#obviously fantasy shite

[loverboy-hearts]

I sometimes think what would I be if this love didn't soften me. The pretty boys that I'd want to be their butcher. I can imagine laying together, pressing my head to their chest, hearing his heart fluttering like caged birds. I'd listen to your heart pump, a quiet and subdued moment. There'd be a tight feeling in my own chest as I'd imagine your precious heart in my hands. So red, the admiral weakening of trying to pump blood through is valves, I can imagine the soft texture of something so fragile as your organs. Snapping myself from my head, I'd wrap my arms around you and hold onto you, stuffing my head into your chest like hiding from my fantasies. Stewing in my love and swallowing my saliva, ignoring the mental imagine of standing alone covered in your blood and gore.

Imagining our time cut short makes the fantasy feel like nightmare, but only because of how I imagine you.

[werewolfetone]

My demands for the next big thinly veiled british history ripoff high fantasy tv show that gets popular after hotd inevitably ends:

Some sort of wales equivalent and some sort of ireland equivalent in the worldbuilding. I'm sick of worldbuilding where the main country is Just England and maybe some hint of scotland if the authors are feeling goofy... if you're going to make me sit through your world which is obviously just mediaeval britain with the labels filed off I am NOT also watching you pretend like england is the only place the exists again, especially since acting like british history would be even kinda the same without wales or ireland is ridiculous

More accent diversity. once again, there are other places that are not england that exist in the world. and more language diversity I'm not having the whole everyone ever speaks ~common~ shite again

More racial and religious diversity. put black people in there. if the sole significant religion is some sort of bland protestant xianity with catholic aesthetics again I'm killing the hostages

Codpieces

Those slut breeches they wore in like the 1500s that were like the puffier version of short shorts

Lesbian sex onscreen to make up for the fact that I don't think we're getting it in hotd

Ok that's it actually I can't think of anything else

[shoujo-dump]

Manga recommendations for people who love Hikaeme ni Itte mo, Kore wa Ai manga, dedicated to @aengelren and all the other readers that enjoy the series ❤️

I have listed some categories below that are similar to the genres & subgenres of Hikaeme ni Itte mo, Kore wa Ai. Hopefully there might be some new series there that will be added to your reading list. Please note that not all series are obviously identical to Hikaeme, however I have used a ⭐ to indicate series that I think share most similarities with the series either in more than one genre or if the series have a similar atmosphere/general vibes to Hikaeme ni Itte mo, Kore wa Ai.

If you love the art style of Hikaeme, then I recommend checking out other series created by the same mangaka:

Hatsukoi ni Kiss (omnibus of 8 oneshots)

Kanjuku Summer End (oneshot)

Koi Wazurai no Ellie

Machiko wa Oborekake (oneshot)

Fast Romance:

Kare Kano (has anime adaptation!)

Koi no Mae ni, Amaku Hajimete. Hikaeme Elite-kun ga Watashi ni Dake Hatsujou shite imasu 🌶️

Museru Kurai no Ai wo Ageru ⭐

Ore Monogatari!! (has anime adaptation!)

Suki tte Ii na yo. (has anime, movie and live action adaptation!)

Delinquents:

Atashi no Banbi

Boku ni Hana no Melancholy

Five

I My Me Mine ⭐

Hajimete Koi o Shita Hi ni Yomu Hanashi (however doesn't seem to be an official nor fan English translation anywhere, the series has live action adaptation though!)

Hana yori Dango (has anime and several live action adaptations)

Hana Nochi Hare: Hanadan Next Season (has live action adaptation)

Haru no Ogawa wa Dokidoki Suru yo. (oneshot)

Iincho to Furyou-kun

Junai Tokkou Taichou!

Kimi ni Koishite Ii desu ka.

Kokuhaku Suru Aite o Machigaemashita

Megane, Tokidoki, Yankee-kun

Me no Tsukedokoro ga Deep Desho

Mikansei Demo Koi ga Ii

Mochizuki-san ka no Yankee ⭐

Raou-kun wa Watashi ni Kamau

Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun (has anime and live action adaptation!)

Webcomic: Kono Yankee wa Ubu Sugiru!

Love Interest Changes:

Futari de Koi wo suru Riyuu

Koukou Debut (has live action adaptation!)

Male Lead Falls in Love First:

Batsuichi ga Moteru nante Kiitemasen

Chorokute Kawaii Kimi ga Suki

Einheli no Hanayome 🌶️

Furare Girl 

Hananoi-kun to Koi no Yamai (anime adaptation is going to be released in 2024!)

Kanojo ga Kawaii Sugite Ubaenai

Kimi wa Kawaii Onnanoko

Mainichi Kiss shite ii desu ka?

Namaikizakari.

Sakura wa Watashi wo Sukisugiru ⭐

Slow Jet Coaster

Tsuiraku JK to Haijin Kyoushi (has live action adaptation!)

Webtoon: A Good Day to Be a Dog (available on webtoons.com)

Webtoon: The Fantasie of a Stepmother

Webtoon: As You Wish, Prince

Webtoon: The Reason Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke's Mansion (also has anime adaptation!)

Webtoon: Writer's Block of Romance 

Webtoon: Your Ultimate Love Rival

Straightforward Male Lead:

Hamuko to Gao-kun

Kuchibiru ni Kimi no Iro

Living no Matsunaga-san

Midori no Himitsu (oneshot)

Neko to Kiss

Takane no Ran-san

Unmei no Hito ni Deau Hanashi

Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki ⭐

Yubisaki to Renren (will have anime adaptation in 2024!)⭐

Opposites attract:

Beast Master 

Kimi ga Kirai na Koi no Hanashi 

Kimi ni Todoke (has anime, live action )⭐

Saruyama!

Webtoon: Midnight Poppy Land (read the official English translation on webtoons.com, it currently has over 100 chapters) ⭐

Kuudere Female Lead:

Akuma to Love Song

Webtoon: I Failed to Oust the Villain!

Webtoon: Villains Are Destined to Die

Warm Ambience:

Honnou Switch 🌶️⭐

Houkago, Koishita.

Koori Zokusei Danshi to Cool na Douryo Joshi (has anime adaptation!)

Ojou-san to Yobanaide

Tonari no Stella ⭐

[anteroom-of-death]

After the Party

Synopsis: Malcolm and his wife are attending some book event. For now.

A/n: I am a writer. Occasionally. I'm sorry for being shite with the uploads. Love you all. Warnings for mild cum eating and Ollie's general existence. Hahaha.

You fanned yourself discreetly. The heaters were at full-blast inside the cramped room. You could feel the lining of the skirt you wore starting to cling to you. It was starting to squall outside. You had half a mind to go outside and stand in it.

It would be a relief.

Your husband was off, still clutching a handful of files necessary for his job. Dazzling and scaring the masses of government people from multiple parties. And the press. Followed by his dark shadow, Jamie. Whom you quite liked, but at the moment was the bane of your existence since he tried to coup the faith of your husband out of fear of change.

You didn’t understand why you had to come to this party. It was some nutter’s book launch.

A few spouses had also come but they were put off by you for the crime of loving the scariest man in the room. His reputation preceded him too much. Also, your “noticeable” age difference made people fear the worst sometimes.

You would have thought other scandals would have turned their heads by now!

The Reeder boy approached you. He was possibly hell-bent on ruining every time you saw him.

You clutched your glass of Coke tighter.

“Did your father let you out of the house finally?” Reeder mocked, pointing to Malcolm. The irony was he was younger than you.

You blamed jealousy. He obviously got off on whatever Judas or Brutus fantasies he clearly had coming to fruition slowly. He probably loved masturbating to the image of him getting fucked by your husband on top of a print-out of party manifesto or whatever.

You inhaled and breathed out slowly, “Papa let’s me out twice a year for good behavior!” You mocked his slick, posh accent, as you discreetly tried fixing the strap of your bra under the turtleneck you wore.

Malcolm eventually saw you blanching and scowling as Reeder tried to target you more.

“Ah, noticed your glass was getting’ low, pet. Take mine…” He addressed you and swapped glasses with you. Quickly his tone changed, “You! Fuck nut, get your girl a fresh drink. Be useful! For fuck’s sake!” He said as he shoved the boy away from you. Hopefully towards the Tory girl he was apparently trying to honeypot and failing to do so…

You sipped the orange juice quietly and squeaked out a thank you.

“He likes you.” Malcolm hypothesized as he whipped out his phone and checked it. He sent a quick text and shoved it. You noticed Jamie pat his pocket and check it. He looked over at the pair of you.

He slung an arm around you and kissed your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom.” You confessed. “Can you walk me? I don’t want to deal with anyone looking at me like they did last time I got lost.” You stone-faced ground your jaw.

It was fairly easy to get lost in this place.

“Sure.” He shook his head, walking over to Jamie and whispering something in his ear before rejoining you and opening the door for you.

The hallway was empty. Thank goodness.

You exhaled as if you had been holding your breath for the entire time you’d been at the party.

He looked good. Too good. It was always such a sin for him to look like this on this lighting and in the stupid suits his job demanded him to wear.

You left him in the hall and went to the restroom. When you left the stall, he was in there with you.

“This is the ladies…” You rolled your eyes.

“Did you have to wear that?” He gestured to your simple turtleneck and faux leather skirt get-up. Not particularly sexy, the skirt was even floor length!

“I’ve been hard since you fucking got here.” He approached you, as if to illustrate the point. He fingers the fabric of your belt holding the outfit together. “I want to fuck you here.” He pressed you against the sink’s countertop.

He was right, he was hard. It was pressing against both of your abdomens.

His hand found it’s way to the hollow of your throat as he pressed you into a position where you had no choice but to sit on the edge of the counter now. He kissed your cheek and traced his tongue down the line of your jaw.

“What if someone catches us?” You reasoned, despite every fiber of your body wailing to let him take you then and there.

“Oh, let them. They’ll never speak again!” He laughed. His work persona leaking out. The soft sweet house-husband you knew was dead in these lands. Malcolm was dead, long live Tucker.

This is who he was outside the bubble of your home and what little personal lives you both had. Just a small facet of who he was.

You were quickly falling under his spell and were seeing how quickly you could at least slide your tights down and at least slide your panties to the side for this when you had the realization that you might, personally, be embarrassed if someone, especially one of those judgmental bitches that also married into this life walked in.

You pushed him off as he was just getting his cock out.

“Save it ‘til we get home? Please.” You batted your lashes. “I don’t want caught.” You reasoned.

He pulled back and sighed, “Fine. You’re in for it when we get home!” He smeared his face with his hands as if to manually compose himself into something recognizable. He somehow had gotten his belt undone in the brief time that this attack on your face had taken place.

You twisted your tongue and rolled your eyes as you fixed it.

Somehow you felt like this was just the beginning of a very long night. Longer than it already was.

Your social battery was already dead and gone, so this provided you an opportunity to go home anyways.

You washed your hands and exited, him following you like a bat out of hell. Back into that room…

He went back to talking. Seemed like he was making a graceful and acceptable exit from it.

He joined you as he gave you your coat.

The Reeder boy approached, “Awe, is it past curfew?” He shot you a look that seemed both in mocking and envy.

You balled up your fist and went to strike the annoying boy. A strong, familiar hand caught your wrist as you could see Reeder begin to flinch. You could feel your face twist from scowling and rage-filled to annoyed and put out.

“No, not now.” Malcolm ordered you.

“I’ll fucking deal with you on fucking Monday, walking syphilis.” He shoved Ollie into the corner a tad. “Don’t ever hit my wife again.” He spun the event around.

Oliver Reeder, hitting Malcolm Tucker’s wife would keep this gossip mills busy for a while.

You knew that much about your husband’s job. It was simple enough.

As you made your way through the halls and towards the exit, Jamie appeared, as if his leash was yanked by Malcolm’s invisible hand.

“Tell people that Ollie tried to strike (y/n).” Malcolm barked order at him. “He may have also hit on her and groped her. Your choice.”

"Aye, that's me, boss. Nae fuckin' worries. I'll make sure they all know what a sick wee fucker he is... Ta!” He slugged his beer, grasped so oddly in one hand and started whipping put his phone and texting.

You ripped off and chewed your right index fingernail.

The cold air felt wonderful on your sweating form. Too bad that it was shortly interrupted by the called car and driver pulling up. You could have stood there with the flakes hitting your face from that moment until the end of eternity…

Soon enough, you were home.

The minute the key unlocked the deadbolt, he pounced on the back of your neck, rough kisses with the faintest hint of stubble grazing down the back of exposed neck as teeth made purchase with the hollow of nape of your neck.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” He purred as he shoved you through your front door and shoved you into the entrance and parting your legs with his. “Making me wait while my balls are aching. Took me all not to pin you the fuck down and fuck you in the middle of that room.”

He groped your breast roughly through both turtleneck and bra.

So this is what everyone else got? This sharp, crude and dangerous man? You’d never been given of an inch of roughness by the man. He’d be soft and gentle from the first moment your eyes had met.

You flushed deeply and felt your clit throb and a familiar ache wracked through your core. You moaned and felt your body relax against the wall as he unbuckled his pants and bunched up your skirt, tearing aside your tights and underwear as he slid you down the wall. He steadied the two of you with one of his hands on both of yours. He shoved your butt up with his free hand and slid his cock in your increasingly-wet cunt.

“Christ, you feel so fuckin’ great. You’re so tight. Aren’t you? My tight little missus.” He went on as he gripped your hip with one hand and started pounding you frantically.

The words did something to you.

You felt your spine sink as you went rigid elsewhere.

“No, this won’t do.” You heard him mutter after what felt like several minutes. He went over to the sofa, dragging you along by your wrist, held only in his fingers. He clumsily sat as he slung you over his lap.

“Sit on my lap. Be a good girl.” He pulled your hips over and you onto his cock.

He began to bounce you as he pet your hair, his jaw locked as he pushed himself further into you with every bounce. You felt yourself start to grind down with every thrust.

“Such a fucking slut for me. Show me how you want my cock, angel.” His praise had you swooning over backwards as you felt your head roll back and moan.

He kept bucking his hips forward and up as you moaned more. You felt a guiding hand keep you on his cock and your walls get tighter.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned as he shot his load into your aching, well-towards-an-orgasm pussy.

You complained, “No! Don’t pull out!” As he slipped himself out of you and let out a huffy little puff of air.

“Of course. You’re such a good girl for me.” His eyes had a strange glint in them. Debauched. That was the only way you could describe it. He was definitely debauched.

He pulled you down to the ground and tilted a pillow from the couch down and propped your hips up on it.

One of those deft, long fingers reached and stroked your lips and went down, wiping up the leaking cum from your hole, digging in slightly.

He brought the finger to your lips and parted them, cleaning it off with the wetness of your mouth.

He went down and dug out a tad more and repeated the process…

“Now, look at what you’ve done, pet.” He cooed. “Look what a mess you’ve made!” Tucker fading and Malcolm taking his place.

He kissed your lips with a feathery smile.

You would have passed out right then and there…

He slid his way to between your legs, where your cunt was fully on display. You couldn’t see but you could feel him breathing down your thighs as he licked and sucked on your raw, throbbing clit.

He steadied himself by pressing and pulling your thighs apart more.

You felt his teeth bite you roughly. Right at the top of your inner thigh, right where you were most sensitive and your flesh had rolled down into and you bucked your hips further. His face shoved directly into you. The slight stubble striking across the new marks as you felt his nose swipe into your hollows.

You groaned as you felt him commit to going down on you. Seemed like he was intent on cleaning up your mess. You failed upwards as you tried to find his hair to play with as he continued to suck and bite and nibble you to a pathetic moan.

“Please, please.” You felt yourself babble out.

You felt girlish and stupefied.

He stroked your folds and tutted. You groaned a tad more, slipping further from reality.

“If you insist, little one.” You could feel his smile from your vantage-less point.

He continued on until you came.

“Don’t wear that outfit again. I cannae focus. I may have leaked more than pre-cum.” He joked.

You nodded from your dumbfounded spot on the floor he had you in.

You still felt a little full of what remained of his load and like you has fully lost the plot here…

He joined you on the floor, yanking more pillows down and propping up both of your heads. He curled you into his chest and kissed your forehead. Both of you still partially still dressed in your clothes of your roles outside of this safe bubble you had; in that moment you couldn’t feel further from Mrs. Tucker. Just his (y/n).

His phone started buzzing off the hook. You swore you saw him switch it off, for the first time ever.

He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa.

The snow squall outside raged on.

And you felt very safe and warm.

[archipelago-siren]

FUCK ME was the Umbrella academy a *HUGE* fucking let down. GAH. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

The *only* good things to come out of S4:

*The ending credits showed no pre-transition pics of Elliot Page

*Hazel and Agnes 3 second happy couple cameo

*Allison got to be a proper mother to Clare for a while, and Klaus a present uncle.

*Victor got to verbally annihilate Reginald and then get a smidgen of healing before RIP from existence

And now the SHITE things:

*Diego's character arc - obliterated. Five's character in general - obliterated. Lila was wrote from a badass independent woman to whatever the fuck that was. Klaus, holy shit Klaus. Way to fuck over anyone with addiction issues UA.

*The other 35 individuals born due to Marigold were just, completely written out of existing, Including the Sparrows except when Lila and Five came across the Phoenix academy?? Wtf

* does nobody own a fucking mobile phone??

*Reginald didn't give a shit about his 'kids' but kept 'apocalypse walking' Jennifer alive??

*Ray left Allison. I'm sorry what?! I get if the actor had other obligations- but he walked out?! RAY walked out?! I'm sorry but no.

Actually I'm not sorry. Just No.

*and so many other things which I'm too angry to write about and process but just, fucking hell.

I am all for tragic endings, I think 'and everyone was well and saved' for dystopian fantasy is not often the solution and goes against the political point of dystopia's - they're shit and not everyone gets a happy ending. But this? You didn't have to destroy every character before you then erased them from existence?

What. was. the. fucking. point.

[theliterarywolf]

On youtube someone made a video why old IPs are being used for these new pretty fucking bad series. It's probably painfully obvious, but it's because even the people whom it's for, don't watch it. They showed it quite well, basically old (Popular/liked) IP's will obviously be watched the most, but with New IP's, the ones who got the highest score were those that "just did their thing", which included all kinds, while stories that felt like they "We have to tick ALL THE BOXES!" did the worst.

Eyup.

It's also why mainstream film is so stagnant: studios are so hyper-focused on making sure they get the highest fiscal returns as possible that the only thing they look at is 'is it based on something that is popular/has just reached nostalgia-status', 'is it a sequel to something that made a bunch of money', or 'is it a passion-project from a celebrity that is known more for their popularity than any kind of actual talent'.

It's honestly amazing that we even got things like Everything, Everywhere, All At Once or The Shape of Water a few years back because, again, mainstream film is so stagnant that it's gotten to the realm of being self-destructive.

And I know someone will say 'Well, we got stuff like Hereditary, Midsommar, X, and Pearl! Those are unique!' But the thing about that entire list is that all those movies are classified as either Independent or Arthouse Horror. Horror films exist in this weird bubble of people outside the mainstream doing unique stuff and studios within the mainstream giving us shite like M3GAN or Wish Upon or that beyond shitty 'dark reimagining' of Fantasy Island.

Not to mention how, despite the lead actresses in Hereditary and Midsommar absolutely KILLING IT, the Academy hates horror as much as they hate animation; hence why big studios feel like 'we don't have to try'.

I know people are getting tired of hearing 'Go Indie' as if it's some sort of guaranteed Hail Mary, but it's really getting to that point where the only way to get unique, strong stories is looking at Independent creators.

[ghost-writer29]

The isekai genre but interesting

Ok I know isekai is overrated and all yada yada but there's been one specific idea that someone close to me proposed an just stuck.

So, what if the main character had dissociative identity disorder?

Like, think about it. The body dies irl and gets transported to a fantasy land with demons and witches and whatnot, and the alters are scattered across the country. They can still communicate due to their souls being LITERALLY connected but they don't recognise the landmarks they give each other; implying how they're all in different cities, states, kingdoms, etc.

So you'd at first follow one of the alter's journey, and as the alter finds the rest of the system the story switches povs to that alter that was found

And when the whole system is complete they all gain this extra ability that makes them able to 'front', where one alter can be seen while the others are able to hang out in their headspace and stuff.

And for the plot I was thinking of like a system's body dying in the real world, and their souls get transported to another world, but they all get separated. The system is small, consisting of 4 people. A 16 year old boy, a girl 3 years younger than him, a shapeshifter that prefers to stay a blob with glowing green eyes and a young demon with white hair.

The storyline follows the 16 year old dealing with the fact that what he considered his family (the system) is far away from him, and the fact that he can't see them. He's happy that he's in his actual body (being in the body of a girl a few years younger than him back in his past life was REALLY uncomfortable at first) but he misses easily slipping out of the world and talking to the other alters. He comes from a poor family and helps his parents (who are not abusive like the ones from his past life) out with work and ends up signing up to be a butler for one of the nobles.

He befriends the younger son of one of the nobles and manage to get a scholarship to a prestigious school thanks to being the younger son's butler and meets the first alter after 16 years of separation, the girl 3 years younger than him. I can just imagine the girl running up to him and hugging him from behind and when they both turn to look at each other they basically cry together since it's been so long since they've last seen each other.

They both would meet the shapeshifter and young demon later on when the two of them gets captured, with the shapeshifter basically throwing a hissy fit as the students gawk and try to poke the both of em. The chapter could end on like a cliffhanger with the 16 year old hearing about the shapeshifter and demon and then it switches povs to the shapeshifter.

Now obviously since the two non-humans had essentially been kidnapped the shapeshifter tries their best to try and protect the younger demon and basically chemically burns anyone who comes remotely close to them. Since it's in 1st person pov you could see the desperation and overprotectiveness of the shapeshifter to the demon and how theyre basically on the verge of a panic attack when the 16 yr old and the girl waltz into the room and basically makes the blob freeze.

And yknow typical isekai anime style everyone wants to kill the eViL bAd dEmOns and shit until the 16 year old claims that the demon's life is connected to both him and the girl. This kickstarts a mystery/thriller plot as the now-completed system try to figure out just why demons are so hated, while trying to deal with how the hatred of demons makes the system a target for bullying and shite like that. Only to find out that the reasons all of the magical species (like elves and furries I guess-?) united with the humans to destroy the demon race was to shift the blame of humans to another species that was AT FIRST, innocent. After some human intervention, demons had became what they are today, aka bloodthirsty war-mongering beasts who are brutes and such (if the rumors are to be believed).

The only reason the non humans of the system (the shapeshifter and demon) aren't like that is cuz theyre not from the world. So watch as the system basically force their asses in difficult politics and shoehorn world peace because 'goddamnit our last life had too much of that bullshit'.

Also to make things spicier: idk if this is just me torturing the first mc or the guy I'm basing the 16 yr old boy being persistent but the 16 year old and the noble he's working under are def fucking-

[lelianaslefthand]

as much as i love the concept of lawyer astarion and seeing him in situations a part of me is like… would he even remember how to do things? he remembers that he was a magistrate but it’s been so long and that’s a pretty technical job. obviously it’d be different in a fantasy setting than real life but there’s a lot to it… making myself sad on purpose can’t enjoy shite

[fzzr]

What I'm Watching, Winter 2023 Anime Season

New Stuff:

Ars no Kyojuu (Giant Beasts of Ars) - A show with a concept of "let's use waifu powers to kill raid bosses" didn't need this much worldbuilding effort. I am very interested in how this goes.

Benriya Saitou-san, Isekai ni Iku (Handyman Saitou in Another World) - Comfy no-plot isekai don't have the best performance with me, but this one is endearing enough that maybe it will break through.

Koori Zokusei Danshi to Cool na Douryou Joshi (The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague) - It's Wotakoi meets Interviews with Monster Girls. I like both of those things, and I'm liking this too. Very slow, and both protagonists are perfect cupcakes. Sometimes that's all you need.

Ningen Fushin no Boukensha-tachi ga Sekai wo Sukuu you desu (Ningen Fushin: Adventurers Who Don't Believe in Humanity Will Save the World) - I usually can't deal with the "what if this genre but being realistic means things suck" shows. Somehow this one didn't set off my cringe detectors yet. It might not make it through the whole season, but I'm in for now.

Otonari no Tenshi-sama ni Itsunomanika Dame Ningen ni Sareteita Ken (The Angel Next Door Spoils Me Rotten) - Ah yes, a fusion of the "perfect girlfriend you will never have" and "perfect school idol is actually a normal and sometimes sarcastic person" microgenres. Maybe it will get exasperating, but for now let's do it.

Revenger - Who knows, maybe some dark over the top samurai violence will keep my list for the season from being oops all comedy.

Rougo ni Sonaete Isekai de 8-manmai no Kinka wo Tamemasu (Saving 80,000 Gold in Another World for My Retirement) - Yes we get it, the only way anyone today will save up for retirement is going to a literal fantasy world. This one is superficially far on the light and fluffy side, but it's also openly wearing a black armband of unexpressed grief and I'm wondering where they're going with that.

Rougo ni Sonaete Isekai de 8-manmai no Kinka wo Tamemasu (The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady) - Is this lesbian V for Vendetta? Is this Utena with less incest? Is this no-boys-allowed magical Dr. Stone? I don't know, but I'm here for it. A possible show of the season dark horse.

Tomo-chan wa Onnanoko! (Tomo-chan Is a Girl!) - Will some teenagers figure out their feelings? How will this love directed graph resolve? Spin the wheel of twists - the main girl is a tomboy! Yeah this show is for me personally, probably. This is the frontrunner for show of the season.

Tsundere Akuyaku Reijou Liselotte to Jikkyou no Endou-kun to Kaisetsu no Kobayashi-san (Endo and Kobayashi Live! The Latest on Tsundere Villainess Lieselotte) - The Villainess genre is definitely going to be overloaded soon (it's been popular in the non-moving pictures space for some time). However it ain't yet, and this twist on the genre is wild. Another potential show of the season candidate.

Sequels:

Itai no wa Iya nano de Bougyoryoku ni Kyokufuri Shitai to Omoimasu. 2 (BOFURI: I Don't Want to Get Hurt, so I'll Max Out My Defense. Season 2) - Bofuri is one of the great comfy/funny power fantasy shows. Obviously I'm back for more.

Maou Gakuin no Futekigousha: Shijou Saikyou no Maou no Shiso, Tensei shite Shison-tachi no Gakkou e Kayou II (The Misfit of Demon King Academy II) - Misfit is one of the great awesome/funny power fantasy shows. Obviously I'm back for more of this too.

Carryovers:

Boku no Hero Academia 6th Season - it's HeroAca, by now you're either watching it or you're not.

Kage no Jitsuryokusha ni Naritakute! (The Eminence in Shadow) - Sorry Bofuri and Misfit - this one might be THE best takedown of the isekai/power fantasy genre. I'm going to have some things to say about this when it's done.

Urusei Yatsura (2022) - This modern take on one of the ancestors of every romcom shenanigans series today is a jolly good time.

Hall of Shame (things I already dropped after one episode):

Buddy Daddies - This is going to be the easy winner for people who are in it for comedy and feels, but I don't think I'll be able to deal with the kid. Sorry, I'm sure it's good, it's just not for me.

Dog Show - I'm not going to link it and you shouldn't look for it. I watched one episode to see how bad it is and it turns out to be softcore hentai with something that is definitely not my fetish.

Kaiko sareta Ankoku Heishi (30-dai) no Slow na Second Life (Chillin' in My 30s after Getting Fired from the Demon King's Army) - It's just so mid, and panty shots we don't get to see and grotesquely oversized anime tiddy can't make up for that.

Spy Kyoushitsu (Spy Classroom) - How can we take spy vs spy mind games and make them mindbogglingly boring? I don't know why you asked to do that but you did. Congrats. Skip.

Trigun Stampede - I don't need Trigun again but bad. Pass.

[girl4music]

So in my search for characters from TV shows that I believe provide the most significant characterization, representation, development and evolution, I've found the character Willow Rosenberg, and of course there's always been Gabrielle from Xena. But I need more characters that undergo incredibly strong and substantial character development throughout the entire life-span of the TV show and I'm asking for recommendations because you guys know your television shit on Tumblr and I don't watch much TV.

Here are the requirements:

1. (most important) This character has to go through a huge transformation mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually to the capacity where I will disagree with them or feel dissonant towards them and I would feel the need to insert myself in the TV show to call them out or slap them across the face at some points. I want them to SHAKE me. If I don't feel that towards them, they're not worth my time or attention. And believe me, I have a high threshold for this because I like to LEARN.

2. I would prefer cisgender female since that's what I am and I want to be able to relate to and resonate as much as possible but it's not that big of a deal so can be of any gender identity or sexuality or fluctuating.

3. The TV show must be a DRAMA or a dramedy (drama-comedy). Reason for this being I often find pure comedies to have shite writing and the characters can come across annoying or even insulting because of this. So TV shows like 'Glee' is no go for me. Not that that has shite writing. It's just I've already seen it and I wasn't particularly interested in any of the characters from it. Can be any other genre along with DRAMA too. (action, fantasy, sci-fi, horror, thriller, romance, ect.) Suprise me so long as it's not a pure comedy.

4. In order to have significant character characterization, representation, development and evolution for ALL the side and recurring characters and not just the main (I. E. the protagonist/hero of the TV show), the TV show must last longer than 2 seasons. And I don't want no cancelled and left on a cliffhanger bullshit. Full shows with a conclusion.

5. Give me somebody to root for. Meaning can be an antagonist/villain who has a redemption arc of some kind and joins up with the protagonist/hero at some points to help them out or even is the flawed protagonist/hero of the TV show themselves that needs to do some growing. Think of characters like Xena, Spike, Zuko, Ares, Callisto, Korra.

Or an underdog for whatever reason that doesn't recieve the attention or credit they deserve and gains leading ground with more and more screen-time given to them to flesh out their arc with this. Think of characters like Gabrielle, Willow, Katara, Toph.

6. Can be any TV show from any point in time. 80's, 90's, 2000's or recent. Whatever. But preferably something that isn't dated before the 80's so the picture quality is somewhat watchable on a 55 inch screen TV.

7. Can be either live action or animation or a mix of both (I. E Lizzie McGuire) but not a show that's for toddlers. So that leaves teenagers/adolescents/coming-of-age or just all out adult. I have no issue with sex/violence/gore/addiction themes. In fact I'd prefer it for the sake of the character dealing with heavy shit that causes them to go on a roller-coaster ride of emotions often. Remember the point is for me to relate to or resonate with it. I am 28 years old. So unless it's family-oriented like Lizzie McGuire, I don't want Disney/Nickelodeon/Cartoon Network TV shows. And I've seen most of them anyway.

8. If it includes Black/POC or LGBTQ+ representation (which I would prefer it to do so), I must absolutely attest that there be NO QUEERBAITING, NO RACISM, NO HOMO/BI/TRANS/QUEER/XENOPHOBIA within the writing. While I realize that the latter is a good confliction and compelling storyline, understand that I am absolutely fed up of tropes like Bury Your Gays, Man-Inserted, It-Was-All-A Dream/Mental Illness or anything where it makes you percieve any of the characters as complete fucking dicks surrounding this. They can still be complete fucking dicks in other ways.

9. Depending on how dated it is, I want decent graphics, special FX and clever use of environment/props. Anything of a CGI or anime style cannot be lazy because it takes the human realism away from it. I like characters to look HUMANOID. No animal-hybrid shite.

10. Does NOT have to be English or of an American/Western production. Can be of any language or culture whatsoever. I am trying to get more into watching something beyond my own backgarden as far as languages/communications go. Obviously, it needs to have English subtitles or text of some kind though because there'd be no point to me watching it if I can't even understand it. I only speak/read English.

That's my lot for requirements and the dos and donts. You have free reign with everything else. Somebody please answer this post. 🙏

[pacifymebby]

as a fellow writer, what advice would you give for books/imagines? I know as a songwriter that I channel life and experiences into my songs and i try to in my writing aswell but where do you draw inspiration from?

I feel like I'm genuinely really not qualified to give advice here so u should take it all with a pinch of salt because I never plan and I make everything up on the spot and I don't even think I can spell but,

Everything I've ever been told about writing is to write what you know, which is difficult in a fic because its obviously fantasy to some extent however your characters and some of the scenarios they end up in don't have to be entirely fictional.

My best characters are based on myself or people I know, I'm always taking things from my life or stories I've heard and slipping them into my fics.

I think empathy is really important too, when I'm writing a conversation between two characters I have that conversation in my head so that when I write it it flows naturally and sounds like something someone would actually say?

With fics I try to like picture how the person talks and their mannerisms and stuff to make it feel more like a fic about that specific person instead of just a generic fic.

Research!!! For Pacifier I had to Google so much random shite to make that fic more believable, I was there googling how to stitch up a knife wound and like sutures and all sorts of shite. I think I had to Google how long it takes to die from bleeding out, and types of guns and things? But it makes it better and it also often leads to inspiring the story to go on too? If you're writing about somet that is dramatic and far fetched then research the shit out of it!!

I guess the simple things are like, pick a tense and a person youre writing in and stick with it. Some fics work better as a y/n fic where you're doing you did/ you went/ you said. Some are better as first person, I, me we. I don't think I've written a third person fic before, that's not somet people tend to do cause its less personal I guess?

Honestly beyond that Idk, I like to make moodboards if character aesthetics and things, or write descriptive words that remind me of each character. It helps u really know who ur writing?

Idk though, hope this was helpful.

I like what u say about using personal experiences though I think that's the best way to write!! You can really write a character well when you tell the truth and people will tend to relate to it too.

❤️

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 11

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, AO3

~*CS*~

Vancouver, May 30th

Emma stared out at the large, empty space in front of her feeling exhausted and exhilarated.  She was sitting with her feet dangling off the edge of the stage, her heels drumming against the wall without any discernible rhythm.  Her hair was still damp with sweat from the show and her arms ached from the intensity that she’d played but she didn’t care.  Even the roadies working around her barely paid her any attention, they all knew she was merely basking in the moment.

Her tour was officially done.  Seventeen cities in a month and every one of them had been amazing but there was always something extra special about the final show.  It was as though everything and everyone had come together to create a perfect moment in time that they capitalized on to give the best show possible.  Her playing had been spectacular, the others had been just as great, better even, and the audience had loved every second, sang every lyric, cheered their hearts out.  They’d ended up doing two encores.

As her gaze swept across the thousands of empty seats she let out a contented hum.  They had sold every ticket for every show and each venue had been just as big.  It boggled her mind that every person that filled those seats did so because they loved her music, connected with her lyrics, and appreciated what she was trying to communicate through her art.  She only wished she could have personally thanked each and every one of them for it.

The bustle behind her continued on as she soaked it all in.  She took no notice of the footsteps approaching her until a pair of familiar, well worn boots stopped beside her.  Looking up at Will with a smile she patted the stage next to her.  Lowering himself next to her she noticed that he’d taken a shower, the smell of his body wash still strong.  With a pang she realized that Killian had used the same brand.

“‘Nother one in the books, eh?” Will grinned, knocking her shoulder with his.

“Yeah,” she sighed happily, “Tonight was really great.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Clearly.  You haven’t done two encores in ages.  Then again, you haven’t been too keen on doin’ the planned one lately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, frowning as she adjusted herself so she was facing him.

“Well-” he leaned back and gave her an unimpressed look, “Ever since LA and the shit with Killian you’ve been phonin’ it in a bit.  Tonight was the first show you actually looked like you were havin’ fun.”

“I haven’t been phoning it in!” She protested a little too loudly, some of the crew behind her stopped to look over at them.  Blushing she gave them a wan smile before glaring at Will, “I played my heart out at every show, asshole.”

“Not possible,” Will negated, his grin unfurled again, “You left that thing back in LA.”

She felt a pang of longing and regret again, even as she scrunched up her face in distaste, “That was really cheesy and absolutely not true.”

“Oy, you’ve put cheesier lines in your songs,” he accused. “Besides, I’m just the purveyor of truth in these troubled times.  Admit it, you’ve not been givin’ it your all.  Especially in Oakland.  That was a rough one.”

She opened her mouth to refute and couldn’t.  Will was absolutely right and she kind of hated him for it.  Oakland had been more than rough, it had almost been a disaster.  It had taken an intense pep-talk from Ruby and Tink combined to just get her to the venue.  She’d been able to put on a convincing enough show but the second she’d stepped backstage between the main set and the encore she’d nearly had a complete breakdown.  More than once during the show she had looked over expecting to see Killian grinning back at her and found Ruby instead.  Every little thing she’d pushed aside had hit her as she’d moved offstage and it had taken everything she’d had to get back out on stage to finish the show.

“Yeah, well...  Why didn’t anyone say anything?” She asked accusingly. “Regina didn’t even bring it up and you know she loves to find something to critique.”

“Eh, the shows haven’t been complete shite,” he said with a shrug. “No one’s posted a rant or got a new hashtag trendin’ and you know I’d tell you ‘bout those.”

She snorted, “I don’t know why you’re so fixated on social media.  Hasn’t Belle broken you of that habit yet?”

“Ah, but she loves me for all my charmin’ qualities,” he said with a wink. “I’ve her almost convinced to join Instagram.  Told her other nerds’ll love to see her books and all those plants her dad’s given her.  They like seeing all those uninspired posts you do of your piano after all.”

“It’s the only thing I’m comfortable sharing,” she mumbled.

Will stared at her for a moment before nodding and looking out at the empty seats.  She waited for him to finally say what he’d stayed behind to say instead of going back to the hotel with Belle.  He loved to tease and stir up trouble but she knew that when he got serious that it meant something.  There was no way he’d waited until nearly everyone else had left just so he could not so gently criticize the last few shows.

Instead of saying anything he began humming.  Emma rolled her eyes and focused on watching the last of the equipment being packed up and cleared off the stage.  It wasn’t until Will began singing under his breath that she recognized the song.

“Backstreet Boys?  Really?” She asked with a raised brow.

“Show me the meaning of being lonely,” he said instead of singing, “So many words for a broken heart.  Right, luv?”

She recoiled, “My heart’s not broken.”

“Could have fooled me and everyone else ‘round here.  Even Belle noticed somethin’s off with you.”

“She did?”

Instead of answering Will looked back out over the empty seats, leaning back on his hands as he did so.  He continued to recite the lyrics of the song, as though it was a masterpiece in verse instead of a late nineties pop song written with the sole purpose of being a hit.  She watched, impressed and amused by his unabashed performance, spoken in a voice that carried to an audience of one.

Just as she was about to press him about what it was about her, that definitely wasn’t a broken heart, that Belle had noticed he fell silent.  His mouth quirked up at the corner as he tilted his head to look at her.

“Have I ever told you how I met Belle?” He asked, his gaze soft.

She blinked, “Uh, no?”

“Broke into her shop,” he said proudly, the other side of his mouth ticking up into a boyish smile.

“You broke into her shop?” She asked slowly, not quite believing him.

“I was quite pissed at the time.  That’d be drunk to you, you bloody yank,” he teased and she rolled her eyes, “Had the bright idea that a certain book was all I needed to set things to right.”

“You broke into her shop,” she repeated, “to steal a book?”

“Never said I was stealin’ anythin’,” he said with mock innocence. “I’m not sure I like what you’re implyin’.”

She huffed, “Fine, you broke into her shop to not steal a book. Did you meet her when she knocked you out before she called the cops?”

“Not exactly.  You know those squishy little settees she’s got round the children’s nook?”

“You mean the beanbags?  Yeah,” she said nodding.

“Well, I tuckered meself out picking the lock, findin’ that bloody book, and drinking far too much whisky.  Decided to take a little nap before movin’ along,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

“So you passed out and Belle found you in the morning?” She surmised.

“The cops found me first, not fifteen minutes after I’d set off a silent alarm.  Belle was livin’ above the shop then.  She had no idea anythin’ was amiss until after they’d cuffed me and had her come down so they could explain what’d happened-” he ducked his head at that.  When he continued his voice was fond, “The constables were telling her what I could be charged with and she just kept lookin’ at my sorry ass.  Drunk as all hell and mouthin’ off, as I’m wont to do.  When they finished their little spiel she calmly told them that I was a friend and she’d forgotten that she’d offered me her couch to sleep on.  Mind you, I’d never even stepped foot in her store before that night.

“Well the officers didn’t take too kindly to that.  Blustered and threatened but she never backed down.  I was at least sober enough to go along with her tales, who was I to ruin a perfectly good lie on my behalf?  Finally, they removed the cuffs and took their leave, not without dire warnings and some more threats.  As soon as the door closed behind them Belle invited me up for tea.”

“And you fell in love.  Cute,” Emma tried not to sound bitter but failed completely.

“Nah,” he said with a click of his tongue, “That took a while yet.”

“Okay… so why are you telling me this?”

Will eyed her, “You’re askin’ the wrong question, luv.”

She frowned.  There were a dozen questions she could have asked, least of all why Belle put up with him.  He watched her patiently which only pissed her off.

“I give up,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You’re obviously trying to tell me something so just spit it out.”

“You should have asked why I thought I needed a book that bad in the first place,” he stated, as though it were obvious.

“Fine then, why?”

“To broaden my horizons, of course,” he said cheekily with a wide grin.  When she glared at him he grew serious, “Books always have the answer, yeah?  Thought I’d find a way to win back my ex in one of them.”

There was only one ex Will could have been talking about and she’d done a number on him.  The poems he’d written about her were terrible but the broken heart he’d suffered and lashing out he did was worse.  She was still surprised he hadn’t ended up in jail from the stories he’d told her over the years.

“Ana.”

He nodded solemnly, “This was about a year after she’d ended things.  I’d already started playing with you lot but I was still hurtin’.  Probably didn’t help that we rehearsed across from her new husband’s office.  Used to see her stoppin’ by to see him every few weeks.  Couldn’t escape her, even if I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked softly.

“Why didn’t you tell us about what happened with Jones?” He shot back, though not unkindly.  Shrugging he pushed himself forward and set his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling between his legs, “Self preservation mostly and, yeah, a bit of enjoyin’ the wallowin’.  Then Belle invited me for a cuppa instead of pressin’ charges.  She’d seen my blusterin’ for what it was because she’d had a bit of a rough go of it herself.  A couple of abusive exes will do that to ya.”

She nodded.  Belle hadn’t told her much about her romantic history but what she’d told Emma was enough.

“Anyway we drank the tea, I sobered up, apologized, and that was it.  I went on my way expecting nothing to come of it but another tale to spin for people over a pint-” the soft look returned, “Then a week later I ended up back at the shop.  When it was open of course.  Looked around a bit, chatted with her and then left.  Kept doin’ that a couple times a week for a month or so before I realized I was stoppin’ by every time I’d seen Ana visitin’ her husband.  Stayed away for two weeks after that.  Belle took it all in stride, of course, welcomed me back with another cuppa and a book of poems.”

Emma smiled, knowing exactly when that was.  He’d suddenly stopped writing his own poems and started reading them instead.  She’d noticed that he’d seemed more settled, less angry, and she’d written a song about it.  Will had demanded a writer’s credit as a result.

“That’s when I realized I was fallin’ for her.  Thing was, I had always believed I’d love Ana forever, even if it meant I spend the rest of my days pinin’ after her like a lovesick fool.  Had a real close look at what I was doin’ with my life.  Only stayed away a week that time and asked Belle out to dinner before the door to her shop had closed behind me when I went back.  She said no.”

“She said no?” Emma gasped, having fully expected a cutesy story of their first date to follow.

Will’s smile was enigmatic, “You see while I was having my little crisis of faith Belle was havin’ one of her own.  All she knew about me was I was a terrible thief who played in a band and had an affinity for poetry.  That was enough for any woman to be wary of trusting me and with the number both of her exes did on her she had no trust left to give.  She wanted to say yes but couldn’t bring herself to put everything on the line if there was even the smallest chance of it shattering beneath her.”

She shifted uncomfortably, dropping her gaze to her hands that were perched in her lap.  Unless Ruby or Regina had blabbed no one else knew exactly what had happened with Killian.  All she’d told Will and Tink was that things hadn’t worked out, end of story.  They hadn’t pushed for more of an explanation and she’d thought that was that.  Clearly she was wrong.

“Does Belle know you’re telling me all this really personal information about her?” She asked accusingly, unable to keep herself from lashing out before he prodded a really vulnerable spot.

“Like I said, luv, she noticed there was somethin’ off with you-” he pointed a finger at her, “and before you go accusin’ me of blabbin’ about you to her I haven’t said a word.  I can be a wanker but I do know how to respect a person’s privacy.”

“Why didn’t she say something?”

He sighed, “You two are friendly but you’re not exactly the sharin’ type are ya?  She didn’t feel it was her place to butt into your life.”

“Oh, but it’s yours?” She asked harshly.

“We’re a horse of a different color, you and I,” he said with a conspiratorial air, “Seein’ as our love of music unites us.”

She smacked him in the arm and he gave her a wink in return.  He wasn’t wrong.  When they first met they got along like oil and water but she’d needed a drummer and he genuinely liked her songs.  It had taken a slew of dive bars and a cramped van to tolerate each other and a little over a year before he was one of the few people she considered a tried and true friend.

“She could have talked to me,” she said petulantly.

“And she still might if this-” he waved his hand between them, “here doesn’t take.  But I haven’t finished my story yet.”

“Sorry,” she said, feeling anything but, “continue.”

“Where was I?” He asked cheekily, chuckling at her glare. “Right, I’d decided to woo Belle and she’d wisely decided to protect her heart.  Let me down gently, of course, my Belle.

“I was a bit disappointed but I also knew why she’d said no.  Stopped goin’ round the shop, thought it’d be best to take a step back.  She didn’t need me hangin’ around makin’ things awkward.  Surprised the hell out of me when a month later she showed up at one of our gigs and asked me to dinner as soon as the set was done.  She said that no one had actually listened to her or respected her decisions before, especially her exes, and that even if she didn’t know much about me she was willin’ to give me a chance.  Celebrated three years back in March.”

“I know, you posted it all over Instagram,” she said with only a hint of the frustration she was feeling, “Is that it?”

“Almost,” he said with a chuckle, “Long story short-”

“Too late,” she muttered.

“Belle knew somethin’ was off with you ‘cause she’s been there before and she wanted me to tell you ‘cause she thought I could get you to see what’s in front of your face-” he said with a touch of impatience. “If you broke things off with Jones because he was bloody awful or your personalities didn’t mesh or whatever that’s one thing.  If you did it because you’re scared then that’s somethin’ else.  Okay, now I’m done.”

Emma sat, stunned, as Will stood up and stretched.  He gave the few crew members still clearing the stage a genial wave before offering her his hand.  With a scowl and some reluctance she grabbed it and let him haul her up beside him.  She gave him a wary look, girding herself against more pointed jabs at her emotional expense, but he just spun on his heel and started walking off stage.

“That’s it?!” She called after him, a bit disgruntled.

“I said my piece, luv,” he parried back without turning around. “Besides I’ve my lady love waitin’ for me back at the hotel.  She’s a rare one but I don’t think she’d be too forgivin’ if I spent the whole night with another woman.  Even if it’s you.”

She rushed after him, “You’re not going to try to convince me to call him or… or tell me about how much of a great guy he is or something?”

“I ain’t gonna tell you what to do, luv.  You’re the one that has to decide if you want to keep bein’ miserable or not-” he pulled his phone from his pocket, “I’m orderin’ a Lyft, you wanna ride with?”

“I’ve got a car waiting,” she said absently, still trying to figure out his game.

“Excellent, you got anythin’ you need to grab?” He asked without looking up, tapping away at his phone, “I can wait.”

“No, Ruby grabbed it all for me-” she grabbed his elbow and swung him around to face her, “You’re really not going to say anything else?”

He sighed, “You’ll do what you want and if you actually listened to what I’ve told you then you know there’s nothin’ else I could say.  Now, do you want to stay here until we’re kicked out?”

She looked back across the stage but the magic of the moment was gone.  Now it was just a big empty space with the last of the equipment being rolled out through the wings by the sweaty road crew.

“Fine, let’s go.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet.  Will had clearly said everything he’d wanted to, spending the whole ride furiously texting someone.  For her part she was too pissed off at him while trying desperately not to think too much about what little lesson he’d been trying to get her to understand to say anything remotely close to nice.  When they reached the hotel he stopped her from leaving the car with a hand on her arm.

“One last thing-”

“Really?!” She snapped. “I just want to go up to my room, drink the champagne that I know the label sent, and not think about the emotional vomit you dropped in my lap tonight.”

“It needed to be said,” he stated without a hint of remorse.  Then he squeezed her arm gently and sighed, “Look, I’m gonna send you somethin’ and you need to promise me you’ll look at that first.”

“First?” She asked warily, pulling her phone out of her back pocket.  She’d never taken it off silent and saw that there were way more texts and calls than she’d expected to be there, “What is it?”

“Nothin’ too terrible,” he hedged.

His gaze darted over her shoulder.  When she looked she saw a few paparazzi waiting by flanking the front doors of the hotel.  She turned back to him and saw his jaw ticking.

“Will-”

He ignored her and leaned towards the driver, “Hey, mate, mind pullin’ round the back so we don’t get ambushed?”

“Of course, sir,” the driver said with a nod, immediately pulling away from the curb.

“Will,” she put every ounce of frustration she could into his name.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said absently, back to tapping madly on his phone, “And you know what, don’t look at it until you’re in your room.  Can you do that?”

Just as she was about to grab the hand that was on her arm and twist it until bones cracked the car stopped again.  Looking outside she saw they were at some kind of loading dock and one of the doors was propped open.

“Brilliant,” Will said happily.  He let go of her and fished in his pocket, pulling out a couple of bills that he handed to the driver, “Cheers, mate!”

“Thank you, sir,” the driver said with a nod.  He caught her gaze in the rear view mirror, “Ma’am.”

“Thanks,” she said weakly.  Will was already out of the car and she scrambled out after him, “Wait, you can’t be all cryptic and then just leave me like that.  What the hell is going on?”

“I know you want to punch me in the face-” he squinted his eyes at her, “Nope, you’re ready to murder me on the spot.  Just trust me, luv.  Besides, it wouldn’t do to make a scene out here and bring ‘round those vultures we made a point of avoiding.”

“Fine,” she huffed, pushing past him. “But you’re so on my shit list right now.”

“I’m always on it, luv,” he said with a laugh.

The hotel was five star but the door that had been left open led to a not so pretty hallway.  She’d worked plenty of shitty jobs to know what a service corridor looked like.  There were several stacks of empty milk crates and egg cages lining the walls and from the delicious smells wafting towards her it wasn’t hard to figure out that they were near the kitchens.  She turned back and gave Will an unimpressed look.

“It was this or the paps,” he said unapologetically.  He pointed ahead of them, “That way and then the second right will get you to the lobby.”

“And where are you going?” She asked suspiciously.

“Got a mate that’s holdin’ a bottle of champagne for me that way-” he hitched his thumb to the left. “I’ll let him know you said thanks for sneakin’ you past those vultures.”

He strolled past her, with his hands in his pockets, whistling the damn Backstreet Boys song he’d been singing earlier.  She was torn between wanting to strangle him or begrudgingly thank him.  In the end she settled for glaring at his back and muttering obscenities until he turned a corner and disappeared from her sight.

Twenty minutes later she was finally holed up in her room, freshly showered and wrapped in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes with the bottle of champagne in her hand.  All should have been well except for the litany of messages she had.  Will’s wasn’t the most recent and she would have ignored it if he hadn’t said anything but she had a feeling that whatever he had sent her was the reason behind all the other texts and calls.  Her thumb hovered over his message, calculating how much it was going to ruin her night if she ignored it, before she scoffed at herself and tapped on it.

Scarlet: whatever you do don’t kill the messenger ie me

There was a second message, which was a link to YouTube.  She hesitated again, even more so with his ominous message.  When she tapped on the link she felt a momentary flash of panic, nearly closing out the app, because she knew without a doubt that watching the video was going to destroy any semblance of finishing off the night on a high note.

Her panic quickly turned into longing and heartbreak at the sight of Killian on her phone screen.  He was sitting with his guitar in a room she’d never seen before but knew without a doubt was from his place in Boston.  If pressed she wouldn’t have been able to explain how she knew but from the small bits of decor she could make out in the background and his sense of ease in the space were big clues.  Her attention was drawn back to him as he cleared his throat and addressed the camera.

“Er, hello all,” he began sheepishly, his fingers nervously scratching behind his ear as the tips of his ears turned pink.  His hair was in disarray and there were slight shadows under his eyes but he looked good, she would have even said great if there had been anyone around to ask her.  He gave a rueful smile, “I’ve never done one of these, honestly never thought I would seeing as I seemed to have missed the metaphorical boat with this whole video blogging thing-”

Emma snorted in amusement despite herself and muttered, “It’s like he’s three hundred not thirty-three.”

“Aye, I may be belying my age but as you can see I’ve retained my youthful glow,” he said with a cheeky grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

The quip seemed to bolster him, the tension in his shoulders disappeared and he seemed to breathe easier, but it only lasted for a moment.  His smile faded and he dropped his chin, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath.  When he looked back to the camera the look in his eyes made her own breath catch in her throat.

“As many of my fans-” he paused and then gave a mirthless laugh, shaking his head, “Well, let’s be honest, a lot more than just my fans know my story.  My exploits, my tragedies, missteps and extended stays in rehab are just cannon fodder for the gossip mongers that dwell on the internet.  All of that led to my taking a much needed step back from the spotlight that’s lasted a good while.  In that time I’ve continued to play, the creative soul in me would never stand for me not to, but I never thought I’d put pen to paper with the intention of writing a song ever again.

“The accident, yes that fucking accident, took more from me than just my brother and my love that night.  It took the part of me that knew the right words to tease the desired emotion from an audience, how to hook them with a few notes and reel them in with lyrics that sprung from my heart and soul.  Without that-” his voice cracked and he paused again, closing his eyes.  After a few deep breaths he opened them, looking straight into the camera, his pain bare to see, “Without that it’s a wonder I didn’t drink myself to death within six months.”

Her phone screen went blurry and it wasn’t until a drop of water fell onto her hand that she realized she was crying.  Impatiently brushing away the tears she focused back on the video.

He had begun idly picking at the strings of the guitar, “Getting sober was the first step to getting my life back.  One of many.  It’s been a hard road and every day is a struggle in one way or another but it’s a battle I’m willing to fight.  My life, quite literally, depends on it.  Next was getting serious about playing music again.  I’ve spent the past few years not doing much more than recording backing tracks for what seems like every artist under the sun.  I was in a rut and my agent convinced me that it was a sign that it was time to return to the recording booth.  This time as the headliner, as it were.  With no true argument against it I agreed, thinking that if anything I would enjoy a middling solo career out of it.  What I hadn’t counted on was it leading to something that would turn my middling life upside down in the most unexpected of ways.

“You see, I had thought that I would be hoisted off on a producer and bundled to a cabin to write as many songs as possible before being shepherded back to a recording booth.  Handled but not inspired.  Before that could happen, though, another much more appealing opportunity presented itself..  A friend called needing a favor.  One that my agent and the label approved of, though I would have done it regardless”

His finger picking continued as a wistful smile played at his lips.  She couldn’t figure out what he was playing.  It seemed somewhat familiar but his playing was too slow for her to catch the tune.

“In doing this favor I met someone-” he focused on the camera and gave a slight shake of his head, “You know, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah... to believe that I could find someone else... until I met her.”

Emma nearly dropped her phone in shock.

“For the first time since I thought I’d lost everything I felt like there was a possibility for me to find it all again.  I found myself wanting- no, needing, to write again.  I think I filled the first notebook within a week.  She inspired me in a way I hadn’t been before.  Then, I was privileged enough to become a part of her life.

“Unfortunately even before we met I had decided that there was no need to share with her what was to be a fairly big change in my life.  I figured, why tell her about making a return to music when I hadn’t truly wanted it to happen in the first place?” he scoffed.  He stopped playing, clenching his hand into a fist, “It was a selfish decision on my part, wanting to bask in the simplicity of what we had for as long as possible before I had to give myself over to the machinations of creating an album.  What I failed so spectacularly at was considering her feelings, her expectations and hopes as to what we could be.  By omitting that truth from the beginning and trying to shield her from it, even believing that I was doing the honorable thing, hurt her far more than telling her from the start.”

She could see the frustration and self loathing in his gaze.  It made her want to soothe him and shake him at the same time.

He blinked, seemingly remembering that he was being filmed and gave a brittle smile to the camera, “It should come as no surprise that it all came ‘round to bite me in the arse.  I’ll admit that I spent a good amount of time as the living embodiment of a Morrisey album.  Listened to a few of them ad nauseum to boot.  It took a good friend knocking some sense into me and a few words of advice Liam had given me long ago: ‘A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets’.

“I deserve every second of her silence, every ounce of her anger, and I will respect her decision regarding us, whatever it may be, but I have one final plea to make.  She may never see this, the bloody idiot that told me to do this will also be editing this and might cut this all out, but I’ve laid myself bare so that she perhaps might come to understand why I’d done the things that hurt her so.

“Sw-” he cut himself off, looking down as his jaw ticked in frustration before he took a breath and looked back to the camera, his gaze sincere and open, “Love, I’m sorry for lying to you.  I’m sorry for making you feel used and unimportant and as though you were dupe in a scheme designed to benefit everyone but yourself.  It was never my intention to make you feel that way but my actions and my lies did so all the same.  I’m sorry, love, for everything.”

Her tears were falling freely but she made no move to brush them away.  They were too quick and numerous for her to bother.  In the video Killian had started playing his guitar again, his fingers plucking out the notes of a tune she still couldn’t place but that he seemed to know very well.

“I wrote this after an eye opening night in Chicago.  This is my truth, love, it was then and it is now.”

With that he began to play in earnest.  She could hear echoes of the songs he’d written with Milah and Liam, a distinctive style that even the chasm of a decade couldn’t erase.  There was something more to it though, a longing in his voice she’d never heard before but it was far from melancholic, she could almost feel a wellspring of hope bubbling within it.  Then she actually listened to the lyrics he was singing.

And all of the steps that led me to you

And all of the hell I had to walk through

But I wouldn't trade a day for the chance to say

My love, I'm in love with you

The phone tumbled from Emma’s suddenly numb fingers.  The video kept playing but the audio was muffled in the folds of her robe.  Scrambling to pick it back up and muttering curses while desperately trying to hear the rest of the song she fumbled with the phone for what felt like minutes before it was back in her hand and facing the right way.  With a shaking finger she scrolled back until the point where he started to play and began watching again.  When he played the final note she scrolled back and watched it again.  After the fourth time she let the video keep playing, though she could barely focus on it through the sobs she was holding back.

Killian gave the camera a pained smile, his hands folded over his guitar.  He seemed on the verge of saying something and she held her breath.  Instead he shook his head and leaned forward, reaching towards the camera.  The video ended there, an emotionless black screen with links to a few of the more popular music videos that Realm of Jewels had made.  Emma sat staring at the thumbnails in a stupor, her mind whirring with too many thoughts to even begin to process what she was feeling.  It was only when her screen went dark from inactivity that she made a decision.  Unlocking her phone she brought up her contacts and tapped on the name of the person she’d been avoiding talking to for days.  They picked up on the second ring.

“I know it’s late but I need a favor.”

[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!

[isis-astarte-diana]

woman complains about CAOS and then goes off on a tangent about Buffy (finale spoilers but.... it’s been 17 years)

hi I’m gonna rant about CAOS even tho I’ve never seen it and I might be talking complete shite so if I am..... just lemme do it

but I think I know what my problem is with it, on, like, an instinctual level

because

from day 1 of the promo stuff before it ever started, it was Obviously trying to channel Buffy the Vampire Slayer

come and look!!! at our powerful women!!!! look at em!!! they’re so sick!!! so strong!!!! check it out!!!! grrl power!!

and then uh..............

they just abuse the fuck out of them all the time and never let them process or heal from any of the trauma???? of which there is So Much????

and okay. let’s be real. BtVS is really not a perfect show. really not. at all. but jeez!!!!! Buffy and Willow??? And Anya????? And Tara???? And [so on]????

okay they definitely DON’T all get the endings that they deserve but fuck, man, at least they all get to HEAL!!! they all get to GROW!!!! none of them are used as whipping boys by the writers in the way that [checks notes] uh....... all of the women of CAOS except Sabrina seem to be?????

so I hate it

I hate it because their strong female characters are just there to take punishment and for fuck’s sake man I’ve seen enough brilliant women getting knocked down by shit men in real life!!!!! I don’t want it in my fantasy!!!!!!

and look. I know this is important. I know it’s important to emphasise that powerful incredible strong-willed people can find themselves being abused. of course that’s true. but it’s not entertainment. it’s emotional torture porn. at least when you watch Hostel you hate the fuckin backpackers and kind of enjoy them suffering.

CAOS advertises itself on the idea of old-school, pre-Christian, pre-Trad. Gender Roles “feminine” power and then proceeds to Not Fucking Have Any?????

I have absolutely no interest in watching powerful women who are owed better getting thrown around by shit men for three fucking seasons. sorry. nah. and maybe there’ll be good vengeance!!! maybe it’ll pay off!!!! but if we’re gonna talk about Buffy again (we are)

Chosen was not a perfect series finale. it got some things wrong. but this fucking speech. is not one of those things.

“From now on, every girl in the world who might be a slayer, will be a slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power. Can stand up, will stand up. Slayers. Every one of us.”

I teared up watching this 2 minute clip before I linked it to the post btw

CAOS could never

[gabuex]

Granblue Fantasy Side Story: Memories of Arshivelle (Chapter 3)

Hey, everyone!  Have another chapter. :)

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Translator Notes:

There are a few localizations that I had to do here that I should talk about briefly, just for transparency.

The first relates to Annette’s accent.  Her Japanese word choices (when not casting a spell) are decidedly masculine, expressing that her personality is pretty strongly tomboyish, and that she should be written with a brash demeanor.  She also has a tinge of Kansai dialectic choices in her words, though it’s not nearly as pronounced as someone like Yuel, which implies that she’s intended to come across as somewhat low-class, but probably not so far as to appear as a country hick sort of person.  I thought about what sort of accent would convey this sort of demeanor and personality in a natural fashion to a Western audience, and ultimately concluded that an Irish accent would probably get the job done.  Obviously, this is a complete creation from whole cloth on my part, but given that I can’t exactly literally convey “a slight Kansai accent with a masculine tinge” in English, I figured this would be the next best thing to keep the effect on a native English reader the same as the original script would’ve been on a native Japanese reader.

On the other hand, when Annette is casting a spell, she uses somewhat archaic word choices like waga and attaching the particle yo directly to a subject, which are completely unlike her normal speaking tone of voice.  I followed suit by having her speak in Shakespearean English for those sections, and I translated the yo attachment to a subject as “I beseech you” - not at all a direct translation, but my approximation as the intention of emphasizing her address towards the element she’s using.

The second relates to the way Pommern first talks to Annette that upsets her, and then how he corrects himself after that.  In Japanese, there are three different auxiliary verbs you can use after the -te form of a verb to talk about doing that action for someone.  The standard verb is ageru, which is typically used in a neutral setting where the social hierarchy difference between the speaker and the listener is either equal or unknown - for example, to speak of telling someone something, one might say oshiete ageru.  However, there also exist two others, the first of which is kudasaru, which is used in cases where the speaker’s status is lower than that of the listener’s status; and the second of which is yaru, which is used in cases where the speaker’s status is higher than that of the listener’s status.

In the original Japanese, Pommern first says to Annette, Owari ni shite yarou, which literally means, “Let me bring this to an end for you,” but contains two things that offend Annette - firstly, the fact that he uses a form of -te yaru, implying that he thinks she’s at a lower social status than he is, and the second is using the auxiliary verb in the first place, which implies that he believes that resolving things would be doing her a favor.  Then, after the conflict, he amends his statement to, Owari ni shiyou, which literally means, “Let’s bring this to an end,” with both of those previously mentioned aspects now absent from his words.

In English, there’s no direct way to translate this, so as a stand-in, I had Pommern use somewhat belittling language the first time in a way that would indicate that he’s not treating her as a serious equal, and then had him use much more polite and respectful language the second time.  Hopefully, that has the same sort of effect for an English audience as the original would’ve had on a Japanese audience.

[theliterarywolf]

It's really sad that Pokemon and Game Freak just ignore the numerous spinoff series that could make them just as much money if they properly marketed them, Ranger and Mystery Dungeon especially, but they're so dead set on the main series that they don't even give anyone a chance to breathe after a new release. I thought that DLC might have been a good chance to stretch out the time between new gens but clearly they didn't think that way

Anonymous asked: The problem with Pokemon's development cycles is that why would Nintendo/Gamefreak/TPC change it if it would seem that no matter what they release it will sell within minutes? Despite of the issues the game was the fastest selling Pokemon tittle to date. Unless it starts hitting them on their wallets they won't change jackshit.

Whatever happened to Mystery Dungeon, man? I think we got one remake a few years ago but that's weirdly it?

But, yeah, oh my God: for all GameFreak knows 'we could put Pokemon on anything and make millions', there are so many smaller-scale projects they could do to keep cashflow coming in while mainline titles are being developed.

I mean, let's address this little nugget of OBVIOUSNESS: Make a series of games in the same vein as Stadium/Stadium 2. You could have each game only focus on the Pokemon from two regions so they wouldn't have to worry about the 'oh, but there's 800+ Pokemon and there's no realistic way for all of them to be in one game' debacle.

People probably wouldn't mind too much as long as they put in a minuscule story-mode and what was the biggest draw for the Stadium games? The Mini-Game Corner!

Or, hell, make a Mario Party clone! Even Animal Crossing had their swing at a board-game... It was an ungodly abomination of 'buy our plastic shite', but if we live in a timeline where Amiibo Festival and Sonic Shuffle exist, then there's no reason for Pokemon not to have one.

PokePark could use a new game. A return to the Colosseum/XD formula would be appreciated. Hell, Pokemon: Conquest! With how popular things like Fire Emblem have gotten in recent years, I'm surprised that GameFreak hasn't said 'Hm... Let's give Conquest another shot but make it less Japanese and more vaguely European fantasy'.

I'm not trying to say 'oh, big game companies should stop wanting to make money' but GOD, there are so many ways to go about this that DON'T result in 'sandwich minigames that make WarioWare look like Final Fantasy XV'