#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.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[pervysenpaix]

umm bully mirio scares you so much that he makes you piss your pants in the hallways, white thigh highs stained with yellow as you sob and pray no one is paying attention to you. him dragging you into the janitors closet after to actually give you a reason to cry and piss yourself.

Please-- like are you in my brain right now ? i- i YES

18+ MDNI| ✨piss✨ , bullying , dubcon, mean mirio , god im a simp

Mirio Togata is your worst nightmare. Yeah, he might be UA's golden boy-- all sweet and charismatic but that's just a façade. Or at least, that's how he is to everyone but you. He's just so mean ! Always calling you mean names, pinching your thighs, and ordering you around. You tried to tell someone, anyone , but who'd believe you ? You should've known better, and you also should've known that word would get back to your tormenter. You probably would've kept your mouth shut if you'd known that he'd have you backed against the lockers, head locked between two meaty fists. Thumb resting against your temples and lips pressed against your ear whispering cruelly. "Did you really think they'd believe you, Quirkless?". “Honestly , you should be grateful that I even waste my time on someone as mediocre as you.” “So many girls would kill for my attention” And he wasn’t lying. Everyone loved Mirio. Everyone except you. He couldn’t understand why you didn’t immediately succumb to his charms. Why you didn’t fall to your knees the moment he spoke to you. All the other girls did. He didn’t know that you were super shy and introverted so his outgoing personality made you nervous, he took it as a personal offense. Getting meaner and meaner everyday. But this was the worst it had ever gotten. His knee was pressed between your legs, right against your cunt. You were shaking so bad. So scared and he was holding you in place. It didn't help that he'd caught you on the way to restroom. “P-please Mirio … gotta go” Your pathetic pleas fell on deaf ears. “P-please Mirio” he mocked, adding pressure against your temple. “Where do you have to go , huh ? What’s more important than me ?” Fat tears welled in the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill with each twitch of his leg. "I have to go to the ladies room, Mirio" you whined, praying that he'd spare you the tiniest sliver of mercy. Prayers went unanswered because Mirio's handsome face twisted into a cruel smile. Cerulean visionaries burning into your skin and tracing a path down to where his knee met your clothed cunt. "Oh?" he mocked, voice dripping with faux concern. "Does little Y/N need to go potty?" You didn’t answer, just whimpered and averted your eyes which did not bode well with the fledgling hero. *BAM! His fists crashed into the locker, leaving a gaping hole right next to your head. "When I talk you- Mirio's voice trailed off and his gaze fell to the darkening splotch on his uniform pants. Amber liquid surged from the place between your thighs. Pretty white stockings ruined with streaks of hot piss. "M-mirio , i-" Words caught in your throat and you whimpered in humiliation. Utterly defeated by the fact that you'd pissed yourself in front of the most popular boy in school. He was going to be furious. At least that's what you assumed before you dared glance at his oceanic orbs. The blonde's eyes glazed over, completely clouded with lust. The wet tip of his tongue darted across his plush lips and your eyes followed the movement. Slightly parted and moistened by saliva. What you wouldn't give to have those lips on your body. As if he were clairvoyant, Mirio pulled you into a bruising kiss. Bullying into your mouth with such skilled aggression that your brain felt fuzzy. A heady mixture of adrenaline and arousal permeated the air and the damp warmth of your cunt pulsed against his leg in rhythm with the frantic beating of your heart. Mirio pulled away hair messy and tie disheveled. Thick fingers carded through his blonde locs before he stepped forward to adjust your braids. A hand lingered against your cheek, almost gentle. Almost. His thumb and index finger squeezed as he pulled your face close to his. "My room at 9PM, Quirkless. Don't be late."

@xogabbiexo , @yo-nn , @m00nchildthings , @nasty-quillz , @namjoonswifeyy, @blkchxrryblyss, @plussizeficchick, @hhawkz, @7inaa , @prettylittlepixi , @38riku , @tsukihime25 @tenyaiidasslut

[bnhamixjuice-sfw]

ANON REQUEST: Hawks, Dabi and Aizawa: spot an ex he had a bad break up with, he sees her walking around struggling to hold on to a bag of groceries while pushing a stroller with a toddler in it that looks awful lot like them, and the he awkwardly confronts them when the bag falls out of her hands.

Tags: Manga Spoiler, Mention of cheating, Angst to Fluff.

Hawks

“I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to–”

“Didn’t mean what? to deny that I’m your girlfriend in front of the media ‘cause you had a job agreement with the commission not to reveal me! okay Keigo you’re doing this for what reason exactly? Hero Reputation? More women you can use to cheat behind my back again and expect me to forgive you? I–I don’t want this kind of life anymore!”, you wailed in pure anguish roughly wriggling your wrist away from his firm clutch.

He felt suffocated when he needed to let you go for all the things that he did to hurt you, holding back the urge to chase you outside when you frantically closed the door, not looking back anymore on him. Leaving the top pro hero falling on his knees, lonely between these four walls of his house.

After all this time he can’t forget you, longing to see your face everywhere he goes even on pro hero awarding events or his usual patrol work with Endeavor looking for you through the crowds, praying to see your smile again that he misses the most.

His life was crumbling apart without you, but luck was on his side today when he spotted you not too far from where he was signing autographs for his fans while stealing some glances. As always, you’re still beautiful standing there.

Trying to fix your grocery bags while clasping the baby-carriage’s handle. He hesitated at first to approach you thinking you’re probably waiting for your husband to pick you up and your child. And that’s when a tuft of yellow hair popped out.

“Mommy look it’s Hawks, Awtoglaph pweasee awtoglapph”, his excited pleas reached Hawks’ ears. pointing his fingers towards your ex-boyfriend who waved a hand on both of you.

Soon red feathers clumped together on the ground, preventing your bag to fall.

“Wow what do we have here, a kid full of energy today, so where do you want me to sign your autograph?”, stooping down beaming a smile with his eyes crinkling behind his yellow visor making your child gasp in awe.

He knew instantly that his suspicion was right seemingly looking at his own reflection with those golden honey orbs and black lines on those eyelids and small bump protruding behind the kid’s shirt, red feathers similar to his, messily cramped inside.

“Ke–Hawks here… ”, almost calling out his first name when you handed him a notebook and a pen.

Slightly feeling his gloved hand against your palm.

“Hawks look I hab wings too–”

“Honey we need to go home now or else you’ll miss your favorite show again, now say bye bye to Mr. Hawks”, you interrupted, sneaking a warning glare on him not to tell him anything before gently freeing your child’s wings out from his shirt’s makeshift holes.

“Little fledgling I guess your wings were moulting, so did your Daddy tell you about it”

“Hab no Dawdy but Oh you see… Mommy Lov’ Dawdy so much that she booboo cries” you were shock-stricken softly hushing your child out of embarassment.

“Well kid make sure to tell your Mommy not to cry okay cause Daddy loves her so much, yes don’t forget to tell that to her every day I–”, he stammered with his voice started cracking, overwhelming him with emotions too easily, swallowing the lump forming on his throat.

“Your father loves you too kid trust me, and surely there’s not a single day he’s not thinking of your Mommy, his only Dove–Ah I think I’m taking too much of your time Miss I-I’m so sorry”, halting it immediately, muffling a few sniffles before finally signing his signature.

Your heart began thumping so loud, not expecting him shamelessly grabbing your hand, burying you into a warm embrace in public.

“Wait Keigo stop this, everyone’s taking so many pictures of you”

“No I don’t care anymore, listen Dove I’m so sorry and I still love you, come back to me please I promise I won’t hurt you again, I’ll do better this time just let me make up for it, and for our son”

You can’t blame yourself for giving in, accepting him wholeheartedly knowing this is what you promised to him once.

To never let your future child experience the same heartache he suffered from his past.

Dabi

He regret those cruel words that came out from his mouth the first time he was too fed up of your constant admonishment of putting a rest on his revenge against his family forever since you cannot bear to see him exhausting his body anymore, starting this heated discourse again between you.

“You always bring this up y/n every single day and it’s too annoying already, why are you siding on Enji too much Babydoll… come on just say it you really want us to have a perfect family, so cool to have a child with this debilitating quirk too right?”

Sucking your inner lips anxiously avoiding to tell him something about that last one, you felt his grip on your sholders constricting furiously waiting for you to answer him back, but your tears spilling from those precious eyes made his stomach churn in guilt realizing what he had done when you began screaming on his face that everything’s over, shoving him away and locking the door of your house shut.

He knew how much of a dick he was, the worst break up that’s been haunting him everyday with your terrified face forever etched on his mind

It’s been a long time since the last time he saw you after you moved from your old house and he cannot find you everywhere until today.

He saw you pushing a stroller on the side of the road and having a hard time balancing the bag of groceries on your other hand.

Perhaps you found someone better than him and additionally having a child; a normal child considering he’s not the father. that’s what he thought until something caught his attention.

Squinting his eyes, he was slack-jawed to find a familiar cerulean orbs and red hair on that young boy giddily calling you Mommy.

He took this rare chance of talking to you again by catching your bag of groceries that you clumsily dropped, your eyes met recognizing your ex-boyfriend instantly when he removed his mask. piercing eyes gazing down below observing your child’s similar features.

“Babydoll why didn’t you tell me about him, our son?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Dabi and refrain from calling me that nickname anymore, also stay away from MY son before I call the police”

You breathed heavily snatching back your grocery bag from his grasp, clutching the stroller’s handle in pure anger.

“Daddy you meanie, go home”, tugging his pants with those tiny hands.

It hurts you to see your own child begging for his father to go home, when you can’t even tell him how you often show his own picture to your child that’s why he recognized his own father easily, keeping him close to his heart and memory forever.

You can’t hate your only child’s father.

He was expecting him to cry on his intimidating face when he bent his knees down to look at his child closely, ignoring your earlier threat by patting his son’s head seemingly accepting this foreign fatherly instinct.

“Kid look I’m obviously a bad guy, I don’t want you to get in trouble so maybe next time when your Mommy allows me, don’t worry I’ll probably see you again next time pepperoni haired kid”, chuckling when he saw his son’s childish pout, letting him pinch his stapled cheeks annoyed at his nickname.

“Y/n this is goodbye then”, flashing you that thin smile noticing his lips quivering a bit as he stood.

Shoving both of his hands inside his pockets before turning around to walk slowly away from both of you ignoring your child’s tantrum cries calling for him to go back.

“Ssh… sweetie don’t cry okay–Wait Touya!”

He stopped on his tracks when you yelled his real name again, like how you used to call him that before out of endearment.

“We’re going to stay here from now on so same address, the usual okay knock thrice and use our anniversary day on pressing the doorbell and don’t forget our password, listen I’m doing this for our child only so you better show up tonight or I won’t ever give you a chance”

He disappeared quickly after that, and tonight he never failed to show up incessantly ringing the doorbell many times even greeting you that typical password; a kiss.

A yearning kiss, hands intertwining the moment you opened your heart once again.

Aizawa

“Shouta you keep missing my calls these past few weeks when I needed you the most, you barely have enough time to visit me when I was sick the whole week and now you’re late, fine I don’t wanna hear your excuses anymore”

Those bitter words pierced him like thorns, seeing you slip out that engagement ring from your finger and placing it on a table whispering those bitter words he doesn’t want to hear from you.

“It’s better if we end this relationship now before we regret something, I–I can’t imagine my future being married with you or even having a child with you who pathetically seek for time and attention from his workaholic father, sorry Shouta”, you covered your mouth trying to bite back your tongue from spilling about your unborn child.

Running outside the restaurant leaving him heartbroken that he can’t further speak out his words anymore because everything that you just told him was painfully true.

He doesn’t deserve you, blaming himself for not appreciating you enough despite of your effort of enduring the hardships of having a pro hero fiance who often risk his life for his students. A man who can’t even spend a time to take care of you.

Nevertheless, he wanted to mend back those strings that binds you to his heart, always pouring out his loneliness on visiting that Cat Cafe on his day off every week reminding him of memories you two share.

You often take him there to spend a date knowing he’s fond of cats and snapping lots of photos of him every time he ends up sleeping on the corner with cats huddling close to his face nearly suffocating him.

Keeping your engagement ring to him all the time was the only thing that calms him down whenever he’s in dire situation on his job, thinking how much he wish to meet you here again.

Unbelievably seeing you again one time, rubbing his weary eyes once and twice to know if it’s truly you. Indeed, he can’t forget that familiar caring smile of his beloved, finding you outside the cat cafe currently having a problem of organizing your bag of groceries.

“Mawmmy, neko pweasee I wanna touch it!”, your daughter began whinning clapping his hands to get your attention.

He can’t believe his own eyes when your child resembles him too much with that obsidian dull eyes and sleek black hair minus for that pigtail hairstyle but that scowl seems a carbon copy of his own.

“Wait Baby I–”

“I think you need help Y/n”

You were flabbergasted to find your ex-fiance taking a hold of your bag of groceries with his whip that was about to hit the ground and voluntarily offering his Neko tote bag for you which you persuaded him not to.

“Mawmmy pwease I want that too, Neko”, her tiny hands reaching out determined to get it no matter what.

“Baby no–”

“Well your daughter love cats so much, you can give this to her, please just a friendly gift”, taking out something from his pocket leaning down a bit to his side to rummage on that keychain, letting you see his necklace around his neck with that old engagement ring of yours dangling.

“Found it, here kid I’m not sure if you’ll like this”

“Aww Mawmmy have that too um…right Mawmmy, so no thanks Mister”

There’s no way you were married that’s what Shouta suspected when he saw you not wearing any ring, and obviously that cat keychain was closely similar to his anniversary keychain that you two bought for each other.

“Y/n I can drive you two back to your house if its okay–”

“Mawmmy please say yes”

You sighed in defeat not having a choice in the first place and also giving freedom to your child to spend time with her father who doesn’t know about this.

His car was still the same, sitting beside him and your child now sleeping behind after getting so tired ogling on his car’s cat accesories.

You chuckled upon seeing your daughter’s face on the mirror messily drooling, leaning slightly on your side to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Darling is she our daughter”

“Eyes on the road Shouta, and yes so what will you do about it. Do you expect me to ask for any financial support from you oh maybe spending your precious time for our daughter that I can’t even get from you years ago”, you sarcastically uttered, stabbing him rudely with those truthful words he was unprepared to hear from you.

“I understand if you’re still mad at me y/n, but I just want you to let you know that I want to set things right first before asking you to forgive me. Because I don’t want to miss this opportunity again to tell you how much I wanted to talk to you or maybe to see you in your white wedding dress”

You can’t resist how determined he was to get close to you again, feeling his hand slowly making its way on you.

Giving back that engagement ring to whom it truly belongs, and that was you, a dream he wanted to come true despite it being too impossible.

Turning your head away to wipe your own tears, proposing for the second time that you have been waiting to hear from him all along.

“She’s your daughter Shouta and don’t you dare make her cry of I’ll scratch your face harder than what your cat does”

“That’s too kind of you, I mean my cat misses your deadly belly rub too, you named him Mr. Pickles right, well I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see his Mom again and his new sibling soon”,

You both exchanged soft giggling catching up on one another by starting the conversation about your lives and so on and so forth, and apparently your child was eavesdropping on both of you.

Your daughter muffled a “Pro hero mission success” after accomplishing her goal, peeking a bit to see you wearing that shiny ring.

She knew it the first time she saw that stranger recognizing him from one of the picture you often place under your pillow, her daddy.

Well she did inherit Shouta’s intellectual skills after all.

Do not repost this fic/headcanon.

Disclaimer: I don't own My hero academia nor its characters and plot.

[thedragonnerd]

Rayaari headcanon - let us be sad with some angst and hurt/comfort

(inspired by a lovely anon)

With the rebirth of Kumandra and the return of their lost loved ones, everyone tries to sweep away the last six years, in a desperate attempt to move on with their lives and not waste any more time dwelling on the past.

But the scars, both physical and mental, still remain, and trauma endured cannot simply be washed away. There is a disconnect between people now - especially between those who had to endure the threat of Druuns hanging over their heads for years, and those who have awoken to a new world and changed people.

The most heart-wrenching discovery for Raya is that she doesn't always know what to say to her own Ba. It's been so long since they spent a lot of time together, and she is a very different person now compared to the 12-year-old little girl he threw into the water. Sometimes, she's worried he won't like the person she has become.

She also has more arguments with him than before, especially whenever he treats her more like a small child than the young woman she is today, who has survived hardship he never wanted her to experience. They don't always see eye-to-eye with each other regarding trade, politics and what is best for Heart, with his optimism and her realism clashing. If they don't resolve their disagreement quickly, Namaari will find Raya crying softly in their bedroom; she hates fighting with her Ba.

Raya sometimes sees children from her past, who were turned to stone in the original Druun attack and been frozen in time until now. It feels a lifetime ago that she was the right age to play with them, and when she sees them laughing and playing games, she wonders was I ever really that young?

She carries a weapon on her at all times, unable to shake off the feeling that something might go wrong. She learnt this the hard way when she was thirteen: a market deal in Talon had gone wrong, and she was attacked by two large men when she was only a child and without a weapon or knowledge how to fight back. Her ability to run fast had saved her that day. Since then, she has vowed never to be caught weaponless again.

One morning when Namaari tries to wake her, she accidentally pulls a knife, holding it up to Namaari's neck. Raya is almost sick with the idea that she could have seriously injured Namaari just through instinct, but Namaari just holds her hands until she calms down, rubbing her thumb back and forth. 'I trust you with my life,' she tells Raya.

Raya also still has moments where waves of anger wash over her, striking her unawares and in an uncontrollable manner. One time, Namaari makes an innocuous comment about Benja that sets Raya off, words of anger and blame falling from her lips with malicious intent. She feels awful after having done it - she never meant for Namaari to become the target of her bad emotions that day, and she can see how far it sets back their fledgling relationship. Namaari spirals into several days of guilt before they reconcile again.

For Namaari sees the trauma Raya carries, and can't help but feel responsible. She adds this to the weight of the guilt she has already carried for the past six years, and then bottles it up inside, with the opinion that she doesn't deserve Raya's sympathy, or indeed sympathy from anyone.

She has been raised to place the safety of her people before herself, growing to accept and embrace the risk to her own life every time she had to go out on a mission beyond the Fang borders and into Druun territory. It is something she has always been willing to do if it means keeping the rest of Fang safe, and in this new, safer world it is difficult to shake off these feelings of self-sacrifice being a worthy endeavour.

Indeed, she sometimes thinks that it would have been nobler to have turned to stone herself at some point over the years, but she is also too pragmatic to believe that would absolve her of her sins.

Her way of trying to atone therefore is to help as many people as possible now. Her self-sacrificing thoughts are channeled into working herself to exhaustion, as she tries to juggle fixing Fang's city and palace, expanding her citizen's homes back out into their previously Druun-infested lands, and offering up her services to any of the other lands who need extra support in rebuilding.

All of this responsibility and guilt weighs her down enough that she sometimes gets hit with extreme panic attacks. She manages to get herself to a private location the first few times it happens, but then it strikes in the middle of a sparring session with Raya, and she just sinks to the floor and covers her face with her hands.

She can faintly hear Raya asking 'what's wrong?' and feels a hand being placed on her trembling shoulder. She opens her mouth to tell Raya to go away, but instead chokes out 'Please stay?' It is the first time she has managed to ask for help.

Both of them have scars scattered across their bodies, each with a different story to tell, and some even caused by the other person. Raya is concerned at first that Namaari will find hers ugly, but Namaari soon puts those fears to rest by peppering them with tiny kisses. A couple of Namaari's old injuries give her trouble still, so Raya returns the favour by giving her massages when the pain behind those scars grows too much.

Trauma and loss is not a new concept to either of them, even before the arrival of the Druuns. At night, sometimes Raya sings a song that she can remember her mother using as a lullaby. Namaari doesn't like to discuss her father, but occasionally, safe in the dark, she will mention a story about an adventure they had together.

Over a long period of time, they are both able to release themselves of some of their fears and traumas; others, they learn to live with, or learn how to help the other cope. The most important thing, they find, is being together through it all.

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 rewatch thoughts

- mayfeld does hear when the droid talks to him the first time, you can see him pretending not to like he hopes he’ll just go away haha. I also guess he’s had a lot of time to think, picking apart pieces of the large fascist machine he used to be a part of and going over everything he clearly regrets 

- hahaha fennec and boba are in the back intensely keeping watch the entire time they’re on the prison planet. I suppose a good two thirds of this crew is uuuuh extremely wanted by the new republic lol

- the thing din’s voice does at the end when he says “but you still know your imperial clearances and protocols. don’t you.” is beyond fucking words, it sends a chill right through me

- 

1) din fiddling with that panel; I think he’s phenomenally nervous behind the helmet here, that’s the sort of keeping his hands busy he does when he’s anxious and 2) why the hell does boba have this many chairs instead of like space for cargo haha does he throw bounty hunter parties in here or what

- ngl boba correctly guessing at a glance what sort of ore they’re mining and informing everyone in his sardonic deadpan voice is Big Sexy  

I love how he and fennec are standing together when they’re both present in these opening scenes too, first at the very back when they’re keeping a lookout: 

and then in the foreground while they discuss the scan 

it’s a nice subtle way to get across that they already have a dynamic, they’re somewhat used to working together as a unit at this point. (she’s also looking over at him when she asks what they might be mining in there, like she’s mostly asking his opinion instead of opening it to the floor. they’re talking the mission out between them before din enters the conversation)

- the inside of slave 1 when the ship’s moving makes me a little bit motion sick, I really love seeing it but I hope we don’t stay in here too often haha

- aaaw the small weary sigh din gives upon realizing none of his bros can go with mayfeld. I’m sorry about basically your entire life buddy

-

the awkward way din adjusts the helmet like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels ;______;  

- ah the distinct implication that mayfeld is needling din about this because he’s actually feeling super uncomfortable being back in empire gear and he needs to transfer that discomfort over onto someone else so he won’t have to feel through it... very psychologically understandable and such a fucking piece of shit asshole character trait to give in to haha

- din’s level of side eye is so epic you can see it straight through the helmet fhaskjfhd

- neat detail: din’s head turns slightly toward mayfeld when he calls mandalorians a ‘race’. (it’s sort of cool  that we as the audience know why that bothers him, but mayfeld probably didn’t even pick up on it). also shows that mayfeld doesn’t actually quite understand what he’s talking about, even when he makes decent points he’s caught up in his own myopic nihilistic point of view. ‘we’re all the same’ ------> ‘everyone’s secretly as shitty as me deep down’. (which also betrays a lot of self loathing, since we see later he does have the capacity to NOT be that shitty when he chooses to. rick famuyiwa manages to get a LOT of really interesting nuanced stuff into this character in two short episodes, that’s super impressive)   

the bright sunny look on mayfeld’s face when din finally gives in and takes the bait tho fsajdkfhasj he’s awful but that’s very funny

- rip all these excellent dudes who really only wanted to accomplish the noble goal of ruining the empire’s entire day and didn’t know they were also trying to blow up My Dad Who Does Not Deserve Any Of This, it’s honestly just really sad that there’s no moment to talk that out

well at least they blew up the entire refinery on their way out, I’m sure that’s the way they would have wanted their memories honored lol

- the comedy beat of din running out of ammo for the first time ever and the music briefly cutting out for it is so so good for me 

hahahaha din seems to actually take a moment to be a little aghast at that dude who ends up crushed under the treads of the tank thing, he’s just sort of staring for a few seconds too long and that’s how pirate nr 2 takes him by surprise and shatters his shoulder armour 

- I feel a bit bad -- two of the ‘pirates’ try to hold on to each other for balance and then din punches them apart and off the tank :( I mean it’s not like he could just let them murderate him either but like. ouch I’m guessing this one might haunt him for a while for several reasons huh

(the sequence is actually this guy, let’s call him pirate 3, swings the spear at din and misses, instead hitting his buddy who’s trying to get to his feet, then looks horrified and grabs for him to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and then... mando’s forehead happens to them haha)

- poor fennec and cara just running up that hill while everything’s on fire, they must be wondering what the FUCK is going on (at least cara knows that things blowing up is a sure sign din djarin is in the middle there somewhere)

- everything about carano in real life aside for one second -- I do like that we get this contrast in build between our main female characters of the episode and the way their costume designs enhance it

 - awwww the little gesture din does with his hand after he removes it from mayfeld’s chest after stopping him from leaving, it’s just so... sweet. it’s a little bit appeal, a little bit reassurance, it just lightens/softens the tone of what he says a bit (he has quite a lot of like... not conciliatory mannerisms exactly, but small touches here and there that are there to communicate that he’s not angry/aggressive or trying to be a dick about it even when he’s emphatic. I keep wondering how much that is just him being him and how much is him being practiced at settling other people’s hot tempers)  

- this shot is just... genius

it’s din seen entirely from the outside, with nothing of what we’ve learned to recognize as him for almost two seasons now in view -- not even his face, which we have at least a tenuous fledgling attachment to from before. it’s like we get introduced to him almost as if anew again and again in this episode, just like he’s getting introduced to new aspects of himself and what he’s willing to do and having to struggle to find ways to have that fit with who he is. his discomfort and stress is our discomfort and stress. it’s so interesting 

- I can’t stop cackling at this moment even in all the tension -- you only get a sliver of din’s profile but you can feel the sheer MURDER radiating off him sdhfasjk

- aaaaaaaagh the way you get a whole different view of din’s habitual impassiveness when you can actually see his face... the way he keeps appealing to mayfeld ‘just don’t make more trouble, just shut up’, the way he goes completely silent and watchful and frozen..... those are all really obvious trauma responses, and it leads you to wonder how often he touches into that even when he’s in his element, when he’s got the full armour on. hmngh my heart  

- ‘the believer’ is such a galaxy brain title for this episode, because it could be referring to either of the three men around this table or all of them at once. (and crucially the only person whose beliefs aren’t in a living, breathing state of adapting to the world around them is the empire officer, with his horrific inhuman ideology. mayfeld thinks he believes in nothing, and proves himself explosively wrong by the end of the episode, and it’s redeeming for him in some capacity. din is facing a more internal dilemma of different parts of his (and his culture’s) beliefs/values clashing and having to decide which one’s more important, to his identity and to how to exist in the world as a person (and love for the baby wins out supremely in the end. of course it does Y_____Y). the empire dude only sees the same sterile fascist world at the end of his shit rainbow that he’s clearly always done, even when faced with proof that it’s untenable. (I mean he wouldn’t give a fuck that it’s immoral because he’s y’know evil, but he’s not even fazed by the fact that the empire provably FAILED, and failed so quickly) his belief is a dead and deadening thing to contrast the others. man when this show goes off with the themes it goes OFF haha) 

- love the triumphant heroic mando music kicking in as we’re finally getting to pick off imps, love that for us 

- din’s protective instincts at work again, he helps mayfeld to his feet and makes sure he’s safely on board before going further in himself ;_______;

- fennec’s professional approval at mayfeld’s shot hahaha. well I guess he was supposed to be a sharpshooter back in the day huh

I do Not think she likes mayfeld even after all that, though, the withering look she sends him on her way past... should have killed him stone dead on the spot

- seeing din back in the armour is like a physical relief, I can breathe again haha

- tfw you catch yourself thinking ‘at least when all this is over we can go back to the razor crest and everything will be normal again’ and then you rEMEMBER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

I'll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch1

AO3 Link || Next Chapter

Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied sex, one-night stand, rumours and scandal, swearing, I would recommend a 16+ readership, but since this isn't actually explicit I guess use your discretion?

Summary: For all accounts and purposes, Patton Hart should have been able to make it through his twenties in the music industry without coming face to face with a scandal. The perfect package of talented and adorable, with family connections to boot, all he'd had to do was keep out of trouble, and he was good at that.

He hadn't counted on running into Janus Lyre. The beautiful, frustrating, devil-may-care actor evidently has some sort of effect on Patton, driving him to make the sort of mistake that never would have crossed his mind previously. Now, with their faces plastered across the internet and fledgling careers on the line, the two of them need to keep the lie of their fleeting relationship sustained.

‘The sweetheart and the snake’ - has Janus Lyre found a new ‘Hart’ to break?

Less than an hour after being photographed at the premiere for his own movie, the young star was seen at a swanky downtown nightclub - guess that’s one flick we won’t be catching!

But, dear readers, that’s not the most interesting part. With Lyre’s turbulent record over his few years of fame, one might say playing hooky is just a minor infraction for the beloved bad boy, but the same can’t be said for the cutie hanging off his arms in those photos! Some of you might have already recognised those cute brown curls and sunshine grin, and as hard as it may be to believe that is indeed Patton Hart.

The youngest son of now retired singer Ophelia Hart has made quite a name for himself recently, with his sugary sweet lyrics and impossibly innocent persona - impossibly being the operative word. Is the golden boy finally rebelling? Or had there always been a darker side to Hart, hidden behind the saccharine pastel branding?

---

Logan Wright: Just saw the news. Need to talk immediately. Send me your location, I can arrange for you to be picked up safely.

Logan Wright: Patton please pick up my calls

Logan Wright: I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is??

---

Patton groaned around the headache coursing through his skull as he paced the wooden floors of the darkened bedroom, willing the phone in his hand to be still long enough for him to figure out what to do.

This had to be a bad dream.

Patton Hart was not the kind of guy to wake up in another man’s bed with a bad hangover, barely any memories of the previous night, a hundred missed calls from his manager, and compromising pictures of himself spread all over the internet.

Maybe if he just crossed his fingers real hard and opened up twitter again, it would all just be gone and he would wake up in his own home, sans migraine, and everything would be just fine.

Nope. Patton’s own besotted face was the very first thing that greeted him as he opened the app, gazing up at Janus Lyre of all people. He felt like he was looking at a stranger as he flicked through the images despite his own surmounting dread. He watched this weirdly confident version of himself, practically draping himself over a man he barely knew, grinning as Janus leaned in to whisper in his ear, kissing him in the street outside the nightclub, his own unfamiliar hands running through long dark locks, wandering down to lithe waist and hips, pulling their bodies even closer.

Patton felt sick. He had to call Logan, he knew that. Logan knew how to fix things, he would handle this.

Then again, Patton had never given him something like this to fix before.

The tweets underneath the photos ranged between a variety of reactions, from confused, to shocked, to disgusted to “always knew Patton Hart had a dirty side”, to “Can’t wait to see how long Janus keeps this one around.”

To be perfectly honest, all of them made the sea of dread and nausea in Patton’s gut rise and lurch.

“This is so bad,” he muttered to the figure that had just appeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand.

“Oh is it? Is it really? Oh, thank you so much for telling me, I would definitely have forgotten just how ‘bad’ this was if you weren't here to remind me.”

Janus Lyre was infuriatingly cool, in a way that no one really had a right to be in the mornings - let alone on this morning. Somehow, even in sweatpants, with his tousled hair tied back in a low ponytail, he managed to make Patton feel awkwardly underdressed for having put his own clothes back on. His smudged eyeliner, a relic of the night, only added to the effect of his condescending eyeroll.

Regardless, Patton was grateful to accept the water, and the aspirin that was dropped into his palm with it. At least he was a gracious host, all things considered.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, sipping slowly as he picked at a rip in his rumpled jeans. He could feel the weight of Janus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look up. It felt like he’d be doing something wrong, shameful even, to be looking at the other man right now, despite all that had already transpired between them.

He didn’t know Janus, not really, but he had known of him. At least, he’d known he was bad news. He was an incredible actor, from what Patton had heard, and had managed to flourish in the past couple of years despite his young age and apparent lack of industry connections.

…Unfortunately, his incredible acting wasn’t all that he was known for. Janus’ name frequently popped up with regards to his sardonic responses to the press, disregard for convention, insulting important names in the industry, and generally being considered trouble.

Patton had often wondered how the man hadn’t been blacklisted yet. He never thought he’d end up tangled up with him in any way, much less this literally.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re getting how serious this is,” he protested, “I - I just don’t understand how - there are pictures, Janus, everywhere, I have so many calls-”

Janus looked almost amused, as he leaned casually against the curtained windows, quirking an eyebrow at Patton.

“Oh dear, not pictures !” he mocked, “I take it this is your first time getting caught ‘ in flagrante’?”

“Wha- yes,  of course!” Patton flushed.

“Well, don’t worry then, the first time is always the hardest,” Janus responded lightly, seeming as though he was getting quite bored with the conversation, and by extension, with Patton.

“I don’t exactly intend there to be a second time, just so you know,” Patton snapped,” I didn’t even intend for there to be a first time, quite frankly-”

Janus did look amused at this, grinning smugly as he replied, “Oh, is that right? You and I appear to remember last night very differently.”

“I’d really rather not talk about last night, thanks.”

“I’d happily talk about anything else. You are the one that keeps bringing it up,” Janus shrugged, before turning on his heel to face the window, tugging the curtain open by the corner, just enough to invite in a thin stream of light.

Patton might struggle with nuance sometimes, but even he understood that - Janus had got the last word in, and now he was done talking.

He huffed in annoyance, but it didn’t stop his traitorous eyes from following the graceful movement, tracing the dark lines of the tattoo that marked Janus’ light brown skin, a massive serpent that coiled and looped all over one side of his slender frame, seeming almost to writhe, hypnotically, with the slightest movement.

Patton tore his eyes away quickly, tugging self consciously at his own sweater sleeves. The cool water had helped slightly, but he could feel the dread settling in his stomach again. He didn’t belong in this situation, having wild midnight trysts with ridiculously pretty men, and whatever confidence the alcohol had apparently given him last night had evaporated, leaving him utterly unprepared for light, flirtatious morning-after banter.

“Um, well,” he cleared his throat and stood up, “I should probably go now, and call my manager to fix all this. Thank you for, er - the water, and last night, I guess, and I wish you all the best, of course.”

Janus didn’t even turn around to respond, “Oh, and I don’t suppose you’ll need transportation arranged?”

“No thank you,  I can find my way-”

“And give the press an opportunity to catch you leaving the den of the snake? In the same clothes you entered in, no less?”

“I-”

Luckily, Patton didn’t have to come up with a clever response, because Logan - his dear, wonderful, manager Logan - decided to call him at that very moment.

“...I have to take this.” he muttered triumphantly, turning around to lift the phone to his ear, “Hi, Logan, I am so, so, sorry - I meant to call you, I just-”

“No time,” Logan’s phone voice was as always, clipped and professional, and he got straight to the point, “I need to see you. Immediately. There is much to discuss. I trust you’ve had enough foresight to remain at Lyre’s residence and not step outside?”

“I - I’m still here, yep.” Patton blushed.

“Good. I’m sending a car, don’t leave the building until it arrives. And bring Lyre with you, please.”

“You want to meet Janus?”

“The subject I need to discuss with you also concerns him, so yes.”

“Oh- um, okay, I’ll bring him. Um, do you need an address?”

“No need, I have it.”

“Already? How?”

“That is my job, Patton.”

“Right, right, fair enough. Okay, I’ll see you.”

---

Patton had a flashback to middle school - the one time he was sent to see the principal for bad behaviour - as he knocked nervously on the door to Logan’s office.

“Come in.”

He heard a scoff from behind him as he took a deep breath, preparing to open the door - it had been a struggle to get Janus to come along.

Just as he’d expected - and feared - Logan was wearing his “I am a professional and thus I am not going to get upset” face. What he hadn’t expected, was that this look didn’t seem directed at him.

Leaning back in the chair next to Logan’s, high heeled boots on the desk, was a man that Patton had never seen before - and between the half-black, half-silver mullet, curled moustache, and bright green glitter, he was pretty sure he’d remember if he had.

His eyes skipped over Patton entirely before settling on Janus and lighting up.

“J-Anus!” he cackled, “Thanks for not picking up any of my calls from last night, asshole!”

“Remus, good to see you,” Janus sighed, “Looks like your mummy called my mummy,” he whispered loudly to Patton.

To Remus, he said, “I do apologise, Remus, I turned my phone off because I was busy not watching the movie I was in. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ahem,” Logan interrupted, “Mr Lyre, thank you for coming in, Patton, this is Remus Rey, Mr Lyre's manager. Please take a seat, Remus and I have much to discuss with you.”

Patton waved politely at Remus, who winked back.

“Well first things first, I’d like to say congratulations to you both-”

“Remus.”

“-But that was nasty fucking trick you pulled there, Jay! You promised me you’d stop disappearing from important events! You know how much work I have to do to clear that shit up?”

Janus shrugged like a petulant teenager. “Got bored.”

“I really am sorry for putting this on you, Logan.” Patton could see Logan’s knuckles tightening, a familiar tenseness in his jaw, that telegraphed that he was Not Having a Good Time.

“That’s - not to worry, Patton,” a twitch had started to develop in his right eye, “technically speaking, this is - my job.”

“And he’s pretty damn good at it if he’s managed to keep you out of trouble this long eh, Patty?” Remus cracked in, “I mean, for what it’s worth, I always knew there was more to you, but the two of you really had the rest of those idiots fooled, huh?”

“Um…”

“ Anyways,” Logan interrupted through gritted teeth, “Whilst the two of you were missing in action, so to speak…”

Patton sunk a little deeper in his seat. He wasn’t looking at him, but he was pretty sure he could feel Janus roll his eyes from beside him.

“...Remus and I had a chance to sit down and decide how to deal with this in a way that will benefit both parties.”

“ Oh, how fascinating, do tell .”

Logan, apparently much better equipped at dealing with smart-ass comments than Patton, ignored Janus entirely.

“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”

“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”

“Of Course we’ll hear you out!”

“ ...Yes, because that request didn’t raise any suspicions at all.”

“Remus and I think the best way to spin this current...situation to our advantage, would be with a relationship contract.”

There was a silence in the room for a minute as the full meaning of Logan’s words settled in. Well, a silence accompanied by Remus tapping out a rhythm on the edge of Logan’s desk with his - admittedly fabulous - acrylic nails. After what felt like a full minute he grinned at them.

“Pretty good, huh? It was my idea.”

”Yes, well, I cannot exactly deny that Remus was the one to suggest that,” Logan grumbled, “However, I do support it entirely, and am happy to proceed with your consent.”

“You want us to...date?”

“They want us to pretend to date,” Janus interjected, “A few staged photos, attend events on my arm, everyone thinks this was a sweet little lover’s outing and not a drunken fling.”

“See, I told you mine was smart!” Remus grinned proudly at Logan.

“...Indeed,” Logan nodded at Janus, “I understand you might have your compunctions, but this is the best way for us to spin this into something... close to brand-appropriate, for Patton. And as for you, Mr Lyre-”

“We’re hoping we can make it look like you’re finally setting down, starting to behave yourself, or some horseshit like that,” Remus cut in, “I gotta keep you booked somehow, Jan-Jan.”

Another long silence filled the room - and even Remus stayed quiet for this one. Patton stared at his lap. He didn’t exactly feel great about this sort of thing, but Logan had said it was the only way. And heck, this sort of stuff happened all the time in this line of work, he knew that. Right?

Janus spoke up first.

“How long would this contract be, exactly?”

“We were thinking one year,” came Logan’s reply.

A whole year?

"I assume there are rules?"

"Behave as though you're in a relationship, perform for the camera when necessary, and if you intend to have outside relations, do try to keep them private - or better yet, don't."

“...I’m amenable,” Janus said finally.

And then, Patton could feel three sets of eyes on him, waiting for a response. Logan, calm and expectant, as ever hiding his impatience behind professionalism. Remus, toothy-grinned, leaning forward as if he was watching a sports match.

And Janus. For the first time with sober eyes, Patton levelled his own gaze with Janus’. His face was as inscrutable as ever, but Patton could feel the unspoken challenge behind his mismatched eyes. Asking him whether Patton Hart could handle something like this. Or worse, outright stating that he couldn’t.

…Or maybe Janus wasn’t thinking any of that and it was just Patton’s own loopy consciousness egging him on. Either way, the words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought them.

“I’ll do it.”