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rosemaidenvixen · 1 month ago

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Between Daylight and Darkness

Chapter 10

Ao3

Barbara shifted onto her other foot, there was a dented beer can to her right and a crumbled up fast food wrapper to her left. Lit under the sickly yellow glow of streetlights, natural light faded near to nothing, the sun having set twenty minutes ago.

“Are you kids sure this is the right spot?”

“Yep,” Toby grinned at her, stepping up to pat the concrete wall ahead of them “This is the place. Behind this wall lies a world of magic and wonder beyond your wildest dreams,”

A truck rumbled the bridge overhead, Barbara bit her lip, keenly aware of Toby ahead of her and Jim and the girls behind her, and tried not to look as skeptical as she felt.

It wasn’t as if she doubted the kids, not at all, she knew they were all being very sincere. It was just that their story was a bit…unbelievable now that she was actually here standing under the bridge in front of a concrete wall surrounded by rubble and litter. But given the things she'd lived with over the last decade she of all people should keep an open mind.

“Oh! There is one more thing you should know,”

She turned towards Jim “What is it?”

He gave her an awkward smile, tusks on full display, ompletely covered in shining silver armor from the neck down. She'd asked about his choice to go down wearing something so...conspicuous, but he'd brushed her off with a quick 'when in Rome'. This didn't strike her as the full truth, but it was neither the time nor the place to push it.

“Well you see...when it comes to…trolls, I’m uh…I’m one of the little guys,”

She looked up at him with a start. Little guys? What did he mean by–

A soft crackling pulled her attention back to the wall, a glowing arch appearing in the concrete right before her eyes, blasting away all her doubts. The gray stone crumbled away from the blue arc, creating an entrance where none existed before, falling back to reveal–

Barbara staggered back on reflex, a scream rose up in the back of her throat, though thankfully she stopped herself before it could escape. But a large part of her still itched to run as fast and far as she could.

A massive creature– a troll, stepped through the arch. He had had horns and stony skin just like Jim, but that was were the similarities ended. This creature lumbered forward leaning on his hands like a gorilla, powerful arms wide as tree trunks. He had to be nine- ten feet tall standing upright. As it was he towered over all of them, Jim included. The troll wore no clothes but had a massive, mossy mane running down his back, growing into his beard and covering his chest as well. Ears were long and floppy, a dark snout with vertical slit nostrils in place of his nose. But despite his...disconcerting size, the troll's expression was gentle. Green eyes radiating calm as he stepped clear of the arch, bending his arms to lean down to look at them something closer to eye to eye.

“Welcome back,” he rumbled in a low, gravely voice.

Toby stepped up to the troll without hesitation, giving Barbara heart palpitations “Good to be back big guy,”

Meanwhile Barbara was still trying to figure out how to make her voice work, neck craning from looking up at the troll. Who it should be noted, was bending down.

So this was what Jim meant by ‘little guy’.

“Mom?” a gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her back down to earth “You ok?”

“Y– yes I’m fine,”

The big troll let out a rumble, turning and inclining his head towards the still glowing archway “Come, AAARRRGGHH will show,”

Still reeling, and trying to get her heart rate back into the resting range, Barbara let out a small cough to get the troll's attention “Umm… sorry but what’s an Arrrgh?”

The troll raised a finger to point towards himself “AAARRRGGHH is AAARRRGGHH,”

So it looked like this…troll’s name was AAARRRGGHH, that made as much sense as everything else.

“Well thanks for the showing us the way AAARRRGGHH,” Darci strolled into the cave like this was entirely normal, the others following after a few moments later.

Barbara swallowed hard, fought back thousands of years of instinct in the back of her mind screaming at her to take the kids and flee far away from stone creatures and dark caves back to where there was light and crowds, and picked up her feet, following them into the unknown. She couldn't quite smother the flinch when the cave door reassembled behind her, sealing the exit.

Oh god what was she doing, there was no way out and no one knew where they were. She was one woman alone against an unfathomable number of trolls, and from the look of them one would be enough to overpower her with no effort at all. She needed to get out now, grab the kids, find the nearest exit, run before--

Barbara stopped in her tracks, netting her hands together and pressing them over her stomach, forcing her breathing to stay even. She ran through the various symptoms and stages of organ failure in her head until her breath was under control. Her heart was still speeding but it was no longer galloping. Her moment of panic had been brief enough the others hadn't noticed, trailing only a few feet behind them.

She needed to focus, even if her panic was justified this was the absolute last place to lose her head. And she shouldn't let her preconceived biases color her perception. The...people here had helped the kids, given them shelter and protected them from the troll that had tried to harm them.

So they were gigantic and made of rock, so what? Jim was the same and he was one of the sweetest, most harmless people she knew. Heck, for all she knew trolls considered them scary.

Uh oh, she'd fallen too far behind. A large gap had formed between her and the rest of the group, Jim had stopped and turned and was staring after her concerned, Darci had noticed and was now doing the same. It was only a matter of time until the rest of the kids took notice of her hesitation, then AAARRRGGHH surely would.

Barbara flashed Jim the most reassuring smile she could manage and hurried to catch up with them. Jim and Darci didn't quite look convinced, but they turned back and kept moving. The seven of them heading deeper into the earth.

But even though they were underground it wasn’t dark, a cool blue glow came from ahead. Following AAARRRGGHH they approached the source of the light. A glowing crystal staircase carved into the bedrock leading down into depths unknown.

Barbara was not thrilled at the idea of going even deeper underground than they already were, but AAARRRGGHH had already started to descend, the kids right behind him. And with how steep the stairs were if she didn’t close the distance between them now she’d end up falling behind.

And as much as she did not want to go down there, the thought of abandoning the kids to the unknown was even less appealing.

Acutely aware of the pounding of her heart, Barbara took a deep breath, then lowered her foot to the first step.

The descent wasn’t an easy one, the stairs were steep and so far apart she had to tread carefully to avoid slipping and twisting a leg. They were clearly made with larger creatures in mind. And now matter which angle she twisted and peeked at, she couldn't see how far down they went.

She snuck another glance at AAARRRGGHH, who was traversing the stairs with no trouble. Only this time she noticed something she'd overlooked before. AAARRRGGHH's feet and legs were tiny. Both compared to her own and in proportion with the rest of his body. From head to toe his legs only made up one third of his body length, maybe less. Compared to his arms they were even tinier. His feet were an unusual shape to, small and rounded with only three visible toes.

This made sense with his gorilla-like gait and posture, but it was a radical difference from Jim's own anatomy. While Jim did have the horns, tusks, and stone skin this other troll did, his proportions were human, or at least similar enough that Barbara had never noticed a difference.

Come to think of it there were other differences, AAARRRGGHH's ears, the shape and placement of his...snout she supposed, the markings on his chest and arms, she hadn't been able to get a good look at his hands but AAARRRGGHH's seemed to have fewer fingers. And it was stumpy but he had a small tail as well.

Jim was human shaped with stone skin, horns, and tusks. But AAARRRGGHH was something else entirely. Was Jim's shape the 'norm' for trolls or was AAARRRGGHH's? Or were trolls so varied in their body types that they didn't have a norm as she would understand it?

Barbara was so caught up in speculative anatomy that it came as a surprise when they reached the bottom of the stairs, a large arch ahead of them with more light pouring in.

AAARRRGGHH’s silhouette blocked off most of the entryway, preventing her from seeing what lay ahead “Stay close,” he rumbled, heading through into the beyond.

She and the kids stepped after him, trading a narrow stone cavern for a much more open space. Barbara blinking in the sudden brightness, as her vision cleared shock slowed her footsteps, until Barbara was standing there frozen, gaping at the sight unfolding in front of her.

When the kids had told her about an underground city the first image that popped into her mind was of homeless encampments in abandoned subway tunnels that she remembered watching on the news as a kid. Given that they’d also said it was a ‘magical’ underground city, she knew the reality was probably a bit more polished than her knee jerk impression.

But nothing her imagination could have dreamed up could have ever prepared her for what laid ahead of her.

They were standing in an absolutely massive cavern, so large that she felt a little exposed despite being underground, an entire metropolis sprawled out before them. The city had been carved and built from the bedrock of the cavern itself. Stone dwellings stacked up in hive like clusters of varying sizes, some clinging to the the sides of the cavern wall itself, only discernible by the glow of their windows in the distance. The entire cavern was alight with color, blue and purple crystals clinging to the walls and scattered between buildings, filling the space with cool light. Smaller, paler crystals stood atop narrow stone columns and tucked into the corners of buildings like crystalline streetlights. Which was probably exactly what they were. Rock and crystal where overwhelmingly dominant, but a second glance revealed pops of fabric and wood. A wheelbarrow, a purple tent, stacks of baskets and multicolored awnings. A rainbow of colors scattered across gray stone.

But what took her breath away was the people.

Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, more than she could count, milling in and around the carved out buildings and through the stone cobbled streets. Stone skin of various colors. Some built thick and stocky, others wiry and slender. Horns of all shapes and sizes, some even in clusters of two or three. One eye, two or three, extra limbs and digitigrade legs. Clothing was varied, some were as naked as AAARRRGGHH, some wore kilts with no shirt, some wore shirts with no pants. And while most of them were certainly bigger than Jim she was relieved to see that AAARRRGGHH seemed to be as big as they got. No two were the same, but each and every one of them was like Jim–

Barbara couldn't move, standing there absolutely stupefied, her heartbeat high and fluttering as she gazed out at the vast city before her.

This...all of this was right beneath their feet for the past ten years, this whole time...

A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of it.

“You doing ok I know all this...." Jim stretched out an arm and gestured towards the mystical stone metropolis in front of them "Can be…a lot,”

Barbara recovered and laid her hand over Jim's, squeezing his armored fingers while glancing up at him with a smile “It is...quite an adjustment, but I'm ok, let’s keep going,”

AAARRRGGHH led them down one of the narrow streets winding between the buildings, trading open space for a crowded corridor. Shops and stalls lined either side of them, positively bustling with activity. One troll dumped a cartful of light bulbs into another's barrel, another ladled out bowlfuls of a thick steaming steaming something to the trolls who were lined up in front of a massive cauldron, two trolls shouting at each other in a guttural language that was certainly not english, the subject of the argument appeared to be an old staticy television of all things tucked under one of the pair's arms, off to the side in one booth a troll leaned over a seated troll with-- Wait was that a chisel?

Apparently the markings on AAARRRGGHH's chest and arms weren't a natural pattern.

There was so much going on, so many different sights and sounds and smells. Despite knowing how decidedly not safe it would be to do so, part of Barbara itched to break off from the group, explore all the new, fascinating things around them.

A quick glance at the kids ahead of her told her they were feeling the same way. They were all glancing around with stars in their eyes, darting this way and that to get a closer look at whatever had grabbed their attention.

"What kind of skulls are those!"

"Hang on I think there's an apothecary over there--"

"Have you guys seen this embroidery!" Mary's phone was in her hand taking a near constant stream of photos.

"Can I live down here I totally want to live down here..."

Without even realizing it they were drifting farther and farther away from each other, a space growing between them and AAARRRGGHH as they fell behind. And their heads weren't the only ones turning...

The troll by the cauldron had dropped his ladle and was gaping at them in wide eyed shock, the troll being chiseled grabbed the chiseler's arm, pointing at their group while letting off a rapid fire of that same guttural speech. The two trolls who had been arguing over the tv stopped shouting to turn and stare, both their faces twisted with matching expressions of rage--

The observation sobered her in an instant, Barbara was suddenly very keenly aware of the growing distance between each of them and their escort. She quickly rushed forward and grasped Claire by the elbow, gently but firmly pulling her away from the table full of crystal carvings and back towards the center of the street.

"Come on kids let's try to stay together, we've got a schedule to keep,"

She strode over and reached up to grab Jim by the shoulder from where he was staring at the chiseler's booth.

"That means you to kiddo,"

Jim grinned sheepishly and followed her back towards the center of the street "Right, sorry,"

Barbara quickly corralled the others, Toby grumbled a little bit but Mary was easy because she was to busy taking pictures to protest, Claire having herded Darci back in while she was busy with the others. Once all six of them were gathered together again Barbara hurried them along as urgently as she could without slipping into outright panic, making a concerted goal to keep all the kids close and close the gap between them and AAARRRGGHH.

Only when AAARRRGGHH was a mere six feet ahead of them did Barbara risk a glance at the trolls around them.

They were still turning more than a few heads, but fortunately the predominant emotion seemed to be abject shock instead of hostility.

Still not ideal but Barbara would take what she could get.

Eventually their street opened up into a wide courtyard, ahead of them was a set of steps leading up to a larger cave dwelling, stepping off the street and into the building, following AAARRRGGHH down a narrow hall lit with small orange crystals embedded in the stone.

They followed him through narrow twists and turns until they reached a room that was entirely made of the same orange crystal as the hallway lamps. It wasn't as impressive as the view of the cityscape, but it still took Barbara's breath away. The entire space seemed to glow with the warm light of the crystals surrounding them, giving the room a cozy atmosphere. Still, as comfortable as it looked she couldn't afford to get swept up and drop her guard.

She adjusted her glasses and flicked her gaze from side to side, surveying the large room. Barbara's best guess was that this space was some sort of workshop. There were a few desks and what appeared to be workbenches scattered about, their surfaces littered with tools ranging from recognizable to completely foreign.

But most importantly, the room was occupied.

Standing at the largest table were two trolls, a smaller blue one with six eyes and four arms, this must have been Blinky, and a taller pale one. Both of them turning and standing at attention at their arrival.

Barbara wasn’t quite sure how trolls aged, she lacked the context and the wide field of background knowledge to make any conclusions about the ages of any trolls she saw. But if she had to hazard a guess she'd say the troll next to Blinky was an older one. His mane and beard were snow white and hung nearly all the way down to his kilt; large, twisting horns grew out of either side of his head, larger than both Jim's and AAARRRGGHH's. He was holding a large cane– staff? That appeared to be made from the same crystal as the room.

His eyes were completely milked over, no discernible iris or pupil, if Barbara had seen that in a human she would have assumed they were blind, but there was nothing unseeing about the shrewd way those pale eyes narrowed, the troll they belonged to briskly striding towards them.

“Oh wonderful, more humans, why even bother with secrecy anymore? Why not invite the entire city down for the next festival,”

Toby perked up “Really?”

The old troll shot him a sour look that silenced Toby in an instant.

Barbara dug her fingers into her palms and fought the urge to fidget. She was nervous-- scratch that she was terrified. They were way out of their depth here and the slightest misstep could land them in serious trouble. But running away wasn't an option, both physically and personally. This was the closest they've ever been to real answers, about what Jim was and what happened to him, and Barbara needed to see this through, and she owed it to Jim and the other kids to take the lead.

Forcing herself to move, Barbara approached the older troll “Pardon me, I know our presence is an intrusion in your...city, but as Jim’s mother I–”

Several pairs of rapidly blinking eyes over a wide grinning mouth filled her vison, Barbara jerking and taking an involuntary step back.

“Our Trollhunter’s mother! Bah-buh-rah!” Blinky rushed up to her, Barbara only barely managing to squash the urge to scramble back away from him “You must be so proud! Please let me know if there is anything we can do to accommodate your stay in our humble market,”

Barbara somehow found the wherewithal to nod back "Th-- thank you, Blinky right?"

Impossibly Blinky's grin got even wider "Indeed, I am Blinky, principal scholar and librarian of Trollmarket, and it is my honor to welcome you and your party to our fair market,"

From out of nowhere Blinky started vigorously waving all four of his arms.

The action was so out of nowhere Barbara could only blink back at him. Could trolls...fly? Because that seemed to be what Blinky was trying to do.

“Umm…what are you doing?” Mary spoke up.

Blinky paused, arms still splayed out midair “Is not shaking hands the traditional human greeting?”

From behind she heard Toby let out a chuckle "He's a little confused but he's got the spirit,"

Meanwhile Barbara managed to fight back a very inappropriate laugh and compose herself, Blinky might have some...misconceptions about human culture, but he was friendly and seemed to be happy to have them here. And right now that was immeasurably valuable.

“Thank you for the greeting Blinky,”

The blue troll practically glowed with happiness, Barbara managed to smile back as she stepped around him to look back up at the old troll “And I understand that all of us being here makes things more complicated, but Jim is involved, and as his mother I have a right to know what is going on mister...”

"I am known as Vendel," the older troll tapped his staff on the ground "Elder of Trollmarket, the one responsible for dealing with this mess your son and his companions of have caused,"

The words were spoken with no small amount of exasperation, but Vendel still turned and gestured for them to follow as he approached a desk.

Still not ideal but Barbara would take what she could get here. She stepped up to the desk, hearing the soft scuffle of sneakers on stone, along with the distinctive click of metal, as the kids followed her “Now from what Jim told me, I understand that this amulet--"

Her eyes flickered over to Jim hovering just over her shoulder, amulet still affixed to his chest, ticking softly.

"Chose him as this 'Trollhunter'. What exactly does that mean?”

Vendel let out a heavy breath, flipping open a book and pushing it towards them, Barbara got up as close as she could, the kids crowding in on either side, all six of them pressed up against the table staring down at the opened book. The book looked to be bound with actual leather, the pages velvety parchment, so heavy and large it clearly wasn't made with human hands in mind. The page it was opened to showed an inked illustration of a line up of several trolls, there was writing as well in a runic language Barbara didn't recognize. The trolls pictured were of various shapes and sizes, but all wearing silver armor--

Her breath caught in her throat, gaze flickering over to Jim then back down at the book. Not just any armor, Jim's armor. And now that she knew what to look for she could spot the same amulet on each of the armored trolls as well.

“The Trollhunter is the guardian and protector of all Trollkind," Vendel reached over and tapped the page directly above the picture of a stocky troll with twisting, branch like horns "Our sacred champion, part of a legacy stretching back thousands of years,"

"Ok I gotta ask," Mary shouldered past Barbara and leaned forward over the table, snapping a few pictures of the open book with her phone "What's with the name? So I get that this amulet chooses your new Batman or whatever, but why do you call them the Trollhunter? For you guys that sounds more like some kind of supervillain name,"

Vendel's expression puckered but before he could speak up Blinky popped up beside him.

"I can answer that, you see the name ‘Trollhunter’ is a bit of a mistranslation, the closest this tongue can manage. In common trollish the name is closer to 'The Troll who Hunts' or ‘The Troll who is the Hunter’,”

“So this Trollhunter…” Claire reached over, thumbing the edge of the page “This amulet...chooses them?”

“Correct,” Vendel reached over and flipped the page she was fondling. Now the book showed a close up illustration of Jim's amulet, the Trollhunter's amulet, surrounded by captions and notes in the same runic script.

“The amulet is a mystical artifact, crafted by Merlin and given to the first chosen hunter, Gorgus the Great nearly ten millennia past. It can be used to summon the daylight armor, and selects the new bearer of the mantle when the previous holder falls,”

Barbara traced her finger over the inked illustration of the amulet. It sounded like once this Trollhunter...died, the amulet would pick a new one, which was how it made its way to Jim. Which it could do because it was...magical. Barbara had questions about that, a lot of questions, but there were far more pressing matters right now so she'd save those for a later--

Abruptly Vendel pulled the book away and leaned down sharply, piercing all of them with a shrewd gaze.

“I have answered your questions, now you must answer one of mine,” Vendel briskly strode around the bench towards Jim, milky gaze boring into him “You claim to be human, so how is it that you can change your shape between human and troll?”

“Oh yeah, that,” Jim took a hesitant step towards him “Well I started out as completely human, like 24/7 365, then when I was little…I fell into a potion. Ever since then I change into this," he gestured towards himself "Every sunset, plus when I go underground, and if I get hit with uv light while I'm a...troll I guess, it turns be back human, otherwise I change back at sunrise,”

Vendel leaned in closer, his face only inches apart from Jim's, staring him square in the eye, making Jim shift uncomfortably. Part of Barbara itched to intervene, but things didn't seem dangerous just quite yet, and butting right now could very well do more harm than good.

Several moments of uncomfortable silence Vendel leaned back, shutting his eyes and letting out a soft breath, Barbara wasn't certain but it almost sounded like he was sighing in relief.

“Alright then,” Vendel moved back around to the other side of the workbench, one hand gripping his staff the other folded behind his back “The amulet has never chosen a human as its champion before, and Trollmarket cannot know the truth, such an unprecedented choice for their protector would spark untold panic and confusion. Therefore what we will tell the masses is that you,” Vendel jabbed a finger in Jim’s direction “Are the child of surface wandering exiles, and you sought out Trollmarket after the amulet chose you,”

Jim slowly nodded “Ok…”

“You will return here each night for your training, and your human companions will not.”

For the first time since coming down here Barbara allowed a frown to break through her composure, squaring her shoulders and reaching up to readjust her glasses while shifting her gaze towards Vendel.

She needed her vision sharp if she was going to be staring any of these trolls down.

“Um yeah, no way.” Claire perched her hands on her hips.

“You can’t just dangle trolls and a magical underground city in front of us and expect us to just walk away,” Toby said, throwing out his hands in exasperation.

Jim stepped to the front of the group and folded his arms “Yeah my gang and I are a package deal. Take it or leave it,”

Barbara sidestepped Jim and put herself in front of the group, raising her head to look Vendel in the eye, trying hard not to think about just how much bigger he was than her “And I don’t care what you or some amulet have to say about it. If my son is involved here then so am I,”

Vendel pinched his brow again and muttered something guttural, completely unlike english, before clearing his throat and scowling down at them "You know not what you ask. We are an old race, proud, slow to change. Humans have never been permitted to tread within our protected halls, and allowing so now, especially when our Trollhunter has their own...irregularity, would incite unimaginable chaos!"

Barbara folded her arms and narrowed her eyes "So your solution is to place the entirety of the burden of this cultural discrepancy on my son, who might I remind you, is a child!"

Vendel blinked back at her owlishly, all traces of grouchiness on his face replaced with abject surprise. He glanced backwards towards Blinky, who glanced over at AAARRRGGHH. The three shared a look, a silent conversation.

"Hey I turn sixteen next month..." Jim mumbled from behind her.

Barbara sucked in a breath through her nose and bit back the many more, far less polite, words in the back of her throat.

She needed to keep her cool here, there was nothing to be gained by being snippy, even if she was one hundred percent in the right. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH seemed friendly, and while Vendel was decidedly less so, he came off as more frustrated at the situation than hostile towards them. She had no reason to believe these trolls were her enemies, and nothing to gain by treating them as such.

"Look I understand this whole situation is less than ideal," Barbara risked a step towards Vendel "But the fact of the matter is, if my son is involved, then so am I. That is nonnegotiable."

"Yeah us to!" Toby piped up "Team sidekick is here to stay!"

"Ok we're not calling ourselves that," Mary groused.

In the interest of presenting a united front to the trolls Barbara didn't voice her own opinions on that particular matter.

Vendel held her gaze for the longest time, before slumping forward onto his walking staff with a sigh "Very well, you shall remain, both tonight and continuing on. But it is clear we have much to discuss, and you cannot wander around the market unescorted. Blinkous?"

Blinky-- or Blinkous it seemed, perked up at Vendel's words "Yes?"

"You and AAARRRGGHH will lead our Trollhunter and his companions through the market. Look after them and show our new hunter exactly what it is he shall fight for and protect. Bah-buh-rah and I shall remain here to discuss how we are to proceed going into the future,"

Vendel paused and glanced towards her "Of course, only if this arrangement is agreeable to you,"

Barbara let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Cooperation. Collaboration. Compromise. Maybe things weren't as overwhelmingly impossible as she thought.

"Yes that would be fine,"

If Blinky looked happy before he was practically radiant now "Splendid!" he clapped both sets of hands together "The chance to show newcomers, humans who've never before seen the marvels of trollkind, the glory of Trollmarket-- I would be delighted! Oh we simply must stop by my library first--"

"Hang on are we getting a tour?" Claire grinned and hurried over to Blinky "Because I would love a tour!"

Jim frowned and glanced towards Barbara "But we'd be leaving you by yourself here..."

Barbara smiled back at him and tried to project a calm she didn't feel. The thought of Jim or any of the kids leaving her sight in this strange underground place made her stomach twist. But like it or not she couldn't protect them from everything down here, and they needed to indulge the trolls in the little bit of trust they'd earned. These trolls had saved them and given them sanctuary once, if Blinky said he'd look after them she believed him. There was still a lot she didn't know about trolls or this troll-hunting business, but her gut instincts, something she'd always relied on to keep her and Jim safe, were telling her that AAARRRGGHH, Blinky, and Vendel didn't mean them any harm.

"I'll be perfectly safe discussing things with Vendel. You and your friends go take a look around, just remember to stay together and stay close to Blinky,"

Jim slumped his armored shoulders, wringing his hands together "It's just...I'm worried..."

"I give you my solemn oath as the principal elder of Trollmarket," Vendel moved closer, crystal staff clicking against the stone floor "Bah-buh-rah shall come to no harm this night, I will protect her with my own stone and my own life if need be,"

"See there you go," Barbara gave Jim the sunniest expression she could manage "Go, explore, you and your friends get the lay of the land. And don't forget it's my job to worry about you, not the other way around,"

"Come on Jim!" Toby called over from where he and the girls were gathered by the entrance to the cave with Blinky and AAARRRGGHH, practically bouncing on his heels "We're getting a tour of the magical troll city!"

Jim's gaze flickered back and forth between him and Barbara, only stilled by her hand on his cheek.

"Go, I'll be fine. Vendel promised, and I'm promising to,"

Jim held her gaze, his expression deeply conflicted, before nodding his head, patting her fingers with his own before pulling away. He strode towards the entrance where the others were waiting, soon quickly enfolded in their excitement at the idea of exploration. The seven of them heading out of the tunnel and out of sight.

Barbara forced herself to turn away from the hall and back towards Vendel "Thank you for accommodating us, I know dealing with all this must be difficult for you,"

Vendel nodded his head in acknowledgment "I imagine this hasn't been easy for you as well," he moved back towards the largest desk and gestured for her to follow "But while circumstances are far from ideal for both of us, it is clear that we are far better off as allies than adversaries,"

He turned to face her across the work table, laying one hand down on the table "We do have a great deal to discuss regarding our Trollhunter-- your son's new role, but I must insist that we begin with another subject,"

He gestured for Barbara to take a seat at a bench alongside the worktable, she did so with only a slight bit of difficulty, feet dangling high above the floor, while Vendel did the same across from her.

"The circumstances of young Jim's transformation, the potion that altered him. I wish to know every detail, no matter how minute. I speak without exaggeration when I say that this knowledge is of dire importance for his future within Trollmarket,"

A sudden lump appeared in Barbara's throat. Discussing her greatest shame with someone she'd met all of ten minutes ago was the last thing she wanted to do, even coming after following a troll to his hidden underground city. But Vendel was right, this was absolutely relevant, and he didn't strike her was the type to exaggerate. If Vendel said this was critically important she believed him. Of course it didn't make the prospect any more appealing...

But how else was she supposed to get explanations, answers, a cure? The only way out of this was forward, and trust ran two ways...

Barbara cleared her throat "Of-- of course. I'll tell you everything, but there's quite a bit to go over to give you the full context,"

Vendel nodded and gave her his full gaze "Speak your story in its entirety and I will hold my questions until you've finished,"

She nodded once more in acknowledgement then spoke up before she could loose her nerve "I guess this all started a little over ten years ago, with my ex husband..."

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #toby domzalski #barbara lake #mary wang #darci scott #aaarrrgghh #vendel #blinkous galadrigal #arcadia quintet #rmvwrites #between daylight and darkness #sunshine au

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capitalisticveins · 3 months ago

Text

Lots of Headcanons #5

FINALLY got to @nevaroonie 's request, sorry it took so long even tho you were the first person to request I feel so bad :c

William

He has about 7-8 fake names, 4 fake ids, and 2-3 SSNs

Most of these are expired.

Eye involuntarily twitches whenever someone speaks French without the accent.

Hates horror movies because the characters are always stupid but he’d never outright say it.

His fashion sense is more “snazzy” rather than elegant like most would expect.

Has lied to the police more than Lovely, Vincent, and Alexis have combined.

Yet also preaches about the “importance of honesty”.

Likes hairless animals more, or ones with less fur.

Uses non-vampire magic the least out of all the vamps we know. If he needs fire he’ll just light a match.

Vincent took him to a 7/11 once and he fell in absolute LOVE with slushies. He'll drink them whenever. In meetings, during the summit, outside during the winter, at a funeral, doesn't matter. If he's able to go get one he'll do it and drink it in front of everyone.

Likes guillotines

Gives out apples for Halloween.

Ollie

Wampus has a problem with balancing on things platforms and jumping high. He rarely gets hurt but because of this Ollie has a folder full of Wampus failing jumps and falling off the table.

Ollie is good at competitive games if he’s going against CPU, but if he’s going against actual people his loss is basically guaranteed.

Clothes he doesn’t wear for work or outside activities are usually either extremely baggy clothes or matching pajama sets, no in between

Prefers movie musicals over the actual musicals in most cases…yeah

Needs background sounds to sleep in most cases so Babe usually wakes up in the morning and sees him with overhead headphones on in his sleep.

Has had him, Babe, and Wampus dressed in the same set of holiday pajamas for the holidays.

Doesn’t like drinking hot cocoa without something accompanying it, like cinnamon, whipped cream, or marshmallows. JUST hot cocoa makes him feel incomplete.

Sometimes writes little notes of affirmations and love letters and rushes into Babe’s office when they’re out so he can hide them around their desk.

When Babe pretends to wonder who wrote them because “they have a boyfriend” he’ll start giggling and act offended that someone would send love letters to HIS partner. It’s cute.

When someone he knows calls him "Oliver" he slowly cranes his neck over and says "Ollie".

Gives out king-sized candy bars and juice boxes for Halloween. His house always has a line.

#I trick or treated as a kid and one house was giving out fresh cotton candy and juice boxes it was insane #ALMOST DONE WOOO #although you can still request hcs i don't mind at all :3 #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redacted ollie #redacted william #redacted headcanons

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vuldak-juneau · 8 months ago

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Who: @heroic-ignus Where: En Route to Hrimthur’s Outpost When: Between The Last Night and arrival at the outpost, further into the trip than not. Notes: (tw: animal death alluded to in the starter, falling injury, broken limb described in some detail) - again this is soooo much set up, do not match length unless you really have that much to say :)

A steed exhausted beyond the point of any return had gifted Juneau with an unlikely tool–the useful leather strap of a horse’s bridle. She was surprised none of the king’s men had taken it for repurpose or surplus until she collected it from where it had been tossed aside to claim it as her own. The leather had not been cared for well. It was dried from age and exposure, the oils that would have kept it in fine shape long-since applied. Although it was brittle and cracking in places, she knew it could still provide her some use. Juneau was used to being creative with resources. It was a rarity she possessed a tool that was called for when she completely a task, and so she already had an idea of what to do with this meager blessing on the trail.

Juneau looked at the birds flying high above the temporary respite where they had stopped. Already, arguments had been started on who would be given rations of the meat–waste not, want not��and she didn’t feel like fighting like a dog in the hopes of a scrap making its way to her plate. Not tonight, anyway. There had been no shortage of fowl flying overhead at many points between Nornwatch Tower and this point on their route. A deteriorating old bridle wouldn’t help her catch a bird, but as she withdrew her pocket knife and cut the bridle into one long strip she thought of the promise finding a nest full of eggs high in one of the trees.

It wasn’t difficult to slip away from the wider group. She knew they would be there for a while–first, they would need to settle the dispute over who was entitled to what in terms of a meal, and then there would be the butchering, the preparation, and undoubtedly tempers over portions would flare once more before anyone took a single bite. How anyone got anything done was beyond Juneau, and she felt a sense of pride that she had outsmarted those around her. She could fend for herself, and she was proud of that. She ventured deep into the first, not worried about getting lost on the way back to the group. She could track her way through a thick blanket of snow without much effort, even if the wind blew the soft powder around and obscured her tail. If it were not for the white direwolf, Lor, following her, this hubris may have been her undoing even with her accelerated healing abilities. If Juneau even knew Lor was there, she paid her no mind.

Juneau slowly walked amongst the trees, neck craned back to examine what they held in their twisted, naked branches. It took a short while, but she finally found something that looked like a nest. She spent a few moments sizing the tree up before looping the brittle leather strap around it. For a moment, she wondered whether or not this was a good idea. She tugged at the strap–all seemed well. One more check, she thought, just in case. She looped each end around her small hands and leaned back as far as she could trying to test if it would hold her body weight. It seemed fine.

She knew that she had already used a decent portion of the time she had before the group would move on for the night–there would still be a few hours to travel before the towering peaks consumed all of the light the sun had to offer that day. She needed to get a move on. She lifted her arms above her head, lifting the strap as high as she could and using it to offset some of her body weight as she ascended the trunk of the tree. She had climbed hundreds of rock walls, trees, and domes in her travels. She was an expert at finding and utilizing even the smallest of footholds using small imperfections, cracks, and knobs. Much of her ability came from her ability to pay great care and attention to paths and holds available to her. With the help of the belt, she ascended with quickness, but the tool made her less discerning about where she placed her feet and her hunger made her careless.

Juneau could feel a part of the leather stretching, one of the cracks coming apart entirely, and suddenly the counterbalance the strap around the tree had served as was not there at all. Her arms scrambled to try and grasp at the trunk to at least soften or slow her fall, but with her hands full from the leather straps she was not fast enough and she plummeted toward the merciless ground below her. Her unfortunate left leg found the forest floor before the rest of her and she felt, heart, and smelled the snap as it happened.

Smelled. The metallic ichor of blood filled her nose when her vision finally focused again and she could breathe after the impact. Plain shot through her like lightning, all emanating from her leg. But there was a snap–why could she smell blood? She yelped, a helpless-sounding little cry, as she did her best to sit up again without moving her leg. It was an impossible task, the fabric of her clothing not able to remain completely unmoved even if she kept her leg as still as she could. She felt breathless when she saw the injury in full, her shin split open to the world. Red blood poured out into the white snow on either side of her leg and she could see a long shard of her bone pointing up toward her–notably jutting from a deep gash in her crooked leg. The sight of it made her nauseous–she was not especially used to seeing the insides of bodies on, well, the outside.

Stop the bleeding first, her survival instincts reminded her. She tried to calm her breathing and think of how she could rig something on her person to act as a tourniquet. It took her a few moments longer than she cared to admit, but her hands still grasped onto the leather straps, one much longer than the other. She swallowed hard, streams of tears already freezing against her cheeks, and cried out as she moved her leg only enough to slip the thin strap beneath the back of her knee. She shimmied it upward, just slightly, to where she guessed the best spot would be and tried to think of what she might be able to use as a windlass rod and something that could secure it–if she passed out from blood loss without one, well, she didn’t exactly know if she died but she didn’t want to find out either. The long bowie knife she carried with her might work, the blade neutralized in its thick leather–fucking leather–sheath. She maneuvered the strap and knife to serve the purpose of a tourniquet as best she could, trying to convince herself the woozy feeling she experienced was just a weak stomach, and that she didn’t need to panic because she had no idea what to use to secure the knife and keep the strap around her leg as tight as possible.

#tw: animal death #tw: injury described #alder #alder 03

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leopardmask-ao3 · 9 months ago

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Day 4 - Keralis

Drabble for @hermitadaymay.

xB was about to leave his house when an arrow landed a good six feet in front of him.

He stopped in the doorway. The arrow had barely stuck, but its angle suggested it had come from directly overhead.

xB risked craning his neck out and looking up.

Two eyes the size of fists stared back innocently.

“Hi Keralis.”

“Hi!” Keralis waved. He was currently attached to xB’s window by only his bare, lizard-like feet, so his hands could hold a bow.

xB drew his own bow. Keralis squeaked and scuttled up the wall and out of sight.

“Bye Keralis!”

#my fic #drabble #hermitadaymay #keralis #...I don't think I've yet done an alien!Keralis drabble from Keralis POV #he's just so much funnier when it's about other people dealing with his weirdness I guess

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poisonedace · 2 months ago

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Inferna Academy

11232 words | Mature | Part 2/12 Author's AO3: PoisonedAce Story Link: Inferna Academy Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five Summary: Blitzo refuses to fade into the background, even as his father demands he play shadow to his childhood friend Fizzarolli at Hell’s elite university. “Fizzarolli’s our ticket to the big time.” “Don’t screw up.” “You’ll never make it on your own." Everything changes when he reunites with Stolas, a Goetia prince shackled by suffocating expectations. What begins as a quiet connection blossoms into a love neither anticipated, built on stolen glances, whispered conversations, and study sessions full of laughter. But, their happiness is short-lived. Stella’s schemes threaten to tear them apart, straining their love and fracturing Blitzo’s friendship with Fizzarolli. A story of star-crossed lovers, broken trust, and fragile hope. Can Blitzo and Stolas find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain distant souls, yearning for what could have been?

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

Chapter Two

The Weight of Shadows

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

The administration office of Inferna Academy buzzed with chaotic energy, the hum of infernal wards mingled with the low murmur of agitated voices. Demons of all shapes and sizes jostled for space, their movements sharp and impatient as they craned their necks toward the counter. The air reeked of sulfur and old parchment. A metallic tang clung to the stone walls, sharp and unyielding. Overhead, faintly glowing runes pulsed as though the building itself were alive and watching.

Behind the counter, a bored clerk sat slouched, their horns curling lazily as they drummed clawed fingers against the desk. The glowing roster flickered faintly, emitting a low, grating hum like it was on the verge of combusting. Their indifferent expression didn’t shift, not even when a particularly loud demon barked a question about their assignment.

“Next,” the clerk called, their tone flat and lifeless, as though the word itself was a chore.

Blitzo stood near the back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tail flicked with sharp, agitated movements as the crowd pressed closer, their overlapping voices adding to his mounting irritation. Why’s this taking so damn long? he thought bitterly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The sulfur-laced air was starting to sting his nose, and the incessant hum of the roster gnawed at his nerves.

“Blitzo Buckzo,” the clerk finally drawled, not bothering to look up as they scanned the roster with a disinterested claw. “Room 305. Assigned with... S. Goetia.”

Blitzo froze for half a second, his ears twitching as the name registered. His scowl deepened into a glare. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered, stepping closer to the counter. His tail lashed sharply behind him, narrowly missing the demon standing closest to him.

The clerk flicked a claw dismissively, their gaze already shifting to the next name on the list. “305,” they repeated, their tone indifferent. “Next!”

Blitzo snatched the crumpled piece of paper with his room number and the attached key, glaring at the faintly glowing text as though it had personally insulted him.

His tail flicked sharply again as he shoved the paper into his jacket pocket. He turned on his heel, his boots scuffing against the worn stone floor as he shouldered his way through the crowd. The noise and heat of the room seemed to press in on him, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

Room 305. Roommate: S. Goetia. The name lingered in his mind like a bad joke. “Bet he’s got some fancy setup with feather pillows and a dozen rules about ‘proper roommate etiquette,’” Blitzo muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, this’s gonna go over real well.”

The heavy doors creaked shut behind him as he stormed out of the office, the chaotic din muffled by the oppressive quiet of the corridor. The flickering light from the torches lining the walls cast jagged shadows that danced along the stone, the carvings seeming to glare at him with silent judgment. The corridor stretched ahead, its long shadows rippling unevenly with the flicker of the torches. As if this place wasn’t bad enough, Blitzo thought, his voice echoing faintly in his head. Now I’m stuck with some Goetian featherhead.

His claws flexed at his sides as he stomped toward his assigned room, the hum of magic in the walls buzzing faintly in his ears. Everything about this place felt designed to remind him of his place—below it all, never quite enough. Of course, they’d shove me into a corner with royalty, he thought bitterly. Probably just to make it more transparent that I don’t belong here.

His tail snapped sharply behind him as he squared his shoulders, forcing his feet to keep moving. “Gotta love this place,” he muttered, his words cutting through the oppressive silence. Room 305. S. Goetia. His jaw tightened as he repeated the name in his mind.

Ahead, the corridor plunged into darkness, the flickering torchlight barely reaching the jagged stone archway that marked the end of the hall. Even the building seemed to mock him, its cold, oppressive presence heavy against his back. Blitzo squared his shoulders, his tail snapping sharply behind him as he forced his feet to keep moving. Room 305, he thought again, his jaw tightening. Well, hope he’s ready for a helluva roommate.

~o0o~

In a quieter corner of the academy Library, Stolas sat gracefully at a polished desk by one of the large bay windows that looked over the grounds. He was poring over a paperback romance novel he had seen his mother reading over the weekend. Given her uncharacteristic shiftiness when he’d approached her about it, he knew it would be a good one.

The soft lighting from the floating orbs above the shelves and the faint scent of aged parchment and enchanted ink that lingered in the air allowed for a soothing atmosphere away from all of his problems.

A soft knock sounded at the bookshelf behind him before a staff member clad in Inferna’s formal robes approached. “Prince Stolas, your housing assignment has been finalized,” the staff member said, their tone polite but measured. “You’ll be sharing with—”

“Blitzo,” Stolas interrupted, his gaze lifting from the page. His eyes, wide and expressive, lit up with interest, the name sparking something he hadn’t revisited in years. He leaned back slightly in his chair, one talon tapping thoughtfully against the armrest. “I see.” A small smile played at his lips, faint but genuine.

Before he could dwell on it, the door to the Library slammed open with enough force to rattle the bookshelves, a gust of displaced air disturbing the calm magic orbs above.

“Stolas!” Stella’s voice sliced through the quiet like a blade. She stormed in, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise serene room. Dressed in an elegant, sharply tailored gown that shimmered faintly in the light, she radiated indignation. Her icy gaze swept the room before settling on Stolas with barely restrained fury. “What’s this nonsense about you sharing a room? With some... some commoner?”

Stolas sighed, closing his book with deliberate care as if willing himself to meet her ire with patience. “It’s just a housing arrangement, Stella,” he said, his tone calm and measured though it carried the faintest edge of exasperation. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Nothing to concern myself with?” Stella’s voice rose, her hands gesturing sharply as if to punctuate her disbelief. “This is an insult! Goetias don’t share rooms—especially not with... imps!” She spat the word as though it burned her tongue, her feathers fluffing slightly in agitation.

Stolas arched an elegant brow, his talons steepling under his chin as he regarded her. “Dramatic as always, Stella,” Stolas said with a faint smirk, the humor in his tone clearly deliberate. “You’d think they’d assigned me a dungeon. It’s just a room, and even we can’t avoid the academy’s little ‘equal treatment’ quirks. It’s quite charming, really.”

“‘Equal treatment’ quirks?” Stella hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “This isn’t some minor inconvenience, Stolas. This is degrading. They’re treating you like... like some common student instead of a Goetian heir.” She practically snarled the last words, her feathers bristling further.

Before Stolas could reply, a cheerful, twangy voice called from the hall just before the door opened. “Yoo-hoo! Hello? Is this where the fancy folks are hollerin’? Should I come back later?”

Both turned to see a petite imp with long black hair peeking into the room, her wide grin as bright as the sharp accent in her voice. She stepped inside with easy confidence, her boots clicking against the floor. “Hi there! Name’s Millie,” she said, offering a quick wave. “Guess you’re Stella? Looks like you an’ me are bunkmates!”

Stella’s mouth fell open, her feathers puffing out like an offended hen. “What?” she sputtered.

“Aw, don’t look so stunned,” Millie continued, her grin widening. “Promise I’m a peach to live with! ‘Sides, they said I’d be roomin’ with someone real fancy, and—” she gave Stella an exaggerated look up and down, her tone light but teasing—“guessin’ that’s you.”

Stella’s feathers practically trembled with rage. “This is absurd!” she snapped, rounding on Stolas. “Fix this. Now. You can’t seriously expect me to share a room with... with her!” She gestured toward Millie, her feathers practically vibrating with disdain. “She’s so... loud.”

“Afraid there’s nothin’ to fix, sugar,” Millie interjected, leaning against the doorframe with an almost casual air. “They paired us up fair an’ square, so I reckon we’ll just have to make the best of it.” She extended a hand toward Stella, who stared at it as though it were cursed. “Lookin’ forward to sharin’ the space, roomie!”

Stolas’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile, his talons lightly tapping against the desk. “Well, the academy does keep finding creative ways to entertain me,” Stolas remarked, his gaze flicking between Millie and Stella. “Though I must admit, this pairing is particularly... inspired— it’s practically poetic.”

Stella looked moments away from either fainting or combusting. She whirled on Stolas again, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “You are going to fix this. Immediately.”

“Fix it?” Stolas tilted his head, feigning thought. “Hmm, let me see if my title can override a millennium-old academy policy... Oh, wait. It can’t. I suppose we’ll both have to cope with life’s little injustices.”

Millie’s laugh rang out, bright and unbothered. “Aw, c’mon now,” Millie said, giving Stella a friendly slap on the back that made the taller demon stumble. “A little time with me, and you’ll be sweeter than pie at a Sunday picnic!”

Stella’s horrified gasp filled the room as Millie’s grin widened. Stella stumbled forward, spinning on her heel to glare at Millie as though she’d been physically assaulted. “Did you just touch me?” she demanded, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Millie tilted her head, blinking innocently. “Well, yeah. You were lookin’ a little wobbly there.”

“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” Stella hissed, her feathers puffed to twice their usual size. “You—your hands smell like... dirt!”

Millie sniffed her palm thoughtfully. “Huh. Guess I did clean the coop this mornin’.”

With an undignified squeal, Stella stomped away from the group and out the Library door towards the administration office.

Stolas, openly smiling now, turned back to his desk with a casual air. “Do try not to cause too much of a scene, Stella,” he called to her without looking back, his talons already flipping to the next page of his book. “I’d hate for the entire academy to think you’ve lost your composure on your first day.”

By the time Stella and Millie reached the office, Stella’s tirade had reached full volume, catching the attention of anyone still on the floor. The echoes of her words bounced off the stone walls, amplifying her indignation. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor, each step as pointed as her tone as she jabbed a perfectly manicured finger toward the clerk behind the desk.

“I demand a reassignment!” she declared, her tone imperious enough to make a lesser demon cower. “We will not be subjected to this humiliation.”

The clerk barely glanced up from the glowing roster on his desk. The air around him buzzed faintly with magic, its pulse steady and indifferent to Stella’s fury. He yawned, scratching at his temple with a claw. “Housing is full. Assignments are final,” he said flatly, his tone as lifeless as the dim torches lining the walls.

Stella’s feathers bristled visibly, her hair flaring as if to intimidate him through sheer presence. “Do you even comprehend who you’re speaking to?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the oppressive air. “This is incompetence on a monumental scale.”

The clerk finally looked up, his unimpressed gaze meeting hers. “Names don’t change square footage, Lady Stella,” he said, enunciating her title just enough to hint at sarcasm. “You’ve got your keys. Good luck.”

Before Stella could respond, the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Stolas appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering torchlight. His feathers shifted slightly, and his expression a practiced blend of patience and mild exasperation, his romance book clutched tightly to his chest.

“Stella,” he began dryly, folding his hands neatly behind his back as he approached the desk. His tone carried the weary calm of someone who’d endured this sort of scene many times before. “I thought I asked you not to cause such a spectacle.”

Stella spun toward him, her feathers trembling with frustration. “Stolas, this is—”

"Outrageous, yes, Stella, so you've said," Stolas said blandly.

She faltered as her words caught in her throat. She turned to Millie, who had caught Stolas’s gaze and didn’t miss a beat. “Howdy again, Prince Fancy Feathers!” she said brightly, waving a hand in cheerful acknowledgment.

Stolas inclined his head slightly in Millie’s direction, his gaze thoughtful. “Millie, was it?” he asked, his voice polite but tinged with curiosity.

"Don't talk to her like you're friends!"

“That’s me,” Millie replied, her grin widening as she ignored Stella. “Don’t you worry none, Your Highness, I’ll keep this one in line.” She jerked her thumb toward Stella, whose feathers flared in visible protest.

Stella glared at Millie, but the imp barely came up to her waist, making the fiery energy of her confidence all the more striking. Millie didn’t hesitate, reaching out to give Stella’s side a hearty pat just above her hip, ignoring Stella’s growl. “We’re gonna have so much fun together,” Millie said, her voice bubbly and unbothered. “Why, in no time, she’ll be thankin’ your lucky stars we got paired up.”

“Lucky stars?” Stella hissed, her voice low and venomous. “This is a nightmare.”

Millie chuckled, crossing her arms and tilting her head up to meet Stella’s glare. “Nightmare, dream, it’s all about perspective. Just think—new beginnings, new friendships. Ain’t it magical?”

Stolas tilted his head, his smirk growing as he watched the exchange. “Well said, Millie,” he commented lightly. “Stella could benefit from a bit of perspective.”

“Stolas!” Stella snapped, her voice echoing sharply in the small office. “You’re not helping!”

“Oh, I disagree,” Stolas replied with mock seriousness, his talons tapping lightly against his chin. “I think I’m helping immensely.”

Millie grinned, gesturing toward the hallway with a cheerful flick of her hand. “C’mon now, roomie,” she said brightly. “Let’s go check out our digs. I’m callin’ the top bunk.”

“Top bunk?!” Stella’s voice rose sharply, echoing down the hall. “I am not sleeping in a bunk bed.”

Millie winked, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Well, you’d better get used to it. Change is good for the soul!”

As the pair disappeared down the corridor, Millie’s cheerful chatter drowned out Stella’s sharp protests. Stolas watched them go, the faint echo of Stella’s exasperated hissing still audible in the distance. He turned back to the clerk, inclining his head politely.

“Thank you for your patience,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and dignified. Then, with a soft chuckle, he murmured to himself, “Thicker than grits, indeed,” before turning on his heel and strolling away, the faint rhythm of his talons clicking against the stone floor echoing behind him.

~o0o~

The door to room 305 creaked open, causing Blitzo to wince as he shoved his way through. The room was much larger than he expected, with high ceilings and a single window dividing the space. It was painfully clear which side belonged to royalty. Velvet drapes framed the window, and suitcases embossed with intricate silver patterns were stacked neatly at the foot of the bed. A plush purple comforter, covered in golden sparkles that resembled stars, was draped across the mattress, its edges lined with embroidery that shimmered faintly in the window’s light.

Blitzo’s side, on the other hand, was bare—soon to be overtaken by his hand-me-down blankets and a mess of odds and ends. He was pleased to see that his belongings seemed to have all made it upstairs and were lined up against the wall, grateful that he had had the foresight to bring them to the building rather than leave them in the courtyard.

A faint scent of old leather and stale cigars wafted from his things, clashing with the lavender-tinged air that lingered on the other side of the room. The contrast was almost comical, if not a bit sad.

He placed his messenger bag on the wobbly chair by his desk and began to snoop around his roommate’s side.

He walked over to the window first, stopping in his tracks when the delicate tendrils of one of the several plants hung in neatly arranged pots hanging by the window reached out toward him.

Blitzo jumped back instinctively, his tail flicking like a whip as the plant’s tendrils twitched again. “Of course, a man-eating fern. Because why not?” he muttered, jabbing a finger at it like it owed him rent. “You try anything, and I’ll be the one doing the eating, got it?” He hesitated, then leaned slightly closer, squinting at its sharp leaves. “Okay, maybe not, but you’d better behave.” He made a mental note to steer clear of that one as he moved to the small bookshelf underneath the window.

On top of it was a collection of peculiar trinkets: an ornate hourglass filled with what looked like stardust, a notebook covered with runes drawn in ballpoint pen, and a small gilded cage housing an iridescent bird that seemed to blink whenever he looked away.

Blitzo froze, his eyes locked on the bird. “Did—did you just blink at me?” he asked, pointing a finger at the cage. The bird stayed perfectly still, its beady eyes glinting in the light. He squinted, then waved a hand in front of the cage. The bird blinked again, slower this time. Blitzo let out a high-pitched yelp, stumbling back. “Nope! Nope, absolutely not. I don’t trust anything that blinks when I’m not looking. Creepy little bastard.”

He moved towards the desk. At the center, encased in pristine glass, was an elaborately decorated leather book. The cover was blue, etched with intricate golden filigree, and inlaid with a smooth red gemstone on the spine. A strange, almost electric hum emanated from it, prickling Blitzo’s skin and making his tail twitch.

He narrowed his eyes, something about the book tickling the edge of his memory. He’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place where. “What kind of pretentious idiot puts a book in a glass case?” he muttered, shaking his head to clear the nagging thought.

His attention shifted to a photograph in an ornate frame beside the case. He lingered on the woman in the picture, narrowing his eyes as he studied the poised and regal figure. An owl demon with an almost otherworldly grace, she stood with a serene smile. Her crescent-shaped headdress caught the light in an almost breathtaking way, and her long flowing robes seemed to embody authority. For a moment, the image of a small, wide-eyed owl boy flashed in his mind—the resemblance was uncanny.

Blitzo’s tail flicked sharply, the memory hitting him harder than expected. That day a decade ago—the stolen ceremonial dagger, jewelry, and everything else he’d managed to swipe, the frantic scramble out of the palace, and the gnawing guilt that followed. The kid had seemed so lonely.

He scoffed, forcing the thought away. “No point in feeling guilty,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with bitterness. “Can’t unsteal any of it now, anyway.” The words lacked conviction, but he latched onto them, brushing the guilt aside like dust off his hands.

Just as he turned away, another photograph caught his eye. This one leaned against the frame, slightly tucked to the side. It featured a tall parrot demon with fiery plumage cascading down his back like a cape. Across the bottom, in neat handwriting, were the words: Te amo, Pajarito. The demon in the photo wore an impeccably tailored red suit, its sharp lines, and polished buttons practically screaming wealth. His impossibly long legs ended in white thigh-high boots, and he held a glass of wine in one hand, his elongated neck tilted with a smirk that exuded superiority.

Blitzo snorted. “What an uppity royal.” Blitzo crossed his arms, glaring at the photo as if it had personally insulted him. “You just know he orders drinks with extra ice to seem important,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Probably calls himself a connoisseur of wine while he swirls it around, pretending to taste 'hints of oak' or whatever fancy shit people say.”

He gestured at the photo, his tone turning theatrical. “‘Look at me, I’m the pinnacle of sophistication! My boots are thigh-high because I’m too good for regular legs!’” His tail lashed behind him as he huffed. “Bet he smells like orange blossoms and arrogance.”

I hate him already. His tail flicked as the thought crossed his mind. The unsettling charm in the demon’s sharp gaze twisted something annoyingly pleasant in Blitzo’s stomach, causing him to turn away with a shake of his head. “I hope it’s not him I’m rooming with.”

Blitzo glanced around again, his distaste growing with every perfectly placed item. “What the hell kind of person needs a setup like this?” he muttered, tripping over one of the pristine suitcases and cursing as he shoved it aside. “Yeah,” he said under his breath as he flopped onto his creaking mattress. “Definitely a bookwormy control freak.”

He coughed as a plume of dust rose from his bed, wrinkling his nose at the musky smell that clung to the air. For a moment, he closed his eyes. A nap sounded tempting right about then, but the weight of Cash’s voice echoed in his mind: Don’t screw this up.

Grumbling, Blitzo pushed himself upright, pulled the key from his bag, and slipped it into his pocket before jumping to his feet. He shot one last glare at the glittering, over-the-top setup across the room. “Better go see what King Fizz is up to,” he muttered, shoving the door open with more force than necessary.

By the time Blitzo arrived downstairs, the group had moved from the courtyard to the cafeteria. The buzz of excitement was palpable on his tongue—this place was already beginning to grate on his nerves. He groaned inwardly and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets as he walked around the group that surrounded Fizz in the middle of the room.

“Wow!” someone called, their voice tinged with excitement. “Fizzarolli, you’re really here!”

“Your work with prosthetics is incredible,” another gushed, practically pushing past their classmates to reach him. “I read about your last showcase—brilliant!”

Lucifer, these guys are broken records. Blitzo rolled his eyes, scoffing and wording the words Fizz responded with, “Oh, you flatter me!” Blitzo copied Fizz’s pose, clasped his hands under his chin, and batted his eyes. “But please, don’t stop!”

This caused several of the people beside him to glare, but he merely gave them the finger before moving towards Fizz. He reached out and grabbed Fizz’s hand, squeezing it tightly to catch his attention, his claws pressing into Fizz’s palm. The tension in his grip matched the bitterness twisting in his chest, a silent demand to be noticed as frustration clawed its way to the surface. Fizz turned, cocking his head with a curious tilt before nodding in acknowledgment as Blitzo signed “eat” with his free hand. The crowd surged closer, their excitement pressing in, and Blitzo’s grip tightened instinctively, his frustration flaring. In response, Fizz gave his hand two deliberate squeezes—an unspoken attempt to calm him.

“Is that his assistant?” someone whispered loudly, causing Blitzo to twitch.

“Probably,” another replied. “He’s, like, his shadow or something.”

A third student snickered. “What if he’s, like, Fizzarolli’s stalker?” Their voice was low, but the laughter from their group was loud enough to reach Blitzo’s ears.

“That doesn’t even make any fucking sense!” Blitzo snapped, letting go of Fizz’s hand to turn towards the whispering demons.

The group exchanged snickers, their eyes darting between him and Fizz like they’d won some unspoken game. Blitzo clenched his fists, his tail lashing sharply behind him, but his sharp retort died in his throat when he caught the flicker of movement as Fizz stepped forward. His prosthetic joints whirred faintly as he pulled a set of juggling balls from his pocket. With a practiced flourish, he tossed the balls high into the air, drawing the crowd’s attention instantly. Their delighted gasps drowned out the whispering students entirely, leaving Blitzo to stew in his frustration at the edge of the chaos.

Blitzo exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders unraveling into something rawer. Of course, he thought bitterly, stepping back toward the nearest pillar. He didn’t even say anything to defend me. Not once. His tail flicked restlessly, the hollow ache in his chest gnawing at him as he leaned against the cold stone.

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, watching the crowd swarm closer to Fizz. Their cheers rang in his ears like mockery, each voice seeming to shout what he already knew: Fizz belonged in the spotlight. He didn’t. The thought burned, sharp and jagged, leaving him to choke down the lump rising in his throat. Of course, Fizz didn’t need him. Why would he? This was just another reminder that Blitzo would always be the sideshow, never the act.

Fizz spun in place, the balls moving in perfect arcs before he caught the final one with ease. His grin wavered for the briefest moment—so subtle that the roaring crowd didn’t notice. Tightening his smile, he threw himself back into the act, each practiced move a polished distraction, a shield against the guilt twisting in his chest. Later, he thought bitterly as he bowed theatrically, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. I’ll deal with him later.

“Thank you, thank you,” Fizz said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

Blitzo’s jaw tightened and he looked towards the floor, the crowd’s voices blurring together as white noise to his ears. He hated how small, how insignificant he felt in moments like this— like the room had swallowed him whole, leaving only Fizz’s spotlight behind.

The crowd pressed closer, with a few students pushing forward in their excitement, their enthusiasm teetering on the edge of aggression. The heat of their bodies and the bright lantern light thickened the air, making each breath feel heavier than the last. Shadows twisted erratically along the jagged carvings in the walls, and the leering faces seemed to warp and shift with the stifling tension in the room.

“Fizz, can I get your autograph?” one student begged, shoving a notebook in his face, their hands trembling with excitement.

“Fizzarolli, are you free to collaborate on my thesis?” another interrupted, practically stepping over the first student to push their way to the front.

“Fizz! Over here!” someone else shouted, a flash going off as they snapped a photo.

Fizz’s grin faltered, his metallic fingers twitching as he tried to manage the onslaught. “Alright, one at a time!” he said, his usual charm tinged with strain. He raised a hand in an attempt to calm them, but the crowd surged closer, oblivious to his discomfort. A chair screeched loudly against the stone floor as someone shoved past it, nearly tripping in their eagerness. Another student bumped into Fizz’s side, making his joints click audibly. His grin tightened, and he shifted awkwardly, his usual composure beginning to crack.

Blitzo watched from the sidelines, his claws digging into the flesh of his thighs, the sharp sting grounding him as his chest tightened, his breathing growing shallower as the scene unfolded. His tail lashed sharply behind him, narrowly missing a nearby table. They love him so much, they’re gonna crush him, he thought, his frustration mixing with an unshakable bitterness. And me? I’m just the invisible idiot in the corner, as usual.

The air in the cafeteria thickened with the mingling scents of sweat, scorched magic, and stale food. Bodies jostled closer, their overlapping voices merging into a dissonant roar that rattled Blitzo’s nerves. It felt less like a crowd and more like a tide, pulling Fizz into its relentless current. Blitzo’s claws flexed, his chest tightening as the space around him seemed to shrink.

This is what they want, he thought bitterly. Fizz, the star. Me, the nobody. His tail lashed violently, catching the edge of a chair and sending it skittering across the stone floor with a sharp scrape. The sound barely registered over the roar of voices clamoring for Fizz’s attention.

Doesn’t he see it? The thought burned, raw and jagged, as Blitzo’s glare locked onto Fizz’s easy, practiced grin. Doesn’t he feel it?

The crowd’s voices a rising tide threatening to drown him, each word cutting deeper into his patience:

“Fizz, you’re a genius!”

“Your work changed my life!”

“Can we schedule a meeting? I have so many ideas to share!”

Each word landed like a dart, piercing the fragile armor Blitzo fought to keep intact. His claws flexed harder, the fabric of his pants pulling taut under the pressure until it threatened to tear. Why’s it always so easy for him? The question burned, the sting sharper with every cheer aimed at Fizz. Why’s it always him?

When a particularly overeager student grabbed Fizz’s arm, his metallic fingers flexing awkwardly in response, Blitzo snapped himself from his thoughts and strode forward with purposeful steps. The heat in his body seemed to intensify as he moved, the carvings on the walls appearing to glare down at him with disapproval.

“Alright, back the fuck off!” Blitzo barked, his voice slicing through the chaos, sharp and commanding. The words cracked through the air like a whip, silencing the room. For a split second, relief flashed in Fizz’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the mask of the star they demanded. “Blitzo,” he hissed in warning, watching the crowd wearily.

The crowd had frozen, tension rippling through the space. Then, as if on cue, the murmurs began to rise again, low and uncertain, spreading from one cluster to the next. A few students shifted uneasily, their glances darting between Blitzo and Fizz. One near the back took a hesitant step away, their face tight with discomfort.

Blitzo’s tail lashed behind him, the motion a sharp echo of his irritation. “He’s not a damn circus act—give him some space!”

One student near the back whispered, “Why’s the assistant yelling?” Their words were carried, followed by a ripple of uncomfortable laughter that spread through the group.

A student near the edge of the crowd tilted their phone for a better angle, the glow of the screen reflecting the uneasy faces shifting behind them. A ripple of whispers threaded through the room, low and buzzing, like static in the air. A faint shuffle rippled through the group as students leaned closer to Fizz, their faces a mix of awe and unease. The air around him seemed to buzz with anticipation, their bodies pressing closer as if proximity might allow them to share in his shine.

A few students exchanged uneasy glances, while others simply stood there, unsure what to do.

Fizz’s nervous chuckle filled the silence, his grin now more of a grimace. “Blitzo, come on,” he said, his voice low but strained, the edges of his words tinged with embarrassment. He reached over and grabbed Blitzo’s wrist, rubbing his thumb gently over where he felt Blitzo’s pulse racing. “I don’t need you to play bodyguard, okay?”

Blitzo frowned, his free arm hugged tightly over his stomach, fingers digging into his tank top. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta stop you from getting trampled.”

Fizz’s smile faltered, his metallic fingers twitching against Blitzo’s wrist. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze flicking to the crowd, their eyes heavy with expectation. The weight of their stares pressed down on him, a silent demand to keep the act intact. His grip on Blitzo’s wrist tightened briefly before he released it, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. His gaze darted back to Blitzo’s, and for just a heartbeat, something softer—guilt, maybe—flickered across his face. It vanished as quickly as it had come.

Fizz’s grin twitched, but there was a flicker of something behind it—something sharp and fleeting, gone before it could take root. His voice dropped slightly, quieter but sharper. “I had it under control. You didn’t need to step in.” The words came fast, almost mechanical, as though he had spoken them more to convince himself than Blitzo.

His smile stretched too wide, the edges threatening to fray as his gaze darted back to the crowd. Their expectant stares pressed in like a weight he couldn’t shake, demanding the polished, unshakable performer they came to see. A thin crack flickered in his eyes—too fast for anyone but Blitzo to notice—before he swallowed it down and squared his shoulders. There was no room for mistakes. Not here. Not with so many eyes watching.

Blitzo tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he tightly crossed his arms over his chest. “You sure? ‘Cause it looks like you were about two seconds away from being flattened.”

Fizz’s joints creaked softly as he clenched his fists. His metallic fingers flexed again, the faint sound carrying through the unnaturally quiet room. “What I don’t need is you embarrassing me in front of everyone,” he snapped, his voice breaking the tension like a shard of glass.

The words hit harder than Blitzo expected, their force like a punch to the gut. For a brief second, his glare faltered, his tail curling into a tight coil. The sting of Fizz’s words burrowed into his chest, twisting painfully. Typical. Even when I’m trying to help, I’m just the screw-up.

He masked the hurt with a bitter glare. “Embarrassing you?” he shot back, his voice rising. “I’m the one keeping you from getting smothered!”

A ripple of whispers moved through the crowd, some students exchanging uneasy glances while others edged closer, curious but wary. One student near the back muttered, “What the hell is his problem?” The faint buzz of a phone’s recording screen caught the edge of Fizz’s vision, his fingers tightening briefly before he forced his expression neutral.

Fizz stepped closer, his joints clicking as he jabbed a metallic finger toward Blitzo’s chest. “You hate it, don’t you?” he hissed, his voice low and sharp. “That they’re looking at me. That they’re listening to me.”

Blitzo blinked, momentarily stunned. His tail stilled before snapping sharply behind him, a sharp echo of his mounting frustration. “Yeah, and you’re just lapping it up, huh? Mr. Perfect, Mr. Star of the Show,” he spat, his voice rising. “You don’t give a damn who gets stepped on as long as you get your applause!”

Fizz’s expression cracked for just a moment—too quick for most to notice. “At least I’m worth looking at!” he fired back. His prosthetic fingers flexed audibly, the faint sound of metal grating against itself cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

The crowd gasped, the tension thickening like a storm about to break. Fizz swallowed hard, his wide grin now strained as he flicked his gaze toward the audience, their eyes heavy with judgment. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, just loud enough for Blitzo to hear. “You’ve never had to. You’ll never get what it’s like to carry all this.”

“Oh, screw you, Fizz,” he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. “You know what? Deal with it yourself!”

He threw his hands up in defeat, and his tail snapped like a whip behind him as he turned away. Each step thundered against the stone floor, his boots carrying him out with a finality that silenced even the scattered murmurs of the crowd, which parted awkwardly to let him pass. Their eyes followed him with a mix of confusion and judgment.

Near the back, heads turned, and a ripple of hushed whispers spread through the group. One student leaned toward another, their voice barely muffled as they muttered, "Did he seriously just yell like that?" The second stifled a laugh, their hand covering their mouth as they glanced at Fizz, who hadn’t yet moved.

Someone muttered, "Talk about overreacting," as Blitzo stormed by, but he didn’t turn around.

“Fine,” he thought bitterly. “Let them have their star. I’m done.” The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the hall like a final punctuation to his exit.

Someone else, pretending to scroll, glanced up and quietly filmed as murmurs began spreading like wildfire, low and buzzing, threading through the room. A pair of students whispered animatedly to each other, their eyes darting between Fizz and the closed door Blitzo had stormed through. Others in the crowd shifted their focus back to Fizz with uncertain eyes. One student fidgeted with their notebook, pretending to be absorbed in its blank pages, while another whispered nervously to a friend.

Fizz let out a frustrated sigh, his metallic fingers flexing restlessly as his shoulders sagged. His gaze lingered on the door Blitzo had slammed behind him, the echo of retreating footsteps still ringing faintly in his ears.

A faint click broke the stillness as someone snapped a photo and murmured, “He handled that freak so well,” barely audible over the restless shifting of the crowd.

With a practiced inhale Fizz straightened himself, smoothing his expression as if erasing the sting of Blitzo’s words. He turned back to the crowd, grin returning with an effortless shift that betrayed none of the turmoil beneath. “Sorry about that, folks,” he said, his tone honeyed but strained. “Blitzo means well, but, you know... he can get a little carried away.”

Blitzo’s anger, Fizz knew, came from a place of care—of loyalty—but that didn’t soften the sting of his friend’s words. Not now, not with so many eyes on him, waiting for a slip in his performance.

The crowd’s nervous laughter rippled through the room, the tension easing slightly as Fizz steered their attention back to himself. His laugh echoed above the murmurs, but the sound felt hollow to his ears. Forcing a wide grin, he cracked another joke, his metallic fingers flexing reflexively—the faint clicks masked by scattered applause.

The crowd needed the act, needed the mask he wore so effortlessly. With another deep breath, Fizz straightened his posture, burying the guilt beneath the well-rehearsed layers of charm he wore like armor. He cracked a joke, his voice steady despite the tightness in his throat. The crowd’s laughter blurred into a distant hum as he refocused on their expectant faces. His grin stretched wider, polished and perfect, a performance honed through years of practice. Not now, he thought. Not here. Whatever apology Blitzo deserved would have to wait. Still, the guilt lingered, a dull throb beneath the applause. Blitzo hadn’t been wrong—not entirely—but Fizz couldn’t let that show. Not with all these eyes watching, waiting for a crack in his armor to dissect and pick apart.

~o0o~

Blitzo slammed through the first door he saw, not caring what was inside. His chest heaved, the words Fizz had spat still clawing at the edges of his mind. “Worth looking at,” he muttered bitterly, the words burning like acid. His reflection stared back at him from a cracked, tarnished mirror mounted on the wall—sharp teeth, wild eyes, a face that screamed chaos. He threw a punch, and the glass splintered under his fist, shards scattering onto the cold floor.

Is that what he sees? Blitzo wondered, staring at his bloodied fist. His tail drooped, the fire in his chest dimming just enough to let doubt creep in. Is that all I am to him?

Blitzo shoved the door open again and stormed down the hall, his tail lashing behind him. Why the hell does he care so much about what they think? He thought, bitterness flaring with every step. It’s not like they’re ever going to stop looking at him. The familiar ache gnawed at his chest, sharper now, heavier.

As he turned a corner, the towering spires of the academy came into view, framed by the arched windows that stretched almost to the ceiling. The jagged spires clawed at the crimson sky, framed by storm-like Hellfire clouds. He barely spared them a glance, his focus buried in clawing memories. The grandeur of the academy didn’t impress him—it pissed him off.

“Yeah, this place screams, ‘You don’t belong here, Blitzo.’ Fancy spires, ancient magic, and zero room for screw-ups.” He kicked a loose stone hard, watching it skitter away like it was mocking him. “Perfect fit.”

Cash’s voice echoed in his head, cold and dismissive, dripping with disdain. “Don’t embarrass the family.”

Blitzo laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating as it escaped his throat. “Too late for that,” he said aloud, his words bouncing back at him in the quiet. His claws flexed again, and his tail lashed again, but with less force this time, as though even it was growing weary of the fight.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his claws scraping against the loose change and fraying threads as his shoulders slumped. The fiery heat from his anger began to cool, replaced by a dull ache that settled deep in his chest. His boots dragged against the floor, his strides slowing as exhaustion crept in.

Muffled laughter broke the silence like a knife through his thoughts. Blitzo stiffened, his ears twitching. He didn’t need to hear it twice to know who it was—Fizz’s bright, carefree laugh, as if nothing had gone wrong. The sound twisted in his chest, mocking and out of reach.

Fizz’s words echoed like a sharp slap: “You’re jealous because you’re not the one they’re here for!” Blitzo’s stomach twisted, the truth hitting harder than he wanted to admit. Yeah. Maybe. But he doesn’t have to act like it’s my fault.

The hum of magic in the walls buzzed faintly in his ears, making the empty corridors feel alive, watching. He felt small against the towering arches and intricate carvings, the academy’s grandeur amplifying the ache in his chest.

“All I wanted was to help,” he thought bitterly, leaning against a cold stone window sill. The sprawling expanse below was quiet, but it still felt like it was watching him. Hellfire clouds churned endlessly on the horizon. “But no, Blitz the Screw-Up strikes again. Always too much, always in the way.”

“All I ever do is make things worse,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and bitter. “But sure, let’s pretend I’m fine, right? Blitzo the big joke—always good for a laugh.” Blitzo sighed, a long, heavy exhale that seemed to drain what little energy he had left. He leaned against the wall beside the window, his head tilting back as his tail drooped limply behind him. “Why do I even bother?” he murmured, the words barely audible over the faint crackle of the torches.

He paused, pressing himself tightly to the cold stone wall as he attempted to ground himself. The air was damper, heavier, as though the academy itself was pressing in on him. He closed his eyes, the distant hum of magic from the walls thrumming faintly in his ears. Every breath felt like dragging fire through his chest. Fizz’s words still echoed, sharp and jagged, rattling in his head.

For a moment, the noise of the academy faded. Blitzo’s tail stilled, curling loosely around his ankle as he forced himself to breathe. The rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the distance broke through the oppressive silence, grounding him just enough to let his thoughts slow. His claws flexed against the wall, scraping against the stone as he exhaled shakily. He could feel the sting of his earlier frustration curling in his gut, raw and bitter.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor beyond, a steady rhythm that drew closer, too deliberate to belong to one of the milling students. Blitzo frowned, his ears twitching as he straightened, instinctively squaring his shoulders. He shoved the knot of frustration deeper into his chest, plastering on the sharp-edged smirk he wore so well.

He pushed himself off the wall and rounded the corner too quickly, running headfirst into the person whose footsteps he heard. The impact sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. The air was knocked out of him in a sharp oof, and for a moment, all he could see was the faint flicker of the torchlight reflecting off polished boots. His tail curled instinctively as he braced himself, blinking up at the figure now towering over him.

“Watch where you’re—” Blitzo started, his voice sharp and irritated as he scrambled to his knees, his tail curled instinctively as he braced himself, blinking up at the figure now towering over him. His words caught in his throat as a familiar figure stepped into the faint glow of the torches.

Prince Stolas stood tall and elegant, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes. His graceful appearance seemed almost surreal against the dim, gothic corridor, and his navy and grey feathers gleamed faintly in the glow of the torches. A faint, lavender scent clung to him, completely contrasting with the dusty, oppressive air of the academy. His large, expressive eyes blinked down at Blitzo, wide with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

“Blitzo?” Stolas asked, tilting his head slightly. His voice was soft, kind, and laced with a curious hesitance, as though he wasn’t entirely sure it was him.

Blitzo stared, dumbfounded, for a beat too long. “Uh... yeah?” His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, disbelief colouring his tone.

A small smile tugged at Stolas’s beak, and he extended a hand toward Blitzo, his long fingers poised delicately but firmly. “I thought that was you,” he said, his tone light with just a hint of delight as though he’d stumbled upon a treasured memory.

Blitzo hesitated, his eyes darting between Stolas’s face and the offered hand. What’s his angle? he wondered, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why’s he so damn friendly? But the warm, stupidly kind expression on Stolas’s face wasn’t mocking—it was genuine, annoyingly so. With a reluctant grunt, he reached out and let Stolas pull him to his feet with a firm but graceful grip.

As Stolas released him, a faint warmth lingered on Blitzo’s hand. He blinked, looking down to find the blood and shallow cuts on his knuckles gone, the skin smooth and unblemished. His breath caught in his throat. What the hell just happened? His tail flicked sharply behind him, betraying his nerves. He curled his hand into a fist, flexing it experimentally, half-expecting it to hurt. It didn’t. The sting of broken skin was gone, replaced by an eerie warmth that made his stomach twist.

“Did you...?” he started, glancing up at Stolas, whose composed expression hadn’t faltered. There wasn’t a hint of acknowledgment, no smugness or explanation, just that annoyingly calm gaze that felt like it could see straight through him. Blitzo flexed his fingers experimentally, half-expecting the cuts to reappear.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Blitzo asked instead, his voice sharper than he intended. His tail lashed again, but his thoughts were racing. Why’d he do that? What does he want from me? Does he think I’m some kind of charity case?

Stolas chuckled softly, his feathers fluffing slightly in amusement. “I could ask you the same,” he replied, his tone light but curious. “I’m here for my studies. Politics, ancient magic... you know, the usual for a Goetia.”

Blitzo nodded stiffly, barely hearing the words. His gaze flicked to his hand again, then back to Stolas, who was watching him with polite interest. The casual way Stolas acted, like healing someone’s injuries was just another Tuesday, made Blitzo’s skin crawl. What’s his game?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Stolas said as he tilted his head, his large eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Blitzo snapped out of his thoughts, forcing a grin. “Oh, you know,” he said, shoving his newly healed hand into his pants pocket. “Just carrying bags, stealing fancy-dagger vibes, and not embarrassing people. The usual for a thieving circus clown.”

“Hmm,” Stolas murmured, his gaze lingering on Blitzo’s pocketed hand for the briefest moment before returning to his face. He didn’t press further, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his beak as if he found something amusing about the deflection.

Blitzo scowled. Great. Now he’s laughing at me. His tail flicked sharply again, and he resisted the urge to look at his hand one more time. What’s with this bird?

But something about Stolas’s gaze—open, unflinching, and annoyingly kind—made Blitzo’s stomach twist. He wasn’t used to being looked at like that, as if he were worth the effort of someone’s attention. Not pity, not annoyance—just... curiosity, or maybe something warmer. It felt too much like the way his mother used to look at him when he scraped a knee and swore up and down that it didn’t hurt.

“It’s good to see a familiar face,” Stolas said sincerely, his large eyes softening as they lingered on Blitzo’s disheveled appearance. There was no judgment in his gaze—just quiet curiosity, as though Blitzo were a puzzle worth solving. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he added, his tone warm enough to stir something Blitzo hadn’t felt in years: the faint, unnerving sense of being seen.

Blitzo’s scowl wavered for a second, his lips twitching upward despite himself. The stupidly earnest way Stolas looked at him—like he actually saw something worth the effort—made his chest feel a little lighter. Annoying, really.

"Why the hell is he looking at me like that?" Blitzo thought, irritation and something else—something softer—twisting in his chest. He forced the smirk away before it could fully form, but the faint lightness lingered like an annoying itch.

He coughed and glanced away, forcing the faint smirk back into a frown. Shifting awkwardly, he crossed his arms over his chest. The usual sarcasm that came so easily to him felt heavier now, harder to summon under Stolas’s unwavering gaze. “Yeah, well, I’m here to carry bags and not embarrass people, apparently.” The bitterness in his tone slipped out before he could stop it, his tail curling in irritation as the weight of his earlier fight with Fizz settled on him again.

Stolas’s eyebrows lifted slightly in concern, but he didn’t press. Instead, his expression shifted as if a thought had struck him. His eyes widened slightly, and a faint smile played on his lips. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Blitzo groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “Don’t remind me. You were the weird kid who wouldn’t stop talking about books and stars.”

“And you stole my father’s ceremonial dagger,” Stolas replied, his tone amused but edged with fondness. His feathers fluffed lightly as though the memory delighted him far more than it should have. “Quite the impression you left.”

“I stole much more than that,” Blitzo said with a smirk, his tail flicking with a hint of amusement now. Stolas blinked, his expression flickering between exasperation and something softer— endearment, maybe. “Not much has changed,” Blitzo muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Stolas tilted his head, his smile growing a touch wider. “No, perhaps it hasn’t.”

For a brief moment, their awkwardness softened, melting into something lighter, easier, and more manageable. Flickering firelight cast shadows across their faces, the uneven glow highlighting the contrast between Stolas’s polished, composed demeanor and Blitzo’s rough, chaotic energy. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable—it was oddly calm, a brief reprieve from the chaos that seemed to follow Blitzo everywhere.

“So,” Stolas finally said, his tone gentle but curious, “are you... alright?”

Blitzo blinked at him, caught off guard. His immediate instinct was to deflect, to snap back with some sarcastic quip, but something in the way Stolas looked at him—genuinely, with no hint of judgment—made him pause. He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve been worse,” he finally muttered, his voice gruff.

Stolas nodded, his feathers shifting lightly with the motion as though Blitzo’s gruff reply was all the answer he needed. “If you ever need anything,” he said, his voice soft but sincere. A faint smile tugged at his beak as he added, “Or if these halls leave you hopelessly lost—which they often do—you can come find me.”

Blitzo snorted, the sound sharp but lacking its usual bite. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, already stepping back. “Careful not to trip on your way to the cosmos, Your Majesty.”

Stolas chuckled softly, his feathers fluffing slightly in amusement. “I’ll do my best.”

For a moment, they lingered in the flickering torchlight, the dim corridor unusually quiet. Stolas’s warm and steady gaze remained fixed on Blitzo as if searching for something. This made Blitzo shift uncomfortably, his tail flicking sharply behind him.

Why’s he staring at me like that? Blitzo thought, his chest tightening under the weight of that stupidly kind gaze. He rolled his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to shake off the feeling. “Weird bird,” he muttered under his breath, but the words lacked venom, trailing off as he turned to walk away.

His footsteps echoed softly in the still corridor. He didn’t glance back at first, though the sensation of being watched lingered like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. His chest felt... lighter, somehow, like the weight of the day had shifted. Not gone, but no longer pressing quite as hard. Yet the sting of Fizz’s earlier words still hovered at the edges of his mind, refusing to let go completely.

The flickering torches cast jagged shadows that danced along the cold stone, their uneven glow lending the walls an eerie, restless quality. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint smell of aged stone and something metallic, like the remnants of old magic woven into the academy’s bones. Blitzo hunched his shoulders as he walked, his boots clicking softly against the floor. The silence pressed against him, amplifying the sound of his fading footsteps as they echoed faintly down the corridor.

Stolas lingered, his large eyes catching the flicker of firelight as it danced along the corridor walls. The sharp edges of Blitzo’s frustration still hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. Beneath the fire, though, Stolas saw something more fragile—a quiet ache that struck an all-too-familiar chord in his chest. How long has he carried this? The question settled uncomfortably in his mind, stirring a faint unease he couldn’t quite name.

With a soft rustle of his cape, Stolas turned and began walking away, his talons clicking softly against the stone. But his thoughts lingered on Blitzo’s clenched fists and guarded scowl. It’s not just anger, Stolas realized. It’s a fortress— layers of jagged defenses stacked so high that even he seemed lost inside them. For a moment, he slowed, tempted to stay. Yet he pushed the feeling aside, his gaze darkening. Whatever anchored Blitzo to that pain, Stolas doubted he’d welcome anyone attempting to untangle it.

Unaware of Stolas’s lingering thoughts, Blitzo shuffled forward, his steps dragging under the weight of his own bitterness. “Gotta love this place,” he muttered, his voice low and sardonic. “Full of surprises. Mostly bad ones—like finding out you’re still the same screw-up, no matter where you go.” The torches crackled softly in reply, their flickering light casting jagged shadows that twisted like silent, unseen watchers along the walls.

~o0o~

When Blitzo returned to his room, it was well after dark, and most of the crowds had dissipated from the corridors. He sighed heavily as he pushed open the door, freezing and groaning in disbelief when Stolas turned to greet him.

Stolas looked up from his desk, a small smile gracing his beak. “Blitzo,” he greeted warmly, his tone as composed as ever. He closed the book he’d been reading with a deliberate snap. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Blitzo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of all the people in this dump, I get stuck with the walking thesaurus.” He stomped over to his bed and dropped his bag unceremoniously onto the sagging mattress.

Stolas tilted his head, his feathers ruffling slightly in amusement. “You make it sound like I planned this,” he replied lightly. “I’d call it fate.”

“I’d call it Hell,” Blitzo muttered, crouching to shove his bag under the bed. “What, did the fancy feathers not earn you a private suite?”

“Apparently not,” Stolas said with a soft chuckle, stepping back to lean against his desk. “But I’d like to think of this as an adventure. A chance to... embrace the unfamiliar.” Stolas’s gaze lingered on Blitzo a moment longer, his eyes warm with a flicker of curiosity. Blitzo shifted under the weight of that look, muttering something incoherent as he turned away. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, “Though I suspect you don’t share my enthusiasm.”

Blitzo snorted, flopping onto his bed with a dramatic groan. “Oh yeah, rooming with you is the dream. Real enlightening. Like living with a talking chandelier that smells like a spa and won’t shut up about books.”

Stolas laughed softly, his voice smooth and lilting. “And sharing a room with you, I’m sure, will be a masterclass in restraint and tidiness.”

Blitzo propped himself up on one elbow, narrowing his eyes. “Just keep your royal talons off my stuff, got it? No ‘redecorating’ my side of the room.”

Stolas’s gaze flicked to the pile of clothes spilling out of Blitzo’s half-zipped bag, and his beak twitched with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he said, a note of playful condescension in his tone. “Your... aesthetic is far too distinct for me to tamper with. It practically commands attention.”

Blitzo pointed a claw at him, his tail lashing behind him. “I’m serious. No funny business. This is my space.”

Stolas lifted his hands in mock surrender, his feathers fluffing slightly. “Understood. Your sacred territory is safe with me... roommate.”

“Don’t call me that,” Blitzo grumbled, flopping back onto the bed. “Roommate. Ugh. This is gonna be a disaster.”

The hum of Stolas’s magic filled the room again, faint and almost melodic, as he opened another book. Blitzo tried to ignore it, but the contrast between his roommate’s composed movements and his restless irritation was impossible to miss. Even the faint lavender scent hanging in the air felt like an insult.

“You better not snore,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Stolas glanced over his shoulder, looking faintly affronted. “I assure you, I do not snore.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Blitzo shot back, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. “You probably hum lullabies in your sleep or something.”

A soft chuckle escaped Stolas as he returned to his book, the corners of his beak curling upward. “Perhaps. Though if I do, I’m sure they’ll be quite soothing.”

Soothing, my ass. Probably sounds like a haunted organ recital. Blitzo huffed, but something about the way Stolas said it—like he actually believed it—needled at the edges of his irritation. Annoying bird. He yanked the pillow over his head with a groan. “Fantastic. Just kill me now.”

Even as the irritation simmered, Blitzo couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of relief. If nothing else, at least this weird bird wasn’t as insufferable as he could’ve been. Yet.

The faint sound of Stolas turning a page filled the room, accompanied by a soft, lingering hum of magic. Blitzo tried to ignore it, but his tail twitched restlessly. This was going to be a long night.

~o0o~

Down the hall, Stella stood frozen in the doorway of her new room, her feathers trembling slightly as her eyes roamed over the plain and unremarkable space. The room was drab, with creaky beds, scuffed walls, and a faint, musty smell that clung to the air like an insult. Her claws curled tightly at her sides, her feathers trembling as though even the air offended her sensibilities.

“This is a nightmare,” Stella said flatly, her voice cutting through the quiet. She remained rooted in place, refusing to step further inside.

Behind her, Millie was already unpacking with cheerful efficiency. With a satisfying thud, she set a sturdy bag on the floor and turned to face Stella, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

Stella’s gaze dropped to Millie’s belongings, her lip curling in visible disgust as a scuffed leather bag with frayed stitching spilled its contents across the floor. “What... is that?” she asked, her voice caught between horror and disbelief.

Millie glanced down at the mess of mismatched socks, a hunting knife, and what appeared to be a jar of pickled something-or-other. “Oh, that’s my travel kit!” she chirped, leaning down to scoop it up. “You’d be amazed how handy this stuff is. Never know when you’ll need a jar o’ somethin’ pickled!”

“Pickled,” Stella repeated, her voice flat as her feathers bristled further. “I... I think I’m going to be ill.” Stella’s icy glare snapped to Millie, her feathers bristling like a ruffled hawk. “I want to be with Stolas,” she hissed, enunciating every word as though trying to imprint them onto the universe itself. "Even sleeping in the same room as him would be better than this nightmare."

Millie tilted her head, clearly unimpressed by Stella’s dramatics. “Bless your heart, sugar, but you’ve said ‘nightmare’ so many times, I’m wonderin’ if you’re fixin’ to star in one.”

Stella’s feathers twitched violently as her head jerked back. “‘Fixin’ to star?’ What even is that barbaric phrasing?” she spat. “Are you incapable of proper speech, or do you simply revel in butchering language for sport?”

Millie grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, ain’t you just a fancy lil’ linguist,” she said, her accent thickening with every word. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll teach you all the good phrases before long!”

Stella’s expression darkened, her claws curling at her sides. “Over my dead body.”

“Suit yourself, roomie.” Millie shrugged, “And here I was gonna offer you the bed near the window as a nice bonus.”

Stella froze, her feathers fluffing with indignation as her gaze darted toward the bedframe. “A... bonus?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. How far have I fallen? She thought bitterly, her chest tightening. Reduced to this. The thought stung like a slap, but she squared her shoulders, refusing to let the indignity show. “I am not some commoner to be placated with window privileges, you—you insolent little—”

“Insolent? Fancy word for ‘fun.’ I like it.” Millie cut in cheerfully, completely unfazed.

Stella’s jaw worked wordlessly for a moment, her fingers twitching at her sides as though contemplating throttling her new roommate.

Stella turned her glare toward the chipped wooden bedframe, her lip curling in disdain. “That thing looks like it’s about to collapse under its weight.”

“Nah,” Millie replied, patting the frame with exaggerated confidence. “Solid as a rock. I reckon it could even hold a Goetia temper tantrum if it had to.”

Stella ignored the comment, spinning back to the door with a sharp movement that sent her feathers trembling. “This... this insult to my dignity cannot stand,” she muttered, pacing furiously. “First, Stolas is assigned to some imp, and now this nightmare?”

Millie sat on the edge of her bed, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. "There's nothin' to be done about it."

Stella froze mid-step, her icy glare burning into Millie. “This is beneath me,” she snapped. “I don’t belong here. None of this is right.”

Millie chuckled softly, standing and brushing her hands together. “Well, sugar, you got two options: you can keep squawkin’ like a hen in a storm, or you can start makin’ this place yours.” She gestured to the room with a broad sweep of her arm. “Ain’t perfect, I’ll give you that. But it’s got four walls, a roof, and a mighty fine roommate—what more could you want?”

Stella’s feathers bristled as she paced the room, her talons clicking sharply against the stone floor. Dignity? she thought bitterly. Did she even understand the weight of that word? The Goetia name commanded respect, demanded deference—and yet here she was, crammed into a drab little cell with a commoner whose every action was an affront to her sensibilities. This wasn’t just a room assignment; it was a symbol of how far she had fallen in their eyes.

Her feathers trembled as the thought sank in, sharp and bitter. They’re testing me, she realized, her jaw tightening. They’re watching to see if I’ll falter. This wasn’t about practicality; it was a calculated humiliation designed to strip away the prestige she carried. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let them see her break.

“What more could I want?” Stella snapped, spinning sharply to face Millie. Her silken feathers flicked over her shoulder, catching the faint light like an avian goddess ready to smite. “Dignity!” she cried, her voice rising into an almost operatic crescendo. “Do you even comprehend what that word means?”

Millie tilted her head, clearly enjoying the show, as she bit back a grin. “Oh, I comprehend it just fine,” she said, leaning casually against the chipped bedpost. “But sugar, I’m thinkin’ you got more feathers than sense if you think it’s gonna help you here.”

Stella’s jaw dropped, a strangled gasp escaping her. “Feathers than sense?!” she sputtered, her feathers trembling with anger. “You—You barbarian! Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“Someone who oughta sit down before she faints,” Millie replied with a wink. “I don’t got time to be pickin’ up faintin’ birds, ya hear?”

Stella let out an incoherent shriek, pacing furiously. “This is outrageous. This—this is a disaster!” She spun sharply, her feathers puffed to twice their usual size. “And you’re enjoying this!” She accused, shoving a finger in Millie’s face.

Millie leaned back, grinning. “Aw, sugar, you’re a quick learner. This’ll be fun.”

Stella let out an exasperated huff, spinning back toward the window. “I refuse to accept this,” she muttered, pacing.

“Well,” Millie said, sliding her pillow into place and giving it a cheerful pat. “Could be worse. I’m just hopin’ you’re not one of those loud sleepers.”

Stella froze mid-pace, her feathers fluffing again. “I am not loud!” she snapped.

“Good,” Millie said brightly, hopping onto her bed and crossing her legs. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Stella stared at her in disbelief, her feathers puffed to full volume. She opened her mouth to retort but quickly closed it, seemingly unsure what words could fully encompass her outrage.

Millie leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Yep,” she said to herself, staring up at the ceiling. “This’ll be more fun than a pig in mud.”

Stella glared at the ceiling, her feathers twitching in agitation. Somewhere in this chaos, there had to be a way to reclaim control—if she could survive the madness first.

Part Three

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ultrasl0w · 3 months ago

Text

Security Detail

(With coiledfist shutting down in a couple of months, I've changed my handle here from randomkinkwriter to something that matches what I'm under everywhere else. Additionally, I'm moving over some earlier macro-themed stories that I never posted here over.)

When your coworkers are giants, accidents are bound to happen. Connor makes the most of it anyway.

Connor sat on the corner at the edge of the canteen table, watching the crowd of giants flowing in and out of the door. He took out his phone. It had taken a quarter of an hour just to get here. Somewhere, there was a canteen designed for people of his size, but he didn't fancy his chances in the web of tunnels he had to go through to get around the building. He grumbled to himself. It was probably best to compromise - finish his food quickly, then get somewhere without giants shaking the surrounding earth.

"Where's that bloody salt?" A voice like thunder. Too close for comfort. Connor craned his neck, following the sound to its source. Some sort of colossus towered above the sea of tables. The name badge on his chest read Henry Bullock - Head of Security. Massive, even for a giant. There was a watch shining on his wrist. Muscular, hairy forearms and early streaks of grey in his beard. Connor scratched his head as he felt the telltale signs of attraction. Something between fear and fascination. The giant's uniform strained against the pressure of his outsized physique. Dark shirt, dark trousers, a black tie. A meaty hand reached for a tray, blotting out the fluorescent lights overhead like an eclipse. "Jesus. This is supposed to be food?" The force of his breath ruffled Connor's hair. His hand swung as he turned, knocking against a small cup of gravy. It cascaded down like a savoury waterfall, heading straight for Connor's tiny refuge. Time slowed as Connor looked up, his eyes wide with terror. The deluge of gravy engulfed him, coating his body in a warm, thick slime. It washed him cleanly off the table in an unstoppable tide. The air left his lungs as he landed on a chair. The heavy scent of meat and spices, then a vast shadow fell over him. A massive face. The giant let out a huff. "Fuck. Workplace assault to top it all off. I'm really fuckin' sorry, lad." At least Connor could hear a note of sincerity in his voice. He shuddered. Slowly, he collected the wreckage of his senses together. He sat up and made a feeble attempt to wipe his face. The world around him ground to a halt as colossal, smudged fingers approached, threatening to envelop Connor in their grasp. "Easy, easy. Don't want to hurt you." Henry said, his voice a low rumble that resonated through Connor's bones. Connor's thoughts began to pick up the pace. Panic, irritation, disgust. Something that felt like safety. That was probably just the aftereffects of attraction. In the blackness of Henry's shadow, Connor spat out a glob of gravy, sitting up and raising up his hands. Gravy still soaked him head to toe. "Shit, lad. You're a mess. You okay?" Henry grabbed a napkin, dabbing at him. Connor fought him off weakly. This was a bit much.

"Nothing permanent, I think. I liked this shirt, though." Henry clearly had no intention of letting Connor resist his ministrations. The napkin wiped at his sodden shirt, pushing up his chin to cover more ground.

"I'll buy you another. Hop on. Let me help you clean up." Henry set down a ridiculously large hand on the chair. A maze of lines and callouses criss-crossing his palm. Connor hesitated for a moment, heart racing in his chest. He eyed the hand up warily. Henry needed to clean beneath his fingernails. He looked up again as Henry let out an encouraging huff.

"Um-" A second huge hand landed behind him, shepherding him gently forwards. "Wait, please." He tried to retrace his steps in his head to the nearest bathroom. None nearby someone his size could use. He wiped gravy out of his eyes. "Fine." Carefully, he placed a hand on a huge finger, climbing over onto Henry's hand. He did his best to push down the thoughts racing through his head. Too much attraction.

"Ah, look at you. Tiny little man, ain't you?" He had a steady hand. Surprisingly gentle, given his hulking physique.

"No need to patronise me." A huge brow furrowed.

"It's too loud in here, lad. I can't hear half of what you say. Let's get somewhere quiet." In the corridor outside, he looked down again. "Let's try again. You alright?"

"As much as I can be covered in gravy." Henry raised him a little higher, examining him.

"You didn't get any bruises in the fall?"

"No. I'm fine. Low terminal velocity and all that."

"Good man. Let's get you sorted out." Connor found himself pressed against the warm, slightly moist skin of the giant's chest. The scent of sweat and musk permeating his senses. Raw and unfiltered. Hard work, perhaps. A man unashamed of his natural state. More likely, the giant just needed a shower. Connor's libido had never developed a proper appreciation of deodorant.

"Normally I want dinner before I get covered in sauce."

"We're a fan of cliché lines, are we?" The sound of his voice was like rolling thunder, powerful and commanding. Connor twisted his head around as they went past a familiar door.

"Wait, there's a normal-sized bathroom in there."

"Normal, huh? I've got a better place either way, lad." A set of automatic doors ahead of them. Henry greeted the security guard with a friendly nod before swiping his keycard to let them in. The doors opened with a whoosh and they stepped inside. Inside, everything seemed a lot newer. Neat wooden floors, warm lighting. Up a set of stairs. A huge wooden door loomed ahead. A plaque on the front. Henry Bullock, Head of Security. Henry's strides were purposeful, each step a minor earthquake in Connor's world. Through a well-lit interior into a fancy-looking bathroom. A gym bag hanging from a hook, clothes hanging out the back. Connor could see sweat stains on them. A massive shower as well, a towel on the rack next to it. Surprisingly warm tones. Connor had pegged his aesthetic as something closer to gunmetal minimalism. Henry's hand landed on the edge of a massive basin. Connor climbed off, wincing as his feet squelched. "Let's get you out of these dirty clothes." Huge fingers started tugging at Connor's clothes. Connor let out a hiss, trying his best to fight them off. An amused twitch on Henry's lips. "Come on, little man. They're ruined. Yer just gonna have to strip. I told you, I'll get your details in a minute and send you some money for new ones."

"With you watching?"

"I can turn around if yer getting all shy on me." An impossibly wide back. "Get to it, lad. You're Connor Woodward, aren't you? I get files on all our tiny employees. Helps me sort out all the safety details. What were you doing in my canteen? There are special quarters for little men." Connor tugged at the buttons on his shirt, peeling it off gingerly. It landed on the basin floor with a squelch. He grimaced.

"No one showed me, did they? There were signs in the corridors for the canteen, I just followed then." A grumble.

"How many times do I have to tell people that tiny folk need a proper tour? Fine. You seen a leaf sign on any of the signs? The little purple one, divided down the middle?" Connor wrestled his trousers off his thighs.

"These are practically glued onto me. Yeah. Does that mean something is my size?"

"That it does. Keep it mind, yeah? I don't want to be dealing with the fallout if you get hurt somewhere you shouldn't be." A trace of irritation in his voice.

"Right. Sorry, sir." "No need to be sorry, lad. Not your fault. You got everything off?" "Uh. Yes, sir.

"Good boy." Connor felt his ears heat up. Henry's head shifted a little.

"Have you got a towel or something?"

"Not for someone three inches tall. Here." Henry snagged toilet roll from the side, dumping it on top of him. Connor wrapped it around himself. It just soaked up more gravy. A huff. "You're drenched." Another sheet landed next to him and he slipped beneath it.

"I know. Not my fault, is it?" An appraising glance.

"You're a chill little man, all things considered. I did just ruin yer fancy little outfit. Your lunch break too, yeah?"

"Well, professionalism is important. I can't just lose my temper on a superior."

"Hmm." Henry bent down. Connor fidgeted nervously as a huge face approached him, patient hazel eyes scanning him up and down.

"I got another question for you, lad."

"Uh. Yes, sir?"

"You like big men?" Connor blinked. He felt his mouth abruptly dry up.

"Sorry?"

"You can say no, lad. You attracted to me?" Connor looked around. Was this some sort of prank?

"I... do not know how to answer that professionally." Henry straightened up a little, tree trunk forearms landing on the ages of the basin.

"It isn't a professional question. What I'm saying is that yer cute as fuck. I fuckin' love a tiny man. I already got you dirty once. How about I clean you up, then we get dirty again?" Connor weighed it all up, trying to hold himself together.

"I... have work." A shrug.

"Not if I say so."

"This is quite unprofessional. Sir." Henry rubbed his beard with a huge thumb. "Isn't it?"

"You can say no. It'll be a pity, but I'm a big boy. I can take rejection." Connor cocked his head, feeling his hand twitch restlessly by his side.

"Well. I still shouldn't though. There are plenty of reasons for me to say no." Henry flexed a massive arm. The swell of his bicep, stretching the fabric of his shirt taut. A vein shifted beneath the skin.

"How's that for a reason to say yes?" Connor tried not to let his mouth fall open.

"It's... pretty persuasive. All things considered." A chuckle.

"Come on, lad. Drop the loo roll. I'll clean you with my tongue, then you can get a good look at what giant cock looks like." Connor felt a grin spread across his face. He dropped the paper, kicking it away eagerly. He stumbled over his own feet and looked up awkwardly. A snort. "Good boy. I like 'em enthusiastic." A huge hand blotted out the light again, then Connor was back on a massive palm. Back out the bathroom. Henry sat down at a massive desk, spreading his legs wide. The wall to the side was just a massive panel of glass, looking out over the city. Connor's attention spun back around as he went flying towards Henry's face. Henry's mouth opened into a giant cavern, a gust of warm air blowing Connor's hair back. He swallowed.

"Relax, little man."

"Easy for you to say." Massive lips pressed against his torso, the thick hairs of Henry's moustache rubbing against his face. He pushed half-heartedly. His arm went into a colossal, dark hole. He pulled it out. Coated with giant spit. Still plenty of gravy on it as well. It wasn't much of an improvement in terms of overall filth, but he wasn't complaining. A long strand of saliva fell across his stomach. Henry opened his mouth a little wider, pushing Connor in. The rough skin of his lips dragged over Connor's torso, leaving a sticky trail of spit. "I'm going to let you soak for a moment, lad. The gravy is beginning to dry." That was all the warning he got before Henry shoved him smoothly into his mouth, colossal lips slamming shut behind him.

"Fuck!" Connor froze. A slow vibration. around him, then a deep, gentle hum from around him. He crouched nervously in the darkness. Something huge and wet dragged over his back. He jumped up, hitting the roof of Henry's mouth. The giant licked him again, pulling his tongue up and down Connor's form. A few shapes began to form. The distant shape of Henry's uvula. The paleness of the teeth around him. Henry's colossal tongue, lathering him steadily up in an endless bath of thick giant saliva. He let himself exhale, just a little. This was alright. The huge muscle went between his legs and he yelped. A chuckle, somehow distant and all-encompassing at the same time. The movement made him stumble, then he was suddenly pinned against a massive cheek, rough tongue lapping carefully at his back. Henry started to toss him gently around his mouth, pressing him down, then against a cheek, then trapping his arm against tombstone teeth. The giant leaned back. Connor scrambled against gravity as he started to fall deeper into the darkness, the uneven ground slowly giving way to a wet, fleshy slope. Just as he lost his grip, a blast of warm breath lifted him up and Henry righted himself. Fresh air and light, finally. A big hand reached into to pull him out, sitting him back on Henry's palm. Connor panted, wide-eyed. He was soaked, spit pooling around his legs. He shook a long string of saliva off his hand. Henry chuckled.

"Having fun, lad?"

"Yessir." He shivered as the cold air started to set in. Henry pulled up his shirt, drying him off a little.

"Let's get you somewhere warm." The sound of a massive fly opening up. Henry lowered him onto the chair between his legs, his trousers halfway down his thighs. Impossibly huge, hairy legs rose up to Connor's sides. Ahead of him, a colossal shaft slung over a massive sack. Not even close to hard yet. Connor swallowed. Henry nudged him closer, his other hand wrapping around his foreskin. A huge head lifted up. Folds of wrinkled foreskin, the faint sheen of sweat gleaming on his sack. Lurking in the darkness, a huge slit. A drop of something, straining to escape. It glimmered in the afternoon light, then it broke loose, oozing fluidly into the folds of Henry's hood. Connor stumbled as Henry gave him a push again. He sniffed. Sex and sweat and man. "Go, on lad. That smell good?"

"It stinks a bit, sir." A snort.

"I didn't ask if it smelled fresh. I asked if it smelled good." Connor leaned in, taking a deep breath. "There's my answer. Good boy." The huge force of his hand pulled Connor in tight, forcing him to breathe in his musk. Connor burrowed into his skin, pushing back, testing the Henry's grip. Completely immovable. He couldn't escape if he wanted to. He would be lying if he said that was unattractive. He started as a knock at the door pulled him out of his trance.

"Mr Bullock?"

"Shite," Henry muttered. He let Connor out and reached for his tie, pulling it back tight.

"Should I-"

"You just need to hang in there a second, lad." A huge hand nudged him gently into the crotch of colossal boxers, then Henry pulled up his trousers, smushing Connor into his cock. A huff. "And stop wriggling for a second. I don't care if we get caught, but I got a feeling you do." The soft fabric of Henry's boxer against his back. His front was pressed firmly into sweaty flesh. The rich, masculine taste of Henry's musk. Reflexive, he breathed in deep, before he shook himself off.

"But Henry -"

"It's 'sir' or Mr Bullock to you, boy. Quiet now." Connor yelped. A big hand squeezed him. Gentle but authoritative. "Behave yourself." The sound of Henry's zip going back up, then the shift of gravity as he stood up. Connor struggled to right himself as Henry's movements bounced him against his massive ballsack. Rhythmic steps, then the door handle. "Ah. Taylor. You have a report for me?"

"Yes, sir. Did I hear you talking to someone?" Henry's weight shifted. Connor's face was swallowed by his sticky foreskin. He tried to fight his way out as stealthily as possible. Sticky, pitch-black wetness. Pillowy flesh.

"Just to myself." The soft sound of Henry flicking through paper.

"Alright. I'll have a look through and send you what I want to do next." About time. Connor prepared himself to give Henry a piece of his mind. "Before you go. Have the security camera folks called back?" Connor curled back up in the confines of Henry's underwear. Asshole.

"They tried to offer a deal without the extra staff cameras, sir. I sent you the email a few minutes ago."

"That's on me. I took a quick break to check out the staff canteen, haven't checked my email. I forgot how bad the food is. Remind me to talk to Dennis about it tomorrow, would you? He told me he had spare budget for that kind of thing. I want to be able to eat something other than ash and cardboard when I forget my lunch. I'm just going to order for now."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"That's all. You're free to go." The click of the door closing. Henry let out an exhale above him. "Let's give this a look." Movement. Henry sat back down. The crotch of his trousers pulled Connor back into sweaty flesh. He decided he had had enough. He started squirming out of his prison, clambering up Henry's colossal bush. A huge chuckle went through his bones. A huge hand tucked him back in, tracing over his chest before it disappeared. "Enough of that, lad. I'll sort you out in a minute."

"I would like to get out, sir! You can't just ignore me!" Apparently, he could. Could Henry even hear him? He raised his voice as loud as it could go. "Let me out, please! Sir!" A rough, patient murmur.

"Shh." Connor crossed his arms instead.

"I refuse! Let me out!" A huff. Light. A huge face above a hairy belly and barrel chest.

"Alright. What are you getting pissy about? Get it out your system."

"You've got me shoved up against your cock like a toy!"

"Lad, you haven't even gone soft yet. You aren't enjoying yourself?" Connor scratched his head in the gloom.

"Uh. Yes. A little. But - It's a bit smelly in here, though." Henry nudged the side of his head gently.

"A bit of a stink never did a little man any harm. You heard my conversation. I've got urgent work to do. You stay in there a second. Keep on having fun if you want. I'll get you out once I'm done to give you an orgasm, yeah?"

"Uh-" Henry let his waistband go with a snap. Connor grumbled into the darkness. A huge hand squeezed him into Henry's crotch. Connor hissed as he was lodged beneath a giant sack. The stink of sweat. Sweaty, furry folds of skin. This was toeing the line between sexy and disgusting. It was comfortable, somehow. Perhaps a little too warm. He was getting drowsy. He decided to give escape one last try. It took him a moment to work out which way was up, then he started to squirm his way from beneath Henry's sack. It was hard work. Each of his balls were about the size of Connor. Finally, he was at the front. Now it was time for the shaft. The foreskin was easy enough to climb. His foot did get stuck in the folds for a second, but he pulled it up with a squelch and continued on. Just enough pores and roughness for him to climb. Finally, he was able to grab a huge hair. Into the forest of Henry's bush. He was almost out. The waistband of Henry's boxers above him. He squeezed beneath. The pressure suddenly vanished and light hit him again. Connor rubbed his eyes and shook himself off. Henry looked down, impossibly far away. Connor started to climb higher, trying to escape the sweaty confines of his bush. Henry gave him a tap and he had to catch himself in handfuls of thick hair before all his progress was undone. "Again, lad? You're beginning to get on my nerves. Is something wrong? Are you uncomfortable? Any cramps, pain? Hungry or thirsty?"

"I'm just getting tired. It's warm in here."

"That's no problem. I'll wake you up when I'm ready." Connor batted at his fingers as they reached for him again.

"Wait one second, please. I thought this was going to be a quick thing, them get back to work when my break ends."

"Now it's the rest of your day, lad. I concentrate better with a little man keeping me company."

"That's a funny way of saying crushed beneath your sweaty, stinking nutsack. This isn't my job description. I don't mind if you want to be dominant, but this is a bit much." Henry pushed his face down into the ripe forest of his pubic hair.

"Just let it happen, lad. You're safe, you're enjoying yourself. What else do you want?" Connor hung on for dear life as gravity and giant fingers tried to drag him back down into the stinking darkness below.

"But my boss-"

"I guarantee you, boy. I'm a lot higher up than whoever you work under. What's the name?"

"Uh. Robin Lambert." Henry stopped harassing him for a moment. The soft tapping of a keyboard.

"Hmm. Sales. I'll send an email explaining things." Henry looked back down. "Anything else you want to kick off about?" Connor looked down. Henry pulled at his waistband again. A warm draft. The murky void looked inviting. Connor gave himself a slap and jerked his head back up.

"Hopefully you're not going to explain things too well." A snort.

"Of course not, lad. Take a nap. You need a bit more sleep at your size anyway, there's a reason your workdays are shorter. If you do any more complaining, I'm going to shove you down my crack, so yer best settle down." Big fingers shepherded him gently back downwards. He slipped and fell onto soft flesh. Henry patted his head with a fingertip and crammed him a little more securely between his shaft and sack. Back to warmth and darkness. Connor yawned, then smacked his cheeks again, trying to pull himself together. How was it so comfortable?

The next thing he felt was something rocking him gently from side to side. He yawned, cuddling up to his surroundings. Warm. Safe. The same force nudged him a little harder. He grumbled opening up his eyes. He was engulfed in warm, faintly sweaty skin, a colossal finger shaking him awake gently. He froze, then breathed out. The finger lifted Henry's shaft out of the way. Henry pushed his chair back so he could look down, expression patient. "Hello, lad." He bent forward to push his boxers down his legs.

"Finally. Are you letting me out now?"

"Maybe not if you start getting sassy with me again." Connor squirmed out, tumbling onto the chair below Henry's package. He smoothed back his hair and rolled his shoulders.

"You know, that was hot, but I wasn't expecting to be down there for so long."

"You slept through it all, lad. Barely felt you wriggle since I finally got you to stop escaping."

"Well, but - fine. But I think that it's a bad showing to make your hookup take a nap in your underwear because you get distracted by work."

"You clearly enjoy me being firm with you. I enjoy telling little men what to do. Would you rather I spell out every single thing I want you to do? That'll ruin the mood."

"What mood? I've just been sleeping for however long." A huge finger reached between his legs, rubbing gently. He inhaled.

"There we go. That mood."

"I better still be getting paid to be here. I'm gonna be so pissed off if I get fired because some giant asshole decided to kidnap me." A shrug.

"I told you I'll handle it. You've enjoyed yourself so far, you'll enjoy the rest. Stop trying to act the big man and get back to work." Connor frowned. He felt his jaw tighten a little. He crossed his arms.

"Am I not allowed to be moody? You ruined my clothes, promised me a hookup, then just shoved me down your pants for -" He checked the clock. "Two and a half hours? Jesus."

"I'll make it up to you, lad. You slept well, didn't you? I'll send you an email for your measurements to sort out new clothes. Robin already knows you're with me today, I told her I stole one of her juniors to do admin for me. That hookup I promised you is happening right now, lad, provided that you shut your mouth long enough for us to have some fun." Connor looked up at him warily.

"You're not going to get another report and shut me away again?" Henry pulled his tie off, tossing it onto his desk.

"No, lad. C'mon." A huge cockhead squished against his face, smearing something over his face. The taste of something salty and masculine. "You help me get off, I'll help you."

"Hmm. You owe me already, though."

"Don't give me cheek." Henry's huge hand pulled him in, the hood of a huge cock engulfing his face. Connor pushed his face in. The slit was huge. With a little effort, he could probably squeeze inside. Wet and sticky. He pulled out, taking in a breath of air. A satisfied rumble. A huge thumb pushed him carefully back in. Huge, sweaty folds enveloped his shoulders. Connor leaned back and took in a deep inhale. His hands pressed gently at Henry's head, clear slime oozing over them. Henry was leaning back, fiddling with the top button of his shirt. It popped open and he moved onto the next, the veins on his wrist standing out. He hiked up his shirt to tweak his nipple. His other hand kept Connor locked in. He looked back down. "Hm. Needs a little something." A huge glob of spit splashed over Connor's shoulders, oozing wetly down his back. He glared upwards. A satisfied grin, then Henry pushed him back in. Henry's huge shaft was beginning to stiffen up, his foreskin tightening a little as it got bigger. A hand moved down to wrap around it, pumping slowly. His cock was rising a little. Connor stood up so he could keep close. He reached around inside Henry's foreskin. Raw animal musk filled his lungs. Everything inch of the giant was a little dirty. Not exactly putrid, just... animal. Raw. Powerful. Henry flexed his cock with a grunt.

"Shit!" Connor swore as his feet left the ground for a moment. A snort.

"Light as a feather." One huge hand wrapped around Mr Bullock's cock, the other holding Connor close.

"I'm not planning to run away, sir."

"It's better for me this way, lad. Keeps you closer. Don't need you flying off if I rub too hard." Henry pinned him against his cock, his face trapped in the giant's foreskin, sweat and musk and precome leaking over him. He gulped it down eagerly. Henry nudged his hands and he reached back into the folds. "Good boy." A long exhale, then he stilled. Henry took in a deep breath, looking down. Connor looked back, confused.

"Uh. Why are you stopping?"

"To give you a choice, boy. I want a better angle, I can't quite get the right grip while I'm keeping you wedged in my slit. I got a fleshlight here." He placed it on the table. A squishy, vaguely tubular silicone shape. "You can hop in and I can finish in there. Otherwise I can just go the traditional route. I'm gonna need both hands, so I'll just squash you against my shaft while I stroke."

"I can just stay where I am, surely?" A flat stare.

"I already gave you your options, boy. You want to get in the fleshlight or stay against my shaft?"

"Well... shaft is boring for me. You're just going to be shaking me around. I'm going to get friction burn, I won't be seeing anything. I'm not going to get my hands on any of the fun substances. That sounds shit."

"So get in." He put down the fleshlight. Connor winced at the smell. It had definitely seen regular use. The darkness of a pucker in the center of the base. He looked up.

"Smells alive, sir. You sure I'm gonna be alone?"

"Careful, boy. I'm not against teaching you some manners." Connor shut his mouth before it got him in trouble. He turned to the fleshlight again, crouching to test the edge of the hole. A little give. Just enough for him to fit. He looked up again. "There's nothing to be scared of, lad. It's soft enough for me to bounce you around safely. Little men are always tougher than they look."

"You might be uncomfortable if someone pushed you into a fleshlight."

"Get in, lad. I haven't got all day." Connor pushed his hand in reluctantly. Normal room temperature inside. He squeezed into the silicone tube. A worrying stickiness. A little too tight for him to get in properly. The knuckle of a huge finger gave him something to push off on. "Good boy." Henry's voice was muffled as he picked up the fleshlight, sending Connor's stomach turning over itself. It was lucky he was used to the feeling of being picked up. A huge finger reached in after, poking him further in gently. The glimpse of a huge eye. "If I can still see you, lad, you're not deep enough." A few more shoves, then a huff. "That'll do." The feeling of going down, then the light shut back off. A huge shadow. Something massive pushed him into the wall behind him. Henry grunted as he bottomed out. Connor's eyes began to adjust a little.

Henry put the fleshlight on his desk. Perfect fucking height. He chuckled at the sound of tiny commentary from inside. "I can't hear you in there, lad. Yell if you need something urgent, otherwise I'm just going to do what I want." With a satisfied grunt, he thrust into the toy, relishing in the sensation of the small form squirming against his tip. He stayed still for a moment, savouring the feeling of having the little man fully at his mercy. He was at least going to keep it tame today. He didn't want to scare the little man off. He could turn up the heat another time. He pulled out, then drove back in, feeling his hips start to wake up. Another thrust. Little movements on his tip. He could feel the little man getting soaked, more and more. He started to set a proper pace, pulling the toy back onto himself, feeling his balls bounce beneath it. He looked down. "I need a clear one, don't I. Get me a proper show." The lad inside responded with muffled words, but Henry couldn't make them out over his own heavy breaths and moans of pleasure. Sweat started to form on his back as he continued to move in and out of the toy. He raised an arm to sniff. The satisfying scent of a good workout. "I'd bet money you'll be down to give me a proper tongue bath sometime. Maybe get in my pits or my crack." The smell of sex was slowly filling up the room. His little companion should be getting a proper whiff of musk by now. His desk was inching slowly towards the wall, the thump of every vigorous thrust pushing it a little further. Whoever was downstairs was getting a concert. In and out. He paused to feel the movement on his tip. The toy squeezed his shaft, the base tightening around his base. Arousal, building slowly inside him.

Inside the fleshlight, Connor was holding on for dear life. His skin was slick with unmentionable fluids. Everything stunk of sex and sweat. Henry was somehow thrusting in and out with hurting him, but he was still getting thoroughly thrown around. It was like being trapped in a huge cement mixer. Disgusting, but he was still somehow riding the wave of arousal. Deep moans and grunts booming outside, barely muted by the confines of his silicone prison. The stinking brute was enjoying himself too, by the sound of the obscenities echoing around. He bounced backwards again, then he was thrown forwards as Henry thrusted, back into his leaking head. A quick pause. Henry pulled out. A voice from somewhere closer.

"You still good, lad?" Connor paused, caught halfway through lapping at the salty concoction of juices on his hand. He quickly spat it out.

"Yes sir!" An amused huff.

"Just don't get too carried away in there, lad. I'll take care of you when I'm done." Henry flipped the fleshlight upside down. He slipped down a little. Strong fingers grabbed him, roughing him around, before Henry thrust back in a smooth movement, crushing him against the wet silicone sides. "Fuck yeah." Henry slammed back in even faster. "Fuck, boy." The angle shifted a little. Faster. A little less roughness. A sudden erratic stop, a thrust even deeper than before. Another, then Henry let out a muffled growl, growing into an animal roar of pleasure. A final thrust and he was done. Henry pinned him in for good, colossal balls pumping cum over him like cement over a pavement. Colossal breaths. Connor sat there in the darkness, trapped, the giant steadily filling up his surroundings with an unstoppable flood of come. His huge cock throbbed steadily as it emptied his balls. Connor attempted a wriggle. The giant just chuckled, letting his cock keep Connor pinned. "Almost there, lad. Wait a bit longer." The endless tide continued. Connor couldn't resist the urge to take a few gulps, feeling the weight of it settle in his stomach. Henry took a few last pumps in and out for good measure before he pulled out slowly. Connor shook off his head, covered head to toe in thick semen. Henry turned the fleshlight fully upside down, sending him sliding gradually towards the exit. A giant force shook the fleshlight gently as he caught himself at the base, sending him tumbling onto a massive palm in a deluge of sticky white. Connor licked come off his palm. It didn't really make the problem any better. He looked up.

"I'm glad I'm not wearing anything this time."

"Jizz suits you better than gravy, lad. Let's give you what you want." Henry's hand lifted Connor's exhausted form up to his face, depositing him on a huge tongue. The thick muscle lapped at Connor's crotch, just enough for him to grind against. He surrendered to the sensation, still intoxicated by the scent of sex, the perfect friction firing shivers of pleasure through him as he ground against the massive muscle. He felt his mouth fall open, panting happily. As he reached his climax, Connor's moans mixed with the slick sounds of his release spilling over Henry's tongue. The gentle licks continued until he was spent and Henry was satisfied with his work. Henry finally lowered him back down. Connor laid down on his palm, chest heaving. He gazed upwards. His pulse thundered in his ears. It was time to just lay back and relax. He was enveloped in a blanket of giant come, still warm with the heat of Henry's balls. "Better, lad?" Connor gave him a salute.

"It was worth it in the end, sir."

"Glad to hear it. Got all the attitude out?"

"I'm good now. Give me a moment to catch my breath. Then I need a proper bath. Everything feels a bit... stiff."

"The sink'll do well enough. I'll run you some water, put in some soap from the shower, you can get clean. Then you stay with me a bit longer. Aftercare and all that. Home after that. We can do this again some time soon, unless you've been scared away."

"Nah. That was hot."

"Good boy." Henry wrestled him with a thumb. Connor fought back happily. All things considered, there were worse ways to risk his job.

#macrophilia #raunch

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k--havok · 5 months ago

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The Ghost & The Machine Snippet

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Characters: Dragoon, Specter (mentioned) Word Count: 1655 Warnings: Mentions of torture and violence. Graphic depictions of sex. Mating/heat cycles/rutting. Rating: M Summary: Dragoon's patience wears thin as he faces his upcoming rut.

A small character-study I banged out in one sitting. First draft with no editing so pacing may be off and there may be typos. This was mainly practice so I thought I would share!

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Dragoon grit his fangs, the tip of his segmented tail lashing back and forth as he paced through the garden.

Despite the sunny day, with fat and fluffy clouds hanging low in the sky as a light breeze ruffled the blooming flowers which surrounded him, he could not stay still.

He could feel it. Deep in his gut. No, lower than that.

His rut. Unlike the beautiful day which surrounded him, he could feel it like a storm in the air. All-encompassing. A dark shadow. The tension within him grew moment by moment, threatening to break at any time.

Snorting furiously, Dragoon tromped up the stone-carved steps into a small gazebo, plopping himself down on the wooden planks.

The stained glass overhead painted swirls of color across the wood; cool tones of blues and purples punctuated with the warmer and friendlier golds and oranges. Normally, watching the dust catch in the different colors brought a calmness to Dragoon. He would watch in rapt attention as the motes did their dance, the usual frustration he housed melting away.

But with his rut oncoming, it did not matter what he did. No amount of breathing exercises or grounding would help him here. No aromatherapy, warm bathes, or any of the other bullshit his doctors pushed on him would help.

No, there was only one thing that would stop the oncoming rut. Female, preferable, but Dragoon was not picky.

He was infertile. He knew this logically. But his body did not seem to agree with this basic fact of life. And thus, his hormones continued to brew right below. Pumping through whatever veins he had left, both biological and mechanical.

Just the mere thought of sex. No, not even the thought. The barest whisper brought heat pooling even lower, hardening him.

Another guttural growl rumbled in Dragoon’s chest. “Damn this. Damn this. DAMN this,” he chanted, a crescendoing snarl ending each statement. He dug his over-sized claws into the wood, gouging long, hard marks into it.

Although annoying at the best of times and dreadful at the worst, normally his rut would not cause Dragoon such fury. It would impede his life for the week, causing him to seek out relief in any way he could. Sometimes, he could reach out to old contacts who were willing to spend a night or two. Other times, he prowled the streets, desperate to find someone to lay with; whether he had to pay or not did not matter to him.

When all else failed, Dragoon had his own dolls within his chambers. They were not alive. Just avatars of real life. But the sex dolls were better than his own cold, clawed hand.

But this time, he was not alone with his droids. No.

Even now, although she was not present in the garden, Dragoon could scent her.

The slight tang of magic, like the faintest taste of ozone. The sharp squeeze of lemon and linen. The sweeter, lighter notes of melon.

Specter.

The strange half-elf who somehow wormed her way beneath his being, taking place where he had a heart at one point. Her closed-lips smiles when she got to try something new. The way her eyes sparkled with both surprise and joy whenever he gave her anything; even meals.

He even enjoyed the way she looked up at him, craning her neck back so she could capture the sight of his visor despite the lack of the same humanoid emotions she had. And when she realized such, her eyes would slip down the length of his suit, her gaze seeking his tail to try and figure out what he was thinking.

Always searching, that one. Curious, but holding it back. He wished she would open up more and allow all her questions to pour from her lips.

He also wanted to touch her breasts. But Dragoon supposed that was quite normal considering the situations he found himself in with her.

Normally the surge of need was one he could redirect into something else. He would pull away from it, changing his thought process to, quite literally, anything else. But right now, his mind was playing in a loop. Like a scratching record player stuck on the needle.

He could not get his mind to wander away. To stop.

He had seen Specter’s breasts before. Twice, in fact. And the image was burned into his mind. Her creamy pale skin. The dusting of several dark moles on her chest. The rosiness of her nipples.

How would they harden beneath his touch? His tongue? He would have to be gentle with her. Oh so gentle. His suit was not meant for love, but destruction.

Even with the others he hunted for during this time, he never promised to be gentle. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He always made sure to grab onto anything else besides his partners least he render their flesh into ribbons.

Dragoon could not count the amount of times he bent metal bed frames with the strength of his hands. Dug his claws into the wall so hard he found purchase on the studs.

Not to mention the sheets and bedding he had shredded.

His partners were always on their stomach. He did not want to see their expressions as they watched a monster fuck himself into oblivion. Like some sort of beast or animal.

Yet, he wondered if Specter would finally flash her flat teeth in a smile as he positioned himself inside of her as she lay on her back for him. Would her eyes sparkle, her mouth falling open in pleasure as her entire body flushed with need as he thrust into her over and over again? Would her legs hook around his hips, her body stretching out as he chased both their orgasms into infinity?

Their orgasms. Not just his. A strange distinction for Dragoon. But he yearned to know how her mouth would form his name as she came around his cock.

And her thighs. Her beautiful, thick thighs. How he ached to see them slicked with the sweat of effort, her own juices flowing out of her, and the trails of his own remains after he fills her over and over again. They would tremble around him, her body on the brink of breaking before he takes her yet again, claiming her as his.

“Fuck,” Dragoon hissed. His cock ached where it pressed up against his suit, hard as metal and throbbing with need. His knot was so sensitive it almost hurt.

Despite the many ruts Dragoon had suffered through, he had never knotted someone before. Yet, in his fantasies, he could imagine Specter staring up at him with lidded eyes, her lips wet as she ran her tongue across them, hungry for him.

Would she even fit on his knot?

Well, if you fuck her enough, she’ll be able to take it, Dragoon thought to himself wildly, reality bleeding away. Yes, he would fuck her over and over again until she was nice and prepared for him. Until she was so slick, so empty, and so needy for him she would be begging for it.

And yet, she would still have to stretch around it. Dragoon could see her arching up off the bed, grasping for him, trying to settle him deeper into her. It would not take long after that.

In his mind, there was no threat to Specter’s clear skin. He could gleefully grab her hips, dragging her closer. He could make her entire body tremble for him as he palmed her breasts, his claws toying with her hardened and sensitive nipples. He could run his long, sharp tongue across her cheek until he found her mouth, where he would slip his tongue into her, a bastardization of a kiss. He could fuck her as hard as he wanted without threatening to shatter her pelvis.

And he could empty himself inside her, keeping her on his cock and knot for hours until she could swell with his child.

Another fantasy.

Thump.

Dragoon fell back against the wooden floors of the gazebo. Countless gouges in the wood joined him. He stared up through the stained glass. A cloud had passed over the sun, briefly blotting it out, darkening the vibrant colors which surrounded him.

Yes. He would fuck her over and over again. Keep her in his bed. She would only leave to relieve herself and when he would bathe her. At all other times, she would either be asleep beneath the sheets or filled with his knot.

He would never let anything happen to her. She would be his. His mate.

Dragoon jerked up, his suit creaking at how fast he moved. He shook his heavy head back and forth, trying to dislodge the wild and beastly thoughts.

His mate? As if she would ever yearn for something like that. It was… disgusting. Animalistic. Inhuman. Not to mention the image of having her chained to his bed, nude, and begging for him.

Ridiculous. She was not some sort of slave. He would never do that to her. Not her. Not Specter. And she would never want such a life.

She would not want to spend any time in his bed. He tried to kill her. Tortured her. Kept her against her will.

Even now, Dragoon was not sure he could let her go, even if she asked.

She was his. And no amount of scolding himself, of snarling, and growling, could stop that damning word from racing through his mind.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

No. He could never lay with her. Already, he could barely tolerate the thought of letting her go. If he knotted her. If he spent his rut with her--

Well.

Dragoon never said he was a good man. Nor a man at all. He was a monster. A beast. An animal.

He just hoped Specter would never learn that side of him.

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#writeblr #monster fucker #mating cycles/in heat #original fiction #am writing #cyberpunk #Lanx Writes #tg&tm #the ghost & the machine #Dragoon #Specter #my writing

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natequarter · 2 days ago

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The Lecture Dome of the Hall of High Cloud was every bit as impressive as Quint had heard. Considered by many to be the finest work that the renowned architect, Flux Cartius, had ever designed, it was a masterpiece, more splendid than the domed Great Hall which stood at one end of the Central Viaduct, and in design ranking alongside the elegant Mistsifting Towers. As he and his fellow Lower Hall squires filed in, Quint realized - and not for the first time - just how privileged they all were to be members of the Knights Academy.

They made their way along one of the ornately carved flying-jetties to the buoyant benches, which floated at the ends of delicate silver chains. As they did so, Quint craned his neck back to gaze up at the clear dome far above his head.

Built above the northern wing of the Knights Academy, the great glass construction spanned the air with the lightness and delicacy of a nightspider web. Each bowed strut was fashioned from a slender length of leadwood, steam-curved and slotted into place to form great interconnecting arcs. Then the whole structure had been glazed with the finest crystal ever to have been produced in the glass foundries of early Sanctaphrax.

Each flawless pane had been hand-cut and individually polished; some were tinted, and all of them had been etched with detailed calibrations by which the size, speed, shade and billow of the clouds passing overhead could be calculated.

Sadly, the original foundries had long since disappeared, taking most of their manufacturing secrets with them - though their legacy lived on in the various viaduct schools dedicated to glass-blowing. The difference between the original panes of glass and those which had been replaced due to weather damage was all too plain to see. It was, Quint thought, the difference between homespun and spider-silk, between woodgrog and winesap - between the merely adequate and the absolutely outstanding.

the winter knights is such a good book

#quintinius verginix #the edge chronicles

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ask-sota-urameshi · 8 months ago

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Yu Yu Hakusho head canons - spirit world folks and the beds they sleep on

Koenma (adult form) - memory foam with cooling and heating features, silk sheets

Koenma (toddler form) - water bed, plush blankets, several pillows (and a few hidden stuffed toys)

Botan - a sturdy firm mattress with underneath storage drawers, several throw pillows for show

Ayame - a round shaped bed with down pillows, flower patterned sheets and covers

Hinageshi - simple mattress with overhead canopy, glow in the dark star stickers on the underside

Jorge - a racecar bed with built in speakers

Enma - I already head canon that he can shrink his size to speak with folks at eye level, so he sleeps in a normal size bed. I mean can you imagine a bed for him as he is? You'd need to take a damn airplane just to get to the other side of it

Koashura - the most extravagant and expensive mattress, sheets, blankets, and pillows one can possibly get. he's so extra about it to the point that it makes Suzuki look humble (which is saying something). he also has down pillows, but the feathers are from the crane form of Koenma created by @staerplatinum so it's petty AND personal

The inspiration for Jorge having a racecar bed:

youtube

#yyh head canons #koenma #botan #ayame #jorge saotome #hinageshi #koashura #enma #Youtube

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fandombead · 9 months ago

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Returning the Favor

Word count: 2,690 || It's on AO3!

Summary: When you help a fae, you are owed a favor of equal value. And fae do not forget their debts. Patton always just wanted to help, with no strings attached. That isn't how it works and maybe he's grateful for that, in hindsight.

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Chapter 1: Kind

[Prologue]

Janus’ heart pounded in his skull, a steady reprimand for the situation he’d gotten himself into. How could he have been so stupid? He’d allowed himself to get separated from his attendant, foolishly thinking he could handle an outing on his own. How quickly circumstances had gone awry.

He pulled for the eighteenth time in vain against the spider web, and only seemed to get more of himself stuck in the sticky cross-strands circling the connectors of the web. It really was just bad luck: the young fae had been distracted trying to hide from a hawk overhead and, of course, the first bush he ducked into had a near-invisible massive spider web.

He’d flown into it at full speed, and the recoil of it had gotten his limbs tangled in the fine threads. His poor wings had it the worst, as he’d made the mistake of trying to flap on instinct to get free and only pinned them directly into it. He had no leverage to push off of the web and he didn’t particularly want to deal with a pissed-off hungry spider. A shadow fell over him and he had to wonder if his luck truly sucked so much that the bird had actually found him.

“Oh! You’re– You’re not a butterfly.”

Janus blinked and found himself looking up, perplexed and dreading at the young voice…two giant blue eyes on a round freckled face stared down at him, a half-done flower crown carefully clutched in the hand sticking over the bush. Janus’ eyes narrowed. A human was the last thing he needed to get involved.

“Away with you! Leave, I don’t want your involvement.”

“But aren’t you stuck? I can help, I won’t hurt you.” the human replied, walking around the bush and kneeling behind Janus, which was unnerving.

Janus scowled, trying to keep eyes on the human despite being trapped on his front. He renewed his struggle but all it was doing was making him tired. “I said I do not need it.”

The human sat back with a worried expression, but their big hands made no move to grab Janus. “Okay. I’ll make sure you get out safely, though.”

Janus craned his neck to squint at them unhappily, but they seemed intent on just keeping watch for the spider that was surely around. Janus scowled to himself, humiliated as his pulling and twisting did nothing to improve the situation. No matter how he tugged or tried to rip his arms free, the strands stuck to him. It was all he could do to not get his head stuck too.

He grunted in frustration, silently cursing this human for bearing witness to his vulnerable moment as he was quickly tiring but refused to stop on principle with the large, wide eyes occasionally turning on him with what couldn’t be worry. No, it was likely pity, as he struggled like a mere insect waiting to die as nature intended for small creatures like him: victim of his size and bad luck. He gritted his teeth, refusing to succumb to the hot frustration behind gold eyes.

The human suddenly squealed in alarm as the spider crawled down the web towards its net’s prey. “Careful!! It’s coming! Oooh– please—“

Janus flinched as he saw the massive spider crawl out onto the web. He struggled futilely to get a hand free as panic got to him. “Okay! O-Okay, get me– oof!”

Janus felt a gentle pinch of his sides and felt himself get pulled up. The web tore away easily, though he was still covered in it as he found himself in the human’s loose fist.

The child scampered back from the bush with the fairy cupped in their palm, looking around frantically for where the spider had fallen when he’d torn its web. He shuddered, trying to shove it from his mind after checking around for a long moment. He then looked down at the web-covered fae he’d saved and tried not to think about the web now stuck to his hands as a result.

“Are you okay?”

Janus ignored the question, electing instead to keep swiping at his arms and legs as he hopelessly tried to get the webbing off of him. It wasn’t so much too strong for his pulling as it was sticky, just getting more onto his hands as he knelt trying to get it off of him.

The human let him stay in his palm as he watched, and Janus did not like being gawked at. If his wings weren’t still covered and weighed down by the webbing, he’d have already tried to take off. But he was rather grounded as he worried how he was going to reach and clean them himself.

He frowned up at the human after a moment, more wary than upset. He’d accepted help without asking the conditions. It was foolish to let himself. “And what would you ask of me after doing such a priceless favor?”

He hoped it was just that, a favor. He knew how valuable his kind were to humans in the trade for magic items. He didn’t know if a child would grasp the sort of value he had. Stars, even he didn’t know. Only his mother and caretakers had warned him of such things while venturing out, that humans weren’t to be trusted as they’d take him regardless of his age. He was just an object to them and now he’d gotten himself at the mercy of one. Maybe he should have taken his chances with the spider. If he got back home, his mother would surely never let him leave the kingdom again.

If he called for help, he wondered if Emile would hear him. Would that only alert the human to more fae for the taking? He didn’t want to drag Emile into this, but he now wanted the teacher here to get him out safely. Emile would be upset if he just allowed himself to be taken for his sake, though. He’d know what to do and say to appease the human.

But while Janus had been spiraling down those thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the human shifting until he felt his stomach drop.

He looked around in a panic as the human stood, the slightly crushed flower crown hanging in the crook of his arm as he focused on cupping Janus securely. “Um. I ask if you need some water to help get the strings off?” he answered a bit unsurely.

Janus blinked, staring blankly until he remembered the last thing he’d said.

The fairy made an unamused face, but the human seemed entirely genuine. Janus shifted uneasily but knew that it would help. Still, he wasn’t keen on wracking up more unpayable debts. But how else would he get back to flying? And the longer his large wings were covered in the spider silk, the harder they’d be to clean.

“Why?” he demanded, eyes narrowed. “So you can take me to the other humans that sent you and sell me??”

The other looked startled. “Wha– no! No, I didn’t even know you weren’t a butterfly,” he defended. “I really thought you were a poor swallowtail that got trapped. H-How else are you gonna get home?”

Janus studied him for a long moment, making the human squirm a little. “…okay.” he sighed, covering his face. “But don’t take me far!”

The other child perked up and nodded quickly, his caramel curls bouncing off his head with each nod. “No problem! There’s a stream right over here.”

The tiny fae grimaced. He already knew that, as it was the very one he’d run into minutes before. Emile was probably losing his mind on the other bank with worry. “Silly mortal. I cannot cross running water, let alone get in it. It is a wretched barrier to my kind.”

Blue-eyes looked perplexed. “How did you cross it in the first place, then? Did you fly really high?”

Janus sighed. “Of course not, that wouldn’t work. I…I rode a turtle swimming across.” he admitted, embarrassed. And admittedly he hadn’t thought it through until he was halfway across. If that turtle had decided to duck under...

“Oh. You’re stuck over here?” the larger child asked, something like sympathy in his tone that made Janus bristle a little.

“I just wanted to see what was on this side because I’ve never been, and I can find my own way back! And I’ll be cleaning my own wings, so you can keep your huge human hands to yourself.”

He chose not to acknowledge that he was already in the human’s palm, because then he’d be reminded of the little power he truly had. But maybe he could trick the human into not realizing that. At that, he added, “And I don’t even know your name.”

Even as they talked the human child still had been walking and stopped at the stream. He knelt beside it, looking across curiously before down at his passenger now only in one hand.

The child tilted his head, then opened his mouth eagerly before pausing. “My Ma says I shouldn’t give strangers my name,” he said apologetically and Jan smirked if only to hide his nerves and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I bet she did, then. Still, I should call you something.”

The human thought for a moment, looking at the abandoned wildflower crown to his right. “You can…call me Blue? Like Bluebell— my family calls me that sometimes,” he explained, hoping that would work.

Janus sensed no lie and he acquiesced. Not hard to see where they’d gotten that.

“What can I call you?” Blue questioned, eagerly leaning forward some.

The young fae folded his arms and shook his head. “I did not agree to an exchange.” he deflected, and Blue wilted.

“Oh. I suppose that’s true,” he replied, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

Jan eyed him for a long moment. “You can call me Jay.”

The human’s eyes widened and just as fast he shifted back to beaming.

“Okay, Jay! Aw, it’s like the bird, right? That’s a little funny,” he giggled. “Blue and Jay. Blue Jay~”

Jan shook his head at the antics. “Alright, Blue. Tell me what exactly your reasoning was for bringing me here?”

Blue set him down beside him. “I’m gonna help you clean off so you can fly and then I can get you back home across the river,” he explained before grinning. “No strings attached!”

Jay didn’t look particularly pleased. “I already said I did not want you to help with my wings,” he said, the black and yellow wings fluttering anxiously behind him as he tried very hard to not let them close on each other.

Blue nodded. “Don’t worry, I won’t have to! Trust me, I have an idea.”

Janus eyed the human and then the stream. “I cannot trust one of the same who have harmed my kind for centuries, no matter how naive. You will be just like them one day.”

“I refuse to be.” Blue insisted, not even wavering at the accusation while reaching into the water with cupped hands. “I can't prove it now but I can help you. If you let me,” he said, gazing over at Jan as he offered the carefully captured water to the fairy. “Just flap your wings in the water and the web should come loose.”

Jan stared up at him as if trying to find the answers written in the tan freckles splattered across Blue’s face. “Why would you just help me for nothing?”

“Because you need it. And I can give it. That’s enough reason to help. You don’t have to do anything but maybe trust me a little bit. It’s just like…like a favor. I don’t need anything back.”

Janus stepped closer, then looked down at the lightly dripping pool of water in Blue’s palms. He wouldn’t be able to fly until his wings dried, but he already couldn’t do that anyway. He wouldn't be any more at the human’s mercy than he was now unless the human planned on getting him sick. The idea was outlandish even to him.

He set his hand gently on Blue’s index finger. “…okay.”

Jay ended up sitting together with Blue for over an hour, after having dipped his wings into the water and to his relief, making them easier to clean. He didn’t like his wings being wet, but it would not damage them. They talked while Janus sunned for a bit, hesitantly at first then more at ease as it became clear Blue was keeping to his word.

The sun was getting lower in the sky and Blue set down the small flower crown he’d been painstakingly weaving out of a bunch of tiny purple wildflowers they’d found nearby. Blue offered it to Janus, who had been watching curiously as the human struggled with large fingers to not crush the plants as he worked. The fairy took it gingerly, then peered up at Blue curiously.

“You wear it! If you want to. It’s a flower crown.” he explained, and Janus’s eyes widened. How had this human even known?

Janus looked down at it, before carefully setting it on his head and Blue looked delighted. “Aw, purple looks lovely on you!” he giggled happily, and Janus’s wings fluttered unconsciously.

Blue beamed before looking around, then down at his companion again. “Your wings look like they’re all dry, can you fly yet?”

Janus blinked, looking back at them. He flapped testingly for any extra water weight and was able to get off the ground with no problem. He smiled lightly, nodding. “They’re dry,” he confirmed. “I could get home.”

Blue nodded back and stood, offering Janus his palms. “Let’s get you across, then. We don’t want your family being any more worried.”

Blue took him to a shallow, narrow part of the stream not too far down and carried Jay back across, simple as that. It stunned Jay how easy it really was.

He looked back at Blue and gave him a bow as he hovered, intrigued by this strange human he would never run into again. Blue waved and did not follow as Jay zipped off to find his distraught mentor for the scolding of a lifetime.

A favor.

Such a simple phrase for something that was so valuable that he could not repay with anything he had to offer. Considering what could have happened had Blue not intervened, it was a life-debt. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Blue had chosen not to bind him to the deed and yet it felt like something he couldn’t be released from so easily, beyond the laws of magic and hospitality and dealings.

He’d never heard of a human-like that before. And he couldn’t stop thinking about them long after he’d made it safely back home.

He set the flower crown on his intricately carved toadstool table beside his bed. It would stay preserved, as bright as the day it was created, forever. It was a reminder. A fitting symbol of a debt that was not something he could truly even repay, he knew, but that didn’t mean the opportunity would never arise.

He went to sleep, with many questions and thoughts on the boy who had helped a fae for nothing in return and, not one to accept things for free, wondered if he really would continue to hold those beliefs or grow up to regret having not taken advantage of his finding as a foolish young one. Janus wondered if he himself would, in a swapped scenario. It only made Blue’s actions that much more perplexing. Maybe he could ask Emile. Maybe he would understand it after some years: this level of thoughtless selflessness.

He concluded it just had to be that the boy hadn’t understood what kind of offer he’d had. Janus figured he’d gotten very lucky for that: as the crown prince, he had much to lose being captured by humans.

But the kind eyes and the easy conversation were hard to consolidate with simple ignorance. He would find out what it really was, someday.

((Thank you for reading!))

#sanders sides #patton sanders #janus sanders #ts patton #ts sides #ts janus #tss fanfic #sanders sides fic #how do i tag this on tumblr omg #my writing #returning the favor AU

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