#trigger warning for death because it is a fic about the goddess of death

[witchofthevale]

↷ september '23 fave fic recs!⋆☂｡☽˚.

Okay, okay here we go! This nearly killed me to make, so you better read them.

I'm kidding... I think.

Gentle reminder that what I consider 'fave' is by my own personal tastes and preferences, and you might not agree with them and that's okay! These are very lovely authors you can peruse on your own to find the right fic for you, and there are always the tags + algo. Just because your favourite fic isn't here doesn't mean it's not good; it could be potentially for a variety of reasons (I haven't read it yet, I have just not this month, I don't vibe with that character, etc).

That's what I love about the individuality in fandom and writers— there will always be that right fic from that right author that just hits all your good spots.

This is mine. For the month of September. If you find your next favourite fix here— I'm glad! If not, that's still swell! Hope you find it!

To the writers— thank you for writing such brilliant fics! I struggled setting this up because of how many I enjoyed 💝.

Anyways...

More quick reminders!

This is set chronologically; both by character name and by fic title.

If you are familiar with my blog, you will mainly see HOTD, some TLK, then random characters.

There may be smut! There may be dark fiction! I support and consume both! Please read trigger warnings actively! You are responsible for your own person! Community Labels ruin fandom ecosystems, stop snitching! Ignore or block at bloody will!

There are no series parts here. That is in a different display post that is still being processed lol.

If you see repeated author names, it can be numerous things— mostly, they're just that good, okay? Okay.

These are only for September 2023. I've read about 500+ on this account alone, and would die if I tried to go back before then, sorry. You can still check them out through tag navigation here!

I've also added some of my works that I enjoyed writing for the month, because why not.

Now that's fucking over, I hope you enjoy!

ABRAHAM (Grantchester)

*Untitled Piece by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

AEGON TARGARYEN II

Ceilings by @sapphire-writes

Lemon Cake To My Tea by @darlingofvalyria

Merciless or Ruthless? by @lovelykhaleesiii

Moan for Me by @st-eve-barnes

AEMOND TARGARYEN

A Mutual Feeling of Hate by @fan-goddess

Gelato by @oneeyedvisenya

Hell Hath No Fury @fromforeigntofamiliarity

His Love by @valeskafics

I'm A Fire, And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm by @randomdragonfires

Revolution by @valeskafics

The Black Stag by @darlingofvalyria

Til Death Do Us Part by @asumofwords

Unnerved by @dulcewrites

*Untitled by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

*Untitled by @missglaskin

Vulnerability by @valeskafics

ALDHELM

My Heart by @silens-oro

BILLY TAYLOR

The Perfect Send Off by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

BILLY WASHINGTON

Lonely This Christmas by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

DAEMON TARGARYEN

Ask, and You Shall Receive by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

A Thousand Words by @arabellasleopardcoat

Capital by @arabellasleopardcoat

Curse of Womanhood by @just-some-random-blogger

*Untitled by @barbiedragon

Valyrian Bride by @cryingforlife

HARALD SIGURDSSON

A Political Arrangement by @valeskafics

JACAERYS VELARYON

In Bastards of Blue, Wager in War by @darlingofvalyria

MAEGOR TARGARYEN

Little Lights by @dreamsofoldvalyria

OSFERTH

Lacnunga, Or, Remedy by @assortedseaglass

SIGTRYGGR IVARSSON

Little Warrior by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

SIHTRIC KJARTANSSON

Hours by @valeskafics

It's Urgent Darling by @sihtricfedaraaahvicius

Take No Wife by @valeskafics

TOM BENNETT

A Good Wife by @valeskafics

Rest by @fidelias

VISERYS TARGARYEN III

*Untitled by @barbiedragon

MULTIPLE CHARACTERS

Conquerors Reborn by @undertheorangetree | Helaena, Aemond x Reader

El Tango De Roxanne by @valeskafics | Jace, Aemond x Reader

Royalty Fucked by @oorhaellaoo | Baelon, Alyssa x Reader

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: Bioshock

Character: Dr J.S. Steinman

Pairing: Romantic

Type of Fic: scenario/short story. Plot being, Darling is trying to escape the dying city of Rapture (unrelated to Jack's quest entirely) but gets caught by Steinman because Steinman sees darling as the pinnacle of beauty and tries to replicate their looks on other Splicers.

Sorry if this kinda sound specific I tried to make it as open as possible.

Oooo! Yeah! I can do a short for this >:)

Replication

Yandere! Dr J.S. Steinman Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Unwanted plastic surgery, Unwanted picture taking, Death, Blood, Kidnapping, Forced relationship, Drugging.

It was never perfect! They were never perfect! Nothing he did could replicate the beauty he saw that one fateful day!

These Splicers are such an eyesore to him. Their looks never matched what he preferred. None of them were beautiful. Steinman has seen beauty.

He's fallen for beauty.

Steinman remembered seeing the pinnacle of beauty in this city. As though Aphrodite herself had blessed him, he caught sight of the most beautiful thing in his life. You... someone attempting to leave this dying city.

Ever since he saw you, a magnificent specimen, he's tried to replicate how he's felt ever since. Day after day Steinman takes in Splicers. They aren't the most willing subjects but he must do Aphrodite's work.

As if to fill an ever growing void in his chest, Steinman chased his desires. He makes surgery his art, he tries to make the ugly into something beautiful.

Every attempt to replicate his muse ends in failure.

The idea of this drives the perfectionist insane. In an exasperated noise of rage every Splicer ends the same. They die on his table due to the blood loss and he tosses them aside before trying anew.

Nothing could match your perfection and he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get rid of the void in his chest.

Replicating your beauty did not placate him in the slightest. Every attempt was wrong. The image in his mind wasn't enough.

Steinman decided to borrow a camera from Cohen to solve his issue. Cohen is a man who understands art, which convinced him to allow Steinman to take such a tool. Steinman then decides he'll follow you.

Even when he feels he may never see you again, he manages to catch sight of you at times. Whenever you came into view he'd click the camera and hide out of sight.

With new inspiration he feels his work get better and better. The Splicers soon begin to resemble your beauty more and more. He's excited, chasing the high as he cuts into their flesh. Yet then he cuts too deep...

And the work is ruined.

Pictures do wonders for inspiration. However, he can't help but feel that the inspiration isn't the problem. Perhaps it is the canvas, the Splicers aren't enough.

How could they even compare to the original anyways?

With new motives, Steinman is back on the hunt. He traverses Rapture in search of his muse once again. This time, picture's won't do.

All he needs is a needle and some drugs.

It isn't hard to sneak up and wrangle you when he finds you again. You panic when he inserts the needle, the drugs seeping into your blood to slowly reduce your movement. By the time you fall victim to his anesthesia... you're being dragged back to his territory.

Steinman is a delighted man when he straps you to a chair. The room is still coated in the blood of his past attempts. Now... he won't have to worry about those eyesore Splicers.

Steinman has you, a gift from his Goddess.

There's no need to use pictures to replicate you... there's no need for replication at all!

He has the real thing right in front of him now.

[barryjeanblues]

taako meets death (again)

(also posted to my ao3)

taako has met two raven queens in his life before now.

well, close enough, at least. most - though not all - of the worlds the starblaster had traveled to had gods, and surprisingly enough, those gods were usually - though not always - strikingly similar to their homeworlds gods. (this was useful, because one of the crews number relied very heavily on a certain nature god for his magic. luckily, the nature or life god of each world always seemed to have a soft spot for little old merle, even if they werent merles traditional cloven-hoofed pan.)

twice, taako had met the death god - someone equivalent to faeruns raven queen. 

this had led to taakos understandable trepidation upon kravitz finally putting his foot down and insisting taako meet his mother boss. 

the first time taako had met a raven queen, she had been… overwhelming. the light of creation had fallen into a forest dedicated to her and her followers, and the head acolyte refused to give the wandering crew the light unless they first received permission from the queen.

the crew had agreed, with no other option, bracing themselves to firmly explain the direness of the situation. surely a goddess would be intelligent enough to understand. 

that raven queen had burst into a forest cleaning in an explosion of black feathers, half illusion, half steel, so that when lup brushed the smoky feathers from her eyes they blurred and dissipated, but when magnus tried the same thing he yelped and brought his hand back bleeding. 

that raven queens laughter had been eerie and echoing, almost but not quite mocking, almost but not quite infectious, almost but not quite joyous. the crew had stood firm and offered their argument, and the queen had given them tests and tokens and bargains and tricky promises with too many clauses and loopholes and at the end of it all the ipres numbers had been halved and the rest were weary and worn as they caught the light of creation and fled with only minutes to spare, the faelike laughter of death following them terribly even through the overwhelming cacophony of the hungers assault. 

that laughter had trailed after them longer, if only in their heads. taako would be making stir fry, planning outfits, swapping merles shampoo for hair-loss potions, when hed have to sit down suddenly and breathe through the musical trills of the raven queens cruel pleasure. it had seemed to bounce in his head the way a rubber ball might, ricocheting off thoughts and feelings until it rolled under a couch to be forgotten about, till some slight movement sent it rolling and bouncing about once more. 

davenport had died in an illusion, thinking he was saving his crew. poor merle had been choked by his own plants, betrayal writ across hos face. barrys skin had grown sickly purple with poison - ten to one odds arent very good odds. taako doesnt forget easily. he decides the goddess of death can go fuck herself. 

the second raven queen taako had met much later in their journey, and taako had met her alone. 

lup and barry had become liches a few cycles back. it was something taako had still been coming to terms with. 

taako loves lup. this is an immutable fact of any and every universe. taako loves lup and lup loves taako and not death or memory or space can separate them, not for long. but seeing your sister die, and then… go beyond death, to twist herself and latch on to a chance that she may never return except in madness and spite - thats a hard thing to grasp, even when she succeeds. taako had still found himself shivering when his sister forgot she had a body again and grabbed a hot pan off the stove, crying out in pain. taako still woke sweating from nightmares in which his sister and his friend flew apart and reformed as cackling red robed horrors of insanity and cruelty, too far for him to reach. 

until that cycle, though, barry and lups choice had only been an asset. 

but some raven queens do not take kindly to anything they see as a perversion of their domain. 

barely a week into that cycle, taako had awoken from the guilty non-elven pleasure of a nap only to find himself in some cold, hard court, fashioned seemingly of steel and silver and concrete, onyx lining the floor and the only color coming from sparse sapphires sparkled throughout the long echoing hall. 

at the end of it - and taako had known his eyes must have played tricks on him, because at first the being at the end of the hall seemed, while large, not much larger than a giant, but when hed called a nervous greeting his voice had echoed so awfully he knew the hall stretched much farther than hed thought and the goddess at the end of it must have been unimaginably huge. 

her eyes had glinted a flinty sapphire in her carven steel face when she ordered him to defend the existence of his sister and his sisters lover. 

taako had tried. he truly, truly had. but while taako is a being of preservation and caution, full of intelligence and cleverness, he is not one of cold hard logic. perhaps lucretia could have convinced this raven queen, the only of their number who had ever been able to grasp true hard reason… but taako doubts it. he had doubted it then and he doubts it even more these days. 

the point is, taako, for all his love for his family and his brilliant wit and devotion (probably, in fact, because of it) taakos arguments couldnt convince that raven queen. she saw past his genuine belief that lup and barry had made a good decision, and into his fears for her, and the goddess of death had based her own argument on those. she won. taako never had a chance. 

he, lup, and barry had woken up in the next cycle, newly resurrected. taako never stops feeling guilty about it. 

so. yes. 

taako is more than a little nervous about meeting the goddess his boyfriend serves so devotedly. but, and youd be hard pressed to convince him to admit it, taako would do anything for kravitz. and despite it all he does actually want to see what the deal is with his sister and his best friends boss, and his patron gods… friend? lover? girlfriend? taako isnt quite sure what fate and death are to each other, but its definitely something.

kravitz lays a warm hand on taakos shoulder, but taako squares them up. he can do this, for fucks sake - hes died a shitton of times, he can meet death. 

the doors open and taakos breath - the only breath in this realm of the dead - catches in his throat.

taako is a die hard istus fan, and shell always be his goddess. but if taako wasnt a taken elf, hed follow the raven queen, he realizes with a startle.

shes beautiful, yes. shes gorgeous, and taakos always been weak for beauty, but hers isnt the cold hard beauty of gemstones and gold, thinks his nimble fingers snatch up and hoard in his endless pockets. the raven queen is beautiful in a way that taako cant describe as anything other than simple.

he cant pin down any features. she has a kind face, gentle hands, bright eyes, but taako can tell she is a goddess because despite staying still the image of her flicks and shifts in his head. at once she seems to have every kind face hes ever seen, even if he doesnt recognize anyone. her hands reach out to comfort him - no more than comfort - but she stands without moving in front of taako and kravitz. her eyes glitter and sparkle and crinkle up with cheerful laughter, except taako isnt entirely sure she has eyes at all, or maybe she has too many. 

he thinks… he thinks maybe she has wings, or maybe theyre arms, or maybe theyre black fabric, draped around and behind and below and above her, shifting with the last breaths of every mortal in the universe. its darkness but its not scary, taako realizes, its solacing, healing, the way that he feels when dusk passes to night and the sky is huge and warm and the brush of lups hand against his as she says goodbye for the night is a relief and a love. 

hello, taako, death says. its lovely to meet you. 

she means it, taako knows. he can tell, somehow. shes just happy to meet him. nothing more, nothing less. 

'oh,' taako says aloud, and kravitz laughs his quiet sweet dorky laugh, and the raven queen laughs too, and its just that. its just a laugh, and its a nice one.

'oh indeed,' kravitz says. 'taako, did you really think id serve a monster or a cruel master?'

'well,' taako replies hesitantly, 'honestly, homie, i kind of thought you were, and id, like, have to start some quest to slay death itself and rescue you.'

the anthropomorphic personification of death laughs again, a note of delight in her tender voice. i like him, my kravitz, she says, good job.

kravitz does the dead-reaper equivalent of blushing. taako grins a little because its very cute. 

'death is different here,' taako hums. 'its… it wasnt like this anywhere else i went. it was cold, or cruel, or empty. i dunno why its different in your world.'

'then i guess we're the lucky ones, huh?' kravitz asks. taako leans up against him and murmurs an agreement. 'its why i love my job so much, why it means so much to me. its not that im some hardass, i just…'

'yea, cha'boy gets it now,' assures taako. 'still.' he looks at the ever-shifting, ever-stable face of death again. 'you better treat my boy kravitz and my lady istus well, capiche? or we will have issues.'

its a deal, taako, the raven queen says, smiling. 

when taako opens his eyes, hes in his home in the material plane, and kravitz is next to him, and theyre both smiling. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

I’m new and idk if this is where I send a request but..darkfic of Hela kidnapping Y/N? Smut included.

Fall From Heaven, Dragged to Hell

Hela Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Navigation

Summary: Hela has intentions of disrupting revenge upon her sibling Thor, and she has the best solution of how to do so; by targeting someone he cares about

Fandom: Marvel (MCU)

Pairing: Hela x reader

Warnings: smut read at your own risk, fingering, tribbing, dark fic, kidnapping, mention of non con and kinda non con at the same time its kinda implied so if this is a trigger please take caution when reading or just dont read please the last thing id want to do is have my writing negatively affect someone, mentions of death because its Hela, major character death, angst

It was time to take what belonged to her, Thor’s little mortal friend. The goddess had been watching her prey like an ant crawling upon the plain of existence, exiting the New Asgard that the son of Odin had restored with the help of that Valkyrie, and returning to the bustling streets of New York City. She was fair, the perfect vessel to taint from the rush of Death. Hela would have her at the bottom of her tarnished black throne as Surtr had not manage to kill her as was planned, but first, like a peeping raven, she would watch the woman, out of sight and mind from her pretty little oblivious head. Y/n as she was known on Midguard removed the articles of fabric that hugged her body, dropping them onto the floor, baring her naked flesh to be bitten by the cold air seeping through her open bedroom window, causing the Goddess of Death herself to lick her pale lips out of bitter intrigue.

There was something to interesting about life and it’s variants, and whilst Hela enjoyed bringing the end to all things that she found to be the opposer of bitter, she enjoyed viewing the fragility, even if it came in the form of exposed collarbones and supple thighs that clung together with every stride that was made across a room. This was her time to strike, when the prey was at its most comfortable and least suspicious; a perfect opportunity some would say. And it was, there was no risk of the maiden that was clothed in a lack of anything to be flighty, she was in her own habitat and not burdened by any regressive thoughts that pointed to anything bad happening to her. Hela almost laughed at the ironic thought, because something terrible was bound to happen, and she would be the one causing it, holding the mortal’s life in the coil of her fingertips, touching her with the curse of death, but not quite impending it on her instantly.

From darkness she prowled, going unnoticed in the dimness of the night as she enclosed on the feeble creature of whom was unaware of her presence or intentions and continued to unknowingly trap herself in the small space of her bathroom, reaching for her body moisturiser just as a hand latched harshly onto her arm. Eyes of velour bore at her as she struggled, y/n attempted to scream but the woman’s free hand numbed any sound from escaping from there. Her legs thrashed, she tried to kick herself free or fall her head violently back but the intruder was smarter and below her efforts she knew there was no chance of her winning this morbid criminal. Her neighbours didn’t care for the sound, they were practically deaf in regards to everything outside of their little life together, y/n had found herself lucky of that when she had first moved in, but now she realised that was not luck at all, it was the one thing she needed that could save her from this promiscuous end.

The obstacle was awakening in a dark room; y/n hadn’t thought that she’d wake up at all, the assumption had been made whilst she was being dragged away by this hellish being in an unconscious state that she’d have killed her already, or perhaps she’d have preferred to do that with her eyes open, watching as she cast nothing but malice upon her human form, enjoying the view of torture that she recklessly caused. A tut echoed through the room, which had the restrained woman shake in the shackles that were locked around her wrists and ankles, the beautiful creature stalked closer, her bone structure was beautiful but fierce, she had the face of someone powerful, and y/n was no fool, she recognised the way that the lady was dressed, she was not around here. “Usually I have my executioner deal with pests like you, but he’s gone and I realised after the last one I cannot trust the likes of some idiot to carry out such important tasks.”

“Who are you?” A cackle drew out from the woman with the dark aura, y/n’s eyes widening from the sound. She wasn’t sure what she was caught up in, but it wasn’t anything good. This wasn’t like the time that Loki had tried to intimidate you, she wasn’t hiding behind a veil of insecurity and need to rule, from image alone it could he told that she was severely dangerous. It would take much to escape this trap that you were coiled in, perhaps death even, which was unknowingly ironic considering the truth behind her dark identity. The aura that she carried within her steps was like a prowess, there was no doubt that she was extremely powerful and that for whatever reason that her agenda had defiled taking you hostage, it was anything but good. Rather it was a nightmare of her own creation, a ploy to seep revenge in all corners that her opponent cared for, and to cause him more wounds that nobody would be able to heal.

“You may have heard of me, I’m the goddess of death.” She seethed, and instantly y/n caught up to who this was; it was Hela, the half blood sister of Thor, whom had supposedly been defeated during Ragnarok, the destruction of the Asguardians' homeland. It had been her intent to rule the Nine Realms and conquer any that opposed her wishes, for she had awaited thousands of years for Odin to cease in existence so that she could be freed from the purgatory that was designed to hold her at bay for as long as possible. "Most people call me Hela, and my father's child Thor thought that he had beat me at my own game; I never lose, and he should have realised that whence he realised that Odin could not kill me himself. It was not that he dared not to lay harm on his daughter, he tried countless times even, but he just was not capable nor strong enough. And Thor wasn't either, because here I am."

"No offense, Hela, but why do all you gods and goddesses drag us mortals into your feuds? I'm really quite useless, so I really have no use in this vendetta that you hold against your brother. I am simply a human being trying to get by in a world that gets invaded by aliens and the likes of you, not to mention that I’m not special. Just your average woman surviving the toxicity in this universe without your help, or your addition to the evil that I have to deal with on a daily basis. So I’d suggest taking a chill pill and starting a new agenda of becoming a female version of Sauron in the upcoming Lord of the Rings movie, because boy do you have that necromancer feel about you, and well most importantly releasing me, because I am sure as hell not your precious.” Sassing an immortal deity was rather a stupid act, and thus much was proven as she began to drawl out a dry cackle, though it appeared as though she were truthfully humoured.

"Oh I am sure that I can find a use for you my dear..." Her face drew closer to your own, executing your every breath as you fearfully held it in, afraid that she’d smell your worry for your own life. But she already knew, and that was already the beginning of the end, she had labelled you as her target, and there was no escaping death herself, so all you could do was accept your fate and hope that it came quickly. Her cold hands grasped at your shaking ankles, her nails scathing the flesh causing shivers to eject up your spine and a sickening feeling to dance in your throat, her shadow towered over you as a dominant figure and you could not help but allow your once snarky and confident shield to fade away as you dreaded the worst, she was the master in this scenario, the master of everything. There was not a thing that she did not control, and that included her hand that vegan to caress up the inside of your leg and your nudity in the moment only perceived your vulnerability to new levels.

If only Thor could see you now, he would no longer recognise you as the brave soul that he often described you with, instead you would be a weak mortal succumbing to the hands of his evil sister. She brushed her fingertips of death through your folds, causing you to inherently squirm from the notion, it felt like forever since you had last been touched, and the mind of a woman knew exactly the right spots to focus on. You were crumbling into a mess, a smirk fixated onto Hela’s face as she took note that you were no longer trying to resist her lustful advances, she had not done one thing against your wishes, instead you just opened up like a blooming flower that hungered to be fed. Even if you had denied her sexual clasp you'd have been a victim of it anyways, death answered to nobody, especially the cries of someone that wished to live.

And so you brainwashed yourself into wanting this, into wanting her to caress you with her threatening fingers, and without warning she slipped three right inside of your entrance, causing you to emit a sound of pleasured surprise at the misjudged expectancy of her dominant actions. Your head thudded against the hard ground as you grew delirious and dizzy minded from her retracting her digits, she seemed enraptured for a moment with how your essence drew strands between her soaked fingers, and whilst she was distracted you tried to scamper away, only for her to tut at your sad attempt and grab you with the same fingers that had been inside of you by your hair, tugging at it until she had you in the position that she desired. "Your kind is foolish, you more so than the rest if you think that you can escape death girl... I'll make you never want to leave by one easy gesture that will have you thinking about me for the rest of your pitiful life if I allow you to live."

With that said, her deathly apparel disappeared from her body, leaving her powerful and striking structure nude before your very eyes. If this was what death looked like then you'd accept the hand to follow her, though there wasn't much to define you having a choice in the matter. She spread your legs and breathed in the sweet aroma that flooded out from your centre as she adjusted herself and positioned her cunt above your own, and lowered it so that your most sensitive parts touched. From that contact alone you weren't sure if you were alive or already dead, but it didn't matter either way, Thor would never find you whilst you were swamped and your mind was clouded by this disarray of darkness, and perhaps a small part of you didn't want to be rescued. You were in a sinful motion of ecstasy as Hela rolled her strong hips so that shockwaves were sent throughout your body, moans reverberated out from your largely agape mouth as you struggled to fathom the amount of pleasure that you were undergoing. It almost felt impossible to experience so much of it at once.

You hoped that it would last forever, and it would if you died, though that choice was up to death herself. For now you would just enjoy how good you were feeling under her fucked up charade of sexual healing, oblivious to the withering of your mind and the slowly weakening state of your body. When Thor were to find you there'd be nothing more than a corpse at his feet, another soul for him to weep for and another lost friend for him to mourn. Everyone was taken from him, and Hela was taking the final moments of your life for her own enjoyment, when you collapsed into nothing more than an empty shell, that would be when she would stop, and her first repentance of revenge would be complete.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Can I get some Naga slight angst/fluff? Maybe an enemy group took the s/o and Naga has to negotiate getting them back (like $12 million) and daddy gets them back because “$12 million is a cheap price to get you back” idk I’m in love with how you write for the cod operators ❤️

Need this 😌💖💖💖💖 I turned it into a whole little fic, so I hope that's ok! This got pretty heavy, ngl, but I think it turned out sweet, so I hope you enjoy!!

Reader Pronouns: she/her

Warning: strong language and some pretty disrespectful language towards women, including implied physical violence if you squint, so be careful while reading guys!!!

Naga clears the trinkets and fine antiques off his desk with a full sweep of rage. A vase shatters and a small, crystal idol chips, but all he sees is short, typed ransom note before him.

A rival gang managed to snatch you up in the streets not two days ago. He's been worried sick ever since you didn't come home that evening, and even now it hasn't abated by much. No, instead an anger just as intense as the worry and fear rises to join the others. His entire being trembles almost imperceptibly as he reads the details of the letter.

They want 100 billion kip in gold. He has three days to bring it to the drop point in exchange for you. No guns or weapons on him or his men.

He slams a fist on the desk and collapses his head into his hands. Naga clenches a fistful of hair in one hand and swipes the note out of his sight with the other. He weighs his options only to realize...

Well, he doesn't really have any, does he?

He's very familiar with this group. They're ruthless cutthroats and, if he's being honest, he wouldn't out it past them to have killed you already and be stringing him along right now. In fact, as much we it makes him sick to say so, he almost hopes they've killed you.

It would be a much better fate then what they usually do to their victims.

Even three days is far too long to be in their captivity. God, just the thought of their hands on you... He shrieks in rage, wishing there was something else in his vacinity that he could destroy. But he knows that wouldn't help.

No, the only thing that would help him right now is having you back.

Kapano calla in his right hand man and throws the crumpled up letter to him. "Get the money", he growls.

The other man opens up the paper and reads the sum. His eyes go wide and before he can even suggest that he might protest this plan, a stiletto knife buries itself in the wood beside his head.

"I said get the fucking money!", he screams, eyes wide, teeth bared, and every muscle within him bristling. The second in command bows his head quickly and dashes off before something far worse is thrown his way.

Naga swears and applies some pressure to his forehead. It feels like his skull is about to split.

He spares a glance outside, then trudges to his room. Your, room. The sun hangs low in the sky and he has yet even more to do tomorrow. One piece at a time, he sheds his combat attire, nursing a headache all the while.

On a normal night, you offer to help him out of all the buckles and straps, and oh what he'd give to take you up on that offer now. At last he unclasps his jewelry down to one final necklace. This is a recent one, a locket you gave him with a tiny picture of the two of you inside. He loved it so much, he's since had it encrusted with a ruby heart and wears it daily.

At the memory of you, suddenly he feels unable to part with it, not even for just a night's sleep. He takes it off reverently and clasps it tightly in his hand. Poping open the little door, he fixates on your lovely face as he trudges to bed.

Naga crawls into his side, distracted for a long moment by the perfectly undisturbed second half of the bed. He knows how much you hate a cold bed. On any other night he'd lay in your spot for you until you join him, just to warm up the sheets for you.

He places the locket on your pillow, a shakiness starting to overtake him as he wonders if he'll ever have the chance to warm your sheets and share a bed with you again. At last he lays his head down, and yet he's unable to take his eyes off your half.

Even still, your pillow smells like oils and creams he bought you for your hair. He suspends his hand just over the pillow a moment, thinking of you. And when he lets it drop, he can't tell if it's the cause or the result of the tears flowing from him.

He can't fucking stand it anymore.

Kapano pulls your pillow close to him, holding it tight as he would you. At least tonight he'll have the comforting scent of you as he suffers another fitful night.

The following days up to the trade are slow and painful. Every night is worse then the last as he consumes himself with the stress and worry surrounding you.

He can't get to the drop point fast enough. In compliance with the ransom note, he and his men are unarmed. So they wait. And wait. And wait....

And just as he's ready to pull his hair out, a truck slowly rolls up the abandoned dirt road.

A small squad of men hop out and approach Naga and his gang. Then, bringing up the rear, the boss shoves you along, a gun pressed snug against your head.

"What the fuck is this? You said no guns!"

The rival boss spits, as though Naga's mere presence leaves a foul taste in his mouth. "What? You think I don't know about them?", he nods his head up.

Far, far in the branches, hidden from view at this angle, more of Naga's men wait in the tree canopy, armed and ready for any sign of foul play.

Damn it.

Naga glances over at you. You're looking pale and rather bruised and beaten. A far cry from the carefree, sun kissed goddess he usually knows.

"Alright, there's the fucking money, now give her to me!"

The other man clicks his tongue and presses his pistol against your temple, "Wait until we're loaded up first, then you can have your precious whore back"

Naga seethes at that, but is afraid to make a sudden movement last he lose you for good. And the rival boss notices. He smirks, a gratingly patronizing tone to his voice "Oh, I'm sorry? Did I insult your little harlot? We both know that's all she is...", He leans in far to close and licks your neck slowly, teasingly, before nipping your earlobe, "Isn't that right, bitch?"

This has gone on long enough. Naga's body quivers with boiling rage as his temper shoots through the ceiling. He shouts a command in his native tongue and a hail of bullets rain down on the opposing gang, the first several of which bury themselves in the man holding you hostage.

Behind him, Naga's men on the ground unsheathe small throwing knives and daggers, taking advantage of the surprise gunfire to press the attack.

But, at the death of their leader, the remaining crew scatters like flies and before long, all is quiet.

Kapano rushes forward to pick you up off the ground. He kneels down and cradles you in his arms as he removes your blindfold and cuts your hands free. Your tears carve small rivers through the dried blood running down your cheeks. You try to speak, but all that you can manage is a choked gasp.

He's never seen you like this before. And he never wants to again.

Naga shushes you, holding you against his chest while he strokes your hair. "Shhh, he's never going to touch you again. I promise", he kisses your forehead and helps you slowly to your feet, "Now let's get you out of here baby"

You don't say a word the whole ride back, but Naga holds your hand and rubs your back all the while. When you get home, he sets up a bath for you with all the salts and fragrances he knows you love. He offers you some help, but you say you'd like some time alone.

Somewhat reluctantly, he respects your wishes and sets off to make a meal and some tea for you both. It's all set up on the mat and pillows adorning the main hall. You look lovely as ever in your silk pajamas and lacy robe when you join him after your bath.

Slowly, you find your voice to speak, but it feels as though your mere presence is enough to earn you the praise Naga is showering you in. He's so focused on you, he nearly forgets to eat.

Once you're all finished, he decides to leave the dishes for later, and instead he pulls you onto his chest as you both recline into the fortress of pillows supporting you. Naga nuzzles your hair and kisses your temple.

You smell like jasmine and fresh citrus, infinitely better then the stench of stale sweat and musk of other men that he received you in.

He kisses your face gently, rubbing some warmth into your shoulders. You enjoy the quiet, but a small sniffing sound interrupts you.

"...Kapano?"

He sniffs again, wiping his eyes with his free hand. "Sorry, I just... God, I-I thought I'd never see you again", tears stream down cheeks, he rests his forehead against the side of yours.

You sigh, wishing you could just forget it all, "I know how you feel"

At that he tenses, and a quiet growl escapes your little tiger, "It'll never happen again, I swear it. I wish I could've pulled the trigger on the bastard myself... He deserved worse then what he got. Far worse"

You press a kiss to the broad tip of his nose and smile softly, "I love you, little dragon"

For the first time since he lost you, all those days ago, he smiles. He's not a big fan of when you first gave him that nickname. He hates to be described as "little", it's not very intimidating. But... Suddenly, it sounds quite endearing.

He kisses your perfumed lips, stroking a thumb over your battered cheek. "I know", he smiles. That night, you sleep out amongst the pillows, right where you are.

Tomorrow night, he'll be looking forward to warming up your side of the bed for you.

[retrievablememories]

afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.” 

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.

[ko2vo]

Do you have suggestion for gore book?

Oooh this is pretty vague anon but I'll throw some titles at you that I'd definitely put under gore books! I have three fiction and three nonfiction for you:

Claustrophilia by Ezra Blake

This book is purely fucked up torture porn and it's beautifully crafted. It's a self-published work about a medical student who is erotically obsessed with the idea of killing his advisor, but becomes the interest of an active serial killer. I have a physical copy of this book but this book has become available for free (I linked the goodreads in the title, where you can find the author's site)! I enjoyed it, mind the many many trigger warnings on the author's website because there are some heavy themes but it is very captivating.

If it sweetens the deal, this book reads like a HanniGraham fic and it may be because the author used to write Hannibal fanfiction. So if that influence speaks to you, I would definitely recommend checking it out.

Battle Royale by Koushun Takami

A classic but still something I'd recommend as fairly gory. As part of a government program, a random class throughout Japan is chosen and then forced to fight to the death on an isolated island. With 42 students and only one winner, there are a lot of gruesome moments within this book. Some of the characters are fairly shallow and the perspective jumps between chapters so it's not for everyone but if you're interested in creative violence, then it will probably be you cup of tea.

Lychee Light Club by Usamaru Furuya

This is a manga and it is incredibly gory. An adaptation of a stage play by the same name, the story follows nine boys who follow their sadistic leader's every order. They desire to "cleanse" the world of all that is impure (ngl there are some heavy nazi allusions, from the uniforms to random german to the brutality, proceed with caution). They build a robot to carry out this mission and kidnap a girl to become their "goddess."

It's a very surreal manga and only one volume so it is a pretty quick and easy read. The stage play is relatively easy to find online as well and its beautifully made.

The Sick Rose: Disease and the Art of Medical Illustration by Richard Barnett

The first of our nonfiction, this book is beautifully grotesque. Mostly illustrations with some written introduction to different sections, this is a collection of medical illustrations related to disease and physical trauma. The images are amazingly rendered and absolutely disgusting (praise). So I'd say its gory in its cross sections of the diseased human body and anatomical detail, though it will also show highly detailed renderings of STDs and infection so you've been warned.

Stiff: The Curious Live of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach

Okay this is where I begin to cheat because I haven't read this or the other book yet but they are both sitting on my bookshelf hah. With a witty, humourous, but respectful style, Mary Roach looks at the various things that happen to human bodies after death. I read the first chapter though and I'd certainly count it as gory: she attends a school where surgical students practice on actual disembodied heads and it is fascinating.

Gory Details: Adventures from the Dark Side of Science by Erika Engelhaupt

I have wanted to read this for a long time and, while it is more on the general science side extending beyond human anatomy, it is still fairly gruesome. Probably the least actually gory book and more just interesting science.

Let me know if any of these pique your interest!

I'm also gonna throw in a bonus because I read this book really recently and absolutely loved it. Not exactly what I'd call a gore book but definitely on the psych-horror side and if you like Bad Seeds, I am sure you'll like this book:

These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever

Two boys meet and find themselves inexplicably drawn to one another, sharing intimate secrets and morbid interests. As they become closer, they find themselves spiraling into obsession and codependency, resorting to more extreme and violent intimacies.

I honestly can't recommend this book enough, it's almost eerie how many themes this book tackles that I think about relating to my own comic. Not exactly a gore book but definitely morbid and provocative and a new personal favourite of mine.

[xhanisai]

My scattered heart and mind, Revolves around you tonight

AO3 / FFN

Summary: 

 "Ple-eeeeeease, Nino? Certainly, you must have some caffeine-fueled beverage hidden somewhere! You're the best drinks supplier I have! Anything with caffeine or sugar would do! Those super strong energy drinks you gave me were literally lifesavers and if you have anything that's even half as good as that, I will give you a hundred- no- two hundred salted caramel macarons! I'll even crush up some pecan nuts and mix it with the fillings, just the way you like it!" . Nino was fucking sold.

A.K.A 

The fic where Marinette wants a super strong caffeine beverage, Adrien wants her to be healthier and Nino is just a slut for macarons.

And Alya is the powerhouse of the group.

RED MOON - KARD Pairing - Adrinette Prompt - 'Energy drinks'

~(x)~

.

.

.

"Nino. I need a stronger batch. ASAP." A wild, sleep-deprived Marinette slammed her hands against the boys' desk, not even twitching a brow when the duo flinched from the sudden impact. The blonde of the two composed himself promptly, a flash of concern quick to plaster on his face as he took in her dishevelled appearance whilst the other boy simply gaped as if she's grown two heads. Or that might have been so much tamer compared to what he just concluded. "What the hell!? Marinette, that brand is the most strongest out there and even I barely managed to get my hands on them- and jeez dude, it hasn't even been a week and you're already immune to it!??" He leaned in closer, eyes quickly glancing around to see if anyone else was paying attention save for his cautious seatmate and then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Not to mention it's not exactly legal in France!" The betrayed, heated warning look he received from his appalled best friend on the side caused him to shift away from him by a tad, whistling innocently whilst Marinette scrutinised them both with glazed eyes. "Quoi!? Nino! I thought Alya managed to stop you from giving her any more of that crap! That stuff isn't good for your health at all!" Adrien then swivelled around to face Marinette, not knowing what to do with his hands other than wildly gesturing them around. "And you! You were supposed to start easing yourself off those energy drinks and get more rest." He decided to grab her hands with his, squeezing them with good measures as his brows remained furrowed, hoping to get his point across if his words weren't enough for the sweet girl. "Look at you, you can barely stand."

"I know, I tried. But even after sleeping decently, I get stupidly tired and exhausted even just by staying awake for only two or three hours." The designer sighed, completely unfazed by the boy's touch as she was far too drained to comprehend anything properly- everything still hazy and dreamlike in her vision currently. Had Adrien not been so anxious over her state, he would have cooed at how adorable her pout was. "It will take time, I know. That's why Alya advised that you drink some water whenever you feel sleepy or at least eat something nutritious like some fruit or vegetable sticks. They will help." The model's tone softened, thumb rubbing comforting circles on the backs of her hands and eyes full of nothing but adoration and affection. "You have been doing that, right?" He was met with a shy, guilty look from her. "Marinette..." He tutted disappointedly, eyes narrowed further as she continued to avert eye contact, cheeks blossoming with her standard sakura hue that he spotted whenever she noticed he was nearby. Pushing that stray thought aside, he beckoned for her to sit down by him on the shared seating, practically sandwiching her between him and Nino as he ruffled through his bag for something. "I've got some vitamin water with me that's really good for you and also doesn't taste like rubbish- lemme find it-" "It's okay- you shouldn't waste it on me. Unless it's stronger than the drinks that Nino gave me, I'll probably pass out on my desk regardless," Marinette's protests were left unheard, her expression twisting from a genuine bashful look to one equivalent to an angry kitten the minute she made eye contact with the drink bottle Adrien fished out of his bag. "Oh no...not that..." "Yes, that, Marinette." Adrien pushed the healthy concoction into her hands and then clasped his fingers around hers anew with a determined gaze. "Just because it doesn't have any caffeine or added sugar in it, doesn't mean it's not good-" "Nino, please tell me you have a can of Monster on you? I'd even settle on a Red Bull. Anything but that lemon flavoured water thing he's trying to make me drink!" The bespectacled teen almost caved in to the bluebell puppy eyes. However, the sight of his best friend's warning death glare behind her was much more persuasive and he'd rather not deal with the crafty blonde's wrath should he give in Dupain-Cheng. The last time Nino triggered Adrien's wrath was when he ate the model's share of the Dupain-Cheng's freshly baked croissants by 'accident' at one of the class' many picnics; his delicious drinks were somehow swapped with vile tomato juice and his luxurious crisps and hearty sandwiches were magically replaced with tasteless prunes and bloody cabbages. And Nino fucking hates cabbages! "N-Nope. Sorry dude...I had the last can this morning...hehe..." He wasn't prepared for her crestfallen expression and almost scrambled to tell the truth instead because nothing is more monstrous than making Marinette Dupain-Cheng cry! Thankfully, Adrien grabbed her immediate attention, reattempting to get her to drink the healthy juice much to her dismay. 'I'll let you handle this one bro. It's the least you can do after almost scaring me shitless with that glare of yours.' "-You don't need to drink the whole thing. Have a few sips and you'll feel so much better-" "No." "Please?" "No." "Come on, don't be so stubborn-" "Oh, I'm stubborn? M. 'Drink the damn flavourless juice' guy???" Marinette finally pushed the bottle back into Adrien's hand, scoffing and facing Nino so that her back was towards the deadpanned model. Nino couldn't help but quietly snicker at the clear frustration that was plastered on the usually composed teen's face and how he clutched the bridge of his nose. The Moroccan boy admired the French-English's boy's persistence. "Mari...it's not flavourless. It has subtle flavours of lemon and orange and a hint of mint- something you should be able to taste unless those energy drinks have already destroyed your palette." Resorting to drastic measures, Adrien leaned his chin on her shoulder, fluttering his lashes and mustering the cutest, sweetest kitten eyes he could ever manage. "Just one sip? That way you won't pass out on your desk? I promise?" Had Marinette not been sleep-deprived, she would have faltered right away. Heck, she would have faltered the minute that Adrien offered her the drink, happily gulping down the whole bottle just to appease him despite her strong distaste against the flavour. Too bad for him, she's severely sleep-deprived. With a soft flick against Adrien's forehead, earning a surprised mewl from him, Marinette leaned back towards Nino, hands clapped in a praying motion and eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Ple-eeeeeease, Nino? Certainly, you must have some caffeine-fueled beverage hidden somewhere! You're the best drinks supplier I have! Anything with caffeine or sugar would do! Those super strong energy drinks you gave me were literally lifesavers and if you have anything that's even half as good as that, I will give you a hundred- no- two hundred salted caramel macarons! I'll even crush up some pecan nuts and mix it with the fillings, just the way you like it!" . Nino was fucking sold. His stomach rumbled delightfully at the idea of those delicious sweets, his hunger and greed for the goodies overtaking what little rationality he had left and even powered through the nightmare that was Adrien's death glare as the blonde repeatedly gestured to refuse the offer. The little dignity he had left was what stopped Nino from drooling on the spot as he clasped his hands over Marinette's. "Really!? Two hundred!?" All the teen could see was the Goddess that was the bone-weary Marinette, her presence like the sun and Adrien's pestering logical thinking like a shadow being whacked away. Nothing will get in between Nino and those macarons. "Yes! That's what I said!" "With extra, extra pecan nuts? And that cute drizzle of caramel on top? A-A-And whipped cream on the side?" "Absolutely~" Just as Lahiffe was about to agree to the deal, his vision was suddenly filled with red, courtesy to his disgruntled best friend pulling the tip of his cap forward as he leant over the girl. "Adrien!? Dude!? What was that for!?" Nino hastily fixed his hat back in place, his scowl nowhere near as effective as the fashion mogul's son's, the taller of the three placing his hands on Marinette's shoulders whilst still behind her. "What was that for? Oh, you deserved far worse. Look at the state she's in- ya think she'd be able to make two-hundred macarons like this!?" As if to emphasise his point, Marinette simply blinked back, almost nodding off to sleep. Nonchalantly, Adrien placed her on his lap, pressing her face into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, all the while glowering at Nino- which should have been a comical sight for the latter had he not known the consequences to evoke such annoyance. "Of course I don't expect her to make it right now. Just down the future..." "A future where she'd be so much more knackered and exhausted cos a certain someone won't stop giving her that heart-attack juice like an idiot-" "But Adrien! Macarons...MACARONS." "You can go buy them from her parents like the rest of us-" "B-B-But...handmade Marinette macarons, Adrien!" "THERE'S MORE TO LIFE THAN MACARONS-"

"Ehem."

.

All of a sudden, the blood that was flowing through the duo's veins was replaced with icy dread and incredible fear from the sound of a certain,

familiar

angry voice. Adrien couldn't help but gulp, holding Marinette tighter and leaning back, away from the person up at the front.

.

"What's this about Lahiffe supplying Marinette the bad juice behind our backs?"

.

One could describe that at that moment,

Alya's

figure was looming and filled one's soul with

horror

from the way that fire blazed in those hazel eyes and how her voluminous hair practically floated behind her out of rage.

.

Though, no one was more fucked than Nino Lahiffe.

.

"You reap what you sow, buddy..." Was the last thing that the pitiful teen heard from his best friend as he was mercilessly hauled away by his girlfriend, his wails of help and apologies falling on deaf ears...

.

.

.

~(x)~

A/N: Looks like someone's grounded from super penguino for a good while :D Lemme know what you think in the comments!

[mrs-hatake]

here comes the bride: prologue

pairings: levi x female!reader + minor zeke x female!reader.

genre: alternate universe, illegal car racing, suggestive themes, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, slow burn, falling in love, eventual smut, heavy make out sessions, hurt/comfort & fluff.

summary: “Fine.” She breathes out without bothering to hide her unhappiness. “I’ll get married.” She swallows the bile at the back of her throat. Her mother casts a radiant smile her way and weakly reaches out to take her hand in hers. 

“Thank you.” She says sincerely, bringing Y/N’s hand to her lips and kissing it with difficulty. “I’m sure you’ll come to love Levi, he will treat you right.”

a/n: helloooooo!I'm back with another aot fic :Dthe plot for this fic came to me randomly and i instantly fell in love that i HAD to write everything down. each chapter will contain trigger warnings if necessary and this chapter is tagged with tw for mentions of death and manipulation. lastly, I would like to thank my soulmate for helping with proof reading and selecting the appropriate characters for y/n. that's all that I have. happy readings! ❤️

this fic can also be found on ao3

The sound of the monitor is deafening. It’s consistent beeping is accompanied by the soft pitter patter of the rain outside as the weather slowly transitions from spring to summer, emitting an ominous atmosphere. The grey clouds and the wind howling outside, the large rectangular windows outside don’t help with the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. People rush to seek shelter and cars zoom by despite the slippery streets, eager to reach their destination without delay.

A small family of three surround a luxurious hospital bed which fully showcased their financial status and class. The bed was covered in the finest linen, a soft cream color and the silkiest pillows that accommodate  absolute comfort.

An air purifier with the aroma of lavender and honey is found in almost every room of the hospital, masking away the horrible stench of disinfectant and death. However, it still lingers in the air, like a criminal imprisoned for life.

The woman on the bed is pale, no longer looks like the tanned Goddess that had been dubbed Miss Osaka at the Young Ladies of Japan debutant three years in a row. Her long and healthy locks have lost their sheen and are brittle and dry, split ends can be seen and her grey hair is on display, when she usually dyes them every two months. The healthy fat in her body has dissolved, leaving nothing but skin and bones. Despite all of this, her glimmer of ebullience still lives on.

“How are you feeling, mother?” A young woman in her early twenties is sitting on a wooden chair next to the hospital bed with a look of worry on her face. Her fingers are brushing through the knotted hair of the dying woman on the bed while her other hand tightly holds her mother’s boney and wrinkled hand.

The older woman offers a weak, gentle smile. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” She chuckles but is soon coughing heavily, eyes shutting tightly to fight off the pain in her lungs.

“Are you alright? Should I call the nurse?”

The older woman shakes her head, however, and instead motions for the pitcher of water and the empty glass on her bedside table. Understanding dawns on her daughter’s face and she hurriedly pours a glass of warm water and hands it to her mother and helps her sit up straight to drink the entire glass in one go, her mother gasping in relief once the glass is empty.

“Mamiko.” A man in his mid sixties rubs his hand over his face in distress. He had been wearing a mask of bravery for his wife and two daughters, but seeing his usually strong and stubborn wife look so frail and weak frightened him. Memories of them butting heads, teasing each other and fighting over the course of their marriage reminds him of just how fiery his wife was. Seeing her in such a state tears off the mask he’s wearing on his face and tosses it away, exposing his true emotions.

“I’m fine, Masamune.” The woman waves him off and motions for her daughter to press the remote to raise the head of her bed so that she can sit up straight. She gives a pointed look to her husband, as if to prove her point.

All that her husband can do is sigh.

Just then, a timid knock reaches their ears and a smiling nurse enters the room with an apologetic expression on her youthful face. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are ending soon.” She reminds them gently.

Masamune tiredly nods his head and pushes himself away from the wall to cross the short distance to where his wife is resting on the bed and lovingly kisses the top of her head. “Come back to us soon.” He whispers before heading towards the door, awaiting his two daughters.

“Get well soon, mother.” The younger of Masamune and Mamiko’s daughters, Tsukiko, is a twenty year old woman in her third year of law school and is aiming to achieve her Intellectual Property Law Certificate to assist her family in the future. She bids her mother goodbye with gentle eyes and a strong squeeze to her hand.

Y/N is about to get up from her chair and mimic her father by kissing her mother goodbye, when the older woman interrupts her, “Y/N, stay. I need to discuss something with you.”

Glancing to where her father and sister were lingering by the door, she nods her head and remains in her seat. She has a feeling that her father and younger sister are aware of the topic her mother wishes to discuss with her.

When the door is softly shut behind the two, Mamiko turns to face her eldest daughter and the heir to their company. “Have I ever told you the story of the day you were born?”

Growing up, Y/N had heard the story of her birth countless times from her parents, her grandmother who had been living with them at the time, and the maids living in their mansion all told her about it. They coined it as the funniest situation they’ve ever experienced in their lives. She had heard the story so many times that she has it memorized. Still, she shakes her head no.

“It was my twenty-fifth birthday. Your aunt Chiaki insisted that we have a girls night to celebrate the big day.” Her mother chuckles at the memory of a young Chiaki who had recently gotten a pixie cut after a terrible break up with her boyfriend of three years and how she had practically dragged Mamiko out of their house.

“We did your typical girly traditions; going shopping, getting our nails done, the usual.” Her mother weakly waves her hand. “Little did I know, your father had gathered up everyone who could come to our home on short notice for a surprise birthday party. It was around three or four o’clock in the afternoon that Chiaki and I finally decided to return home. I opened the door and the lights flickered on and a discordant ‘Happy birthday!’ was yelled. I was so elated and touched by their surprise that I couldn’t stop laughing! I laughed and laughed for five minutes straight, literally, when I felt a warm and tingling sensation trickle down my legs. Though I should be embarrassed at the thought of wetting myself in front of our guests, we quickly realized that the speed and the amount of liquid rushing through was actually because my water broke.”

“Everyone screamed and squeaked at the arrival of the baby. Panicking, I was rushed into the car with your father hysterically, frantically gathering all of the necessities we need for your delivery and drove all the way to the hospital like a mad man. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised we didn’t get into some kind of accident.” Mamiko hummed at the thought and then turned to face her daughter with raw affection in those fatigued eyes of hers, and with a shaky hand, cupped her daughter’s cheek. “And two days later, our beautiful baby girl came into our world. Your father had complained that you were as stubborn as I am for taking two days to arrive but I knew that you were taking your time to get comfortable and face the world head on.”

Y/N offered her mother a small smile as she desperately tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill and swallow the thick lump in her throat. “I love you.” She whispers with a hoarse voice.

“I love you too.” Her mother returns the sentiment with a small curl of her lips.

“And you were such a joy to raise, your sister, too? of course but you were our first. Our first child, our first daughter and our first experience as parents. There were difficult times, I can’t deny that, but seeing the woman that you are today, it was worth it.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from filling her eyes and cascading down her cheeks. She licks the single tear that lingered on her tongue and turned her head to kiss her mother’s palm. “I’d trade the whole world for you to return home to us in good health.” Y/N’s voice is broken but her sincerity is firm.

“I know you would.” Her mother says as she retrieves her hand. “Which is why I hate myself for asking you for such a request... but I want you to know that I am doing this out of love and care for you.”

Y/N’s eyebrows draw together in confusion before realization dawns on her and she vehemently shakes her head in denial before her mother could voice her request. “No. No, I won’t do it.”

“Please, Y/N.” Mamiko holds her daughter's hand with hers using all of the strength she could muster. “Think of it as my dying wish.”

Y/N continues to shake her head but this time her shoulders are shaking as sobs rake her body. “Don’t say that!”

Neither of them say anything as Y/N continues to cry at the predicament they are in. Her mother; old, frail, and dying and is begging her to do the one thing that Y/N loathes more than anything. She had fought all her life with her parents to be emancipated from their backwards traditions, live her life how she sees fit and make her own decisions accordingly.

“I know your father and I weren’t the perfect example of a happy couple and that you have witnessed things little girls your age shouldn’t have witnessed but we tried to be decent and put together for your and Tsukiko’s sake.”

Suddenly, the memories of her parents screaming at the top of their lungs, insulting each other with words that Y/N knew she wasn’t meant to hear, and her father harshly grabbing her mother’s upper arm until it bruised, all came flooding in that moment. She had bare witness to their flawed marriage.

“I won’t force you into an arranged marriage, but I won’t die happy knowing that my first and eldest daughter isn’t married.” Mamiko knows that she is guilty of manipulating her daughter into a marriage, especially by using her nearing death as leverage, however, she is certain that her daughter will one day find it in her heart to forgive her. And that’s why she pushes on with her dying wish.

“Your father and I have already found a suitable man-”

“You found someone behind my back?” Y/N unintentionally snorts at her mother as though she does not care. She is hurting and is scared of being blackmailed into marriage.

Mamiko withholds the urge to heavily sigh at her daughter and patiently explains herself. “Your marital status has been haunting us for years, we can’t just ignore the fact that our daughter wishes to remain single for the rest of her life.”

“And you can’t just respect my wishes, can you?”

Mamiko’s eyes seem to glass over and get shiny, she hesitates, yet still won’t back down. She was doing this for her daughter. “Stop being stubborn for once and listen to your mother.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she humorlessly chuckles at her mother. She had done everything for her mother’s sake, sacrificed so much to make her happy. And the one time Y/N asks for the same in return, she is strongly denied of it.

Her mother’s coughing fit snaps Y/N out of her stupor and she hastily refills the glass with water and gives it to her. Perhaps it could be the works of her mother’s illness or the inevitable truth of her mother’s demise that has Y/N letting out a noiseless exhale, her shoulders sagging as she slumps into her seat.

“Fine.” She breathes out without bothering to hide her unhappiness. “I’ll get married.” She swallows the bile at the back of her throat.

Her mother casts a radiant smile her way and weakly reaches out to take her hand in hers. “Thank you.” She says sincerely, bringing Y/N’s hand to her lips and kissing it with difficulty.

“I’m sure you’ll come to love Levi, he will treat you right.”

When she hears that name and recognizes who he is, it feels like cold water is being dumped all over her and she shivers at the thought of a future being married to an expressionless and strict man. In that instance, she felt like she wanted to bolt and run away with a new identity. But for her mother’s sake, she puts on a brave smile and nods her head.

[fatefulfaerie]

Guilt

Fic-art trade with @rebuildingkonohaonceagain !! You sent two pictures so here is 2,000 words. I hope you like it!

Trigger Warning: mention of death

The whirring of guardians always made Zelda feel at ease, the way their inner-workings clicked, the way their mechanisms whistled. It was something Zelda felt she understood, and something that gave her great hope in their prospects of victory.

Her pride in the prowess of ancient Sheikah technology could be seen in the way she looked at them now, smiling at their apparent perfection. 

The blush on her cheeks, however, came from the knowledge of who was standing behind her, pensive in his duty and yet ever-vigilant of danger. He saw no danger in these skulltula-like machines, and thus allowed Zelda to run excitedly to peer at them with no word of caution passing his lips. Zelda loved looking down from the bridge of her study and seeing the Sheikah’s progress with the Guardians. Although she often felt Hyrule doomed with her sealing power still locked deep inside her, her hope returned when she saw the Guardians or the Divine Beasts.

“Amazing,” she remarked. “We’re at a point now where we can actually control them.”

Zelda turned around to face Link with a smile.

“At this rate, we’ll be well-positioned to defend ourselves, should Calamity Ganon return.”

Link’s expression moved slightly out of its neutrality, betraying Zelda’s expectations of her knight, and yet she welcomed the tease of emotion with open ears.

“Are you sure about that?” Link asked.

Zelda felt something grip her heart, like the cold hand of an Icy Moblin.

“Of…of course I’m sure,” Zelda said. “What…”

“I mean who are you kidding?” Link asked rhetorically, with an edge to his voice Zelda had never heard before. “We all know we’re missing a pretty big piece of the puzzle. Everything else is in line except you. Do you not care about the kingdom?”

Zelda’s eyes stung with betrayal and the cold hand seem to pull her heart down, farther and farther into unknown caverns below the castle.

“Of course I care, Link, what…” Zelda said trying to find her breath. She backed away in fear, her hand meeting the cement ridges of the bridge. “What has gotten into you?”

“I’ve trained all my life,” Link continued, his brow furrowing in his rising anger, “tired myself to constantly better for Hyrule to what? Serve a Princess who sees the Calamity as a joke? Who frolics around and pretends to pray to goddess statues? It’s time to wake up, Your Highness. Own up to your failures and we might even get out of this alive.”

“Link, I…” Zelda said, shaking her head. “You know better than anyone how hard I…”

The ground suddenly shook violently beneath them, Zelda looking down with wide, green eyes to see the bridge under her feet crack.

“Come on,” she heard Link say as he grabbed her hand and started to run towards the innards of the castle, towards perhaps more stable ground.

Yet the floor buckled beneath him at his next step, Link slipping off the bridge, hanging by the hand that connected him to Zelda’s.

They both looked down to what Link was hanging over and Zelda didn’t quite understand what she saw.

It was a large hole, with Calamity Ganon swirling in his own malice like a fish in a small pond of blood.

Link looked back at Zelda, whose gaze was panicked as she started to lose her grip on Link’s hand. She gritted her teeth trying to get a better hold, but it was no use.

Link’s gaze, in contrast, was rather settled for someone whose life was in danger, as if he weren’t surprised in the slightest.

“This is your fault,” he said before Zelda accidentally lost her grip.

“No!” Zelda exclaimed, reaching down with tears in her eyes as Link fell, lost to the darkness of the calamity.

Zelda stood up quickly onto what remained of the bridge, Calamity Ganon’s burning yellow eyes and pig-like snout rising to face her, it’s wispy red and black emanations trailing behind him.

Zelda, with panting, heavy breaths and cheeks endlessly replenished with her tears, held out her hand palm-first towards Calamity Ganon, wishing with all her might that luck would grant her the sealing power she sought, if not the endless years of prayers to cold and unyielding goddess statues.

Yet no power came, even on repeat attempts extending her arm.

Calamity Ganon gave a growling chuckle, smiling insidiously at such a failure.

“Finally,” he said in his groveling voice before surging forward with an open mouth. Zelda crouched in defense, her last resort before darkness succumbed her as well.

She didn’t know where she was falling from or to, nor how long she had been falling or long she had until she met the ground. She had no idea how she was changed from her royal blue dress to her white prayer dress, or what to do about it as the wind whipped through her long, blonde hair, almost tugging at it.

She felt almost dead, like she could fall, float, drift, drop for a hundred years until time became eternity.

She felt herself torn apart, like the Ritos, who pluck the feathers off their deceased before offering the body to the goddess Hylia.

She felt herself chocking on rocks and dirt, like the Gorons, who bury their deceased in the rich grounds of Death Mountain.

She felt herself rocked by unforgiving waves, like the Zora, who dispatch their deceased on a small boat lined with violets.

She felt herself dissipate, like the Gerudo, who burn their deceased to ashes and make them one with the sands.

“Zelda,” She heard a voice echo, surprised she could hear it, surprised someone could still know her, remember her.

“Zelda!” She heard again, louder.

“Zelda!!”

Zelda jolted awake to Link shaking her, Zelda grasping her hands on his arms as she gasped for air.

Her green eyes were absolutely panicked, looking everywhere but at Link, her head twitching like a shaking leaf.

“Zelda,” Link insisted. “Zelda, look at me!”

Link placed his warm hands on either of her cheeks, suddenly aligning her gaze with his with a soft gasp. Her shaky breathing calmed as her eyes filled with recognition, as her ears heard the cracking of a nearby campfire, as her skin felt a blanket fall from her shoulder to her lap.

As soon as Zelda distinguished the line between nightmare and reality, she hurriedly embraced Link, diving her head into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Link said, clutching the back of her head, her blonde hair entangled in his calloused and yet gentle fingers. “You’re okay.”

He held her and he rocked her as she cried into his tunic, whispering over and over into her ear soothing words that assured her safety, and his safety, and their safety, and their victory, their final long-awaited victory after a hundred years of insurmountable loss.

Link ended up leaning against a nearby tree as he held her in his arms, neither caring at all that their proximity would once, a long time ago, have been scandalous. Their titles were something they were glad to throw away.

Zelda drew circles on Link’s chest as he stared at the campfire, his head leaning on hers.

“Was it like your nightmare last night?” He finally asked, after probably hours of Zelda being awake. Zelda had observed that Link was good at knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

Zelda nodded against his shoulder, her green eyes sad and frankly haunted, despondent as she lamented her nightmare.

“How do you feel now?” Link asked, looking down at her with a soft, blue gaze.

“Better,” Zelda answered quietly, as if she could barely manage to find her voice. “Safer.”

Link kissed the top of her head before leaning his own head on it again.

“Good,” he said.

A distant cicada started to chirp, Zelda immediately sitting up, ears penned and alerted.

“It’s okay,” Link said as he softly rubbed her arm with the backs of his fingers. “It’s just a bug.”

Zelda’s shoulder deflated from their tense state as she took a calm exhale. She nodded and yet didn’t return back into Link’s hold.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said.

Link’s gaze moved downward.

“I suspected you might say that,” Link said. “The good thing is that Dorephan doesn’t know we’re coming, and neither does Sidon, turning back is an option. We can always visit Zora’s Domain later.”

The fire crackled as Zelda considered Link’s words, and yet her mind veered off in another direction.

“Do you feel as I do?” Zelda said, turning her head to her shoulder. “This…guilt?”

Link nodded, sitting up.

“I do,” Link responded. “But then I remember what we were able to do because we survived.” 

Zelda turned around to face Link, who was distracted by her beauty in the light of the fire until he saw in deep pain in her green eyes.

“Do you ever think I should have died instead of them?” Zelda asked. “Do you think it’s what I deserve? For failing them?”

“No,” Link said with sunken blue eyes and a shaking head. “No. Zelda, we all did the best we could. You know better than anyone how hard it was to unlock your sealing power. Everything was in place. We just ran out of time.”

“So…” Zelda started. “You don’t…blame me?”

“Of course not,” Link answered. “Why would I blame you?”

Zelda lowered her gaze.

“I’ve ran through it all a hundred different ways in my head, over a hundred years and, the loss is always my fault. A hundred different ways it could have gone, a hundred things I could have done different and…it’s always me.”

Zelda looked up at Link, who was shaking his head. He even graced a small smile.

“See, that’s where you are wrong.”

“Am I?”

Link chuckled, bowing his head before he raised it again.

“Who possessed the Guardians?” Link asked. “Was it you?”

“No,” Zelda said matter-of-factly. “That was Calamity Ganon.”

“And the Divine Beasts? Who possessed those?”

“Calamity Ganon,” Zelda answered, not sure what the trick was, what sort of test this was.

“Who came completely unannounced from beneath the castle and started attacking Hyrule by summoning all sorts of monsters?”

“Calamity Ganon,” Zelda answered again. “Link, what are you even getting at? Of course he--”

“Oh,” Zelda, realizing what Link was doing.

“Who saved my life by awakening her sealing power?”

Zelda sighed.

“Me.”

“And who, may I ask kept Calamity Ganon trapped inside the castle for hundreds of years, thus allowing Hyrule to flourish and grow because they were protected.”

Zelda was starting to blush.

“Me, again.” She said.

“And who finally sealed him away once and for all, bringing Hyrule to peace?”

Zelda rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Me.”

“Nope,” Link said jokingly.  “That was all me.”

Zelda scoffed and hit him playfully, them both giggling and laughing.

“All right, I get your point,” she said with a smile. “How do you always know what to say?

Link shrugged.

“Maybe it’s part of being the chosen hero,” Link said, Zelda glaring at him in disbelief with a tipped head. “Hey, you never know.”

Zelda laughed and her heart felt full as she looked into Link’s eyes, that were just as joyful and warm as hers.

They both smiled at the unspoken invitation between them before mutually leaning into each other, meeting their lips in an indulgent kiss that expressed their love.

Link cupped Zelda’s cheeks as they rescinded with a smile borne straight from pure happiness, admiring her for a lingering second before he spoke.

“It’s your choice,” Link said. “Whether we continue our journey to Zora’s Domain. It doesn’t make you weak to wait until you are ready.”

“I know,” Zelda replied, placing her hand where Link’s was on his cheek. “But I’ll have to face Mipha’s father and brother eventually. I would have trepidations no matter what…I think I just need to work through this.”

“Then I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

[imagineimaginethat]

It’s Hard to Believe

Reader Insert Fic

Prompt: Shingen thinks you’ve died, but finds out you’re still alive

Main pairing: Shingen/Reader, but other characters are there too

Inspiration: Coming up for Air by Signals in Smoke

Trigger warnings: MC death (temporarily), Sad vibes (happy ending though), memory loss 

Shingen was desperate when he realized you had been kidnapped. The day had been so normal, no whispers, not even so much as a cloud in the sky. You had gone into town, more than likely to get fabric or just stretch your legs. Shingen had declined to go, he had so much work to do. Had he known.... had he only known how much danger you were in he would have never let you out of his sight for even a fraction of a moment. Your captors had been slick, but you had experience with these sort of situations, unfortunately. You left one sandal in the marketplace which tipped off Sauske when he and Yukimura went searching for you. Shingen didn’t hesitate to have as many men as possible look for you. He even sent a letter to Nobunaga who immediately wrote back that one, he would spare nothing in the search to find you, and two, he had no connection to your kidnapping.

Finally, after over two weeks had gone by with everyone worried sick, Mitsuhide picked up on something. Sauske followed up on the lead and sure enough found you. Unreachable and locked away in a dank moldy prison cell by a captor with a mean vendetta against the Takeda and Oda alliance in Kai. You hadn’t been given any food in your time there and very little water, Sauske knew time was of the essence and communicated that to the warlords. They mobilize quickly. Their frantic efforts made them more reckless than ever. The enemy knew they were coming. Shingen and Nobunaga reached you a split second too late. As they slid the door open your captor held you at arms length away on the edge of an open window which faced the edge of a towering cliff. You could struggle, one step would have sent you over the edge.

“Let’s see how well the Takeda and Oda clans cooperate now.”

And just like that you were dropped into the night. Shingen and Nobunaga raced over to find nothing but pitch black darkness. Yukimura was at his Lord’s side in seconds, stopping him from diving after you. It was dark, surely a search by the shore would be more fruitful. Kenshin arrived shortly after along with the other warlords and vassals. Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi were quick to have the captor escorted to a prison in Azuchi. They were anxious to get on with the search for you more than anything though.

All of the men, vassals, soldiers, and warlords alike spent all night searching for the lovely Princess from the Oda clan that had been so kind and helpful everywhere she went. It didn’t matter which side they were on usually all that mattered was finding you.

The water was frigid, if you were there you didn’t have much time. They all knew how perilous cold waters could be in the winter.

So, when the first rays of dawn reached into the sky and a somber Masamune came from the bank of the rushing river where jagged rocks lined the shoreline with a beautiful, but blood stained and soaking wet kimono, all hope drained from the search party.

He handed it off to Shingen to inspect to make sure it was yours. He already knew it was though, no one else made such lovely things. He closed his one eye walking into Ieyasu on his way back to the horses, he managed to put his hand on his shoulder and shake his head once.

“The little lass is gone.”

They knew times were rough. The world was dangerous, but they never truly prepared themselves to lose you. Even if you had one day disappeared back to wherever you came from they could dream, imagine, you were off on some adventure in your strange clothes using the strange terms that you and Sauske often used and you were alright.

Shingen looked away from everyone, but he was not quick enough to hide his tears from Yukimura who didn’t have any words for his grief stricken Lord. He looked to Sauske who seemed to have a shadow on his face. Yukimura could barely breathe when it came crashing down on him.

He could only manage to say two words:

“She’s gone.”

Coming in like a wild boar from the middle of nowhere, it was like a gaping hole had been left in his heart. He didn’t even know what to think. What had been the last thing he said to you? Was it something rude? What if you two had last argued? He tried to think but his brain refused to work.

Shingen remembered his last words to you with perfect clarity, it replayed in his mind over and over again.

“Shingen I’m going to the market, would you like to come with me?”

“Oh, wonderful goddess it pains me not to spend another moment more with you, but I must finish this work. Oh, to decline the offer to accompany an angel, I promise to make up for my absence at your side after dinner.”

“That’s alright Shingen, you don’t have to lay it on so thick, I’ll see you when I get back. Love you!”

“You are my heart.”

He should have went. He didn’t go and now he’d never be able to make it up to you, he’d never see her again, he would never love again. His heart stopped the when your  kimono was handed to him, it began to slow the minute you were thrown from the window. Maybe if he had dived after you? Had he arrived earlier? Had he taken less men? Perhaps if he had acted sooner? Maybe he should have waited?

Shingen played a million scenarios in his mind, but not a single one ended with you in his arms, he simply couldn’t imagine it. Even when he was at his very sickest, never then had he known such an ill than the one he felt holding the bloody kimono in his hands. It was cold and wet and he had a feeling the icy waters had taken your body far from him.

Shingen mourned for weeks. Everything reminded him of you. The snow, the moon, flowers, beautiful kimonos, none as beautiful as the ones you made, be wore nothing but the gifts you had made for him, and there was no consoling him. Yukimura spent his time divided between sitting with Shingen in silence, sitting with Sauske in silence, and finally sitting alone.

Kenshin drank alone bitterly, his sword aching to be used, but he had lost the motivation to wield it. The light of his castle was gone. He didn’t even realize how bright you had been while you were here, and now that you were gone it was as though someone put out every flame in sight. Not even the sun was warm or bright enough to break up the darkness.

In Azuchi the captor was executed. It didn’t make anyone feel any better though. They pushed themselves into their work even more than before. The Oda and Takeda alliance in the name of peace didn’t fall apart, but it wasn’t nearly as warm. Your old room was like a haunting memory of the time you spent there on visits and the short time you spent living with the Oda forces.

Nobunaga ran things as normal, but it was obvious losing you had hurt him in a way that seemed to be unfamiliar to the warlord. He knew loss, he had seen it, had felt it, but this... he didn’t know what to call what he was feeling.

You were gone.

Or so it seemed.

You were not actually dead, incredibly lost, suffering from a terrible head injury in a remote village? Yes, but fortunately very much so still alive. You remembered little tidbits of your early life and fragments from your time in this era. You would remember something every now and then at random, such as Sauske’s ground spikes and Shingen’s beautiful face. However, you didn’t actually remember their names and so the kind villagers who had found your body in the water thought you were delirious and did their best to nurse you back to health. This had been well over a month ago, but you weren’t sure when or how you had gotten so lost, sick, and beat up.

You were extremely grateful for everyone’s hospitality, but you wanted answers and to also get back to your old life as soon as possible even if you didn’t remember much of it.

One day one of the familiar faces you remembered came to town. The one with white hair and golden eyes like a fox.

His eyes widened upon seeing you.

“Y/N?”

“Hello,” you greeted him respectfully, not familiarly at all, “I’m afraid I know your face, but not who you are. I think I was in some sort of accident.”

Seeing you is literally like seeing a ghost. Not even Mitsuhide can hide his shock.

He could see that you were still very much so in recovery and the journey back to either lands that you once called home would not be best for you. Instead he did what he seemed to be the right course of action and promised you he’d send word to others that knew you well so that they could possibly help you. He sent two messengers, one to the Takeda forces, and one to the Oda forces to meet him in the village immediately due to a dire emergency. He didn’t include your name in it as he was afraid it would be picked up by someone that might have meant you well. He was not going to risk losing you again. Sauske was first to arrive on the scene as Kenshin’s right hand ninja.

When he saw you by the water washing clothes he thought for sure he was hallucinating. When he saw Mitsuhide, who had awaited their arrival rather impatiently, was looking at you as well, he raced over to you. When all you could give him were fragments of your time together his heart ached deeply, but the hole that was there from thinking you were dead had begun to be mended upon sight of you.

The rest of the Oda forces and Kenshin arrived next. They were quick with their greetings. You were happy to see them all, you remembered few scarce moments with them and admitted this, claimed you knew they had to be important to you because of how well you could remember their faces and random things about them. Kenshin demanded you never die again, which you didn’t fully understand, promised him to live for as long as you could.

Shingen hadn’t been out of Kai for a very long time. Not since you had left his world.

He and Yukimura took it slow, trusting whatever emergency lied ahead wasn’t totally out of control.

When Shingen first saw the quaint little village he smiled to himself, “she would have loved it in a place like this.”

“She loved it everywhere,” Yukimura tried to joke, “as long as you were there, she’d have gone anywhere and said it was nice.”

Shingen smiled at Yuki’s attempt to cheer him up. He rode slowly into the village and came upon the huddle of Oda forces, who upon seeing him began to disperse like a parted river. Shingen was not expecting what he saw before him. Never in a million years did he dare to think he’d see you again.

And yet, here you are. Smiling as though the world wasn’t dark, as if it hadn’t be cruel, and a place embedded with great pain and suffering.

When you saw Shingen, something in your mind tried to click, but refused. At once you felt overcome with emotions as tears sprang to your eyes.

He embraced you so carefully, as if you were an escaped dream brought to life for only but a moment. He could t bring himself to move or let go.

“My angel has flown back to me.”

“I don’t know your name, or as much as I think I should know about you, I’m so sorry. I know you mean a lot to me, I just can’t-”

“That’s alright.” Shingen placed a hand on your head, stroking your hair, “you being here right now is more than enough. You can come to remember me again slowly or we can make all new memories, as long as you’re alive that’s alright.”

You agreed to go back to living in Kasugayama after Ieyasu gave you his doctors okay with more than a few seemingly unnecessary herbs, ointments, and other medicines. You were sure this was how he showed you he cared.

Back in the castle you began to remember things a bit more, specific moments In time. Major parts of your time there were still fleeting which was frustrating. You and Shingen grew close again and he never left your side, when he absolutely had to Sauske or Yuki were assigned to watch you, and they tools this job seriously. You thought they were overreacting until Sauske broke down and told you all that had happened to you. With his refresher you remembered a few other times you had been kidnapped, but not the time he was specifically talking about, you weee kind of grateful for that.

Shingen spent time with you, he didn’t dwell on what you didn’t remember, just as he promised you began to make new memories. It was well into spring at this point and you were even more certain you were in love with him and glad to be so. Shingen didn’t push or prod about old memories he just patiently waits for days when you come bursting in and asking if he remembered something like attending a festival or a very specific conversation you’d both had. He’d happily confirm that he did in fact remember it and fill in any small gaps. He never tried to sugar cost things either, he told things as they happened. As nice as it would be to paint everything in beautiful strokes of never ending happiness that wouldn’t be real, and what the two of you have deserves nothing less than pure honesty and authenticity.

One day, Shingen was accompanying you to the market when you saw a beautiful fabric. It was the very same one you had seen the first time went somewhere with you. That same wonder filled your eyes and he smiled prepared to offer to buy it all over again. He wondered to himself if you’d make the same thing once again. However it was as though the fabric was woven together by memories, when you touched it, suddenly everything came flowing back. With each memory more and more tears began to fall. You held onto Shingen tightly and he was silent.

You bared your entire soul to him, from your first memories to your last, from Azuchi to Kasugayama, you remembered it all. Shingen was thrilled to be able to reminisce and build from even more memories.

“The power of my wonder pjs goddess never ceases to amaze me. Please, never levave me again, lest you take me with you lovely angel.”

You shouldn’t make promises you have no control over, it instead of coming up with something that was doable but also reassuring you simply nodded, “I promise I’ll never leave again, Shingen.”

It was hard for him to believe even for one moment that he had lost you. .

[dreamingofaizawa]

Update

Hello my lovelies!

So, for my 200 follower piece that I plan on posting, I will post it before the New Year, but after Christmas. There have only been five votes on the poll, but I will be posting the majority vote (even if it’s only 3 lmaoo). It’ll be the Hades! Shouta Aizawa x Persephone! Fem! Reader fic. If you’d like to place any last-minute votes I may consider cramming one of the other fics if it gets enough, but otherwise there will be yet another Aizawa fic. 

If you’d like to see the other options and vote then you can check out this post.

If you would like to be on the tag list for this fic, simply send me a message or comment on this post and I will tag you.

For now, below the cut is a little sfw glimpse of the fic. The full work WILL be 18+

Warnings: Mentions of incest (if you know anything about Greek mythology this will make a lot of sense to you). The full fic will include all the following NSFW warnings: body worship, praise kink, possibly a little bit of a biting/marking kink.  I will also tag the full fic with a trigger warning for the incest.

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It felt like you hadn’t even been asleep for a second, like you had only blinked. But you definitely weren’t in the chariot anymore, and Hades was nowhere to be seen. Sitting up, you took in your surroundings. You lay on a large bed covered in fine pelts and furs, the room large enough to fit at least three chariots. Cool blue floated around the room, candles lit with blue fire emitting a soft glow and shadows dancing in the light. The room was relatively empty, save for the armor on the wall along with a two-pronged scepter and a helm. There was no question in your mind where you were.

The large wooden door creaked as it opened, the god of the Underworld himself standing in the doorway. You glared as he made his way over to you and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why am I here, Hades?” You absolutely meant for the edge to come through in your voice, letting out your aggression in the most passive way possible. As much as you didn’t like being taken against your will and hated Hades for it, you didn’t want to get into a fight with the god of death.

“Please, my name is Shouta. The mortals call me Hades. And you’re here because I’ve fallen in love with you, sweet goddess.” His voice was gentle, apologetic even. “The kidnapping was Zeus’s idea. I only went along with it because I knew my sister would never let me have you if I asked. I know how she is with her children.” You gave a small huff and pulled your knees into your chest, eyes still on the god. “Talking to me first was always an option, you know.” His shoulders shook as he chuckled. “My apologies. I should have talked to you first.” 

Apprehensively, you asked the question you were sure you already knew the answer to. You tore your eyes away from him, suddenly the furs underneath you were the most interesting thing in the world. “When can I go back?” His hand appeared in front of you, and you didn’t flinch or move away as his calloused palm cupped your face gently, making you look up into his dark eyes. “I’m sorry, my love. But I can’t let you return yet.” You gave a small nod, and he pulled his hand from your face as he stood. “Walk with me?”

His eyes were hopeful, waiting for the answer he wanted. If you declined, would he force you to go with him anyway? You squeezed your knees further into you, giving an indirect ‘no’ to test his reaction. He let out a small sigh, “I see. If you need anything, you can call for me.” He moved to walk out of the room, not halfway to the door when you stopped him. “Actually...um...I think a walk would be okay.” Slowly, you got up and walked over to him, and he gave a small smile before leading you out of the room.

[buckysforeverprincess]

The Best Laid Plans Ch.1

Viking James Barnes x Reader, Dark James Barnes

Words: 1443

Warnings: Dark James Barnes, dubious consent, physical and mental abuse, kidnapping, mention of past murder, attempted murder. I would say +18 plus just because the content is pretty heavy.

A/N: This is a very dark fic so if any of the warnings trigger you, DO NOT READ!! I’m not sure if I’ll make another fic to follow this one up but the potential is there. Let me know what you think. I enjoy feedback. Also, thanks to @ayanemoonlight​ for the picture. I asked her a long time ago if I could use this pic and it’s taken me until now to have some content to go with it. Enjoy!

Staring up at the ceiling, you could see out the smoke holes, the stars shining down at you. Closing your eyes, you made a wish, a single tear escaping, hoping the gods would hear your silent plea and take you away from this horrible situation. You knew better though, resigned to your fate. This was your home now and your only purpose was to serve as a bed mate to the cruel Viking, James.

 It’d been a month since the Viking army had stormed your lands and killed everyone in sight, save you. It had been revealed later James’ only goal was to rid the world of the tyranny of your father and take you, the Princess, as his property. James and his men had succeeded and in the end you were tied up and placed in his charge, the leader putting you on his boat and whisking you away to his country to live the Viking way.

 The time spent with the cruel man had left you begging for death. James paid you no mind, barely saying a word to you, not caring for the title you held back in your country. He used you. Leaving you alone during the day to figure out your new life and only coming back at night. Words were never spoken, just glares and an ice cold stare. When you locked eyes, you knew your place and what he wanted… you naked and in his bed and all you could do was comply and endure the torture James bestowed upon you.

 James was sound asleep next to you. He always slept soundly after he’d fucked you hard and fast, spilling his seed inside you with a smirk and then removing himself from on top of you, laying down and passing out. James was a man of routine, the same thing happening night after night without reprieve. You couldn’t fathom why you’d never thought of it before given he's a creature of habit and you're nothing more than his captive with too much time on your hands. He almost made it way too easy.

 Reaching down the side of the bed, you grabbed the knife you’d planted there earlier when he’d left you alone for the umpteenth time. The handle was thick and the blade long and sharp. It was one of James’ prized knives and he always carried it on his person. It was uncharacteristic of him to leave it behind today when he’d left, but you didn’t question it and the man didn’t come back to claim it. So, you’d hidden it, waiting for the time when he’d fall asleep and you could carry out your plan, hoping to put some distance between you and the clan before they came hunting for you like you knew they would.

 A look next to you saw James’ shallow breathing, signaling his sleep. You’d been watching him for a long time, waiting for his breaths to even out and stay that way indefinitely. The deeper he was in sleep the easier it was for your plan to come to fruition. You had nothing to lose and everything to gain, all you had to do was aim for the heart… the one thing you knew the man didn’t have.

 Sitting up, you move as quietly as possible, trying desperately not to wake the sleeping man. You straddle him, your bare core meeting his soft cock, making you cringe in disgust. In another time, perhaps you might’ve welcomed the roughness the Viking has to offer, but not like this. Not after what he’d done to your father and your country. James deserved his fate and you were so close to carrying it out and leaving this place the victor in a hard-fought war.

 Settling in, you grip the knife in both hands and raise it above your head. You can feel yourself getting anxious, sweat starting to form on your brow and your heart is beating swiftly in your chest. For a hot moment you second guess what you’re about to do, but those thoughts leave just as quick as they came, the memory of James slitting your father's throat as you watched flashed into your mind and you see the brute laughing as you screamed and cried for the king.

 It was now or never. The adrenaline was coursing through your veins, invigorating this new-found bravery and you gripped the knife tightly, lining your arms up so the blade would pierce his heart. With all the energy you could muster you plunged down with a fierceness, gritting your teeth as the blade came closer to his body.

 And then… it stopped.

 “No! No, no, no, no, no!!” You shook your head in disbelief, tears already starting to form and escape down your cheeks.

 James laughs, his hands holding yours, the blade just inches from his chest. “Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you?” He pries the knife from your grip and throws it to the floor, tsking all the while. “You’re not very smart, Princess.”

 You’re full on sobbing now, the tears flowing like a river. Why?! What god did you piss off to endure this torture from the hands of this mad man?! Would you ever find peace and sanity in your future?

 “Awww… what’s the matter? Did the bad man foil your escape?” James grins, his hand moving to your throat and he squeezes it tightly, cutting off your air supply, making you gasp for air. “You’re not going anywhere…,” he pulls you in close and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “... you’ve proven you’re not fit to be left alone and I can’t have you hurt yourself or our child now, can I?”

 Your eyes bug out in surprise and shock. James laughs and uses his strength to roll the both of you, laying you on your back while he hovers over you. “Confused? I’m not. Did you think there was any other reason for you to be in my bed? Guess again. I brought you here to bear my children. That’s all you’re worth. Just a hole for me to use and fill with my seed and in return you’ll provide me with strong Viking children. They’ll be royalty and in time, they’ll return to your land and reclaim the throne.”

 “I’m not…,” you gasp trying to breathe in, his grip still firm on your throat, “... there’s no…”

 “Baby?” James tsked again. “Of course, there is.” He leans in, his mouth dangerously close to yours and you can feel his hot breath beating down on you. “I’ve fucked you every single day and not once have you bled. I stole your virginity and you have thanked me by accepting my seed and creating life. Be happy… that’s the only reason you will live.” James finally loosens his grip and removes himself from on top of you.

 The realization hits you like a rock. He’d been tracking your body from that first night. You couldn’t believe you’d forgotten about bleeding but he’s right. The last time you’d been in that state was right before they invaded and took you away. God could this possibly get any worse?! Why did you wait so long to try and escape? If you’d been successful earlier, you wouldn’t be in this situation and now tied to this man for the rest of your life.

 “I’ll… I’ll never have this child.” It’s the only thing you can say, your brain frozen, all logical thoughts evading you.

 James stands and moves to grab the knife on the floor, picking it up and pointing it back at you. “You’ll have my child and any other I implant inside you. Your body is mine. When I want, how I want. You will never be free. Get used to this life, my Princess. Being my slave is all you’ll ever know.”

 Shaking your head, you turn away, not wanting to look at the tyrant who was now controlling your life. “I hate you and everything you stand for.”

 The Viking laughs and sits back on the bed, running the blade down your legs. “And I hate you, so there’s no love lost. Now rest. You will make sure that baby makes it to birth. If not… I won’t hesitate to take a piece of you away.” James leans in and kisses your head. “Sleep well… slave.” And with that he gets up, walking to the door and exiting still naked as the day he was born, leaving you alone to cry and beg the gods for a quick end to your suffering at the hands of this maniac.

Forever Tags:

@jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @kruscht​ @palaiasaurus64​ @breezy1415​ @sarahp879​ @supernaturaldean67​ @averyrogers83​ @scarlettsoldier​ @lovely-geek​ @titty-teetee​ @geeksareunique​ @peaceinourtime82​ @leosandbuckysgirl​ @the-goddess-of-mischief​ @mychemicalimagines​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @collette04​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @onebatch--twobatch​ @miraclesoflove​ @kcd15​ @xxloki81xx​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @thatfanficstuff​  @hotoffthepressfics​ @chuuulip​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @lancetuckershairgel​ @babypink224221​ @mybabe-buckybarnes​ @shield-agent78​ @the-real-kellymonster​ @caplanreads​

[mythicalartisttm]

📓?

There's this unfinished fic in my drafts that I haven't touched in almost a year (until today to dig it up), and it's more or less an angsty take on what happened around my first ever softlock. TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEATH AND A PANIC ATTACK (though neither is described in detail)

The narrator follows Fi (and Link) as they traverse through the Lanayru Mining Facility, but the narration was only supposed to get detailed just before the softlock happens. The young knight is in the dungeon's main room, on the side that has the door to the boss room, fighting off one of those flying drones that sends bombs to slice and hit back. He's just killed one and is shaking from fear, adrenaline, and just not being used to underground air. Fi gets Link to breathe before he activates the Timeshift stone in a minecart that will temporarily resummon the fallen floor in order to get across the chasm. Link inches his way along side the minecart and hides behind it to avoid turret (beamos?) blasts. He's tense, but making his way. Fi is proud of her master for continuing all this way, and while she's still vigilant, she relaxes just a bit. Then Link gets shot off the platform. Link screams from the burn of the laser and shock of getting hit and is now free falling into the abyss below the structure. Fi leaps out of the Goddess Sword (which Link had dropped) and starts a swan dive towards her master, knowing she won't be able to pull him back up but intends to get close enough to activate the Timeshift stone in her chest to return him to safety. Fi closes in enough to see that Link's sailcloth is caught in the Beetle's pincers. She hugs her frills even closer in hopes of falling faster. After what feels like 4 thousand years, Link finally untangles his sailcloth and begins to bring it above his head. What follows is the most sickening crack Fi's ever heard. The sword spirit stops her decent immediately, spins around 180 degrees, and squeezes her eyes shut so she won't have to see her master's corpse. The Timeshift stone in Fi's chest flares to life on her command, rewinding the time around her master back to when he was alive. The thing about Fi's stone, though, was that it was "faulty" on purpose. If Link were to die accomplishing a task, the Timeshift stone in Fi's possession wouldn't undo what her master had done. But this time, the effects were adverse. The minecart that summoned the floor from the past was smack in the middle of the chasm. And Link was stuck in front of the boss room, in the present, his way to the surface blocked by barbed wire and a near bottomless pit. Link starts to spiral. He has no idea what just happened, all he knows is that he's stranded in a tomb-like place with no way to the surface, no way to the sky. Fi appears outside the sword once more and leads him through the procedures one would take to calm another down during a panic attack. The young knight has regained some of his composure, and Fi recognizes that he's cool enough to follow her adventuring instructions once again. The spirit notes that the circles that are always under Link's eyes have darkened significantly. Fi motions to the bird statue on the platform of which they stand (or float, in the sword spirit's case). She reminds Link that if he can return to the statue because he prayed, then it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that he could pray for the platform to be returned, it might. The minecart with the Timeshift stone does indeed return to its original position, and Link gets across without dying this time (much to Fi's relief). The story ends with Link walking up the stairs to the surface.

~That's all folks~

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Mages Don’t Meddle

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/Mild Fluff

Word count: 16091

Summary: In a world where magic users must fear each other, Baz Pitch, a British born hex hiding in the 19th century American southwest, is just trying to stay alive. But when he meets a fellow British hex, his world is turned upside down in the most awful, amazing ways possible. PLEASE READ FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!

Read on AO3

AN: Alright some of you may know that my favourite book series of all time is The Hexslinger Series by Gemma Files. It’s a gory but brilliant horror/dark fantasy weird western trilogy about gay cowboy wizards fighting Aztec gods. (It's also where my AO3 username comes from). I've been writing this AU on and off for like two years now lol. So when I saw this event, I saw it as motivation to finally finish it. And I did! Idk how many people are gonna like this, considering the obscurity of the books. The mythos is a bit complicated so here are the basic rules of the Hexslinger world:

1. Magic users exist, called "hexes" or "hexslingers” by most English speakers. They’re commonly known of and feared by some humans because of their immense, usually unstable power. Their magic is usually called "hexation" and a common descriptor for anything to do with them is "hexacious." Being a hex can either be passed down from parent to child or appears randomly. Most are children of a hex man and a human woman as pregnancy for a hex woman can be very risky to mother and child, but it's still possible.

2. Hexes aren’t usually born having magic. Their powers manifest at some point later in their lives except in very rare circumstances. For women it usually appears after their first period, while for men it’s usually after some sort of grievous bodily harm, e.g getting hanged or beaten. Before manifestation, some hexes show no sign of magic at all, while others have hints like perfect aim or weirdly good luck. It depends on the person and their power level.

3. Hex magic varies between people based on personality, culture, family history, and power level/type. For example, an experienced Chinese born hex with refined power will have a very different kind of magic than a newly manifested American born hex with more chaotic power. (That’s literally just from the original books lol.) Even hexes similar in multiple aspects can be completely different in the way their magic is expressed.

4. The only universal trait between hexes is that they all have the urge to feed off each other’s magic. They’re like magic vampires (wink wink). If they get too close to each other, they have the immediate urge to absorb the other's power and kill them. It’s completely instinctual and very hard to resist. Hence why hexes can’t be around each other. Or, to use the common phrase from the universe, “mages don’t meddle.”Okay that's the basics. There's A LOT of other stuff but I think that's all you need to know for this fic imo.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: So there's some period typical racism scattered around due Baz being brown in the 19th century American south. It's not too harsh imo but I still want to warn people. I hope I handled it alright, considering I'm a white af Canadian Irish-Jew, but if I didn't I'm very sorry. There's also a bit of period typical homophobia at the start. The closest I get to slurs is the use of "red" and "Indian" in reference to Indigenous people, "queer" in a negative context, references to sand because Baz says he's Egyptian, and Baz being called "darker folk." I felt it would be disingenuous to not include bigotry of the past and pretend things would be all okay for a queer POC like Baz. Especially since Hexslinger itself has major themes of homophobia, racism, and not being accepted in the majority of society. A few mentions of suicide, self harm, and torture too in relation to hex powers emerging too, which is also major in Hexslinger. The series itself is pretty brutal and dirty with lots of bigotry, blood, guts, and death. So those elements have gotten in here. There is some flesh burning stuff but I don't think it's that graphic, feels pretty typical for Carry On imo. Hopefully this all works well/makes sense.

As always, big thanks to Raegan of @carryonmylovelies Now with that all out of the way, enjoy!

———————————————

I gingerly take a sip of my whiskey. It's a horrible rotgut shite, but there’s worse stuff out in the wild west. This Slipfoot Joe’s seems to be okay by my now very, very low standards for this area.

“Well well, if it ain’t a pretty red boy,” the man behind me croons. His voice makes evey inch of my skin crawl.

I let out a deep sigh. I’ve been expecting this, but I’m still not pleased. “Piss off, arsehole.”

“Oh! Didn’t know Indians could sound English!”

“I’m British Egyptian, you twit.”

The man leans on the bar, smiling wide. It’s easier to count the few teeth he has than guess how many he’s lost. “What brings your sandy ass to our great country?”

The Call. The unending Call that signals all of us to come here.

I take another long sip. “Your gorgeous face, obviously. How much do you charge? I’ve heard American men are cheaper here than in England.”

The man reels back scowling. “You think I’m some queer?!”

“Well, I assumed so. Considering you were just flirting with me, a man.”

He snarls, whipping out his pathetic little pistol. The barrel shakes nonstop. “You got some nerve, boy!”

I finish the whiskey and delicately place the glass rim first on the filthy bar. “And you’re a racist bastard. You don’t see me getting all pissy.”

The gunshot happens in slow motion for me. I don’t even need to turn. I simply hold one hand in front of me and let my magic pour from me like a dragon’s breath. It curls out in front of me, a circle of blacks and charcoal greys and burning scarlets. Every hex’s magic is different. Mine is like a constant roaring fire, always threatening to consume me.

The bullet hits the shield with a tinny clink. Racist Man is frozen with wide, terrified eyes. I turn to him, orange and red reflecting in my grey eyes.

“You- You’re... a hex?!” He splutters.

“Thought that was pretty bloody obvious. Now go, before I drink your blood.”

Racist Man and his buddy scamper out of the tavern. I let the force field dissipate, crackling and popping in the air like a dying campfire. Joe, the bartender and eponymous Slipfoot, sighs as he cleans another glass.

“You know,” Joe says, “I’ve met other hexes. They’re stupid reckless assholes but they ain’t ever drank blood. Just suck each other’s magic.”

I chuckle. “Well they don’t know that, do they?”

“No, lucky for you. What’s a Brit like you even doin’ here anyway?”

My mouth presses into a thin line. I envy him. He can't hear The Call from that damned Hex City. I heard it all the way in Washington, and before I knew it I was on a train southeast. The only reason I haven’t actually gone to the horrid place is sheer stubbornness.

“I’m a hex. Where else would I be going?”

Joe freezes. He stares at me with more concern than fear. “I’d be careful, son. Those hexes I met? One of them was Reverend Rook himself. He’s beyond bad news, ‘specially with that heathen goddess by his side.”

“I know.” I trace my finger on the old wood, trying to focus on that instead of the ringing in my head. “But what choice do I have?”

———————————————

1867, two years after America’s bloody civil war, and it seems they’re about to be plunged into a new one. Except it won’t be slavery versus abolition this time, but humans versus magic. 

The news has spread like wildfire. In the final days of the war, a confederate soldier and unofficial chaplain named “Reverend” Asher Rook was sentenced to hang for abandoning his regiment. But he survived, and the suffering of the ordeal caused his hex powers to emerge. Rumour has it one Bible verse from his lips can level an entire town. Rook decided to use his new powers to steal and murder his way through the west, aided by his ruthless gunslinging lieutenant (and rumoured lover) Chess Pargeter.

He should’ve been just another hex outlaw for those American Pinkertons to take down. But somehow, a mere month ago, Rook made a pact with an Aztec goddess. And together they’ve created New Azteclan, or Hex City to the common man. According to the magical homing signal I hear, that every hex hears, it’s a place where hexes can lose their insatiable urge to feed off each other’s magic. We’ll no longer have to be loners by nature, picked off one by one by humanity. We could be together. We could be safe.

But at what cost? Nothing in life comes without a cost. I know that too well. My magic cost me my home, my family, and a good part of my sanity. I’d do anything to not be a danger to others anymore. And the possibility is right there. All I need to do is go further south and cross the border into Mexico to reach Hex City. But once I do that, there’s no going back. The temptation of the Call will be too strong. And whatever price The Reverend wants, he’ll get it from me.

I sit at the fire, chewing on some absolutely horrific jerky. I’m trying to focus on the flames instead of the voice in my head. I’m not sure whose it is. Maybe Rook’s, maybe his witch goddess’. It doesn’t have a discernible tone, just sort of an indistinct everyman sound, or a thousand voices speaking the same thing. Either way, it’s very annoying.

Come, it whispers. Come seek out Ixchel, the Mother of Hanged Men. Come stand before Her priest-king, to offer up your service. Come to build the First City of the Sixth World- the world of wonder, the world of power. Come, and join New Azteclan.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shout into emptiness, slamming the side of my head with my fist.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” someone replies weakly.

I bolt up. My magic roars to life inside me, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand. “Who said that?!”

The man slowly steps out of the darkness. He must be no older than myself, with his young, round freckled face. He has curly bronze hair, capped by an old second hand cowboy hat. His brown leather coat, plaid shirt, riding boots, and jeans are all filthy with desert dirt. A horse with saddle bags stands behind him. His blue eyes are wide and nervous. I notice a smell on him. Like green fire and smoke, with a strong scent of something brown and sweet. He smells like something I would gladly eat.

He’s a hex.

“Don’t you dare come any closer, you prick,” I say between gritted teeth. “I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp.”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’m not here to drain you. I...I just wanted to ask for some help.” He sounds British like me, but more rough and nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah, right. Do I look that gullible? ‘Mages don’t meddle.’ We’d all drain each other dry if we were given the chance.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, of course I want to by instinct, but I’m not going to. I was just wondering if you had any food. All of mine got stolen by some angry humans.”

I consider just turning him away, or draining his magic and leaving his dried out corpse for the vultures. But he looks so desperate. How long has this young man been out here alone? My aunt had always warned me to be wary of all other hexes. We’re a bloodthirsty species, Basil. Never trust another hex, ever. Not even me. But I’m not my aunt.

I sit down again. “Fine. You can have some jerky. Just don’t come too close alright? I’d like to keep my magic and soul where they are, please.”

The man smiles (he has a nice smile) and sits opposite me at the fire. I throw a bag of jerky, and he catches in one hand. He shoves it in his mouth like a ravenous animal.

“So,” I say, “what’s your name?”

“Simon Snow,” he rep;ies, mouth still half full. “Your’s?”

“Baz Pitch.” Simon chuckles a bit, and I frown. “What’s so funny?

“Well, Baz Pitch is a pretty ridiculous name.”

“No more ridiculous than Simon Snow,” I snap. “What, were you named by circus performers?”

“Maybe. Not sure, actually.” Snow looks at the fire, but it feels like he’s looking right through it, his gaze very far away.

“Why’s that?”

Simon shakes his head. “Hey, are you going to Hex City?”

I huff, blowing some loose, dirty hair out of my eyes. I’m too tired to stop him from changing the subject. “I don’t know. Are you?

He shrugs. “Maybe. So far I am. The stories and Call do make it sound so wonderful.”

I scoff loudly. “Of course they do. Rook wants people to come. Then we’ll get there and be sacrificed to his bloodthirsty goddess. That’s probably what happened to Pargeter. No one’s heard from him lately, according to the locals.”

“But we’ll lose the hunger! What if the Reverend just wants us to be safe? Y’know, as a kindness to his own people.”

“No one does anything out of kindness, Snow. Least of all hexes.”

“You gave me food out of kindness, didn’t you?”

I glare at him over the flames. He shrugs with a faint smile. Fuck. He has a really nice smile.

 “I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “But I’m putting a shield around me. Touch it and you’ll be burned alive. So don’t get any ideas about taking my magic.”

Simon throws his hands up in innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I lay down on my pallet, throwing up my force field. The crackle and hiss of magic around me distracts from the beautiful mage no more than seven feet from me. Whom I’m not sure I want to kiss or kill. Maybe both.

———————————————

I wake when the sun's centre in the sky. I’m breathing, so this Simon Snow hasn’t drained me dry. That’s good, I guess. 

I sit up bleary eyed. Snow is passed out on his own cot, drooling profusely with his mouth wide open (mouth breather). He’s put up his own shield, of course, (at least he’s somewhat sensible). It sort of looks like an electrical explosion, white bolts constantly combusting around him in bubble form. He smells so powerful. It’s taking all of my willpower to not hurt him. To not submit to my basic hex desires.

I take my sweet time to pack my things and douse the fire pit, secretly hoping Simon will wake up before I run out of excuses. Luckily, with a very loud snort, Snow bolts upwards. There’s terror in his eyes, and his breath is uneven and shallow. I know that look. I’m no stranger to nightmares myself.

“A good morning to you, Snow,” I say.

Simon lets out a long breath, waving a hand to dissolve his shield. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you didn’t kill me. What a miracle.”

“I’ll say. Are you leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Where to?”

I sigh heavily. “Well, my map says, there’s a town southeast from here. I haven’t been there before but it probably isn’t too bad. I was going to hide there for at least a bit.”

Simon picks at his nail beds, even though they’re already ragged and bloody. “Can I...can I come with you? I haven’t been around anyone in so long, y’know. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to”

I look at him with the most neutral gaze I can muster. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“There’s still time.”

Simon stands up, brushing the dust off his pants. “Alright, then I’ll make myself very clear. Baz, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, alright?”

I must admit that I’ve been lonely these few months in the desert. Hell, I’ve been lonely for the past few years. I’ve actually missed the company of others. But it’s not like humans or hexes want to be around me. Except for this one, it seems. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. If we don’t kill each other first that is.

“Alright, fine. Just don’t try anything or I’ll burn you from the inside out.”

Simon keeps smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We mount our horses and ride off. I try to keep my eyes ahead instead of on Snow.

———————————————

“I can’t believe the food here,” Snow says. “It’s so much more spicy than in the North.”

“We are closer to Mexico, Snow,” I reply. I’m trying to figure out our route, while also listening to Snow when he’s more than six feet away. The hunger is manageable from this distance. Mostly.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so insane! Why can’t the north people get some spice from here? It would make their chicken more tolerable. London street food was awful but at least it had some flavour!”

That makes me snort out a laugh no matter how much I try not to. Snow grins at me, and his face is literal sunshine. Why must he be so perfect? It’s not fair. “London street food? You mean fish and chips? Those aren’t half bad, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Snow’s tawny face gets a little pink. He rubs the back of his slightly sunburnt neck. “Y-Yeah, they weren’t too bad. Just...other stuff was terrible...”

“Like what?” It’s not late at night now. I’m less inclined to let his dodging go. Call me crazy, but I’d like to know about the man I’m travelling with.

“Um...” He looks down at his horse’s neck. “I-I lived on the London streets, literally, until I was old enough to work for room and board. Finding anyone who would house a hex though, that was a challenge.”

His laugh is tinny and hollow. My heart, or what dark horrible mass we hexes have in place of one, twists at the words. I wish I was surprised. His story is all too familiar.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” I say firmly. “We all have our own rough pasts. It’s practically required for hexes, in my eyes.”

Snow doesn’t look up, but his (pretty) plain blue eyes flick over to me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Hexes are usually shunned and harmed. Finding one who hasn’t been in a dire situation is more rare.”

“Have you met a lot of hexes?”

“Some. Mostly, I’ve heard stories. Far too many are like your’s.”

“Is your’s?”

My grip on the reins is so tight my knuckles are going pale. Memories rush through my head no matter how much I want to stop them. The darkness, the pain, the fire, then the stench of burnt human flesh, all capped off by years of trying to survive on my own.

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“What the fuck?!”

Simon’s screech is ungodly in volume and tone. His horse lets out a similarly panicked bray. She bucks up, but can’t get very high with the red vines tangled around her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss. I try to pull back my own horse, but his legs are similarly wrapped up. The vines circle up and around us. I kick and stamp them with all my might. The blood red flowers look like the gaping mouths of monsters.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Snow bellows. He tries to rear his horse back, but nearly throws himself backwards off his saddle instead. “Fucking shite!”

“Don’t do that, Snow, it won’t help!”

“Then what should I do?!” 

“Just stay still!”

Thankfully, Snow does as I say. Not thankfully, I’m not sure what to do. I know that human blood gets rid of the Weeds, but even if I count as human in this regard, you need a relatively large amount of it. So unless I want to pass out, I’ll need to think of something else. But what else can curb evil bloodthirsty Aztec plants?

“Baz!” Snow’s horse pancis the more the weeds wrap around her, which makes Snow panic in turn. He looks at me with desperate wide eyes. “Baz, do something!”

Oh, fuck it. I’ll solve this the way I solve my other problems.

I reach deep within myself, down to the flames that burn in what’s hopefully my soul, or at least what hexes have instead. I grab that power and let it out through my arm. Fire roars to life in the palm of my hand, and I unleash the full force of it on the Weeds. A tidal wave of blackened-red flames engulf the plants.

“Jesus Christ!” Simon shouts. The plants don’t burn per se, I’m not sure they even can. But they still shrink away from us. I keep pushing more magic out until they Weeds a good distance away. 

“Run,” I say, “now!”

Snow and I both wrench our horses 180 degrees and run like the wind. We ride fast and far with no destination, but we keep each other in sight. Only when my pulse is no longer hammering in my ears do I start to slow down. Snow follows, and eventually we stop near a large tree. All four of us are breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” Snow says. “W-What the fuck were those?”

“Red Plague Weeds,” I reply, dismounting my horse. “They’ve been popping up all around here. No one knows where they come from, but we’re all pretty sure they have something to do with Rook and his witch goddess. Just like every other bizarre thing nowadays.”

“How come I haven’t seen them before in the towns?”

“Because the way to get rid of the Weeds permanently is blood, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes go wide with horror. “Blood? Any blood?”

I sadly shake my head. “No, only fresh human blood. I’ve heard a bowl full collected from the townsfolk is good enough. I don’t even know if hex blood counts. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. We’re extremely lucky we got away.”

“So I gathered,” Snow sighs. “Now what? We’ve gone a good way backwards now, if I had to guess.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to try and move around the Weeds. If we’re lucky, the town will still be reachable.”

“No one has ever called hexes lucky.”

We both laugh a little. Sometimes laughter is the only way to deal with our horrible existences. I pull the waterskin out of my bag and take a deep, long drink. “Let’s stay here for a moment, though. That blast took a lot out of me.”

“Y-Yeah, that makes sense. Um, I’ll just...”

He turns his horse to the side, trotting away from me. My stomach drops out. Where’s he going? Am I going to be alone again? I’ve only been with Snow for one day. That’s nothing compared to the last two years I’ve been on my own. But now I can’t imagine going back to that crushing, never ending loneliness.

“Heading out, Snow?” I keep my tone neutral, holding back the desperate tremor that threatens to bleed out. “Suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

Snow whips his head around. If I were a more hopeful person, I’d say he looks even more panicked than when we were tangled in the Weeds. “W-What? No, I was just gonna go a little further away...”

“Do I smell that bad?” I probably do. Hygiene is not a priority in these parts.

“No! The opposite, actually...” Snow looks to the side, a little red on his face. “You used a lot of magic before. I can still smell some of it. I, uh, want to keep my promise...”

Oh. Right. I should count myself lucky that he didn’t drain me the minute we stopped. “Yes, yes, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Unless...you want me to go...”

I gulp down the massive lump in my throat. “Do you want to go, Snow?”

Snow scratches his neck. He points his thumb to the side. “I’ll be waiting over there, until we’ve both cooled down. Alright?”

I would never admit how much relief that brings me. “Alright. We’ll set off again in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Snow trots over to a good distance away. His brown, sweet smell still lingers in the air, but it fades just enough for me to rest properly. I sit back against the tree, drinking a good portion of my waterskin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Snow doing the same. I try to not watch him. But it’s very, very hard.

———————————————

Nightfall hits before we reach the town. Snow can’t ride very fast, and I’m still more than a bit drained. So once again, I have to sit opposite the man who will most likely kill me soon.

He fidgets endlessly, picking at his nails and sleeve. It’s infuriating. He gnaws on the jerky like a crazed cat or something. I huff and shake my head. Snow looks up at me.

“What?” he says through a bite.

“Do you ever stop moving? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and there hasn’t been a single moment of stillness from you.”

Snow snorts. “I don’t see how that affects you.”

“It’s annoying.”

He snorts again, but there’s a small smile now too. “Maybe this is the real reason hexes don’t interact. We're all arseholes.”

“That is hardly a hex thing, Snow. I’ve known humans and hexes alike that I can’t tolerate.”

“Am I one of them?

I hope my face doesn’t flush too hard. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating his jerky, with far less fidgeting this time thankfully. We sit in silence for a while. I keep sneaking looks at him, then tearing my gaze away every time. The firelight makes Snow’s tawny skin almost glow and his bronze hair sparkle gold. He’s a constellation of moles and freckles. He’s a gorgeous mess. Just looking at him, I can almost forget that we’re supposed to be enemies.

“What part of England are you from anyway?” Snow asks through a mouthful of dried out meat.

“Hampshire. Though if you asked the people here, they’d say I’m from Buckingham bloody Palace.”

Snow throws his head back laughing. It’s a ridiculous, wonderful sound. “Damn true! I’ve lived on the streets of London for the past ten years and an American asked me if I’m related to the bloody queen! They have no idea about accent differences. They think every Brit is royalty.”

I freeze. Snow’s laughs slowly subside. He must notice the utter panic in my eyes. “You lived on the streets of London for a decade? That long?”

He pulls in, curling his thin body in on itself. This Simon is a hex like me, a terrifying being filled with unimaginable power, yet right now, he looks so...small. “Well, not the whole time. It’s been on and off. I found some places to live for a bit but they never lasted. Thank God for magic. Or thank the Devil, if the humans are right about us.”

He chuckles nervously. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, trying to hide the way his laugh makes me face heat up even more. “I guess so. It’s taken care of me since-”

There’s a crack. It’s small, far off, almost indistinguishable from the regular sounds of the desert, but it’s there. My aunt always said I have the ears of a bat. I swing my head around.

“What is it?” Snow says.

“Hush! I think I heard something.”

Slowly, I stand up, crouched over with my fists clenched. My magic sizzles and sparks inside me, begging to be used. I see Snow stand too at the edge of my vision.

“Die hex scum!”

The man launches himself out of the darkness, jagged knife in hand. He knocks me flat down to the ground. All the breath is forced out of me as my back hits the sand.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I push at him with both arms, thankfully keeping my pretty face out of his slashing range. He writhes and struggles like a rabid wolf. His dirty crazed smile, missing most of his teeth, looms over me. I recognise him.

“You,” I growl. “Did you really follow me all the way here from Slipfoot’s, you pig?!”

“Die!” He says that like it means absolutely anything, like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.

Racist Man has no technique. He just screeches and flails with his knife. Aunt Fiona’s words come to my mind immediately. “Every self respecting hex needs to know how to defend himself, Basil.” She said just before pinning me to the ground in one move. I hook my leg around his and flip him onto his back. He gasps and lets out a rattling cough. I hover over him, knee on his chest, pinning his knife hand to the ground.

“You don’t deserve to live, you sand demon.” He spits at me, splashing against my cheek. I flick it off with ease.

“Such an original opinion.” I feel the fire blazing in my gut, threatening to consume myself and everything around me. “I should scorch off all your skin.”

“Course you would. All you hexes, just filthy murderers. No wonder y’all are fleeing to Rook’s heathen paradise. Your kind don’t belong around civilized folks.”

I growl again. First he despises my skin colour, then he thinks he knows anything about hexation. This bastard, so stupid and ignorant. We’re only monsters because we have to be. Because men like him come at us with knives and guns and nooses. There’s no holding the fire back. My hand heats up around his wrist. He screeches as his skin sizzles under my fingers. He drops the knife, but I don't stop. All my rage pushes out through my hand and onto his increasingly scorched skin.

“Get off me!”

I turn to see Simon, struggling against another man. His fingers spark and sputter uselessly as he pounds against the guy with a hand around his throat.

“Better save your man over there,” Racist Man hisses.

I give him one last good death stare. I see him shiver just slightly. At least he has some good sense. “Run fast and far. If you come near us again, so help me God I’ll melt through your entire brain.”

The look of terror in his eyes is enough of an answer. I jump off him and run towards Snow.

“Oi! Off him, now!” I roar.

The other man turns to look at me. He has the same crazed look as his friend. “Or what, you piece of devil shit?!”

“Or this.”

I turn to the fire. With only one hand outstretched, my magic wraps around it, and pushes my power into the very core. The flames shoot nine feet upwards, illuminating the vast dark in blinding light. I turn back to the terrified human. With one swing of my arm, the pillar slams into him. He’s sent flying in a shower of flames and skids on the ground, tossing up a cloud of dustin his wake. I start to march towards him. But Snow throws up his arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he growls.

The tone of his voice stops me in my tracks. Simon stomps towards him, his entire hand now covered in tiny sparks like fireworks. His assaulter sits up, panting heavily.

“You better run now,” Snow says.

He sneers. “Don’t tell me-”

“GO!”

Snow’s magic explodes like a fucking bomb. It’s a bolt of violent and powerful energy that hits the assailant square in the chest. He flies back even farther. I stumble from the sheer force of it. The magic disperses as quickly as it appeared. Snow is panting, bronze curls still staticy with stray sparks. The human scrambles and runs away into the darkness.

We’re left there, breathing hard in the darkness, the embers of the now dead fire our only light. Simon tries to pull out the crackling electricity still clinging to his hair. It curls around his fingers and won’t dissipate no matter how much he shakes his hand out. Finally, I find my voice again.

“That was...”

“Awful?” Snow mumbles. “Yeah, I know. Half the time my magic doesn’t work, the other half it explodes. Pretty fucking annoying.”

I turn to look at him properly, still trying to dust off the little sparks. “No, it was incredible. I’ve never seen magic that powerful, or beautiful.”

Oh fuck, why did I say that? I’m going to explode myself any second. Simon freezes, then turns to me. His lovely plain eyes are soft. Half of his mouth pulls up into a smile. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “N-No one’s ever called it beautiful before. And...no one’s tried to save me either.”

He starts to reach out to me with his spark kissed digits. I see the little bolts pulling towards me like I’m a magnet. My own magic flares to surface, reaching back towards him. Tiny flames from my fingers curl around the lightning. And a part of me, that horrible instinctual part, desperately wants to grab his hand and add his beautiful, terrifying energy to my own until his body is nothing but an empty husk.

I take a large step away, hands behind my back. Simon does the same. His eyes are wide with terror now. We both know how close we came to giving into temptation.

“We should go to bed,” I mutter.

Snow nods furiously. I speed walk to my side of the dead fire. We both lay down and pull the blankets to our reddening ears. The only sound for ages is the desert wind whistling through the cacti. Until Snow decides to speak up again, God help me.

“Baz?”

“What, Snow?” I snap. I can’t talk to him anymore, it’s too damn painful.

“Have...Have you ever actually fully drained anyone?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. The question hits me in my heart. All that comes to mind is my aunt’s face as I saw her for the first time in weeks. Her happiness turned to utter horror in seconds. The memory still aches deep inside me. I can almost feel that horrible hunger when I first manifested. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “No. But I’ve come close. You?”

Snow pauses too. I can hear his shaky breathing clearly. “I had a hex friend back in London. Penelope. She was really good at magic, like you, so she tried to help me. We could only see each other for an hour a day for safety’s sake, and it worked for awhile. But one time, my magic got so out of control that I came this close to draining her.” He makes a loud sniffing noise. I hate imagining the tears I know are rolling down his face. “She told me it wasn’t my fault but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt her. Next day I got on a boat to America. That was almost a year ago. I’ve been alone ever since, and it’s awful.”

“Is that why you want to go to Hex City?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just want to be able to have some choice, you know? Not make choices because of this power I never asked for. Don’t you feel like that?”

I think about my mother, who lost her life because of what we are. Or my six weeks of torture by that madman. Or how I had to run away from my family in fear of what I’d accidentally do to them.

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes, “all the damn time.”

———————————————

We ride leisurely under the blistering sun. The desert has melted into more of a hot, grassy plain. Surprisingly, the climate and terrain actually gets less tortuous the further south you go in this awful state. I’ve only gone this far south once before. The Call somehow gets even stronger here. It threatens to fill every nook and cranny of my brain, but I beat it back. No disgraced Confederate chaplain or Aztec witch woman gets to decide what I do.

Snow is mumbling to himself about it being too hot. My head is whirring with a terrible, awful idea, but it won’t go away. My eyes keep drifting towards his beautiful face, and my mind keeps thinking of his beautiful magic. I got only a taste of the endless, consuming feeling of it, and it was exhilarating. If only he could control it.

I groan. “Snow, stop your horse.”

He looks at me confused, but does as I say. “What is it?”

“Get off. I’m going to help you with your magic.”

His eyes bug out of his skull. “What?! Why?”

“Because as incredible as your magic can be, I’d rather not have you explode when you sleep ten feet away from me.” 

It’s a convincing lie. Honestly, I want him to be able to protect himself. I don’t know exactly how long it will take to get to the south, or what could happen before then. Simon might’ve been killed if I wasn’t there. And I don’t know how long I will be with him.

I swing off my horse and Snow follows. We walk out into the empty plateau. He shuffles his feet nervously, chewing at his nails.

“Stay here,” I say.

I walk out and place my old empty flask on a cactus (it’s rusting anyway). Snow looks at it confused. I gesture to the metal bottle, then put my hands behind my back. “Hit that with a blast but avoid the cactus.

“O-Okay...” I watch his throat as he gulps. God, I want to touch that throat, I want to touch everywhere. But I’ll kill him if I do. It makes me hate my magic even more.

Simon raises his hand and takes aim. Small sparks dance between his fingers. One by one, they begin to increase. A small ball of lightning collects in his palm. Snow curls his fingers in, but they seem to be struggling. The ball starts to grow larger and Snow clenches harder. With little to no warning, a lightning bolt shoots out and hits the side of the flask. A blackened mark is left in its wake, but that’s nothing compared to the cactus. A massive chunk has been blown out of the top. It’s charred remains lay strewn on the gras.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Sorry, I was losing control, I had to let it go. Would’ve been much worse if I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Snow. You technically did hit the flask.”

Snow scoffs, running a hand through his beautiful, sweaty hair. “Sure, I guess...”

I pluck the flask from the half destroyed desert fauna. Another horrible idea is coming to my mind, and I just might be mad enough to do it. “Maybe you need a greater motivator for staying in control.”

“Huh?”

I place the flask on my hand and hold my arm out to the side. “Hit the flask, but not me.”

Snow goes wide eyed again and inhales sharply like he’s been kicked. “A-Are you serious?! You just saw what I did to that cactus, right?”

“Well, you’re going to have to be accurate, unless you want me to end up like said cactus”

He pulls at his curls anxiously. The tiniest of parks fly off the ends. “I don’t know, Baz. I don’t want to hurt you...”

I try to ignore my rapidly beating heart. It’s been so annoying this past week, trying to get what it can’t have. I just flash a smirk at him. “Well, I believe that you won’t. Care to prove me right?”

A red colour spreads across his face. Part of me hopes that’s not just the sun affecting his pale, freckled complexion. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He rubs his hands together. His skin simmers with magic once again. It smells intoxicatingly good. Snow holds his right hand out, palm flat. The electricity builds on the surface. He keeps his hand clenched, but the energy threatens to spill over his fingers. I resist the urge to run in as fast as I can. I didn’t lie, I do trust him. But living on my own for almost three years has given me quite the self preservation instinct.

Sweat prickles Snow’s brow. He uses his opposite arm to keep the other one steady. “C’mon, Simon,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

The jagged white bolt shoots from his skin, far less formless than the last one. It zigs and zags, but in the end hits the flask straight on. The bottle explodes in a shower of jagged metal. I throw up a makeshift shield just in time. When I look at Snow, he’s flat on his ass, panting hard.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“‘Holy shit’ is right,” I respond with a chuckle.

He looks at me with a wide grin. It shines brighter than the midday sun. “I did it! That’s the most controlled my magic has ever been! Thank you, Baz.”

I nod. “You’re welcome, Snow. My aunt always said danger is a great motivator to learn. Especially when it comes to magic.”

Snow lays down on the grass, panting hard. It seems he’s not going to get up any time soon. “Your aunt, was she the one that taught you about magic?”

I kick at a piece of rusted shrapnel, my back to the resting Snow. “Yes, before it manifested, obviously. She wanted me to be prepared just in case. Her whole side of the family has a history of magic. It only appears every few generations or so. We both drew the short ends of the bloodline straw I guess.”

“You’re lucky with that, y’know. I never had anyone to teach me properly. Penny tried, but we never got far enough to make a difference. When I first got magic, this guy called the Mage offered to help. But it turned out he just wanted to drain me. I killed him by accident when he tried. I really didn’t mean to hurt hum, but he wouldn’t stop...”

I turn to him. There’s far too much pain in his eyes. “You had every right to defend yourself. Don’t feel bad.”

He lifts his head up. His smile is sort of sad, but it’s still gorgeous. “Thanks, Baz.”

I smile back as best I can. “You’re most welcome, Snow.” I place my hands in my pockets, desperately clenching my fists in hopes to keep my emotions at bay. “Unfortunately, I’m out of flasks. But we do have an oversupply of fauna. Want to try and not destroy a cactus this time?”

“Okay.” Snow nods, breathing steadily. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Snow takes his stance across from another unfortunate cactus. I watch him and give advice, but slowly have to back away as Snow’s sweet scent permeates the air. I try not to imagine being close to Snow, not having to fear him, him not having to fear me. Oh, what a life that could be.

———————————————

After another week of dodging the Red Weed, we finally get to somewhere. Covent Gardens, a town I suppose is named after the London borough. It’s sizable enough to have a slightly good inn; as in none of the panels are falling off and the sign is missing only a single letter. That’s practically a palace in these parts. I walk in with gusto, making the shutters rattle, Simon following behind me with his head.

Everyone looks at us. I’m not sure how obvious our hexation is, but I suppose we look enough like trouble. Plus my skin tone isn’t an asset here. Or anywhere, honestly. So I sneer and most turned away.

“They’re afraid of us,” Simon mumbles.

“As they should be,” I reply deadpan. I go straight to the barkeep, a bulky white man with truly horrific mutton chops. “I need two rooms.”

The man crosses his unnaturally large arms. “We don’t serve... people like you.”

I grip the bar lip, nails digging into the half rotted wood. “Like me how? Hexes or brown people?”

He sneers at me. “Neither.”

The fire blazes in my eyes. Wood blackens under my skin. “Now listen here, you stupid bastard, you better rent us a room or-”

“Now, now, Basilton,” a familiar voice says, “no need to be so rude. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hello, Nicodemus.”

Nico moves to stand next to me. His suit is cheap, the stitches fraying at the seams. He’s still got that sort of menacing look, but he looks tired too.

“Fancy seeing you here, Pitch. How’s your aunt?” He smiles, showing off his missing eye teeth. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why would you care, Petty? You’re the one who left her after everything she did for you.”

He hangs his head back with a groan. “Still defending your family’s honour, I see. Ain’t my fault I wanted to realise my full potential.”

“What, by getting your teeth pulled out so you could get magic? Even when my aunt warned you what a curse being a hex was? You’re still an arrogant idiot then.”

Nicodemus growls and grabs my wrist. His magic reaches out to clash with my own. It’s slick like oil, wrapping around my fire like a snake. But there’s a roughness to it. A sort of mangy, wild energy that I remember all too well from the hex duel with my aunt. Now, I can smell the acrid tang of it too. It leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m not surprised his magic is as disgusting as he is.

“Looks like you went through some shit too, Basilton,” he hisses. “You’ve got the same fire as dear old Fi. What, the guilt of letting your mum die finally get to you? Try to end it all? Too bad, you just became the monster she never wanted you to be instead.”

His power gnashes at mine, trying to rip it apart and eat it. But Nicodemus has made a fatal assumption; that he’s more powerful than me. I push back against him hard. The fire rushes through my every vein. I revel in the way Nico’s eyes go wide. My hand shoots up to his throat and I shove him down so hard his back bends against the wooden bar.

“You bastard,” I growl. “After all these years you still don’t know how to keep your bloody mouth shut.” I hold his throat even tighter. His eyes bug out of his skull. “Maybe I should shut it permanently.”

I open the gates within, and his magic begins to pour into me. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush. I’m invincible, powerful, a bloody god. Nico gasps and tries to push me away. But I’m still stronger. He could never stop me.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “Stop it!”

I turn to him with burning eyes. Everything I see is cloudy, like a smoke screen or rippling water. “Why?!”

“Because,” his voice is desperate, and maybe even caring, “we shouldn’t be the monsters they think we are. Just look at them, Baz!”

I still have enough sense to hear what he says. The patrons cower in fear, eyes wide with terror as they look at me. It’s not an expression anyone wants to be subjected to, or cause. And though I hate him, Nicodemus is right. My mother never wanted me to be this. Another terrible, murderous, evil hex.

With all my strength and good sense, I find the will to let Nicodemus’ neck go. His power rushes back into him with a sputtering gasp. I glare at him as I pull away, fingers still trailing with flames.

“Leave,” I say flatly. “Now.”

Nicodemus runs faster than I’ve ever seen a man run before. I take a few deep breaths. It takes a moment for my magic to balance out. It still yearns for Nicodemus’ power, but I beat it back into submission. I won’t let the hunger control me. Then I walk towards the now terrified barkeep.

“Rooms still not available?” He shakes his head frantically. “Good.” I slap down some American money. “Two rooms, please. Also throw in some whiskey. I need a drink after all that.”

The man picks two keys out of a box, then a bottle and glasses from the shelf. He shoves them both forward on the bar and takes two large steps back. I snatch them up with a tip of my ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Cheers, mate.”

Snow and I take a table in a corner. No one dares to look at us. I pour drinks for both of us and shove his glass to the other side of the table. We’re as far apart as we can be but it’s still risky. My power is still hungry. And Simon still smells delicious. But I won’t hurt him. I can’t.

“So,” Simon says, vowel drawn out, “who was that?”

I throw back the whiskey. It’s sour and burns my throat, but it's better than Slipfoot’s at least. “His name is Nicodemus Petty. He and my aunt Fiona were friends growing up. They bonded over their mutual family history of hexation. But when my aunt and his sister, Ebb, manifested magic as teenagers, Nico was jealous. Fiona and Ebb both tried to tell him that hex magic was far more of a curse than a blessing, but he never listened. He wanted the power. When I was about nine, he finally succeeded in activating his own latent magic.”

“By having two of his teeth ripped out...”

“Mhm. First thing he did was stumble all bloody mouthed to my aunt’s flat.” I clench the glass so hard I nearly break it. “The bastard attacked her by surprise, and tried to steal her magic. He almost killed her, but Fiona got a lucky shot and threw him out the window.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “As you can guess, I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” He pulls in, picking at his nails nervously. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking...w-what was he talking about? With your mum?”

I pour myself another helpful shot of whiskey. I want to drown my brain in the stuff, honestly. I’ve never talked about my mum, it’s too painful, like ripping out a fingernail. But Snow has shown so much of himself to me. It seems unfair to hide. “My aunt and I aren’t the only hexes in our family.”

His eyes go wide as the revelation hits him, “Your mum is a hex too?”

I nod slowly, then drink the alcohol in one gulp. The warmth tingles in my veins and loosens my tongue. I stare at the glass, watching the light refract through it’s bends. “She was, but my father is human. They loved each other enough to not be scared, I guess. They never meant to have children. I was an accident, but my mother wanted me in spite of the risks. My father said she cried with happiness when she saw I was a boy. She thought if she kept me safe, I’d never become a full hex.” I flick a paint chip off the table with more force than necessary. “Then she died protecting me, doing what she promised.”

“How? Was it another hex?”

“Even worse, scared humans.” 

Snow’s face falls even more. He takes a long sip from his own drink. “So they tried to kill her?”

“They tried to kill all of us. Someone heard of my mother’s hexation, and they rallied a group together to fight our family. It wasn’t a real fight though. The cowards snuck in and tried to stab us. My mother killed almost all of them quickly” My fists clench so tight it hurts. “The last one nearly got me, but my mother stepped in front. He burned to ash just after he stabbed her through the throat.”

“Oh. Not even a hex could come back from that kind of wound...”

“I know,” I say between gritted teeth. “I know that very well, Snow.” I delicately place the glass down with a strained hand. “I...I tried to stop the bleeding but there was nothing I could do. I had no magic then. Even so, I doubt my powers could’ve helped.” A little flame pops up in my hand with barely a thought. Making fire is more natural than breathing for me, after all. I watch the scarlet snake dance between my fingers. “My family’s abilities have always been better at destruction.”

Simon takes another long sip, polishing off his drink. “I don’t know what my family’s like, but I hope they’re not like me. This power...it’s too much for anyone to have. I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“We all would, Snow. That’s what the humans don’t get. Most hexes are just as scared of themselves as humans are.” I pour my third drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve drank so much in one sitting, but if I’m going to get sozzled, tonight is a good time. “But that’s not up to us. We’re born like this. Nothing we can do but try to survive.”

“Believe me, I know that. All I’ve ever done is survive. In the orphanage, on the streets, here in America.” He lets out a small, sad laugh. “Hexation is how I ended up on the street, actually.” Snow looks directly down at the table. “When I was 11, I, uh, had a dream that I was exploding. When I woke up, the entire orphanage had been blown to pieces. Luckily no one was hurt, but the matron couldn’t very well keep a hex among other children.”

“So she thought sending you to roam among other humans was safer?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think she cared as long as I was far away from her.”

I scoff, swinging the glass between two fingers. “Sounds about usual for humans. What made you manifest? A particularly bad paddling from the matron?”

Snow chews on his bottom lip. His fingers drum the wood slowly. “I, uh, actually didn’t have to suffer. I’m one of those rare cases of sudden manifestation, apparently. That’s what Penny called it anyway. She said it was rare but possible.”

My grip on the glass gets even tighter. A sudden jealous rage consumes my mind. So Snow just exploded one day at eleven. That’s awful, of course, I’ll never deny that. But all I can think of is the coffin. The endless night of being trapped in that box, waiting for a relief that wouldn’t come, until I finally broke and became the last thing I ever wanted to be. I went through absolute hell. Of course I assumed Snow had to, like all other male hexes. But he didn’t. He’s never had the acute kind of torture I did. It’s not fair.

“Excuse me,” I say more harshly than I mean to, “I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

Snow’s pretty plain eyes go wide. “O-Oh...okay. Good night, then.”

“Night.” I snatch the bottle up and leave the key for his room. Then I stomp up the stairs with irrational anger still burning me up. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past it. Male hexes get their magic through suffering. It’s a well known fact. How could Snow be like me without the same kind of pain? How could he ever fully understand me the way I thought he could?

The second my room door is closed, I drink down the last of the whiskey bottle. I’ve tried to avoid alcohol over the past few years. It would be far too easy for me to drink away the pain, the memories, the horrible guilt. Eventually, I’d drown myself in a bottle. That’s not a way I want to go. But one night of indulgence will be fine.

I wobble towards my bed, shedding my outer layers as I go. I collapse face first onto the old mattress. Whiskey clouds my mind. And when I finally pass out, all I see is empty darkness. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the nightmares.

———————————————

“...safe?”

“Out cold...”

The voices stay patchy as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to force my eyes fully open, but the pounding in my head is too much. Indistinguishable figures move on the edges of my blurry vision. There’s little to no light. It must still be night, maybe only a couple hours since I passed out.

“Is..right thing?”

“Hex...Rook and Pargeter...dangerous...we...safe.”

“Fine.”

Something grabs both my wrists and my ankles. I try to struggle but I must still be too drunk. I can’t get my limbs to move save for some squirming. I try to summon my magic, but my mind can’t concentrate. It’s no use. Bloody hell, I’m trapped.

“Night night, hex,” a horrible voice says. Something soft is pressed hard against my face. I can’t take in air, I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like the coffin. No, I can’t do this again. I try to thrash harder and scream but it’s still no use.

Oh Lord, I’m going to die here. I wonder if I’ll see my mother on the other side. I wonder if I even have a soul to go to the other side. And I wonder how if Snow is okay. Christ, my last conversation with him ended in anger. If I had known, I would’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say this past week. But the first thing would be ‘I’m sorry.’

I’m sorry, Snow, for everything I said and thought. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone.

“Hey! Get off him, you bastards!” That voice is familiar even in my half drunken state. Thank whatever gods are listening that he’s okay.

“It’s the other one!” one of my assailants shouts. “Wasn’t Garth supposed to take care of him?!”

“That damn idjit fucked up!”

I hear the telltale signs of punches and kicks thrown about. One of the hands on me pulls off. All this excitement has thankfully sobered me up some. I kick some stupid bastard right in the stomach.

“Fuck!” they wheeze. The other humans are wise and let go of my wrist. I’m on my feet in a second.

“Bloody humans,” I growl out, still slurring slightly. “You can’t even let me fucking sleep?!”

The burly barkeep scowls at me. My would be murder weapon is still in his hand. “Eat shit, you demon.”

I scowl right back at him. “Oh, you want a demon? I’ll give you a fucking demon, love.”

The fire blazes up in me, all shining black and scarlet, and I make little effort to contain it. I let the flames fly out and encase the man almost completely. He screeches as his skin bubbles and burns under my powers.

“Stop it!” a woman yells. She comes at me with a knife raised. A whip of fire forms in my hand instantly. With one crack, it wraps around her wrist. She screams in the exact same way and lets her weapon clatter on the floor. She goes to her knees, clutching her blackened, blistered skin.

“You bastard,” she cries. “How could you?!”

“How could I!?” Even more fire plays over my hands. “I could ask you the same thing, human.”

“We’re trying to protect ourselves, monster!”

In that moment, in her eyes, I see every human who’s hurt me. The people who mocked me, who killed my mother, who turned me into this. All sense leaves my mind in an instant. “I’m a monster only because of you!”

With one wave of my hand, she’s thrown against the wall hard enough to make it shake. I spin around to see a man trying to crack Snow’s skull open with a butcher’s cleaver. One well aimed blast sends him flying as well. Another casts two aside. They don’t move much afterwards, but I find myself caring little. Let them die like my mother did.

“Baz, stop it!” Snow shouts. I ignore him as I send the last assailant against the wall, listening to their screams as I burn their chest. “Baz!”

“Fuck off, Snow!” I roar. “I- Ack!”

Pain rips through my shoulder. I clutch it and my hand becomes wet with what I assume must be blood. I fall forward. My nose cracks against the floor. I scream in pain and flames roar out of me in a massive plume They hit everything, including my shooter and the walls of the room. I can feel the whole space burning around us.

“Baz!” Snow’s voice is beyond panicked. I hear his footsteps rush toward me. His hands hover over me but won’t touch. He can’t touch me.

“Get out, Simon,” I rasp , turning my head to the side to look at him. He’s covered in bruises and ash. Yet he’s still so beautiful. “Run before more of them come.”

“Shut up, arsehole! I haven’t turned my back on you yet, and I’m not going to start now!”

If the world weren’t literally on fire right now, I’d find that touching. I close my eyes. At least my dying image will be of him. “Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” Surprisingly, the bastard fucking laughs. My eyes snap open again. The bloody back of his hand is pressed against his mouth as he giggles. “What the fuck is funny about this?”

“You,” he laughs, “called me Simon before.”

My face heats up, and it’s not from the fire. “No I didn’t.”

“We’re fucking dying and you can’t admit you used my first name?”

“I’m dying. You’re being an idiot and not running away like you should!”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Baz, and we both know it.” He jumps to his feet. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Snow-”

“Or are you too much of a yellow belly to get up and try?”

Oh, this bastard. In only two weeks, he’s learned me too well. I scowl at his stupid pretty face as I push myself up on my good arm. At the same time, thundering footsteps can be heard from the stairwell.

“That route is out of the question,” I say. “Where are we to go, Snow?”

“This way.” He holds his hand and in a mere two seconds, the opposite wall is blown to pieces in a rain of spark. “Now let’s go!”

“We’re on the bloody second floor!”

Snow runs towards the gaping hole and throws himself out. I rush to the edge, blood pounding in my ear. No, Snow cannot die, I can’t let him die. But to my utter shock and awe, Snow is floating his way down to the ground. He stops and starts and still hits the ground in an uncoordinated roll, but he’s okay.

“Oh, Snow, you brilliant moron,” I whisper.

“They’re probably still in there!” someone shouts from the hallway. I take a few steps back, breathe deep, and run off the splintered edge just as the humans burst through the door.

Instead of sending my fire outwards like usual, I keep it within me. I will my body to rise high like flames from a candle. My legs move slowly like I’m running in the air. Fuck, this is actually working. Slowly, I let my flame flick and die down, lowering myself along with it. I reach the ground with my own thud but stay on my feet. Snow grins at me. In all this horror, that is the greatest thing to see.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Snow.”

“Agreed, Pitch.”

We sprint to the stables and thankfully find our steeds unharmed. I count ourselves lucky that our attackers didn’t consider them demonic too. Mounting is difficult with my left arm fucked up, but let it never be said that a human bullet could stop Basilton Pitch. I hold the reins with one hand as I spur him into a dash.

The wind whistles in my ears. Snow and I run even faster than we did from the Red Weed. Our kind is always good at running. It’s our natural state.

———————————————

Snow and I ride until it’s nearly dawn. The sky turns purple then crimson with the rising sun in front of us. When I see orange, my horse finally starts to tire out. Snow’s does the same. We slow down then stop.

“Think we’re far enough away?” Snow asks, breath short and strained.

“Yeah,” I reply, sounding the same. “I think they would’ve caught us by now if they were still after us.”

“Good point, good point.” Snow leans forward, putting his forehead on his horse’s neck. “God, I’m fucking knackered. I barely slept.”

“Me too. We should both sleep.”

“What if someone comes after us?”

“Point. Sleep in shifts?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” I slowly dismount my horse, but get my footing wrong and start to fall. I grab the reins with my left arm and practically scream in pain.

“Baz!” Snow rushes towards me, but stops when I raise my good arm.

“Don’t...” I pant, “don’t come any closer. I’m injured, Snow, and my self control is severely weakened. So unless you wish for death now after just barely escaping it, back away.”

“Oh, yeah, right...” Snow backs far away just as he should, but my heart still aches. “What are we going to do about your shoulder?”

“I can fix it, but I’m going to need your belt”

Snow’s brows shot upwards. “My belt? What for?”

“Just throw it to me, Snow, for Christ’s sake.”

Thank God he doesn’t ask another stupid question. He just unbuckles the belt and does what I ask. I try to not let my hands shake as I fold the belt in half. The last time I did this was three years ago, when I sat in a London alleyway after a drunkard broke my leg, a mere four days after fleeing my home for good.

“Baz, what are you-”

“Snow,” I say firmly, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Okay...?”

I sit on the ground, belt held tightly in my hand. “I need you to stay right there no matter what. Don’t move, don’t try to help. The best way you can help is to stay fucking still.”

“What the fuck is-”

“Promise me you won’t move, Simon.” I look him right in his blue eyes, my mouth a thin, serious line. “Promise me.”

Snow gives me a once over, then thankfully nods. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” I put the belt between my teeth. When I check on Snow, he looks beyond panicked. “If it makes it easier,” I say clumsily between the leather, “you don’t have to watch.”

“Baz-”

I slap my right hand over my left shoulder, and it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. My magic scorches my body as it wraps around my injury. The buck shot is pulled through my muscles and skin, ripping and tearing as they go, and I can feel every bit of it. I can also feel as my tissue and bone stretches to knit back together piece by agonizing piece. It’s an indescribable kind of pain. It’s what I imagine hell must feel like. I scream, I can’t help it, but luckily the belt is muffling as well preventing me from biting off a chunk of my tongue. Snow gasps in horror but he doesn’t move. He keeps his promises. I knew he would. He’s a far better man than me.

The burning fades as the skin finally seals shut. I cautiously move my hand, shaking off the shrapnel and gooey viscera that trails between my fingers. God, it's a nasty scab, mangled and uneven and horrifically inflamed. I can only hope the scar won’t be too bad. The one on my calf has faded overtime.

“Are you-”

“Not yet,” I say, cutting off a frightened looking Simon. “This one won’t take as long though.”

I touch my nose, feeling for where the breaks are. I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a horribly painful crack, I move it mostly back into place. I let out a short yell, but just pant and seethe as the bone and cartilage knit back together. I try to wipe the bloody snot from my hand but it's no use. Disgusting, but better than a broken nose. I feel around to make sure things are okay. Well, the tip is a bit crooked, but I can live with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive at all.

“Okay,” I sigh, finally taking the teeth mark covered belt out of my mouth, “now I’m done.”

“What the fuck was that?” Snow’s voice is somewhere between fascination and absolute horror. In short, a proper reaction.

“Something my aunt taught me. Hexes are essentially manipulators of energy and matter. And what are bodies but living energy and matter? With practice, you can fix any part of yourself.”

“But isn’t it painful?”

“Was that not obvious?” I snap. But Snow’s genuinely worried face softens my demeanor. “Yes, it’s excruciating. Hence why I try not to use the technique as much as I can.” I massage my still aching shoulder. “Today it was unavoidable, unfortunately.”

Simon runs a nervous hand through his dirty hair. “Fuck...”

I cough out a small laugh. “Yes, that sums it up pretty well.”

He laughs too, just as shaky and sad. “Sums up the whole night.”

The two of us keep chuckling softly in the wee hours of the morning. The ascending sun hurts my tired eyes. Using so much magic has taken everything out of me. I let out a long, deep yawn.

“You sleep first,” Snow says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“No, no, I can-”

“Baz.” He sounds firm, but also tired, and maybe even a little fond. I’m probably imagining that last one though. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in about eight hours.”

If I weren’t sleep deprived, magically drained, and recovering from grievous injuries, I would protest more. But Snow is damn lucky today. I simply sigh and stand up to get my cot from my saddlebags. I count our lucky stars we didn’t bring in too many of our supplies to the inn. Maybe God hasn’t completely abandoned us heathen monsters.

“I don’t have the energy to put up my shield,” I say, hoping my tone conveys enough.

“Okay,” Snow replies, “I’ll stay away, don’t worry. I keep my promises.”

My pulse flutters involuntarily. A smile creeps across my face no matter how hard I try to stop it. “I know you do, Simon.”

Snow gifts me one of his sunshine smiles. That’s the last thing I see before turning over and letting myself rest.

———————————————

Snow lets me sleep longer than eight hours. I’d be more mad if I wasn’t so exhausted. In return, I let him oversleep too. We’re both passed out by the time it’s dark again. Even hexes with all our inhumanity need to rest sometimes. Snow and I are lucky we get the chance this time.

In the morning, I reluctantly go to the next closest town. We did leave some of our things behind sadly, including most of our clothes. I’m damn well not going to keep roaming around the south of Texas in my bloody socks, and neither will Snow. I get us some new jackets, boots, and hats, ignoring the strange looks I get from the lily white shopkeeper. 

I grab us some more of that disgusting jerky too. If only good food could keep in these horrific conditions. When I reach the counter, the shopkeeper frowns at the things I lay out.

“You can pay for all this?” she asks. I scowl deeply. I’m too tired for this shit.

“Are people like me not allowed to have money here?” I snap.

“Ya can now, but in my experience, y’all darker folk are better at stealing my stock than paying.”

Bloody hell, I’m too tired for this racist shite. I slam two bills on the counter. “There. Hope I didn’t dirty these up too much for you.”

She glares at me hard. As she reaches for the money, I deliberately brush my finger on hers, and she yelps loudly. The edge of her index is red and inflamed. An undeniable burn mark, but far too small for anyone to believe it came from an evil, bloodthirsty hexslinger.

“Oh dear,” I say deadpan. “Your register must have gotten in the sun. Do be more careful.” I shovel the supplies in my bag as she looks at me wide eyed. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

I can feel her scared eyes on my back as I leave. I get on my horse and ride out fast. No reason to stay in this shithole any longer. And I need to get back to Snow, where I belong.

———————————————

“Everything okay in town?” Snow asks.

I toss the bundle of clothes at him, along with a bag of jerky. “No one attacked me, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t get made for a hex. But I did get some flack for my skin tone.”

Snow’s face falls a bit. There’s something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Snow. You’re in no place to apologize for some racist American bastards, it’s not your responsibility. Sorry from you means nothing.”

“But-”

“Would you accept an apology from me on behalf of all the rich men who have treated you like trash before?” Snow’s gaping mouth slowly closes. “Exactly. Now get those on. They’re slightly less dirty than our current garments.”

Snow nods and does what I say. I unbutton off my bloodstained shirt and wince as the tacky fabric peels off my skin. The scab has gotten a little better. That’s something I suppose. My eyes slowly move over to Snow without realising it. I steal a glimpse of his broad, bare back, golden like the rest of him. There are some jagged pink scars but they take nothing away how brightly he shines. I look away before I’m too tempted by what I can’t have.

“Much better,” Snow sighs as he slips on the new boots. “I’m surprised my feet haven’t been ripped to shreds yet.”

“Me too. I’m glad though, I didn’t want to do any more healing.”

“I don’t want you to either, fuck.” I hate how his concern makes me feel so good inside. “I’ll start setting up the fire. It’s going to get dark again soon.”

“By all means, Snow, do all the work. I won’t stop you.”

Snow snorts out a laugh, giving me a cheeky smile I can still see at this distance. Christ, I’m on fire, and for once it’s not from my magic. It’s so much better. I have to look away again before I do something ridiculous and deadly.

By the time the sun is down, Snow has made a wonderful small fire for the two of us. We both warm our hands from opposite sides. I don’t need to do it too much. My magic has almost fully replenished, for better or worse. And I’m so hungry that I actually enjoy the extremely salty bison jerky. Bloody hell, I’m turning into an American.

“Where are we going to go next?” Snow asks, mouth still full. “I’m guessing we should avoid any more towns.”

“Agreed. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not jump out of another building.”

“We certainly agree there. Christ, I was worried I was going to die.”

“Me too, Snow, me too.” I nervously fiddle with the string on my cloth bag. The words are coming out, and I can’t stop them. “I’m sorry, Snow.”

His brow adorably furrows. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for the way I acted that night, before I went to bed. I was very rude to you and I deeply apologize.”

“Oh...okay. Thanks.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I was confused. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Snow,” I sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It was all me being stupid.”

“Okay...”

I sigh again. God, I can’t dance around it anymore. I have to tell him. After putting up with me for this long, he deserves to know.

“I was angry and...somewhat jealous of you.”

His eyes get very big. “Jealous? Of me?!”

“Yes, in a way. Because...you didn’t have to go through the same kind of suffering I did when I manifested. Which isn’t fair, because you lived on the streets while I grew up in a bloody mansion. It’s just not the same suffering I had, and I was angry I had to go through it when you didn't. Which is absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry I pushed that on you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...what happened?”

I stare at him for a long moment over the fire. He holds my gaze, eyes round with worry and care. It hurts me in the most exquisite way. “It’s not a pretty story, Snow.”

His mouth pulls into a sad, slight smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that all hexes live through hardship, and we have nothing to be ashamed of?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Using my words against me, a tactic of a true devious hex.”

He shrugs, still wearing that little smile. “What can I say? I can live up to our reputation sometimes.” Snow’s face falls again. “So what happened?”

With a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead, I start the horrid tale.

“My family always knew there was a chance I could be a hex,” I say. “But since my aunt couldn’t sense any magic on me pre manifestation, we assumed that I wasn’t too powerful, and manifestation could be avoided if we were careful. So I lived in the aforementioned secluded mansion all my life and I was never allowed to leave the grounds. All my time was spent reading, doing school work, or learning about hexation from my aunt, just in case. Everything in my life revolved around my mere potential to be a hex. I could never do or see anything. I felt like a prisoner. And when I was 18, I had enough.

“One evening, I snuck out of my room and went into the nearby town. I just wanted to see what was outside my home. But I was a naive sheltered kid. Of course I got lost on my way there and went into an area I never should have. Someone had knocked me out cold, and next thing I knew, I was in a cramped, dark box.”

“A box? What do you mean a box?”

I clench my fists tight until the shaking stops, then slowly let go. “It was a coffin, Snow. I had been trapped inside a coffin.”

I can almost feel the way Snow’s stomach must drop out at those words. I know, mine did the same when I realised where I was that night. “W-Why?!”

“It was hard to hear him through said coffin, but I got the main idea. He came from some old witch hunter family but had never caught an actual hex, until me. He’d heard the stories about my mother and had been secretly spying on me for months. When I escaped, he took his chance to kidnap me.”

“So he took you just to taunt you from outside a coffin?”

“I wish that was all he did,” I grumble. “He told me that the coffin was a test. There was a chance the hexation had skipped me over. If I was a hex, being stuck in the coffin would make me manifest, then he could kill me in good conscience. If I wasn’t and didn’t manifest, well, as he put it; ‘there are always casualties in the war for righteousness, boy.’”

Snow’s jaw drops to the grassy ground. “So even if you were human, he would’ve killed you anyway?”

“Mhm, mad bastard.” 

“How long did he keep you there before you escaped? A few days?”

I take long, steady breaths, beating back the old fear that creeps up my throat like bile. I can almost still smell that unique rotten scent from the coffin. I’ll never forget it. I never can.

“Snow,” I say slowly, “I was in that coffin for six weeks.”

And I thought he looked horrified before. Snow drops his jerky bag, hands shaking. I want to grab them, hold them still, comfort him in whatever way I can. The urge is almost stronger than the Call.

“S-Six weeks?! How are you still alive?”

“Thank the witch hunter,” I grumble. “He drilled very small air holes in the lid, and gave me enough food and water to keep me alive but starving. I think, hex or not, he wanted me to suffer because I was my mother’s son. A hex’s child was just as guilty of sin in his eyes.” I rub the bridge of my nose. It aches with the pain of my past. “At the time, I had no idea how long I was in there. It was just one endless night of torture. I begged and pleaded with the hunter to let me go, but he only laughed and called me pathetic hex scum. After six weeks, well, he finally got what he wanted.”

“You manifested.”

“Almost as violently as you did.” I trace the lines of my hand, the skin rough from my fire. I remember my mother’s hands being the same. “The details are blurry, but I remember enough. It started as just a tingling in my gut, but soon it became a burn. And then it spread as quickly as a forest fire.”

“Is it always fire with you?” The corner of Snow’s lip quirks up. The bit of teasing lilt in his voice makes me feel a bit lighter. I can't help but smile back a little.

“Usually, yes. It's always run very strong in my family.” I bounce a flame between my fingers. The movement is strangely calming to me. “I quickly learned I was no different. Before I knew it, I let out a massive ring of fire in every direction. It blew the coffin apart, of course, and turned my captor into a charcoal husk.”

Snow scoffs, a surprisingly vicious expression on his face. “Better than he deserved.”

“Agreed. I have no idea what happened to his body. I left almost immediately, though I wasn’t fully conscious. Six weeks in the coffin had deprived me of most of my mental faculties. Luckily, he kept me not far from home, and I could wander back on pure muscle memory. But going home turned out to be a terrible idea.” I grab the small fire and snuff it out in one go. But my fist stays clenched. “My aunt had been staying there while everyone searched for me. The second I walked through the front door, I could easily smell her. She was overjoyed to see me, until she smelled me too. And as I said, most of my mental faculties were gone.”

“So you attacked her on instinct.”

I chuckle sadly. “Quick study there, Snow. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so bloody hungry all of sudden. I can’t even describe it.”

“You don't need to describe it to me, Baz.” He brings his knees under his chin. “I’ve felt hex hunger too. It’s...awful when you’re in the middle of it.”

“And when you’re not, you try to drown it out or distract yourself. But deep down, you know one day you’ll give up and listen. Then it will take over.”

Snow nods, looking at me in the eye. I’ve seen so much profound sadness in a person’s face. “And you’ll hurt someone, no matter how much you’ll regret it later.”

If I have a soul, it’s aching horribly. How could fate be so cruel as to give me Snow? So wonderfully brave and kind to a fault, and who actually understands what my life is like. The perfect man. And someday soon, he’s going to kill me. There’s no doubt I’ll be the one to die. I won’t kill him, not ever. I’d let him take everything from me before I’d kill him.

“Did you hurt your aunt?”

Thankfully, I can shake my head to that. “No, not at all. She was an experienced magic user, while I was a starving, half crazed newly minted hex. She took me down in seconds. When I woke up again, I was cleaned up and in my room. It took a second to regain my bearings, but I soon remembered what had happened...what I had become. There wasn’t any debate in my mind. Within an hour, I had packed my most practical clothes along with any small valuables I could pawn. Then I ran away and never looked back.”

“Which is how you ended up in America.”

“What better way to protect my family from me than by putting an ocean between us? At first, I stayed in an empty little corner of the American frontier. I just wanted to live out my lonely hex existence as long as possible. I didn’t expect the Call or this looming hex war.”

“No one did,” Simon sighs. “Hexes working together has never been possible before. Who could’ve imagined some American preacher would team up with an Aztec goddess to do just that?”

“Fair point. But now he’s made our existences much harder in a way. Look what those humans tried to do to us at the inn. They were even more scared because of Rook”

“Yeah...”

I groan, pushing my face into my hands, rubbing it up and down. “I never asked to be like this. I tried my hardest to avoid being like this. Then that choice was ripped away from me by some madman. Now I’m trapped between murderous humans or a bloodthirsty witch goddess. Why am I here? Why do I have to be here?!”

“Baz-”

“I don’t want this,” I choke out through my building sobs. “I want to see my family again. I just want to go home!”

I breathe hard and fast, holding back tears with all my strength. No, I refuse to cry. I swore to never cry again after the coffin, because I wasn't sure I could survive falling apart again. Yet here I am. I thought I had shed every tear I have there. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” Simon says. His voice is far louder than before. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. It’s...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Slowly, cautiously, I lower my hands, blinking away the tears that had collected. I inhale sharply. Snow is less than two feet away from me. I can count the moles on his face, see the golden highlights in his bronze. But worse, his unbelievably delicious scent fills every cavity of my nose.

“You really shouldn’t sit so close, Snow,” I whisper. My eyes fall down and become completely fixed on Simon’s plush lips.

“I know,” he says under his breath, “but I don’t care.”

He touches my hand, and I feel his magic run through me. That explosive sensation pulses through my veins so hard it almost makes me gasp. The instinctual part of my brain goes fucking mad. It wants me to grab his throat and drain every drop of his magic, his essence, his very soul. My breathing gets shallow and laboured.

“Simon...” I say.

And then he kisses me.

It’s cautious and shy. His lips barely brush against mine, but I feel it everywhere else, especially in the way our powers rise to meet each other. The magic collides, but doesn’t clash. They meld and twist together at our points of contact, desperately needing to connect.

Snow opens his mouth, turning the kiss into one of pure heat and hunger. I gladly do the same. He grabs either side of my face and shoves his tongue down my throat. I grip his collar and push back against him. My entire body is filled with endless energy. I’m a star going supernova. And I want to explode with Simon. My nails scratch viciously across his neck. He clenches his fist in my hair, pressing our faces closer. I shudder as Simon bites hard on my bottom lip. I’m wrapped in cold heat, wrapped up in him. I feel so alive. It feels so right. But it’s wrong.

With all the strength I have, I shove Snow off me. We both fall back on the ground, breaking our closed circuit of feeding on each other simultaneously. Simon scrambles further away panting. I’m similarly out of breath. Both our lips trail white smoke, like they’ve been singed by ice. My magic readjusts after being sucked away and added to all at the same time. A bit of Snow’s explosive energy still sits in me, swirling around like a miniature star. We just stare at each other wide eyed for a long time.

“Shit,” Simon whispers.

I sigh heavily, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Well said.”

“We nearly killed each other.”

“Mages don’t meddle, Snow. We both know that.”

Simon groans, clutching his hair in his fists. “I know, I know. I almost killed Penny last time and I swore it would never happen again. But look at me now. Of course I fuck up.” I can see tears forming under his eyes. “What’s the point of being an all powerful hex if it means being alone forever?! I can blow up a building with my mind but I can’t even bloody kiss you! It’s not fair!”

I pick at my shirt sleeve with shaking fingers. “Maybe God is punishing us.”

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Baz!”

“That doesn’t change what we are, Simon! We’re freaks of nature, cannibalistic monsters!” I nearly rip through the fabric of my shirt. I'm so angry and so fucking tired. “Maybe we truly are devil spawn or something, like all the humans say. Maybe they’re right to be scared of all of us...”

I turn away from him, just staring at the fire. The sting of the smoke keeps me from sinking too low into my self loathing. Snow moves in my peripheral. We sit side by side. My skin prickles as he hovers his hand over mine. It takes every bit of my will to not try and drain him again.

“There’s somewhere we can go where we aren’t 'Devil spawn,'” he says.

I tense up. “Simon, that’s risky. It could all be a farce.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s just a farce, Baz! It’s still a chance. For you and me, for us.” He lightly brushes one of my fingers. I have to rip my hand away before I hurt him again. His pretty eyes are filled with pain. “See? Wouldn’t you like to stop doing that? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

I’ve been running for most of my life. I ran from my mother's legacy for as long as I could. I ran from my family when I feared my own hunger. And I could run now, from Simon and the fear of killing him. But I’d also be abandoning the chance for some sort of happy life. It may not be perfect, but it would be far more than my ancestors ever had before. Can I sacrifice that for fear?

“I’m tired, Snow,” I say weakly. “We should both get some rest.”

“But Baz-”

“Let me sleep on it, alright? Please?”

Snow takes in a deep breath, and lets out a long sigh. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I want to kiss him so badly right now. Just grab his gorgeous, sunshine face and kiss him goodnight. Since I can’t, I smile as genuinely as I can at him. It’s not easy for me, but I mean it with him. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Snow stares at me for a long moment. But slowly, a smile creeps across his face too. The fondness threatens to melt me, “Goodnight, Baz.”

We keep our eyes locked for as long as we can. When I finally lay down, putting my crackling shield around me, the image of Snow’s wonderful face relaxes me into sleep.

———————————————

I bang my fists against the wood over and over, ignoring my already numerous splinters.

“Help!” I yell. “Someone help me! Please, get me out of here!”

All my pleas fall on deaf ears, as usual. No matter what I do, no matter how loud I scream. I’m stuck in this damned coffin. I scratch at it until my fingernails tear from their beds. Blood drips into my mouth, leaving an iron taste in the back of my scream sore throat.

“I’m not a fucking hex! I just want to go home!” I sob so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “Just let me go home.”

My aching arms finally fall. I curl in on myself as much as I can within my confines. I close my eyes, but there’s little to no difference in the endless pitch black. Tears run hot down my face. They leave small trails in the dirt that’s accumulated over...however long I’ve been here. I don’t know anymore. Time is meaningless where there’s no sunrise or sunset. Life is meaningless in here.

“Baz?”

His voice is far away, but it still rings clear. My eyes slide open. “Simon?”

“Oh lord. Hang on, Baz! I'll get you out!”

I can only hear as Snow desperately tugs at the coffin lid. It should be impossible, the thing is nailed shut, but somehow Snow rips it open. The light is dim yet still hurts my eyes. I can't help but hiss at the pain.

“It’s okay, Baz,” he says in that unbelievably soft tone.

His hand reaches to me through the blinding light. Slowly, I reach back. And when I hold it, I know I’m supposed to be in pain, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just calm, happy, safe. Snow slowly pulls me out. His arms snake around my back, holding me up. He looks me over, taking in my decrepit, decayed state from ages in that damn box. And miraculously, he smiles. Even like this, he looks at me with such care.

“You’re alright now, Baz. I’m here.” He cups my face. “I’m here for you.”

Emotions clog up my throat and tears run down my cheek, but this time they’re for a good reason. I put my own shaking hand on his golden face. He’s so warm. “Yes, you are. And I’m here for you too, Simon.”

He’s still grinning as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. But this time there’s no fear I’ll kill him. There’s just the utter joy of being with the one who understands me best, the one I want the most.

Oh, how I want this.

———————————————

I blink awake slowly. The morning sun is just rising over the horizon, turning the grassy landscape violet. I sit up and see the now familiar body on the other side of the fire. Snow sleeps in a knot, arms and legs pulled in. The furrow in his brow says he’s in the middle of a nightmare too. Though mine wasn’t one by the end. Not when he was there.

My mind is made up.

Once again, I’m packing my things lowly, waiting for Snow to wake. Luckily, he stirs while I’m only halfway through tying up the cot. He rubs the sleep from his eyes in such a terribly adorable way.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” he yawns. “Are we going now? Or...are you?”

My heart seizes, but only for a moment. He’s right to be concerned. The fact that we’ve travelled together for two weeks without killing each other is a miracle among hexes. After last night’s close call, a sensible man would leave and never return. I was once a sensible human man. But I’m a deranged, bloodthirsty hex now. Why not act like one?

“You should get up and start packing, Snow. If we’re going to make it to the Mexican border before nightfall, we’ll have to ride fast.”

His eyes go rounder than a full moon. “You mean...”

I pull the pack tie tight. “We’re going to Hex City.”

“What changed your mind?

I sigh heavily, then walk over to him. I stay at a safe distance of course but Snow’s magic pulls me to him, my body begging me to take it. Instead, I simply hold out my hand to him. Snow stares for a moment but does catch on. He offers his own to me. Once again, our magics reach out to each other, wisps of fire and lightning twining together. It sends a faint whisper of that explosive adrenaline through my veins. So incredible and so wrong.

I snap my hand away, fists clenched hard. “Because of that. If I were a more selfless person, I would simply leave, but unfortunately I’m not. Are you?” Snow looks me over. His eyes pierce me in a way no one’s ever has before. He slowly shakes his head. “Exactly. I may be scared of Rook and his goddess, but I’m more scared of hurting you. There’s only one place where I won't.”

“Hex City.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What if you’re right though, and Rook’s price is too high?” 

“Then at least we’ll pay it knowing we tried to have a real life, instead of running like we’ve always had to.” I stand straight with my head held high. No matter the fear, I’m sure of this. “I think we’ve both suffered long enough, Simon.”

The way Snow’s face relaxes means the world to me. I love seeing that, seeing what he looks like without the heavy burden of hexation on his shoulders. Maybe I’ll be able to see that more in Hex City.

“It’ll probably be nice there,” he says. “I mean, a city made for hexes by hexes is going to be weird, but I bet it’ll look amazing in it’s own way.”

I chuckle and nod. “Agreed. Buildings and roads made by magic will certainly be interesting.”

“Penny would probably want to study them.” He sighs, but there’s a lightness to. “Maybe Penny will come one day, and I could see her again.”

“Maybe. I would love to meet her. I might be able to see my aunt again one day, too. I could introduce you to her.”

He beams so bright at me I fear I’ll get sunburnt. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Snow. So let’s get going.”

We finish packing very quickly. Snow gets on his horse as clumsy as he usually does. I snort at the way his American cowboy hat nearly falls off his head. The death glare he gives me has little impact, what with the way he’s grinning. He hasn’t stopped grinning almost since he woke up. I can’t blame him. I have trouble controlling my smile either.

“Ready?” he asks. As if he even has to. I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking to it.

“Ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Snow and I both send our horses into gallops. We soar across the grassy plain, the Texas sun illuminating our way. The impending hex war still looms over us. But I will fight until my last breath to keep any happiness Simon and I can find.

I can almost see our future. Soon, we’ll reach the terrifying and wonderful Hex City. Rook will ask for his price, and we’ll pay, because it’ll mean a freedom we've never known before. We’ll be able to hold hands, kiss whenever we want, sleep in the same bed, simply be around each other with no fear of our hexacious hunger. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of even a few months ago.

For once, I’m going to run towards something good, instead of away from the darkness inside me. I cannot wait.

———————————————

AN: And that's all folks! I hope people enjoyed that, even if y'all have never read Hexslinger. If you wanna read the books, I highly recommend them, tho be warned they require trigger warnings for all the stuff here and more. Almost anything that usually needs a trigger warning is in those books. I'm okay with reading it, but I also completely understand others not liking that shit.

In the positives, it's an extremely interesting and complex series dealing with survival, discrimination, identity, the pain that can come with love, and the unlikely bonds formed between people. The world building is amazing and the magic system is super cool. What I love the most are the characters, who are all very interesting and complex. No one is 100% good or evil, they're just people trying to find ways to achieve their goals or simply live. What actions they take are up for moral debate, but a lot of the time they're at least understandable. There's a lot of period typical bigotry, and it's much more vicious than what I wrote here, but what I love is that there a lot of diverse characters who say "fuck that" and fight back against the shit they get. You've got queer, Indigenous, black, latinx, Chinese, and Jewish main characters in a wild west story who are all well rounded and interesting. That's pretty awesome imo.

Okay enough gushing about Hexslinger lol. Hope this story was good. No guarantee when my next fic will be out. Work and school are killer. Until then, see you later!

[general-mahamatra]

Why...

Focus: Tommy (Some Wilbur)

Genre: Dark, war, death

TW: BLOOD, DEATH, MURDER, BODY HORROR, GORE

Wordcount: 1329

Read it on AO3 here

Note: PLEASE MAKE SURE TO KEEP IN MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. THIS IS A REALLY DARK FIC AND IT’S VERY IMPORTANT YOU AVOID IT IF ANYTHING AROUND THE LISTED WARNINGS ARE ONE OF YOUR TRIGGERS! (If you have any more things you think I should tag this as, PLEASE let me know!)

This is also part of the AU Somnis Veritas that can be found on the blog @in-somnis-veritas. It is Act 2 and TECHNICALLY spoilers, so beware.

War is nothing but horrible, bloody, and destructive. Especially in a battle of extremists versus the kingdom.

Months... so many months of back and forth battles. Cheating from the rebels and the Rules of War from the royalty. A back and forth MISERY only because they went too far in the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

Uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional.

Tommy stood at the top of a hill, taking in his surroundings. A gentle breeze swept through, stirring the otherwise still nighttime air. It messed with his hair, occasionally tousling it and sending it into disarray. Over a year since it's been cut, his hair was more of a mess than it usually was. Not ratted or tangled, but unkempt for sure.

It was finally starting to cover his ears. Even with his undercut still being noticeably short, it was clear just how shaggy it had become. And by the Goddess, it needed to be taken care of.

But if you took one good look at the boy, you would find everything needed to be taken care of.

He was paler than usual. Heavy bags settled under his eyes, the blues and purples stark against the sickeningly white skin. They made his eyes appear sunken, gaze seemingly hollow to mirror the blank expression on his face.

Red spots and scabs dotted across the oily skin, covering his cheeks and temples.  A horrible break out; acne so clearly messed with and yet never taken care of.

The boy looked horrible.

Tommy shifted his hold on the sword, letting it hang at his side as he gazed down on the valley below him.

Bodies littered the ground. Corpses of men, women, and children all sprawled in the tall grass. The stench of blood and smoke was everywhere, encompassing the swathe of land. No matter where you went you were met by the coppery tang or the sting of smoke.

A small child staggered through the bodies, crying and wailing as they searched for their parents. They stumbled as they tried to stay upright, looking lost and alone.

"Mama?" The child called. "Daddy?"

They continued to wander, small burnt hands reaching out towards different bodies. Every time they found someone, they backed away and kept searching. Tears streamed down their face as they tried.

And then their eyes landed on Tommy.

The teenager made eye contact, expression deadpan as he watched the kid.

They had to at least be six.

Their eyes lit up, hope reigniting as they spotted someone who was alive. Rushed forward, panic driving them towards the blonde.

When they got closer, Tommy was able to truly see how they looked.

It was a young girl, hands and face covered in blood, some of it smeared on her cheeks from wiping tears away. None of it appeared to be hers...but…

Half of her head was missing hair, instead replaced by blisters and horrible, horrible burns. In fact, it was her entire left side. Skin melted and destroyed, bones exposed on her shoulder, her ear completely gone…

Tommy was horrified.

She reached out for him, grabbing his shirt. "Where's mama and daddy?" she pleaded, voice wavering. "Mama and daddy, where are they??"

Tommy pulled his arm away, the first hint of emotion finally showing. Terror.

The girl stumbled when her support was yanked away, eyes growing wide. She was quiet for a moment before wailing, "Where are they?"

The boy tightened his hold on the sword, continuing to watch the child. His hand shook with tension, knuckles white.

When he didn't answer, the girl started crying.

He couldn't take it.

So he swung.

With one clean slice, the body crumpled to the ground, blood splattering everywhere and completely drenching Tommy's clothes. The head detached. Tumbled down the hill, trailing the crimson liquid behind it.

He kept watching, panic starting to set in. Wide eyes; parted lips. His grip on the blade loosened as he continued to stare.

He didn't know what to do or what to say or how to react. The child was dead at his feet and there was blood on his sword. It dripped to the ground, soon followed by the blade.

His heart raced, hands shaking as he raised them, palms up. So much blood coated them. Too much blood. It was everywhere. Across his body, his clothes, in the grass.

Too much too much too much.

Slowly, Tommy covered his mouth, unable to read his gaze away from the corpse.

Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Why did I do that?

The boy dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his face and mixed with the blood. He couldn't look away. He couldn't look away.

A choked sob shook his body. Made him lean forward, hands now gripping his hair. He just killed a fucking child. A child. She just wanted her mom and dad… she just wanted her parents.

Why didn't I help her?

Tommy barely got a chance to move his head before he threw up. Bile mixed with saliva melded with the grass in the darkness. He could barely see it beyond the tears and his night blindness. And honestly? He was extremely thankful.

The sight must've been pathetic. A boy kneeling on the ground sobbing and vomiting.

He's supposed to be a leader. To be strong and powerful and bring them to victory… and he's just a fucking broken mess next to the dead body of a child.

Hands on the ground for support, Tommy hung his head. He felt disgusting. The tang of bile didn't leave his mouth and the tears kept coming. There was no end to the crying.

A hand on his shoulder made the boy lift his head. Through the bleariness, he managed to make out the form of a taller man. Horns protruded from his head and Tommy could barely make out faint yellow of flowers where one of the man's eyes should be.

Wilbur.

The older man helped Tommy to his feet, keeping a hand on the boy's arm to keep him balanced. They stood there for a few moments, heavy breathing the only thing between them.

Until Wilbur pulled the boy in, wrapping his arms around Tommy in a tight, comforting hug.

Tommy melted instantly, hands gripping the back of Wilbur's shirt as he buried his face against the man's shoulder. He shook, crying harder than he was before.

It was times like these he felt so small; where he was reminded of just how young he was.

The older began to rub circles on Tommy's back, trying to get him to relax. He said nothing, simply letting the blonde weep without judgement.

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as Tommy rode out the breakdown. They barely moved, only sitting on the ground after Wilbur coaxed the boy to let go.

Once they were sat down, Wilbur pulled him back into his embrace.

They rocked for a bit, the brunette gently running his hands through the boy's hair. It lasted for a while until Tommy finally spoke.

"I- I just… she-" A breath. "Wilbur I.. I killed a kid." He sounded so broken and distraught, his voice breaking with his stutters. He had pulled away from the hug to look at Wilbur with large, watery eyes.

Wilbur hushed the boy, now placing his hands on Tommy's arms. "I know." He pulled the teen back in, allowing him to rest against his shoulder. "I know. There's nothing you can do about it now."

There was a pause. A hesitation, almost, before Tommy asked a question

"How many did we kill?" He didn't look up at Wilbur this time. "How many kids…"

"Too many."

They watched the embers die out from the charred village, silence settling over the two. Regret gripped them both, the bloody meadow a heavy reminder of the atrocities they just committed.

Why did I bring them here… why did I let them?

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, only for them to shoot open. The image of the girl's decapitated body was all he could see when he closed his eyes. And he refused. Refused. To relive that moment.

“I can’t do this anymore, Wilbur,” he whispered.

He shouldn't have brought them. He shouldn't have brought the rebels.

He shouldn't have let this happen.