#THIS IS THE BIG FIGHT GUYS

[rosesofenvy]

Golden Future AU Arc 2 Chapter 8 is posted!

Collab with @sha-biest

[herd-reject-arts]

So I'm leaving work and something darts in front of me, maybe 10ft away, too fast for me to see what it is. Peek around the tree blocking my path and I see this

Just like... a whole ass hawk. Dude's gotta be about 1.5ft tall. Massive fucking bird. And it's just staring me straight in my soul like this, even as I try to move ahead. It didn't budge. And there's only this path back to my car unless I want to walk on a busy highway. So I have the option of Death By Raptor or Death By Truck.

So I walk in the poison ivy filled patch off the sidewalk. Guy still isn't moving. Still staring me directly in the eyes. And I do this thing when animals are behaving strangely where I'll talk to them, so I'm just like, "Hey, man. I don't know you. You don't know me. This feels really threatening. I'm just trying to get to my car, dude. Can I get some space please? You're a big fucking bird. I see those claws. You could kill me right now, but I'd appreciate if you didn't, ok?"

It didn't move until I was about 2ft away. Again: I'm as far from it as I can be without walking into the street. It clearly wasn't going to budge. I walk past, thing flies up (silent, btw. Scary) and lands on a brick wall a little further ahead

Anyway. Weird guy. Nearly shit my pants when I noticed a bird big enough to carry off a fully grown cat was just... there, staring me in the face, unwilling to move away from me, a human, something it should see as a threat. I watched behind me the whole rest of the way to my car, just in case this bird decided to help me shed this mortal coil. 10/10 experience. Super cool guy.

[queerdraws]

Fanart for a snippet of my most favorite heartbreaking moment from swordsmans's fic bone-breaker ospreys mate for life (rated E)

[bugcatcherkit]

Man that sure is a Situation where two 14 year olds push the limits of each other’s trauma responses until they both reach extreme breaking points. and then they deal with the aftermath basically all by themselves. Isn't that super awesome and totally not kinda fucked up at all.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

soon it'll be dawn again

transcript under the cut ⏬

page 01

Fig: no way? - you're still up?

Riz: Wh– yes?

Riz: Why'd I not be.

page 02

Fig: I me~~ean - that took.

Fig: whole day.

Riz: Yeah?

Fig: 'm beat.

Riz: you should sleep.

page 03

Fig: nah. my guy's still up

Fig: I wanna hang out.

page 04

Riz: That's really nice.

Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.

Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.

page 05

Fig: yeah, but you do it…

Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.

Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.

page 06

Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.

Riz: … - mm.

page 07

Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.

Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.

page 08

Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.

Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now… 

page 09

Fig: Hey.

Riz: ?

Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.

page 10

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)

Fig: o yea.

Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.

page 11

Fig: here u go

page 12

Riz: uh

Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.

Fig: I'll show u

page 13

Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try

Riz: uh - What. do I carve?

Fig: anything!!!

page 14

Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?

Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?

Fig: haha - watch this.

(sound effect text): FWOO—MP

page 15

Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???

Fig: Now it's fired!

Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE

Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)

Fig: ok catch!

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!

Fig: dw no need haha

page 16

Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…

Fig: now I want you to throw this.

page 17

Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon

page 18

Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now

Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise

Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?

Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u

Riz: but

page 19

Fig (off screen): RIz.

page 20

Fig: I've done all this before.

Fig: Can you trust that at least?

page 21

Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.

page 23

Riz: okay what happens now

(sound effect text): glob

page 24

Fig: we do it again!

page 25

Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)

Fig: see! you're already learning

Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.

Fig: Things change.

page 26

Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist

Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.

page 27

Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.

page 28

Fig: So?

page 29

Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.

[kingkatsuki]

Do your blorbos ever look at each other inside your blorbo mansion and wonder “what the fuck is that guy doing here?”

[cowboythewizard726]

woah-ho-ho-dude don't mean to alarm you or anything but has anyone ever told you that you've got some pretty beautiful majestic gorgeous eyes right there just a pair of completely absolutely striking ocular organs you've got in there man like jesus those are some pretty stunning irises dude like wow man

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.

[meidui]

“It kinda feels personal.” | for @catws-anniversary ♡

[lil-vibes]

Day 27: Eyes

Previous/Next

(prompt list here!) + bonus sillies

[mstryukki]

[sabh0]

Meursault skk come back please.... i miss the sillies sm...... also why do we just move on from everything they do there like,, asagiri what were those two gay ahh speeches about. Destined to what. Show me Chuuya bandaging Dazai's wounds after Fyodor left. Also did Dazai know from the beginning or did he randomly realize when he didn't die in the elevator. Can dazai finally take the antidote and be fine, it makes me so anxious please. Also aughhh skk just being stupid why would these two just throw sigma to the floor 15 times before going hmmm that aint gonna work. Also dazai rolling on the floor and chuuya being like oh boy not this again. Asagiri. Please.

[utterlyazriel]

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

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

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[mo-ok]

☝️☝️☝️ pink 🌸🩷🧁

🌠

[sageiii]

Marvel x DC au except it's specifically yj98 core 4 during civil war because I think young "regularly goes against governments when they have even the slightest feeling that they're in the wrong" justice would not only be very easy to recruit to cap's side but would without a doubt cause caps side to win along with adding another fresh layer of chaos onto everything

[samarecharm]

I wish the thieves had SOME kind of reaction to the Satanael awakening. Kinda wish we at least had RYUJI react to it….

I think its sooooo compelling to have Ryuji be the only person to witness BOTH awakenings; to see how much Akira and his will has grown since they first met. There was a raw, burning fury in Akiras core that recoiled at the injustice before him, and when given the tools to punish said injustice, eagerly accepted it with a wild, almost manic kind of intensity. I think it would be difficult for the others to truly grasp just how scary that was; that for a short moment, Ryuji couldnt pinpoint the cause of that rage, and the target of it. Akiras mellowed out alot since then, but its always in the back of Ryujis head; theres a side of their leader literally none of the thieves have or will ever see, and he doesnt really know how hes supposed to feel about that.

And now the airs charged in the same way he felt back in Kamoshidas palace; right as Akiras eyes widened at seeing him slammed against the wall. The blazing, untamed ferocity in his eyes from back then is replaced with a cool, calm, steely conviction. He knows his purpose; understands completely what his will screamed at him to understand back when it first started. This is the Akira the team knows, and its definitely the one Ryuji is used to now, but its insane to see the shift; insane to see the kind of power that simmered in Akiras core, literally too big and too overwhelming for past Akira to grapple with and set free.

Satanael comes down, and theres a moment, through all the excited screaming and hollering, where Ryuji can see it look right at him, and Ryuji is taken back to the floor of Kamoshidas Palace; not to the fear he felt when Arsene came forth incinerating everything, but immediately after, when Akira comes to with wide eyes and an outstretched hand- that bizarre feeling of safety, of knowing that this kid would have his back, and that hed never have to worry about where his place would be (its right beside him, obviously.)