#griffon rakell

2016 Commission by @tenmastrousers for my story that you can read here

Griffon tried to run it though his mind, run through the crucial steps on infection control, but the brain-scrambling nature of his fever in addition to the putrid smell his leg was giving off proved more challenging than he was able to tackle currently. His bag, where was his bag again? Oh. Right there. Beside his green-tinted leg. Was it really that green? He blinked at it, mesmerized by how it shifted and swirled as he turned his head this and that way. The pus that he had could have sworn a moment ago was only seeping out of it was now full on erupting from the wound. He shield his eyes, don’t want to get that nastiness in the face. 

“Hey Griff?” Griffon started with a yelp, wrenching that stupidly heavy leg of his to the side. A monster. There was a towering monster before him. Squeezing his eyes tight, he prayed that it couldn’t see him in return. “By the Ones, firefly, that looks worse than you thought originally right?” Griffon whimpered in reply; he could sense it coming towards him. He had to fight, he had to get away, his leg felt light as a feather right now, he bet he could make a run for it. Wanting to catch the monster off guard, Griffon threw himself to the side, tumbling down the hill with his eyes still shut tight. The monster roared but he was getting away, he was getting away! Then something grabbed him and held him tightly, so tightly that he couldn’t move. Thrashing and screaming, Griffon fought to get away. He could tell his leg was gone by now but he didn’t need it anyway. Something stabbed into his arm and the life ebbed away, leaving him pathetic. Weak. Unprotected. 

(repost from @fanastyfinder )

They readjusted their position above Griffon, straddling his chest. He kicked his legs uselessly, trying to throw them off, but it was too much. Their weight combined with the pain forced him down. They just watched him struggle, smiling pleasantly. Adjusting their grip of the hilts of Remembrance and Deliverance, Raphael’s swords, those were Raphael’s swords, they twisted the blades ever so slightly, burying the swords deeper into the floor underneath Griffon’s hands. Griffon heard  delicate bones snap further, shattered pieces piercing through his palms. His hands sparked weakly, but sputtered out. He screamed, pulling everything he had from his core, but his fire refused to come.

“Don’t you think,” they cocked their head, observing the damage, “that if you actually did succeed in doing that, that you are just making it worse? I don’t really think hot metal is in your best interest right now.” They fiddled with Deliverance absentmindedly, each little flick of the wrist shredding Griffon’s palm even more. Griffon tried to reply, but each twist made him want to vomit in pain. They took that as permission to do the same with Remembrance, alternating the swords as they mutilated his palms. Griffon couldn’t even move his fingers anymore. He might never again. It took everything within him not to beg.

He could barely hear Raphael in the background, begging for him. Another grinding twist and Griffon did throw up this time, choking on the vomit. His head flopped to the side, towards Raphael, who was fighting from where he had been forced to his stomach. A boot on his neck and his hands bound behind him, Raphael was squirming and screaming. Griffon couldn’t really make out what he was saying anymore, his head was spinning too much. They were saying something again. He tried to concentrate through the pain.

“--what would you give to save his life?”

“My own.”

NO. Griffon screamed it, “NO! No, Raph, no!”

8. If your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do?  both emotionally and academically.

Griffon would academically be fine but he wouldn’t think it. The boy’s a wizard with science and biology but you’d better believe he would be cramming and doing an all-nighter on the subjects that he felt he was “lesser” in, resulting in a super cranky, high on anxiety test taker. I must say though, his notes would be gorgeous.

Raphael would go over the material once, maybe twice if he thought he needed it. He has one of those “if I don’t know it by now, I won’t ever” mentalities. He knows his strengths and weaknesses academically (being that he would get good marks but he does have to work for them)

18. What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it?

Not a wardrobe piece, but Griffon still has the blanket that Marlee was wrapped in from 6 years prior when they were on the run. That thing is scorched and burned and smells absolutely terrible despite constant washings from Annetta and Raphael, but he always keeps a swatch of it in his bag. You can find him rubbing it between his fingers when he is thinking or stressed.

Raphael doesn’t own anything trashy (although some few misguided souls might say the shade of crimson he wears is tacky.) He is too vain for that plus he is a good enough with a needle that he can repair or repurpose anything outdated. In modern times, he would be one hella DIYer.