#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!

[friendshipgamer13]

gargoyles season 2 episodes 2 metamorphosis

[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. 

[ultimatefangirl-exe]

Released pages for Gargoyles #3

[reye-chan]

bruh gargoyles is 30 years old this october

30 years of making me unwell as hell

[punster-2319]

Bruh….

[noybusiness]

Lol, this gif fits Thailog and Sevarius’s reaction to Talon and Maggie’s baby in the latest Dynamite Gargoyles issue.

every time i get a new follower who isn’t a porn bot:

[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;

[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.

[friendshipgamer13]

Holy shit Xanatos about his ass beat by furry

[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.☆

[alaskan-wallflower]

okay so fantasy au 😭 i needed to ramble

Mrs Curtis was a nymph. Shes kinda like the nymphs in percy jackson, her skin is leaf green (maybe changes colors in the autumn?) and her hair is this sunstricken golden color and she ofc has leaves in it almost always. I also like lowkey wanna say that she has a tail with leaves at the end too-she loved to make flower crowns and maybe she even photosynthesizes? Who knows! I need to draw this concept out

Mr Curtis was a gargoyle. He’s REALLY terrifying looking but once you actually get to know him he’s a huge goofball. He used to pull faces and stuff to make his sons laugh. He had huge bat like wings and a long spiked tail-he had talons too and his eyes would glow bright yellow when he was mad-like ONLY yellow. The pupils and irises were GONE. He taught Darry how to fly!

Onto Darry-he’s a gryphon/human mix? Kinda? Like a centaur but the lower half is a fire gryphon. He was born normal size but VERY quickly grew and ended up being gryphon sized (Like��50+ft in size, gryphons are BIG) and dude couldn’t fit in the house anymore by the time he was like thirteen :( But he’s a fire gryphon so cold doesn’t bother him much. But his wings are kinda flame colored? He has a mane of harness fire around his neck too and the tip of his lion tail is a flame ofc-when he’s mad though the fire flares up and can become harmful. He still roofs houses but he has to be awful careful with his size, though he also gets paid to clear out areas because he’s so big so he can easily sweep stuff. He’s harmless tho, just a big birb/lion boi

Soda is a centaur-his lower half is a palomino colt and his upper half is human obviously. He REALLY likes having his mane and tail played with and sometimes will just flick his brothers with his tail until they give him attention lmao-he is NOT quiet either like you can hear this boy galloping from a mile away. He’s also a big fan of having his tail braided and sometimes will braid it before. work to make sure oil doesn’t get on it. He’s very prideful of his coat though and likes when people give him attention for how shiny his coat is-He hates cleaning his hooves though because it’s hard to do :( Sometimes he’ll nestle into Darry’s wings after a hard day too :(

Pony is a cervitaur ofc-his lower half is a fallow deer (maybe an axis deer…) but this boy is SO prideful of his antler nubs and styles his hair purposefully to make sure there showing at all times. When his antlers actually start growing though he’s really happy except for when leaves and flowers get stuck in ‘em-but this boy is FAST-like 50mph fast. He could outrun Soda any day (I know horses are faster shhh) but he’s so fun. His coat is also super fluffy…his hair is too thanks to being half deer. He definitely sneaks into orchards to steal their food tho and Darry gives him an earful. Something I’m considering is having one of each curtis brother be in control of some element considering their mom was a nymph…Darry’s fire but I have to decide on the others…maybe Soda’s water and Pony’s earth? Idk)

I’m still deciding what I wanna do for Johnny…I’m thinking kraken or something of that nature? But like he can live on land? Idk what I wanna do for him, I wanna have him be opposite to Dally but I dunno how a kraken would fit into Tulsa…Just a big ol water creature…I’ll probably create my own creature thing for him LMAO

Dally’s a dragon. No doubt. He has a dragon form and a semi human “disguise” of sorts…like he has dragon ears, dragon wings and a dragon tail and he has some splotches of scales along his body but his full dragon form is a sight to behold. He’s about Darry’s size in full dragon form and him and Darry have definitely gotten into some •Godzilla vs Kong” esque fights because Dally kept trying to burn down the jail and Darry had to stop him…Johnny was watching (he’s about the same size as Darry too) and he’s just frantically trying to put all the fires out while yelling at adam LMAO-but this boy is so unruly sometimes…also horns. His horns are sharp as a blade (play it cool little brother…sorry-) and he’s not afraid to use them

Two Bit is definitely an imp to me. He likes to try and pull pranks on the Socs a lot-he’s kinda like an evil looking satyr…like he has little goat hooves and he even has a pitchfork but he’s really not and. He’s just a funny guy who wants to scare people sometimes. He’s a bit smaller than average (like…5’6’’) but he’s still trying to be scary. He has bat wings too and flares then when he’s all angry and tries to make himself look bigger but he just cannot-

Steve’s a werewolf. I don’t have much on him whether :(

I’m debating on keeping the Socs human or making them mythical beings too…I have ideas for Marcia and Cherry and even some of the musical Socs so we’ll see

(also if someone wants to listen to me yap about gryphon darry i mean…👀