#it's all there on his face. making fledglings is always just a Bad time in his experience

[sam-reid]

𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖉𝖎𝖆 & 𝕷𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙 INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 1.05: A VILE HUNGER FOR YOUR HAMMERING HEART.

[hanfourz]

― consume ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ | l.rw

pairing: fledgling!riwoo x human!reader (fem bodied)

genre: smut, fantasy

word count: 2.2k 0_0

warnings: blood!!, lots of kissing, biting, marking, cunilingus, use of riwoos real name (sanghyuk)

note: that pic is what inspired this whole thing btw... -🪼

walk with me... so riwoo fangs right..? what about fledgling!riwoo who just recently turned and his fangs are starting to fully grow (?).. so obviously they're kinda uncomfortable and cause him to need some sort of relief right?... do we see where i'm going with this?... oral fixation riwoo yes yes 🙂‍↕️

him needing to suck or bite something sooo bad it makes him wanna cry. and you’re always so willing to help him even though you're not a vampire yourself and don't fully know how it all works but you'd do anything for him. and at first he doesn't really tell you he's struggling with his new fangs but he winces when he's eating certain things and you see him constantly tonguing at his gums and kinda figure it out on your own. so ever the diligent partner, you start to do some research and figure out a couple remedies for his discomfort. a lot of the things you found sounded like things you would give to a teething baby and thought that idea wouldn't rly interest riwoo... but you saw something about biting and the cogs start turning.

so one day as you're chilling together you bring it up. you ask him how he'd feel about biting/feeding from you and at first he looks at you confused before saying something like 'shouldn't i be the one asking you that?' then he asks why you even thought of that. you tell him it might help with the fangs and he tries to brush it off and tells you he's fine and the discomfort should go away on its own. you don’t push it again that night but you hope he's at least thinking about it now because truth be told you couldn't really stop thinking about the idea of him feeding from you.

he does think about it. a lot. something he also didn't tell you was that your scent was so much stronger to him now and it was sooo enticing. he'd tried to ignore it, pushing away the urge to shove his nose in your neck and inhale when you walked past him. but it only got more and more intense as time passed which was the opposite of what he hoped would happen. it caused his fangs to nearly hurt with the need to sink them into your neck. but he withheld himself, absolutely refusing to tell you of this. he was pretty good at hiding it too, his behavior never really changing around you.

it was a day while you were cuddling that his last thin thread of control finally snapped. you had just gotten out the shower, hair washed and scent especially strong. you two were watching some show riwoo had put on. you were in a t-shirt and shorts while his head rested on your chest and your hands gently carded through his hair. he felt so peaceful like this, softly inhaling your scent and eyes starting to feel heavier. just when he was ready to doze off, he felt that uncomfortable tension in his gums again. he kept his eyes closed and tried to will the pain away but it was no use. it was only getting progressively worse, so much so that he had started to curl into you unknowingly. you’d already noticed when he tensed up but concern flooded you when you heard what sounded like a very quiet, pained whimper.

“baby? are you okay?” you’d asked softly, trying to look at his face that was now almost fully turned into your chest. he just whimpered softly again, not answering. “is it the fangs, love?” you heard a small sigh before riwoo nodded and lifted his head slightly. you tried not to gasp as you noticed his fangs now poking out from his top lip, much longer than they usually were. he leaned off of you and you followed, eyes holding bewilderment. 

“baby, that looks painful…” you whispered, still keeping your tone gentle. riwoo had leaned off of you to get away from your scent but you didn’t know that so you leaned towards him to get a better look but were utterly shocked when he flinched away. confusion flitted across your features, a strong furrow to your brows as you looked at him. “sanghyukie… what’s wrong?” your tone was slightly hurt as you asked and he felt bad but how could he explain it to you without sounding like a freak? 

“you.. your smell.. is a lot stronger now. it makes it difficult for me to think…” he answered eyes downcast and refusing to make contact. it all started to make sense to you now, his refusal of your original idea, his avoidance of the subject. he felt like he was losing control. 

“will it hurt you?” riwoo looks up at you, brows furrowed. 

“will what hurt me?” he asks, not understanding where this was going.

“feeding from me. would it hurt you?” you say, head tilted to the side in curiosity. riwoo stared at you for a minute. 

“no but… it might hurt you, love.” he says, concern lacing his tone. he could see the cogs turning in your head, running over his words and thinking about it. then he watches as whatever you’re thinking solidifies and he already knows what you’re about to say. you have that determined look in your eye that tells him you aren’t budging on this. 

“we don’t know for sure though, right? hyukie… if it might help, i wanna try. i don’t like seeing you suffering knowing i could help.” your brows are furrowed and your gaze is gentle as you watch him take your words in. he hesitates for a while, tongue running over his fangs out of sheer habit at this point. then he sighs and you think he’s giving in. 

“we can try… but if it hurts you we stop. and… i’m not sure i’ll be able to think clearly but if it’s too much, you have to stop me.” he concedes and watches a small smile settle across your lips. 

“okay, promise.” you say with barely contained excitement. 

riwoo can’t deny that he finds your eagerness cute, even if the entire idea makes him nervous. he doesn’t really understand why you’re so eager about it though… he assumes it’s just because you want to help him. which is partially true but he’s unaware of your own selfish desires. when you start moving closer to him, his brows raise in surprise. you wanted to try, now?! he steadies himself as your scent starts to grow nearly suffocating, gums already starting that odd tingling sensation. 

you take his hands in yours, pulling him a little closer while keeping that gentle smile on your face. he knows it’s supposed to help calm him but truly his heart feels like it might jump out his chest. everything about you was overwhelming him but he knows that he does want this. he wants to taste you, wants to be able to get that sweet smell straight from the source. the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to drive him insane. 

when your lips meet his, he doesn’t even register it at first. his mind goes into overdrive and it’s like a shock goes through his entire body. he moans into your mouth as he kisses you much more feverishly than either of you were expecting. he doesn’t know what comes over him as he starts to press further and further into your space. all he can think, smell, feel is you, you, you. when you whimper quietly, he moans again in response. it’s the most desperate and needy you think you’ve ever seen riwoo. you move so you’re on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his shoulders. he starts to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck, fangs grazing over a spot on your neck that makes you shiver. he inhales sharply as he tastes your skin on his tongue. he drinks your scent in, his cock twitching in his pants.

when you whine and tilt your head back to give him more space, he starts to suck on the spot right under your ear. he wishes he could see your face but he thinks he might die if he pulls his nose away from your neck right now. he softly tongues over the mark he just sucked into your skin. you can feel his heavy breaths fan over your skin. your hands find purchase in his hair, not pulling it but just resting them there. you feel it as his fangs press into your skin, him testing the waters for now as he starts to leave little love bites down your shoulder. riwoo always liked biting you even before he was turned into a vampire, it was his favorite way of marking you. and you always expressed how much you liked it yourself. now was no different but you were even more turned on this time. you grind down onto him, his hips stuttering up into you. when he digs his teeth in a little harder, you keen into him. you feel like he’s edging you as he continues this pattern of softly biting before he presses his fangs in harder but not enough to pierce your skin. 

“sanghyuk… please, baby.” you whimper out, knowing you saying his name like that makes him weak. he sighs into your skin as his hands fully wrap around your waist. he runs his hands up your shirt and over your skin as he brings his lips back up to your neck. he inhales your scent again before he sinks his teeth into your skin. you fully moan at the feeling, a warmth like syrup spreading through your veins. riwoo loses himself as your taste fills his senses. he doesn’t even know he’s whimpering out and his hips are grinding into you. your hands scramble in his hair, tugging on it as you whine out again and again. you don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t this. you feel like you’ve taken three aphrodisiacs in one sitting. you’re completely consumed by the man attached to your neck, sucking your life force like it’s his own. like he needs the very air you breathe. like he might die if he doesn’t become one with your body. riwoo is faring much worse, almost cumming in his pants. and it only worsens when he feels you pulling on his hair and you grinding yourself down onto him. 

he pulls away, pupils blown wide with his lips and fangs stained red. his entire face is flushed and his eyes are still locked on the marks his fangs left in your skin, blood oozing from the still open wound. he leans back in and licks over the marks until the bleeding stops, moaning lewdly at the taste. you’re still swimming in ecstasy as he pulls away again. he looks up to see that you’re flushed and your eyes are barely open. he brings a hand up to your face and you lean into his touch, sighing softly as you make eye contact. a small smile plays on your lips and he feels his heart jump in his chest. 

“you’re perfect.” the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them. you can’t find your words quite yet so you lean forward and catch his lips in a heated kiss, not even caring about the taste of your own blood on his lips. when he softly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, you push him down until he’s laying underneath you. the need to feel every inch of him consumes you as you move your hips over the bulge in his pants. he whines into your mouth and it only urges you on as you both start to undress. his hands roam over every inch of your body as you press kisses to his neck. you leave marks of your own down the expanse of his neck and shoulders. he stops you before you can move down his body any further, causing you to whine in protest but he shakes his head. 

“need to taste you, please love.” he says breathlessly. you stare at him a minute before you nod and move so that you’re sitting next to him. he gets up quickly and you switch your positions with you now underneath him. he trails his hands down your sides until they rest on your thighs, watching the way goosebumps raise in their wake. when he spreads your legs apart you understand what he meant by tasting you. your breath hitches as you watch him lower himself between your legs. he starts to kiss and bite at your thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks, before he sinks his fangs in again. you gasp and arch off the bed, moaning his name loudly. he doesn’t stay there long, suckling at the bite and licking your blood off before moving and doing the same in your other thigh. when he’s satisfied, he moves to get a taste of the juices leaking from your pussy. licking a long stripe up from your entrance and then circling his tongue around your clit. you grip the sheets hard as you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. 

you let him consume you whole on that bed again and again until you're both completely spent.

tags : @onedoornet ||

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep6 Musings - Loumand's Power Imbalance: RANT (Spoilers)

I'm seeing so many trash takes in the tags and it's driving me nuts.

Armand 👏 Made 👏 His 👏 CHOICE! 👏

The show said it TWICE, and yet I still see a plethora of braindead takes about Armand/Arun being "forced" by "Maitre/pimp!Louis" to do things. 🤦

Like, ISTG we're clearly not watching the same show, y'all.

Since when did Louis being a pimp or asserting "dominance" or other delusions of grandeur get him anywhere or give him anything that wasn't immediately taken away again by people with ACTUAL power? Louis NEVER had any real power to begin with!

Lou couldn't even convince some schmuck art dealer to buy his effing photos! He couldn't even convince his own boyfriend/companion to make a dang baby with him! Come on, y'all--what POWER (control, influence, effectiveness, coercion, sway) has Louis ever actually had!?!?

Sure, Lou owned all those businesses--and every single one got shut down by the government's Ordinances (via the city council the Alderman & Tom Anderson were board members on). Sure, Lou had money & paid all the bills at DPDL Estate, but his mother had the power to badmouth him so bad that his own nieces never wanted to be around him, and Levi took his place as Florence's son--"you're not welcome in this home!" Sure, Lou's a big bad vamp w/ super strength "remember what I did to that door, Grace?," but Grace was the one who told him to "get out!;" "mah sistah buried me aliiiiive~!" Sure, he was "Daddy" Lou, but when Claudia ran away he couldn't do eff all to stop her or make her come back till SHE decided to come back. Sure, Lou said he was "equals in the quiet dark," but Lestat always had the final say--he's even testifying to an entire judge & jury in the court case that's gonna get Claudia killed & Louis LITERALLY buried alive--cuz ARMAND MADE A DEAL WITH SANTIAGO & THE COVEN & LESTAT! Everyone's making moves w/out Lou having a EFFING clue.

Y'all really think Armand just stood there & let Santiago kidnap Lou's family cuz LOUIS turned Armand into his slave!; or cuz LOUIS had some unfair advantage over Armand?!

Episode 7 was given its title for a frikkin REASON, y'all.

Armand claimed he "couldn't prevent it." Armand. The 500 year old vampire so powerful that HE was the only one in the coven who could set vampires on frikkin fire, and was the ONLY one who could freeze entire rooms full of people AND VAMPIRES.

Somehow, Armand's suddenly SO powerless, SO helpless, SO DOMINATED, that couldn't stop those SAME vampires from abducting his beloved companion ("I want you more than anything in the world") and his daughters? PLEASE.

Coven Master Armand CHOPPED OFF NICKI'S HANDS when he got TIRED of dealing with a mentally ill guy whom LESTAT left him with! Sound familiar!? Only this time it's not Louis' HANDS--it's his DAUGHTERS!

ARMAND WANTS THOSE TWO WENCHES GONE GIRL! He sold them down the frikkin river; and in return was able to guarantee that Louis wouldn't be killed right alongside them, merely buried alive so Armand could dig him up later; "eternity in a box."

Armand passively shut the door and stood by as the coven burned Claudia (after Armand had chopped her HEAD off & sewed it on an adult's body)--and only made his move once all the sentences had been meted out; cuz in classic Armand fashion: HE LET IT HAPPEN.

ARMAND WANTED THAT WHOLE COVEN GONE, GIRL! He's done this crap before! WITH LESTAT!

And Armand was busy wheeling & dealing with Lestat, too!

Lest only complied--COMPLICIT--cuz he'd been starved, delirious & hurt; and Armand tricked him into thinking he could/would help. Les threw Claudia under the bus to protect Lou, but was still horrified that she'd been killed, cuz ARMAND could've prevented it--his fledglings shouldn't've been held to the Great Laws in the first place!

This is a MASSIVE game Armand's playing--the whole point of his gaslighting's that he throws the same thing he does back in ppl's faces to throw them off his scent, "to protect me, from YOU, Mr. Molloy...from my shame...my cowardice." He hides behind illusions--not just with the Mind/Spell Gift, but also through the veneer of innocence: a black-winged devil with the innocent face of a cherub.

People are SO blinded by the mean Black man (whom they don't even like ANYWAY) Dom'ing Armand (FOR SHOW, btw!); and equally distracted by their failure to even parse Armand's birthname Arun (I don't see any of y'all saying Amadeo was book!Armand's "slave name," and I DEFINITELY don't see any of y'all saying ANDREI was his slave name, either!); that they've totally missed how Loumand plotted TOGETHER to concede power to Santiago and "give" him the Theatre--thoroughly ignorant of the fact that Santiago was already being called Maitre by the whole effing coven--he'd already won his coup!

You can't give someone something you never had, Louis!

And their plot was for ARMAND'S BENEFIT; so they could get rid of Santiago, destabilize/dismantle the coven so they'd scatter (just like Lestat caused them to do); and so Armand could decide if he wanted to stay Maitre or not--LETTING ARMAND CHOOSE what HE wanted to do with HIS coven and THEIR lives. Lest we forget: vamps don't just LEAVE covens--in the books, after Les ruined the Paris coven, Armand didn't just LET them leave--he set them on FIRE and KILLED THEM; just like Louis would do--as Armand sat back and LET IT HAPPEN.

He knew Lou'd go ballistic; AMC!Armand even TAUGHT Louis the Fire Gift; literally handing Louis the tools with which to destroy his coven for good!

This show constantly emphasizes the POWER Armand held over Louis & Claudia (& Madeleine)'s lives; and his autonomy, agency & authority over them; despite the roleplay Loumand was up to as they SWITCHED positions; cuz Armand FAILED at running the coven.

All Armand wanted was to be with Louis, but Lou kept dragging Claudia (& Lestat) with him. So Armand was tryna get rid of them--he's Sleeping in Claudia's coffin, cuz he wants to take HER spot; "it's BLISS!"--and he overplayed his hand.

Louis couldn't even kill himself in peace without Armand interfering--cuz at the end of the day, it's not up to Louis what he wants or does. Armand PRETENDS to be Louis servant, "Rashid," his subby bottom boy, cuz Armand WANTS to go along with it all--too shameful for his COMPLICIT culpability; and too scared to live alone.

I saw people saying "the victim became the victimizer; cycles of abuse; etc etc," like omfg--how is THIS man Louis' victim!?

I've said it before though: Armand genuinely loves Louis, and has good intentions. But let's not pretend Armand's some innocent bystander to Louis' schemes, ffs!

[robthegoodfellow]

No Romeo, But He’s My Loving One-Man Show

Mirror Sex, Roleplaying for Days 9/10 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental praise kink, edging, fledgling D/s dynamic, cum play, slight feminization

(roommates, kink experimentation, billy is a femme fatale but really just a very good boy, nsfw)

Handy Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Steve had expected Robin to have some pointed feedback after coming over for dinner and a horror movie—a longstanding tradition Billy had inducted himself into a couple days post move-in by rescuing the pizza from a crispy demise because someone forgot to set a timer—but when Steve met her for coffee later that week, all she talked about was the mirrors.

Why are there so many? Why are there more every time I visit? Do you know how many years of bad luck you’re risking? That old one with the fancy frame is definitely cursed—I saw something moving in it. No, it wasn’t us—something else. Like, out of the corner of my eye. It’s haunted, Steve—you should get rid of it. Don’t break it, though, whatever you do.

Finally, after much redirection and pointed questioning, she’d given her assessment on the Billy situation, specifically how Billy seemed to feel about Steve, from an outside perspective. 

Mostly you both seemed normal, aside from sneaking looks at each other constantly. But even that’s normal, in a way. Her eyes narrowed. Is that why so many mirrors? More opportunity for sneaky looks?

Which—what? No. That wasn’t why—though he’d be lying if he said he’d never… But what did she even mean, that even that’s normal?

Well, like when we watch movies and something funny happens, you always look at Billy to see his reaction. And when the special effects are corny, he always looks at you and rolls his eyes. And when we’re all three hanging out, half the time it’s you and me trading knowing looks from inside jokes, and half the time it’s you and him. So, like—the looking isn’t new, I just caught you guys doing it without the other realizing it. Like a bunch of times.

Rather than deny it, Steve found himself asking, pathetically, how Billy looked. When Billy looked at him.

Like this, Robin said, and made the biggest, dopiest cow eyes, complete with dreamy sigh, reverent tilt of the chin. 

Steve told her to fuck off, but couldn’t repress the grin splitting his idiot face, and Robin cackled.

Ask the haunted mirror, if you don’t believe me! It’ll totally back me up.

.

It’s not like they’d planned to make the apartment a fun-house mirror maze, but after the divorce, Steve’s mom went a little nuts selling off stuff from the Hawkins place, all of which was apparently unsuitable for her townhouse in Chicago, and when his dad made a stink about her disposing of hideous heirlooms intended for Steve, she’d promised to forward their son the remainder.

Which was how he ended up with the couch, complete with decorative throw pillows, and… about six ornate mirrors of varying unreasonable size. And sure, he could’ve sold them himself, because his dad didn’t actually give a shit, but then he’d sorta grown used to them, and Billy had never complained, so… yeah. Made the place feel bigger, or whatever.

Over time, the arrangement had shifted here and there—except for the one in Steve’s room over the dresser, the one in the bathroom over the sink—anyway, however it happened, Steve had noticed, one day, that he’d subconsciously mastered where to position himself throughout the sitting room to see a reflection of the kitchen, the bathroom corridor, and… Billy’s room, if the door was open—and, these days, it usually was.

Did he feel like a creep? Well, yes and no. Yes in that he was aware he should feel like a creep, and therefore did, and no in that he was almost certain Billy knew he was watching and didn’t care. Not only didn’t care, but… liked it. 

After his conversation with Robin, though, he threw all subtly to the wind, staring fixedly at Billy’s reflection as he puttered around in the kitchen, as he left the bathroom, as he lounged in bed reading a book… silently daring Billy to call him out on it, until Billy did.

“Feel like a bug under glass,” he called, turning a page. “You gonna pin me down?”

Humming, Steve resettled against the arm of the couch, didn’t bother turning—just kept admiring him in the mirror leaning against the wall, almost floor to ceiling. The bedside lamp cast warm shadows, limning his hair in gold. Steve wondered if Billy got tired, holding the book above his face like that. 

“I was thinking more like a spy tailing a mark.”

Billy laughed—a short bark of sound. One of Steve’s favorites. “Be dead so fast—made in seconds.”

“You saying I’m more Get Smart than Napoleon Solo?”

“Dunno,” Billy mused, thoughtful. Rolling, he made a pillow of his arms, crossed over the closed book. Leveled Steve a filthy smirk. “If you were 007, I could be your Bond Girl.”

That got Steve to turn around, meet his gaze direct, then cooed, all sympathy: “You wanna be tied up, babe, just ask.”

Billy bit the inside of his cheek, unwillingly amused, so Steve dialed up the cheesy charm.

“C’mon, that was good—Bond Girl? Like bond—”

“I got it,” Billy drawled, levering himself up only to flop against his piled pillows in supposed disgust, book cast aside. “Just call me Pussy Galore.”

“Dick Galore.”

Billy frowned. “Randy Galore?”

“A Bond Boy would have to be Randy Something,” Steve acknowledged. “Or… Something Hancock.”

They paused, then, in unison: “Randy Hancock.”

“And I, James Bondage, am tailing you,” Steve went on, as Billy snickered. “And haven’t been made, because I’m an experienced, accomplished spy—”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” With a final snort, Billy folded his arms behind his head, semi-reclined, and pondered the ceiling, unfocused. “What next?”

Steve mimicked him, only on the couch, back to watching Billy’s reflection. “I use my handy spy-glass to peer around corners, and I catch you unawares—getting ready for bed.” Billy hummed, polite interest, and waited for more. So Steve gave him more, mind whirring, pulse already on the rise. “I watch you take off your shirt.”

Absently, only shifting enough to complete the action, Billy peeled his shirt off. Dropped it on the floor.

“Then your jeans.”

Those required a more aggressive shimmy, but soon they joined the discarded shirt.

“And then I can’t stop—can’t look away. Like I’m glued to the sight.” Steve’s throat clicked as he swallowed, trailing his palm down his stomach—indulged in a firm rub. “So pretty, spread out on the bed.”

On cue, Billy spread, thighs parting to reveal white briefs, the cotton worn thin, pink showing through where his bulge stretched the fabric. Sighing, a lazy hand skated south, fingers brushing the waistband. Slipped under, but no further. The fingers seemed to press—stalling the hips, an aborted twitch.

“Shit.” Steve wagged his head, corralling what remained of his wits. “I—uh, I figure…” He chuckled, let one heel drop off the couch to rest on the floor, his hand working a steady rhythm. “Figure I’ll learn what you like, use it to seduce you later. Learn how you like to touch yourself—”

Billy grunted, lashes stuttering as he shoved past the elastic, made a fist around the handful. Spoke soft, musing: “Haven’t, you know.”

“What?”

“Haven’t been—touching myself.” Eyes still on the ceiling, Billy’s lips quirked, just as soft. “Not without permission.”

That landed like a punch, loosing a long, meandering moan: “Baby.”

And the baby blues drifted down, met a reverent stare in the mirror. “Yeah?” So innocent, solicitous.

Steve rolled his hips into his palm, arching clear off the cushion. “I like that.” 

Billy’s head lolled sideways, downcast—bashful as he squirmed, bulky knuckles straining the front of his briefs. 

“My good boy,” Steve murmured. And he meant it with every fiber of his being: “Show me what feels good.”

His eyes fluttered closed. The hand slowed. “You.”

Simultaneous hits—to the heart and the heat low in his gut. A vicious press brought himself back under control.

“God—killing me.” Could barely huff it, all of him locked on the hand that had tugged free of clinging briefs to caress the red weeping cock, featherlight, through damp cotton. Steve’s pulse pounded so loud in his ears he more saw it than heard it—pink lips shaping You. You. You.

As though hypnotized, clumsy because he was so hard it fucking hurt, even sweatpants chafing awful against skin throbbing tender, Steve stumbled to the bedroom door—caught himself on the frame, panting, light-headed from the sudden vertical, essential bloodflow coursing elsewhere.

Billy choked off a whine, fisted the coverlet to either side, legs splayed as his spine bowed, sank back. “Please.”

In a blink, Steve was at the foot of the bed, crawling to him, over him, hips forcing Billy’s legs wide. “I got you.” Long, dragging grind, the rub exquisite. “I got you.”

The moan vibrated through Billy’s flushed chest. He hadn’t let go of the bedding—wouldn’t, Steve realized, winded anew. He wouldn’t let go unless Steve told him to.

“How long?” Steve panted, reaching down to rub Billy with the flat of his palm through the briefs, this jerking, gentle pressure that worked him piecemeal to the peak, a maddening build. “How long you been waiting for permission, baby?”

“Luh—” Billy coughed, swallowing spit. “Long.”

“So good,” Steve crooned. “I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

The flush had spread up his neck to his cheeks, temples pulsing red. He was nodding, mindless.  “‘Kay.”

“All right.” Steve brushed the bulbous crown with a teasing thumb. “Tummy or panties?”

Muffled throaty sound—like he’d been stabbed. Delivered on a whimper: “Panties.”

Steve resumed his kneading rub, coaxing, fine tremors wracking the body at his mercy. “One day I’m gonna get you a nice pair. Maybe something with lace?”

Billy gulped, trembling nod.

“Lace for your pretty cock, a thong for that pretty ass?”

Half-lidded, head craned back, lip bitten raw between his teeth, Billy shivered.

“Make a mess in your panties,” Steve whispered, bending low. “And I’ll make a mess in them, too.”

A burst of guttural gasps, almost hiccups, borderline sob, and he convulsed beneath Steve’s hand, sticky wet seeping through the fabric.

Steve dropped a good boy with every kiss—on cheek, neck, sternum. Lifting up on his knees, he brought out his own cock, stripping it with a loose fist.

Half-boneless, Billy hooked lazy fingers in the back of his briefs, tugging them past the curve of his butt, the front pulled snug against his spent dick, and rolled onto his stomach. Arched, presenting himself, bare ass exposed, and Steve found his groove between plush cheeks, rutting with enough force that he could feel his cockhead rub against that tight hole.

It didn’t take long—short pumps, short of breath—brutish grunt as he finished, coating the pert cheeks in ropes of slick, deploying one hand to catch runaway drips, pet the clenching hole with wet fingertips, tease the entrance.

Billy cut off a whine, squirming, grinding into his own mess, pushing into the pressure behind.

“Soon,” Steve promised. “I’ll give it to you soon.”

An unspooling sigh, and Billy went limp, face turned away.

Planting a kiss at the base of a shoulder blade, Steve drew up the back of Billy’s briefs, smoothing a hand over the sodden fabric—with a wave of heat, imagined the trail of his come oozing toward the taint.

Shifting, Steve curled up along Billy’s side, nose to nose, arm looped around his sloping back.

Billy blinked, placid, as Steve drew a lock of hair away from his eyes.

“Ruined it,” he mumbled, mouth quirked. “The spy scene.” 

“Nah,” Steve said. “A good spy knows when to change plans on the fly—switch it up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Warming to the idea: “What happened was—I realized I could offer you what you needed. In exchange for what I needed.”

Billy’s gaze was lulling as a lake in moonlight. “What did I need?”

Steve let a smile twitch, nerves singing. “Me.”

An echoing twitch. Lids lowered, a hitch in his tone: “And… what did you need?”

Steve dipped near, heart in his throat. “You.”

Billy hummed, a short burst trapped behind teeth. He nudged close, and Steve’s eyes slid shut.

Press of lips, lingering soft, on the edge of his chin.

.

“Steve?”

They’d been drifting awhile, lying flush, occasional brush of roving hands, warm gusts of breath. Belatedly, Steve hummed, enquiring.

“Itchy.”

He snorted, stretching like a lazy dog. Shower didn’t sound half bad, but there was something else he’d been wanting to try.

“How about a bath?”

Brows raised, pensive duck lips. Steve called his bluff—bowled him over, rough nuzzle, and hauled him upright.

.

Now with added next chapter: What He Does, He Does So Well

[dragon-queen21]

Hi hello, umm… yeah don’t mind me as I disappear for days and return with a post about oc’s I have never introduced here before.

Something something soldiers in war referring to the nurses that took care of them as mom despite often times all being children themselves.

Tw/ injury, disassociation, implied character death

~~~

“M…” Victor’s voice cracks, wavers, “ma...” His hand finds purchase on the sleeve of Hannah’s sweater.

Everything hurts. He hasn’t had to fight like that in a long, long time. Victor’s claymore rests heavily by his side, weighing him down. He should unsummon it. Can’t exactly remember how too. Can’t give up the insticutal need to keep fighting.

Why is he fighting? Why is it always fighting- and pain- and he’s so, so tired and so scared all of a sudden.

“Mama, mama I’m scared-“

Hannah freezes, as though she hadn���t already by the uncharacteristic behavior of the elder.

“Dear I’m not your-“

Hannah loses all previously thought up endings to that sentence as Victor’s hand tightens on her sweater.

Desperate to have her stay, to make her understand. He’s been so lonely, and his vision is blurred but Victor’s sure that if she would only stay a moment longer…

“Okay, you’re alright sweetheart… your alright.”

She’s no mother, barely older than Victor in age and maturity. He has a son for heavens sake! But something about his state tells the avian that she should go along with this for the moment.

“Easy now,” she guides him to sit on the floor before his shaking knees can send him crashing downward. Wings coming to cover them both. “Easy fledgling…”

Victor flinches. Hannah can do nothing but repeat the soft assurances to him.

They need to leave. She needs to do something. Anything to assure their safety back to the Tallow, but to move Victor now seems like a detrimental decision. She does not know what has brought this on, does not know what the ichor of slain monsters and the corruption that festers in this land has done to the man who sits in front of her.

She wants her husband here, though how she will explain the situation she doesn’t know. Because if any of them would have thought that Victor would regress, they would have had a running bet made on it months ago. Because somehow the image never quite matched. If anyone should have been little…

It doesn’t matter.

“Victor, honey?”

Hazy eyes look up at her. Is he even seeing her right now?

Hannah ignores the urge to tighten her wings around herself less she give away any hint that she is out of her comfort zone here.

“You’ve done so well, do you think you can walk for mama? Let her lead you back to the ship hmm?”

He whines. Actually whines, pushing his face into her stomach, the action so childish that the younger woman’s mind goes static for a moment.

This must be a dream. She’s dreaming. She’ll wake up to Gale’s loving gaze, and chaos in the kitchen, and a day set out of nothing but peaceful sailing. And this will all have been a terrible nightmare that she can laugh about with Cassandra. Because Victor being little… finding out now of all places… The very idea is cruel. A child sent back to the place of their torment.

“Tired… very tired… wan’ s’eep.” he mumbles in a voice so soft, softer than anything she’s heard the man say before.

“I know.” And she does. Not truly, but enough to get the picture. But Hannah witnessed the fight Victor had. The power that only a few on the crew even thought was capable coming from one of their ‘laziest’ members. He’s always tired, this must be exhaustion if it’s bad enough for him to be complaining.

Carrying him is a no, especially if they are trying to keep this under wraps from the rest of the crew… The avian isn’t even sure if she could. Victor was broad framed and taller than her by a head. Muscles still lean from years of training, despite the near constant fatigue he seemed to always be in. Just where the heck was Gale anyways?

Her own musings came to an end when Victor pulls a silver chain from under his shirt. Two gold bands looped onto it that he now held, twisting the rings slowly between his fingers.

“Missed you…”

Hannah takes it all back, all semblance of control she thought she had. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t keep lying to him even if Hannah knows it’s probably the kindest thing. Because she knows without a doubt who Victor thinks she is. A role she can not replace even for a moment.

She can only sit, run a hand through his hair and keep back the worst of the disassociation until-

“Hannah!” Hurried footsteps pound on the earth. Theresa earth that is cracked and dry and sickeningly wrong, wrong, wrong, wro-

She tucks Victor closer to her when he flinches, getting him to sit up despite the protesting whines.

“Gale!” Hannah gasped, she could cry if relief right now. Of course she can’t, can’t even get up and run to embrace her love what with the little still clinging to her. “Gale he’s,”

“Regressed…” her husband finishes for her, a look of bewilderment crossing his face for a moment. “Well that’s certainly a new development isn’t it...” The avian would laugh had the situation been anything less than dire minutes before.

“Right okay…” there’s the warmth of magic that courses over the both of them and Hannah finds it well within her means to lift Victor up.

“Got him?” Gale asks, as though his own abilites weren’t doing the majority of the work right now. Palm outstretched and flickering with psychic energy.

Her husband is an angel, she thinks.

The walk back to the ship isn’t over nearly as soon as it should be. The monsters that lurk at the very edge of their distance making it so they can’t make a run for it. As long as they keep their distance and stay in the light they’ll be fine.

It’s far too optimistic.

Claws scrap at the floor, the sound of something dripping coming closer to them.

“Shit-“ her husband curses, eyes flicking to meet hers, to the regressed warrior held in her arms.

Hannah will be no help in this fight and they both know it, her husband struggles on a good day to use his powers directed in more than one place at a time.

They will not wjn this fight as they are currently.

Right. Damage control it is then.

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

Bowsario Rapunzel AU

Okay so I saw @istadris' post about figuring out what fairytale would fit Bowsario best and then I spent all day yesterday thinking way too hard about Rapunzel. This was supposed to be a little pithy ‘oh it's Tangled but Bowser’s Flynn’ thing, but then I started thinking about how being locked in a tower by himself would fuck with Mario’s psyche A Lot and then I had a 2.5k word outline oopsies. [Edit: It's now on AO3, too!]

So regarding Bowsario fairytales I would like to formally submit Rapunzel with Mario stuck in the tower for Magical Curse Reasons I haven't figured out yet.

Bowser hears about this and visits regularly to taunt him about it because he thinks it's hilarious the best and bravest knight of the Mushroom Kingdom who was always a personal pain in Bowser’s side when he'd go terrorize it got himself cursed.

(And then Bowser goes to terrorize said kingdom in Mario’s absence and severely underestimates Luigi, who kicks his ass so thoroughly that Bowser goes back to Mario's tower to complain about it. Music to Mario's ears, that is.)

(The insults directed to Luigi himself, on the other hand...much less so. And since Mario’s stuck up in the tower all he really could do to defend his brother was insult Bowser right back, instead of jumping down and wringing his neck like he sorely wanted to, with overcharged barbs that not only channeled Mario's overprotective big brother energy but also the genuine frustration and fear about being stuck in one place, isolated from his brother and his friends and the world as it spun on and on without him for maybe the rest of his life)

Eventually Bowser figures out that if he climbs the tower then he can get a better look at Mario's angry face as he insults him and thus derive even more joy from making this goody-two-shoes knight lose his composure.

But then he gets up there and Mario's anger turns out to obviously just be a way to cope with being sad and lonely and scared Bowser realizes that insulting Mario isn't really that fun anymore (Have the last couple of times been fun either? Especially as rumors started circulating, and Bowser pieces more things together about Mario's situation? And as he starts to wonder what it would be like if it was him, separated from his Koopalings against his will in a similar way — would his eyes have that same defeated and despondent look Mario’s do right now, a look that doesn't suit Mario at all?)

Bowser finds himself starting to feel low-key bad about making fun of Mario all this time, and about Mario's current lot in life. It eats away at him until Bowser begrudgingly starts acting nicer, and then he and Mario start having proper conversations that aren't angry screaming matches.

And then maybe Bowser starts visiting longer and more often, bringing card games to pass the time, or food Mario hasn't been able to have in a while, or some new books and recent newspapers to read, or a kidnapped Luigi or Peach to hug for the first time in ages...

Maybe even a different kingdom tries to capitalize on Mario's absence, wanting to attack the Mushroom Kingdom for one reason or another, and Bowser realizes that if he lets them win Mario will be sad and probably lose the will to live while he's at it. And the spark in Mario’s eyes had literally just come back more often than not these days...Bowser sighs. He has Kamek pen a letter to Luigi and Peach offering aid. He goes to the Mushroom Kingdom personally to prove he's not kidding, and maybe Luigi and Peach catch on to Bowser's true feelings about Mario even before Bowser himself has.

When the dust from the invasion settles, Bowser and Peach hash out a fledgling alliance/peace treaty in the wake of it. Mario is ecstatic when Bowser tells him, and it takes most of the journey back home for Bowser to figure out why he's still flustered about the way Mario had looked at him for the rest of the visit.

Meanwhile, Mario is kind of baffled about the concept of Bowser being nice now. The insults from before were awful, sure, but it was a routine. It was something to focus on that wasn't the walls slowly caving in on him despite them not moving an inch, the yawning jaws of apathy lurking in his blind spot getting ready to swallow him whole, how he was already starting to forget what his family's voices sounded like —

(Luigi and Peach do visit, don't get me wrong. But Peach has a kingdom to run almost single-handedly, and Luigi is practically running himself ragged trying to fill in the void that Mario had been forced to leave behind because the big brother he was supposed to rely on had gone and poked something he shouldn't have like an absolutely stupid idiot. The tower is a multiple days' journey from the heart of the Mushroom Kingdom, just barely on the outskirts in a forgotten corner of it, and neither of them really have a way of getting up the tower, with it being so tall and the doors being locked. So. Less frequent visits than they would like.)

(They send as many letters as they can, though. Mario reads them at least five times and reverently puts each in a special box in a hiding spot to keep them safe, to bring out on particularly hopeless days. Luigi and Peach do the same with Mario's replies back home.)

(They're delivered by Toad, who's the only one willing to go all the way to the outskirts of the Kingdom to begin with — none of the other mailmen are especially willing, despite Peach’s pleas. He goes with a bundle of letters to the tower, gets them to Mario via some sort of cable system or something, and then camps there for a few days as Mario writes his replies. It's him that first informs Luigi and Peach of Bowser’s visits, having witnessed one of them — thankfully it was one of the...lesser charged ones.)

So. The weekly interruptions were welcomed by Mario. Even if they were annoying.

And then Bowser had the bright idea to come up here, which...wasn't ideal. He didn't need Bowser to see the mess he lived in, for starters, and once Bowser was face to face with him who knew what fodder he would be getting to insult him further? Especially with how vulnerable Mario had been lately?

But for all of Mario's imagined fears, the poorly-masked pity he got from Bowser of all people, King of the Darklands and the number one enemy of the Mushroom Kingdom, was a thousand times worse.

Bowser had continued to act off for the next few visits. He hadn't come back up to Mario's room, staying on the ground and shouting up at him about random things like weird inter-kingdom gossip he'd heard from his advisors or some of the other kingdoms he was sending his troops to and why or 'your brother’s a real piece of work I tried to kidnap the Princess last week and he went and talked down my Chain Chomps I literally trained them to bite everything they see with no hesitation when the fuck did that loser stop being a wimp' followed by the most concerningly detailed reportback on the Mushroom Kingdom's current defenses Mario had ever heard, considering Bowser wasn't supposed to have any way of getting half the information he was telling Mario due to both being banned from stepping foot where most of those defenses were located and the ironclad loyalty of the Kingdom’s citizens. He even started to include an upsettingly long list of inferred weaknesses, at which point Mario hurried to invite him into the tower proper so he wasn't just shouting them for anyone to hear.

From there Bowser’s visits officially got less annoying; instead of the distraction Bowser provided being a chance for Mario to yell and be mean until he tired himself out it was instead Bowser awkwardly telling him that Peach and Luigi were looking more or less healthy, he thought, based on how hard they fought against him the other day. Or it was Bowser sharing stories about his kids, whom Mario hadn't known existed until now, and Mario telling childhood stories about Luigi in return. Or it was getting to eat pizza for the first time in weeks, and almost bursting into tears before practically eating himself sick.

Or it was that one time the night of the Mushroom Kingdom's Star Festival when they figured out that Mario could access the roof, so they sat up there and watched the countless shooting stars for most of the night, teasing each other about the wishes they were making on them, until Mario fell asleep up there leaning against Bowser, the celebratory lights and fireworks from the capital visible from even way out here. Bowser had even brought a few fireworks of his own, based on secondhand knowledge about how this festival was celebrated, and they had lit them in a manner that was definitely and decidedly unsafe. Yet the fireworks at the castle had seemed to burn brighter and burst louder upon them doing so.

Or it was that other time when they figured out that Mario couldn't go down the tower like he could climb up to the roof — he would hit some sort of invisible floor and would seemingly be standing there in midair scaring passersby like Toad half to death. And then a few weeks later during a summer storm Mario had the bright idea to stand outside on said invisible floor to get soaked to the bone, and a few hours after Bowser called him crazy and pulled him back inside and pretended that Mario was just wiping rain from his face and nothing else Mario started sneezing, and Bowser had to stay with him a few extra days. Just to make sure Mario didn't keel over and die and waste the sweets Bowser had bought at the market before he came over here, that was all. Mario knew he didn't like this flavor of candy, Bowser had said, and he sure as hell wasn't letting his kids eat all of it and dealing with their sugar rushes. Besides, he could hardly get back home right now anyway, with the roads so muddy.

Or it was Bowser telling him about how Peach had held a ball for the first time since Mario had “disappeared” and it had gotten completely derailed because someone loudly and conspicuously talked shit about Mario within earshot of Peach.  Luigi was across the room and Bowser couldn't let a Princess get her hands dirty so he had to obviously not let that shit go unanswered and haul that idiot out by his gaudy lapels and throw him into the moat himself to teach him a lesson and — why are you looking at me like that. What did I — she had better things to do then — stop laughing — they were all just standing there, what else was I — argh, shut up! I’ll show you funny, come here, you —!

It was a far cry from the abrasive hostility that Bowser wore like a cloak whenever he'd attack their kingdom in the past and Mario...liked it. It was nice. He looks forward to Bowser's visits, as regular as they were.

But...Bowser keeps talking in the future tense, about places in his kingdom he’s going to take Mario that’ll pale in comparison to any sights in the Mushroom Kingdom and people he’s going to bring Mario to meet because they can't make the trek here and all sorts of experiences that he’s decided they’re gonna have, all of which were very much impossible to have in the tower. And while the optimism was certainly appreciated, it...was never going to lead anywhere, Mario knew. He'd tried it, at the beginning of all this. It hadn't worked out.

And yet Bowser keeps at it, even if Mario would roll his eyes and shake his head every time he brought it up, that stubborn brash confidence that he could get Mario out of here slowly but surely reigniting that spark in Mario's soul that had dimmed but not quite died, holding a mirror to that hero’s spirit that persevered against all odds, no matter how small or nonexistent. And somehow, Mario starts to believe that Bowser would get him out of here, actually.

Which, of course, is when Bowser stops visiting all of a sudden.

Almost immediately after Bowser had realized he was Attached he’d tasked Kamek and Kammy with researching how to get Mario out of the tower, and finally, finally, they found something that would actually work. But in order to get it ready — or, perhaps, by consequence of getting it ready — they had to drop off the map with no warning, so Mario gets to sit in his room and spiral for a week or two or three. Within this spiral Mario thinks about what Bowser means to him, realizes that it's more than just a distraction from his situation and that there was a nonzero amount of hope and affection attached, and spirals harder. He doesn't quite spiral to the point of things getting as bad as those first few weeks, but it gets pretty dang close. For example, for the first time in weeks and months he tries to do everything he can to escape the tower again, short of throwing himself out the window (because he already knew that wouldn't work).

It's another couple of days after those futile efforts that Mario wakes up from a nap. It was arguably one of the best naps he’d had in years, he thought as he sat up and stretched, to have him feeling so much lighter than when he'd fallen asleep. It takes him a second to register an unfamiliar noise in the tower, and another three to realize it's the door, specifically the door handle, and Mario squints at it. He's not sure why it's moving, but it's not like it could be opened; Mario had locked it ages ago, shortly after discovering he couldn't leave the tower that way, and then the door had sealed itself shut, and Mario couldn't open it again even if he'd wanted to. And the door at the bottom of the tower was similarly closed off, so the stairwell itself was supposed to be inaccessible.

Mario creeps closer to the door and hears muttering. It...sounds like Bowser, almost. The muttering turns frustrated, and then there's banging on the door. That doesn't work either, Mario already knew; he’d almost broken bones in his hands trying that.

Except...the hinges are starting to bend, and the stone is starting to crack. Mario has a second to rub his eyes to see if he’s still dreaming before, with an almighty crash, the entire door and most of its frame falls forward, dust and fragments of stone raining down from where it once was.

Bowser glares at the door, smoke coming from his nose in an angry huff, and then he looks up and sees Mario. They stare at each other. 

Bowser quickly dons a boastful smirk. How about that, he brags, I told you I could get you out of here! No need to thank me or anything —

Mario punches him in the face.

Bowser recoils in pain, and he's offended for about two seconds before he starts laughing, loud and delighted. And here I was wondering if you were gonna wither away while I was gone, he cackles, and Mario can't help the twitch of his lips at that.

(He does kick Bowser in the shins, though. As a warning to never fucking do that again he thought he been abandoned up here —)

(Abandoned? As if! Bowser grins and scoffs. I like you, so you're stuck with me, pipsqueak, and there's fuck-all you can do about it!)

(Mario contemplates pushing him down the stairs. He settles for a hug instead, which was just as well because doing so seemed to throw Bowser off his game more than otherwise. His cheeks were bright red when Mario pulled away, and Mario smirked at him, despite his own face being pink to match.)

Mario packs up his stuff (i.e. grabs his boxes of mail and stuffs them in a bag, and then also puts the various gifts he's received from Peach and Luigi and Toad and Bowser into it) and with one last look around at this shoddily-gilded cage Bowser and Mario start descending the staircase.

They approach the point where the curse would usually stop Mario from progressing any further and Mario hesitates. Bowser pulls him over the invisible threshold with a casual ease, and Mario has to take a minute to stave off the incoming onslaught of tears about the fact that the curse was truly broken. Bowser awkwardly tries to comfort him, and Mario pulls himself together with a watery laugh at the attempt before marching the rest of the way down the stairs, Bowser right behind him.

(And it was a good thing that Bowser was so close, because it turns out being cooped up in one room for several months meant your stamina rested at an all-time low. Bowser had to carry Mario at the halfway mark down the rest of the way, to the embarrassment and secret delight of both of them.)

The two of them step outside. Mario squints, the sun bright in the sky. Luigi and Peach are there waiting for him, and he stumbles over to crush them both in as tight a hug he can manage; the three of them cry a lot and are generally glad that they don't have to be separated anymore and maybe poke a little fun about how pale Mario is now.

Bowser watches them from a slight distance, nearer to Kamek and Kammy, letting them have their Moment(tm). Yeah, he'd meant it when he said he wasn't going to leave Mario ever, but also he's feeling like the world's biggest fourth wheel of a tricycle right now and the uncertainty about what’s going to happen now that Mario had his family back and didn't have to rely on him for socialization anymore is starting to fuck him up a little. Kammy tells him not to worry about it while giving him a Mushroom for the bruise on his face. Bowser is having a hard time not worrying about it.

The Mushroom Kingdom trio finally part — well, Luigi and Mario are still draped over each other and Luigi’s still crying, but that's neither here nor there — and Peach goes over to Bowser to thank him profusely, to the point where Bowser starts squirming both because of the genuine uninhibited positive emotions being expressed and also if he’d been in this exact scenario a year ago he’d be milking it for all it was worth but now it’s just something to sit through as he steals glances at Mario throughout. He’s not exactly subtle, with those glances, and Peach starts teasing him about it. Bowser scowls, face red. 

Peach mentions that they’re going to have to plan something for Mario’s formal return, including letting the Mushroom Kingdom citizens know about it. Bowser, of course, is more than welcome to join the inevitable festivities.

I can handle things back home, Kamek says, I was already basically doing that anyway, with how often you were gallivanting over here instead. He shoots a pointed look at Bowser, who rolls his eyes.

As long as it's not one of your ridiculous parties, Bowser grumbles to Peach, Red hasn't talked to anyone besides us in ages you can't just parade him around for your people.

Red? Aw, is that your nickname for him? A color? Peach laughs.

...What did he ever see in her, honestly.

The last thing they do before they leave is destroy the tower. Bowser’s brought some explosives with him, for some godforsaken reason, and Mario and Luigi and Peach take great delight in spending the rest of the day rending the entire structure to rubble with him. Kamek and Kammy pull out all the decor from the tower’s main room and Mario gets the honor of lighting the whole thing up in flames. It's very cathartic. 

In the morning, they’re all going to go back to the Mushroom Kingdom to celebrate Mario’s return in a more semi-private setting, and then work out how to do so plus thank Bowser and his advisors for their efforts in a more formal and public way later.

But for now, Mario watches the light from the makeshift bonfire somehow cast Bowser’s fond grin warmer than it already was, and Bowser watches Mario’s eyes sparkle brighter than any fire or star could barely dream of managing. New freedoms meant new beginnings, and as they reached for each other’s hands they knew that this beginning was already off to a great start.

[faerywhimsy]

Day 2 - Ritual

“Come on, Daniel. Indulge me.”

“No. I’m not doing it,” Daniel said. “Not this year. Not again.”

“But… it’s Halloween.” Armand gave a pretty little pout, his lips twisting in a way that managed to be both bratty and alluring somehow, all at once.

Daniel knew he was gonna give in. That he always gave in. This particular television show had come out during their years of separation yet, for some reason, Armand remained obsessed with it. Even in the year 2017. It had just become another part of Armand’s fascination with things of the present day. Microwaves. Blenders. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

His gaze flickered to the prop Armand seemed to have on hand for the last three years of this pantomime; a porcelain doll that might have been from the collection of those Lestat had once liked to gift to Claudia. Louis had told him the resemblance was quite striking in that pained, held back manner Louis had only ever managed to manage when the topic of Claudia came up.

Once a theatre kid, Daniel supposed, always a theatre kid.

He sighed anyway, the sound long and deliberately pronounced. Who said he stopped being long suffering as soon as Armand actually gave him the Dark Gift?

In answer to that, Armand leaned into him, winding his arms around Daniel’s neck, and pressing their lips together just for a moment before moving again away with a restless, eager energy.

Armand hugged the doll into his chest, at the same time as making doe eyes up at Daniel.

“Miss Edith needs her tea.”

“Come here, poodle.” Poodle. Poodle? But that was the expected line, and Armand wouldn’t accept an alternative. He offered a dreamy little smile as he swanned towards Daniel.

The writing of the ’90s had a shit tonne to answer for. Seriously.

Armand pressed two fingers lightly against the two eyes of the doll, as gentle as though he was fondling the thing, rather than threatening the inanimate object a light bit of dismemberment. Then his eyes flashed up to Daniel.

“Do you love my insides?” Armand asked, his voice low as he delivered his most favoured line. The line that always had him forgetting about the doll on this recent Halloween ritual. “The parts you can’t see?”

Daniel had to admit; this part, he didn’t mind so much. He allowed himself to press completely into Armand’s personal space, earning himself a sigh of approval from his maker. He plucked the doll out of Armand’s grasp early and set it aside. Last year, when he’d grabbed Armand around the waist around this point, Armand had seemed to forget about the doll entirely and it had shattered on the tile floor when he dropped it.

It broke the scene utterly in other words. And Daniel, who had been dragged into it against his will that time as well, had nothing positive to show for it as Armand had groused about having to call his mortal servants to see to this mess.

This year, because of just this change, the scene was already turning out quite different.

Armand’s lips parted, his auburn curls that he’d left uncut for tonight a flurry around his face. As Daniel stared down into those brown eyes, he felt himself leaning into the role of powerful fledgling offering to his maker the attention he rightly deserved. He felt the bloodlust rising up in him.

Maybe this Halloween ritual wasn’t so bad after all.

“Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet,” he murmured, before pulling Armand against him, relishing at every point that their bodies touched one another. It didn’t matter that Armand’s plump form surrendered into the stark juxtaposition of the far leaner body Daniel had been left with when Armand finally broke his vow. Armand draped himself across him, making a pretense that he was too weak to fight against his pull.

The entire rest of the scene from the ’90s dramedy about a teenage vampire slayer faded away into the background when Armand leaned his head to the side, an open invitation to the neck as Armand’s curls fell away.

[cugzarui]

thinking about bens arc so far

starting out with a boy who wants to be a hero, but cant

he gets a powerful device that lets him be a hero, gets a few wins

realizes he can also be a hero without the device. wins some more

gets full of himself. he did it after all. hes a hero. he made it. hes awsome and legendary and doesnt need to worry about anything

gets his ass handed to him and begins to realize he still has a lot more to learn

blows off some steam and has it blow up in his face

on this losing streak he sees there is another way. he doesn't have to listen to other people. he can be a hero the way he wants to be

the guy who showed him the other way turns out to be eeeevvilllll

yet another screw up under his belt. and lets add just one more just for the hell of it. and make this one really hurt.

you feeling sorry for this kid yet? well you're about to feel even sorrier when he decides his family is better off without him. and why wouldn't they be? he keeps screwing up after all.

they come back for him. because the biggest screw up of all, is thinking your family is better off without you (queue audience tears up. but no really the episode sells it really well actually).

with the power of friendship, familial love, and even anime on his side, our fledgling hero saves the day. and just in time too, because plot is on the horizon, and its serious this time.

we are preparing, for the bbeg.

so for real tho

i did say in a previous post that ben 10 is more a compilation of other works, and the tennysons themselves arnt actually all that interesting. and i still stand by that statement, but boy did i pick a bad time to make it.

bens going through what is not only a sort of coming of age story where he learns what it truly means to be a hero, but also a disillusionment story where, he learns, what it truly means, to be, a hero. im still waiting for the point where he forgets his old lessons and has to relearn them; and maybe because this is still the first series (and early first series at that) we still haven't reached that point. this plot is fresh. its new and interesting. im at episode what? 8? 9? and the storys been pretty good so far is all im saying.

this kid thought heros were all about physically perilous situations and beating up bad guys. so when he got the power to handle that he got all excited, and then after he finally got some wins under his belt he got cocky thinking he made it as a hero. but if theres one certainty in life is itll knock you flat on your ass and no matter what kinda super powers youve got youre only really as untouchable as your support network. something which a lot of people - including ben - don't realize before its too late. and when they do realize it, when ben realizes it, it scares him. it pushes him to radical action, and to a change in mindset and not always a good change either. he starts to think being a hero isn't really fun at all. then he realizes that even if it isnt fun, its still something that needs to be done regardless, even at great cost to himself, because hes the one who has to do it. thats a lot of growing up for a ten year old to do in a summer.

good thing hes wrong

yes heroing isn't really about fun and games. it's something you do not because you want to do it but because it needs doing. but that doesn't mean it cant be fun anyway, or that you have to go it alone. just because you sometimes have to sacrifice yourself, doesn't mean you dont also get to be selfish. and ben learns this sooner rather than later.

he would've probably learned it even sooner if max was better at explaining it though

i mean its kinda hard to blame max ben did just get them kicked out of a prepaid four star hotel before gwen even got to take a shower. a real shower. for the first time this entire summer. and i know i cant easily just dish out life lessons to youngsters whenever they need to hear them (youd think being an adult meant youre full of wisdom and experience you can whip out at a moments notice but guess that was just me being fooled by the excellent marketing and extra height)

i do gotta say i knew i would sympathize with max a lot more and understand him a lot more on this rewatch since im an adult too now and i was not wrong. imagine prepaying for a fancy and expensive hotel, and the first thing that happens when you get there is your grandkid gets you banned for life and the guard literally throws your suitcase out at you when you leave (what was with that guy anyway?) and not only that you also have to go back to talk to the staff and try to get a refund. i think i might just prefer to crawl under a bed and never come out.

actually, imagine all the show from maxs perspective, because i keep thinking if i was in his shoes what would be the most respectful and realistic way to handle the situation. i feel this man.

but yea he couldve explained it better to ben why using the omnitrix to play a forbidden arcade machine was wrong. he really did say why. its not the fact that ben used the omnitrix selfishly but really how he used it. the manner of selfishness. ben uses the omnitrix to mess with gwen all the time and while thats not the nicest of him its fine if he doesn't go overboard. but when you do something thats likely to have negative consequences on the people around you, thats a problem. and if max had explained that the whole thing with kevin could've probably been avoided honestly.

speaking of kevin

i feel like they really butchered this character.

kevin has a lot of potential. honestly, i think a lot of you would love him (at least if his evilness was a but better directed). hes a homeless kid who, at least the way he sees it, isnt with his parents cuz they didnt want a freak. he does whatever he wants using his awsome powers to get what he needs and wants and fight the people who make his life harder. a real disenfranchised underdog and hes punk to boot. shame hes a heartless murderer.

theres like no reason for it either. its just like. revealed. halfway through the episode. like apparently this kid is just cool with murder. and i dont mean murdering cops or bullies i mean just anybody really. so long as he gets something out of it. they shouldve made him more morally grey. or morally orange. or at least made it so he only started getting crazy after he absorbed energy from aliens or something.

do you ever get the feeling ben 10 is a conservative show? sorry that was a strange thing to ask. they do get a bit better at female characters though. gwen gets to be less of an archetype but mostly just because she gets roped into being a hero in her own right and because shes busy caring about ben. it is an improvement.

we also get more significant female side characters and a female villain who is actually really good. but that episode leaves a sour taste in my mouth because...shes only powerful after fusing with vilgaxes robot, which we already know has all the resilience of wet tissue paper. and yet shes somehow super powerful and unstoppable. just a bit of a nitpick i have. thats driving me mad

it does do a good job of setting up vilgax as a threat though. up to this point vilgax didn't really do anything. he was just there for setup, both plot wise and for jokes. like saying the wielder of the omnitrix must be so strong and cunning and ruthless, cutting to ben who is so...not. (or at least doesn't appear to be). but this episode finally manages to communicate vilgax is an actual threat. punctuating that by having max be scared of him at the very end. that was a nice touch.

[annoyed-galaxy]

Fictober 2024 ~ 23

"we can fix this, I know we can"

Fanfiction: DAI As I'm playing Inquisition over again, I'm having many thoughts about Willow's struggle with being a hero despite not wanting to and having to hide her secret/live with it. Eventually her friends figure out about her spirit and the relationship she has with it is very much a mother daughter type situation. Can also be found on Ao3

The pain was unrelenting. The Anchor had been sparking for the past three hours, though it felt like eternity. Her eyes tried to close and her mind tried to ease into sleep, but the pain shooting through her arm from the mark kept her up. She could feel the bags forming under her eyes. She just stared up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth through the pain. 

The sleeping body next to her stirred and turned around, a large arm wrapping around her body. Willow turned her head and smiled a bit at the sleeping man next to her. His hair was completely ruffled and face at peace. 

The Anchor sparked again and she hissed, turning her head back to the ceiling. She had been looking at all the imperfections of the ceiling, trying to distract herself from the pain that gripped her arm. There was a point where the pain got so bad, she had almost started crying. But she had grit her teeth and just pushed through. 

Maker, she was so tired. 

She tried closing her eyes again, trying to force sleep to overcome, but the pain was too much. She was getting frustrated and let out a sob. Cullen stirred next to her, slowly blinking his eyes open. 

“Willow?” his deep, sleepy voice called. She wiped the fledgling tears from her eyes and turned to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, vhenan. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered. 

Cullen’s eyes blinked the rest of the sleep out and sat himself up on his elbow. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Almost as if to answer for her, the mark flared up again, sending another bolt of flaming pain up her arm. Her hand burned as if she was holding it in fire. Her elbow felt like a nail was being hammered into it and her shoulder ached. She cried out with the pain. Three hours of this, late into the night and she was getting fed up. 

Cullen scrambled to grab her hand and place another her forehead, rubbing his thumb across her vallaslin. “Oh Maker, it’s getting worse isn’t it?” 

Willow just nodded. “It won’t stop.” Tears were beginning to flow down her cheek. “I can’t fall asleep because the pain is too much.” Anger suddenly overtook her. “I thought with closing the Breach a second time and defeating Corypheus, this fucking thing would stop affecting me.” In retaliation, the mark flared again, increasing its intensity. Willow cried out again. 

Cullen pulled her in close in a tight hug, wrapping her small frame with his. She just let him hold her as she let all of her emotions pour out, crying into him. “Make it stop, Cullen. I can’t bear this,” she whimpered, holding her hand close to her. 

He rubbed her back, whispering comforting words. “It’s okay. We can fix this, I know we can. Maybe we can get Dorian to look into it.” 

“Dorian’s gone. In Tevinter, remember?”

“We can send a message.” 

Willow shook her head but said nothing. The Anchor flare again and she shuddered in pain. 

“How is Lailani?” Cullen asked after a moment. 

“Irritated,” Willow responded. “She wants it gone. It’s agitating her. She can’t rest soundly in the back of my mind because of it. It’s like she’s backed into a corner and a fire is surrounding her. She swats at it and while it doesn’t harm her, it’s affecting her.” Willow looked at her hand again. “Fortunately, her problems are hers.”

“Do you think…” Cullen didn’t want to voice his fears. Learning about Lailani had been a shock, but he had seen a mage with a spirit inside of them before. While that mage did technically start the whole mage-templar war, he was also a great healer, providing help and comfort to many Fereldan refugees during his time in Kirkwall. Still, the risk of becoming an abomination would always be there. 

Willow shrugged. “Lailani seems to have a control of things, at least, no accidental take over will happen.” She smiled weakly. “You know Lailani only takes over my body when I’m in danger.” 

Cullen sighed. “I know. It’s just…she’s still a spirit who can sometimes be enraged into a demon. With the Anchor…I didn’t know if it would change her being.” 

Willow shook her head. “The risks are still the same. Just Lailani and I both now aren’t getting much rest.” Another bold of pain causing Willow to grunt. 

“Maybe we could get you a potion or some herbs or something to help with sleep?” Cullen suggested. 

Willow considered for a moment. “If only I could cast a sleep spell on myself,” she chuckled dryly, but then tapped her chin in thought. “Maybe a mix of elfroot and Andraste’s Grace. I don’t know, I’m not an alchemist. Plus, it’s the middle of the night, no one’s awake.” Willow fell back on her back and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t suppose you have some templar secret that could just make me fall asleep,” she half joked. 

Cullen shook his head with a small smile. “Unfortunately not. Besides, I’m not taking lyrium anymore so I have no templar power.” 

“Right.” 

Cullen settled in next to her, pulling her close and resting his chin on top of her head. “We’ll get someone to make you some sleep potions tomorrow. For now…” Cullen sighed, holding her tighter. “Just try your best.” 

[rottenbrainstuff]

IWTV s2 ep 3 - Armand is a fucking little gremlin

Interesting ep! I mean man they all are. This show is amazing. I love the actors, I (mostly) love the updates to the story, just, such care and attention to every facet from everyone involved. Beautiful.

I always get a bit eye-rolly when you have (or see a stupid instragram video of) a white character eating expensive fresh sushi where the fish is presented whole and still having nerve twitches after death, and they freak out about it and can't eat it. I get that it's a bit weird and if it was me sure I would have to wait until it stopped wiggling to start eating, but like, where did you think the fish came from, did we pick it off a bush? Anyways, here I can almost, almost forgive the very tired trope, because you could say perhaps it is a contrast between Daniel, and the vampires and their predatory feeding habits, maybe.

I knew we were getting some flashbacks of Armand's old coven and Nicholas and Lestat, but I was surprised by how short it all actually was. I do hope that when we get to season three we're going to have some proper time spent on all of this. Armand's dirty old satanist coven was so interesting to me.

I actually had to pause the show to get mad for a little bit when I saw Louis say that Lestat abandoned Nicki and abandoned the Paris coven, because everything Lestat does is just for himself. Abandoned! Oh my god Louis, what did Armand tell you? Abandoned! Lies! Armand, you gremlin! Right, sure, the guy who was screaming with his face all red when Armand took Nicholas away is going to just teehee oops leave him behind there for absolutely no reason, no reason whatsoever, yes for sure, nothing more to say there. I also don't trust that the theater scene played out exactly as Armand said, with Lestat quite callously fucking him while Nicholas watched, no, I don't buy that. Everything Armand says is suspect to me.

It's so sad that Claudia reinforces this idea later as well, complaining that Lestat never told them there was this cool fun amazing coven troupe in Paris, he only ever warned them away and told them other vampires were vicious.

(Bruce is sure shit, isn't he. I kinda wanna see him show up again at some point. Maybe he can be one of the vampires at Lestat's big concert? I feel like he must be friends with my V:tM character's shit sire, haha, since they seem to both be reading from the same scuzzy man playbook. On another V:tM tangent (sorry) I know Lestat is the quintessential toreador, but Armand with his creepy tricks, his ability to not be recorded, his religious cosplay, and (in the book) his coven's old tradition of burying new fledglings and making them dig themselves up through their own graves as a test, he gives me lasombra vibes)

This show is so confusing to me and I love it. Every character is so bad and good, good and bad, sad and mean, mean and sad. Everyone is behaving horribly, but I also feel bad for everyone. Lestat is a dickhead but it's so tragic to me how everyone always assumes the worst of him all the time when he really was honestly just trying to protect the people he loved. Armand is a nasty manipulative gremlin, but I feel terrible for him as well, how his face falls every time the situation turns sexual. God, him and Louis were so awkward in the park, like two teenagers who don't really know what to do, or, like two very sad adult men both half-heartedly playing out a role that neither one really fully wants to play. Man, now I desperately wanna see him and Eric get it on not for the old man yaoi, but just to fucking see Armand actually genuinely want something for once.

Jacob is doing such a great fucking job. Poor old Louis.

For some reason I can't stop thinking about Sam (? that was Sam right?) showing Claudia how the rat box works, as if it's her first day at Vampire McDonalds and he's showing her the deep fryer. Santiago is also an amazing character, they're all amazing characters, I love this show so much. Poor Claudia. She is so happy to be included in this group, so happy that she completely and totally ignores the red flags that are waving in her face. Claudia gets her rage and her cruelty from Lestat, but I guess she gets her desperate desire to see good in people even when they mean her harm from Louis.

But, the end sequence is just a bit strange to me. The tension of oh, is Armand going to hurt Louis??? is very strange and doesn't work for me. We know he's not going to, Louis is here in the present day. For me it takes the tension out of the scene. I mean, beautiful acting on Jacob's part, the fact that what he thinks will be his last words are all just his wishes and concerns for Claudia to be happy was just. Ugh! Ugh! But, it just didn't work for me. And anyways, who is narrating this whole bit? This scene shows the coven threatening Armand to do something about Louis, and I don't buy for a single second that that's the actual dynamic here, that Armand is just this poor helpless guy who is forced to do what his coven wants him to, no, not a chance. So I want to know who is narrating this. But... in this scene, Armand and Louis are not in the room. They've both left to speak to the buyer's lawyer, Daniel is by himself checking out the talamasca files on his laptop, yet the narrative continues somehow. That's the first time I've noticed that happen, and I found it very strange. I don't know if this was done on purpose and you're supposed to notice how strange that is, or if it was a mistake. Was it supposed to be info from the talamasca files? I didn't get that impression.

But anyways, generally amazing, as always. I do hope the show includes Gabrielle in the future, and I hope we see more detailed flashbacks of all of them in Paris, and what exactly happened to poor Nicholas. Every actor here is doing amazing.

[kaifish-pond-afterdark]

Vampire!Rodrick X Nonbinary/GN Black Reader

All That Glistens in the Moonlight

(Fledgling)Vampire!Rodrick x GN/Nonbinary Black Reader

In the stillness of the forest I stood, almost as quietly as the animals that slumbered in the undergrowth. I couldnt remember why I was here. Surely there had to be a reason? I tried to think, but it evaded me. My brow was furrowed when I felt a cold chill run across my shoulder blades. Even though my heart was racing like that of a bunny rabbit, I did not run. Slowly I turned, and took in the figure behind me.

Rodrick, the guy who lived across from me, whom I rarely saw. When I did see him, I felt a magnetic pull, he was alluring in an awkward sort of way. He always seemed to be tripping over his own feet, moving too fast for his own good. He looked good, skin seemingly sparkling in the moonlight. But only because his skin was so devoid of melanin, his dark hair looked like shadow and smoke. I hitched a breath as he moved closer, pinning me against a tree, his chest pressing hard against mine. He would have looked terrifying, if not for the fact he seemed completely out of breath. One of my eyebrows shot up quizzically, he was baring down on me sure, but I wasnt the least bit afraid. Not really, despite my body’s reactions.

“Oh, not gonna run?” He tried to sound bemused, but only came off confusedly annoyed, “Don’t you know what I am?” He flashed his fangs, they were not impressive in the slightest. They barely registered as fangs.

“Maybe revisit this when your adult fangs come in.” I gaffed, pushing against him. Even though he was much stronger than I, my movements and lack of fear caught him off guard and he stumbled back onto his ass. “Humans aren’t as weak and helpless as you think.”

His eyes narrowed and he stood up, taking my words as a challenge. I held my ground, ignoring my brain telling me to run. He might be a predator, but he is wholly inept. Also his shoe on his left foot was untied, if I ran, he would trip pretty fast.

“Hey! I’m supposed to sound cool and witty!” He pouted, stopping a foot, “You’re RUINING everything!”

“Not my fault you’re incompetent,” I shot back, leaning against the tree trunk, purposefully stretching my neck, my vein popping out.

“I could totally kill you.”

“Yea, but you won’t. You’ve never killed anyone.”

“Wh-wh- how would you know?”

I fold my arms, “Because I would already be dead.” My voice was cool and even toned as I continued “You rely on using your mind manipulation powers to fog up human’s memories, convince them you’re all big and bad, that you decided to spare their lives because even though you’re an apex predator, you’re just SOOOO conflicted and secretly good at heart. Which is all true, except you also just really suck at being a vampire. I’ve known you were one siiiinnceee,” I pretended to think, tapping my chin for good measure, “The night I moved across from you and I saw you giving yourself a pep talk. ‘You’re actually a super cool dude, and like totally a good vampire!’”

His face betrayed his surprise, he sputtered, trying to find a good retort. He was at a loss.

“Oh, so yea, I’m a shitty vampire… I just wanna drink human blood for the first time! I’ve been drinking… friggin animal blood. And like it’s not as good as you’d think.”

“I mean, I know people who cook with it and stuff, but I am actually quite uncultured and have never tried it. Though it would be cool to learn how to cook with it. Maybe I could make you some meals with it, and help you learn to accept not drinking human blood?”

A shy smile broke out on his face, “I’d like that.” His voice was soft and a hand came to stroke my cheek. “But I bet your blood would taste so sweet.”

“Don’t even think ab it BloodBat.”

"It was worth a shot."

[asterhaze]

OC In Fifteen

Big thanks to @doublegoblin for tagging me in this HERE. I always appreciate every single one. Leaving this an open tag save for @veetvoojagigthemagnificent, who I tag in absolutely everything.

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Snatching up Glen from Masterpiece for this one. Let me know if you'd like to see Vlad or Ska next!

"I mean it this time. Take your mask off or I have nothing to say to you."

"Naturally."

"Well, I got to spend the night with you. So, yes."

"Oh, Victoria. You know I only have eyes for you. Marry me this instant and you’ll figure that out yourself."

"Not just my wife. Jesus, you think I’ve just been with one woman my entire life? Can you imagine how miserable that would be?"

" Do not put me in the same category as bloodthirsty women, they are in a league far above my own."

"I've been dead for a long time."

" I suggest you start talking before I rip your arms off and throw you in a dark, wet, decaying hole to rot until your real Giver gets here."

"I smell old?"

"Don’t answer that."

"Look at him, he’s an innocent little cinnamon bun and you’re making him feel bad over nothing. Leave him and his secrets alone."

"I find you both interesting and terrifying."

"We have to be separated anyways. And it was funny. You remember Gabriel’s face, all bug-eyed. He kept trying to use his gift to get us to stop but it didn't work on us, so he was just shouting into the night. All of the fledglings and dhampir were giggling like mad."

"Ah, she does that with me all the time when I decide to start drama. It’s fine."

And my favorite: "What's up, buttercup?"

Thank you for reading! I know that Glen is a hilarious idiot but I didn't know just how much that shows through his dialog alone.

[idoun]

✩ .　it's not too long before the start of the next round — rosado can already feel the air beginning to heat up with anticipation, intensity, and stress, just like exam season back in the academy of elusia. with a few last strokes, he holds the parchment out at arm's length, tells himself ' good enough! ', and hops off the bench onto his feet.

a few quick strides bring him over to the porcelain-looking girl with the two-toned eyes. "hey there. sorry i never got your name earlier, but i'm rosado. here, there's something i wanted to give you."

parchment is outstretched for her to receive — on it, a bust sketch of the girl herself, a snapshot from the middle of their recent battle captured in an instant that juxtaposed her as a calm amidst the fray: an elegant eye of the storm, locks of hair awhirl but eyes focused; and those, in even greater detail than the rest. soft green seemed to enhance her enigmatic calm, and the deep magenta the tempest of the arena around her, together creating a sharp relief contrasting both. "feel free to keep it if you like it."

The winds took not only the ghouls, but also their own weapons and other boons. Yet, the atmosphere didn't feel light nor calm- they weren't done yet, that much she could feel. It was only a matter of time until the air, charged with magic, brought new apparitions and hopefully new skills for them to do battle with. Idunn faced this as an assignment of sorts, seeing how they weren't facing any real danger.

...well, that's what she hoped, at least. She wanted to be of more help. If she wasn't able to call her dragonstone and aid her teammates in decimating the enemies, she wanted to at least tend to their wounds and offer them safety- even though to her, that was unheard of.

Idunn had always been a slave of hurt and horror. Her wings were not an aegis- but a warning.

But a voice broke her out of her thoughts, and the girl turned around to face one of her teammates. The student who smelled of drakes. Not in a bad way- it was just obvious to her that he must live around or with wyverns. "I am Idunn." Rosado, then. She'd keep that name to her heart, alongside that scent. Rosado had an interesting look- almost ethereal, not like a regular human now that she got a closer look.

A paper...

Bladelike claws that most would expect from a fearsome dragon held the parchment like one would a fledgling, with grace and care as her eyes focused on every detail sketched on the thin surface. That was her. But that wasn't the grostesque-looking demon dragon from The Scouring that she had seen illustrated in tomes and walls, generator of armies of war dragons set to mince down humanity.

It was her, a girl.

Idunn didn't know what to say. "...no one had ever drawn me like this before." She looked up at Rosado, her face blank as always- though her eyes were ever so slightly widened in wonder. "I will keep it close to heart."

Fae told her once that gifts were best enjoyed when you gave something back, so Idunn took one of her many gemstone bracelets off, and handed it to Rosado. It was made of a thin, dark rope and adorned in peeble-like teal stones. "A gift...asks for gratitude. Have this." Fae had taught her how to make those. They were quite simple- not imbued in magic or anything, but they helped her find a way to keep her dragonstone close to her body. She had plenty of those around her wrists with all sorts of colorful stones, though her dragonstone was under her uniform shirt.

"I won't forget you."

[azvolrien]

Flight Camp

A pleasant weekend giving flying lessons to a group of young gryphons goes somewhat awry.

---

“At least the weather’s good this time,” said Asta. “How many weekends have they had to postpone this, now?”

“Three,” said Redbolt with a deep sigh. “Now, I’ve flown in some pretty rough weather, but don’t suppose it’s fair to ask the little chickies to fly in a full-tilt thunderstorm.”

“It could be a useful skill for them,” said Asta, smiling. “We are in Stormhaven, after all.”

Redbolt gave a soft clicking laugh in his throat. “Likely save that for the advanced classes.”

However bad the summer storms had been, they had passed completely with no sign of returning just yet. The sky above Aberystrad Beach was a clear, pure blue, only interrupted by a few high white wisps flying in the wind coming off the sea, but despite that, the beach itself was almost deserted, other than a handful of beachcombers along the tideline and the gaggle of young gryphons – older than fledglings, but not by much – gathering on the white sand.

Redbolt leant over the edge of the huge gryphon sculpture’s head to glance down at them. “How many’s that now, d’you reckon?”

“Mmm, I think I see twelve,” said Asta. “Thirteen, if that one off to the side is with the group as well.” She flipped back the top of her satchel and took out her notebook to check the roster. “And there were… Fifteen on the signup sheet.”

Redbolt settled back with another sigh. The remaining half of his tail twitched slightly, suggesting that a phantom tail-tuft flicked to and fro in relaxation. “I’ll give them another few minutes to show up, then.” He glanced at the notebook in her hand. “Were you always this keen with notebooks and such, or did you catch it off Master Gwen?”

“She is a fearsomely organised woman,” said Asta, double-checking an earlier page for the weather forecast. “But no, in this case; I don’t think I’ve gone anywhere without a notebook since I was at school.” She paused. “Certain circumstances notwithstanding. Actually, while we’re talking about the College, I was wondering something, and it’s turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find in the library. Even Arianrhod – you remember her, I lived with her for a few weeks when I first came to Stormhaven – wasn’t sure if they had any books about it. I was hoping you might know more about it.”

“Hrm?”

“Do gryphons have magic?”

“Hrm.” Redbolt wiggled his ear back and forth a couple of times, something like a human making a wavering gesture with one hand. “Yes and no.”

Asta frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well – we all have magic. All of us, every one of us. It’s worked into us, like… like threads in a tapestry. Runs through every feather, every drop of blood. I mean – look at me.” He unfolded both wings to their full, huge extent, more than thirty feet from one wingtip to the other. “Now, I’m lighter than I look, air sacs and all that, but still, you think a beast my size could get off the ground without at least a spark to help out? The wizards always look forward to our moults – our sheds can be useful ingredients for potions and whatnot.” He folded his wings again, shuffling them a little to settle them more comfortably along his back, and looked out to sea.

“So, yeah, gryphons do have magic,” he went on. “But if what you’re really asking is ‘can gryphons be mages’ – that’s rare. That’s very rare. It’s not unheard of, but every generation only hatches one or two, if that, who can really channel and control their magic like the wizards do. I think Owl and her little apprentice are the only ones around at the moment. They live a ways outside the city – Oakhollow, nice little place a bit east of here – but you might have seen her around now and then. White and pale grey feathers, sort of a ruff around her face, hence the name.”

“I think I have seen her once or twice. I’ve never seen one at the College, though. Not as a student, at least – Inkfoot and the messengers are always around, of course.”

Redbolt shook his head. “You wouldn’t have. It sort of – it goes along different lines to a human mage, I’m told. Not much point trying to teach a gryphon to wield magic the same way a human does, ’cause it just won’t work. I did hear that the little one wanted to sit in on a few theory classes, though, so she might turn up now and then after the summer.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” said Asta. She checked her watch. “That’s after ten o’clock now. I think anybody who hasn’t shown up by now is just going to have to deal with being late.”

“Hrm. Don’t suppose it’s fair to keep ’em waiting, the ones who got here on time.” Redbolt stood, stretched, and nodded for Asta to climb onto his back. He waited for her to buckle the safety strap around her waist before he unfurled his wings again, stepped off the side of the sculpture’s head, and glided down to the beach. The gathered youngsters looked up when his shadow passed over them, and had formed up into a wobbly line by the time his claws touched down on the sand. Asta undid the belt and slid off his back.

“We still waiting on anyone?” asked Redbolt once he was within earshot of the young gryphons. “One, two, three, four – yeah, fifteen of you here now. Right! Like as not you’ve seen me around the place – not like this face blends into a crowd easy – but we’ll do some intros anyway. The name’s Redbolt, lately Flight Captain in the Second Assault Wing. Retired the year before last after eighty-odd years in the Army. Saw action in the Battle of Second Eyrie, the Darkwald War, and more border skirmishes than I can even remember.”

“It shows,” said one female on the end of the row. Her neighbour gave her a scandalised look and made a desperate shushing sound.

Redbolt just looked at her for a few seconds until she began to stew. “Yeah, I’m missing a few bits,” he said mildly. “This one here is my pal Asta; mostly she just tagged along for something to do, but she can help you out if you need anything noted down. Any of you got more than a nest-name yet?”

A few of them did; the one who had commented on Redbolt’s scars went by Vinegar for reasons she declined to explain, while a small male halfway along the row was called Goldcrest for reasons that were entirely obvious. Most, however, were still nameless other than whatever their families shouted to get their attention.

“Well, maybe a few more of you’ll have proper names after the weekend,” said Redbolt. “Think I got my first one when I was about your age. So! Let’s make a start. I take it you’ve all been out at the practice trees? Got in some branch gliding, worked up your flight muscles?” Nods all around. “Good. Sky above knows why your families would’ve sent you out here if you hadn’t. So, since you know how to glide down from a high place, lesson one for today: getting off the ground. What do you already know?”

There were a few seconds of silence as the students all glanced at each other, before Goldcrest held up one fore-claw. It seemed such a human gesture that Asta smiled. “Uh… Flap?”

Redbolt laughed. “You’re not wrong, but there’s more to flight than flapping. Look at the shape of my wing.” He held one out to the side. “Not how it’s shaped from above, but from the side. See how the leading edge is rounded where all the bone and muscle is, then it trails to a sharp edge at the back where the feathers are. Then each big feather is like that too, but smaller, with the vane and the shorter barbs at the front and the longer barbs towards the back. You’ve all got the same. How you hold your wings, how the air flows over that shape – that’s just as important as flapping. More, I’d say. See the gulls up there? How they soar about, only moving their wings now and then? It’s the same for them.

“Now, me, I’ve got enough power in my chest and my back legs that taking off with one big downstroke-leap is easy enough for me, and I’ll try you out on that later, but for now let’s start you out with a wind take-off. Good weather for it today; nice strong breeze off the sea, not too many eddies to throw you around. Asta, you’d better go off to the side for a bit.”

“Yes, I think I better had,” said Asta, and sat down on the sand at the base of the statue. A couple of the students turned to watch her go, clearly still wondering why a human was sitting in on a flying class.

Redbolt cleared his throat to regain their attention. “All right! Step one! Spread out so you don’t all crash into each other.” He waited until they had done so, forming a straggling row along the tideline. “Step two!” he went on, raising his voice so they could all hear him. “Face into the wind. Step three! Wings out.” He waited until all of the young gryphons had their wings spread. Most of them were, in gryphon parlance, ‘eagles’ like Redbolt, with long, broad wings built for soaring, but a few had the shorter, rounder wings and longer tail-feathers of ‘hawks’. Redbolt nodded his approval and turned towards the sea, spreading his own wings. “Step four!” he shouted. “Make shallow flaps like this, and run!”

Two of the students almost immediately crashed into each other and fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs; one tripped on an inconvenient stone and planted his beak in the sand up to his nostrils. Three others managed to take off in a wavering glide for a few seconds before settling relatively gently in the surf and wading back to shore. The rest, however, successfully caught the wind at just the right angle and, and they picked up speed, lifted their claws from the sand and rose into the air. Redbolt nodded again and led them in a wide, gently rising spiral over the sea before coming back in for a long gliding descent to the beach. Asta couldn’t hear what Redbolt shouted back to them as they neared the sand, but presumably it was something to do with how to brake properly. Their landings were less graceful than their take-offs; only four of the students managed to copy how Redbolt dropped his hindquarters, fanning out his tail feathers and spreading out his wings to slow himself before he lowered his hind claws to the sand, took a couple of awkward little hops as his speed fell, and finally dropped to all fours and came to a halt. ‘Crash’ was probably too uncharitable a way of describing the others, but it wasn’t that far off the mark. One came close, but went to all fours too quickly and fell flat on her chest; another missed the mark with his hind legs and tumbled over in a rather spectacular forward roll.

“Everyone still in one piece?” asked Redbolt, to a chorus of pained but affirmative groans. “No broken bones or feathers? Good. Little ones like you should still be bendy enough to take a few knocks with no damage to more than your pride. Right, everyone back up to where we were first.” He waited until everyone had assembled once more and lay down on the sand, crossing his front claws over each other. “Now for the bit everyone loves,” he said, with something like a wicked grin in his voice, though his body language betrayed nothing. “Crrrriticism! Now, you two, and you,” he said, nodding towards the ones who hadn’t even left the ground. “Don’t think I need to say where you went wrong, eh?”

“We’ll stand further apart next time,” said one, glancing sheepishly to the side.

“And keep a better eye on where I’m putting my feet,” added the one who had tripped.

“Good. Now, you three, you had the right idea, but you needed more lift, which in this case means you needed more speed.”

“So, run faster,” said one of the trio who had landed in the sea.

“Run faster,” agreed Redbolt. “Like I said, I’ll try you on a leaping take-off later, but I want to see about getting you all off the ground this way first. Now, as for getting you back on the ground…”

Asta had, she privately admitted, been a little dubious when Redbolt had told her about the flying lessons. She didn’t have much contact with the other military gryphons, but those few she had spoken with who had trained under Redbolt remembered it with something approaching horror; one had told her with a haunted expression that they still dreaded the occasions when he came in as a guest instructor. However, he had clearly adjusted his teaching style for a non-military audience. ‘Gentle’ was probably still not the right word, for he made sure every one of his students knew exactly where they had gone wrong, even those who, such as Vinegar, seemed to Asta’s eyes to have performed perfectly, but he had tempered his criticism with enough coaching on how to improve that soon they were all raring to line back up for another attempt.

It was almost sunset when Redbolt finally called a halt. They had, finally, all managed to take off into the wind, circle around, and land without crashing at least three times.

“Bit trickier than a quick flutter up to the top of the statue, eh?” said Redbolt, pointing up to where they would all have been presented to Lady Starfeather after growing their first set of flight feathers. They murmured their agreement. “We’re gryphons, chickies. Flight’s in our blood. You’d get off the ground without my help, sooner or later. But instinct’s best when it’s paired with proper training.” His tail twitched from side to side in a ‘smile’. “Reckon you’re all starving now, though. C’mon, back to camp for some grub.”

A cheer went up and they followed him back through the coastal dunes in a ragged crocodile, to where a series of tents big enough to comfortably house gryphons had been set up around a huge firepit. Another cheer greeted this sight, for an entire ox had been roasting on a spit over the fire. The team of human cooks who had overseen it lifted the spit from its supports, carried it over to a wide, flat area of stone that had been carefully swept clear of sand, and stood back as the students descended upon the carcass like a flock of starving vultures.

“Gruesome sight, isn’t it?” said Redbolt, almost laughing.

“I think Goldcrest just put his entire head inside the ribcage,” said Asta faintly.

“Yeah, I didn’t think he had that in him, truth be told,” said Redbolt. “Struck me as more of the fussy type.” He glanced sideways to catch Asta’s mildly horrified expression. “Ah, it’s just a flight camp tradition to go a bit wild on the first night. Tomorrow’s dinner’ll be a bit more civilised. Might even have tables.”

“Tables!” said Asta. “How decadent.”

“No need for us to join the scrum, though,” said Redbolt. “C’mon, over – ah, hm. You do eat meat, yeah? Never thought to ask but I know some humans have a thing…”

Asta assured him this wasn’t a problem and followed him over to a second, smaller firepit where the cooks had roasted a pig for Redbolt. He must have warned them in advance that he had human company: they were prepared with a plate and cutlery and carved off a few slices for Asta before placing the rest down on another clean stone for Redbolt. He gave a grunt of approval – evidently high praise from the way the head cook smiled – and began to tear into it with his beak, pinning it in place with his great hooked talons. Long since used to Redbolt’s eating habits, slightly neater than the youngsters’, Asta watched quietly as she ate her own helping, noting how he used his other claw to compensate for the missing talon on his left. She frowned thoughtfully, her gaze drifting up from his claws to the great scar that cut through where his eye had once been.

“Redbolt?” she asked once he had mostly finished his pig.

“Ayah?”

“You’re missing part of your tail.”

“I am?!” said Redbolt, letting his jaw drop. A strip of pork fell from the corner of his mouth. “Why did nobody tell me?!”

“Very funny. I was just wondering, after watching you with the students today – does it affect how you fly?”

“Good question,” said Redbolt. He retrieved the fallen scrap and swallowed it before twisting his head around to look back at his tail. Intact, it would have been some six feet long, but whatever long-ago wound had taken it had left less than half of that. “It did throw off my balance at first,” he said after surveying it for a few seconds. “Had to re-learn a lot of that. But see these big feathers at the base?” He fanned them out in demonstration. “They’re what’s really important for steering in the air. You see it with birds too. Use ’em to shift the airflow over the wings.”

“I think I understand.” More hesitantly, Asta went on. “How did that happen? I know you lost your eye and your talon in the Darkwald War, but…”

“Hah, nah, the tail’s an older thing. Not even a war wound, really, if we’re strict about it.” He sighed. “Gang of slave raiders had climbed up into the Chainbreaker Hills, a good bit north of the Harbinger Pass. Started preying on a couple of the little tiny villages up there, chaining folk up and making ready to drag them back down the hill. And somehow – dunno where they got it – they had a bladehound with them.”

Asta gasped. The terrifying war-constructs had been designed for killing wizards, loaded with as much resistance to magic as their creators could manage, but their sheer bulk and steel claws as sharp and heavy as meat cleavers made them easily a match for a gryphon on the ground.

“Yeah. I was with a border patrol when we came across them. Killed some, chased the others back down the hill, and freed the people they’d grabbed. But I reckon whoever’d been giving the bladehound its orders was one of the dead, because the thing went berserrr – uh, ran wild. Started flailing around like nobody’s business. Well, we got pikes, started forcing it back towards a drop that might break it up enough for us to finish the job, when one of my mates got too close. It went for him, all claws, and I lunged to get him out of the way. He did. I didn’t quite, and, well…” He brought his own talons down in a decisive motion. “Chop.”

Asta drew her breath in through her teeth. “I suppose you were lucky to only lose that much. If you’d been any slower it could have severed your spine.”

“Strictly, it did,” Redbolt pointed out.

“Well, yes. But you know what I mean.”

“Heh. Yeah, I know.” Redbolt paused for a moment and continued, a hint of reluctance entering his voice for the first time. “Actually,” he said slowly, “if I’m honest… losing the eye was worse for flying. Made it harder to judge distances, you know? Crashed a few times when the ground came up faster than I’d thought, until I got used to it.” He stared into space for a few seconds, then gave himself a shake as if to dislodge a bad memory. “Still, I am used to it now. Barely remember what it was like to have two, really.”

Asta found that difficult to believe, considering that Redbolt was more than a hundred years old and had been missing an eye for less than twenty, but thought it best not to voice as much. “You’re very philosophical about all your scars,” she said quietly.

“Ah, well. Don’t see much point being otherwise. Not like pulling my feathers out will make my tail grow back, eh?”

“Hm.” Asta ran one hand back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, finding the uppermost whipping-scar across her back with her fingertips. Only after a few more seconds of silence did she realise that Redbolt had turned his head and was watching her without speaking. She met his steady golden gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s different, I think, with all of mine,” he said, his raspy voice unusually gentle. “They weren’t fun – actually picked up a nasty infection with the eye, had to sit out the last few months of the war – but… I was on my feet and fighting, you know? Heat of battle sort of thing. Them or me. There wasn’t the same…” He paused, wiggling his ear again. Asta imagined he might have wrinkled his nose, had his beak been capable of such an expression. “Wasn’t the same kind of… of cold cruelty behind it that there was with that.” He nodded towards her back. “And I think maybe it’s that that haunts your dreams as much as the real pain of it.”

“…You might be right.”

Redbolt grunted and gave himself another shake. “You said your berserker killed the one who did that to you?” he said, his voice back to its usual deep, gruff tone.

“Yes. She did.”

“Good. Else I might’ve had to track him down.”

Asta smiled despite herself. “Oh, he wouldn’t stand a chance.” Another short, companionable silence passed by before she changed the subject. “So, you said you might try the students with one of your leaping takeoffs tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll see how many can manage it. They’re young still, and it takes a lot of muscle. They would’ve sort of done it for their presentations, but going into level flight from that is a different skill to a quick flap-flap-flap straight up.”

“You know, I can’t say it’s one I’ve ever had much cause to master.”

They finished eating and, after briefly taking the students to wash up in the river, turned in for the night. Redbolt unbuckled his harness and left it in a heap at the edge of his tent. All he had with him for a bed was a huge rug made from a number of sheepskins sewn together, which he had brought from his eyrie in the city and laid out on the tarpaulin floor, but someone had thoughtfully provided a camp bed for Asta.

“They must’ve been worried I might roll over on you in the night if you just slept on the ground,” said Redbolt as Asta laid out her bedroll on top of it.

“As cosy as your feathers are, I would rather avoid that,” said Asta. “Though as a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept next to a gryphon.”

“Yeah?”

Asta nodded. “On the way south with Curlew, I was sharing Captain Steel’s cabin. That first night on the ship, I… was not in a very good place. Mentally speaking. I was trying to muffle it with the blankets they’d given me, but she must have heard me crying anyway, because she got up from her own bed across the room and lay down next to my pallet instead. She didn’t say anything, just folded a wing over me and went back to sleep.”

“Huh. She didn’t strike me as the cuddly sort.” Redbolt yawned enormously, arched his back, and turned around in a circle before he lay down on his front and rested his head on his forelegs. “Well, feel free to snuggle up if you have a bad dream, but otherwise – I’ll see you in the morning.”

They didn’t make it to the morning before both of them woke with a start. Screams echoed from down by the beach, not human voices but the earsplitting shrieks of terrified young gryphons. Somebody clawed frantically at the tent door, talons piercing the canvas. “Redbolt! Mr Redbolt! Sir!”

Goldcrest. Asta sat up and dragged her hair into an unbrushed ponytail as Redbolt lurched to his feet and wrenched the flap aside. “What’s wrong?”

The little gryphon cringed back from Redbolt looming over him. “I- We were- it’s-”

Asta went down on her knees, bringing their eyes to the same level, and took his face between her hands. “Look at me. Deep breaths. Now, what’s happening?”

Goldcrest drew in a long, slow breath, nervously fluffing his feathers out. “A few of us went back to the beach for a bit more practice after lights-out,” he said. He cast a cautious glance up at Redbolt, who just listened in silence. “One of the others, that hawk with the sort of falcon markings? She – I don’t know, she must’ve panicked or something, and, well, um…” He pointed back towards the beach.

Redbolt looked. “Ah.”

The other students had gathered in a frightened huddle, staring helplessly at the cyclone hovering above the beach. Although the sky was otherwise still clear, the funnel of howling winds had whipped sand and spray alike up into a veil around a lone figure in midair, lit up now and then by a flicker of sparks.

“She’s a mage?” said Asta.

“We didn’t know!” one of the students wailed. “She didn’t know!”

“Vinegar!” Redbolt bellowed over the wind. The gryphon in question sat up on her haunches to stand out from the pack. “Oakhollow’s a straight flight four miles east of here. Think you can find it in the dark?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Go. We need Owl, and we need her fast.”

Vinegar nodded, took a run-up, and disappeared into the night in a flurry of feathers.

Redbolt looked back at the miniature windstorm on the beach, ran his talons through the feathers on his chest, and sighed deeply.

“What are you thinking?” asked Asta.

“That next time I run one of these, I should enlist a couple more adults to keep an eye on the youngsters.”

“I’m an adult,” Asta pointed out.

“Adults who can fly.”

Asta’s eyes flicked down to the sand at the bottom of the funnel. “How close can you get me?”

Redbolt turned his entire head to stare at her. “What?”

She pointed, grabbing a handful of his feathers with her other hand. “Look – look at the base of it. It’s moving.”

“Of course it’s moving, it’s a storm!”

“I don’t just mean around in a circle, I mean it’s drifting towards the sea! However long it takes Vinegar to find this village and then for Owl to get back here – I don’t think we have that long until that thing turns into a waterspout. And then – well. I don’t want her to drown, do you?”

Redbolt continued to look at her doubtfully.

“I know I’m not a mage and I’m certainly not a gryphon, but I do work at the College. If there’s one thing I have done a few times by now, it’s calm down a panicking apprentice.”

Redbolt looked from her to the storm and back a couple of times, breathing slowly and deeply, before he nodded. “Get a good hold on my neck, then. No time to go back for my harness.”

He took off at a run the second Asta was on his back, leaping into flight above the dunes and hurtling towards the cyclone. Asta clung harder to his feathers as he half-folded his wings and plunged into the funnel, riding the gale in a tight circle until he burst through into a pocket of still air in the middle.

The young gryphon hung in the very centre, not as motionless as Asta had initially thought: her body spasmed as bright bluish-white light crackled over her feathers, pulsing along the stiff vanes of her primaries and glowing in her wide, staring eyes, while her talons raked at the air as she tried desperately to steady herself. Her beak gaped open as her chest fluttered with rapid, shallow breaths. Slowly, jerkily, she managed to turn her head to look at them, but if she cried out, the sound was instantly torn away by the wind.

“I can’t hover, Asta!” Redbolt shouted, circling in a small ring above the youngster. “Whatever you’ve got planned, do it quick!”

Asta steeled herself and, before Redbolt could object or she could second-guess herself, threw herself from his back. He gave one appalled squawk, shocked out of his coordination, and the wind tossed him head-over-heels out of the funnel. Asta flung her arms around the young mage’s neck, dragging them both a few feet downwards before the uncontrolled magic arrested their fall. Pinpricks of sparks crawled across her hands as they dug into the slate-grey feathers, but she kept her grip and brought her mouth as close to one pointed ear as she could.

“Can you hear me?” A nod, felt rather than seen. “Have you got a name?” Shake. “I think you might after tonight, but we need to get safely back on the ground first. For now, just close your eyes and focus on my voice. You’re going to be all right.”

The gryphon’s forelegs twitched upwards to wrap around her waist; Asta winced as the talons dug in through the thin fabric of her blouse, but kept it from her voice. “Now, close your beak. Breathe in through your nostrils for a count of one… two… three… four… five… and out through your mouth. Like this.”

Slowly, the gryphon’s breathing evened out. The sparks became fewer and further between, the glow fainter, but the funnel surrounding them did not let up.

“That’s it. You’re doing well.”

“The wind-”

“Don’t worry about the wind yet. It’s not the wind holding you up here. Have you ever seen a wizard levitate? For now, just think – down.”

The gryphon took another deep breath, and slowly they began to sink until finally their feet touched the sand. The gryphon’s rear talons dug in as if to cling to the ground, and she opened her eyes. The glow was gone, revealing them to be a shade somewhere between a chick’s brown and an adult’s gold, but the wind still spiralled around them both.

“There we go,” said Asta, holding eye contact. “That’s the worst part out of the way.”

Then, a flash of motion. A pale shape hurtled through the air outside the funnel, circling around and around opposite the direction of the wind. Bit by bit the storm slowed until they could see the newcomer clearly: a lone adult gryphon, her feathers a snowy white fading to a pale grey on her wing coverts, and a strange ruff around her face. She brought herself up short, golden light coursing along the vanes of her flight feathers, and thrust both wings forwards with a sound like a thunderclap. With one huge gust of wind towards the sea, the young mage’s storm disappeared. The waves settled, and the beach was peaceful once again.

The youngster let go of Asta’s waist and backed away, looking at the sand as Owl landed. Redbolt hurried forwards and swept Asta in under his wing, preening her hair with the tip of his beak. She pushed his beak away half-heartedly before she hugged him around the neck and buried her face in his feathers.

“You sure the berserker’s the mad one of the pair of you?” muttered Redbolt, bowing his head over her shoulder.

“Heh. Well, under certain circumstances…”

Redbolt lifted his head again to take in the scene. Now that the storm had ended, the rest of the students had crept down from the dunes, edging carefully towards the mage. At their head, Vinegar sat up and punched one clenched claw towards the sky. “Galewing! Galewing! Galewing!” Soon the others had taken up the chant, and didn’t stop until Redbolt let go of Asta and stepped forwards.

“Looks like you have another apprentice,” he said to Owl. She didn’t look terribly pleased by this development. “You know the law,” Redbolt told her, his tail twitching. “All those with magic must learn to control it.”

Owl tipped her head back until it almost rested between her shoulders and gave a long, drawn-out groan. “Fiiiine.” She eyed the newly-named Galewing for a second, and her bristling crest-feathers settled into a somewhat gentler expression. “Well, I guess Sunbeam’ll be happy to have a ‘study buddy’,” she said, the last two words a little stilted as if she was unfamiliar with the term. She lifted a front claw and jabbed one talon towards Galewing. “I’ll see you at Oakhollow first thing on Ravensday to get started. You’ve got until then to sort things out with your family.” Galewing nodded. Owl lowered her talon and turned away. “Good.” She groaned again. “I’m going back to bed.”

“You know,” said Asta once Owl had flown off, “when you mentioned her earlier, I think I imagined someone with more… gravitas.”

“People usually do,” said Redbolt with a sigh. “But she does know magic, and she’s softer than she likes to act. Galewing’ll do fine with Owl keeping an eye on her.” He looked back at the rest of the students, who were still bunched in a loose half-circle around Galewing, and unfolded his wings in a shooing gesture, herding them back towards the camp. “The rest of you, back to bed as well! And stay there until morning this time!”

“I’ll speak to Master Gwen when I get back to the college,” said Asta as they walked back through the dunes. “I’m sure she can set aside some time for a chat with you before the next time you run one of these weekend events.”

“Huh? What for?”

“Because,” said Asta, “I don’t think there is anyone in Stormhaven with more experience organising groups of magical children than her.” She poked him in the side of his neck, grinning. “You are going to learn all about risk assessment forms.”

---

What has two thumbs and spent more time than is probably necessary reading about bird anatomy and flight physics? 👍👍

Gryphons aren't real! They don't need to be 'scientifically accurate'! And indeed kind of can't be, considering the aforementioned 'not real' thing. But I've always felt that at least a few nods in that direction adds a certain verisimilitude to fantasy and helps to suspend disbelief about all the stuff that's just nonsense. This was also the rationale behind noting that yes, Redbolt does actually have trouble with his depth perception.

I'm not sure how old the young gryphons are chronologically, as their aging doesn't really map neatly into human terms, but developmentally I'd put them in sort of the 8-10 range.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

John couldn’t help the snicker that left him. James was always so keen to help. To protect and provide. And he was good at it, very good. John wouldn’t let anyone see him like this otherwise. At his most vulnerable, at his weakest. Literally. “Mm. My hero.” He grinned, walking with the aid of his lover.

He didn’t argue, didn’t push James away. It was evident that the vamp wanted to help, just as much as it was evident that John needed it. The shower would hopefully help his aching muscles, not that he regretted anything about the previous night. If anything, he embraced the aches, reminders of his lover’s claim.

Blue eyes watched as James started the shower and turned it to the right temperature. John didn’t have any doubt the water would be perfect. Everything that man did always was. He allowed James to guide him into the shower, a long content sigh leaving the blonde as the water fell on him. He closed his eyes and stood with his head tipped back, enjoying the warmth against his face and body, the pressure hitting those aches. “Mmm…it’s nice. Perfect.” He commented.

As James spoke, head tipped forward. John’s gaze was focused on his lover as he gave a small smile. “I know we will. I know.” He agreed in a murmur. It still felt so odd, like he was an alien in his own body. Yet James hadn’t looked at him nor treated him any differently, and that was a fact John was clinging to. That he was still here, still loved him. Still wanted to be with him, do things for him. Help and support him. He couldn’t do this alone.

John nodded at the gentle command and let out deep breaths. The moment those hands were in his hair, he hummed softly and felt those woes slowly ebb away. Bit by bit, he relaxed under James’ touch, eyes closed as hands reached out to hold his lover’s sides. Just needing that contact, to feel him there while he couldn’t see him. “Mms’nice…” He mumbled, pure putty in the vampire’s hands. The mixture of affection together with the warmth from the shower and the calming pitter patter of the spray, it was all one big safety net. A sanctuary for John.

Ears perked as that soothing voice echoed, hands slowly gliding up and down his lover’s sides. “You always take care of me. You’re the only one who ever has, and meant it. I’d be lost without you, James.” John’s tone was warm, vulnerable. Open. But relaxed. He wasn’t going to argue nor fight on this. Not when it helped keep those bad thoughts away. James wanted to be there for him. He wanted to take care of him. That meant he would stay, that he wouldn’t leave him. That’s what he kept telling himself while soaking up the affection and comforting words.

James was more than eager to be that stabilizing rock for the blonde to cling to. To be what got him through this tough and trying time. He could not imagine losing powers and abilities that were second nature , like an extension of himself, gone. Akin to losing a limb, feeling sluggish and handicapped. James wanted to make this as easy as he could for him. It was working too, he could feel the tension and apprehension ( as well as the pain ) ebb and ease. He could feel his gorgeous hybrid fledgling relaxing against him. Even if said in jest, he prided himself on his heroics. " Well, I do try" he mused.

It never onced even occured to him that .. now that Homelander was powerless… that he should leave him for someone better and more powerful. Because, while he did enjoy those powers and strength the man had at his peak, it was John he ultimately had fallen for. That he loved, was bonded with. He would go to the moon and back just to capture some stardust for him, so having no powers was but a minor setback-- one he planned on rectifying as soon as possible.

Just.. after his lover felt a little better first.

He wore a soft smile when his lover murmured out that the head massage felt nice. James definitely enjoyed giving pleasure to his beloved supe perhaps even more than recieving. But it did his unbeating heart good. " mm good , just relax.. I won't let you fall or stumble. I love you, John. " He murmurs deeply in that rumble of his against the shell of an ear. Suckling upon the lobe a moment.

" And I always will. " he reassured. Reinforcing that love, that hope that someone actually cared for him, and was on his side. James knew what it was like to life so long with no one. When you were looked at as a weapon or tool and not a person worthy of love. It allowed James to help heal John and change him into a better man. If he had not been introduced who knows how unhinged the man would be now?

He began to hum, wrapping his arms around his lover in the spray, swaying with him in the water while rinsing out the shampoo from the blonde hair. " I will always… be here.. for you to count on. When you are at your best, or your worst.. "

SevenCon

[tenaciouswile]

Solo "A starry spring night" Marius de Romanus

It was one of those nights where Marius sat alone in his apartment, the balmy air coming through the window and he listened to the music coming from the people who were in their gardens partying. A slight smile crossed his lips as he walked towards his easel, there was a picture drawn from his memory.

A memory from almost forgotten days. You could see a landscape on it, but there was also a house on it, it was his. It was the last memory he had before it burned down. Painting the picture was his way of dealing with his past, the fact that he lost everything that night. He had never been one to openly share his feelings, which also made him a very lonely being. But if you looked at his paintings, all his dedication was there - it was his style and would always be his.

A light sigh escaped his lips and even if he wanted to paint that night, he couldn't that night. He turned away from the painting and took his red coat and wrapped himself in it and left his apartment but before he could leave the house he felt someone grab his arm, holding him back and he looked into two dark brown eyes and recognized Gabriel was holding him back from leaving the house. "Where are you going? Are you sure you want to get out now? I heard the people in the neighborhood are very suspicious. They know you never leave the house during the day. I would advise you to be careful."

Marius knew Gabriel was worried and he gave his friend credit for that, but it wasn't the first time people around him had become suspicious. "I know you're worried, but I've got everything under control. Try to relax and spend the evening with your wife. I'm going to take an evening walk." And with that he left the house and headed towards the park in town.

It was a mild spring evening, he liked nights like this and enjoyed nature as much as he could. But in the city it was more of a challenge to find good places. When he got to the park he sat down on one of the park benches, took off his coat and put it next to him. Now he was just sitting there with his dark red suit fitting in the period of this time, red was his favorite color and matched perfectly well with his blonde hair.

His gaze went to the sky and he imagined what it would be like if it was day, he missed the sun but the imagination was enough that he felt like it was real. This brought a soft smile to his lips when he suddenly heard noises behind him and someone approached him from the shadows.

The thoughts he heard were loud and cruel, causing his icy blue eyes to darken. "I advise you to go. While you still can." It was a little warning and then the man pulled out a knife and waved it in front of Mariu's face. He demanded that he give him his money, which made Marius even more tense since he hadn't eaten in a while either. But the law was strict and with this he had to pull himself together.

A soft growl came from him and he went into the human's head with his voice. "You got lost last night in one of the bars and drank too much. You forget that we met and you're going to have a bad hangover in the morning. And now you're going home." The man got a slightly dopey look and lowered his hand and the knife dropped to the ground which Marius took then.

The young man nodded in a trance and turned around as he slowly walked away. Marius felt the tension leave him when the human had moved away from him and he was alone again. His heart grew heavy as the night wrapped itself more and more around him, even looking at the sky couldn't make the feeling in his heart any easier now.

Because when the night wrapped around him, the loneliness creeped up in him and had a tight hold on his soul. Which also caused his feeling of missing someone to grow even bigger than usual, his thoughts were often with him and he was glad that he had found him again. It was his fledgling Armand. Marius bowed his head and thought of him and oh how he wished he was with him now and he could sit here with him and enjoy this night together. But he didn't know where he was and so his thoughts were only with him that night.