New Cydonia

fandom ¦ rp ¦ fanfic [ aka @gravemagicks | @gramderinchief ]

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Not Theirs Yet

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

With Beau’s hand on the back of his neck, Percival arched into that grounding touch. His spine bowed, baring his throat in the process. Whatever needy sounds fell from his lips moments before were replaced by an equally needy, but also satisfied purr. As if Percival had to be controlled or tamed to some degree. As if too much freedom was still too overwhelming.

The rhythm of his hips faltered with Beau’s permission, another manner in which his control slipped. He quaked as Beau fucked him still so perfectly despite it. Limbs tingling, Percival struggled to focus on anything beyond the pleasure coiling his already taxed, aching muscles, knot he rode as if it was made for him, or the heartbreakingly perfect alpha beneath him, let alone string a sentence together to answer said alpha’s question.

He tried, regardless, “I-I need–” But he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he needed or why he was asking permission. He wanted to come so badly, he might as well have still been in heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had without having permission. Perhaps he managed convey as much to Beau, but he isn’t certain he’s successful; there’s little more to him that sheer pleasure, a flood of omega hormones, and the cloying need to be a good omega for his alpha. And he wanted to make Beau come too.

Once again, Beau’s eyes were drawn away from Percival’s face and to that stretch of unmarred flesh where his shoulder met his throat as Percival bared it to him. That small space that remained untouched amidst the multitude of injuries and scars littering his skin. As though even Gellert Grindelwald–the infamous Thuban Hollows–could not leave a mark there if such a mark was not meant to claim the beautiful Omega who Beau now held within the circle of his wings. He could be the one to mark that space. He could make Percival his for good and all, make sure no other Alpha ever got the chance to. He could–

Mother Sun and Father Sky, this was getting ridiculous!

Did Percival have some sort of magic in his bloodline? Some sort of siren song inherent in him that had ensnared Beau like this?

Why could he not stop his mind from incessantly wandering down that path which would surely be his destruction should he follow it so soon?

And, oh, he could smell how close Percival was to reaching his peak. He could feel how tightly the Omega’s muscles coiled beneath his palm. “Ah, so that’s what you want…” Truth be told, he was close to reaching his own peak. It had snuck up on him, so focused was he on Percival. “Come for me, little Omega,” he purred. “Come for me, Percy.”

[themagiciansarcana]

Such generous permission given with such a sensual purr slithered down Percival’s spine, properly sending him to pathetic shivers. His breath hitched, like his lungs couldn’t keep up with his racing heart, and he carded shaking fingers through Beau’s golden hair. A moment later, those tightly coiled muscles and that desperate need both snapped. 

Percival shuddered as he came, curling in on himself, and pressing desperately against Beau for warm alpha safe. His moans and pleas pressed hotly against Beau’s throat, where he to tucked his face to fall apart. The arm supporting his weight trembles with fatigue, but his hips don’t stop moving despite his overwhelmed senses. The orgasm wasn’t enough. No, he needed to know his alpha was satisfied as well. He scented Beau as the intensity of sensation wanes, but his need isn’t quenched.

The pieces of Percival’s shattered reason were not available to be collected quite yet. With insatiable desire like heat, Percival wanted more from his beautiful alpha. 

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Not Theirs Yet

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

Whimpers he didn’t have to force, omega tones he didn’t have to fake, Percival sank deep enough into his pleasure to completely lose himself. No longer heat-addled – not really, anyway, artificial as it had been – this was something else besides. His breath hitched when Beau applied just that little bit of pressure, and blurry as his vision was, he recognized a similar sort of want in his alpha. And how so tenderly his alpha stroked his throat, just above that spot…  Beau wanted to bite and claim, as an alpha should. And Percival wanted to be bitten and claimed, as an omega should. It was animal, primal, and wholly removed from civilized society, this want.

Braced on his arm and leaning over Beau, Percival no longer really needed his tattered wings for balance; he brought them close around them as Beau responded to his kiss in kind. The sounds he made were nearly sobs or whines, needy and authentic, because Beau allowed him to be so. How his alpha’s hips met his own stuttered Percival’s breath, no matter how he tried to control it – Beau felt so good and so right. More than a servicing alpha, more than a forced alpha, and Percival grew lightheaded from the onslaught.

He tried to temper the swoon overcoming him, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Still fatigued and healing from Gellert’s custody, Percival didn’t have his normal strength. Bouts of it, perhaps, but his stamina wasn’t what it used to be, either. Not in this regard. That precise control of his body, of his desires, slipped, and overcome as he was, didn’t even he think to regain it. He just… surrendered.

Hopefully his alpha could forgive him.

He abandoned how he held Beau’s wrist at his throat, trusting his alpha completely with his life. “Please…” he begged softly, a whisper against Beau’s lips. He pulled away from their delicious kisses to nose along the edge of Beau’s jaw, torn between scenting him further and simply tasting him. This, always. This, pleasure instead of pain. His alpha, his alpha’s knot, his alpha’s scent, his safety, his gentle gentle touch. An imploring omega purr laced his voice as he sighed Beau’s name like a plea. 

Expression dazed, that swoon kept its hold on Percival. Drunk, almost, on his alpha’s perfect perfect knot. Almost like a heat swoon. He’d never experienced such a thing, such a state that stole his agency from him without an obvious cause. But he trusted Beau in it completely. His scent divulged as much, the one aspect of himself he could never control or hide.

Beau’s grip shifted, sliding from Percival’s throat around to the nape of his neck, as Percival started to swoon. Steadying rather than controlling. “Easy, sweetheart,” he rumbled, growl softening to a purr. “That’s it. You can let go, you can surrender to it. That’s a good little Omega.”

As Percival’s wings curled close around them, his own flared and curled up and around, enclosing them further within their circle. Similarly to how his thumb had stroked over Percival’s throat, he now massaged the muscles at the base of his skull, encouraging and soothing simultaneously. “’Please’ what, Percival? Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.”

[themagiciansarcana]

With Beau’s hand on the back of his neck, Percival arched into that grounding touch. His spine bowed, baring his throat in the process. Whatever needy sounds fell from his lips moments before were replaced by an equally needy, but also satisfied purr. As if Percival had to be controlled or tamed to some degree. As if too much freedom was still too overwhelming.

The rhythm of his hips faltered with Beau’s permission, another manner in which his control slipped. He quaked as Beau fucked him still so perfectly despite it. Limbs tingling, Percival struggled to focus on anything beyond the pleasure coiling his already taxed, aching muscles, knot he rode as if it was made for him, or the heartbreakingly perfect alpha beneath him, let alone string a sentence together to answer said alpha’s question.

He tried, regardless, “I-I need--” But he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he needed or why he was asking permission. He wanted to come so badly, he might as well have still been in heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had without having permission. Perhaps he managed convey as much to Beau, but he isn’t certain he’s successful; there’s little more to him that sheer pleasure, a flood of omega hormones, and the cloying need to be a good omega for his alpha. And he wanted to make Beau come too.

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Not Theirs Yet

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

For Beau to comfortably control him, Percival leaned forward and braced a hand near his shoulder, knuckles bleaching for how tightly he clutched the furs beneath. His alpha had been nothing but gentle since his arrival, devoid of any true display of domination despite that inherent to his nature. Even now, Percival could breathe easily with the strong hand around his throat, as in, the hand itself did not stifle his breath in any capacity.

The gesture, however, did leave him breathless.

The comparisons to Gellert were unbidden in Percival’s mind, but present nonetheless. Gellert would have legitimately choked Percival, would have nearly crushed his windpipe until his vision sparked at the edges. The greater part of him still anticipated such an outcome, though it never came. Beau hadn’t presented himself as such an alpha. Percival did, however, welcome it.

Black oblivion, complete separation from the flesh that bound him to pain and need and madness; it was a particular treat. It was peace. 

When Percival first brought Beau’s hand to his throat, the realization and disbelief were evident in his sky blue eyes no matter how fleeting. Percival was too attuned to alpha nuances not to notice it. Thankfully, he’d encouraged this – an alpha being an alpha the way Percival only knew alphas to be since his capture. Beau didn’t want to keep him, despite his right to do so as chieftain. Better to consider him like any other alpha than as some outlier or exception, but it hurt to do so, to realize the necessity of it at such an inopportune time. It was a new type of pain, as despairing as when Gellert had first taken him; and it was completely unwarranted and inexplicable. 

Mother Sun, he wanted to be spared the anguish of being shared. If only he had been an better omega…

Percival’s eyes burned without his consent, but while they grew glassy, he didn’t let his tears fall. He wouldn’t weep for this; not with Beau as witness. He had to enjoy this while he had it, regardless of how what he knew to come made his stomach churn. He took a steadying breath around the hand on his throat and intentionally sank deeper into the objective pleasure of being with Beau.

His scent went sweeter, softer; his entire demeanor went against the pace and urgency of the desire in his hips. Yes, he rode Beau’s knot like it was made for him. Yes, he followed instructions as he was trained to do. And yes, he was an unmated omega with an alpha he was coming to very much want. Only a week, so far. It had only been a week.

Leaning forward, Percival nuzzled noses with Beau before kissing him.

Beau’s grip tightened further as Percival leaned forward and pressed his throat harder into his palm, but only briefly. His thumb sat just above the gland at the junction of throat and shoulder. He caressed the spot almost idly, gaze anchored there as though tied to a string. If that were his mouth rather than his hand…

Gods above! What was it about this one Omega that continued to draw him in like this? Never before had he been unable to think of anything aside from claiming an Omega as his own, and yet here was this Omega–here was Percival, riding him so perfectly–who he barely knew past what had brought him to Kaeilia, and all Beau could think of was how much he wanted to sink his teeth into his throat and claim him as his mate.

He couldn’t.

Yes, he may be Thuban Kaeilia, the chieftain of his flock, but he couldn’t claim Percival.

Not yet.

Even Adam, his sister’s mate, had spent time in the Alpha war prize pen before Belle had been allowed to claim him.

But there were so many fewer Omegas in his flock than there were Alphas. Even among those taken as prizes of war. He would have to wait quite a bit longer than Belle had.

Still, right here, right now, Beau had Percival to himself. For a few more days, he had this gorgeous Omega who rode him so perfectly and kissed and scented him so sweetly. He pressed his hips up to meet Percival’s with every roll, every thrust, suckling and nipping at his plush lower lip as Percival kissed him, simply letting himself feel and sink into the pleasure of having Percival for the time he was allowed.

[themagiciansarcana]

Whimpers he didn’t have to force, omega tones he didn’t have to fake, Percival sank deep enough into his pleasure to completely lose himself. No longer heat-addled -- not really, anyway, artificial as it had been -- this was something else besides. His breath hitched when Beau applied just that little bit of pressure, and blurry as his vision was, he recognized a similar sort of want in his alpha. And how so tenderly his alpha stroked his throat, just above that spot...  Beau wanted to bite and claim, as an alpha should. And Percival wanted to be bitten and claimed, as an omega should. It was animal, primal, and wholly removed from civilized society, this want.

Braced on his arm and leaning over Beau, Percival no longer really needed his tattered wings for balance; he brought them close around them as Beau responded to his kiss in kind. The sounds he made were nearly sobs or whines, needy and authentic, because Beau allowed him to be so. How his alpha’s hips met his own stuttered Percival’s breath, no matter how he tried to control it -- Beau felt so good and so right. More than a servicing alpha, more than a forced alpha, and Percival grew lightheaded from the onslaught.

He tried to temper the swoon overcoming him, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Still fatigued and healing from Gellert’s custody, Percival didn’t have his normal strength. Bouts of it, perhaps, but his stamina wasn’t what it used to be, either. Not in this regard. That precise control of his body, of his desires, slipped, and overcome as he was, didn’t even he think to regain it. He just... surrendered.

Hopefully his alpha could forgive him.

He abandoned how he held Beau’s wrist at his throat, trusting his alpha completely with his life. “Please...” he begged softly, a whisper against Beau’s lips. He pulled away from their delicious kisses to nose along the edge of Beau’s jaw, torn between scenting him further and simply tasting him. This, always. This, pleasure instead of pain. His alpha, his alpha’s knot, his alpha’s scent, his safety, his gentle gentle touch. An imploring omega purr laced his voice as he sighed Beau’s name like a plea. 

Expression dazed, that swoon kept its hold on Percival. Drunk, almost, on his alpha’s perfect perfect knot. Almost like a heat swoon. He’d never experienced such a thing, such a state that stole his agency from him without an obvious cause. But he trusted Beau in it completely. His scent divulged as much, the one aspect of himself he could never control or hide.

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Not Theirs Yet

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

gravemagicks‌:

Beau’s breathless commands drew a hitched sob from Percival’s lungs, but emboldened as he was from this heady rush of granted dominance, the sting didn’t quite stick. That he was safe enough to act in such a way, that such behavior was welcomed and encouraged… Percival eased himself off of his hands with his weight centered back on his knees, and the shift in angle pulled a moan from his lips.

Tentatively, he guided one of Beau’s hands away from where he gripped his hips, and laced their fingers. With no break in how he absolutely rode his alpha, Percival’s gaze softened – a disconnect between his mind and body, Or rather, a display of utter control. Only a week, and Beau already reawakened parts of Percival he assumed lost or destroyed under Gellert’s cruel custody.

Tell me what you want from me.

Percival pressed a kiss to Beau’s hand where their fingers laced, then guided his alpha’s hand to his throat, to that spot just above his mating glad. A request to claim. He didn’t want what awaited him beyond the warmth and safety of his alpha’s nest. He didn’t want anything beyond what was beneath him, within him, around him. He only wanted this alpha – his alpha – and he was deep enough in his own omega longing to entertain the notion.

It could never be so. Percival was a pathetic thing to be pitied, he knew, regardless of the history burned to ash by Hollow flock’s torches, regardless of what he lost in the rivers of blood of his people. Percival couldn’t allow his sentiment to sabotage what he had with Beau, in this moment, as they were. So instead of allowing such a grip on his throat to suggest a claim – though this was the truth of it – Percival also urged Beau to tighten to his grip. Percival urged Beau to dominate. 

The sudden sob startled Beau, and his brow furrowed for the briefest moment. Had he said or done something to upset Percival? No, there was no distress or upset tingeing Percival’s scent with bitterness. Only pleasure and Omega submission and lust. Only very, very welcome scents.

Only the sight of an absolutely beautiful Omega above him, riding his cock as though it were made for only him–as Beau had urged him to do. Only the soft gaze and complete control of his own body that only an Omega who had once been a warrior could achieve.

And–if that were true–how awe-inspiring it must have been to see Percival in action before he had become the property of Gellert Grindelwald. If only it were possible to see such things once more.

Percival’s hand guiding his own was gentle, and the request inherent in where he placed his hand stilled Beau’s breath in his lungs for a bare instant. It was too soon. Too soon to claim. He couldn’t claim an Omega he had known for only a week. He couldn’t claim an Omega who was meant to soon become the communal property of the Alphas who wanted a taste of him, a taste of what their Thuban had enjoyed this past week. But then Percival’s urging became a request for dominance, for Beau to tighten his grip around his throat, and that was something he could do. Even with Percival above him, he could still show that he had the power in this situation. Beau was the Alpha. Beau was the one in charge, as he always was.

Tightly enough to assert dominance, but still loosely enough to allow ease of breath, Beau pressed his fingers around Percival’s throat, a pleased growl rumbling in his throat.

[themagiciansarcana]

For Beau to comfortably control him, Percival leaned forward and braced a hand near his shoulder, knuckles bleaching for how tightly he clutched the furs beneath. His alpha had been nothing but gentle since his arrival, devoid of any true display of domination despite that inherent to his nature. Even now, Percival could breathe easily with the strong hand around his throat, as in, the hand itself did not stifle his breath in any capacity.

The gesture, however, did leave him breathless.

The comparisons to Gellert were unbidden in Percival’s mind, but present nonetheless. Gellert would have legitimately choked Percival, would have nearly crushed his windpipe until his vision sparked at the edges. The greater part of him still anticipated such an outcome, though it never came. Beau hadn’t presented himself as such an alpha. Percival did, however, welcome it.

Black oblivion, complete separation from the flesh that bound him to pain and need and madness; it was a particular treat. It was peace. 

When Percival first brought Beau’s hand to his throat, the realization and disbelief were evident in his sky blue eyes no matter how fleeting. Percival was too attuned to alpha nuances not to notice it. Thankfully, he’d encouraged this -- an alpha being an alpha the way Percival only knew alphas to be since his capture. Beau didn’t want to keep him, despite his right to do so as chieftain. Better to consider him like any other alpha than as some outlier or exception, but it hurt to do so, to realize the necessity of it at such an inopportune time. It was a new type of pain, as despairing as when Gellert had first taken him; and it was completely unwarranted and inexplicable. 

Mother Sun, he wanted to be spared the anguish of being shared. If only he had been an better omega...

Percival’s eyes burned without his consent, but while they grew glassy, he didn’t let his tears fall. He wouldn’t weep for this; not with Beau as witness. He had to enjoy this while he had it, regardless of how what he knew to come made his stomach churn. He took a steadying breath around the hand on his throat and intentionally sank deeper into the objective pleasure of being with Beau.

His scent went sweeter, softer; his entire demeanor went against the pace and urgency of the desire in his hips. Yes, he rode Beau’s knot like it was made for him. Yes, he followed instructions as he was trained to do. And yes, he was an unmated omega with an alpha he was coming to very much want. Only a week, so far. It had only been a week.

Leaning forward, Percival nuzzled noses with Beau before kissing him.

[nicostiel]

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

His frowned as Beau uncharacteristically stammered, as fairly violent shivers wracked his body. Vampires didn’t–but Beau was a young vampire, freshly turned. He paled a bit. How freshly turned?

Revelin rested his hand on the knee of Beau’s uninjured leg and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. He altered Beau’s clothing with magic, the material becoming softer, cleaner, repaired in gentle waves from where Revelin touched him. Magic unwove and then rewove the material so Revelin could see the extent of Beau’s injury more clearly without irritating it.

After climbing to his feet, Revelin placed a firm hand on Beau’s shoulder, then urged him to lay down on the plush, soft couch. A pillow moved from an arm chair to slip beneath Beau’s head. Another two slipped beneath his ankles as Revelin elevated his feet. With an outstretched hand, a cabinet in the bathroom opened and shut, its contents summoned by Revelin’s will into his grasp.

Even a freshly turned vampire was still a vampire. 

“I can hunt for you come morning,” he said, voice soft and fond as always, “but this will have to do for now.” As he opened the no-mag medical kit he summoned, he explained, “My accelerated healing should be able to keep pace with your hunger. I don’t think you can really hurt me if we do it this way.” He tied a rubber strip around his arm below the elbow and flexed his hand until the veins of his forearm rose. “We don’t have many options right now,” he apologized. 

Revelin took a breath before he pierced his vein a syringe. He tried to be as quick as possible but he hated this process. Ever since he turned, he couldn’t stand foreign objects in his body, and an IV had to stay in his vein. He pulled the plunger of the syringe to draw his blood, then awkwardly removed the needle before changing the attachment. He pinched the tube that slowly darkened with his blood, then taped it securely against his skin. Instead of connecting to a bag, the tube dangled freely, and Revelin extended it towards Beau. “You need to feed. I’ll clean and bandage your leg while you do.”

Again, Beau followed Revelin’s urging, laying down on the couch. But when he saw what Revelin had summoned to his hand, he paled. “N-no, no, I can’t take f-from you, Rev, I–what if I–”

Then the scent of blood–Revelin’s blood–hit his nose, and he felt his fangs descend again. It smelled so good…far more appetizing than the small animals he’d subsisted on since leaving New York. “Merde…” He whimpered and pressed a hand over his mouth, ignoring the pinprick pain where his fangs pierced his palm. “…I c-can’t, Rev. I haven’t–n-not from a person–not since I was turned. And it’s not–It’s not j-just hunger, and it’s not just my l-leg that needs healing. I can’t. I could–” drain you.

He could drain Revelin, and he couldn’t come back from that. He couldn’t risk murdering his werewolf–the love of his life–in hunger and thirst. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if he did.

But Revelin’s blood smelled so delicious…

[themagiciansarcana]

Beau's sudden spike in fear permeated the den, made heavy with the warmth of the fire. It was acrid, laced with this new scent that was ethereal and uncomfortable. Revelin hadn't smelled Beau's fear often; Beau had always been so sure of himself. He had worked alongside the Director of Magical Security back at MACUSA for a reason, after all. And fear didn't suit Beau. At all. Revelin deeply disliked it.

"You won't drain me," he said, a smile curling the corner of his lip. Humans knew so little of the world they shared. Werewolves, vampires, selkies and countless others were often persecuted, ostracized, hunted. Revelin was one of the lucky few whose family and wealth protected him from such injustice. Now Beau was one of his, and while he never wished such a thing upon him, it wasn't a death sentence. "You might be hungry enough to try, but you won't drain me."

He sat on the edge of the large couch, then slipped the kinked tube into Beau's hand. With his free hand, he cupped Beau's face and stroked his cheek. Beau's speech was slurred by his fangs. For them to descend on their own, Beau must have been close to starving.

*Not from a person. Not since I turned.*

Beau's shame and pain and terror landed Revelin's aching heart. "Let me help you heal. We can figure out the rest once you've regained your strength, alright? Use this to feed for now. Please. The IV will temper how much and how quickly you can take, and if, by some chance I do grow weak, I'll stop you." He leaned forward and kissed Beau's brow. "Please trust me for now."

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

As Beau leaned into him, Revelin ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take us home, then,” he offered. He held him a bit tighter as his magic pulled him hard by the navel until the dark forest around them swirled into nothingness, and then bled into the warm den of Revelin’s estate house.

Charmed and remodeled as it was, a fire blazed to life in the hearth, and from the nearby couch, a charmed blanket fluttered out of its neat folds to, instead, wrap around Beau’s shoulders. “Here.” It supported Beau’s weight with Revelin’s magic as Revelin helped Beau sit on the couch. He knelt beside Beau’s injured leg, brow furrowed in concentration. Now that he knew this was Beau, and that Beau was a vampire, it was easy to make sense of the myriad of unfamiliar smells. It was a new combination, but beneath it all, he smelled the beginnings of infection.

“You’re a vampire,” he commented, clear discomfort woven through the timbre of his rough voice. “I’m–I’m worried I’ll only hurt you further if I try to heal this with magic. Would it be alright if I dulled the pain and treated it the no-mag way?”

Because he doesn’t want Beau to hurt any more than he does. 

“When did you last feed? It should help you heal naturally, as well.”

Beau wasn’t cold–really, he’d barely felt the chill out in the forest, despite being able to see his breath–but as soon as the charmed blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he realized he was shivering. Shock. He had to be in shock. So much had happened, and he’d just kept running until now. He hadn’t given himself time to absorb it, and now that he’d finally stopped running, it had all caught up with him.

And he was in shock.

“Y-yeah, I’m–” He nearly choked on the words, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. “G-go ahead. T-treat it how you th-think would be best.”

When had he last fed? When was the last time he’d caught a vole or a hare or some other small bit of wildlife and lessened the thirst that constantly burned at his throat?

“I…I d-don’t remember. B-before I entered your t-territ-t-tory, I think. I-I’ve lost track of the d-days…”

[themagiciansarcana]

His frowned as Beau uncharacteristically stammered, as fairly violent shivers wracked his body. Vampires didn’t--but Beau was a young vampire, freshly turned. He paled a bit. How freshly turned?

Revelin rested his hand on the knee of Beau’s uninjured leg and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. He altered Beau’s clothing with magic, the material becoming softer, cleaner, repaired in gentle waves from where Revelin touched him. Magic unwove and then rewove the material so Revelin could see the extend of Beau’s injury more clearly without irritating it.

After climbing to his feet, Revelin placed a firm hand on Beau’s shoulder, then urged him to lay down on the plush, soft couch. A pillow moved from an arm chair to slip beneath Beau’s head. Another two slipped beneath his ankles as Revelin elevated his feet. With an outstretched hand, a cabinet in the bathroom opened and shut, its contents summoned by Revelin’s will into his grasp.

Even a freshly turned vampire was still a vampire. 

“I can hunt for you come morning,” he said, voice soft and fond as always, “but this will have to do for now.” As he opened the no-mag medical kit he summoned, he explained, “My accelerated healing should be able to keep pace with your hunger. I don’t think you can really hurt me if we do it this way.” He tied a rubber strip around his arm below the elbow and flexed his hand until the veins of his forearm rose. “We don’t have many options right now,” he apologized. 

Revelin took a breath before he pierced his vein a syringe. He tried to be as quick as possible but he hated this process. Ever since he turned, he couldn’t stand foreign objects in his body, and an IV had to stay in his vein. He pulled the plunger of the syringe to draw his blood, then awkwardly removed the needle before changing the attachment. He pinched the tube that slowly darkened with his blood, then taped it securely against his skin. Instead of connecting to a bag, the tube dangled freely, and Revelin extended it towards Beau. “You need to feed. I’ll clean and bandage your leg while you do.”

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

The sound of Beau’s struggle pierced through Revelin’s joy. He was no less happy or excited to have his mate back, but Beau was–hurt. Yes, that was pain and blood and – Beau was the vampire and Beau was hurt and Beau –

Revelin didn’t let the wolf’s reason stampede over his own. Short and choppy but no less effective, Revelin realized what the wolf did and disappeared into the dark a short distance away.

His bones cracked and ground together as he forced himself to abandon pelt and paw to walk upright. The night was chilled enough to see breath were there light by which to see, and it was much colder now that he stood naked in the dark. As a werewolf, he was a little more impervious to the weather than a human, but he wasn’t completely immune. Thankfully, he wasn’t just a werewolf.

He was a wizard.

With a wave of his hand, Revelin summoned cloth to swirl around his body until it encased him in warm clothes. His boots crunched through the frost forming on the ground as he returned to Beau. Above his open palm hovered a muted light – for both his werewolf eyes and Beau’s vampire eyes.

“Beauxhomme?” he said quietly, a note of disbelief still evident in his voice. But there was no mistaking his relief and happiness when he laid eyes upon him again. “You’re hurt,” he murmured a moment later, quickly closing the distance between them. He knelt beside Beau’s injured leg, using the light to inspect the damage. “I didn’t realize how severe this was. I couldn’t–” He paused. “You don’t smell the same, so I didn’t recognize…“ He climbed to his feet a moment later. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” That Beau had turned. That Beau was even looking for him. That Beau was as hurt as he was.

He could only imagine what happened after he left.

The light broke away from Revelin’s hand as he took a half step closer, arms slipping around Beau’s waist to gently urge him to lean against him. “I have a house,” he explained quietly, regret fresh and foreign in his voice. “How are you reacting to magic? Can I apparate you there?”

Beau swayed a little, favouring his leg, as Revelin released his sleeve and disappeared into the darkness.

Watching as a hovering light appeared, followed by the now-human form of his werewolf, Beau hazarded a shaky smile. “Revelin.” His voice was quiet, creaking from lack of use in the past…weeks? Months? How long had it been?

It had to have only been weeks…right? Had he really lost track of time so easily?

“It’s…it’s okay, Rev. It’s not your fault,” he murmured, then huffed a quiet, rueful laugh. “You smell different to me, too. Can’t really blame you for not recognizing me.” He wondered idly what Revelin would think when he saw the other wounds peppering his skin. Beau could almost count the days using the burns as tally marks. Though there were some days he’d managed to completely hide from the sun, and others when he’d been burned in more than one place.

He followed Revelin’s urging, leaning against him, taking the pressure off of his injured leg–but he forced himself to turn his face away from Revelin instead of nuzzling into his throat as he would have in the past. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk losing control. Not when he was so hungry, so weakened.

“I apparated to get out of New York,” he answered softly. “I still have my magic.”

[themagiciansarcana]

As Beau leaned into him, Revelin ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take us home, then,” he offered. He held him a bit tighter as his magic pulled him hard by the navel until the dark forest around them swirled into nothingness, and then bled into the warm den of Revelin’s estate house.

Charmed and remodeled as it was, a fire blazed to life in the hearth, and from the nearby couch, a charmed blanket fluttered out of its neat folds to, instead, wrap around Beau’s shoulders. “Here.” It supported Beau’s weight with Revelin’s magic as Revelin helped Beau sit on the couch. He knelt beside Beau’s injured leg, brow furrowed in concentration. Now that he knew this was Beau, and that Beau was a vampire, it was easy to make sense of the myriad of unfamiliar smells. It was a new combination, but beneath it all, he smelled the beginnings of infection.

“You’re a vampire,” he commented, clear discomfort woven through the timbre of his rough voice. “I’m--I’m worried I’ll only hurt you further if I try to heal this with magic. Would it be alright if I dulled the pain and treated it the no-mag way?”

Because he doesn’t want Beau to hurt any more than he does. 

“When did you last feed? It should help you heal naturally, as well.”

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Hero Betrayed

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

“No longer knocking on death’s door,” he answered with a wry little smile. Percival gave Beau’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but didn’t move to pull away. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed. Because the humor didn’t reach Beau’s eyes, the juxtaposition hurt; he couldn’t maintain eye contact for long before he looked away.

His thumb twitched faintly, as if to start stroking Beau’s hand, but halted just before the affectionate gesture could complete. Oh, Percival was so beside himself in this situation. Obviously he wanted to help. He wanted to be of use. He wasn’t Beau’s enemy, not really, and he desperately wanted to prove it.

After a moment’s heavy hesitation, Percival said, “I can absolutely keep you from abruptly dying while you heal, but how much of my help do you actually want or need?” Because he would do whatever it was Beau wanted if it meant Percival would never have to see him so vulnerable and so unlike himself ever again. “This–You never should have been able to even be injured so, let alone be left with wounds that bled for so long. Something–something’s wrong. Very wrong. This was never meant to–” He huffs a little laugh, then forces himself to smirk a bit more smugly. “Who the fuck did you let ruin my good work?”

“That’s one good thing, at least…I guess,” Beau muttered under his breath, looking away as well. Yes, great, he was alive, and he wasn’t about to bleed out. But he was still technically behind enemy lines–no matter how helpful or apparently caring the enemy–and he was still wounded and not even close to functioning optimally.

And then there was the worry and confusion in Percival’s voice as he told Beau information he already knew. That he shouldn’t have been able to be so easily or so thoroughly injured. So thoroughly beaten to within an inch of his life. That something was very wrong for him to have been in that state.

Then came the question, and Beau winced, turning his face away and pulling his hand from Percival’s grasp.

As if it hadn’t been enough to simply ask who’d hurt him, Percival just had to add the accusation to it. That he’d ‘ruined his good work’.

Ruined. Yeah, that was what he was, wasn’t it?

“…My team.” Barely a whisper, barely a breath. He couldn’t give full voice to it, or he’d shatter under the weight of the words.

[themagiciansarcana]

Percival hadn’t meant his humor to be such a barb. His hand spasmed uselessly after Beau withdrew his own; probably trying to hold onto something he already lost, if he were honest. He didn’t anticipate Beau’s vulnerability to be of the emotional variety as well, and he couldn’t have predicted it. Though, learning it was his team that had hurt him left Percival baffled. They were all part of the same program. Beau ultimately chose them. Over and over, Beau chose them. And over and over, they seemed to choose him. Until they didn’t, he supposed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He was sorry. He knew what sort of anguish Beau endured when Beau learned the truth about him. Percival will never forget the betrayal that so clearly smothered whatever torch Beau carried for him. It was one of his most painful memories and one of his deepest regrets. And to know others Beau had come to care for had betrayed him as well -- not just betrayed him, but stripped him of his strength, beat him, and left him for dead. Left him so helpless injured, in fact, that Beau thought Percival was his best hope for survival.

He couldn’t fathom that pain or desperation, but his heart ached for Beau anyway.

Percival stood from the seat he’d taken on the edge of the bed, a quiet sort of resignation in the slope of his shoulders. Whether he no longer considered Beau a physical threat, or whether he was too weary to deal with Beau’s disapproval in such close proximity, he couldn’t tell, but he kept his back to Beau as he busied himself with tidying up and packing away the medical supplies.

“I’d like to give you an IV,” he explained, keeping his voice softened and kind. “Keep you hydrated and give you something for the pain. And I’d like a sample of your blood to run some tests. If nothing else, they shouldn’t have been able to do this to you, and I’d like to know how they managed it.”

So I can do it to them when I eventually find them next.

“Once we’ve gotten your pain managed, I have a--” He stopped himself before he revealed this secret because it would leave him so...vulnerable. It was one of the few things that assured he wouldn’t be taken or killed without a fight. But a moment later, he intentionally faced Beau and met his gaze. “I have a safehouse built beneath the foundation,” he finished. “Your team won’t be able to find you or reach you. You can stay there, if you’d like, while you heal.”

[gnatsattack]

I know discourse is the word of choice in fandom nowadays but I kind of wish we would have stuck with “fandom wank” because it carries the implication that the anger involved culminated into effectively nothing and that the act was wholeheartedly masturbatory in nature rather than for any greater cause.

[berlynn-wohl]

I saw this post about an hour after I saw a post that said, essentially, “There should be a word for that thing where [exactly describes ‘squeeing’].”

I feel like the time has come to produce something like this:

[transformativeworks]

citrus 

[naknaknakadile]

@vergess

[vergess]

Squee: The noise you make when something is so good that all you can really do is squeak or squeal. A high pitched sound of delight, often accomanied by hugging yourself or others.

Squick: A fic/art/concept/topic that is repellent to you, so you reject association with it and instead retreat to your personal comfortable spaces- all the while remembering that someone else’s comfort is not your own.

YKINMKATO: Also called “kink tomato.” Abbreviation meaning “your kink is not my kink, and that’s okay.” Used to explain why you are rejecting art or fic brought to you by someone else. A solid mantra to recall instead of sending flames in people’s comments

Flames: The comment equivalent of anon hate.

AMV: “animated music video” or “anime music video.” Often, this is stylized to fit a specific fandom, such as a “PMV” (pony music video) in my little pony. May also be referred to as a lyricstuck.

Filk: Combination of the words “film” and “folk,” this is a music genre, to which “fan songs” and “fan parody covers” belong. If you don’t really understand what this means, take a quick listen to American Pie, then compare Weird Al Yankovic’s Saga Begins

BNF: Big name fan. You know that one person who is just so fuckign popular in your fandom? Their art is always on your dash, everyone knows their fics? Being spoken to directly by them is basically being noticed by everyone ever’s senpai? That’s what these people are called.

DL:DR; Not unliked the teal deer (tl;dr, or “too long, didn’t read”), DLDR means “don’t like? Don’t read!” It’s a reminder that you are under no obligation, ever, to expose yourself to uncomfortable (or, squicky), or potentially harmful (or, triggering), material. Not ever. If you don’t actively like something? It’s not worth your time. Skip it.

Gen: or “genfic” “genart” etc. Fan works which contain no or very little romantic content. Often these are styled after the canon material, and may be called “episodic” ro “slice of life” in addition. 

Lemon: Work containing strong pornographic elements

Lime, or Citrus: Work containing mild or implicit pornographic elements

Sockpuppeting: The surprisingly common scenario of someone making a bunch of fake accounts/sideblogs to send themselves reviews or hate, to try to increase views or drama surrounding a work. The accounts they make are called Sockpuppets. 

WAFF: Warm and fluffy feelings. A genre of fic that exists just to be therapeutically sweet. Nowadays, usually just called “fluffy.”

Schmoop: Take WAFF and somehow make it even more syrupy. You’ll know it when you see it.

Whump: Imagine if you will, a hurt-comfort fic. The comfort might be considered WAFF. The hurt? That’s the whump.

Wapanese: When white autors pepper their anime fanfic with random, tonally inappropriate japanese words. 

Anthropomorfic: Nowadays we just call these “humanstuck” or “humanized AU.”

Wank: Wildly disproportionate drama that crops up because someone wrote/drew/did something that someone else didn’t like. Seriously, I cannot begin to express the fiascos that have come about from all this. Just… Just go look at this.

 Plot bunny: Story ideas that you probably won’t ever actually deal with, but that multiply entirely out of control, creating huge worlds in your head that you’re probably not going to write. But hey! You might! And until then they make great sideblogs/askblogs/tumblr posts.

Casefic: Fanfics that try to create an episode-like feel for procedural and crime dramas, moster of the week shows, etc.

Jossed: When popular fan theories and fanon are addressed in the canon of a series, and whoops, turns out we were all very, very wrong.

Kripked: When popular fan theories and fanon are addressed in the canon of a show and, hot damn, we fucking called it.

Secret Masters: The people who run the websites/ communities/etc that we all do our fanning on. Less relevant now that we have things like tumblr, but when everyone had to run their own archival and social sites for each fandom, it was more important to pay our respects to the strange and powerful beings that brought us all together and gave us our fannish homes. Think the staff of AO3, for example.

Bashing: When a writer purposefully writes a specific character as a horrible, horrible person so that they can throw them out of the storyline, usually to allow their OTP to get together without trouble. Distinct from fridging in that it doesn’t require the character to die, but rather to be such a screaming harpy that they get rightfully removed from the main characters’ lives for being an abusive hell beast. Generally, a type of character hate. Be wary of people who bash women, queer people, and POC with consistency: they are not safe to be around.

[ryttu3k]

‘Squick’ also has an alternate horrible meaning for Harry Potter fans who were in fandom a while back. Dear god.

[callmearcturus]

Drabble: A fic that is EXACTLY 100 words. Often used as a creative exercise in telling a story in a very small constraint.

Ficlet: Fic that clocks in somewhere between 100 to 2.5K words.

Crossover: A piece of media in which two or more source materials are treated as the same universe. Characters from Fandom A can meet characters from Fandom B. (The Doctor Goes To Hogwarts And Meet Harry Potter!)

Fusion: A fusion takes the characters of one source material and *surplants* them into another universe entirely. Characters from Fandom A cannot meet characters from Fandom B. (Dave Strider is part of an Inception team!)

TPTB: The Powers That Be. Almost always redundantly referred to as “the TPTB.” A collective term for showrunners, actors, producers, writers, et al, anyone who is part of the team that creates the source material.

YMMV: Your Mileage May Vary. A shorthand way of saying “this is how I see it/have experienced it though I realize others might have a different perspective.”

Tinhatting: Often used in RPF fandoms, the situation where some fans are convinced two celebrities are in a relationship but its being kept a secret.

[randomslasher]

I’m…I’m home

[souper-doup]

Useful beyond all reason. I’ve learnt so much!!

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

He was mid-air when he realized what he’d done. Still, just as powerful as the instinct to attack was the instinct to submit. He hit the vampire hard enough for the pair of them to tumble to the ground, or maybe the blood in the air heralded enough of an injury for the vampire to be unable to withstand his mass.

Pounce.

Growl.

His name.

Revelin whined. His ears stayed flat against his skull but for an entirely different reason as his whines pitched into happy little yips and cries. The wolf – not even Revelin himself – knew this was his mate. Instantly. The moment there was enough of what was mate and pack to overcome what was vampire and fear, he knew. He lapped Beau’s face with his warm, pink tongue, tail wagging hard enough for his hips to sway. 

Because he and the wolf shared in their authentic joy, Revelin struggled to wrangle down his instincts enough to actually allow Beau space to breathe, to speak more than his name. The animal was so excited, so relieved, so ecstatic. Fearsome, powerful jaws mouthed gently at Beau’s clawed hand as Revelin inched off of him on clumsy, tippy-tapping paws until he could safely grab his sleeve. There, he bit and tugged, urging Beau up, urging Beau to follow.

Safe. Home. Mate. Home.

Enculer, it really was Revelin.

He’d found him. He’d finally found him.

As his werewolf inched his way so excitedly off his chest–no doubt there would be bruises over his aching ribs, but those at least would heal much quicker than the burns that dotted his form like constellations–Beau struggled to tamp down further on his own instincts. With the fear and panic receding–and the scent of another living creature’s blood so very close–his pain and hunger surfaced stronger than before. But he couldn’t drink from Revelin. He couldn’t. He couldn’t attack him after having only just found him.

He could never attack his wolf.

Beau groaned, rolling to his feet. With leftover adrenaline still flowing in his veins, his injured leg did hold his weight–if only just enough for him to limp after Revelin.

[themagiciansarcana]

The sound of Beau’s struggle pierced through Revelin’s joy. He was no less happy or excited to have his mate back, but Beau was--hurt. Yes, that was pain and blood and -- Beau was the vampire and Beau was hurt and Beau --

Revelin didn’t let the wolf’s reason stampede over his own. Short and choppy but no less effective, Revelin realized what the wolf did and disappeared into the dark a short distance away.

His bones cracked and ground together as he forced himself to abandon pelt and paw to walk upright. The night was chilled enough to see breath were there light by which to see, and it was much colder now that he stood naked in the dark. As a werewolf, he was a little more impervious to the weather than a human, but he wasn’t completely immune. Thankfully, he wasn’t just a werewolf.

He was a wizard.

With a wave of his hand, Revelin summoned cloth to swirl around his body until it encased him in warm clothes. His boots crunched through the frost forming on the ground as he returned to Beau. Above his open palm hovered a muted light -- for both his werewolf eyes and Beau’s vampire eyes.

“Beaxhomme?” he said quietly, a note of disbelief still evident in his voice. But there was no mistaking his relief and happiness when he laid eyes upon him again. “You’re hurt,” he murmured a moment later, quickly closing the distance between them. He knelt beside Beau’s injured leg, using the light to inspect the damage. “I didn’t realize how severe this was. I couldn’t--” He paused. “You don’t smell the same, so I didn’t recognize..." He climbed to his feet a moment later. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” That Beau had turned. That Beau was even looking for him. That Beau was as hurt as he was.

He could only imagine what happened after he left.

The light broke away from Revelin’s hand as he took a half step closer, arms slipping around Beau’s waist to gently urge him to lean against him. “I have a house,” he explained quietly, regret fresh and foreign in his voice. “How are you reacting to magic? Can I apparate you there?”

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Hero Betrayed

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

He swallowed thickly once Beau’s body when pliant, not limp. It was a controlled acquiescence, nearly mechanical, and completely clinical. This altered state stripped Beau of everything that ultimately separated him from an android, everything that made him human, and everything that made him Beau.

Initially, it was a miracle of modern neuroscience, and Percival had been lost in the splendor of their breakthrough. His empathy was simply what he extended to any other human, but the ends justified the means.  As he grew to know Beau, or rather, as he came to care for him, the moral obscurity of the experiment became outright cruelty. It shamed him that it took all but falling for Beau for him to recognize and amend the inherent evil of his science.

He should have been a better man.

Percival desperately tried to better correct his actions ever since.

‘Shut down’ as he was, Beau would follow Percival’s every instruction, answer his every question, fulfill his every demand. The selfish thought of asking Beau to divulge what had happened to leave him so broken and wounded crossed his mind, but he immediately dismissed it. He had never given an instruction that would lead to Beau’s indignity, even in the testing phases. Though there were plenty of his colleagues who had no qualms with pushing the moral and ethical limits of utter obedience, the complete removal of agency. He was not like them. Percival was never like them.

Or so he told himself.

His instructions were polite, kindly spoken, and only used when he did, in fact, need Beau’s participation or cooperation. So it was only a handful of times Percival even spoke as he cleaned, sutured, and bandaged Beau’s seemingly endless array of injuries. Thankfully, he only had to perform something akin to surgery once, for a stab wound that just barely nicked an artery. It wasn’t something Percival would have normally considered remarkable in any capacity, but Beau’s sudden weakness, the stark absence of serum effects meant he couldn’t leave anything to chance.

Beau was just another injured person. Another patient.

The one that meant the most to Percival.

He heaved a breath as he yanked off his bloodied gloves. He slipped his hand into Beau’s once more – something he always did for him; held his hand when he went under, and held his hand when he came back up.

“Shadow. Alpha. Seraph. Wheel. Nightingale. Phoenix.”

With his return to awareness came a return to pain, and Beau reflexively squeezed the hand holding his before he even opened his eyes again. It wasn’t unendurable agony like before, but just about every inch of him felt battered and bruised. He still wasn’t able to focus his mind to his full capabilities, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus when he finally opened them as well. Whatever Percival had done while he had Beau pliant and unable to resist hadn’t fixed what his traitorous former teammates had done to him.

Had Percival really only tended to his visible injuries?

“How’m I looking, doc?” he asked quietly when he finally focused his gaze on Percival, the humour in his voice not reaching his eyes.

Of course it was forced humour. He was in no position to be joking around, truthfully. Not after all that had happened. Not when he was still in just as much danger as he’d been before Percival had shut him down and brought him back. It just wasn’t quite as immediate…supposedly.

[themagiciansarcana]

“No longer knocking on death’s door,” he answered with a wry little smile. Percival gave Beau’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but didn’t move to pull away. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed. Because the humor didn’t reach Beau’s eyes, the juxtaposition hurt; he couldn’t maintain eye contact for long before he looked away.

His thumb twitched faintly, as if to start stroking Beau’s hand, but halted just before the affectionate gesture could complete. Oh, Percival was so beside himself in this situation. Obviously he wanted to help. He wanted to be of use. He wasn’t Beau’s enemy, not really, and he desperately wanted to prove it.

After a moment’s heavy hesitation, Percival said, “I can absolutely keep you from abruptly dying while you heal, but how much of my help do you actually want or need?” Because he would do whatever it was Beau wanted if it meant Percival would never have to see him so vulnerable and so unlike himself ever again. “This--You never should have been able to even be injured so, let alone be left with wounds that bled for so long. Something--something’s wrong. Very wrong. This was never meant to--” He huffs a little laugh, then forces himself to smirk a bit more smugly. “Who the fuck did you let ruin my good work?”

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

Claws. Pointed viper-like fangs. Crimson eyes.

Vampire.

But it didn’t smell like a vampire, and that’s what baffled Revelin the most. Few creatures that walked the earth could reflect crimson light with their gaze, especially when threatened, but the vampire was among them. Despite how dangerous this frightened vampire was, Revelin knew himself to be more dangerous. 

He wasn’t just a werewolf. He was a wizard. 

So why…? Was it–was this vampire freshly turned? And how many of his neighbors had it fed on in its wanderings? How long had it been intruding on his territory?

His ears flattened against his skull. 

Revelin’s sense diluted, then drowned completely in the wolf’s instincts. He didn’t have much out in the furthest reaches, but what was his was his. There was nothing anyone or anything could do to take it from him. 

Lip curled, he growled, barking viciously as each one crescendoed. He crept closer, step by careful step, each paw intentionally placed along the traitorous ground. Then, abruptly silenced himself, but crept closer still.

He lunged with a vicious bark, teeth bared, eyes bright and deadly.

And then it hit him–

He knew this fear. This fear was familiar.

Beau caught the other’s scent before he saw them, before he heard them. It was still so confusing to be able to smell things like he could in his animagus form when he wasn’t in that form. And this scent was so familiar.

Then he heard the barking, saw the lupine silhouette. Werewolf.

His instincts went wild. In his weakened, panicked state, werewolf meant enemy. Werewolf meant danger. Werewolf meant death. He snarled, pushing himself further to his feet, balancing his weight on his uninjured leg as much as he could.

The werewolf lunged, and Beau braced himself for impact.

He’d fight.

He’d fight even though he knew he wouldn’t survive this.

The werewolf collided with him, and his legs gave out beneath him again. He hit the ground hard, growling and raising a clawed hand to swipe at his foe’s muzzle–

–But he never followed through, his hand falling to the ground beside his head.

He knew the wolf pinning him to the loam. He recognized that pelt, even in the dark. Knew the timbre of its growl. He couldn’t fight back, even if it meant the wolf killed him.

“R-Revelin?”

[themagiciansarcana]

He was mid-air when he realized what he’d done. Still, just as powerful as the instinct to attack was the instinct to submit. He hit the vampire hard enough for the pair of them to tumble to the ground, or maybe the blood in the air heralded enough of an injury for the vampire to be unable to withstand his mass.

Pounce.

Growl.

His name.

Revelin whined. His ears stayed flat against his skull but for an entirely different reason as his whines pitched into happy little yips and cries. The wolf -- not even Revelin himself -- knew this was his mate. Instantly. The moment there was enough of what was mate and pack to overcome what was vampire and fear, he knew. He lapped Beau’s face with his warm, pink tongue, tail wagging hard enough for his hips to sway. 

Because he and the wolf shared in their authentic joy, Revelin struggled to wrangle down his instincts enough to actually allow Beau space to breathe, to speak more than his name. The animal was so excited, so relieved, so ecstatic. Fearsome, powerful jaws mouthed gently at Beau’s clawed hand as Revelin inched off of him on clumsy, tippy-tapping paws until he could safely grab his sleeve. There, he bit and tugged, urging Beau up, urging Beau to follow.

Safe. Home. Mate. Home.

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Hero Betrayed

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

Sighing deeply, Percival told himself that Beau’s waning patience was…for any number of reasons, really; but the presumption that he would do such a thing without Beau’s consent hurt more than it should have. Percival never violated Beau in such a way, even before the complications in their relationship arose.

“I don’t know how a local anesthetic will affect you presently,” he explained, subdued beneath Beau’s ire. “Or even a pair of aspirin, for that matter. I just need to stop you from losing anymore blood, and maybe not lose any of my own in the process.”

He frowned for only a moment before abandoning Beau’s wrist to take his hand instead. Once upon a time, Beau was frightened of what was ‘shut down,’ as it were, meant. Was it like going under anesthesia for an operation? Was it like blacking out while drunk? Fainting? Would he remember whatever happened? Beau never breathed a word of it, keeping a steadfast and brave facade, but Percival noticed the edge of panic just before the final word. The same would be there when he brought Beau back. 

“Just breathe,” he instructed. And he met Beau’s gaze for one intense moment before saying the sequence of random words he’d never forget, because they were the only thing that saved him harm were the experiment to go sideways. “Rabbit. Folk. Grave. Crack. Bauble. Bowyer.”

Beau was still afraid of what ‘shut down’ meant for him. He never knew what the person who spoke the codes would do to him or order him to do. And he couldn’t trust the only person who had ever asked his consent to speak them. No matter what, it wasn’t a preferable situation.

But right now he had no choice. He had to allow Percival to ‘shut him down’ in order to get the treatment he needed. In order to keep him from bleeding out–which he was pretty sure he was close to, no matter how his physical strength was still apparently enough to knock his long-ago ally back.

He met Percival’s gaze for only a moment, then closed his eyes, trying his damnedest to focus on breathing and not on the codes or the pain or the time he knew he’d lose.

His heart rate still spiked just before the final word was spoken. It always did. But then it immediately slowed to the minimum required to keep him alive, and he knew only blackness and nothing more as the codes took effect.

[themagiciansarcana]

He swallowed thickly once Beau’s body when pliant, not limp. It was a controlled acquiescence, nearly mechanical, and completely clinical. This altered state stripped Beau of everything that ultimately separated him from an android, everything that made him human, and everything that made him Beau.

Initially, it was a miracle of modern neuroscience, and Percival had been lost in the splendor of their breakthrough. His empathy was simply what he extended to any other human, but the ends justified the means.  As he grew to know Beau, or rather, as he came to care for him, the moral obscurity of the experiment became outright cruelty. It shamed him that it took all but falling for Beau for him to recognize and amend the inherent evil of his science.

He should have been a better man.

Percival desperately tried to better correct his actions ever since.

‘Shut down’ as he was, Beau would follow Percival’s every instruction, answer his every question, fulfill his every demand. The selfish thought of asking Beau to divulge what had happened to leave him so broken and wounded crossed his mind, but he immediately dismissed it. He had never given an instruction that would lead to Beau’s indignity, even in the testing phases. Though there were plenty of his colleagues who had no qualms with pushing the moral and ethical limits of utter obedience, the complete removal of agency. He was not like them. Percival was never like them.

Or so he told himself.

His instructions were polite, kindly spoken, and only used when he did, in fact, need Beau’s participation or cooperation. So it was only a handful of times Percival even spoke as he cleaned, sutured, and bandaged Beau’s seemingly endless array of injuries. Thankfully, he only had to perform something akin to surgery once, for a stab wound that just barely knicked an artery. It wasn’t something Percival would have normally considered remarkable in any capacity, but Beau’s sudden weakness, the stark absence of serum effects meant he couldn’t leave anything to chance.

Beau was just another injured person. Another patient.

The one that meant the most to Percival.

He heaved a breath as he yanked off his bloodied gloves. He slipped his hand into Beau’s once more -- something he always did for him; held his hand when he went under, and held his hand when he came back up.

“Shadow. Alpha. Seraph. Wheel. Nightingale. Phoenix.”

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

That curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the new scent on the wind. Tail high and ears perked, he closed his eyes and raised himself on his toes to catch the barest traces of it through the night. It was only once he’d gotten an idea of its source did he open his glowing eyes and break into a run.

His pads were quiet on the soft underbrush, but felt heavy with his gallop, his breath loud in his own sensitive ears. But even over his own thunderous gait, he could hear whatever he tracked crashing through the woods. It sounded human, even if it didn’t smell like one. He slowed once he grew closer, an anxious sort of trot instead of a sprint. The scent lead him deep into the forest of his territory, deeper than any human had dared – Revelin knew; he could smell where human trails faded. 

Trot became prowl as he closed the distance between he and the new scent’s source. Because there was a new element to the scent – that otherworldly note of magic, of not-human. Not entirely, anyway. 

The trees were thick and unforgiving here, some growing so close that Revelin had to squeeze through their trunks or walk widely around a cluster to continue on his path. The canopy blocked out the faint light of the moon and stars. Revelin only knew his way because this was his home, his territory; even his sight was impacted. For certain, what tracked wasn’t human. No human would ever be able to overcome their fear of the unknown or their own physical disadvantages to wander so far before turning back. The fear of this creature was different, though, because it was something edging panic, as if their very survival hinged on it.

So when he came upon the meager clearing – and really, it was just a far more shallowly compacted mass of trees – he stopped. He didn’t hide his presence, but he didn’t particularly announce it either. Should he need to escape whatever threat this newcomer posed, he knew he could bleed back into the shadows of the dark wood. Should he be found, he knew he could defend himself. He suggested his presence with a flash of his werewolf eyes in the dark like a rattler’s tail – I’m here. I see you. I’ll attack if you make me.

Beau no longer ran. The danger he could sense within this strange, new territory impelled him to, but the terrain prevented it. He couldn’t run. He might be physically stronger than a human now, and able to withstand more damage, but even he wouldn’t survive running blindly when the trees–thick, with wide trunks, older even than any he’d seen before–crowded so close. He would bash his skull in, trying to avoid them and no doubt failing horribly, should he attempt to run in so tight a space.

So he walked. Crept. Slunk.

Stumbled.

Failure to hide himself entirely from the sunlight the day before had left him limping, his ankle and the lower part of his calf red, raw, and blistered–such wounds healed so very slowly, slower even than a burn would heal on a human–and a raised root at the edge of a small clearing was an easy obstacle to be caught by. It sent him tumbling to the loamy ground, and he hadn’t the wherewithal to push himself to his feet again.

His luck had absolutely run out. He was sure of it.

Perhaps the trees were close enough together that their boughs would block the sunlight from him entirely once the dawn came, but he truly doubted it. And he would burn.

A flash of something amber in the underbrush caught his attention, startled him up, but his injured leg wouldn’t hold his weight, and he fell once more. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, causing his barely-beating heart to speed to mirror some pathetic approximation of the panic he felt.

This was the source of the danger he’d felt nearing since entering the forest.

Eyes glowing crimson and fangs descending, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, claws digging into the soft ground, snarling and growling low in an attempt to appear more feral and dangerous himself. If he was to die here, better he go out fighting than simply give in, as he’d been ready to do only moments before.

[themagiciansarcana]

Claws. Pointed viper-like fangs. Crimson eyes.

Vampire.

But it didn’t smell like a vampire, and that’s what baffled Revelin the most. Few creatures that walked the earth could reflect crimson light with their gaze, especially when threatened, but the vampire was among them. Despite how dangerous this frightened vampire was, Revelin knew himself to be more dangerous. 

He wasn’t just a werewolf. He was a wizard. 

So why...? Was it--was this vampire freshly turned? And how many of his neighbors had it fed on in its wanderings? How long had it been intruding on his territory?

His ears flattened against his skull. 

Revelin’s sense diluted, then drowned completely in the wolf’s instincts. He didn’t have much out in the furthest reaches, but what was his was his. There was nothing anyone or anything could do to take it from him. 

Lip curled, he growled, barking viciously as each one crescendoed. He crept closer, step by careful step, each paw intentionally placed along the traitorous ground. Then, abruptly silenced himself, but crept closer still.

He lunged with a vicious bark, teeth bared, eyes bright and deadly.

And then it hit him--

He knew this fear. This fear was familiar.

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

Hero Betrayed

[mostpeculiarmademoiselleetmsieur]

themagiciansarcana‌:

The blow struck Percival hard; hard enough to knock the wind from him and leave him a bit dazed. Hands bloody from tending Beau’s varied and worrying wounds, he barely caught himself before he could tip back in the chair. The medical supplies rattled and nearly spilled.

He gasped for breath for a few moments before recovering. Percival rubbed absently where struck, already tender where a dark bruise would form, and sighed. He couldn’t keep the concern from furrowing his brow, even as he tentatively touched Beau’s wrist to calm him.

“I have to get these cleaned and bandaged up,” he said gently. “And I need you still to do it. If it’s too much, I can–” Percival hesitated. He didn’t need Beau’s permission, really, but he also very much *did.* “How did this even happen?” he muttered to himself. “Beau, I can shut you down. Will you let me? Just for this.”

*Just so I can take care of you.*

And that particular thought was a new brand of painful.

This wasn’t reconciliation. This was desperation. Beau didn’t come to Percival for any other reason. No forgiveness. No discussion. No understanding. Just…need.

Beau gritted his teeth, trying to just breathe through the pain, to keep himself still like he normally could. “Sorry, sorry–didn’t mean to…’m trying…”

His fingers twitched at the tentative contact, but he allowed it. It was clear enough, even with his senses dulled as they’d been, the touch was meant to be calming–and gentle contact wasn’t something he’d had much of in the past few…hours? It had to have only been hours. It didn’t make sense for it to have been longer than that. He couldn’t possibly have been slowed down that much.

It took a moment for Percival’s words to process–normally an almost instantaneous thing–and his brow furrowed in confusion. Percival was…asking? Why? No one asked to use the control codes. They just did. The last time anybody had asked his permission to was…before Beau had found out Percival was a double agent.

But Percival was asking his permission. Just so he could tend to his wounds without him lashing out.

“…Why haven’t you, then? Just do it already.”

For all Beau knew, Percival would use this against him. He could so easily take advantage of it. Use the codes and order him to come to the enemy side. He could leave him vulnerable and unable to defend himself–the blank canvas the codes made him. Or he could keep his word and only use the codes to keep Beau pliant while he cleaned and bandaged his wounds.

He just had to hope what happened was the latter option.

[themagiciansarcana]

Sighing deeply, Percival told himself that Beau’s waning patience was...for any number of reasons, really; but the presumption that he would do such a thing without Beau’s consent hurt more than it should have. Percival never violated Beau in such a way, even before the complications in their relationship arose.

“I don’t know how a local anesthetic will affect you presently,” he explained, subdued beneath Beau’s ire. “Or even a pair of aspirin, for that matter. I just need to stop you from losing anymore blood, and maybe not lose any of my own in the process.”

He frowned for only a moment before abandoning Beau’s wrist to take his hand instead. Once upon a time, Beau was frightened of what was ‘shut down,’ as it were, meant. Was it like going under anesthesia for an operation? Was it like blacking out while drunk? Fainting? Would he remember whatever happened? Beau never breathed a word of it, keeping a steadfast and brave facade, but Percival noticed the edge of panic just before the final word. The same would be there when he brought Beau back. 

“Just breathe,” he instructed. And he met Beau’s gaze for one intense moment before saying the sequence of random words he’d never forget, because they were the only thing that saved him harm were the experiment to go sideways. “Rabbit. Folk. Grave. Crack. Bauble. Bowyer.”

[everythingfox]

Year in review