Crackfic Idea:

30-year-old Zuko gets randomly flung back in time to his 16-year-old self. For a couple of hours at a time. At the most random times imaginable. Imagine the potential.

Zuko assumes that it's a dream or a vision, but definitely not real. He tries not to freak everybody out too badly, but he's also fully enjoying himself and seeing all of his friends as their young selves.

ZUKO, as he and Aang circle each other at the South Pole: I've spent years preparing for this encounter. Training, meditating. You're just a [Spirit Shwoop Sound] ... baby Aang!

AANG, confused: Well, more like preteen Aang. How do you know my name?

ZUKO, looking around: Wait, where are we?

AANG: Um... this is the-

SOKKA: Don't answer him! He's trying to get information out of you. You can't give away our location!

KATARA: Sokka, he's standing in the middle of our village. I think he knows.

ZUKO: We're here? This is so weird. I was just here for the Annual Penguin Race.

AANG: THERE'S AN ANNUAL PENGUIN RACE?!

ZUKO: Well, yeah, it was your idea... you gave a whole speech about cross-cultural cooperation and friendship, but I know you just wanted to go penguin sledding with a bunch of people...

AANG: Well, I-

SOKKA: Stop giving him more information! He already knows about the penguins!

Everybody else is confused, bewildered and even befuddled except for Iroh, who assumes that it's Spirit Shenanigans™️ and just fully accepts that his nephew likes tea and hugs and Pai Sho sometimes while being his usual shouty surly traumaball self at others.

ZUKO, stepping into the cabin: Hi, Uncle. I brought you some ginseng. How about a game of Pai Sho?

IROH, tearing up a little: I would love that, my nephew.

ZUKO: I wish we could do this more often, but you live so far away...

IROH, mentally calculating that he lives exactly three doors away from Zuko, and nodding sagely: The rat-viper may never climb the mountain that a hog-monkey can, but the monkey does not know what lies underneath it.

ZUKO, sighing sadly: I know, Uncle. I do appreciate my position in life, even if it has disadvantages.

IROH: Hmm. Your move, nephew.

The crew of Zuko's ship is terrified by the fact that whenever it happens, Zuko is somehow even more hyper-competent, seems to be weirdly calm about everything, and most unnervingly of all, he's polite.

SOLDIER: Here is a report on the best teahouses within three days travel of our current location, Sir. And, uh, Commander Zhao sent a messenger hawk.

ZUKO: Excellent. Thank you very much, Sergeant. I think we can ignore whatever Zhao has to say. In reply, I want you to send him a list of the most famous officers in Fire Nation history, and point out that none of them had sideburns. I want to see if he shaves them.

SOLDIER, sweating nervously: O-of course, Sir.

As a matter of fact, the whole fic could just be Zuko trolling Zhao. It would be glorious.

excerpt from in-progress "timebending with Zuko" fic

Zuko wakes up and everything hurts.

Most specifically, his scar hurts.

That . . . doesn’t make sense, he thinks, and reaches for it automatically. A strong hand catches his wrist before he can touch it, which seems–fair, yes. Probably a good idea, anyway, because spirits does it hurt. Just . . . so much.

“Uncle?” he asks reflexively, attempting to open his eyes. It’s surprisingly difficult. And Uncle is in Ba Sing Se, of course, but he’s on his back on a futon or bedroll or something similar and someone’s sitting beside him and his head is swimming and he’s injured, clearly, so options for who said “someone” might be are limited, really.

So it’s not Uncle, obviously, but . . .

“Nephew,” Uncle says, very quietly, and Zuko . . . blinks.

At least, half-blinks. The one eye’s in too much pain to open.

The ceiling is metal, he notes absentmindedly. That’s . . . odd. He was in the palace, wasn't he?

“What happened?” he asks, vaguely bemused. Uncle pauses in a very concerning way, and Zuko has about three heart attacks about just how badly he doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say before–

“The Agni Kai,” Uncle says, very carefully. “Do you remember it?”

Zuko frowns–just with the one side of his face, because again, his scar hurts right now. To the point that his whole body feels wrong, does his scar hurt right now.

“Um–which one?” he asks, because there’s been about a dozen this month alone, and frankly he’s getting really sick of fighting them at this point but if the old guard of nobles are just going to keep dragging everything out like this–

“With your father, Nephew,” Uncle says, very carefully.

Zuko . . . blinks.

“Oh,” he says, vaguely perplexed. Uncle never talks to him about that. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Uncle says.

“The part where I disgraced myself or the part where he burned my face?” Zuko says, because it’s so fucked up and awful and horrible that he can’t even get upset about it anymore, except when he’s really upset about it. But if Uncle’s bringing it up, presumably he has a good reason to be, so . . . “Or the whole ‘go find the Avatar who no one even believes exists anymore or you can never come home again’ part?”

“. . . all of that, yes,” Uncle says, still sounding very careful. Zuko frowns a little–again with just the one side of his face–and then looks over at him. His body still feels weird and wrong, but . . .

But . . .

They’re on a ship, he realizes. A Fire Nation one.

Well, explains the metal ceiling.

It doesn’t explain why Uncle is wearing red armor and a topknot like he hasn't in years, though, or why he looks so unspeakably sad.

“Um,” Zuko says, and attempts to sit up. His head immediately starts swimming even worse, and Uncle catches his shoulders and keeps him pinned against the . . . futon? Looks like a futon, yeah. “Where are we, exactly?”

“We are aboard a ship,” Uncle says. “I . . . may have slightly commandeered it.”

“. . . you paid for it, right?” Zuko asks, a little skeptical at that idea.

“Yes, Nephew, I did,” Uncle says, giving him a very tired, pained smile. Zuko doesn’t feel much better, seeing it.

“Is someone dead?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else that would make Uncle look that way.

“Ah–no, no one has died,” Uncle says.

“Then what’s wrong?” Zuko asks warily.

“. . . you are injured, Nephew,” Uncle says, slowly. Zuko frowns, bemused. “And your father . . . I did not know he was going to do this. I am so sorry.”

Zuko . . . pauses. Looks around the room again, and then realizes: he knows this room, doesn’t he. He knows this ship.

This is the same ship he woke up on after the Agni Kai.

“Hold that thought, Uncle,” he says, then lifts his hands and looks at them. They . . . well, they are his hands, obviously.

But they’re not his hands, obviously.

“Huh,” he says, frowning in bemusement at them; turning them around like he half-expects them to stop being a thirteen year-old’s or something equally ridiculous. They don’t. They are very definitely a thirteen year-old’s hands.

Specifically, his thirteen year-old hands.

Huh.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says after a moment, putting his hands back down and glancing back to Uncle, who’s obviously the more important concern. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I took you into that meeting,” Uncle says, his voice tight. “And I watched the Agni Kai. And I did nothing to stop any of it.”

“I know,” Zuko says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Uncle says, his smile a sad and terrible thing. “You were there because of my actions. My mistakes.”

“You’re not the one who wanted to sacrifice all those soldiers,” Zuko says. “Or the one who decided to throw fire at my face.”

“You were there because of me,” Uncle repeats, his voice tight and his smile no less terrible. It occurs to Zuko, briefly, that Uncle must be thinking of Lu Ten.

He only ever looks like that when he’s thinking about Lu Ten, so . . .

“Uncle,” he says. “Really. It’s not your fault.”

“Nephew,” Uncle says, and his voice is somehow even tighter. Zuko tries to get up again, and his head swims again, and Uncle moves to stop him again. This time he grabs onto Uncle’s wrists and uses them to pull himself up, and then . . .

Well, then he’s sitting up, at least.

So that’s something.

He tilts his head and his hair slips into his eyes. It’s loose, and long. Not shaved on the sides yet, like he wore it the last time he was thirteen. He supposes he should cut it, but then again, why should he? He's not changing anything, after all.

Except for this conversation, he supposes, because that went very differently last time.

. . . hm.

"Uncle," he says one more time, and reaches out for him. Uncle doesn’t seem to understand what he’s trying to do, so he has to reach out a little farther, and then Uncle makes the connection and leans in and lets him wrap his arms around him and alright, yes: that’s better, Zuko thinks, and clings to him.

Just a little, perhaps, but . . .

Yes. He clings to him.

Uncle wraps his arms around him in turn, very carefully, and makes an awful sound.

“My boy,” he chokes. “I’m so–I’m so–”

“I forgive you,” Zuko lies, because of course there’s nothing to forgive.

But of course Uncle doesn’t understand that, does he.

If any other FNAF fans wanna throw in your favorite fucking insane FNAF facts PLEASE do

VAGUE explanations under the cut (please know I feel like that xkcd panel about overestimating the average person's knowledge of a topic right now)

the bite of 87 isn't important to the lore: It comes up ONCE in the first game, barely effects the lore, we don't even know who it happened to, literally its only lore impact is that the animatronics can't walk around during the day anymore. meanwhile the bite of 83 is incredibly likely to be the inciting incident that caused the murderer to do the murders. the "WAS THAT THE BITE OF 87" meme is not the bite of 87

golden freddy might have two souls: in the final fnaf 3 cutscene the bad end has golden freddy's head with two lights in it, and in the survival logbooks it's heavily implied there are two spirits rummaging around in there. there's more evidence but it's funnier if i don't tell you. the generally accepted canon is that golden freddy is possessed by a little boy named evan and a little girl named cassidy which is so genderweird of them

there are two purple guys and only one of them is actually purple: purple guy one is a murderer who killed at least six children. purple guy two is a rotting corpse who had his organs scooped out and possessed his own dead body to hunt down his father (who is purple guy one) and set him on fire twice. purple guy one is also a rotting corpse but he's in a fursuit

foxy has weird fucking genders: the foxy from the first few fnaf games is a guy and is referred to with he/him pronouns. in sister location, there's a foxy called funtime foxy, and when you select "girls night" in the custom night, they're one of the contestants. and in ultimate custom night, mangle (a really fucked up version of foxy) is referred to with he/she pronouns. this is canon and makes my gay little heart very happy

fnaf takes place in utah: fnaf takes place in utah

one of the novels had matpat mpreg: okay it's technically not matpat it's a guy named mat. however it's hilarious to say it's matpat. no this isn't a joke there was mpreg. with springtrap. i refuse to explain this

purple guy (the murderer one) might also be a yellow guy: in pizza sim there's a minigame with lore in it where you play a yellow mustard man who's a terrible father. it's theorized a lot that he may be the ourple guy because his son has grey text. no we don't know why he became yellow. he's never yellow again except when he's one of the comical amount of bunnies (there are like ten different bunnies in fnaf)

there are eight dead kids: we even know their names!

purple guy and his family are all british: in the opening cutscene to sister location, we hear the voice of one "mr. afton", who is the purple guy (the one who killed kids). he's british. throughout sister location, we hear the voice of a little girl, who is heavily theorized to be afton's daughter- elizabeth afton. one piece of evidence for this is that she is also british. and in the final cutscene of sister location, we hear the voice of someone named michael (who is the purple guy who's actually purple), talking to his father, and saying he's gonna come fucking KILL him, right before springtrap (purple guy) is shown and guess what michael's fuckin british. fnaf takes place in utah and no other characters are british. it's just the aftons.

there are three different jeremys and they all die: jeremy fitzgerald from the second game is heavily theorized to be the bite of 87 victim. one of the missing children is named jeremy and is possessing one of many bunnies. in the vr game a guy named jeremy is haunted by one of many bunnies and cuts his own face off. i personally find it hilarious to headcanon that jeremy fitzgerald is also jeremy from vr and maybe even the jeremy who got killed by william afton. especially considering the time traveling ballpit

bears are canonically extinct: in security breach, handunit mentions this in ONE LINE. it is not lore important. it is never mentioned again. objectively the funniest possible thing steel wool could've done

what the fuck is going on in fnaf: Buddy this is barely scratching the surface I haven't even talked about the child sized compartment in Circus Baby. You don't even know about the Charliebots or the Nightmare Gas. Do you even know about the Mimic. Do you have any idea what remnant is. There are ten different bunnies who are all also the same bunny. If you get into FNAF lore you will exit a changed man. Nothing here matters. There is a time travel ballpit

Anyway Cassidy isn't the Vengeful Spirit Michael is read that excellent Google Doc by @/whencartoonsruletheworld and THANK ME LATER

After he’s finished laughing at Iskall, the two of them start working together to finish drying off Iskall’s clothes. Beef knows full well that if he doesn’t, the man will almost certainly spend the next week naked, just to spite Beef. It’d go against the spirit of the message, to have Iskall turn around and strip because of it.

“I still can’t believe you filled my house with fishes! After I spent a whole ten minutes getting them for you!” Iskall complains. “You do not understand being neighborly. It’s sad.”

“I told you, the more fish you got me, the better your interior would be. You should be grateful, really. Many people would only dream of getting to sleep with this many fishes. It’s a much kinder warning of what will happen when you mess with me than some people get,” Beef advises. “Big Salmon isn’t very happy with you.”

“Sleep with—okay, first, I cannot sleep with salmons, because it gets all my clothes wet. I respawned underwater, Beef!”

“Well, better not upset me more,” Beef says.

“Second, I do not know phrases well. I thought that was a… a saying meaning that you kill them, when you make them sleep with fishes? I thought it was a crime thing. I did not think—sleeping with actual fishes was involved,” Iskall continues.

“I find that in my line of work, double meanings are handy to really drive the point home,” Beef says. “You’ll never know how you’ll sleep with the fishes next time, after all.”

“Right. Okay. Sure. Third: since when were you in Grian’s weird fish cult? Because, dude, I don’t know if I would have spent a whole ten minutes gathering salmon for you if I knew you were in a weird fish cult.”

Beef huffs, offended. “Not a cult! Thats the wrong—I assure you, religion has nothing to do with Big Salmon, just profits and salmon-related—hold on, wait, did you say Grian?”

Iskall stops, confused, from where he’d been airing out his jeans next to a campfire, nearly setting the article of clothing on fire in the process. Beef and Iskall are promptly distracted trying to put out the pants fire, and for a moment, Beef nearly forgets his conversation. After the now somewhat singed and somehow still not dry pants are rescued, though, Iskall remembers.

“Anyway, yeah, Grian. I didn’t think you were involved with him. He made a whole weird cod cave and everything. I think he was trying to worship some ocean fish thingy. It was weird.”

“I don’t know how to unpack that,” Beef says.

“You’re doing it too!” Iskall accuses.

“No, I’m making legal business decisions,” Beef says. “I think I would know if I were in a fish cult, especially one for something as gauche as cod.”

“Technically the cult is about a mending book,” Iskall says.

“Okay, sure,” Beef says.

“He tried to tell me it wasn’t a cult too, but dude, it definitely was. I am judging him. And also you. Get better things to do.”

“It’s not—you are misunderstanding. It’s a family,” Beef says.

“Still don’t get it,” Iskall says.

Beef groans and rolls his eyes. “Like the Godfather.”

“Oh! You are trying to kill me, but for dramatic crime reasons! I get it now. You know, the whole salmon thing still seems a little creepy though, especially with Grian’s cave. Are you sure…”

“Absolutely positive,” Beef says. “I can’t believe you accused me of following something Grian started. I’m offended.”

“Shouldn’t you be more offended at the cult thing?” Iskall asks.

“You’re the one with the giant monolith. You’re one to talk,” Beef says.

“I don’t see how that’s related,” Iskall says.

Beef looks across the neighborhood to the giant looming grey obelisk, covered in runes and filled with esoteric blocks Iskall had collected from all of the hermits. He looks back at Iskall.

“Yeah, fine,” Beef says. “Let’s just finish drying out your clothes.”

“You owe me even more now,” Iskall says.

“I absolutely do not, don’t even start—”

Rhapsody (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it.

Warnings: ANGST. Listen, when I get to write stuff not for requests, it's usually angst. Idk what to tell you.

Word Count: 1,545

Part Two: Ritornello

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Rhapsody Master List

Alastor had met Y/n in the early years of his career in Hell. As two agents of misfortune set on taking down the overlords of Hell, the Radio Demon and the Bard became fast friends. Before either of them really realized it, their care for one another had become a bit more than platonic.

It had been difficult to handle at first. Both had been let down, utterly betrayed by people that they had let into their lives in the past. Both were reserved but, it was inevitable.

Alastor was always causing trouble, making problems. He kept things interesting. Y/n liked that, liked him and his spirit. They were on the shyer side, having stage fright even though all their powers were based on music and performance. It was an amusing contradiction, the first thing that had really pulled Alastor in.

When he had finally worked up the courage to tell Y/n how he felt about them, they had been working on writing a new piece of music while Alastor wrote the script for his next broadcast. He hadn't been able to take it anymore. Watching them work, the concentration on their face, hearing them pick tunes on their instrument, the intimacy of the moment had over taken him.

They had look up in surprise, and he had apologized, controlled by a sudden fear of loss. Y/n had shook their head and gotten to their feet, allowing their lute to disappear. They had walked over to him, turned his face to theirs. They had kissed him, gently. Alastor was a goner.

He had never loved nor felt love like the one he shared with Y/n. It wasn't fire and passion, it wasn't destruction. No, the love was soft and gentle. It was a kitten they had adopted off the streets. It was a soft evening fog: all consuming and lovely.

None of the overlords were really all that surprised when they heard the news. Alastor and Y/n had similar goals, similar patterns of living. From what they knew of them, the pair balanced one another out perfectly, made one another stronger, better. Where Alastor was loud and omnipresent, Y/n was more reserved and watchful. Where Y/n could manipulate and control the world around them, Alastor handled people. Even the manifestation of their abilities was similar in some respects, Alastor with his microphone and Y/n with their lute. In combining their abilities and territories, they managed to control nearly a third of Pentagram City. Alastor was the face of their little operation while Y/n was the power. The overlords knew they had to act soon, otherwise their downfall would be inevitable at the hands of the most powerful duo of sinners in Hell.

They kept no secrets from one another, save one. Y/n, in all their quiet chaos, would disappear on occasion. It was something that began happening a year or so into their relationship, a few years after they had met one another. They would jump up and leave in the middle of conversations even on occasion. Whenever Alastor tried to ask about it, they always brushed him off. He never got more than a brief excuse out of them but, he trusted them. It was okay. He knew they weren't working against him or anything malevolent like that, it wasn't in their nature.

It wasn't that Y/n didn't want to tell Alastor what was going on, it was that they were scared. The truth of it all showed fragility, made them into something monstrous, made them weak. They trusted Alastor but, not enough to let him in. They trusted no one enough to let them in on this front. The secret put a strain on their relationship, but Y/n was certain it was better than the alternative.

The couple's favorite spot in all of Hell was on the outskirts of Pentagram City. There was a field there of red grass. A hill at the center bore a tall, twisted tree with bark so dark brown it was nearly black. It was where Alastor and Y/n went to simply exist, to escape the self imposed disarray of their lives.

Alastor had asked Y/n to meet him there that day and so they did. He had told them nothing other than that he had something important to tell them. As they climbed the hill, they spotted Alastor seated beneath the tree at the top reading a book.

Y/n smiled fondly at the sight. He was so engrossed in his book that he didn't even realize they were there until they were already seated beside him.

"Hey." Y/n smiled, leaning up against Alastor's shoulder.

He jumped slightly, turning to face them. His eyes softened at the sight and he closed his book, putting it to the side.

"Hello song bird." he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to their lips, "How has your day been?"

"Alastor, you saw me this morning. It's only like two in the afternoon."

Alastor shrugged and Y/n laughed lightly, pulling their knees into their chest.

"It's been okay. Nearly figured out a way to take that dinosaur overlord out, I forget their name. Should be done by the end of the week."

Alastor furrowed his brow, he looked down at his lap.

"Hey, are you okay?" Y/n asked, noticing the change in their partner's demeanor.

"Y/n, why do you always run off places?" he asked suddenly, "It's been happening more often, are you alright?"

Y/n sat up straight, taking their head from Alastor's shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Alastor shook his head.

"You're lying again. Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I don't really know you. So, I've made a decision."

Y/n's eyes went wide, his words a bullet through their chest. Sure, things had been a bit rocky between them of late. Alastor was right, they had been leaving him more frequently, hiding from him. They always figured things out, Y/n was sure of it. They had done it before and they would do it again and one day, once they figured out how to stop the curse, how to break it, they would tell him. Everything would be okay.

Their heart pounded against their ribcage, begging for release. They took a shaky breath.

"A decision?"

Alastor looked away, pulling a knee into his chest. Unable to meet their eyes.

"I'm joining the overlords and..."

"Oh, theres an and?" Y/n scoffed, "Joining up with our sworn enemies, the demons we've been trying to take down for years, that I've spent my afterlife fighting against, isn't enough of a betrayal?"

Y/n felt the anger rising in their chest. They pushed it down. Any strong negative emotion was a danger, the anger was a trigger and Y/n's body the loaded gun.

"I think we should see other people."

Y/n's heart dropped, crashing through their diaphragm. Their breaths quickened, becoming heavy and panicked. They had been in Hell longer than Alastor, it was true but, they loved him. He made their afterlife complete. There had been a before, the last thing they wanted was for there to be an after.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. It's over."

A sudden pain wracked their body. Y/n looked down at their hands to see the familiar claws sprouting. They jumped to their feet, turning their back on Alastor.

"Are you okay?" Alastor asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Oh yeah, fine!" Y/n stated, though their tone was anything but convincing.

Alastor got to his feet, noticing the way Y/n's body was beginning to change its shape, become more monstrous, more animalistic in its nature. He had never seen them do something like this before.

"Y/n, what's going on?"

They didn't answer, simply letting out a quiet, pained groan.

"Is this why you always have to leave?"

Y/n's panting became more intense as they tried struggled to keep their normal form. They pressed their hands to the sides of their head. Their eyes had gone black by now, not that Alastor could see.

"It's fine." they uncomfortably laughed, "Everything is normal. You can leave now."

Alastor sighed. His eyes lingered on their form for a few seconds longer before he too turned his back to Y/n, crossing his arms.

"I can't do this anymore. It's like you live two lives, one I am in and one I'm not. I..."

Alastor let his sentence trail off in indecision. He wanted to tell them he loved them. He did love them, a lack of care wasn't why he had to break things off. It just didn't feel right, to say it here and now, even if it was still true. Everything had become too much and the overlords had given him a truly tempting offer. Alastor had to think about himself, his future. He had to do what was best for him, not them. Not when they were the reason he had been in a constant state of upheaval for the past several years. Not when it seemed to never stay good once it got better, not when the times it was bad became worse and quicker every time

"I'll... see you around."

----

A/N Listen, I am obsessed with The Owl House, okay?? And Raine and Eda are the cutest and just shhhhh. Okay?

NEXT PART: Ritornello

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 2

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

"And what now?" The general's voice is still tinged with the shock from the earlier happenings, his breathing ragged.

"The box won't open without…I don't know. Without what?" Cassian looks at Nesta and only wants to wrap her into his arms, keeping her safe. Nesta holds Ataraxia tightly in her hands, face displaying nothing but strength and determination, but when her eyes slide to the box, completely untouched and closed, on the table in front of her, in the middle of Rhysand's office, disappointment passes over her features. It makes the former determination disappear and her shoulders slouch. Nesta looks exhausted, even a little sad and Cassian just wants to hold her, tell her she did her best, that she did everything she could and it is enough. 

"We need magic. A greater force," Nesta breathes, gaze not wavering, trained on the little onyx box. Vassa, the clever fire bird, managed to steal the box Koschei always kept with him. They need to destroy it in order to destroy him, but right now it seems impossible — they can't do it. At least not with the tools at hand. 

Even Amren is clueless. What should they do? How should they go forward? 

Silence, palpable and heavy, falls upon the room and for a moment everyone seems clueless until—

Amren taps her fingers against her chin and then opens her mouth. "There is one person that I know that could be able to open this box." 

The temperature in the office cools at least five degrees, a chill coursing through it. Amren moves towards the desk, fingers tracing a line over the box, eyes squinted. "She has power beyond our knowledge." Amren inhales a deep breath. "And you, boys, put her in the Prison many years ago. Many centuries ago." She looks over her shoulder, dark hair shifting with the movement. "Azriel, Cassian."

A cold shiver cascades down Azriel's spine. A Prison inmate would be their solution? It can't be—

"We can't free a prison inmate," Cassian says, voice strong. 

"Of course not, we can also let Koschei destroy us." Amren's statement is gleeful, almost mocking of the general. Cassian only narrows his eyes at her, fighting the urge to flip her off. 

"I mean, how can we be sure she is loyal to us and not to…Koschei. Or that she doesn't try to murder us the first chance she gets?" Cassian looks a bit scared and Amren frowns at him. 

"Why should she be loyal to Koschei?" she asks in a bored voice. 

"If she is a creature that has to be kept in the Prison the connection for her to be loyal to the Death Lord or any kind of evil spirit is not too far fetched," Cassian says and lifts his arms in despair. 

Nesta takes a step back, moving closer to her mate, her heart still racing with the former actions. She was the one who tried to open the box, but failed. The power that held it close is just too strong. Alone the trial left its markings on her skin, on her body. She is shivering, goosebumps spreading all over her body. The ancient force having fought against her, fiercely. 

"Remember where I come from, boy," Amren snaps and throws Cassian a deadly look. "I've been in there once as well. And I know her. I know about her. And I know that she will help us and isn't loyal to Koschei."

Rhysand, formerly having been calm, silently observing the situation, now steps in, Nyx cradled to his chest. "Can we truly trust her, Amren?" His voice is deep and strong, bouncing of the walls of his office. 

They can't risk anything and freeing someone from the Prison can be deadly and cause more problems than they already have.

"We can." Her statement is steadfast, like nothing can shake her belief that the female in question can truly be their life saver. "She might be a little out of practice after being locked away for centuries, but I know she has the kind of power and magic to open this box. After all she was part of…them."

"Of who?" It is Gwyn who asks this question, her voice hushed, almost like whispering about a secret. 

Amren turns her head to the priestess, smirking. "Of the Wild Hunt. Not their leader, but the second-in-command." 

Silent gasps rumble through the room, and surprise flickers over Gwyn's young face. She has heard about the Wild Hunt, read about it, but she had no idea that someone who was apart of it was locked away in the prison. 

Shock takes root in Azriel's chest, rattling his very bones. He has to grab the backrest of the chair in front of him to keep from tumbling. There is only one female this description fits. A female he locked into the prison himself. A female who promised vendetta. A female he loved once. You. 

His throat works on a swallow, shadows nervously swirling around him. Azriel isn't the type to be scared of most things, but you? You are a different kind. A different breed. Something otherworldly. Something - a being - that indeed scares him. 

"We can use the Harp to enter the cell," Nesta suggests and earns herself a round of agreement and planning immediately starts. But Azriel is unfocused. He thoughts return to you. Always. His body feels weak and he is shaking on the inside. For centuries he has been thinking about you, and now…

"Azriel, you will get her." The shadowsinger wants to say no, but he can't. He has to do it. If someone frees you, it has to be him. So, he only bows his head in silent agreement and already moves towards the door. 

"I'll return with her," he says as a matter of good bye, his mind too distressed, his body still in shock, to answer anything else or to do anything else. 

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The prison still looks the same. The same dark stone walls, the same mossy smell. The only thing that has changed is Azriel himself. He no longer is this young boy that would do anything the High Lord tells him, without the blink of an eye. He has grown now, and he knows that what he did to you back then, was wrong. The situation — you — should have been handled differently. But he can't take back his actions. But maybe, maybe there is a chance for him to explain it all to you. 

His steps hollow through the dimly lit halls, prison cells on either side of it.

He still remembers your cell. It is a memory imprinted on his mind, but one that has been locked away for hundreds of years. 

A cold shiver curls around his spine, just like his shadows curl around his body.

He had clamped down on the pain for so long, for centuries, but now that he is here again it all comes back and nearly breaks him. Now, he can't believe what he did. He can't believe he hurt you like this.

Why did he not try to fight? Why did he not choose another option.

Because there wasn't one. It was the only option to keep you safe. To protect you. And your safety was always his priority. Even if it meant locking you in here and ripping his own heart into shreds.

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"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns to brass—"

Your voice catches in your throat, when your nostrils flare, taking in the new, uncommon scent. Someone is here. Someone that hasn’t been here in a long time. The scent is not fully unfamiliar, but you also don’t remember its owner. Until—

A nest of shadows is the first thing you see when the door to your cell opens. The black mist clears and reveals a male of ethereal beauty. A male you've come to loathe even more with every passing century.

"Shadowsinger." A vicious grin spreads over your face, showing your elongated canines. "We meet again."

Alongside the general of the Illyrian armies, the spymaster caught you and put you in this Cauldron-damned prison. It had been centuries ago. But you haven't forgotten. You never will. But why he returned is a mystery….

Before he can so much as blink, you lunge at him, chains clattering on the cold stone floor, covered in dirt and mould. You want to claw at his throat, at best rip it out. The fire of fury inside of you has burned for centuries, wasn't diminished once. And his presence alone added enough fuel to make your weak and broken body move. The sound of the chains reverberates through the dank, musty air, your long, elongated canines gleaming with a feral snarl. 

"I'm going to kill you." But you can't. Technically, you can't kill him while in here. Magic binds your power and you are restrained, also by magical chains, that keep you from moving too far or too close to him. But that doesn't stop you from trying. 

Hatred, raw and powerful, fuels you and makes you blind with the only thing on your mind being to end his life. He condemned you to this wretched, soul-crushing place. He never cared that you had no choice other than being part of the Wild Hunt. You didn't choose your fate. So, he had no right to do so either. 

"You think these chains can hold me, Azriel?" Your voice is a venomous hiss, each syllable dripping with disdain as you strain against the biting restraints, the cold metal spikes digging into your flesh. "I'll tear you limb from limb! I'll rip your throat out and watch you bleed out until the very last drop."

Azriel, his demeanour not giving away the whirlwind of emotions within him, stands in a stance, Truth-Teller clasped in his scarred hands. He seems composed and not afraid and that angers you even more. And so does his voice, cold, low, velvety. 

"I'm not here to fight you," he says, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside the Prison cell and within both of you. "I am sorry for—"

"Stuff your apologies up your pretty ass!" With a guttural roar, you hurl yourself at him again, driven by an insatiable hunger to destroy him. Memories of the centuries that have passed, of degradation, and the pain you suffered reach the front of your mind and drive your anger forward. 

But the chains hold you back and Azriel swiftly side-steps you. It isn't even necessary. If he doesn't get any closer, there is no chance for you to reach him. 

You bare your teeth again, the thin, white nightgown clutching to your body like a second skin. You shiver, but not from the cold, rather from the rage blazing through your veins. "What do you want from me? Why did you come back? Why did you come back now?" you demand, but he leaves you without an answer. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Azriel repeats instead, a note of regret tinting his voice.

"Hurt me?" You sneer. "You've already destroyed me! You broke me and you left me broken. Bloody and cold. I lay in my own puke for days, bleeding, wounded."

A pang of hurt hits Azriel right in the heart. He only followed what Rhysand's father had told him to do. He had no other choice. Everything else would have meant your death. He couldn't have risked it. 

"I come here because I—because we need your help."

His eyes drop to your hands, scars also marring them. Your pointed nails are still sharp, but brittle, almost like you have been clawing at the stone walls. 

Memories flash in his mind of how you sunk them into his skin. How you scratched them over his skin. And how…simultaneously your lips met his, mouths dancing, tongues toying—

"You betrayed me," you seethe, "and now you want my help?"

Azriel's expression looks pained, torn. His eyes drop anew, to the chains binding your feet to the wall. Your hands, though, are free and you can't wait to sink your sharp nails into his neck. Your fangs as well. 

"Only over my dead body!" you scream, fury clouding your vision like black haze. 

Only for you to realise it is not fury that clouds your vision. He is using his shadows to do so. You can't see anymore and it makes you panic. And this panic makes you lose control. You forgot about your former target, the darkness so looming and scary it makes you scream. 

Chains clatter to the ground, but you are too caught in a stupor to move. To run. To attack. 

With a swift and calculated manoeuvre, Azriel is behind you and secures handcuffs around your wrists, binding you. Binding you…binding you…You are restrained again. 

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this." His voice is softer, but it hurts you. You don't want to hear it. Don't want to see this side of him. Because it isn't his true self. His true self hurt you. Broke you. Destroyed you. 

You hate him so much, it almost hurts. You can't allow the pain. You will never allow it. You only allow anger. 

Blind rage surges within you, a thunderstorm of emotions brewing. And then he does the most unforgivable thing. He knows about your past. Knows about your fear of the dark. And yet, darkness swallows you wholly — a blindfold tightens over your eyes. Helplessness makes the content of your stomach sour and burning tears dwell in your eyes. Rage simmers beneath your skin, but it is the pain of betrayal that nearly gains the upper hand. The sort of pain you have been pushing away for centuries. 

You scream anew. His name. Curses. Noises. 

"Forgive me," Azriel whispers from behind you. "Forgive me, please."

But you wouldn't even imagine doing so. Never. Only over your dead body. 

"You'll regret this." Your voice is not strong. It is hoarse and broken. "I will never forgive you."

Azriel moves swiftly. In his hand, he holds Nesta's harp, the key that allowed him to enter your cell.

"Forgive me," he says again and his hand lands on your hip. 

You resist, squirming against his grasp, frustration and anger lacing your voice. "Let me go!" you demand, a mix of desperation and in your voice. But he is stronger. 

Ignoring your protests, Azriel gathers you in his arms, scooping you up with ease that is beyond you, cradling your frame against his chest. He adjusts his hold, ensuring you're secure and you feel that something cold, and metal - you can't quite tell- is placed on your belly. The Harp, but this knowledge is unbeknownst to you. 

"Stop fighting," he growls. "I'm taking you away from this place."

"Only to lock me up somewhere else." Your tears wet the blindfold. 

You struggle again, but it is useless against his strength. Your voice turns into a seething growl when you feel cold air brush you. Azriel rises. You rise. He is flying. And he is taking your with him. 

With a powerful surge of his wings, he gets airborne, leaving the prison behind. When air and wind swirls around you, you continue to squirm and strain against his hold.

"I won't let you imprison me again!" you seethe, fear and anger loud in your voice. 

He stays calm. 

Gradually, your resistance lessens, your body relaxing slightly against Azriel's chest, tension and pain still coiling inside of you. But you are tired. Exhausted. You only want to sleep. And that for ages. 

As you fly farther from the prison, towards Velaris, Azriel's embrace remains steadfast, his eyes brushing over your body from time to time. His actions are the only reason for you to hate him so much. And it hurts him as well. 

"Forgive me," Azriel breathes into the chilly night air, but you don't hear him anymore. 

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✿ Pick A Card : Your Toxic Traits ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄ᗣ‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎ ✿

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✿ Pile 1 ✿

Popular Loner

Detatched as fuuuuck. 💀 Oof pile 1, I'm hearing you convey the same energy as an Aquarius/Libra. You don't have to be that particular sign, but you do display simmilar traits. With that pile 1, you are very smart and you know that in some situations your words may cut like a knife... and yet you still full send them lmfao. This pile is goofy af, on top of that you are very hard to get a hold of. Deadass I'm seeing you tend to fall off the face of the planet, then randomly reactivate your social media's and positing again to see who missed you or whats buzzing. 🐝 ✨️ I'm hearing "Whats the tea 🍵?¿" Your card Pile 1 was the Queen of Swords. Althought it may seem like a favorful card, this is actually far from the truth. You are so in touch with your logic based brain that you are failing when it comes to connecting to your own emotions. They are turned off so you can percieve things as they actually are and continue to stay on the high pedstal that you put yourself on. Pile 1, I'm seeing here that so many people want to collaborate with you, but you love them at a distance. You rarely do anything else that isn't hanging out with your family doing errands, or working and stacking up silently. This may also be my piles who work from home. You prefer to be secluded in your own energy and most don't know that much about you. You may also be very "vocal" when it comes to your social media. This can lead to "trolling" or "fights" that happen. Pile 1 lets be honest, you like to stir the pot lmfao. Messsyyyy.

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Your Angel guides and spirits think you'll grow out of this phase. So that's good news right there pile 1. You may be on the Younger side, or have a youthful way of thinking. Honestly, you as a person is very likable. You tend to gravitate people towards you just from vibes alone, and people love that about you. I'm hearing, "You need to rationalize better, and use honesty in your everyday life with straightfowardness". With this type of living, your encounters will become enriched with trust from your own judgment and maintain integrity in your day to day life. I'm also hearing "Be there for people more, open up your boundaries and live life day by day, be present". Once you genuinely want to spend time with more people, you will reach the point of your life where you can be of guidance to others. Just like how the Queen of Swords was. Less Arguments, and more Growth. 🌱 (:

Channeled Songs:

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✿ Pile 2 ✿

Fight Club

"THANK GOD I AIN'T HAVE TO SMACK A B**** TODAY"

Why do you feel the need to even have to fight if you'll always come out right in the end? Like whats the use... I'm seeing someone who likes to get receipts, facts, everythinggggg before they start to go psycho mode and yell at people to defend their own ideals. Pile 2, your card was 5 of Swords. I'm hearing Smack a Bitch by Rico Nasty.

Especially when she say's "Don't work at MAC, but I'll beat a bitch's face". Bwahahaha Pile 2 you are fighters let's go! It reminds me of something my gamer girl friend always says "Violence is always the answer". While it may seem true to you; ya do know that sometimes it's better to let things settle and silence is always an answer as well? Why must you add more flames into the conversation just to set everything and everyone on fire? Contemplate on that thought pile 2 lmfao. You may think that you're very defensive and you wouldn't hurt a fly but babyyyy Tarot ain't lying here Lmao. Lemme call you out (with love ofc haha ♡). Pile 2 you are seen as a hot pan. Filled with oil and if one spec of water touches you, you'll go ape shit hahah. People around you have learned to just keep you happy and fed so you don't go all aggro on them. They know you hold grudges secretly until you kinda just dgaf then full send all those emotions that were held deep inside. Honey, you have to do some shadow work before you make everyone around you run. Trust me being lonely is not a flex. As human beings, we need to be surrounded by each other to function properly.

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Please look within yourself and ask for help from your loved ones. I'm hearing "We just want to know that you are okay". Giiiiirl, soooo many people are trying to reach out to you- yet you give them the cold shoulder and take on all this pain as your own... it is not. You are amazing, wonderful, LOVED. You have people around you who want to help, let them pile 2. I'm seeing that they are your soul tribe, and they will help you through the grief and pain you are going through. Your Angel Guides and Spirits want you to gain Fortitude during these times, it is great to be resillient and compassionate during these times. They also want me to bring up shadow work. It will help you a lot on your jouney here on earth. Please start journaling all those past trauma's so they can heal and you can be more level headed and yourself. (: Heres a hug pile 2, you'll get through it one day. ♡

Channeled Songs:

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✿ Pile 3 ✿

Depersonalization

You are it baby. Honey, You're a star did you know that?

All eyes are on you. You may have already known that from a young age, but I'm seeing here that you tend to dim your light so others can shine more. Why do you do that? Stars are meant to be seen. You are supposed to be guiding people, but instead you're making others guide randoms and they have nothing in common? Lmfao I'm seeing you being extremely friendly to everyone and when one bad person says something wrong about you, your whole friend group is broken up cause you trusted too easily and you made someone else their star. Giiiiirl get it together. You are deadass the main character without even trying, yet you feel insecurities that aren't even there. Seriously who says one star is better than the other? They are all equally beautiful. And like a snowflake, no two are like the other. Your card was The Star pile 3. ⭐️✨️ You are constantly putting bad eggs on the pedastal while you reduce yourself down to less than that of dirt. It's so sad to hear and see pile 3. People can clearly see that you are insecure, and you like to hold feelings like jealousy because you feel a sense of incomplete. Oof that was really deep pile 3, please let me know if I hit a nerve. This is coming from love I promise. ♡♡♡

✿ Advice From Spirit ✿

Pile 3, never let your dreams die. You know that you are on the right path when you are following it with clear conscice intentions. Your spirit already knows what to do. Just tap into your intuition and follow it. Embrace your unique talents and always let them shine brightly. Have faith in the universe and you will forever shine brightly like a star in the night sky. ♡ Please start listening to empowering songs that will make you feel amazing and great. I added in two from my playlist for you pile 3. Please make sure to read the lyrics and use it as a daily affirmation. You will 100% feel the difference in 2 weeks max. ♡

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Mahalo for reading this! If you enjoyed it please leave a like and comment down below. Comments always make my day honestly. ♡ I hope what I said did not offend people. It was advice sent from spirit with love. ♡ You are all amazing, wonderful, rad individuals! (: Remember to drink and stay hydrated baby bats! 🦇 ^-^ Moooncats out! 🚀⭐️✨️

Hot Head

Request: Could you write something about him and a hot headed reader who has no time for anyone's BS? Maybe reader is friends with the wolves and gets both sides in line when it comes to talking about each other, none of them dares to make rude comments about each other in front of you, you may be human but you can be low key scary when angry

Words: 1332

Warnings: None really, Paul getting smacked down verbally, me not knowing how to right someone being scary or mean.

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If there is one thing the wolves and vampires agree on, it is to not mess with you. Not after the incident with Paul.

You grew up in Forks, a close friend to the Blacks and Clearwaters, but also the Swans. You, Jacob, and Bella would play together in the forest as kids, making mudpies and pretending to be adventurers. You were always the brave one back then, the loud one, the first one to punch someone if they picked on Bella when her parents split up.

You still are that one. The hot head.

When the Cullens came to town, you, like everyone, were attracted to the strange, other than aura surrounding them. Unlike everyone else though, you were stubborn enough to befriend them. You couldn’t help but gravitate towards Jasper, with his quiet, gentlemanly charm.

Apparently he was equally drawn to your spit-fire, bold spirit. He always says the day he decided to “court” you was the day you tore someone a new one in the hall for spreading rumors about his family. Your anger was like a fire, destructive and all-consuming, but to him, it was warmth and light, sparked from how much you care for your friends.

Jasper evened you out in ways you never thought someone could. He could bring you down from any ledge with a single touch, sometimes a single look. Things felt softer around him, you felt softer around him.

Even after learning about the Cullens being vampires and some of the Quileutes being wolves, you never felt pressured to choose a side. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe foolishness. But you kept a foot in both worlds, unwilling to give up on the friendships you had all your life.

That being said, you couldn’t tolerate the animosity between the two groups, especially from the wolves.

“I can’t believe we have to work with the leeches.”

It’s quiet, you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t standing with Jacob, talking about the battle plan Jasper has come up with. Everything felt like it was going okay. The Cullens and the Pack had made a temporary pact to protect Bella, and you thought they were all okay with it.

Your brow furrows as you look over to where Paul and Jared stand off to the side with a very confused looking Seth. The smaller boy meets your gaze, dark eyes wide. You bite down a small spark of anger.

It’s Paul, you remind yourself. He’s never happy. All bark, no bite. It’s fine.

“You never know what kind of accidents will happen in the heat of battle, though.”

It’s like being doused in lighter fluid. Anger turns to rage. Rage into a burning urge to cause the shapeshifter ungodly amounts of pain.

Not fine. Definitely not fine.

“(Y/n)...” Jacob starts, discomfort clear in his tone. 

He heard it. They all heard it. And Paul has the nerve to wear a smirk like he’s proud of his poorly veiled threat. 

Your jaw aches from how hard you grind your teeth.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you growl, body surging forward, only to be stopped by a cool hand on your arm.

You flip, eyes meeting with a pair of calm gold ones. Jasper holds on to you gently, grip loose, thumb resting over your racing pulse. He must have crossed the clearing when he sensed your rising anger. He perks a brow at you, and for a brief moment, you feel the fire dull in your veins. 

A chance to think clearly.

You take a deep breath, frustration still crackling in your lungs.

You’ve had enough. Enough of the snide comments, the ugly whispers, the looks. You’ve had enough of all of it. It’s ridiculous that they can’t just get along.

“Let go of me, Jas,” you murmur, giving him a steady look.

The vampire nods, letting you go without hesitation, and takes a few steps back. Good. You really don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

You turn back to the small group of wolves, teeth practically barred as you bark out sharply, “Hey, Lahote!”

All eyes turn towards you as you stalk up to the burly man. Paul eyes you warily, the tension in the clearing rising as you come toe to toe with him. You may only be human, but even the wolves can sense the anger boiling the air around you. The sun might as well not be out with how dark the clouds hanging over your head are.

“What, (L/n)?” He has the gaul to sound irritated.

As if he has any right.

“You want to run that by me again?” You sneer, and you can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction when he flinches minutely. “Accidents happen, huh? Is that what you said?”

“Well-”

“Shut it,” you snap, and his smile falters, lips pulling into a tight line. “Don’t make this worse by talking before you think, like you always do. You’d think the wolf brain would shift back with you, but I guess not! And you know, I’ve been working so hard to make you thick-headed idiots - not you Seth - see how ignorant you’re being. You’ve all been nothing but horrible to the Cullens!” Your scathing glare travels over the pack, and they all shift uncomfortably. “They have done nothing to deserve it. At least they try to be respectful, and they would never, never threaten one of you.” Your eyes land back on Paul, and the giant man shrinks back. “So why do you think it’s okay, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even meet your gaze. It’s like looking at a completely different person from the usually aggressive, quick to anger wolf. You can’t help but scoff.

“Yah, that’s what I thought. Grow up, Paul. I’m sick of you acting like a spoiled kid who gets away with whatever he wants. I expect better from Sam’s third in command. So why don’t you try to actually focus on your role for once so your idiotic ideas don’t get one of your packmates killed?”

By the end of your rant, your hands are practically shaking as you cross your arms over your heaving chest. It’s the only way you can stop yourself from hitting him, which wouldn’t do anything except make you feel better. 

It does help that Paul looks thoroughly kicked. His ears are tinged red, and he looks so, so angry, but also embarrassed as he just scowls at the ground. Sometimes a verbal beating is just as satisfying, this being one of those times. That done, you turn your attention to Sam. The alpha straightens up, apprehension flickering across his face.

“I better not hear anything like this again,” you order, “If you can’t at least be decent, don’t expect me to hold back. I have plenty to say, some of which I think the elders would be more than interested to hear about. Like-”

“I understand,” Sam quickly cuts you off, dark eyes narrowing as you smile all too smugly. Perks of growing up with them and knowing a lot of their secrets. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

With a satisfied nod, you feel your anger recede. It falls away just as easily as it appeared, leaving you almost unnervingly calm as you trot back to Jasper’s side. The blond watches you, eyes gleaming with pride.

“You know we can handle ourselves right?” He murmurs, amusement slanting his lips as he slips an arm around your shoulders. “Have been for a hundred years.”

You sigh and lean into him, “I know, but that doesn’t mean I need to stand by and watch them act like that. I’d do the same thing if any of you said something like that about them!”

“I’m sure, darlin’.”

“Are you teasing me?” You glare at him playfully.

His smile pulls just a smidge wider. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“I swear to God, Jasper-!”

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I literally had no idea how to end this so I hope this works. I hope you enjoyed it! Love y'all, feels good to be writing again!

The Golden Lion

For all that Aziraphale is the more frightened of the two of them, Crowley is the snake: he camouflages himself carefully, and his first instinct is always to flee.

Aziraphale's is to stay. He insists on facing the Apocalypse. He insists on facing the Second Coming. He insists on trying to make a difference. He doesn't want to go up to Heaven, but he does it anyway, alone, because he wants to stop the destruction of Earth (again) and keep Crowley safe.

He's very difficult to shame, too. He never gives up his innocent pleasure in eating, even though Heaven, Hell, and probably people on Earth all mock him for it. He's soft and he remains soft, even after Gabriel shames him for both his physical and metaphorical softness. That takes a lot of strength and an unshakeable character.

You know the gold ring Aziraphale wears as a badge of office, that functions as the counterpart to Crowley's snake tattoo? The charge on that ring is a lion.

The heraldic attitude of the lion is rampant (i.e., reared up): it stands on its hind legs with its forelegs raised, as though attacking, and its head is forward-facing: it looks forward, toward the future.

Obviously in popular symbolism, lions represent bravery, and that definitely fits Aziraphale. He's literally leaving the only person who has ever loved him to go make the universe a better place for that person and for everyone, and he's going alone amongst the people who have despised and shamed him his whole existence and tried to kill him at least once; those people are mfing Heaven and have been entrenched in their power for thousands or millions of years. It doesn't get a whole lot braver than that.

In Christian symbolism specifically, the lion represents Christ. (He's referred to in the book of Revelation as the "lion of Judah" because the heraldic symbol for the tribe of Judah was a lion and Jesus was said to be from the tribe of Judah because his [step]father Joseph was from Judah.)

Normally when a story draws a parallel between a character and Christ, the parallel is one of self-sacrifice. That's not what's happening here. When symbolism for Christ represents his self-sacrifice, Jesus is invariably associated with a lamb--the sacrificial lamb--not a lion. When that symbolism represents Christ's mercy or holiness or divine nature/ordination, the dove of the Holy Spirit is used.

But the lion is a symbol inherited from the Old Testament. It represents royalty, power, threat, and seizure from others by force. Jesus is symbolically depicted as the lion upon his return to Earth during the book of Revelation. The lamb is Jesus' self-sacrifice and death for the sins of humanity, but the lion is Jesus' return, powerful, royal, and triumphant.

Does Aziraphale's ring foreshadow his involvement in the Second Coming of Christ? Probably! Is it a symbol that Heaven is the proverbial (and biblical) "lions' den" where they should be doves and lambs? Maybe.

I think it more likely that Aziraphale himself will be the lion, on a righteous rampage like Jesus chasing the moneylenders from the steps of the temple, telling them "It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves." Because the ring is a signet ring, meant to impress a seal that legally represented the wearer as an individual. So the lion is linked to Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale is soft. It is one of his very best qualities. And soft and weak are not the same thing: because he is soft, he tried to kill the Antichrist, a child. Because he is soft, he stood alone before a demon in defiance of the will of Heaven and demanded with no power whatsoever to back him up that the demon spare children whose murder God had authorized. He, an angel of God, worked with a demon to deceive the Heavenly Host and, as he points out himself, thwart the will of God. Even before that, because he was soft, Aziraphale gave humans the gift of fire and self-protection and then lied to God Herself about it. I mean it literally does not get any more courageous than that.

And I can't stop thinking about what that lion, and that softness, and the link between the two is going to mean for S3.

Heartbeat / Chapter 1

Same pairing as I got you and Picture.

Simon Riley/female reader 3.6k words - part of the Sassy series - AO3 Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, pregnancy, anxiety, vomiting, PTSD, panic attacks, emotional hurt/comfort, Protective Simon, Possessive Simon, oral sex - female receiving, explicit sex, breeding kink, praise kink. Mentions of violence. Trauma. Blood. Angst. Hurt/Injured reader. Simon made up his mind.

“But not the thick crust kind. The thin kind, well done. Tell them-“ He shut the truck door with a firm push and pressed the phone back up to his ear.

“I know, Sass. I know.”

“that I want it with black spots top and bottom. And extra cheese! Last time they forgot it and-“

“Sass.”

“Yeah?”

“I got it.”

“Erm, right.”

It’s been a month since Simon showed up on your doorstep. A month, since he took his mask off in front of you, showed you who he was. A month since he started to try to earn your trust back. It was slow, and you were wary of him, and he tried not to hold it against you, even though it frustrated him to no end. Some days, you still slip away from him. Distrusting, and angry. Hurt. He rides it out with you, as patient as possible, no matter how rough it is. He has no other options.

The first week was the worst. You fought him tooth and nail. Ferociously. Viciously. True to your spirit. The morning after he had showed up on your front step at night, you didn’t let him in your house for almost two hours. You spoke to him through the crack in the door until he convinced you to open up, and then once you did, you spent three hours putting him through his paces. Pushing him about why he had you put on leave, why he disappeared on you, why he ran from you at every turn.

“You put an intimate relationship with a superior down on my record.” You hissed at him, spitting poison with every word.

“I didn’t. Price and I, we talked. It wasn’t on record.” He was surprised when he watched tears gather in your eyes, his mouth moving but no words coming out except; “Sass, please, I-“ 

“You and Price decided to get rid of me!” you screamed at him, and he stood there and took it from you. Took everything you threw at him because you were right. In the end, that is what happened. He implored Price to put you on leave or transfer you out because he couldn’t handle it.

He’d never been a coward before that moment. Not a day in his life. But you, you had reduced him to rubble and ash. Left him helpless in your wake.

That night, he drank a bottle of bourbon in the emptiness of his hotel room. Who was he kidding? He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t know how to do this, navigate this situation, or you. He didn’t know how to be a father. He couldn’t tell you the first thing about what a healthy father-son relationship looked like, or how to be a good dad. What was he going to do? Stay with you? Play house? Mow the lawn and drink beers on Friday nights, change diapers and wash baby clothes covered in puke?

“I can do this. I have it all handled.” The words twisted in his gut, and he turned them over and over in his mind. Did he want you to have to do it alone? Did he want his kid to grow up without him?

Maybe you both would be better off. He could watch, from the shadows. Keep the two of you safe. Succeed where he failed before.

“You’re off the hook.” You had told him, and he was surprised at how much he didn’t like the sound of that. Or how it felt.

A memory, the sound of your laughter, tugged at him. He remembered watching you play a round of cards with Soap, nestled in a safehouse the night before a particularly difficult op. He can still hear the exact tone of your voice, the chime of your amusement. When you looked up from across the table, your eyes found his immediately. He wasn’t surprised, you always knew where he was. The two of you always found each other, in a crowded room, in a fire fight, in the dark of night. At first it had unsettled him, but then it just turned into… home.

The last of the liquor burned when he swallowed it.

He made up his mind. He had to try.

The next day when he showed up, you weren’t there. Eight in the morning and your car was already gone. His heart hammered in his chest as he sat in his truck and ran through every worst-case scenario he could think of. Someone had forced you into the car earlier this morning, and then ditched it once they got you far enough away. Someone had killed you in the house, and then pushed your car off a bridge or a cliff with your body inside. Someone had stolen your car and you had tried to chase after them, resulting in them kidnapping you as well. You went somewhere earlier, and were in a car accident but he sure as hell wasn’t listed as your emergency contact so he would have no idea… The list went on and on, and his pulse thundered in his ears until you pulled into your driveway an hour later, trunk full of groceries. You had tensed when his driver’s side door closed, turning in a panic with a carton of eggs in your hand.

“Jesus, Simon. You can’t sneak up on me like that.” You pressed your hand over your heart, and he frowned. He hadn’t been trying to be stealthy. He was even parked in front of your house, just on the other side of the street. You moved to grab another bag, but he reached for it first.

“Let me help you.” The resigned sigh was all he got out of you in response.

He came back later that night, at your request. You’d make him dinner, you said, the two of you could talk.

“What do I have to do to get rid of you?” you asked him outright, over a plate of pasta that you were pushing around. He ate most of his. You hardly got three bites in.

“You can’t.” He told you simply, watching your face shift from stress to irritation, confusion and then to wariness, concern. “I’m on leave. Extended holiday.” 

“You… you’re what? You never take leave.” 

“I do now.” 

“For how long?” ‘For as long as you’ll have me’ got stuck in his throat so he went with,

“Awhile.” You groaned his name, ready to launch into a full diatribe of protest when he held his hand up to stop you. “Sass, I know. I’m not too dense to realize I broke your trust. I know I hurt you. But I’m here, I want to be here for you, with you, now. As much as I can, as much as you’ll let me. I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. But I want to try.” He held his breath as you stared down into your plate, knuckles white around your fork. When you spoke next, your voice was different. Small. Broken.

“I’m scared.” You whispered to your lap. “That last bomb, when Soap almost died, it…took a piece of my brain, I think. It all caught up to me Simon, and now I, I’m going to have this baby, this thing that needs me and it’s been hard already and I don’t know-“ He watched you break apart until he couldn’t, pulling you from the chair and into his chest, lowering the two of you to the floor so his back rested against the wall.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.” He hushed you while you wet his shirt with your tears and mumbled incoherently into him. He held you there for hours, until you were limp with exhaustion, eyelids slipping shut.

It didn’t get easier after that though. Whatever headway he thought he made with you was gone by the next day, and you were back to fighting him, dragging him through the mud as much as you could. He sat in your driveway for two days straight, until the third, when you finally opened your front door and let him in because ‘you didn’t want your neighbors to talk’. You steeled yourself against him, telling him your breakdown the other night was a moment of weakness, and that you were fine. You didn’t want him around; you didn’t need him.

You weren’t fine. He knew it, and he knew you knew it. But even if you were, he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving.

“I have a scan, today. In an hour.” You announced one morning almost two weeks after he showed up. A scan? You looked up at him, eyes a little nervous, like you were unsure.

It was a strange thing for Simon to see, considering how you worked. You were always confident in the field, strong and assured. You knew bombs, you had told him, knew them like the back of your hand. You even taught Soap a thing or two.

“Where the hell’d you learn to do that, lass? That’s not military spec.” Johnny asked you, practically amazed, and you laughed at him, nodding in agreement.

“Family tradition.” You had quipped with a grimace and left it at that.

“To see the baby… do you want to come?” He blinked in surprise before quickly agreeing, offering to drive.

“When’s the last time you were in a doctor’s office?” you asked him quietly.

“Been awhile.” Since Tommy got clean. When Joseph was born. His fist tightened on the wheel unconsciously. “You?”

“Like two weeks ago.” Oh, right. You shifted in the seat and winced, rubbing your belly placatingly.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. He’s just… moving around, kicking me.” You surprised Simon by reaching for him, cupping his palm over the swell of your belly, letting him feel the little vibrations inside moving under his hand.

The office had been hell, at least until you got in the room. He stood beside you while you checked in, the stares of everyone in the waiting room burning into his back. He was too exposed, in unfamiliar territory, blind to any threats. Even with the face mask, ‘the civilian one’, as you called it, he still felt extremely uncomfortable. He sat next to you in the pink pleather chairs, back stiff, fingers curled over his knees, body practically vibrating with stress until you put your hand on his.

“Hey.” You leaned over with a whisper. “Everything’s okay.” Your thumb rubbed a pattern into the skin of his wrist. “We’re going to hear the baby’s heartbeat.” You had said gently, giving him a squeeze. The heartbeat. He turned to look at you, and you were smiling at him, tenderly. He could see the fear and nervousness that was wracking his own body reflecting in your gaze, but you had pushed it down, forced it away to give him comfort. His throat had felt tight with emotion in that moment.

When they finally called your name, brought you back, he relaxed slightly. The room you were in was dark, and it calmed him to the point where he felt in control again, his posture relaxed slightly as he watched the technician closely while they squirted some clear gel onto your skin.

“Wow!” they had commented brightly, “That’s a big baby!” and you had groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second while you took a deep breath. They showed you images of hands, feet, a little nose, technician moving the probe around your belly, and Simon stared at the screen, terrified to pull his eyes away in case he missed anything. Then they turned on the audio, and he heard it.

The heartbeat. A soft swoosh of a sound, steady and strong. He reached for your hand without even realizing, holding your fingers between his and bringing your palm to his face. He heard you laugh, a teary, watery thing, and he pressed his lips from behind the mask to your skin and closed his eyes. Swoosh swoosh swoosh.

Things changed, after that. You started to soften towards him more, letting your guard down bit by bit. You let him massage your feet at night and hold your hair back in the mornings when you spit bile into the toilet. He was a light sleeper, like you, and always knew the moment you rolled out of bed, stumbling for the bathroom, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“This is your fault.” You’d gasp as you vomited, face dotted with a light sheen of sweat.

“You’re right.” He’d console you and rub your back until you finished, little pieces of guilt burning in the pit of his stomach. He would press a damp washcloth to your face while you coughed and sputtered, murmuring to you softly until you rocked back, slumping against the tub and pulling his hand against your belly.

“Tell him. To knock it off.” He’d laugh, but oblige you, pulling you into his arms while you rested your face against the cool tile. He didn’t mind taking care of you. He secretly cherished it. Taking care of you allowed him some semblance of control, some ability to plan and execute in a way that was familiar to him. He thinks you knew that though.

“I’m nervous.” You gulped one night, toes tucked under your thighs on the couch. “You’re so… big. And so is he, already. It’s going to suck so bad.” You giggled a little, apprehensive smile on your face, and he did his best to reassure you.

“They’ll give ya good drugs. And I’ll be there. You can scream at me all you want, until you feel better.” You turned towards him on the couch in surprise, lips parted, eyebrows raised.

“You’ll be there? You want to be there?” 

“I’ll be there, Sass. I promise.” 

He feels like he’s in a dream sometimes, when he looks at you. Like this all can’t be real, that he’s going to wake up any moment in a tent somewhere, or a safehouse, listening to Johnny snore and Price whistle. He can’t stop himself from staring at you, eyes tracing the curves of your body, the swell of your belly the proof that you’re his, that he’s got you, now and forever. He realizes he likes you like this. He liked you before too, just as much, when you were lithe, fast and lethal. When you were easily foldable under him, ready for anything at a moment’s notice. He liked you when your nimble fingers would plug and pull wires, when your strong legs would creep silently down dimly lit hallways. You had the body of someone who killed, someone who watched him kill, someone who killed beside him. Now though, in these moments, when you’re heavy with his son growing inside of you, soft and tender, your edges softened, he has a hard time believing he’s not actually dreaming.

It was a few nights ago, when you rolled over in the dark, hands snaking across his stomach to reach in his sweatpants for his cock, that he finally tasted you again. He laid you on your back in the dim light of your bedside lamp, running his hands over your body, pressing his mouth to your belly. He couldn’t get enough of you like this; body spread open for him, sleeping in his t-shirt, having his baby. He’d keep you here forever if he could, keep you safe. Keep you both safe.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured, spreading your folds to press a thumb to your clit.

“I’m a whale.” You whined with a gasp. His cock was painfully hard against the bed, dripping into your sheets, your whimpers and moans filling his ears.

“No, you’re not.” You were so wet, soaked, he slipped a finger inside you easily, stroking against the sponge like-spot in your cunt. “You’re having my baby, Sass.” He lowered his mouth to your clit, raising its hood with a thumb so he could lick your swollen nub over and over, until you were clenching around him and crying his name.

“Fuck, Simon. Shit-“ 

“That’s it, sweet girl. Come on.” He felt the muscles in your legs tense, and your body pressed against his face, seeking more friction. “Come for me. I know you can do it.” And you did, hard, straining against the bed while your thighs closed around his head. He pulled you on top after, guiding your hips gently to sink downwards, your face pained from the stretch. It had been a while, since you’d taken him, and you were slow to work your way onto his cock. “Take your time.” He told you through a gnashed jaw, the feeling of your hot cunt gripping him nearly sending him hurtling over the edge before he was even all the way inside.

“Look at you, my good girl. Sittin’ on my cock, carrying my baby.” He curled forward, teeth grazing your nipple, the sensitive peak hard between his lips. “Wanna keep you like this.” He wrapped his arms around you as you rode him, body moving up and down on his cock lazily. “Fuck you full of my come, give you another.” You tightened, liquid heat dousing him, and he stroked your clit again, fingers moving in time with your hips until you became frantic, hurried, and he knew you were close.

“Come on my cock like a good girl, Sass. Let me feel it.” You squeezed him when you came again, and he followed you shortly after, filling you so much it was dripping out of you while you panted on top of him.

Afterwards, you looked over at him suspiciously.

“Since when has that been a thing?” 

“Since now.”

“I double checked the amount of cheese for ya before I paid.” He says, depositing the two boxes onto the kitchen table. The house is silent in response. “Sass?” He calls louder. Nothing. His stomach flips. Maybe you’re asleep. You have been sleeping more, taking cat naps on the couch, or crawling into bed earlier than usual. He takes the stairs two at a time and calls your name again when he gets to the top. “Sass!” The light is on in the bedroom, and he relaxes slightly. Definitely fell asleep.

When he pushes the door open, the metallic, tangy smell is the first thing that hits him. It floods his senses and his heart drops into his stomach when he sees you.

You’re on your side, on the floor, in one of his t-shirts and little cotton shorts that sit snugly on your hips. You’re lying in a pool of bright red blood that is coming from between your legs, your color off, almost dull, and your cellphone lying face down five feet from your outstretched fingers. He says something, or shouts something, but they’re not words. They’re sounds. Hoarse, horrified, panicked sounds that echo in the dead silence of the room.

“No no no-“ He rolls you on your back, pushing your hair away from your face and cradling your cheeks between his palms. “Sass. Sass, wake up. Wake up Sass, come on.” Then he tries your real name, over and over to no avail. Your chest is moving, just barely, breaths rough and shallow and he swallows the scream that’s threatening to erupt from inside his diaphragm. Your head rests limply in his hands and feels darkness ebbing around the sides of his vision. This can’t- This isn’t- He can’t breathe. The fear spreads through him like an infection, threatening to immobilize him. “Come on sweet girl. Wake up for me.” He shakes you, just a little, but you don’t respond, and he actually screams this time. Shouts at the top of his lungs, hands fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone.

The next ten minutes pass in a blur. He keeps a hand on the side of your neck to count your too slow pulse as he talks to the operator on the other end of the phone. They try to give him instructions, but his head is buzzing so loud he can hardly concentrate. The smell of your blood is too strong, and it makes him think of Belize, makes him remember that time he almost lost you before he even had you, the day that guy shot you in the ribs. He nearly killed you right in front of him and he remembers holding your body against his in the truck, his hand pressing hard, so hard, to your wound as red ichor ran beneath his fingers. You were in so much pain, so confused, and all he could do was sit there with you, running his fingers through your hair as Price drove like a madman through the streets.

He didn’t lose you then. He couldn’t lose you now. Couldn’t lose either of you.

He’s still counting the beats of your heart when he hears commotion downstairs and he yells, desperation bleeding into the crackling of his voice. “You’re alright.” He tells you. Says the same thing he told you again and again that day. “You’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine.” He sees the flash of yellow, a backboard, at the top of the stairs and somewhere beneath his panic there’s a tiny feeling of relief that help is here. “I’m here. I’ve got you, Sass.” He murmurs before forcing himself to step away so they can take his place, a portable monitor counting the beats of your heart now instead of him. He stares at it the whole time, all the way down the steps, while they load you into the back of the ambulance, and then he watches two monitors, the baby’s, and yours, while the ambulance speeds down the road. He presses his hands against the metal bench he’s sitting on, gripping it tight and trying to breathe, the images of you unconscious and bleeding burning into his memory.

He can’t lose you. He can’t lose either of you.

He closes his eyes, and clings to the steady beep of the heartbeats on the monitor.

The next work in this series is here.

Danny bit back a sigh from his place on the throne as two young vigilantes fell from a portal in his throneroom. He peered at him through his long white veil as he straitened himself. He knew what to do. He had done this song and dance sixty-two times now and he was about to do it again.

He watched them bicker from the cold floor of his ice castle, something he made from his own ice so that the observants couldn't see or hear what was happening inside or pop in without his explicit permission. Something that angered the nosey creeps to no end. Ah, he's getting lost in his thoughts again. Its time to start the test.

"Why have you come to my Realms mortals?" He felt almost silly calling them that, but it worked in getting the two to stop arguing and pay attention to him. Ah, the younger one has a sword. Cool. Won't help him here, but he gets points for ascetic if nothing else.

"State your names."

"I am Robin!" The smaller one yelled, fierceness of his voice to match the fire in his soul.

The older seemed more hesitant, taking a moment to assess the situation before answering, "I'm Red Robin. Sorry for dropping in so suddenly-"

The younger cut in, needlessly destroying his partners attempt at deescalating the situation, "We were not at fault! A portal opened underneath us and we were transported here!"

Danny knows that. Thats why he was testing them, "Are you saying that fate brought you here?"

Robin looked pleased before confirming.

"Then you shall stay here, as those who enter the Lands of Lazarus are never allowed to leave."

They both bulked, one trying to argue and the other trying to reason with him. Danny tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne, pretending to think. "I will be merciful and allow one of you to leave. I will allow you a moment to make your choice." Danny barely got his words out before the older one declared that he would stay behind, putting himself between the king and his companion. Good. He passed the test.

He turned his attention back to the younger, "And you are fine with this?" This is the part where the companion adamantly refuses and offers themselves as sacrifice and the two bicker about who will get to sacrifice themselves for the other. The king becomes "moved by thier bond" or whatever and sends them both back to the land of the living.

"Of course! He's useless anyway."

...wat.

The older one made a wounded sound that made his core ache with the need to care and protect. This was not how things were supposed to go. Were ten year olds supposed to be this cruel? At that moment he made an admittedly impulsive decision and sent the child back, keeping the older of the two in the spirit would with him.

Leaving the comfort of his throne he walked down the steps towards the young man, his snowy robes fanning out majestically as his crown of stars bobbed around at his movements, some even going so far as to float around him as if showing off.

"I've made a decision. For this day forth you are my royal advisor." He stated before grabbing the other guys hand and pulling him along down the hall, "You're going to help me rebuild my kingdom from the thousands of years of war and political neglect it has faced. You will aid me in political endeavors as well as help the people in any way you see fit." He paused long enough to open the kitchen door and sit him down at the counter,

"But first, what do you want for lunch?"

(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling

Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body

Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.

This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.

Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.

They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.

Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.

Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.

Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.

The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.

(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)

I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.

The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.

Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.

So, Shadowpaw.

From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death

He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.

His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.

Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.

When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."

He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.

In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.

THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.

I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.

The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?

Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.

He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.

I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.

Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.

He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.

And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.

And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."

As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.

And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!

The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.

He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.

Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"

And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT

While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.

And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.

He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.

but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.

What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.

He is valuable because living is valuable.

Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.

I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.

A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.

Before the Rumble

Darry Curtis x Fem! Reader

Tags: Brief mentions of violence. 

Word Count: 2.5k

“Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

Ponyboy and Sodapop had been talking about it for weeks.

It seemed like every other conversation focused on it. They talked about it at the dinner table, Soda yelled about it from the shower, and Pony would even take breaks from his homework to stop and chatter on.

When Steve and Two-Bit were around, and then all four of them got to going on about it? Then it was really a rousing conversation. 

While Darry was looking forward to it the same as they were, he was beginning to get a little annoyed with the constant talk of it. Sure, it wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it was something that all got excited for.

Darry, however, preferred to wait until a day or two before to begin hyping up for it. There was no sense in being all tense for it when it was still two weeks out.

You, on the other hand, didn’t mind all the bubbly chatter. It made you happy to see them so excited for something. 

After all, it wasn’t every day that they had a rumble to look forward to.

Over the last several months, things had been extra heated between the Greasers and the Socs. More and more unprovoked fights, crossing over into territories, and just overall grievance between the two groups had become obvious – and it was time to cool things down a bit.

Rumbles were a decent way for the Socs and Greasers to blow off steam on one another. It was their chance to get in as many swings and kicks as they could without “breaking the rules.” 

It would settle things down at least…for now. 

Needless to say, the boys were stoked, and now that the night had arrived and the rumble was only a few hours out – they were off the walls.

“Hey! I saw that, Two-Bit,” You barked. “No knives.” 

His cheeks flushed pink at being caught shoving his blade into his pocket, but the grin on his face was as Two-Bit as ever.

“I wasn’t gonna use it!” He claimed, but you knew him all too well.

“You know what happens when a knife comes out at a skin fight,” You pointed at him with a knowing finger. “I don’t want to have to sew anyone back together tonight.”

Two-Bit cackled at that, his usual wisecracker of a personality shining brighter than ever. Nonetheless, he obliged to your scolding, removing his switchblade from his pocket and leaving it on the table in front of the couch.

It didn’t dampen his spirits whatsoever. If anything, everyone’s normal behaviors were doubled tonight.

The Curtis home was bustling with activity. The gang was on fire with energy tonight, all of them going through their separate routines to get prepped and ready for the rumble. Dallas was nowhere to be seen, but he usually showed up right when it was time to get going. 

They were spread out throughout the house, each of them piping up within the conversation.

“Y’all think the fuzz will show up?” Steve asked from the dining table, where he was playing some card game with Sodapop.

“Nah. I don’t think this is gonna be that kind of rumble,” Soda answered. “A couple of minutes at most.”

Your head popped out from the kitchen at the sound of that. While females usually didn’t participate in rumbles, you were going to be on clean up duty when they returned to the house later that night. It was important to be sure that there was plenty of first aid, clean rags, and aspirin to fix everybody up…not to mention some kind of bedding so everybody had a place to crash, and towels so everyone could shower.

“Sodapop, do not get too comfortable with that,” You advised. “I also would prefer not to have to bail any of you out of jail.”

“Awh, come on, [Y/N]. You’re just bein’ paranoid.” Ponyboy said from the sofa, where he and Johnny were sitting quietly.

Pony and Johnny didn’t usually say much before a rumble. They were the smallest of the group, and these rumbles were physically much rougher on them than the rest of the gang. Still, they liked to pull their weight like everybody else, and bringing glory to the Greasers meant more than anything.

“Especially you,” You pointed again, but at Pony this time. “It’s one thing bailing Dally out. You’re a different story.”

You couldn’t help but be protective. When you and Darry started dating, you signed on with this gang. Each and every one of them meant something special to you. In some way or another, each of them had helped you out and been there for you in some way. They trusted you the same way you trusted them. It was the least you could do to pay it forward – keep them safe and clean them up afterwards when they weren’t.

Steve turned around in his chair to look at you, a goofy smirk plastered on his face.

“Why? You think Darry’s gonna yell at you if he does?” Steve laughed. “No chance that’ll ever happen.”

You couldn’t help but share a smile. The guys always teased Darry about how he was so serious and rough all the time. But the second you were around or if he was merely even thinking about you, that big man demeanor melted away. 

“What will never happen?” Darry asked as he entered the living room, only hearing the second half of the conversation.

Not wanting to argue with the big man in the house, Steve waved him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Steve dismissed, returning to his card game with Soda. “Got any twos?”

Darry scoffed, rolling his eyes at his kid brother’s best pal. The man’s blue-green eyes met yours, a certain shimmer shining over them when he looked at you. He had a small, yet dashing grin on his face – an expression he showed when he was happily, but quietly thinking about you.

A moment was shared between your silent looks. He knew you were nervous, as you usually were before they all went off to go beat up a bunch of rich kids from the other side of town. He was sure that you had already given Pony and Soda the pep talk about getting away if the cops showed up. He was positive that you had already told Two-Bit to empty his pockets of any weapons.

He knew your thought process, and your caring nature for him and his family (both biological and not) made him feel like the most loved guy in the world.

“Hey,” Two-Bit called to Darry, suddenly re-inserting himself to the topic at hand…or the one that was attempted to be left behind. “Speaking of things that’ll never happen, when are you going to buy that poor girl a ring?”

Your smile was wiped clean off your face, and a scowl appeared in its place.

“Keith.” You said boldly and sternly before anyone else could get a word in.

Two-Bit sank into his chair at the usage of his real, government name – a telltale sign that (per usual) he had taken it too far.

That “girl” he was referring to was you, and it was something that he hassled Darry about all the time. 

Everyone knew that you and Darry wanted to get married and would get married…eventually. According to Ponyboy, Darry had wanted to ask you to marry him within the first six months that you were together. 

But you knew the situation that Darry was in. Their parents were gone, and things hadn’t been so smooth for them in the last few years. It had only been about a year since they had died when you met Darry and now, three years later, on the surface it seemed that your relationship was going nowhere. 

But you knew that things weren’t so black and white. Darry on numerous occasions had began to save up some money to buy you a ring and put it aside for a wedding, but it seemed that every time Darry was getting some decent cash saved, one of the boys would get hurt or something urgent around the house would need fixing, and Darry would have no option but to use the money elsewhere.

One time you even suggested to Darry to forget the ring and just have a small courthouse wedding. It was cheap and quick. It wasn’t like you needed a wedding ring or any kind of “real” wedding ceremony. Spending the rest of your life with Darry is what mattered the most, but Darry knew that (even if you wouldn’t admit it) you wanted a real wedding with at least some of the bells and whistles.

Darry was insecure about it. He knew that you were long overdue for a proper proposal. He wondered sometimes why you had stuck around the way you had without any promise of marriage. In many ways, Darry wondered why you were still with him at all – because he knew you deserved so much more than what he could give you.

You didn’t have to pitch in around their house like you did. You didn’t have to treat Sodapop and Ponyboy as if they were your own. You didn’t have to put up with the foul-mouthed, chainsmoking pack of people that you were around on a daily basis. And you surely didn’t have to be the caretaker of the aftermath of a good old-fashioned Greaser brawl.

But you loved Darry, so you did all of that.

In Two-Bit’s defense, pretty much everyone had asked that question at some point…in their own personal style. Whether it was Johnny quietly whispering to Ponyboy or Dallas asking Darry when he was going to “get on with it”, everyone had wondered about it.

It was clear too that everyone was curious for an answer, considering that the entire house had now gone silent. Every pair of eyes in the room was on Darry, which made you feel worse than it did him.

While you were well aware that they had all thought about it, you didn’t like it when they said it out loud.

Darry had enough pressure on himself as it was, you didn’t want more weight to press down at your expense. Darry had gotten used to the guys poking him about this, and he usually knew what to do to change the subject.

“What about you, wise guy? Where’s your girl?” Darry mocked. “Where’s Kathy, huh?”

Believe it or not, Ponyboy was usually the first to jump in to defend Darry…even though he wanted the two of you to get married more than anybody.

“Did Kathy finally get sick of your jokes, Two-Bit?” Pony joked, and the volume in the house began to pick up again.

“Maybe she moved on to a Greaser that can actually make it to noon without getting piss drunk!” Sodapop howled, and now everyone was dogging on Two-Bit instead.

“I’ll have you all know that me and Kathy are doing just fine.” Two-Bit proclaimed, but that only seemed to make everyone egg on him more.

There was a distraction for now, and you jumped on the opportunity to have Darry to yourself for a minute.

“Hey, Darry?” You called calmly, darting your eyes to silently let him know that you wanted to talk privately.

Darry caught your look, and nonchalantly carried himself into the kitchen to avoid disrupting the bickering between Two-Bit and everyone else.

You didn’t try to hide the anxious look on your face once it was just you and Darry. His face morphed into a worried look, but he already knew what your nerves were for.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, just in case.

“Listen…I know you’re always careful but…just be careful.” You asked, smoothing out a wrinkle on his t-shirt.

“Always,” He confirmed. “I don’t think this will be a big rumble.”

You heard what he said and understood, but that didn’t stop you from continuing.

“And keep an eye on Ponyboy and Johnny if you can. I know they’re independent and can handle themselves, but they’re just so much smaller and I don’t want-”

“Hey, hey. I’ve got this,” He smiled in amusement, but appreciated your concern as always. “Every one of us will be back here before you know it.”

There was no sense in fussing over them at this point. They were going to do what they always did…fight for their glory and return victorious.

“Okay,” You swiped a stray hair from his forehead, placing it back with the rest of his greased hair. “Try to avoid the one that bites.”

Darry laughed gently, his memory flashing in remembrance of the Soc from last time that bit Darry so hard that he swore his teeth almost popped through the underside of his hand. 

“I’ll try.” He nodded.

You didn’t have much else to say. Darry’s reassurance had comforted you, and you felt a little better about everything.

But Darry still had one thing in the air to clear.

“And…” He sighed, glancing over his shoulder quickly to make sure that there were no wandering, listening ears. “About the ring – I’m gonna ask you to marry me one day, I swear. I just- things are even tighter than usual right now and-”

“Shh, shh. Stop,” You held a gentle finger to his lips. “I don’t need a ring, and you don’t need to explain yourself.”

“But you deserve to know.” His gaze went even softer, his voice even finding a pillowy tone.

There was a beat. A brief silence. And a kiss.

“I already know.” 

Darry had never felt more loved. He didn’t know what kind of stars had aligned and what he had done to deserve such a wholesome, pure love. Whatever it was, he was thankful for it every single day. 

Darry stayed with you in the kitchen, sharing soft touches and sweet kisses, occasionally eavesdropping in on the ruckus going on in the living room. For a moment, Darry didn’t even want to go to the rumble. He wanted to stay right here with you, forever if he could’ve.

That was until-

“Dally’s here!” Johnny announced, peeking out the window to see Dallas cruising up the steps. 

Dallas’ arrival meant that it was showtime, and that the highlight of the night was about to begin. Dally’s appearance didn’t last long. Just long enough to rally his crew and get to where the rumble was being held. Everybody went scrambling out the front door (but not before Darry stole one more kiss from you), hooting and hollering all the way down the street until they were out of earshot from inside the house.

You knew that they would return much quieter and calmer, the post-adrenaline effect would have long been kicked in by then. But their spirits would be lifted, and there would be some…improved tension between the Socs and the Greasers. 

It wouldn’t be long before things would get intense again. It was only a matter of time before you would be doing this all over again. That was just how it worked. It wasn’t an easy life. Some days felt harder than others, and some days were unbearable. But even if you had the choice, you wouldn’t change a single thing. As long as you had Darry, you would be fine.

Because you loved him no matter what – rumbles and all.

It has been a whole entire week since I posted my previous set of recs and guess who is still hip deep in BATFAMILY fic and really wants to cry about feelings about all the Bats and Birds, but most especially my beloved Dick Grayson? I enjoy fic of all the characters, there should hopefully be something for most fans here, I eventually spread my wings a bit (ha ha) through the fandom, but absolutely I feel I should warn you all that I play favorites and I’m not subtle about it. In my defense he’s really annoying in the most delightful way, how could I not love him the most? So, here, have week #2’s recs where I dump 60+ more fics on you because this fandom is on fucking fire with how good it is and how much I love everyone here. God bless fic writers, you are all doing the lord’s work of giving me three novels worth a week to read and knocking it out of the park while you do it. BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ The Painful Truth by RascalJoy (DarkQuill), dick & bruce & wally & artemis & m'gann & conner & dinah, 6.2k      In a mission gone wrong, Robin finds himself being forcefully interrogated under…influence. “Now, you’re probably wondering why we haven’t just yanked your mask off and been done with this whole thing, hmm? It’s because this way is so much more fun.” ✦ a home not yet a home by Mayarenerose, dick & bruce, 1.1k      Dick just likes climbing to the roof sometimes. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t. He just needs to be high up sometimes. He likes looking at the stars. Stars are hard to come by in the city and you need to be high up to even see them properly. ✦ Friends That Say (You’re Not Alone) by ProsperDemeter, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 3.5k      Richard. The kid. Richard Grayson. Clark didn’t feel ready to meet the child that Bruce took in. What if he was a mini-Bruce? What in the world would Clark do then? ✦ Taking Flight: A Tragicomedy in Four Acts by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 48.7k      John and Mary Grayson die; Dick becomes Robin. This is everything that happens in between, a/k/a, how Gotham City ripped one family and identity from Dick and gave him another. An origin story in the Rebirth spirit, weaving together threads from Tec #40, Dark Victory, Robin: Year One, New 52, and more. ✦ Motion Sickness by Arwriter, dick & bruce & cast, 4.2k      A routine patrol is interrupted when Robin realizes he’s being followed. There’s no attack, no ambush, no weapons drawn. Dick doesn’t understand what this man wants, or why his gentle touch hurts so bad. But Batman seems to know, and Dick just wants someone to tell him what he did wrong. ✦ do as I say (not as I do) by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, 1.1k      “Don’t be mad.” Bruce has been raising Dick long enough to know that that sentence never bodes well. Especially when it’s the first thing to pop out of the twelve-year-old’s mouth when Bruce answers the phone. ✦ Burn Rubber by HoodEx, dick & bruce & roy, 3.5k      Roy couldn’t help but feel out of place like his presence was keeping Bruce from acting like himself. Whatever “himself” looked like. Bruce had always been a bit of a cold asshole anytime Roy had been around him. Even when Bruce talked to Dick, there was a barrier there that made their conversations seem strictly business. Some part of Roy had always wondered if Bruce was the same way with Dick at home. For Dick’s sake, he sure hoped not. OR the one where Roy gets to see Bruce act like a dad. Also, there are cars. Lots of cars. ✦ Surprise, You’re Adopted by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce, 1.8k      Dick gets kidnapped. Bruce gets worried. Things turn out alright in the end, though. ✦ without you i am surely the last of my kind by nosecoffee, dick & bruce & clark & j'onn, 6.6k      (Bruce Wayne also knows how it feels to be a scared little boy who just watched his parents die, telepathic mind meddling aside, and has had his eyes fixed on Dick Grayson since his parents fell, so of course he’s going to get him. It’s all he can do.) (Or, Dick Grayson is a traumatised alien empath with bad timing, and Bruce Wayne still needs to learn how to verbalise his emotions.) ✦ The Bone Road by scpnightwing, dick & bruce & alfred, 63.8k wip      By night, Robin was his partner in crime, but once the sun rose, all Dick could be was a mirror of his tragedy, haunting his halls and asking for more than Bruce had in him to give. (The early days of Batman and Robin, and the many mistakes therein) BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ The Shape Of You (Was Jagged And Weak) by WinterSky101, dick & bruce & jason & tim & slade & cast, 40.6k      Six months ago, Nightwing died. They never found the body. Last week, Deathstroke arrived in Gotham. He brought a partner with him. ✦ We Were Built to Fall Apart by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & tim, 1.2k      Dick is hurt, tired, and ready to let go. Bruce doesn’t seem to be ready to let him. ✦ It’s a Wonderful Earth-218 by BeatriceEagle, dick & bruce & past dick/babs & cast, 7.4k      As Blüdhaven burns, Dick makes a wish that he’d never been born. He wakes up in a world where that’s true, being followed around by a supervillain who just really wants to get back to taking over the world. ✦ the higher fidelity by birdsofthesoul, dick & bruce & damian, 3.6k      Bruce goes sheet-white, looking like Dick’s just cut him to the quick, and Dick can’t help but think they should have booked a flight, discretion be damned. This — this is why they don’t do road trips. Cars are like confessionals, cramped spaces built for coercing confessions, and neither of them are good with words. ✦ Theory of Relativity by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & jason & cast, de-aged!dick, 2.2k wip      In which Dick Grayson gets de-aged and everybody freaks out ✦ hold the fort (for i am coming) by deargalileo, dick & bruce & jason & tim & duke, de-aged!dick, 3.6k      Jason’s jaw dropped. The tiny human child toddled in front of him, gripping at his pant legs. Automatically, he bent his knees slightly. The child lost its grip, and fell flat onto its ass. They both froze. The child’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. “No no no, don’t cry,” Jason rushed out. He leaned down and scooped the child into his arms. “Don’t cry, okay?” The child grabbed onto his shoulder as Jason settled it (him?) onto his upper hip. Big, blue eyes blinked up at him, shining with unshed tears. When the fuck did B have the time to adopt a new kid? ✦ There’s Always Another One by lapsedpacifist, dick & hal (& bruce), 2.5k      After Bruce kicked Dick out, there was a very particular place Dick decided to visit. Well, visit, hide in, it was all one and the same. He could do it without Bruce! Just a shame Hal was finished with his assignment a week earlier than anticipated. ✦ The True Sons of Batman by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & damian & jason & talia & cast, 10.8k      What if Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne’s biological son? ✦ Hey! He Attempted a Coup! by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & clark & justice league & zod, 3.1k      What if Dick Grayson was a Kryptonian? ✦ Unsteady by 60sec400, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cast, 14.8k      Nightwing is 22 when he’s hit by, well, something. They haven’t actually figured that out yet. But now he’s ten years old and a child and Damian struggles to see the man who he had looked to as a father forget who he ever was. De-aged fic. AU. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Mirage (What I See In You) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, dick & damian, 3.4k      Grayson’s gaze flicks upwards to meet his, and suddenly his expression softens. He smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, the movement of his lips clear even if his voice sounds like it’s coming through a broken radio. Suddenly, he’s pressing a rebreather to Damian’s face. His own rebreather, whole and unbroken. ✦ The Dog Days Are Done by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & cast, 3k      Dick is a good guy. He is. He knows that. Just like he knows that bribing your wayward, animal-loving, emotionally-traumatized brother to come see you with a puppy is exactly what all good guys do. That was a fact. ✦ To the Moon by theLiterator, dick & damian, 9k      A newly resurrected Damian Wayne does not believe Dick Grayson is dead. Spyral has been quietly helping to deal with the aftermath of Leviathan’s reign of terror and is wary of clones. Dick Grayson does not believe Damian Wayne is alive. (Together they fight crime, but’s always been true, hasn’t it?) ✦ Redemption Lies Plainly in Truth by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, dick & damian, 6.2k      Damian tries to pull his wrist out of his grasp. Any other time, Dick would let him go without hesitation, always careful to make sure his personal space is respected. This time, he catches his other wrist as well, gentle but firm as he crouches down to make eye contact. “Hey,” he says, smiling gently. “Do you trust me?” ✦ whether you’re high or low by Anonymous, dick & damian & jason, 1.9k      Dick’s first visit back to Gotham in a while ends with a shattered TV screen and more questions than answers for Damian and Jason. ✦ wrap myself in a thin sheet of ice by emavee, dick & damian, 3.3k      Damian falls victim to a witch’s curse, giving him a week to live before his heart turns to ice. There is a cure, but there’s no way someone like Damian would ever receive a kiss of true love. ✦ as love carries its strength, but not its labels by AlterHarpia, dick & damian, 2.7k      Bruce is on a trip beyond Earth’s Solar System for longer than he intended, making Dick and Damian fall into an old pattern. “I’m not Batman.” A mere reminder, perhaps, but when said to Damian it always sounds like an apology. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Say Uncle by Megaerakles, tim & jason & bruce & dick & steph & cast, 46.3k      Tim is prepared to take the steps necessary to ensure that Bruce will not feel obligated to adopt Tim when a comatose Jack Drake inevitably dies. But what could be better than preventing Bruce from ending up with a son he doesn’t want? Bringing back the one he does. Jason agrees to the Replacement’s stupid, stupid plan to invite some strange adult man he’s never met to come live with him, if only to keep the idiot alive long enough for him to serve his purpose in the Great Red Hood Revenge Scheme. Might this new roommate situation have an impact on either of their worldviews? Surely not… ✦ Ain’t No Compass, Ain’t No Map by ebjameston, tim & jason & dick & cast, outsider pov, 51.8k      A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood’s lieutenant, and an intern who’s promising to fix the IT systems at his office. It’s a weird day for Theo. ✦ The Longer You Stay by emiv, bruce/selina & dick & jason & tim, 64.3k      Bruce Wayne was never meant to be part of Selina’s clean slate. Then again, neither were a circus boy, a street rat or a rich kid. For a girl who didn’t like strings, Selina found herself getting attached. ✦ Falling, Catching by Freezer7, dick & jason/roy, 4k      The call comes in at two thirty-four am, on Dick’s first night off in three weeks. ✦ Piñata by Maximum_Quinn, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & steph & duke, 2.2k      “I found… something weird today.” “Weird how?” “I was checking out that half-destroyed apartment building today, and there was, like… papier-mâché everywhere? In Robin colors.” (Duke learns about an odd tradition between the Bats and the Rogues.) ✦ Five Times Dick Was Tim’s Safety Net and One Time Tim Was Dick’s by PrinceJakeFireCake, dick & tim, 5.2k      “Tim forced his gaze away from his phone, took a moment to breathe deeply, then tried to figure out the best way not to die anytime soon. For Bruce. For Alfred. For his friends. For Dick.” Dick has always been there for Tim, even before they knew each other. ✦ wet teeth, shining eyes, glimmering by a fire (who will i be tonight?) by lifetimeoflaughter, dick & jason & cast, 2.3k      They’re standing on a rooftop. It’s not very high up; only about ten floors, give or take. The moon isn’t out tonight. It’s dark. It’s too dark to tell if it’s blood that’s dripping from Jason’s gloved fists. ✦ smeared with oil (like david’s boy) by call_me_steve, bruce & dick & tim & damian, de-aged!damian, 2.1k      Dick’s leaning over the edge of the couch, watching a tired Bruce stare lovingly down at the baby cradled in his arms. The baby’s swaddled in soft green blankets, probably procured by Alfred at some point or another. It’s hard to believe that this is actually Damian- Damian, and his big, bright, brown eyes; his soft, baby hair; his pudgy cheeks and small fingers. Clear of a snarl and frown and, instead, reduced to soft babbles and the occasional giggle. In his chest, Dick’s heart flutters. He feels his breath stop for all of a moment- God, this kid already has him wrapped around his finger. “Can I hold him?” ✦ There in the Sudden Blackness by CamsthiSky, dick & tim & damian, 1.7k      Tim and Dick argue, and at the end, Tim’s not actually sure if either of them actually won. ✦ The Mechanics of a Hug by incogneat_oh, dick & tim & damian & bruce, 4.1k      “So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.” ✦ Taking Care of Business by Nokomis, dick & tim, 1.7k      Tim (only somewhat reluctantly) accompanies Dick on an undercover mission at an Elvis convention. ✦ where were you when I was king in this part of town? by Cerusee, dick & jason & bruce, 4k      The teen sitting next to him had mostly polished off his pork noodles, and he was eyeing Nightwing’s. Nightwing handed them over without a word. “Why,” he said, more to himself than the kid, “why, oh, why do I feel like I know you?” Because you do, came the unbidden thought. ✦ head in the clouds by Alienu, dick & jason & tim & damian, 4.7k      “Hey,” Tim says out of the blue. “Has anyone ever noticed that Damian has, like, weirdly sharp canines?” Dick makes a face. “What?” he asks. Then seems to think about it a little more, and says, “Oh, I mean… kind of? I don’t really pay attention to his teeth.” He turns to Damian. “Robin, let me see your teeth.” The kid growls. “I’m not afraid to bite you, Nightwing.” “Furry,” Jason coughs. Damian throws a batarang at him. ✦ A little more heart and soul by ruesyblues, dick & jason & damian, 2k      What do you do when the brother you raised and loved and left now seems to be withdrawing and you want the best for him but you’re not sure if you did the right thing and oh fuck what if you made a mistake?? (Dick wants Damian to be happy. He just has no clue how to accomplish that.) ✦ To Reconcile by CasualDanger, dick & jason, 2.4k      “Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?” ✦ damian clone triplets!!! by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & damian, 2.1k      Bruce finds and rescues three baby Damian clones~!!! babies~!! ✦ fear toxin (◡‿◡✿) by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & jason & tim & cass & steph & damian & alfred, 3.6k      six drabbles about batkids crying and screaming after being dosed with scarecrow’s fear gas~ (⊙‿⊙✿) ✦ Two Birds, One Stone(d) by MichaBerry, tim(/kon) & bruce & dick & jason & alfred, 5.8k      After a drugs bust gone sideways, Tim is a very high little bird. Cue shenanigans and family bonding. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Trust fall by Ididloveyou_once, tim/kon & damian/jon & dick & jason & bruce & cast, nsfw, 22.4k      Damian was… here. At Kent Farm. Dressed in the too-big Batman pajamas that Dick had bought him last Christmas as a joke. And- And- Tim was wearing Kon’s t-shirt and his hair was messy and his lips were swollen and- He wasn’t ready for this- He wasn’t- He couldn’t- BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Hard Truths and Other Realities by CKBookish, dick & bruce & jason & clark & wally & cast, 113.6k wip      Clark shifted his weight making the floorboards creak and groan under his feet. “Dick I hate to see you–” He paused searching for the right word. Dick snorted. “Wallow?” Clark sighed. “That’s not what I was going to say.” “I know. I can go to the barn and hang out there if I’m bothering you and Lois.” Dick pushed himself up. Of course he should have thought of that. Lois didn’t want some random teen laying around her home on Christmas Eve. ✦ You Won’t Wake Up Alone by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & damian & jason & tim, 5.2k      Dick’s captured and drugged and probably about to die. The last thing he wants to do is die in front of his family, especially not his baby brothers, all he wants is to be with Bruce and feel safe again. ✦ The Robin Manual by lurkinglurkerwholurks, dick & bruce & damian, 2.3k      Bad days were nothing new. Most of the time, he could feel them coming the way a swimmer could feel the approach of something huge beneath the surface of the water. The pressure would start to build, tugging at him like undertow by the shore, and it was always a gamble to see how long he could tarry before the pull yanked him under. ✦ the world is ending and i’m still numb by Arwriter, dick & bruce & jason & tim & alfred & cass & stephanie & damian & barbara & duke & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 20.7k      She’s gone, and he’s home, but Dick doesn’t know how to move on. He isn’t alone, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to ask for help. ✦ Up High by CamsthiSky, dick & damian, ~1k      “Grayson, what are you doing up here?” Dick shrugs, a sad smile pulling at his lips. He’d stopped asking that when his feet first started to take him up here years ago. “I like the view.” ✦ here comes the rain again by pocketofsky, dick & jason & tim & damian, rape aftermath/read the tags, 14.1k      Dick doesn’t patrol when it rains. Not since Blüdhaven. And everyone knows that, but they don’t know why. Or: Dick slowly but surely confronts his trauma. Now featuring: a train, pain, and a lot of rain. ✦ Happy Little Bluebirds Fly Beyond the Rainbow (Why Oh Why Can’t I) by honeycombclaire, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass, 26.9k      After being subjected to the Mad Hatter’s dream machine, Dick gets stuck in a dream world where he finally has everything he wants. His parents are alive, his family is together, and he still gets to be Nightwing. Everything is perfect. Using the machine, the Bats invade Dick’s mind to bring him back. They don’t expect to find out just how much Dick has been hurting. ✦ Maybe, just maybe, he should call Bruce…Nah. by memearchive, dick & bruce & jason & tim, rape aftermath/read the tags, 5.8k      “Yeah, 34 deaths, 35 including Blockbuster, is a lot. Yeah, his home and everything he owns is gone. Yeah, his safehouses and everything in those are all ash, too. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he gets it- but he’s dealt with loss before, and maybe 34 is a bit high, and maybe he could have stopped Tarantula, but he’s never been like this before. Not even after his parents’ deaths, and that’s a terrifying thought. Was this really the thing that broke him?” ✦ right through my walls by wingdingery, dick & bruce & barbara & jason & alfred, 6.6k      Sure, yes, Bruce and Jason attacked Dick and left him injured—but they were under the effects of fear toxin, so it wasn’t really them. Dick’s gone enough rounds with fear toxin to understand that. He’s perfectly fine with what happened. Now if only the rest of the family would believe him. ✦ gray by iselsis, dick & bruce, 1k      Grief demands to be felt, but Dick doesn’t have to be alone. ✦ How Far Love Goes by BeatriceEagle, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & barbara, comics violence as child abuse/read the tags, 99.5k      Plenty of family reunions end in fighting. Not that many end in explosions. A mass Arkham breakout brings all of Bruce’s children home, and with them, all the drama, secrets, and anger they’ve been keeping for years. Amidst rising tensions and a mysterious new threat in Gotham, the family has to work together to round up the rogues—and confront their feelings about each other. BATFAM FIC RECS - THROW BABY DICK AT BATTISON, C'MON DO IT, IT’LL BE HILARIOUS: ✦ romanticize a quiet life by lwbones123, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.7k      it’s parent teacher conference day for battinson and his robin ✦ when i call you come home by lwbones123, dick & bruce & alfred & jim, 3.2k      ummm battinson and his robin and angst and hurt/comfort idk how to summarize this one so you just have to trust me ✦ Dark by Cant_Smoke_Eggs, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.9k      aka Baby Dickie thinks Bruce is a Vampire. Bruce thinks he’s figured out he’s Batman. Misunderstandings and Identity reveals ensue. ✦ Just Two Dads Having a Chat by red_jaebyrd, dick & bruce & clark & kon, 1.5k      “I’m not giving you an interview, Kent.” “You always say that, and I always tell you that I’m not here for an interview,” Kent laughed, not at all bothered by Bruce’s aloofness. “We’re just two dads at soccer practice having a chat.” ✦ I Don’t Think Like I Should by shipNslash, jim & barbara & dick & bruce & cast, 13.2k      Featuring unmasking vigilantes as a father-daughter bonding activity, awkward small talk between two dads (both at crime scenes and PTA meetings), and Babs and Dick’s natural progression from classmates to besties in the name of chaos. This is a direct sequel to I’m a Good Pretender but can be read as a stand alone.

Thank you so much for your Tiefling smut contributions! I am so lovesick for Rolan and wanted to request--Rolan x fem Tav at the grove party? I know it's super early in both of their arcs but I can't help but wonder. 💕

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Sometimes you need to feel lonely before you notice the person sitting right beside you.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Kissing, Accidental Cuddling, Feelings Realization | SFW

Word Count: 5,443 [Read on AO3]

Sometimes it was lonely to be the hero, she thought to herself.

Their camp was fuller and merrier than she’d ever seen it. Every last Tiefling she’d met at the Grove had joined them for a night of celebration, bringing along every last bottle of wine and spirits they could get their hands on as way of thanks.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes in camp seemed to be searching for someone else to spend the night with. Who could blame them? Mortal peril and hard-won victories tended light a fire in people, herself included. 

Yet somehow she still found herself short on options. Everyone at camp seemed more interested in clapping her shoulder in thanks than joining her for a night of abandoned pleasure. Even her close companions hadn’t taken much interest in what she had on offer.

Astarion was the only one who had made her an invitation. She practically felt grateful to him for it. He would tempt anyone, of course—just look at him. But underneath his beauty, there was a dark edge about the elf that made her hesitate in the end. How was it Gale had described him? ‘A tiger when it purrs.’ 

Honestly, she wouldn’t have said no to Gale, either. He was certainly attractive, and there was a sad weight to his shoulders that seemed to invite comforting. The kind she wouldn’t mind giving. Yet despite the lonely shine in his eyes, he’d made it abundantly clear to her in his loquacious way that his mind was elsewhere this evening. She left him alone to his private reflections.

She at least expected their own cheerful Tiefling to be smack in the middle of the evening’s revelry. Tonight, Karlach was nowhere to be found. Only when she later glimpsed Shadowheart’s tent standing dark and noticeably empty did she put the pieces together. 

Well, good for them. At least two of their group might have a chance at a lay tonight.

No such luck for her, it seemed. She raised the bottle of Ithbank to her lips and tried not to feel too sorry for herself. The last few days had been long, exhausting, positively brutal…her muscles ached from overuse. Really, a good night’s sleep should be more than enough to satisfy her. 

And yet—how nice it would feel to be touched and held with tenderness, even if it wasn’t real, even just for one night. Just enjoy a harmless tumble in someone’s bedroll before everything crashed around them again. The thought of the long road that would greet her in the morning made her groan, and she shook the thought away. 

It hardly helped her souring mood to see Danis and Bex practically sitting in each others’ laps in the middle of camp, gently knocking their horns together with affection. She averted her eyes and took a rather resentful swig of wine as she trudged past.

“Go on then, give us a show!”

Teasing laughter came from just ahead. At the edge of camp, she happened upon the three Tiefling siblings from the Grove. Rolan, the oldest, stood flexing his hands as if preparing for an impressive feat. As she approached, she thought for just a moment that he glanced in her direction.

His brother Cal heckled him mercilessly from the rock where he and Lia were perched. “Lose your nerve, wiz?”

Rolan sighed, long-suffering. “Have you no respect for showmanship?” Not leaving time for any more smart comments, he flourished his hands upward with a low incantation.

The effect was like tiny stars, or fireflies, or some combination of the two. Sparkling lights spread and popped above their heads, leaving behind a violet mist that gently faded into the night.

She found herself smiling up at the sky. It wasn’t a powerful display, but it was lovely nonetheless. And certainly unique. She wondered how one went about inventing a Weave spell; she wouldn’t know where to begin. 

Tucking the bottle against her chest, she offered a little round of applause. Cal looked over at her then and let out a groan of amusement. “Not you, now he’ll keep at it all night.” 

"Shut it," Rolan shot at him, positively glowering. Lia was clutching her side in laughter at his expense.

Two against one; that was siblings for you. She was in a newly generous mood after his pretty magic, however, and decided to lend Rolan a hand.

"Surprised you're still here," she said, cocking her head toward Cal. "Last I heard, Lakrissa was looking for you."

Cal's neck practically snapped with how quickly he craned it around camp. Lia turned her mirth on him, aiming a punch at his shoulder.

"As if, you idiot," she chuckled. "She's only about ten times out of your league."

"You don't know that," Cal told her, completely thrown off teasing his brother as he rose to look around the party hopefully. "She told me I had a good parry one time—I could have a chance—"

As he wandered off, Lia threw up her hands and rose to follow him. "Guess I'll go save Lakrissa. Or maybe just watch what happens. Nice one," Lia added over her shoulder, grinning appreciatively at her. 

She and Rolan were left standing alone to the side. There was some awkward shuffling of feet; somewhere past the campfire, Volo launched into his third stanza of Tymora's Melody. A song to make people lucky, she seemed to recall. A suggestive choice for the night.

"Drink?" She broke the silence, offering out the bottle of wine. Relief flooded Rolan’s face.

"Gods, please." He accepted and took a generous pull.

"You certainly have your hands full with those two, don’t you." She bit back a grin at the way his brow crinkled in response.

"They are…" Rolan cast around for the word. "Challenging. But I don't have to tell you that," he added, glancing sideways at her. "We were bickering the first moment you met us."

"That's just family, though," she laughed, taking the wine back from him. Their fingers brushed together slightly over the bottle.

“Nevertheless. My thanks.” He waved his hand in a general motion, but she could tell he meant her intervention before. 

“Don’t mention it,” she told him. 

Seeking a reprieve from the merry music and voices around them, her feet idly made their way toward the edge of the fire's light closer to the riverbank. From the corner of her eye she saw Rolan follow. They settled on a log of driftwood that faced the scenes at camp. 

"So, you're finally making your way to Baldur's Gate," she said. It wasn't a question; he'd already told everyone who would listen about his apprenticeship with Lorroakan of Ramazith.

"Finally.” His eyes glowed with pure enthusiasm. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. The slightest delay has felt like an eternity.”

“And Cal and Lia? They must be excited, too.”

“Of course” he said, though his lips raised in a little smirk. “They’ve never been to the Gate, so they don’t quite know what to expect. But they’re just as eager.”

She watched him for a moment as she turned the bottle over in her hands. "You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you."

Rolan looked at her with a challenging expression. “Tell me, in our position, what else is there we can be sure of?"

He almost made her regret herself. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you’re very—”

“I expect most wouldn’t guess that a hellspawn could earn a position under the greatest archmage on the Sword Coast,” Rolan said before she could finish. 

His moods were volatile as a storm; turning this way and that without warning. She was never sure what to expect from him. Before she could protest his assumptions about her, he continued onward.

"We three never had much between us, you know." Rolan’s voice was abruptly low and bitter. "Somehow we've got less now than we started with. Not even our birthplace anymore. The one thing I’m sure of is my magical talent. I'm not going to deny it for the sake of being modest—" he tossed the words out with contempt. "Not when it's the one thing I always knew I had in spades. With the right instruction, I could be inimitable."

She studied his determined profile in the half-light of the campfire. Perhaps there were more layers to his self-important attitude than she'd thought. After all, without him taking on the challenging role that awaited him in the city, Rolan and his siblings found themselves in much the same position as the other refugees milling about camp tonight. A heavy weight despite his obvious enthusiasm. Who was she to judge him, or any of them?

Rolan finally caught her watching him and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I think I've—had too much wine."

"Oh?" She gave the bottle a swirl; it was still more than half-full. "You're making pretty good sense to me."

"I don't usually speak so freely with strangers," he explained tersely, glancing away.

She pondered the comment over another sip. "Does that make us friends, then?" She asked, not sure if she was being serious or trying to tease him. He did seem like he'd be awfully fun to tease.

"That's a little premature," he said dryly, but he glanced at her with a serious look. "Though I suppose, given recent events, you've earned it."

"A roundabout way to say yes," she laughed. "But I'll take it."

Rolan only made a low, grumpy noise in his throat. But he didn't challenge her.

“I’m really glad you three stayed, you know,” she told him. “I know you were against it. It certainly wasn’t the easy choice.”

Rolan plucked a bit of dry grass from between his boots, twisted it between his fingers. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Once Lia gets an idea in her head to save some poor thing or other, there’s no arguing with her. And she knows I'd never leave her behind.”

"You say that, but anyone with eyes can see the way those two look to you for guidance. They would've followed you down either path."

"Not like us staying even made a difference," Rolan deflected, tossing the ball of grass onto the dirt in front of them. "We only lost a few more traveling days waiting around while you and your friends took care of everything. For which, I suppose, we owe you thanks," he finished sarcastically.

"I suppose," she said lightly. But she was looking straight at him.

Rolan was clever enough to realize he was being chastised. He let out a sigh, but dipped his horns to her in resignation. "Thank you."

She only smiled at him and offered back the wine in response. He accepted without comment.

Watching him tip back the bottle, she mentally fit another piece to his puzzle. "You don't like feeling powerless, do you?"

Rolan looked sideways at her. "Does anyone? Do you?"

"No," she replied, feeling a little foolish for asking. When he passed it back, she drank deeply from the bottle, grounded by the burn that traveled down her throat.

"That must make your situation difficult." Rolan was watching her almost cautiously, as if the subject should be carefully tread.

"The tadpole, you mean?" She spoke it aloud, not wanting him to feel any suspense about the subject. How the thought could fill her with dread and a kind of dark humor at the same time was beyond her. Maybe the worm in her brain was finally driving her mad after all.

"First I had to talk Nettie out of giving me a lobotomy. Then I thought the renowned First Druid Halsin might be able to heal me, but no luck. I even thought that crazy goblin priestess could have something up her sleeve." She gave a mirthless laugh, starting to feel the weariness closing around her again. "Suppose I just need to keep searching, right? Halsin thinks we might find answers in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Or maybe the cure is in Baldur's Gate. Who knows," she added, glancing over at him. "Maybe your Lorroakan could know the solution, if he's as powerful as you say."

"He is," Rolan answered automatically. His luminous eyes were sharp with enthusiasm as he watched her. "When you get to the city, come see me at Sorcerous Sundries. If a cure exists, it'll be recorded somewhere in the library of Ramazith’s Tower, I'm sure of it. I’ll even research it, if I have time."

Inwardly she hoped they'd all be cured far earlier than that. But she was touched by his sudden helpfulness, even if it was half to prove the powers of his new station. 

“Thank you, Rolan,” she smiled. “I appreciate it.”

He dipped his horns wordlessly toward her again. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize, and grow rather fond of. She offered him their wine bottle in thanks.

From there they both let the moment drift. Seated on their log near the riverbank, she turned to watch how the rest of the revelry was progressing. Alfira had joined Volo in some kind of bardic duel; a rapid-fire melody drifted out to where the two of them sat. Lia appeared to be bravely trying her luck with Lae'zel. Judging by Lae'zel's very non-subtle body language, she was actually getting somewhere. 

And to her disbelief, she even saw Cal and Lakrissa sitting together at the fire, engaged in what looked like a very friendly, very close conversation. Was it seriously everyone's night but hers?

She glanced to Rolan's face at her side. He wasn't paying attention to her; his fingers rolled the neck of their shared drink idly back and forth.

It should've occurred to her sooner, honestly. Despite Rolan's initial bluster, she found it surprisingly easy to speak with him one-on-one like this. He had a depth she hadn't noticed before. 

And he wasn't bad to look at, either. Golden eyes set against inky black, strong jawline, lips that often curved up in a little smirk that she wasn't sure he deserved but found charming despite herself. She decided to dispense with caution and just try her luck.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?"

“What?” Rolan's head jerked around as he stared at her. "Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Maybe this was a bad idea; the shock on his face made her question her own boldness. But then she thought of his pretty spellwork. "Because you're the only person who's made me smile tonight."

Rolan examined her expression as though trying to tell whether she was joking. "We barely know each other," he said slowly.

She gestured her head toward the crowded clearing. "I mean, I didn’t know any of these people a few weeks ago. And now look at us. We’re practically family at this point.” She turned back toward him. "Besides, maybe I'd like to get to know you better?"

Rolan cast around for a response to that. "I suppose you're not…unattractive," he conceded. Although the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away a little.

"Know how to make a girl feel special, don't you," she laughed. "Look, Rolan, say no if you don't want to. I'm not after anything serious. It's just a good night for some company, and honestly, I’ve enjoyed talking to you."

Rolan was considering it; she could practically see his mind ticking between his options. "You're quite tenacious, aren't you?" He told her, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"When I want something," she agreed.

Something in the words seemed to tip his decision. She watched Rolan's eyes flick down to her lips.

Taking that as a yes, she tilted forward to press them against his. His skin was warm and softer than she expected. Rolan didn't move against her, in fact was practically frozen still. She couldn't tell whether he was inexperienced or just out of practice. Regardless, she pulled away to look at him through her lashes, checking his expression.

This close his golden eyes almost seemed to blaze. She watched them move over her face, taking in her features up close. When he realized she wasn't going to initiate again, Rolan leaned in for another kiss.

Definitely not inexperienced, she decided, as his lips slid and moved softly over hers. She breathed in and smelled smoke and wine and something spiced; a pleasant warmth coiled in her stomach. He sighed into the kiss, apparently feeling something similar.

She felt a tentative hand rest on the side of her waist. Without breaking from him, she scooted sideways to get a little closer, inadvertently pressing her leg up against his. Rolan made no objection, only circled his arm further around her back.

It was the nicest feeling. Being held by a firm yet gentle touch, sharing kisses that flowed from sweet to eager to shy and back again. How long had it been? The longer Rolan's mouth moved over hers, the less she cared about remembering. 

She hooked her arms over his shoulders to keep him close. As she tilted her chin for a better angle at his mouth, she took a chance and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Rolan’s fingers dug slightly deeper into her side, but his lips parted to allow her in.

She felt a thrill run through her as their tongues melted together. They tasted each other softly for a moment; unconsciously, she combed her fingers up through the hair at his nape.

Rolan broke away gently at the feeling. She grew suddenly shy when their eyes met again, and she cast around for something to fill the silence.

"Why do you hide your ears behind your hair like that?” She wondered aloud. “They’re lovely." As she spoke, one of her index fingers went to tuck a lock of his hair back behind the long, pointed arrow of his ear, grazing against it with curiosity. Before she could blink, his hand caught hers to pull it away.

"Don't—" Rolan said abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh to break the tension. “Tiefling ears are…quite sensitive.”

"Oh," she said. His meaning sunk in the rest of the way. “Oh—I’m so sorry, I didn't realize—" The heat of embarrassment on her cheeks could have melted her.

"It’s all right,” he told her, laughing genuinely now. “Gods, your face is almost as red as mine.”

Rolan was even more handsome with a real, true smile on his face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one there before. Before she’d found a response, his grip on her wrist was gently pulling her arm over his shoulder, and her body closer to him with it. 

She decided another kiss would shut up his teasing nicely. She followed his lead and then some, wrapping both arms around his lovely shoulders, melting against his lips again. He said something against her, but the words dissolved into a hum that sent a pleasant shiver down her back.

Finally, Rolan succeeded in pulling away to glance back toward the center of camp. "Sorry," he said breathlessly, and it sounded like he truly was. "I just—don't want you to face uncomfortable questions in the morning."

No doubt his siblings' teasing was another factor, but she didn't call him out on it. While she appreciated his chivalry, all she could think about was getting his mouth under hers again.

"We could go to my tent?" She suggested.

For all the cockiness he'd spouted from the first moment she met him, she felt Rolan's hands almost seize up around her.

The feeling made her bite back a grin. "I'd just like to kiss you some more," she said, tracing her thumb against his jaw. "We don't have to do anything else. It would just be more private. And more comfortable."

Rolan licked his lips, unsure. “Won’t that be even more obvious?”

“I don’t think this crowd’s going to notice much at this point…” She turned with arms still around him to look over the scenes near the campfire, and Rolan's gaze followed. The generous flow of alcohol was taking a clear effect on most of the faces gathered here and there. Around the fire’s edge, Alfira was leading many of her fellows in a rousing ballad that she didn’t recognize. Most voices were noticeably off-key.

“Come on,” she invited Rolan, rising with one of his hands in hers. He made no protests as she led him around the edge of camp, trying to stay out of the more obvious sightlines, and towards her empty tent. When she held the flap open for him, he ducked in quickly without a word, and she followed.

Inside, the light from the roaring campfire filtered dimly through the fabric walls. She watched Rolan’s luminous eyes glance around, taking in her personal effects, finally landing on her open bedroll. He swallowed hard. 

“Just sit,” she told him, guiding him by the arm down beside her. They settled side-by-side on the blankets. Somehow the mood between them was back to the initial uncertainty of before, as if they hadn’t already shared a score of kisses.

“Your tent smells like you,” he said out of nowhere.

"Really?" She chuckled, but the observation somehow made her very nervous. “Not sure if I want to ask what my smell is.”

“Balsam.” Rolan didn’t elaborate, only dipped his head swiftly to place lips under her jaw. Her laughter dissolved into a sigh of pleasure. Clawed hands snaked up around her side and down over her shoulder, tipping her torso into him. She let her head loll to the side to give him all the access he could want.

She’d forgotten all about his sharp incisors. As he kissed down the side of her neck, his warm breath sending a cascade of shivers over her spine, one of his fangs grazed her bare skin by accident. Her sharp intake of breath surprised even herself. 

Rolan pulled away to look at her, uncertain if he’d done something right or wrong. She used the moment to capture him in a kiss again, sucking and nibbling on one side of his bottom lip, letting him know how right he was getting this.

She sank sideways into her bedroll, pulling him down with her with hands clasped behind his neck, trying to be mindful of his angling horns.

Rolan's arm rested comfortably over her side, nails whispering against her back as he held her. He was so gentle like this; so unlike the way he presented himself to others. The thought that she was seeing a side of Rolan most others didn’t get to see—she liked that thought very much. She tangled a hand in his hair as their kisses turned soft, and lovely, and almost lazy.

The security of his arms around her in her soft bedroll, the alcohol making its way rapidly to her brain, the exertions of the day straining along her limbs…she felt herself drifting toward a state of relaxation almost like sleep. She roused herself, wanting to kiss him back while she had him here. She wasn't sure when they'd get a chance like this next.

But Rolan gently disentangled their mouths for a moment. "Here," he said, scooting his arm under her neck like a pillow. She leaned against him with a comfortable sigh. 

"Your arm's gonna fall asleep," she warned him, making no moves to shift the weight of her heavy head.

Rolan chuckled low in his chest. "I think you'll be doing that first."

She wanted to make a snappy response, but all that came out was a petulant groan against his lips. 

This wasn't going at all the way she intended. She wasn't supposed to doze off, she was supposed to kiss the Tiefling wizard until he saw stars, like the ones he'd conjured for her.

Because he had conjured them for her—she told herself that with certainty, whether or not it was true. The sweet thought carried her toward sweet dreams, and the memory of them behind her eyelids was the last thing she saw before she drifted.

—

The call of an owl nearby pierced through her sleep. As her mind surfaced in the darkness, the first thing she was aware of was the pleasant weight of an arm across her. She sighed and settled comfortably back into the warm figure pressed up against her hips and shoulders. The mystery arm pulled her in tighter in response.

Things began slowly filtering back to her; the party the night before, and the wine, and Rolan, and—

Her eyes opened wide then. The interior of her tent was so dark that she could only make out blurry shapes. Outside, she heard nothing but crickets and a few more distant owls hooting; it must be well past midnight. The fire hadn't been tended for hours, judging by the absence of light reaching through the fabric walls. Presumably the rest of camp had all turned in long ago. 

With the nervousness of a person who'd fallen asleep from drink, she shifted around a bit to confirm that yes, she was very much still fully clothed. Her toes flexed against hard leather; even her dusty boots were still on her feet. That answered that question, at least. She glanced down at the clothed arm over her stomach.

"Rolan?" She whispered through the dark. 

She felt and heard his lips mumble something against her hair, and then Rolan's face nestled deep into the crook of her neck with a happy sigh. The intimate gesture made her bite her lip. She could feel his steady breaths tickle against her collarbone. 

However much she might want to let him stay right there, forever, she knew she should wake him.

"Rolan," she whispered a little louder. Twisting a bit to free the arm under her side, she reached to gently pat the spot between his horns. She felt his hair rustle freely under her hand; its orderly tie must have come undone in the night.

Rolan inhaled sharply awake then. He lifted his head from her as if trying to cast around for where he was.

"We both fell asleep," she whispered, stating the obvious. She felt him tense up behind her as he took in his body's positioning: chest pressed against her back, one arm cradling her neck, the other wrapped tight around her waist to keep her pulled in close to him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she even felt his tail twined around one of her legs.

Every part of him retreated from her at once as he lurched into a half-seated position. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a groggy whisper.

"It's fine," she assured him, wondering why he would assume she didn't enjoy the closeness as much as he clearly had in his sleep. "I think everyone else is asleep by now."

There was a long, quiet pause. Then Rolan began, “Did we…?”

“No,” she interjected with certainty. 

"Thank Gods. I mean—" He cast around in the dark for one of her hands, realizing how that came out. "We both drank a lot, that's not how I want—it shouldn't be like that."

"I know." The sweet goodness of him made her heart swell.

Suddenly, Rolan grabbed his head with both hands. "Fuck," he hissed. "Lia and Cal."

"What about?"

"They'll know I didn't come back to our camp last night," he groaned low.

"Oh—okay," she said, trying to think; her brain was still fuzzy from the night's wine. "Well, maybe they'll just assume you got back late?"

“You don't understand, they know that I—” He cut himself off, and finished, “They already tease me about you.”

“Oh." She did her best to ignore the way that made her insides do a happy flip. But she couldn’t resist teasing a little herself. “Then maybe they’ll just assume you finally got lucky?”

His head fell against her shoulder with a groan, horns lightly knocking against her. “Please,” he begged.

“Sorry, Rolan—” She was instantly contrite, holding his head close to place kisses across his hair and forehead. "Listen, we've got an hour or two before dawn. Maybe you can sneak back and they won't know how late you were out. Where's your camp?"

"The bluffs just outside the Emerald Grove, with Lakrissa and the bard."

She knew the spot; they could easily reach there in a quarter hour on foot. But first, she scooted away and undid the flap of her tent to peer out for any signs of activity.

Everything outside was very still. She watched carefully for another moment just in case; near Wyll's tent, Scratch snuffled and buried his snout further against the owlbear cub's feathers. Beyond that, there were no signs of stirring in the camp.

She ducked back inside the tent for a moment. "C'mon—"

With quiet, shuffling feet, they crept out into the quiet moonlit night. Scratch's head raised silently in their direction. She stared into his dark eyes with a silent plea, begging him to be a good boy and stay quiet. He lowered his head back down without a sound. She swore to herself that she would find him the biggest, juiciest bone in the morning. 

She grabbed Rolan's hand behind her and tugged him quietly through camp. They passed tent after tent filled with steady breathing, boots padding against the dirt in near-silence.

Once they were outside the ruined wall at the edge of the campsite, she let out her pent-up breath in relief. 

Rolan kept his fingers twined firmly with hers as they walked through the moonlight. They talked about anything to fill the air, about things that didn't matter, both trying to stave off the impending end of their short night together.

Far sooner than felt fair, they rounded into a familiar clearing, and she knew his destination was just up the hill to their left. 

"Well," she began, as they slowed to a stop.

Before she knew it, she was pulled against Rolan’s chest in a tight embrace. She folded herself into him as completely as she could manage, breathing deep and committing his scent to memory.

When they broke apart, he kept her close so he could see her face in the moonlight. "Which route will you take to reach the Shadow lands?"

"Through the Underdark if we can," she answered. "I wasn't sure about it, but we all took a vote after the fight yesterday. What about you three?"

"I don't know," Rolan said honestly. "It depends how Zevlor decides. We're all going to travel together as far as we can."

"Oh," she said. She ought to say something reassuring about how that was a wise tactical choice, but she was overcome with the realization that she might not see Rolan again for many weeks. Possibly not until they both reached Baldur's Gate.

In that moment, she fervently regretted not fucking this wonderful man into tomorrow when she'd had the chance—wine be damned. From the way Rolan was looking at her, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

Instead, she leaned in to kiss him one last time with everything she had. She wanted to remember the way his shoulders fit perfectly under her arms. Rolan’s grip closed around her middle, and in the next instant she felt her feet dangle weightless as he lifted her off the ground into him.

The kiss had to end eventually. As he lowered her onto her feet, she touched back down to dirt and reality. 

“Your hair,” she gasped suddenly. It hung loose to his shoulders, his red ear tips poking from between the locks. It was a very handsome look for him.

Rolan raised a hand up in realization himself. “I’ll figure something—” he began, but she was already tugging at the leather lace that fastened her shirt. She raised it to her mouth to bite off a short length.

Before he could stop her, she stood on tiptoe to gather Rolan’s hair behind his head the way he usually kept it. Her arms circled him as she tied it halfway back with the makeshift string. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she steadily avoided meeting his gaze. She foolishly felt like she might cry if she did.

“There,” she sniffed as she pulled away. 

Rolan only gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his horns to her one more time.

Telling him goodbye hurt just to think about. “Good night,” she whispered to him instead.

“It has been,” Rolan agreed. “The very, very best.”

🌸Pac 18+ What’s the meaning of this connection Between You & Your FS (Short)

🔋Take a deep breath, and remember this is a general reading. I hope this reading gives you clarity. Enjoy it.🌸🌸❤️💋All love and positive vibes surrounding you guys, and this general reading as well. 🌸🌸😋❤️💋

Pile 1: Oh, the meaning of this connection between you and your FS. It's a major sacred support. It seems like some of you will have a false twin, they are an imposter. Energetic vampires, chaotic, drama, and a shadow portal. I think that some of you might stay away from this person. I don't sense that bad from them though. They'll say that you get them and vice-versa. Like I said I don't sense bad from this false twin maybe they aren't meant to be a romantic relationship between you and them. That's what I'm feeling. It seems like this connection means that you guys will be best pals, and have such good chemistry together. Long talks, vibing, and needing each other. You two will have such mutual respect. A few of you will be the best of friends. That's why I'm getting friendship vibes. For some of you yes this is a false twin because it wasn't supposed to be a romantic relationship. Don't be disappointed about it. Because you'll have such a good friendship with them. Us vs Us. You two will have inside drama, so they'll get on your nerves. A lot of triggers will happen with them. You'll bring out the good and bad. Space is necessary. They'll think that you're so stunning to them. They'll be starstruck. So the meaning of this connection is divinely guided it is protected by y'all spirit guides. Y'all have an unbreakable connection. To be real I like this connection between you and them. Maybe you or they might beatbox or Chop. They might go to therapy for their disorder. Again I told you they will annoy the shit out of you and vice-versa. But the meaning of this connection is very powerful to me.

Pile 2: Off the back, you two are Starcross lovers. Do you know what movie I’m seeing Titanic? Titanic! I love that movie like some of you are like Rose and your husband is like Jack. The ones who hold themselves back. That's so funny that what card came out. So it seems like you'll be the one who runs away from this beautiful connection. Because you think that this connection between you and them could be true. You'll think it's not real or feel like you are delusional. But you aren't. Even spirits say “This Is Real”. So believe it! Are you going to trust it? Anyways this means that you and your FS are a soul and star family. It meant to come down here in the 3D. Activation!!! This means that they'll respect the shit out of you. Admiration, worship, and loves you, and be your biggest fan and supporter. This is amazing. See! You will have your inside drama between you and him. I feel it is a very intense fight you two will have. But it won't get toxic to where breaking up. Again space is necessary. This means that this connection between you and them will turn into an engagement 💍. So you'll marry them. I believe after your walls are down. Oh so here's the issue ex will try to come between you and them. But I don't feel it for long though. Come on! Your FS worships the fuck out of you. You are their Zing. This reminds me of the movie Hotel Transylvania. When Johnny and Mavis Zing for the first time. It seems like this type of connection. See! I was right about those intense fights. When you and your FS argue that shit will cause a lot of fire 🔥. Again I don't feel toxic but I do feel like you two especially have to watch your mouth 👄.

Pile 3: The meaning of this connection between you and your FS is that you'll be addicted to that dick! Ayo!!! Haha 💰😂you’ll be very addicted to that dick. Eat it up. Some of you will be submissive to them, and possessive. Woah this is an interesting pile. So they're your mentor. Your spouse is your mentor they are meant to help you. Ahhh!! I'm screaming 🙀🎱. This connection between you and them is meant to be manifest. It is happening now. It is like a blessing from the sky. You two will cross the finish line and success, and fulfillment. Oh, this is good. They already sending you messages in dreams, giving you signs, and online. Don't ignore the signs. A lot of grief will happen. So much transformation for the two of you. Sadness, pain, depression, and loss. I think your FS will be there for you. Yes, you two will fucking fight but help each other with it. This is your last life with them. Separate souls are only meant to be in the 5D. So they were meant to be your spirit guide just to watch over you. That's why they are your mentor. Hmm, it seems like a lot of mistrust maybe you are scared about this engagement 💍. Multiple attraction!! Oh, you'll have a lot of men and women on you heavily. A lot of old feelings will come up. I don't know what that feeling is but I heard it is worth it. Some of you will marry your Mentor or you'll be engaged to them.

Pile 3: Oh snap, In the beginning, it was like lust I don't care to use that word. So I would say a fling. I swear it is passion between you and your FS. I can that you guys having a lot of sex. This reminds me of the movie Sugar and Spice if you guys ever watch that movie. With Diane and Jack Bartlett. That's exactly how I see it. It won't be serious in the beginning, because again it is like a fling. But you are manifest it comes into fruition. It is happening now. This might be the last life with them. Awe 😭I’m sorry but again don’t be disappointed because it will be worth it. See! Flirting, teasing, and passion. Goddamnnn!!! A lot of sex. I'm not surprised they have a breeding kink. They'll throw your ass against the wall and start kissing you hard. Biting lips 💋🕯. I do sense a romantic side they would want to show you but it seems like they are a little scared. They'll be your 1st. First kiss, relationship, and your first time. You'll be giving your precious fruit to them✨. Haha 😂didn’t I say this? Passionate kisses, intense sex energy, and partying together. Oh my goodness, you two will be partying hard together. They'll be fighting for your attention like crazy!!! I mean fighting to it. I can see that. That's incredible. The meaning of this connection between you and your FS is very important. In the beginning, it starts as your little crush fling, and then a relationship, and now as fiancè. Do you see the pattern? This is the meaning of y'all connection together.

Reblog, and Comment on what you think of this reading. Check out my profile page!! Enjoy this reading. I hope it gives you clarity and remember it's a general reading. 💋💋✨❤️❤️🌸.