#and rarely in a like. idk how to phrase it. horror way?

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

So fun fact for those of you new to Danny Phantom crossovers, specifically to Danny Phantom lore—Phantom is entirely capable of doing incredible feats of strength and endurance. He once, canonically, lifted a school bus full of children without issue. On the other hand, Fenton, human Danny Fenton? He’s failing gym class. He’s not like, faking it either. He is not thinking that far ahead. He’s GENUINELY bad at PE. So is Tucker, actually. SAM however, is INCREDIBLY GOOD. One of the best in class, actually. And Jazz has at least been shown to enjoy VR kickboxing (or whatever we’re calling what she was up to during the whole Danny Got Shrunk With Dash episode).

So, like. Yeah. For the most part, in fanon it’s a little ignored, especially as we do see Danny do some pretty cool flips, some while still in ‘human’ form. But canonically he’s pretty weak and has needed help to not, like… die. (Maternal Instinct is one episode that shows this—Maddie and Danny end up stranded in the middle of the forest because… long story short, it’s a Vlad scheme. And she spends most of her time when she’s with Danny protecting him from the… everything that’s trying to kill them, which is, in fact, everything. Involves a scene where Danny sits in a tree as his mom fights an ectobear if I remember correctly. This is me blatantly telling you to watch Maternal Instinct by the way.)

Do with THAT what you will.

[aimedis]

porter & treasure headcanons 🧛💎

"i assure you, i see you perfectly.. i see you..."

porter loves treasure’s hands. he loves kissing each of their fingertips and knuckles, he loves when they run their fingers through his hair, he loves when they wave their hands around when they’re talking he loves them

porter feels his heart break whenever he sees treasure cry 

and whenever treasure smiles, he falls apart 

treasure loves hearing porter talk and vice versa 

they’re both waiting on the other to make the first move to officially talk about their relationship status 

treasure is prone to headaches and porter massages their temples for them when it gets bad, laughing when they pout up at him 

treasure is also veryyyy clumsy. they're always running into shelves or tables or bumping their head. they always have random bruises and cuts without even realizing it (porter learned a little healing magic from sam for them) 

while they reassure each other, treasure says how they feel bluntly and absentmindedly and it always catches porter off guard (cue treasure being confused as to why he’s blushing and stuttering) 

at this point, porter rarely feeds off of anyone who isn't treasure

he feeds on them while they're reading or watching tv and it's genuinely a peaceful experience for them as much as it is a sexual one

treasure is terrified of spiders and other bugs. they'll be in another room screaming their head off and porter thinks they're getting murdered but it's just a tiny insect

he kills them without hesitation every time and carries them out of the room

treasure has porter wrapped around their finger and they have no idea

porter had a "never stay the night/wipe their memory" mentality before he met treasure. but he knew after talking to them for ten seconds that he was so fucked up over them idk if this has been proven non-canon before, i forgot

treasure has horrible eating habits and porter is always scolding them for it (he cooks for them every time he's over)

they watch horror movies together all the time and treasure screams and clings onto porter every single time

once, treasure's really bad friends tried to confront them about "leaving them for some guy" and they got really upset so porter took the phone from them and told said "friends" off

afterwards, they ranted and cried in his arms for hours

they've done the lady and the tramp eating the same spaghetti string thingy before and neither of them could stop laughing

porter cups treasure's cheeks everytime he kisses them

whenever treasure's sick, porter fusses over them like a worried mom (applies if they even have a slight sniffle)

they've never had an actual argument but they do bicker a lot about random little things that don't matter

they don't live together but porter is always in treasure's apartment, he might as well live there. he has clothes, a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and his skin/body care there alongside treasure's

treasure also goes over to porter's place sometimes, but both of their favourite is theirs

if asked, both of them will answer that yes, it is very much casual but they both know it's not

treasure kisses the tip of porter's nose a lot

porter has the most comfortable chest in the world and treasure loves resting their head on it

porter is a little secretive with the whole vampire thing at times and it bothers treasure a little but not enough to bring it up to him

however, he noticed they were being pouty whenever he brushed their questions off and reassured them he'd tell them in good time which helped them feel better

porter cuts treasure's fruit for them because he doesn't trust them with a knife

treasure laughs their fucking ass off whenever porter says any british/"old time-y" phrase or pronounces something widely different from the way they do

treasure, because they're not used to being listened to, talks a lot around porter because he makes them feel heard and listened to

porter loves listening to them talk about any and everything. he loves their voice, especially when they're just rambling before they fall asleep and he can just hear as their words slow and start to slur before they knock out

treasure buys every little thing that they think porter might like to give to him

their song is bad habits by delaney jane

[howlsofbloodhounds]

headcanon that the thing that draws killer to color first is color's six souls situation. he wants to experiment on them so badly, but can never get to beat color so he goes plan b: pretend to befriend color then backstab him later. fortunately the plan backfires and the rest is history :)

also, i do wonder if killer has ever offered color to absorb his red soul. like, is killer's soul human enough? would color become a god after absorbing killer's soul? i think that would be a conversation color has to steer away, but killer can't stop his curiosity and self-destructive hypothesizing. color can become a god. color will be invincible. color can finally be safe like that. and like, maybe if color absorbs killer's soul, killer can finally communicate with the six souls and realize the horrors of raising six semi-children in your head as a single parent.

~ crowshipping anon

crow, how I’ve missed you. you and delta anon are the backbones of this blog btw.

And I absolutely adore the idea of how it started being that killer wanted to experiment on him lmao. Especially if its like “if this guys gonna keep lingering around, might as well make him useful,” and then he just keeps getting his ass beat over and over.

And then he decides to just go the friend route, play along and pretend he’s listening to the “bullshit” Color’s spewing, but color’s actually being genuinely nice. like, genuinely? hes not even trying to make killer stop or change, just firmly setting boundaries and redirecting killer’s curiosity on to something less destructive. and now, oh no, he likes him. hes fascinating.

and i think killer proposing the idea of color absorbing his soul even once is interesting, even if indirectly and possibly during one of his more self destructive or paranoid moments. perhaps if something happens that threatened colors life or somehow caused him to be hurt, or if something is just making killer think about them being separated. perhaps stage 1’s insecurity or just nightmares.

probably proposed it something like, “what if we became one” and color makes a light joke like “that would be awful, this heads already so full, dont you dislike children?” and then killer keeps going on with his line of thought. how color would be a god basically, how they’d be together, how maybe killers soul could help be a source of further power for color.

how hed be safe. killers soul is strong enough to rewrite entire timelines. color wouldn’t even have to worry about death.

of course killer may phrase it as something along the lines of how itd make color more powerful whenever he voices it, but color doesn’t care for more power and they both know that and color knows that he knows. color can read between the lines and killer knows that, too.

maybe this is even just killers way of expressing or wondering about how much closer they could get it, how much more there is to understand.

maybe killer less wants to know about colors souls now and more that he wants to know the souls because he wants to know color. maybe he wants to know everything he can learn about him; learn everything he can.

idk just the idea of killer being so intensely fascinated with and curious about color tickles me—something about it becomes less like scientific curiosity and more now that extremely rare desire to connect with someone. because color makes him feel understood and for the first time he feels safe being understood.

and perhaps if/when he becomes more aware of that, the intensity, is enough to cause killer to withdraw emotionally from color for a bit; even if he can’t stop mulling it over in his mind. maybe he even thinks if color absorbs his soul, then he’ll never lose access to that hope and happiness again. theres no threat of it. perhaps becoming a little lost in his fantasy for a bit.

[marley-manson]

Boom was probably the best Moffat DW episode I've seen (out of RTD era's original 4 plus the first 2 of season 5, Let's Kill Hitler, and ~*~*~Missy's~*~*~ first 2 parter) by virtue of the fact that it didn't offend me on either a political or fan level, and the characters occasionally (but certainly not consistently) spoke and behaved like believable people instead of snappy one liner machines and plot devices.

That is however damning with faint praise and I was otherwise not particularly enthralled. Thought the setting was good, the statements on capitalism and religion were good, and the rest ranged from fine to annoying.

73 Yards on the other hand knocked it out of the park for me. I'm a sucker for that sort of curse horror subgenre where someone is haunted by a creepy entity, and tonally it was a fantastic mix of existential fairytale and mild horror. Loved that there were no pat answers - we're in magic era now, leave the technobabble and embrace mysterious shit.

Also adored how realistic Ruby felt - like all of her reactions to the fucked up situation made sense! She tries to talk to the woman, then she tries to get someone else to talk to the woman, she understands quickly that it's a weird magic thing but isn't unduly terrified bc she's already seen some shit and the woman doesn't seem actively harmful. She doesn't know the Doctor well enough to know whether he'd just abandon her so she moves on soon enough and takes it in stride but with regret. When she tells her mom she is nervous but the woman hasn't ruined any personal relationships yet and she doesn't have reason to believe she's magically compelling people to flee from her, just that she's scary in some way, so she trusts her mom to be relatively chill but once her mom stops responding on the phone she understands immediately that she fucked up. She warns UNIT to keep away from the woman, but then trusts their reassurances. She eventually gets used to it. When she sees the fascist on tv she immediately puts two and two together with Mad Jack because obviously that phrase would never have been far from her mind in the past 20 years, with a constant reminder 73 yards away at all times. After decades she starts viewing the woman as her only steadfast companion, so when she finally approaches as she dies, she's glad, rather than afraid. It feels silly to go on about this because it should be default writing, but it's p rare ime lol, and it's what I love most about RTD's writing in general.

Idk just about like, every character beat worked perfectly for me. Did the plot make sense? It wasn't explained, but it also didn't seem contradictory, and the lack of explanation was part of the point of the supernatural aspect, as Kate Stewart mentions - inventing rules to make sense out of the inexplicable. Worked nicely for me.

[technowoah]

Dating The Dream Team Headcanon(s)

Dream! (Clay)

Our supposed golden retriever

He loves you with his whole heart and he'll tell you that every second he gets.

He loves showering you with affection on and off camera

Mostly off camera

Pda isn't a problem because no one knows his real face.

He'll kiss you, holding hands, hug you, piggyback rides when your feet hurt, locking arms, arms around eachother when you're walking. All of be above

Just hugging you from behind all of the time. And always wanting to be around you

But if people know who you are and know you're dating Dream you two rarely go outside in public areas.

But home dates are amazing too!

Blanket forts even though its so cliché, he insists.

Watching horror movies on the first date was his choice.

Ya know for somone to cuddle, just in case they get scared. It worked.

You guys dont need "dates" because you always are around eachother.

But Clay likes to have formal dates every now and then

At first you didn't know what to call Clay.

You had called Clay, Dream for the first month you two started officially dating.

One day he asked you why, and you said that you watch videos that he's in and gotton used to people calling him Dream

He melted on spot when you mentioned you watched his videos and videos with him in it.

Except for the minecraft cheating ones

He always asks if you like the video first before anyone else because he values your opinions.

He'll sit you on his lap while recording or editing and sometimes, I emphasize sometimes, your voice will make it into a video.

He was very protective of you, and still is. Especially because of the place he is in popularity.

In the beginning your conversations while speed running would always be either muted from his audience or either cut of from the extended manhunt videos.

Now he takes pride in having his significant other's voice in videos. He dosent cut out your conversations, except if they're too personal.

Or the kisses

Dream bought you roses on the first date, and now roses are such a special thing between you two.

Those little rose pendants for jewelry, fake roses to keep around his place, gifts things that reminded him of your first date with a rose that comes with it.

He gives you merch of course!

Your closet is full of Dream hoodies and a box full of milestone coins.

You always either get the prototype one or the first one made. Idk how he made that happen, but take his word for it.

You've meet "Drista" before, and you had met his family too!

His family adores you.

He has yet to meet yours, but one day he promises he will make a great first impression.

I would do into more detail, but Dream is one of the most caring, sweet, boyfriend's you'll ever have.

Sapnap!

My boyyyy

I love sapnap srs

Gentlemanᵗᵐ

He'll treat you like royalty

He's not the biggest fan of PDA but further into your relationship he got more comfortable with showing you love in public.

He loves hugs, lying together, just hugs and sitting you on his lap and resting his head on your shoulder.

You guys mostly have home dates for him to have an excuse to hold you all day.

The dates are mostly movie marathons with one of you laying ontop of one another

He loves cheek kisses btw.. all the time

Conversation between you two flows so naturally you could talk for hours about anything.

You try to convince him to have a podcast.

When you get too riled up his voice calms you and he knows that so he uses it to his advantage.

You two play fight alot, its never serious you two barely fight.

Also calling him his real name was the strangest thing to him.

Like Dream, it had to take some getting used too because their friends wouldn't call them by their real name (most of the time)

He adores nicknames for the both of you. You both have too many nicknames but the most popular one between you is 'angel'

You never sit in the same room while he plays video games, because he can scream very loud.

There probably has been noise complaints. And you wouldn't be surprised.

You'll always defend him no matter what. Even when the twitter stans get to him, he knows you'll be there without a doubt. Always ready to defend your man.

You're kinda protective of Sapnap, but he's more protective over you.

You two would defend eachother to the ends of the earth.

You trust him with hanging out with other people, but you just dont trust Twitter.

He loves showing you off to his community. He kept you a secret at first then gradually started saying "my significant other" and they caught on.

Sapnap isnt that much of a gift giver. He loves to spend more quality time with a person.

He likes to spend more time with you than buy you material things all the time.

But he gives you his merch, but then the rest of the clothes you get are his actual hoodies.

He's actually starting to miss his clothing so he asks for them back for them to inevitably end up back in your closet.

You and Sapnap are planning to take a trip to meet his parents and then make a weekend out of it.

Then the next stop is to meet yours and out of all the relationships you've had you're not nervous for him to meet your parents.

We love sapnap in this household and he would just be the best boyfriend srs

GeorgeNotFound! (George)

This man is so annoying

But like in an endearing way ya know?

He never fails to brighten up your day

Making you laugh

repeating phrases over and over again

poking you nonstop to get a reaction out of you

giving you long hugs that never seem to end

kissing you all over your face.

He is just so bright.

Hes the neighbors kid

George loves giving you affection whether its kisses or holding your hand he wants you to know he's there.

Even if you dont want him to he'll always want to be around you.

He loves skinship.

George loves walking around London finding stuff to do for dates.

He loves taking small roadtrips too so you get to see stuff around the area you wouldn't normally see.

Just walking around holding hands while making fun of anything you can see.

You two are out in public a lot so when George does his meetups with his friends and brings you along people would stop them and want to take pictures.

He'll introduce you as his significant other in public to fans who ask or notice, but online when his friends ask about his relationship he says "what relationship?" Even though his whole fanbase knows you two are dating.

His fanbase loves you two together, but sometimes they can get too much.

George couldn't care less about what his fanbase thinks if him and his relationship and he wants you do think the same because its not worth it.

Your voice sometimes appear in his videos when you comment on something he does in minecraft.

George doesn't like to put his personal life out on the internet so he still keeps secrets about yall relationship

All his community knows is that you're his significant other and you're "really cool" in George’s words.

You stay in his room when he's recording because he insisted that you stay.

Also he doesn't give you his merch, he refuses to and everytime you ask he just says "because I said so" and "I need the money"

He ends up giving you merch, you knew it was a bluff anways.

Dreams love language is gift giving

Sapnaps is quality time

and George’s is skinship like I said.

Hugs and kisses all the time. Even when your mad at him

You guys have so many inside jokes its ridiculous.

You say them around your friends and laugh just to annoy them.

You guys love to flaunt your relationship around. Showing off that "this is George’s jumper" and "oh this is y/n's necklace"

One time you threatened to cut George’s hair and he didnt speak to you for like an hour.

You already have a good relationship with him and his friends, but you havent met his family yet.

If your family lives out of the country you both plan to travel for him to meet your family.

If your family is in the same country you guys plan a month where you both meet eachothers parents in that same month.

George would be so proud that he got to meet your parents. And the same goes for you.

After all you both love a little road trip from time to time.

Anyways being georges significant other would be a 20/10 experience.

Taglist(s)

Dream Team Imagines: @bozowrites

MCYT Imagines: @annshit @bobaducky @malfoysslutt @egorldevi

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/9/22

death to all callery pears but especially the one right outside my home office window

listening a pair of wistful little things about the passage of time, bc i am pre-grieving the evil lair and will probably take a week off the tuesdayposts the last week of the month and if i do not have fifty-two songs in the playlist at the end of the year my brain gets displeased

mr wriggle by cosmo sheldrake (mr jukes edit). now if you held a gun to my head and asked me to describe this song, this is somewhere between droll and whimsical. like instead of early aughts whimsigoth it’s whimsi-cottagecore? a rare instance of liking the remix better than the original- mr jukes had a very light hand here by getting rid of a vocal i find irritating. it sounds brighter? hope that helps. “put some pickles on/play the mellotron” YES mr sheldrake you’ve rhymed a silly pairing of words you’ve done it again!!! this sounds perhaps condescending but i do think he is a rare example of a lyricist who really loves playing with words and mouthfeel. how did i find this: poking through back catalogues while in the video game data mines, i think @maverick-ornithography originally turned me onto mr sheldrake

also, castle in the clouds by cut worms, off an "acid western” playlist from tiktok that is full of goddamn bangers. ideal uptempo but non-distracting work music. upsetting how quickly tiktok has dialed into my interests.

anyway this song was released in 2020 and borrows from the late sixties country sound with a fascinating inexplicable reference to the song house of blue lights (here is my favorite cover by ella mae morse)??? one of the youtube commenters described the vocalist as george harrison-esque and that’s not Wrong, but it’s a little more mellow. the music video has charmed me beyond belief with a collage of late fifties/early sixties footage of america telling stories about itself (I KNOW. I KNOW. OKAY. I AM A WEAK AND PREDICTABLE WOMAN).

i really really love the way the phrase “castle in the clouds” comes in on the chorus, almost as an aside? this is a song made for any number of blorbos

And when you look to see what’s inside Oh no it’s true I can’t believe Oh no it’s you Haven’t I seen you before

-

reading chainsaw man, a shonen...horror? workplace comedy? bureaucratic malevolence? manga. occasionally i get the urge to read something that’s gross but not necessarily scary. vampirella comes to mind. hellboy and spinoffs do a very good prickling dread but aren’t necessarily scary either. read through All of hellboy but not all of the brpd in the summer of 2019 when i was stuck in the worst internship ever, probably due for a reread.

this is teens being gross the manga, a lot of it makes me suck air through my teeth but it got me to care about several characters Real quick. like look at this girl. this loud rowdy girl in a suit who is So bad at lying. i want to see her grow up big and strong

how did i find it: don’t worry about it

-

watching hey did you see the new us chemical safety board video

-

playing breath of the wild! i would say that this lava section of the map can go straight to hell but it (and i) are already there.

-

making acquired this Object out of a free pile (same one as the brass lamp several weeks ago) and have been trying to figure out a use for it, bc i do like my containers to contain something, and fuck it idk onion holder now. everything is permitted

[remnantglow]

ok now i’m curious what your explanations are for the Fermi paradox

first off love the way u phrased this cause it sounds like i personally came up with these. second off welcome to my ted talk and please remember this has nothing to do with the objective likelihood of each of these explanations and everything to do with If I Like Them.

"they are too alien" - FAVOURITE. obsessed obsessed obsessed w the idea that there is intelligent life out there but it is so fundamentally different from us we are unable to recognize the signs of their existence. i think a lot of our ideas about extraterrestrials are way too anthropocentric and rely too often on assumptions and extrapolations based on our history/biology/technology so this concept? MWAH. top tier. banger.

"evolutionary Great Filter" - so interesting!!! the thing with the sample size of one (1) planet is that we have no idea how rare or difficult the evolution of life / life of biological complexity / intelligent life might be. i mean, i'm personally on the side of the good ol Copernican principle of There Is Nothing Special About Earth, but until we find life beyond earth we can't be sure how much of a Great Filter evolution of life may be. this is why the prospect of finding life on Europa/Enceladus/Titan etc etc is so exciting!!!!!

"communication is dangerous" aka everyone is quiet and hiding in fear of Something/Someone Out There - yes it's stupid and no i don't believe in it but it's SUCH a fun sci-fi horror concept. GREAT potential for fiction. ive read a short story or two with that premise and it is very chilling and very cool

"zoo hypothesis" aka they're out there and they know abt us but they're leaving us to our own devices like a wildlife reserve (perhaps until The Time Is Right to make contact) - i don't find it particularly plausible but i do think it's neat :) i like the level of consideration and care for other beings it suggests, even if the idea of such a Benevolent Alien feels more like a projection of our hopes than anything else

"extinction bc of natural events is inevitable" - idk kinda boring. unless it's like, astronomical events cause the idea of a hypothetical civilization just getting randomly fucking sniped by a gamma ray burst is kinda funny like. HOW unlucky would you have to be akjndgjkfk

"it is in the nature of intelligent life to destroy itself" - oh my god shut up. like oo i get it u think ur so Smart and Realistic shut up. reddit user ass

- "ufo They Are Already Among Us hypothesis" - literally i am going to bite u. "ancient alie-" die

[realisticallycynical]

Days of Blood and Starlight

by laini taylor

I never got to read this one but I know how ya sequels go so I was... cautious

on mobile so this is just gonna be long. tagging long post

Pros:

some extremely fun/effective formatting this time around, i tip my hat to you ms taylor

zuzana my love you deserve the best everything and i'm glad your mans uunderstands this

kaoru is going through A Time and making some truly dumb decisions but i cant even be mad at her really

did i mention teeth

almost enough teeth

teeth heists, not a phrase i thought i'd ever type but i'm so very glad i can

madrigal is more important, which is good because I aspire to be her

Cons:

thiago. send tweet.

no like seriously. ik getting the audience to hate your antagonist is a critical part of a lot of stories but jesus christ

jael is also terrible make no mistake.

truthfully hating these two both added and detracted from my experience it was weird

I'm pretty sure that several war crimes were committed but idk if the geneva convention covers magic or angels

deep sigh

protagonist isolates self in the second book of a ya novel to instigate plot and character development

zuz deserved better kaoru smh

Characters:

kaoru: girl i am. deeply concerned about your wellbeing. ik i just gave you shit for it in the last point but eat something. nap. hydrate. 5/10 for growing pains please talk to your friends

akiva: you fucked up bad and you're reaping what you've sown. in fairness you're not being stalker and are just trying to make amends so 6/10 good job but white savior isnt a good look on you m8

zuzana: ma'am I am still in love with you. I never stopped but I will complete your fairytale quests to win your hand. I want someone to ride or die for me as hard as you do for kaoru 53859319/10 a goddess

mik: never in my many years of ya have I met a better Obligatory Boyfriend Character. I'm not in love with you and you would not like me but I want someone to ride or die for me the way you do zuzana and her Wierd Missing Friend 5274/10 supportive and sets clear boundaries at the same time without being crazy

ziri: doing his best in a frankly impossible situation with a huge amount of trauma and no one to work on it with 9/10 A Boy who deserves love

hazael: rare that a fascist comes to terms with facism being Bad on their own. truly strength of character and I mean that unironically 10/10 excellent character arc

liraz: you are a fiery, seething ball of rage, and I cannot even begin to like you before you stop being a fucking racist. you care about your family and other women so theres that ig but 4/10 for being a White Feminist(tm)

thiago and jael: fuck. off. -4727496/10 die in a hole

ik im giving the characters a hard time but truthfully? great book, perfect continuation to the story, and a really good transition from ya romance to a true war story

that said, very serious content warnings for body horror, self harm, violence, and sexual assault

[nam00n]

thank you for tagging me @sweetnsaltycorn <3

a-age : 17 (still so strange to say that)

b-birthplace : Győr

c-current time : its 12:33

d-last drink you had : i literally only drink WATER and tea

e-easiest person to talk to : uuuuuuuh i think its either corn or my two irl friends pati and dorci

f-favorite song : idk whats my fave song atm ?? but i listened to ramblings of a lunatic by bears in trees a while ago for the first time and GOD i loved it

g-grossest memory : maybe when last summer one of my dog's puppies threw up on me

h-horror yes or horror no - NO i absolutely hate horror, i get scared easily and i despise it

i-in love : w my NAILS rn bc theyre pretty as hell and also w laito <3

j-jealous : im actually a very jealous person, i just never show it

k-keepsake : hmmmm it depends, i tend to keep a lot of things just for memories but once i grow tired of it (which happens very quickly) i throw them away

l-love at first sight : idk if ive ever fallen in love at first sight, its mostly a simple crush and itll either develop into love or not

m-middle name : i dont have one ??

n-number of siblings : 1

o-one wish : my ear to not be clogged bc I SWEAR TO GOD

p-pop or ? hmmm pop isnt my fave genre. ik i listen to kpop but thats mostly bangtan and they have songs in so much more genres than just pop and other than that, i rarely listen to pop, its not my number one

q-question youre always asked : 'are you okay?' or 'is everything alright?' it amazes me how many times people ask me that just bc i look sad while thats literally my resting face

r-reason to smile : THE WAY NOTHING COMES TO MY MIND maybe laito and my dogs ?? they make me the happiest oh and also learning new words/idioms/phrases in english and french

s-song you last sang : venus fly trap by marina it gives me sm POWER

t-time you woke up : nowadays i always wake up at like 4am for whatever reason but i go back to sleep until like 8am

u-underwear colour : white w little blue dots and a white bow

v-vacation destination : its nothing big, i just really want to go to balaton again, i havent been there in years

w-worst habit : hmmmm maybe feeling little abt myself and over-worrying meaningless things

x-x-rays : the last one was i think uuuuuuh maybe 2 years ago ? when i broke my finger

y-your fave food : CHICKEN SALAD and dark chocolate <3

z-zodiac sign : gemini

ÅÄÖ -the last line of text you sent wrote in your mother's language : idk what was the last thing i wrote bc i dont really text anyone but the last thing i said was köszönjük szépen, basszad meg anyádat ((we) thank you so much, fuck your mother)

tagging @lav-oh mint mindig szerelmem

[kiara-carrera]

“actually i’m…i’m really not okay.” + Leah for the comfort starters?

convinced you can somehow read my mind across the internet because you're always picking the best prompts for them like this allowed me to write a hc that's been living in my head since may anyways. i also wanna fight myself bc this is like 3 fucking thousand words and its super fucking sad idk why i did this to myself. 

content warning for parental abuse and a mention of alcoholism.

In the middle of the night, something brushed against her face. 

She was asleep on her side, some of her hair falling into her eyes, but it was swept aside, the feeling tickling her skin and it caused her to stir briefly. But her eyes stayed shut and she merely burrowed deeper into her pillow.

Leah had never been much of a light sleeper, but the feeling of her bed dipping next to her seemed to rouse her enough. 

It took her a moment to settle into waking, eyes fluttering and lips smacking together tiredly to combat the dryness of her mouth. A tiny yawn escaped her, her eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness of her room, the only source of light being the sparse moonlight that trickled in through her window.

It was enough to make out the shape beside her.

Her heart nearly stopped at the sight of them sitting on her bed, arm pulling back towards itself. It felt like something out of a horror movie or perhaps the evening news with the headline of a teenager being stolen from their bedroom. Fear gripped at her with icy hands, eyes widening at the realization that someone was in her room with her.

Lips parted, she was a mere second away for screaming out for her father and brother before a shred of moonlight at just the right second highlighted the unruly blond hair of the intruder.

Pushing up on one shaky hand, she asked, “JJ?”

Leah’s sleep addled voice cut through the silence, a harsh and hurried whisper into the dark. If it truly was JJ sitting on her bed, the volume would need to be kept near silent — she wouldn’t put it past Jack Thompson to treat JJ like an actual intruder.

The voice that replied was unmistakably that of her boyfriend’s, a little tired and a little sheepish. “Hey baby.”

Relief flooded her body and she allowed herself to slump back down into her pillow, a quiet groan escaping her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, JJ, I thought you were a serial killer. What the hell?”

She couldn’t really see the expression on his face, but she saw him look down at his hands. “Wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me at —” She paused, turning to squint at the alarm clock beside her bed, neon numbers vibrant in the dark. “Two am? How the hell did you even get in?”

“Window.” He jutted a thumb behind him in its direction as if to make his point. In an attempt at lighthearted conversation, he jokingly added, “You know, you should really lock that thing.”

Leah pulled a face, disbelief coating her features. Sleep was still mulling in her brain and she couldn’t for the life of her make sense of this situation. It wasn’t the first time JJ had ever snuck into her room. Even before they were dating, he’d mastered slipping in through her window often enough that he even knew which floorboards would creak loudly under his boots.

But the difference between then and now was that this was the first time he’d done it without warning. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d come unannounced like this. It had to have been months ago, when he’d shown up after —

Fuck.

Leah pushed herself back up on her elbow, a sense of unease washing over her as she squinted at her boyfriend in the dark. The last time he’d shown up unannounced in the middle of the night, it hadn’t been for a midnight make out session or because he’d randomly wanted to spend the night — he’d had a bruised cheek and a busted lip, compliments of his father.

He’d dripped blood on her floor by accident and she’d nearly woken up her brother while getting the first aid kit from the bathroom. She’d gotten a mini one from the dollar store the next day to keep in her dresser just in case.

Except, she didn’t want there to be a just in case. Didn’t want there to be a next time. She’d cleaned JJ up from multiple fights in her time as his best friend and now girlfriend, but nothing left her with a pit in her stomach like cleaning him up after his dad was through with him.

“You didn’t come here from the Chateau, did you?”

It was phrased as a question, but it was more of a statement. JJ shifted awkwardly in his spot beside her. Even if she could make out his expression in the dark, he wouldn’t look at her anyways.

“Lee ...” He trailed off, almost as if he wanted to ask her to drop it.

But he knew her and he knew she wouldn’t. “J, did you go back to your place tonight?”

A small noise of discontent escaped him, but he nodded his head.

“Got into it with my dad,” he finally admitted, letting out a chuckle. It was meant to play off the situation, but there wasn’t a single trace of humor in the bitter sound.

Despite how tired she felt, eyelids heavy enough to drag her back under, that single sentence seemed to wake her up just enough. She squinted at him in the dark, heart thumping a little quicker in her chest as she blindly reached for the lamp on her bedside table.

It switched on, bathing the room in a soft glow as Leah pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blinked a few times, letting the now lit room to come in to focus, a hand reaching up to try and rub the rest of the sleep from her eyes. 

Her gaze eventually landed on her boyfriend, looking uncomfortable as ever under her gaze. His hat was in his lap, hands wrung into it, while his hair looked like he’d raked his fingers through it anxiously a number of times on the way over. And his eyes, normally cheery and mischievous, looked almost hollow, a glossy sheen to the redness that surrounded the blue of his irises. 

He looked ... broken and Leah’s heart stuttered a bit at the dejected expression he wore.

She’d never considered herself violent or capable of truly hurting anyone, but it was moments like these where she swore she could put Luke Maybank six feet under if she put her mind to it.

Unless he drunk himself to death first.

JJ watched on quietly as she let her eyes trail across his face intently, no doubt scanning for new scrapes or bruises or split lips. A twinge of guilt flickered in his eyes, one that Leah ignored. She didn’t care if he felt like he was burdening her or that he felt bad knowing she was expecting him to be dripping blood on her floor like he had one too many times before.

She didn’t care about that, because all she wanted was to make sure he was okay.

Leah hated when he went home. She knew that JJ was too proud to spend every night at the Chateau and knew he thought he could handle himself on the off chance that he ran into his dad. Rarely, though, did that seem to be the case.

“It wasn’t like that,” JJ supplied, noticing the way her eyes strayed to his shirt, more than likely wondering if there were bruises littering the skin it covered. “He was too drunk to start anything physical. Probably would’ve tripped over himself before he got two feet.”

Leah nodded, though his admission didn’t do much to quell her nerves. She didn’t know much about Luke Maybank to start with, but something told her his words were probably as painful as his hits.

After a moment, once she decided that his face looked the way it had when she’d seen him yesterday, save for the frown and his bloodshot eyes, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Not all of it, though, because her mind had already started jumping to the next possible idea of what exactly had happened in the Maybank home earlier that night.

“Do you ... do you wanna talk about it?” she asked gently, tucking her legs under her.

Getting JJ to open up was ... tricky. Leah had been around him long enough that she could clock his bad moods at the drop of a hat, could read most emotions swirling in his eyes like second nature.

Noticing something was wrong, that something was eating away at him, was easy. Getting him to verbalize it and let her in fully was the hard part. Even around the Pogues, around Leah, JJ held a certain level of walls up. Thoughts and secrets and the level of abuse at the hand of his father that he kept guarded for one reason or another. There were things that they knew, things that they found out on accident or because he’d hit his breaking point, but Leah wouldn’t be surprised if there was a whole slew of things she didn’t know.

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, but it didn’t surprise her when JJ waved off her question.

“Nah, it's not a big deal,” JJ replied easily, brushing it off as he adjusted his position on her bed.

He forced another smile on his lips as he regarded her. It was one that almost looked genuine. Almost. It might have fooled someone who didn’t know him well into thinking that he was fine, someone who wouldn’t pick up on the way he was fidgeting with his rings or how he seemed incapable of looking her in the eye for more than a brief moment before glancing away. But Leah wasn’t just someone and she could pick up on his unease just as easily as she was taking her breaths.

Because Leah knew when JJ wasn’t okay. She always knew.

Treading lightly, like she was dealing with a deer who might spook, she said, “Well, it must have been if you came all this way here.”

Annoyance wrinkled his expression. Tossing his hat to the side, he asked, “Can’t a guy just stop by to see his girlfriend?”

“JJ, it’s two in the morning,” she told him seriously.

His frown deepened. She could see his jaw clench and he nodded his head a few times. “Yeah, okay, you know what, this was fucking stupid. I’ll just leave then if you’re gonna keep looking at me like that.”

She knew the that in question was the pity he was probably reading across her face. But the problem was that she didn’t pity him, she was worried for him, but JJ never seemed to know the difference between the two.

The sight of him getting up and turning to head back towards her window had Leah lurching forward, hand circling around his wrist. “Hey, hey,” she whispered, giving his arm a tug. “No, J, don’t leave, please, c’mon.”

At her pleading tone, he halted, a sigh escaping him. It took another moment before he was sitting back down, a frown still etched on his face.

Leah’s hand slipped from his wrist and she longed to twine their fingers together but she didn’t in favor of scooting a little closer to him on her bed. She tilted her head a bit, trying her best to get eye contact with him.

He finally sighed and looked up at her, another sigh slipping past his lips. “Lee ...”

“Look, I’m not trying to push it, okay?” She bit her lip, thinking over her next words carefully. She didn’t know how many times she could successfully talk him out of leaving tonight. “I just ... I get worried. If you really don’t wanna talk, we don’t have to. We can just go to sleep and leave it, but I need you to know that I will listen if you wanna talk. You came all this way here and it’s so late and I know —”

“I just wanted to see you,” he repeated, cutting her off. There was no edge to his voice. Instead it was softer, a tone that suggested there was more to it. Unconvincingly, he added, “I’m fine, Lee.”

A shaky breath left Leah’s lips, tears beginning to sting at the back of her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her words sat in the air for a few moments. Or maybe it was minutes. JJ was watching her intensely and Leah could almost see the legions of thoughts bouncing around his head at her statement. His eyes were glassier than ever, tears brimming along the edges. He chewed on his lip anxiously and Leah could do nothing but wait for him to make the next move. 

When he did, she was certain her heart broke.

“Actually I’m ...” JJ’s voice was thick with emotion and his breath hitched in his throat as his bravado began cracking under her thoughtful gaze. He couldn’t meet her eyes again when he choked out, “I’m really not okay.”

The first tear betrayed him, dripping down his cheek and disappearing somewhere on his shirt.

“Oh, JJ,” Leah whispered, her soft voice, laced with unmeasurable concern, nailing the coffin shut.

Within seconds, tears began streaming down his face as the dam finally broke.

Leah was quick to shuffle across her bed, the last bits of sleepiness washing off her like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Her arms were curling around him tightly, pulling him into her as the first sob racked through his body. His face was pressed into her neck, the collar of her shirt dampening with his tears.

He was mumbling into her, words muffled by her skin and her shirt, fragmented by the sobs that snuck through. She could only make out pieces, the words hate it and hate him and sorry repeating more times than she could count.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbled into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got you.”

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer, impossibly close, like he didn’t think she’d stay with him.

But there was nowhere else she’d ever dream of being, not when he was like this.

This wasn’t the first time Leah had seen JJ cry. While he always tried to hold up a devil may care attitude, the wild Pogue image, the view of a kid from the Cut with no worries besides keggers and weed, there were times where he’d hit his breaking point in the past. She’d seen it before, seen the facade shatter like glass against the floor. There was only so long he could go on being strong, feelings bottled up inside him like a ticking time bomb, before he’d burst.

Another sob wracked through him, a quiet and painful noise buried into her neck.

“I just want it to stop,” he told her between hurried gulps of air. “I’m so fucking sick of it.”

Leah’s eyes squeezed shut and she ran a comforting hand through his hair. She told him, “I know, J, I know,” because what else was there for her to say? What else was there for her to do in moments like these?

Anger burned in Leah’s chest, a sudden hot feeling, akin to a pot left to boil over on the stove. It was seeping into her veins as she listened to his cries, 

Anger at the world, because it took people like JJ and put them through hell. He was sixteen. Sixteen fucking years old and this was the shit that he had to deal with. This was his reality. It was two in the goddamn morning and instead of being asleep in his own bed, safe and loved by his own fucking father, he was here in pieces because of him.

Anger at his father, for being such a useless sack of shit. Who did this to their child? Who could look at a kid like JJ and do nothing but tear them down until they started believing the lies being fed to them? Leah hated him, she’d decided that long ago. Hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life and the feeling of JJ shuddering under her hands only seemed to make it run deeper.

And then there was the anger at herself, because she knew there wasn’t enough that she could do. She could patch up his wounds and hold him tight, could let him cry in her arms until he had nothing left to give, and it would never be enough. She couldn’t fix the world for him and there weren’t enough words in the world to describe how important he was, how special, how loved. His father’s words would always exist somewhere in the back of his mind and she wasn’t sure she knew how to combat them with ones of her own.

It pained her to think he’d believe any of it. To think he was worthless or going nowhere or a waste of space. She wasn’t sure exactly what Luke had said to him tonight, could only guess, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt, with every fiber of her goddamn being that they were lies. 

Leah knew JJ. She knew every reason that she loved him was because he was unapologetically him. He could be brash and impulsive and crude and he didn’t always say or do the right thing. But she also knew that when it came down to it, he was loyal and brave and selfless and better than anyone on this goddamn island. He deserved the goddamn world. He deserved a mansion on the Eight with a koi pond and a ridiculous marble statue or Yucatán and lobsters and surfing all day and whatever else he wanted and it was because he was better than the world gave him credit for.

Tears of her own were pooling in her eyes, steadily dripping down her face as she rested her chin against the top of his head. She knew in that moment that this, being here with him right now, letting him deal with this pain in whatever way he needed to, was all she could offer him. She knew it didn’t come close to what he needed, but she’d hold him as long as he wanted.

As he clutched at her like a lifeline, Leah held him a little bit tighter.

[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!

[linkspooky]

Your analysis on shigaraki's worldview is 😍😍😍. Who's your fav bnha character btw, and what kind of manga are you into? (i mean as in genre, but my phrasing is terrible at times so idk how to put it all in the last sentence)

My favorite manga in the whole world are the manga that run in Weekly Shonen Jump. I read almost everything that runs in the magazine from week to week. I know that’s not technically a genre, but let’s not arguen semantics. 

And now because no one asked for it, my opinion on all of the manga currently running through Jump that I read. 

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba usually manga in shonen jump slowly get worse over time as they try to stretch their stories out, but Kimetsu no Yaiba is a story that continues to develop on itself and improve the longer it runs. 

The art is phenomenal and has a good balance of when to be silly and when to be drop dead gorgeous. It’s more of an ensemble piece tied together by a big brother trying to save his little sister, and because of that almost every character Tanjirou interacts with is fun and really immediately attention grabbing. 

It’s also a pretty heavy story that deals with death, grief and loss and trying to find life beyond a world that has suffering like that. I’m actually planning to make some meta of it soon, especially with the interactions between Domi and Shinobu. My only real complaint is that it’s deep but not too deep. Usually the demons are always bad and the demon slayers are always good in the end, even if sympathy is expressed for some of the demons. Once again though it does so well in the technical aspects of telling the story it wants to tell. 

My Hero Academia it’s pretty obvious that I like it. The biggest draws for me are the art style and the characters, specifically the villains. Also the idea of a reverse X men world where what are basically the mutants now outnumber normal people and dominate society is a fantastic idea for world building with a lot of options. 

I’ve actually followed Horikoshi’s work for a long time. His two previous works, Oumagodoki Zoo and Barrage both ran in Shonen Jump for a short time before they were cancelled which I find really unfortanate because they both had a lot of potential as well. 

I love both the hero kids and the villains, though sometimes I feel like the villains are more connected to the central conflict of the story than the heroes. It would be nice to see Deku evolve a more radical philosophy then just wanting to save people right in front of him, or protecting the status quo. The heroes should ideally act in response to the villains to create a better world and resolve a problem the villains brought up, but if say the League of Villains were wiped out now another League would be created later because the central problem of the story has not been dealt with. 

Dr. Stone this is a series that almost got cancelled, but was saved by a main character switch. Senku is really likable and unique as a character, kind of a mad scientist archetype who turns out to be the good guy and the hero of the story.

He reminds me a lot of Yoichi from the writers previous work, Eyeshield 21. In that they’re both laughing mad eccentrics who seem like they have little scruples for how they use and treat other people, and yet are surrounded by friends and act as the leaders of their team. They also both have a tendency for strategy over brute strength and like to outwit their opponents. 

The only thing I can say about Dr. Stone is that while the characters are a fun little group of oddballs, they rarely get any deeper than that. The most interesting thing is still figuring out the central mystery of the world and what happened to turn everybody to stone, which is why having Senku as a main character was a really smart move on the series part. 

Yozakura Family This is a new series that I actually really like and hope beats canellation at the two week mark. It’s kind of your basic romantic comedy characters get married in the first chapter promise, but also there’s some really strong character writing with the older brother. He’s one of the few examples of the obsessive and overprotective brother type that was portrayed as actually abusive and damaging for seeing his younger sister that way. 

The premise also reminds me a lot of Katekyo Hitman Reborn, just suddenly getting sucked into the underworld of spies and crimminals when you’re an unlucky loser with no social skills. If the character writing is as strong as it is for the brother I can definitely see a lot of improvement and staying power. 

The Promised Neverland the smartest written series in Shonen Jump write now with the best ideas. The Promised Neverland is all about theme, theme, theme, theme, which is why someone like me who devours stories for their nutritious value and content loves it. 

While there are only about three major characters with arcs that matter to the plot, Norman, Ray, and Emma they are some of the deepest characters in shonen jump currently and the complexity of their relationship and the way they all foil each other is superb.

It’s a story about children trying to escape a neverland where they can never grow up, and live in a world that never wanted them alive. Not only is it just about them though, it’s also about adults who are still inside the system and gave up at one point or another and decided to just live in the evil world rather than change it. It’s a deep story but it’s also undeniably shonen jump, the central theme is about not giving up even in a world that is determined to deny your existence. 

Act Age If you’ve read Chihayafuru this manga has a lot in common with that, because both of them are about very singleminded girls with complex emotions that they themselves don’t understand, finding themselves completely enveloped in a niche hobby to the point of obsession. 

Act-Age is a story that’s primarily about storytelling and the nature of stories themselves, with each arc focusing on an adaptation of either a movie made up for the sake of the story or a pre-written play ie, Journey to the West, Night on the Galactic Railroad. However, it’s also bout the nature of stories, as understood by the perspectie of an actor. 

There are only a few major characters but they all get intensely developed in their arcs. My absolute favorite relationship is that of the main character, quiet on the surface but with deep emotions that she uses for her acting talent with her rival an actress that’s much more like a pop star or idol. Rather than having deep talent she instead uses her ability to read people to appeal to them. She is cheerful and lively on the surface, but empty inside. The way they envy each other and learn to grow from each other because each of them has what the other one desires. 

Jujutsu Kaisen reminds me of really early bleach that was just Ichigo and his teenage friends fighting Hollows. This is one of the manga I definitely reccomend, because it’s one of the lesser known manga in jump currently. The art style has this scratchy look about it which really adds well to the horror aspect of the series. It’s a demon fighting anime with some of the best demon designs, more attention is put on making them look grotesque and scary then in series like KNY where the demons for the most part are pretty good looking still. 

The main trio is very solid, a reckless idiot who swallowed a cursed finger in the first chapter and is continually dealing with the consequences of that, the shadowy, quiet type cool headed one who almost never talks about his past or his true feelings on the matter, and between them the cheerful girl whose a tad on the merciless side. 

Not only are the characters good, but it’s one of the few series where the fights and lore are super interesting. Rather than dealing with demons directly Kimetsu no Yaiba style we deal with curses, which are generated from the human subconscious. 

For exmaple one of the villains Mahito is the embodiment of the fear humans have for other humans, that is the anxieties of life, and the fear and suppressed feelings that go hand in hand with humanity. Because that he’s much like a child curse quickly learning and progressing with a human intelligence. 

The fights, the powers of characters, they’re all used to further develop a really interesting world of curses and the people who live dealing with them that it feels like we’re only scratching the surface of right now and desperately makes you want to figure out the system they have in place for this entire world. 

Yui Kamio Lets Loose - I find it to be a really sweet romantic comedy about a stuck up boy obsessed with appearances and what other people think of him falling in love with two sides of a girl, the uncontrollable Yui that beat him up and constantly gets into fights and trouble, and the perfect demure girl who can only ever be helpless and kind and needs to be protected. It has a feel of a lot of classic 80s high school romantic comedies. The only real problem is that it needs to acquire a plot fast, because it’s at risk for cancellation which makes it hard for me to get invested in a series that might end soon. 

Double Taisei - One of those shonen manga that had a really interesting beginning chapter, but then failed to do anything with it. I think it would work well as a character piece between two personalities who act like brothers in the same body, but the characters aren’t strong enough quite yet to work that way. I do like the character design… 

Tokyo Shinobi Squad - It looked like a ripoff at first but the main character is actually fairly different from Naruto, and the manga itself is uniquely its own thing. I just hope it learns to utilize it’s cyberpunk setting better, because ninjas fighting in a cyberpunk dystopia is a very tropey premise and the story needs to utilize those tropes in order to work. I do like the fact that the main character starts out pretty powerful so it’s not a typical shonen formula about a main character slowly learning to gain power, instead it’s him taking in and being responsible for a kid. 

Manga I don’t read - One piece, Yuuna of the Haunted Hotsprings, Chainsawman, Samurai 8 the tale of Hachimaru, Beast Children, Miitama Security Busters. 

[mimiplaysgames]

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. VIII)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: K+ Word Count: 11,151

Summary: Aqua and Terra meet Ventus. It's all fine until they have to take care of him. After all, they're just teenagers who don't know what they're doing. Aqua is 14, Terra is almost 16.

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to @endlessember​! They requested: "I’ve always loved the idea of the way finder trio being a family especially with Terra and Aqua as Vens parents... so I was wondering if you could write something along those lines? It can be either AU or not (maybe you have something clever that could fit this into canon idk)." I chose the canon route. I finished this outline in... November 2018, right after you requested this as part of my celebration of 100 followers on Tumblr. Thank you so much for your patience, and for sticking by me for this long, it's amazing that you're still interested in my stories. Bless you for your support, it means so much. <333 I know that this was way out of my comfort zone, but I honestly had a blast writing this. It was a lot of fun and it's been a long time since a chapter has made me feel this way.

~*~*~*~

A Tale of Three

It shouldn’t be this unnerving to watch someone sleep.

The poor boy had been escorted into the academy by an old man - a Master with a funny name, someone Eraqus knew. After they put the boy to bed, they went off into the office to discuss business, and it left the castle quiet with no answers. 

“No progress?” Terra asked behind her. She’d been looking so hard for signs of consciousness - a twitch in the eyelid, some mumbling - that she didn’t hear him come in. 

This was looking more like a coma than anything. He was so still that she wondered if he was even dreaming. The sun beamed through his window, glowing up his already golden hair, but he was not bothered by it. It was more like watching someone in a coffin as opposed to being in bed.

She touched his forehead - ten times, already - to check for a fever, but he had none

Terra grunted. He felt bad about bombarding Ventus with so many questions, but the guilt was unnecessary.

He took a chair from across the room and sat down by her side, and they listened in silence. This boy was so young. 

The Master repeated in lectures that holding a Keyblade necessitated great responsibility, and Aqua never worried about that. She was always trustworthy

When she asked the Master what had happened to the boy, he only said,  This boy has torn his heart. 

Aqua lived her life believing she’d never come across such horror. Consequences of wielding a Keyblade seemed foreign, like there was no such thing as accidents.

Today, she witnessed different. 

“He’ll be okay,” Terra said when she never responded. He wasn’t even that confident, considering how he crossed his arms. “The Master thinks everything will work out.”

Right now, optimism just didn’t seem appropriate. 

Something echoed in the halls, but it wasn’t a round of voices. The sound of piano keys drifted into the room, too soft and distant to understand what story its song was trying to tell, and she leaned over to make sure she heard correctly. 

Terra gave her a look. She returned it. 

They jumped out of their chairs. There was only one piano in the entire academy, tucked in the corner of the ballroom. No one knew how to play it, so it stayed untouched and dusty. 

It never occurred to her that the piano would one day be a spectacle.

Glancing back at Ventus to see if anything changed (it didn’t), they left to see what the commotion was. They kept their steps light, and Terra led the way upstairs. 

They snuck into the upper floors of the ballroom, which overlooked the bottom for a grand view of the western mountains. It was one of the biggest halls in the castle though they’ve never held an event here. Otherwise, they used it as a training room, the delicate, tile floor scratched up with strikes of Keyblade metal. 

Terra and Aqua crouched behind the gold railing so they wouldn’t be noticed. 

Now they heard the melody in full. Solemn, contemplative, maybe a story about a horse who learned how to fly. She didn’t know the song, it was just the picture that came to her mind.

The eccentric bald man who brought Ventus had tuned it. Each of his keystrokes was impeccable, stringing keys together like he was sewing them. If the song was about a horse who flew, strums of the darker notes told a story of how it found itself lost in the underworld.

The old Keyblade Master slouched severely. When she first saw him, Aqua never imagined that he was able to fight anymore, let alone be able to have this kind of dexterity over the piano.

Eraqus stood nearby, and Aqua had never seen an expression on him like that before. He was always very well-groomed, and when he laughed, he did it calmly to maintain power over his breath.

Right now, Master Eraqus looked young and hopeful, listening to the song with his eyes closed, swaying gently enough that no one would have noticed unless they stared at him. 

The old man tripped on his fingers, one of them banging on a flat key that made the horse jump. “I have lost some of my touch,” he said, his voice raspy. 

If that was the case, he must have been amazing when he was younger. 

“Nonsense, it brought life back into the castle,” Eraqus said. “How I’ve missed the shows we used to host.”

“Seriously,” Terra whispered sharply, “how come we never bother to bring people here?”

The old man crossed his hands behind his back like he needed to support it. “It is rare that I tread paths with the piano nowadays. I had forgotten how much I valued time with it.

“I doubt that,” Eraqus chuckled. “You have spent far too many hours sitting on that bench to ever forget that you needed it, old friend.”=

Old friend. Eraqus used such a phrase to describe a person? Judging from the way Terra’s eyes bulged out of his sockets, it was a first for him, too. 

“It was a well-deserved reunion,” the old Master said, rubbing the keys like he was looking for dust. “Now I must take my leave.”

That felt off. 

It wasn’t that he was impolite - not at all. 

What rubbed Aqua strangely to the point that she decided  ‘eccentric’  was the right word to describe him was how he suddenly changed gears with an otherwise pleasant conversation. 

It was like he decided mid-sentence that he had enough of the mundane.

“Must you go now, Xehanort?”

Xehanort had his mind elsewhere, his eyes firing up like he had something to look forward to. 

“I had left an acquaintance with an abrupt exit, and he needs me.”

“... I suppose I can’t stop you, then.” Eraqus crossed his arms, reluctantly following.

“Eraqus, mind your tone. You will lose all your hair worrying, old friend.”

Old friend.

“Why not consider all that you’ve lost.”

Master Xehanort laughed, and Aqua wasn’t sure if he was genuinely amused or if he was offended. 

Terra and Aqua scurried out of their own exit to follow, down the stairs where they planned to peek around a corner and eavesdrop some more. 

But Terra ran a little too far, skidding on the tile and right into the hallway that left him standing in front of both Masters. 

This left them with no choice except to bow and present themselves with proper posture. 

“Your two star pupils, Eraqus?” Xehanort approached, and she could smell his age as he crept near. If he stood straight, he would have been as large of a man as their Master.

“My fine achievers, yes.” 

Those gold eyes didn’t give away what he was thinking. He took turns to study them, and at first Aqua expected that maybe he had some advice - words of wisdom that any Keyblade Master would want to give students. Some useful critique, or encouragement. At best, a tiny sparring session where they could learn from someone different. 

Xehanort patted one of Terra’s shoulders. “This one has much potential.”

Aqua never felt so invisible.

Terra stared wide-eyed. In an attempt to make up for his lack of manners, he stammered, “T-thank you, Master.” Then he bowed halfway, stuck somewhere between shock and nervousness and a need to please.

“Mind your presence,” Xehanort said, smacking Terra’s shoulder several times like he was too tired for a hug. “A Keyblade Master stands proudly. They do not wither, even in front of crippled old men.”

“Will you come back?” Eraqus kept himself composed, like the fact that his old friend leaving so soon (and abandoning a boy) wasn’t a bother. 

Aqua wouldn’t imagine why. If Terra was away for that long, she’d be really sad. 

“Perhaps for dinner?” Xehanort waved his arm with half a pound of enthusiasm and then went on his way, Terra completely forgotten.

It was abrupt. There wasn’t anything else fit to describe it.

Eraqus crossed his arms. His mind was nowhere near the castle. 

The tension in Terra’s shoulders slacked. “Master?”

Eraqus smirked. It was subtle under that enormous mustache, but it was solemn as well. 

“My students,” he said. “I have always taught you that power is born within the heart. It is what makes our Keyblades vigorous, our will to overcome darkness unbendable. We need our bodies to be strong in order to serve our hearts, and we need our hearts to be strong to serve greater purpose. We therefore rely on our minds to be strong to keep us oriented.”

He turned to face them. “And yet, what have I always said was the paradox of strength?”

It was an odd time to quiz them, yet he loved taking them by surprise anyway. They prepared their answers with suitable postures. 

“Strength alone is needed to walk the right path,” Terra started. They had just studied this last week. “Yet it falters easily to temptation.”

“Strength together is the only force that can stand ground against anything,” Aqua said. “Yet it can corrupt if not with right intention.”

“You need both to find balance where it lacks,” Terra finished.

“Very good.” Whatever troubled his mind threatened to spread across Eraqus’ face, even though they recited his lesson perfectly. “My star pupils, indeed.”

Aqua wanted to ask. 

She hesitated. He never really discussed his past with either of them, except for the rare slip up. She knew there was one other student who grew up with him. Judging from what she had just seen, she suspected something had happened between them, and it really hurt.

“Was he that other student?” Terra asked, and it relieved her. 

“Yes,” Eraqus said frankly. “And what you shall remember from today is the essence of forgiveness in maintaining that strength together.”

“Sir?”

“Terra… Aqua… It is terribly important that you continue to look out for each other’s best interests if you want to realize your dreams as Masters. One of you must be strong if the other makes a mistake. Stand by this philosophy, and life will reward you with an unbreakable bond that would empower your Keyblades and your fight against darkness.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded.

Master Eraqus sighed. The smile he wore faded away, though he carried himself with such intimidation that those who knew him would never notice the difference. 

But Aqua noticed. It left his eyes, first.

“I must admit,” Eraqus said quietly, “I am simply human. I have shown weakness in my own despair.”

Aqua squirmed in her feet. Her Master was strong. Always.

Terra was speechless.

“Come,” the Master said, switching his attitude back to his comfort zone: duty. “Master Xehanort was never a competent caretaker, and that boy needs our attention.”

That boy continued to sleep. Day after day, he was given a new glass of water that sat on his bedside table and never emptied.

They took turns watching over him: Eraqus in the morning to diagnose his condition for the day, Aqua to stay the longer hours and watch for signs of improvement, and Terra at night with his books to study, though he never opened them.

What that boy needed was a miracle, and Aqua called it one when he finally opened his bright, blue eyes.

~*~*~*~

Ventus wasn’t very responsive. 

Eraqus took a pen with a thin torchlight that shimmered different colors at its tip. He waved it, testing if Ventus would follow. “Ventus?”

He didn’t even respond to his name, blank eyes staring at Eraqus and yet never really noticing there was someone standing right in front of him. 

It was like Ventus had lost his soul somewhere, and was searching the room to find it.

“Master?” Aqua asked nervously. She had prayed for a miracle, and she wanted the stars to respond compassionately - not demand a cost for his consciousness.

The Master shushed her, and Terra this whole time must have held his breath, for he refused to move a millimeter. 

“Ventus?” he tried again. “Are you hungry?”

Still, no response, except for a blink. 

After a minute, Ventus finally registered that there was someone talking to him, and he cocked his head. 

“He certainly does not behave like a boy his age. This is most grave,” the Master grunted, turning off his tiny flashlight and rolling his neck back to stretch it. “I must seek out a colleague of mine. She refuses to name herself a witch, but she is gifted and will be able to nurse him back to health.”

The way the Master said that felt like it had finality, and suddenly the room weighed twice as heavy on Aqua’s shoulders. 

“A- Are you leaving now?” Terra shook.

“Yes.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Eraqus chuckled. He paid no attention to them, preparing a small clutch with some munny.  “There is no way to be certain. She is difficult to pin down and she, too, travels worlds. But I trust Ventus is in the right hands.”

By now, Eraqus was out the door, a Terra begging with his eyes following him.

“But Master, what can  we  do to help him?” he asked as though the Master had given Terra a stranger’s baby with a soiled diaper, and claimed it was his.

“Keep an eye on his behavior,” the Master said simply. “Provide for him what he needs. Nourishment, attention, and care.” It sounded like a simple list of instructions and yet there were so many questions. “And whatever you plan on doing for him, if he learns to walk again, do not, under  any circumstances, let him leave the castle.”

Those were Eraqus’ only words of advice for Aqua and Terra. He shut the entrance doors, and all that was left was the grinding in Terra’s jaws.

“We’ll be fine,” Aqua said, and finally, Terra breathed.

“He acts like it’s supposed to be easy,” Terra grunted, making his way back to the bedroom where Ventus stared at the wall, his legs still well-tucked under the bedsheets like he had no interest in moving around.

Terra scratched the back of his head. “What’s his name, again?”

“Ventus.”

At the sound of his name, he turned to her. His eyes were blank but curious, maybe even a little confused. She didn’t get the impression that it was his name that caught his attention but the simple fact that she spoke. 

Terra held a grip in his own hair as he mumbled. The longer he did so, the more his eyes furrowed like whatever he was concentrating on was a really difficult subject to grasp.

“You ok?”

“Vennnnnn…” Terra cleared his throat. “Veni- Vantis.” He tisked when he gave up.

“It’s not that hard.”

“How about we just call you Ven?” he asked, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Would you like that?”

Ventus didn’t smile back, but he awed at Terra’s smile like it was new to him. 

“It’s cute,” Aqua said, also smiling at Ven. “I’m Aqua.”

“I’m Terra.” He pointed to himself.

Ven glanced at each, back and forth, like their grins were overwhelming. 

“Are you hungry, Ven?” Terra asked.

“He has to be,” Aqua said.

“Then what do we feed him?”

“Food.”

“Don’t be a smart - Okay, let’s go get him food.”

That seemed easy enough. They’d cook and clean up together, and in no time, the Master would be back to decide the best course of action. 

But when they started to walk away, Ven’s eyes trailed them. He wasn’t adept in expressing emotion and yet…

“He’s so cute,” Aqua whispered.

“He looks so sad,” Terra said.

“... I don’t feel comfortable leaving him all by himself.”

“Yeah, let’s not.”

“Okay here’s the plan,” Aqua said, her voice louder and ready to take command. “I’ll go make his food and you watch him.”

Terra scowled. “No way. I’m not owing you a chore debt.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re supposed to be splitting all of our chores evenly, remember? It was a blood oath.”

“It wasn’t a blood oath.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he’d forget something so easy to remember. “It was a spit oath.”

“Either way, I’m not falling for the idea that watching him is equal to you actually laboring in the kitchen.” 

He had a point. 

“Okay, I’ll cook and you clean,” she said. “No argument.”

“Or…” He gripped her arms before she turned over her shoulder, a smirk wrestling with his lips and a glint shining in his eye. “ I’ll  go to the kitchen and make some soup… I should make him tea, anyway.  You clean up after me. Then we’re even. Okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just make sure to flavor the soup.”

Ven managed to overlap his hands together, like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

“Terra can be such a child sometimes,” Aqua said when she sat down next to him.

Ven didn’t respond. He looked at her eyes, her smile, his own hands, like he was never taught how to speak.

She really hated seeing him like this. 

“You really hurt yourself, didn’t you?” She wanted to keep up appearances, and give him a friendly environment to feel safe in…

But it was so hard to keep smiling when he behaved this way. 

His hair was still plastered and uneven. Without a hairbrush ready, she took to her fingers, bringing smoothness to the crown of his head, parting his hair asymmetrically for style. 

“Very dignified,” she said when she finished. She rummaged through the bedside table and the dresser for a hand mirror, showing him the result. 

He didn’t have much of an opinion - not that she expected one. But he was interested in her hand. He weakly reached out, squinting his eyes like he’d never seen fingers before. 

He hesitated.

“It’s okay,” she said, opening her palm out.

He pressed his hand against hers, like they were measuring them. He was so much younger than her but his was more calloused, despite the extensive training she's had. Maybe he spent most of his time outside and playing with his hands. His skin was also dry - cracks of discoloration lived in between his knuckles. He must have come from a very dry and dusty climate. 

Ven let go of her, and spaced out like she didn’t exist. 

It must have been the sound of footsteps approaching and the humid smell of herbal soup that got his attention. 

“Lunch time,” Terra said. He tried too hard to be perky, waving a tray with pizzazz. On it was a bowl of soup proudly steaming with various aromas, and a child’s mug of tea. 

He placed the tray on the bed, right over Ven’s legs. “There’s saint’s wort for the heavy heart,” Terra explained when he handed Ven the mug. “And basil for mental clarity. But don’t worry, I’ve masked their flavors.”

Ven took it slow, testing the temperature on his lips before taking a sip. 

His face scrunched up like he had tasted something sour, his eyes as wrinkled as a cabbage. He was too sweet of a boy to shove it back forcefully, and instead offered it back.

But Terra was dejected. “He didn’t like it?” 

“I’ll take it,” Aqua said. Even if it wasn’t for her, it was senseless to deny Terra’s divine teas. He blended peppermint and spearmint for the base flavors, suppressing the basil without removing its presence which gave it just the right kick, and a hint of vanilla to make it sweeter. 

Terra eyed his soup - a thick, murky broth with meat and potato chunks, accompanied by floating peppers and other vegetables. “Try this instead,” he said, offering the spoon. “It’s good for your body.” He beat his chest with his fist. “It’ll help you grow strong.”

Ven trusted. He picked up a spoonful, slurping the contents in. 

He sniffled. His nose turned red and he took huge exhales in between his chews, carefully smacking his lips as he churned the meat into his mouth.

“What did you put in it?” Aqua asked. She grabbed the spoon from Ven and took a sip herself.

Her nose burned. Her eyes watered. Her throat angered.

“What do you think of it?” asked Terra.

He took her advice too much to heart. “It’s…”  Spicy. “Decent.” 

Terra’s laugh was breathy, and she nearly smacked him on the shoulder. 

Ven reached with both hands for the spoon so he could drink more. No matter how spicy it was for him - there were times where his breaths almost sounded like sobs when his eyes became glassy - he kept swallowing. 

“It reminds me,” Terra said softly, watching Ven eat, “of when Kain broke his leg.”

Aqua gave him her full attention.

Much of Terra’s childhood before the Land of Departure was isolated. When he talked about the orphanage, he always did so with a seriousness that told Aqua he really trusted her to keep these memories safe for him. 

But this time, he spoke with a calm smile on his face. 

“He had a cast,” Terra said. “We wrote our signatures on it and… We skipped rocks with it.”

“Excuse me?”

“We did,” Terra laughed. Ven kept eating, and it pleased Terra more, even though the boy looked like he was suffering. “We would toss pebbles onto his cast to see which ones bounced the furthest.” 

“That’s…”  Barbaric. Aqua scoffed.

Terra was far away, but he wasn’t. There was a child-like excitement to his eyes, hands reaching over to mess with Ven’s hair, spiking it up. “Do you like this better, Ven?”

It had been a long time since she made Terra smile this much. 

She grew up with a friendly Terra, but with age came reflection, and sometimes he took that too far. When he smiled with her, it was with gravity. 

With Ven, it was a beam of light. 

Maybe it was just the excitement of someone new. It wasn’t Ven’s fault - if anything, he looked like he needed a friend, too. 

“What do you think happened to him?” Aqua asked.

“Hard to say…” Terra sighed. “Do you think he committed one of the forbidden acts?”

“No…” she drawled. “He’s too innocent.”

“Maybe he was curious.” Terra shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe he turned his Keyblade against his own heart to see what would happen.”

Aqua pursed her lips. She was never interested in doing such things, and the fact that Terra even mentioned it made her worried. 

Ven smacked his lips a little more, breaths seeping out of each while he savored the last spicy bits of potato. 

“I hope we can help him feel better,” she said. 

Terra stayed silent. There was no telling if they were capable of accomplishing that.

Their wave of melancholy had an obvious effect on Ven, who stopped chewing and eyed them inquisitively.

“Well,” Aqua said, needing to change the subject and do something to take her mind off of this. She stood up. “I’ll clean the kitchen now.”

“Already did.” 

She had half a mind to smack him across the back of the head. “Terra, that’s cheating.” 

“Now you owe me a chore debt.” 

Terra was pleased with himself, Aqua had no choice but to sit back down, and Ven stared at his spoon when he was finished, 

~*~*~*~

It was an ebb and flow.

They took turns between staying with him and running a never ending list of errands: the painting frames needed dusting; the tiles to be mopped; breakfast, lunch, and dinner to be prepared, cooked, and served (only for the dishes to need washing). If not any of that, then they took to the gardens: the flowers thirsted for water, the strawberries were ripe for picking, and the autumnal sprouts had to be saved from weeds.

Yet no matter how many teas Terra brewed, each with its own custom flavor, Ven didn’t like them. Using potions to heal Ven could get dangerous without surveillance, so those were out of the question. 

Terra and Aqua sparred and continued their studies at night, when Ven was asleep. If they woke up early enough, they could spend some leisure time together - playing a game of chess, or simply to talk, like they would do if they weren’t taking so much time apart. 

But when Ven started to walk, their time escaped them like they never had it to begin with.

“Aqua!”

Terra’s call bounced down the halls one morning, and Aqua heard it in the kitchen. At first she ran - it was faster than instinct - and yet she had to come back to settle the stove down and remove the batter or else she’d waste it on burnt pancakes. 

Ven wasn’t in his room. A shocked Terra just stood there with no explanation. 

They split up and took laps around the academy: the eastern wing, where the bedrooms were; the back entrance, which led to the gardens; the attic, where the Master kept ancient relics and untamed weapons; the front entrance, which actually worried Aqua because there were many cliffs outside where he could pummel to his doom; and the kitchen, which wasn’t safe. Period. 

Aqua finally found him just outside the Master’s door. He looked like a normal boy, walking around like he wasn’t terribly ill.  

“Not in there!” she exclaimed. 

She held him by the shoulder. “There’s lots of souvenirs and artifacts the Master keeps in there. Some of them are sharp.”

He didn’t understand.

“Come on.” She took his hand. “We just want you to be safe.”

What a life to keep tabs on him at all times.

Ven would watch Aqua bake her cookies, which took her longer than normal because she had to stop him from touching all sorts of hot appliances. 

Ven would watch Terra polish old statues, who had to make sure Ven stayed far enough away not to come near, and yet close enough to keep a firm eye on. 

When he was with one of them, the other would fill their time with practicing their forms with their Keyblades, or reading one of their mandatory textbooks. 

Alone. Aqua now sparred alone, and she worried she would fall behind because of it. 

Aqua and Terra’s tradition of studying together at night would also be sacrificed - they’d be so exhausted after the day was over that they’d go immediately to bed.

Ven improved… slowly. He learned to point at orange juice when he wanted it, to hop on one foot, and to dress himself into his pajamas. 

And yet after all this time, Ven still wouldn’t speak. Aqua sometimes wished the Master would come home soon and give them proper guidance. Maybe they were doing something wrong. 

But it all became worth it, soon enough.

Aqua prepared breakfast: waffles with strawberries for herself and Ven, and a plate of sausages with olives and crushed chickpeas for Terra. 

They had a routine: Terra placed plates on the table and Aqua filled them with food. 

Instead of taking his seat at the table, Ven leaned on it and watched them. “Hi!” he said. 

They gasped. She heard correctly.

Both of them huddled over him, and Aqua forgot that food would cool if left unattended. 

“Hi, Ven,” Aqua said, sniffling. It had been a long time since she cried, probably when she was nine years old. She had never expected it to happen again.

“Hi!” Ven said to Aqua, staring at her tears.

“Hi, Ven,” Terra said softly. His breathy laughs began to break, and he swallowed back his weeps. He ruffled through Ven’s hair hard enough to ruin his coif.

“Hi!” Ven said to Terra.

“We’re so glad you’re feeling better,” Aqua said, also taking a hand to his head. 

“Hi!” He said it louder this time, like he wasn’t being heard.

“Is that the only word you know?” she asked.

“Hi!”

She and Terra shared glances. From the way Terra chuckled through his nose, he was relieved. 

~*~*~*~

If Aqua desperately needed a break, she’d sit in the library with a huge book titled Recipes for a Stronger Keybearer, which wasn’t mandatory but she considered it vital for her own development. 

The library was perfect for a quiet repose. Even though the book was interesting, a nap was well-deserved and Aqua found it difficult to sneak one in otherwise.

That didn’t last, either. 

One night, Terra paid a visit with Ven trailing closely behind him. 

“Aqua, watch this.”

She inhaled sharply when she heard him, shaking her head awake. “What is it?” she mumbled.

Terra crossed his arms and he had a goofy grin on his face.

Her heart fluttered to see it, but she kept her expression firm. That wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling - she was supposed to be happy that Terra was this excited.

But her heart also dropped to see it. She couldn’t even recall if they even had a conversation to themselves yesterday, and if they did, what they talked about. 

Terra quieted his laughter. “Watch, watch,” he whispered. 

He took a few steps, pretending he wasn’t scheming.

Ven blinked at first, then followed.

Then Terra stopped.

Ven ran into him. 

Terra walked again, and Ven followed. 

Terra stopped. Ven crashed. 

Aqua had to snort at the sight. It was so cute - so damn cute that her chest crushed itself. It was unbecoming of a Keybearer to be so swayed by emotion, but she refused to fight it. “You’re so smart, Ven,” she cooed, skipping over to hug him around the shoulders. 

Even if all Ven could do was stare at her with those big, blue eyes and a blank expression, it made her smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

Suddenly, she was perked up and awake.

And Terra was here. What perfect timing, they could all do something together in those last twenty minutes before bedtime. 

“You know what I’ve been reading?” she asked Terra. She held the book’s cover up for him to read. Anything that would help him get better at wielding his Keyblade was right up his alley, especially if it was good food. 

“That looks interesting-” 

Ven tugged on Terra’s pants by the waist.

“Okay, okay,” Terra said, petting Ven on the head. “Sorry, Aqua, I guess he’s tired-”

Ven tugged again, and pointed to the window, whimpering.

The library’s windows were theaters in their own right. As tall as monuments, they were a gateway to the outside, and it was (almost) as if they were standing right outside. 

It was a clear night, and they had a front seat view at the stars. 

Without waiting for Terra, Ven hurried and pressed his face against the glass to stare up.

So she wasn’t going to have any time with Terra. That was fine. Tending to Ven was more important, anyway. 

“Aren’t they nice?” Terra asked, who failed miserably at pulling Ven’s attention away.

Aqua took Ven’s other side, kneeling over so she could speak to him more directly. “Isn’t that one the prettiest?” she asked, pointing a finger against a glass plate at the largest star from this side of the mountains.

Ven pressed his palms against the window, as if he wanted to touch it. “Hi,” he said. Whether to them or to the star, it was hard to tell. 

Whatever joy Terra had with him had ran away from his face. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll never help him heal. He never wants to smile.” Stating that truth hurt Aqua in the heart. “I just want to know what he’s thinking…”

Aqua pouted. Such interest in the stars had to account for something, some proof that he was slowly getting better and wanted more out of life, right?

She smiled at Ven, who only gave her a passing glance. He was still precious. “All we can do,” she said, gently brushing through his hair, “is accept him for who he is.”

Terra nodded firmly, willing his frown into a smile. “We’ll show you the stars on the other side of the castle, Ven,” he said softly. “They’re just as cool, you’ll like them.” 

Ven yawned, pressing his forehead against the glass and closing his eyes.

“See,” Terra said, chuckling through his nose. “I knew you were tired.” He grabbed Ven’s hand -  the signal that it was time to move. Ven promptly complied and kept close. 

“I guess…” Aqua started, making her way back to her book. Would it be a surprise if she didn’t get any pleasure out of reading her book, now that she’d be alone? “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Terra took Ven on their way out of the library. “Good night.”

The first three sentences on the open page blurred together and Aqua couldn’t recall what any of them said. She could actually just spend those last minutes of the night with them, instead.

Well, she shouldn’t really interrupt bedtime, and Terra was very protective of the chores he shared with her, holding on to her debt for the day he needed it. 

But she had enough silence to last a week, and she had no Terra in her life like she used to, and to grasp what little she had left, Aqua couldn’t help herself.

Following them was the easiest choice she had made in a while.

Ven’s door was wide open, its only light shining down the hallway as all of the other bedrooms, hers and Terra’s included, were vacant. 

Hiding behind the wall, she peeked inside. 

Ven sat on the bed, tucking his knees in. He gazed out at the stars, leaning his entire weight on the marble windowsill to the point that he would fall over if there wasn’t a window in his way. Terra tossed toys aside - stuffed animals, wooden blocks, plastic cars, blankets, and all sorts of trinkets from random worlds that used to belong to him. Pretty soon, she expected the Master to give the same courtesy and get Ven new things from the worlds he visited. 

“Gotta make the bed,” Terra said, pulling Ven from his armpits. 

He flung Ven around, in circles, fast enough to make Ven’s feet pick up in the momentum, like he was flying, whirling like an umbrella caught in a storm.

It was only Terra that laughed, but if Ven didn’t like it, he’d whimper. 

If anything, Aqua’s heart thumped at the sight. Terra was always strong, so picking up a boy half his weight was no big deal. The way he interacted with Ven was sweet and courteous, something she admired and respected.

But it was the laughter that hit her the hardest. She didn’t realize how much she missed it. 

“Okay,” Terra said, slowing to a stop. “That’s enough.”

He landed Ven by the table, and went on to make the bed (poorly, he rushed it). 

Aqua finally stepped through. “Can I hang out?”

“If it’s not intruding on your personal time.” Terra measured the bedsheet with the comforter, aligning the two. He was surprised to see her, and he gave her a half-smirk. Even that made her draw heat to her ears.

“It’s not.” 

Ven rummaged through his drawers, pulling out paper and jars of paint. Finger painting had become his favorite pastime, and despite Aqua offering numerous paint brushes to encourage such an interest, he refused all of them. 

“Then you are welcome in my presence,” Terra said, lazily layering the sheets onto the bed. 

She sat next to Ven, watching him twist the jars open. 

Before he started… “Ven,” she said, “can you draw me a picture of where you’re from?”

“That’s a good idea.” Terra left the bed and the rest of the mess, looking over Ven’s shoulder. 

“Hi,” Ven said. It wasn’t inquisitive, it wasn’t confused. The way he said it made him sound content, even if he can’t smile, like a zombie who loved art. 

“Yes, hi,” Aqua said, running a light hand through his hair. She tapped at the blank page. “Can you do that for me?”

Ven took a moment to stare at the blank page. He opened a jar of rusty orange, and dipped his finger in, making huge sweeps across the bottom of the page.

His finished painting was very basic: a mass of orange and brown, with a tall plateau in the background. 

In fact, Terra stammered, like he expected there to be more. 

Aqua looked hard. It offered no other clues. “It looks like a desert.”

Terra cocked his head. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Where are the houses?”

“... It’s creepy.”

“There aren’t any people around, either.”

Terra sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t remember them.”

Her heart sank. 

“I’m glad you found us, Ven,” she said, giving him a smile that he didn’t return.

“Hi.” 

She sighed, too. She was about to ask if he could draw his old friends, but she didn’t want to make him upset. Eraqus only took children who had no family left, and despite that it had been years since she arrived, she had to be in a specific mood to be able to talk about her parents. She probably already exhausted all of her strength talking about them with Terra. 

“Come on, Ven,” she said sweetly. His eyebrows curled up, like he was lost and was waiting for someone to find him. She got the gut-wrenching feeling that his painting made him upset. It was the way he hung his head. “Let’s wash up.”

She guided him by his elbow to the washroom.

“Do you think we could take him out?” Terra asked before they reached the door.

“What do you mean?”

“Outside.” 

She stopped. Ven stopped as well, looking up at her with his hands in the air as though he wasn’t allowed to wash his wands. “The Master said we shouldn’t take him outside.”

“It’s not like we’re letting him explore the woods. The gardens are safe.” Terra leaned onto one of the chairs, one hand on his hip. “We’ll keep watch over him.”

“But the Master-”

“Do you actually think,” Terra frowned, “it’s good for him to be locked inside the castle at all hours?”

Aqua paused. She wanted to say that if the Master thought Ven should stay in the castle, then it was for good reason… But  what reason? 

“I want him to enjoy himself,” Terra said quietly, looking over at the lonely picture on the table. A thought passed through Aqua’s mind that they should trash it. “We can each hold his hand so he doesn’t wander off.”

If they were both holding on to him, then surely…

“Okay.” 

She placed a hand behind Ven’s shoulder to continue on their way.

“Hey.” Terra was skeptical, both hands leaning back on the chair now. “He knows how to wash his hands.” 

She rolled her eyes - she honestly had more dignity than that. “He still needs supervision.”

Terra clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t count as payment.”

“Of course it won’t. I don’t cheat.” She pointed her nose up at him. 

She led Ven to the sink. He was taught to scrub in between his fingers, and to focus under his fingernails. When he was finished, she pointed to her own cheek - there was a spot of paint left on his, and he turned the water on again to finish the job. 

Only when Ven put on a clean shirt did Terra take his left hand and Aqua his right. They walked him to the back entrance of the castle, where golden gates designed with grape and vine filigree were kept locked. 

Two lamps marked the outside entrance to the gardens, which were split in two by a concrete pathway that stopped at the fields beyond, where evergreen trees cloaked the horizon. It was a clear night, with gentle winds blowing. 

“It’s a little nippy,” Aqua said, checking on Ven to see if he was shivering. He wasn’t, but she adjusted his shirt to cover his chest properly anyway (it already was, she was being paranoid).

“Let’s stop here,” Terra said, taking a seat onto the steps the led down into the flower bed.

They held Ven tightly, and when he sat down with him, they didn’t let go. 

“Look, Ven,” Terra said, pointing up into the sky. 

It took a moment for Ven to look up since he was mesmerized by towers of speedwell flowers and strawberry vines.

But when he followed, a loud “Woooohhhh” left his lips.

And he smiled. He laughed. He laughed harder as he leaned back to look for the stars that disappeared behind the castle, and to the left to find more stars beyond the mountains. There wasn’t a way to count all of them. 

Aqua cried for the second time, when that was something she promised never to do again. Exchanging a hand for the one that held Ven’s, she wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and listened to him giggle, felt him hop in excitement under her weight. 

A stronger arm held over her and Terra’s head rested on hers, while a young boy shook their hands so they could pay attention and look up, too.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Ven woke up with a cough.

He also had a runny nose and a fever. Aqua tucked him under fleece blankets up to his chin for the chills. 

Terra went straight to work in the kitchen, mixing lemongrass and sage into his chicken broth for the symptoms. He refused help from Aqua. 

Aqua knew what he was doing to himself. “It’s not your fault, Terra.”

Terra didn’t reply. He continued to stir with his ladle. 

“I can slice some oranges for him-”

“Aqua, I said I’ll handle it.” He glanced at her. “I’m not adding to your chore debt, don’t worry.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.” She pursed her lips. Sometimes when Terra got upset, he needed space - a lot of it - but she already spent so much time away from him. She watched the meat boil from over his shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I didn’t say, I told you so?”

He smirked. “You have every right.”

“It is good to be right.” She fiddled with her nails, and he smiled. Good. “But I still won’t say it.”

“I got what I wanted, so I’ve already said it to myself.” He added more pepper. 

“We all get sick. It was going to happen anyway.”

“...There’s still more for me to do,” Terra said with a low voice. “I have to make amends.”

She highly doubted that Ven would be the kind of boy to blame Terra for this, but she let it go. 

Terra asked her to stay by Ven’s side for the time being. She spent the entire day with Ven - Terra would check in every now and then, taking laps between the kitchen and the library as he continued to look up herbs for common colds that he could sneak into food, and even magical ingredients that could speed up the process. 

By night, Terra had visited the bedroom only five times for ten minute sessions. Aqua found it hard to believe that researching tea would swallow this much time but Terra liked to be thorough. 

Ven took to folding paper in his hands into disfigured halves when he finished his third bowl of soup and got bored of other toys. 

Terra came in, this time with sacks filled with bed pillows and couch pillows and throw pillows, some plain, others embroidered. 

“We’re building a pillow fort,” he announced.

He left and came back with blankets, clothespins, string, and broken broomsticks. Ven watched on as they went to work hanging and pinning the sheets around his bed, making a deep, tall cave.

“Lights?” Aqua asked as they pinned the last of them. 

“Got it covered,” Terra said, a triumphant smile on his face.

Coming back with a lamp and a cardboard box, he announced the pillow fort was ready. 

They crawled onto Ven’s bed and pinned the open side of the blankets to a close. With the lit lamp, Terra covered it with the cardboard box, which had several holes cut into it. 

A slew of five-pointed stars covered the entire fort. They were symmetrical and slick, as though Terra took the time to sandpaper his carved art.

It made Ven happy, especially since he was able to run his hand against the fabric and trace their shapes, one by one. 

Aqua was warm - not just from sitting under so many blankets, but from the gesture. Terra always had a big heart, even though he was too reclusive to show it. He was sensitive, and yes, he took things too personally sometimes, but that was part of his charm. 

If anyone had harmed someone he was close to, he’d feel their pain and take it personal with them.

Building a pillow fort was the sort of thing Terra would do when she fell sick, too. She still had the custom cardboard box he carved for her when he was eleven. 

“This is beautiful, Terra,” she said softly. 

Terra hugged his knee tightly and bowed his head. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sick,” he said, watching Ven jab at a star, totally forgetting they were even there. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Ven looked at him with a toothy smile. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he parroted, sounding happy like he didn’t fully understand what it meant.

Aqua was strong enough to hold back the tears this time.

~*~*~*~

The moment she was jerked awake from a dream she didn’t remember, she knew it was going to be an unusual day. 

“Terra,” she spit. “What do you want?”

“I need your help.”

She sprung up, throwing her legs over the bed. “What happened to Ven?”

“Nothing, he’s not awake yet.” Terra shrugged and turned over to leave. 

“Ugh,” she groaned, slugging over her feet to follow. “Then… why?”

“We got a message from the Master.” He didn’t look back but hurried into his own bedroom, throwing himself onto the floor to grab his clean clothes and stuff them into his bottom dresser drawer. “He’s coming.”

Aqua sighed. “Thank goodness.” Then she perked up. “I can’t wait for him to see Ven’s progress.” Then she worried. “Oh no, he’ll notice he’s sick.”

“Yeah, that’s-” Terra looked over his shoulder, and found one sock. “It’ll be fine. But I need you to help me clean.”

She scoffed. “Seriously? Feeding Ven is so much more important.”

“He’s not awake yet.” Terra gesticulated like he was begging. “You owe me a chore debt, don’t forget that.”

“And this is your idea of a brilliant payment?”

“Aqua.”

She exhaled through her nose and brought herself down on her knees. She wondered if Terra liked to annoy her just because he thought it was funny. 

The way he was overstuffing his drawer made her eyebrow twitch - they were all going to get wrinkled. Instead of helping him pick up anything else, she folded everything he put away. 

“Why is this an emergency?” she asked with the sarcasm she wanted to slap him with. 

“My nanny is coming.”

She stopped folding. “You had a nanny?”

Terra chuckled, crawling around the carpet to grab more random pieces of clothing, handing her two pairs of briefs. “Before you came, yeah. The Master wasn’t going to leave me all alone in a castle when I was six.”

“She’s the witch who’s going to perform miracles on Ven?” Aqua pulled out the matching sock which was hidden behind a roll of shirts.

“Yep.” Terra watched the window. For what sign, she didn’t know.

“If it’s so important to have your room clean,” she said, opening a drawer he just closed to fold the clothes he threw in there, “why didn’t you plan for it ahead of time?”

She heard him gasp. The wind outside was picking up speed, pushing against the windows. “She’s here,” he said, scurrying on his feet and racing out of his room. “We should wake up Ven and get him ready.”

It would have left his bedroom half messy but Aqua considered her debt paid. 

They found him sneezing to the point that his mucus ran down to his lips, and Aqua cleaned him up with a tissue. Terra scuffled to throw random toys into a chest, even though some of them belonged on the shelf - anything to make it look cleaner. Ven didn’t have a fever anymore, and Terra guided him to stand up. 

Aqua was going to ask what kind of nanny were they expecting, only to hear two voices approaching.

“We will of course accommodate you with the most extravagant room we can offer.” That was the Master’s voice. “Right next to the boy’s room.”

He and his guest didn’t bother to stop in the lounge or the dining room to wind down, instead they came straight here. Upon entering, the woman took a slow, condescending look around the chaos of a bedroom. The most remarkable thing about her was her black boater hat, adorned in flowers. She had incredibly perfect posture, pinned up in a long petticoat, and she parted her feet wide enough to look like it hurt. This woman must have traveled a lot: in one hand was a huge carpet bag, and in the other was an umbrella. 

“Terra,” said the woman, “how lovely it is to see you again.” She spoke kindly… yet not too casual or inviting. Aqua had the immediate impression that this woman, however warm, was not to be messed with.

“Ms. Poppins.” Terra bowed. 

“Aqua,” the Master said. “This is Mary Poppins, she will be taking care of Ventus until he is clear of his illness.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Aqua said, also bowing. 

“Very cordial, you’ve raised them well, Eraqus.” Mary Poppins left her bag and umbrella on the desk to remove her hat and scarf. 

The Master stepped forward, inspecting Ven closely. “Everything went smoothly, I presume?” Terra and Aqua threw the quickest glances at each other as they could. “How are you, Ventus?”

Ven sneezed. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he said, wiping his nose with his forearm.

“Pardon?”

Aqua jittered. She hated lying, and hated the fact that she was getting better at it. “W-we opened the windows for him one night to give him some fresh air.” She rolled her lips inward. “That was a bad idea, we’re sorry.”

Terra struggled to hide a smirk, and Aqua really wanted to step on his foot for being such a bad influence on her. 

The Master didn’t seem concerned about it, petting through Ven’s hair. “‘Tis a seasonal thing. I am happy to hear that Ventus is speaking at least.”

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven again, louder this time.

“Eraqus,” Mary Poppins said, tisking at Ven’s condition and taking a measuring tape with her. “All this time, I believed you were exaggerating, yet I was so suspicious of myself for even considering that of you.”

The Master chuckled, giving her space. “I am ever the serious one.”

“To a fault.” She measured Ven with the tape from crown to foot. “Don’t slouch.”

Ven grabbed the tape. “Hi.”

“Now, Ventus,” she said firmly. “A respectable young gentleman keeps his hands to himself.”

“Ven,” he said, drawing his hand back. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Plucking the tape with her thumb, she read: “Sweet-natured, yet disturbed and shocked. Unable to recall where he is. Broken-hearted.” 

There was no way a measuring tape told her this. What in the world…?

Ms. Poppins tisked, shaking her head. “Terrible condition, this will not do.” Turning to the Master, she nodded. “I will stay until he grows a proper notch.”

“It is much appreciated.” Eraqus wrapped his arms across each other. “Terra, Aqua, thank you for looking after Ven. Your hard work has shown excellent progress, and I am confident Ms. Poppins will be able to lead him to proper health.”

“Sir.” They bowed. 

The Master rubbed his beard. “You may now be dismissed. Please focus on your training for today. I have been wary of being away without supervising your work for this long.”

“Master?” Aqua asked, lagging behind while Terra immediately followed orders. “Will Ven stay with us?”

Eraqus paused at his mustache. Mary Poppins was already uncorking an unlabeled medicinal bottle and preparing a spoon. 

“Of course he will,” the Master said. “Granted he will completely recover, I aim to train him as a Keyblade wielder.”

It brought Aqua some relief, yet it did little for the unease left in her stomach. It meant she had to give Ven away to others to be looked after. It meant not knowing what he was doing, or if his coughing got better, or where he was at all hours.

Mary Poppins poured medicine onto the spoon, and Ven didn’t even reject it. He treated Terra’s teas worse. 

“You’ve heard the Master,” Mary Poppins said after a second too long of Aqua staying in her place. She corked her bottle. “You are welcome to visit when you are finished, but you’ll get nowhere dawdling all day. Spit spot.” 

The authority in her voice kicked Aqua into speed as she hurried out to the ballroom.

But Terra wasn’t very interested in sparring, either. He barely put effort into it, letting his mind wander in between stances and quick duels - especially when they got too repetitive. They were so mindless about their work that they didn’t even scar the gold floor tiles this time. 

“Let’s focus,” Aqua said. “If we finish what we need to do faster, we can make sure Ven’s okay.”

“Hm?” Terra rested Earthshaker on his shoulder and a hand on his hip. “Ven’s definitely going to be okay. I’m not worried about that - it’s just weird being away from him.”

Aqua let her smile fall. “... I am,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be.” Terra’s smile was just like she was used to: sincere, but timid. Nothing like what he was showing when they were hanging out with Ven. “Ms. Poppins… has her ways.” 

“What kind of witch is she?”

“Don’t call her that. She’ll deny it.” He scoffed. “She’s a prim and proper lady, and she won’t make you forget that.”

“But she’s good at what she does?”

“Definitely.” Terra let his smile soften. “I hated it when the Master left, but she always made it better. We went on so many adventures in the castle.”

That was hard for Aqua to believe - and not just because she couldn’t imagine a prim and proper lady getting her dress dirty. They had addressed each other so formally, like she was just as much of a Master as Eraqus or Xehanort that Terra needed to show obedience to.

Terra read her expression well. “She’s a bit strict and old-fashioned, but you’ll see,” he said like it was a good enough explanation.

“Ah.” Aqua leaned Rainfell onto the floor. “That’s why the Master gets along with her.”

Terra snorted.

They were finally allowed to see Ven later that night - but only after the Master sat them down for three excruciating tests. Aqua performed poorly in one because she didn’t have Terra as a sparring partner, and Terra failed two because he was too busy to read his mandatory textbooks.

The Master promised not to count any of it against them, and they would have re-testing done in the upcoming weeks.

~*~*~*~

“He likes the stars, Ms. Poppins,” Terra said when they found her sitting on a rocking chair with yarn and a crochet needle on her lap.

It was a bit disappointing to see that she completely tore down the pillow fort they had made.

Ven paced around his room attempting to snap his fingers, and Aqua didn’t understand why or how he learned how to do that.

“Very well.” Ms. Poppins looked down on her handiwork before getting distracted. “Ven, kindly sit yourself in bed, please. You can diddle-daddle once you are better.”

Instead of listening to her, Ven leaned on her armrest, tilting his head at the sight of yarn. “Hi.”

She exhaled through her nose as though snorting was beneath her. “I shall teach you to address your peers properly, soon enough.”

“Ms. Poppins,” Terra said, “he’s okay to walk around, right?” 

“Terra,” she warned, with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “mind your intentions.”

He smirked. “I do. I’m responsible.”

She let go of her work to open up her arms, Ven picking up one of the tails of yarn. 

If she didn’t believe Terra, Aqua couldn’t blame her. 

She didn’t know Ms. Poppins well. Aqua didn’t have a clue how to approach the subject, and she found herself with both her fists to her chest. “We haven’t been with him all day. Can we spend some time with him, please?” 

Ms. Poppins watched Ven untangle all of her progress, to the point where she would have to crochet from scratch. “I suppose that’s alright. You can take him but he needs to be back in bed before the hour. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Terra said, gently pulling knots of yarn woven over Ven’s fingers. 

“Be sure to follow the stars on your way out,” Ms. Poppins said as they left.

Which left a chill up Aqua’s spine, stiffening the ends of her hairs. Did she know somehow?

That had to be impossible. 

“What did she mean by that?” she asked Terra, taking Ven down the largest hallway that would eventually lead them to the center of the castle. The further they walked, the darker the hallways became, with barely a lit lantern to light their way. It was as if someone turned off all the lights.

Terra scoffed at the sight of Aqua’s worry. “I told you not to think too hard about it. She always means well.”

He stopped, holding his free hand to his chin as Ven pulled on his other. “Usually there’s some pretty awesome surprises. Maybe we should find a good place to stargaze?”

“She said to follow the stars, though.”

“Like constellations?” Terra snapped his fingers, which mesmerized Ven’s attention. “Maybe the north star. We should go to the north side of the castle.” 

Aqua didn’t quite hear that last part. Right past Terra’s shoulder was a glowing light that twinkled up against the wall, riding it up.

“What is that?” she said.

Ven gasped and charged with such a force that he slipped off their grip. He touched it, and it burst into a cascade of shining lights that hit the floor and spread outward. 

The floor darkened to a navy blue, and the lights continued to split into halves, until they formed an arrangement that covered the entire hallway, snuffing out the last lanterns as they traveled. 

She heard a soft laugh. Terra’s. “Stars.”

“She’s so cool,” Aqua said, touching a cluster of lights by her feet and watching them thrust outward. 

“I knew you would say that.”

They followed, hopping on clusters of stars until they exploded in all sorts of directions. If Aqua swiped her hand upward on the wall, they would spread across the ceiling. 

When they approached the stairs, the stars would clump together and take the shape of steps so they wouldn’t mistake them and tumble down. 

It was like adventuring in deep space. 

They traveled from a nebula in the entrance hall, where they searched for hidden stars...

… All the way to the meteor shower that rained in the ballroom, trying to catch them before they disappeared into the tiles. 

The only room that stayed the same was the Master’s office, where he obsessed over papers on his desk and trusted one lamp to light his way. To Aqua, it looked like he was reading in outer space, yet he never noticed.

By the time they made it back around to the bedrooms, the stars they first activated had formed their own galaxy, and they spent what little time they had left to name each one. Ven named each of his as “Ven.”

~*~*~*~

Aqua was just about to turn off her bedside lamp when the door knocked. 

Terra let himself in and shut it behind him. He had a piece of paper. “You should see what Ven painted.”

Sitting on her bed, he handed it over. Finger paints of very rough outlines of human figures - one blue, one short one that was green, and one tall one that was orange - took the space on the bottom. Above them was an uneven mess of dark blue with white fingerprints that made up the stars.

Aqua was too tired to really giggle but the painting made it easier for her. “It’s us.” She hid her face behind it. “It’s like the one you made me a long time ago, remember?”

“Shut up.” He looked away from her and buried his face in his hand.

“I still have it.”

“Of course you do.” He squirmed, grabbing his thighs. “You should keep this one, then. Keep them together.”

She let it rest on her lap. “It’s going to be nice… to have a new student.”

“I can’t wait to see what his Keyblade looks like.”

“Or what he can do with it.”

Terra leaned back. “He’s so small, but he’s tough.”

Aqua took one more look at the painting, then placed it on her bedside table. “He’s brave, too.”

She started to snuggle into her bed, digging herself into her bedsheets. She expected Terra to get the hint and turn off the lights for her when he left.

But he joined her instead.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

He made himself comfortable and laid on his side to face her. He had a sheepish smile on his face, and he fiddled with his hands under the sheet. His voice trembled the slightest when he said it, but what he meant reached his eyes: “I’ve missed you.”

The tips of her ears flared up. Soon enough, her cheeks would burn red so she saved face by dragging her sheets up to her nose. Her heart pounded, which wasn’t helping. 

Sleeping in each other’s beds used to be the norm when they were little, a long time ago.

“Really?” she said.

The way she was behaving made him a little uncomfortable. As if to mimic her, he pulled the sheets to rest right under his chin, packing on blankets in between their bodies as though they were doing something they shouldn’t be doing. 

“Yeah.” He tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s been a long time since we really talked.”

Aqua thought all this time things were changing forever. It seemed like all the grown ups she ever had a chance to talk to had lost their best friends, so now it was her time. It was a part of life, and whatever came their way, she had to accept it.

With or without Ven, it wasn’t like they could talk like they used to anymore, anyway.

It was a few months ago that she kissed Terra for the first time. 

She didn’t mean much by it. At least she didn’t think.

It really embarrassed him, though. When she sought him out to talk about it, all he did was shrug a shoulder and said You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, Aqua, and stared at a book he wasn’t actually reading. 

Like it was all a joke to him.

They never spoke about it since.

“I felt the same,” she whispered.

If it comforted him, she didn’t know. “Can I stay here for a while?”

She blushed. 

Hard. 

She kept it hidden behind fabric, so he wouldn’t see. “Mm, sure.” Whatever she was feeling, she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. It made her excited, and yet it was too overwhelming to define.

This was the worst time to be thinking about that kiss.

“But we are a little old for sleepovers, don’t you think?” she added, trying to stall this insane rush of thoughts.

“I guess so.” He was disappointed. 

“You can stay tonight.” She rolled over her shoulder to face away from him.  

“Thanks.” There was rustling and movement behind her. More space opened up between them, and he flicked the light switch off before settling. “Good night,” he chirped. 

All night, she stayed cemented to her side of the bed. Terra laid on his back, his hands interlaced on his chest, and he never moved either. 

She fell asleep expecting to crawl around him in the morning.

But she was alone when she woke up. 

The first person she greeted was none other than Ven, who was waiting for her in the dining room. Terra sat on the floor right by his side. 

“Hi!” Ven’s voice echoed in the enormous metal pot he wore on his head. 

Terra burst into laughter. “He loved it so much, I had to give it to him.”

“Ven?” Aqua pulled up from the rim, peeking under. Ven’s eyes glistened in the dark. 

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven. 

“I’m sorry for you, too.” She heaved with breath at the sight, changing silent looks of sheer hysteria with Terra as Ven banged on his own pot, the sound of clanging echoing. 

The door to the dining room slammed. “Look lively, children,” Ms. Poppins said. She kept her hands crossed over her waist and headed straight for the kitchen, adorning an apron. “The Master is coming.” 

Terra and Aqua immediately sprung, lifting Ven by the elbows so he could follow suit. With the Master here, Ven had a long way to go with learning how to pay respects. 

“Ven,” Ms. Poppins scoffed. “Such behavior. Take that out of your head, please.”

He slowly followed orders and let the pot hang in his hands, a sad frown on his face.

“Ms. Poppins,” Aqua called, watching the nanny command appliances in the kitchen telepathically. The teapot brewed without notice, and the eggs in the saucepan fried with just a glance. “Thank you for the trip last night. It was wonderful.”

Mary Poppins looked shocked. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” She left Aqua gaping to tend to the flour.

Terra shrugged at before letting his smile reach his eyes. He loved it when he was right. 

“Told you,” he said.

“Think you’re so clever?” she shot back.

“Of course he is,” Ms. Poppins said, and Aqua squirmed at the thought she was being overheard. “I remember to the word what his measurement read when I first met him.”

Terra hesitated to say something, like he was bracing for impact.

“Diligent, sensitive,” Ms. Poppins, recited from memory, motioning to Ven to help her prepare plates though he didn’t understand. “Cheeky. Keeps a messy room and lies about cleaning his room.”

Aqua snorted.

She kept ‘I told you’ to herself, but just this one last time.

[runnfromtheak]

fanfic author’s tagging game (yay!)

Thank ya darling for tagging me!!!! @boyblunder-thedarkheir!!!!!

AO3 Name(s): LostandLonelyBirds aka RUNNFROMTHEAK

Fandom(s): Primarily Batfamily (so, Dick Grayson) and Young Justice (along with DCU obviously, but I also dabble into Miralculous Ladybug, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, and MCU (none of which I will ever seriously write for? Idk man).

Number of fics: 22 I will admit to (how do you have so many, my dear @boyblunder-thedarkheir​? What is your secret?)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Are we talking writing or thinking about writing, cause those are two very different answers. I spent the most time writing this bitch of a fic I’m working on right now, and the most time thinking about the two latest installments of my main series, Death is But An Illusion (aka How Could He and How Could It Be). I agonize over every goddamn detail with Dick’s anger, Jason’s Jason-ness, and every person’s every move and word. I am a mess, and I’m going to be murdered if I don’t update them soon. I am not sorry about that XD

2. Fic you spent the least time on:  You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) aka my pick-your-own-canon clusterfuck of Dark!Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson being traumatized and tortured with no comfort (Some of them are so fucked up I question my own mind). I take less than an hour to write 80% of them, cause they’re short, and they very rarely take any time to plan. Fun and easy!

3. Longest Fic: At present, he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn)  is my longest, but the fic I’ve been hinting at on my other tumblr, @lostandlonelybirds​ is easily double the length (why do I do this to myself? Why am I like this?) the long boi (named one, not the one I won’t shut up about) is easily my best fic at the moment, and I’m so excited to write a sequel whenever I get the chance.

4. Shortest Fic: With Bated Breath and Pain You See (We're Nothing More Than Memories) technically, I have one shorter than that, but it’s a collab that wasn’t my original idea so I’m not counting it :)

5. Most Hits: You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) why do you people like this trash-fire so much? I don’t understand

6. Most Kudos:  How Could He which does not surprise me.

7. Most Comment Threads: Technically, How Could He followed by the trash-fire AU title thing I’m too lazy to type again, but I’m gonna love on this one: Just Close Your Eyes (No One Can Hurt You Now) because it’s my baby, and it deserves it okay?

8. Fave Fic You Wrote: Ooo we are doing a top five.

             5. How Could It Be (Jason is precious and sad and Dick is oblivious, and I love one-sided pining wayyyy too much)

             4.  How Could He (I put my life force into this stupid fic, so ofc it’s here)

             3. I'm Scared to Live But I'm Scared to Die (I'm Numb Inside) (the suicidal boy, major trigger warning)

             2. I See Things That Nobody Else Sees (And It's Slowly Killing Me)  (the only fic I’ve ever written from Cass’s perspective, and definitely one of the creepiest and most fucked up. Bruce does not look good here)

             1. he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn) (so ummm Bruce doesn’t look good here either? RHATO #25 if DC wasn’t cowardly and let Dick react how he actually would, aka fuck Batman is the new motto)

9. Rewrites?: Fuck. All my older ones? Everything? Who knows.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

Let’s do two. I’m nice.

First comes from How Could It Be:

“You loved him,” Donna says, ignoring his barb. “You loved him, and no one’s seen you or heard from you and I’m concerned, damnit.”

 She punches his shoulder roughly, and he’s reminded of her strength, no matter how small she seems in her dead best friend’s sweater.

 “I’m fine. Peachy-keen. Couldn’t be fuckin’ better. Honestly, you should be more concerned with Replacement, don’t think he’s slept in—”

 “Jason.” Her voice is firm, even as her eyes swim with tears and she holds her arms tight to herself, breathing in the well-loved item’s scent. Jason wonders when Dick wore it last, if Donna had taken it from his abandoned Gotham Penthouse or his Chicago Apartment. He wonders if he’d left it draped over the couch, like the natural disaster he was, or if it had been folded neatly in a drawer.

For someone who prides himself on not being sentimental, Jason suddenly wishes he had something of Dick’s too.

 “I’m here because I care, and because if Dick was here, he’d be doing the same thing I am.”

 “But he ain’t here,” Jason snaps, “Is he?”

 Donna’s head falls, and he feels like a giant jerk. He just… reacts poorly to that name, hasn’t heard it spoken since the transmission and subsequent funeral, since the guy he’d had the hots for since wearing the scaly panties had his mask ripped away and his life taken in front of Bruce’s eyes (who, to absolutely no one’s surprise, failed to save his son).

In the aftermath, no one said Dick Grayson’s name, always Nightwing, or some inane nickname the superhero community had for him. Last time he said it was to Damian, a failed attempt at comfort. But even Jason’s form of mutual grieving had been better than any of Bruce’s shit ideas. Bastard immortalized the ripped costume from his own son’s corpse (not that it had been the first time) and hadn’t even had the decency to give it a plaque (No ‘Good Soldier’ or ‘Good Son’, just a bare glass case with a bloody suit). Which… was weird. Jason was far from B’s best friend, but even he noticed something seemed strange, off, just not quite right. Like the funeral he didn’t speak at, like the breakdown none of them had witnessed beyond a one-off rage fit

“B, what the fuck happened down here?”

The Batcave was a disaster, dents glaringly obvious in several vehicles and a large spiderweb crack across the Batcomputer. Bruce closes the screen down, but Jason manages to catch a spiraling eye.

“Nothing, just…”

Bruce looks at the spare Nightwing costume none of them had taken down yet, still clean and ready for use (too bad its owner died and would never wear it again).

“Dick?” Jason questions, and the way Bruce’s eyes snap to his face is almost suspicious, almost enough to arouse concern.

“Yes. I—”

Jason sits next to Bruce on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I miss him too, Old Man. Don’t mean you need to be an ass about it.”

 A memorial next to Jason’s own, but Dickhead’s is empty and broken from Damian’s fists and grief, and Jason’s is just gone. No one told him why, it was just gone.

Kind of like Dick.

He wonders if Bruce would have told him if the video hadn’t been broadcast, if he would’ve told anyone. B did love his fuckin’ secrets.

 “No,” she whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice, can feel her grief as keenly as his own. It’s palpable, tangible, “He’s dead, and I’m alive, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

 And then, to Jason’s mounting horror, she starts crying openly.

…..

Second comes from my one I’m working on rn with Stray!Dick called I See Sunset In Your Eyes (I Hate This Part Right Here)

“Come on,” Wally says with a pout, dragging an overly amused Jason and Dick with him through the karaoke bar doors. “Donna and Roy are waiting for us, and Dick had to take forever to primp.”

 Dick shrugs with a grin.

 “Beauty takes time, time I can tell you did not take.”

 Jason snorts, and Wally glares at him.

 “At least I don’t take five hours to finish getting ready.”

 “At least I can last longer than five minutes.”

 “Ouch!” Roy butts in, throwing an arm around Jason and Dick’s shoulders. “Claws are out tonight!”

 “Speaking from experience?” Jason asks, eyebrow raised.

 Dick smirks without comment, sauntering past the group towards the table Donna’s lounging at.

 “Hey gorgeous twin of mine,” He greets with a kiss to her eyes. She smirks, rolling her eyes at him.

 “You’re just stroking your own ego with the twin tacked on, Wonder Boy.”

 Dick bumps his shoulder against hers.

 “Can’t I stroke both our egos?”

 “You can stroke mine,” Wally mutters, turning red when Stray winks at his phrasing. Jason and Roy both facepalm, groaning. “Not what I meant guys!”

 “Why Kid Idiot,” Dick replies, hand on his heart, “I had no idea you could be so forward~!”

 Wally glares, waving over the waitress.

 “Round of shots, on this dick,” he jerks his thumb at Stray, offering up his fake ID. She doesn’t bother checking it, probably because this is Gotham, and they were all in uniform. “Whisky, please.”

 “Trying to get me drunk?” Jason jokes. It is, after all, his first big outing with the Titans for non-mission reasons. Stray had practically dragged him out of the Manor with a wink at Alfred and a middle finger for Bruce, saying that Jason needed to have fun outside of books.

Jason knows better than arguing with Dick Grayson-Kyle when he wants something, Stray trained him well.

 “Of course, Batboy,” Roy replies, “It’s not a Titans outing if Stray is fully dressed and everyone’s sober.”

 Dick shrugs.

 “You’ll have to get some real liquor in me if you want me to do anything like last time.”

 “Last time?” Jason asks, looking to Donna for an answer. Dick snorts. You get near naked one time…

 “Boy Blunder ended up in just his boxers in a dancing cage drunk of his ass. Everyone thought he was one of the strippers, and he made, what, three-hundred dollars in bills?”

 “Five-hundred,” Dick replies proudly, offering the waitress a twenty as she came back with their drinks. “Keep the change, darlin’!” He adds with a wink.

 She flushes, making Jason frown.

 Stray, of course, notices this and elbows Jason.

 “Don’t get jealous, Blue Jay, it’s not becoming.”

 Jason does not blush. He doesn’t, and that’s the hill he will die on.

 “I’m not. On an unrelated note, pass me a shot.”

Jason is the master of changing the subject, Stray thinks sarcastically, passing him a shot and downing one of his own.

 “Five bucks says alley cat blacks out,” Roy says smugly as Dick makes a face, the way he always did with heavier liquors. He glares at the redhead, who shrugs unapologetically.

 Donna eyes them both speculatively, taking a sip of her own drink.

 “Twenty says he gives a lap dance before he blacks out.”

 Roy snorts.

 “I’ll take it,” and to Dick, “Don’t do it, for me.”

 Dick bats his eyes innocently.

 “Lil’ old me? I would never do something so…” He trails a finger down Roy’s chest, making him swallow roughly. “Scandalous.”

 Donna grins victoriously as Roy groans, trying and failing to hide his excitement.

 “I hate you. I hate you both.”

 Tagging whoever sees this, I suppose? 

[presumenothing]

once more with feeling

(or, spooky action at no distance)

belated halloween-ish fic, aka questionably-serious crackfic with a heavy side of casual morbidity and inappropriate science. also entirely unedited phonefic which i refuse to even reread before posting. beware of character death (sorry shiho) and property destruction (not sorry). working title: the ectoplasmic method. this is what happens when grad school deadlines meet the looming shadow of finals?? idk just have it anyway

Somewhere, in the cell of a singularly dismal back room –

A figure falls to slump against the wall, the handcuff on one wrist letting out the sad jingle of a clink as it takes on most of her weight.

The same somewhere, scant minutes later –

"Oh, bollocks," says a disembodied voice, two feet up and several inches to the left, with more heartfelt feeling than its owner ever really displayed in life. "This isn't even scientific at all!"

…ahem. Anyway.

The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.

Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

Either way, some brief confusion of force and acceleration aside, the lab proves empty of any (other) less-than-corporeal entities.

Hypothesis: either said rats were once here and had since dissipated with the pass of time (because she refuses to use such a vague phrase as move on, even setting aside the question of whether it would even – theoretically – apply to animals of questionable self-awareness), or this… ectoplasmic… existence is yet another astronomically-rare effect of the apoptoxin.

Shiho's still mulling over the question when she reaches for the coffeepot from long habit…

…only for her hand to pass right through it. Predictably enough, in hindsight.

Her eyebrow twitches.

…

……

………………

Revised hypothesis: the afterlife sucks.

The moment of decaffeinated betrayal is interrupted by the insistently loud tick of the wall clock.

Her baleful glare at it yields nothing much of use, since she hasn't had any way of reliably telling the time over the past couple days, given her spectacularly cozy accomodations.

If nothing else, it's probably going to be a couple hours until someone discovers her very dead body and alerts Gin, she thinks in no little vindication – followed by an itemised list of unprintably detailed expletives.

Because, in that moment of thought, she'd suddenly found herself elsewhere in a quantum blink, with no experience or memory of having crossed the intervening space.

And staring Gin almost in the face, no less.

Shiho definitely does not shriek as she throws herself aside, all the while cursing stupidly broken FTL teleports that didn't even have the decency to deposit her somewhere more pleasant. Like Majorca, maybe. Or even back to America.

…actually, on that thought – Shiho narrows her eyes in concentration.

Several (failed) attempts at geographically displacing herself later, she gives it up as a bad job, earmarked for further study. At the very least Gin didn't act like he'd heard any ghostly screeching that may or may not have happened, even if he also failed to display signs of the sudden chill – more's the pity – that featured so consistently in those terrible movies she'd had the misfortune of being coerced into watching by certain people one time too many.

Though she supposes that could also be due to the fact that she'd dodged with the express purpose of not having him walk through her. Not that intersecting spaces with a corridor wall had turned out to be a much more comfortable option, on the whole, but it's mostly a matter of metaphysical principle.

Either way. Shiho inches forward until she's no longer coexisting with shoddily-constructed cinderblock, all the while cheerfully ignoring whatever nefariously above-her-paygrade evil Gin is monologuing about to Vodka, over the increasingly loud click of heels.

…wait. Heels? she repeats mentally, before promptly noping back through the wall before she has to experimentally verify whether Vermouth, of all people, can see her or not.

Which is how she finds herself somewhere that looks suspiciously like Gin's dressing room, complete with shelves of overpriced hair product, full-length mirrors, and a wardrobe she assumes must be full of identical white turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

"Hm," she says, aloud, as she sets to work. All in the name of science, of course.

(Careful recollection of events, multiple attempts, and a fair assortment of choice swears later, she figures out what her previous attempts at properly haunting ghosthood had been lacking: emotion.

Fortunately, she doesn't lack for any degree of anger in this circumstance. It still takes some trying to have the conditioner bottles explode messily rather than just fall off the shelves with a series of dull thunks, but eventually she manages it.

Though she limits herself to breaking only one mirror. Just in case the bad luck accrues to her instead of Gin.

Then again, she is dead. How much worse can it get, really?)

Armed with her newfound discovery, she attempts to teleport again. A few minutes' intense concentration on the comfortable familiarity of her lab brings her back to where she started, but thinking fondly of her doctoral research lab garners her nothing but a faint headache and an impending sense of hypocrisy.

At least she confirms that her body is still where she left it.

Honestly, she's almost unsure whether to be offended or not, Shiho thinks, as she watches the slow creep of rigor mortis across her muscles.

Unbidden, the lone photo from that newspaper clipping flashes to mind –

"…oh, come on!"

Look, it's not like Shiho can deny the miniature cataclysm of feelings surrounding even the echo of that image, but really? Really? After everything else she's tried?

And why to an elementary school, of all places? Jeez.

Shiho rolls her eyes at the corridor – which stands empty, this time – and swears off shattering any more mirrors before floating off again. There's an awkward moment when she vaguely recalls something about children supposedly being more sensitive to unscientific phenomena, though that's quickly falsified by the inhabitants of the first half-dozen classrooms she passes through, teacher or student alike.

Ironically enough it's the de-aged Kudo Shinichi who does react somewhat to her presence, when she finally manages to locate his classroom – and honestly, couldn't he have at least faked his way into a higher grade? Pretend to be very unusually short for his age or something? That can't be enjoyable at all.

Shiho tries to imagine herself stuck with this bunch of seven-year-olds and can't help a shudder, which is why she almost misses one of said children leaning slightly backwards in her seat to whisper far too loudly. "Are you alright, Conan-kun? Do you need a sweater?"

"No, I'm fine," Kudo-kun demurs, rejecting the profferred garment – quite rightly too, Shiho thinks, since that's just plain asking to be a vector for germs. "Just a cold draft, that's all."

He doesn't look even once in her direction, but relaxes visibly when she finally floats back out of the classroom to observe via a window.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe it's something about having seen too many corpses?

Shiho almost discards that out of hand on grounds of Gin, who had seen easily ten times as many dead bodies, most by virtue of having put them there by his own hands.

Admittedly, now that she thinks on it, it does seem entirely possible that Gin would not notice a localised drop in temperature due to being cold-blooded to start with, anyway.

She has insufficient data, she decides, and three working guesses: either Kudo-kun has seen too many deaths, too many corpses, or he's just looped into the same cosmic joke for having taken the apoptoxin as well.

History and statistics suggest that she'll eventually run into both mass murderers and homicide officers if she hangs around him long enough. Which leaves the third category quite unverifiable, but at least it'd make more sense than some high school detective managing to be the single outlier that should not be counted in any statistic, ever.

Though even waiting out the school day in the hope of some murders happening feels like an increasingly unattractive prospect, she thinks, pulling a face at the chalkboard's worth of mind-numbingly basic math when the bell stubbornly refuses to ring the end of first period.

She didn't skip through the first half of her education just to subject herself to it in death, of all things, and besides it's about time someone found her body anyway.

Shiho contemplates the hallway ceiling for a minute before managing to rebel further against gravity until she reaches the rooftop, already preparing to move herself back to the lab once she gets her bearings straight.

Then someone behind her gasps Shiho? in a voice all too familiar, and she –

Shiho isn't actually too sure what happens, in the following minutes.

Somewhere in the glassy shards of thought left fractured by her sister's voice is a swift-rising horror that it'd all been a lie – that the bullet which killed Akemi-oneechan was one she'd made with her own hands –

And maybe she says some of this out loud, maybe she doesn't, maybe it's simply that her sister has ever been the sole person in this world who understood her (even if she'd only realised that too late), but when the unrelenting static finally clears Shiho find herself not-quite hyperventilating on the rooftop of one Teitan Elementary, head spinning from the lack of air that she doesn't even need, and the one voice she'd never thought she'd hear again.

Even through the haze she can hear onee-chan saying things like it's not your fault, never was and Shiho almost shakes her head in reflexive denial, even as her mind whirrs back to that thrice-damned photograph and whispers agreement in logic, that death by apoptoxin is instantaneous and a gunshot wound would've left a significantly different blood spatter post-mortem, which meant –

"How are you here?" she chokes out, unable and unwilling to look up and meet those eyes. "If it wasn't the APTX – "

"APT– oh, is that the drug you were working on? No," Akemi says, with a sudden vindictiveness that startles Shiho into looking up anyway. "No, it was that utter scumbag Gin who shot me, you can take my word for that."

Shiho supposes that she must look unconvinced somehow, because Akemi adds, "I'd say that you could confirm with that little detective about that, but… well…"

Her gaze follows the wave of onee-chan's hand down to a cluster of small figures in the field, one of which is barely identifiable as Edogawa Conan, from this distance. It raises another dozen questions in turn, but still Shiho persists. "But how are you still here? Why haven't you… moved on?"

"Unfinished business, I suppose you could say."

"Huh?"

Akemi-oneechan blinks at that, in some apparent surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Shiho shakes her head in full earnesty.

"Oh, Shiho," Akemi almost-sighs, as she floats over and – catches hold of her hands, with a bout of warmth against all logic, the first solid thing Shiho's felt since this all started. "It's you, of course, it was always you."

…her words won't work and either way she knows not what to say to that, so Shiho just stands (floats) there, gaping silently like an idiot.

Somehow Akemi-oneechan is still smiling. "Well, I mean – I did manage to track down Dai-kun by accident, and I've been keeping an eye out for anything around Conan-kun, you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble he gets into. But the only one I worried over was you, and yet I couldn't find you, no matter what I tried…"

Shiho tries – and mostly fails – to process all this, and pieces together the next logical question. "Then what about me?"

She'd thought that it'd been because of the apoptoxin, but that's obviously invalid now, even if it galls her to replace that with such a ridiculously nebulous notion as unfinished business –

"There must be something you haven't done, a wish you haven't fulfilled, or… well," Akemi pauses, and Shiho can tell just from the lilt of her tone that she's not going to like whatever follows next, "like I've always been telling you, maybe it's just that you need to live a little. Have some fun, you know!"

And Shiho surprises them both by snorting a laugh at that. "In that case, I've gotten a start on that already."

To describe Akemi-oneechan's expression as starry-eyed would not be amiss, nor her voice as a squeal. "What did you do?"

"…destroy all of Gin's hair products?"

"Really?! Oh my god, Shiho-chan, I'm so proud, I always knew you had it in you – "

.

.

.

(AO3)

listen i literally?? don’t even?? know???? i did not see this coming, no plans here only bad jokes. the semi-crack antidote to this previous fic or something i guess, except not. don’t @ me 

[kbunburyhelps]

I was wondering if you have any tips for writing a poc muse? I found the PERFECT fc for this character and I’ll be honest I’m white and I don’t wanna do anything to offend someone and I’m so scared that somehow I will. It’s a muse from mythology if that helps at all? I just wanna do this right.

Hey, Nonnie. I’m slightly laughing at the “I’ll be honest, I’m white” part because the way I read it in my head. I promise I’m not laughing at you. Honestly I never understand this question because my first thought is always what is so scary about writing a poc and why is it perceived so differently than writing some other ol’ white muse? But anyway, my opinions are in no means universal and I can only speak from my experience (for further clarification, as a young black female immigrant living in America ight) This got kinda long but hey. Also I’m proud you found the perfect fc! Sometimes that’s really hard to do. Let me gift you with the best gif I’ve ever giffed and probably has no use but welp.

The first thing I’ve got to say and I say this with all my heart, but if you’re about to play a poc and “somehow” (I put it in quotations because sometimes people are like oh I didn’t mean to, knowing full well they meant to) your portrayal is just the embodiment of multiple stereotypes of their race, we don’t want to see it. WE DON’T WANT IT. An example that is near and dear to my heart is black women as the sassy, aggressive, wildin’ out, can’t tell me nothin’, always picking fights for you friend. Especially for dark skin women. Not to say that a black muse cannot be all of those things but if that’s the only way you can see any black female fc’s. drop it love. just walk away. *Cue Kelly Clarkson’s Walk Away*

Two, if you’re playing a poc in their country it’s even more important to know the culture of that country. A Korean muse in South Korea will probably have different tendencies(only word I can think of atm) than a Korean in america, especially if they’re anything but a 1st-gen. And even with a 1st-gen some have the ability to assimilate very easily and quickly, others might go all in and too much, some might hesitate. So not only is the background of your character important (like how long have they been in this country and how much are they trying to assimilate) but also their country. So basically, Korean in South Korea may have different there’s gotta be a word better than tendencies than a 1st-gen Korean in America and usually than a 2nd and 3rd-gen in America. Sometimes you can even very well tell the difference between a 1st-gen and a 2nd-gen. I don’t know if you’ll have to worry about this but lol here. That also is dependent on their family, does their family keep cultural traditions even in a different country, and themselves, are they trying to keep traditions or get in touch with their culture (do they know artists from their culture’s genre or books or watch movies etc.) ‘cause what we take in is a part of who we are.

Two point 5. This just happens in general even when poc play poc (from a country they aren’t from usually) but most poc who speak their native tongue aren’t just dropping other languages mid sentence unless they’re usually being petty about it or trying to practice their language but usually not if they know they’re speaking to an English speaker. Exceptions happen but really only happen if they don’t know the word in the language they started the sentence. Like I’m not going to start a sentence in French and halfway speak in English unless I can’t speak the whole thing in French. Now that’s completely different from pidgin English and Spanglish where it’s sorta kinda a mix of two languages. But google.

Three, names. I’m partly assuming you’re using the mythological name but I also don’t know. I don’t know why this site gets so up in arms with names so much, but I also rarely read threads to completion. So lol whoopsBasically, poc can have both “white”and traditional/native names. Now if your fc is Brazilian through and through and for some reason their name is a traditional Chinese name, I’m confused. I need reason. Did their parents go to China or name their kid after a Chinese man? Otherwise where the hell did it come from. Parents usually put some thought into their kids names, and you should too. I will say for certain cultures, there are a certain number of “white” names they tend to stay around. I know for a fact many Nigerians who give their kids “white” names, tend to take them from the bible, at least in the southern part of Nigeria. And even still there are some “white” names that are basically a 1/5 of the population. Even then though, Nigerians will still more than not, give their kids 3+ traditional names and depending on the family they only gave their kids “white” names for the non-Africans around them. Some just have “white” names for middle names and don’t use them at all. Long story short, do your research. The greatest thing about this day and age is that google is a thing but also double check. I like to check the meanings of names because sometimes people who write these lists have no idea what they’re talking about. Also, time frame is important. Some cultures basically phase out names every 10 years, some aren’t as vigilant in changing what’s a popular name.

Four, for the love of God, and this goes back to #1, non-white characters can be anything and I mean anything. I know media has a certain way of showing people or things but let’s be smart. A black person can be a nerd, or a geek, or emo, or a skater boy, or a soft little cinnamon roll, or like country. Yes, I said and meant country music. Not all black men have 3 children by different baby momma’s. An Asian doesn’t have to be submissive or have their head always in a book, they can be ditsy, or a bitch, or the girl next door, or even the main in a trio of bitches. (Which why is it usually when they have a trio there’s either a token black girl or Asian, never both, never both). If a white person can be it, many times a black or asian or latinx or middle eastern, etc. can be it too. INCLUDING RICH. Because I feel like people forget that sometimes. Evidence A is PG County in Maryland, one of the wealthiest black counties in the U.S. I keep thinking I’m writing country and not county and it stresses me. (Part of me wants to say unless it’s a horror thing and you’re tryna have your poc messing with some ouija type stuff then keep your black fc’s out of it but I’m sure there are some black people that mess with that. Not me though, I rebuke it. Anyways).

I feel like I should have a five at least so my five is relax. There’s a psychological phenomena that says the more anxious you are about not trying to make a mistake, the more you are likely to do such. Which really explains the lives of like half the world but yeah. I mean if you’re portrayal isn’t racist, then you’re probably better than you think. So relax, if you really wanna make sure before you play it, send your character’s background/portrayal who will truthfully tell you, you know.

Six, if a poc tells you something about your portrayal is off… I want to be careful about this because something about Tumblr has people feeling like they know more than they actually do… But if a poc mun tells you your muse is iffy, my advice is to take it, adjust it, but also possibly ask someone in that culture their non-biased opinion. Because maybe what you were going for is right but you played it wrong and it just tumbled and like the person who called you out has some vendetta against idk but ask for help. And when you ask for help, word your things carefully because sometimes phrasing just comes out wrong then the whole world starts to turn and it’s just not pretty.

Bruh I had a seven but I forgot it, but thanks for asking, good luck and yeah!

Lol I also wanna add, if you take this muse and people don’t wanna ship with you, don’t be surprised. It’s a thing, welcome to it, don’t let it discourage you, stay strong in your character and live your best life. It won’t happen everywhere you go but it might happen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also again, lol still here. Your muse’s defining trait/characteristic/identifying thing/distinguisher doesn’t have to be their race. Like it might be the first thing someone notices but it doesn’t have to be the thing they’re remembered for. I only say this because I see a lot of characters where that’s the their thing. Like the only thing memorable about them is their race and not necessarily who they are. If you get what I mean. You can be proud of your race and still be more than just that.

Also if you need anymore tips, you know where to find me!