#I mean sing. ]

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

Polites died believing that the world is kind, and yet his death contributes to Odysseus deciding to become a monster. Absolutely devastating

[notherpuppet]

Huskerdust 💗💗💗💗

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[technically-human]

Jayvik is funny

(Behold, hex-comedy)

[wishfulsketching]

Here's to the team "Oh god not the face!!!!"

[dramiserable]

I saw Miku at the village festival the other week trust me

[fernsnailz]

oh i rewatched the sonic movies AND the knuckles show recently and with sonic 3 out this week i think it's time to share the wishlist i made of crazy things i want to see in the third movie. these are NOT genuine predictions and most would probably make the movie actively worse, but i want them to happen because. i think it would be funny. this list is curated to my specific tastes in trash and my tastes alone

tom dies

bowling is plot relevant

literally any archie sonic reference. can you imagine

musical number (CANNOT be of a licensed song. has to be an original)

eggstone kiss (HAS to be genuinely romantic. cannot be played as a joke)

metal sonic shows up and they kill him within five minutes

the black arms appear but instead of being cgi monsters they're played by actors in practical suits (this would actually rule)

tripod baby by m-flo 2024 remix

shadow's backstory is explained through an extremely tone-deaf medium at some point, such as a puppet show

wade gets a love interest

gerald gets more screentime than shadow (this is my one genuine prediction and something that i Do Not Want. but i will laugh if it happens)

shadow dies dramatically in sonic's arms

no girl cartoon animal character makes an appearance, but one gets a single name drop with no further elaboration (actually i don't want this. this would just make me mad lmfao)

if any of these come true i will draw wade whipple

[egophiliac]

I got a really tough question.

What’s your favorite Twst event of ALL TIME?

I like Harveston

this truly is the hardest question. :( but after much consideration, I think Endless Halloween Night wins out for me, because it's nonstop Characters Being Silly the whole way through. the whole thing is just lots of these little dorks having the most ridiculous interactions, which is always my favorite! and of course the big twist is SO delightfully stupid and doubles down SO hard that it becomes AMAZING and I 100% unironically adore it. AND it's Halloween! everyone is in their cute little costumes and having a spooky adventure! it's great!

however, I am ALSO a big fan of the Harveston event! how can I not be! everyone is wearing comfy winter outfits and getting along really weirdly well with Epel's grandma and he's getting a little worried about that! my terrible loud son sews a plush squirrel and then gives it a silly little nickname and refuses to leave it behind when it breaks! the ending shot with the sled! I LOVE IT.

obviously we need the best of both worlds now

[speakofshinee]

241130 MEAN: of my first 🔥 Minho 'Heartbreak' [X]

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: getting to have them be not in constant danger or emotional turmoil for one chapter? crazy. how do these goobers even flirt <3 as always, thank u for your patience and please let me know what you think!

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: Finally accepting Cassian's invitation to breakfast, Rhys offers you a proposal. You take flight for the first time since that fateful night in Exordor.

CHAPTER TWELVE :: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)

As dawn breaks the next morning, rain pours.

Weather has never been a deterrent for Illyrian warriors. Cassian, Azriel, and yourself rise and head to train all the while, welcoming the extra challenge. Blades and boots swing, slicing through a thousand raindrops, sending graceful arcs of water in their wake.

From a distance, the movements so controlled, you think you might almost get mistaken as Summer soldiers, so adept in the water.

Though, as training draws to a close and you all pack inside, wings shivering from the icy sheets of rain, you steal a long glance at the two towering figures.

Their wings, like your own, make a terrifying silhouette and your matching armour glitters in blackness and rain.

With a glimmer of pride, you rapidly reconsider—there's no mistaking you for anything but what you are: soldiers of the Night.

“Breakfast?” Cassian offers, as he’s done after every one of your training sessions. He's the first to break the tired silence post-training, pulling the bulkier, unneeded armour off his chest.

It appears, despite your constant declinations, Cassian is not one to be discouraged. He still asks and he never seems put out with your answer.

That fact stirs something in you, a warm glow — his easy attempts to always include you mean more to you than he'll likely ever truly know.

You glance at Azriel beside you, silent. He’s scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel, same as yourself, and when you meet his eyes, he tilts his head an inch. If you want to, I will too.

Between training and wandering the halls occasionally, you still haven’t actually spent much time outside your room.

It's a built-in habit you've yet to shake. Fruitless exploring was an expenditure you couldn't afford to waste energy on back in the mountains.

You steal another glance at Azriel.

Friends. That's what you are now. Friends go to breakfast with one another... at least, you think they do.

Besides, eyes darting to Cassian, you have two of them now. Maybe it’s time to start breaking out of your old routine and start forging a new one.

“Alright.” you say, trying to swallow the timidness in your voice.

“Really?” Cassian goads, brows raised high, even as his eyes gleam happily at the accepted invite. A wicked grin takes over his face.

“I’ve been trying to get you to come for weeks and now Az’s here, suddenly you’re in.”

Something in you flusters at his teasing, even if you know his words has no real heat.

You’re saved from having to sputter through an answer when Cassian, forgoing using a towel, shakes his wet hair out much like a dog would.

Cold rains splatters out and you hiss, flicking a drop off the edge of your wing with distaste.

Brows raised, you say, “I’ve wonder why.”

Cassian’s shit-eating grin is his only reply.

You cut a glance to Azriel to find he’s already looking your way, a weary but amused look in his eyes, his shadows lingering around his shoulders, languid and relaxed. He’s had far more years of Cassian's nonsense than you.

Breakfast, you find, is a lot of the food Azriel had brought with him to Exordor.

Ripe, fat berries, fruits of a multitude of colours, and still warm bread fill the ochre tabletop. Jugs and flagons of different juices and the like group in the middle. You're spoiled for choice.

Back home, it would be a feast. Once upon a time, you’d have probably sneered at the display, as you had once at Azriel.

Now, you think of Rhys' words.

You think about earning and deserving.

This change is one of the harder things for you to face… but you know it’s for the best.

The table is set for three. As you sit, you ponder if Cassian’s been setting a place for you each time, never knowing if you’d say yes—and wonder more if he found it aggravating, your constant closedoffness.

A glance at him only reveals his still friendly smile. There’s not a hint of annoyance.

Right. You’re friends.

Cassian takes the seat to your left, Azriel on your right, leaving you in the middle between them. Rhys had explained the uses and limits of the magic of the House to you already and as such, you had become familiar with it fetching meals to your room.

It’s been a plain affair. You’re used to at best, tasteless, and at worst, stomach-churning food. As long as it’s nutritional, it’s on the menu.

How are you supposed to know what else there is? Even the foods Azriel had brought with him weren’t as decadent as these before you.

You find yourself waiting, watching the plates on either side of you to see what they’ll choose. The rain continues outside, a gentle din on the sides of the House.

Cassian’s plate fills first.

You watch, wide-eyed, as several hot, flat brown discs flop onto his plate, still steaming. A drizzle of something thick and sweet follows, a soft caramel colour dolloping in the middle.

It smells heavenly.

“Have you ever had pancakes?” Azriel’s quiet voice from the other side of you speaks up.

You blink, tearing your eyes off Cassian’s breakfast to Azriel and gingerly shake your head.

Pancakes. You steal another glance at the plate and find the name to be aptly fitted.

Azriel’s plate has filled itself too but with something different. There’s some kind of grain, a pottle of something pink, with cubes of different fruit littered over the top.

“Would you like to try some?”

Your eyes dart up from Azriel’s plate to his face, realising he’s still nodding to the pancakes.

You’ll admit the pancakes look far better than whatever you’ve been asking of the House. While the bread supplied was fresher than anything you’d had before, you’d hardly had the imagination to conjure up something like pancakes.

Whatever your face looks like, Azriel can seem to read the answer in it.

“Cass,” He says, jutting his chin to his friend’s plate. “Give them a pancake, will you?”

Cassian, mouth currently full, turns to Azriel with a furrow between his brow. “But—” He starts, then stops. The furrow on his face softens as he glances down at you and, without swallowing, he says exaggeratedly, “Fine. Guess we can share.”

Then he spears two pancakes on his fork and slops them onto your waiting plate.

“You like syrup?” Cassian asks.

The question means nothing to you. From behind you, Azriel shakes his head no, answering for you. From what he recalls of your meal times together, you had screwed your nose up at the too-sweet fruits, too unused to it.

“Butter?” Cassian tries again.

“I suppose.” You answer, confused as to why he’s asking.

Cassian glances up and then a small bowl of softened butter materialises before you. He picks it up and tips it onto your two pancakes with a smile. Then he resumes his eating without another word.

Still hesitant, you shoot one more glance in Azriel’s direction.

You’ve been given food before, by Azriel himself, but not quite like this. Not sharing what’s already on someone’s plate. Some smaller, younger part of you almost wants to sniffle at the abject kindness.

Azriel’s already begun eating but the motion of your head draws his eyes. The small upturn of his lips is encouragement enough. Swallowing back the thickness in your throat, you dig in.

Pancakes… are pretty life-changing.

Azriel is right, you’re not such a fan of the sickly sweet brown fluid that coats the cakes, sweet enough to make your teeth ache. But the butter, melted and velvety with the fluffy pancake— gods.

You take one bite and then quickly stuff in two or three more, just in case Cassian suddenly decides he wants them back. Cassian guffaws at your rapid motions and follows suit, stuffing his mouth full.

He glances at you, catching your eye, both of you chewing through the delicious breakfast. Cassian raises his eyebrows with a pleased, smug smile as if to say I know, right?

You smile at him, without even thinking about it, shovelling the next bite in.

It melts on your tongue. Mother, you're kicking yourself a bit as you chew the mouthful slower this time, turning over every flavour. Turning down Cassian’s invite each morning has been turning down this.

You’re a moron. There’s no doubt you’ll be asking the House for this every morning—and night even, if you’re allowed.

It occurs to you then, as you’re on your fifth bite or so, that you could’ve easily summoned your own stack on pancakes. Or either male could’ve done it for you.

But no, instead Cassian had shared from his plate.

The pancakes suddenly taste sweeter than ever.

"Ah, y/n," Rhys' satiny voice tugs your attention up, to the Male himself, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Glad to find you here."

An age-old instinct of obeying commanding warriors sends your spine straightening, your chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.

Cassian snickers good-naturedly and you spot a shadow of Azriel's disappear into his ear—resulting a loud shriek from the warrior.

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore, you bastard!" He all but hisses, leaning forward on the table to glare past you.

Azriel gives a nonchalant shrug, his hazel eyes dancing to you playfully for a quick moment. Rhys and you both watch with varied levels of amusement and boredom.

"Yes, yes, that's enough now children." Rhys comments, a sly smile teasing at his mouth as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve.

Cassian, in his centuries old-age, sticks his tongue out in response—then pushes back on his chair so it’s balancing on its back legs, teetering.

Rhys regards him with one bored stare before his attention turns to you, his smile fading, expression turning more serious.

"I have a proposition for you."

Your mouth dries, nerves skittering under your skin. You swallow your mouthful. "A proposition? Like... bad?"

Rhys smiles, feeling your nervousness through your thinning mental wall. He gives it a soft tap to remind you and you inhale sharply, fortifying it instantly.

"Not at all." He assures you calmly. "It's to do with... Let's call it overdue earnings."

Instinctively, your gaze seeks out Azriel to your right.

Shadows swirling his shoulders, you're surprised yet again by how easily you seem to read him with just one quick glimpse of each other. How you can suddenly feel the tangible encouragement forming within you, just behind your ribs.

He smiles, like he knows more than he says, and casts his gaze back to his breakfast.

You glance at Cassian too, maybe your closest friend now, and he simply shrugs, none the wiser.

"What is it?"

Rhys wanders further forward, leaning to rest his forearms atop one of the empty chairs at the table. His violet gaze takes in two of his Inner Circle and decides if you don't mind them hearing, he doesn't either.

Besides, it's not as if it wasn't Azriel's own idea.

"As you know, due to the backward ways in many of Illyrian warcamps, females are not seen as warriors. While many allow them to train, Exordor..."

Rhys jaw clenches tightly over the name. "It had stricter rules that I could not interfere with. Please know, that is not without immense regret."

A glimmer of night ripples across the room as Rhys hard gaze burns into the table, lost in a haze of an angry memory.

Azriel clears his throat and then the night retracts rapidly, gone without a trace after a second. Rhys lifts his head, giving it a slight shake.

"My apologies. This proposition is not about that — this is about The Blood Rite."

Your brows jump, the words out his mouth the very last ones you were expecting to hear. The Blood Rite? The cutlery in your hands suddenly seems heavier. Your wings sink an inch.

As if the mention of it made them darker, the tattoos on the tan skin of each warrior around you seem to glow more prominently.

You swallow to try clear your dry mouth.

“What about it?” You croak.

“Given your circumstances, it’s understandable why partaking in it was not an option.” Rhys begins.

You expect his tone to take on a sympathetic lilt but it does no such thing.

“Given the level of skill that both Azriel and Cassian have seen from you,” He waves a casual hand between the two warriors. “I don’t believe it’s a question of if you’d survive.”

The knowledge that they’ve been discussing you, your skill, between them without you there—normally such a thing would make you prickly.

But with what Rhys says… knowing they’re vouching for you instead, the prickly feeling washes away to an embarrassed gratitude. They’re on your side, you have to remember.

“The proposition I have for you is to receive The Blood Rite ceremonial tattoos.”

The grip on your fork loosens, the utensil sliding an inch before you catch it again, but not before it hits the edge of the table with a loud bang. You jump at the noise, wings tucking closer on instinct.

“I—” Words die in your mouth, your eyes screwing shut a moment. When you speak, it’s with a bitter resignation. “I have not completed The Blood Rite. It’s— that- I would hardly be earning it.”

Azriel makes a quiet noise of disagreement beside you, eyes still on his plate, but says nothing more.

Rhys doesn’t look surprised at your rebuttal, merely rolling back his shoulders casually.

“Perhaps, that’s one way to view it. Perhaps there are others. Regardless, your Highlord is offering it, if it’s something you decide you want.”

Cassian scoffs a laugh at his casually thrown out title and you tense, not expecting such outright disrespect.

Rhys, however, simply rolls his eyes and with a flick of his hand sends Cassian’s still teetering chair backward.

Cassian barely saves himself, jolting forward to grip the edge of the table and delivering his brother a scathing glare. Rhys grins back, feline and taunting.

“Still sure you want to be friends with them?”

Azriel’s voice is just above a whisper, words soft and curling into your ear. You turn and find, with a jolt in your chest, that he’s much closer than you’re expecting, leaning over to be closer to you.

Mother.

It’s not as if you forget how beautiful Azriel is but this close, it's impossible to ignore.

His eyelashes are dark and long, his hazel eyes, soft and honey-like. The cupids bow of his lips looks plush. You can trace a scar that carries from his chin up his cheek.

You realise you’re staring after a long moment of silence — eyes darting away, you clear your throat.

“They’re better company than some, believe me.” You say, thinking back to Exordor with a glance back at Azriel.

He’s sat back in his seat and he gives a barely noticeable roll of his eyes. “Yeah, well, that competition is hardly fierce.”

A laugh titters out of you at that — and Azriel’s shadows spring up, as if in response.

Clearing his throat, Rhys calls your attention back to the conversation at hand (now that Cassian was done attempting to pelt him with bits of pancake, which he was subsequently misting, resulting in a fantastic aroma through the kitchen).

“It’s an offer.” Rhys reiterates kindly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to but… I implore you to think it over.”

He tilts his head toward the windows in the mountain side.

“Spend the day down in Velaris and consider it. And try to consider what we talked about too, about the things we feel we deserve.”

Straightening up, he taps the chair with his knuckles, preparing to leave you be.

“Whatever you choose, I hope you know that there is no wrong answer. Tattoos or not, amongst friends you are already considered a true warrior.”

And despite how the two males on either side of you nod, solemn and truthful, it didn’t purge the feeling that welled inside you—familiar and reminiscent of keeping a secret.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling like a fraud.

—

Even with back to back training, only mere hours of slumber between each session, the gleam good sleep has given you is impossible to miss.

By now, Azriel has seen dozens of early mornings with you.

Back in Exordor, you had looked different in more than one way. Beyond the grime of the mountains and your justified, cold defensiveness, it was your eyes that betrayed you. Eyes that carried a tiredness that never left.

Azriel knew the feeling well.

In the Illyrian mountains, sleep is not rest.

Sleep is a sliver of refuge, letting your aching body recharge just enough to lurch back awake after a couple restless hours. Fuel to keep you going and nothing more.

But this morning, stopping at the threshold out to the balcony, you had peered up at the rain bucketing down and frowned.

Then with a silent huff, you had rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned into your hand.

Azriel, watching silently from across the courtyard, felt his shadows spin up in a tizzy at the sight — and he nearly blushed scarlet as they directly disobeyed his instructions to rein themselves in, a few shooting across the courtyard to greet you.

It was the first morning he’d seen you not tired, but sleepy. Azriel couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t adorable either.

He could only hide his smile and warm cheeks with a duck of his head, praying his shadows behaved himself.

But there was no disguising the tug on the mating bond, immeasurably proud and pleased for you.

Whether you noticed it or not, he didn’t know. You’d stepped down, onto the balcony and into rain, and promptly stalked towards the weapons rack, wings held high.

It had been one of the first things Azriel had admired about you—your drive, steely and unflinching.

Even now, thrown into a new place with unfamiliar faces, tossed into a whole new life, your determination doesn’t falter.

Fighting, training, honing yourself into a living weapon—seamlessly using blades as if they’re an extension of your very self—you commit yourself to training fiercely.

But… Azriel can tell that without direction, your ambition is beginning to make you listless.

You’re getting better—that there is no doubt about. Even the slight deafness in your left ear you’ve mastered well enough that if Azriel wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it.

But in Exordor, there had been a goal.

Something to measure up to, to pour your determination towards — and without it in Velaris, Azriel worries about you.

There’s unfinished business waiting for you in Exordor. Your valiant mission is not yet abandoned and if you ever deigned to ask, Azriel knows he would take you there, without hesitation.

However, things have shifted whether you seem to realise it or not.

You’re no longer the only one in your corner. You haven’t been for some months.

True, there had been the matter of your… concealed identity wedged between you and Azriel and it had been reason enough to keep your plans small. You’d explained to him once before, the aid of being unnoticeable.

You’re not anymore. And with the terror of the events in Exordor still fresh enough in his mind, it’s impossible not to fear what might happen when you eventually return.

You aren’t used to living, just for yourself. Of that being enough of a reason to live, to thrive. Azriel fears your ambition will drive you to your death, no matter how honourable.

You would fight until you physically can’t anymore against the injustices of your home.

A threatening pain splices through his chest at the very thought — of just getting you back, gaining your forgiveness, getting the smallest glimpses of your happiness— just to have it ripped away from him again.

His mate, his heart warbles terribly.

His head settled resolutely, he trails behind you to the breakfast table, mission solidified. He needs to show you that your home isn’t among the mountains anymore.

Exordor may have been your birthplace but Velaris, here — with him, something quiet whispered —was where you belonged.

He just needed to show you.

—

“Have you flown since leaving Exordor?”

At the edge of a thousand steps, it’s certainly a warranted question.

The intensity of the early morning rain has waned with the day but it still falls softly. It adds a chill to the breeze — but it’s nothing comparable to the Mother’s Kiss.

You're all taking Rhys' plan and heading down into Velaris for the day. The staircase presents itself as one option but, given the knowledge of wards, there's a clearly more favourable one. Flying.

Azriel’s eyes drift up to the tips of your wings. The sight of the puckered, scarred spaces that once held stakes is enough to inspire a jolt of fierce anger. He swallows a shudder, well aware of the sensitivity of such wings.

Noticing his stare, you shift on your feet and tuck your wings in tighter. His gaze, while unjudging, is enough to make you fidget beneath the attention.

Azriel snaps his eyes back to your face.

“I haven’t. Madja told me I could, uh,” You answer with a wave of your hand, your gaze averted to the long, winding staircase ahead. “About a couple weeks ago but…”

Shrugging, you force yourself to meet Azriel’s gaze. “Well, where would I even go?”

Azriel’s heart wilts in his chest at your words. Nothing without purpose—it's the only way you know how to live.

You’ve had no prying and relentless brothers to push you into doing things as he had. No friends to remind you to live, as well as just survive.

No flying just for the fun of it. You’ve been starved of one of Azriel’s favourite things in the world.

Even him, your first friend, had only encouraged further training. A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw. A misgiving he’ll make sure to rectify.

Casting his mind back to a memory from some months ago, he recalls the fervent urge he felt upon returning to Velaris — the want to show you his home from the skies.

Focusing his mind back on the present, Azriel smiles down at you, his dark curls collecting drops of waters.

“Anywhere you like.”

Cassian takes his cue, launching himself up into the sky with ease.

Azriel watches him for a moment and then prepares to follow suit, bracing his thighs and shaking out his wings.

A glance at your face reveals the hint of hesitation.

He searches within him, gripping the bond tightly, to feel for your worry. In response, your anxieties skitter along to him, revealing your heartbreaking reservations and giving them to him — unknowingly soothing you in the process.

Still, Azriel pauses and then, heart in his throat, he lays a scarred hand on your shoulder in assurance. Prays you won’t shift away from him or his touch.

You don’t. In fact, a newer expression shutters across your face, eyelashes fluttering but you hold his stare.

“You won’t fall.”

You don’t question how he can name your fear so easily.

Instead, in a brave face of vulnerability, you ask, voice smaller than you intend, “How can you be sure?”

Azriel grips the bond tighter, letting his assurances pool in the form of unwavering confidence in you. He hopes you feel it — feel it, and believe it too.

“Because you’ve never fallen before. And because,” Azriel sighs softly, an ache creeping up his throat. His voice is low, his hazel eyes earnest. "You might've changed since Exordor but they don't get this. They don't get to take it from you. It's yours."

His hands slips from your shoulder and the bond tightens in his chest, as if urging him back. Azriel ignores it and turns back to face the rainy skies ahead.

Then his boots bear down against the stone as he takes flight, cutting through the drizzle of rain to climb up into the sky. The final step, he knows, has to be taken by you alone.

It doesn’t stop the uncertain waver in Azriel’s chest at leaving you one step behind.

But his faith in you is steadfast.

And a moment later, he’s proven right to do so as an unimaginable pulse of joy shoots down the bond, molten hot.

It’s raw, unfiltered relief.

It mingles with a joy so potent that Azriel’s shadows droop against his neck, as if snuggling up to the blazing warm feeling.

He falters, dipping in altitude momentarily, before he remembers to keep his wings moving.

Through the gloom of the day, Azriel feels you before he sees you coming — though the moment you’re in view, the familiar figure of an Illyrian warrior in flight, your radiancy is all he can see.

“You were right!” You call across the sky, unable to cage the glee in your voice.

There’s an unsteadiness to your motions, adjusting to the loss of drag due to your news scars, but it does nothing to tamp your happiness. You soar towards him through the rain, twirling in an elegant barrel roll that boasts your years of flight.

And it dawns on him, the underlying motive you had admitted to that underpinned the lie you had spun.

What heart-wrenching words had you uttered to him? I just wanted to keep my wings.

Azriel thanks the Mother, the Cauldron, and every star in the sky that you get to.

“I’m only sorry it’s not a better day for it.” Azriel says as you drift to his side, raising his voice so you can hear him. Flight is noisy, even if you’re travelling idly as the pair of your are.

You fly a few metres higher and then glide down with an easy precision, grinning, your face misted from the rain.

“I think it’s perfect.” You call back. Azriel can feel it, trickling along the bond like sweetened syrup, you really mean it.

Waiting leisurely further ahead, it’s evident that Cassian’s patience is waning.

Dipping back and joining the line up, he glides alongside you with a smile that promises mischief.

“Oh, so she can fly!” He drawls, arms tucking up behind his head lazily. “But can she race?”

His brows raise in clear competition and Azriel’s about to remind you that you don’t have to entertain all of Cassian’s antics — when his brother straightens out, shouting, “Go!” and jetting off forward.

You splutter for just one second. “I don’t even know where to go-!”

The end of your sentence blurs as you take off after Cassian, not a clue where you’re going but too competitive to not rise to the challenge. Azriel grins, watching for a moment as you tuck in your wings and dive to pick up speed, nearly disappearing in the fog of the rain.

Your fierce delight streaks along the bond and it’s what Azriel follows as he takes off after you, the invisible string leading his way, glowing like a shooting star.

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[seasononesam]

Well... I mean, if there was singing, you know... And that's a big if ! If there was singing, it would be classic rock. Not this Andrew Floyd Webber crap ...

[demaparbat-hp]

Want to know what I believe? It's right here

Dig a little deeper and it's crystal clear

.

(WIP)

[project-sekai-facts]

According to 4koma #232, Kohane has the ability to purr.

[felsicveins]

I think John Dory should have 7 (evil) exes and you have to defeat all of them in order to date him.

Choose your fighter 💥💪