#stupid pathetic vampire priest

[nocturnalhe]

amenn!

[pumpumdemsugah]

Armand responses to Louis demands with " maitre" because he's desperate for love and doesn't want to be alone. They both are in different ways to the point of humiliation and stupidity. The day Louis was turned, Lestat decapitated his childhood priest that married his sister the day before and he still said yes to becoming a vampire. Louis and Armand's understanding of love is sick. It's why they can be together. Desperate people can be weak

He knows how to play on Armand's desperation because he's desperate in other ways as well. People want to pin this on him being a former pimp when that was how many decades ago for him? and a relatively brief period of his life, whereas being pathetic is his life long struggle so him recognising that same patheticness in Armand isn't hard . It doesn't manifest the same way but imo that's part of how they manage to control each other, Armand more so than Louis day to day but the unsaid threat of being left cuts deep.

Both Louis and Armand struggle with their sense of self in different ways. Daniel might be doing " am I gay?" Quizzes but him and Lestat have a certainty about who they are and a zest for life and is probably like crack for them. It's not surprising they're " boring " together

[astrasrebloggedfics]

Saved Misc Fics

SFW

Sleep

Affection

Idiots In Love

Vampire Drinking Wrists

JJK

Descendant-Sukuna

Don't Cry-Sukuna

Fluff Alphabet P-Inumaki

Meeting Suguru At A Wedding

Tie My Tie, Marry Me-Nanami

Married To Nanami

Priest!Geto x Succubus!Reader

Sukuna Reincarnation

Sentenced-no fandom

NSFW

Boys Who Lose Themselves

Men Who...

Filming

Sub!Leon

Unnamed Smut

Just The Tip

Service Subs/Pampered Subs

Men who get off on your pleasure

Can't Go One Minute

Fucked Dumb

Needy

Sitting In Their Laps

Dry Humping

Quiet

Hero & Villain

Please

Obsessed

Control

Boys Who Can't Control Their Moans

Eating You Out

Random Smut

Dad's Best Friend

Men Who Fuck You Hard and Stupid

Men Who are Much Bigger Than You

Older Boyfriend

Pretty Boys

Want him whimpering

Men Overstimming Themselves

Big Needy Boys

Spoiling Your Baby Boy

Loverboy

Boys Who Like To Breed You

No Volume Regulation

Submissive Good Boys

Smile For The Camera

Photographer

Sub!Yandere (soft of NSFW?)

Pathetic Yandere Boys

More Sub!Yandere (no nsfw?)

Pathetic Sub!Yandere Boys

Even More Pathetic!Sub Yandere Boys

Sex Time loop

Pathetic Men

Bratty Disobedient Subs

Tough Men Who Get Whiny

Men Who Eat Pussy Like It's A Religion

Men Who...

Being On Top

To The Men Who... Their First Time

To The Men Who... Like It When You're On Top

To The Men Who... 'Hate' When You're On Top

Bred-Winner

Lazy Sunday

Until My Mind Is Fuzzy

JJK Misc Characters

Sub!Geto

Brothel Owner Geto

Needy/Whimpering Men

Dating Nanami Kento

Spoiled Brat-Yuji

Masturbating to You-Yuji

Ideal Love-Yuji

Back To You Satoru x Suguru

Virgin!Yuta

Priest Geto

-Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Sukuna's the Type...

Sukuna Who...

Sukuna's Favorite Concubine

Edging Nanami

Other/Shorts

I Love You

Subs (nsfw)

Couldn't Wait (NSFW)

Fleshlight

Don't Think (NSFW)

Don't Cry (NSFW)

Rubbing Her Pussy

Fuck Toy

Nipples

Mean To You (NSFW)

Needy (NSFW)

Daddy (NSFW)

Only Sounds They Can Make (NSFW)

Calm Boyfriend (NSFW)

Breed Me

Men Who Fuck You Like They're Starving

Series

Adult Store-Geto Suguru

-Part 1

-Part 2

-Part 3

[gggoldfinch]

So excited for your Father Paul era because literally same. That stupid sexy pathetic vampire priest is ruining my life

I’m in the throes of desperate infatuation, glad I’m not alone 🥰 I already wanna rewatch that stupid fuckinf show aaaagaghhhhh

Pls gush about him in my inbox if you feel so inclined, I have no friends to thirst over him with irl (I’m the only one unhinged enough to have a priest kink) 😔😔😔

[redvelvetnat]

flowers grow out of my grave

vampire!natasha romanoff x wife!reader

summary : natasha and her all-female vampire coven make a point of their hatred towards humanity. but she has her own reasons for keeping you, her loving and devoted human wife, from joining in her living death. word count : 4.3k

disclaimer : 18+, strong language, murder of a priest, a fuck ton of lore, smut, blood kink + sucking, dirty talk (praise + degradation + pet names), fingering, hair pulling

author’s note : gif source. i was really not in a good headspace to write for a long time. this pile of flaming garbage is my gift. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! comments and reblogs appreciated <3

It started with an orgasm.

That was the deal - the rule Natasha set when the two of you got married. If she wanted blood from you, she was going to have to give something first. What better to give than an earth shattering orgasm? - she figured.

This deal was an inconvenience to neither of you, unless, of course, either was interrupted before the other. In which case, Natasha was burdened with an incurable sort of hunger.

Most unfortunately for her, tonight was one of those nights.

You find yourself standing outside one of the cells in the castle’s dungeon, holding yourself against the stone wall on shaky legs and the taste of your cum still lingering on your wife’s tongue, which swipes angrily over her extended fangs.

The priest, if his cassock and Natasha’s blatant overuse of the title father is anything to go by, trembles on his knees in front of her - a position, it’s safe to say, you’d much rather find yourself in.

Natasha would agree. As someone who’s been longing to sink her teeth into you for a number of hours, her only goal is to relieve herself of the hunger that burns ever hotter inside of her.

“Father,” she starts, “I have severely more importantly things to worry about than a priest who doesn’t know how to keep his fucking nose out of my business. Surely, that’s no surprise to you?” Her nails, nearly as sharp as the fangs protruding past her lips, are sunk into either side of his jaw.

He chokes on a plead when he looks up at her, ‘please don’t kill me, my people, they need me’, but his cries are inefficacious. Natasha has never cared much for priests, and her patience is a candle in the wind on a good day.

“Your people,” she hisses through a tight jaw, “would be disappointed in how fucking pathetic you look right now.” He cycles through a number of different emotions in the seconds that follow - hopelessness, exasperation, disgust.

When he swings his hand forward to catch the rim of her boot, no one bats an eye. Her sensitive ears only twitch at the rattling of the chains connecting his wrists and the sharp end of her heel locks his binds against the floor.

Hot tears roll down the apples of his cheeks and splash onto the cement below. “Ow - please!” If he’s looking for someone to take pity on him, he won’t find them here.

“Quit your stupid fucking crying.” She plucks a maroon-colored cloth from her breast pocket and shoves it into his slobbering mouth but he only continues to blubber stubbornly through the thick fabric.

She stops to think, or pretend to at the very least, and a blind hope rushes onto his face. You almost feel sorry for him as you watch him cling onto the idea that he could make it out of this alive.

If his crimes, which you’re still unsure of but certainly won’t ask about, aren’t enough to drive your wife into a murderous rage, his irritatingly loud whimpering will be.

He’s fucked, to put it plainly.

The tension is thick and you hold your breath - watching between your lover, the quivering priest, and the four women who stand, silently, against the far wall. Then, a sadistic smile curls onto Natasha’s features, “Dispose of him.”

All at once, three of the four women launch themselves towards him; brandishing their fangs and sinking them into his flesh. You expel a breath, his screams intertwine with the mewling of satisfied beasts.

Without anything more, Natasha turns on her heel to call for the only woman who remains at the wall, ‘Maximoff, come along’, and takes your hand in route to the stairs.

The young brunette attaches herself to your trail, looking as if she had never seen anything so disturbing in her life and you figure - it being her first day in the castle - that she probably hadn’t.

The three of you remain silent through the first few halls, accompanied only by the soft echo of your footsteps and the whisperings of centuries-old ghosts. Natasha liked it this way, quiet enough to finally gather the thoughts in her head.

After a few corridors, Wanda speaks up, “So you’re really Natasha Romanoff?”

It wasn’t hard to tell that she was young, probably the youngest you’ve ever seen in Natasha’s coven. And, with her age, came a sort of curiosity that most of the women had lost long before they reached the castle.

Natasha, unbothered by the brunette’s youthful energy, rounds the corner with her doe-eyed new companion at her heels, “My father was a healer who dabbled in dark magic. He turned me by accident when I was a child.”

She looks back, only briefly, to check that Wanda is still listening, “He built this castle and the village below it to protect people like us.”

It sounded so mundane the way she told it - without all the gore and sorrow that came with being ‘alive’ for thousands of years and destined to do so for thousands more.

“The village too?” Wanda questions curiously, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to keep herself from falling too far behind the two of you. “In the beginning - yes. But it has been long overrun by mortals. This castle is our only true sanctuary, now.”

Dramatic as she is - and she is dramatic - she’s right. The list of living, breathing humans who could cross the threshold into Natasha’s home and live to remember it is incredibly short.

In fact, so few people had ever seen the inside that it had become a sort of tale for the villagers of Alianovna. They had, affectionately, named it The Midnight House; an endearing title for a place that regularly played setting to most (if not all) of their modern ghost stories.

Anyone who had ever stepped foot inside the local pub had likely fallen prey to the bartender - Sir Odinson, he called himself - going on and on with his tales of the unusually pale beings that lived in The Midnight House.

Of course, no one had ever really taken his stories seriously besides the hordes of women who crowded one end of the bar to fawn over the muscled beast of a man.

‘Petrifying creatures - vampires.’ He’d say with a mouth full of cheap whiskey, ‘First time I ever saw one, I was half-way up the mountain with nothing but a trekking stick to defend myself.’

And the women, who never listened very well past all the heroic parts anyway, would collectively swoon - ‘you’re so brave, Thor!’, and ‘you poor thing!’ and ‘please, keep going, sir!’.

He’d curl his finger around the neck of his shirt and pull it down to reveal a single, jagged scar along the crest of his collarbone, ‘only left with this, now’, although it had always looked more like a messy knife wound than a bite.

You often dreamed of watching his audience’s faces if you ever stopped him, mid story, to explain that, not only was their village littered with the creatures they had all become so afraid of, but that it was built for them and named after their leader - Natasha Alianovna Romanoff.

“What about you?” Wanda asks suddenly, eyebrows tight with curiosity, “Have you been one of us for long?” She’s innocent in her curiosity but Natasha hardens and you can feel her rising tension through the vice grip she has on your hand.

Wanda is too young - still trying to make sense of her newfound strength, incurable thirst, and the millions of sounds rushing through her ears at all times - so it doesn’t surprise you that the sound of your beating heart is lost on her.

You only give her a smile, “I’m human, Wanda.”

The utter surprise that follows is expected, the way she chokes on her words and halts to a stop in the middle of the foyer. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. It does, however, upset your wife.

You allow Wanda a moment of silence to collect herself but Natasha beats you to breaking it. Never late to your defense, she swivels on one heel with her teeth already barred and eyes glowing red as she looks down on the wide-eyed young fledgling.

“Human or not,” she snarls, “she is still part of this coven’s leadership and will be treated with respect. Do I make myself clear, Maximoff?” The fear is apparent on Wanda’s face and she can do nothing but nod stupidly under her superior’s harsh stare.

Though she means well, you know Natasha will only do more harm in trying to intimidate Wanda this way. You sigh gently, squeezing her hand in yours, “I think she gets the point, Tasha.” You assure in a whisper, trying to ease her down slowly

As the tension melts begrudgingly from between her shoulders, you redirect her to the set of large wooden doors at the end of the hall - adorned with the Romanoff family crest in all its glory.

Wanda catches your eyes for only a second and you attempt to calm her nerves with a silent reassurance as two well-dressed, male servants pull the doors open for the three of you.

The apologies that had been brewing in Wanda’s chest melt when she meets the two glimmering silver thrones that stand proud against one wall, both stitched with the same maroon fabric that accents most of the castle.

Your hand grazes over the garnet spider pin at the chest of your wife’s blazer before you part with a chaste kiss. She diverts, Wanda by her side, to a corner of the room where Carol, Maria, and Sharon are still cleaning the priest’s blood off their mouths.

As they reacquainted themselves with Wanda, fed and mostly satisfied, no one is oblivious to Wanda’s failed attempts to take quick peeks of you. The three women each send you inquisitive glances that you dismiss with a wave of your hand.

Her eyes focus, mostly, on the lively skin of your face and her ears are suddenly attuned to the beating of your heart - all things you already expect from the vampires you meet.

Maria, ever your protector, has already puffed her chest in much the same way Natasha has and the other two are quick to follow. Admittedly, it takes a great deal of effort for you not to laugh at their antics.

You wonder if Wanda will have the courage to ask her superiors the questions that burn in her throat - ‘why’d she let a mortal into the castle?’ and ‘why hasn’t she turned her yet?’

Natasha still looks unsure when she joins you at her own throne, moments later. “Give her time, Natasha. This is how it always goes.” You whisper softly against the sharp edge of her jaw.

Maybe it’s because she meets your eyes, then, or she knows your words have truth to them; but her eyes flash a loving amber color. She had spent so long loving you that it rarely occurred to her that anyone could…not.

“You’re right.” She finally murmurs. You only smile at her admission, “Of course I am. Now, how about you get to it? I know all of you are excited to feed.”

“Ladies,” her eyes light up as she stands, waiting for the scattered women to turn their strayed attentions back to her, “Tonight, you must remember your own safety above all else. I’ve received word of a new gang of hunters in the area and we cannot afford to lose any more of us.”

Eyes shift nervously across the room, every woman painfully aware of Natasha’s grim history with vampire hunters. “So, while I do encourage you all to feed to your cold heart’s content, please be smart and stay close to one another.” Excitement rises in their eyes.

“As soon as Wanda is escorted to her living quarters and acquainted with the rest of you, your night may commence.” Everyone twitches to look in the direction of their newest addition, uncertainty looming in the air.

Wanda retreats into herself at the attention and you only clear your throat, “You are dismissed. All of you.” Their exits are swift; courteous nods, soft bids farewell, and a whisper of ‘play nicely’ from you to the three woman who haven’t stopped eyeing Wanda suspiciously.

Natasha makes no effort to move as she watches them part and waits for the sweet silence to blanket the room once more. Watching her collapse into an exhausted heap on her throne, overwhelmed by stress and hunger, causes an ache to settle in your heart.

The truth was a harsh reality; that, as long as you were alive and well, Natasha would always be assured a stable food source. But the same guarantee did not extend to the rest of her coven, no matter how dangerous it got for them to hunt.

“They’ll be alright, Tasha. They’re smart women.” Is all you offer. It won’t help, you both know that as well as the other, but she appreciates the effort above anything. You decide to give her a moment, choosing instead to move towards the window where you can see the moon just beginning to rise over the mountains.

Shadows sprint into the darkness, quick as lightning and eerily indistinguishable. It will, without a doubt, be a long night of distant screams and unexplained blood splatters that the maids will curse them all for in the morning.

You become sickeningly aware of your own aliveness as you watch them all disperse into the village to prey on the unsuspecting townspeople. Your heart, which had otherwise felt idle in your chest, rises to your throat and begins to pound unusually hard.

A rush of cold blankets the air behind you, “That pretty heart of yours beating that hard just for me?” Her voice comes against the shell of your ear; quiet and soft and playful and all the things that make your spine twitch with excitement.

She lowers her head to your neck, listening closely for the flow of blood through your veins, and presses a kiss to the source of your pulse.

“You know what I think, petal?” It’s not a question - not really. She’s going to tell you no matter what and you’ll be defenseless against your attraction to the tone in her voice, anyway.

She’s towering over your smaller frame when you spin to look at her; face darkened by the shadows of the moon and eyes wild. She’s getting hungrier - and needier by default.

“I think you look absolutely delicious.” You could laugh at her. Though it’s, technically, a compliment, you roll your eyes at the poor attempt to soften you up. You know how badly she wants to feed - to quench that thirst - but she also loves you too much to let you think that it’s all she cares about.

“All helpless and delicate, just flesh and bone. Fuck, I really could just eat you up. That excites you, doesn’t it?”

The beating of your heart gives you away. Her voice is dark, much darker than it had been all day and you know the hunger is mostly to blame but that doesn’t stop the pathetic whimper that unhitches itself from your throat.

Would it be so wrong to agree?

You’re prepared to speak, to argue that you aren’t that sick or twisted - even if you are. But she pressed a faint kiss to your collarbone and pushes her thumb past your parted lips, effectively muffling any response.

Her eyes, glowing in the partial darkness, lock onto your lips as they enclose around the digit. She probes at your tongue, her chin lifting just enough for her to have to look down on you. “That’s it - that’s a good girl.”

The praise does little to quell either of your excitement, and the heat swelling between your legs almost startles you. Still wet and glistening with your spit, her finger makes a distinct pop when she retracts it and traces it over your bottom lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask.” You assure her, just as hungry for her attention as she is to give it to you. But a smirk curls across her lips, “I want to hear you say it.”

Something akin to a whine leaves your throat and you can only hope that the ‘kiss me, please just kiss me’ that follows is enough to satisfy her.

To your relief, she surges forward almost immediately; all teeth and tongue when she delves into your mouth to explore anything and everything she can reach. It’s a filthy montage of hungered kisses.

The thoughts in your head are loud to her - the soft ones, the eager ones, the ones that scream for her to do whatever she pleases and she can hear every single one of them.

Her hands are just as curious as her mouth, exploring the same skin she’d spent years worshiping by now. The broken plead for more that leaves your throat and falls between the two of you does not go unnoticed.

You want this equally as bad as her. You want to feel her attach herself to you in the most intimate form of love making that she is physically capable of. But that isn’t going to stop her from enjoying you for as long as she can make it last.

It’s a slow practice of her parting from your mouth; retracting, coming back to give you gentle pecks, then retracting again. When she finally pulls away, she picks you up with the strength of a God and carries you in her hands, like a feather, to your thrones.

Your chest heaves as she sinks onto her knees in front of you and a moment of clarity breaks the arousal-induced enchantment that had fallen over you, “We can’t. Not here, Natasha. What if-”

She isn’t listening, her fingers are already digging under the fabric of your clothes to rip them away. “If what, petal? If someone catches us? If someone sees you all spread out for me and practically begging to be fucked until there’s nothing left in that pretty head of yours?”

You aren’t begging - you want to argue, but then she’d only make you beg to prove a point. Her hand is stroking over the apple of your cheek in a way that makes you just want to melt into her. Maybe you could find it in yourself to save the bratty act for later.

“A slutty little thing like you wouldn’t really mind getting caught here, now would you?”

You expel the air from your lungs but no words follow, just a pathetic blubber of nonsense. She’s not letting you off as easy as you had hoped she would. Her signature smirk flashes across her face, “Say it.”

You know what she wants from you, just as you know she won’t give you what you want until she gets it. “I’ll be good.” You whine, the sound high in your throat and, in one desperate breath, you add, “I’ll be so good, please Natasha.”

“See? How hard was that, baby? Now, be still. I don’t want to hurt you.” Maybe a part of her did want to hurt you, if only to see the excitement flare in your irises. But there are too many ways this could go wrong once her fangs come into play and that scares her too much.

Her tongue presses against your pulse point, feeling it throb from under the skin, and fingers stroke teasingly over the soaked cotton of your underwear but only to distract you long enough to finally sink her fangs into the flesh of your throat.

A hiss escapes your mouth but the pain is long gone before you feel it. It never really hurt, not when Natasha is so gentle the way she always is; taking her time to soften the skin with her tongue.

She is ever so gentle, even as every instinct she has ever harbored is telling her to drink! drink! drink! until she can’t possibly drink any more. One hand cradles the back of your neck, keeping the skin exposed to her as she sucks the warm blood from your veins.

Sparks shoot down the length of your limbs, “Fuck, Nat.” The combination of excited flutter in your heart, whiny undertone of your moan, and the way your fingers curl into her biceps is enough to make her growl.

“Don’t.” You can feel the vibrations of her words as she pulls you closer to her, “I can’t stop myself when you do that.”

You shutter, a sick mixture of fear and excitement. It’s way too dangerous to test her, now, but fuck did you want to. Her hunger is dangerous, the type of dangerous that draws the line between your life and an untimely death but it would take a lot more than a death threat for you to care.

Your longing whisper of her name is relatively soothing to her but the rush of flesh blood that floods her mouth at the same time only makes it impossible to stifle the moan that rises in her throat.

Warmth spreads over you from the inside, creeping up your neck and down your shoulders simultaneously. Her two fingers begin to probe at the sloppy entrance of your cunt and you can only hold on tighter to keep yourself from collapsing. “Fucking slut, so fucking messy.”

Maybe it’s because of the two fingers that sink inside you or the electric feeling of her fangs hooked into your throat but a fog blankets your head as dizziness mingles with overwhelming pleasure.

It only becomes harder to keep track of her movements and time is an illusion when she retracts her fangs to separate from your neck in one swift motion.

You chase after her blindly, giving neither of you time to unwind. Your tongue swipes at the corners of her mouth, cleaning your own blood from where it drips down her chin. A deep, animalistic growl leaves her chest and she curls her fingers inside you to reward the filthy sentiment.

“Fuck, you did so good for me, petal.” She praises, her fangs fully retracted into her teeth but you can feel the ghost of them still lingering in you. She moves to pepper kisses along the unmarked skin at the other side of your neck, “I wanna feel you. Let me make you cum, baby.”

The gentleness has returned to her voice, a reflection of the long-awaited satisfaction she’d been seeking for the better part of the day. You only tighten around her expert fingers, watching a different kind of need flash through the green of her irises.

“Please.” You whine and it’s all the permission she needs before she begins her gentle rhythm; using her fingers to collect your arousal and spread it over your clit, before they disappear inside the twitching walls of your abused cunt - over and over again.

You lose the energy to hold yourself upright and you only hope that your wife gets the memo before your head falls against the back of her throne.

She knows what to do just like the first or millionth time that you’d slept together. She knows how to press at the sensitive skin of your breasts, how to curl and fight against your tightening walls to keep your hips craning in search of more.

Your mouth gargles with mindless pleadings - ‘please, Tasha, oh please make me cum, I want to cum for you so bad, please Nat’.

Who is she to deny herself the pleasure of watching you cum - neck stained with a mixture of her lipstick and your own blood, head thrown back against the maroon fabric of her throne, and muscles shaking with the force of the pleasure she’s giving you?

She knows how to get you there, she’s studied your body for so long that she’s sure she deserves some kind of diploma.

She pushes a third finger into you, “So messy, petal. All from letting me use you like the perfect little servant you are - exactly what you were made to do. You like when I take what I want from you, baby? You’re always just so eager and so fucking good at giving it to me.”

Even if you didn’t shout the desperate strong of ‘yes!’s into the air, the rush of arousal that drips down the palm of her hand gives you away all the same. Her free hand fondles with your hair, tugging and pulling just enough to keep you dizzy.

The sweet pain sends you over the edge.

The orgasm is explosive and sudden, like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and hoping she’ll be there to catch you. Your muscles throb, the puncture wounds left in your throat ache, you twitch and crane and chase after her fingers so recklessly that she has to use much of her strength to hold you still.

“Shh, it’s alright. Good girl. My good girl.” She talks you down gently, speaking into the dip in your chest as she sprays the skin with wet kisses. You heave in desperation and the release of it, body fighting to regain control and stabilize your nerves that buzz with excitement.

Through half-lidded eyes, you can see her looking up at you with pride glistening in her still-glowing eyes. The blood that rushes through your ears burns but you can still hear her whispering firm proclamations of her love for you.

“You and me, we’re gonna live forever, petal.”

[conteur-writeblr]

Have Faith

Written for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt :

(Content warnings: very very brief mention of pedophilia, religious themes but not the central point.)

* * *

“What’s got you so down, demon?”

Noël looked up. The vampire had appeared nearby without a sound. Its tall dark shadow was standing a little off to the side, as if weary to keep a distance between them, but its red eyes glinted in the dark like two merry jewels. It sounded utterly remorseless. Noël would have been tempted to call it the devil, had she not known any better.

“There was no need to do what you did.”

“You might want to be more precise.”

“Father Gabriele was a good man,” Noël heavily said.

The night’s events had ceased stampeding through her, but her insides remained crushed, and she could feel the lingering dread pulling her down in the depths of a great fatigue. Thought she felt a lust for ripping those red glinting eyes and that single-dimpled grin out of that pretty face, it was only a dim echo of a rage dampened by grief, and she did not have the strength to attack the vampire again.

The vampire laughed. “Oh, come now. That priest was as good as his cute little choir boys were untouched.”

“You dare…”

“Yes, I do. Look at yourself! He wouldn’t have been half as kind if you’d looked a few years older. Did you cut your own hair? Did you choose your own clothes? I never would’ve known you were a girl if he hadn’t called you one.”

“He was a good man.”

“He was a human. A weak, snivelling, pathetic human, just like the others. They’re all the same.”

“They are not. Have some faith,” Noël spat at the vampire.

“How amusing that you, a demon, should say this. Did your human friend use to tell you that? They’re big on faith, those priests.”

The vampire’s smug smirk was unbearable. Noël pressed her lips together tightly and turned away. In her head rang the words Father Gabriele had spoken when they’d met face-to-face for the first time.

A demon, you say? Truly? You are the one I’ve been hearing all these nights, the one responsible for the shuffling, the creaking, the misplaced candles and rosaries?

She remembered her own voice, how it had trembled with uncertainty beneath the weight of years and years of painful loneliness when she’d answered: Yes, father.

She remembered how Father Gabriele’s handsome face had clouded over in thought. He hadn’t backed away in fright. He hadn’t narrowed his eyes in anger. Noël had felt that this man was different, and so she had begged him. It had been a desperate cry for help, one that she hadn’t fully expected him to hear and much less to understand. From within that small alcove she’d trapped herself in to repent and pay for her sins, amidst the crosses which burned her skin and the glowing candles which hurt her eyes, Noël had pleaded: Please help me.

The silence that followed lasted only for a heartbeat. A gentle smile had graced Father Gabriele’s lips.

What is your name, child?

Noël.

He’d reached across the space between them to hold her hand in his. Noël’s skin ran hot, but she could tell that his hand had been warmed by the candles of the church.

Though a demon, you have not once harmed me, and you have crossed my path seeking help. I will help you, Noël. Have faith; such is God’s will.

The wind was blowing in the other direction and yet Noël could still smell the blood on the vampire’s hands. The scent mingled with the cold air and the vampire's long wavy hair like ribbons of iron. One of them belonged to her priest. Father Gabriele had died because Noël hadn’t been there to protect him. He’d been a vampire’s meal. The thought that he’d met such a vulgar end was painful to bear.

“You are a monster,” Noël mouthed in the crook of her crossed arms. Her voice filtered through. The sound of it came out neither loud nor quiet, just broken.

The vampire scoffed. “And what are you, then? I saw the look on your face when we slaughtered all those stupid animals. You enjoyed it. Did you feed on it, as well? A demon would enjoy all that chaos, wouldn’t she?”

“Those brutes were a different matter. Father Gabriele did not deserve such a fate. He helped me.”

“He betrayed you. Don’t tell me you’re genuinely sad that I ate him after what he did.”

“I warned you not to.”

“You were gone, and that’s what I was waiting for. Don’t blame me for hunting easy prey. Do you know what’s most amusing in all of this? He wasn’t even that good.”

“What a vile creature you are,” murmured Noël.

The vampire’s tone became sharper. “Hey, demon, I didn’t choose this.”

Noël gazed at the smattering of tiny pinpoints of light across the inky skies. “And yet you choose to indulge in your base instincts.”

“Yes, because that’s the reasonable thing to do for creatures like us.”

“It doesn’t mean that we should.”

“Ugh, a preachy demon. Disgusting. It’s not my problem that you like to suffer, and I’m not about to let you make it one. You can have faith in that.”

Noël frowned, claws digging in her own skin where her hands tightened around her arms.

“Just how devoid of regret can you be?”

There was no answer. Noël looked to her side after a while of silence. The space where the vampire had been standing was empty.

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

It's funny that what's made me the angriest thus far in this series is Priestess getting her clothes stolen. Closest was Wizard Boy's arrogant ignorance. With the goblins I feel horror and disgust and yeah there's anger there too, but for whatever reason I had just such a strong reaction of "That bitch!" when the girl stole the mail from Priestess and made her cry.

The news that the first princess had been kidnapped by goblins was enough to make the king stand up from his throne.

Okay, I was mad but not that mad!

“About, that...” Witch, who had produced her pipe from nowhere, gave Priestess a heavy-lidded look. Erk... Priestess felt her heart skip a beat; she put a hand to her chest. Would she be able to have this effect on people someday? It was going to be a long time coming...

That does make me wonder, has there ever been a design for Priestess as an adult, be it official or fan-art? She is only 16, so even if she doesn't get much bustier she should still reasonably grow a bit. It's interesting to imagine her and Goblin Slayer anywhere near a similar height.

Also, this is me probably looking too deep into things, but between Witch, Sword Maiden and even a lot of her interactions with Noble Fencer, does anyone else ever get the feeling Priestess might be bisexual? I hesitate to say that because usually I dislike how often I see people insist that a deep friendship/connection/admiration immediately equals love, but how the narration sometimes describes how Priestess is thinking about some other women makes it sound a lot more like attraction than just envy over body proportions. I say bi and not just gay because she does seem to have at least some romantic feelings for Goblin Slayer, even if it is just a desire for his attention and approval.

That aside, I do really like that she wants to be more like Witch, or at least how she perceives Witch. Cool, powerful, knowledgeable, elegant, stacked. I've always had a soft spot for characters who have another person they admire as their goal to be like and are so humble that they don't quite see the positive effect they already have on those around them. The person who admires someone for their positive qualities not yet seeing that they too are admired for similar qualities.

The skin her vestments revealed was perfectly white, almost translucent, as if untouched by the sun. It meant that the tinge of rose in her cheeks was probably not just from the light. She almost seemed like a harlot—and there were temples that kept sacred prostitutes.

What the f**k is a sacred prostitute?

Given that we know High Elf Archer sleeps in the nude, that's twice in this book Goblin Slayer just barges into a woman's room while she's not dressed, first with Cow Girl and then with her to wake her up.

“I know it’s hard,” Goblin Slayer said with utmost seriousness. “When I was a child, I would lay in bed trying to find out how long I had to keep my eyes closed before it would be morning.”

Again, one of the big draws of this series for me and why I think it works is that it takes trauma seriously. The raping goblins aren't just a gimmick to make the series seem edgy. It addresses that these creature would really mess a person up and that the lingering trauma is treated with understanding, never like it's cowardice or foolishness. How this series handles Sword Maiden especially is something I really respect. She comes in to save the day at the end but it's clear it's taking everything she has just to be there. How she froze up when she was called on in the court to deal with the goblins and the relief like a bright light when Goblin Slayer came in to take the job. The position she's in of being powerful enough to face the Demon King but unable to fight "mere" goblins and no one aside from those who've personally experienced the sheer horror of the goblins able to understand, adding to her feelings of isolation and helplessness. It's really good stuff.

I remember when I first started with Goblin Slayer and I saw some people complaining that the series was kind of dull because he never fights anything other than goblins. One, that's just flat-out not true, as he's fought many non-goblin creatures. He just has no interest in fighting anything that's not a goblin. But even when it's just the goblins, I think this series does a good job at making the goblins always feel like a threat and shaking things up often enough. Giving them new tactics, new leaders, new bases of operation, even new breeds like the Goblin Paladin. Every time they're doing something even slightly different from the norm for them it always sparks some dread about what's coming. The moment this volume mentioned a band of goblins with identical tattoos marking them it was just an instant "Oh, that can't be good" from me, which leads into the Goblin Priest, a big cause for alarm given how useful Priestess has proven herself to be, which led into the weird demon arm thing. It's like complaining that a character never fights anything other than humans or dragons or vampires. The power level doesn't matter if it's the same kind of human/dragon/vampire every time. Be it the things that use goblins as their minions/followers or the goblins themselves, I personally think there's enough variety involved to keep things interesting.

A nice moment with Priestess visiting Wizard's grave (so this is the leaked image that got the false rumor started) and, something I'm really hoping for, the possible return of Fighter, even if it's just Priestess eventually finding the courage to see her again at least once. Again, the reason the goblins work is because what they do isn't just a gimmick. Several volumes after her first party's wipe, Priestess is still thinking about them, lamenting their loss, thinking about what could have been, and how difficult it'll be for them to see each other again after what happened. They weren't just Priestess' origin story, they were real (albeit fictional) people, taken before their time and violated in the worst way possible and they shouldn't be just a footnote. Be it for Priestess and Wizard's brother, they should and do still matter.

She strengthened her barriers as an attack came from a strange angle; Sage was thinking fast. It seemed likely that this thing, this shade—if it could be called that—learned by absorbing other living things. They were simply lucky that the creature it was trying to parasitize at the moment was so incredibly stupid. But... Sage gave voice to the obvious question. “How did the corpse of a goblin drop onto a mountaintop...?”

Holy shit, that's hilarious. And the best part is, there was build up to it. Back in vol. 6 when Goblin Slayer used a scroll to flood a nest he did believe there were some goblins he wasn't able to get. Throughout the series it's been noted he doesn't like using the same tricks too many times in a row in case the goblins learn from him, thus the importance of making sure every goblin he encounters he kills. If some escaped, yeah, it makes total sense he'd change to a different type of location for the Gate scroll, just in case he ever meets up with goblins whom are expecting a flood to pop out.

Second only to this with how good the set-up was has to be Priestess turning the blood from the Goblin Priest's ritual into water, ruining its sacrifice to the dark gods. She discovered she could do that last volume but it seemed like she never would again because she's forbidden from using her miracles to deliberately harm another living being (even a goblin). This was a very clever way of bringing it back, having her learn from her experiences while still being devote to the Earth Mother.

Priestess noticed that her hand was still clinging to his and blushed. She made to disentangle her fingers—hesitated—brushed his hand softly and, finally, pulled hers away. She was humiliated, pathetic, pitiful...and yet. I want to be... ...a source of strength to him. That day, she stored up the smallest of prayers in her heart. One day, she swore, she would be.

All shipping and such aside, this is something I really hope to see someday. That point in the series where Priestess is no longer Goblin Slayer's sidekick but rather his partner. Someone he can have truly walk and fight beside him as an equal, easing the burden on his shoulders, until the day all goblins are gone.

What kind of world is it where I'm thinking "Thank goodness, the princess was only severely beaten and nearly sacrificed to a dark god"?

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/g4llnd/read_through_light_novel_vol_8_random_thoughts/

[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!

[canadian-buckbeaver]

In the Thralls of a Dream (Ch. 5 of A Bloody Mess)

Red has just told Fell about the mark that his father had - the one linking Gaster to the previous priest of this town. However, Fell demands more questions than Red has answers for, and storms off angrily. Leaving Red alone in his bed, his head full of thoughts and blood and gore...

TRIGGER WARNING: HEAVY GORE, BLOOD, CHARACTER REANIMATION (slightly) AND CHARACTER DEATH

ALSO: to the commenter who wanted less blood/gore in a vampire fanfic (I deleted your comment) - No... how does that even work? It says right in my tags that there is blood and gore and character death... please read the reblogs of Eli's amazing work and read the tags.

If you like what I do, please buy my a Ko-Fi or conisder becoming a patreon!

Red groaned, rubbing at his face.  He was all alone, back in the bedroom that he had first woke up in.  Mentally he felt exhausted, completely drained of life and energy.

How did so much happen in such little time?

First, he had woken up after his attempted murder and found himself changed to a thrall, now being owned by a vampire who likes to crossdress his new toys.  Very poor and inconsiderate choice of clothing too, Red had to add.  Where in the world where ruffles ever useful?  All they did was flutter around and get caught in your joints.

Secondly, the dream about his father?  Completely uncalled for.  He and his old man had never gotten along at the best of times, and coming up to his disappearance was no difference.  They knew exactly how to get on each other’s nerves, push each other’s buttons.  No, Red needed no reminder about Gaster.

Thirdly, the girl that was murdered.  The poor girl… as much as Fell as can sit there, shrug his broad shoulders and say the food is food, there was no reason… so much blood, so much destruction…

So much waste…

Fourth… and this was the one that really pissed him off.  Fell can sit there at the table describing the same mysterious tattoo that Gaster had (again, thank you universe for absolutely nothing), but the moment that Red says that he knows that his father had one similar, Fell wants to know everything.  Where did Gaster say he was going?  What did he do?  Did he know any of the codes or secret languages that he and the other members spoke?  Had he ever been introduced to these other members?  Descriptions?  Ages?  Occupation?  But the moment that Red says that he knows nothing, not the answer to the simplest question, Fell flips and shuts himself down.

Like, come on.  Is this not called a “Secret Society” for nothing?

So Fell had abandoned Red at the table to his disgusting meat while he stalked off and did whatever.

Red sighed and rolled over in the bed, burying his skull in the soft fabrics, covering himself with the thick blankets.  He didn’t know why the vampire’s obvious disappointment in him cut him so deeply.  Nor was he sure why, after everything that he had witnessed and the pathetic meal that he had just had, why he was still hungry… the meat was just completely unappetizing to him.  Perhaps something more like sushi would be better suited to his tastes?

Or perhaps the tender kiss of a soft vampire tongue, covered in warm human blood?

Red shivered slightly at the thought before shaking his head.  What on Asgore’s green earth was wrong with him?  Lately, his mind had been consumed with thoughts of the vampire lord.

He fell asleep, the yearning for blood drowning his dreams.

* * * *

The girl was alive again, but this time she was struggling in his arms.  Hands and arms weakly hit at him, trying to shake him off.  Her feet digging into the ground, trying to pull herself away from him.  Stupid bitch tried to fight him off.  Keep him from what was rightfully his.  Like she had anything to say in the matter.  She was walking alone in the dark castle, asking for it.  After all, who goes exploring at night?

Everyone knows that is when the demons come out to play.

Especially the dark, gothic castle that everyone knows is haunted by the damned and undead.

Yes, this human girl, looking for her so-called lover, she was a very special brand of stupid indeed.  She had thought that she and the boy would end up tangled in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of the harsh realities of this cruel, cruel world.  How absolutely pathetic.  How dense did one have to be to assume that someone would risk their own neck for a few minutes of soiled pleasure?  She deserved to die.  To feed the superior beings.

Red chuckled, his own fangs unsheathing in the low candlelight.  Her eyes widened and she began to struggle with renewed interest.  Her voice alternated between prayers and begs, and screams.  Tears freely flowing down her sweaty cheeks, her attacks becoming more wild and unruly.  Yes, let her struggle and fear…. The meat and blood always tasted best that way.  Fully saturated with the taste of the last plights of life.  But she didn’t know that just yet…

Finally, tiring of this silly game, Red decided to put her out of her misery.  Yanking her forward towards him, his fangs plunged into her neck.  Her hands were on his shoulders now, beating and pushing, still hoping for one chance at escape.

The poor fool… she had missed her chance.  The only way that she could escape him is if she had never set foot on the castle grounds to begin with.

Her blood was sour on his tongue, causing him to snarl.  These human females and the pills and drink they took.  It soured the flesh…

Now he would have to dig even deeper.

Snarling, he withdrew his hands from her neck, watching as the blood poured from her wound.  Let the soiled blood flow… let it clean the flesh… clean his meal….

Fingers digging into the back of her shoulders, puncturing her enough to draw beads of blood, he yanked her towards him again.  He bit down on her neck again, this time pulling out a chunk of the flesh and spitting it to the ground, not even bothering to taste her blood again.  The bite had not even fallen with he struck again, and again, chunks of flesh and peelings of skin slowly collecting around them as he moved from her neck to her collarbone.

He was hungry… and her screams were getting annoying.

A single finger dug into her flesh under her jawline.  Her hand reached up as she yowled, still pleading for her life and promises to never return, or even to return with an offering of cattle or sheep.  Foolish girl… he wanted none of that.  If they had been raised by her or her family, they too would have been poisoned by feed or leftovers or drugs.  With a careless tug, he lurched it across her neck, spilling her blood around him.  Her eyes showed only white as she miraculously screamed.  Her blood flood in uneven globs around them, but that wasn’t the best part.  The red mist of her blood gas sprayed the wall and even the ceiling, coating the air in a thick metallic scent.  This display gave him satisfaction for only a split second before it was replaced by a different feeling.  It was similar to hunger and need, but darker, more energizing.  One that only fueled his primal need for more blood and fear.

Her blood flow began to slow as her blood pressure decreased, her own body’s safety mechanisms working against her. Finally, after long last, her screams slowly faded into a muffled gurgle, and a soft, defeated sigh escaped her throat.  Her hands, slowed their desperate fight before sagging down the front of his chest, her neck and head flopping backwards.  The light slowly faded from her eyes.

But it still wasn’t enough.  He could see now that her arms were riddled with needle marks.  No wonder she had tasted so foul.  Yet he couldn’t let this meal waste.  He would have to do something else.  Her body was still sour and sick and he was so hungry…

His fingers jerked suddenly and with great force, pulling her arms from her shoulders as a human de-winged a chicken.  There was a small crunch of shattering cartilage before they came free in his arms.  These weren’t what he was looking for though.  He flung the extremities to the side, barely listening as they landed with a soft thud to the wall and floor.

Not paying any heed to them now, considering them waste, his fingers pulled the clothing from her body, exposing her body to him.  Red rumbled looking at the smooth skin of her torso.  How it differed from the tack marked arms.

He did not delight in her body.  He did not care for her perky breasts or trim waist.  Nor was he drawn to her curved hips or firm buttocks…

No… he needed her blood… nothing else from her.

Moving down the rest of her body, Red bit and scratched and spat, the blood slowly draining from her as he forced injuries upon her useless, lifeless body.

The ceiling and walls were almost brown and black with blood, small droplets of the thick flood slowly dripping down the walls, falling from the ceiling.  Little clots were already forming around the waste, they would make excellent food for his pet bats later on… and still, he wasn’t satisfied.

It wasn’t until he stood in a deep puddle of her blood that the fluid from her body began to smell slightly sweet.  Nose twitching, he pressed his nasal cavity into one of her wounds and gave a great sniff.  Her body was completely unrecognizable now.  Her white skin had been torn and slashed, great sheets missing from her body.  Chunks of her flesh all over her body were missing, riddling her body with little craters.

And her poor little neck was completely destroyed. If not for the remains of her skull, no one would know who or what this once was.

At last, Red was satisfied with his meal.  The poisons that she had been injected her body with and swallowing her gone, leaving behind only the worthy blood.

With a grateful sigh, Red sank his fangs into her body once more… and began to drink.

* * * * *

Fell withdrew his hand from Red’s skull, chuckling as the thrall gave a soft sigh, the smaller skeleton still dreaming that he was sucking on a human’s corpse.  Such was the power of a vampire lord – able to slip into the minds of his minions at will.  Usually, he had thought himself above such tactics, but tonight he had been more than a little concerned with his creation.  Only for him to find that he himself had nothing to fear.  He had been right all along about his little thrall.  Underneath the fearful little pansy, there was the heart and mind of a mighty hunter, one worthy of the title of vampire…

Though he would have to teach him how to rein in his overkill.

“Sleep well, little one,” he softly cooed, doing his best not to wake him.  Gently, he placed a bloody steak in the thrall’s hands, mindful of the frills and lace of the dress.  Still, he couldn’t help the sinister grin watching as he sank his new fangs into it immediately.  Thralls never forgot their first taste of human blood or steak.  “You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

[countrygangrel]

hey i want every single one for sancho david and austin please and thank u :)

maria im hatefollowing u and i wouldnt help u with ur spanish homework /s

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

sancho: he doesnt rlly consider himself to have family but of the ppl who seem to sorta consider him family he likes marco the best

david: he likes diego the best smh

austin: he doesnt consider any of the ppl who consider him family To be family but mags is the closest

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

sancho: Bad shes the reason he ended up homeless

david: he doesnt remember his birth mom but he loves marge : )

austin: he idealizes her and remembers her as being perfect but she was subpar

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

sancho: he considers him a weak and pathetic little man

david: he doesnt remember his birth father but he doesnt like gabriel at all : (

austin: Bad

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

sancho: he almost got murdered and he tries to avoid telling people abt it :/

david: Uh Yea and like everyone knows it got big in vampire scenes

austin: yea and he tells everyone smh hes an oversharer

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

sancho: a knife, one of those stupid pocket bibles, his phone, snacks he Probably stole

david: Garbage he doesnt rlly go anywhere and he also forgets to empty them out

austin: his phone, some cash, a couple ious to replace mags’s stuff when he takes it, his wallet

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

sancho: he doesnt dream

david: i feel like he has dreams that involve weightlessness a lot. also cleanliness

austin: Hedonism. also idealized versions of his childhood

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

sancho: eternal damnation

david: being dirty and also drowning. his abusers there

austin: honestly? Also hedonism. probably food

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

sancho: he misfired on a guy that he was trying to keep from coming any closer to him

david: he shot a book that he set up on a fence

austin: he shot a guy on Purpose

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

sancho: hes Worse off hes semi-homeless

david: hes? Worse off but a lot happier the weed money has him stable enough

austin: not rlly

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

sancho: more he likes layers

david: more

austin: less

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

sancho: probably when he was being almost murdered. he didnt think he was afraid of death before

david: hes been in a Lot of situations that border on this but probably when his parents were murdered

austin: when he had to kill a werewolf for the first time

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

sancho: he Acts calm all the time but hes normally pretty stressed out. hes gonna grey early

david: Hes Never Calm

austin: hes pretty calm now in the face of danger like even having a gun in his face hes calm

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

dsjkdshds none of them r bothered by it now but david used to be. he got over it

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

sancho: neither he doesnt want to know anyone

david: names

austin: faces

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

sancho: he Is hes very poor and concerned abt where hes living and if hes a freeloader or not

david: not rlly he thinks its pointless and hes gonna die Anyway

austin: yea hes a poor and greedy man

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

sancho: success

david: success

austin: happiness

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

sancho: he didnt have any but he woulda liked stuffed animals

david: he had a stuffed bear that he carried around and didnt let ppl touch. gabriel took it from him and he stopped having comfort objects

austin: he liked his sisters dolls

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

sancho: wisdom

david: ambition hes Jealous

austin: ambition

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

sancho: he doesnt voice his issues but hes rlly insecure so he ends up sorta touchy :/ nd theyre working on it

david: he doesnt have relationships hes Way too shy

austin: hes got commitment issues and he ends up ruining relationships very quickly

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

sancho: all he does his compare himself to others negatively smh he has no self esteem and hes lookin for reasons people wouldnt want him around

david: its for self criticism he has depression and low self esteem. A lot of time its in ? physical aspects or how well they deal with interpersonal communication

austin: its for self validation most of the time. at least if hes Voicing it

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

They all ? think they caused or deserved it but austin blames others Verbally

What does your character like in other people?

sancho: he has a soft spot for cute people :( he likes cute things in general. he? sorta likes mean people too smh he doesnt like feeling like people are lying to him abt liking him. overall he doesnt like people tho

david: he Also avoids ppl so he doesnt like ? like a Lot but he does like when ppl care abt him :’/ if u show him genuine care he’ll warm up pretty fast

austin: he just likes Attention. but in General he also likes people who arent that serious sdsdkhdsj he also likes people who’ll pamper him

What does your character dislike in other people?

sancho: he doesnt like ppl who r ? Overly nice or rlly try to pay attention to him. he also doesnt like having people ‘pity’ him (read: care abt)

david: he doesnt like mean people :( or at least people who r mean to Him hes rlly sensitive. he also doesnt like ppl who try to Force eye contact. also being tall white men makes u a no in his book

austin: people who insult him to his face >:/ or ppl who r mean to their families without Reason hes a hypocrite

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

sancho: he doesnt

david: it takes him a While and it depends on the person. atm he only rlly trusts 2 ppl tho

austin: he doesnt rlly Ever trust people but he lets his guard down anyway

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

sancho: o Immediately. he does it Less if he knows u but :/ not much

david: he tries not to now but hes a very nervous boy

austin: he does it pretty fast but ? ignores what his guts tellin him

How does your character behave around children?

sancho: he has a daughter who he loves but he doesnt rlly know how to take care of kids

david: he tries to avoid them he doesnt know how to deal with them he gets overstimmed really fast

austin: he avoids them but he Loves kids. hes rlly worried abt being a creep and Hurting ppl

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

sancho: he Stews and looks annoyed but doesnt rlly fight

david: he avoids it at all costs

austin: hes Fighty hell argue over little things

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

sancho: sorta quick smh but he has to be pushed

david: he avoids it at all costs hes weak

austin: Very fast

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

sancho: i feel like he wanted to be a doctor :/ it Didnt happen

david: he didnt actually have much by way of dreams? he thought abt being an author or a priest tho. It didnt happen

austin: he didnt rlly have any he was just gonna farm

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

sancho: anything thats too clean. most like ? normal things to be disgusted by other than like gore. also himself

david: he finds most kinds of mess repulsive. hes still repulsed by gore even tho hes used to blood

austin: he doesnt find much other than like ? Excrement repulsive

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

sancho: having his own room with a window and several locks on the door. his cats r there

david: being able to be alone in his room while still being confident that his friends love and care abt him

austin: he wants to be Loved so hed be most comfortable surrounded by family who loves him :’)

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

sancho: rlly being ? around people in general

david: being in public in general but Especially anywhere near a stage. he woulda been valedictorian if he went to hs modernly but the speech shit would kill him

austin: being ignored and on his own

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

sancho: hes a cocktail of all of them :/ but overall hes willing to improve

david: hes willing to improve most of the time but he can be sorta :/ resistant

austin: hes Very defensive

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

sancho: keep the method

david: keep the method

austin: move on

How does your character behave around people they like?

sancho: hes ? nicer but overall he tries not to show it smh

david: hes more willing to come out of his shell and interact with ppl he likes

austin: hes a bit of a bully and Very clingy. he likes teasin ppl

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

sancho: he bottles it up and Glares

david: he avoids interacting with them more than he normally does

austin: hes a bitch tbh he gets Mean and Petty

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

sancho: honor

david: status

austin: honor

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

sancho: remove self

david: remove self

austin: remove problem

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

sancho: he has been and hes nervous around dogs now, especially bigger dogs

david: he hasnt been bit

austin: hes been bit but he doesnt care he still loves animals smh he also probably deserved to get bit hes the type to stick his face in animals’ faces

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

sancho: he does his best and over all tries to be nonintrusive

david: he avoids interacting with people at all dsksdjj so hes okay

austin: he works a service job So

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

sancho: he feels like he has to earn it but he can never do enough To earn it

david: he has to earn it

austin: he feels like he Deserves it

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

sancho: he avoids parental figures

david: yes! He has an adoptive mom who he loves

austin: sorta? kinda. he isnt sure how to feel abt her tho :/ 

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

sancho: yea he has a bf and a child

david: no

austin: sorta? rlly depends. not rlly tho

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

sancho: its pretty difficult and he avoids it

david: its difficult but he can say it without meaning it

austin: its easy to lie but hard to say it proper

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

sancho: he believes hes going to go to hell :/ but hes sorta accepted it. he is scared to die

david: he isnt sure what he believes but he believes it isnt good

austin: he doesnt believe in anything

[eterneli]

forgive me father for i have sinned. these are my confessions: ✞ i ate a jar of peanut butter all by myself. i like it chunky. ✞ i didn't read the terms and conditions before hitting accept when i installed itunes. ✞ i still believe in the 5 second rule. ✞ i actually liked the minions movie.

CONFESS SOMETHING TO MY MUSE ON ANON. (x)

「 † 」 —                     It takes a moment as words of imbecile nature slither through the breeze of spring straight into his skull’s holes, bound to sink within the confinements of his brain and … well, be immediately incinerated due to lack of important. What is this even. “For fuck’s sake–” Aggravation coats the cold of his voice as a great buff of air comes to an escapade from the back of stringed lungs and straight through delicately sculpted nostrils, patience kept at its brim like the vicious of a beast aching to be unleashed. But the concealing chaos reigns through the passive aggressive of his following speech – Byun Baekhyun is a creature birthed of elegance, after all.

“I shall assume you’re somewhat blind for not being able to tell that I am no priest – but if you need a place to confess your … pathetic sins, do direct yourself to confessionals in a church.” There lies the miffed of an intonation within the vampire’s words as lithe rows of fingers cards through the silk of his locks, a mere habit built to expel creeping strands through long lashes, palms of delicate structures soon found sliding into the depths of a long coat while hues of vacant flame pierce through the latter’s skull in sheer scorn.

A number of things tick off the twisted beast within and wasting his precious time in such critical times is most definitely one of them. Unless he’s being paid to listen to such random confessions, they are bust white noise.

A step blossoms the path to guide his figure through the hectic of a city, nonchalantly turning his back on the creature deemed a nuisance as the ghost of vibrations coil around a rushing kiss of wind while distance is built between the two figures. Words are as dry as a fallen leaf in autumn, as easily shattered under a step. “I have no time to waste with bullshit.” Indeed, with an album on the works and names to be crossed on a list, a single second with such stupid material is not something the pianist may allow himself to afford at the moment.