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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 4 years ago

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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.”

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!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #hexslinger #hexslinger au #period typical homophobia #period typical racism #blood tw #mild body horror tw #canon typical vioence #mysnowbazfic #carry on through the ages #cotta 2020

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years ago

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Travelers in the Dark Chapter 4

Chapter Title: Bunker Underneath the Surface

Summary: If Virgil was told a month ago that events that transpired and led him into meeting Logan and the others, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans. Still he has some fears over staying with them, fears that swirl in his mind when Logan asks for a quick chat between the two.

Pairings: platonic lamp

Chapter Word-Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Vampires, Fear, Panic, Implied Non-Graphic Violence, Blood Mention, Fantasy Racial Discrimination

Previous Chapter | Present | Next Chapter AO3 LINK

*dusts off this fic* It’s been a while, huh? Massive thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing this chapter as always!

I don’t think I mentioned this besides the ao3 tags, but the original plan behind this fic was to include villain!Janus later down the road. It won’t happen until the second half of this fic, and honestly, I’m still deciding if I’m still including that or going a different route, I just wanted to mention that it may be occurring.

If you don’t want to read content featuring him depicted that way, I understand. With the way the first half of this fic is designed, you can easily read the fic up to the point before villain!Janus might make an appearance and still enjoy it, as there’s basically two different story arcs that occur in this fic :)

Over the course of the next week, Virgil’s resolve to leave dissipated. It chipped away with Patton’s humming as he mixed together ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. It splintered as Roman sauntered into the kitchen and swept Patton into an impromptu waltz. It fell apart as Logan tried to maintain a steady gaze on his physics book but the curve of his lips told Virgil he was amused by the others’ antics.

He’d never experienced such a warm, loving environment. He didn’t know they existed outside of fiction. If Virgil was told a month ago of the events that would transpire, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans.

In the stormy bleak world he’d grown up and lived in, it was every person for themselves. His foster parents took care of him simply for the money involved. His teachers could care less if he, a vampire, passed or failed. The one person he’d considered a friend only used him for their own gain in the end.

It’d been better to cease social interactions altogether. What was the point of subjecting himself to it when it always resulted in a negative outcome? After all, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.

Virgil was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Or at least, he was smart enough to recognize it wasn’t worth it. Any other person might’ve gone the other extreme. They might’ve done whatever they pleased, regardless of what everyone else thought. They might’ve become what others expected them to be, because there was no other designated role in society for them.

Virgil refused. The last thing he wanted was to prove that the prejudices against vampires were valid. But again, he wasn’t stupid. He was just one person fighting an ocean of bigotry. Everyone knows you can’t fight the ocean because it does whatever its damn well pleases.

That was why he ran away from his foster family, from everything. He disappeared into the park, taking refuge in the trees. It had been safer to just give up than to play society’s game. He didn’t even finish high school. Every day became about finding his next meal, his next shelter, his next—well he didn’t need water to survive. One of the perks of being a practically immortal vampire.

When he reached eighteen, he stopped aging. Physically. Which sounded just as fun as it felt; being trapped in a perpetual state of puberty for potentially a hundred years or so. It varied from vampire to vampire, when they’d start showing signs again of physically aging. He was twenty-eight now, and still practically an adolescent by vampiric standards.

In fact, vampires at his age required more frequent feedings to put up with their young body’s fast metabolism. It meant that Virgil was hungry all day every day. It had been hard at the beginning. He’d never had to worry about meals while under the care of the state.

Quickly he understood how hard it was to resist the urges wired into his being. Once, he’d gone three weeks without a meal. Hunting down animals hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought. Even when he managed to capture the odd bird or two—it was enough for him to starve off the urges. But never enough to truly satisfy it.

Virgil blacked out at the end of those three weeks. When he regained consciousness, he stood in an unfamiliar alley over an unfamiliar body. Fresh blood dripped from his lips as he recoiled in terror—did he do this? Did he really kill someone? But then---then! The body’s chest rose, and he knew for certain the person was still alive.

Virgil should’ve called an ambulance, he should’ve turned himself in. He should’ve done something. But he didn’t.

He ran—his mind clouded with panic. He ran and ran until he reached the secluded security of the parks’ groves. There he collapsed, his body wracked with sobs.

The kids at his school had been right; they’ve been right all along, and Virgil had refused to see it. He was a monster. Maybe they were also right that he deserved to die. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Virgil secluded himself further in the park—being more mindful than ever to stay away from human contact. It was safer this way. Both for him and for everyone else. He couldn’t trust himself not to act on his impulses again. He became better at hunting wildlife animals. Too good, in fact.

There had started to be a suspicious shortage of squirrels in the park.

For years, his only focus in life had been on survival. He’d forgotten almost anything that wasn’t vital to that goal. The days all blurred into each other, a continuous cycle of monotony. He’d liked it—routines were comforting. They were predictable, they were safe.

Despite this, even vampires needed social interaction. There was a reason why vampires preferred to live in covens rather than in isolation. He lived ignorant of that need throughout his time in the park. He didn’t realize it existed until this week spent in the apartment with Logan, Patton and Roman.

There had been a void in his heart and those three humans managed to fill it. For the first time in a long, long while Virgil felt…happy. The sensation was alarming and terrifying but also good.

Did that make him selfish if he didn’t want to give that up?

He tried his best to fight against the growing desire to stay. The last thing he wanted was to endanger the only humans who have shown him kindness. The idea of one day waking up standing over their unmoving bodies tormented him. He grew used to constant hunger, yes, but it was different in the woods. At least there he wasn’t constantly around three viable food sources. Not that he wanted to ever think of the humans in that way. They were so much more than a source of food. Vampiric urges be damned.

Several days after the garlic bread debacle with Roman, Logan sat him down.

“I have a few questions to ask you. But before I ask them, I want to let you know that you are not obligated in any way to answer them. Nor does this inquiry have anything to do with my scientific pursuits or anything of that sort.”

If he was a human, his pulse would’ve quickened from the anxiety swelling up inside of him. His thoughts pinballed into a million different directions as he tried to figure out what could possibly be on Logan’s mind. Externally he leaned back on the couch, arms crossed in a casual manner.

“Shoot.”

“Shoot? Why would I shoot—”

“It’s slang. It means ‘ask away.’” Virgil clarified.

It became apparent quickly that Logan was not adept at slang. It was a sore spot for the veterinarian—he took pride in being right. He told Virgil that he only spoke if he was certain of what he was saying was correct. Still, he found discovering new knowledge invigorating. Rather than denounce slang, he tried his best to understand it. He kept a pack of flashcards with him to help remember the correct usage of them.

“Ah! I’ll have to remember to add that later,” He murmured before clearing his throat, “moving on. My first question would be, how often do you actually need to feed?”

Virgil froze, meeting the knowing gaze of the human. He’d been careful to take the bare minimum blood from both Logan and Roman. He hadn’t fed from Patton, and frankly he was trying to avoid that. The bond between a vampire and a donor was a complex, tricky thing.

The more blood he took, the more he risked strengthening such a connection. But both Logan and Roman were stubborn humans that refused to see their vampire guest starve. He’d managed to convince Logan he survived off less than what he actually needed. It was the truth—as long he conserved his energy and slept for longer periods. But it appeared Logan became suspicious—or maybe, had always been suspicious from the start.

“Did Roman put you up to this?” Virgil demanded, his nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

“While he did mention what happened with the garlic, he did not set me up to this. I’m asking out of my own vocation and…concerns,” Logan frowned, adjusting his glasses, “I’ve refrained from asking you questions about vampires’ physiology because the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable but…I just want to make sure you are getting proper nutrition. Your health is just as important to me as the others.”

Virgil sighed. What did he have to lose? Perhaps upon learning the truth, Logan would realize Virgil wasn’t worth their time and energy. As much as that thought hurt, it was for the best.

“I don’t really know,” Virgil confessed, “I’m always hungry. Squirrels and birds are enough to get by, but they’re…not enough. Maybe once, per day?”

Virgil closed his eyes, unable to force himself to see Logan’s reaction. There a was a few beats of silences before Logan inhaled deeply and said,

“I see. How many liters do you think that is?”

“Liters?” Virgil knitted his eyebrows together as he tried to recall how measurements worked, “I…have no idea.”

“As you know, I do not know much about vampire physiology, but do you think it’s similar to vampire bats?” At Virgil’s vacant stare, he elaborated, “vampire bats consume half their body weight per feeding.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Virgil shook his head, “It’s less, I think? But it depends on the source.”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, leaning forward in interest.

“Look I don’t know how all the scientific shit works. But like, for some reason human blood is more nutritious? We can sustain on animal blood, but it’s not the same it’s like—it’s like—”

“Eating junk food compared to healthier alternatives?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Virgil shrugged, slinking further into the couch, “We don’t have to drink as much human blood as we do with animal blood.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muttered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to scribble down these findings in a journal. He instead cusped his face with a hand, frowning. Virgil shifted nervously, waiting to hear the rest of Logan’s thoughts.

“I’m not sure though…if I and the others would be able to donate blood on a daily basis without severe risk to our health.”

“Wh—what?” Virgil said, his eyes widening in surprise. Logan actually sounded regretful of this fact. Whatever Virgil expected to come out of his lips, it wasn’t that.

Logan, however, seemed to take his reaction for something else entirely.

“You see, when humans donate blood for medical purposes, we are only allowed to donate every eight weeks or so to allow time for our red blood cells to replenish. Having a low red blood cell count is dangerous for humans…I am truly sorry about that, Virgil.”

“Wh—you have nothing to apologize for—I mean I wasn’t expecting you guys—” Virgil’s voice cracked, causing him to glance away in embarrassment, “you don’t have to do anything, really.”

“Virgil,” Logan said softly, “do you remember what I said when we began this discussion?”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you mean what you said about how you cared for…my health?” He asked hesitantly.

“Precisely,” Logan said, “I was stating the truth when I meant your health is important to me. After all, you are a friend.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, “only serious people wear neckties.”

He gestured to his necktie, and Virgil let out a chuckle.

“Y’know, you and the others are really making it hard for me to leave.” He murmured, “but I can’t stay. I—I just can’t. I can’t stay and possibly become a danger to you.”

“Virgil, you will not be a burden to us. It might be difficult, but I know the others and I would be willing to help figure out a solution for your dietary needs. Let me repay you—”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then at least let me do this for you as a friend.”

There was again, the f word. It was really devilish of Logan to use it against Virgil. Especially since all he had ever wanted in life was to be loved and accepted by others. It was oh so tempting to just stay and live in the solace of the apartment. Until the day he outlived the others, by his hands or by natural causes. He didn’t know which one was worse.

Virgil swallowed, throat tightening, “Are you sure of this? Are you sure you want me around? I mean, you barely know me.”

“As certain as I am of the sun rise, yes.”

“Well there is one solution.” Virgil said with a slight groan. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

Logan perked up, looking at Virgil with childish excitement. “What is it?”

“I’ve never done this and I don’t know like the exact scientific crap behind it. But if a vampire feeds from a, uh, human consistently, um, it’s like we inject something that keeps humans’ blood healthy. So like, I guess it helps reproduce red blood cells faster.”

“Incredible,” Logan murmurs, “I can’t believe—well, unfortunately I can understand why this isn’t common knowledge. But something like this proves vampires and humans as a whole could one day live harmoniously.”

“I mean, I doubt that,” Virgil laughed bitterly, “There is some…side effects. You might become, uh, enthralled for a brief period after a feeding. Like, very agreeable to whatever I suggest. So I get it if that makes any of you uncomfortable.”

He flitted his gaze towards his ratty shoes. A hand rested on his shoulder, soft and tentative. As if fully prepared to draw back if Virgil brushed it off. He looked up at Logan. The human looked back, a determined glint in his eyes.

“Virgil, I trust you. I can’t speak for the others but I’d like to test this arrangement between you and I. If for whatever reason, it does not work—either for you or for myself, then we can always find a different solution. Alright?”

“Okay.” Virgil choked, forcing his vision to remain clear and not blurry with tears.

So, he stayed. Patton’s eyes lit up like a kid receiving a puppy for Christmas. He immediately bombarded Virgil with one of his signature hugs. Roman laughed triumphantly as he clasped Virgil’s shoulder and promised him that he wouldn’t regret this. Logan hung back, but his soft smile told Virgil all he needed to know.

Staying meant that he had to find a job. Virgil had never held a job in his entire life, never mind the fact he didn’t have a high school diploma. Yet Virgil couldn’t live in good conscious as a freeloader in the apartment. He wanted to contribute to the apartment rent. In order to do that, he needed money. He was certain that the two quarters and the one nickel he had floating in his jeans pocket wouldn’t be enough.

He searched for businesses that would hire someone like him. Not only was he dealing with a rather sparse resume, but there was of course prejudice against vampires. The humans flaunted around words like “peace among species” and “equal rights for all” but that rarely was the case. Even with the Helsing Laws in effect. He’d like to say that their prejudice was entirely unwarranted but well…

Most vampires kept to themselves. They either believed staying quiet would bring about peace or they just stewed about it away from human ears. Then there were some vampires that believed they were the superior beings and not the humans. So they really didn’t have qualms about hurting humans to bring about their agenda. Something Virgil knew about too well.

Of course, the businesses couldn’t openly discriminate. The Helsing Laws prevented that. But the laws did nothing to stop the prejudices that still clung heavily to the air. It took just one smile—one laugh for them to see a flash of pearly white fangs and freeze up. They wouldn’t say it in words. But he could tell by their tone of voice and not so subtle wording that they were afraid.

They were afraid he’d snap and become an endangerment by attacking and drinking the blood of the first human he came into contact with. Honestly, humans were perfectly capable of eating their own kind’s flesh, yet you don’t see them worrying about that possibility.

It made it all the more hard to decipher then, who would hire him and who would cuss out his existence.

“So what makes you interested in working at our establishment?” The lady conducting his seventh interview asked. It was at a local, quirky coffeeshop—the kind that regulars claimed was way better than Starbucks.

Um because I want money? Virgil thought. He didn’t say it out loud, learning from his first interview that was apparently not what they wanted to hear. After that mishap, the others helped coached him through the right things to say. It still didn’t keep his intestines from knotting up out of nervousness.

“It seems like a chill, clean environment.” He shrugged.

“Well, thank you, we like keeping it that way for our customers,” She laughed, “but we do still expect our employees to work hard and not slack off. We can get busy especially in the weekday mornings and all day on the weekends. Do you think you can handle that?”

No.

“Yes,” Virgil said, lying through his teeth, “I’m pretty good at handling stressful situations.”

“Is there a specific example you can think of?”

Virgil twisted in his seat, doing his best not to fiddle with his fingers.

Here goes.

“Well, as a—a vampire, I’ve had to deal with people who don’t…like that much. So I’m good at making sure I keep my composure. Like if there is an upset customer, I—I think I could be good at staying calm and making sure they walk away happy.”

She pressed her lips together, “I see.” And then, “What would you say are some weaknesses of yours?”

The rest of the interview continued on. She didn’t make any sort of comment about Virgil being a vampire. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’ll call you soon on what my decision is.” She told him, although he learned by his second interview not to trust those words.

“How was it?!” Patton asked upon his return back to the apartment. He and Roman were sitting on the couch watching TV. Logan was gone from the apartment, too early for him to be home from work. Virgil said nothing. He took a few steps before crashing into Roman’s side.

“That bad, huh?” Roman chuckled, already drawing his arms around Virgil.

“Tired,” Virgil closed his eyes, “job interviews are fricking exhausting.”

He heard Roman’s voice say something as his senses turned all muddy and muted. Someone laughed. Patton? If he wanted to, he could’ve forced his eyes open to see. He was content, however, to just lie there and steal Roman’s body heat.

It was stupid how easily Virgil taken to be at ease with these humans. Then again, it was also stupid how easily they accepted him. If either party had malicious intent, it would be almost effortless for them. Like taking candy from a baby.

Sleep was a strange thing for vampires. They needed rest, yes, but they never slept as deeply as humans could. Even in his soundest sleep, Virgil had a murky awareness of things. He could feel Roman mess with his hair, carefully untangling it with his fingers. He heard Patton’s and Roman’s heartbeats, steady and strong as ever. There was also a different sound. A buzzing, ringing sound.

“—gil! Hey Virgil! Wake up!”

Virgil jolted, alert and ready. His eyes scanned everywhere but found no threats. He looked at Roman and Patton in confusion, “Huh?”

Patton smiled, holding out his phone, “It’s for you.”

For him? But that could only mean one thing—someone actually called him back after a job interview. With a shaky hand, Virgil took the phone from Patton.

“Hello?”

“Hi Virgil, this is you, right?” The voice on the other line said. It did sound like the lady from the job interview.

“Yes.” Virgil answered, biting his lips and trying not to hiss from the pain that produced.

The voice said more words. Virgil managed to say words back. The conversation lasted scarcely a minute yet seemed like an eternity. He handed the phone back to Patton, eyes glazed over.

“Well?” Patton wiggled his eyebrows, bouncing in his seat like a rambunctious Labrador.

“Well,” Virgil began with a hesitant sliver of a smile, “I got the job.”

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #kat writes

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scriibble-fics · 4 years ago

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About Clare: what an ass! Pardon my french. I get that James ghosted her, but that does not give her the right to be obnoxious to Diana (funny that, I don’t remember her last name) or to throw around that his parents died. I mean, wtf. I can see James being into the fact that she is very straightforward about being into him and that feeding his broken heart and bruised ego. Plus, there’s quidditch. But she’s no annoying.

Oh, Esther. I felt so sorry for her. She must be feeling awful and it’s not even James’ fault. Sometimes we are a bit detached and way too settled on a monogamic relationship (James gives that vibe, the monogamous guy) and we hardly pay attention that we are not that invested. James seems to be like that with Esther. But I don’t think he was that big of as asshole to her. Breaking up is always hard.

I was not very interested in Daniel and Rick. I confess I was expecting someone who would make James even madder. A Hogwarts ex-boyfriend. Someone who was his rival. Lily was so ethical, I think that goes with her character so much. I can also relate to that. I’ve made decisions exactly the same: “oh, this guy was a bit too obvious around my ex, that would be disrespectful. I can find someone else”. So, I don’t really care for either of these guys. One had her lifestyle, probably doted on her, the other had no idea what he was getting himself into.

I had also thought that Lily might have read about James and Clare on the news. That must hurt like a bitch. Seriously. She was so mature about it all. I know that Lily’s been used to life giving her lemons (been before adulthood, there was Snape, bigotry, Petunia), even rotten ones, so I can see her acting indifferent as a mean of protection.

The smut! Wow. They are both so kinky. And they build each other up so much. I still find it funny that Lily thinks that this is not a sexual activity. Whatever she needs to tell herself.

Loved knowing about Mrs. Evans and that makes soooo much sense with things that we know about Petunia.

Sirius and Remus, oh, I just love them.

I love your takes, as always!! Your reviews and responses and asks are always so thoughtfully-crafted. Seriously, each one is its own mini essay, and not just in length, but in the way you craft an argument.

Your thoughts on Clare and Esther seem to be the norm here: people feel much worse for Esther than Clare, which I totally get. We had to watch James break up with her, whereas we didn’t with Clare. I do wonder how different reactions might have been if we’d seen James ghost Clare and then deal indifferently towards their final conversation, but I doubt there would be be a ton of difference. I think a lot of it comes down to the ways Clare and Esther reacted to James: Clare with anger, Esther with sadness. James dealt with the anger far better than the sadness, and so we all dealt with the anger better too. (Personally, I love how messy Clare is, but I do love chaos, so I know I’m not in the majority here!)

After everyone’s guessing, I considered making Lily date someone that would have caused way more disruption, but I kept Dan. Again, I think part of the reason we’re not as bothered by Dan as we are Clare comes down to James’ recollection of it all--we’ve seen him think through how much Clare bothered Lily on more than one occasion, but we hadn’t seen him even recall Dan up to chapter thirteen. There’s a part of me that wants to write an angsty one-shot of him hating on Dan just to really drive home that James did in fact hate him (I even have scenes in mind, because ~I have no chill~), but I think he cast his jealousy a lot wider than Lily did. Like he said, he only didn’t worry about his friends with her, whereas she was more focused in her jealousy and animosity. Her understanding of her own jealousy--focused mainly on one person, Clare--made her react to James’ jealousy like she’d want him to react to her own--she avoided Dan, like she would have wanted him to avoid Clare if he could have. I don’t think she fully understood how jealous James was of anyone who came near her, because that wasn’t her experience with jealousy, so while it looks like she understands him well, there’s still some miscommunication there. We just didn’t see it, because it happened before the fic started.

Sirius and Remus are so, so fun to write. Like, after writing Jily, writing the two of them is probably my favorite part of this fic. And then writing the Prewett brothers, because I love them. They’re agents of chaos.

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lazywitchling · 5 years ago

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You know what’s scary? I came to tumblr in the height of fandom blog vs hipster blog, when superwholock was first getting started, before Disney had a choke hold on the entertainment industry, back when it was fun to get really really into tv shows and base our whole personality on what media we consumed. Looking back on it, it was... not a great way to be, but goddamn did it save me.

Not like in a dramatic “saved my life” way, but I mean.

I could go back on my main blog and find my pro-republican posts. I could find my anti-trans posts and my “well okay, gay people can be gay at home, but I don’t want them out where I can see them.” I could find those. They’re back there, years ago in my archive. Because that’s all I knew. That’s all I heard. My community - I mean my real life one, my local area, my friends, my church group, everything around me - is very... monoculture. There aren’t a lot of people around here who don’t look like me, have the same economic background as me, raised in the same beliefs I was... it’s just a whole lot of carbon copies of me. So I thought... “ew, how can someone be gay? That’s gross. They’re going to go to hell.” Because what the hell else would I think? That’s all I knew! And I thought “that boy wants to be a girl? What’s wrong with him? He should see a doctor.” And I thought “why do some people not go to work and the government just pays for them to eat? That’s not right. They shouldn’t be lazy like that.”

And then fuckin’ fandom. It wasn’t fandom directly, but when I got really into a show, I’d follow so many blogs that posted about it. Fan art, discussions, gifs, episode recaps, ask blogs... and inevitably, some of those blogs would drop the occasional political post. Mostly about how we needed marriage equality in the USA. And I thought “well. I don’t agree with that, but their fandom content is good, so I won’t unfollow them.”

It’s how I got exposed to more and more people. People who didn’t think like me. People who didn’t think like my parents. And they weren’t just political posts, sometimes it was just blogging. An artist I like would post about finally getting started on T. He was so happy that he was finally getting T. And I started to think things like “well, she— I mean, he sounds happy. So I’m happy for... him.”

More people. More stories. And I slowly stopped thinking about other people as political issues or religious problems, but as just... people who were trying to live their lives.

It was slow, and it was rocky. I still participated in church discussions that involved phrases like “hate the sin but love the sinner”. It made sense... until college, when I was face to face with people who weren’t like me. Looking at the man in my theatre troupe who was talking about his partner, I couldn’t make the “hate the sin, love the sinner” mentality work. I just couldn’t. I knew I was supposed to, but I just knew that trying to say “he’s a good person, but he just needs to stop being gay” didn’t work at all. I couldn’t hate what he was without hating who he was. And I just couldn’t, because he was my friend, dammit!

Marriage equality passed. My Facebook feed turned into the proverbial wailing and clothes-tearing from my church friends. And I very slowly... very quietly... started to post the “let’s remember that we shouldn’t hate other people” stuff. The very subtle nudging, still Christian-focused stuff that was juuuuust starting to lean left. Not too over the top, not overtly in support, because I was supposed to be one of them, a member of the church, I had to play along with the mentality.

Playing along got exhausting. Someone would deadname Caitlyn Jenner, and I’d consider for a moment that I should just let it go, that I should just pretend that it was fine. But... what about my artist friend? Would I be okay with someone deadnaming him? No, I would not. And if I was pretending I was onboard with deadnaming Caitlyn, would I have played along with deadnaming my friend? Just so I could fit in and be comfortable? So I corrected them. Her name is Caitlyn.

I learned to listen to more people. I learned why “I don’t see color” wasn’t as good a mentality to have as I thought. I learned that “feminist” wasn’t a dirty word, and it also didn’t mean what I thought it meant. I slowly learned that I was one. I slowly learned, and still learn, how to further expand all the things that covers. I learned about intersectional feminism. I learned about white privilege. I learned about so much and so many people because I was actively listening to them, I was hearing their stories, and I cared about them, wanted them to have good lives, wanted them to be able to make choices about their own lives without people like me saying “I know better.”

I learned about myself, too. At twenty-six years old, I figured out exactly why I was always so baffled when my friends talked about sex like it was this big important thing. Surprise: asexual. A second surprise a few years later: somewhere on the aromantic spectrum as well. (Where? Idk. I’ll tell you when I figure it out myself.)

The point is... it was less than a decade ago that I was exactly the type of bigot that gets chased off everyone’s blogs. I was the everything-phobe, the one who would specifically vote against any type of aid, because bootstraps, amiright? I was a whole-ass bigot. Bitch, I owned a confederate flag ring, and I’ve never lived in the south. (It’s in a landfill somewhere now.) I only learned because I first heard from people not like me, and then I learned to listen. I participated in communities that were diverse, not because I wanted the diversity, but because I wanted the content. The diversity was a side effect. And it’s what saved me.

And it fucking terrifies me how close I could have been to being some alt-right and/or terf radical new-nazi or whatever. Because if I had got on this site about two years later than I did, I’d have been caught right in that echo chamber of radfems and nazis preying on anyone they can get their talons in. I was so close. And now I see these radfems pop up in my notes, and it’s like... that could have been me. That was me at one point. I had the ideology, I just missed the identity of it all by a few years.

I don’t have a “byf” list on my blog for a reason. I don’t go through my followers and weed out the terfs and the nazis and the bigots. If they’re in there, fine. I want them to see my words. I want them to hear from someone who doesn’t think like them. I want them to hear from someone who used to be like them, but then learned (and is always learning) to be better.

And yet when I see them in my notes, I’m obliged to weed them out. I feel guilty when it’s a young girl who has clearly been targeted by the radfems on this site, teaching her that she’ll be stronger if she hates everyone they tell her to. Of all the people on this site, she’s the one who I most want to keep out of the echo chamber. But I also have a responsibility to make sure the people who follow me, the people who I follow and reblog from, don’t get caught by the shrapnel. A radfem liking my post just means I have to pay closer attention to what I say and make sure I don’t fall back on old mentalities. It keeps me accountable. But a radfem in my notes means she’s in the notes of my friends, in my reblog chains. And it is my responsibility not to turn a blind eye when people around me can get hurt.

But goddamn, if ever there was someone who needed a community outside of that circle of bigotry, it’s that fourteen year old girl who proudly calls herself a terf. And I really hope she finds one. I really do.

#also dont reblog this one please #goodnight westley ill most likely delete you in the morning

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alexsmitposts · 4 years ago

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The Nasty Truth About America’s Love Affair with Narcissism and Self Pity

Column: Society Region: USA in the World

📷There is a saying, “the crazy people have taken over the asylum.” They did that in the United States in 2016, a nation ruled by grifters, petty criminals and the delusional.The sane and decent became the “silent majority” as the not just America but the world learned that the darkness of the American soul depicted so often by Hollywood is not fiction at all and that a reality TV actor had tapped into a cesspit of sewage that has seeped into every American community.Then came 2020.By sheer luck along and, yes, the votes of 81 million Americans lucky enough to survive voter suppression and intimidation financed by a worldwide organized crime cartel, the insane are now out of power.The new “captain’’ of America’s “ship of state” may well, however, have something on his hands worse than the Titanic. The Titanic had the courtesy to actually sink while America, under this analogy, drifts lifelessly along.Extremism is big money in America, climate denialism, race hatred, social discord and civil war, hate is both a product and an addiction.It is also one of America’s biggest businesses. There would be no social media, no Google, no news organizations, no underbelly of device driven ecstasy, without fear and hate being marketed like cigarettes and CBD gummies.Roots of America’s Politics of Fear and Hate 2.0American extremism is not the result of poverty or oppression. It originates among the privileged, the “haves” who adhere to insane beliefs driven by boredom and generalized dissatisfaction at lives the rest of the word would envy, overpaid jobs, gas guzzling cars and trucks and fast food laden with fats and poisonous additives.If you asked many millions of Americans to define “reality,” their brains would grind to a halt. Reality is based, not on experience or observation but on “beliefs” and strongly held “opinions” which are invariably those scripted for them.Beliefs and opinions untested by the feedback loop of life has created a generation of Americans who are, essentially, living in a video game. This makes Qanon a AI program.Collective delusion has become the norm for many, and by “many” we mean up to 150 million lost souls, caught in an RPG game or, for some, a “first person shooter.”What does it make those who play? But then we have seen all this before, just without a population softened up to this degree by chaos theory conditioning. Some background:The Roots of Fascist AmericaIn 1940, Adolf Hitler was Time Magazine’s man of the year. The parents and grandparents of Trump’s supporters, following Huey Long, Gerald L.K. Smith, Father Coughlin and Charles Lindbergh sought to establish a “whites only” America based on the German model with carefully selected military leaders run by Wall Street pulling the strings.There is something magical, even today, about being “white folks.” That magic originated in the 18th and 19th centuries with the “Sturm and Drang” movement. Extremes of emotion and subjectivity were exalted above rationalism.Childish temper tantrums became a philosophy and eventually a political movement.The movement, which failed in Europe, found fertile ground in the United States in a society that increasingly defined itself though ritualized slavery and degradation and oppression of “coloured races.”This was a society built on the genocide that wiped out millions of indigenous peoples with the survivors now living on “reservations.”Imagine land where nothing grows, and no one could live. This is an “Indian reservation.” From time-to-time oil is found or minerals or there is a need to build a pipeline. Then even the worst land on earth is taken away.This was done in South Africa. It was done in Rhodesia. It used to be called “colonialism.”By the 20th century there were no indigenous people left to imprison. America then turned to warring against the freed slaves and millions of “undesirable” European immigrants, Catholics and Jews in particular.Curiously, this war was centered on banking issues, blocking trade unions, sustaining child labor and controlling farm prices. This created the alignments that

exist today, the strong tie between Wall Street and homegrown extremism built of bigotry and race hatred.You see, too many of the undesirables that fled autocratic Europe found that the long hand of international banking that maintained serfdom for millions, even in supposedly advanced Western Europe, had institutionalized the same in the United States under the guise of representative democracy.Leading the way was the resurgent Ku Klux Klan.By the 1920s national membership was estimated at over 8 million. Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania and a dozen other northern and western states were governed by Klan controlled politicians who used the state militias and National Guard as a private army and local police as armed enforcers.Behind it all, the banks that brought Hitler to power and the American corporations that made millions financing Nazi Germany’s war machine, General Motors, Dupont-Remington, Lockheed, Alcoa and General Motors.Even Hitler Would Cringe…The new American revolution, driven by Donald Trump and his televangelist backers, is the result of as social anthropologists note, generations being allowed to live the life of spoiled children, steeped in narcissism and self-pity.The events of January 6, 2020 and how it tied to many American religious leaders has emptied churches across the US, with millions finding themselves humiliated with having followed “false prophets” in support of hatred and tyranny. From Salon:“…these religious figures (Trump’s powerful televangelist backers) and the institutions they led (have become) hyper-political, the outward mission (has)seemed to be almost exclusively in service of oppressing others. The religious right is not nearly as interested in feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless as much as using religion as an all-purpose excuse to abuse women and LGBTQ people. In an age of growing wealth inequalities, with more and more Americans living hand-to-mouth, many visible religious authorities were using their power to support politicians and laws to take health care access from women and fight against marriage between same-sex couples. And then Donald Trump happened.Trump was a thrice-married chronic adulterer who routinely exposed how ignorant he was of religion, and who reportedly — and let’s face it, obviously — made fun of religious leaders behind their backs. But religious right leaders did not care. They continually pumped Trump up like he was the second coming, showily praying over him and extorting their followers to have faith in a man who literally could not have better conformed to the prophecies of the Antichrist. It was comically over the top, how extensively Christian right leaders exposed themselves as motivated by power, not faith.”Jerry Falwell Jr., who introduced Donald Trump to America’s evangelical Christians, is himself an enigmatic figure.Falwell is typical of America’s religious leaders and stories such as this, from Fox News, are daily fodder for Americans:“Jerry Falwell Jr. allegedly played games with his wife Becki where they’d rank Liberty University students, they most wanted to have sex with, according to one pupil who claimed to have been intimate with Becki.The ex-student — who claims Becki initiated oral sex with him 10 years ago — told Politico that she bragged about playing the sex-ranking game while walking around the Virginia campus with her evangelical-leader husband.‘Her and Jerry would eye people down on campus,’ the former student of the conservative school told the outlet.Social Engineering Through PandemicAnyone who really lives in America will make this perfectly clear, this country has turned into a lunatic asylum. Our previous president told us COVID was a hoax, allowed over 40,000 from China enter the US while the threat of COVID was well known and turned his back while, today’s figure, 570,264 Americans died. Experts now cite that Trump was personally responsible for over 400,000 of those deaths. He is quite simply a mass murderer.Do remember that only 900 died in Australia. Canada lost 23,000. 35 died in Vietnam. 440 died in

Cuba.One might wonder how a Hitleresque figure such as Donald Trump could have millions of followers while the legal mechanisms in the US are amassing evidence for both criminal and civil prosecutions which quite probably will never come to bear.Groundhog Day, an Unending NightmareLet me tell you how I began my morning. As a journalist and intelligence briefer, I review incoming material, both open source and private intel. The big story overnight involves a revelation on a religious talk show involving theories on COVID 19 and vaccines.The show is by Jim Bakker, an important religious leader and political advisor. In 1989, Bakker was sentenced to 45 years in prison for mail and wire fraud but served on 5 of those years. He has stolen tens of million of dollars from his congregation to support a wild and lavish lifestyle of utter debauchery.In this area, he is typical of America’s evangelical Christian leaders.The guest on Bakker’s show was Steve Quayle. I know Quayle as an advisor to President George ‘W’ Bush on Middle East affairs. I know of no qualifications for this post.I do know of Quayle. After 9/11 he approached my staff in Amman, Jordan offering them generous payments to “launder” otherwise sourceless intelligence on Iraq into the Bush White House to justify an American invasion of that nation.Two million people died, maybe many more, due to fake US intelligence on Iraq. No weapons of mass destruction were ever found.Groundhog Day TwoLet us take the clock back a few years. I remember traveling to Kentucky, then and still a very backward area of the country, in 1956 to visit relatives. This was a presidential election year, and my father was working for Adlai Stevenson, the Democratic candidate that was opposing Dwight Eisenhower.Even I, at a fairly young age, was flabbergasted at the dinner table discussion that day as my “hillbilly” relatives expounded on their political opinions and version of historical fact. This is how they laid it out:We should support “Ike” because he killed Hitler personally after storming Berlin. They described a sword fight. What they described reminded me of the death of the Sheriff of Nottingham played by Basil Rathbone in the 1938 film Robin Hood starring Errol Flynn. They then went out to describe how the US beat both Russia and Germany who were at war with the US. It seems Russia did not fight Hitler at all but was actually Germany’s ally. My father, a reasonably educated person and longtime friend of Russia, found this somewhat disturbing. Next, we heard about how “godless communists” were going to take away our freedoms and destroy our standard of living. I might remind you that my relatives in Hazard, Kentucky had no electricity or plumbing. One of my cousins lived in an abandoned car parked in a slag field.During that trip, we visited my grandfather, a retired coal miner. He lived in a shack covered with tar paper along a railroad track. I loved my grandfather.Life Lessons Do not Come Over the InternetOver the next 60 plus years, I had shared tea with farmers in Vietnam, military veterans living in a small shack in the Khyber Pass and everything from heads of state to struggling farmers all over Africa and the Middle East. None would have guessed that there are Americans that live in not just utter poverty but steeped not only in delusional ignorance but far worse than that.A current obsession with American “conservatives” is the fear of being overrun with transexuals, who, according to many, represent a threat to our freedoms. I have never met a transsexual. From what I understand, up to 10,000 currently serve in America’s armed forces.Back during the 1960s when I served with a Marine combat unit in Vietnam, we probably had no transexuals, only gay or “homosexual” Marines and Navy. Absolutely nothing was thought of it as these individuals invariably served with honor and courage.They existed in significant numbers.Today aging “conservatives” who avoided military service in Vietnam continually harp about saving the rest of us from “homosexuals in the military.”Voting and

“Jim Crow”Let us take another look at efforts by the Hitleresque racists and bigots to save the rest of us from ourselves, against our will of course. In Georgia, the legislature recently passed a law that makes it a felony to offer water to someone waiting in line to vote.Water is an issue because, in Georgia and many GOP (Trump’s party) run states, polling places in areas where people of color vote have been closed causing day long lines. In 2020, volunteers offered food and water to those who would otherwise have either collapsed or left without voting. Now offering food and water can lead to being executed by racist police, quite literally, or spending 5 years in prison.In 2020, voters in many key urban areas were threatened by armed neo-Nazi militias or openly threated in emails from Proud Boys and Oath Keepers, organizations deemed terrorist in Canada and now citied by the US Department of Justice as trying to overthrow the US government.In January, during a US Senate runoff election in Georgia, 364,000 voters were challenged by the GOP in Georgia as “illegal.” All of them were African American. All 364,000 were qualified to vote and their votes were eventually counted, giving Georgia two Democratic US Senators.The Federal Elections Commission is now investigating that this effort to rig the Georgia senate elections was secretly financed by illegal contributions from members of organized crime.Groundhog Day ThreeI live in a rural and primarily Republican area. I parked my car less than 30 feet from the door of a polling place, a local church, and voted in less than 3 minutes with no lines or ID check.In order to limit mail voting, Trump ordered mail sorting machines destroyed with sledgehammers and over 40,000 mailboxes picked up and junked as scrap metal. Mail service in many cities simply ended. One letter I sent to Washington DC from Michigan took 45 days to arrive.Hundreds of millions of pieces of mail, starting in late September 2020 simply disappeared, not just votes but government checks, Christmas presents and medications from pharmacies sent to Veterans.All of this was not just publicly known, things are far worse than that. Those who so many decades ago believed the United States fought Russia in World War Two, would raise children and grandchildren with no respect for human rights, no understanding of democracy, no ethical norms nor any remote understanding of right or wrong.This is the reality for those living in America, a reality that those who watch America from afar through the distorted lens of Google Corporation and the press, can never fathom.Ah, but things are so much worse than that. It is not just having spent 4 years with a president who told us you could cure covid by drinking bleach or eating flashlights. It gets worse.Groundhog Day FourA few days ago, former Trump advisor Cirsten Welcon claimed that President Biden had been paid billions of dollars by China to let them test their newest “weather weapons” on Texas. Power outages there, now attributed to corrupt backroom deals by Republican politicians, led to many deaths and considerable suffering.Little did any of us know of the role of the magic Chinese weather machines.In another vignette, it has been a years since Trump advisor and televangelist Kenneth Copeland stood before a television audience raving like a lunatic. He then pursed his lips and blew at the television camera, the “wind of god” which he claimed destroyed COVID forever.This effort by Reverend Copeland, who has millions of followers and a vast financial empire, led President Trump to announce that COVID 19 was going to disappear.ConclusionSome would like to believe that the institutionalized insanity of America’s right is restricted to the “Untermensch” substrata of rural poor whites. However, for decades now, the most radicalized and extremist elements of America’s society, the most ignorant, the most warlike yet cowardly, have gained control of the US military through service academies which espouse their conspiracy theories.With the onset of Trump, they gained much

more than a foothold in American politics, they now control many states “lock, stock and barrel,” and are involved in not just voter suppression but a general quashing of human rights and free speech.The door to this turn of events began well into the 19th century. Laws, still on the books, are now being employed against Donald Trump, from CNN:The Democratic chairman of the House Homeland Security Committee has filed a lawsuit against former President Donald Trump that cites a little-known federal statute that was first passed after the Civil War.The complaint, filed Tuesday by Democratic Rep. Bennie Thompson of Mississippi, accuses Trump, his attorney Rudy Giuliani, the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers of violating the 1871 Ku Klux Klan Act. The lawsuit accuses them of inciting the Jan. 6 Capitol riot to prevent the certification of the 2020 presidential election.These same extremist elements and calling them “extremist” insults al Qaeda and ISIS (banned in Russia) who are moderate in their beliefs and practices in comparison. These statements might sound extreme in themselves were it not for so many Americans, religious and military leaders, members of government and business leaders calling for wholesale murder of their political opponents citing their personal communication with a non-corporeal authority they said is “god.”Americans hear this all day every day, the emails are unending, TV networks like Fox, OAN or Newsmax say little else, and that message is carried not just through media but lawn signs dotting the countryside.Hundreds of thousands of American homes are festooned with paraphernalia espousing murder of public officials and their families. Americans see it every day driving to work. What they ask themselves when they see things like this is how many others hold these beliefs but keep it to themselves?What if academics wrote papers on the issues, we discuss here? What if the BBC produced a documentary? Would things get better? The problem dates back not just generations but centuries.It is not a moral problem; it is not a political problem. It is one of degeneracy. At some point we may be required to reassess our definition of sentience.

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Stark Spangled Banner

Ch49: An Old Friend

Intro: After five years of more or less domestic bliss, Katie’s fear that their peace will be one day shattered comes to fruition as a man they long thought dead appears at the compound. Warnings: Bad Langauge. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

May 2023

“Emmy this room is an utter disgrace!” Steve said exasperatedly as he looked around at the various items of clothing scattered around her bedroom. DVDs lay on the floor, out of the cases instead of the designated rack, the bed was unmade and various school books were tossed onto the rug instead of at her desk.

“Chill Dad.” she mumbled as she sat cross legged, tapping at her tablet, music blaring from her stereo. “Chill?” he shot her a look “Seriously, we spent a fortune doing this room up last month. Get it tidied.” “Yeah, yeah.” He grit his teeth, jaw twitching with annoyance before, after a moment’s deliberation, he crossed the room and turned off her music.

“Hey I was listening to that.”

“Well now you can listen to me.” He stood cross armed looking down at her. “I mean it Emily, get this sorted now, or you can forget going to Philadelphia with Brooke.”

“But, it’s all organised, we leave first thing in the morning!” Steve glared down at her. “It can be unorganised.”

“Fine.” she groaned, “I’ll do it.” “Thank you.” he said, sarcastically before he left the room, shutting the door behind him. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where Katie was prepping lunch, Jamie sat in a chair at the table on a booster seat, colouring in an activity book.

“Look Daddy!” he pointed to his picture. Steve leant over, one arm on the back of the chair and glanced down at the elephant he had coloured in purple.

“A purple elephant.” he nodded “Creative.”

“Like in Dumbo!”

“Of course.” Steve smiled, Jamie’s Disney film of the moment. It was one Steve could remember seeing at the theatre before he joined the army. It still creeped him out slightly, the scene with all the drunk elephants. So much so he was convinced the animator had been on some kind of mad drug fuelled trip when he drew it. He ruffled his son’s hair and then moved over to where Katie was slicing up a cucumber for the salad, reaching round to steal a piece as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“She tidying it?” Katie asked, her eyes not moving from her task.

“Only because I threatened to stop her going to Philly.” he snorted, leaning on the counter and looking at his wife. He reached into the salad bowl to snatch a piece of pepper and Katie slapped his hand. He grinned as she looked at him.

“Bet that went down well.” “Don’t care.” he shrugged. “Her attitude stinks.”

“She’s a teenage girl, Steve” Katie said with a smile “That’s not the point.” “Honey, just, oh I dunno, shut the door if the mess bothers you that much.”

He sighed, and rubbed at his temple “I’m surprised the door even opens with the amount of crap on the floor.” Katie gave a little chuckle before she looked at him “Can you get me the dressing out of the fridge?”

He pushed himself off the counter and opened the fridge “Caesar or Ranch?”

“Caesar.” she said after a moment “Oh, and the cooked chicken please.” Grabbing them he turned back to Katie and passed her the items, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Do you think I was too strict?”

Katie placed the knife down and looked at him “Stevie, stop second guessing yourself.” she said, reaching up to run a hand down his cheek “You’re a great dad. All I’m saying is it’s not out of the ordinary for her to have an attitude. She’s fifteen. I was a nightmare at that age, as I’m sure Tony will delight in telling you.”

“Speaking of your brother, what time is he expecting us?” “Oh he’s coming to pick Jamie up.” Katie said “They’re in town anyway so said he’ll swing by a bit later this afternoon. I just hope Emmy does as you told her.” “Huh?”

“Because if she doesn’t you’ve just flushed our night alone down the lav.” Steve let out a groan, he hadn’t thought about that.

A little while later Katie called Emmy down for lunch. She appeared in the kitchen with a scowl and Katie saw Steve bristle slightly so she decided to get in there first and back him up.

“Straighten your face young lady.” She ordered sternly “Your dad’s right. That room is an absolute heap.” Emmy sighed and reached over for a warm pitta bread, piling her plate with the salad before she took a deep breath.

“Sorry.” she said gently “I’ll tidy it, I promise.” Steve looked at Katie who gave him a wink as they began to eat.

“Emmy I colourded you a picture.” Jamie pointed to the book which was to his right, out of the way of his plate.

Emmy smiled, and looked at it “Aww dude that’s awesome. Is it to pin up on my board?”

He nodded and she bopped his nose gently, smiling back.

“I staying at Moo’s tonight?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah.” Katie looked at her son, as he picked up a piece of the pitta bread she had sliced into smaller strips for him “Is that ok?” He nodded “Uncle Nee gives me juice pops. The red ones are my bestest.” “I thought you liked the blue ones?” Steve asked, swallowing his food. “Because they’re the same colour as Cap’s Suit?”

“Red ones better.” Jamie said, nodding. “Like Iron Man.”

Steve looked at Katie who was biting her lip, trying not to laugh at the look of utter indignation on his face.

“This is good Mom.” Emmy nodded at the food on her plate. “Better than the incinerated breakfast dad gave us.” Steve half-heartedly glared at his daughter “I burnt one egg.”

“One too many.” she quipped, and Katie grinned, reaching over for the jug of water. Steve beat her to it and poured her a glass, sliding it over to her before he did the same for Emmy, Jamie already had his in a cup by his plate.

“Thanks.” Katie smiled at him before she turned to Emmy “Hey, did you get your grade back for your Essay last week?”

“Oh, yeah, I got an A.” she shrugged.

“Emmy that’s great.” Steve nodded at her, smiling.

“Yeah well don’t get used to it. I don’t think I’ll get one again. I may have upset my tutor.”

“Why?” Katie frowned “What did you do.”

“Well, he’s assigned us a book that is totes inappropriate.”

“What book?” Katie interrupted to ask

“The Colour Purple” she said “I mean it’s good but…”

“Yeah, that is kinda heavy…” Katie frowned, having read the book herself “What’s the angle?” “Race, gender, and bigotry in the early twentieth century. ”she shrugged “I would have thought To Kill A Mockingbird would have been better but when I voiced my opinion Mr Tozer didn’t like it.”

“So what did you say to upset him?” Steve arched his brow.

“Exactly that. And then he told me it was his way or the highway. Don’t worry, I refrained from calling him Hitler.“

“I guess we should be pleased then…” Steve snorted. She flashed him a grin and went back to eating.

The family made chatter for the rest of their lunch until Jamie poked at his mom’s arm.

“Yes sweetie?” “I done now. Fankoo” he grinned, plate completely cleared.

“Ok honey” she ruffled his hair “Cake?” he asked hopefully.

“What do you say?” Steve said gently as he looked at him

“Please.”

“Do you think about anything but food?” Emmy looked at the small boy.

“You know he doesn’t.” Katie sighed. “He takes after your father in that respect.” “That’s not all I think about.” Steve grinned, as he raised a suggestive eyebrow at his wife over his glass of water.

“Yeah well, thankfully he is way too young for that.” Katie winked as she stood up to get the fruit cake she had made the day before to cut everyone a slice. As she did she had to bite back the smirk as Emmy sighed at Steve’s blatant sexual reference.

“Gross.”

Emmy did tidy her room, so she was dropped off at the coffee shop early evening with her bag which Steve was sure contained more clothes than she needed for the four nights she was away. He made a comment to that effect and the fifteen year old just rolled her eyes and explained she needed two outfits a day, just in case. Just in case of what, Steve had no idea and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know if truth be told. He made small talk with Jennifer over a coffee for a while, instructed his daughter to behave and loudly told Jennifer that if she was any trouble to pack her home straight away. Brooke rolled her eyes but gave him a hug goodbye anyway as he left. By the time he had gotten home, Jamie had already been picked up leaving the two parents alone. Steve had been planning to take Katie out, but when he suggested it she shook her head and pulled a magnum of Champagne out of the fridge and held it up.

“I got a better idea.” she grinned “Hot tub party and take out.” “Champagne, pizza, you in a swimsuit.” Steve grinned, pulling her to him “I’m sold.”

To Steve, their evening felt like one of the many nights they had spent at the Compound in their tub outside. Needless to say there wasn’t much relaxing done in the hour they were in there, quite the opposite if truth be told. Hands and lips were all over the place, pawing at skin and kisses being exchanged with avaricious force. By the time they’d called for pizza Katie was feeling thoroughly defiled as she sat on the sofa, wearing one of Steve’s button downs and tore into a large slice of pepperoni as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. Steve grinned, tucking her damp hair behind her ear and dropped a kiss to the side of her head. They settled down to watch a film, but Katie was flat out before it was even ten minutes in and she didn’t even stir bar to murmur something to him when he carried her up to their room.

Steve woke the next morning, wrapped around Katie, her warm body pressed to his chest, one arm under her neck, the other draped over her waist. He sighed in contentment, it was bliss, knowing there was nothing to get up for. No constantly hungry three year old to feed, no lunches to make, no school runs, no meetings until later, nothing. Snuggling into her closer, the arm that wasn’t trapped underneath her swept her hair away from her face, before his lips gently skated over her jaw and down the side of her neck, and as her eyelids fluttered his large, gentle hand trailed down the curve of her hip and slid between her legs and caressing the inside of her thigh. Katie took a deep breath before releasing it with a shiver shifting automatically, still half asleep, spreading her legs a little wider. She rolled her head over her shoulder, blinking and she was met with those blue eyes she loved so much, the owner wearing a devilish smirk.

“Morning.” He rasped voice low with sleep and utter desire.

“Good morning.” she grinned biting her lip, as his hand moved back up over her stomach to her breasts, underneath the shirt she was wearing and he began to tease her softly, causing her to moan as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, the sensation burning in her stomach once more. She rolled onto her back and he settled between her legs, her arms winding around his neck as he captured her lips with his, soft and slow before he pulled back to peel his shirt off her body, tossing it down the side of the bed. He turned his gaze downwards, eyeing up her blue lacy panties before he groaned and lowered himself over her again, kissing her and sliding his tongue along hers. Katie wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding against him to get any friction that she could. His hands trailed down her sides and under her back, fingers gently grabbing at the waistband of the lace before he broke the kiss and unhooked her legs from around his waist. He gently pulled her underwear down, shimmying under the covers as he removed the garment and then kissed up her right leg, his lips hot as he made his way from her ankle up to her inner thigh, pushing her legs open wider.

His actions were controlled, slow. There was no rush after all. His mouth and tongue gently worked her to distraction, flicking at her clit over and over. She was a writhing mess within minutes, her hand fisted in his hair, the other grasping at the sheets, the noises flowing freely because they didn’t have to be quiet. Her fingers tightened on his scalp and she gave a cry of his name as her hips bucked upwards, her legs tensing slightly before they flattened against the bed, her breathing heavy and ragged. With a smirk at how easy he could undo her, he moved back up the bed, one hand pushing his pants down. Without a word he lined himself up with her, letting out a loud groan she slid a hand between them, stroking him before guiding him inside. He moved slowly, deliberately, until every inch of him was sheathed by her. Katie’s eyes rolled back as he stretched her, her groan loud as he laced his fingers into hers. Steve let out a shaky moan as he moved his pelvis slowly, pushing back against her hands. Every thrust was deep, slow, measured, his mouth moving from hers to her jaw, neck, collar bone.

The house was quiet, nothing but the sound of soft cries and kisses could be heard as Steve continued his trusts, whilst his wife whimpered into his ear, and he let go of her hands to bring one of her legs up round his hip. She let out a cry at the change of angle as he picked up the pace slightly, but not much, until Katie’s nails raked down his back as her pleasure rose. The sensation made him shudder and he doubled his efforts, her hands sliding down, grabbing at his flexing ass, urging him on and as always he was happy to oblige.

“Shit, Stevie,” the cry of his name as the lights went off before her eyes turned into a complete babble which died in her throat as she tightened and pulsed around, her body shaking with pleasure.

“God, Doll.” he was right behind her as he came with a low moan, his hips thrusting until he was completely spent, his head buried in the side of his wife’s neck.

Katie tipped her head back in satisfaction, sighing softly as Steve pushed himself up slightly. He gently ran his nose up her throat, taking her bottom lip between his and he let out another satisfied sigh of his own. He loved his kids, beyond anything but man he enjoyed being able to take his goddamned time making love to his wife without the patter of little feet across the hall meaning they were about to be interrupted. “Baby,” he said softly, his lips gently smoothing the skin underneath her ear “Hmmm?” She asked, her hands creeping into his hair as her head rolled to the side, eyes still closed in pure bliss. “Look at me Kitten.” She obliged, and emerald green met ocean blue as she held her husband’s gaze. He gave her a soft smile, and she reciprocated, the affection on his face blatantly evident. “I love you,” he said, as she reached up and gently brushed the longer strands of his hair back over his forehead, “more than you can ever know”

“Will that still be the case when I’m old, grey and wrinkly but you still look like you’re straight out of GQ magazine?”

He looked at her, this wasn’t the first time she had mentioned that. He shook his head and sighed softly, unable to do anything but repeat what he told her the last time she’d raised the issue.

“I told you baby girl.” he said, giving her lips a quick peck “It’s me and you till the end of the line.”

After a lazy breakfast, Katie headed off to collect Jamie from Tony’s and Steve made his way into Manhattan for the two support groups of the afternoon. The first one was always the busiest and it took a little longer this week as they had a few new faces. This didn’t surprise Steve, people were still five years later coming to terms with opening up about their heartache or problems, but the core of the group were always welcoming. He had an hours break before the second, slightly quieter group so he took a walk. Their air was damp and there was a gloomy fog descending over the city, making it darker than it would normally be for the time of day, but it wasn’t cold. He grabbed a coffee from the shop round the corner and headed back to start the second meeting.

The meetings always followed the same format. There was ten or so minutes of everyone arriving, grabbing refreshments, saying hello and then they would form the usual circle and Steve would start the discussions with a chat about something he’d done or seen that week that was positive, something he’d done or seen that week that wasn’t so positive, and then invite other people to comment and do the same, gently coaxing them into opening up.

“So, I went on a date the other day.” The man named David sighed. “First time in five years. I didn’t know what to talk about.”

“What did you talk about?” Steve pressed gently, patient as ever.

“Same old crap, you know? How things have changed. My job. His job. How much we miss the Mets” David paused taking a breath “Then things got quiet. He cried as were serving the salads.”

“What about you?” Another man, Ian, asked hopefully.

“I cried,” David trailed off, “Just before dessert,” There was a slight pause, “But I’m seeing him again tomorrow, so…”

Steve gave a small smile “That’s great. You did the hardest part. You took the jump, you didn’t know where you were gonna come down. And that’s it, it’s those little, brave baby steps we gotta take, you know, to try and find purpose.” He paused and looked around the group, biting the inside of his cheek, “I went into the ice in forty-five right after I met the first woman I’d ever loved. Woke up seventy years later and met the love of my life. She gave me hope, she gave me a purpose, a reason to keep going in the crazy new world I’d found myself in.” He paused again and looked around at the attentive faces assembled in a circle “You gotta move on. The world is in our hands. It’s left to us guys. We gotta do something with it. Otherwise, Thanos should have killed all of us.”

Steve let the meeting roll for a little longer, everyone discussing what he had said before it came to a natural end and with a glance up he saw Katie and Jamie pushing open the door, Katie holding a huge Tupperware box full of brownies.

“Looks like you’re all in luck!” Steve said, nodding towards his wife as Jamie ran across to his father who smiled and swept him up into arms and planted a kiss onto his head before replacing him on the floor. He looked over at Katie and she smiled back, placing the box of treats down on the table. She often did this, popped into a few of his sessions over the week with some form of snack for them all when she had time, her way of helping out, and Steve loved her for it.

Over the next ten minutes or so, various people drifted over to the side of the room, greeting Katie and grabbing a brownie. She gave David a hug and cheekily told him to behave on his next date as Steve wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead in greeting as they waved the man away.

“How long where you at the door?” Steve looked at her.

“Long enough.” She told him, knowing instantly why he was asking.

“I meant it.” he turned to look at her. “Every word you know.”

“I know, and for the record you’re the love of my life too.” she grinned “My husband, my baby daddy…”

Steve smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Gross” Jamie said, sticking his fingers in his mouth.

There was a pause before Steve grabbed Jamie and launched into a tickle attack until the boy was screeching and running from his dad who chased him round the hall. Katie watched her boys as Jamie feinted left and Steve let him get away, before the little boy dived under a table and out the other side of it, cackling in a way so much like his father did.

“Don’t think that’s gonna save you, pal.” Steve said, easily vaulting the table and picking Jamie up, throwing him over his shoulder, patting his backside once with a large hand.

“Momma, help!” Jamie’s voice was punctuated with laughter and in a bid to help her son, Katie strode forward and her hands went straight to Steve’s side from behind, and she began to tickle him.

“Oh sh-stop it!” Steve cackled, his ridiculously ticklish nature was always his downfall. He let Jamie down as Katie continued her attack and he spun round, grabbing her and spinning her round, crossing her arms across my chest, pinning her back to his front as he dropped his mouth to her ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that later.” “Promises, promises Captain.”

****

There was a presence to Katie’s right and she felt the soft weight of a hand against her cheek. It was too small to belong to her man, but the perfect size and weight to belong to her boy.

“James,” a soft, deep voice whispered, warning in the tone, “this is the second time I’ve told you and there won’t be a third. Leave your ma alone. She’s sleeping.”

Katie sighed and stretched. “It’s okay, I’m awake”

Jamie giggled and surged forward giving her a peck before falling back onto his father’s pillow, "Morning Momma!”

“Good morning sweetie.” she yawned rolling onto her side, dislodging Lucky who had been asleep with his leg resting on the back of her legs. As ever Jamie had his stuffed Cap bear with him, along with God knows how many other toys all which adorned Steve’s side of their enormous bed.

“Morning, baby.” Steve bent over from behind her, pecking her cheek too.

“Hey.” she smiled, rolling her head to catch his lips, noticing his bare, damp chest from the shower. “What time is it?”

“Little past seven.” he said gently “Somebody…” he glanced at Jamie “was awake at half Five.” “Not sleepy daddy.” “Really, I didn’t notice.” Steve replied, sardonically. Katie chuckled as Jamie frowned, the sarcasm utterly lost at him.

“Momma, we hided in the fort.”

Katie snorted. Steve and Jamie had made a blanket fort in Jamie’s room last night in which they had hidden in for their bed time stories. Jamie had insisted they left it up, and considering it wasn’t in the way Katie had been happy to oblige. Steve, who had gotten a lot better with dealing with the mess Jamie left around over the years had resisted the urge to fold away the blankets and his wife had pulled him out of the room when the pair of them had popped in to check on Jamie before he could change his mind.

“Mighty fine Fort it is too.” Steve ruffled his son’s hair.

“What time are your meetings today?” Katie asked, looking at Steve. His groups ran at different times during the week. This way, it made sure that there was a day or night everyone could attend at least 1 session a week.

“Last one finishes at four today. Why you ask?”

“Well, I thought seeing as we didn’t see Nat at the weekend we should pop in.” “Auntie Nat-Nat, yay!” Jamie clapped his hands “Maybe she can come see my fort.” “You should tell her about it.” Steve nodded, before his attention turned to Katie “Might convince her to leave the compound.” “Yeah, maybe.” she sighed.

“What do you fancy for breakfast?” Steve asked.

“I can bake some cinnamon rolls if you want?” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know.” she smiled “But they’re already made so just need to go in to the oven and I also I know someone…” she looked at Jamie, “is going to ask for pancakes and he isn’t having them 3 days on the run.” “Waffles?” Jamie said, hopefully.

“No.” Katie shook her head “Cinnamon rolls or cereal, your choice.”

“Can I have both?” he asked.

“You two will eat me out of house and home.” Katie rolled her eyes “Yes, if you want both you can have both.”

“Cool man.” Jamie nodded, in a way that was so like Emmy like it made Steve turn back to face his wife from where he had ben stood at the dresser pulling out his clothes, a smirk on his face. The pair of them watched as their son announced he was going to get dressed and dropped onto the floor, heading out into the hallway back to his own room, Lucky following.

Katie watched as Steve pulled on a pair of sweats and she cocked her head to one side.

“Did you seriously call me Jamie’s Ma before?”

Steve grinned “Sorry.” “Makes me sound like I’m ninety” she snorted.

“Try actually being ninety.” he said, and Katie laughed as he started to crawl over her in the bed, pushing her back gently.

“Hate to break it to you Captain Badass but you’re actually hundred and five.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” he muttered gently, his lips on hers. She happily melted into them, her hands straying up and down his bare chest, before she pulled away knowing that if they carried on she’d be wanting a lot more.

“Stop it.” she mumbled, biting her lip.

“What?” he asked, cheekily.

“This.” she pouted.

“I only wanted a kiss.” he looked at her, eyebrow raised “You have a dirty mind.” “Years of being with you.” she said simply and he laughed, standing up. As he headed across the room Katie couldn’t resist one last quip. “Nice ass…daddy” Steve turned round, a wicked grin on his face as he held his arms out at either side of him, as he walked backwards for a few steps. “It’s all yours baby Momma.” he said, before turning round and heading out to help Jamie get dressed.

The rest of Katie’s day was pretty much the same as it always was. She dropped Jamie in at the day-care and headed up to her office, for her 15 minute start up meeting with Soraya to go over her diary for the day, which was pretty clear for once. She spent most of her time sifting through the mountain of emails and responding to the ones she needed to. After a quick chat with Emmy at lunchtime, the girl enthusiastically telling her all about how her and Brooked had run up the Rocky steps and were eating so much Philly cheesesteak, Katie headed up to the boardroom for the Monthly Financial Review. Escaping at little after 3, she picked Jamie up, headed to the store to grab something she could make at the compound for them all and once Steve was home they set off towards the compound.

Steve drove easily down the highway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other laying on the arm rest in between the front seats, whilst next to him Katie hummed along to the John Legend playlist that was playing. Steve eased the Audi onto the bridge which would take them out of Manhattan and frowned gently as he noticed that the cars ahead were all coming to a halt. As Steve slowed the car down, Katie too narrowed her eyes as people started getting out of their cars and heading to the side of the bridge, pointing.

“Wait here.” Steve said, climbing out of the car, Captain mode engaged.

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

“Daddy’s gone to see.” Katie said. She watched Steve approach the side of the bridge and speak to the nearest man before looking down. His mouth dropped opened and he turned, jogging back to the car.

“You’re not gonna believe this…” he shook his head as Katie climbed out.

“What…”

“Come see.” he opened the back door of the car and unstrapped Jamie from his seat. Picking him up in his arms, he made his way to the side of the bridge, wife by his side and he pointed downwards.

Katie felt herself gasp at the sight- a small pod of whales leisurely making their way through the Hudson River.

“Wow.” Katie whispered.

“What are they?” Jamie asked

“Whales.” Steve replied, “Humpbacks, I think.”

Steve tried to keep the smile on his face genuine, but he hated it when Jamie saw something out of place in the new world that he was born into which would have been perfectly normal in the world that they once knew. Whilst a pod of whales in the Hudson was an astounding sight for sure, and would have been unheard of even before the Snap, the fact that it was Jamie’s first time ever seeing a whale made him slightly sad. They had been a pretty common sight around the ocean waters in and around the bays leading out into the North Atlantic until Thanos had killed half of them.

Jamie giggled and pointed out that the biggest whale was being followed closely by a slightly smaller one, and then an even smaller one after and then a tiny one.

“Daddy, Momma, Emmy and Jamie.” He said, smiling at Steve who chuckled, as he smoothed Jamie’s hair back.

“Come on Kiddo, let’s go see Auntie Nat” When they arrived at the Avengers compound, the sun was beginning to set. Steve drove round to the rear entrance and the gate creaked open as the scanners recognised the car. He parked the car in their old designated spot before he collected the bag of ingredients from the trunk that Katie had bought to make dinner with. Together the three of them headed inside, Friday welcoming them all as they made their way towards the living area, and they could hear Natasha closing up a meeting, she was talking to Rhodey.

“Nat,” Rhodey’s voice was almost pleading but Nat cut him off

“Please.” She begged.

Katie had a feeling she knew what she was talking about, or rather who. She glanced at Steve as they rounded the last corner to the large meeting-slash-living room and it was then that Katie could hear Natasha trying to stifle her cries. At that point Jamie ran in and jumped onto his aunt’s lap hugging her tightly.

“Don’t be sad Auntie Nat-Nat.” He said, and Natasha took a deep breath and leaned her head against her nephew’s with her eyes closed hugging him back.

Steve leaned against the bookshelf for a moment as Katie walked into the room, taking the bag of ingredients off Steve as she took in the sight of Natasha’s dinner of a peanut butter sandwich, resting on top of the table.

“You know, I’d offer to cook you dinner, but you seem miserable enough.” Steve opened, looking down at her with a smile,

“So I’m gonna do it instead.” Katie said, holding up the bag she’d brought. dropping it onto the table. “Chicken stew, dumplings and chocolate cake for after.”

Natasha looked at them, a smile playing on her face as Katie sat down across from her, “You guys here just to feed me?”

“And to see a friend.” Steve shot back.

Natasha leaned back into her chair, Jamie still on her lap. “Clearly, your friend is fine.”

“Bull.” Katie said, leaning back and eyeing her. She avoided her gaze and the room fell silent.

“You know we saw a pod of whales as we were coming over the bridge.” Steve broke the silence, changing the subject.

“In the Hudson?” Natasha asked, raising her head slightly sounding impressed.

Jamie perked up.

“There was a Jamie whale and a daddy whale and a momma whale and an Emmy one!” Jamie gushed.

Nat smiled “I haven’t seen whales in the Hudson ever, even before.”

"Well, there’s fewer ships, cleaner water.” Steve shrugged

Natasha sighed looking up at the ceiling, “You know if you are about to tell me to look on the bright side, umm, I’m about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Sammich?” Jamie looked up hopefully and Natasha tore off half of one side before passing it to him.

“Sorry.” Steve sighed pushing himself off from the bookshelf, his jacket slung over his arm, “Force of habit.”

He tossed his keys onto the table, dropping his jacket over the back of a chair before sitting down next to his wife, glancing at Jamie who was now eating a small piece of the sandwich, then at Natasha. The woman looked tired, pale and such a far cry from the stoic, well-groomed Natasha Romanoff he had first known. But then again, they were all a far cry from the people they had once been.

“You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on. And forget what happened.” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “And some do. But not us.”

“If I move on, who does this?” Natasha asked simply with a shrug.

Katie sighed “Maybe it doesn’t need to be done.”

Both Steve and her thought Natasha was on to a hiding for nothing. The Avengers were over.

“You know, I used to have nothing. And then I got this- this job. This family.” Nat smiled sadly and looked down at Jamie before she looked back up, the tears evident in her eyes. “And I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone, I’m still trying to be better.“

"I think we all need to get a life,” Steve joked and Natasha forced a smile nodding to him.

“You did.” At her words, Steve gave a smile. She was right, he had. Katie and he had been extremely lucky over the last five years, but that didn’t stop them thinking about the people that hadn’t, and the friends they had lost.

Katie reached for the bag she had placed on the table. “I’ll go start dinner.” she said, standing up when a small, holographic screen popped up in front of Natasha indicating she had a notification of sorts. She flicked it to the side, bringing the video feed to life behind Steve who looked over his shoulder as the video began playing.

“Oh, hi, hi! Is anyone home? This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany. I was small, then I got real big.”

Katie left the bag where it was and whipped round, to see Scott on the screen, stood in front of his van. Besides her Steve stood from his seat, unable to believe what he was seeing. This was impossible, he was snapped…

“Is this an old message?” Katie asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.

“Ant-Man! I know you remember Ant-Man.”

Natasha’s reaction was much like Steve’s, confused awe as she sat up, breathing deeply “It’s the front gate.”

“I really need to talk to you guys!” Scott continued to yell his voice becoming desperate.

The three of us remained frozen for a moment, absolutely lost for words before Jamie broke the silence.

“Who’s that?” he asked, jumping down from Nat’s lap. “An old friend.” Steve said after a pause, turning to Natasha who was fishing in a drawer for the key to the main gate. No one used it anymore, anyone visiting used the rear entrance, the main one having been padlocked shut for years. She found the key and tossed it to him and he caught it expertly before heading off to go meet Scott.

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #katie stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic

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