#post resurrection

[imliterallyinsanern]

Fml, I’m reading BATFAM fan fiction, and still my first thought upon reading the sentence “Where’s Jason?” is Valgrace 😭

[dragonpyre]

Cassandra Cain

[iridescentoracle]

god. fuck (← when they play the songs we knew they were going to play)

[curiosityunsated]

Twitterpated part 2

Still not beta read! Also struggled with formatting today, thanks Tumblr.

It had been several weeks since their conversation under the tree, and Aym had not invited Maya on an outing of any kind.

Narinder, however, had no need to express his own exasperation as it was already on the Lamb’s face.

“Ask her out already, brother!” And in Baal’s voice. He was needling his twin over their evening meal in the public dining room. It was a sure-fire way to get under the other’s skin.

“Would you lower your voice?! And leave me be!” It was working.

“I’m just saying-“

“Well just don’t!”

“- if you don’t, someone else will!” Baal finished, chipper. A bit too chipper, Narinder thought privately, but did not interrupt.

“I- I spoke with her yesterday.” Aym protested, a touch feeble in the shadow of his brother’s warning.

“Aym… she stitched up your cut in the healing bay after your sparring sessions. It doesn’t count.” The Lamb, however, saw no reason not to chime in and patted the scarred cat’s arm softly. When the tomcat shuffled away, sputtering, it was with less spite than the action would have had soon after his resurrection.

“Uh-oh…” Baal muttered quietly, looking over Aym’s shoulder. All teasing, exasperated or not, was gone. Aym, the Lamb, and Narinder followed his gaze to the far end of the room. Maya was there, either entering or leaving the space. She was not alone, either- a short blue duck was before her, offering a small bouquet of while flowers. If the she-cat’s pinned ears, wide eyes and puffy tail were any indication, the duck had taken her quite by surprise.

Narinder tore his eyes away to focus instead on Aym. His kit was furious, fur raising and teeth bared.

“I told you, brother.” Baal murmured consolingly, placing a hand on his brother’s arm. Beside Narinder, the Lamb winced.

“She doesn’t even like daisies!” Aym spat quietly, hackles now fully raised. He wrenched his arm away and stormed off, away from the doorway where a small grey cat and a blue duck were still talking. Maya now held the bouquet gingerly in her paws.

“An ‘I told you so’ probably wasn’t the best response just then.” The Lamb reproached softly, and Baal grimaced.

“I did, though.”

“You are not young enough to beg off your discourtesy with that excuse any longer. You are also too old for me to order to apologize,” Narinder began, and Baal wilted under his gaze, “but I will be highly disappointed with my own tutelage if you do not.”

“…Yes Master. I will apologize.”

The apology was delayed when the three returned to their hut behind the temple to a note.

Scrawled across it was a message from Aym, letting them know that he had gone crusading and would be back by sundown the following day.

“I am disappointed in Aym.” Narinder confessed to his spouse later that night, both laying awake in the darkness.

“I’m overlooking his decision to leave the cult grounds without proper approval. He was upset, and is more than capable of protecting himself.” They responded, squeezing his hand.

“Not for that, though that decision was not impressive either. For choosing to run away when the consequences of his own inaction became evident.”

“Everyone needs space sometimes, my love. I remember another black cat holing himself up in this very hut for weeks, once upon a time…”

Narinder scoffed, pulling the lamb closer and scent marking them until they giggled helplessly.

“Speak not of my own actions, damned Lamb. We are discussing Aym.”

Their laughter had always been so sweet.

Aym was back much sooner than sundown. From his place behind the altar, Narinder watched his kit sneak into the morning sermon halfway through. He seemed uninjured, just ruffled. Narinder could see flecks of mud on the younger cat’s uniform and cape, both of which were wrinkled.

Aym, though he wouldn’t be able to see Narinder’s eyes properly through the High Priest’s veil, seemed to sense his gaze anyways and sheepishly slumped against the wall. Baal had taken both of their duties in stride that morning; Narinder had listened for, and not heard, much meaningful thought about the second disciple missing.

(Not, of course, that he would ever read their flock’s minds. At least not that he would admit it to his Lamb. The best way to end dissension is to catch it at the start, and so long as the Lamb still refused to use the sacrifice ritual…)

It was easiest to do it during the morning sermon, with much of the flock together, now with the Red Crown’s power split between the two of them. It was…fatiguing to sustain… a fact he was loathe to admit even to himself. It required more focus than it once had.

At least, he wouldn’t have heard any meaningful thought about Aym’s absence if it weren’t for one follower in particular.

She sat in the second row, and for all physical appearances seemed deeply invested in the Lamb’s sermon. The echoes of her thoughts, however, betrayed her to the High Priest. Instead of divine reflection or holy revelations, her mind was filled with worry. She had evidently seen him storm from the dining hall last night, and his absence this morning had stoked the coals of concern. He withdrew from her thoughts quickly, not hearing dissension and not wanting to overexert himself for no good reason.

Aym was the first out of the temple, and Maya was nearly the last. Narinder scuffed a fistful of Baal’s cloak as he tried to rush out after the grey cat, eager to see what was about to transpire.

“I think he deserves some space, don’t you?” Narinder said pointedly and his eldest wilted slightly.

“Indeed.” The Lamb smiled benevolently for a moment, before rushing to the door, “but perhaps not too much!”

Baal whooped and squirmed out of his hold, and Narinder groaned. Sometimes he wished there was a god other than his spouse that he could pray to for patience.

Thankfully, Aym and Maya were not near the temple doors but further down the lane. From the temple steps, they could be seen clearly but not heard over the wind and chatter of the meandering followers drifting by them.

The Lamb had to reach up and clamp a hand over Baal’s mouth to smother his excited exclamation when Aym pulled a handful of camellias out from under his cape. It was hard to tell from a distance, but to Narinder the flowers seemed to be in good health despite their confinement.

Aym offered them to her, tail perfectly still. Waiting to see the outcome, Narinder noted fondly. The boy’s tail never failed to expose his mind. Maya pressed the fingertips of one hand to her lips, and took the bouquet from him to immediately press her face into it. His ears flicked forward and a small smile spread across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. His mouth was moving, and even Narinder wished he could hear what was being said. The Lamb clutched his hand tightly, and he squeezed back reassuringly.

But then Maya was nodding eagerly, and reaching forward to grasp one of Aym’s hands in one of her own. He nodded once, hesitantly, but she nodded with an even larger smile.

Then, as Narinder was beginning to believe was going to be a habit for the two of them, a period of silence. Neither let go of the other’s hand.

Before relinquishing it, Aym took a half step back and bowed at the waist, much like he had the day Narinder had suggested he act on his affections. This time, the tomcat pressed a chaste kiss to the she-cat’s fingers before rising to his full height again and stepping fully away. Maya cradled the bouquet to her chest and also took two steps away, down the path, before turning her back and hurrying back into the village proper.

Aym watched her go, tail swishing and he ran a hand through is already mussed hair. When he too turned, this time to return to the temple, he stopped dead at the sight of his spectators.

He scowled, an expression that only deepened when Baal let out a small cheer.

“Would you shut up?!” Aym hissed, looking over his shoulder as if Maya would be right there to hear.

“Well, what did she say?” The Lamb pressed eagerly, though with a more dignified enthusiasm. Aym paused for a moment, looking away. Slowly, a smile replaced the hostile glare.

“…I’m to meet her outside the healing bay after lunch this afternoon. For a walk.”

Baal cheered again, and tackled his brother to the ground where they scrapped as though they were small kits again.

“Get off of me you child!” Aym yowled as Baal bit down on his ear, reaching around to pull on his tail in retaliation.

Narinder watched them fondly, processing the morning’s revelation. Aym had not run away from his heartbreak, but instead turned it into motivation. Had Maya refused him for the duck, he knew the tomcat would have accepted her decision without quarrel- but he had put in effort to secure her favoured flowers from their natural habitat instead of merely picking them from the crop fields available. Those did the trick in the healing bay, of course, but as a decoration held nothing to the wild variety. Warmth spread in Narinder’s chest, and he moved forward to help Aym up as he escaped the roughhousing of his brother.

“I am proud of you, Aym.” He said quietly, knowing it didn’t need to be said to the masses to mean more to the other cat. Aym stared at him in awe for a moment, an expression Narinder had seen copied over the years with each piece of meaningful praise offered to his disciple.

“Thank you, master.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” He asked, just as softly. Amy nodded eagerly.

“Consider taking the path down the south side of the river. I found it… suitably private for conversation.” He advised, memories of warm walks in the sun with his Lamb, away from nosy or incompetent followers with demanding requests.

“Thank you, master, that is a very good idea. Your advice is appreciated!”

“Go and clean yourself up, then perhaps consider apologizing to the Lamb for circumventing their missionary policies.” Narinder pushed him gently towards the path that would take him to their hut, and it was a sign of the cat’s happiness that he didn’t express even a token complaint about the suggested apology.

“Oh, and Aym?” Narinder called, and the other turned in question.

“I am too young for you to be having kits. Use that privacy wisely, so I don’t regret telling you about it.”

Baal, who had just gotten back up, tumbled back down into the dirt with gales of laughter. Aym’s entire body seemed to bristle in shock before he turned bright red beneath the thin spots of fur on his face.

“Master!”

Narinder’s bold joke was rewarded with the Lamb’s tinkling laughter. All was well.

[wangxianficrecs]

The Second Siege of the Cloud Recesses by Cerusee

The Second Siege of Cloud Recesses

by Cerusee

G, 4k, wangxian

Summary: Did anyone ask for the Untamed AU where Wei Wuxian came back to life sixteen years later only to hear the tragic story, from Lan disciples at Mo’s Manor, how Lan Wangji had been whipped to death for defending the Yiling Patriarch? No. Did that stop me? No.

Mojo's comments: ohmyGAWD wwx gonna go feral on those elders and no one can stop him…. Or. Wait. Hmmm.

Excerpt: And then the Yiling Patriarch and his pet corpse emerged from the crowd of the silent, motionless dead, gliding through them like wind through trees. Wei Wuxian walked until he was barely fifteen feet from Sect Leader Lan, the dead-eyed Ghost General as close on his heels as a dog and his master. Sect Leader Lan surprised those closest to him, when he said, “Master Wei,” and bowed, shallowly. Wei Wuxian surprised them all even more, by making a sarcastic half-bow back. “I don’t need to explain why I’m here, do I?” “I don’t believe you do.”

canon-divergence, dead lan wangji, the untamed canon, implied wangxian, wingman wen ning, post resurrection, revenge, dark wei wuxian, vengeful wei wuxian, yiling laozu wei wuxian, bamf wei wuxian, bamf wen ning, lan xichen, corpse army, @cerusee

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[dead-potato-monster]

i really like the theory that the reason jason todd's eyes changed color since UTRH because of his little dip in the jello of ressurection. and now he has like blue/green eyes, like its a mix, there's the magic from the pit swirling around in there giving it like a #4AB096 hue.

[justasfacelessasever]

Fire Cape and Crown for the birthday boy

[imagine-darksiders]

what if azrael lost his wings as punishment from the council for his actions against the demons and the consistences it caused the humans, or worse have his wings heavily damaged to the point of uselessness so that he can be forced to walk as the humans he helped doom once did?

To take the wings of an angel is both a death sentence and a glaring mark of shame. 

To another angel, it would be as humiliating a punishment as it is a painful one; forced to remain Earthbound and crawl in the dirt like mere mortals.  Azrael however, is of the rather contemporary opinion that humankind aren’t as inferior as angels might like to think. As such, the sting of embarrassment never touches the Archangel. And besides, he had known when he agreed to Abaddon’s plan that the repercussions for being caught might lead to this kind of sentence. He had prepared himself for a life of miserable isolation on the slowly recuperating planet of Earth, outcast from Heaven and his fellow angels alike. 

If his punishment was to spend an eternity alone without his regular means of travel, then so be it. Surely, it’s no less than he deserves. 

What he hadn’t banked on though, was the humans. 

He was discovered one day by a small group of them, a community of sorts who’d decided to build homes for themselves not far from the city they’d since labeled ‘Ground Zero.’

They observed him from afar, cautious at first and leery of the tattered wing-bones sticking at jagged angles from his shoulder blades with only the barest few feathers clinging hopelessly to the bone. They knew what he was. Angels hadn’t exactly proven to be the creatures humanity had hoped they would be. Azrael could hardly blame these people for their wariness. 

But then, the unexpected. They approached him. 

“What happened to you?” one asked, casting a worried eye over the blood stains tinging his exposed humerus a mottled brown. 

And he - in all his infinite wisdom - told them. 

Everything. 

The plan, Azrael’s involvement, how everything had gone so, horribly wrong and humanity was caught in the crossfire. After all, why shouldn’t they know? Ultimately, they were the wounded party in Abaddon’s failed scheme. The least they deserved was to learn why they’d lost their world. 

“None of you were supposed to get hurt,” he said in a gentle whisper after he was finished. The disgraced archangel gazed down at them - even with his feet on the ground, he towered effortlessly over each human.

From the small group, he heard someone mutter, “Arsehole.” 

Odd. That wasn’t among the first things he expected to hear.  ‘Murderer,’ perhaps. ‘Monster,’ most definitely.  

He could feel one of his few remaining primary feathers catch a small gust of wind, the last little nudge it needed to break away from his wing bone and flutter uselessly to the dirt, ancient glyphs fading from blue to dull grey when the last connection to Azrael was lost. 

In utter silence, the humans watched its descent, each waiting for another to offer some followup to the bombshell he’d just dropped on them. In the end, a younger man drew attention to himself by heaving out a weary sigh and sharing a look with several of his fellows before he stepped forward. Azrael could never have hoped to decipher their strange, silent language. What had they said to each other in that briefest of glances? 

“You know,” the man offered, rubbing at the back of his neck, “...at the camp, we have a vet who could take a look at those for you..”  

He was instantly elbowed in the ribs by a taller woman. “Jesus, Mel! He’s not a pigeon, you can’t just say you’re gonna take him to the vet!” she hissed. 

"Well excuse me for thinking an animal doctor would know more about wings than a human one!” 

Incredulous, Azrael’s head tipped to one side. “Doctor?” he breathed, “You... speak as if you mean to help me.” 

Every head swivelled around to look up at him instead of the still bickering couple. “Well, yeah,” someone said, brows furrowed at him as if he were being deliberately dense. “S’not like we can just... leave you out here -” They turned to a human at their side, “- Right? I mean, he’s a sitting duck.” 

“There are still some demons roaming about,” their companion agreed, nodding sagely. 

And that was that. Azrael found himself being more or less shepherded by the small group, all of whom seemed deaf to his gentle protests and refusals to accept their aid. For some, Creator-known reason, they wouldn’t hear otherwise. 

Two women at the head of the group conversed jovially. “I don’t think the big guy’s gonna like us bringing back a random angel. You know how paranoid he gets,” one of them said as she hefted a bucket of water higher up onto her elbow. 

If Azrael hadn’t been so shocked that he wasn’t being shunned or spat upon, he might have wondered who this ‘big guy’ was.

He didn’t have long to wait before he found out. 

They came upon the encampment soon enough and in the distance, an enormous silhouette appeared, growing ever larger and more imposing as it strode through a haze of bonfire smoke towards them. It stopped dead the moment it saw him and Azrael, in turn, slowed to a halt as well. Most of his accompaniment had broken off, leaving only a handful to make the introductions, although they would soon find there wasn’t any need for one. 

Lips fluttering upwards sadly, Azrael’s brows pinched together across his forehead. “Hello, my friend,” he whispered, a sound that was almost lost to the busy ambience of the camp. He knew he’d been heard though, for the figure managed to lumber even closer until they were standing before one another, together again for the first time in a hundred years. 

Pale, blue eyes studied the bloody stumps protruding from Azrael’s back and a troubled rumble flowed through the air between them. “Oh, Azrael...” One, giant hand came up to hover uncertainly just above the angel’s shoulder, desperate to touch but afraid that doing so would cause him to shatter completely. “You old fool... . .”