#hes either ur greatest ally or ur greatest enemy

[blooming-cecilia]

theyre not impressed

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[wxldchxld]

@ashayara girl I cannot keep up with all ur urls lol

so this was supposed to be the final part of this, and it was supposed to all come to a clear and concise finish.... but i don’t think it will. on the bright side i’m 99 percent certain you’re the only one reading this and i know you won’t hold it against me.

but if, by any chance, anyone needs an explanation, I was just having a fucker of a time writing Asha and Euron’s fight, because as this entire piece makes it clear: I really suck at fight scenes. But, I mean, I’m proud I stuck this whole thing out. All parts put together made 25 pages in a doc and I feel like for the most part I followed through. Maybe @ashayara will write it, maybe we’ll all just imagine Asha stabbing her uncle 50 million times, or maybe I’ll  finish this one day, but for right now I needed to put it down. Sorry Elsie. Still have mad love for you girl.

The sea was bizarrely silent beneath the prow of her ship. One ill omen among hundreds it seemed. If not for her oarsmen she doubted the tide would have carried them at all. The wind was still and suffocating, sticking to her lungs and dragging along her throat and chest as she tried to breathe normally. Everything felt wrong. She could taste bile behind her lips, and for a moment she gripped the railing of her deck thinking she might lose what little food she’d managed to eat, but it stayed. She forced a breath and straightened her shoulders once more.

The Black Wind had been driven tirelessly forward since Victarion had told her of his plan earlier that morning, and it was late into the evening now. The light of the moon was cold and unforgiving above her, unimpeded by the clouds, and the only sound for miles was that of oars smacking against the surf. Beyond the moon a million stars danced in the black sky. How could such a picturesque evening feel so sinister?

“You worry for her.” Qarl said quietly. He sounded surprised, and she could detect the slightest edge of disapproval in his tone. Just what he was currently disapproving of she wasn’t sure; it felt like she’d done everything wrong lately.

A huff of silent laughter rolled past her lips and shook her shoulders. With a half grin and a sideways glance she asked, “Are you jealous?”

It was cruel. She knew that it was the second she’d said it. Her words were a barb that sliced like a blade into a still open wound. They’d scarcely spoken since her wedding, and when they had spoken it certainly hadn’t been about her wife. It hadn’t been said, but neither of them knew how to reconcile the relationship they’d had before it’d happened, or even if they should try. She’d brought that painful reality out from the shadows and into the light with one careless sentence.

“How do you think the witches will respond when they help win me a crown paid for with the blood of their own?” In truth she wasn’t sure what her wife was to the witches. She held some station, by birthright as well as something to do with their religion, but that was the extent of her own knowledge on the subject. What she did understand, quite clearly, was that their marriage had been arranged to symbolize a promise to the witches. Beck was a breathing symbol of their alliance, and if Asha neglected or failed her wife, she failed them all. The witch king had given her this warning himself… and he did not seem to her to be the forgiving type. Asha shook her head. “If we manage to defeat Euron and she dies, we’ll be lucky if the witches with us now don’t all turn on us. Their king wouldn’t forgive that.”

Qarl was quiet, sullenly watching the waves. She couldn’t tell if he was mulling over what she’d said or covering up some unsightly emotion, or not paying attention at all.

“But you worry over her.” He said finally. This time she could her anger straining his voice.

“...I do.” She said after a long, tense moment had passed. Though she didn’t let herself dwell on that thought. The more she did the sicker she got. It was preferable to focus on the threats of the witches rather than the crushing guilt and bizarre sense of sadness that overwhelmed her when she thought about what Euron might do to her wife. Beck was vibrant and joyful and warm and---soft. She’d stand no chance against ironmen. If that light was snuffed out beneath her uncle’s boot, she’d never put it out of her mind. At least she doubted she would live long enough to let that guilt consume her.

“What the hell is that?” Asha opened her eyes and turned back to Qarl, but her gaze didn’t linger on him long. Behind him, against the midnight blue sky, a luminous orange cloud of mist was resting over the waters. At first she thought it was smoke, and that deep within the heart of a smog her ships were burning, but as they drew closer she could see it wasn’t smoke at all.

“Go and get Cuyler.” She demanded, sending Qarl a cutting look. Cuyler was the only witch left on her ship. There was little need for strategy and war council now. They hadn’t the time. Their only hope was to hit Euron hard and fast with everything they had and pray to the Drowned God for favor. Or---whatever witches prayed to.

Qarl all but ran across the ship, and Asha’s gaze drifted from him to her sailors, who had all stopped to gape open-mouthed at the enormous cloud beyond them. Wordlessly they began to brace the sails and tie down anything loose for fear they were headed straight into the eye of a storm. Was it terror or excitement she saw in their eyes? Perhaps both. Should they die here in battle not a one would be turned away from the halls of the Drowned God.

Unless he forsakes us all. She thought. The Damphair had preached many a sermon about not spilling Ironborn blood. While most of the blood would likely be spilled by her allies, they did so in her name, and she’d be a fool to let herself think she’d get through the night without having to strike down any of her own.

All for a crown… She shook her head as she turned back to the problem at hand. More than just a crown now. My birthright has driven me here, perhaps, but now it has become so much more.

This war was its own beast now, with its own life. When her uncle had sounded the dragon horn that day, he’s blown life into its lungs. Tonight she would slay it and him in one fell swoop, and in doing so it would save her people from ruin. Ruin that could only come from serving under a man who cared only for his own whims.

“The ships!” Asha startled a bit, having been so deeply lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t heard anyone approach. Culyer was standing behind her, fast approaching the railing of the ship. His thick, scarred hands gripped at the sodden wood, and he smiled for the first time since she’d met him.

“Ships? I don’t see any damn ships. Only that fog.” She jerked her head in the direction of the mist, but the witch only stared ahead.

“What fog, good queen?” He asked, not bothering to turn to face her. Though he did have the decency to drop the smile from his face given her tone.

“What fog?” She replied, her words hard and mocking, then she stopped and considered him. “What do you see?”

“Not but moonlight.”

Qarl cut in with a small, humorless laugh. “No giant cloud of orange mist?”

Cuyler, who Asha was certain at this point didn’t even remotely understand the concept of a joke at all, only looked at him as if he were the greatest idiot to ever sail the seas. “I see… Stop your ships. Drop anchor.”

“Drop the anchor?” She was starting to feel like a parrot she was repeating so much. Only that time it hadn’t been on purpose. She was genuinely shocked that he thought it’d do them any good to stop when the enemy was in sight---well in his sight at least.

“If you can see a mist where I can not the other witches must have surrounded your uncle’s boats in this mist to protect themselves.”

“Do you think all of your people can see through it?”

“Aye, and likely your uncle’s wizard as well.” The witch peered back out into the distance, and she watched as the pupil of his eye grew to twice the size, and his eyes, as well as his tattoos took on a faint glow. “Most of his ships are still far from our own; all but one.”

He didn’t need to tell her which one it was.

“If the witches who spread the fog can keep up the spell, we can take but one or two ships onward and cut down this Crow’s Eye. After our retreat we can drown all that remain.”

Asha took a brief moment to think. The swirling mist seemed to be reaching out to them now, when they’d felt miles away only a few moments ago. It was barely half a league from them now.

“Send someone to Victarion’s ship to help him navigate the fog. Have the rest of the fleet drop anchor. Bring the witch leaders here to me.”

Cuyler’s grin grew to something truly enormous and sharp and altogether horrific, “To battle then!”

Her eyes lost focus of him for a moment, even though she tried her damnedest to watch him closely. There was a blur, either in her eye or in the very space where he stood, his body contorted, colors smeared across reality as if drawn by a thick brush of paint, and then flapping two mammoth wings in the air directly before her, an eagle appeared where Cuyler had stood. The dark golden brown of its feathers muddled with creamy ivory around its head, and its tail was as white as the sea foam. He was larger than her, larger than Qarl, with claws that could have pierced a suit of iron with but a twitch. The razor sharp beak rose to the sky, and he screamed out over the waters so loud that the sound overwhelmed all her senses and carried as far as the sea was long. The shrill, grating note struck inside her like lightning, then with a single flap of his wings, he shot into the sky and soared out toward the awaiting ships.

Their short journey toward the mist passed in the blink of an eye, and when the very tip of the prow reached out to touch it, the entire ship lurched. Behind her she heard a chorus of shouts as men braced themselves while the Black Wind came to a screeching halt. The vessel pitched forward, its tip bending down to nearly kiss the waves, and then like an angry stallion it reared back up and threw its weight forward obstinately.

“Lift the oars! Pull them in!” She demanded, unable to release the rope clutched in her fingers lest she be pitched over the rail. The rough fiber clawed at her skin and chased away the normal chill of the sea to replace it with a raw, uncomfortable warmth. The bones of her fingers dug in harder, and she braced her boots against the deck as the residual motion rocked her ship like a child’s toy. When it was only just under control, she called the oarsmen to get back to work.

Asha took a steadying breath and then hurled herself toward the mast. Another rope found its way into her hand as she helped two other men grapple with the rebellious sails.

Eerily, it was not that the wind howled around them, nor that the waters below were wild, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. There was a gut piercing, blood chilling silence to the world around them. She could scarcely see ten feet in front of her, and the mist seemed to suck sound from the air around them.

“Láta!” Came the cry of Ragna, but it was small and far away. Another voice echoed the word, and again and again. Láta. Láta. Until she could see the mist in front of her part, rolling like massive waves wide enough to allow them passage. The air rushed back into her lungs, and beneath her the ship settled.

“They’ve resorted to blood magic.” The red-eyed woman said. “Death drives this spell.”

Somehow she’d appeared at the front of her ship without Asha noticing her at all, and the other witches were fast approaching too. Now their voices were whispers, but in their hands they each clasped long iron wands in white-knuckled grasps, repeating láta, láta, over and over, keeping the mist from touching the ship, pulling more away from the cloud foot by foot.

There were shadows of ships in the smog on either side of the boat. Euron’s fleet couldn’t hope to move forward as their own vessels fought them. She watched in horror and astonishment as they lurched and toiled desperately on the still sea. And then she saw it, illuminated by a long stretch of moonlight, with mist lifting off its red hull and black sails; the Silence stopped its frantic rocking as the curtain of smoke pulled away. The ship swayed side to side like a drunk, spinning laboriously until finally it settled on the sea once more. They were closer now, nearly to the ship, and the soft light from the curling mist was just enough to see by. Through the long, narrow eye of her spyglass she could see that it was empty. Completely and utterly abandoned. Not even a shadow lingered on the deck.

Beyond Euron’s prized vessel, she watched the cloud forcibly tear in two around the floating fortress that was one of her treasure ships. It existed in a large bubble, sitting quietly beneath the starry sky, unplagued by the spell that had beset her uncle’s fleet.

“Is that his?” Harper demanded from her side. Asha took the spyglass away from her eye and gave a grim nod, but the Fox was not looking at her. Her rage was thinly veiled, and the effort that it took to contain it turned her soft face to stone. She was not panting, not audibly, but her chest heaved subtly. Was it fear? Excitement? Stress from fighting through the spell?

“Aye. That’s it.” Was Asha’s only reply.

The Fox needed nothing else. Her dark, predatory eyes shifted to the sky where the monstrous eagles circled above his masts, the tips of their wings dipping in and out of the mist like the fins on a shark.

“Let. It. Burn!”

The night sky blazed to life as the wings of the eagles burst into flames as gold as the autumn sunset. Speckles of blinding white glittered throughout the metallic flames; the frayed, toiling edges tore to reveal the ebony sky behind them, only to sew themselves together once more a heartbeat later; spears of crimson bled out against the golden field, staining everything it touched in shades of blood-spattered pink and burnt orange as they shot through the fire. The fire did not burn Euron’s ship so much as it consumed it. Like a pack of wild dogs rabidly tears apart and scarfs down its prey, the flames stripped the sails, broke open the masts, splintering them in all directions, and tore the planks apart board by board until there was nothing but embers and ash laying on the black water. She had never witnessed wildfire with her own eyes, but she imagined it looked just as unnatural as this. With a final roar and a sky shaking boom, the Silence died. What little remained sank down to the depths below, and for a time even the water glowed, as the sheer savage fury of the witches kept the flames alive even against the laws of the ocean itself.

The Black Wind glided effortlessly over where her uncle’s ship had been, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

Drawn by the violent display she saw men appear on the deck of the witches' ship only just out of her reach. Euron's men drew bows and took aiming, first at her ship, and then, upon seeing the flaming beasts in the sky, up to the air. Once more the eagles were descending, their beating wings dancing with fire. They were met the hail storm of arrows as they dove and three of them dropped with pained screeches into the sea below. Another spiraled and rolled along the deck of the ship, met with a spear before it could try and get to its feet. But those that remained swooped down on Euron's men. They took grown men in their grasp, setting their talons straight into their chests effortlessly.

Her axe was wetted as soon as her feet hit the deck. Another wave of men emerged onto the lower deck and made their charge. Her arm swung, digging her blade into a short man’s shoulder. He gasped and drew back to strike her, but she slipped out of the way and brought her axe down on the back of his neck as he stumbled. A sharp pain erupted at the base of her spine, and she heard her back pop. She hit the railing of the deck and turned to face her assailant, gasping for the air that had been ripped from her. A sword shot out from his chest and the man choked and spasmed; blood sputtered out of his lips, hot and wet, and splattered along her cheek. The sword withdrew as the man fell, and Qarl smiled sadistically as the blood only smeared on her pale flesh when she went to wipe it away.

“Duck you bumbling fool!” She demanded, her hand not hesitating as she hurled a throwing axe toward Qarl. He was quick enough to step out of the way, but so was the man behind him. Her axe was blown aside by his shield, but the moment’s distraction was enough that Qarl could land a blow to his exposed leg. The man had no sooner hit the deck than her boot crashed against his face with a satisfying crack. Around her the flood of men pouring onto the ship were swiftly driving back Euron’s small force. But she knew he wasn’t fool enough to waste all of his resources here on the lower deck. This was merely a distraction while he readied himself.

“Where are the witches?” She had to holler over the chaos around her. Now Victarion’s ship was docking, and the bloodthirsty shouts of battle hungry men drowned out the sounds of everything else. Asha kicked the man again, accidentally catching him at the base of his throat. He gagged and coughed, slobbering piteously on the sea-soaked wood, and her patience dissolved before he could recover. She wrenched the axe from his shaking hand and hefted it down into the back of his skull.

“Where are my witches?!” She roared above the crowd. Those who had captives still yet breathing momentarily paused in their assault to parrot her question, but it was one of the eagles that answered.

“The wizard and the Crow’s Eye are on the main deck.” The words echoed not in the air, but in her thoughts. “But there are no witches. None alive at least.”

Asha shot a look to Qarl, but as far as she could tell by the wary expressions on the faces of every man on the boat, no one else had heard. She looked to the eagles as they circled in the sky above.

Was this some sort of grand farce? Was Euron baiting her? Now instead of blood it was bile on her tongue. Where was her wife? Why couldn’t one damn person tell her where her fucking wife was? She looked up at the ship’s sails again, thinking perhaps she’d seen wrong; perhaps this wasn’t the Fox Clan’s ship. But in the dim light of the mist and the moon, she could see the silhouette of the fox straining against the wind.

“Ragna and I take will take a force below deck!” The Seal King panted. For the first time he was devoid of his atrocious coat. He pointed with the spear in his hand to the shrouded doorway. “The lower decks are the hardest to breech. Those that could hide would have done it there.”

The Badger was practically unrecognizable under her sheen of shattered glass and blood that seemed to pulse and fog along her once-pale skin. Her black eyes gleamed malevolently as she shot a glance in her direction, and then she followed the Seal.

“Tell your eagles to hold back and stay out of range for now.” She said to the Fox. “We’ll need them to drive Euron’s men back from the entrance to the main deck.”

The witch nodded, and after a flurry of heated words, Asha reluctantly agreed to follow behind on their way to the main deck. This was her fight, she was the one who had everything at stake, and she more than anyone needed to see if her wife was among the corpses littering the ship’s floor, but even she conceded that the greatest risk fell on those who stepped over the threshold first. But she did not want for brave men ready to meet the Drowned God, either.

The halls inside the ship were so dark that if she’d have let go of the wall she’d have wandered off into the shadows and lost herself in a second. Not even the lone torch that one of her men carried could cast light enough to fill more than a small halo around him. Without her sight, she could only feel; she could only hear and smell. And she did her best not to focus on the smell, as that the stench of blood was so thick in the room that it clogged her nose with each breath. The waves were quiet this far below the surface, but the walls creaked and groaned steadily as the ocean pressed in against them. Apart from that, all she could hear were the careful footsteps and choppy breaths of her men, occasionally interrupted by the head of the line stumbling, swearing, and then calling out for the rest of them to step over the body in the way. Each corpse she crossed she stared at twice as long as she needed to, never stopping, but always needing to be absolutely sure that the lifeless face was not that of her wife. It didn’t do her any good in the dark, and as the minutes dragged on her dread and her anger only grew.  

What few men Ragna and the Seal King had not disposed of were quickly felled by her front lines. They lost one by the time they reached the narrow staircase leading to the main deck, and that was she best she could have hoped for.

“He’s waiting for us.” Victarion said over his hulking shoulder. Even he preceded her, much to her annoyance, but he did stand a better chance against the initial assault in all his armor. He took up so much space his shoulders nearly scraped the sides of the hall as he walked, and in his ironclad boots his footsteps were about as subtle as a newly shod yearling on cobblestones. He was exhausting even when he was being helpful. They’d come to an agreement, yes, but she still couldn’t help but wish he wouldn’t make it back to the mainland. It’d save her a lot of headaches in the long run---and they’d never had much love for each other.

“He’s got the advantage. He’ll wait forever if we let him.” She said; her hand came to rest on the hook of her axe.

She felt a soft, slender figure slip past her and threw a questioning look over her shoulder to see Harper squeezing into the space in front of her as best she could.

“We’re going to ram the boat.” She whispered. Bracing herself against the wall in between Asha and her uncle. The proximity to the Fox was making Asha uncomfortable. So close to the battle Asha would have thought she’d seen fear or rage reflected in her eyes or at least a thread of tension in her voice, but her gaze was still cold and calculating, and when she spoke the words were steady. Asha didn’t feel right looking at something so pragmatic and emotionless, especially not when her rage and her worry were at war within her own chest.

Harper briefly glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the queen once more. “With any luck it’ll knock some of his men off balance. Give the eagles a chance to come down without any arrows flying. The second you see the flames, charge. With any luck we’ll catch the bastards with their breeches ‘round their knees.”

She was unaccustomed to this much---planning in an open water battle, otherwise she might have objected to everyone else doing the planning for her. That was magic, she supposed. Even when there were no options in sight, it gave you some.

No sooner had she braced against the wall then she felt the ship pitch backward with such a force that even those who had prepared themselves could be heard stumbling behind her. Whatever had hit the boat, if it’d been anything at all, surely hadn’t been another ship. It’d come from beneath the vessel. Visions from her dreams flew through her head, flashes of great leviathans and krakens the size of a longship, but she did not have time to dwell on them. Ahead she heard the commotion of Euron’s men shouting in alarm, and then the piercing scream of eagles beneath the roar of a fire as light flooded the top of the staircase.

Asha took three breaths, trying to memorize and anticipate the residual rocking of the ship beneath her feet, and then she charge forward with the rest of them, up into the blinding white light of the deck, her axe clutched firmly in hand.

At first she could see only shadows, blurry and distorted amid the intense flames of the fire. Great, hulking shadows hovering in the air, and the mad, flailing silhouettes of men waving their swords indiscriminately. The fire began to dwindle and fade, unable to catch hold of the deck of the ship. To her left three men leaped onto the back of one of the great beasts, thrusting their swords into its hide and hanging onto them for dear life as the creature flapped and screamed. Ultimately it fell and the light faded even more. One by one the eagles were either forced to flee or were slain, but by the time Euron’s men made a decent recovery, a small force of her own was already charging, with more filing out of the hall at every moment.

“Guard the entrance!” She demanded, looking to Harper, who had somehow managed to split open the throats of three charging men by simply pointing her wand at them, and Victarion who was removing his war axe from the gut of a sputtering corpse. If Euron’s men managed to gain back the entrance to the lower deck, they’d have no reinforcements and be done for in minutes. Neither of them looked at her, but they stayed near the door as the rest of them made their charge.

An axe flew in her direction, and in one deft motion she took it up in her own hand and hefted it back at the man rushing her. It caught him in the eye and sent him spiralling past her onto the blade of one of her men. Qarl. He was still right at her back. Asha spared him only a glance before pushing further into the fray. She plunged her axe into the next man’s throat, and ripped it out only to swing it into the side of another. His sword hand raised and crashed against her chin, hard. She spat blood, the taste of it filling her mouth with copper and her chest with a boiling rage. A cry of fury was strangled from her chest as she swung her axe down on the back of his neck, almost cutting it clean from his shoulders. More blood sprayed, making her grip on her blade hot and wet, and in spite of herself she smiled.

As she jerked it free she straightened herself and wildly searched the deck for the Crow’s Eye. Her eyes frantically dragged across the blood red sea of people. She saw Victarion crash two men’s head together in a way that might have been comical if the skulls hadn’t split and their brains hadn’t bubbled out the side like a bit of spilled stew. Her gaze didn’t linger. She didn’t care. Qarl was splitting open a man’s gut, and still she looked on. A serpent the size of ten men was coiled around Euron’s wizard, forcing its mouth over his shoulders and swallowing him alive. Still she tore her eyes away until she found him, looming above the battle on the upper deck like a coward. He was watching her.

She blindly cut her way through the crowd, unaware if she was killing men or simply taking them to their knees. She couldn’t avoid every swing of their axes or thrusts of their swords, but she barely felt the sting of any blade that split her skin. Every prickle of pain only served to strengthen the bitter taste of fury and bloodlust on her tongue.

And then something felt wrong. Her back felt naked---exposed---and as she ripped her eyes away from her uncle, reality came back to her. Qarl. She couldn’t see him now. He wasn’t at her back, nor her side, nor even fighting on ahead to bait her. Every face she looked on was wrong. Each pair of eyes belonged to someone she cared nothing for.

Her wild eyes landed two figures, one slumped over the other, but shaking with thunderous laughter. Like that same laughter from her dream. Mad and wild, trembling in the air and drowning out all other sound. Like a red hot sword plunged into ice water, she felt her fury immediately harden and turn to piercing fear. She slammed the blade of her axe down between the figure’s shoulders, watching the flesh split and his body jerk. Still he laughed and laughed, and the cold terror felt like mania inside her now. She struck again and again, screaming raggedly to overwhelm the sound of his laughter. Even once he was dead and silent, she hit him three more times before ripping his body away.

Qarl.

She might have wretched. She might have fainted. What miraculous force kept her from doing either she didn’t know, but she could not stop herself from falling to her knees.

He stared back at her with wide, glassy eyes. Neither alive nor dead, caught in the agonizing limbo between the two. His hands were clutching his side uselessly. From the gaping wound she could see his entrails snaking out onto the deck of the ship. He began to cough, blood bubbling up from his lips, and she caught his head in her hands as her axe clattered to the deck.

“Qarl!” Her voice was far from gentle, far from loving, and she couldn’t force any softness upon it. Even in her grief there were only sharp edges and hard demands to offer this man that she loved… but he looked at her. By some merciful twist of fate, her words brought him back to her. Those dark eyes met hers. His mouth gaped open and then closed, and she could not tell if he meant to speak or if he was only desperate for breath. She kept his gaze, feeling tears welling in her own eyes, feeling a thousand apologies and confessions gather on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t afford to cry for him now. A trembling hand pressed against the nape of her neck, and he weakly pulled her forward. She met his lips in a desperate kiss, as if she might give him some of her own life, and she held him to her until the hand in her hair went limp and fell away. Against her lips she felt him smile, and she pulled away long enough to watch the last glint of life fade from his eyes.

Dead. He was dead. She had loved no one else. She had trusted no one else. Not as a woman, at least. She had loved her mother as a ghost, she had loved her lord father as wish, and she had loved her brothers as corpses, but Qarl she had loved as the man he was. He had been real and tangible… and Euron had taken him from her.

[magicpyr-blog]

guess what bitches? ur about to learn about the vampire that seduced my boy. 

(read below the cut bc gee i wrote a lot)

what made julian's "creator" so special... so different... is that he wasn't just a vampire. he's a very rare, ancient kind of vampire that actually inspired a lot if incubus and succubus lore. "the demon who strikes at night" was hardly a demon at all, at least not in the real sense of the word. these vampires ARE of demonic origin and how they came to be is unknown, but one thing is known for certain about them: they can be your deadliest enemy or your greatest ally.

rarely does anyone who crosses their path ever truly walk away. those who don't die at the hands of these vampires, tend to lose all sense of reality. they're not just blood suckers: they drain everything. they use their charm and seductive power to lure their victims in right before the final kill. this is why his creator was a 'secret weapon' --- he was an enigma. how the germans managed to find him and sway him to help them is unknown. he didn’t have a german accent. actually, jules never could determine where he came from; he’d never heard his accent before.

with that said, WHY did jules have little to no side effects? easy enough... his dna already had traces of vampire in it and being a witch on top of it PROBABLY had something to do with it. the thing about these kinds of vampires, however, is that they're not commonly known by even some of the biggest vampire hunters and that’s probably due to the lack of creation. it was rare for them to change someone, to give them the “bite of life”. usually when they've found a target, they don't consider sparing their lives. they typically take what they need and either leave their victims dead... or they cause them to lose their minds, usually, eventually, resulting in death by suicide anyways. why none of that happened to julian is not known, at least not in the grand scheme of things. up until he’d met the vampire, jules was actually a virgin (he’d never even kissed anyone before, actually). this made him all the more vulnerable. you know what they say about purity, after all. the thing is, julian would never know why he wasn’t killed or why he’d been turned for that matter. it’s possible that, upon the vampire’s initial “feast” he had been able to discover the traces of vampire in his blood. or maybe once his teeth dug into his flesh, he could taste the power of jules’ potential and all of the magic pent up inside of him. either way, julian would never know the answer. after allowing himself to fall prey to a second round of sex (he quickly found himself graving the intimacy so it really didn’t take long for him to drop the act of innocence) the vampire did end up disappearing. interestingly enough, he also seemed to have disappeared off the battlefield as well. it was like he suddenly just wasn’t there; like he simply didn’t exist

the reason i’ve decided to write this bit of information is because these kinds of vampires are essentially incubi / sucubi which means julian took a lot of those characteristics after being turned. his sex drive certainly went up due to it and he does have a way of seducing men if he WANTS to --- i say want because he doesn’t necessarily always go out of his way to get in someone’s bed. he doesn’t HAVE to use seduction to lure victims in, because he also has a knack for playing the innocent card. with him being small and not at all that strong-looking, he’s definitely able to succeed in that and he doesn’t have to use magic of any kind to do it.

[franeridart]

hey I hope you're happy (since you obviously deserve it)

!!!!!!!!!! Thank you??? I hope you’re happy too, anon!!!

Anon said:Wow Tetsutetsu and Kaminari like a couple? Really? Ok, that is interesting, but I don’t know if it is possible. Why do you put them together?

I mean, it’s a crack ship, being possible isn’t really its point haha they’re not supposed to make much sense, as far as canon goes? If I remember right they do come from the same prefecture, so maybe they knew of each other/ knew each other before UA, but as far as I’m concerned my interest in the ship comes from the quirk compatibility, really. It’s nothing I put much thought into, and I do have many ships for both of them I like better, but the idea of the two of them together is fun so why not

Anon said:The kamitetsu was really cute!!! It was also really super cute when two people spoke at the same time/had the same thought you mixed their colors!!! That was honestly a very nice touch and cute! I love your art it makes me so happy!

AHHHHH THANK YOU!!!!!! And I’m glad you liked that, for a while I thought mixing the colors like that was gonna make it confusing hahaha

Anon said:Just stopped by to say your artwork makes me so incredibly happy, and always improves my day!! I hope you have a great rest of the year because you deserve it!! Thank you for everything you do!

Sob thank you so much for taking the time to send this message!!!!! Ahhhhhh!!!!!!!

Anon said:I’m sorry for clogging your inbox with this (you don’t have to write back), but wanted to say I hope you feel better real soon and also to say thank you (so very much!!) for sharing your art. Selfish of me to say so, but it really really has cheered me up after a bad day. Lots of love to you!

I’m!!!! So happy I could help you feel better, anon!!!!! I hope your day is going 100x better, right now!!!! And thank you for the well wishes ;u;

Anon said:have you thought about this or what do you think about it?: Tokoyami / Mina ?

Never thought about it before, actually :O but why not? I’m not sure they’d work as far as personalities go, but they’re definitely aesthetically pleasing next to each other! Their designs work well together haha

Anon said:*Climbs out of the chimney, covered in soot and very disgruntled* I’ll have you know, good sire. *Tips hat.* That I just read the entirety of the Dgray man because of your laven art. And I- *Dabs at eyes, voice cracking* -am having more feelings than I ever wanted.

AAAHHHHHH I’M SORRY FOR THE UNWANTED FEELS but I’m??? so glad you decided to check the manga out????????????? I hope you liked it oh g o d that manga is my life !!!

Anon said:This isn’t like a “secret request for a drawing” but don’t you think there needs to be a hug between Deku and All Might somewhere in the manga?!? I mean c'mon, Deku cries at the drop of a hat, someone give the boy a hug! Plus, I feel like All Might is a kind of father figure for Deku!! Sorry, I just needed to get that out XD. Love your artwork though!! My heart skips a beat at the sight of it. And my love for Baku and Kiri has been extended.

We actually had one tho!

an heartbreaking moment I 100% understand why you’d remove from your memory tbh, I cried, I’m still crying

Anon said:OOF i love your OCs..

Anon said:Heyyy I just wanted to say that I love your art with all my heart and the cat person/dog person one was so lovely.. I’m weak to kiribaku with animals.

So am I anon aaahhhhh !!!!!!!!! and thank you so so so so so much!!!!

Anon said:Just curious… do you have a personal favorite of your own art that you’ve posted?

Hmmmm not really, but if I had to pick one it’d be this one (which… does say something about my process and how to make it better……..) (a something I’m willingly ignoring) anyway usually what I’m the most satisfied with is the last thing I’ve posted haha

Anon said:Your art style brings out Kirishima’s adorableness even more. Holy heck I love how cute he is when you draw him. (And Bakugou and the rest of the kids too!)

THANK YOU!!!!!! I think it might be because I find him so incredibly cute, so I try to portray just how cute I think he is the most hahaha I’m glad I’m managing that well enough!!!!

Anon said: Hello~ Sending some love because you deserve it! I was having a shitty day (as always for me these days) and saw your Baku and Kiri cat & dog art and instantly felt a little better. My heart always feels lifted, and a smile replaces my tears, when I see your beautiful art! Even the kinda sad ones. If my heart hurts a bit from the sad arts, at least it’s because of the love expressed in the piece, and not heartache from personal things. Thank you, as always, for sharing your work.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for the kind words oh my god!!!!!! ;O;

Anon said:IS BAKU WEARING A RED RIOT SHIRT AND DOES THE DOG HAVE A RED RIOT PAULDRON COLLAR AND IS KIRI WEARING A BAKU SHIRT

YES TO ALL OF IT!!!!!! :D

Anon said:i just want to tell you i’m now 10000 times gayer than i was before i’m blushing so much at your latest bakushima art… it’s sososo Good, i love you

:O thank you!!!!! I love you lots too!!!!

Anon said: I see you ship Bakugo and Kiri together. Why do you ship them? Just wondering cause i love hearing why people ship certain people. P.S: i soooooooo ship them as well.

God, that’s one hard question to answer easily - I somewhat talked about it here? tho it was more specifically about why chapter 90 kills me haha but yeah to sum it up I’d say that my favorite ship for Kirishima is Bakugou because I think he’s the one that understands Kirishima best, the one that’s been there the most for him when Kirishima needed it, the one that always knows what to say to him and the one Kirishima holds onto when he needs strength, he’s the one that’s shown the most concern for Kirishima and the only one that’s actively done something to make him feel better when Kirishima needed it. He’s the one Kirishima gravitates towards the most and the one Kirishima shows most sides of himself to, too. And my favorite ship for Bakugou is Kirishima because Kirishima’s the only one that actually tries to see behind Bakugou’s anger, the one that since the start looked at him rage and saw a teen in pain, the only one that actually knows how to talk to him and the only one that doesn’t even need to try, he’s just naturally Bakugou’s perfect match in personality. He’s the one that likes Bakugou as he is, for what he is, not part of him but all of him, completely. He’s the one that’d risk his life for Bakugou no questions asked, and he’s the one Bakugou’s the most willing to spend time with, the one Bakugou talks to and shares with and accepts help from. 

I like the relationship they share with each other the most out of every other relationship they have with other characters because they’re comfortable with one another and care for one another in an active way, do everything they can to make sure the other is happy and safe. Because they’re each other’s strength and greatest ally and best friend. I like that they’re aware of each other, that they know each other, that they like each other - not in a subtext kind of way, but in an obvious, on screen, there-was-a-chapter-in-which-that-was-actually-spelled-out way. I like how Kirisihima always knows what’s up with Bakugou, and I like how he’s the proxy to go to when people don’t know where Bakugou is, and I like that he always knows. I like that it’s implied they spend a lot of time alone together. I like that Kirishima said that Bakugou has a broken way of talking, but he isn’t a bad guy and he can’t say he dislikes how Bakugou tends to make enemies left and right, and I like that Bakugou took his hand and smiled at him. I like that Bakugou never yells at him and always calls him by name and never ignores him, and I like that Kirishima calls him out on his rudeness but still likes him and supports him and follows him. I like their relationship the most because it’s the most important relationship for either of them, because it’s healthy and equal and happy, and I ship it because seeing it as romantic from where they stand now, to me, isn’t a huge step at all

And I like this ship above any other ship, even above the ships with other characters that share similar relationships as far as support and love goes, because they’re fun, and rowdy, and bright and loud and dynamic, and I have fun thinking about them interacting more than I have fun thinking about anyone else. And because they’re separately my favorite characters, and I think together they’d be the happiest they could ever manage, and I really, really want that for both them. To be happy with the person that understands them the most and loves and supports them the most, and with whom they can be the most comfortable and open and at peace. I think they could be home to each other, really. They’re a pretty obvious ship, to me haha

Anon said:My dude! Have you seen the trailer for the new Guillermo del Toro movie? Shape of water? It has some similarities to your shark kiri au!

I’ve read some things, yeah :O hadn’t really linked it to the AU tho, that’s an interesting observation !!!!

Anon said:the RR on baku’s wristband is for Red Riot, i assume? :)

YESSSS I tend to dress Bakugou in Red Riot merch a lot hahaha

Anon said:FRAN oml those bakugous??? Are amazing???? I love love love the lines so much they look so good and clean and sharp and I don’t have words but they’re just so so good the poses are amazing and ahhhhhh you did??? So good?? I feel like you’re constantly improving so much it’s amazing ahhhhhh I’m so in love w ur style I !!! Hope ur having a lovely day!!! Bless you

THANK!!!! YOU!!!! SO MUCH!!!!!!! Holy shit I’m crying !!!!!!! g o ds o

Anon said:Hi! I’m new to the BNHA fandom, and really love your art! I’m just starting to get into BakuShima and TodoDeku too, but just a couple days ago I read you say that MomoJirou are also pretty obvious about their gayness, including one time you saying you’re completely sure Kirishima and Jirou have a crush on those two canonically and, could I ask you to explain this to me? I’m all about it, this is not a complain! I just want to know more about them, thank you!

I wouldn’t say they’re canonically into them, but I do feel like, if I were to point someone they might be romantically into, that’s who I’d point to hahaha but yeah Jirou and Momo! They haven’t appeared much in canon so after all there isn’t too much behind the ship, more for shortage of scenes than anything else, but Jirou tends to blush a lot around Momo, she’s really protective of Momo, she’s pointed out how cute Momo is on more than one occasion, and their friendship is seriously cute - they’re always together? And when they’re not Jirou gravitates towards Momo a lot, you see her in the background waving at Momo or walking towards Momo really really often - of course all of these things can (and most probably are) just proofs of their being best friends! But it’s a good relationship I love a lot, which is why I ship it~

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

The Path Beyond

(Homebrew warband I came up with when fluffing an all-investment-in-psychic Tzeentch Daemonkin army, and what kind of servants would likely be the summoning core. I also used it as an opportunity to distill some of my favorite “dark wizard” references.)

“The Warp flows through us, for we walk upon the Path!”

History

In the days of the Great Crusade, after the Triumph of Ullanor, the propagation of warrior lodges crept through the ranks of the Legiones Astartes. Secret societies, separate from the titles of legion or rank, appeared amongst the space marines. Most prevalent in those legions who would later turn from the Emperor’s light, the practice was looked down upon by many, and laid the foundation for the later Horus Heresy.

It was by the actions of Chaplain Mori Shi, of the Word Bearers legion, that the lodge known as the “Lodge of the Beyond” would form. Of Terran birth, Mori Shi served within the Ark of Testimony chapter, and at the behest of Chapter Master Torquill Eliphas set about uncovering those pieces of most ancient lore that might give the (now secretly deviant) seventeenth legion insight into the nature of their new gods. It was upon Terra itself, buried in ancient ruins within the irradiated wastes, that he discovered a set of bronze scrolls. In but a few more centuries those lands would have been crushed under the expanding Imperial City, and their dark secrets lost forever.

The scrolls were translated by the scholars of the Word Bearers as the “Path of Ur-Apam”. Contained within was a set of intricate edicts, rituals, and treatises on the nature of the Warp. Realizing the value of such ancient writings, Mori Shi presented the scrolls to close confidents of his amongst several legions—most of all the Thousand Sons, as the sorceries inscribed within were of great power and craftsmanship. The newly forged Lodge of the Beyond would attract psykers from several legions; prominently those of the Thousand Sons, Word Bearers, Sons of Horus, and Alpha Legion, though even elements of the Emperor’s Children, Iron Warriors, Death Guard, Iron Hands, Raven Guard, and White Scars were present. The Path of Ur-Apam was not merely a collection of powerful magics, but a spiritual guide on seeking perfection through the power of the Warp.

The psykers who had gathered within the lodge soon became preeminent in their legions, though the secret society was not to last in its current form. After the massacre on Isstvan, those astartes of the Iron Hands and Raven Guard were enraged at the betrayal, and had to be put down. The last of the “loyalists”, the White Scars elements, later left of their own accord to be either slain by their former brothers, or take up the mantle of Sagyar Mazan. Those few members of the Death Guard, who had sought acceptance away from the sight of Mortarion, were later claimed by Nurgle, and so lost upon the Path of evolution.

All that remained were the traitors, who—with the failure of the Siege of Terra—fled to the Eye of Terror. It was then, as the traitor legions pulled themselves apart, that the Thousand Sons made their move. As psychic mastery was considered the greatest power of all, and the only true measure of worth, the sons of Magnus sought to purge the gene-seed of the lesser legions from their ranks. They turned the might of their sorceries upon their former allies, obliterating them and scavenging what was left. Mori Shi, of power enough to match even an Exalted Sorcerer, attempted to fight back, but the powers of the Warp clearly favored the Sons, and he was consumed from within by daemons. With this victory, the warband of The Path Beyond rejoined their legion, and fled to Sortiarius.

Now within the realm of Tzeentch, the members of the Path had power beyond comprehension at their hands. Joining their minds, they enacted the greatest sorcery left un-attempted within the scrolls: the summoning of Apam’ra, a daemon prince of incalculable power. Revealing himself, Apam’ra was finally able to guide his new congregation down the true path of enlightenment. It was by his word that the Path assembled itself into the form it holds today. Seeing such opportunities in the realm of Chaos magic, the warband split off from the guidance of Magnus, and were later chased from Sortiarius by their brothers for their increasingly irreverent and maniacal behavior. This was a heavy blow, as set adrift on a nomad fleet the band was beset upon by raiders of the other traitor legions—those whom they had purged and betrayed. With few allies and no home, the warband would regain its power under the military guidance of Exalted Arch-Sorcerer Ukustra, and undertake a journey of the galaxy bourn on Warp-fire and deep madness, allying with numerous parties from the Prodigal Sons to the Black Legion. When Magnus called back his progeny for the chance at revenge against Fenris, the Path Beyond answered, for redemption and a chance to display their wisdom and psychic strength to their gene-father. Now, they are a thrallband of the Thousand Sons, and seek to show enemy and ally alike the true power of the Warp.

Beliefs

The Path Beyond are named for the philosophy they follow, also known as the Path of Ur-Apam, after its creator: Apam’ra. The Path outlines a belief system centered around the power of the Warp, and embracing Chaos to ascend to daemonhood and gain mastery over all things. As such, psychic power and knowledge on matters of sorcerery are held above all things within the ranks of the Path, with the ways of flesh and steel being matters of necessity at best, or chains of imperfect binding at worst. Daemons are viewed as the ultimate beings of creation, with even minor Warp-spawn being looked upon as more favorable allies than some of the thrallband’s mortal slaves. The thrallband therefor views Tzeentch as the greatest being in existence, and worthy of total devotion for his mastery of the magical arts. Apam’ra, though the creator of the Path, is viewed as a guide, while Tzeentch is the end of the journey itself.

Despite their love of Warp energy, members of the Path do not embrace it in an entirely wanton way. To master the energies of creation, with the end goal of infusing one’s spirit into their very currents, one must first master themselves. Mutations are cultivated carefully, and those who have fallen to their own ambitions are stepped over—for one who is destroyed by that which they seek to master is no master at all. Though for their usual Chaotic back-stabbing tendencies, the Path has managed to establish a warband far more stable than many others. It is believed that those of greater psychic ability should be followed without question, and it is likewise the duty of those in charge to lead their followers to greater power. Disciples are forever wary of signs of weakness in their leaders, and masters are encouraged to maintain dominance with grand displays of mastery, and an intricate web of schemes to monitor their pupils, so that they may remain respected. If a master suffers a failure greater than can be allowed, or loses control of his own ambitions, then he is very quickly and silently deposed and replaced by the next most powerful, minimizing infighting.

While Tzeentch is viewed as the greatest being in existence, and therefor deserving of the mentioned loyal subservience, the God of Change is only worshiped for his ability. Though undoubtedly a Tzeentchian warband, the Path Beyond also pays tribute to Slaanesh, Apam’ra, and Magnus as gods of great power, and to the very force of Chaos itself. Due to the disparate nature of their worship, the mix of the chaotic and orderly within their operation, and their constant embrace of and exposure to the daemonic, sorcerers of the Path are seen as mad and unpredictable by their peers. To be unquestionably loyal for years, only to jump at a new opportunity and cause great collateral, along with a demeanor that swings between wise and diplomatic to superior and destructive, had caused many other Thousand Sons thrallbands to view the Path Beyond as a rogue element that should not be trusted, however powerful. The Path does not care, as they know their position as the (in their mind) most powerful summoners, scholars, and psykers is established, and they have only ever acted according to the edicts of Apam’ra.

Notable Members

The Oracle — “I hear that which screams in the night. I see what waits in the shadows.” — Lord of Navigation & Conductor of the Choir, Will of the Gods. The Oracle, who bears no personal name upon ascension, is the de-facto leader of the Path. They head the Circle—the high council that convenes on governance of the band—and act as first and final authority. The Oracle is a hideously mutated thing, with twisted armor concealing even more twisted and nebulous flesh. Their head sweeps up into two great prongs that sing with the resonance of the Immaterium, and are inset with multiple eyes that see beyond, even as their face holds naught but a mouth pouring with innumerable prophecies. The Oracle acts as the pathway through which various daemon princes, greater daemons, and even the gods themselves might give orders and strike bargains with the Path. These are then considered by the greater Circle. Each Oracle is selected by the previous one, and when the prospect is ready the two enter the Well of the Irradial Cogitator, in which only the Oracle is allowed. The new Oracle will step forth alone, different but already heavily mutated. It is believed that the process of succession involves the merging of two souls, as each Oracle has all the memories and skills of the previous one. Due to the great mutative strain, the Oracle is always an astartes.

Exalted Arch-Sorcerer Ukustra — “Now, you will pay the price for your lack of vision!” — Lord of the Exalted Captains, Magister of the War-Coven. In the years after the Ocularis Retribution, the position of Arch-Sorcerer changed hands between many powerful battle-psykers, only for each one to be deposed or overwhelmed by their own ambitions. It was during the years of stability around the First Black Crusade that Ukustra would come to power. A reserved and unassuming sorcerer, little was known of his past before the Heresy, save that he had been a younger legionary. Now, over a millennium later, he had deigned to take up the mantle of Arch-Sorcerer. Ukustra is phlegmatic, demanding total obedience from his followers, and rarely showing any emotion even when spewing forth incalculable amounts of Warp-magic. As Arch-Sorcerer, his duties center around direction of the most elite of the thrallband’s psykers. Some members of the circle have looked upon his position with some derision, seeing him as little more than a walking weapon. In truth, Ukustra is at the center of a web of daemonic and material alliances through which he might enact any strategy he sees fit. He is versed in the powers of deception and might, and has outlasted many of his peers. He also holds a great hatred for the Space Wolves, Death Guard, and Eldar, all for the hidden secrets of their sorceries that he wishes to bring into Tzeentch’s domain. In the past, several Arch-Sorcerers have been mere mortals, but as Ukustra has held the seat for over nine-thousand years, the point is moot.

High Dark Apostle Dracus Los — “If you only knew the power that is CHAOS!” — Master of the Thralls, Voice of Corruption. A position adapted from their former Word Bearers allies, the High Dark Apostle is chief religious officer, and charged with organizing the mobs of acolytes, Tzaangors, and slaves that form the greater backbone of the Path’s auxiliary forces. Additionally, he is the herald of the warband, his magically-enhanced oratory skills inciting defectors and inspiring his allies. In times of “peace” the Apostle is the diplomatic face of the warband to other Chaos forces. Dracus Los has held the position for a relatively short time, but his boundless charisma has earned him great esteem. He is blessed with a visage that is glorious and terrible to look upon, as much beautiful as daemonic. A natural leader, Los will heap great praise and awards upon those who please him, while swiftly purging all those who divert from the true path. The position of High Apostle is often held by an astartes, due to the great danger inherent in the position, and the respect a space marine earns over mortals when confronting rival warbands.

Arch-Heretek Cal-Urgus — “This won’t hurt; we just want to drain your living essence!” — Master of Forms, Dark Fleshshaper. The thrallband’s chief engineer, material scientist, and contact line to the Dark Mechanicus. The Arch-Heretek is viewed with suspicion and resignation, as while the Path teaches the value of the Warp above the base flesh and steel, the hereteks’ support is necessary and invaluable. Bio-enhancement of warriors can serve to expand the mind and hone reflexes; vehicles may be inscribed with runes and bound with daemons; and—perhaps most importantly—the unique medical needs of the astartes sorcerers and high psykers can be managed. The Arch-Heretek may also be called upon to lead the binding of daemon engines—a dark rite that is viewed as a punishment for the daemon in question. As the Arch-Heretek is selected by their own contemporaries, they are always a mad cyborg. Cal-Urgus is but the latest madman in a line of insane scientists stretching back millennia.

The Spymaster Nahash — “Perversio dominatus.” — Master of Serpents, The Long Hand. The Spymaster’s title says all that needs to be said. Due to operating on the word of the Oracle, the Path likes to seed target worlds with cults and sedition before making their move. Due to the small size of the warband, and their reliance on massed rituals for daemonic reinforcements, the Spymaster gives the band the time and information they need. The spymaster also helps gain intelligence on rival Chaos forces, rumors, and intel about other happenings of interest. Nahash is an unsettling creature, appearing completely normal at a table of twisted monsters, though behind his eyes flicker the flames of a telepath, summoner, and webspinner of terrible acuity. Though the first Spymasters of the Path were astartes of the Alpha Legion, modern holders of the chair tend to be unassuming mortals.

Lord High Magister Reah Qasr — “I’m bored. What plaything can you offer me today?” — Logistician-Prefectus, Webweaver. The head of logistics and the management of all crew on the Path’s small warfleet. The Magister is the mathematical backbone of the thrallband, collating each individual daemonic pact in the way a Munitorum adept might collate shipments of ammo. While many underlings view the battle-psykers with awe, and the hereteks and spymasters with fear, it is the Magister who holds the massive and horrible lore that is knowledge of supply and demand. Reah Qasr was once a megalomaniacal Rogue Trader who defected to the Path at the opportunity for the raw power she so desired, and freedom for her restrained psychic abilities. Her vanity gives her an appearance to rival her astartes peers, with opulent cloaks of runic silk and colorful feathers, intricate augmetics, and flesh decorated with scarification and tattoos meant to burn the eyes of any lesser beings who dare look upon her face. The position of High Magister is always held by some manner of crafty mortal.

Apammabzkalahothengenistora — “I know the Path, I am the Path. I was, I am, and I shall be.” — Otherwise known as Apam’ra the Augur, author of the Scrolls of Ur-Apam and true guide upon the Path Beyond. Apam’ra is a daemon prince of time immemorial who has aligned itself with Tzeentch. The Augur is not just a powerful psyker, but a scholar and philosopher of impossible sharpness, who has brought armies to heel with guile and words as much as spells. Apam’ra most often takes the form of a massive cloaked figure, with great wings, and many tendrils of magic that emerge from its shadowy regalia. Four clawed armed enact intricate sorceries, while a hidden head is adorned with an elaborate dress of tentacles, feathers, and horns. Its power is said to be on par with the mightiest Lords of Change. The Augur seeks to grow its power through the devotion of its powerful flock. The most maddening prophecies of the Oracle hint that Apam’ra may seek to merge with Tzeentch, destroying the Materium and bringing all things within the blinding power of Chaos.

Chaplain Mori Shi — “But better than the lies of the Imperium is the secret lore of the Warp.” — Future Dark Apostle and Diabolist, Chaplain Mori Shi of the Word Bearers’ Ark of Testimony chapter was the founder of the Lodge Beyond, and first spiritual guide on the Path. His destruction would come about at his own hands, however, when his own pupils turned against him for his inferior gene-seed, and he was destroyed by the daemons he had already lost the favor of.

Exalted Sorcerer Anuvram — “Such sights are shown to me!” — A diviner of the Prosperine Corvidae Cult, Anuvram was also known as the Gate of Logic, a nickname earned from his time seconded to the Iron Warriors. Anuvram was of a reserved temperament, but razor-keen mind, with as much insight into machines and the mechanical sciences as sorcery. After the death of Mori Shi, and before the summoning of Apam’ra, Anuvram took on the mantle of the first Oracle. His mind was opened to the depths of the Warp, and his soul walked with daemons, becoming as familiar with them as he was with his own brothers. It was under Anuvram’s guidance that the Irradial Cogitator was built, the tradition of the Oracle was started, and the Path started on its way to power and glory.

Exalted Sorcerer Tiamaz — “Only now, at the end, do you understand…” — A great warrior of the Pyrae Cult, Tiamaz took on a flair for perfectionism after his time with the Emperor’s Children. He also earned the moniker of “The Faceless”, for his habit of never removing his elaborate helm. Tiamaz became first Arch-Sorcerer of the Path, and their face upon the battlefield. He went missing during the Ocularis Retribution—that time after their exile from Sortiarius, when the legions had sought revenge for the Path’s purge of the lodge. He was presumed slain, though his armor and gene-seed were never recovered.

Order of Battle

As the Path Beyond is a very small thrallband, focused on tight operating procedures and elite psychic ability, much of the Path’s “forces” are its allied daemons. Though capable of rapid defence through its combat psykers, the warband much prefers to be on the offensive, planning its invasions sometimes hundreds of years in advance, working its tendrils into the very society of the worlds it wishes to invade. When the word is given, rebellions will arise, rituals will be enacted, and the legions of the Warp will spew forward like a corrupting wave into realspace. Motives for attack tend to be either the desire for resources, slaves, and potential recruits; or as part of an agreement with a powerful daemon. By ripping the veil asunder, the greater daemon or prince who contacted the Oracle will be free to enact whatever dark plan they wish.

Psychic talent and sheer acuity are of tantamount importance in the thrallband, and all leaders must be gifted magicians. Even a Tzaangor Shaman or mutant coven-leader will be afforded greater respect than a non-psychic astartes of another warband. Sorcerers of all divisions will keep with them a close cadre of followers, who mutually feed off each other’s power as a form of amplification. In addition, the warband keeps a steadily replenished contingent of acolytes and thrall-psykers, who may be sacrificed during advanced rituals. Due to the insane nature of their beliefs, many Path Beyond sorcerers will have better allegiances with daemons than other mortals, helped along by the many daemon princes allied with or originating from the Path. Their devotion to the Warp is seen as unhealthy even by other sorcerer-thrallbands, and their use of subversion and spies as further dangers to cooperation.

Appearance

The Path Beyond wears the blue and gold of Tzeentch, with violet accents, but such is their sigaldrous power that their leaders are as daemons of deathly enlightenment. The blue panels of their armor are glossy and swim with the currents of the Warp, while runes inset into elegant filigree glow with magical power. Eyes, banners, and the like glow with technicolor flame. Even lesser sorcerers will festoon themselves with parchments copied from ancient tomes, and trinkets and talismans crafted of everything from gems and silk, to bone and mortal hide. Flesh will be inscribed with scars and tattoos, and pierced with jewelry containing yet more enchantments. Most subdued of their raiment are the black robes they wear, inscribed with near-invisible runes of protection and shadow. A popular tactic of Path sorcerers is to enshroud themselves in their dark and unassuming robes until within close range, at which point they will fling open their capes to reveal the swirling and multicolored flame-sigils and seals that burn the minds of enemies and enhance the powers of the wearer. Daemons, when coalescing their forms upon summoning, will even adopt the heraldry of the thrallband, as a sign of the unbelievable solidarity their psykers foster with the warp-spawn. Their symbol is an inward-spiraling Ouroboros, surrounded by the points of the Star of Chaos.

Notable Battles

The Ocularis Retribution (M31) — Enacted shortly after the Great Scouring and the Path’s exile from Sortiarius; adrift and vulnerable, the warband is attacked by splinter forces of the Iron Warriors, Emperor’s Children, Word Bearers, and Alpha Legion in retribution for their purge at the end of the Horus Heresy. The Path manages to survive by wits and sorcery, but loses near all of its already pitiful supply of Rubricae, many thralls, and Arch-Sorcerer Tiamaz, as well as sustaining heavy damage to its infrastructure. This would first spur the Orcale into the formation of the Circle, basing future operating strategies around a small, elite fighting force.

First Black Crusade (781.M31) — With temporary stability brought to the forces of Chaos by the actions of Abaddon the Despoiler, new Warmaster of Chaos Undivided, the sorcerer known as Ukustra usurps the position of Exalted Arch-Sorcerer—using the body of his mentor, the former Arch-Sorcerer, as a daemonhost for Apam’ra. Ukustra pushes for the support of the Oracle, and pillages many Imperial worlds of artifacts over the course of the Crusade.

The Damnatius Collapse (999.M35) — A centuries-long gambit pays off on the hive-world of Aqunda. The completion of the planetary governor’s palace inadvertently activates a Chaos sigil formed via the lay-lines between the tallest hive spires, the work of the Path’s Spymaster. Warp portals open above the world, summoning the Path Beyond and hordes of daemons. The world falls within a day.

The Prize of Firinne (M37) — The Path allies itself with the Prodigal Sons and sorcerer-champion Ahriman. Warp storms descend on the planet of Firinne and a three-way battle ensues between the forces of the Imperium, Eldar, and Chaos. The Tzeentchian faction emerges victorious, with Ahriman finding a fragment of the Map of Ceo’dainn, while the Path Beyond sacrifices a trove of spirit-stones to Slaanesh. Exalted Ukustra would remark on Ahriman: “He is like Magnus—a true follower of the Path, even as his mind is misguided.”, while Ahriman would refer to Ukustra as “A mad fanatic, who can barely master his own power.” Regardless of differences, the two forces have worked in tandem since then, as exemplars of Tzeentch’s will and might.

Siege of Fenris (999.M41) — After long millennia of wandering, the Path Beyond answers the call of Magnus to seek vengeance on the Space Wolves. Returning at the promise of spoils and glory, the Path seek to demonstrate its might, exchange knowledge with its lost brothers, and gain access to the riches and power of Sortiarius. The Path Beyond is refashioned into a thrallband of the Thousand Sons—an arbitrary distinction, but one that allows it opportunity to work more closely with powerful sorcerers such as the Primarch. During the siege, the Path moves behind the action and enacts multiple rituals that summon innumerable waves of daemonic forces.

[survivor-socotra]

RITES OF PASSAGE || JURY

Augusto

You know, I had a pretty wild story this season. At the beginning, it seemed less like “Battle of the Seasons” and more like Battle Against My Season... and that was hard to deal with because I love and miss my Great Lakers! That being said, being able to survive as the only person from that tribe from final 21 to the final 12 was something I never imagined myself doing. To add to that, fate was what got me out and that’s kinda poetic. All in all, I loved this experience for all it was worth and especially my fellow players who allowed me to get as far as I did

Connor 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mJXhEeWhI4

Katie

Can I get a waffle? Can I please get a waffle?

Zach

i love u so much. You were one of my favourite people and i actually was devastated because i was looking forward to playing this game with you, and i’m sorry that my indecisiveness ended your game ASKGLDSGS. We had so many fun moments and considering u were lonely without any of your tribe so for long is a testament to how good u are at this game!! Hope to talk to u after this game x

Ryan

AHHH KING! You and Sam were the people I really wanted to work with the most in this game. Losing you to rocks was so fucking terrible and I can’t believe that is how it ended for you.

Samantha

This game was pretty awesome. I’m always ready to come back for anything related to Tonga. I definitely stumbled my through this entire game but I enjoyed about 80% of it.

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtO6AQ9SI70

Katie

"Hey Tara you want some?" "This b*%th empty. YEET!"

Zach

we didn’t really get the chance to talk much because of tribal lines and just being on different sides, but you are such a sweet person and i have enjoyed our talks!! I hope life is going well, and i wish we could’ve had more of a chance to work together <3

Ryan

QUEEN! God I really wanted to stick with you and Augusto late into this game. I was so confused when they voted you out. We lived through the destruction of our alliance after Adam left because of that snake Michael. Honestly though you’re so fucking good and such an icon that losing you early meant someone else could actually win

Tyler

had a hoot of a time, tragic that i didnt get more time to be a dramatic bitch but what can you do! Thanks everyone for being so fun and the hosts for being grand!

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kT3OQwyvKmk

Katie

What the fuck, is this allowed?, what the fuck is that allowed?!

Zach

i am so sorry that i got crazy (like always) but i just wanna say that you are such a pleasure to talk to and i love u so much. We played a lot of this game together but i just felt like you were too threatenin for my game moving forward and i 100% assume if you did not leave that vote, you would’ve made final five easily. Nonetheless, it was great gettin to play with you again, and you are a brilliant player. Nothin but love n respect x

Ryan

Ahhhhh the flirt of the season. Our conversations were always at least a little interesting. You would have been a killer social threat at the end of the game and you needed to go. Also the first Kuang Si to go, so like, icon.

Ian

My premerge game vs my merge game:

I had a good time playing with you all and my downfall was my arrogance and looking to far ahead while not paying attention to the current round enough. I threw away my idol because I was confident I could win without advantages,  I was obviously wrong! Good game all, Battle of the Seasons was a blast!

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHLHSlExFis

Katie

My favorite screamo band is probably Big Time Rush.

Zach

ian, my man. Ew i said man aJSGDSGK. You know that you are one of my best pals in this community and that i love u with all my heart and enjoy playing with you. You are such a phenomenal player, with a great sense of humour and honestly you’re just so easy to talk to. I made you a promise the day before your vote off that the only way i’m writing your name down was to win, and i stuck to that. Losing u was so sad, though could’ve been good for my game to SOME degree, it was so sucky cause i was wanting to go to the end with you. It was,,, devastating. I’m sorry that happened, i hope we talk when this game is over, and most importantly of all; he has class, he give sass, but most importantly he scream at own ass

Ryan

Hello friend. We didn’t get to talk a lot, and the way merged played out meant that we didn’t really work together either...i would have been into a you/me/sam alliance but then you took her out and i couldnt let you take out my queen like that

Michael

Tumblr Survivor: Socotra was unlike anything else i've done, i enjoyed every second of it. Coming in to it i had resigned myself to the fact i could be an early out but i made it 2/3 of the way through and 8/24 and half bad, i may not have won again but i'm finally on jury duty and i had fun i really couldn't have asked for a better outcome

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3K0RzZGpyds

Katie

So you just gonna bring me a birthday gift on my birthday to my

Zach

u are such a blast to play with because each game is such a different experience. In LV, we weren’t the greatest allies and u wanted me DEAD. in this game we were on the same side and it was such a joy talking to you. Though there might be bitterness because of my craziness and ultimately me leading to the demise of our entire side, i hope you know that it was all for game and that i still hope we remain friends once over x love u lots michael

Ryan

AHHHHHHH i love this man. Honestly I have so much respect for you. Games aren’t fun unless you have an enemy and you were a really fun one to have. You made it difficult for me to get where I got in the game so thank you lmfao

Devon

This game was fun and I really had a fun time with my time omg he game. With a cast as huge as this to get 7th was something I was not expecting. I did a lot of things outside my comfort zone and I have no regrets. This will be a game I remember for a long time.

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ga94wVeFBac

Katie

It's a avocadooo...thanks

Zach

honestly it is shocking (in a good way) that we went from lackin convos in kuang si to being non messy kweens who flipped every other round AJSGKDSG. You are such a genuine person and i enjoyed gettin to know u even more and everything. You were a frontrunner to win this game, and though i had like 0 influence over your vote, i think it was somethin that had to be done in order to give me my best shot of winning. But, thank you for makin this experience so much more enjoyable. Ur a lovely person xo

Ryan

Ahhhhh my dad! What a strategic fucking threat huh. Thank you for flipping on your alliance twice. Also grad school is fucking hard and i hate it

Jessica

My biggest move in the game was making an alliance based on salsa preferences and it lasted until the f6. My worst move in the game was caring for 1 second because once I put in more than 50% effort I went home. This just shows kids: never try at anything it’s always a mistake

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjuftKz5ebU

Katie

I love you bitch ... I aint never gonna stop loving you ... bitch

Zach

jessica omg. We started talkin so early in this game and i felt like our connection was my favourite of my new connections and i just enjoyed your presence so ducking much. We’d call so much and just laugh and be on the same page about everything and it was honestly a big help in this game both strategically and mentally. U know how much i appreciate you and respect you as a person/player, and i hope we get to continue our friendship outside the game because i do love u sm. Im sorry about voting u. I thought, on paper, that you were the only person who could probably easily beat me. I might still lose like against anyone ASKGDSG iconic.. But as i said, that was on paper, and i also know that if u had to leave, i wanted it to be iconic n fun, and that’s why i pushed for u to leave w oakleys idol. pls still eat medium salsa ):

Ryan

Here is a link to your favorite song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJebcTXdu7o

Oakley

My second go around I wanted to prove to myself that I could play more rationally and prove that I had more fight and passion to win. And I do know I accomplished both of those goals because I was targeted to leave a lot of the game and I kept fighting to stay alive and made finale in a 24 person season. I couldn't be more proud of what I achieved in this game.

Connor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRhOJe_7kuI

Katie

"I brought you Frankincense" "Thank you" "I brought you Myrrh" "Thank you" "Mur-dur" "huh...Judas..no"

Zach

OAKLEY. CHOAKLEY? Either or. I love u and we became such a fun duo after ian’s vote and i played this game closely with you since very early on, despite voting differently sometimes… it was so fun callin u like every 2 days just to be like ‘this game sucks’, ‘we’re gonn have fun on jury’, ‘did u call me a rAT????’ ASGKDSGLDS. Ugh, i love u and im glad to have finally played with you after havin a great time hostin u in mykonos. Losin u at f5 was honestly sad because i was with a trio who hated fem gays ): loves u

Ryan

AHHHH MY DYNAMIC DUO! You played a hell of a fucking game and I am so glad I made a friend in you this game. I remember hearing rumors about how good you were at this game and i really saw it with my own two eyes this time around. Never stop being a unicorn. <3