#talon gargoyles

[nulvuu-2]

Talon: Me and my bitch don’t argue. She tell me to shut up and I listen

[monsterfucker-showdown]

Top 5 gets in!

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 175

Talon -William Cobb, that was his name once, he remembers that much at least- stares down blankly at the small child who is clinging to its -his His HIS- pant leg, tiny claws digging into the cloth and gripping onto the armor. It he freezes, unsure as to how to react. With Hunts or Orders, the talon knew exactly what to do. Entertain. Kill. Simple. 

Talons were supposed to kill witnesses, he- IT knows this, especially as one of the oldest talons that belonged to the Court. Yet the talon hesitates, something stopping it from doing so. The child looks up at it, something oh so familiar about the motion, with blue-green eyes before burying their face against its- his?- leg. 

“'̵m̸ ̵c̴o̷l̵d̸…” the child-chick… spoke? Not-spoke. Something else, familiar-yet-not. But cold, he knew that. Cold was bad, it meant sleep, not rest but a deep frozen sleep that took time to awaken from. A dangerous thing. A thing not-talons didn’t wake up from. 

The chick -Hadn’t he had a child once, all that time ago- whined, bringing its-his attention back to them. Talon could wait to return to the Court for a few hours more- the task it had been given was already complete-and keep the Cold away from the tiny chick. Just for a little bit. 

[foundfamilyhq]

[yandere-writer-momo]

Hi I really LOVE your works literally so much😭, I just wanted to request, it may be weird, what about a witch reader who has social anxiety or just don't interacts with people, so when she would feel lonely she would bring her daily objects to life for company and turn them back into normal again, but one day one object manages to hide so reader isn't able to turn him back, and this object just feel absolute devotion to reader, bcs reader quite literally owns him

I haven’t really done a request in forever, but I absolutely adore this idea! Adore adore adore. Thank you so much, anon ❤️❤️

Yandere Head Canon: Prized Posession

Yandere Gargoyle x Fem Witch Reader

TW: Yandere content. You should know by now the content I write

You were often lonely in your cabin tucked away deep in the mountains. Your only living company was the animals that lived in the forest. Life was easier this way.

Humans terrified you due to their unpredictable and chaotic behavior. You appeared human for the most part, but you were a witch. And you never knew if they burn you at the stake if they found out, so you decided to live as far away from civilization as possible.

It did not help that you were incredibly, socially anxious, so you’d likely hiccup and reveal your identity anyways. So you decided stay in this forest in this old, abandoned gothic manor for the rest of your days.

You often wondered if the old master of this house with some kind of nobleman or maybe even a vampire. Regardless, this place was yours, and you could do with it whatever you pleased.

Yet, you were lonely. Painfully lonely. So you often used your magic to re-animate objects around your house for company.

It started off innocently. You would bring the teapot and the tea cups to life and they would be a happy little family as I talk with you about their mundane lives. You never realized how objects can hold memories… each object sharing memories with you until you ultimately returned them to their original form.

You began to grow bolder and bolder with the objects you brought to life until you finally stumbled across to gargoyle above the front door. It’s monstrous form crouched, menacingly above the manor to keep trespassers away. It’s large bat like wings spread out intimidatingly.

You decided to bring him to life. Your eyes widened when he flew down to stand before you. He was almost 7 feet tall and pure muscle. He was somewhat humanoid, but still obviously a monster. He stood on two legs his fingers and toes had sharp talons. His face elongated into the snout of a vampire bat.

His voice was deep, masculine, and gravely, like he had been a smoker for most of his life. Yet the gargoyle was very polite.

Out of all of the objects you brought to life, the gargoyle was the best company. He reminded you of those gentlemen written in romance novels with his manners and patient demeanor. It was only his monstrous appearance that startled you.

He would sit with you and stare at you with those piercing gray eyes, almost as if he was studying you like a specimen. He would hang on your every word, as if you were the most interesting creature in the world.

You weren’t used to such attention, especially not from the opposite gender. Yet he always made you feel special. Like a lady…

He would pull your chair out for you before he poured your tea, and then he would sweeten it exactly the way you preferred. You were both flattered and a bit frightened with how much knowledge he had of your habits…

The gargoyle would also dance with you under the moonlight, his hands were cold stone. Sometimes his hand would sneak around your waist and he’d pull you closer like you were his lover. A chuckle would always escape his lips when you’d gasp.

“ I want a name.” He whispered in your ear as he sat beside you as you read a book next to him in your study,

“A name?” You softly asked him. “Hmm… what about Grim?”

His face turned up into the slightest of smiles. His clawed hand took yours.

“Grim… my name is Grim.” He planted a kiss on the back of your hand. A shiver rolled up your spine from how cold he was. 

Since that day, Grim wouldn’t let you turn him back into a lifeless gargoyle. He would hide from you every time they broke.

“You’ll be lonely during the day if you don’t have somebody.” He would insist. Yet you couldn’t help the feeling that bubbled in your gut that something wasn’t right with him. Why was Grim so insistent on being by your side? Weren’t gargoyles always meant to be silent watchers over the home?

Sometimes, when you wake up from sleep, he would look through your spell books. Yet he didn’t even feel shame when you caught him. He would just give you that signature ghost of a smile as he held the book close to his chest.

“Good morning, mistress. I’m just studying these pages to see if I can find something to further deepen our bond.”

You hated confrontation, so you didn’t correct his behavior. A mistake that would haunt you.

A week later, and he became more and more animated. It began to scare you since he was no longer cold to the touch like a sculpture… no. He was warm like a body. He felt like a living creature.

You gulped when you felt a pulse. He wasn’t supposed to have one of those… this is why your instructors back in a day always warned you to never leave an object alive for too long. Objects could learn sentence and eventually become their own being… and now you had the full attention of a century old gargoyle. One that would never let you go.

He began to spin your body around in the daily waltz you always danced with him. His snout borrowed into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent greedily.

“I’m so happy I can finally smell your sweet scent, mistress. I was so lonely for a century in this manor. But you brought me to life. You listen to me and talk with me… I want to always be with you. Please… won’t you be mine as I am yours?”

You felt his bat like wings pull your body closer to his as he pressed his lips to the top of your head like a lover would. “I wish to be your one and only, mistress. I want to be your prize possession and you be mine. So won’t you stay with me?”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around him. It was not as if you had a choice. You had a responsibility now, and it was to keep this creature content. Even if you had to be his prized possession.

[one-chaotic-bee]

Batfam x TMA au

Bruce - Avatar of the Dark

Bruce was first marked by the Darkness when he fell into the tunnels under Wayne Manor as a child. (In canon this is when he developed a fear of bats) He doesn’t really accept the Darkness til after his parents die, after that the Darkness is the only place he’s safe from the eyes of the media. Bruce truly becomes an avatar shortly after becoming Batman though. Throughout his life he was also touched by the Desolation and the Web. (The Web tried to claim him too but the Darkness beat it to it)

Powers: His suit is literally made of shadow and he can bring shadows anywhere he goes. Lights also tend to mysteriously turn off when he’s around.

Bro is never going to be able to beat the vampire allegation now. 

Dick - Avatar of the Hunt

Dick was basically marked from the day he was born. Both because of his potential future as a talon and his never ending drive to be the best at everything he does. (I fully believe that Dick’s toxic perfectionism came from the circus not Bruce, after all, we saw what happened if even one mistake occurs during a performance) Dick would fully become an avatar after his parents died. He could already hear the Hunt calling to him before their deaths, and afterwards it was the Hunt that gave Dick the ability to break out of Juvie and the Manor to find and kill Tony Zucco. It was during this that Dick was fully turned. Throughout his life he was also touched by the Stranger. (I thought about the Flesh as well since one of its characteristics is objectification and the fear of SA probably falls under the Flesh but that felt a little to real, you can add it in if you want but it kinda feels like walking in a minefield)

Powers: He has enhanced senses, speed, stamina. He’s able to see in the dark. When he’s pissed/stressed/agitated his grows claws, fangs, and his eyes start glowing yellow. He also has a were-owl like form has only ever come out once, when he killed the Joker. (In this au he stays dead because Dick didn’t beat him to death, he ate him. The rogues have been terrified of Dick ever since.)

Barbara: Avatar of the Eye

Babs was kinda like the Gertrude Robinson of the family. Constantly around the different entities but never letting one get to her. That changed after she became Oracle. At first when she felt it she was horrified and quit being a hero to try to avoid it. But she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her second family like that and willingly became an avatar of the Eye to help them. She was also touched by the Web shortly after becoming Oracle.

Powers: She is able to see through every camera in all of Gotham and is also able to see through the eyes of the gargoyles around the city. Sometimes when all of the knowledge she’s absorbing becomes too much for her, she ducks underneath Bruce’s cape because the Darkness is only place she can get a break from the Eye.

Jason: Avatar of the Desolation

Jason wasn’t actually claimed by an entity until he died, but while in the Lazarus pit he was claimed by the Desolation. Bruce and Dick had always told him that he did not want to be an avatar, no matter how cool it might look from the outside. Jason never took their warnings seriously until he was turned himself. Now he knows how horrible it is and is horrified by the prospect of anyone else having to go through the process. When he sees Tim as Robin he makes it his mission to scare the kid away before an entity can claim him. (Little does he know that Tim had been turned long before he was ever Robin) Throughout his life Jason was also touched by the Buried and the End.

Powers: Jason burns anything he touches, the angrier he gets the hotter his skin burns. When he’s happy he’s warmer than normal but not painfully so. But when he’s angry his blood literally starts to boil in his veins as a green fire that burns in his chest heats up. Making his eyes glow green and a green glow to come from his chest and the back of his throat.

(Dick uses his body heat as an excuse to cuddle in the winter, Jason acts like he hates it but the fact that Dick’s skin isn’t melting off his bones when they touch says otherwise)

Tim: Avatar of the Lonely

Tim had only been free of the Lonely one time in his life. The day he went to Haly’s circus as child and meet Dick for the first time. After that thinking about that day was the only thing that gave him any relief from it. He was sure that if he meet Dick again it would make the Lonely go away (if only for a few minutes) and he was actually right, however by the time he really meet Dick again he has already been a full avatar of the Lonely for a few years. During his life Tim was also touched by the Eye.

Powers: Tim has the ability to trap people in a pocket dimension for as long as he wants. Time moves differently in these pocket dimensions so even though they are typically only in there for a few minutes, it feels like years. The people trapped also don’t age while in there so that they can really feel every second passing. These pocket dimensions normally take the form of a foggy open field with nothing around but it can change to be anything really, the only thing that is consistent is the fog. Tim is also able to conjure fog around him in the real world and the temperature tends to drop a few degrees when he’s around.

Steph: Avatar of the Spiral

Steph doesn’t even know when she became an avatar, though her best guess that it happened sometime after becoming Spoiler. She actually is pretty okay with the whole avatar of an unknowable horror thing and she actually kinda vibes with Micheal and Helen. Her first encounter with the Spiral though happened when she was a kid and had first run away from her father. She had saw a door that she didn’t recognize and ran in trying to hide in from her father. Instead of being afraid of the endless doors and hallways, she was just happy to be safe from her father. The Spiral basically did the ‘who is this sassy lost child’ meme before deciding that Steph was its sassy lost child. No other entities have tried to touch Steph, the Spiral wouldn’t let them.

Powers: Steph has the same powers as Micheal and Helen do, however she still looks mostly human. Lacking the knife fingers and extreme height the others have. Her body does glitch sometimes though. She can have the full avatar of the Spiral look that Micheal and Helen do but it only comes out in extreme situations, like Dick’s owl beast form. Steph, like Tim, will lock people in the Spiral for a while before letting them out.

Cass: Avatar of the Stranger

David Cain had known about the Entities before Cass was born and when she was a child he did everything in his power to make her an avatar of the Slaughter, it did not work and all of his efforts only made her the perfect person to be claimed by the Stranger. The Stranger had turned Cass in to something more resembling a life sized porcelain doll than a human. Even giving her ball joints, painted lips, and glass eyes. The Stranger had also given her a new voice box after David Cain cut her vocal cords. After becoming a bat she was also touched by the Darkness.

Powers: Cass might look like she’s made of porcelain but she is not fragile, quite the opposite actually. She’s incredibly strong and durable. And she’s able to tank a lot of damage that the others can’t. Cass is also able to change out her voice box so that she can sound like anyone she wants. The other bats always make sure that Cass has any voice box she could possibly ever need.

Damian: Avatar of the Extinction

Damian would not have become an avatar of the Extinction if his mother and grandfather hadn’t forced it on him. Both Ra’s and Talia are also avatars of the Extinction and they believed that Damian needed to be one too. If left alone he would have probably been an avatar of the Corruption, however that didn’t happen. He has also been touched by the End and the Corruption (obviously).

Powers: Unlike the others, Damian doesn’t have any powers that are useful in a fight. Instead if he concentrates on a certain species, he’s able to see what the world would look like if that species went extinct.

Duke: Avatar of the Darkness

Duke is a special case when it comes to Darkness avatars. He doesn’t hide from the light (obviously man works day shift). Instead his meta gene makes both light and dark bend to him. This makes him an incredible choice to be an avatar for the Darkness. Duke’s ability to see into other timelines had also gotten the Extinction’s attention but the Darkness suited him better. Throughout his life, Duke has also been touched by the Desolation and the Extinction.

Powers: Dukes powers don’t actually change from his canon ones, but he does get the ability to blind people.

[dragqueenstarscream]

shelter from the storm

monsterformers firedrake!optimus x harpy!starscream

my first transformers fanfic and they're not even robots. oh well, c'est la vie! this is the first fanfic for my monsterformers au, featuring my favorite transformers ship out there! it's based on optimus' hike through antarctica from "triangulation", or, as i call it, the starop episode. if you wanna know more about this au, i have the monsterformers au masterpost pinned for all who may be interested.

contains: cuddling for warmth, pre established relationship, mentions of megatron being megatron, starscream having a flashback, no smut

throughout his life, starscream had many things to regret.

he regretted believing megatron's lie that joining the talons of unicron would restore him to his former glory. he regretted leaving his home world at all. he regretted getting cocky and not outright killing the old dragon when he had the chance.

he regretted ever leaving skywarp and thundercracker behind. primus, he regretted that more than anything else.

but now, as he trudged through the hellish blizzard ripping through the snowy wasteland he'd found himself in, his wings wrapped around his body as his only source of warmth, he realized that he'd soon have another regret to add to his ever growing list.

because when he'd found the location of another relic which might help him should megatron ever come searching for him again, he'd been ambushed by megatron's new favorite, dreadwing. the snarling gargoyle had bound him in cuffs and was ready to take him back to megatron before help arrived. but, of course, because the universe seemed to laugh at starscream whenever given the chance, he'd been rescued from being dragged back to his dragon master by another blasted dragon.

well. a firedrake. but the technicalities didn't matter now.

what did matter was that optimus prime, the most powerful voice of primus, a colossus of scales and horns and teeth, terror of the talons of unicron, was currently looming over starscream as he guided the overgrown lizard to the destination of the apex armor. the harpy would rather be anywhere else, with his only comfort being that no drones or homunculi of shockwave's would be dumb enough to attack either of them, not when optimus could easily set them on fire.

fire. the thought of it chilled starscream to his bones.

he'd pleaded with optimus to set him free from his cuffs - he already couldn't fly in this weather, removing his binds wouldn't do much - but someone must've stolen from optimus' hoard earlier that day or something, because he wasn't having it. much to starscream's dismay, the cuffs stayed on. so, that was how the two traveled, starscream navigating towards the armor, optimus right behind him. he tried to fill the silence by talking with optimus, but the dragon, firedrake, it didn't matter to starscream, seemingly wasn't in the mood for conversation. after a few minutes of talking to himself, starscream fell silent.

the snow stretched on endlessly overhead, only broken by mountains pushing up through the snow like giant horns. the black sky seemed never ending, the whirls of snow covering up the starlight which guided starscream's way. and, of course, the air felt blisteringly cold, seeping beneath starscream's feathers and skin to try and freeze his organs.

hours passed, and starscream could feel himself growing weaker by the minute. right as he felt as if his knees might give out beneath him, optimus broke the monotony of the wind whipping around them by growling, "here. this way."

"s-sir?" starscream asked between chatters of his teeth. he turned around to find optimus diverging from their course, making for something starscream couldn't make out in the hellstorm of white. as he came closer, he realized that optimus had found a cave at the base of one of the mountains. the harpy felt relief wash over him at the thought of rest, though it was quickly followed by uncertainty. surely, something else would've found this cave and called it home by now.

optimus stuck his giant head into the cavern and sniffed the air. after a minute, he declared, "the scents in this cave are old. nothing has been here for quite a while."

"a-are you sure, sir?" starscream asked. optimus just snorted and made his way inside.

"we'll rest here for now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. starscream grumbled and followed optimus into the cave, not in the mood to argue with someone much bigger (and much grumpier) than himself.

the cave, thankfully, was big enough that they could both fit inside without being pressed up against each other. optimus began sweeping away snowdrifts with his tail, revealing the hard stone underneath. glancing to the stone walls all around him, he gave them one hard whack with his tail, shaking free some loose stones and debris. starscream shrank back beneath his wings, trying to hide from the falling stone. thankfully, optimus seemed satisfied, because he began collecting the fallen stones and arranging them into a circle near the middle of the cave, away from the entrance. starscream watched from a distance, curious.

once optimus had his stone circle complete, he took a step back to examine his handiwork. then, he drew his head back, like a snake about to strike, and opened his mouth.

starscream felt his heart leap into his throat as he saw the smoke furling from the corners of the dragon's mouth and the orange glow from within his open maw. with a terrified shriek, he scrambled backwards and pressed himself against the cave wall, covering his face with his wings. a few moments later, a fireball erupted from optimus' jaws, filling the cave with a flash of white light and searing heat.

for the briefest moment, starscream was back at the gemstone mine, cowering against the rock beneath him, as megatron reared over him, jaws open and ready to breathe a sickly purple fire. he could hear thunderous pawsteps approaching him, and he knew that at any moment, flames would erupt around him, setting his wings ablaze. he had to get out of here, had to fly away. storm be damned, he couldn't stay here with-

"starscream?"

a gravelly voice which definitely didn't belong to megatron disrupted starscream's panicked state. the harpy slowly lowered his trembling wings to see-

this wasn't the mine. and that wasn't megatron.

he was back in the cave in the middle of a snowy desert, with optimus standing in front of him, his head tilted like a confused dog. beside him, a bright orange and yellow, not megatron's unnatural purple, fire crackled in the center of the stone circle.

a fire pit. optimus had been building a fire pit.

you idiot, starscream. getting this worked up over nothing.

"why, you... watch what you're doing, you mindless brute!" the harpy squawked, clambering to his talons. "you could've killed me with that!"

optimus lifted his head just slightly, and his expression shifted, the confusion on his face washing away. starscream gulped. he knew what that face meant.

he knows.

"and anyways, what if i don't want to stay in here, hmm?" he challenged. he would've crossed his arms had his hands not been bound. "you seem very sure that i won't just leave this cave. what makes you think i won't go find the apex armor on my own? you need me to find it. what if i don't want to stop here?"

optimus just watched starscream for a moment, his scaly face still as stone. then, he started making his way over to starscream, making the harpy back up against the wall.

"i am giving you a choice," optimus said. he turned around and plodded over to the fire, laying next to it with his back to the cave wall. starscream's eyes lit up as he realized that not only were his hands now free to move independently, but the entrance to the cave was also open.

"w-what are you doing?" he asked in a shaky voice. optimus didn't respond. instead, he used one claw to lift starscream's bound hands closer to him, and with a single swift movement, snapped the chain keeping the cuffs together, like it was made of twine.

the harpy excitedly made his way to the cave entrance and rushed outside, only for the harsh blizzard wind to furiously buffet his wings, the cold sinking its claws into his skin. starscream felt like a fool as he realized the choice optimus was giving him. he could either venture out to find the apex armor and risk freezing to death, or worse, getting caught by dreadwing again... or he could stay in the cave, where he could rest, stay out of the nasty weather for a while, warm up by the fire, and find protection from optimus should dreadwing return.

even with his intense fear of dragons and their kin, starscream knew which choice he would make.

grumbling under his breath, starscream trudged back into the cave and sat by the fire, making sure to keep his distance from the dragon lying in the cave with him.

firedrake. whatever.

now that he was calm, he had to admit, the fire felt nice. he spread his wings in front of the flames, and he had to bite back a groan of relief as warmth sank into his aching muscles.

"why are you doing this?" he asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. "if you need to find the apex armor so badly, why are we stopping here?"

optimus stared into the fire, and starscream could tell that he was collecting his thoughts. "i have wanted to talk to you for a long time, starscream," he finally said.

"what do you want from me?" starscream asked.

"to talk," optimus repeated. he began tracing odd swirls and shapes into what little snow had settled on the ground as he talked. "your loyalty to megatron has been questionable for quite some time. the fact that you seek the apex armor now that you're not under his command tells me everything i need to know."

"i'm not joining you, if that's what you're asking," starscream snipped. optimus turned to give starscream a slightly frustrated stare, the tip of his tail twitching like that of an irritated cat. his body language said, just let me finish, and starscream got the message loud and clear. he cleared his throat and went quiet, allowing optimus to speak again. he turned to look back into the fire as he continued.

"you and i both know what will happen if megatron ever returns home," he said. "not only will he conquer both this human world and our own, but he will try to remake them in his image." he glanced at starscream and said, "no matter who may stand in his way."

the gentleness in optimus' eyes set starscream on edge. "i don't need your pity," he hissed, his wings bristling. "if that's the only reason you wanted to talk, you can keep it to yourself."

"that's not why i wanted to speak to you," optimus said flatly.

"then spell it out for me!" starscream snapped, his feathers puffing up out of exasperation. "if i wanted to hear someone talk in riddles at me, i would've sought out a sphinx!"

optimus went quiet for a minute, allowing starscream to collect himself. once the harpy had calmed down, optimus continued, "i'm offering you a chance at a new life. i won't lie to you, what i am offering will not be easy. you would be serving as an informant for the voices of primus, gathering intelligence on where the rest of the relics might be."

"you want me to be a spy," starscream huffed.

"correct," optimus said with a nod. starscream humphed and crossed his arms.

"and what's in it for me, if i risk my hide sticking my neck out for you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. at that question, optimus' face shifted, quiet confidence etched into his features.

"if you decide to help us," he said, "then, once this war is over, if we win, we will help you rebuild your home."

home.

starscream's eyes widened. his breath caught in his chest. the word hung heavy in the air like the smoke from the fire before them. the one thing starscream had missed from the moment he'd joined the talons of unicron, and optimus was offering to help him rebuild it.

no, he thought, forcing himself to hide the hope in his eyes. he could be lying to you. don't give in so easily.

"i don't need your help to rebuild my home," he sniffed. "i don't need anyone at all. i can do fine on my own. i did just fine on my own before this war, anyway."

"you'll forgive me if i find that difficult to believe," optimus said. "you must've had someone who cared about you before the war began."

"i did, once," he grunted. with a harsh, hollow laugh, he added, "primus knows where they are. they're probably both dead by now, for all i know."

optimus was right. there was no denying it. starscream felt his heart grow heavy with the memories of his brothers, still fresh as the day he left them.

optimus bowed his head, and to his surprise, starscream saw grief in his pale blue eyes. he reached out one big paw, as if to rest it on starscream's back to comfort him, but stopped and pulled away when he saw starscream lean away from his touch.

"starscream," he said softly, "i promise you that, should you decide to help us, when this war comes to pass, i will do everything in my power to help you find those you have lost."

starscream wanted to laugh. he wanted to ask optimus how dare he come up with such an audacious lie. but as he searched every inch of optimus' face for any sort of tell, any giveaway that he was lying, he couldn't find one. either optimus was a fantastic liar or he meant every word he said.

"why me?" starscream asked, his voice quiet and unsure. "why are you asking me to help you with this?"

"you are megatron's second in command," optimus explained. "you know more about his plans than anyone else in the talons of unicron, partially because you had a hand in some of his works. you would be the ideal choice for a job like this."

"well, at least you're honest," starscream mumbled, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his head on his knees. he stared into the fire, letting the orange and yellow tongues of light consume his vision.

"and, starscream," optimus said after a moment's quiet, "i know what it's like to lose someone you love in this war. but unlike you, i now know that i can never get him back."

starscream turned to look at optimus, incredulous. he couldn't figure out who optimus was talking about. possibly someone from back home before the war? or did he mean-

"i'll give you some time to think about my offer," optimus said, interrupting starscream's thoughts. "but for now, we need rest. i'll wake you when it's time to get moving again."

unless...

with that, optimus closed his eyes and rested his huge head on his front paws. starscream watched as the big beast's breathing slowed and face relaxed as he started to fall asleep.

the harpy didn't move, still sitting in the same spot. how did optimus expect him to get any sleep in a place like this? the only thing in this stone hovel that was even remotely comfortable would be the snow.

no. no, you're not going to become bedfellows with a beast like him.

it didn't matter that optimus was probably the most comfortable spot for starscream to rest his head. he was still optimus, the foremost voice of primus, not to mention he was close enough to a dragon for starscream to want to keep his distance. no, he refused to entertain the thought any further. he could sleep just fine on his own, thank you very much. he backed up against the cave wall and wrapped his wings and tail around himself before closing his eyes, determined to get some rest.

five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. sleep evaded starscream, no matter how he reconfigured his body to make himself more comfortable. in his sleep deprived state, he weighed his options, few as they were, and came to as logical of a conclusion as his drowsiness addled brain could muster.

one time won't hurt, but just this once. and you speak to no one about this.

setting his pride aside for the sake of sleep, starscream got up and walked over to optimus, sitting in front of him. he turned over onto his side and started to lay his head down on optimus' ribs, when he looked up and found himself staring right into one open blue eye. he let out an embarrassing squawk and stood straight up, afraid that optimus might swat him into the fire with his tail for being annoying.

if optimus was annoyed with starscream in any capacity, he didn't show it. instead, he slowly rolled over onto his side, exposing his underbelly. starscream couldn't believe his eyes. no monster in their right mind would ever expose their most vulnerable side to an enemy, unless...

he believes i won't hurt him.

and to starscream's surprise, he had no desire to. in that moment, he had every opportunity to gain the upper hand over the voices of primus, to plunge his talons into optimus' stomach, tear him open, and leave him to bleed to death right there. he could send the voices of primus plunging into darkness, and maybe even return to his seat of power at megatron's side.

but he didn't want to. not after optimus had offered him home, offered to help him find skywarp and thundercracker. he still wasn't entirely sure about this offer, but it was better than going back to megatron.

no, he didn't want to hurt optimus. right now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

starscream knew that a dragon's underbelly was the weakest part of their body. it was valuable knowledge to keep in one's back pocket when living under the rule of a dragon like megatron. this seemed to apply to optimus as well, for when starscream experimentally rested a hand on optimus' belly, he felt not diamond hard armor, but smooth, almost leathery scales, its softness only marred by raised, puffy battle scars. when he finally laid down on optimus' belly, he could feel the warmth emanating from deep inside him, the perpetual dragonfire burning within. starscream couldn't help himself as he groaned softly in satisfaction, both from being surrounded by warmth and having a comfortable surface to sleep on.

he finally rested his head on optimus' side, and with his ear pressed to his chest, he could hear the slow, steady rhythm of optimus' strong heartbeat, and he felt the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest. in a bizarre way, starscream found it soothing.

hearing a dragging sound behind him, starscream turned his head to see optimus had moved his tail so it was curled up against his body. then, as if it had a mind of its own, it raised up and slowly wound around starscream's midsection. its grip wasn't constricting like a giant snake, as starscream had anticipated it might feel. rather, it felt more like a very strange, yet comforting one armed hug. starscream reached out to touch it, then looked back up at optimus, who was still watching him expectantly. he made no move to stop the harpy as he wrapped one arm around optimus' thick tail and squeezed gently, as if to silently thank him.

that seemed to satisfy optimus. he closed his eyes and let his heavy head rest on the stone floor. it might've been a trick of the flickering firelight, but starscream could've sworn that for less than a second, he saw a small smile on optimus' scaly face.

starscream took one last glance past the fire to look out of the cave entrance. truth be told, he had no idea how he'd let himself get here. one moment, he'd been hunting for the apex armor, with a certain gargoyle hot on his tail. he'd never imagined that, at the end of the day, he'd find himself huddled up next to optimus fragging prime in the middle of a mountain cave, but sometimes, truth was stranger than fiction.

at least things were now looking up. at least he knew another path he could take.

starscream smiled in disbelief and shook his head. his past self wouldn't be caught dead in a situation like this. once he'd realized just how megatron had deceived him, he'd sworn that he would never trust a dragon again.

but, as he reasoned, optimus was a firedrake, not a dragon. he didn't count.

with exhaustion weighing heavily on his body and mind, starscream closed his eyes and fell asleep, uneasy yet hopeful for what the future would bring.

i've never written fic for these two before, so i hope i didn't mangle their characters too badly lmao. hopefully i'll write more for them in the future!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Vampire!Rhysand x reader: Mercy, Devil

A/N: I meant to write this for October since it sounded spooky, but honestly I’m happy I didn’t because now I get to write something supernatural in the lead up to Christmas!

Warnings: blood, vampirism, eventual poly relationship

Word Count: 5,064

-Part 2-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You’ve always had a strange fixation with the phantasmal night of all hallows eve. Something particular about the thought of ghastly apparitions being freed to sew discord and chaos through the monotony of everyday life entices your pulse to spike dangerously. Blood thrumming in your veins.

Clouds seal the full moon to the sky, casting shadows throughout the already dense and dark woodland. Twigs snap and crackle beneath your feet as you continue along the path through the ancient forest. Gnarled branches reach into your way, like talons of some malignant beast stretching to grasp you in its claws. Heart bumps against its cage, pale robes swishing provocatively in your wake, a pale glow of white contained within the darkness of night.

Before you, the abandoned castle looms, cutting a towering silhouette as it’s lit by a crack of lightening, splitting the heavens in two. Ravens caw and crow, taking sudden flight to the stormy skies, wind picking up as it whips the leaves from branches, thunder and rain coming on in an abrupt onslaught, seemingly out of nowhere. The water lashes at your skin, thoroughly soaking your robes, slicking the thin fabric to your skin.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to follow the tug toward the old castle site, a chill running up your spine as you’re lured closer, path quickly muddying beneath your feet as you stumble through the howling wind and screaming rain, reaching the base of the entry way. Hurriedly trample up the carved steps, passing by the large carved gargoyles hunched either side of the case. Lightening crackles again, bursting across the thundery sky and you dive for the cover of the hewn-rock archway, seeking shelter from the torrent of heavy droplets.

Plaster yourself to the looming door, the skull knocker digging into your shoulder as you rest against it. The wood gives way, and you yelp as you stumble back, tripping up over your feet, cloak getting caught as you’re sent falling onto your ass. A stray wind whips through the interior, door slamming shut before your very eyes, locked in darkness. Tendrils of hot breath curl before your face in the low temperature of the castle, and you hurry to your feet.

Flinch as the room comes alight, allowing your eyes to sweep across the grand entrance: rich, polished floorboards bathed with blood-red rugs, a glass chandelier hanging like an abnormal spider above the room, the two sets of large winding staircases, and the dark figure at their peak. Candle light warms the castle hall, and you press back into the locked door, breathing heavily.

“My, my,” the character calls softly, “what has the storm brought in?”

Blink quickly, returning to your senses as reason and rationality are returned. You hadn’t known the castle was occupied… “I’m so sorry, Lord,” you call, hoping your voice carries to his looming perch. “I was out in the forest when the rain came on out of nowhere,” you explain, “I came seeking shelter, but the door wasn’t closed properly, and I fell in.” Heat flushes your cheeks, and you self-consciously step back from the rich rugs, trying to keep the mud from the spotless fabric.

“Fell in?” He echoes, and you could swear you hear the faintest laugh. “There’s been many a grand entrance in these halls, and yet none quite as theatrical as your own.” Suck in a quiet inhale of embarrassment, smoothing down the cloak in attempts to look vaguely presentable for the young aristocrat. “If it’s not too much to ask,” you call out, thankful for the evenness of your voice. “I would like to request shelter until the storm passes, then I promise I will be on my way.”

“Of course,” he replies, “be my guest.” His arm sweeps across the grand hall, encompassing the room with a deliberately relaxed gesture. “What’s mine is yours. Stay as long as it pleases you.”

Almost immediately, your shoulders lose their tension, relieved to not be forced back out into the horrific storm—it really had broken out of nowhere. You dip into a light curtsey, the least you can do to demonstrate your gratitude. “My deepest thanks, lord…?”

“Rhysand,” he calls, voice smooth as velvet, sinful as silk. “You may call me Rhysand.”

————

Strangely, you hadn’t seen another soul since you had arrived, which can’t be right, since the place was clean enough you might have thought it unlived in. Missing the mess of life, a strange deathlessness stalking the flame-lit halls.

Perplexities aside, the lord—Rhysand, as he’d informed you with that strange smile—had been more than welcoming, offering a spare bedroom larger than your home, with clothes to change into. You’d had to fight to keep your mouth from parting in awe from the decadent luxury at his fingertips, the sheer mass of wealth he’s shrouded in. How blasé he is about the display of opulence, immune to the shock and wonder of it all.

“You are free to stay as long as you please,” he’d reminded, glancing over to you from where he stands on the threshold. “Dinner will be served at eight. I’d be delighted if you joined me,” he says, offering the invitation graciously. Brows raise on your forehead, grateful for your stroke of luck. Dip your head in confirmation. “That would be wonderful,” you answer sincerely, “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity, my lord.” He waves his hand dismissively, yet it comes across as charming rather than arrogant. “Rhysand will suffice perfectly,” he replies, sharp eyes cutting to you, lips fashioning themselves into a distinctly feline smile. “Rhys if you feel otherwise inclined.” There’s a suggestive lilt to his honeyed voice that has your hairs standing on end, toes curling in spare slippers.

Dip your head again. “Thank you, Rhysand.”

Something pleasured passes through the darkness of his gaze, but it’s quickly covered as he nods, turning to leave, but pausing. “Feel free to adorn yourself as you please,” he adds on, framing it as an after-thought, despite embodying the antithesis of someone who would speak without thinking. He inclines his head toward the vanity, various sparkling gems strung together, contained within the jewellery armoire. Lips part to politely refuse—he’s already offered so much, it would feel wrong to take advantage of such an opportunity.

But he beats you to it, giving you a smile that suggests he knows exactly what you were about to say. “God turns a blind eye to my castle,” he purrs, lips sinfully curved. “Indulge as you like.”

Then he’s gone, striding away down the blood-red corridors, disappearing out of sight and leaving you alone in the offered room. Completely out of your depth, on unfamiliar ground.

Glance at the grandfather clock—you have a quarter hour to swiftly change into clothes of his taste. You waste no time, hastily closing the door before heading to the armoire provided. He’d told you everything was already prepared, which had initially drawn some questions, but you suppose someone with such a vastness of wealth would always have his doors open to passersby—a different way of displaying opulence.

You settle on the simplest gown you can find, still obscenely intricate, with tiny detailed patches of embroidered lacing the hem and sides. The bodice fits nicely, easy to change into and resting comfortably over your now-dry skin. The skirts are held up by an in-built petty-coat, giving the illusion of shape by flaring out past your waist, grazing your ankles. While the rest of you has been ridden of the lasting effects of rain, your hair remains damp, so you decide to allow it to hang at your back—you’d hate to sleep on the crisp pillows with wet hair.

A single look to the clock reveals you have five minutes before dinner is served, so you decide to peer at the jewellery, making sure to leave time for finding the dining hall. Within the small armoire are a menagerie of necklaces, but you pick out a small string of pearls, the clasps rendered in gold to match with the cream of your gown. Heart beats with infantile excitement at getting to adorn yourself in such expensive clothing, enjoying the cool brush against your skin, the weight of the pearls as they skim your breasts—plumped by the front of the bodice.

The clock ticks, and you turn for the door, leaving no time to change from the slippers that had been offered as you swish out into the hallway, returning the way you had come. Surely the dining hall would be located upon the ground floor…

You head for the swirl of stairs, pausing at their peak—where the sharp-featured lord had stood, surveying his lonely kingdom. The glass pendants suspended from the chandelier glitter and gleam like diamonds, and you span your hands delicately across the polished wood of the banister, taking the time to drink in and admire the antique beauty of his home.

Startle when a palm slides around your waist, spinning fully upon turning to see who’s approached. The banister presses to the base of your spine as you lean to it, his hands lightly holding your sides, resting without squeezing. “I’m glad you were able to find your way,” he says lowly, no need for volume with the proximity you are to one another. “I had worried you might find yourself lost in my halls, and I would have to go searching.”

A polite smile plays on your lips, attempting to calm the flush his silken words inspire beneath your features. “I was admiring your home,” you murmur, one hand pressing atop your breast to calm your heart—maybe also to direct his attention to the softness of cleavage. “The chandelier is wonderful, with how it catches the light. For a moment I thought it was winking at me,” you laugh quietly, demurely ducking your head, casting your gaze away from the sharpness of his own.

Rhysand chuckles lowly, “you have the eyes of a magpie.” Hand lightly raises to the set of shining beads at your throat. “Seemingly the taste of one, too.” He threads his fingers with those atop your breast, bringing your knuckles to the softness of his lips. “May I say, you look positively regal,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your skin. You’re surprisingly relieved at the coolness of his mouth, soothing the fire that’s thrumming wildly in response to the delightful liberties he’s taking.

This time you can’t bring yourself to look away. Enchanted by the swirling depths of violet.

“If I look regal,” you breathe softly, “it is thanks to your exquisite taste in dress.” He raises a single, neatly groomed brow, and you’re rather glad to have the banister to lean back on. “A raw gem is beautiful even before it’s refined,” he purrs, cool lips skimming your knuckles with each word. “The clothing merely enhances what was already there.”

Open your mouth to deny his flattery, but once again he beats you to it, as if able to read minds. “Now,” he says, standing to his full height, “shall we?” He guides your arm to link with his own, hand pressing to the firmness of muscle beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. All you can manage is a dip of your head in acquiescence before he’s gracefully guiding you to the stairs, leading the way to the dining hall.

“In the mean time,” he says casually, “why don’t you tell me what you were doing, traipsing through the woods on such a morbid night?” Clasp your skirts in one hand, descending the case on his arm, quietly enjoying the gentlemanly mannerisms even if you’re undeserving of them. “It’s all hallows eve,” you answer, honestly, “I found myself yearning the company of the forest.”

“So you decided to play at red-riding hood,” he drawls, mirth coating his teasing words. You manage to shoot him what you hope is a playful glance. “There are no wolves in these forests, Rhysand,” you smile, returning your gaze to the steps. “Besides, these robes are white, not red.”

The two of you reach the base, and he moves to escort you through the archway on your right, leading away from the entrance hall. “That’s the lovely thing about white though, isn’t it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So open to change.” Your brow dips in a subtle show of confusion, narrowing. “What do you mean by that?” Lips carve themself into something distinctly vulpine, sharp canines gleaming beneath the warm light. But he shakes his head, murmuring a “never mind” before continuing through the ornamented room.

“Tell me more about this so-called yearning for the forest,” he goads, drawing you through yet another exquisitely decorated hall, rugs a shade darker now you’ve strayed from the entrance. It’s your turn to shake your head, unsure how to describe it without sounding utterly off your rocker. “It’s hard to say really,” you say truthfully. “The temperature was crisp but not biting, and the sky was overcast without promising a storm— well, I had thought not, though I was clearly mistaken,” you smile, though there’s an intensity to his gaze you hadn’t noticed before. You quickly avert your eyes, peering instead at the large banquet table you’re swiftly approaching.

“I think, if I’m being quite plain, the quiet suited me in that moment,” you admit softly. “I didn’t know those forests were capable of being quiet,” he mutters, “they must like you.” You shoot him a questioning look, but he simply smiles, again shaking his head. “I was merely thinking out loud,” he clarifies, pulling out your chair. You politely take the seat, smoothing out your skirts as he tucks you in. “I’d be interested in hearing more of your inner thoughts,” you say, “they sound quite intriguing.”

Rhysand pauses, hands resting atop the back of your chair, “would you now?” Spine stiffens when you feel icy air brush your temple, tilting your head to figure where the stray breeze came from. Freeze when his lips graze the shell of your ear, fingers halting in your lap. “Would you like to know what I’m thinking right now?” He inquires lowly, startling heat simmering in your lower abdomen. Manage a slight dip of your chin in tense confirmation. Lips trail lower, ghosting below your ear, brushing your neck. But then he pulls away, standing straight, offering a charming smile. “I’m thinking it would be a shame to be seated so far apart from you, and that I will have to move to be at your side.” Then he’s striding to the end to retrieve the crockery laid out, cutlery held in his free hand.

While his back is turned, you take the moment to try and calm your racing heart, startled by the vivacious beat being drummed against your ribs. You should be better equipped to face him, yet he’s seamlessly pulling you apart, stitch by stitch. All effortless charm and debonair grace. By the time he’s returned, you’ve managed to reach a state of near relaxation, just an edge of tension still gnawing at your spine.

“So, Rhysand,” you say quietly, nervous to intrude too deeply into the air of the castle. “Does your family live with you?” When he begins taking food to his plate, you follow suit, assuming the dinner has commenced, and that it will be fine for you to now start on the delicious meal laid before you. “Occasionally they fly by,” he answers with that playful smile, its reflection mirrored upon your lips. “I have two brothers who will visit from time to time, though they have their own hunting grounds to preside over.”

He hunts? You would have thought someone dressed as finely as he is would have little interest in such a superficial task. Particularly if there’s no one to converse with during the process. An image of him dressed in hunting leathers flashes through your mind, as if put there by an encouraging hand. “Preside over?” You ask, raising a forkful of food to your mouth.

Rhysand nods, smiling faintly as he watches you. “Indeed. They require a surprising amount of attention. Making sure the game are well-kept so none are driven from the lands,” he elaborates, and you nod along, surprised to find yourself interested in the subject. “What counts as being well-kept?” You ask once done with the food in your mouth, eagerly moving to the next piece. “Making sure they are well-fed,” he answers with a playful smile, “that generally keeps them happy.”

You blink, then smile. It’s nice to know he takes care of the animals on his land. That they’re looked after before their death. More humane than some of the things you’ve seen in your small hamlet. “I take it you hunt for pleasure?” You asks, eager to learn more about the charming lord. But he shakes his head, “not regularly. Or rather, not as regularly as some others I know.” A frown seems to dip his brows, and you wish to change the subject. His knife slices through the meat on his plate, carving it up into neat little squares for polite, bite-sized snacks. “Besides, I fear if my game notices it’s being picked off, it will run for the hills.”

Laughter bubbles across your breast-bone with his little quirks. The idea that his prey would be at all self-aware is rather amusing, while also strangely heart-warming. “If hunting is not a hobby of yours, how do you spend your time?” You ask, relaxing into the pleasantly stimulating conversation. “Welcoming rain-soaked women into my castle, of course,” he drawls, a wide smile spreading across your lips, quickly raising your hand to cover your mirth-filled grin. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt, yet I haven’t laid eyes on a single other soul here,” you reply, peering at him.

Lips quirk, and he reaches for his glass of red wine, thoroughly opaque, darkened in the flame light. “Everyone else has gone home for the night,” he answers, sipping at the thick liquid. “It’s just us, my lady.” Flush at the title, returning to concentrate on the meal. “I am no lady, Rhysand,” you respond softly, cutting into the rich meat on your plate. “And yet if I were to walk through those doors and find you dining alone, I would not think you looked even a spot out of place in my home,” he says, equally hushed.

Cutlery stills in your hands, raising your eyes to swirling violet. It strikes you then what a spectacular colour it is. Manage a shy smile, “your flattery is outrageous.” He’s quiet for a short spell, before also lowering his cutlery. “Do I look like I’m lying to you?” You’re surprised by the sincerity of his tone. Throat rolls as you observe him, head still lowered shyly. “I’ve known you for not even a night,” you murmur, unable to quite pull your focus from him. “You could,” he answers lowly, voice pitched down a few keys.

Blink, taken aback. You must be misunderstanding. Swallow thickly, making to return to your plate, but— “Don’t look away,” he instructs softly, coaxing your eyes back to his. Mind swims through heat, the world dimming around him, as if blanketed by a thick fog. “I…I couldn’t say,” you manage, a strange wariness prickling at the nape of your neck. Hairs rising with the intensity of his gaze.

The lord is quiet again, watching you with those strange, wonderful eyes. But then he pulls away, spearing a sectioned piece of meat with his fork. “Forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have been so crass with you. I find myself so rarely with civilised company my manners are often forgotten.”

You shift in your seat, a bout of cold icing your skin in the absence of his attention. “No, it’s fine,” you say, finished with your meal, gently setting down the knife and fork. “I was simply caught off guard. The truth is I would feel as though I was taking advantage of your generosity, Rhysand.” You notice he’s also finished, but are unable to recall at what point. “What’s mine is yours,” he reminds lowly, eyes glinting.

Pulse spikes in response, something dark in that look that has you urging to run. The question is: in what direction?

“You seem tired,” he observes, glancing at the grandfather clock. Brows raise as he reads the time. “Appropriately. It’s nearing midnight,” he drawls. Lips part in surprise, how has it been that long? It feels like you sat down to eat less than an hour ago, yet it’s already beginning the ascent into morning. “Nearly midnight?” You echo, following his gaze. The clock indeed reads twelve, the hour hand raised as if poised to strike down.

Rhysand stands from his chair, refolding the napkin before stretching out his hand. “I would hate for you to sleep poorly because of me. Allow me escort you back to your room,” he asks quietly, all traces of previous heat removed, replaced by well-mannered charm. You manage a nod, arm once again overlapping with his own, making to follow him through the labyrinthine halls.

It hits you then, the vastness of his castle—how desolate the space must be. Especially with how rarely he apparently gets to meet with anyone he cares for. “You know, before tonight I had thought your castle was abandoned,” you say absently, taking in the elaborate decorations with more appreciation. “I’ll admit, it sometimes feels that way,” he replies, deep voice tracing down your spine. Push the heat aside for the moment, turning to glance at him. “Do you ever get lonely?” You ask quietly, aware of the ice you’re treading.

He hesitates, momentarily meeting your gaze before continuing onward, reaching the stairs. “Quite possibly,” he answers, “it would certainly be reason for my appalling lapse in manners earlier tonight.” His lips are lifted at their edges, yet you can’t quite manage to return the smile. It must be difficult, having all this space with only his self to fill it. Then again, with the intensity he’s occasionally pinned you with, that doesn’t seem like a particularly hard task.

“Tell me about your own hobbies,” he requests, breaking from your inner thoughts. “I feel as though I’ve spoken more than enough for tonight.” But you’re shaking your head before you can help it, speaking before you can stop it. “I like the sound of your voice,” you admit quietly. Violet eyes flick to you, weighing on your cheek…your neck. “It’s soothing. Like a lullaby.”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you.

He stares, and heat blossoms beneath your skin. That was incredibly uncalled for on your part.

“I hope not,” he says at last, humiliation burning at your insides as you hastily look away. But then he comes to a stop, hand reaching for your jaw, drawing your helpless gaze to lock with his own. “Because putting you to sleep right now is the last thing on my mind,” he breathes lowly.

Oh.

Chest rises and falls steadily, becoming aware of how breathless you feel, how utterly bare you are beneath that look of his. Tongue flicks out over your lower lip, mouth parched. “Tell me…what’s the first thing on your mind then, Rhys.” Attention pierces to the plushness of your lips, and you’re suddenly in need of that banister from earlier. “You want to know what I’d do with you if you let me?” He asks, voice rougher than it was moments before. Pulse spikes beneath that intensity, breath shallowing, but you manage a nod.

He groans lowly, hand dropping to your waist, lightly resting along the seam of the bodice. Cool fingers stroke away a lock of hair, pads grazing the heat of your cheek as he stares down at you. “I’m not sure such things are for your ears, magpie,” he grits out, applying a light bit of force to your waist. “Tell me anyway,” you breathe, hands raising to the fine lapels of his jacket, more eager to put them in his hair.

A rough sound of conflicted pleasure rumbles in his chest. “Such lovely things,” he promises, violet darkening with desire, swirling and dancing as he drinks you in. “So lovely you wouldn’t be able to pull away once I’d started.”

Heat numbs rationality, mind melting as the words warmly splash over your bones, sinking into marrow as you become soft and supple beneath his touch. Step into the lines of his body, feeling as his fingers press to your sides with tension. “Do it,” you breathe, quietly. “Please.”

Cunning satisfaction releases through the male, pleased with how quickly you changed your mind once he applied himself to the task. He’d gotten a sense of your taste before dinner, when he’d pushed you in, and it had been enough to convince him even though he’d fed not even a week ago, he would have to sample you. Now here you are, head tilted, eyes having fluttered shut, offering yourself to him for an entirely different set of wants. Maybe he will indulge your desires—if you satisfy his, that is.

You’ll be on the floor colder than ice if you fail to do so.

He moves in, hand cupping the nape of your neck as he lowers his mouth to yours. Lamb had been served over dinner, and he finds the taste pleasant on your tongue, stoking the embers of his hunger as he presses himself against the soft shape of you, partially hidden by the blasted dress and pearls. A small sound gets caught in your throat, and he revels in the feeling of your fingers tightening on the lapels of his jacket. As if you’re experiencing even a fraction of the hunger he has for you.

Works his way down your jaw, taking his time as he descends to your neck. Nosing at the pronounced pulse, liking how you tilt your head to one side, freely gifting him access. Lips graze the spot he’s chosen, tongue flicking out to drag along hot skin—so hot it practically burns.

Razor-sharp canines scrape, and he feels the exact moment you go rigid in his arms. But by then it’s too late, his teeth piercing your throat, injecting his philtre-laced venom into your bloodstream. The familiar taste of adrenaline and arousal spills on his tongue, bursting from the small puncture marks he’s made, quick to heal over with the aid of saliva. Drinks you down, savouring the richness of your blood, sealing his lips over the incisions, taking more, and more, and more—

He forcefully drags himself away, vision turning hazy, the scent of your life-force spinning his mind. Breathes heavily, the rich and spicy tang still prominent in his mouth, sapid and hot. Tongue darts out to wet his lips, gathering up faint traces that remain there, and then he’s being pulled back, already so deeply enamoured.

Canines re-pierce that same spot, reopening the incisions as your blood burns his throat, inspiring heat in his long-dead body. It’s as if he’s returning to life, having it shot through his veins, snaring him in the addicting flavour. Lips seal over the puncture marks, drinking deeply, swallowing down more and more.

He should stop.

He knows he should stop—he’ll bleed you dry, and then he’ll never have another taste. Arousal coats his tongue, and heat spreads across his skin, bone-deep aches making themselves apparent, as if forcefully dragging him to you. Your hands have dropped from his jacket, instead weakly rubbing at his shoulder and chest, unable to do much more than hold yourself up.

But the taste—the sheer heaven you’ve put into him again. If he stops drinking, it will pass, and he’ll return to that permanent state of death, cold and solitary. But you’re bleeding sunlight into him, sunlight that’s dappled and controlled instead of the unrestricted blaze that would incinerate him in the blink of an eye.

A quiet gasp slips from your lips, fingers losing their grip on his clothing, beginning to slip, but just a little more…one more gulp…one more sip…

“Mercy, devil,” he breathes onto your neck, as if in pain. “What God-damning angel are you?” He growls, trembling hands cupping your cheeks, sharp violet eyes locked on the small marks to your throat. “You’ve bewitched me. I must…” Then he’s surging forward, slamming you against the wall with inhuman force, hand gripping your jaw as he roughly tilts your head to the side. Groans, hot tongue licking over the soft skin, elongated incisors pricking as they again pierce.

Pulse spikes beneath his grip, growing dizzy as he drinks deeply, hands pressed to your shoulders to pin you still. Vision blurs, lips parting as you raise your arms in attempt to push him away, but end up desperately clinging to the finely spun fabric cloaking his back. Limbs go weak, turning limp in his hold as he feeds, a pleasurable spin overcoming your mind, turning pliable beneath his teeth.

He groans, pulling away only in favour of going lower, suctioning now-hot lips over a new, unmarked patch of skin. Blood bursts on his tongue, rich and spicy, not yet too ripe but void of the sour bite that’s present in the young. Heaven and hell blend together in his mouth, mixing so appetisingly he could never—

“Rhys…” you whisper, pleading. Less than a breath left before you—

Your body slumps, and his is trembling so violently the best he can do is go with you as you slide down the wall, blood trickling down onto the pure, white pearls. He knew they’d get in the way.

He hauls himself away, shocked at the utter lack of control you had subjected him to. How his discipline shudders in your presence, practically brought to its knees for a single drop more.

Earlier he had considered making a bottle or two out of you to send off to his brothers, ready for consumption.

Looking at you now, he can hardly stand the thought.

What’s mine is yours…and what’s yours is mine.

Your blood is his, and his only.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[undreaming-fanfiction]

There isn't much left of Hawkins now. The town is nearly empty, only a few residents here and there, but other than that? Basically a ghost town. It's slowly fading away and those few windows that shine in the night rarely interact.

One of them is the Harrington mansion.

The Harrington mansion was nearly destroyed in the Red earthquake of 1986, and whoever rebuilt it must have had a weird sense of humor, a questionable taste in movies or both. It is a gothic-inspired monstrosity, tall windows, statues, gargoyles, crooked trees and all. People say it is haunted and honestly, it looks the part.

But it's supposed to be full of stuff worth stealing so of course the group decides to go in. Anything to scratch the itch. The guy in the local pawnshop, a vulture who built his business on the misery of others, on their abandoned homes and dreams,  doesn't ask any questions and pays well.

They don't know much about the house, but someone told them it's the perfect target. The Harrington guy who lives there is around fifty and has a known distaste for guns, so they feel confident. Maybe he'll be asleep. Maybe they won't even have to hurt him.

Maybe some of them hope he'll fight. Maybe they need to find an outlet for all that anger. Their families failed them and so has the society, there's nothing for them here, not anywhere else. They just have each other, another damaged group of teenagers and fresh adults, and if roughing that guy up and getting a bunch of valuables in the process gets them some food and maybe a bottle of whiskey to forget it all? It's worth it.

There is light shining through the living room windows and they feel the warmth and luxury they feel they were denied. It's decided, no waiting for the guy to fall asleep.

They kick in the ornate door and prepare to enter the house.

And then it happens: the gargoyle above the main door comes to life.

It descends on them and knocks the first two to the ground immediately. They don't see much of it before darkness takes them, but it has wings, long hair and talons like a hawk. It tosses their strongest friend away as if he was a rag doll. When it squeezes one of the girls by the throat, she can see faded ink on its forearm, a swarm of flying creatures. 

The thought of it being originally human is even worse.

"It's a fucking monster!" one of them sobs as he shuffles back on his elbows, screaming into the dark that will never answer.

That's when Harrington finally joins the hissing monster on the steps, but he isn't afraid. He doesn't even flinch. His hand reaches out and tucks a strand of that long curly hair behind the creature's pointed ear. "A monster?" he smiles at the intruder. "That's no way to call my boyfriend."

Can be read as a standalone, or, if you like more wholesome endings, read it HERE.

[earthnashes]

The completed version of that sketch I teased a while ago! Angela and Demona have a much needed talk. uwu

So, I know I've been harkin' and hollerin' about starting a Gargoyles AU, and after this lil thing... WELL. I can't help myself man, plz ;w;

But even though I've yet to fully sit down to rewatch the show for concrete foundations, I'm gettin' bombarded with ideas for this badboy. I'll talk at length about my idea once I have something a little more solid, but for now the context is the AU explores Demona's journey to redemption, and her attempts to grow amidst the chaos of the general public now learning gargoyles exist (and the consequences that comes with it).

Below the "keep reading" is a short story I wrote on how Demona and Angela's first uninterrupted reunion could go. Angela is determined to try and convince her mother to give humanity--give everyone, really-- one more chance. Even with all the craziness and the very fragile relations between the supernatural and humans, Angela sees it as their best and only bet to actually build a long-lasting rapport. And a chance to have her mother in her life with minimal conflict.

--

"--Don't you understand? The humans took everything from me, and they have only grown worse. One so-called 'good' human can't undo that. They are never good."

"But they can be if you just let them!" Angela growls, flailing her talons out to her sides in a wide gesture around the city. "Mother, haven't you ever thought that maybe not all humans are bad? That they and gargoyle are more alike than you believe? You've been around for years. You can't honestly tell me you haven't met a gargoyle you couldn't trust in your lifetime."

"I trust no one," Demona sneers, turning her back on her daughter and hunching in on herself, arms crossed close to her chest. "It's what kept me alive this long."

"But at what cost? Mother... you are clanless." Demona doesn't turn around at the mournful tone, and Angela pushes on. "Y-you have no one. But you don't have to be--"

"Angela--" Demona's voice is loud, unwavering, but her tone is so, so tired. It's almost wrung out of her in a sigh that only hints at centuries of gliding solo.

"That is enough."

For several moments, there is heavy silence. Demona doesn't turn around, but the scent of salt in the air is tell enough. She heaves another sigh and begins to step toward the edge of the rooftop they've chosen for this meeting, fully intent on putting an end to such a miserable conversation.

"...Everyone believes you are nothing more than a monster."  Demona keeps going, crouches down and begins to unfurl her wings.

"But I don't believe that."

That stops her. She freezes as if the sun has touched her skin, still as the stone sleep she no longer experiences. She still doesn't turn, but her head tilts to the side. Listening.

"I saw how desperately you want clan when you were with Thailog," Angela whispers hoarsely. "I saw how you looked at me, w-when you realized I was your daughter. You... you turned on Thailog to save me. Save us. But now I--" She whipes furiously at her eyes in frustration. "--you speak as if you want nothing to do with me--"

"You know that isn't true," Demona says, finally, finally whirling to face her daughter. Instinct drives her to open her arms, to reach out, but years of solitude stops her in her tracks. Her hesitation goes mostly unnoticed.

"Then prove it!" Angela barks. She lashes her tail and unfurls her wings. "I want you in my life! I want you to be clan. But I can't do that if you aren't willing to at least try." Angela closes the distance between them, grasping her mother's talons and --almost instantly-- feels like a child again. She gives her a gentle squeeze, and relief nearly floods her when she feels a small, hesitant one back.

"I can't ask for you to forget... or forgive. I won't. But I am asking you to... t-to at least try, and give me a chance? To give humans a chance, one more time."

Angela's eyes bore into her mother as she pleads: "Give me this one chance to prove you wrong."

-----------

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Now that I reread the short there's a lot I'd like to revise and add, but for now this will work. :)

But ye! More to come soon! ;w;

[loopstagirl]

Febuwhump DAY 11: demonic possession

Merlin please! (Doesn’t need to be a real demon…)

Fathomless Depths

For @febuwhump day 11: demon possession

-x-

Icy air pierced his lungs as Arthur clawed his way back to consciousness. Violent shivers wracked his body, his armor feeling like it was frozen to him. Breathing hurt and he coughed as he opened his eyes. 

He was still sprawled in the courtyard. But something was different. He couldn’t hear the clamour and shouts that had filled the air when the blow to the head had rendered him unconscious. The silence should’ve meant the battle was over, but there was something oppressive, something deafening about it. 

Groaning, Arthur tried to sit up. But he couldn’t. There was a heavy weight around both wrists that he only now realised were pinned above his head. It hadn’t just been where he’d fallen. 

Craning his neck, he tried to see. One of the gargoyles was crouched right next to him. For a moment, Arthur assumed the thing had fallen on top of him and somehow trapped both arms. But as he looked again, he realised its talon-tipped hands were grasping his arms, holding him down. 

“What the-?” he muttered, trying to pull free. He should’ve known it wouldn’t have worked: he was literally pulling against stone. 

“Ah, he awakens.” 

The voice was cold, malice dripping from every word. It was also familiar. And didn’t belong to Cedric. 

It was painful forcing his head up, the muscles in his neck straining. Merlin was sitting on an overturned barrel only a few paces away. His legs were crossed and he appeared to be examining his nails before he glanced at Arthur. 

It was his voice. But it wasn’t.  

There was something deep, evil, in his tone that wasn’t Merlin at all. Still, Arthur had to ask. 

“Merlin?” 

“Oh, he’s not here.” The sneer on his face made Arthur glance away. He’d seen his servant look at him in frustration and pride; anger and contentment. Never had he seen such hatred on an otherwise open expression. 

“What have you done to him?” 

Awkwardly, he looked around. Bodies were sprawled everyone. But only a few paces away, he caught sight of Cedric, and understood. Whatever – whoever – had been possessing the thief had fled its host and found someone else. Why an ancient sorcerer would choose Merlin of all people to work his curse through, Arthur had no idea. No one said sorcerers were smart. 

“He’s here. He’s taking a well-earned rest. Don’t you think there was a little truth in it when you told him he was tired?” Not-Merlin mocked. He’d told Arthur the name, something like... Sigan! That was it. 

“You’ve been running him ragged. Never gets a moment’s peace between you and your petty demands, and the old man insisting on help. Of course, he resisted. Said something about you being a good man. But-,” 

If anything, Sigan’s smirk grew. 

“He hesitated. For just a moment. You’re his prince, yes, but right now? Right now, he’s not sure he can trust you. Who can blame him? I can see it all here, in his mind. How much he wants to protect you, keep you safe, make you a good king one day. And how you treat him like a foolish slave there for you to climb over on your bid for power.” 

“That’s not true!” Arthur shouted, straining against the gargoyle’s hold. It wasn’t. Was it?  

Maybe things had been tense between them lately, but he hadn’t known how to act after the events of a few months ago. Merlin had told him he’d be his servant until he died: that he was happy to be so.  His knights were loyal, but they’d taken an oath to do so. Merlin just washed his socks and still professed the same level of commitment. It had shaken Arthur that someone could be loyal to him rather than his title, and perhaps he hadn’t reacted in the best way. 

But to hear that Merlin might not trust him? That stung. 

As if he could see the thoughts playing out on Arthur’s face, Sigan laughed. 

“Oh, but it is. He tried to warn you about me, about Cedric, didn’t he? And what did the mighty prince do? Threw him in the dungeons. All the things he’s done for you and you still don’t believe a word he says? That moment of hesitation, that moment of doubt, was all I needed to take this body for my own. And the things I can do with it!” 

Arthur knew it was Sigan speaking. But it was Merlin’s voice, Merlin’s face set into that sneer. The only thing that wasn’t Merlin’s were the eyes: even in the darkness of the night, the fires burning around them revealed enough to show that they were jet black. 

“Let him go,” Arthur commanded. He had to take control of this situation. “He’s just a servant: release him. Your quarrel is with me, my father, not Merlin.” 

“Just a servant?” Sigan laughed. “He’s so much more than that. But of course, you’d never see it.” 

“Let him go!” 

Sigan snapped Merlin’s fingers and the gargoyle holding Arthur shifted. It rose to its full height, dragging Arthur with it as it kept a tight hold of his wrists. It stood behind him, pinning his arms behind his back.  

Sigan uncrossed his legs and jumped down from the barrel. He stalked closer, one finger tapping against his lip as he stared at Arthur with those fathomless eyes. 

“According to the boy, the people of this kingdom think highly of you, not just him. Camelot’s citizens have always been weak. But destroying you would bring the kingdom, bring your father, to its knees.” 

Arthur struggled against the hold. He kept his movements controlled, not wanting to appear desperate. If he could just reach his sword, he could... what? Run Merlin through? Sigan might be possessing him, but it was still Merlin’s body. Arthur had taken a vow to protect the people of Camelot. 

It was more than that, though This was Merlin. His friend. His most loyal companion, despite the recent distance between them. He couldn’t kill him. Even if it was between Merlin and Camelot, Arthur couldn’t do it. 

Sigan lifted a finger until it was resting by Arthur’s eye. He blinked involuntarily, heard Sigan whisper a word, and felt a wash of heat on his cheek. Looking back, he saw a flame burning on the tip of Sigan’s finger, dancing in the dark pools of his eyes. 

“Of course, I can’t make it quick. Your father at least should bear witness. But maybe....” He trailed off thoughtfully, running his finger down Arthur’s cheek. 

Arthur’s eyes screwed up in pain as the fire licked his skin, but he refused to give Sigan the satisfaction of crying out. As quickly as the flame had appeared, it vanished again. Arthur, panting, stared at the sorcerer through tear-filled eyes, his cheek pulsing in agony with each beat of his heart. 

But there was confusion in Sigan’s expression. He spoke the same word as before and the fire flickered to life, then died again.  

“There is such power in this boy,” he muttered, talking to himself more than Arthur. “I can make this citadel crumble.” 

“You’re seriously talking about Merlin? He fell over my boots two mornings in a row.” 

“You...” Sigan stopped. He frowned. “You don’t lie. Interesting. Such conflict. Such turmoil. My hold on him should be absolute.” 

“But it’s not,” Arthur said. Sigan snapped another word and Arthur was forced to his knees as the gargoyle bent his arms further behind him. It was either drop or risk dislocating his shoulder. But he smirked. 

“Merlin has never done as he’s told. You really think he’ll let some murderous sorcerer possess and control him just because he’s having an off day?” 

“Silence!” Sigan didn’t bother with magic this time. His backhand caught the burn and, despite himself, Arthur screamed as agony flared. Gasping for breath, he glared his defiance up at Sigan. 

“Go on then. Kill me. We both know I can’t stop you. But if you think that Merlin’s going to let you use him like this, then you’re the fool. He has this irritating habit of coming out of fights unscathed despite being a scrawny stick.” 

Sigan raised both arms, chanting something in a deep voice. What felt like every stone in the courtyard rumbled, some larger pieces rising into the air. Fresh screams broke out from the far side and Arthur realised there were still people out here. They’d been taking shelter, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the open space. 

He looked around, seeing dark shapes flittering through the shadows as they scrambled for safety. 

“Your fight is with me!” Arthur yelled. “They’re innocent.” 

“They live in Camelot: there are no innocents.” 

“That’s not true.” Arthur believed it with every fibre of his being. Sigan could do what he wanted to him. He was the Crown Prince; it was his duty to die for his kingdom if that’s what it took. He’d never stop protecting those he’d sworn to serve. 

Or those who’d sworn to serve him. 

“I know you’re in there, Merlin,” he said. Sigan snarled, lashing out. Arthur spat blood from a torn lip but didn’t stop speaking. 

“I know you’re there, because you’re a stubborn idiot who stays by my side no matter the danger or how many times I ask you to muck out the stables. No. Not ask. Tell. You’re a terrible servant, Merlin, but you’ve never left. Never. And I refuse to believe you’ve gone now, that you’re not in there fighting this evilness. That’s not who you are: you never give in. And you never let me have the last word.” 

Arthur didn’t realise he was panting, or that he’d straightened up again, until he suddenly realised he was staring straight into Sigan’s black eyes. He didn’t look away, daring the sorcerer to deny what Arthur knew to be true. Merlin was in there, fighting against the odds. He wasn’t like Cedric; he didn’t have greed in his heart for Sigan to take hold of. 

“You’re a good man, Merlin,” Arthur said in a quiet voice. “You may hate me right now but I know you. You won’t let innocent people suffer.” 

Sigan’s command came out as a guttural snarl and the gargoyle moved. It shifted its grip until it held both wrists in one hand, forcing Arthur back to his knees, the other large, stony hand splayed across the back of his neck. 

“One word from me and that statue will snap your neck like dried kindling,” Sigan spat. Arthur couldn’t lift his head, but his eyes flicked up. 

“Go on then.” 

Nothing happened. 

“Just as I thought. You’re all talk. No matter what power you think you have, you’re inhabiting the body of one of the most stubborn men I know. Merlin won’t let you.” 

Sigan blinked. It might have been a trick of the light, not helped by the angle he was at. But Arthur didn’t think so. He’d seen a shimmer of blue spreading through the black. 

“Come on, Merlin,” he whispered. “Enough lazing about: get rid of him.” 

Sigan was an ancient sorcerer who’d levelled most of Camelot while in the body of a good-for-nothing thief. Merlin was a servant. Arthur didn’t know what chance he had. But he knew Merlin was fighting and, judging by the snarl twisting Sigan’s expression, he was winning. 

“Fight him. You can do this. I know you can.” 

Sigan laughed, but it wasn’t as cruel as before. Arthur was certain it rang with a twinge of desperation.  

“You believe in him when he doesn’t... doesn’t...” 

Whatever he wanted to say, Merlin wasn’t letting him. 

The man’s body was trembling violently and Arthur gave a shout as Merlin dropped to the cobblestones, his entire body convulsing. In horrified fascination, Arthur watched as a black shadow poured from his servant’s mouth. It swirled in the air for a long moment before it disappeared. Arthur was certain he didn’t imagine the unearthly howl that accompanied it. 

For a second, nothing happened. 

Then two things happened at once. 

First, the gargoyle holding Arthur exploded. He winced as shards of stone cut into his exposed neck and hands, but his armour protected him from the worst of it. At the same time, the biting cold lifted, the frost that had glittered on the cobbles vanishing without a trace. 

At the same time, Merlin fell still.  

He hit the ground silently. As soon as he was freed from the gargoyle’s hold, Arthur moved across to him, shaking the man’s shoulder. 

“Merlin? Merlin!” 

Merlin’s head lolled, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. 

“Merlin!” Arthur shook him again. 

Slowly, looking as if it cost him more effort than it should’ve done, Merlin’s eyes opened. Although Arthur had seen the smoke, he sighed in relief at the familiar blue staring back at him. 

“He was wrong,” Merlin rasped. “I do... do believe in you.” 

He coughed, more blood trickling over his lips. 

“Hold on,” Arthur told him. “I’m getting you to Gaius.” 

Merlin managed a weak smile. Then his eyes rolled back and his entire body slumped. 

Arthur straightened up and in one fluid movement, pulled his manservant over his shoulder. 

“Just hold on,” he repeated.  

The fight wasn’t over yet. 

[ghost-bxrd]

Hi

Can we have some headcanons about GCPD reacting to Talon Dick? (We already traumatized JLA and Titans, now it is Gordon's turn, lol)

Heck yeah!

The first time Batman shows up with Talon in tow Gordon doesn’t even realize he’s there until Batman addresses him and Dick finally moves from his ominous perch on a nearby pillar. He was still enough that Gordon’s brain filed him away as a gargoyle. Gordon takes one good look at Talon and feels his fight or flight instinct kick in with full force. That golden eyed stare is a whole new kind of unnerving. He feels like a mouse caught in the gaze of a predator.

When Gordon not so subtly demands too now what the hell that “thing” is, Batman doesn’t even pause before saying “that’s Talon” and continuing with his debrief on the latest case. He refuses to to elaborate any further.

Gordon has to call a meeting when it becomes apparent that Talon (Gordon point blank refuses to think about the Cour of Owls being real. He refuses.) is now a permanent fixture at the Batman’s side because he’s had to console several terrified newbies during the last few weeks because Bird Boy’s scary factor is worse than the friggin Batman’s, and “No, commissioner! You don’t understand! I SAW HIM TAKE A SHOT TO THE THROAT AND WALK IT OFF!”

Gordon asks Batman only once if he has to worry about demons or zombies now, deciding that if the answer is “yes” he is going to quit. Damn it all. Unfortunately, the answer is no.

Dick takes a liking to the commissioner. The commissioner wishes Talon didn’t, because his heart palpitations definitely got worse since having a goddamn Talon show up in his office every other day. How did the guy even get in here? There was literally nobody in the room with him a second ago!

Just when Gordon thought he finally had the kid (because it IS a kid, he realizes with a nauseous twist in his stomach) all figured out, Robin shows up. Gordon had to call another meeting with the rookies after one of them insulted the walking traffic light and got dangled off the edge of a roof. New rule: No trash talking Robin. Ever.

Talon makes a game out of scaring the officers he doesn’t like. Gordon… doesn’t veto that game unless he knows that particular cop is clean. Which they rarely are.

Talon doesn’t talk in the presence of others for the longest time, and when he does Gordon nearly falls over in surprise. He was thoroughly convinced he’s only capable of bird speech.

[romancemedia]

[sidesketchestuff]

“Gege~”

Here are a few art lessons I learned while continuing my TGCF Gargoyles AU:

1.Always sketch and color at your own pace.

2.Concentration is the key to eye catching art.

3.Make sure Gray and Silver contrast well.

4.Gargoyle Talons are hard as heck to draw!

Hua Cheng:

Dude would deadass pull off the three clawed wingtips. Shout out to Brooklyn, Demona, Angela and Elisa Maza for pulling it off!

As of the Canon Gargoyles Comics, Brooklyn and Hua Cheng are officially Eyepatch bros.

I hope the silver coloring pencil manages to contrast Hua Cheng’s light grey skin.

Finally finished Hua Cheng all night! Now he matches Dianxia!

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

The wonders of earth

Shichiro honestly had no idea where he was. He had never seen anywhere like this in all his travels. His curious talens collected samples as he cautiously walked along the unfamiliar terrain.

He couldn't sense any demonic energy. Infact... nothing around him appeared to be related to the netherworld. His eyes widen with fascination.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. He turns and... he can't believe it. Is that? A... human? Standing a few feet away stood one. The tempting smell wafting off of them. Mouthwatering.

Saliva building up in his mouth he swallows. No. He couldn't eat them. Humans were so rare after all. It lifts their hand and waves.

☆Whatever you do, I'll do it too. Show me everything and tell me how, it all means something and yet nothing to me.☆

He lifts his own and waves back slowly. It says something, but he can't understand it. "Are... you saying hello?" He asks softly.

They take a step back wide-eyed. He quickly lifts his hands in surrender. "Don't go, I won't hurt you." The human tilts their head studying him.

☆I can see there's so much to learn. It's all so close and yet so far. I see myself as people see me. Oh, I just know there's something bigger out there!☆

They were so small. They looked fragile. The days pass by as he explores this new place. His new human guide leads him around. Always keeping several feet ahead of him.

☆I wanna know, can you show me? I wanna know about these strangers like me. Tell me more, please show me. Somethings familiar about these strangers like me.☆

A lagoon, the water pools around their feet. He stays at the edge, watching them catch fish. It was amazing. Everything was so different from the Netherworld. Even the fish was smaller and more delicate. They didn't even have any teeth! How strange.

☆Every gesture, every move that they make, makes me feel like never before. Why do I have this growing need to be beside them?☆

Before he knew it, his human had warmed up to him. They had relaxed and slowly came closer step by step. How lovely. His heart soared.

☆Oh these emotions I never knew. Of some other world far beyond this place. Beyond the trees above the clouds. I see before me a new horizon!☆

Sunshine, laughter. Huddling underneath his wings as the rain pours. Observing the night sky. Struggling to learn each other's language.

☆I wanna know! Can you show me? I wanna know about these strangers like me. Tell me more, please show me. Something's familiar about these strangers like me.☆

A field of flowers. A starry sky. Insects that they had called fireflies twinkling around. The large gargoyle being led. Tiny hands tugging on large talons.

☆Come with me now to see my world, where there's beauty beyond your dreams. Can you feel the things I feel right now... with you. Take my hand. There's a world I need to know!☆

Then... he woke up. Shichiro slowly sits up from his nest. He looks around. His room is just how he left it. He searches for proof that it was real. That it wasn't just a dream.

But he finds nothing. Yet... it had been so vivid. He couldn't help but draw his human. Their bright eyes stared back at him from the page.

"What are you doing?" He looks up to see Kalego and Opera looking at him from the door. "Hurry up and get ready. We'll be late."

He gets dressed. Opera snatches his sketchbook. "Who's this?" He blushes. "Uhh... it's just what I think a human would look like."

☆Tell me more, please show me. Something's familiar about these strangers like me.☆

Kalego also gazed at the drawing. "Mmm looks troublesome. How annoying." Opera smacked him. "Ignore him, he's just jealous. They look pretty."

☆I wanna know.☆

[chaoticwarrior]

Deuce: And he has my dream woman.

Gil: Your dream woman?

Deuce: Yes! I just wish one day she’ll realize Romulus isn’t the right guy for her.

Gil: I highly doubt that. * Gestures to them making out in the corner, Deuce groans*

Clawd: Alert, alert. Annoying gargoyle approaching.

Rochelle: Bonjour, Deuce. Aimez- vous mes noveaux talons?

Deuce: They’re nice, I guess. But why are you asking me?

Rochelle: Because your opinion matters to me, Deucey. We belong together.

Deuce: No, we don’t. Not at all, and what about Garrot? He's your boyfriend!

Rochelle: We broke up. Until then, my stubborn gorgon. * Rochelle walks off*

Clawd: Is she ever gonna be over you?

Deuce: When pigs fly.