#fire & blood is not meant to be taken as completely true

[capsiclesteebrogers]

legit saw a team bl*ck stan say that alicent is a terrible mother and maybe she should have mothered less because her children are either horrible or hate her. are they really that idiotic? do they really think alicent can just say no to viserys WHO FORCED THOSE CHILDREN ON HER? they assume she had a choice when she did not. she never did.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Loving Lies | Cassian x Reader

Summary: Only a few days after the war with Hybern ends, Cassian discovers that you, the “male” that’s been his Second in Command for nearly a decade, are a female in disguise.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Mentions of war and death, injuries, reader is Illyrian, possessive cass

A/N: This is basically just the mulan movie on crack, hope you enjoy<3

@cassianappreciationweek (yes I know I’m late)

Requests are open!

You, one of his most loyal men, one who’d been by his side for nearly a decade by now. You’d always been relatively kept to yourself, only sharing the barest details that you’d grown up in Windhaven like all the other males, father an unknown male, and mother just another female whore in the camps.

Or at least, that’s what he’d believed. He’d had no reason to question you, and why would he when you’d completed almost every task he’d thrown your way, clawing your way up the ranks until you had your little squadron of males to order and handle during the war with Hybern. Not too many, because your main power wasn’t with your strength, no, it was your mind.

Sometimes, he thought that you could rival Azriel with the ways you managed to challenge his plans and put every perspective into his mind, forcing him to change and adapt until it was as foolproof as could be.

The war had taken a chunk out of the Illyrian army, Cassian knew that better than anyone considering he’d watched the Cauldron blast a third of the army into dust firsthand. But even in the aftermath, you had somehow survived, supposedly barely avoiding the numerous blasts, and sustaining nearly fatal injuries that you were recovering from now.

It had only been a few days since the battle had laid to rest, and Cassian finally let himself visit you. He stood outside the thick white tent’s flapping entrance, candlelight shining out from the inside. Swallowing down any emotion, he carefully walked in, ducking under the entrance and tucking his wings in to not disrupt anything inside of the tent.

However, what he saw inside confused him.

You were bare, which was normal for any injured male when they were being treated, save for bandages around your chest, not because of any injury, but to conceal.

“What is..?”

He trailed off to the little female in the tent, who looked a bit pale as she sewed one of the wounds in your wings, but not pale from seeing the blood and gore. No, she had seen far worse in the war. She glanced up at him, then back down at your unconscious body.

“Your Second is a female.”

The nurse said quietly, almost as if frightened of his reaction. His mind went blank at that. The bandaging wasn’t because you’d suffered some sort of injury to your chest, it was because you had tits.

His Second in Command was a female.

It made sense, looking back. How you were always more scrawny than the other males, nimble while they were muscular. Or how you were much smarter than the rest of the uncivilized brutes, or the way he’d seen the littlest of straps underneath your leathers, almost like a binder. He’d been stupid not to realize it sooner.

With a sigh, he plopped down on the ground next to the low table you were placed stomach-down on.

“Will she wake up soon?”

She. The word tasted odd in his mouth when regarding you. The nurse seemed to relax a little bit.

“The sleep tonic might wear off soon, by the looks of it.”

She replied, and her words rang true as only a few minutes later, you began twitching and mumbling things. The nurse quickly finished up with your wings, and as you woke up, helped you to sit upright, putting a spare block of wood behind your back that was meant for a fire.

Your eyes groggily opened, hazy until you blinked a few seconds, your gaze snagging onto his and widened, glancing down at your chest, before back up at him, and you sighed.

“Well, I guess you were bound to find out eventually.”

You said in a resigned tone. His hands went running through his messy hair in a stressed manner before he finally stood so he could look down at you properly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He asked in a tone full of what sounded like betrayal. You inwardly winced at it.

“I..couldn’t, this was the only way to keep my wings and not end up like the other females in the camps.”

You said, not having the gall to even look him in the eye after lying to him for a decade. Surprisingly, you felt his hand brush against your cheek as he cupped it, kneeling to be at eye level with you. He gently moved your face, so you were looking into his now soft eyes, yours brimming with held-back tears.

“I..understand, but you know I’m not like the other males, right? I wouldn’t have let them touch you.”

You sighed, knowing that he was a good male.

“It’s not about that, Cassian.”

“Then what was it about? I can understand it for the first few years, clawing your way up the ranks, but you could’ve told me. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

He then demanded an answer, tone firm but also trying not to push too far. Pushing an injured soldier too far was a mistake he’d made only once, and never again.

You sighed again, this time seeming more resigned to admitting whatever was still keeping your body tense like you were hiding something from him.

“Because we’re mates, and the bond snapped for me, but never for you. And if I told you, then I knew it would snap for you, and you’d know everything and..”

Another sigh, this time at his silence and wide-eyed stare. Your prediction had been dead on, the moment you revealed it, it snapped on his end. He was angry that you, his perfect half, his Cauldron-deemed partner, had hidden it, but a more rational side of him understood. And empathized.

Still, the possessiveness already creeping in, he huffed.

“You’re coming to Velaris with me.”

He said bluntly, and your eyes widened.

“You can’t just-“

“The Illyrians would throw a fit if a single word of you being female gets out, which it soon will, and they’re already unruly after the war. You know that.”

And you did know that, because as much as you hated to admit it, he was right, and had outsmarted you this time.

“Territorial Illyrian bastard,”

You grumbled as you slung your legs over the side of the table, struggling to sit up on your own. The possessiveness didn’t fade, but he gave you a lazy grin that exposed his pointed canines.

“Scared of a night alone with me?”

He teased, despite the obvious strain lurking beneath his words. You shot him a half-assed glare, and the nurse was then again at your side, checking on wounds while encouraging you to “relax” while she poked and prodded you.

“When’s the earliest she’ll be able to travel?”

Using ‘she’ was more natural now. The nurse glanced up at him, then at your wings that had been patched together with hundreds of stitches.

“She won’t be able to fly for at least six months, but if you carried her…I’d give it a week or two.”

She answered in that quiet tone, and Cassian gave you a smug grin that you scowled at.

“Hear that? You’ll be in my arms in no time at all..”

He said with that idiotic, shit-eating grin he always wore.

“Oh, burn in Hell.”

[emilykaldwen]

FFWAD 24 - Sins of the Father by @selfproclaimedunicorn

For my first foray into this yearly celebration with @renegadeguild, I picked the brilliant and fantastic story, Sins of the Father by @selfproclaimedunicorn. Misa has taken the fantastic AU premise 'What if Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce had kids?' and has run with it in the most delicious and satisfying way. The story isn't complete, but the first 'arc' has a good stopping point at a whopping 160k words, which made for the chonkiest book you could imagine.

This was the twelth book I've bound (both fic and rebinds of old favorites) and I tried several new techniques for it including rounding and backing the spine. I also stretched my legs in the formatting department and went all in with the interior. That meant ordering some special springhill paper to do these fantastic maps for the endpages. Full details behind the cut!

Typesetting: Normally I've kept my settings pretty minimal as I got used to the ins and outs of InDesign (during this, I did purchase Affinity Publisher and might end up moving to that, but I'm finally getting the hang of ID and you can pry it from my cold hands). I really wanted to mimic some of the interior of Fire & Blood for this, so I hunted down the fonts used and took an image of the decorative banner you see on the sides to use for the chapter openers. I also wanted to include timelines and family trees in true historically inspired fantasy tradition.

The family tree was created based off of the author's spreadsheet in Google Drawing, which I found to be the easiest thing to use when it comes to creating chaotic family trees like this (In the past I'd used lucid chart for a printable version, but google worked better here).

the timeline is honestly my favorite thing and I learned how to use tables in ID for the first time. I'm incredibly pleased with it. The formatting is based upon the line of kings in the source. The timeline covers the events of the first arc as printed in this particular story.

The chapter openers are some of my favorite! As the children are proud to be House Royce, I wanted to reflect that. The runes you see behind the Chapter number and title are the Floki font and name the character whose the POV for each chapter.

Since there's plenty of High Valyrian spoken and the author doesn't include the translations within narrative, it was the perfect moment to set up footnotes. I'll absolutely be doing this for my own story when I bind it!

Rounding and Backing: So this was a total adventure, but I really wanted the old book feel. I made the mistake of pressing the book for too long and lost a lot of the swell in the spine to round but it worked out AND I managed to back it a little bit. Since I wasn't doing cord tapes for the spine (this was a version of the three piece bradel), I had to troubleshoot. I ended up cutting strips of the leather cord I bought from michaels and laminating those pieces together and placing them on the oxford hollow on the spine (given how thick the book is, I wanted to give it as much structural strength as possible). The 'leather' covering you see is actually the craft leather (polyester) from Dollar Tree and it's pretty awesome but definitely has difficulties staying put with glue. I followed the normal procedure and slathered both sides up and used twine to compress the bookcloth along those leather pieces. there's a little gaping in some places which I think would help if I'm able to properly apply backing paper to the polyester.

HTV do's and don'ts: Hi! don't be me and forget to apply your teflon sheets before applying the HTV because then you fuck with the polyester but it's not too bad. The other pro-tip is to gently apply the iron to the cover so it's warm before applying the HTV so it can start to stick. I had to apply the front cover in three pieces and do the title twice. Also, it's really difficult to apply HTV to a rounded spine so I'll have to figure out how to set up the spine and cover before applying (since there's a certain amount of stretching the bookcloth over the spine). The spine might end up having to be regular adhesive vinyl for that. Also, it's stupidly hard to find metallic HTV in bronze.

Front matter and final thoughts: The bronze dragon was a lucky find through an extensive google search, and the runes surrounding it are 'we remember with fire and blood', a combination of House Royce and House Targaryen's words. Seems fitting four Yorick, Ella, and Aemon! The copyright page is mimicked off the source's style, including the AO3 information, the creative commons and fair use information, the guild stamp, a QR code to the AO3 page, and my own press stamp! The summary is pulled from AO3 as well.

All in all, I made this book twice and I loved it and learned so much every time.

I'm so happy with this project and I'm so excited to do the next arc! Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful story, Misa!

[ddejavvu]

could you please write a spencer x bau!reader where they're both just completely pining for each other but neither of them have the guts to admit it so one day at work she kisses spencer on the cheek really quick and he just melts 🤭

Reading through an unsub's numerous journals with Spencer sitting beside you is like watching a toddler try to run a marathon with a pro athlete. You're not nearly going as fast, and you feel a temper tantrum coming on.

You even rub at your eyes toddler-style, fists balled up and aggressively pushing against your lids. It makes your head ache, and blurred lines spiral in the void of your vision.

"Interesting, here he mentions fields red as blood, but that's typically a phrase used to refer to the red poppy, and there's no stretches of farmland out here that could have been turned into a meadow."

"Mm," You hum muted in your throat, still assaulting your eyes, "Interesting, Spence. What does that mean?"

"Well, probably- uh, are you okay, Y/N?"

"No," You moan, creasing the journal in your lap as you slump forwards onto the table with your arms curled around your head, "I'm tired, and I've read so much that my head is starting to hurt. And you're still thirty-two journals ahead of me."

"Thirty-four," Spencer mumbles, then his slender hand comes to rest cautiously against your back, "Do you want to rest? You can nap if you want, uh, no offense but I can probably finish these faster than you could."

"No offense taken," You admit, wrestling the journal you were working on out from your lap and holding it out blindly for him, "Have at it, wonder boy."

True to his word, Spencer lets you sleep. But he goes above and beyond, patting you gently on the shoulder, then rougher when you don't wake.

"Y/N," He hisses, kicking at your foot beneath the table, "Hotch is back."

Your boss's name inspires terror in you that can only be achieved at the threat of unemployment. It compels you to snatch a journal off of Spencer's pile, flipping it open to a random page just as Aaron strides through the door.

"What have you found?" Hotch looks at you expectantly, and you let Spencer fill his role as Team Rambler with gratitude swirling in your chest.

When he's filled Hotch in on all the nitty-gritty scrawled into the unsub's journals, the older man nods.

"I'll have Garcia check for any notable poppy fields." He informs you, already reaching for his cell, "And keep looking for regional dialect in there, you two, that'll help."

You nod obediently, and Aaron is gone.

Spencer's much more intrigued by his task than you are, so he doesn't notice you leaning closer to him, already engrossed in the journal once more.

"Thanks, Spence." You gush, pressing your soft, puckered lips to Spencer's cheek in a kiss that shoots fire down his spine, "I'm gonna go get some coffee, want some?"

His eyes go wide, and he hasn't had any time to process your kiss, my god, your kiss! until you're already standing, lingering by the door waiting for his order.

"Uh, no," Spencer shakes his head, then, "Or- yes! Please, um, lots of sugar. Please."

"Extra sweet," You promise, and Spencer wonders if you meant to describe yourself, "Got it, pretty boy."

As it turns out, the nickname makes him blush a lot more when it comes from your mouth and not Morgan's.

[2demondogs]

Hello, I'm the anon who asked if you write autism and now that i know you do, I'd love it if you could do an gender neutral autistic reader/Javier?

I love music, and I don't think I could live without it. it really helps prevent meltdowns and calms me down when things get too overwhelming. I often hear and love listening to Javier play his music in camp. it's so relaxing and serene sometimes. My favorite is Ángel De Amor :)

I don't really have a specific way for this request to go besides including Javier's music into it. So I'd say you have complete creative freedom! Thank you so much for answering my question, by the way. I love your writing :))

Of course! I am a simple man tbh Javier picks up the guitar in game and I sit Arthur's ass the fuck down. Also thank you <3

I kind of went from the comfort aspect. Sorry this took a second (I also have another like. week old request too) fatigue is kicking my ass this week.

Words: 1.9k Tags: fluff, Javier is madly in love with u, reader has sensory issues, established relationship

You wish you could know true silence.

Javier had looked at you perplexed when you asked if the wind ever bothered him, insisting you meant the sound and not that it messed with hair or clothes or bullets. Lucky him, only hear it during storms.

He had taken your mind off of the racing of your heart by clapping his hands over your ears and grinning. "Better?" He'd asked, and you'd felt his voice reverberating enough to offset the overwhelming roar of blood through his hot palms.

What a fool, you thought and still think, but laying on your bedroll has left you with no sleep and a deep desire for his hands on your face, or how he lays on you in the privacy of trips away from camp. The ground is hard, too hard; you feel cold in a way that's deeper than temperature, as if loneliness could be icelike and sting all over, especially through your empty arms; and it's so quiet that your ears are ringing, searching for noise and focusing only on your own heart thudding — the sound gives you anxiety, for some unknowable reason — and the snores of the camp.

Oh, the snores.

You start to get angry, but you blame it on those, usually. Although Javier snores, and that's never bothered you. Because it's you, you've told him for romance's sake but, really, it's hard to know what's irritating you when everything feels raw and cold and burning all at once.

Before your patience can snap, the pressure of it already building in your throat, you sit up and let your eyes re-adjust to the darkness of the night. You had hardly realized how the darkness behind your lids was growing on your bad side, too.

The campfire is still going nearby, and you see Javier sitting with his back against one of the logs, guitar laid over his lap and a knife in hand. He's doing something to it. Arthur's tent flaps are drawn and the light of a lantern fights against the fire for shadows, the dark outline of a large hand passing over the light now and then; as you walk past, you think maybe Hosea is sitting beside the tent post that covers him, Bill, and Lenny.

Besides the four of you, it's eerily dead. Not an unusual occurrence, really, because it seems these three's insomnias are all interlinked and your own tends to join in on their frequency, too— but eerie all the same.

The choice is clear enough of who to join. Only Javier is surrounded by empty space, though you've learned that doesn't necessarily mean he'll be as friendly with others as he is with you. Romantic privileges, or something like that. You believe he's just sour inside and trying to stuff you into the open sore like cotton.

With only the company of your feet shuffling over dirt, Javier's voice seems gunshot loud.

"What're you up for?" He asks, disinterested before he looks up from his guitar's neck. One string is missing out of six, a new gutstring pinched in his fingers as he twists it where travel had unraveled it in storage. Frayed ends stick from the tuning pegs, tied but not trimmed. His eyes soften when he sees it's you, but he leaves the greeting as it is.

"Can't sleep," you say, and take a seat at a polite distance on the same log.

Javier never complains of your proximity and you feel the urge for it now, that prickly sensation of emptiness along your arms and torso, but something stops you from taking indulgence into your own hands. You're happy that he scoots over some, shrugging and waving the small knife in his hand as he speaks. Glinting in the fire, the blade one of the newer silver ones he picked up during a disastorous Van Horn trip.

"I would'a never guessed," he says. Even though his hair is untied — it seems that he couldn't sleep either, because it is tangled in the back — you know he's smiling.

Past his head, as he leans away, you watch him cut the excess from the last string and tie a firm knot around the tuning peg. The easy way he works his skills always quiets your nerves, the same way it does to watch Javier handle his guitar in general.

When you feel unable to handle anything, it's comforting to know there's someone who knows how to handle something. Someone you've got a claim to, whose skills you take a secondary pride in — look at my man, doesn't he know his way around...? — but that's entirely affection speaking.

"What's on your mind, cielo?" He asks, leans his head back on the log beside your hip and looks up at you.

The shadows draw strangely over his features at this angle. His features have filled out nicely since Dutch dragged him in. Nevermind that they were fuller, still, before Blackwater, or that his undereyes look darker than they have in months. He's handsome, and his eyes flutter shut when you draw your nails gently over the hair sprouting from his temple.

Before, he's laughed when you've spoken honestly, but it has never been at your expense. Javier has some humor about him when you are alone — which is the only place you will confide in him, whether it's fear of your dignity or fear for the life of anyone who side-eyes Javier's sweetheart — and at times, you think maybe he's laughing the way men laugh when they see the sun for the first time in years. There is no judgement behind the way he smiles, showing his gums because the curl of his upper lip grows almost timid.

It is sickening, how in love Javier is.

He makes you feel like you are, for the first time in your life, entirely without flaw. You know that's impossible, that no one is, but feelings never do bow to inferior facts.

You realize you've gotten lost in your thoughts when Javier's lips brush your knuckles, having plucked your hand from his hair and taken it in his own, the fingers curled over the wall of his. He says your name. It sounds good in his rasp.

"S'rry," you say, blink once or twice to remember what he had even asked. What's on your mind? Why are you awake? "It's too quiet 'round here. It's botherin' me."

He nods. "Never sounds right when the woods are quiet," he agrees, and you realize he's misunderstood.

"No, it's very loud," you correct.

Javier squints at you, that familiar humor nudging his eyes. "What do you mean?"

You were going to divulge the depth of it, but now you find yourself focused on explaining this part to him. The entire world was beginning to piss you off, anyways, so finding comfort for one thing must be easier.

"The— well, the silence is too loud. It's buggin' me."

He raises a brow. "Silence is literally too loud?"

"Yes," you say, wondering why he's asking. It sounds odd put that way, sure, but it still makes perfect sense to you. Then he smiles faintly, those eyes soften— and it's apparent that this is another one of those things only you experience. "I could hear my blood running while I was layin' down. Hated it. D'you ever hear yours?"

"Only when it's really pumpin'," he says, and you stop trying to find something he'll relate to.

It doesn't leave you quite so empty-feeling as it has in the past that Javier doesn't have the same issues. None of it matters, because he does not care how foreign some of your complaints are: he will solve them, somehow.

No, Dutch's gramophone never makes his teeth itch, but he'll keep you company outside camp until the old man shuts it off or your mind is calm enough to stomach another opera. No, his clothes never feel abrasive, but he'll let you wear his instead, will look proud that they do not bother you as if he wove the fabric himself. The latter had been one of his first unspoken I love yous. It was his favorite vest.

And now, he's asking: "D'you wanna hear a song instead?"

Your brows knit. "Won't it wake everyone up?"

"No, cariño," Javier says, nods to the ground beside him. "You come closer 'n' I'll play quiet. Jus' for you."

You let yourself smile. "Alright," you say, swallow the warmth you feel at his offer and how relieved you are to have it spoken.

He's played his guitar for you before, many times. You've asked it for some of them, under the guise of not remembering words to his songs — he never questioned this reason, although he knows you can't speak Spanish and likely knew there was something much gentler behind it — or boredom.

Only once has it been for the same reason he plays now: to comfort you. The woods had been too quiet, and you'd been bleeding.

Javier asks for a song, and wrinkles his nose playfully when you say Ángel de Amor. "That's a sad one," he says. "Don't you want something happy?"

"They're all sad," you say. You'd be surprised if Javier knew a love song that was not about heartbreak or being eaten alive by it. "Aren't the best ones always sad?"

He huffs a laugh. "So, are they all the best?"

"Yessir."

He grins, and it malforms the usual sorrow he sings the first verse with, until he gets a handle on his face.

That his songs are all sad is true enough. There's not much joy to be sung about in the outlaw life, just as there's always that one-two, disjointed beginning to it when the guitar is picked up and played. Finding the rhythm, you suppose, or just remembering the feeling of the strings before going into a song that is as second-nature as pouring coffee or lighting a cigarette.

Simple, a three chord progression and those familiar, short lyrics— at least, they sound short, because he rolls the words off his tongue fast and smooth enough to be one, long breath. You don't realize until you are relaxing against the log, your side pressed to his, just how lonely and exhausted you have been all day.

Not lonely any longer, at least, with his warmth bleeding into your skin and the vibration of the guitar wondering across your own leg as he strums. It soothes the buzzing feeling in your veins, the one that lingers when your nerves start to tighten and bunch under the face of whatever sourness found you this evening.

Javier smells good, too, and you realize how distasteful the air had seemed without something thicker, more potent in it. He'd been wearing one of your favorite colognes today, and its afterimage is on his neck when your weary head falls onto his shoulder. Javier does not tell you to move back, although it must make strumming difficult. He adjusts so that he isn't jostling you and shortens the motion of his wrist, which he will complain tomorrow is sore with a smile.

Another habit, which makes you feel somewhat guilty, is that you will never smell him wear a scent again if you get a chance to smell it and do not tell him you like it. Although, through the guilt, there's something in you that feels very special.

After a lifetime of feeling other, here is a man who will do anything to be accepted by you.

Sickening, so very.

You turn your nose to smell the remnants of the cologne on his shirt. You think you recognize El Borrachito before he starts singing, but consciousness leaves you thereafter. In the morning, you'll wake up to find yourself slumped over his shoulder blades and Javier, over his guitar.

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 29: Complete

MASTERLIST

Summary: Aemond's desires come to truth as Daemon and Naera wed in the way of old Valyria.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: NSFW Content! It's not THAT explicit, only vague kissing and fondling, heavy implications, suggestive themes, breeding kink, etc.

Aemond knocked tentatively on the ebony door, feet shuffling as he turned to his back, then each side, not at all calmed by the endless echoing corridors of the Keep. In his hand he held an ornate box that lay carved with ancient Valyrian runes—the result of his escapades in the King’s Stores, that he had taken it upon himself to deliver to his uncle and half-sister as a marital gift.

And then some. He had a question to ask, assistance to seek from the person he had grown to trust may understand. His half-sister was as selfish as he felt, he knew, and his uncle her husband even graver in his deeds. They were the perfect match, in a way—blood and fire, the epitome of what it meant to be Targaryen. The world would know no peace.

“Come!” He heard Naera scream from within, and he turned the heavy door on its hinges, silent. And entered the solar. It was strewn adrift with papers and letters, books and fresh parchment. Pots of ink sat beside collections of quills, ornate and rough-spun huddled alike, beside bottles of Dornish Red and some strange concoctions in twinkling glass bottles that ranged from the looks of curdled milk to liquid jade. He could smell ginger, at his first step, lemon at his second, and ash and embers when he sat.

Naera sat on her chair, eyes trained on a letter. She read it, expression bearing a soft frown that he realised was the natural way her lips fell, until she smiled, crumpled the pages in her hands and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Good morrow, Aemond.” Aemond turned to the window, one good eye watching the sun make its descent into the waters.

“It is to be evening soon, sister.” Naera followed his gaze to the window, to the haze that would soon be ushered with twilight. Her face glowed differently, he saw. Much had changed since they last met, even if only a moon had turned. As for him.

He’d made his moves carefully, spent stollen moments with the object of his every desire. He’d plucked her flowers she had never held before, told her tales of truth and sometimes even of valour, stollen kisses under the cover of shadowy night, and held to his stealth for protection. It wasn’t enough.

“Ah.” She turned to the door to her chambers, and said, aloud, “The sun sets soon, make some haste, dear groom.” He saw that she still wore a gown of black silk, not the garments of their tradition. He heard laughter from the other side, slurred words in their mother tongue that Aemond couldn’t quite decipher, but he recognised that Naera sat blushing and silent afterwards.

Blushing, for all her warrior-like ways. It was rather different from his sweet true sister’s blushes. Naera seemed scandalised, mischievous, a light flush of red on her cheeks, an embarrassed smile on her lips, but Helaena, Helaena blushed so red he feared he’d have to fetch a maester, turned so high and brilliant, eyes sparkling, lips chapped together that he--right.

He set the box down on the table, “A gift to commemorate your union.”

Naera smiled, inching the box closer to herself for a look. “Thank you—” but the door opened with a shudder.

Aemond’s uncle walked in, scuttered, rather—his steps were hasty. He was dressed in traditional garbs—red and cream, his silver-white hair left free to hang an inch above his shoulders, Dark Sister in her scabbard in his hand.

“No,” Naera covered her eyes, “A Tyroshi priestess once told me that gazing upon your betrothed on your day of marriage is considered ill-luck.” A burst of laughter left her lips.

“And a Valyrian book once told me that I may gaze at my wife as often as I wish.” Daemon left his sword on the table, snatched his wife’s hands away from her face and kissed her lips, with lust and haste, then kissed her forehead, and ran out the door. Aemond watched his back as he left, baffled as to when he had retaken the sword.

“I closed my eyes!” Naera screamed after him. Still laughing, she turned back to Aemond, “What can I do for you, brother?” Brother. He smiled back at her, unable to stop himself.

“Tell me, sister,” he breathed, licked his lips, hesitant. That is why he’d come, he knew. Sure, pay respects to his favourite family members after Helaena, congratulate them on their union, but there was always the other cause. “How can I take her?” Her, her, her; his Helaena, splendid, ethereal beauty wrapped in a promise of treason.

Naera sighed, and he was glad that she’d understood without him having to spend more words.

Naera poured him a cup of wine, water the colour of blood settling into a silver cask, like rubies spilling from a dark slate. Naera froze as she filled it, eyes distant, lost. Then, she asked, voice betraying her dreamy loss of the moment, “Does the Trident have Green Waters?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, handed him the cup and returned to her chair.

Aemond swallowed the wine in a breath, eye not leaving his sister’s face. She had paled, that sickly palour returning to her face. She blinked frantically, sipped a cup of water.

“You cannot take her, Aemond,” Take what you want, she had told him some moons ago—and he realised his folly. It was akin to a jerk to wake him from a long sleep.

Gods, what had he been thinking? He couldn’t take her, how could he? Where would they go? What would they do when men came seeking them? Had he been so blinded by his love, that he’d forgone all practicality? He’d hoped that she’d have an answer but—“You can maybe ask her.” He furrowed his eyebrows, a ghostly pain returning from under his eyepatch.

Naera sighed, “A maiden’s word must be your shield if you intend to have her.” Rapers went to the Wall at best, to the headsman at worst. Disgraceful.

“I do not mean to defile her,” Aemond defended, “I wish to wed her—to—” to see her wear the garbs Naera would at dusk, to drink her blood and hold her hand and vow to protect her for all their lives. That was what he wanted.

Naera refilled his cup, “I know, and she knows. The world does not.”

“You could—”

“What?” His sister’s eyes grew cold and cruel, her voice tuned to injure, to pick at his folly and tear him a regretful wound, “Tell the world that you love her? It isn’t so simple.” Aemond looked down, unable to meet those crystal eyes. Every word she spoke was true, and that hurt. Leave the world, he thought, Mother is the one we need convince.

“You can only love for so long without being loved, brother,” Naera sighed, chin dropping to her palm, elbow banging against the table, “You can only run if she wishes it also.” Run with me, Helaena. We’ll wed in the faith of the Seven or that of the Valyrians. We’d be one heart, one soul—just say the word.

“She wants me, I am certain of it.” She hates Aegon, and knows well that their days near quickly. If only mother saw through her schemes.

“It is only mother, even the King—”

Naera shook her head, “Fuck the King,” he smiled at her brashness, “fuck your mother and your cock of a grandsire,” he felt a pang of shame after the moment passed. He hadn’t defended them, he realised. He agreed with his sister. His mother, fuck Alicent, who wouldn’t see past the grey shroud of duty to gaze at the world in all its colour. Love, was the colour he wished to see, he reminded himself. He had caught a glimpse, now he wanted a full look. “Aemond,” she summoned his wits back to her, “Ask her, confide in her, and run, together.”

Dusk hung heavy in the isle of Dragonstone, a curtain of fog descending on the shores as fires were lit and the Blood of the Dragon gathered near the volcanic crypts. It was a cacophony of red and black, the colours of their heritage—silver hair and purple eyes, fire in their veins, all gathered in respect or obligation.

The priest fanned the coal and flames, ornate chalices and candles gathered by Rhaenyra arranged on a block of rock marbled with red and yellow—it was slab of frozen fire mined from the haunted crypts of the Dragons.

Daemon could hear them murmuring through the fog from where he stood on the sandy beach. He could make out the Hightower cunt’s voice, could see her black gown flapping in the breeze even through the fog, and it only irritated him. The Blood of the Dragon had gathered, so why, pray why had the stupid lanterns joined in? His robes were scratchy and cold, the calm breezes did nothing to allay his urgency. The sun was falling into the sea, a streak of gold and saffron following it, and the mists grew pink and red as though the sky itself bled. It was time

The waves rustled the sands calmly as she took his side. Wrapped in a robe nearly identical to his—cream and ruby, adorned with gold, an ornate headdress laid between her braided silver locks. Beautiful. The curve of her nose, the pink flesh of her lips, her eyes—crystals clearer than diamonds painted blue and red, gods.

His ire vapourized, that familiar panging of his heart returning, thud, thud, his heart now beat only for her, it seemed.

He took her hand wordlessly, her chilled touch sending shivers through him, and in his mind, he spoke a prayer.

Let me hold this hand forever.

The rocky shores bristled against her bare feet, reminding Naera of the time she had scaled the ports of Asshai from the rocky ends. It hurt, but it was worth it. Daemon’s hand was warm in hers, his grasp tight and binding, as they crossed the threshold to where their family waited.

The fires flared when they made it to the clearing, the sky reddened like a maiden’s blush—if the Gods could betray more of their intentions, she did not know how. With the cold of the fog, and the warmth of his hand, the serene calmness of this event came a gradual understanding that this was right. She was meant for this—to be his, to hold his hand, to wield her sword for them, to sleep and wake and live beside him. Her uncle who had never cared for her, but now he cared not what the world said as long as he could have her.

Her family stood around the flames; the two branches of the house split over the priest. Viserys stumbled close, wilting hair and face, though he had a guilty smile on. He’d done this in some hope of companionship, but it had grown into a sickly sort of love, he knew.

He took her hand, clasped it in his cold damp one, and pressed a shuddering kiss to her forehead. Naera smiled at him, watched him return to Rhaenyra’s side—Rhaenyra, who smiled in a way most disillusioned, who stood with her husband, her sworn guards, her children, her court, choosing war even in that moment. Across the priest was Alicent, face contorted in distaste for such old ways, her children at her side, all in red and black, a treaty of peace. Aemond gave her a curt nod when she met his eye, a tingling smile on her lips.

The priest—one of the old Keepers of the Dragonpit who still followed those old doomed gods—began his droning, hymns sung to Meleys, the goddess of love and fertility, to Teraxes, to Balerion—to nearly every god, but Naera cared not. This had been the scene, she knew—Daemon shrouded in fog, silent and still, calmness in his eyes.

The priest handed him a blade of obsidian, a shard of glass as black as night that glowed in its shadowy beauty. He ran it down her lower lip, skin splitting instantly, blood pooling. He dabbed his thumb on that red, red, red beauty, and smeared a straight line on her forehead.

I name you woman, fire in your veins, it meant.

She took the blade, and did the same for him, his blood warm against her thumb as she drew three bent lines on his forehead.

I name you man, blood in your nature.

He traced the dagger over his palm, striking a wound deep and true to stand out amongst all thousands scars that he brandished. A line of red dripped down his skin. Naera traced the same wound on her own palm—Of my own will, I thus give you myself, and their hands joined in a flash of pain and flame.

The priest began, “Hen lantoti ānograr va syndroti vāedroma,” Blood of two joined as one, lifeblood dripping to mingle and mix, tethering them to each other.

The priest wrapped a ribbon the colour of night and light over their held hands, blood dripping down through the binds.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti elēdroma iārza sīr,” Ghostly flame and song of shadows.

He handed Naera a chalice of stone and glass, as dark as night, and she tilted the vessel till salt and iron flooded her tongue. Our blood to bind.

“Izulī ampā perzī prumī lanti sēteski,” Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires.

Daemon mirrored her acts, his face twisting as their blood laced his tongue. He swallowed it bravely, and watched Naera’s eyes. Close, so close.

“Hen jeny māzilarion, qēlossa ozūndesi,” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.

Naera breathed, breaking into a delicate smile again, “I shall be your side forever.”

He took her other hand, eyes never leaving—lilac and lilac, crystal clear and shallow pools of glass. “I shall hold your hand forever.”

“Synroro ōñō jēdo ry kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time of Darkness and Light.

She inhaled, cold, wet air flooding her nose in a rush, and she gazed, gazed, gazed at him, his eyes that refused to leave hers, the wealth of his wisdom yet to be cultivated, the gift of his existence forever claimed by her. She said, “I will defend you.” Against the night, against the light, against whatever was to come. Against every wish to exile, every spat with the greens, every ill word with the King, she will stand by him, she will protect his honour as though it was her own.

He smiled, though both love and mischief twinkled in his eye, “I will warm you.” When the night was dark and full of terrors, when the end came and her will faltered, he shall be with her, he shall give her fire and light. He will warm her bed and hers alone, warm her body when the cold came, warm her spirits over every loss and share her joy over every victory.

Naera said, “I will give it all up for you.” Dorne, Volantis, Pentos, the Dothraki Seas, Asshai, and her dreams—Yi Ti, the Jade Sea, whatever lays east of the Shadow, the very wonders of the world could be laid abandon. She loved too easily, but even the gods had proclaimed this union as perfection.

“I will never hurt you.” Not as he once had, no, never. He will never disappoint her, never let her down, never leave her behind, never let her think that he could survive without her.

“I will love you.” Daemon’s heart lost a weight he did not know he bore, a delightful, fiery blaze in his chest, a joy uncontainable. His, his, his. She was his, every flicker on her eyes belonged to him, every mocking word his, every act of bravery, every witted word. He loved already, but he could love better, now that she loved him also.

His hand flew to her face, thumb smearing the blood at her lip, red, red, red, and to show that he cared, that he loved, that he was willing to understand, he said, “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

She leaned on her toes and kissed his lips.

His laughter would be her lifeblood, she realised as his heaving breaths reverberated through her chest, made her feel warm, made her feel him, his spirit and not just his body.

“D’you know what they’ll all say,” he spoke into her neck, his nose breathing cool air over the red mark of his bite, “When you grow round and great with my child, again and again?”

She laughed, a fleeting giggle morphing into a ridiculed laugh, “What?” He pulled her into a different corridor, away from their chambers.

“The Princess must really love her uncle’s cock,” the vulgarity made her roll her eyes.

“Maybe they’ll think that the prince has no control over himself,” Naera challenged, “Keeps getting his sweet niece with child, the poor woman.” He pushed her against a wall, cold stone of the corridors of the Keep making her flush and hum, and his hands roamed her flesh like a man starved.

Their lips met, tongues melding, breaths fading until the newly wedded couple panted for breath.

“Poor woman?” His eyes twinkled with the sort of courage that came with deeds best not committed.

“They needn’t know,” she kissed his cheek, arms winding around his neck. “They needn’t know that the idea of bearing her uncle’s seed fills the niece with a selfish joy that she cannot account for.” With a deft flick of his hand, her robes parted, rough linen tearing aloud.

“Oh, but the uncle knows,” he descended on her neck again, “He knows very well how much his niece loves having his spend in her womb.” He hoisted her legs up, lips falling to her breasts.

“Yes, oh, yes he does,” she moaned, wits departing her, fingers tugging at his hair, leading him to the other breast. He complied greedily, nipping, licking, kissing the flesh, leaving red and purple marks on every patch of free skin.

Her garbs were torn and ruined; her headdress abandoned in the hands of Laenor before they had scurried to the corridors in some mad bout of lust. Gods, lust was only one word for what she felt. She felt charged, as though lightning had struck her very soul. She felt fiery, as she often did when he stood beside her.

One kiss to his lips and the sentiment had caught on as a candle-flame blazes into an arsonist’s dream.

Now her swelling flesh was in his hands. She had lapped away the drying blood of his lip, sucked at the tear in his skin till the wound was raw, and now, she was at his mercy once again.

“Daemon,” she called, making him stare into her eyes with his own, lilac flowers and bloody amethysts. Beautiful. His hair was tousled, red streaking his forehead, but his eyes, those eyes that were over a decade older than her own yet were livelier than she had been just moons ago.

“Naera,” he called back, as had become their ritual, and she recalled the sweet bliss of hearing her name from his lips again. Completion, he made her sound complete, made her believe that she could conquer this new land that was marriage and slay this new demon that was mistrust.

Footsteps.

And the moment broke, but he was smiling as he leaned his face close to hers, covering her form from view.

“Fuck off,” he chastised behind himself, swaying his wife slowly. “Can’t you see—” but Naera put a finger to his lips, her eyes trained over his shoulder. Daemon turned tentatively, half-expecting his brother or the Hightower cunt or the cunt lord of hands but no.

He hugged his sweet wife tighter as she gave a subtle nod to Aemond, her half-brother—his sister Helaena’s hand in his, her face caught blushing a bright red, as they rushed through corridors and passageways, hastened and cautious. When their footsteps echoed away, Naera laughed.

“The Hightowers fall on our wedding after all.”

To be, or not to be…

…continued

MASTERLIST

[vaya-writes]

Serving the Serpent - 9

Briar owes Lord Isen her life. She works off her debt by serving in his castle. Dealing with the rapidly changing circumstances of her life, she’s not used to anyone paying her much attention. It’s hard when Isen seems set on interacting with her. 

Cis female human with selective mutism x male naga (slow burn, co-workers to lovers, power imbalances, eventual smut). 4700 words. Content warnings for this chapter include discussion of Briar’s cult-like upbringing, sleep deprivation, and Briar experiencing significant anxiety. Divider from firefly-graphics.

Thank you for your patience everyone <3 It's been a month and a half, whoops. I present the only one bed trope. Enjoy.

Previous - Masterlist

The phrase ‘when it rains, it pours’ is not always accurate in the Ophidian Lowlands. Usually, the sky hangs low and overcast, drizzling on and off throughout autumn.  Perhaps the saying is a holdover from when the Pilgrims lived on the continent. Perhaps it was never meant to be used literally, and only ever used to refer to misfortunes of other kinds. Regardless of the phrase’s origins, it proves especially true the morning lord Isen is supposed to start his tour.  

Briar finds him amidst a tangle of blankets, unresponsive. She’s not surprised. The serpent is cold blooded, and the temperature can’t be doing him any favours. Opening the curtains doesn’t do much to rouse him, and neither does stoking the fire.  

Briar approaches the bed, staring down at the pale scales that peek out from the blankets, wondering if she should wake the lord. She’s never had to do so before, as he’s never had to be up quite so early. 

She coughs softly, but Isen doesn’t respond. Neither does he move when she shakes the bed. She waits a moment before trying again. And then a third time. Her anxiety grows when she realises she’ll have to take more drastic measures.  

She’s just doing her job. She won’t get in trouble. She won’t. 

Isen lets out a hiss when she pulls the blankets from the bed. He curls up tighter and attempts to sink beneath his pillows. Briar starts removing them, one cushion at a time until Isen lies bare on the bed. Still, he does not wake. 

Briar lets out a loud sigh – practically a groan with the way exasperation colours her voice. They have things to do and places to be, and they’re going to be late. 

She flinches when Isen sits up, quite suddenly.  

He squints at her, bleary, hair mussed. “D’you say somthin, Leg?” 

She’s taken aback by his slurred speech. Enough so that she doesn’t even have room to worry at the question. Instead, she raises her brow. ‘Did you?’ 

He rubs his face. Lets out a groan.  

And lays back down. 

Briar watches him with widened eyes. She no longer has any compunctions about shaking him awake. 

Isen is saved from Briar’s ire when Arol blows into the room, completely abluster. 

“You do this every year Kovit!”  

Briar jumps back as the lizard grabs Isen’s tail and pulls; heaving until Isen’s bottom half is hanging off the bed.  

“The weather broke, I’ve been rearranging things since sunrise, we are already behind. And you’re not even out of bed!” 

Isen lets out another groggy noise before sitting up. “Sss fine Arol. The tide doesn’t change ‘til midmorning.” 

“The tide doesn’t- are you not listening? It’s been raining all night. We’re not taking the Ophidia, we have to go on foot!” 

Isen takes a moment. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

He sighs. Rubs his face again. “Okay, okay. What time is it?” 

“Time to leave. The sun has been up for nearly an hour.” 

“Okay. I’m moving.” He slides off the bed, moving sluggishly towards the wardrobe. 

Arol turns tail and is about to leave when Briar taps him on the arm. She doesn’t want to deal with his mood, but would prefer that to being left in the dark. 

“What?”  

She stills at his tone. Stares him dead on, and waits for him to deflate a little.  

To his credit, Arol seems to understand her expression. “You’re right, sorry. I’m just feeling quite frazzled.” 

She shrugs, and waves off the statement. Then she shakes her head. ‘What is happening?’ 

Arol eyes her hands with a wince. “I’m sorry, I haven’t learnt Sign yet. Isen, can you translate?” 

Isen leans out from his wardrobe as Briar repeats herself. “She’s asking what happened.” 

“Of course, you’re new around here.” Arol’s posture loosens. “Most of the time we travel the lowlands via barge. This trip would only take a day or two if we could do that. But it stormed all last night, and now the river isn’t safe to sail.”  

Briar nods her understanding. She tries signing something simple to him. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ (Why, you, bad) 

He gets the gist of it. “It will take a whole day to travel to the Sisters on foot. Even if we can sail tomorrow, that’s a whole day we’re adding to our itinerary. I’ve had organise additional supplies, reschedule our appointments... It’s not a big problem. I’m just feeling foul. Sorry for yelling, you shouldn’t have to witness that.” 

Briar waves him off again. ‘It’s fine.’ 

He nods. “Thanks, Legs. I’ll meet you both downstairs. Breakfast will be on the trail.” 

Briar’s nose crinkles. It seems Isen’s nickname is sticking. 

Arol is gone by the time Isen emerges from his wardrobe, dressed and looking marginally more awake. He lets out another yawn, before giving Briar an almost contemplative frown. 

She raises her brow, accompanying him as he follows after his representative. ‘What?’ 

“I think I dreamt that you said something to me, right before I woke, but I can’t remember what.” 

Briar immediately knows what he’s talking about. He had woken right after she’d groaned at him. She can’t help but stare at her feet as they walk, an unsourced feeling of anxiety curling in her gut. The idea of vocalising-  

She doesn’t even want to think about it. Every time it had come up since she was a child, she’d been met with nothing but distaste. Exasperation. Blame. Even the kindest of the pilgrims had alienated her. Made her feel like she was deficit of something. She doesn’t want to hear it from Isen too.  

It’s irrational. She knows he wouldn’t hurt her intentionally. Wouldn’t pressure her to speak if she made it clear that she didn’t want to. But everyone who’d ever found out that she could speak – or at least that she should be able to, that her vocal cords were not, in fact, damaged, did nothing but hurt her. Intentional or not. Even Stella, from time to time. It was exhausting. 

She realises that Isen is silent. He’d been awaiting her reaction to his confession. Had possibly taken her silence the wrong way. 

She can’t say why she does it. But the exhaustion is back, and part of her wants to confide in somebody. To share, and lighten the burden, just a little. To say ‘I am tired, and I hate this’. And she doesn’t think Isen will make a big deal out of it. 

So she does it again.  

She sighs, letting out an unpleasant, almost wheezing groan while she does, replicating the noise that had woken her boss.  

Isen whips his head in her direction. He looks bewildered. Amused. “Is that what woke me up? I didn’t dream it?” 

Briar shrugs, looking back at her feet again as they descend the stairs. 

He’s silent for a moment, and she dreads the questions that might come. 

But he only huffs. “I must have really annoyed you. Sorry Legs.” 

She looks up, surprised. 

“It’s the temperature. I wish I could tell you I’d be better, but it’s only going to get worse.” He runs a hand through his hair. Adds offhandedly, “I’d probably sleep through the whole of winter if it weren’t for my- well-” he looks embarrassed. “I guess you’ll see.” 

No longer wracked with tension, Briar levels Isen with a mystified stare.  

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry for making your job harder this morning.” 

--- 

Briar does not enjoy travelling. 

The path near Riversreach is manageable. It’s supplemented with wooden planks laid over the worst of the mud, keeping the muck from swallowing the ground. But by midmorning they’re trudging through the sludge– all of Briar’s concentration going towards sidestepping puddles and navigating mired pits that menace her boots with their depth. 

She’d been aware that there are no major roads through the Lowlands, but seeing really is believing. If she were here alone, she’d become quickly lost amidst the wetlands. Now and then she spots markings on the trees – bits of rope and ribbon tied to the branches to make the way more visible. But most of her focus is on her feet as she scrabbles to keep hold of her luggage.  

Pack animals wouldn’t be able to traverse the lowlands with any effectiveness, so everyone carries their own things. Even Isen drapes a bag over one shoulder, his partison over the other. He looks particularly miserable. 

There are places where he can dodge the worst of the mud, but most of the journey he has no choice but to slosh through it. Briar understands now, why he’d elected to forgo a sarong today. Anything on his lower half would be spattered and ruined by the mud. Still, he wears a coat. It surprises Briar, who’d never seen him cover his chest. He really must handle the cold poorly.  

Shivering in the drizzle, she can’t help but sympathise with him. 

By the time they arrive at their first stop, Briar is regretting her choice to join Isen on this trip. She knows she should take in the sights; examine the first settlement of the Lowlands with keen interest. But her skin is splotchy from insect bites, her feet are wet and blistered, and her hair is frizzing something fierce in front of her eyes.  

Arol takes one look at her and snorts. “You look as miserable as our lord.” 

She acknowledges him with a grimace. 

The sun is setting when they make their way into the raised and stilted village. It’d be a relief to climb out of the mud if it hadn’t followed her, clinging to her legs with what feels like malicious intent.  

A stocky lizard greets them, chest bare despite the rapidly cooling air. He’s an older male, his colours faded somewhat, and scars dotting his hands and arms. “Welcome to the Lower Sister, lord Isen. I hope the road didn’t give you too much trouble?”  

Isen doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Or even smiling. 

The lizard chuckles. “The spare room has been prepared for you, sir. The boathouse has also been cleared for your use.” 

Isen inclines his head to the lizard. “Thanks, Varan. Arol will handle things for a bit.” 

Briar isn’t quite sure what to do when Isen wanders off, trailing around the scaffolded path; the stilts barely wobbling under his bulk and weight. Arol seems to have the luggage under control, and is chatting familiarly with the greeter. 

Suddenly worried she’d be left behind in the skeletal village of planks and ladders, Briar follows after Isen, towards a lowset building.  

She stops at the door he’d disappeared through, and gives it a tentative knock. 

No response. 

She tries again. 

After a moment there’s a muffled groan. “Yes?” 

Briar cracks the door open, suddenly apprehensive about bothering the lord. She wishes she knew the protocol for such situations. 

The first thing she sees is Isen’s pack, discarded nearby. Then his jacket, in a heap on the floor.  

Before she understands the implications of the shed layers, her eyes come to rest on his back. 

It takes her a moment to work out what she’s seeing. That the building is open on one end, to accommodate the river. That Isen is in the water, leaning against a pier of some sort. 

Then her eyes widen, and she becomes painfully aware of her intrusion. She might be used to seeing Isen’s top bare, but knowing that he’s in the process of bathing has the sight hitting differently. 

She lets out a humiliating squeak of a noise, before turning hastily away. It is, however, too late to retreat. 

Isen sounds tired, but not mad. “Did you need something?”  

Briar closes her eyes. She can feel her whole face flush with embarrassment. ‘No. Sorry. I was just following you.’ 

“Right.” He’s still tired. But she can hear the amusement in his tone. “My apologies, I should have let you know where I was going." 

‘It’s okay. I’ll wait outside.’ 

“You can stay, if you wanted. I’m sure you’d like to wash the mud off too.” 

The suggestion winds her. She fumbles with a response, blinking at her feet several times before shaking her head. ‘I’ll wait until you’re done.’ 

She shuts the door firmly behind her, even as Isen’s wry laughter follows her outside.  

--- 

None of the villages in the Ophidian Lowlands are large enough to need an inn. There's simply not enough travel to the region to warrant accommodation. The closest thing the Lower Twin has is a spare room in the Elder’s house.  

It’s a stark place, furnished with a single bed and wardrobe, and dimly lit by the light of the doorway. Varan, The Lower Sister’s leader, had freshened the room up with clean bedsheets and some dried flowers in a vase. 

Briar eyes the single bed, warily. 

‘Where is Arol staying?’ 

“With a friend. They don’t have enough room for,” Isen gestures to his tail, “me, though. So, I stay with Varan.” 

‘And where am I staying?’ 

“Here. The bed is large enough for two, if you wanted to share.” Isen frowns. “Next time we’ll bring you a hammock. Most Lowlanders use them. Sleeping off the ground keeps the water out.” 

Briar’s not sure what her face is doing, but Isen takes one look at her, and backtracks. “We could also track down Arol. See if his friend has room for another. If not, I imagine somebody has a spare hammock somewhere...” 

Briar’s stomach knots with anxiety. Torn between imposing on a stranger and a lizard she barely knows, or potentially sharing a bed with Isen. The Serpent; reviled by the Pilgrims. And more pertinently, an unwed male. She really wishes she’d stayed at Riversreach.  

She bites her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and pulls herself together. ‘No. I don’t want to stay with a stranger.’ She steps into the bedroom. Gives the bed a wide berth as she lowers herself to the ground. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’ 

Isen frowns. “It’ll be uncomfortable.” 

She shrugs. ‘I’ve slept on the floor my whole life. I will be fine.’ She’s not entirely honest. Technically she’s slept in a ditch lined with hay and fur. It’s moderately better than sleeping on a hard surface.  

“Seriously, Legs. We’re close to the water. It will be much colder in the small hours. There’s no shame in sharing. If you’re worried about modesty, I can keep my hands to myself.”  

He’s not wrong about the cold. Just sitting on the floor gives her an idea of how uncomfortable the night will be. Perhaps she shouldn’t brush him off so quickly. Not that she’s in a hurry to share with him. But it might be worth considering the option more carefully. Looking past the scandal of the notion. 

She’s never slept with a man before. Never even slept close to one. In New Haven it had been forbidden for her to be even near a man who wasn’t family. Women had been watched closely, to ensure they weren’t cavorting with strangers, or breaking the rules of modesty. 

The people in Riversreach are freer with their touch. Briar didn’t know what to make of it at first. Had thought of the other servants as rude or indecent before realising that the Ophidians lived by entirely different rules. Seeing everyone else share light touches – bumped shoulders, brushed arms – is one of the main reasons she’s hadn’t been quite so put off when Isen had displayed these tendencies. 

But sharing a bed?  

She’s mortified that Isen would even suggest such a thing. Bed sharing is for family. For spouses. Not whatever she and Isen were. Servant and lord. Employer and employee. 

She shakes her head, firm, and begins to make herself comfortable. Her coat and boots are set out to dry and she uses her pack as a pillow. It’s only got clothes in it, so it works well enough.  

Isen lets out an exaggerated sigh. He sets his own clothes out to dry before closing the door and engulfing the room in darkness. “The offer remains if you change your mind.” 

She scoffs at the suggestion, but without the light there’s no obligation to sign a reply.  

Still, listening to Isen climb into bed fills her with envy. She’d manage well enough, but that doesn’t stop her from wishing for a blanket. Wishing she had the nerve to even ask for one. And though she staunchly tries to ignore the thought, it keeps resurfacing throughout the night. She keeps wondering how warm it would be, sharing the bed with Isen. And how long she could wait until he withdrew his offer to share. 

--- 

Wisps of conversation drift past Briar, barely registering, as she glares down at her drink. Her tongue wants to recoil out of her mouth, but she still sips at it, knowing that the coffee has something of an energising effect on people.  

Isen had been right, of course. Not that she’d admit it. She’d slept fitfully last night, waking every hour or so. Her back had ached upon rising. Some movement helps her body loosen, but does nothing to banish the bags under her eyes, or the cloudiness to her thoughts. 

The coffee doesn’t help. It just makes her jumpier. More likely to flinch when somebody bumps into her, and sets her heart pounding at the slightest of exertions. She concentrates so hard on staying present and focused that she barely has any awareness to spare towards Isen and their companions.  

Still, she takes in her surroundings with muted interest. Between the light of the sun and the guided tour Varan gives them, she’s able to paint a clearer picture of life in the Sisters.  

Built above the silt and reeds, the Lower Sister is a fishing village. They have the most established dock in the Lowlands, and receive what little trade makes it to the region. Most interestingly to Briar, the wooden buildings aren’t permanent; able to be taken apart and carried to higher ground in the case of severe flooding. In this part of the marsh, wood is scarce, and is treated as such. 

They cross the river at midday. The currents have settled enough for Varan to pole them over on a flat raft. Then they hike. 

The Upper Sister is located atop the steep cliff that cradles the far side of the Ophidia. A trail has been hewn into the cliff face, but the climb is still arduous. Briar is panting by the time they reach the top. Then her breath is stolen entirely by the view. 

She’d been too focused on the climb to note the height they’d gained, but with the trail finally below her, she’s able to take in her surroundings. 

The entirety of the sister village stretches beneath them. She’s struck by just how small the settlement really is. The marsh extends behind it, gradually transitioning into a thicker swamp, and eventually climbing up into the highlands, emerging as the forest. 

Varan catches her staring, and gives her a smile. “It’s really something, isn’t it?” 

She nods. 

Briar tries not to let her mind wander as much during their tour of the Upper Sister. Many of the buildings are sturdy and permanent, made from brick, with some even incorporating the surrounding outcrops of stone. The Upper is reserved for buildings that can’t be dismantled or easily relocated. There are workshops of several kinds – a forge, a kiln – and even a handful of shop fronts. 

Isen listens politely as Varan regales him with the finer details, pausing occasionally to ask a question. The focus of the tour is mostly on the plans in place during the thaw, and discussion of storage, rations, and evacuation procedures. 

Briar is happy for him to take the lead in conversation. Thankfully he doesn’t seem intent on forcing her interactions. Appears to read her detached mood. At least until lunch time. 

They’re treated to some kind of crayfish. The dish could rival the meals served at Riversreach – seasoned masterfully, and cooked to perfection. She and Isen have been served greenery with their food, while Arol and Varan eat only meat. Briar takes her time, picking carefully at the crustacean.  

Isen makes several comments in her direction, and she doesn’t process that he’s even speaking to her until he leans into view and signs her name.  

She blinks. ‘Yes?’ 

‘Are you okay?’ 

She’d been staring into space after finishing her food. It hadn’t taken long – she'd been ravenous after the day’s exercise. 

She forces a smile. ‘Fine. Why?’ 

Isen frowns. ‘You haven’t been talking. Listening.’ 

She flushes, caught out. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’ 

Isen stares her down, brows raised in exasperation. 

She looks away, chastened. ‘I’m a little tired. Yesterday was a long hike.’ (Walk. Travel) 

“Uhuh,” he says, deadpan, and bringing to Briar’s attention that the prior conversation had been entirely silent.   

Arol and Varan tactfully ignore the interaction. 

It’s close to sunset when they finish in the Upper Sister. Briar is feeling spent and overwhelmed by the time they make it down the cliff. Her muscles are jellied from exertion, and her mind is foggy from fatigue. So tired, she is, that when stepping down from the pier to the barge, she doesn’t brace for the wobble of the raft. 

Briar yelps as she loses her footing, certain she’s about to fall face first onto the wood, or worse – into the water. 

Someone grips her upper arm. Pulls her back firmly enough to steady her. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Briar takes a second to recompose herself. Still, she’s quite shaken when she looks up at Isen. 

He’s standing far too close – practically flush with Briar’s back – but for once she doesn’t care. 

‘Thank you,’ her fingers tremble as she signs. 

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “You’re welcome.” 

She doesn’t speak much on the way back. Not that she’d spoken, or rather, communicated, much before. But now the weight of embarrassment stiffens her body. She can’t lie about her state anymore, not when there’d been so blatant a display of her ineptitude. 

Her brooding must be noticeable, because Isen sighs over dinner. Reaches out to ruffle her hair.  

The action snaps her out of her miserable stupor. 

“Don’t fret so much. Missing your landing is hardly the worst thing to happen on that barge.” 

Arol snorts from his side of the table. “Pryden has fallen off at least twice.” 

Briar gapes at Arol. Struck with the image of graceful, arrogant Pryden, with his dagger sharp quips and lingering eyes. Falling off a barge. 

“You boys never could handle your drink,” Varan murmurs with a smile. 

Isen’s face crinkles. “We can handle them fine. Just not that swill you brew down here.” 

Arol stays late, reminiscing with Varan about some of their drunken escapades from older days. But when the sun sets and the fire burns low, Isen stretches and gives Briar a meaningful look. 

“I think it’s time we turn in.” 

Somehow Briar had been too tired to remember the bed situation. It comes back to her now.  

They both say their goodnights before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind them. Then there’s silence. 

Briar stares at the ground, trying to hide her nerves. She flinches when Isen’s arm shoots out, barring her path. 

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight.” 

She recoils. ‘What? But I’m-’ 

“You are not fine. You look dreadful. You’re taking the bed, and that’s an order.” 

Panic begins to fill Briar at his commanding tone. To her humiliation, her eyes start to blur with tears. She hasn’t cried in months- and she has no intention of crying now. She turns her face away. Dashes the moisture. Holds herself stiff until the emotion passes.  

Isen softens. “Legs. I’ll take the floor tonight. Okay? I’m not going to touch you without your permission. I won’t even look at you if you like. But I cannot have my aid stumbling around like the undead. You will sleep in the bed tonight.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. How to refute him. The dim lighting gives an intimate air to their stare down, and it’s not long before Briar loses her nerve and drops her gaze. 

‘Is this... allowed?’ 

He tilts his head. “Is what allowed?” 

She gestures to the bed. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

Briar has to think on that question. The situation feels so wrong to her. How does Isen not notice it? How does he remain so unaffected? 

‘You’re more important than I.’ 

Isen blinks. He hadn’t expected an answer quite like that. 

“I... suppose. In title, yes. But we’re both people. Why should lineage entitle one person to the bed and the other to the floor?” 

Briar doesn’t know. She’d never thought to question these things before.  

Isen seems to be processing her discomfort, considering it closely.  

“The Pilgrims practice Conservatism, right?” 

Briar blinks at the sudden turn in conversation. It’s a relief to focus on something other than the space between them, and the bed looming before her. But she hadn’t expected to be discussing religion. 

‘Not quite. We migrated away from the mainland because the elders disagreed with several of its practices.’ (Migrated; travel, move. Practice; think, act, do.)  

“Which ones?” 

‘They believed Conservatism wasn’t modest enough. That the Patriarchs were too liberal. That changes within the church would lead to the loosening of values.’ She doesn’t care for the details, but can recite them, nonetheless.  

Isen winces. He’s heard the rhetoric before. “Did you and Stella practice it?” 

Briar nods. ‘It was called New Conservatism. And yes. Everyone did. Anyone who spoke out was...’ her hands slow and still. It takes her a moment to refocus. ‘Everyone did.’ 

There’s another silence. This one more thoughtful. Considering. Before Isen slithers a few inches closer. “I think that you are experiencing a bit of culture shock. It’s not unusual to those who move from home to live in foreign parts.” 

Briar shakes her head, disbelieving. ‘These aren’t foreign parts.’ 

“No? Are you not experiencing a sudden language barrier? Surrounded by completely different styles of living?” 

She shakes her head again, still in denial. She doesn’t like the way the conversation is turning. Doesn’t like how Isen is bringing it back to her. Personalising things again. 

“New clothes, new job, different companions, different rules... I’m quite certain, Legs. But it’s okay.” 

Briar sits heavily on the bed, taken off guard. ‘It’s not. It’s- I’m fine. There’s no problem. I can do this.’ 

He lowers himself before her. The naga equivalent of a crouch. “I know you can. I just want you to know that it’s okay to have doubts. To have questions. I went through something quite similar when I moved here.” 

Her hands are pressed to her face. She peeks through her fingers. 

Isen reads the question in her eyes and smiles. “It’s true. I was a mess. Completely embarrassed myself with my lack of knowledge. Can you imagine a lord who doesn’t know the number of settlements in his own lands? I had to hire Arol just to teach me about the area.” He leans back, offering another soft smile. “But that’s a story for another time.” 

She senses his focus honing back on her. Braces herself for more scrutiny. More uncomfortable conversation. But he only sits at the foot of the bed. 

“Rest. We have another big day tomorrow.” 

They have another stare down, but her heart is no longer in it. Seated so close to him, she can’t stand to meet his gaze too long. Finally, she narrows her eyes at him, before staring pointedly at the ground. 

He grins, raising his hands in surrender and slipping from the bed. “Of course.” 

Only when he’s curled up at the foot of the bed, jacket draped insufficiently across his coils, does Briar relax. She slips her boots off, and lowers herself to the mattress. Gets comfortable beneath the blanket.  

Her nose crinkles. The pillow smells like Isen. 

“Goodnight,” Isen murmurs. 

Briar hums a wordless reply, and falls swiftly into sleep. 

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Playground (1)

Finally, the story really gets going! The break-in into the Academy apartment and the way there, at the same time a little background knowledge and some lore.

---

5 years have passed.

And you have adapted.

Adapted...

Kind of weird, your parents always said that only people born in the city below could survive there. The air is far denser than up in Piltover and the whole town is a huge pile of garbage.

But that was all true. You could feel the difference almost every night. Your lungs often felt like they were going to collapse, on the verge of just giving up and accepting your fate. In the event that you did manage to fall asleep, you always tasted it in the morning... The blood at the corner of your mouth. It was a sign that you didn't belong here.

But you stayed.

Because of him...Vander. You remember like it was yesterday when he asked you. In the middle of this calamity caused by the Enforcers. All the fire, smoke and death that was on the bridge. But when you think back, you realize that one thing is still very clear in your mind.

[ "Hey Kid...Do you believe in the Impossible?" ]

You had changed since that day. You've grown a little, but you're still below average. You haven't really gotten any stronger; a toddler probably had more strength in their arms than you. You preferred to bury your nose in books, read a lot and started drawing. Vander had lots of books in the cellar, you used to spend the whole day looking at them at the beginning.

And you spent the rest of the time with the others. The "others" were your new siblings. Powder, Vi, Mylo and Claggor. They were all incredibly different: Powder was like you, small, shy and clumsy. Vi was the complete opposite, she was taller than both of you, she was tough, cocky, and hot-headed which meant she often got into fights. They were the two girls on the bridge, Vander had taken them right in with you.

Mylo was... Well, the born thief. Confident, always showing off and someone who had no problem standing up for himself, unlike you. However, he often provoked arguments with Vi, in such matters you usually hid under the covers. He always had an incredibly big mouth and picked fights with everyone. Then there was Claggor, he remained very calm in every situation and often tried to talk to you.

However, your character has changed a little. You didn't like to talk much anymore, mostly because of the fear that you would say something wrong. The only person you talked to a lot was Powder, she always told you about her family in the beginning...though her parents were killed by Enforcers on the bridge. She didn't talk often either, but she shared a lot of traits with you, her imagination for most things was really on another level. She sometimes cut your hair when it got too long and hung in front of your eyes like a shield from this world. She was there for you, just as you were there for her.

Vi had often spoken to you, well, rather nagged and teased you. She always told you to eat more, work out and beat her high score on that stupid boxing machine. Most of the time you listened to her, sometimes you even tried to change things, which ultimately didn't help and sometimes made you hide. But despite everything, you looked up to her like a role model, no matter what, you could talk to Vi about anything.

Mylo was worse. When Vi teased you, he always went one better. He had a new nickname for you or for Powder almost every day, which he always liked to show off to the whole group like it was some kind of experiment.  Whether it was your height, your strength or the fact that you preferred to read books instead of messing up, he always put you down for it.

Claggor was in the middle of everything. He always said you were smart because you read so many books. Even in front of Mylo and Vi, he often said that physical strength wasn't everything, but that brains were the most important weapon. It was easy for him to say, he was the broadest of the group and also the one who always had a plan. But he also enjoyed connecting with animals when you were sitting in bed reading a bed. You often had to listen to things like "You look like a dog with its ears in front of its eyes right now" or "Sit wider on the couch Y/N, you look like a scared kitten right now".

But although you always enjoyed being alone, you liked doing things in a group. Even if you hardly talked and rather listened while they made up some plan or talked about the people in the Undercity.

And when you were alone, somewhere hidden from the filthiness of this world... You always looked in the magic book you took from home. Even if you didn't understand the language, the contents only built your imagination and made you hope that you would be able to do magic one day.

But the flow of things will always lead to calamity.

---

"We're almost there"

There you were, hanging on the edge of the huge wall that was before your eyes. You were at the very back, Vi at the very front and Powder only slightly above you. You followed her path, otherwise you probably wouldn't make it up. Claggor was next to you, also far back, but only so that he could catch you in case you fell.

"Aw Man" That was Mylo, holding on to a pair of pipes on the far left and not climbing any further. He prefers to make comments about your climbing, that he thinks it's weird that you can climb at all, or why you come along at all and don't just read a book at home or something.

Vi was the first to reach the roof. You could no longer see her, but you were almost there anyway. You see the blue hair disappear before your eyes, she had reached the roof right after Vi and you were still climbing. Your arms already hurt, your own body weight wasn't really much, but you don't have much strength in your arms anyway.

"Hey, Powder. Come take a look"

You have to swing your feet over the edge of the roof, you would never manage to pull yourself up with your arms alone. You also have to be careful not to slip, because if you fall quickly, Claggor might not catch you after all. But now that you've reached the top, your foot slips off the roof. You're about to make a sound, but you don't get the chance.

Claggor had put an arm on your waist, saving you from falling and giving you a push that brought you to the roof. With that, you stood behind Powder, who slowly walked up to Vi and stopped next to her. You actually wanted to look behind you, at Claggor and Mylo. But you were tied up, in the way Powder's blue hair made small movements in the wind, but at the same time got held in place with her collection of small metal hair clips. Then you felt yourself getting a little warmer, even out here in the wind that blew past you.

"Stop staring or you'll start drooling" Mylo walked past you, jabbed you in the ribs with one arm and kept walking.

Asshole

You run after him, feeling numb in your arms and legs from climbing. One look at Mylo and he's grinning at you like you've messed up in some way. Claggor is already walking behind you with heavy steps and you just look ahead.

"Wow"

You inwardly agree with Powder, the view was...Wow. The city could be seen in its full splendor from up here. All the different buildings with all their different colors and construction. Small alleyways that all looked nice and clean, rooftops with no one hanging around and chimneys with smoke coming out of them.

And all roads lead to the kingdom in the end.

"Its nice getting above it all, huh?"

It was a rhetorical question. You'd grown up here for the most part, and whether you wanted to say it or not, you liked Piltover more than the Undercity. The reason why was right under your nose.

The air is normal, unlike in the lower city. Not dirty or thick like any chemicals.

I missed this air.

Then the roof starts to shake slightly. You were startled, but the sight took away your fear. It was a blimp flying over your heads. White sides, huge sails above and behind for gliding and a direct flight path to the giant kingdom. The thought of being in one of those things, at such a height, gives you a sick feeling in your stomach.

"One day, im gonna ride one of those things"

If Powder did that, you would do it too.

You think about what it would be like. She sits on the pilot's seat and you next to her, giving her directions for steering, how you would try to land together. Your mind slowly gets caught up in this scenario, but it's not because of your fear of heights, or the fact that the only way to fly it would be to steal it. It's because you would be doing it together.

Just you and Powder.

"And one day, im gonna shot one of 'em down"

You wouldn't even hit the thing if it stood still.

Mylo stands forward, in front of you all. He raises his arm and forms a pistol with his right hand, aims it at the blimp and pretends to shoot. Before he can finally make a shooting sound, VI steps forward and lightly knocks his arm out of the way.

"Vi are you sure about this?" Claggor starts to look around in panic, a glance to the other rooftops that are becoming our path to our destination. Another look down, at Piltover's paths that were filled with people. "Look if we get caught-

"We're not gonna get caught. We'll be in and out before anyone notices." With that, she jumps down onto the low roof that connects us.

Where are we even going?

That strange feeling spreads through your stomach again. As if you were waiting for the enforcers to show up in one of the alleyways in the Undercity. As if you were half asleep and woke up with a fall in the Traun.

Vi runs on, ahead on the roof. Then you're all at the end of the roof at once, with a big gap and a height that makes the feeling in your stomach even worse. You're already mentally preparing yourself for Vi's words, if you have to cross the gap here, it means you'll embarrass yourself in front of everyone again.

"Alright everybody, follow me. Just don't look down." With that she slides off the roof, holds on to one of the small terraces and places her legs on the metal grating. Then she jumps so far that she lands on the next roof, which is directly opposite the one you are standing on. She lands with a thump, turns towards you and has a daring grin on her face.

I'll never get that right.

Your eyes look at the situation. Not only would a fall here be insanely dangerous, there are people and enforcers down there. It's not everyday that a child falls off a roof here in Piltover.

Crack

Mylo cracks his hands in front of his face, which was his cue to say "Watch and learn". Mylo does it just like her, but a little clumsily. He tries to show off a little as he jumps, unlike Vi he waits a second and then jumps as high as he can over to her. This brings Mylo and Vi face to face on the roof.

Before he can turn around and show you that filthy grin, Claggor lands next to him. He is crouched, and to show that it was no problem for him, he has one of the cupcakes that were displayed on the terrace in his mouth. A little dust even flies up on the other roof from the impact, causing Mylo to hold his right arm in front of his face so that none of it hits him.

Now her eyes land on you and Powder. You both look into the abyss in front of you, one slip and you'd end up there. Powder is already raising her head again, looking at her sister. However, you can feel everything around you blurring. Your hands have started to sweat and your heart is beating so fast that you can already hear it in your ears.

"Called it. This is on you Vi"

Shut up.

Vi starts groaning loudly, turning her gaze to you and looking like a sister who has to take care of babysitting. Claggor sees her look and steps forward a little.

"I'll get them"

This brings a reaction, Vi turns to him and holds out an arm. She stops him and turns her gaze to Powder.

"Hey, look at me."

While you are still looking down into the abyss, Powder turns to Vi. With a nervous look and eyes that seem to have no destination, she listens to her.

"Powder, what did i tell you?"

Powder looks straight ahead, no longer merely at the others, but rather at the sky. Her hair flies up slightly and she starts talking.

"That...I'm ready."

This is exactly what Vi apparently wanted to hear, as she takes a loud step forward and looks at Powder with fire in her eyes.

"That's right! So?"

That was a nasty trap, an incitement of the worst kind. If Powder overestimates himself and falls off, then what?

With that, you look over at them. They are standing there, already waiting, but you don't pay any attention to them. You look at her, Powder. She takes a deep breath and starts sliding straight down the roof. Your eyes follow her form as she balances herself on the metal gate and then... jumps.

You don't know what it was, with everyone else it didn't come, but when Powder jumped you were suddenly worried.

She landed perfectly on the edge of the roof, as if she had practiced it before. But then she is pulled back slightly by the wind, or maybe she is standing on something wet and has slipped. It doesn't matter, after all Vi is standing right next to her and holding her tight.

You were the last one.

Vi looks over Powder's hair and immediately meets your gaze. Your knees felt like they were about to give out, no, you're pretty sure they're about to give out. What doesn't make it any better is being last in the order. Claggor is already taking a step forward, but still looks at you with a message behind his eyes: a challenge. Mylo has that look on his face, raised eyebrows, arms stretched wide and a slouch.

You read his look, if you had to guess, you'd guess "If she makes it, you can do it too Dude". The second choice would be "Don't embarrass yourself in front of her". Maybe you should go for the second one?

And then you see them. Those dark blue eyes that were full of fear just a moment ago but are now trying to encourage someone like you.

That's stupid, I'm not jumping over there.

And then you meet the final gaze. Pure blue eyes that stare at you with intensity. If Mylo's and Claggor's gaze was a challenge, this is a declaration of war. As a bigger sister figure, this was now a test. There was always a connection between the group, apart from you. That was because you either preferred to be alone or only with Powder, or just didn't fit in because you weren't born in the Undercity.

But this was the moment. Right now you had the chance to show that you were worth it. If you could cast spells right now, you would wish for an invisible bridge in the air on which you could walk calmly.

But in your body it seems impossible, if you had to bet based on data you would be under Powder in body strength. Your knowledge from most books won't help you in this situation, this was pure instinct. You're in a really bad position, both mentally and physically...

[ "Do you Believe in the Impossible?" ]

Your body moves automatically as these words reach your mind.

Was it crazy? Yes.

Was it fatal? Yes.

Do you not care? No.

You are proving something here, the impossible.

Something that nobody believed in, something that didn't exist, something that was closer to zero than to infinity.

Time passes in slow motion, you are literally floating in the air, above all the people hanging around down there in Piltover. Nobody is looking up, but the glances of the others meet your floating figure. Worry, fear, pride and enthusiasm.

The moment feels like an eternity, your brain rewinds and lets you see it in your mind's eye. You didn't go to the terrace and jump from there like the others...you just ran forward and jumped off the edge of the roof. But it was brilliant, because your body is weak and you wouldn't have been able to jump off the metal railing, you needed energy. Energy that comes from movement, energy that gives your body a temporary boost.

You are brought back down to earth with a hard thumb. You landed on the other roof, where the others were standing. You were in front of them, pulled together with your legs bent as if you were going to jump again.

"Wow"

"What a show-off"

"Cool jump Y/N!"

You did it... Somehow. Your body acted automatically, did the impossible. The impossible does exist, you just need a way to show it to the world.

But you rejoiced a little too soon.

You landed at the same point as Powder, on the wet edge of the roof.

Shit

It happened so suddenly, gravity caught up with you and you slipped off the roof. Not being able to get your useless, too-short legs to the edge was bad.

You fell

It was slow, the vision in front of your eyes was getting worse and the only thing you could see were the silhouettes. Even if it was only a second or two, your brain was running at full speed at that moment: the impossible is an exchange, an exchange that no one can influence.

But then you felt it, your salvation.

Vi reacted faster than you would have thought possible, as you hung down with your body, your eyes were locked on her as she stood over you, giving you a confident look.

At first you didn't realize it, too much adrenaline was affecting your senses and the fear of falling off the roof was far too great. But when you feel this gentle, warm hand on your right arm, you realize it.

That Vi wasn't the only one holding you, Powder was holding your right arm.

Powder's eyes met yours directly, her gaze was...enthralled. It was as if she had seen you just float through the air and land perfectly at her feet. It felt like a cliché scene from one of Vander's books.

"Now pull him up or the Enforcers will see him" Mylo interrupted your seconds long eye contact with Powder, she looked at Vi and with a tug you were suddenly standing next to them on the roof.

"Th-Thanks" You stutter, your heart still pounding like crazy and you felt like you were going to puke. You stood up straight, as far as your trembling knees would allow and your lungs would let you breathe.

"Good jump But You're so Light, are you really eating enough Y/N?" It was Vi, standing next to you she looked at you again. You can't really tell if it was meant in jest or seriousness, ignoring it and pretending you didn't hear it is probably the best choice for now.

You no longer pay attention to the others, and so you all keep walking. Slow steps on the roofs while you are lost in thought.

Have I really just made this leap? Why did I follow like that? Did my movement really generate so much energy? And why was Powder's hand so warm...

Vi stops, just like your thoughts.

"What if Vander finds out we're all the way up here?" It sounded like Concern, of course, getting caught committing a crime here in Piltover usually ended up in jail, or worse. Besides, Vander would probably be disappointed if he found out what we were doing here, and you don't really know yourself.

"Look around you. You think anyone topside's going hungry? Besides, this is exactly the sort of job Vander would have pulled when he was our age" Vi speaks too confidently, it felt like this wasn't going to end well sooner or later. But despite your bad gut feeling, you take a step forward and come to a realization.

We are on one of the Academy buildings. We can never do anything here, we have to go back, and fast.

Vi makes a loud step, walks around the corner and looks down onto the balcony of the building. Then she stands back up, turns to you as a group and starts talking.

"I'm going. Are you with me or not?"

You turn to Claggor, he just gives you a weird look, turns to Mylo and gets a shrug in response. He starts sighing loudly and starts talking.

"Vander's gonna kill us"

Vi just looks at him, not really with any emotion but more of a challenge. You know exactly what that look means.

Only if we screw up, she will now say that: one hundred percent.

"Yeah, only if we screw up. So don't screw up"

I hate being right.

She swings down from the corner, straight onto the roof. While she's still looking around, you continue to the corner to follow her, your gaze landing on Powder instead of the streets of Piltover. You don't realize that Mylo is already downstairs saying something to Vi, and you don't notice the group of weirdly dressed guys standing against a wall a few streets away.

"Come Y/N" Claggor, already standing in front of you, goes down. While you and Powder are still at the top, he's already climbing down onto the balcony and holding his hands out towards you. Having no choice, you bend down and get as close to the edge as you can so he can grab you with his arms and put you on the balcony. Powder has, you don't know how, somehow managed to do it herself.

Mylo was already at the door with his strange tool for picking locks. Claggor stands at the edge of the balcony and looks down at the streets with a tense expression. Since you grew up here for the most part, you can already guess what he's going to say.

"There's a ton of enforcers down there"

We're in Piltover, they're everywhere.

"That means we're in the right place," Vi seemed a little nervous, despite her confident stance. Probably because Mylo was still sitting on the door lock with his tongue out and couldn't get it open.

"You gonna get that door open anytime soon?"

Please don't kick the door open, Vi.

"Working on it"

Mylo turns his tool back, takes another look at the lock and starts waving it around wildly again.

"Seeing as I'm the Only one who knows how to Pick Locks, I suggest-

He didn't get any further with his statement, he reacted quickly to the foot that spread out in his view and opened the door with a bang.

I hate being right so much.

Vi wastes no time, she goes straight in and you follow her. While Mylo is still crouching in front of the now broken door.

This apartment was...weird. There were things everywhere, papers, inventions you hadn't seen before and various formulas painted on a large blackboard. While you're still looking around, Vi goes ahead and puts a large bag in the middle of the room.

"You know, Claggor, for once you're right. We are definitely not supposed to be here." Mylo has finally come in, probably still slightly injured because Vi kicked the door open, but with a clear mind. After all, he rubs his hands together like a fly and goes to one of the tables in the room. He picks up a few strange pieces of metal, looks at them and walks to the center of the room, where he simply throws them into his pocket.

Claggor opens other boxes, takes out the parts and throws them all into the bag. Your eyes follow Powder, who was standing by a shelf, you move closer. She was trying to reach a bronze horse that was quite high up, neither you nor she could reach it, so you looked at what was on the lower levels of the shelf. Actually, there were only books, but you felt so weird just staring at Powder.

"Oh yeah? What about this?" It was Mylo, with some weird device in his hand. Two pincer-like arms on the end that had opened and closed with each press of the button Mylo was Pushing every Second. You turned to Powder, she turned to you, and with an aggrieved look on your face, you turned in sync to Mylo.

"That's a nose hair trimmer"

ugh, does he always have to touch everything?

Mylo simply throws the small device back onto the table behind him, turns back to the table and takes the papers from a bump. There was a device lying there, a triangular device that looked quite precious.

"Uh, Guys?"

There was something about this device, something that triggered that feeling in you again. This anxious feeling, as if you were falling. What exactly was that?

Mylo pushes his hand through the air and just grabs that blue crystal, not a good idea as he immediately pulls his hand back as if he had just been electrocuted.

"Just leave it guys, come on"

Even though Vi said so, you don't. There was something strange about this device, was it the glow? Was it the fact that this crystal moved minimally? What exactly was it?

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel a warm, tender hand on yours. You turn directly to your left and once again meet those dark blue eyes that had a special place in your mind. It was Powder.

"Come"

She pulls you along like a small child being pulled away from its mother in the playground. But before you leave the room completely and enter the hallway, you hear Mylo's voice from behind.

"Look, our favorite couple is going on a trip"

You didn't want to hear it, but when you heard Vi's answer, you did.

"Shut up, Mylo"

So, there you were, a study, at least that's what it looked like. It was even more disorganized than the big room from before, books, paper documents, glass containers and metal pieces for building were really everywhere. There was something in every corner of the room.

The person who lives here really needs to tidy up.

There was a bed against a wall that was directly connected to a window. At the same time, there was an instrument lying angled next to it, it looked quite new, it probably hadn't been used once.

Powder lets go of your hand, the warmth on your face and out of your palm disappearing. She looks around, glancing at every corner of the room until they land on the table. There were two sandwiches, apparently freshly made and untouched. Just as you look, you hear a-

"Woo-hoo!" With that, she drops some book on the floor. Even though you were hungry and there were perfectly two sandwiches for both of you, your eyes landed on the book she dropped.

It looked like your magic book.

Powder suddenly stood in front of you, sandwiches in her hands and red paint on her cheeks. She holds her left arm out to you, apparently wanting you to take one of them. You take it, but don't bite into it like she does, instead keeping your eyes on the book. You bend down and pick it up. It was closed and the material on the outside felt exactly like that of your magic book.

What the?

Experimentally white, you open the first page, while Powder opens a box a few meters away at the table and looks inside. Your eyes open as if by magic, on the very first page was a drawing, underneath was text...hieroglyphics.

They were the same signs as in your Magic book.

But it wasn't that directly that shocked you, rather the drawing above the text.

It was a corpse divided into nine parts. There were only four words underneath:

The Holy Wizards Corpse.

---

-Holy Wizards Corpse? Why does Jayce have a drawing like this in one of his records? -What nine parts of the corpse? - You really managed to just jump over the roof, not bad! - But what's that weird feeling in your stomach that comes up when you see those blue crystals? - Why is Mylo so annoying? Well, this was just a list of some of my thoughts while writing. Thanks for reading this chapter! Please leave your opinion in a comment!

[horizon-verizon]

While B&C is objectively horrifying, I’ve honestly never once felt any emotion when reading it… but Aerea’s death, oh my god, I was completely engrossed and taken back by the hideous, stomach-turning and repugnant description of her death.

👀

Aerea had to have had those fireworms crawl through her still-living body for days. Aerea's death was much more detailed, a lot more gory, and connects to one overarching and critical element, or "layer", of the ASoIaF series: the Targs' legacy with their dragons and the effect of the Valyrian's imperialism over Essos. Aerea's death brought a sense of doom because it alerted us and Jaehaerys of the Targs' vulnerability to forces that their own ancestors probably caused. And the account is very reliable, more so than most F&B accounts and certainly so for the Dance portion of the book. Its relater, Septon Barth, he's the one who tried to treat Aerea. And of all the "Faith-aligned professionals" we ever encountered in this world, he was the most dedicated to impartial study of the people and things around him. (Sincere about it, too, even though he does also factor in a few societal lens...because he still lives in Westeros and is still a septon.) So you know he was writing what he saw impartially.

Why do the Targs' relationship with their dragons & past AND their dragons' future matter? We (should) know and have read ASoIaF and read about Daenerys, how she becomes the Queen that she is meant to be to save the world. We have learned that something can hurt a dragon. We need dragons//fire for the Long Night & protect humanity. The Targs' assimilation into the Andal-FM pre-Conquest culture and subsequent refusal to better & truly incorporate their women into their politics--or just think outside of their own immediate needs for power, even with some being genuinely better people and leaders--have lead up to their own loss of said dragons, then their usurpation. It's a lead up to Daenerys in-world and re-contextualizes her role for the Long Night to come.

*However, reminder, yes the Targs' Conquest and reign still greatly reduced the thousands of years of constant warfare b/t the non Valyrian Westerosi former kingdoms. Two things, true at once.*

Whereas with Jaehaerys, the death served this one story to illustrate how far a specific group of people will go to destroy the other or get the other back for perceived/real wrongs done. Jaehaerys became a victim of a blood feud & another motive to keep that particular blood feud going. It's not even the first death, but a response to another's death done by the greens (Aemond), who decided to usurp the king-chosen heir, a woman, for their own ambitions. He is part of a succession of a drama. And while his 6 fingers generate some curiosity and inquiry as to what effects the magical connection to dragons have on disabilities/congenital conditions being more reduced--which Idk about, since the Westerosi have been marrying their cousins for centuries and most of the nobles we see aren't fugly nor have many congenital conditions to rival the Hapsburgs--this doesn't serve or inform us on the bigger story. Sad and tragic, but in terms of the scales of consequences, it had a simpler effect.

Ironically, he has less narrative importance than Nettles or Mysaria, whom some Rhaenyra & black stans try to argue was "just a plot device" 🙄 to use against Rhaenyra. Both within and out of Fire & Blood. Then there's the business of green stans being so overwrought & talkative over his death than the:

sack of Bitterbridge & rapes/murders (of refugees, of children, septas, old people, etc.)

sack of of Tumbleton & rapes/murders

Dalton Greyjoy's raping women and killing innocent peasants,

etc.

It is perhaps all of these that make Aerea's death seem both more harrowing and "important" than Jaehaerys'. Aerea's death is more shrouded in mystery, Jaehaerys' is not. Her death has a larger narrative purpose compared to his.

[littlemourningstarr]

The Biting Cold

You hadn't seen Astarion all evening, and wondered why he had been sequestered in his tent instead of at your side. Turns out, he just hates the cold. A lot.

Read below or on AO3!

Tags: Female tav/reader, budding romance, blood drinking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sort of fluffy

The wind whipped around you as you walked from the dying embers of the campfire, rattling down to your bones. She wrapped your arms around yourself, unable to fight down a shiver. No one had expected it to be frigid, and while sitting next to Karlach by the fire had managed to make you forget briefly how cold it was, now that it was time to turn it, you were left with the wind’s bitter reminder.

You sighed, could see your breath, as you paused, glancing over at Astarion’s tent. You hadn’t seen him all evening, which was strange. He might not partake in Gale’s cooking- and thank the gods above it was Gale this evening and not Wyll- but as of late he’d taken to sitting with you and the rest of your motley crew, before going off on his own hunt for dinner.

You reached up, rubbed the chilled skin of your neck. Thought about how nice it might be to have the heat from inside you burst out, against Astarion’s tongue.

You squared your shoulders and pivoted directly towards his tent, pausing at the flap and calling out his name. You still needed to be polite after all, even if you couldn’t even benign to count the nights you had shared with him. You heard him say something, but it was lost in the wind- which was cold enough to drive you to slip into his tent without any further invitation. You had seen the glimmer of fire from outside anyway- he had a handle lit, he was still awake.

“I haven’t seen you all evening,” you started, before pausing, hunched over, half way in his tent. Astarion was sitting on his bedroll, every blanket he had piled up around him over his shoulders and even his head, looking completely miserable. The frown on his face pulled at his pretty smile lines so hard you almost wondered if he would ever have another expression again.

His eyes darted up from where they were staring at nothing on the ground to you- and for a single moment he seemed to try to pull himself together. HIs mouth moved to a neutral line, and you saw his shoulders straighten, losing their slump- but then he seemed to think better of it, seemed to realize a show was not needed, and he let his true misery show.

“Come inside, you’re letting the bloody wind in,” he mumbled. You stepped inside, the flap of his tent falling behind you, and settled on your knees in front of him. You must have stared a moment too long, because he grumbled a what.

“You look miserable,” you said, genuinely concerned. You couldn’t think of anything from the day that could have caused your favorite vampling such distress. Hells, you’d barely seen him. “What happened?”

“You have to ask?” He shifted, freed a hand from his blanket wrappings, and gestured wildly at the tent flap. “The hells could quite literally freeze over in this godsforsaken weather.”

And it clicked- Astarion was cold, probably far colder than anyone else.

Wordlessly you reached out, took his hand that he had gestured with, and held it between yours. And yes, you were still cold, but his skin was like ice, far colder than it usually was. He was cold as death.

Astarion’s fingers twitched, as if he meant to pull away, but a moment passed and he didn’t. You gave his hand a squeeze, ideas sparking in your head, before letting go and flashing a smile. Wordlessly you were up and out of his tent, missing the way his eyes tracked your exit, the hint of sadness at your departure. The silent thought that he wasn’t being very charming so of course you weren’t going to stay with him.

You ran across camp to your tent, wanting to spend as little time in the cold as possible. You gathered up your own blankets, before making the trek back, spilling back into Astarion’s tent and nearly losing your footing. The blankets spilled on the ground, and Astarion glanced down at them, before looking back up at you.

And, after a moment, giving you the smallest, real smile.

“Let’s get cozy,” you offered, turning as much as possible to make sure the tent was secured shut. Astarion shoved his blankets off, openly shivering at the loss of the heat, and attempted to smooth them out along his bedroll. You tossed your own on them, before reaching up, toying with the collar of your own shirt. “Skin to skin is best for sharing body heat,” you mused, and truly, you meant it innocently. Astarion seemed in no mood for any sort of midnight romp, and you respected that.

You just wanted to warm him up, honest.

But oh the smile he gave you- the charm was back, and the light in his eyes turned them to sunsets. You felt a quivering, deep in your belly. He could undo you with a single look, smile, breath.

“If you caused this weather just to get me out of my clothes, my sweet, then you have far outdone yourself. You could have just asked.”

You reached out, shoved his shoulder playfully, didn’t bother with a retort. He grabbed your hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed your fingertips. Despite how cold he was, your blood still burned at the affection.

When he let go of your hand you pulled at your own clothing, tossing your shirt away, kicking off your shoes. By the time you were trying to work your pants down your hips, a glance at Astarion revealed he was already undressed and under the pile of blankets, watching with a bemused smile. “You’d think with how many nights you’ve taken your clothes off for me you’d be a bit more efficient at it.”

You grabbed your discarded shirt and tossed it at him, grinning when it flopped over his head. He pulled it off, tossed it away, before reaching out, hooking an arm around you, and pulling you down onto his bedroll. His fingers slid along your side, dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, and with a practiced ease he guided the fabric over the curve of your hip. Your breath escaped, forgetting the cold and why you were here for just a moment, an ache in your core beginning to spread a delightful heat throughout your veins.

You bit your lip when his hand pulled back, glanced away as you squirmed out of the last of your clothing. As you did Astarion pushed himself up, snuffed out the candle he had lit, before disappearing beneath the blankets again.

In the dark you couldn’t see much, but you managed to feel your way to the blanket edges and slip beneath them. The moment you did Astarion’s arm curled around your waist, pulling up flush to him. You gasped, the chill of his skin giving you goosebumps- but as he tried to move slightly away at your reaction, you wrapped your arms around him, forcing him to stay skin to skin with you.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed, as you felt his hand stroking the curve of your waist. The blankets felt heavy over you, but they were doing a quick job of keeping your body heat in. Already Astarion’s skin felt less frigid against you.

You dropped your head down onto his pillow, expected to drift off while he tried to gather himself for a nightly meditation- but after a moment you felt the weight of his head, resting against your collarbone. On instinct you gripped him a bit tighter, fingertips finding some of the scars on his back you were beginning to know all too well. You felt him nose at your throat, and your heart ached at the small, affectionate touches. Astarion could still be a bit reserved in the light, charming but still distant in a way-

But the cover of night seemed to embolden him, and it made you wonder what the both of you were dancing towards.

“You never fed on anything tonight, did you?” you asked, voice quiet now.

“I’ll live,” Astarion said softly, his breath on the crook of your neck. “Figuratively, at least.”

You laughed softly, let your fingers slide gently along his back, stroking skin that was heating up pleasantly. “Well… I’m here, so…”

You trailed off. You didn’t like the idea of him sustaining himself on nothing, no matter what he said.

He hummed his pleasure over the idea, his legs tangling with yours. You felt his lips on your neck, but instead of the points of his teeth, all you got was a gentle kiss. “That would simply be taking advantage of your hospitality, my dear.”

Your fingers clutched tighter at his back. It wouldn’t though, oh, not when you wanted it. The bite always hurt at first, but there was something nearly euphoric about it during-

Not to mention how Astarion reacted, how he could clutch at you so tightly, and knowing you could give him something, sustain him-

“I wouldn’t mind,” you whispered, so quietly it should have been lost in the howling winds outside the tent. But you knew it wasn’t, the way Astarion’s hips rolled against you, the way he mouthed at your neck again. You swallowed thickly, managed out a please, and the thread of control in him snapped.

You felt the tip of his fangs first, the moment before puncture when you could still stop him, say no and he would back off no matter how desperately starving he was. You knew this, you trusted him.

Objectively stupid, but you did.

His fangs sank in and you grimaced, the sharp sting radiating from your neck. For a moment, two, you hurt, but when his fangs were replaced with his tongue laving over the wound, a warmth spread through you, down to your fingers, your toes. You sighed as he shifted under the blankets, lying partially over you, blocking out the world outside his tent.

You let your eyes slip shut, your fingers absentmindedly tracing his scars as he drank. You were pleased that he was taking his time, letting your pulse bleed out against his tongue, barely pushing at the wound at all. He was dragging it out, and gods above you couldn’t be more pleased. The intimacy of being this close to him, of feeling like the world fell away except for the two of you- it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

The heat from the wound made its way through you, running hot in your veins, making you forget that you had been freezing minutes ago. You swore you could feel Astarion’s skin warming against you as well, and in pure bliss you sighed, content. The noise dragged a groan from Astarion though, made him push closer, as if he wanted to be inside your bones, nestled securely in your ribs.

“Careful darling,” he whispered, pulling just far enough from your neck to be able to speak. “You have no idea what you do to me.” As if to emphasize, he ground against you- and the noise you made, the moan that left your lips before your mind knew it was building- it was sinful and glorious, and you felt the way Astarion’s cock twitched over it.

“I think I do,” you teased, trying to compose yourself a little. You felt his mouth back on your neck, tongue working at the two small puncture wounds he’d left. The hand on your waist trailed down to your hip, squeezed it once. “You do the same to me,” you admitted- and not even a moment after you did, that hand slipped between your thighs.

You sucked at your tongue, squirming as Astarion’s fingers stroked along your lips, teasing in such a way that it could drive you to madness. You felt Astarion’s teeth scrape against your skin in excitement as he pushed passed, felt how eagerly wet you’d gotten since crawling under the covers with him.

He pulled from your neck, supported himself with his free hand- and in the split second before he kissed you, you could just make out a flush on his pale cheeks, in the dark. Your fault, in more ways than one.

The kiss was desperate, something needy but tinged with a sweetness that seemed to be seeping into your intimacy with him more and more. His tongue pushed at your lips as you spread your legs, pushed against his fingers as they rubbed your clit slowly. You let him in, tasted the iron tang of your blood on his mouth. It made you dizzy, heavy and heady like a cellar aged wine nearly forgotten.

You could kiss him endlessly. You would drown in the taste you left on his lips. You’d gladly meet oblivion if a single kiss from Astarion was your last moment- and maybe, in times not quite so heated, you could examine all that meant.

But not now.

The kiss broke as you gasped, sucked in air to lungs that were screaming. Astarion smirked, a cocky quirk to his slightly kiss reddened lips, as his fingers slid further down, left your aching clit and pushed two slowly into you. You tossed your head back, shaking as you clenched around him. He tutted, his voice so amused as he spoke.

“Already this close, darling? Why, I’ve barely even tried.”

You slid one hand up from his back, along the curve of his neck, tangled your fingers in his hair. Then you pushed, crashed his mouth to yours in something rhythmless and divine. He let you, nipped at your lips as his fingers thrust too fucking perfectly inside you, making your thighs tremble.

It wasn’t enough, not quite, but it put you so close to the edge you were dizzy. You kissed and whimpered into his mouth, tugged at his hair and felt him hiss against your tongue. His fingers moved faster, harder then, his tumb finding your clit and rubbing against it.

You arched, could handle only seconds of it, before the knot that had made its way into your belly burst. You squeezed your eyes shut, whining into the kiss, mouth pliant for Astarion’s taking as your body trembled, clenched around his fingers as if you wanted him to live inside you. The bliss rolled over you in waves, barely ebbing before it rose again.

You felt like fire.

When you finally went lax, your hand falling from Astarion’s hair, you cracked your eyes open. In the dark you could just see him, flushed from your blood and sheer arousal, eyes bright as the dying embers of your campfire.

It felt nearly impossible to make your body move, but you reached down still, grabbed his wrist and guided his hand up. The moment his fingers left you, you ached from the emptiness- but you promised yourself it wouldn’t last.

You pulled his hand to your mouth, slid his tongue fingers past your lips, sucked at them gently. Your tongue rolled over them, tasted yourself now, against the ghost of your blood from his lips. Astarion shuddered, pretty lips parting as an unneeded breath escaped him.

“You burn hotter than the hells,” he managed, a tremble to his voice. It hadn’t been there the first half dozen times you’d bedded him. But you were noticing it lately, as if something was cracking and something true was clawing its way free inside him.

You let his fingers slide from your mouth. “Don’t waste the heat,” you said, eyelids feeling heavy. You pushed yourself up on one elbow slightly, managed to reach down, ran your fingers along his stomach, until you could wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You squeezed gently, and Astarion moaned, in the same moment the wind screamed outside the tent.

Your touch was invitation enough. Astarion spread your thighs, grasped them and hiked your hips up, so he could drag his cock against your cunt. You arched, your clit swollen, sensitive from your first orgasm. Gods, the though of coming from just having him grind against you like this was divine-

But not what either of you wanted.

The control he had, to ease into you slowly on his first thrust, was something to be respected. But the moment he was flush to you, seated inside your body, you pulled him down, wrapped your arms around him and tried to kiss him. You managed to get the corner of his mouth, before he turned to meet your lips, hips moving slowly.

You could have told him not to be gentle- you had told him that, in nights past. But the intimacy here, it was crackling around you both, inching its way under your skin. The kisses were desperate and tender, and Astarion was burning against you, a heat you’re not sure you’d ever felt from his skin before.

“You’re warm,” you managed, and Astarion paused- much to your dismay- before he laughed. An honest to gods laugh.

“That is what you’re focused on right now?” he asked, and you just smiled. He pressed closer, before he thrust into you hard, made you arch, mouth falling open. “I obviously need to be trying harder, than.”

The gentleness melted away, as Astarion dipped his head. You felt his tongue, trailing up between your breasts, over your collar bone, lapping up a single trail of blood. His tongue pushed at the puncture wounds on your neck, made them ache, as he got just a little taste.

His cock throbbed inside you. You squirmed. You weren’t sure anything about you had ever aroused someone the way the taste of your blood seemed to arouse Astarion. The way anything about you seemed to arouse him.

When your mind was functioning, you could unpack that.

He nuzzled into your neck, breathed you in as your blunt nails dug at his scars. You heard your name, moaned in a way that was meant to be lost in the dark. But you’d die sooner than ever missing Astarion saying your name.

You hooked one leg over his thighs, pulling him deeper. Your body was clenching around him, wanting and wanting and wanting, so close but just not there, not yet, not quite-

“My sweet,” he managed, voice ragged, wanton, just as close as you. He lifted his head slightly, and in a voice that was nearly begging, “kiss me again.”

You kissed him as if his lungs housed your final, glorious breath. You clung to him, hips rocking rhythmlessly now, his own movements just as desperate. You felt the prick of his fangs, against your tongue, and then just enough pressure as his pelvis ground into you, against your aching clit.

Your second orgasm thrust you from reality, so far so you swore you would wake in the astral plane. The kiss broke and you never realized it, only aware that you were calling Astarion’s name over and over again, riding out the orgasm on his quick thrusts. You felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes, everything screaming in a pleasure so intense you couldn’t breathe.

And just when you thought your orgasm might begin to calm, Astarion gasped, pressed his face back into your neck, trembled as he thrust and stilled inside you. You shivered, swore you could feel a fire spreading inside you, filing you with all the heat he’d stolen from your blood.

You began to relax, felt your body turning to liquid, felt Astarion’s weight beginning to press pleasantly down on you. As your mind cleared, you realized you were almost hot beneath him and the blankets now, your spine damp against his bedroll.

Carefully, Astarion moved off of you- and oh, the feeling of him leaving your body was the worst, made you ache for more. Maybe weather night there would have been- there would have been his head between your thighs, bringing you off again until he was ready to fuck you breathlessly down into his bed roll- but not tonight.

Not with the way Astarion pulled you to him once he was settled on his side, how he tucked you into his chest. He stroked between your shoulder blades and you smiled softly, letting fatigue begin to over take you.

“Warm enough now?” you asked, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.

“Deliciously so.” He dipped down, kissed your hair. You sighed, content. “Not all of your ideas are detrimental to my health, it seems.” You smacked his side, but he only chuckled, pulled you even closer. Beneath the blankets, you tangled your legs with his, felt like you fit, as if you had been cut from the same stone. “Sleep, my sweet,” he said, into the nothingness of the night, as you were beginning to lose yourself.

And then, just as you were giving in, the last thing you heard was a very quiet, very sincere, “Thank you.”

[capsiclesteebrogers]

not only are team bl*ck stans incapable of intelligent literary analysis, shitting on the cast because they refuse to give into their nonsense and try to explain why things are portrayed the way they are (you know, the people who actually did research to portray these characters), incapable of seeing their team as also being in the wrong (because in "the dance of the dragons" there were no heroes and villains, both parts were equally wrong), they are also hypocrites. because how do they say that we shouldn't judge the show by modern standards and in the same breath... judge the show by modern standards? it's either one or the other, not both!

[thevelaryons]

There are many details provided about Alyn through his sea voyages, but the most important one is how a character who thinks war is a joking matter can have a dramatic change of heart. Alyn goes from being a headstrong teenager who does not think about the consequences of his actions to an adult that acts with far more sensibility.

Westeros could not hope to prevail in a sea war against Braavos, Lord Unwin knew. His purpose, he declared, was to put an end to the rogue Racallio Ryndoon and his piratical kingdom and establish a presence upon Bloodstone, to ensure that never again could the narrow sea be closed. [...] Lord Alyn had taken his ships south, not north. Three days later, whilst Gedmund Great-Axe and his royal fleet still lingered off the coast of Tarth waiting on a raven, battle was joined amongst the rocks, sea stacks, and tangled waterways of the Stepstones. The attack caught the Braavosi unawares, with their grand admiral and twoscore of his captains feasting on Bloodstone with Racallio Ryndoon and the envoys from Tyrosh. Half of the Braavosi ships were taken, burned, or sunk whilst still at anchor or tied to a dock, others as they raised sail and tried to get under way. The fight was not entirely bloodless. [...] Alyn Velaryon’s victory was complete. He lost three ships in the Stepstones (one, sadly, was the True Heart, captained by his cousin Daeron, who perished when she sank), whilst sinking more than thirty and capturing six galleys, eleven cogs, eighty-nine hostages, vast amounts of food, drink, arms, and coin, and an elephant meant for the Sealord’s menagerie. All this the Lord of the Tides brought back to Westeros, along with the name that he would carry for the rest of his long life: Oakenfist. When Lord Alyn sailed Queen Rhaenys up the Blackwater Rush and rode in through the River Gate on the back of the Sealord’s elephant, tens of thousands lined the city streets shouting his name and clamoring for a glimpse of their new hero.  [...] Instead Lord Unwin Peake scowled down at him from atop the Iron Throne, and said, “You fool, you thrice-damned fool. If I dared, I would have your bloody head off.” The Hand had good cause to be so wroth. However loudly the mob might cheer for Oakenfist, their bold young hero’s rash attack had left the realm in an untenable position. Lord Velaryon might have captured a score of Braavosi ships and an elephant, but he had not taken Bloodstone, nor any of the other Stepstones; the knights and men-at-arms such a conquest would have required had been aboard the larger ships of the royal fleet that he abandoned off the shores of Tarth. The destruction of Racallio Ryndoon’s pirate kingdom had been Lord Peake’s objective; instead, Racallio appeared to have emerged stronger than ever. The last thing the Hand desired was war with Braavos, richest and most powerful of the Nine Free Cities. “Yet that is what you have given us, my lord,” Peake thundered. “You have given us a war.” “And an elephant,” Lord Alyn answered insolently. “Pray, do not forget the elephant, my lord.”

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

Contrary to what Unwin believed, Alyn does in fact win in his battle against the Braavosi fleet, though not without losses. But Alyn's actions mean concessions have to be made to Braavos to avoid the threat of war.

Profit means more than pride amongst the hundred isles. Upon arrival, Lord Mooton and his companions marveled at the Titan, and were taken to the fabled Arsenal to witness the building of a warship, completed in a single day. “We have already replaced every ship that your boy admiral stole or sank,” the Sealord boasted to Lord Mooton. Having thus demonstrated the power of Braavos, however, he was more than willing to be placated. Whilst he haggled with Lord Mooton over terms of peace, Lords Follard and Cressey spread lavish bribes amongst the city’s keyholders, magisters, priests, and merchant princes. In the end, in return for a very sizable indemnity, Braavos forgave Lord Velaryon’s “unwarranted transgression,” agreed to dissolve her alliance with Tyrosh and break all ties with Racallio Ryndoon, and ceded the Stepstones to the Iron Throne (since the islands were held by Ryndoon and the Pentoshi at this time, the Sealord had in effect sold something that he did not own, but this was not unusual in Braavos). [...] So it came to pass that Lord Mooton returned to King’s Landing with peace in hand, but at a grievous cost. The huge indemnity demanded by the Sealord so depleted the royal treasury that Lord Peake soon found it necessary to borrow from the Iron Bank of Braavos just so the Crown might pay its debts, and that in turn required him to reinstate certain of Lord Celtigar’s taxes that Ser Tyland Lannister had abolished, which angered lords and merchants alike and weakened his support amongst the smallfolk.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

Alyn failed to consider the long term consequences of his actions and it resulted in negative repercussions for the realm.

The next time Alyn is near the Stepstones, he chooses a different path. The same boy, who had previously rushed into battle recklessly and enjoyed the glory it brought him, decides to choose the path of caution. Now he risks no one's life but his own.

In 133 AC, in the Stepstones, “Queen” Racallio was at the height of his power. Alyn Velaryon could perhaps have brought him down, but it would have cost him half his strength, he feared, and he would have need of every man if he were to have any hope of defeating the Red Kraken. He therefore chose talk instead of battle. Detaching his Lady Baela from the fleet, he sailed her into Bloodstone beneath a parley flag, to try to arrange free passage for his ships through Ryndoon’s waters. Ultimately he succeeded, though Racallio kept him for more than a fortnight in his sprawling wooden fortress on Bloodstone.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

There is no glory for Alyn this time around and the things he has to do to appease Racallio could even be considered humiliating (forced to kill prisoners and bed people according to Racallio's wishes) but this quieter sort of victory shows a deep change in mindset that has occurred in Alyn.

He's clearly been thinking about his actions over the past few years because later on, he also decides to help find a solution to Westeros' mounting economic crisis due to the Braavosi/Lyseni banks (a problem which he somewhat contributed to). He offers up the name of a former enemy to be in a position of power if it will mean the realm will benefit.

Lord Torrhen said, “but I’ll need a man who is good with coin if I’m to deal with these Lyseni thieves and their bloody bank.” Then up stood Oakenfist, to offer the name of Isembard Arryn, the Gilded Falcon of the Vale. [...] With the considerable help of the Gilded Falcon, Isembard Arryn, Manderly enacted a major reform of the taxes, providing more income for the Crown and some relief for those who could prove they had suffered losses from the plundering of the Rogare Bank.

— Fire & Blood, The Lysene Spring and the End of Regency

[kitsune024]

Crossovers

Danny Phantom

The Boy King and the Dark Knights by @imjustkindaherelove | Chapters: 29/? | Danny & Jason, Age Regression/De-Aging, ghost king-more like prince, good parent Jason, funny misunderstandings, Identity reveal How Light Carries On (Endlessly, Even After Death) by BumblingBeesAndWillowTrees I Chapters 3/3 I Completed Eldritch Danny, Danny Adopts Jason Todd, Haunted House Dig Three Graves in Apartment 31c by @faeriekit I Chapter's 6/6 I Completed Danny has the role of Willis Todd, halfa Jason The Red Hood's Big Bad Guard Demon by @the-stove-is-on-fire I Chapters 1/? I Danny/Jason, Ice Sculptor Danny, Danny freaks Jason out here lol, High and unhinged Danny, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin oh lazarus, how did your debts get paid by @hollowmashiro I Chapters 1/1 I one shot Danny/Jason, Pre-Slash, Codependency, Soul Bond, Mind the Tags

Star Wars

When Sanity Runs Out by heretoday898 I Chapters 30/30 I Completed Roy & Jason, Bamf Jason, Canon Divergence, Fix it

Supernatural

Two Lives, One Soul by Spnfandom8 I Chapters 10/10 I Completed Dean & Jason are twin brothers, Bamf Dean, Bamf Jason

Jason's Favorite Vacation Spot: Death by @super-sock | Chapters: 18/18 | Completed Basically Jason dies again and comes back again and it keeps happening, Crack and Angst, Lazarus Pit

The first time was a fluke. The second time, okay, there were extenuating circumstances. However, a third time? This was getting suspicious. --- Jason keeps dying. He becomes more acquainted with the other side. Nobody really knows what's going on.

ghost story by @envysparkler | Chapters: 7/7 | Ghost Jason Todd, Fix-It, Whump, Batfamily, Grief/Mourning

Jason Todd dies in Ethiopia. Well. Kind of.

The Wayward Boy by @zootopon I Chapters 3/3 I soldier!jason, Jason Todd Grows Up, BAMF Jason Todd, Maturity, Personal Growth, Jason runs away from home

Jason’s 15. Not old enough to drink but still knows enough to break a man 10 different ways before they could blink. If that doesn’t make people question Bruce’s psychological state as a person, let alone a parent, then he doesn’t know what will. He runs because he's not needed anymore. Because Bruce took away everything that ever meant anything to him, leaving him as just plain old Jason Todd. He runs because at least he can keep his head held high.

Who I am. Who I’ll Never Be by @zootopon I Chapters: 32/? I Jason Wages War, Bamf Jason, Artemis/Jason

On the run from the Justice League and the Bats, Jason prepares to wage war on those he once considered family. They took something from him, he intends to take it back.

JT's Auto Shop foxykyuu15 I Chapters 28/28 I Jason Todd is a Member of the Suicide Squad, Time Travel, Alternate Universe, bamf Jason

There are two locations in Crime Alley that everyone knows are neutral territory: JT's Garage, and Flag's Bar situated two blocks over. The Alley's run by a Ghost story who goes by that very name and lives up to every rumor told about him. Whether this be the blood running down the streets of the Narrows during the gang war waged for the Alley or Ghost's merciless hits against those who defy his order. Even the kind smiles and open rooms without strings attached offered to the citizens of the Alley are true. Its been this way for three years now. Ghost has taken over Mask's territory, ran Penguin out, and shut down Two Face's operations. He has worked long and hard enough to secure a foothold & establish a system under his Code. And it works. It does. Three years is also enough time that Spoiler and Signal, the two newest Bats, begin to get a little too curious to see who the elusive Ghost really is. (Jason hadn't wanted to get involved with the Bats this time around. He wanted to clean up the Alley, work on cars with Santana, and maybe smoke some weed and drink some beer on the weekends when he wasn't out doing crime-lord shit. Fuck.)

Totentanz (La Danse Macabre) by Balrog_Roike | Chapters 1/1 | one shot Lazarus Pit, Possession, Dark fic, Horror, Ghosts

"Vengeance is nothing but justice long overdue..." The Lazarus Pit thinks so, too.

The Daughter of the Water by @chucklesbuckles I Chapters: 1/1 I one shot Lazarus Pit, White Haired Jason, Eldritch Jason-of a sort, doesn't say in tags - Possession, Dead Jason?

“To walk the world!” it croons, bright gold spilling over it’s cheeks, highlighting the springy white curls crowning it’s head. It bends, cold wet hands cradling Talia’s face, wiping her tears away. It places a soft kiss to her forehead, tucking a loose curl of hair behind her ear, torchlight eyes burning. “Thank you for the body.”

Call on Me by @wellthatjusthappend I Chapters 3/? I Clark & Jason, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Clark accidentally end up parenting, AU - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence

It wasn’t that Clark had never thought about having kids, but when he did it hadn't been like this. "Clark... Superman, help."

Bookmark Series

The Phoenix Never Dies by ForceMage56 I Part 1-4 I BAMF Jason Todd, Jason's in Arkham, Talia al Ghul/Selina Kyle, Torture, Psychological Torture, angry Jason, Angst, Jason's had enough

[spookychick78]

Final Girl

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)

Michael Myers X AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Gore, depictions of death

Word Count: 1,213

She shot me was all he could hear in his mind other than the echo of each bullet she had fired at him. He had died many a time before this, but this was a new kind of death. Each blow hurt him in ways he didn't know he could hurt. She was willing to risk living without him, killing him. Everything he knew to be true about her was a lie. She had betrayed him to the fullest. No one betrayed him. He began to feel life stirring within him once again. Feeling spread throughout his body, first his fingertips, then his limbs and finally his heart began to regain its pulse. It was slower than usual and he ached more than he normally would. His eyes fluttered open to meet the ceiling. It was silent. No screams, no movement. It was finished. Dread built steadily inside of him and he almost wished she had succeeded in killing him. If he could have, he would have willed his heart to stop beating so he wouldn't have to lay eyes on what she had done. The silence made him wonder if she had taken not only the woman's life, but her own. He had to know. He sat straight up, triggering the sharp pains her bullets had left behind to pierce him once again. He winced underneath his mask and backed himself against the doorframe before he took in the scene that lay before him. Her body was left unrecognizable, if he hadn't seen who she was before he wouldn't have been able to identify her. She was bathed in shimmering crimson, her eyes left wide with terror being the last expression they had conveyed. Not an inch of her had been left untouched by the blade. He couldn't recall a time even he had decorated a victim with as many marks as she had. He let his hand drop to the floor at his side only to have it soaked in her blood. So much had spilled that it surrounded him. His gaze shifted to (Y/n), who was sat against the wall across from him. The knife was still tight in her grasp as if it had found a new home there. His eyes took their time traveling up to her face. He wasn't quite ready to see that yet. Crimson covered her as well. It was splattered over her legs, her hands, her jacket and finally her face. It no longer looked like her own. He knew all along committing this act would mean the completion of her own mask. And there it was. It wasn't physical, like his own, it was derived from the blood that covered her, the life she took. She was changed. Her eyes held images he knew all too well. Looking at her was now like his own reflection. She was a mirror, a nagging reminder of what he was, what they were. Monsters.

"Michael," she began, she sounded exhausted.

He couldn't quite look at her. So much anger and sadness was building within him, he was frightened he could actually kill her this time. Killing him had been the first strike, but seeing her like this was too much. She was no different than him now and he had fought so hard to protect her, to make her understand. All for nothing. All to lose her.

"Michael, you have to leave," she said with a hoarse voice.

He stared blankly at her, trying his hardest to stifle the urge to wring her neck. She hadn't hesitated to kill him, so why should he.

"I called the police, they'll be here any minute now."

He was deadly still as his body began to tingle with blind rage.

"It's done."

Within the blink of an eye he was across the room lifting her by her neck up the wall. Whoever this was who had taken her from him would pay. This wasn't the woman he had come to love. That look in her eyes as she pulled the trigger, what she had done to the woman on the floor, none of it was her, it couldn't be. He began to squeeze tighter than he ever had before, his eyes burning into her’s from under his mask. She didn't fight him.

"It's okay, Michael," she choked out, "you can let me go, it's okay."

He knew what she meant. She wasn't afraid to die, she never had been. She welcomed it. He had every intention to crush her beneath him, but he thought back to when she had first said his name. To when her lips first kissed his fingertips, her hand over his while she lay next to him. The way she had accepted him in every way and loved him regardless of what he was. He was a monster and she had loved him more than he had ever deserved.

He broke down and brought her into him to hold her. No matter what she had become he couldn't kill her. He was incapable of it. He heard the knife fall and felt her arms wrap tightly around his body. The sound of sirens slowly crept toward them and he knew this would be their last embrace. She pulled back and rested her hand on the cheek of his mask. Her eyes frantically moved over him, memorizing everything she could so she could remember both versions of him. The one only she knew and the one the world knew. He could see the tears welling in her (e/c) eyes, but she was always so careful not to let them fall.

"Promise you won't forget me?" She whispered.

The thought of forgetting her hurt more than the bullets. He lifted the bottom of his mask and pressed his lips to hers one last time. He knew forgetting her would be impossible. The thought of living here on out without her was crippling, but that was her choice. He wouldn't stop her. He kissed her firmly before he pulled himself away. He fixed his mask back into place and then allowed his hand to brush her cheek. He had to remember how soft she was. He wouldn't allow his last memory to be anything other than that. Red and blue light filled the room and she took his hand from her face, pressed her lips to it and place it on his chest as she pushed him away. He slipped out of the house and into the shadows. Once hidden, he watched the police enter the home to retrieve her. She surrendered and was soon escorted out in handcuffs. For a moment he wondered why he hadn't just taken her with him and what was stopping him now. It was as if she knew, her eyes found him like they always did no matter where he hid. She wanted this. He saw that. This had been her last act and she didn't want him to rescue her from the consequences. He truly had to let her go. He stayed long after she had been put in the car, long after it had driven away and long after everyone who had come to pry had gone home. The streets were empty once more as if she had never been there at all.

[ccieatchildren]

Caretaker watched as her father was taken away in handcuffs, the ever present smile plastered on his face. Her mum was already inside, annoyed with her husband’s antics, choosing instead to answer emails from her coworkers, while her brothers stood next to Caretaker watching their father get hauled off.

“Get back before dinner, Baba!” Two shouted, earning an elbow from One. 

Her father laughed boisterously, “You know I will!” This did not go over well with the officers dragging him away, who turned to glare at him even harder. Furious because they all knew it was true.

Baba was untouchable, too good at what he did to leave any identifiable evidence behind. Each time the police tried to pin him for a job, there was nothing. They’d just hold the man for a few hours, or the full 48 hours if he really pissed them off, before releasing him back to his family. 

Cat burglary was an art passed down the generations, but her father was the one who truly put the family name in the spotlight. The villain had cultivated a reputation for being able to pull off any heist, no matter how secure the facility was, without ever having to kill anyone. Various other villains and businessmen had tried to hire the man to steal for them, but he was never interested in it for the money, using whatever he collected for charity. He simply did it to keep up a legacy, for the fun, and, most importantly, the challenge. 

Caretaker had learned to expect her father to be out for the day if she ever saw the news cover a big heist. He never told her or the twins about his operations, only Mum was ever privy to that information, so she always learned about it after the fact from other sources. It used to bother her as a child– she wanted to be just like him– and then when she started as a hero– it put them at odds– but as Caretaker got older and grew into her role, she found herself being grateful for the secrecy. It meant she didn’t have to jail him herself. 

Most other heroes didn’t trust her because of her father; figured the villainy was in her blood, and that meant that her family was evil. It was black and white for them, little room for grey.

As Baba knocked his head on the top of the police cruiser, all Caretaker could think was that they were right. Heisting was in her blood. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use those skills for good.

She was the best in the department for breaking into supervillain facilities, cracking safes full of confidential information, and sneaking in on illegal deals. And having her mother’s muscular build didn't hurt one bit either. Caretaker was a force to be reckoned with.

Her moral compass may not completely align with those around her, but she knew her right and wrong– learned it all from her father. Nobody seemed to understand that, nobody except Whumpee. Maybe that’s why they butted heads so much at the beginning of their partnership. They seemed like everyone else because they were frustrated with her uncooperativeness, not her family, while Caretaker was uncooperative because she expected them to be like everyone else. A vicious cycle that thankfully didn’t last too long.

Turning from the scene, Caretaker opened the door and motioned for her brothers. “Come on, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, time to head in. You’ve seen this all before.”

“I knowww, but it’s way more fun to watch Baba get dragged away,” Two replied, “and seeing how mad the coppers get is hilarious.”

“And it’s therapeutic,” added One. 

“Let’s go. I have to get to work, and I can’t leave until I make sure y’all don’t do something stupid like last time.” It frustrated Caretaker to no end that she had to watch over her college-aged brothers, but after they almost set a cop car on fire, she made sure not to leave them alone with the law. 

Both of them looked dejected, even the usually stoic One, as they shuffled inside, turning one last time to watch as their father drove away. 

Caretaker waved bye to her dad once more, before heading inside to join the rest of her family.

[wqintraining]

NEW X-MEN: THE ANIMATED SERIES - SEASON 2, EPISODE 6 (PART 1 OF 2)

We open 5 years ago in the realm of Asgard. There, 17-year-old Danielle Moonstar, 18-year-old Karma, and 16-year-old Sunspot are surrounded by trolls and giants, alongside two new faces, 17-year-old Cannonball, and 15-year-old Wolfsbane. 

KARMA: “Where is she?” 

DANI: “She’ll be here. We just need to buy time.” 

CANNONBALL: “Alright, New Mutants! Here’s the plan!” 

Before Sam Guthrie can begin calling out orders, Dani, far from the calm and mature presence we know in the present, snaps at him, since they’re meant to be co-leaders, and he’s trying to give orders on his own. Sam snaps back at Dani since it’s not like she was tossing out any ideas. 

Roberto, whose voice hasn’t dropped yet, facepalms at these, “idiotas”, while Wolfsbane, Rahne Sinclair, shapeshifts into her wolf form and shouts at the team leaders in an aggressively Scottish accent if now is the time for this. 

As the monstrous hordes attack, Karma supposes no plan will have to be the plan. 

While Cannonball and Sunspot act as the New Mutants’ primary fighters, Sam flying into enemies as the living rocket he is, while Sunspot goes for the tried and true method of punching enemies in the face with super strength. Dani doesn’t use her powers at all, instead alternating between engaging with the trolls in hand-to-hand combat, and firing at them from a distance with her bow. Karma has taken control of on the giants and is using it to fight the others, while Rahne stands guard to protect her from any trolls who try to attack her while she’s defenseless. 

They fight well and successfully clear out all the monsters, but when a giant dragon flies overhead, they all express fear, unsure of how they can fight such a beast after already tiring themselves out. 

It swoops down at them, the five young Mutants ready to do the best they can to defend themselves…but they don’t have to. 

A disc-shaped portal opens up inside the dragon’s head, blowing it up and killing the dragon. As its blood splatters all over the New Mutants, a 16-year-old girl with long blond hair and bangs, armed with a sword, hops out of the portal. 

ROBERTO: “Uch! Gross!” 

DANI: “Cutting it a little close there, don’t you think, Magik?” 

MAGIK, in a deep Russian accent: “I wanted to see if you guys could survive without me for once. Obviously, you couldn’t. You can all thank me now.” 

Rather than cheer her on, the rest of the new Mutants boo her. Magik just smiles and laughs at this, however, as this is just a bit. 

MAGIK: “What would you all do without me?” 

From the bright, innocent smile of a young girl, we cut to the present, where Kitty sits at Magik’s grave at dawn. She’s dressed in casual clothes, she’s holding back tears, and she has another rotted flower for her. 

KITTY: “Happy 21st birthday, Illyana.” 

In the cafeteria, the newly formed Hellions have taken over the student body. Various unnamed students bring Julian, Cessily, Roxy, Sooraya, Brian, and The Cuckoos their lunch, as well as their completed homework. Julian uses his telekinesis on Quentin and the boy he's sitting with, a skeleton with a pink gelatinous exterior, to make them spill their milk all over themselves, getting laughs out of the Cuckoos. 

Along with all the unnamed students who've been blackmailed into servitude, there are also a few named ones. 

Pixie, perky as ever and naive as to what's going on here, tells Roxy it was no problem helping her with her homework. Anything for a friend. Roxy just glares at her, before turning to the other Hellions. 

ROXY: "She thinks we're still friends. Dumb bitch."

As the Hellions laugh, Pixie whimpers, questioning what she's talking about. 

BRIAN: "Next."

Tagging himself, Brian forces Pixie to fly away. 

We pan over to the cafeteria entrance, where Sofia and Noriko stand. Noriko has one very simple question…

NORIKO: "What the in HELL is going on here?!"

What they're seeing is deranged and wrong and obscene on so many levels. Nori can buy Julian and Brian falling in with the Barbie Bitches, but the girls? After what they put Cess and Roxy through? No way. 

Sofia has TRIED talking to everyone over the last couple days, but they've all blown her off. 

NORI: "Yeah? Then let's make them talk."

Nori stomps toward the Hellions' table. Sofia know this is likely to end badly, but reluctantly follows her lead. 

As the two approach, the Cuckoos shoot them triumphant smirks. 

SOPHIE: "What's wrong? Are you two realizing the consequences of your actions?"

NORIKO: "Big talk from the girl who only got her new boyfriend because her name sounds like his ex's."

CESSILY: "Back off, Noriko."

NORIKO: "No, YOU be straight with us."

BRIAN: "Asking the bi girl to be straight. Classy."

Noriko groans.

SOFIA: "Sooraya…please talk to us."

Sooraya just turns her head away. 

Julian stands up. He's just trying to enjoy his lunch with his friends. Anything else they're doing is none of their business. 

Noriko charges herself up, warning him that he shouldn't feel untouchable just because they can't talk to the teachers. Julian lights up and says he'd be happy to have another food fight…

JULIAN: "But if you haven't noticed, I've got a little more firepower on my side this time."

The groups continue to stare each other down. Noriko so badly wants to throw the first punch, but she knows there's no winning here and backs down. 

NORIKO: "This isn't over."

Noriko walks off, but Sofia stays, watching Julian as he sits down. 

JULIAN: "Yeah?"

Sofia shakes her head. 

SOFIA: "Nothing."

In the teacher’s lounge, Kitty, Beto, Dani, and Xuan are sitting around in beanbag chairs, drinking beer, and telling stories. There’s a birthday cake on the table next to them, with Hell-themed frosting, alongside “flaming hot” sodas. 

Kitty recalls the time she got way too angry at Storm for getting a mohawk and changing out of her usual, regal costume into leathers, so Magik cast a spell to give her temporary tattoos and dreadlocks to piss her off. 

KITTY: “Honestly, I kinda wanted real tats, but you know...” 

She playfully flicks her Magen David. 

Dani reminisces about the time she and Illyana saved the rest of these dorks from becoming Emma’s Hellions, AFTER they’d willingly joined her, using time travel. Karma tells her to hold up and that she’s getting her stories mixed up. The time Magik and Dani saved them, and the time they joined Emma willingly were completely separate. 

DANI: “Right, right. Hey, WHY is she still here?” 

ROBERTO: “A million-dollar question, with a billion-dollar answer.” Beto takes a swig of his beer. “Remember that time we were at those hot springs and Sam and I–” 

“Beto, if you tell that story, aye will claw your eyes out.” 

Everyone turns to the doorway and finds their other two former teammates from the flashback, Cannonball and Wolfsbane. Cannonball is tall, muscular, and handsome, and dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and jean jacket, while Rahne is a petite ginger in a frilly dress with furry arms and legs.  

Roberto’s eyes light up with joy as he gets up to hug it out and welcome his best friend, Sam, while Dani, Xuan, and Rahne all squeal at the sight of each other, so happy to see each other again after so long. 

Kitty looks on longingly at all of them in silence, wishing her own best friend could have walked through that door. 

Sam’s glad Kitty thought to arrange this little reunion. They’ve been saying “We’ll hang out soon” without ever doing anything for too long. 

RAHNE: “No Amara?” 

DANI: “Magma’s busy. We’ll try and catch her another time.” 

As they all sit down to have some cake, we get a better idea of who Sam and Rahne are as they explain what they’ve been doing since graduation. Rahne has been working with the Mutant detective agency X-Factor; Rahne namedrops Multiple Man as the team’s leader. 

SAM: “And it’s same old, same old for me. Still just working with–” 

Before Sam can finish that sentence, everyone else starts horribly singing the theme song to the Avengers animated series Bobby was seen watching several episodes ago. 

SAM: “This is why they don’t like you guys.” 

Kitty giggles, but her face quickly falls afterward. Her friends notice and ask what’s wrong. 

KITTY: “I don’t know. I just…never stop thinking about what we could have done to save her.” 

ROBERTO: “She was killed by a virus, not a supervillain. There was nothing any of us could have done.” 

DANI: “She definitely would have been happier going down in battle.” 

KARMA: “Mmhm.” 

Kitty kicks the leg of the table. 

KITTY: “Yana. Doug. Warlock. My dad. Everyone else on Genosha. Sometimes I wonder what’s even the point of keeping up the fight if we’re all gonna get killed eventually.” 

BEAT. 

ROBERTO, whispering in Sam’s ear: “She’s always such a mood killer.” 

Sam punches Beto’s shoulder. 

Sam tells Kitty he knows it’s hard. With everything they’ve been through and everyone they’ve lost, how could it not be? But it’s like “The Cap” always says: You have to keep rising up no matter how many times you fall. 

Kitty and the New Mutants proceed to fall through portals. 

 In Laura’s room, Noriko, accompanied by Sofia, is shouting at Laura that she needs to do something about the Hellions. They can’t get help from the teachers, and they can’t force them to stop themselves…

SOFIA: “We considered seeking help from some of the other more powerful students like Quentin and Armor, but we don’t think even they would be enough.” 

…but since Laura is both a kid AND an X-Man, maybe she can stop this. 

While they’re talking, Laura is pacing around and packing a duffel bag. To their dismay, Laura tells them she wants no part in this. If this is what the rest of the squad wants to do, she doesn’t care. Unless they start actually hurting people, she’s gonna keep hanging out with them too. 

NORIKO: “You can’t be for real.” 

SOFIA: “Laura, what if the Cuckoos are hurting ALL of them?” 

LAURA, zipping her bag: “Dust would have told me. She tells me everything.” 

NORIKO: “Uh-huh. Where are you going anyway?” 

LAURA: “Logan called. Needs me and Warpath to come help with a job.”  

SOFIA: “I feel like I never see Mr. Proudstar anymore. How is he?” 

Laura just shrugs. 

LAURA: “Hellion is clearly still processing what he went through. What I LET happen to him. Let him be. Trying anything dumb could make things worse for everyone.” Laura brushes past the girls and turns around, looking at Sofia. “If he does hurt you, I’ll cut his dick off.” 

NORIKO: “And if he hurts me?” 

LAURA: “Eh.” 

Laura departs. 

NORIKO: “I hate this stupid school.” 

Kitty rubs her head as she wakes up somewhere with red ground and a pale yellow sky, questioning what happened. The New Mutants wake up around her and instantly freak out. They know where they are because they’ve been here plenty of times. 

ROBERTO: “KItty, welcome to Limbo.” 

Rahne shivers and hugs herself. She always hated this place. 

Kitty looks in awe and horror at the demons flying through the sky and the creatures crawling all around them. She’d only ever heard about Limbo, the realm between Hell and Earth which Illyana had ruled over as a teenager, and had never been here herself. 

“In that case, my question is only for the rest of you.” 

The six Mutants turn around and find a devilish-looking demon in attire similar to a Roman emperor’s approaching them. 

BELASCO: “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?” 

Cannonball questions who this guy is and what he wants with them as the team prepares for a fight. Belasco introduces himself. 

BELASCO: “Not long ago, I was the absolute ruler of this domain. A perfect plan was in place to exterminate the mortal life that those like you fight so hard to protect. The Earth was to become the playground for the true gods to lay waste to as they saw fit. But then, my plan was foiled, my throne was taken, and I was killed, all by a little girl with a sword. 

Kitty snort laughs. She gets it. This is the bastard who kidnapped Yana as a kid so he could turn her into a vessel for the jerks he worshipped, only for her to teach herself magic, kick his butt, and escape. Now he’s back and wants revenge. 

KITTY, glaring: “Sorry buddy. But you’re too late. She’s gone.” 

Belasco isn’t surprised to hear this. He was informed of her death as he took his throne back not from her, but from his old number 2. And while the thought of Illyana Rasputina dying slowly and painfully is an appealing one to him, it does him no good. He is the king of Limbo once again, and he is determined to pick up from where he left off. He spent years corrupting that girl’s soul, and he’s not about to start over with someone else. 

BELASCO: “It’s your lucky day, New Mutants! You’re going to aid me in restoring your old friend to life.” 

Kitty and the New Mutants stare Belasco down, all combat-ready, none of them stupid enough to go along with a devil’s devices. Belasco is unafraid and grins back at them all. 

At The Grindstone, Noriko is working her shift and slinging coffee to customers. She’s wearing the forced smile mandated by all service jobs, but she’s unable to keep that up as Julian, seated with the other Hellions, sans Cuckoos, calls out to her. 

JULIAN “Hey Ashida!” He proceeds to dump his coffee on the floor. “Come clean this up for us.” 

Noriko struggles to keep control of herself as the Hellions all laugh at her. As she goes to get the mop, her boss comes up to her. 

LUNA: “Aren’t those guys your friends?” 

NORIKO: “Nope.” 

LUNA: “Right. Well, try and keep a lid on whatever’s going on between you, okay? I only took a chance on you because Xuan asked me to.” Pause. “Has she asked about me lately?” 

Noriko faux gags as she grabs the mop and walks off. 

As Nori cleans up the spill, Julian mocks that this feels a lot more right than her hanging out with them, Cessily and Brian laughing at that as Julian floats off to the bathroom. 

Noriko, spotting an opportunity while neither Julian nor the Cuckoos are present, puts down the mop and slams her hands down on the table. She demands they tell her what’s going on right now. No more games. 

Roxy and Sooraya appear guilty, while Cessily and Brian tell her to not stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and to get back to work. In response, Noriko tells them that if they aren’t upfront with her right now, she’ll have them all banned from this place. 

The four Hellions exchange glances before one of them finally snaps. 

ROXY: “Shit! Okay. Fine.” 

CESSILY: “Babe, don’t.” 

ROXY: “Don't’ “Babe” me right now, girl.” She turns to Noriko. “I don’t know what, but the Cuckoos said something to Julian that convinced him all this nonsense was a good idea.” 

NORI: “And you just went along with it?” 

ROXY: “He wanted us to. And the Cuckoos got secrets from all our brains.”

NORI: “You have secrets so bad it’s worth doing all of this?” 

ROXY: “My parents do.” 

SOORAYA: “And I don’t wish to think about what those monsters could do with my mother’s location.” 

Nori bites her lip and nods, glad at least two of them aren’t total assholes. She then turns her attention to Cessily and Brian. Cessily explains that Julian is acting out right now over his injury and rejection. If they ditched him too, he’d probably only get worse. 

NORI: “Laura said something similar.” 

CESSILY: “Laura is much smarter than you; you should listen to her.” 

BRIAN: “Plus, you know, we’re not half as bad as the bullies I dealt with back home. And it’s kinda fun being the one pushing others around for a change.” 

CESSILY: “It is kinda nice.” 

The giggle and fist bump, Noriko rolling her eyes. She tells them that’s nice and all, but if they want to get things back to normal, they should just tell Julian–” 

JULIAN: “Tell Julian what?” 

Hellion returns and asks Ashida what she thinks she’s doing talking to his crew. Noriko calls him out herself, saying she won’t let him keep making them do this. 

JULIAN: “Making them? I know you’ve never had any besides my ex, but they’re my friends. They help me because they want to. Like, say, if I asked them to take you out back and teach you a lesson, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.” 

Nori mocks that idea but then notices the other Hellions glaring at her. 

NORI: “Oh, you cannot be serious.” 

Cessily just mouths, “Sorry”. 

We cut to a wide shot of the coffee shop. We don’t see what happens behind it, only an explosion of metal and dust as we hear Nori swear at the top of her lungs in pain. 

In Limbo, the old New Mutants command structure gives way as Kitty takes the lead. She doesn’t want Karma trying to go into this guy’s head, unsure of what could happen, and just being realistic, Sam, Beto, and Rahne probably aren’t strong enough to hit him head-on, so she instead orders Dani to project Belasco’s worst fears on him. Even a demon lord has to be afraid of something, right? 

Belasco’s smug grin shifts into a sneer as a projection of 14-year-old Illyana appears before him, mocking his past defeat. 

“ILLYANA”: “Honestly, if I were you, and I’m glad I’m not, I would have stayed dead. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to bring me back to life and then lose again? A HA HA HA HA HA!”

Belasco grits his teeth and spits that he does NOT fear her as he smashes the illusion. With him distracted, however, Cannonball is able to catch him by surprise, and, with momentum behind him, get Sunspot into range to deliver a powerful first punch to the face, before swinging back around and hitting him himself from behind. 

Belasco blasts hellfire at the two men, but Sunspot is able to just absorb the attack. Kitty, meanwhile, phases through the flames and flips over Belasco, phasing her hand through his head and pulling something out the other side. 

Kitty shakes her gloved hand with disgust as she drops the gooey, maggot-infested organ. She doesn’t know what that was, but she hopes it was important. 

Belasco is fed up. 

As Wolfsbane attacks in wolf form, Belasco simply grabs her by the neck and slams her into the ground knocking her out. 

Dani is incensed by this and manifests a spirit arrow in her bow, but, before she can fire it, Belasco controls the landscape of Limbo itself, and juts blunt spires of stone into her and Karma’s stomachs, knocking the wind out of them before he renders them unconscious with a dark energy wave. 

ROBERTO: “Of course a beast like you has no trouble hitting ladies.” 

Belaso looks at him with annoyance, before laughing. 

BELASCO: “Sunspot, yes? You don’t belong here.” 

Beto freezes up for a moment, unsure of what that’s supposed to mean, leaving him vulnerable. As Belasco attacks him, Sam flies in to try and get him out of the way, but they both end up getting knocked out. 

Belasco licks his lips at Kitty. 

BELASCO: “And that just leaves the one who loves her most.” 

Kitty looks around at all her unconscious friends, and, taking into account that none of their attacks were able to even do anything, realizes the best thing she can do right now is give him what he wants so they can at least get more information. 

Kitty surrenders and asks how he plans on bringing Magik back. 

At the school, Noriko groans in pain. In their room, Sofia is patching Noriko up, mentioning how her mother taught her basic first-aid, and she just hopes she’s doing this right. Sofia can’t believe their friends would do this to her, even given the circumstances. 

Noriko, who’s covered in cuts and bruises, but nothing serious, groans again as Sofia sews up one of the deeper ones. Honestly, she doesn’t blame Soo or Roxy. They’ve got things worth protecting. Cessily and Brian are dead to her though. 

Sofia shakes her head. This is her fault. She should have been firmer when she tried talking to everyone herself earlier, but she was too nervous and awkward because…

NORI: “If you tell me it’s because you blame yourself, I will zap you.” 

It is NOT Sofia’s fault that any of this is happening. She didn’t have much to begin with, but she is officially out of pity for Julian. Normal people don’t do this kind of thing just because their ex didn’t want to get back together with him. 

SOFIA: “Well…that isn’t strictly true.” 

Noriko looks at Sofia in tired frustration. 

NORIKO: “No. Seriously? Really, Princess?” 

Sofia explains that she meant “No” when she told him, but after thinking about it and speaking with Laura, she decided that, in spite of everything, she did want to be with him after all. She was just too late. 

NORI, hurting her shoulder so she can grip Sofia’s shoulders: “Sofia, get this through your unnaturally symmetrical face: Julian is a dick. You can have any guy you want. You can kiss Laura if you just want a warm body to smooch. But let this go!” 

Sofia thinks for a moment before shaking her head. She can’t do that. Not until she knows exactly what the Cuckoos said to him. 

Sofia stands up and asks Nori if she’ll be okay here. Nori sighs and just asks her to grab them some food on her way back; she doesn’t feel like dealing with the cafeteria. Sofia nods and flies off. 

In Limbo, the New Mutants wake up, again, this time in a cell. 

ROBERTO: “So…we didn’t win?” 

DANI: “No, Beto. No, we did not win.” 

As Kitty welcomes them all back, Sam asks her what happened. She explains that she surrendered after Belasco kicked their butts, and is hoping that however, he’s planning on using them to “bring back” Illyana, they can take advantage of the opportunity to escape. And maybe…actually get Illyana back. If they’re lucky. 

KITTY: “It isn’t much of a plan, but it’s what I’ve got.” 

After a little moping, Dani slams her fist against the ground. How did they lose so easily? They’re all trained warriors. 

DANI: “I’d fear teaching had made Karma and I lose our instincts, but the rest of you failed just as miserably.” 

Xuan tries to comfort her, reminding her how Illyana’s power was god-like while she was down here when she was queen, so Belasco is possibly operating on a similar level. No X-Men could have won that fight. 

Dani, her warrior’s pride hurt, isn’t helped by this knowledge. What does help her is Rahne, without a word, turning into her wolf form and cuddling up against Dani’s lap. Dani giggles as she pets her friend, saying this isn’t fair; it’s hard to stay mad when your soulmate wants you to cheer up. 

Sam kicks a rock. He knows they’re all good heroes, but at the end of the day, that’s because of their training, not their gifts. Beto is no Colossus, he’s no Northstar, and Dani and Karma are obviously no Jean. 

SAM: “How many battles did we only win back in the day because Magik was there?” 

RAHNE, purring as she gets pet: ‘She wasn’t always around…” 

BETO: “But she was always there when we needed her.” 

While the mood slightly brightens for the others, Kitty starts crying. 

KITTY: “We’re all going to die.” 

Sam tells her that’s not going to happen and she needs to calm down. Even if it’s a half-baked plan, they have a plan, and they’ve all been through worse than this. Kitty just shakes her head. They have no hope in a situation like this without Magik, Magik was killed by a Mutant targeting virus the US government actively allowed to spread, and now they’re all going to be killed too, because that’s the inevitable fate of all Mutants. 

SAM: “Kitty Pryde, you’re the senior X-Man here! Quit the doom-saying, get a hold of yourself, and–!” 

KITTY: “You weren’t there!” 

As the girls realize what’s going on with Kitty, and Rahne crawls over to Kitty to give her a hug, Sam starts shouting again, only to be cut off shortly by Roberto, who places a burning hand on his shoulder. In a rare quiet moment for him, Beto, the only other person here who DID see the aftermath of the Genoshan incident, just shakes his head at his friend. 

Kitty sniffles and hugs Rahne back. 

At night at the institute, Julian is outside on the basketball court, by himself, taking freeshots, and retrieving his ball each time with his telekinesis. He isn’t doing very well. Julian swears and disconnects from his metal hands. They drop to the ground as he screams how much he hates them. 

“Don’t blame them.” 

Julian’s ball is blown away and into the hands of Sofia 

“You were never good at freeshots with your old hands either.” 

Julian doesn’t say anything as he puts his hands back on and pulls his ball back into them, and resumes missing shots. 

JULIAN: “If this is about Ashida, she got what she deserved.” 

Sofia tells him this isn’t about her. It’s about them. Julian insists there is no “them” anymore. She made that clear. He’s with Sophie now, and he’s happy (he says, very clearly unhappy). 

SOFIA: “Really? Just like that? You don’t find me, “Beautiful” anymore?”

 Julian grits his teeth and shakes, charging up with energy until he pops his ball with it. This isn’t fair! She told him she didn’t want to get back together and she was right to! So what does she want now?! 

Sofia shakes her head in frustration. 

SOFIA: “You pigheaded, self-centered…I NEEDED TIME! You broke my heart, and I needed to think! You, after all your chasing, just gave up when the next pretty girl whispered in your ear. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I still…” 

Sofia trails off as her eyes widen. Julian is looking away, despondent, holding his arm. 

JULIAN: “Go on. Finish. Say whatever terrible thing about me you were going to. We both know it’s true.” 

Sofia floats over, closing the gap between them, and asks what he’s talking about. 

JULIAN: “I realized who I am. What I am.” 

SOFIA: “And that is?” 

JULIAN: “Exactly like Ashida’s always said: A future Brotherhood member.” 

Julian tells her to just think about it. His human parents don’t want him, the only Mutant adult who doesn’t see him as a nuicisance at best and a future villain at worst is the former supervillain, he uses the only people who care about him, he treats everyone like dirt, including her, and, without his hands, he won’t even be skilled enough to ever join the X-Men - or Hellfire for that matter. 

JULIAN: “One day, when you’re leading the X-Men, I’ll just be another thug you’re handing over to SHIELD. If I’m gonna be the bad guy, I may as well start now and enjoy it while I can.” 

Julian starts flying off, but Sofia meets him in mid-air. 

SOFIA: “Did the Cuckoos tell you all that?” 

JULIAN: “All they did was accept the real me.” 

Julian tries to fly off again, but this time Sofia holds him back with her winds. Even as Julian fights back with his TK energy, he can’t get past her. 

SOFIA: “How can you be so naive? How can you be brilliant enough to teach a girl who could barely get her feet off the ground to fly, but stupid enough to not see you’re being used?” 

JULIAN: “I dunno. Why can’t the girl who was getting sponsorships when she was 14 figure out a half-decent name to call her followers?” 

SOFIA: “Why you–it isn’t that easy!” 

JULIAN: “Seems pretty easy to me.” 

The two’s glares turn to warm, loving smiles, but they don’t last. Julian appreciates that she does still care about him, but she isn’t changing his mind. This is just how things are. 

SOFIA: “I see. I’m sorry.” 

With no more resistance, Julian successfully starts flying away. 

JULIAN: “If you and Ashida want to rejoin the crew, I won’t complain. But you follow my lead. Otherwise, stay out of my life. For both our sakes.” 

Neither seeing the other, both melodramatic teens shed tears. 

Back in Limbo, Belasco approaches Kitty and the New Mutants, swirling isn’t screaming soul-filled wine. And he isn’t alone. Accompanying him are a muscular, purple demon with a massive sword that looks more like a knife strapped to his back, and a tiny, chubby red demon with a mouth for a face. 

Now that they’re all awake, they can begin the resurrection, starting with introductions. The demons accompanying Belasco are Sy’m, one of the strongest demons in Limbo and his right-hand man, and Sy’m’s daughter, Despair. Now, he knows Despair may not look like much, but she has a very special ability: she feeds on her namesake. And there’s no despair like that which spawns from deep, true love. Like the kind all six of these Mutants had for Illyana. 

SY’M: *SNORT LAUGHS* “Love. Disgusting.” 

Belasco explains that their love and pain are the only ingredients he still requires to complete his spell. 

XUAN: “And that’s it? You take that from us and she comes back?” 

BELASCO: “Well, there are a few other things. For one, the spell WILL kill you all, but I’m sure that’s a sacrifice you’re all happy to make. Or maybe not, considering when she does come back, she will rise completed. There will be no trace of the mortal known as Illyana Rasputina, only her soulless demonic side, Darkchylde. And at long last, Earth will meet its end. Any messages you’d like for me to share with my herald?” She grins right at the team’s leader. “KItty Pryde?” 

Kitty looks around at her team. They know this is hopeless, but all of them refuse to let that show on their faces. In spite of everything she’s feeling herself, she matches that. 

KITTY: “Fuck you.” 

Belasco laughs and orders Despair to begin. Sy’m tugs on his daughter’s hair and spits in her face that she better not mess this up and make him look bad. 

BELASCO: “You do that well enough on your own, you imbecile. Now, Despair.” 

Despair unhinges her jaw, expands her mouth, and sucks out all of the Mutants’ love and pain. Kitty and the New Mutants scream in agony as these powerful feelings are ripped right out of them. Belasco laughs manically as he begins chanting in a strange language and channels all the feelings Despair is absorbing into the rest of the already assembled ingredients. 

This goes on and on, as the Mutants try to use their powers to get out of this, but Karma trying to get in Belaso’s head only increases the amount of pain she’s in, and Dani casts an illusion of Despair’s greatest fear only creates a second Sy’m, who Belasco blasts away. The fighters tell Kitty to try phasing away and leave them behind, but she refuses. 

Slowly but surely, a humanoid form begins to take shape within a spell circle. 

BELASCO: “Yes! Yes! It’s almost complete! My victory is at hand!” 

SY’M: “Uh, don’t you mean our victory, boss?” 

BELASCO: “Silence! You will not ruin this for me!” 

As the light leaves the six Mutants’ eyes, something unexpected for Belasco happens: all of his ingredients explode. 

Despair, distracted, stops sucking, and the Mutants all fall over, in agony and exhausted, but alive. 

Belasco shouts, demanding to know what just happened. 

“A ha ha ha ha ha!” 

The smoke from the explosion clears, revealing Darkchylde. She looks like Illyana but with red skin, horns, a winding tail, metal arms, and goat legs. 

KITTY, drained, with her eyes widening: “Yana…?” 

BELASCO: “No, no, no! The spell wasn’t finished! You still possess a sliver of humanity!” 

DARKCHYLDE, grinning: "Do I? Doesn’t feel like it.” 

SY’M: “What’s going on? How are you here?!” 

Darkchylde laughs again. These fools. She finished the spell once it was mostly complete and resurrected herself. After all, she couldn’t let him kill her friends. 

With a portal right in the center of Belasco’s neck, Darkchylde instantly kills the previously unstoppable demon lord. 

Kitty and the New Mutants have no idea what’s going on right now, but Sy’m knows the best move for him is to bow, dragging Despair down to her knees as well, and grovel before his new queen. 

Darkchylde looks down at them both like they’re worth less than dirt. 

DARKCHYLDE: “I’ll figure out what to do with you two later.” 

Darkchylde teleports the two demons away, approaches the Mutants, and, with a wave of her hand, melts the bars of their cell. 

The Mutants look up at her with a mix of love, awe, and horror. 

DARKCHYLDE: “Sup, guys?” 

Back in her room, Sofia finishes explaining to Noriko how her conversation with Julian went. Noriko groans and lays back in bed. That’s it then. If Julian’s convinced himself this is all he can be, and everyone else is going to enable him, there’s nothing they can do. 

NORIKO: “Still not against the idea of rounding up Quentin, Armor, and Anole to beat some sense into them though.” 

Sofia shakes her head, once again vetoing that. She supposes Noriko agrees that they can’t take up Julian on his offer to join the Hellions? 

NORIKO: “A while back, Ms. Pryde told me about how she never spent time with the other kids here when she was our age, because she was too busy hanging out with the X-Men. She still regrets that. But they’re the ones choosing to break up our group by acting like this, not us. None of them are ever going to make X-Man acting this way, but we still can.” 

Noriko figures if they impress Scott, Emma, and Storm enough, they can get added to the team, find new friends there, and use the authority they’d have to shut the Hellions down. Sofia falls into bed and says that could take several more semesters, even with them being “prodigies” as they’ve been told. And she hates the idea too. Even leaving aside Julian, these are her friends, her first real ones since coming to America, and she doesn’t want to lose them. Nori just responds that it’s all they can do. It sucks, but the old squad is gone. 

Nori turns off the lights. 

In Limbo, Darkchylde waves her arm again, this time fully healing the Mutants. They all stare at her with their mouths wide open. 

DARKCHYLDE: “Well? Aren’t you going to say hello? Or thank me for saving your lives? Some joy at my return would be appreciated.” 

She may not look exactly like Yana, but she sure as Hell sounds like her, and with her seemingly on their side, Kitty’s eyes tear up as she runs up to Darkchylde and hugs her, sniffling. 

KITTY: “I missed you so much.” 

Darkchylde pats Kitty’s head, saying she missed her too. She missed all of them. Sam and Dani shout at Kitty to get away from the demon and that it isn’t Illyana. 

DARKCHYLDE: “Wow. Rude. We’re having a moment here. And you guys are hardly how I remember you, either.” Her eyes flare up for a moment. “Especially you, Beto.” 

Roberto shakes, getting pissed that demons keep saying this kind of thing to him. 

Kitty pulls away and wipes her tears. She needs her to be clear. She IS Magik, right? 

DARKCHYLDE: “Ehhhh, yes and no. I have her face, her powers, her memories, and personality, but I’m not “her”, as you would say.” 

Kitty is saddened by this only being a demonic clone. 

KITTY: “Still, I’m glad there’s enough of her in there for you to have our backs.” 

DARKCHYLDE: “Phh. Of course, I do!” 

Darkchylde opens portals underneath them all. They arrive in Limbo’s throneroom, with Darkchylde taking the throne, the Mutants beneath her on the floor, and all the demons present bowing as they welcome their old queen’s return. 

DARKCHYLDE: “That’s why you guys will get to live and watch as I destroy your world.” 

The Mutants’ eyes fill with horror and nothing else as Darkchylde grins evilly. 

TO BE CONTINUED...