give him.

The silence stretched between them but felt comfortable and familiar.

But eventually Damian’s sense of duty took over and he pulled back to look at Jon. Though having hit his final growth spurt and gaining his final inches that put him above his father’s height and just below his grandfather’s, Damian found he still had to look up at Jon.

“What…how…?” Damian tried to think of the right question, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask.

“Your father wrote to me,” Jon told him, placing a hand on Damian’s cheek. Damian’s eyes slipped shut at the feel of his thumb brushing against his cheekbone. How had he never noticed this…this energy between them? How had he never felt this charge to his heart that felt so familiar? Had he been feeling it all this time without realizing? Perhaps that was why it didn’t surprise him. “Damian…” Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to see the sadness he felt reflected in Jon’s eyes.

Raising his hand and gripping Jon’s wrist, Damian turned his face and kissed the inside of Jon’s wrist. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered against the delicate skin there. Turning to look back at Jon, he smiled softly at the look of shock that had taken over his features. “The rider who led you here was on his way to deliver you a letter,” Damian told him, holding up the parchment folded and sealed with his personal seal and green wax. “We have much to talk about, but it was I who required your strength this time.”

“You have it,” Jon said immediately, no hesitation as his eyes searched Damian’s. And Damian knew he was probably desperate for answers, but he also knew he needed to get back to his father and uncle before his uncle came searching for him.

“I need to return to my father and our uncle. Will you join us? Perhaps your presence will do him some good.” Jon nodded but Damian could see the question in his eyes. “After…we will talk. I promise.” Though it wasn’t much, it appeared to be enough for Jon. Sighing, Damian pulled Jon’s hand away from his face and laced their fingers together before leading them back to the study where the other two men were waiting.

“Jon!” His father called out as soon as they stepped into the room. Damian watched his uncle rush to help his brother stand to greet the prince but Jon released Damian’s hand and rushed forward.

“Please, Your Majesty,” he chided the older man, pushing him to sit back down. The king laughed softly but followed the silent command.

“Nephew,” Damian’s uncle greeted Jon with a hug before sending Damian an amused look. “That letter worked more quickly than I thought it would,” the man teased Damian and Jon let out a laugh of his own when he glanced over at the other prince.

“Yes, well,” Damian cleared his throat and moved over to his father’s side. “I am famished. Shall we call for lunch?” He gave his father a look that was met with amused annoyance, but a nod.

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“Thank you,” Damian said quietly to the servant who had brought the tray with tea for himself and Jon to share while they had the talk Damian had promised they would.

“Do you require anything else, Your Highness?” Damian glanced at Jon who was seated across from him in the study. The man smiled but shook his head.

Damian looked back to the woman and shook his head as well. “Please tell Ser Kyle not to allow anyone to disturb us unless it is about Father.” The woman looked at him sadly, but nodded her head before bowing and exiting the room. He kept his eyes on the door for a moment before leaning back in his chair with a sigh and looking toward Jon. He wasn’t surprised to find the prince regarding him closely, but he didn’t have the energy to try and discern what exactly the man was thinking. “I am glad you have come,” he broke the silence.

“I would have rushed if your letter had been the first to reach me, to be sure I arrived in time.” And Damian knew he would have. It was why he had written to begin with. Damian would have done the same, had done the same. “I find myself unable to say no to you most of the time.”

“I can say the same in regard to you,” Damian admitted, a small smile slipping into place. “I can say much of the same things you seem to be able to say about me.” Jon’s eyebrow raised and a curious look took over his features, but he remained silent. It was as if he knew Damian needed to be able to get this out in his own time. “I should have sent word to you the day you left. I should have called you back then, once I had come to understand what it was I felt toward you.” Perhaps then he wouldn’t have felt so alone when he learned it was only a matter of time before he lost his father.

He watched Jon lean forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. Damian tracked the movement with interest. “And what have you come to understand?”

“That you are the very air I breathe,” he spoke softly, but with surety. This was his moment to prove to Jon that it wasn’t a passing fancy and that no one had influenced him to feel this way. That he was being more honest and open than he had ever allowed himself to be. “That the mere thought of you looking at someone else the way you look at me would be as painful as if you were to steal my heart from my chest. I do not know how I missed it and I cannot for the life of me figure out for how long I have been blind to that…look upon your face.” He watched Jon’s smile grow, a laugh slipping easily from his lips and Damian felt his own smile grow to match it.

Sitting up straighter, he looked at Jon earnestly. “I am in love with you Prince Jon of House Kent. I am in love with you and would be foolish to allow you to ever think I am anything less then completely lost without you.” And though he saw it coming in the tensing of his body, Damian still allowed himself to be somewhat surprised to have Jon pushed out of his seat and pull Damian out of his. There was a split-second moment where Jon smiled down at him, open and happy, before he pressed his lips to Damian’s.

And though there was so much going on in his world, he allowed Jon to pull him into this moment of oblivion. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of Jon’s soft lips and warm body pressed against him. He allowed himself to enjoy the shiver of excitement he felt at the feel of Jon’s hand gripping the small hairs at the back of his neck. He let his own hands grip Jon’s hips, pulling him even closer.

“I didn’t want to hope,” Jon whispered, pulling back just enough for them to breathe and look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t dare hope you would come to this conclusion because I did not think I could survive it if you didn’t.”

Damian raised one of his hands and brushed his fingers along Jon’s cheek before letting his hand cup the side of his face gently. “How could I feel anything else? How could I do anything but love the one person who is not obligated to love me, but does so freely and willingly?” Jon’s eyes turned watery and his laugh was enough to send Damian’s stomach tumbling and a terrible fluttering to overtake his chest.

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Damian remained still while Stu finished the final alterations to the royal robes and just watched the man work. He listened to him go on about his grandchildren and how he was fairly sure this would be his final crowning ceremony he worked on because his old bones ached. Damian laughed and told the man he would outlive them all, but the older man just waved off the words and gathered up his things to put back into his case.

“I do believe my work is done,” the man said, looking over his work with a nod. “You will make a wonderful king, Your Highness.” Damian looked at himself in the looking glass and swallowed down the tears that tried to push forward. “I do wish it were under better circumstances, but I am certain he has no doubts about what great things you shall accomplish.”

Looking down at the man, Damian gave a weak smile. “Thank you,” voice hoarse and tight. The older man just smiled, gave his cheek a pat and grabbed his things. Soon enough Damian found himself alone in the room just off the main hall where the ceremony would be taking place. He could hear the servants bustling about the halls as they prepared for tomorrow and all Damian wanted to do was curl up in his father’s bed and give into the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.

“Look at you,” a voice broke through his inner turmoil and Damian turned quickly to find his father in the doorway. He was surprised at how healthy the older man looked, but Damian wasn’t fooled. He knew Madame Xanadu had visited him the day before. He knew the healer had probably given him something to help him get through the next few days. “I thought we might have a talk since neither of us is needed elsewhere until dinner.”

Nodding, Damian moved over to sit on the plush bench in the room. He watched his father shut the door behind him and move over to sit down next to him with a tired smile. Whatever the woman had done for his father might have those who did not know him fooled, but the rest of them could tell. They could see the weariness and pain in his eyes. The pinched look of his smile that was usually so open and bright. He was a fraction of the man he used to be, the man Damian worshiped and strove so hard to be like. The best kind of man that he could only hope to make proud one day.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” His father questioned, watching him closely as he always did when he wanted to be sure Damian was telling him the truth.

But Damian didn’t need to lie about this. “No, I have spent too many years with this as my goal.” That seemed to shift something in his father’s eyes and Damian wished he had chosen his words more carefully. “I only mean to say that Mother was so focused on preparing me for the crown it would be surprising if I felt unprepared to take the throne. So no, I am not nervous to be crowned.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“But I am nervous to not have you here to look to when I am faced with something I am not certain how to handle. Father,” Damian leaned forward and gripped the older man’s hands and looking him straight in the eye, “is there nothing to be done? I know Madame Xanadu called upon you yesterday. Surely there must be something she can do. All that power and she cannot find a way to heal you?”

The king remained silent for a few moments before sighing and Damian knew. He just knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “I do not want her to,” his father admitted, and Damian pulled his hands away as if he had been burned. “Please do not be angry with me, My Son. I couldn’t stand that.”

“Then why? Why would you be perfectly fine with leaving your family behind before your time? How can you be okay leaving me behind?”

“Because I know you will be okay.” Damian shook his head as tears burned his eyes. Tears he had only allowed to fall a small handful of times in the private company of his father or Jon. No one else had been allowed to see them fall thus far. “I am broken, Damian. I have been for some years now. Even before I lost your father. I tried to shield you from so much and there is much you have no inkling of that has done nothing but worn me down over the years. When Jason was here, I had someone to share those…woes with. But since he has been gone, I have not wanted to burden anyone with that weight.”

“But it would not be a burden for your family. Please, Father,” Damian begged. He closed his eyes when one of the king’s hands came up and cupped his cheek. “Please.”

“I would stay for you if you asked it of me and truly meant it.” Damian’s eyes snapped open and his brow furrowed. Was that not what he was currently asking his father? Was that not exactly what he had been saying? “You do not mean it. I know you think you do, but I know your heart. I know you would regret asking this of me in a few years’ time and that guilt would eat away at you.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he processed what his father was saying. Would he feel that way? Would he feel guilty for asking the man to stay just so he would have him around? But that just spurned more questions. Did his father not deserve to rest? Did he not deserve to have the weight of all he had endured over his lifetime lifted so he might start anew?

“I see the truth in your eyes.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Damian blinked back the tears that still threatened to fall. “Do you know when? Do you know how soon you will leave us?”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at his father when the man sighed and let his hand slip away from Damian’s cheek. “I do know, and I will not tell you. I do not want you focused on that. I want you to enjoy what we have remaining.”

That was fair. Even Damian knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else if he knew.

“I know it is not fair,” his father spoke softly, and Damian was surprised to see tears brimming his father’s eyes. “But I am glad to leave you with someone like Jon to love you. I am glad I was able to remove the obstacle keeping you from being with him. And all future rulers, whoever they may be.”

Leaning forward, Damian embraced his father tightly and closed his eyes tightly. “Thank you for being the best man I have ever known. Thank you for protecting me and loving me as you have. I can only hope that my children will feel as loved as you always allowed me to feel.”

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He had never noticed the intricate details carved into the wood of the doors to the grand ballroom where his crowning was about to take place. Dragons and knights, crowns and scepters all seamlessly coming together as they surrounded the crest of Gotham. He wasn’t sure how he had never noticed it, but it was hard to miss as he stood waiting for his entrance to be announced to the full room. A room filled with royals, commoners, and everything in between. And the courtyard of the castle was filled with even more, the sounds of them excitedly waiting for him to step out to greet them as their king. His father had made a passing comment about how he was fairly certain Damian had drawn a larger crowd than Richard himself.

Damian didn’t believe that for a moment, but he appreciated the effort.

“It is time, Your Highness,” Ser Kyle said as he came up beside the prince. Damian looked over at him and nodded. “Good luck.” And with that the two doors were opened to reveal the inside of the ballroom.

“His Highness, Crown Prince Damian Wayne of Gotham,” the Herald called out as Damian steadily made his way down the center aisle of the room with his head held high. He made eye contact with a few familiar faces before his eyes landed on Jon, who was beaming from his spot next to his father, the former king of Metropolis. With a slight quirk of his lip, Damian turned his eyes to the two people waiting him at the top of the small set of steps that led to the rostrum.

The Archbishop stood with his hands clasped in front of his familiar gold and white robes, embroidery of Wayne blue making intricate patterns along the thick material. The man was one Damian had been familiar with since he had been the one who had crowned his father and grandfather. And Damian knew this would likely be his final coronation.

Next to him, his father stood in his royal robes that were not so dissimilar to the ones Damian wore currently. Though his black and blue were a contrast to Damian’s chosen green and black. The wink of red clasping both of their cloaks in place at the base of their throats was a decision made just between the two of them. A nod to the man who should be there with them but was taken from them. Damian let his eyes slide up to the crown adorning his father’s head that would soon be resting on his own head and steeled his spine.

He came to a stop at the foot of the steps that would take him up to where the two men stood with the all too familiar throne between them. The throne that, like the crown on his father’s head, would soon be his. Though, thankfully, not something he would have to sit on all that often. Only for ceremonial and formal affairs, two things that happened particularly sparingly in their kingdom since his father had taken the crown. From what his father and most of the others said, his grandfather had been much more formal with his proceedings. Damian was not yet sure where he would fall on that scale. He could see the appeal in formalities, but he also enjoyed the more friendly state of things he had experienced over his eighteen years.

“Prince Damian, please join us,” the Archbishop said as Damian gave the formal bow of respect. He took the stairs on steady feet and head held high. He could see the look of pride on his father’s face and it just steadied his resolve even more. “Please place your hand on the Book of the Law of Old.” Raising his right hand, Damian set it carefully on the book of the original laws of their people. Recite after me.” And so he did. He repeated the promise to protect the people as though they were his own blood. He repeated that he would be just and rule with the knowledge that the entire kingdom was important and not just the ones who could contribute. He promised to care for the elderly and raise up the poor. He promised to follow the laws laid down by the rulers before him. And lastly, he promised to put Gotham before his own pride always.

“Damian of House Wayne,” his father said in a strong voice, “I grant you this crown before your time as my own time has come to pass. I bestow upon you the faith of the people and the love of the kingdom. I crown you in good faith that you are the rightful ruler of the people and will love them above all else.” Damian looked at his father with a nod before turning to face the crowd that was watching them. He sat down on the throne and waited for his father to place the crown upon his head.

“I, Damian of House Wayne, accept this burden and promise to wield my power justly and wisely. I thank the people for trusting me with this crown and acknowledge that they are the true power in this kingdom,” he spoke calmly, letting his voice carry. He watched his father descend the stairs and join the rest of his family.

“All hail Damian, King of Gotham!” His father called out, smile wider and brighter than Damian had seen in a long time. The rest of the crowd followed suit and called out the hail, but his eyes remained on his father.

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His room was dark and silent when his eyes opened, unsure of what had startled him into waking. But there was something, an irritation on his mind that demanded his attention. Sitting up, Damian tossed the thin sheet covering him to the side and turn to allow his legs to hang over the side of the bed. Scanning the room, he couldn’t find anything that would have caused him to awaken.

But he knew there was a reason. He knew it.

So he slipped out of the bed and grabbed his robe, wrapping it around himself and making his way over to his door. With a firm tug, he pulled it open and was surprised to find Ser Kyle there with his hand raised to knock.

“Ser Kyle!” Damian exclaimed, sounding as surprised as he was sure he looked.

“Your Majesty, your father is calling for you.” His tone was grave, full of sorrow and Damian hated it. He hated that he knew exactly why his father would summon him in the middle of the night. But he also knew this was exactly why he had awoken. He was to get his final goodbye. “Your Majesty?”

Swallowing, Damian gave a nod of his head and followed the knight through the halls toward his father’s rooms. They had moved the man from the King Chambers the day before the coronation despite Damian having told them it was unnecessary. But his father had only laughed at him and told the staff to continue on.

“You are to be king, you must uphold tradition and move into the King’s Chambers. I will not hear otherwise. And neither will your grandfather and we all know how he can be about tradition.” His father had whispered the last part to him, but the effect was ruined with the laughter in his voice. And though Damian knew he meant what he said, he also knew his father did not want to die in those rooms. He would be selfless enough to not ruin Damian’s future room with his death.

And Damian had appreciated that.

“Will you inform Prince Jon,” Damian requested when they had reached his father’s room. The knight looked uncertain but gave a nod. “Tell him to remain where he is, but inform him of what is happening.” With a bow, Ser Kyle gave him one last look of sympathy before he turned and headed toward the guest rooms where Jon and his father were staying.

Taking a deep breath, Damian gave a gentle knock to the door as he pushed it open and slipped inside. He took in the sight of Healer Thompkins as she spoke softly to his father, but her lack of equipment just served to confirm his suspicions.

This was the night he would lose his final parent.

“Your Majesty,” the healer greeted him softly, bowing as well as her older body allowed before straightening and moving forward to his side. “I can see in your eyes that you understand why you have been summoned in the middle of the night.”

Damian nodded.

“I do not know how much longer, but he is certain it is to be soon.” The tears burned his eyes and he welcomed them like an old friend. “I am sorry I could not prevent this from happening, My King.”

Damian shook his head and took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t have allowed it,” he spoke softly, glancing over at his father who was watching the exchange from his place on the bed. “This was his wish.” The woman gave him a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you for caring for him as well as he allowed.”

The woman gave another bow before she glanced back over to the former king and then headed for the door. Damian waited for the click of the door closing to sound before he closed the remaining distance between himself and the bed where his father laid.

“My Son,” his father’s voice sounded weak, as though it had been unused for quite some time. It was a stark contrast to how it sounded just at dinner earlier in the evening. The former king offered up a hand and Damian immediately latched onto it with both of his as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I do not have much left to say to you except that I am so very proud of the man I see in you.” He watched his father take a few stuttering breaths and Damian clung to his hand more tightly, silently willing the older body to take strength from his younger one. A few beats passed before it looked like his father would be able to speak again, but he remained silent and simply smiled at Damian.

Damian didn’t deny the tears that came forward, not this time. There was no reason to hide them, no reason to be strong in this moment. So he let them fall with a quiet sob as his chin dropped to his chest. Saying goodbye to Ser Jason had been hard, but he had already died. He had never thought about how it would be to watch the life of someone he loved slipping away from them with each passing moment. And now that he was facing one of those moments, he wasn’t sure he could actually watch it happen. His entire body begged for him to flee, to run away and not stop until this moment could no longer haunt him. But his heart told him he would suffer this a thousand times over because it was his father. It was the one man who had always done everything he possibly could for Damian. The one man who had put him above all others and never expected him to be more than he was and loved him as he was.

And now he was expected to go on without that love in his life. He was expected to just move forward and be the king the country needed when he just wanted to be an eighteen-year-old who needed his father.

“Please Father,” he sobbed, falling forward so that his forehead was pressed into the older man’s ribs. “I am not ready to say goodbye. I have not…please…” He begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for. Because he knew he had relented to his father’s wishes of this being his time to go, but he still found himself unable to say that final goodbye.

Damian turned his face to looked at the man when a hand fell heavy onto his head. “You are more than what she wanted you to be, Damian. Do not ever forget that we choose who we are to be.” Damian nodded through his tears, his cheek rubbing against the sheet covering his father’s body. “Be strong and just like your father but remember to love those around you even when they seem to fall short.”

“I will. I will strive to be like you. To be kind and generous.”

“Strive to be like you, My Son. Be who you are in your heart. I would not leave if I thought you were not perfect just as you are.” Damian wanted to argue, but he remained silent. He was not his father, but he could strive to be no matter what the older man was saying. “Marry Jon, okay? Do not wait, do not hesitate. Give him the ring in the top left drawer of my desk in my study. It was one I gave your father many years ago even though we were not as fortunate as you. To be able to be with the one you love. Do what I could not.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I love you more than words could ever say. Remember that in the remainder of this life and all the ones to follow.”

Turning his head to bury his face in his father’s side again, Damian’s sobs came out in gasping breaths. “I love you,” he cried into the sheet. “I love you so much.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how else to vocalize his devotion to the older man. The man who had given everything to make sure Damian grew into a good person. Who had sacrificed his own happiness for so many others. The man who had changed so many lives at the sake of his own. “Tell Father I love him as well,” he whispered, turning to look at the man, but finding his eyes closed.

Pushing up, Damian looked down at the man and took in the stillness of his body. He looked where the hand that had been resting on his head had fallen onto his father’s chest and noticed the lack of rise and fall.

“Be at peace,” he choked out, dropping his chin to his chest again as the tears came in earnest once again.

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

Jon’s presence just behind his right shoulder was solid and steady, something Damian appreciated greatly in the moment because he was certain he would have collapsed already without it. The crowd that had gathered for his father’s pyre was no surprising in the least and far larger than the one they had done for Ser Jason. Not because his father was more loved, but because he was a great king and news of his death had drawn in villagers from all over the kingdom.

“How am I to address these people here?” He asked Jon quietly, glancing at the man briefly before looking back out to the crowd. The Archbishop was giving his blessing over the body before it was time for Damian to speak and light the pyre. But he had no idea what to say.

“Just say what is in your heart, Love.” Just like that. Such a simple concept but his heart was too heavy for simple. “They are hurting, and they just want to hear that their emotions are valid. You are their king, but they all understand that you were also a son.” Glancing over at Jon, Damian furrowed his brows, but Jon just raised a hand and let it fall heavy, comforting, onto the back of Damian’s neck.

“Grandson,” his grandfather’s bulking form came up beside him. “I can make the speech if you need.” It was the out he craved, the excuse to keep his grief quiet and only shown to those who knew him best. But he could hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind that this ceremony was not about his grief. That he would have the raising of the effigy with just the family for that. This ceremony and the Feast were about the people.

“No,” Damian looked over at the older man. “It is my duty, and he would not want me to turn my back on the people.” His grandfather regarded him carefully before giving a nod and stepping back over to where Selina and the other members of the family were standing. He could see his uncle watching him, eyes sad in a way Damian had never seen. But Damian couldn’t focus on that right then. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had to focus on putting the hearts of the people at ease when his own heart was in turmoil.

With a glance from the Archbishop, Damian gave a bow of his head in respect before he stepped forward. The movement pulled Jon’s hand away from his nape and Damian immediately missed the comforting warmth of it, but instead of rushing back like he wanted to he pushed forward. He could do this and then Jon would be there at the end.

Stepping onto the raised platform, Damian looked around at the faces of the people who had gathered. As far as he could see, in every possible space between here and the walls, there were people who had loved his father. People who had known him for the good man he was, the kind and giving king. The man who had loved his people enough to walk among them as if it were nothing. The man who had raised his son to regard the people in the same manner.

Glancing back at Jon, he clenched his jaw when the man simply held a hand over his heart and gave him a nod. But he still had no idea what that meant. Turning back to look at the expectant faces below him, Damian shook his head. “I have not a single idea of what to say to all of you who have gathered here. I am not eloquent like my father was and I am not experienced the way my grandfather is. I wish I could say beautiful words that would warm you in this cold time, but I do not know them,” he admitted, his voice carrying over the crowd as they stood silent. He could see the looks of confusion, but there were also looks of understanding. And he could latch onto those. “My father was the best man any of us have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was kind and he was generous, but more than that he was love. And he had so much love to give. Not just to me or the others in our family, but to each of you as well.

“I cannot convey how much he cared for each and every one of the citizens under his rule. He sacrificed so much so that he could be the ruler you, the people, needed. Most of all, he gave to everyone without expecting the same in return,” Damian swallowed, taking a split second to push back the tears that were trying to force their way out. “The loss we have suffered is great. And I know it might seem like things will never be the same or that we have lost…some of the color in the world, but we will recover.” He lifted his chin and took a deep breath.

Reaching for the torch that Ser Roy held in hand, Damian stepped up to his father’s body and looked at the familiar face. “We can never replace someone like Richard of House Wayne, there is no one else who can come close to the kind of man he was. He is irreplaceable. But his influence and his teachings live in all of us and through that we can strive to be just as good and kind as he was. We can strive to be what he knew we could be.” Lifting the torch high into the air, Damian looked out at the people who watched him with rapt attention.

“To King Richard, the best of us all. May we spend each day striving to be the person he believed each and every one of us could be.” May I be the man he thought me to be. With one last deep breath, Damian looked back down to his father’s resting form and touched the torch to the hay lining the pyre. He took a moment to watch the fire burn before he turned and found his grandfather already waiting to take the torch from him.

The man gave him a firm nod, his face a mask of strength that his eyes did not fall in line with. Through them Damian could see the grief the man was feeling, laying his eldest son to rest far too soon. But there was an unspoken understanding between them. A father and a son, both grieving one of the most important people in their lives.

With the torch passed, Damian made his way back to his spot, Jon immediately slipping his hand into Damian’s. And though it was not necessarily proper, Damian couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead he focused on the comfort it provided as he watched the pyre light consume it’s victim.

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

The cold air hit him like a slap to the face, but it was a feeling Damian welcomed in that moment. The ballroom was crowded with citizens and travelers who had come to join in the Feast of the Seven, and the warmth had been almost suffocating. The spirit of the room was joyous, as a Feast always should be, but he had been struggling to really feel the same joy the others were experiencing as they celebrated his father. So, he had excused himself from the room and stepped out into the gardens, a place his father had loved and often could be found tending despite them having staff members to do just that.

Tilting his head back, Damian took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the cold air chilled his lungs before he slowly released it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice greeted him, causing Damian to stiffen as he opened his eyes and looked behind him to see who had joined him. He watched the woman give a bow but something about her presence told him he should probably be bowing to her. He took in her raven hair, cut so it just brushed the tops of her shoulders, reminded him of the color of his father’s hair. And though it was fairly dark with only a few torches lighting the walkway, he could see the deep blue, almost purple color of her eyes. But it was the jewel resting just above the space between her eyebrows that really caught his eye.

Even from where he stood, he could feel its power. And the blood red color of it said it wasn’t gentle power either.

“Do I know you?” He questioned, eyes narrowed.

The woman shook her head and took a few steps closer. “I am called Raven,” she told him. Damian’s eyebrows raised at the strange name and lack of any kind of surname or name of her family attached to it. “I came here seeking Madame Xanadu and she pointed me in your direction to deliver my knowledge. I had thought it best to have a familiar face give it to you, but she disagreed.”

At least her connection to the healer of the city explained why Raven did not bother with any family names or titles. But he couldn’t imagine what kind of information she might have that the healer thought he would like to know.

“What knowledge have you come to bestow on me?” He kept his tone even, not sure he should trust this woman or not. But he knew his guards were close and he was more than capable of defending himself. But if she were a practitioner like Madame Xanadu then he wasn’t sure anyone would be able to save him.

“I have traveled from Nanda Parbat with news of your great grandfather’s rule.” Damian sucked in a surprised breath and waited, knowing this was important. That despite evidence, it was Ra’s who had ordered him to be killed. “Your grandmother’s sister, Nyssa, has dethroned him and he has been laid to rest. The magic keeping him alive has been destroyed.”

Considering what this meant, Damian felt a small weight lift off his chest. A weight he hadn’t noticed sitting there under all the other things burdening him. “So the order…”

“The one for your life?” Damian nodded. “Nyssa has rescinded it and sends her word that peace remains between Gotham and Nanda Parbat for as long as she is on the throne.” A folded parchment was held out to him and he immediately recognized the seal of Nanda Parbat. He took it from her and held it by both ends, looking down at it. “Nyssa has also destroyed the legacy of Ra’s by removing the title of Ra’s Al Ghul and stating that the ruler shall hence forth be called by their own name or one of their choosing.”

“Was a strange tradition,” he muttered and was surprised when a laugh slipped past Raven’s lips. She seemed equally as startled and quickly cleared her throat, but it was too late. Damian was smiling and had relaxed the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Thank you for bringing such glad tidings during such a…” He looked past her toward the crowded ballroom and frowned.

“Yes, I was saddened to hear of Richard’s passing. The few times I had spoken to him, he was exceedingly kind. The world shall be a little darker without his aura to brighten it.” Looking back to Raven, Damian nodded sadly. “You have such an aura as well, Your Majesty. Do not let this dim it. He would not want it.”

“No, I do not think he would.” Glancing down at the parchment in hand, Damian sighed before looking back to Raven but jerked when he found himself alone. He glanced around, finding no trace of the woman at all.

“Damian, there you are!” Jon’s voice called out as he came walking out of the ballroom. “Damian? Is everything all right?” He asked as he neared the younger man, but Damian wasn’t sure how to answer him. Did he tell Jon about Raven? Would he believe him? And even as he thought it, he knew it was ridiculous to question. Of course Jon would believe him.

“I just had a strange encounter with a practitioner who knew Father,” he explained, looking up at Jon with wide eyes that expressed his bewilderment. Holding up that parchment, he showed Jon the seal.

“That is Nanda Parbart.”

“It is,” Damian confirmed. “She brought tidings from Queen Nyssa and word that the order for my life has been lifted.” Jon’s eyes widened in shock before a relieved smile broke out over his face. And soon enough, Damian found himself encased in Jon’s arms.

“That is wonderful news!” And it was, it really was. “A bit of light in a dark time. I wish I could thank this messenger,” Jon said as he pulled back and glanced around as if he would spot Raven where Damian had been unable to. “I do believe we should drink to this news, yes?”

Looking at the letter again, Damian found himself nodding and feeling a bit lighter. “Yes, a drink would be suitable.”

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

The sun was warm for the time of year, but Damian found himself welcoming it. And enjoying it at the insistence of Jon, who had shown up at his study with Titus and a basket full of food and a blanket. And though Damian knew he had much more he needed to get through before Council later in the day, he allowed Jon to pull him away from it and take him on a picnic.

Now he found himself relaxed on the blanket while Titus and Jon chased each other around the field and for the first time in the weeks following his father’s death, he felt joy. The sound of Jon’s surprised laugh when Titus tackled him into the tall grass brought an easy smile to his face that didn’t feel as though it was a lie or a façade.

“What?” He questioned when he found Jon regarding him from where he was still seated in the grass, Titus having gone off to chase a bird. He watched the older man shake his head as he stood and brushed himself off.

“I think that is the first smile I have seen on your face since…” He made his way over to the blanket and dropped down next to Damian, not bothering to finish his sentence. But Damian understood all the same. “It has been missed,” he commented softly, raising his hand and brushing the backs of his fingers across Damian’s cheekbone.

Ducking his head at the affection from Jon, Damian attempted to get his emotions under control. But the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at Jon’s words and meaning was something he had yet to get used to and it caught him off guard every time. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was not something he had yet come to terms with. And Damian was not good with things that he was unsure of how to handle. Not when he was still struggling to get out of the constant vigilant headspace his mother had conditioned him to be in.

“I have been meaning to ask you something,” Damian changed the subject, thankful for the understanding he saw on Jon’s features when he looked back up at the man. The single raised brow gave Damian to go ahead to ask what he had been thinking of. “How long will you stay? I know you mentioned new duties for Metropolis, but I was not certain when they might pull you away.”

He watched Jon smile easily as he leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Trying to be rid of me, Your Majesty?” And though Damian knew it was a joke, he still cringed at the playful accusation. “I am only joking, my love. But I hadn’t really contemplated it yet,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulder. “Kon told me he would send for me if he required me, but Timothy told me it was not likely it would happen.”

Damian considered the answer and what exactly it could mean for them. If Jon’s duties were easily set aside, then it was likely he wouldn’t be missed if he remained away for a long period of time. At the same time, Damian felt a little bad about keeping him from his family for as long as he had. Even if his father had been here for the coronation and then the death of the former king.

“Is there a reason you ask?”

Shrugging a shoulder, Damian tried to think of an answer that didn’t give his personal desires away. Did he admit to Jon that he never wanted the older man to leave? Did he tell him that it was his intention to have him stay at his side forever? “I was simply wondering…” He attempted to say, but even in his own eyes it sounded like a lie. And the snort Jon proved that the other man didn’t believe it for a moment.

But instead of calling Damian out on his lie, Jon simply gave him a knowing smile and got back to his feet. He called Titus over as he stepped away from the blanket and took a large stick the dog had managed to find and threw it out into the distance for the dog to chase. Damian remained in his spot, watching the two repeat the action over and over and allowed his mind to drift.

He allowed himself to think of what it would be like to have to bid farewell to Jon when he finally needed to return to Metropolis for his duties or family. He thought about the loneliness that would surely follow in his absence and how he might handle that. But then he thought about what he could do to ensure that Jon stayed. He thought about just asking him outright to remain at his side and abandon his duties back home. Though Damian knew that unless he had a good reason, Jon would never just abandon his family. And Damian could never ask that of him just because he would miss the other man. But still the thought of going about his daily tasks without Jon, without the unfailing support the other had been providing since his arrival, struck him hard and fast in the heart. The dread was almost palpable. He could practically taste it. And that frightened him.

When had he become so dependent on Jon? When had he lost his ability to stand on his own?

When you fell in love.

The thought appeared out of nowhere and the voice in his mind sounded just as his father would have. And the more he considered what his father might have to say about this moment, the more sure he was of exactly what his father would tell him. He knew precisely what his father would offer up as a solution. But were they ready? Was he ready?

Looking over to Jon, where he stood laughing as Titus jumped in an attempt to get the stick out of Jon’s hand, Damian knew the answer. How could he consider any other option?

And he was reminded of the band he had taken to carrying around in his pocket since retrieving it from his father’s study the morning after he passed. The silver band with an intricate pattern and red jewels was one he had remembered Ser Jason wearing but hadn’t know his father had given it to him. But Damian had admired it then and he would feel even stronger about it should it rest on Jon’s finger.

So, he pushed to his feet and made his way over to where Jon stood waiting for Titus to chase after the stick he had just thrown. And when Jon turned to look at Damian as he approached, the smile Jon gave him further solidified Damian’s resolve. And he didn’t hesitate once he reached the other man, taking his face between his hands and pressing their mouths together.

It wasn’t their first kiss, it wasn’t even close to being their first at this point, but it was their first that had such a big meaning behind it. At least to Damian. And he tried to convey that meaning to Jon through the kiss, through the press of his body against Jon’s.

“What was that for?” Jon’s voice came out breathy, quiet as he gasped for air when they had separated by mere inches.

“Marry me,” Damian responded. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t memorable, but it was honest. “Do not leave me ever. Stay with me in Gotham and help me look after my kingdom. Make it our kingdom.”

Jon’s face went from dazed to shocked as Damian spoke and the words sunk in. “But…” Damian allowed him to work through whatever it was he was thinking, waiting. “What of the law?”

“Before Father passed, he had it abolished. He asked the Council, based on what happened with him, Mother, and Ser Jason, to abolish it and allow all rulers to marry the person they see fit and not someone who would just be an heir producer.” Jon’s eyes went wide, and Damian tried not to laugh at the fact that he could basically see the thoughts running through his mind. “He did it for me, for us. Before he died, he told me to find this,” he said, pulling back to grab the ring out of his pocket. He held it up in his palm and looked from it to Jon. “He told me to find this and to give it to you. To have what he was not able to. To marry someone he loved.”

He watched Jon’s blue eyes look down at the ring, a look of familiarity passing over his features, before he looked back to Damian. “This was Ser Todd’s?” Damian nodded. “You trust me with this?”

“I trust you with my entire world,” Damian admitted. “Will you trust me with yours?”

“I already do,” Jon laughed and quickly pressed his mouth back to Damian’s in a quick, but heated kiss. “My best friend, my partner, my King, my…husband,” he whispered against Damian’s mouth and the younger was certain his heart was moments away from beating out of his chest.

“Is that a yes?”

“How could I say anything but?”

#past lives au #jaydick #DamiJon #jondami #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #anikah writes

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darkly-dreaming-imagines · 6 years

Text

The Little Princess

Summery: Dwight x Reader fluff fest – NO All Out War AU- When Negan married Sherry he married his daughter to Dwight as a way to keep his daughter close and as another way to punish Dwight. Soon after their marriage you learn you are pregnant and now you have just given birth to a little girl… and her daddy comes to see her for the first time.

Note: Dwight always needs more love… I actually have a fic very similar to this started that I keep meaning to polish up… so many fic ideas so little damn time. But who knows maybe over the summer I will start posting it.

Labor is nothing like you remember seeing on those tv shows. There was nothing pretty or glamorous about having your first baby. It took more than a day of being in labor for her to actually arrive just as the rain stopped and the sun peeked from behind the clouds. Dwight missed it, you father sent him out on a run knowing full well you were in the middle of labor. That didn’t matter to your father. He just wanted to remind D who was really in charge.

When your father’s plan to make you miserable by wedding you to Dwight backfired on him and the two of you actually hit things off well and developed something that felt a lot like love even if it wasn’t the old romantic notion of “love”. There was no courtship, just a wedding and being thrust into being a couple. Sex was an easy enough thing to find in common, it was the one perk of the situation that you found early on. The feelings came later and as Negan saw how protective and attentive Dwight grew during your pregnancy. He only put more and more pressure on D to out perform the other members of the inner circle.

Your father had stopped in shortly after the baby arrived, she was his grandchild after all and one of the few babies to have been born since the world ended. He didn’t stay long, though he seemed far too pleased when he noticed how your new born daughter had a mop of black hair on her little head. He even commented “Thank god she got our side of the family’s looks…” which caused you just to shake your head and tut softly at his unnecessary comment.

No sooner did your father leave and you got your new born settled did Dwight finally return. As he opened the door and peered his head around it trying so hard not to wake the sleeping baby in your arms he had a look of profound disappointment painted across his scared face. “I can’t fucking believe him…” Dwight muttered as he slipped in the room setting his cross bow down by the door as his eyes fell on the tiny bundle in your arms. “I missed the baby being born… I had to hear I had girl over the fucking radio.” You grimince at his words, knowing that had to have been the last way he wanted to find out that you had given birth. Dwight let out a frustrated sigh before walking over to bed finaly when you stretched out your arm beckoning him closer.

“Come see your daughter…” you urged as you patted a space right next to where you were laying propped up. The bed shifted slightly as Dwight sat down. His dirt covered hand pulled the blanket that your daughter was wrapped in away from her face as he leaned down. Taking her in, in all her new baby splendor. “She’s cute..”

“She is very cute.” Dwight said softly not wanting to give the little girl any reason to wake from her peaceful first feeding slumber. “She is a lot smaller than I thought she would be.” Dwight’s voice was filled with so much love you could not help yourself but smile at him.

“Well go wash up and you can hold her…” You instruct and Dwight gives a short nod before he leans in and kisses you first, tenderly on the cheek. Before he leant down and kissed the top of your daughter’s head before walking the short distance to the other side of the room where there was a small sink and bucket of water.

“She seems like a good little baby though… quite…” Dwight noted as he began to wash his hands peering over his shoulder back at you and your daughter as he did so. “I am kinda partial but she also may be the cutest baby I have ever seen..” He chuckled softly as he shook the water off his hands before trying them on a towel that hung on a hook near the sink.

Looking down at your daughter you smiled, she was a beautiful baby. Her perfect little nose, her smooth porcelain skin, her mess of raven curls, and those perfect chubby cheeks. Dwight joined you once more on the bed, the movement of the bed shifting under his weight breaking your concentration on the baby. He looked so egger to hold his daughter, a serine smile played on his lips as he reached out and brushed the back of his hand against the baby’s cheek. “You ready to hold her, Daddy?” You said with coy smile and Dwight nodded.

Besides Carson, no one else had held the baby besides you. As Dwight slipped his arms under her tiny body, lifting her with ease, he cradled her in his arms. He seemed in the joy of the experience. The baby let out a big yawn as her arms wriggled free from the blanket she had been swaddle, raised above her head as she stretched. “What a big yawn from such a itty bitty girl..” Dwight joked and you smiled softly at him as you leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the large burn the covered nearly half of Dwight’s face. He flinched slightly, still uncomfortable whenever you kissed it or brushed your finger tips across it. Turning to you for a moment Dwight had a very serious expression on his face, his eyes full of so much concern. “Do you think it will scare her?”He asked softly.

Almost instantly you shook your head. “Baby, no. You are her Daddy, she won’t care about the damn scar. I don’t care about it.” You reassured as you scooted closer to Dwight resting your head on his shoulder as you peered down at your still sleeping daughter.

Dwight scoffed softly and shook his head. “I don’t get how you don’t care about it…” He muttered as your little girl wrapped her hand around Dwight’s pinkie as he rested his hand on her chest before glancing back at you as he continued. “It’s all anyone sees…”

You shook your head again, knowing full well that was not the truth. “The only reason you have that scar in the first place D is because you are a good man…” Your words had such great conviction as you spoke and Dwight gave you a grateful smile before looking back down at the baby. “When she asks us why you have that scar we are gonna tell her that you got that burn because you tried to save someone you cared about, that you were doing the right thing… and got punished because you are one of the last good men in a world filled of evil ones…”

“So we are going to leave out the part that her grandfather is one that did to me?” Dwight gave a half hearted chuckle as he quipped back and you wanted to laugh but pursed your lips instead. Dwight raised an eyebrow noticing you trying to stifle your amusement all bit if veiled in some level of disapproval. “Don’t act like that’s not going to be an odd conversation (y/n).”

Dwight had a valid point. Your sweet little girl had quite the twisted family tree. You let a long sigh as leaned away from Dwight, slowly easing yourself back against the pillows once more. “Well… it can’t be too hard.” You started with a small chuckle. “Your daddy, was married to one of your god knows how many grandmas… but daddy and grandma ran away because your granddad is a crazy dictator and wanted to marry your grandma’s sister…who didn’t want to marry granddad…” Dwight just shook his head and looked almost pained as you rattled off what was only the start of how your little miracle had come to be.

“How about we just tell her I thought you were hot and I got the scar being all heroic, we can say I rescued some puppies or something…” As explained his idea on how to explain your history to your child you could not help but laugh, this time loud enough that it woke your daughter from her slumber. Dwight stood up from the bed as soon as she started to cry, bouncing her ever so slightly in his arms as he began to pace the room. “What did your mama do?” Dwight teased playfully in a soft, sing-song voice as he gazed lovingly down at your daughter who was still fussing. “Did mama wake my little princess up… that mean, mean mama…” Dwight continued in the same manner.

Shaking you head as you rested your hands on your still swollen belly you tisk softly. “Well if Daddy didn’t say such funny things, mama wouldn’t have laugh.” You quipped back in an equally as playful manner. Your daughter was finding none of this ideal chatter nearly as amusing as your and Dwight were. She was quite displeased in face, still crying loudly in spite of her father’s best efforts to calm her.

Her little chubby cheeks were turning crimson with her cries and Dwight was starting to lose his nerve as he started to return to where you were relaxing on the bed. “Babe…” Dwight said almost helplessly as he leaned down and placed your daughter back in your arms.

“And here you just said she was such a good baby..” You chuckled as you began to sway with the newborn in your arms. “Oh my sweet girl has had such a tough day, I know..” You coo softly as you leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. It took quite some time to settle her back down, she needed her diaper changed and fed again before she was once more comfortably asleep. This time though Dwight had placed her in her bassinet so she could rest fairly undisturbed.

He didn’t waste much before kicking his boots off and climbing into bed with you. Still wearing his jeans. His arms wrapped around your shoulder as he settled in next to you. “We made her…” He said with a little laugh. “I missed her being born…” His voice sounding much more mournful as he spoke the second time.

“I will never forgive him for that.” Your voice revealing more bitterness than you were expecting it to as you spoke. “He knew I was close to having her and the Hilltop is so far…” You grumbled and Dwight shushed you softly as he cupped your cheek.

“What was going to do? Say no?” Dwight asked in earnest. “If I said no do you really think I would be sitting here right now?” You shook your head quickly and Dwight gave you cautious nod.

After a long, slightly awkward silence you lifted your head from Dwight’s shoulder and got a very serious expression on your face as you nodded towards your sleeping baby. “She needs a name.” You said simply and Dwight gave a clueless shrug.

“What do I know about what to call a little girl?” Dwight shook his head as he settled back on the bed. You felt like he needed to give himself more credit because when you were talking baby names several weeks ago in preparation for the baby’s arrival, he had come up with your favorite name.

Smirking softly you rested your hand on his chest as you began to speak. “Didn’t you like Zoey?” You asked softly and Dwight looked almost surprised when you remembered the one name for a little girl that he really like. He gave a little nod but stayed silent, watching you intently as you glanced towards the bassinet. “I like Zoey, I think it’s a cute little name for a little girl…”

A smirk grew across Dwight’s lips as he gazed lovingly down at you. His hand pushing your hair off your cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. As you shared a tender and loving kiss a sense of peace washed over you and you felt like all was going to work out in the end for your little family. Breaking the kiss as he smoothed your hair once more Dwight smirked. “I think it’s perfect…” His voice was barely more than a whisper but was filled with so much love and devotion. “but I am still going to call her my little princess… because that’s what she is.” You smirked before laughing resting your head back on his shoulder and gazing towards where the new named Zoey slept.

“She kinda is if you think about it… my dad is kinda the King… I’m a Princess…” You said with a laugh and you could feel Dwight shaking his head as he laughed softly. “That would make her the little princess… so it’s a fitting title.” Dwight just laughs at your little joke and wraps his arms tightly around and you two lay like that just holding each other and looking at the little life that you had created as you drifted off to sleep, but with a newborn you knew it was only a matter of time before the sleeping princess woke, demanding her parents love and affection, which both you and Dwight were more than happy to give.

#dwight x reader #twd dwight #dwight the savior #twd dwight/reader #twd fanfiction #TWD Dwight Oneshot #dwight/reader #dwight/ofc #twd fanfic #dwight twd #dwight twd imagine

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yomo715 · 7 years

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(BOTW) A Sobering Confession

RATED: T (Mild language, Alcohol)

SYNOPSIS: Inspired by this post. Zelink, Set Post-Calamity. Starts cute but goes downhill fast XD Enjoy!

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“I should have anticipated this,” Zelda groaned. She slumped over, shoulders hunched as she stirred her glass of hydromelon juice.

Over the past few hours the Gerudo bar grew lively, filled with the sounds of laughter and merrymaking. Zelda turned to face the room, watching her goofy hero flounce about.

Two Gerudo vai lounging in the back thought it might be fun to teach Link a few of their traditional dances. It was painfully obvious that he had succumbed to the pleasant buzz of alcohol, having already downed two entire Noble Pursuits. And then some. So, they deemed him the most gullible of the crowd and plucked him right from his seat. While Zelda—who’d had a few drinks herself—was immune to their charms, Link allowed them to whisk him to the middle of the room without a second thought. Never with a sober mind would he, dressed as a vai or otherwise, attempt any kind of dance in general, let alone a Gerudo one.

But he was doing so now, and Zelda could see the wrinkles of a bright smile shine from his eyes. He must have been grinning from ear to ear underneath the opaque face veil.

At least he’s having fun, Zelda reminded herself. Her gaze softened, and a smile graced her own face as she basked in his happiness.

In truth, it was a comedic scene. Link stood between the two Gerudo, who both towered over the tiny Hylian “vai”, copying their steps verbatim. Or at least he tried to. It was clear the alcohol was beginning to affect him, as each swing of the hip and rhythmic step became more and more sluggish. The fact that there was no music in the room didn’t help his tempo. He fell flat on his butt more times than he’d clear-headedly care to admit, but each time his laughs grew louder.

Laughter from Link was rare, and whenever Zelda heard his breathy voice chuckle it caught her off guard. Thus, her smile grew, looking almost as cheery as the gleeful boy trying to spin in circles a few feet away from her.

Link must have spotted her smiling, for his whirl stopped dead in its tracks. His eyes met hers for a moment, and she could have melted from the sweet, almost sickening amount of affection he displayed.

“What?” Zelda scoffed, feeling a tad bit uncomfortable from his puppy-dog eyes. Link whispered something, but the sound didn’t reach Zelda’s ears. “Hm?” Her head cocked to one side and she crossed her arms.

The intoxicated Hylian crossed the room, not quite in a straight line, and plopped down on the stool next to Zelda’s. He propped his head up with one arm, elbow leaning against the table. She could still see the hints of a smile lighting up his eyes as he spoke.

“Are you a goddess, because I could swear you’re glowing right now.”

Zelda fought back a cringe but failed to suppress a loud snort. If she was sipping her drink, she would have spewed it all over her hero. It was one of, if not the worst pickup lines she’d ever heard.

For whatever reason, though, when it came from Link it felt oddly flattering. Doubly so from his love struck gaze. Her heart made a familiar thump as a chill rushed through her. Something she felt quite often those days, since the two officially became a pair.

To clear her head, Zelda lifted her glass of hydromelon juice to her lips and looked away for a moment. The drink was refreshing, to say the least, but in spite of her efforts she could feel her cheeks heating to a bright pink color.

“Is that so?” The princess mused after a little while, not wanting to keep her hero waiting. “Am I bright?”

“Blinding.”

Thump.

Zelda snickered, rolling her eyes at Link, who now fully leaned his head onto the table. “Stop staring,” she pouted, almost annoyed by how adorable he was.

“Why?” Link flat out whined. “You’re the girl of my—” he hiccuped, speech a little slurred “—dreams, so I can gawk a little, right? Please?” Zelda could swear his eyes grew two or three sizes larger, despite how dilated his pupils already were from drinking.

“Oh, goddess, give me strength,” the princess muttered under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks felt molten, like a fire chu chu set them ablaze. She was sure her face was red as a cherry. Despite her embarrassment, however, when she stole a glance from Link she couldn’t help but laugh. The boy looked far too pleased with himself for his own good.

She turned back to face him, unable to hide from that cute, innocent expression his eyes reflected. “You flatter me too much, my silly hero,” Zelda teased with a smile. He giggled like a child.

Her hand lifted to Link’s head to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. In response, he leaned a little closer and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of contentment.

Another small smile grew from within Zelda. She savored these little moments of peace, as they’d grown far and few in between lately. It had been hard to spend some quality time with her hero after the rebuilding of the kingdom began, so even though she was normally opposed to a night out drinking, she accepted it as a date when Link offered.

It had been worth it so far.

The princess’s gaze softened, amused as the hair strand she tried to tuck kept falling back out of Link’s ear, refusing to be placed. It must have been a cowlick. She didn’t mind, however. It just gave her an excuse to study his features more.

After learning her hair-tucking attempts were futile, Zelda trailed her fingers from his temple to his jawline. Link’s skin was warm and surprisingly rough. Not quite like sandpaper, but weathered, littered with tiny scars invisible to the naked eye. From his countless number of reckless adventures, no doubt. She liked to imagine some of their stories. Many of them she’d heard from her hero, but others were sealed shut through tight lips.

Once Zelda had enough of teasing his skin, she caressed his cheek with her thumb, cupping it in her palm. Link hummed, relaxed by her touch. It looked like he would fall asleep.

“I think my mom used to do that,” he muttered out of the blue.

This snapped the princess back to reality. Zelda blinked, unsure if she heard him correctly. “Your mother?” She probed, curiosity spilling forth as her logical mind overruled her emotions. Link nodded, so she continued. “You remember her?”

Link was quiet for a while. His eyes opened and his brow furrowed, and she could see him searching through the many blank spaces of memories that were still lost to him.

“No,” he answered. “Everything’s a blur.” Zelda’s shoulders sagged, but Link hadn’t finished his thought. “I can hear a—a woman singing a song, though. She’s brushing my hair. She’s very gentle, and I—” His voice died in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Zelda only noticed now that he was shaking.

“Hey.” Link’s sudden change in demeanor alarmed the princess. “What’s the matter?” Her tones were soft, subtle and gentle. She leaned closer to her hero, placing a tender hand on his back.

Link flinched. He shrugged her hand off of him, acting rather childish as he buried his face into his arms. Zelda smiled at first, finding it amusing, but it fell when she heard him sniffling.

A few of the Gerudo turned their heads. They were curious of the situation, but Zelda signaled to leave them be.

“Link,” The princess cooed in a quiet voice, dipping her head down to meet his face. “What’s this about?” With his consent, she rubbed his back in slow circles.

Link’s first words were inaudible. They were lost amongst the sleeves and sniffles, so Zelda asked him again.

“Why am I so broken?” he babbled, and his face met hers. When he turned his head, she saw his eyes were reddened and his cheeks stained with tear tracks, and her heart gave a painful throb.

It was the alcohol that heightened Link’s emotional state. The normally kind, yet guarded (and surprisingly witty) hero was reduced to a blubbering mess in mere minutes, thanks to strong drink. To anyone else who knew him, it would be a scene worthy for the history books.

But Zelda, who knew him better than anyone else, couldn’t hide her frown. A familiar ache stirred in her chest. A drowning sensation of guilt followed. His brokenness was caused by his fragmented mind—a fragmented mind from the hundred-year sleep she put him in.

“You’re not broken,” she whispered in assurance for them both.

“But I am,” Link protested. “I want to mourn them, so badly.” His voice trailed off in a whimper, and he sucked in a breath as he sat up a little to face Zelda. “But I can’t even do that. I can’t remember them,” he shook his head. “My parents, my friends, the old kingdom. It’s all a black void.”

So that’s why he’s upset, Zelda surmised. Her heart ached for her hero. “That’s not your fault,” she tried to excuse in a murmur. Her voice was shaking as well, she realized, but ignored it. “And, you know, you are mourning them. Just by the fact that you wish to remember them, you are mourning them.” She was rambling now, but words just kept flowing from her mouth. “I am so sorry that you were forced into this without a choice, that your memories were taken from you. And if there was anything at all I could have done differently, I would…I would have…”

She stopped, seeing that her words appeared to have the opposite effect of consolation. Link’s head hung low and he shuddered. His hands were pressed to his cheeks, teeth clenched to keep himself quiet, and still she could see tears rolling off his palms.

The back of Zelda’s throat burned. A sting of tears glazed her own eyes over, but she willed them away with a long exhale. She stopped rubbing his back.

“Mipha…” She heard Link mumble. “Mipha was my friend, right?”

Zelda just nodded, even though Link wasn’t looking at her. Every word died in her throat.

“And Urbosa?” He asked like she had answered.

“O-of course.”

“And Daruk.”

“Daruk, too.”

“And Revali. Even though he seemed like an ass.”

Zelda laughed once. “Even Revali.”

“Then why do they feel so far away?” Link hissed. Zelda didn’t speak, waiting for him to finish. “The few memories I have of them, they don’t feel real. It feels like they’re still strangers to me. It’s so wrong.” He hiccuped again. Then, he did something odd.

Link straightened his posture with a slow unsteady breath. He opened his eyes, gaze fixed on the pale moon gleaming through the open window. The miserable expression on his face flattened, his eyes taking on a familiar, chilling emptiness.

It was something Zelda hadn’t seen in him in over a century.

Her heart broke.

“When I first went to Zora’s Domain,” Link’s voice lost its tremor, and instead it sounded hollow. “Many of the Zoras recognized me. They were very excited at first—one of them even called me by a nickname. It was really hard to be there when they realized I’d forgotten them. I felt so heavy, and I wanted to cry and scream ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Believe me, I’m trying to remember!’.” Link swallowed hard, then paused. His drunken mind struggled to catch up with his thoughts.

“Then I remembered Mipha. A single memory of her, just her, on top of Vah Ruta. I was grateful that I finally recalled at least one thing, but it wasn’t enough. She and everyone else…even though I was told time and time again ‘we used to play in the river’, ‘you’re our friend’, ‘she loved you’, they were all blank spaces in my mind.” He closed his eyes. “They still are.”

Zelda’s composure cracked. The forlorn look in Link’s eyes after his long speech snapped the last string, and everything erupted forth like a dam bursting from within.

Her guilt. Her anger. His anger. Their grief.

It all flowed in streams of tears from her eyes, and she was powerless to stop it.

Zelda was quiet at first, muffling her sniffles by burying her face into the sleeve of Link’s arm band. He didn’t stop her or push her away, sitting motionless as she gripped the loose fabric of his shirt so taught it might tear, rambling apologies and murmuring pointless things about his memories.

How she wished there was something she could do to help. How she couldn’t fathom the pain of waking with nothing more than a name and a voice for guidance. How selfish she was for thinking he would be fine with this.

Pointless things.

Her cries grew louder.

“Don’t cry,” Link’s voice was soft. Zelda felt him shift, one hand curling around her back and pulling her close, the other cradling the top of her head in the nook of his arm. He held her a little too tightly, as he always did. The side of her face smushed into his chest and his cheek nestled into her hair, ruining her braid. “Please don’t cry, Zelda.”

“You don’t cry, you big baby,” Zelda mocked. The retort was both childish and utterly ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself. She could still feel his hot tears drip onto her forehead and into her hair. “This is your fault!”

Perhaps drink had finally taken to her as well.

***

The next morning Link’s eyes were still red, but this time from the relentless throb of a hangover.

He groaned, rising as a redead would from his bed: hair disheveled, face veil down under his chin (he’d forgotten to take it off), cheeks puffy, eyes burning.

“What the hell happened last night,” he grumbled in annoyance.

Zelda, who was already preparing an unappetizing hangover cure, laughed. Link flinched at the sound. “You tell me,” she whispered, handing the drink to him.

Outwardly, she was calm. Inwardly, her heart raced.

The hero made a face at the glass, but downed the elixir in one gulp. He couldn’t help but gag, though. “I don’t know,” he flailed his arm in a lazy gesture. “Some of the women dragged me to the middle of the bar. I think.”

Zelda raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you remember?” She asked with care, but slight hints of relief traced her brow.

Link shrugged. “More or less.”

“Really?”

Link shot her a defensive look. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

The princess snorted. The pure relief bubbled up through her chest in laughter. It left her hero stupefied, but she was silently thanking the sisters for saving her from an awkward conversation this morning. She fretted all night over what turned out to be nothing at all.

Instead of leaving Link completely clueless, she egged, “You started flirting with me.” That much was true.

Link’s confusion only worsened, however. “That’s not weird,” he pointed a finger. “We’re together!”

Zelda’s smile spread into a mischievous grin. This is payback for making me cry, she thought as she fibbed, “You inquired me if I was single. When I claimed I wasn’t, you started bawling like a child.”

The raw, unrefined horror cast on Link’s face made the whole night worth it.

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blackstarising · 6 years

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stranger things 2 thoughts under the cut:

okay, this season was good, so everything after this is just going to be details but the season overall was good. any roasting is meant to be more of a light grill or even a light toast, if you will

first of all, can they just mail noah schnapp his emmy early? because that boy literally did the Most™. honestly, i don’t believe i’ve ever seen a child actor come full force the way he did. seeing will suffer onscreen was incredibly heartbreaking and noah definitely brought that depth to his role.

the soundtrack, the bush and mandale signs, the arcades, the clothing, the houses, all 80s, all wonderful.

i think the duffer brothers are trying to actually kill me bc not only do we get hopper but we got hopper in flannel doing dad thing and i am left here very thirsty and very distressed rip i brought this on myself

tbh i forgot that hopper even had a daughter until the fifth episode, because everything he was doing looked so natural

and i know there’s some Discourse brewing about jane (i’m going to call her jane consistently from now on, she deserves to be called by her real name) and hopper’s relationship, especially their fight mid-season, so i’ll throw my proverbial hat into the Discourse Ring

i’m not going to excuse hopper, actually, and i’ll even confess that as a binch with anxiety who hates yelling, i had to turn down the volume of my computer and read the subtitles at one point because it really messes with me

definitely, threatening to turn jane back over to the authorities was wrong, and a new low. but i also saw that it was very much anger born of worry. like, parents get angry, and he had a reason to, because you could see that he was watching his daughter willingly put herself in danger, and it’s not like she’s unaware of the consequences

that being said, i don’t blame jane for leaving. you could see she was starting to match the whole experience to her time in the lab with papa and the fact that she was counting the days. damn

so in the end, they both acted shitty, but they both owned up to that and apologized. and i think david and millie did a really good job in really portraying a realistic father-daughter relationship. it’s not always cute, fluffy, one-shot, material, it’s messy and screamy and painful sometimes.

but ohmygoodness their relationship hurts so good the bedtime stories the waffles the halloween candy sorry i need a mome-

max!!!!!! i!!!! love!!!!! max!!!!!! ever since i learned what internalized misogyny was, i’ve been a bit wary of tomboy characters. but max didn’t play into those stereotypes at all, which is super refreshing. she was very content to be who she was, but she didn’t need to denigrate other girls to do so!!!!!! and it’s just good!!!!!!!

(also the fact that the boys didn’t question that max beat their high score. also good, also pure, beautiful, beautiful)

[suddenly wearing a mourning veil] okay we need to talk about bob. right now.

i was one of the people who was suspicious of him (not because of shipping reasons, but the show makes you a little on edge, you know?) so i definitely squinted at everything he did but like he was so sweet and supportive of joyce and the boys and he didn’t like overstep his bounds but the way he tried to encourage will was so sweet and and and he’s just working at radio shack and he checks in on joyce to eat lunch with her and make out in the supply closet [hyperventilates a little] and and and the slow dancing in his halloween costume and he knows BASIC [is practically sobbing at this point] and he loves the byers and he died so that they could be happy and he’s a superherO AND I WOULD DIE FOR HIM AND SEAN ASTIN HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO MEEE-

also when he’s talking about how he grew out of getting bullied and “I get to date Joyce Byers!” i get so close to tearing up every time you have no idea

i love how we get development for the rest of the party’s families, and barb’s families too. especially lucas’ sister, a gem, an icon™

and just!!!! lucas!!!!!! i really love how he’s the straight man of the group, but you can tell he’s matured over the year that’s past (also that voice drop, i see you caleb)

and lucas and max is now the only relevant ship on this show im sorry i dont make the rules

dustin is so sweet and big hearted and i really loved seeing more of his depth. tbh i may or may not have started projecting a little especially at the last ep when no one would dance with him!!!! but it’s so hard when you’re so loving and no one returns it in the way you’d want it to!!!! and the fact that he was even willing to love and protect a demon from another dimension dustin please don’t let the world rob you of your sweetness

i was crying about noah earlier but finn also basically killed it this season. you could tell that mike was Depressed with a Capital D and even though he didn’t get as much screen time as he did last season, every scene he did have was Quality,

especially the scene when he was talking about how he and will became friends and those TEARS FINN JUST DRIVE TO MY HOUSE AND STAB ME MYSELF

i really loved watching jane grow and come into her own this season! you can tell that she’s very aware of her power, but there’s that internal struggle about how to use it, which made the final battle that much more poignant.

terry’s backstory was immensely heartbreaking, i don’t have much left to say about it

i really did love kali, though! the detour from hawkins was a bit unexpected, but i love that world building aspect and im really intrigued about kali’s backstory and also her...front story? damn i hope she’s in season three because there’s so much more tea left.

and like....what about 1-7, 9, 10? are they still alive [insert eyes emoji here]

i’m going to be Agressively Heterosexual and agree that billy is pretty™ but at the same time i’m super worried that he’s going to be woobified because he is abusive, and i’m 95% sure he’s racist. so yeah i really hope that doesn’t happen but it probably will [sips wine tiredly]

STEVEN, MY MANS. the development that started last season really paid off here! tbh even i felt hurt when he asked nancy “you don’t love me?” like this binch has got feelings! and he’s not perfect but he’s a lot more genuine than i gave him credit for and the fact that he babysits kids and calls them shitheads but also lets himself get his ass beat for them. oh steve, keep growing but never change.

okay, nitpick and potential unpopular opinion, but i kind of hated the jancy development in this season

because there really wasn’t any, i don’t know, and this is really shitty of me for all my campaigning last year, but it just felt very cheap and superficial

like nancy and steve break up very early in the season, conveniently

and then when they’re at conspiracy guy’s house it just felt too explicit, too heavy handed and cliche, like Conspiracy Guy is basically spelling out their relationship to the audience

and then they do the thing where they just....have sex, and maybe it’s because i’m wearing my grey-ace hat, but like, honestly, two characters having sex doesn’t mean shit, anymore, okay?

its mostly because of hookup culture imo

so jonathan and nancy have sex, but there’s no confession of feelings or anything, so it just feels like a cheap way to show the audience THEY’RE TOGETHER NOW ARE YOU HAPPY

and then they don’t really interact as much in that context for the rest of the season, so it’s left kind of ambiguous

and i understand that it’s a 9 episode season and this is more of a C plot, but i think i would have rather had a slow burn throughout the 9 episodes [cough] like last season [cough] with a more affectionate moment at the end than just break up, nancy’s free, SEX, done

it’s not a very emotionally gratifying narrative as it is

second nitpick: tbh the final battle of this season felt a little too note for note to the final battle of the first season, and it felt repetitive at times, so i admit i kind of lost interest in the middle of episode 9

i really thought the “watering the story down” to get JusticeForBarb™ was really clever

and just....joyce. i’ll never get over joyce. i have no complaints, she’s a mom who punches back and she’s tenacious and good hearted and amazing and she raised two amazing boys

i don’t know i need a nap

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things spoilers #also like comment and stuff im bored talk to me

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asunafairywizardessheart · 7 years

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Tomorrow’s Safari

Yukiya/Asana

Requested by: Anon

Summary: On holiday on safari, they enjoy a night camping on the deck of their lodge where the Yukiya’s daughters transform him into a lion.

“I will never get tired of this view,” from their mountainside apartment holiday lodge a romantic panoramic view of the dry savannah greeted them as the sun set on another day of their family holiday.

Mountains in the distance were shaded in a veil of blue light and curtained by the rainbow effect of the sunlight steadily sinking below the earth. Herds of black horned wildebeest and zebras with pricked ears were silhouetted across the endless meadow of sunburnt grass.

“It’s weird,” Yukiya murmured softly in her ear and circled his arms around her waist.

“What is?” she placed her cool hands over her husband’s as the had a discreet moment alone as their children roasted marshmallows behind them, on the fire pit cleverly built on the deck of their apartment.

Yukiya had one of those realisations that could never be explained, “Well, we see romantic sunsets setting behind the ocean at home, yet here, it is the same sun but it holds a different beauty I have never seen before. Why is that?”

Gazing out at the savannah in the background, with a sea of green tree tops flowing out from underneath their deck to meet the distance plains, she tilted her head in thought at her husband’s question and offered a theory, “Perhaps, we see the sunset at home so much it lost its romantic touch.”

Immediately, he refuted that theory, “I don’t think that’s it,” he kissed her exposed shoulder.

“Then, what?” She tried making sense of whatever was going through his mind.

He had a sound reason to refuse her theory, “How can I be exhausted of looking at something so beautiful every day? I mean, those sunsets were not romantic because I was alone,” his golden-brown eyes, the same shade their two five- and four-year-old daughters, Anastasia and Violet had inherited pierced her pink eyes, the same jewel-rose colour their nine-year-son, Caden had developed.

Even after ten years of marriage, those kinds of unexpected compliments made her blush as she used to when they were still dating and were at the academy, “Why are you looking at me like that?” she averted her gaze and tried to wiggle out of his arms.

“Don’t hide,” he wore a soft smile, “I think it’s cute you still blush like that.”

If her cheeks were warm from his first compliment, they were now burning red-hot from a line like that. Those arms around her tightened but his body felt nice and warm against her skin as a southerly breeze whirled through the mountains.

Within that breeze there was a chill and Asana peered over her shoulder and Yukiya to the kids sitting at the fire pit. Caden carefully watching his younger sisters and teaching them his go-to technique for getting a crispy and melted marshmallow then a burnt one. Aside from his large pink eyes, he was a clone of his father.

Asana could see he was wearing a jumper alongside Violet with her brown hair tied into twin braided tails. Apart from her golden-brown eyes, she was a physical and spiritual copy of her mother. Anastasia, however, hugged her arms around her body to keep warm, “Ana,” as she was nicknamed.

“Yes Mommy?” her golden-brown eyes were shaped like her fathers and along with her dark blue hair and straight lips, her button nose, defined cheekbones and face shape came from her mother.

“Go put a jumper on, I would hate for you to catch a cold while we’re on holiday,” she instructed.

Not disobeying, she disappeared into the inside of the apartment lodge, the entire building made of treated pine where the yellow planks of the nailed wood shined brilliantly in the setting sun. With a noise, the glass door rumbled across the tracks below and in a matter of seconds, Ana raced outside with a jumper covering her exposed arms.

Yukiya and Asana suddenly found greater joy watching their three kids than the sunset sinking behind the vast savannah. “Daddy, you should try it,” Violet ran over to him and offered him a roasted marshmallow that was partially burnt.

“Is that for me?” he knelt to her level and closed his mouth around the gooey sweet.

“Do you like it?” she asked, adorably smiling at him through those round brown eyes and eyelashes which mirrored the shape of her mother’s, the natural winged tip reminding him of the fragility of butterfly wings fluttering in a breeze.

Despite the burnt bits and the goo getting caught around his teeth, it hit the bullseye of his sweet spot, “I love it, thank you,” Yukiya suddenly had a hunger for more, “You kids better go to bed early tonight too.”

“Why?” Caden tilted his head, cutely.

Cushioned with colourful pillows, a long bench circled around the fire to entertain larger crowds. With Violet in his arms, Yukiya and Asana sat opposite their other two with Violet not moving from her father's lap. She impaled another marshmallow on her poke and hovered it over the flickering golden flame.

Yukiya answered his son, “Tomorrow's the safari on the savannah.”

“Already?” not even Asana could believe they were already halfway through their family vacation.

Caden had not even registered tomorrow would be the day they get to journey through the savannah and watch the wilderness with their own eyes rather than through some documentary. Much like their brother, Ana and Violet’s golden-brown eyes sparkled with excitement, “We’ll see lions!” they cheered together.

“Mommy?” peering at her adorably in the warmth of her father’s arms, Violet called out to her.

“What is it sweetie?”

“Do you think I can talk to a lion?” she asked, giving her best lioness grin.

Being the offspring of two taming wizards, Yukiya and Asana, both passed on their talent to understand animals to their children. It was inevitable too, they would learn of their abilities at a younger age than Asana since they were always waiting for their parents, at the animal and magical creature hospital and research facility, tied with the city’s public zoo, when they finished school.

Violet possessed a very energetic and imaginative personality, much like her mother’s that seeing her twisting her face to mimic lioness was as adorable as watching a cub. Ruffling her brown hair as though it was a mane, Asana laughed along with her playfulness, “You remind me sometimes of a little lion cub.”

“How?” she tilted her head confused, not concentrating on her roasting marshmallow.

“Because, you’re a cute like a little cub,” Asana pinched her cute little nose but from the corner of her eye where she could see the flames flickering the impaled powdered sweet caught on fire.

Violet's gaze turned to the burning torch and watched her treat disappear into the flames, “Aw,” she pouted, “I wanted to eat it.” There was something amusing in the way she mourned the loss of her marshmallow that made Yukiya chuckle.

Rasping a hand through her hair, he had an idea. “I know we were thinking of going out tonight but what if we had a campout dinner by the fire?” he suggested, looking across at Caden, Ana then Asana beside him, “It's only a suggestion?”

“It's nice up here,” Caden smiled and nodded.

“Can we roast more marshmallows?” Ana tipped the empty bag over to express they needed more.

“Of course,” Yukiya smiled at her, “We'll go get some supplies.”

Asana being yet to speak but sitting around the fire with her family was a better afternoon than sitting at a restaurant deciding what food to eat off the menu. It wasn't exactly camping but it was close enough to the real thing. With the flickering fire and the warmth radiating from the flames and the savannah becoming one with the darkening skies, it was as perfect as it could get.

Yukiya squeezed her hand. The touch unexpected and off in her own thoughts, she flinched in startle. She turned her head and saw Violet standing behind him and teasing his hair with Ana helping, she couldn't help but laugh, “What's up?”

“Did you want to go to the restaurant?” he misunderstood her silence, perhaps not seeing the proud smile she wore when she stared deep into the flame before her, “We don't have to do what I suggested.”

She shook her head, “No, that's not what I was thinking about.”

Peering over at Caden, he was poking the flame with his stick and glanced up at his sisters making a tangled mess of his father's dark blue hair. Asana faced Yukiya with her unwavering smile, “This is perfect, don't you think?”

His daughters giggled behind him and Caden smirked amusedly, “Mom.”

“I know,” Asana laughed with her son.

“He looks like he's been struck with lightning,” Caden laughed.

Ana poked Yukiya's cheek and suddenly gasped with a good idea, “He's a lion but not yet. He's missing something.”

“I know!” Violet jumped down off the sofa and ran into the inside of the lodge, through to her parents’ room.

Asana turned to Caden, “Will you cone with me to get some supplies?”

“Uh-huh,” he looked across to his father, “Before they give me a makeover too,” he urged.

Violet came running back with a black case in her tiny hands. Somehow, she knew where Asana left her makeup bag within the bathroom inside the suite of the master bedroom. “Daddy, you need to be a lion,” she put the makeup bag on the bench next to him and began searching for something.

“Mom,” Caden tugged on her sleeve, “Let's go to the shops now.”

She could see her son's desperation to leave before he became the target of his sisters makeovers. It was always dangerous when they reached for their mother's makeup bag and Caden always ended up a victim along with Yukiya. Unlike his father, who relaxed and allowed them to paint him like a canvas, Caden didn't enjoy it so much and tried to run away from their deceiving cuteness.

“Will you be right here?” Asana asked Yukiya.

He responded with a lion's roar, “That's lion for yes.”

“You need to be fiercer than that Daddy,” Ana giggled.

“Don't attract real lions, okay,” Asana gave him a kiss and rubbed cheeks with her daughters, like a lioness would rub her head lovingly against her young cubs fur, “Be back soon my cubs.”

Caden had already grabbed his mother's handbag and was standing by the entrance door, “Come on, Mom!” he called, his voice filtered through the glass doors.

“How did he get there so quickly?” his speed to escape his sisters was more amusing than Yukiya's teased hair with the way his straight strands were fuzzed and surrounded his head.

“Be careful,” Yukiya whispered up to her, “Take your wand.”

“Yukiya, I'm just going to the shop next to the lobby,” Asana assured him, “We'll be back soon.”

“Mom!” Caden called impatiently.

Ana giggled and whispered something into her sister's ear. Yukiya and Asana traded glances trying to guess what this big secret was, and whatever Ana had whispered to her Violet giggled and nodded too, “He can be a cub,” Violet whispered.

Asana couldn't help but laugh, her daughters already planning to ambush their big brother when he came back with her from the shops. Although Caden protested whenever they did ambush him for a makeover, he ended up going with the flow eventually because of the time he spent with his younger sisters. Like his father, he had a strong sense of family and usually took on the role of protector whenever his parents weren't around.

Yukiya often saw himself in his son because of his strong sense of family.

“Daddy, what animals will we see tomorrow?” Ana was excited, “Will we see a tiger?”

“What about magic lions?” Violet wondered, “What about a wolf like Wolfy?”

Violet opened the eyeshadow and Ana had a round tube of foundation which matched the fair complexion of her mother. He felt the cool liquid of the foundation hit his skin and the gentle brush of the eyeshadow across his eyelids.

“We won't see tigers,” as they applied makeup, Yukiya was prepared to answer their questions, “They live in jungles but we'll see other big cats, but how about we make a game of this.”

“A game? What kind of game?”

“Tomorrow when we go out on the savannah, try spot as many different animals as you can,” Yukiya proposed, “Whoever sees the most will get a special prize and there are two runner-up prizes too. We’ll include your brother, Mom and me.”

“What’s the prize?”

Yukiya had to think for a moment, “Now, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you the prize.”

“I will see heaps of animals tomorrow!” Ana promised.

“There is only one rule,” Yukiya said.

“What’s that Daddy?” Violet asked.

Like himself and Asana, their two daughters had a frightening habit of wandering away. It was the primary reason why they always had one daughter to each parent. Even Caden, used to wander away and ended up becoming lost within the forest around their country home. With the help of Elias and his family, Yukiya and Asana managed to find him a day after he had disappeared but it still haunts them to this day that he was alone.

Yukiya said very clearly, “Seeing animals only counts if you remain inside the tour bus.”

“So, we aren’t allowed out?” Ana asked.

“Not unless you have me or your mother and we say so,” Yukiya’s instructions were serious.

That tone carried in his voice in a way his daughters understood and dared not to disobey. Rarely did Yukiya become mad at his kids or used any force in his voice other than the usual firmness whenever they became naughty. But when his voice was blunt and serious, his kids knew to follow his instructions without question and trusted him.

“Okay, Daddy,” Violet agreed.

Ana agreed too, “Okay, we won’t go outside the bus Daddy.”

“Good.”

Asana and Caden, meanwhile, roamed up and down the shops aisles grabbing supplies, not forgetting the marshmallows to roast over the fire. Eggs, bacon and bread with sausages too to cook over the fire and feast on.

“Caden,” Asana called out to him.

“Yes Mom.”

“Tomorrow, when we go out on the savannah,” she worried he would become distracted and wander off, “I do not want you to wander off.”

Caden sighed, “Mom, are you and Dad ever going to let that go?”

“Caden, we could have lost you that night,” Asana reminded him and her voice was free from its playfulness. Gently cupping her son’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes and easily could see those traits she admired in his father, “You are just like your father sometimes.”

“How?” he didn’t understand.

“Your eyes are full of the lively curiosity and spirit just the same as his,” she smiled into his eyes, “Your father and I love you and your sisters very much but the three of you have a bad case of wandering away.”

Caden was six when he had wandered off into the forest but as he grew older, he remembered how his parents cried when they had found him. He had spent an entire night lost and alone in the forest but his father’s wolf familiar was never too far behind him. Now older, he understood why they were so worried and glad they had found him.

“I know Mom, I love you and Dad too,” he didn’t need a long lecture to get what she was saying, “Besides, I haven’t wandered off for a long time. I’m nine now, not six.”

He was growing, he wasn’t wrong, “You are growing too quickly,” Asana hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head, “Even when you are all grown up, you’ll still be my little boy,” the thought in only another few years he would be leaving childhood made her a little sad.

“Come on Mom, we’re in public,” he laughed and released himself from her embrace.

“Is there anything else you want?” she asked before they went to the counter and paid for their items.

Caden walked ahead of her but he was walking backwards as he spoke to her, “Hey Mom. What is your favourite animal?”

“My favourite?”

“Yeah, Dad likes dogs and wolves,” he had asked his father when they were out trying to find an injured magical creature in the woods, “I like birds, Ana likes dolphins and Violet…I think likes every animal, but I don’t know yours.”

Asana didn’t really have a favourite animal because she saw the value each animal possessed, even the scariest predators she respected, “Hmm, that’s a tough question,” she said, “If I had to say any animal though, I would say cats.”

“Cats?”

Asana watched the cashier scan and bag the items, “Well, I respect every animal and magical creature but cats, even when they don’t have some real magic to them, are magical in their own way. They are cute, the ultimate silent predator and can adjust to almost any climate. There are desert cats, snow cats, jungle cats and home cats.”

“So, Dad likes dogs and you like cats,” he repeated to himself as if he had learned something new about his parents that he had never known before, “There are lions, cheetahs and leopards that live in the savannah right, but I don’t know if there are dogs,” he rambled.

As the last items were bagged, the cashier announced the total price and Asana handed over the cash in the country’s currency. Carrying the bags, they both made their way back to the hotel lodge that facing the city side looked as though it didn’t have that enormous deck overlooking the savannah on the other side.

“Do you think they have finished putting makeup on Dad yet?”

“I doubt it,” Asana laughed, “But, do you want to help me cook dinner?”

“Anything to get out of being their doll.”

“They just love you,” she smoothed her hand through his hair as they took the elevator up to their room at the top of the building, “Besides, we all need to go to bed early tonight, like Dad said, so we have all of our energy for tomorrow.”

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