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#the rate at which i finish stuff is horrific but also i have this weird thing where i feel like i’m not allowed to post just sketches

thechaoticplayer · 4 months

Text

Eating His Prey

author's note: I really wanted to write a fic about Ike, more specifically sadistic and yandere Ike because holy shit it was kinda hot what he was doing sheeeeeesh Summary: Being such a sly (apparently my keyboard wanted to make you slay so you're also very slay) and mischievous little fox you are, you decide to mess around in a wolf's territory. However, you're in for a wild reality check... Contains: degrading oh wow, dom Ike, hes literally using you, and all that spicy stuff mmm

Hunting in the wolf's territory was an adventure within itself, the new terrain and yummy prey was something that you desired very much. Besides, wouldn't be fun to mess around a bit? You are a great predator yourself, enjoying making your prey squeak and cry underneath your arms. You'd drag out their suffering for a good while. It was all fun and games for you.

You are currently traipsing through the forest full of crowded trees, scattered patches of sunlight kissing the grass floor. You finished having a good meal of a rabbit, a cute little thing you almost felt bad for devouring. Your nose quivered, sniffing the air and catching a scent.

Wolf scent. But your senses told you he was away at the moment. You grin, lips pulled back to reveal canine teeth. His little home! Maybe you could get some sort of rabbit shit and litter it all across his home. Maybe you could build a little fort out of sticks for him.

You dart in and out bushes with ease, your feet silently tapping the ground. Your prey hardly ever heard you coming, which was fortunate and unfortunate at once. Unaware little things. Thank god you were an excellent predator and not some weak ass prey!

You find yourself at the mouth of a cave, looking awfully gloomy inside. You sniff once more. Yup, his scent is much stronger here. Without a care in the world, you skip on inside.

It was very dark for a good few feet, your night vision clicking in after a few seconds. Bones lay scattered across the cave floor: skulls, ribs, femurs, arms. Some even arranged in twisted ways, like horrific art. Wolf must be some sort of sick freak. Not like you were anyone to judge. But still. Freak.

But it gradually began to get brighter, and you walk faster, you didn't want to dilly dally after all. You emerge within a bigger room, with a hole on the ceiling like a window. You notice there was no patch of leaves or soft grass for rest (what the fuck does he actually sleep on this hard ass rock? The wolf is literally a psycho) and surprisingly, no weird bone art. Just tallies on the wall, made with his claw you presumed, lining the walls. Several rows after row. What is this? his body count?

Eh. you don't care. You just wanna create a mess out of his home.

You drag some of the bones from the corridor and toss them around. Snapping some in half and creating your own work of art. You giggle as you line up some bones, a picture of a cock on his floor now. Your tail swishes back and forth with excitement. Perhaps you should go back to the riverbed, gather some mud and plaster it all over the wolf's walls. A nice touch to such a bland room.

You turn your head and freeze. Your heart rate increases.

The wolf himself is here, staring you down with golden eyes. Glowing from the darkness, expression blank as he watched you. Caught-red handed. How long was here there anyway? How did you not hear his entrance? as for the smell, his scent was all over the place, and it is very strong. Luck was simply not on your side.

"Well well well," the grey wolf chuckles darkly, sending electricity down your spine. Instinct told you to run your ass out of there, but you froze, out of fear. "What's a little fox doing here in my domain? Wrecking my home, hm?"

You say nothing, eyes glancing behind him. The only exit. A laugh, as he approaches still.

"Since we are going to get very acquainted, my name is Ike Eveland," the wolf says cheerfully and you furrow your brows because what the hell? "And now, answer me this: what gave you the idea to come here? Death wish?"

"...b-because i wanna," your shaky voice replies and you clear your throat. You straighten your body and stare back at him, never backing down. Not too some puny wolf. "I go wherever I want."

Ike tsks at you, stalking closer. "Now now, I like the confidence yes, but do you realise your situation, dear?" He smiles, sharp teeth bared. "I'm going to eat you alive."

Finally, he launches himself at you, claws glinting in the sunlight. Immediately your legs tense and push you, sprinting below him out of the room and into the corridor. Your heart roars in your ears as you run as far as you possibly can out of the cave, breathing heavily.

What a fucking insane little shit! He was definitely a bit smaller than other wolves you met, but something about the way his sinister gaze sent shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but the wolf was actually pretty intimidating. His eyes were such a lovely shade of gold though...

You shake your head and keep running, hopping through a small river to make him lose your scent. You turn towards another direction, toward the familiar big tree you liked to lean against when you wanted to think. It was a good distance from the wolf's territory, so you should be fine. Besides, why would Ike come all the way over here for one silly fox? Heh.

You arrive at the foot of the tree and plop down, regaining your oxygen. Damn, you've never ran so much in your life. You curl your fluffy tail around you, plucking out leaves. Your beating heart slowed a bit as relief flooded your veins. That was simply a vibe check from the gods above. You have learned to stay away from there in the near by future, because if you went there again, you wouldn't have a future.

You lean down with the balls of your hand on the grass, stretching with your ass in the air and felt every bone crack in your back. You sigh contently. It has always felt good to do that after a run.

Your ear twitched and a sound of rustling bushes interrupts your stretch. You sit back, suddenly alert. You sniff the air, but only smell your wet fur. You survey your surroundings, and seeing nothing. A squirrel? However, you stayed cautious and kept your ears open.

While you were cleaning your teeth, another sound, the noise of a twig snapping under a huge weight. It is closer to you than before.

With no warning, you high-tail it out of there, not even turning to see who it is because you could already tell by that menacing aura alone. The grey wolf is hunting you.

"Go away!" you shout, shooting through bushes and swerving around thick trees. "Go find some dumb rabbit to devour!"

"You're much more intriguing!" Ike calls, and you're startled by how you can't hear his footsteps and yours is loud as shit. "Let's play a game, huh?"

"I don't play no games!" You snap, diving into a fox hole made from another fox and scurrying through the small tunnel. He couldn't get through because he's too large! ha!

"It'll be fun!" He calls from outside the tunnel. "Let's play hide and seek, little one!" Ike sings, and you find it oddly pretty.

Dude, really?

You shoot out the other end and continue sprinting. Fuck out of here with that hide and seek nonsense!

"I'll be the seeker," Ike says from behind, startling so much you almost stumble. "I'll give you some time to hide!"

His voice fades and you glance over your shoulder. Gone. Kapoof. Finally, holy shit, his presence was getting annoying as shit. Wait. Is he actually going to play hide and seek?

You curse in your mind, running as far as your legs could carry. You pause, chest heaving as you breath rapidly through your mouth. You turn in a circle, attempting to find a good hiding spot. You spy a big tree with a hollow center, obscured by a flower bush. It is right by a river too!

You dive into the hole without delay and try to rein in your breathing. You quickly adjust the bush so it didn't look like it was rammed through. It was not long before you felt that ominous presence again, your tail poofing up instantly.

"Little fox, where are you?" Ike coos from a good distance away. You cover your mouth with both hands. "You're a sly thing, huh? Walking around my own territory like it was your place. Now, it's time to make sure you learn your place."

You press yourself against the wall so hard, the grooves start to imprint on your skin. You're starting to regret your decisions. It seems like the wolf will never let you go until he captures you. You silently pray to whatever gods were listening.

Turns out they were not. They said screw you kiddo you're on your own.

"I will find you," Ike promises, his voice a tad closer. "I can feel your heart. So fast. Am I making you nervous?"

You grind your teeth, stopping yourself from growling. This cocky bastard.

"I tend to get that reaction a lot. I didn't think I was that horrifying, being on the smaller scale," Ike says and you roll your eyes because who the fuck asked? "I give off threatening vibes, supposedly. that's what the last one said anyway."

Huh?

"The last prey I had," the wolf continues, almost as if he just read your mind. "You must've seen the lines on the walls. All animals I've killed and perhaps devour. Sometimes, I kill for the fun of it and leave the carcass for other animals. Oh, how thrilling it is, watching the blood seep onto the floor and the life draining out of their eyes!" Ike sighs and your blood goes cold because it's outside your hiding place. A big hand reaches out to touch the flower in front of you. "Their blood, such a pretty shade of red just like this poppy."

The hand snakes out like a viper and snatches your ankle and you yell, kicking at him but he drags you out of the tree. Still kicking and screaming bloody murder, you kick his face in sheer desperation. His head turned toward another direction but his hand still latched onto your ankle.

"That wasn't very polite," Ike says, his gaze on you and you still. "What's wrong? Sad because you lost?"

"No way!" You claw at his hand but he doesn't budge. Just watches your pathetic attempts. "Let go!"

He leans in close to your face and you halt your actions. His breaths on your face as the wolf holds eye contact with you. The flecked color of brown in his eyes are mesmerizing to look at, entrancing. You swallow hard. Ike's hand slides from your ankle to your knee, to your thigh, sending goosebumps across your skin. He squeezes, his nails digging in slightly and you wince.

"No. You're mine to play with now, cute little fox."

Something about the way his voice went lower, or was it the hand movement? made your heart beat faster, and not in a frightened way. The wolf's hand travels to your hip and your breath hitches, still staring into the eyes of your enemy. The hand goes all the up from your arm, feather light, skins your collarbone and finds itself a new home on your neck. Wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, Ike begins to squeeze lightly. Still looking down at you with those pretty eyes, hovering over you with such a smirk on his lips.

Ike stops squeezing, evidently surprised. He sniffs the air, but still a hand around your throat, his nose dipping lower. His nose bumps against your thigh and he growls low in his throat, yanking your legs apart. You squeak.

Arousal. Pure arousal, glittering in the light. Ike stares for a moment, still sniffing. His gaze slides back up to you and you stop breathing.

"Little fox..." he says quietly, and excitement jolts up. "Are you... aroused, right now?"

You don't respond, a bit ashamed. Why the hell were you getting horny for the man about to kill you? Who in their right mind-?

You gasp as you feel a hot mouth against your pussy, lapping up the juices with a shocking pace. You whine, struggling to get away but both his hands are on your thighs now, keeping you spread open and down on the grass as he ravaged your pretty little hole.

You tasted so fucking good, more than he could ever imagine! His nose bumps your clit as his tongue glides in and out of your wet hole, making squelching noises. You moan loudly, digging your nails into his scalp as you push him into you. Ike growls, sending more electricity up your spine. His teeth grazes your clit as he suckles the bundle of nerves and you gasp.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck- mph!" You cover your mouth, attempting to muffle your embarrassing sounds.

The wolf stops, narrowing his eyes at you. "Who said for you to hide those pretty noises?"

You bite your lip, legs squirming as the breeze hits your pussy. "I-I, well..."

"Keep our hands. Off. If you do so again, I'll make sure you never do it again, do you understand?"

You nod quickly, getting even more aroused by his threat and you subconsciously think, 'what the FUCK' and he smirks.

Ike eats you out like a wolf starved, fucking and teasing your hole with such accuracy you start to see stars, and watching him eat you like you were the best meal he ever had turned you on even more and you felt your walls clamp around his tongue.

"Good slut," Ike whispers against your clit, sucking on it for a brief moment before sinking his teeth into your thigh, making you yelp. "Horny little thing, for a predator who was going to devour you whole..." the wolf chuckles.

Your slick slathered across his face, buried in you, legs over his shoulders was a sight to see. You moan, "a-ah! Mmm, right there, t-there!" Your toes curl, eyes rolled back as the orgasm comes over in waves, making your body shake from pleasure as you release soft whines. But Ike isn't done, he's just getting started.

A finger pushes itself into you and you gasp yet again. It explores your walls, tickling that one spot. Then another is added, and Ike slowly pumps his fingers into you, watching with fascination as your pussy eagerly swallows his digits. Pulling him in.

"What a fucking whore," he notes, flicking his eyes up at your flushed cheeks and the drool leaking down your chin. "I haven't even put my cock in you yet."

Your walls squeeze around his fingers at the sentence and he laughs darkly. He bites your other thigh, drawing blood as you wince in pain. The wolf quickly laps up your blood with a groan. His fingers pump faster, curling at the right time and you moan in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Greedy bitch. Do you want me to let you cum?" He asks, gold glowing between your legs. New hickeys flourish all over your inner thighs along with obvious bite marks.

"Yes please," you moan, angling your hips up and he repeatedly hits that delicious spot. "Hah- f-fuck! N-ngh! Pleasepleasepleaseplease... "

Ike pulls his fingers out and you immediately protest but he shushes you. The loss of his fingers inside you was making you insane, until you get filled up by something entirely different.

"O-oh... " you moan quietly, his cock hard inside of you.

"Dumb fox." Ike takes your wrists and pins them above your head as he looks down at you. Your breath hitches. "Dumb, horny fox."

He snaps his hips and you make a guttural sound. Ike's pupils are big, drinking in every single detail from your sweat collecting on your skin, your body squirming underneath him, to your mouth popped open slightly. Oh, and those luscious lips of yours, appearing soft and unkissed...

Might as well make you his new toy now, eh?

Ike smashes his lips into yours as he fucks you fast and hard, shoving his tongue inside your mouth as you open to moan. Tongues dancing together and his muscle exploring every single space within your mouth. You tasted so delicious and felt so delicious, there was no way in hell he was letting you go now.

Satisfied with your bruised lips, the wolf goes to mark your neck. Biting, kissing, sucking. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he digs his nails into you. Tears running down your face as you hiccup, crying and saying "it's too much, it's too much'.

Ike could not give a damn. You brought this upon yourself, and now he's going to have fun with his new fucktoy.

#nijisanji en #nijien #nijisanji #nijisanji smut #vtuber #nijisanji x reader #favorite vtuber #luxiem #Ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #Ike eveland smut

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clickbait-official · 3 years

Text

mbc

from @artwitch28's headcannons

masterlist

tw: implied/referenced abuse, depressive themes, and transphobia

---

Endeavor was a stuck up little bitch.

Not that a lot of people knew.

Oh well. He’ll get his revenge one day.

Touya sighs, setting his keys on the counter.

“Keigo! I’m home!”

The house was big- airy, if that was a word. Birdboy hated closed spaces. Touya couldn’t blame him, either; he couldn’t stand anything that looked like his “training” room.

There was a thunk upstairs as Keigo ran down to greet him.

“How was work? How was Dad?” He asks.

“Dad”, Atsuhiro Sako, was Touya’s adopted dad. They worked together under their agency, the League of Heroes. The League of Heroes were made up of heroes who were told they were villains, or considered outcasts.

“It was alright, Big sis Magne started asking people if they wanted interns.” Touya responds to his fiance.

Keigo comes up behind him, hugging him and wrapping his wings around Touya.

“Hmmm. Did you look for an intern, dove? You could get your brother~”

“I didn’t think about it, no. But there’s Toga already. Did you?”

Touya can feel Keigo smile into his shoulder.

“There’s one with a bird quirk.”

“Oh, I see.” Touya smirks.

His stomach rumbles as he does.

“Aww, does my little birdie need some food?” Keigo says, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll go get you some.”

He grabs his hand and leads him to the kitchen.

They look through the fridge, then the freezer.

“Chinken nuggets?” Keigo asks, after a beat of silence.

“You did not just reference that, again.”

And Keigo laughs, loud and clear. Touya thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.

God, he’s in deep, isn’t he?

They sit together at the counter while they wait for the food to cook. They don’t talk for a bit, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Speaking of Shoto, how’s the family? Rumi’s been talking ‘bout Fuyumi a lot.” Keigo says, taking the pan out of the oven.

“Oh my goodness- remember that crusty kid I was talking to you about? He’s dating Natsuo.” Touya deadpans, and Keigo bursts into giggles.

“God, he could do so much better! And he chose the crustiest kid on this side of Japan!” He rants, Keigo staring from across the table.

“Hana’ll kill you for that.”

Touya sighs again, knowing that he was right. “Yeah, I know. I still don’t know why Natsuo chose her crusty brother, but he’s happy. And it gets him out of the house, too.”

Keigo nods. “Away from Endeavor.”

“Away from Endeavor.”

They sit for a while in silence at that. Touya knows Keigo used to idolize Endeavor, and he knows why.

God, out of all people, couldn’t Keigo have a good childhood?

At least he’s not hurting now.

The sun has fallen, and they’re laying on their bed.

The moonlight filters through the curtains. Keigo’s been asleep for a while now.

The slightest breeze drifts into the room.

If we lived in a harsher world, we’d be so much more cruel.

Oh, what a beautiful night to be alive with you.

---

Touya brings Keigo into the agency. He’d been curious about how it worked- the League was unprecedented.

Touya hoped he’d want to join too. He wouldn’t mind his soon-to-be husband patrolling with him.

Hero work is a dangerous game to play, after all.

The League of Heroes’s building is not very intimidating. It’s survived thunderstorms, 52 mental breakdowns (not by the same person), and now the prank the entire League is in on.

It’s time for the hero charts.

Showtime.

It had taken so much bribing, from the poor intern that worked for one of the higher ups, to one of the higher ups themselves.

Touya could only hope it was worth it.

Oh, it was worth it.

On live television, in front of nearly the entire world, Enji Todoroki, known as Endeavor, had gotten massively pranked.

First, it was the glitter. Then, the water balloons and the rainbow slime. After that, it was the chicken and the three fire extinguishers.

And of course, copious amounts of cheese.

And it was all filmed. It was all broadcasted to a live audience.

Oh- and everyone knew who did it.

But there was no evidence.

God, Touya loved trashing Endeavwhore (and that’s an insult to sex workers).

It was the night after when Twice suggested something Touya had never thought of before.

The night was young, fireflies just beginning to come out. They were on the balcony, drinking and catching up like family would.

“Hey,” He said, “Why don’t you sue him? Get your bro outta that place and over here.”

Twice was a genius.

Twice was a goddamn genius.

Headlines were all over the place. “Endeavor gets sued?” “Enji Todoroki- an abusive piece of shit?” “Endeavor loses custody!”

God, the journalists were having a fucking field day with this. Touya can’t blame them, though.

The day was beautiful. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and little kids were running around outside. Keigo was sitting next to him, listening to his music. Touya finished up some paperwork to finally, finally get his siblings out from under Endeavor.

Thankfully, there was enough evidence to prove he was at least neglectful. People could finally see just how much of an asshole he was, and how high his civilian casualty and endangerment rates are.

There was one teeny, tiny, thing.

The Commission.

The only reason Endeavor was still in the top ten is because of that fucking Commission.

God, he hated the Commission. The things they did to Keigo, the scars that still remain on his psyche.

Fuck the Commission.

It just- It made him so angry. The way Toga and Spinner were treated, how Twice wasn’t able to get help until he became a hero- God, he hated it.

And he didn’t even know how bad it was! He was sheltered from Quirkist attitudes. Well, as sheltered as you can be, living with Endeavor as a dad.

He only knew a little bit of how much they had suffered under this system. He knew there was something more to how Twice always stayed in his hero costume, or how Magne avoided that one part of town. How Toga stared at that one schoolyard for a little too long before walking away.

And he hated it. So, so much.

Fuck the Commission.

---

It’s Touya’s first free day. The hecticness of moving all of his sibling’s stuff into their house was crazy. Who knew that keeping a house was so hard? Not him, that’s who.

So, like any rational person, he goes out to catch up with a close friend.

He had met her during his time at U.A. Her name was Hana Shimura. They bonded through their shitty parents. She was the older sister of the crusty fuck, Tenko.

Why did Natsuo decide to date him? He'll never know.

Somehow or another, the conversation went from how their days went to when Tenko got his quirk.

“Yeah, he decayed the dog! Thankfully he froze up after, so I got Mom. If he didn’t freeze up, I’d be dead.”

The way she had said it- so casually...She probably was terrified at the time.

“There was a UA student that helped him, too. Oboro? I think that was his name...Anyway, Oboro really helped him! He’s kinda a father to him, if I’m being honest.” She went on, telling Touya how proud of Tenko she was.

How he had become a search and rescue hero, which he already knew, and using his quirk he had helped so many people! Because he can decay the debris trapping civilians and rescue them!

They walk down the street, still talking about their siblings and generally how life was going.

They were gonna meet up with Twice. There was a new restaurant that he noticed during his patrols.

Touya heard it was pretty good from Fuyumi and Rumi.

It looked pretty nice, too. He’d walked by it a few times.

“So how is Twice, anyway? I don’t hear much from him these days.” Hana says, pushing open the door to the restaurant.

“Guess you’ll find out, huh?”

Twice is sitting at an empty table in a corner. He was smart enough to change out of his hero costume, just like Touya and Hana.

He lifts his head as they get closer to the table.

“Hey guys! How’ve you been!” He greets them as they sit down.

“Good, good. We were talking about my brother, Tenko.” Hana says. Touya nods in agreement.

“And also how he got to be a hero, too.”

“Did I ever tell ya how I got to be a hero?” Twice asks them, barely containing a smile.

He never told them, well, not Touya.

Turns out, when he was having trouble with his Quirk, one of his doubles went and got a hero license. At the time he was barely of the streets, so he became a hero, joining up with Mr. Compress and Magne to create the League of Heroes.

Because why not? It kept him off the streets and he could help people like him.

A win-win for Twice.

Touya hated how his weird uncle was treated before he became a hero.

Because he was a person, like anyone else. Just a person.

So why was he treated so differently? Why didn’t people help him when he needed it?

God, Touya was so tired.

---

It’s late one night. Touya is alone with his adopted father.

“Dad, why’d you decide to be a hero?” He asks out of the blue.

Atsuhiro’s eyes mist over, and Touya worries for him. Touya’s told him all about the horrific shit he’s gone through, and he can’t help but wonder if he had gone through something horrible too.

Atsuhiro takes out a silver locket, and gently pries it open. He points at the picture inside.

“Look! It’s them…My perfect little family... That’s them! There’s my little girl, and the most beautiful person to ever exist. There they are…”

It’s silent for a moment, the only thing one could hear were the cicadas far away from here.

Touya opens his mouth, “What...What happened to them?”

“A hero. He didn’t care for protocol. He killed- He killed them! And no one believed me…” Atsuhiro trails off, looking down at the floor.

Touya can’t help but feel sorrow, too. He could’ve had a mom, another sister...

He really needs to stop adopting people.

He can’t imagine the pain Mr. Compress must’ve been in. To lose a lover, a child? Oh, it must hurt- so, so much. To lose what was essentially a part of you?

Oh, it hurts to even imagine.

“...They’re really pretty, Dad.”

“They...were both so beautiful in this picture. Toga reminds me of her, y’know? They are both so pretty, so grown-up, and have that same sense of humor…”

Touya’s not sure to who he’s referring to, but nods anyway.

Who’s he to question grieving old men?

“And the days fly by so fast now, I can’t help but feel as though I’m supposed to be insulted by it. But I can’t bring myself to care anymore…It hurts, Touya, it hurts. Sometimes...I can hardly bring myself out of bed...I feel like a ghost…”

It’s silent for a moment, before Touya speaks.

“Dad, I think you need to get help. This isn’t normal. And…I think they’d want you to be happy too, Dad. Don’t you deserve to be happy, too?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t...know?”

“I don’t think I am. But...I want you to be happy. And Tenko, and Hana, and Twice, and Magne...But it’s so tiring, being happy. And I don’t know what to do!”

His sobs seem to echo through the building.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get you help. You can get some rest.”

He leads Sako back to his house, Atsuhiro being half-asleep by the time they get home.

Mr. Compress takes the spare bedroom, and falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. Keigo notices Touya, and walks over to him.

“Heya dove~ How was your day?”

“Worrying. Dad...Dad needs some help. He’s got some shit going on...He’s so tired, Kei. We need to get him therapy or something.”

“Oh, baby…” Keigo whispers, but Touya is too tired to hear.

He falls asleep in his fiance’s arms, safe and sound.

---

The house is abuzz with activity when Touya wakes up. Keigo’s laughter echoes around the place, filling the air with a sense of home.

What a beautiful way to wake up.

Touya gets dressed and walks downstairs. Keigo’s in the kitchen, talking amicably with his sister, Fuyumi. Dad was smiling fondly at the sight, picking at his food. Natsuo was talking on the phone with someone, blushing a little.

Keigo turns towards him, and oh, he was so handsome.

“Good morning, dovely~”

Unbelievable. It was too early for puns.

“Ugh, no. Don’t ever make puns this early. Dad, you doing okay?”

Atsuhiro looks over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’m doing just fine, sonny boy~”

“God, it’s too early for this shit. Keigo, get me some coffee, will you?”

“Language!” Fuyumi scolds.

Eventually the coffee is made, and tables cleaned. Breakfast is done.

Keigo helps set up an appointment with Fuyumi. She’s a part time therapist, part time substitute teacher.

Touya takes a deep breath. One day, Dad will be okay. He’ll be alright.

Time for work.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day when Touya goes on patrol again. This time with Magne and the new intern, Toga.

He already knew somewhat what the girls had gone through.

“Good morning, Magne, Toga.” He greeted them.

“Good morning!” Toga says, and then they go off.

Touya’s stuck in his thoughts as they walk to a coffee house while on break. He listens in as he reaches for the door.

“Yeah, my parents threw me out cause they didn’t think I was a girl.”

“My parents threw me out, too! I had to run away, they didn’t like my quirk very much...I got lucky, and Mom became my mom! That’s how I became a hero! How did you, big sis Magne?”

“Mr. Compress saved me from one of those fucking creeps. He let me stay with him for a while, and helped me get back on my feet. I decided to be a hero then, to help people like me.”

They sit down at one of the tables, still talking about their lives. Touya takes a bite of his muffin.

Ah, life was alright, if just for a little while.

--- requests & asks are open! (request em here) ---

@kirililbb

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

dark blue tennessee

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: It was one thing being without him while he was alive. It was another to lose him all together

Warnings: Major character death, grief-induced alcoholism, descriptions of blood and injuries, vague allusions to suicide. None of this is beta read so please don’t shoot me for any grammatical errors!

None of this seemed real to you. None of it felt real. It would have brought you some comfort if it wasn’t - that way you could reason with yourself that this was all the result of some horrific nightmare, that’d you’d wake up with a small gasp in his arms, safe and away from whatever dark terror had enveloped your mind. You weren’t one to usually have nightmares but when you did he would always be there, his embrace warm and tight, a single hand running through your hair in a soft pattern, and his unmistakable southern drawl whispering into your ear.

This wasn’t a dream however. No matter how wrong it felt, how surreal and horrific the whole situation was, it was all real. Perched on the edge of a barstool, you glanced over at the almost empty bottle of whiskey beside you. You thought it would take the pain away, dull your senses and let you pretend for two seconds that he wasn’t really gone, but if anything, the whiskey made it worse. Everything reminded you of him, day in and day out, every morning you woke up and all you could notice was that he wasn’t there. His clothes were, his Stetson perched on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, his stupid belt buckle that you’d always mocked him for...but not him. You couldn’t bear to box away any of it. It may bring you pain to see all these items laid out, as if they were expecting their owner to return someday, but shoving it all in the back of a closet seemed so...disrespectful to you. It would be almost the same as forgetting him in your mind, and you refused to.

It had been only two weeks since you first received that fateful call, the one that you prayed to high heavens you would never hear. Thank god you were home when you got the call - if you’d been out with your friends, or heaven forbid at work you don’t know what you would have done. It was a moment that you often replayed over in your mind, if for nothing more than the torture of reminding yourself of the day you had broke like glass shattered on a white cloth.

Trailing the pad of your finger over the edge of your glass, you tossed your head back as you downed yet another glass of liquor. Every detail of that memory stuck out to you, even the most insignificant things that no one else would ever mention. You’d taken the day off work, already feeling shitty straight up from the moment the day had begun. You’d been making something to eat, just some toast because you couldn’t be bothered with anything else, and right when you were searching the fridge for a jar of jam you had heard the phone ring.

Without a second thought you’d scooped it up in your hands and answered it, thinking it would be one of your friends calling to try to get you to come out with them to some bar or something that night. You hadn’t guessed it would be anything important. “Hello?”.

“Hi, am I speaking to Y/N?”. You furrowed your brow at the response, not immediately recognising the voice. You considered hanging up for a brief moment but something in you told you to stay on the line.

“You are. I’m sorry, who is this?”.

“My name is Ginger Ale. I’m a colleague of your partner, Jack Daniels. I’m very sorry to have to inform you this way, but he’s perished in a horrible incident”.

Everything around you seemed to collapse in that moment. The whole world might as well have fallen away around you the minute you heard those words. It was a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It often comes so suddenly, and so unexpected that you feel like you’re climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking there’s just one more step than there actually is, and feeling yourself plummet down into the abyss below. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced before - you might as well have been falling deep into the shadowy chasm right at the moment. Your grip on the phone tightened as you struggled to find the words, or any words really, to say in response as tears started to gather around the corners of your eyes. “W-what? What do you mean...he’s…” you trembled, stumbling on your feet as you fell against the wall in a daze, the world somehow seeming both screaming loud and quiet all at once.

“He was injured badly during his last mission - multiple gunshot wounds from a certain run in with a couple of gangsters. He was...he was barely alive when we brought him in” Ginger explained, trying her best to comfort you but you barely took any notice of her words as the same thought played over in your head. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, and you could have stopped it. It’s all your fault.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to have that weird gel stuff that heals gunshot wounds? Surely...surely he could have been saved, right?” you asked frantically, your cheeks streaked with tears and flushed with grief. It took everything in you not to fall apart right then and there, dropping the phone to the floor and screaming out in sheer agony of the pain that was ripping through you.

“Not this time, sadly. I’m really sorry, Y/N”. There was a small pause on the other end of the line before Ginger spoke again, her tone indicating her hesitance at divulging such information to you. “He also insisted that we don’t bother, that he knew his time was up with this one. I was watching him on this mission - he went into it all quite recklessly, which isn’t completely new for him but…”.

“But?” you asked, prompting her to finish her sentence but she never did. A heavy silence hung between the both of you, punctured lightly by the sound of your heavy breath which you tried desperately to keep in check. Some small part of you was still in some sort of disbelief, wanting to fervently deny that any of this was happening. This is just a dream right? I’ll wake up back in bed, I’ll get up and call Jack, and he’ll be alive and well. None of this is real. It can’t be real...

“I want to see him. Please, just let me see him. Let me at least say goodbye”.

You hadn’t taken much notice of your surroundings on your way to Statesman Headquarters - everything might as well have been a blur to you from the moment you stepped through the doors to the second you walked off the platform of the elevator towards the medical wing. As soon as you spotted him all sense of decorum and logic was thrown out the window, any sense of composure melting away to nothing the very second his body came into view. Ginger had been beside you, probably as a general gesture to ensure you wouldn’t entirely lose it once you gained a single glimpse of him but alas, as soon as the elevator pulled to a stop and the doors pulled open to reveal a lifeless Agent Whiskey lain across the stretcher, everything you had ever known seemed to fall to pieces from under you. It was as if your entire world had collapsed, had stopped revolving the minute you laid eyes on his lifeless form. Without another seconds hesitation you rushed towards him, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks as you bore witness to the unfortunate result of the tragedy that had struck.

It was as if the floodgates had opened right then and there - once you started crying, the tears just wouldn’t stop. With every ounce of your being you wished that somehow, by some godforsaken miracle, your touch would bring him back, that his eyes would magically flutter open and would greet you with those enchanting brown eyes that you had come to know every day of your life since the moment you had first met. That he would maybe, if only by the simple wish of your heart, say the one thing you were always angling to hear truthfully, in a way that you could put more than a simple faith in. As if you were a broken record, you couldn’t stop repeating his name over and over, like if by some divine intervention that alone would turn the clock back and have him lying next to you, his hand caressing your cheek and firing one of his signature flirty quips at you as you woke up in bed, catching a whiff of that ever-present scent of whiskey that mixed beautifully with his cologne. If only it were that simple. If only that were possible.

Instead you laid a hand against his cold forehead, now devoid of any warmth of life it once felt. Some would say that the dead looked almost peaceful in a way but you saw none of that: even in death Jack somehow looked anguished, like there was something left behind that he wanted to say but simply couldn’t go back to.

“I can’t feel you anymore…” you murmured, your voice wobbling violently. Leaning down towards him, you cradled his head between your palms, whispering his name softly and feeling your own tears decorate his cheeks. Ginger, or maybe somebody else, said something in the background that you couldn’t take any notice of, your mind fixated only on the man you loved and the unfortunate reality that presented itself to you now.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The funeral had only been held a week afterwards. From a planning perspective, it was easy to organise his final affairs - for whatever reason you’d been named as the executor of his will, a fact that came as a shock to you once you had been served the information by the attorney. The two of you weren’t ever married, although you had attempted to float the idea once or twice, and his mother was still alive so it seemed odd to you that of all people to be left in charge of his estate Jack chose you. Emotionally, it had been a taxing revelation for you: on top of having to carry the stinging pain of finding out the man you loved had died, you had to be the one organising his affairs. You knew after leaving the medical wing of Statesmans Headquarters that day that you wanted nothing more than to let your own sorrow overcome you and let yourself fade out of existence, his voice haunting your every waking moment until you finally decided to let go entirely and throw yourself off the brink of insanity. That’s what you felt you deserved anyway.

His funeral had been the worst of it. You had silently prayed that maybe you would have numbed yourself out a bit. The most agonising part of it all were the hoards of people coming up to you asking how you were. It took everything in you to stop yourself from confessing everything. If they knew, they’d hate you. They’d blame you. The gossip would start, the theories and rumours flying high, the whispers you could hear in your head as if they were real. Somehow you’d pulled through, despite the inclination to break down at any given moment. But of course, that wasn’t the end. You’d buried him, now you had to face the mortifying reality of living without him.

With every passing day the memories became stronger. You never told any of them what had happened the last time you saw Jack - you couldn’t tell them. It had been eating at you from the inside ever since you picked up the phone that cursed day, tearing apart your mind and leaving nothing in its wake but heartbreaking grief and despair. It’s your fault. You’re the reason this happened. If you two hadn’t fought, if you hadn’t told him to fuck off on the phone that night, he wouldn’t have gone on that mission. You killed him. You’re a murderer.

All of these thoughts and more wormed their way between different glasses of whiskey, letting you lose track of both time and how many glasses you had. No matter how much you drank though it never dulled the grief nor the guilt that you’d been torturing yourself with from the moment you woke up every day to the moment you went to sleep. Actually, even in your sleep you couldn’t escape it, being plagued by nightmares and the like increasing in degrees of terror the longer they went on. It was why you now avoided any sort of conscious effort to sleep, only succumbing when you’d become so drunk that you had bent yourself over the back of the couch and cried as much as your body would let.

You swore to never let anyone know what had happened, that Jack and you had technically broken up a few days before his death. It already ate at you enough that you had to run over the memories in your mind, every last word you spat at him on repeat for your own infinite suffering. “It feels like wherever we go, she’s there. And she’s so beautiful, and perfect, and dead. I can’t compete with a ghost, Jack”. Scowling to yourself, you scooped up your glass and took yet another sip, feeling nothing but regret towards how everything played out. You didn’t regret what you said - on some level, you still felt it was true. You knew Jack would forever hold a candle for his ex-wife, but you’d grown tired of feeling like you were second place to a dead woman, as if the only reason he kept you around at all was to fill a void that could only truly be filled by the one person he could never have back. It had been selfish of you, in some way, but you’d deserved more. You loved Jack with everything you had, and you wanted him to feel the same way back, and although he swore he did you could plainly see that wasn’t the case.

“Darlin’, please, don’t be like this. You’re my only love and you know that. You’re being ridiculous about all this”

“Then why do you still wear your ring? Why do you get dismissive whenever I try to bring up moving in together, or marriage, or anything. It’s been two fucking years of this. You can do whatever you want, Jack but I’ll tell you one thing: you’ll be doing it alone. I’m out”.

“For fucks sake…” you cursed, slamming your glass back down on the table with a loud thud, your words slurred beyond all comprehension. A few drops of whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the countertop, creating a small puddle on the marbled surface but you didn’t much care. What was the point in caring anyway?

You still had to pack up his home, a reminder that only contributed to your pain. You were supposed to have taken care of that before now, at least a week ago but you couldn’t bring yourself to enter his home. I’ll do it tomorrow...maybe. Yeah, tomorrow. Deciding firmly on that, you sipped the last of the liquor and stumbled off the seat of the barstool, the world spinning around you as you fumbled your way through the dim light of your apartment to where your bedroom was, throwing your intoxicated body amongst the heap of unmade bed sheets and burying yourself within them, crying until you passed out in a deep slumber.

Standing outside the door to Jack’s penthouse apartment, you stared forward with a muted expression upon your face, the key to his place gripped firmly between your fingers as if it would disappear from your hands at any moment. You’d been there for a good five minutes by then, meaning to break out of your state of catatonia to only be stopped again by yourself, kicking off a seemingly endless cycle in which you remained stuck in front of his door. You knew you had to go in there eventually: it wasn’t like everything of his would magically disappear if you just ignored it. It was still hard though, since you knew the moment you stepped through the door you’d be hit by the unmistakable scent of him. Almost like you were crossing a threshold of sorts, only with a feeling of emptiness on the other side instead of anything resembling happiness. Seeing his things would only remind you of how he wasn’t there among them, where he should be, which spiralled onto other thoughts, such as reminiscing on his gorgeous brown eyes and that honeyed southern accent you adored on him, and everything else that once made your heart spark with love. You felt your breath tremble as your knuckles turned white from holding the key with such might. This was a bad idea. You weren’t ready for this. Maybe you should just go home and call it a day.

No. You have to do this now. You might as well rip the bandaid off, lord knows you’ll have to do it eventually anyway.

Keeping your breath paced, you raised your shaking hand to the lock of the day, slowly inserting the key and twisting it until you heard the unmistakable click inside. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed open the double doors and pulled yourself inside, your high heels clicking on the linoleum floors.

Everything was exactly how you’d last seen it, how Jack had last left it. Not that you expected any different of course. The only people who had probably been there in the past two weeks since his death were people from Statesman to collect various bits of the agency's technology and other gadgets Jack had left lying about. You never knew much about his life as part of the secret service: during your relationship Jack had preferred to stay off the subject of his job as much as possible. He even said himself that you shouldn’t have known about his double life in the first place but when it became too obvious that keeping it from you was going to hurt your relationship with him in the long term he’d sought permission from his boss to have you cleared on the most basic of intel. That never bothered you in the slightest - the least you knew about the agency, the better, a view Jack wholeheartedly agreed with you on. You didn’t know him as Agent Whiskey, top agent to Statesman Secret Service trained in espionage. You knew him as Jack Daniels, the cocky womanizer who chased anything in a skirt, the gentleman who had always managed to sweep you off your feet whenever he was around, and the man you had once dreamt of marrying before things went south.

All around you were familiar places and objects, things that brought back so many memories yet felt hollow and empty as you looked upon them now. If things were right, he’d be there too, perhaps in the kitchen preparing dinner for you, knowing that you couldn’t resist coming over again even if it was the third time that week. Or maybe he’d be on the couch, reclining back with a glass of whiskey and a book, turning his head back to take a gander at you, shooting one of his signature smirks and making a remark about how incredibly gorgeous you looked. Without him, the space felt sullen and void of life, the dust settling on every surface from remaining untouched for two whole weeks by then.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and tried as best you could to sort out your thoughts, detaching it as much as you were able to from the memories being back in that apartment brought. His mother already came to you and asked to have a box of certain things belonging to Jack given to her. You knew she was already going through a hell of a rough time herself, her only son winding up dead. She never knew about his life as an agent, being fed a cover story by Statesmans team in order to maintain their secrecy. A bit of you felt jealous of her for that. She would never know the truth, whereas you had to live every day for the rest of your life knowing what happened, being made aware of your own part to play in his fate every hour, every minute, every second.

The rest of it, well, you had no idea what to do with it. You thought it would be best to box up as much of his personal items as you could, either to keep for yourself or to hand back to his family, and arrange to have the rest of the furniture sold or given away to a charity shop or something. Moving towards the living room, you began to scoop up the different framed photos you found around the apartment. Some were of him as a kid, either on a horse or in different shots with his family, already sporting that heart melting smile of his. A lot of them were of you and him on various dates - one you stopped to pour over was of the two of you at a diner in Brooklyn, you taking the photo and Jack taking a sneaky swipe of your sundae in the background while you were distracted. You remembered that day so well: he’d just come back from a particularly rough mission in Russia, one that he’d had to stake out for weeks, so it was the first time you’d seen each other in about a month. You looked at how happy you were in that picture, the sight of such joy bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. What you wouldn’t give to have those days back, the easier times, before the distance, the fights, the feelings of being second place to a ghost and of course, his own tragic death at the end of it all.

At last you made your way to his bedroom, clutching onto the stack of photo frames as if they were a lifeline. You fought with everything in you the urge to just drop everything and crash down onto his bed, cradling one of his shirts in your hands to try to get a whiff of him, pretending that he was still there for only a few seconds. Rather, you walked over towards his bedside table and set the stack of frames down, crouching to your knees and biting back the teardrops threatening to fall from your eyes. It’s ok. You don’t have to do it all in one go. Just gather together some of his personal stuff, and then you can leave.

Opening the drawer, your eyes flitted between the various trinkets and things he’d accumulated, searching to see if there were anything personal that his family might want back when your gaze was instantly drawn to a stark white letter shoved towards the back of the drawer. Scooping it up in your hands, you furrowed your brow as you inspected it further, only to have your breath catch in your throat once you saw your name written in his unmistakable cursive on the front.

Immediately you stood yourself up from the floor, your mind rushing into overdrive while you stared at the letter in your palms, hesitantly trailing your fingers up to the top of the envelope to tear it open. Out of all the things to find in Jack’s drawer, you definitely weren’t expecting this. You had no clue what it could be, when it was written or even if you should read it at all. Should you just put it back in the drawer and pretend you never found it? Though you supposed it was a bit too late for that, on account of you practically ripping the top of it open. With a hint of uncertainty, you reached into the envelope and lifted the letter out onto your lap, opening it to reveal its contents.

The first thing you noticed was the date in the top right corner - April 22, two weeks ago, a day before he went on that mission and met an unkind fate. That alone was enough to make your heart stop, so when your eyes travelled down the page to read the rest of the letter, you might as well have dropped dead right then and there from the sheer pain that was struck through your heart.

I was a damn fool for letting you get away. You and I both know that my dearly departed wife will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know you understand that. I didn’t want to admit it until now but I had been becoming distant - every time you brought up marriage, or anything more I’d get scared. Scared of...well, a lot of different things. Of repeating the same tragedy with you, in some way. Some part of me was worried marrying you would be dishonoring my late wife’s memory as well. It’s no wonder you walked out when you did. I don’t blame you for your choice, but please allow me to say my piece at least. You never were second to anyone, sweetheart. As much as I will always love Lily, my heart belongs to you here and now. Missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won’t you come back to me? No matter whether or not you chose to forgive me, or even entertain the idea of givin’ me another chance, I just want you to know that I love you, honeybee. I’ll be waiting for you today, tomorrow, and forever, down in dark blue Tennessee.

- Jack

Every word you read was like another stab to the heart for you, the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in now pouring down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your throat as you collapsed back to the floor with a thud, your heart racing a million miles a minute. There it was, all written down in hasty cursive script - the apology that he never got to give, hidden away in the back of his bedside drawer like an afterthought. Knowing him he’d probably written it out and intended to give it to you before he left for his mission but decided against it for whatever reason. And that final sentence...Tennessee. He mentioned Tennessee. The place where you’d grown up, where you’d lived almost your entire life before moving to New York. The place where you’d met Jack all those years ago, down in a local bar. You’d been visiting your parents for the week, he’d been there meeting with an investor for Statesman. By some stroke of luck you two had crossed paths, hitting it off and becoming infatuated within mere moments, one thing leading to another until eventually you’d woken up in his bed the next morning. The way you’d initially thought it’d only wanted a one night stand but then became something more. It was all flooding back to you now, triggered by only a few sentences written down on a letter that was never sent. You didn’t know what to do, or what to think. The only thing you could do in that moment was lean your head back against the bed and choke on your own sobs, muttering his name over and over for what felt like forever, holding the now crumpled and tear stained letter in your hands.

The hours ticked by, though you took no notice, and when you do eventually move, it’s not to leave the apartment. Your eyes barely leave the ground when you walk, stumbling from room to room in search of a bottle of wine or something stronger to drown your own sorrows in, kicking off your shoes haphazardly and without much care. When you bump against the liquor cabinet, you can hear something fall and shatter off the top, and when you walk back through the shards of glass with the bottles in your hands, you don’t even wince when one pierces your foot. With thin streams of blood trickling from the cut on your sole, you’ll flick the top off the first bottle you reach for, letting the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat, spiralling you down deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until finally, the moment comes where you can close your eyes and slip into that familiar void of darkness that you greeted with open arms, those last conscious thoughts being an apology of your own that no one ever got to hear. I’m sorry, Jack...

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

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darylandbethfanforever9 · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 5

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, past flashbacks of sexual assault, descriptions o torture, racial hate and forced abortion. Not Tony Stark friendly.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, past Clint/Laura, eventual Clint/Yelena and Frank/Karen.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a young woman, he starts to realize that maybe his past isn’t too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

Nat was acting weird. Clint usually was a very noticeable guy. He may be the man that never misses, but he was also the man that could read people like a book. And right now, Nat was acting very much not like herself, even with her usual stoic face.

He felt like she was hiding something from him and Laura, which made him conflicted. He knew Natasha's past with the Red Room was horrific, but she was keeping something secret, and had been on the phone to a woman last night. She usually never went on calls late at night. Sighing, he texted Laura to let her know that he was alright and that the kids were settling into school. After Tony had exposed their location to Thaddeus Ross, he'd had to move them to the outskirts of New York. He frowned when he saw Natasha in the conference room, running the facial recognition software. The tech had been created by Pym Industries and X-Con Security Consultants, as Stark Industries' facial recognition software was for more expensive and didn't always work. "What are you doing, Nat?" he asked quietly. Natasha ignored him as he entered the room. She was reading a file that was in Russian. "Trying to find out who this mysterious woman is, Clint. Steve isn't exactly talking to me right now, so I have to do this on my own," she answered harshly, causing him to grimace at her answer. Steve and Natasha's relationship had become strained after she had survived Voromir and revealed that she had been pregnant. Then she had suddenly broken up with Steve, devastating the man. He knew how much Steve loved Natasha. He'd been a shell of himself after Natasha had supposedly died. The man was far more guarded now and simply kept things civil with Natasha. "You should have told him, Nat. He loves you and it clearly shows in the way that he looks at you," he argued firmly, trying to understand why Natasha was acting this way. Natasha refused to acknowledge Clint's words. She knew Steve loved her, but she just didn't feel like she wanted children. She was upset that she had miscarried, but she hadn't been sad in the same manner as Steve had been.

Ana had gotten ready for Sharon's art gallery. She had decided to wear a red dress for tonight made with red satin and had a V-neck. It would partially show the faded burns on her chest, but no one would hardly notice them. She didn't like thinking about the burns, or the agony they had caused. It was better to just forget about it. She finished applying her makeup, adding some eyeliner and grabbed her handbag. She had put a knife in there, along with her cell phone and lipstick, before heading out. The car was waiting for her outside the building, and with a quiet smile, it drove her across High Town to where Sharon lived.

Bucky had left Sharon’s after a little but to head back and get ready for the real art show tonight. While he did, he had memorized everything for the mission, including his backstory and the reason as to why he was in Madripoor, looking at himself in the mirror. He'd showered, and let some slight stubble grow on his face for tonight. He was wearing a black blazer, black trousers, and a black shirt. He nodded to himself as he left the bedroom and said goodbye to Alpine. The cat meowed at him affectionately, before going to sit on the bottom of the cat bed. He'd made sure that no one would be able to break into the house, using the security system to its best advantage for heading out. He left his place after making sure he had everything that he needed, including his gun, a knife, and keys. He walked to the motorcycle, getting on, and quietly drove to Sharon's house.

The party was in full swing when Ana arrived at the house. She smiled at Conrad, who had already arrived and was with his girlfriend. He raised a glass to her from the corner as she approached. Sharon was showing a client some beautiful paintings as she wandered around, admiring the art gallery. She was about to ask Sharon about a Van Gough painting when a strange silence fell over the room as most eyes headed towards the door. Curiously, she turned around to see a young man with short dark brown hair, dressed in clothes that made it clear he was part of the Russian Mafia. Her brow raises in surprise. His eyes though were what caught her attention. They were a dark grey, like a wolf's eyes. She couldn't shake off the feeling…that they had met before but where? No, no way. She hadn't met anyone like that. Or at least…her memory sucked. "Everyone, this is one of my clients who has come from Moscow, Russian. His name is Yakov Surkov," Sharon said calmly, introducing the man, who nods. Ana got the sense that this man was dangerous. "He's a Russian mobster," Conrad whispers to her discreetly as they turned back around. "He doesn't do the usual Mafia stuff, but he sells weapons to resistance groups who fight dictators." She raised an eyebrow at his words, watching the man intently as he walked up to the bar to get a drink. She wasn't surprised when he ordered a Ruskova vodka to drink. The party returned to normal quickly after, with many people returning to what they had been doing. She excused herself from Conrad, whispering that one of the paintings he was looking at would be hers to which he laughed, and sat at the bar contently. She enjoys her glass of red wine, when she got the sense that someone was watching her. She glances up and feels herself smile when her eyes dance across the room at Yakov, who had been looking directly at her. Without breaking contact, he downs his drink before standing, walking over to her. Ah, a man of confidence, she could see. However, as he moved closer, a weird sense of peace settled over her. Conrad had told her who he was, what he did, but coming over to her, she didn't feel fear. In fact, his eyes almost felt familiar. It was such a strange sensation. But even so, she didn't let it show on her face. "You came over her nice and quick," she remarks, her brow raising. "Almost like you're on a mission." "What can I say? When I see something, I like, I know what I want." Okay, now that brought some colour to her cheeks. He was smooth. "For a Russian man, your English is very good." "I've been around them enough in the past for me to know. Takes some practice but you learn to work with it well." He reaches out and holds her hand, bringing it to his lips in a kiss. "Yakov Survok." Oof, he was pulling out all the stops. She couldn't remember the last time she had been treated with such respect from a single man. Surely not of this year, that's for sure. However, she still had her smarts ahead of her, and knew that it wouldn't be too brilliant if she gave out her regular name. So, she instead smiles and states back another name. "Maria Kapitonova. It's a pleasure to meet you." He lowers her hand again, smiling. "A pleasure to meet you as well." He glances around and gestures to this. "You been going to this for some time? I've never seen you around." "You've been here before?" "Couple of occasions," Yakov states quietly. "Usually for business reasons, but I've been to Sharon's a couple of times, trying to find the right piece for back home. However, I recently decided to move here all together." Ah, so he was in the area? Good to know. "To be honest, I haven't been here that often," she states lightly. "I only just recently showed up in the city…had some high friends in some good places so they got me into this big shindig. Sharon is a nice woman…smart one too." "That she is," he agrees before raising an eyebrow at her. "So, you're new to Madripoor?" "I am, yes." "Well, obviously you do know the city…isn't necessarily safe." Ana chuckles a bit. "Trust me, I know. But I think it was exactly what I needed. A change of scenery. Last place I was in was far too cold." The man snickers a bit. "I've heard that the summers in Madripoor are beautiful. I look forward to it." She looks back at him. "Then why did you move here?"

"As you said. A change of scenery," he agrees lightly. "It can be quite cold in Russia too." Ana smiles a bit and nods. "That is true…I've been there as well. All over the world. It's almost like people, in a way." At his furrowed brow, she continues. "Every person has warm and cold parts in a way. When you're close to someone, you get to see their warm parts, but if you anger them, the cold parts emerge, as vicious as ever. But even in the cold you can find warmth sometimes, and coldness withing the warmth – if that makes any sense." She found herself chuckling at the end. "I'm sorry. Maybe the wine is getting to me." Yakov chuckles before shaking his head. "No, I…I get it, really." He glances at the ground. "God knows I've had my fair share encounter with warm and cold places within me." Ana could see a bit of a fight in his eyes, glancing at the ground. He clearly had some sort of past, and for a moment, she forgets that they were practically strangers and reaches out, squeezing his arm. It causes him to look up. "We all do. That's the beauty of people. They're complex and wonderful in every way. If you're not willing to accept all parts of someone, then why even try?" That causes him to smile as well, although this one was smaller. "That is true…a beautiful statement for a beautiful woman." Ana rolls her eyes. "Now you're just saying that." "I mean it," he argues back, but there was a certain twinkling in his eyes that had her smiling. She takes the last sip of her wine, standing. "Well…thank you, Yakov." She clears her throat, remembering that she wasn't here to flirt with men. She needed to focus on actually getting the art she needed. "I have to use the restroom, but after that I plan to peruse the art here. Do you want to join me?" "I'd love to," he answers back with a smile. "Good," she responds back, offering her own grin before turning around, grabbing her purse, and heading to the restroom. Jeez, she hadn't felt something like that in…God knows how long. She wondered what Yakov had to offer her. Maybe being friends with a mafia man would benefit her greatly.

God-fucking-damn, she was gorgeous. As soon as Bucky had arrived back at Sharon's place for this whole party she was throwing for the art, she had directed him directly to where the mystery woman she knew was sitting at the bar. And while Bucky of course followed up on her and began to talk to her, trying to learn her name – Maria, of all things, but he knew that was most likely a front – and all about her for his own case, he couldn't deny the beauty that she had.

She had the most beautiful eyes that he had ever seen, a light grey that he compared to opals. She had wavy dark brown hair that was almost black but had a mahogany colour. She was tall, but barely reached his height. The red silk dress flattered her figure and emphasized the curves she had. He noticed a few men were watching her as she left for the restroom, her hair glowing in the disco lights. She was most certainly a looker, that was for sure. "Enjoying the party, Yakov?" a voice asked with amusement. He turned around to see Sharon had come over to the bar, and had ordered herself a Piña colada, eying the drink that he was drinking. "It's enjoyable, Miss Carter. And I just met the delightful Maria Kapitonova. She's a charming young woman," he answered smoothly as he saw a young woman with blonde curly hair enter the art gallery and go to the restroom. "That she is. She's friendly with Conrad Mack, the Smiling Tiger, Melissa Gold who is known as Songbird and two hackers called Polina Astakhova and Evan Drake. She's making a name for herself in this city - plus she's laid down some ground rules for everyone," Sharon said impressed. After a moment however, she turns him around, looking at him carefully. "Be careful, Bucky. She's not like most of the people who live here but she's dangerous. She's killed at least three folks who didn't abide by the new rules," she said warningly. Before he could reply, Maria returned from the restroom, her bag in her hands. "I'd love to see the new art collection you've acquired. Sharon, I heard from Conrad and Melissa that you have some art nouveau pieces?" Maria asked curiously. She'd loved the art nouveau art and architecture. Bucky takes her up on that. "I'd like to see this art collection as well, Sharon. I have a deep fondness for Art Deco, and Art Nouveau style," Bucky added, genuinely interested. Sharon smiled, as she showed them the collection upstairs, moving along gracefully through the halls until they arrived where it was. Bucky admired the paintings on the wall, knowing fully well that these paintings and sculptures were the real deal. Most of the paintings and sculptures in the museums and art galleries, including the Louvre, were elaborate fakes. "I'll take those and some of your Asian Art collection as well, Sharon," he answered smoothly, handing her a wad of cash in Russian ruble. She smiled at him as she took it. "You have great taste," she mutters to him, to which he chuckles. Both of them saw Maria admiring the one of the paintings on the wall, before she turns to Sharon. "I'd like to buy this and a few other pieces," she said softly. Sharon smiled and arranged to have them sent to her house, as well as Bucky's place.

The party continued going on in their absence. Bucky noticed that some people were smoking marijuana. He didn't have a problem with people taking it. He knew Leah smoked the painkiller to help relive her back pain she'd gotten from a car accident during the Decimation. It had nearly paralyzed her. He glanced up at the grandfather clock to see the time and was astonished to see it was 2:30 AM in the morning. He saw a young woman with silver hair that had pink highlights at the front, and she came over to greet Maria. So she was using an alias to keep her real identity a secret? On that he didn't blame her. If Thaddeus Ross found out that there was another survivor of the Red Room aside from Natasha and Yelena, then things would get ugly. He would check in with Steve, Sam, and Wanda along with the others tomorrow. He went to say goodbye to Sharon and Maria, and found them talking to Conrad Mack, his girlfriend Jeannette and Melissa. "You heading off, Yakov?" Conrad asked amused. The Russian mobster had a cat that he was fiercely protective of. God help the idiot who tried to hurt it. They'd have the White Wolf hunting them down, like John Wick. "Tired from the flight. The party was wonderful Sharon. And it was lovely to meet you, Maria," he said smoothly, kissing Sharon on the left cheek. She flushed, chuckling a bit. Deep down Bucky hoped Sam wouldn't get upset about that. He knew there was something brewing between the two. He smiled at Maria, shaking her hand. He could smell her perfume from where he was. It smelt of lilies, red roses, and cherry blossoms. "I hope to see you again, Yakov," Maria said softly. He smiled at her as he watched her go inside and got onto his bike before taking off.

Steve, Sam, Wanda, Clint and T'Challa were in the conference room with Fury looking over the photos. They had been taken by Bucky when he had been at Sharon's art gallery. "Ok, so I've identified most of the guests at the party. Conrad Mack also known as the Smiling Tiger, was there with his fiancé, Jeanette Deveraux. Now, believe it or not, his criminal record isn't that bad. He sells marijuana to people on low incomes, and he is an arms dealer, but he sells weapons to Algeria, where there is a civil war going on due to the former prime minister coming back and trying to make a dictatorship," Amy explained patiently. "What about the chick with the gorgeous breasts and pink highlights? Did our Manchurian Candidate I.D. her as well?" Tony asked rudely, causing most of the team to stare at him in disgust at his cruel jibe towards Bucky. "Stark, don't call Bucky that. It's insensitive and unkind," Sam said firmly, before Steve could speak in defense of his friend. Tony had becoming very unkind towards Bucky since he had joined the Avengers. Tony started laughing at Sam's words, an expression of disbelief, contempt and disgust on his face. "Oh I'm sorry, Wilson - or wait is it Captain America? You think I shouldn't be unkind and insensitive to the bastard who strangled my mother to death and is the reason the team broke up?!" he shouted angrily, slamming his fist on the table. The piece of furniture rattled violently, and Peter squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "It wasn't Bucky's fault, Mr. Stark. He is as much as a victim of HYDRA as were your parents," T'Challa said compassionately, but firmly to the man. "I don't care. He killed my goddamn mother! Because of Barnes and the man who I call father, I lost my mother, and Rogers had the nerve not to tell me!" Tony raged, his face turning red with anger. "When could I tell you, Tony?" Steve asks. "I didn't know if Zola was telling the truth at the bunker, and everything was a mess. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, sooner. Truly, I am. But you wouldn't answer my calls after retiring from the Avengers and the Accords happened," he reasoned calmly, trying to keep his temper. "Barnes should be rotting in the Raft or be fucking dead. He's a murdering, sociopathic bastard who ruined my life! He's the reason why Morgan doesn't have a grandmother!" Steve's hands turn to fists, but he refuses to yell. He wouldn't stoop so low as to lose his temper. So instead, he stands, aiming at him. "You don't think that Bucky feels that every day? You don't think he hasn't apologized and tried to make amends with every damn person he's hurt in the past? If anything, you don't even have the right to talk, because you've had so many people that you have hurt in the past as well. Do you deserve to be rotting away?" "You want to know everything I've done for this organization? For this country? I know that we've hurt others and we've tried to redeem that by singing the Accords and trying to make things right! Barnes was a literal psychopath that, just because we choose to believe what the Wakandans did, he's out there right now just living when he could snap at any moment!" T'Challa raises an eyebrow. "Are you questioning the power of Wakandan technology?"

Tony sighs and raises a hand to T'Challa. "I have nothing against you or your power, your highness. Your tech is great. My issue is with the current former assassin that is on the streets!"

"Will you two sit down!" Fury snaps angrily, causing the two of them to let out a puff of anger before doing so. "I know that you two don't get along but for the love of God get your damn selves together, because if don't figure out what is going on, then we might have another fucking breach." He angrily waves his hand. "Tony, the rest of your team head out and do a bit more research on Madripoor. Steve, called up Barnes and get more info. And when we get back, you two act like fucking adults."

"Yes, sir," was a collective muttered response.

Steve saw Tony glare at him before getting up, heading out with the others. Steve goes to talk to him but feels someone reach out to him, and he turns to see Wanda, shaking her head.

"It's not worth it," she says softly.

Steve sighs before running a hand along the back of his head, and turning around. "You're right." He looks to Sam and Wanda, who then he nods towards the meeting room. "Let's go call up Bucky."

#bucky barnes fanfiction #dark bucky barnes/oc #eventual dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes/original female character #steve rogers/natasha romanoff

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terramythos · 3 years

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TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 15 of 26

Title: Tehanu (Earthsea Cycle #4) (1990)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Third-Person, Female Protagonist

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 6/24/2021

Date Finished: 6/30/2021

Decades after The Tombs of Atuan, Tenar decided to settle down and live an ordinary life on the shepherding Isle of Gont. Now a farmer’s widow, she adopts a disfigured and horrifically abused child, who she names Therru. When a giant dragon deposits a grief-stricken Ged at her doorstep, Tenar finds herself in a strange situation as she cares for her old friend and her adopted daughter. But threats from Therru’s past and a malevolent force on the island soon threaten Tenar’s small family.

Despair speaks evenly, in a quiet voice.

Content warnings and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Violence and death. Mentioned murder. Severe child abuse. Descriptions of traumatic injury and disfigurement. Mentions of r*pe, including of children. Trauma, sexism, and ableism are explored in depth.

Tehanu is a much different book than the trilogy that precedes it. Perhaps this is unsurprising, considering the 17-year gap between this book and The Farthest Shore. I’d describe the Earthsea series as “grounded fantasy”. While all of them take place in a magical world, the thesis of each book is universal; the fantasy always comes second. Tehanu takes this idea to an extreme. The story is about everyday life as a common woman in the Earthsea world, with fantasy barely factoring in. The pacing is intentionally slow and introspective, which is something I normally don’t like, but Le Guin is a consistent exception.

Key characters from the previous books make an appearance. Obviously Tenar is the biggest return, absent since The Tombs of Atuan. The Tenar in this book is older and much more mature, having decided to live a simple life in spite of her adventures and accomplishments. Ged returns, but he’s a shell of his former self, as he mourns the loss of his magic and the man he used to be. Even King Lebannen (formerly Arren, the main character of The Farthest Shore) makes a brief appearance, and is quite a palate cleanser after the horrible men throughout the rest of the book.

Probably my favorite aspect of the novel is the fact that these characters stand well on their own without magic to prop them up. Tenar explored the terrifying freedom she won in The Tombs of Atuan; got married, settled down, had kids — but still finds herself at a loss on what to do with her life after her husband dies. Ged is in a similar boat; he’s gone from an almost mythic character to an ordinary man, and like Tenar finds himself at a crossroads in life. Other characters embody this idea of transformation and uncertainty; Therru’s escaped her abusers and now has a loving mother, but what does the future hold for someone with her appearance? Stuff like that.

The idea of metamorphosis and new beginnings is well-trodden. But what makes Tehanu interesting is Le Guin primarily examines this with the middle-aged characters. Tenar and Ged are legendary figures in the world of Earthsea, but life has taken them to an uncertain future. The thrust of the novel lies in finding a purpose and becoming someone new. I also like that Tenar/Ged is endgame; I got Vibes from The Tombs of Atuan, but neither character was in a position where it would work. Seeing them form a romantic relationship much later in life is touching and cute. But it’s not the reason that either of them grow as people; finding one’s purpose is something one has to do on their own. Their relationship only develops once both parties have done so.

My main complaint about A Wizard of Earthsea, the first book, is the sexism inherent in the setting, which is never examined below the surface level. Perhaps Le Guin’s outlook changed, or perhaps the publishing environment did, because often Tehanu reads like a response to this criticism. The central theme of the book is misogyny, the patriarchy, and its debilitating effects on women. Le Guin examines everything from micro-aggressions (“common wisdom” that happens to paint women as inferior) to domestic issues (“women’s work” and how much that actually is) to outright sexual assault (both in threats and actual acts; it is heavily implied this is part of the abuse Therru endured). She even goes into how powerful women are only considered as such because a man gave them that power.

While I appreciate the fact she addresses these issues in such a frank, blatant way, at times reading Tehanu felt like reading a basic feminism primer. These subjects are all things I’m familiar with, and I feel like anyone who’s studied key feminist ideas would be aware of them also. Maybe 1990 was different? Le Guin doesn’t add any insights to the bleak reality of patriarchy and sexism, which is a little disappointing compared to previous books. That being said, this book is aimed at young adults despite its dark subject matter. Tehanu could be the first exposure to these ideas that many children receive; looking at it that way, it makes sense that the analysis comes off as basic.

I also found the book’s examination of gender to be very cishet-normative. That’s definitely not surprising, considering the book was published in 1990, but to a 2021 reader this hasn’t aged super well. There’s a lot of discussion about the relationships and differences between men and women--whether there are any or not, how magic differs between them, the ability to bear children, and so on. There’s a weird sexual component to this, like how wizards (who are exclusively men) have to remain celibate in order to… keep being wizards? But women who are witches don’t have to do that, and that’s an advantage women have? (There’s mentions of male witches too, iirc, but it’s not expanded upon— do they have to remain celibate? Who knows.). I found this whole bit pretty odd and unnecessary, although I realize a lot of my perspective on the matter comes from a modern view of sex and gender (and, y’know, being trans). Not all the gender takes in the book are bad, but they are limited.

I found Le Guin’s exploration of trauma and ableism through Therru to be more interesting. There’s a lot of examination about how society treats Therru, a survivor of unspeakable abuse. Her trauma is visible due to severe burns along part of her body, leaving her with a missing eye and disfigured hand. Tenar spends much of the novel wondering what future Therru has; no matter how capable she is and how much she acts like any other little girl, strangers gawk at her, or assume she “deserved” what happened to her. Therru becomes happier and more independent over the course of the novel, but relapses into a traumatized state when she encounters one of her abusers. As a survivor, it’s heartbreaking and distressingly realistic. As much as I like Tenar, I almost wish the novel was from Therru’s perspective (other than the brief jump at the end), but I realize it would spoil the ending.

I’m torn on the ending because, while I thought it was cool and had some interesting revelations, it’s a jarring tonal shift. As I mentioned, Tehanu is a slow novel with a heavy focus on everyday life, and the trials and tribulations both Tenar and Therru experience. There’s even a climactic event a few chapters before the end; the only thing left is a persistent loose thread from earlier in the novel. That subplot explodes to the forefront a bare chapter and a half before the end of the book, and a lot of action-y fantasy stuff happens. It doesn’t come out of nowhere; it’s set up throughout the novel, but it is sudden.

That being said, I do like that the subplot with dragons vs humans is hinted at as early as The Tombs of Atuan. When Tenar tells the legend about the origin of dragons early in the story, my mind immediately went to that one room from the Labyrinth with the sad winged humanoids painted on its walls. I’m curious if there are hints elsewhere in the series. I also figured out Therru’s true name and how she relates to that subplot based on context clues. While it’s not a shocking twist, it is a satisfying one. Though parts of it gave me a “magical destiny” vibe which is counter to much of the series so far; I do wonder how the last two books will address this. (Also… did Le Guin imply Kalessin is Segoy? AKA God? What did she mean by this. So Ged literally like… hitched a ride from God, who promptly yeeted out of the story until the end? That’s kind of funny. Maybe I misinterpreted something.)

I probably sound critical of this book, but I did genuinely enjoy it. It just didn’t speak to me the way the previous two did. The next book is a short story collection before the conclusion to the series, so we’ll see where it goes! Tehanu set some stuff up that I expect will be expanded upon in these volumes.

#8/10 #taylor reads #2021 reading challenge

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 3 years

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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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eveninglottie · 4 years

Note

Hi!! Just finished your ongoing fic Stares Hide Your Fires and I absolutely love it. It’s been a while since I haven’t read any HP related fics and yours rly made want to read more and more. That’s why I’m asking if you have any HP fics you fancy? That you would recommend to me? Thank you and I’ll wait patiently for the next update :)))

OH HI I’M SORRY THIS IS SUCH A LATE RESPONSE. I will skip over the “brain went on vacation due to [insert horrific catastrophic event happening in the united states at any given moment]” apology and just say that hey. I’ve been preoccupied. Also playing a lot of D&D. An obscene amount of D&D, really.

ANYWAY thank you so very much for this wonderful question!!! I’m so glad you liked SHYF (also hello that’s a fun acronym) and I am also so very sorry that I haven’t updated in forever. Read above.

To start with I’d say you can look through my bookmarks for the pairing, as I did go through a big binge about this time last year, actually, and I’ve got a lot bookmarked! There’s a pretty good range of ratings as well, so if you’re not into one or the other there are more to choose from <3

As far as recs, I will forever and always say that @astolat‘s fics are what made me want to write Drarry. I inhaled all of her fics without realizing that she was also one of my favorite authors. She includes a lot of themes about old, dark magic and the ideas of the origin of magic (specifically regarding the fair folk, which is another reason why I started writing Drarry, because, let’s just say I’ve always had that little story kernel in my head). They’re so well-written, and fun, and dark, and twisty, and I reread them all the time.

I don’t do a lot of deep dives through the tags, so for the most part my favorite fics are the ones that are most popular lol. BUT! A few specific recs:

Trouble My Old Friend by @tepre - IT’S JUST SO FUCKING GOOD. It’s angsty as hell and everyone is a mess and I loved it so much (also V spicy pls read the tags because it is, again, V spicy) and if you like that kind of thing read it. Honestly? I recommend all their stuff. Just go through all of it.

Midnight in the City of a Thousand Spires by @shiftylinguini - I cried big fat ghibli tears, friend. I loved it so much. Also kinda dark but you know what that’s my jam. Vampires and Prague and strange and ominous nightly apparitions it’s just *chef’s kiss*.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 - Maybe the one Drarry fic I’ve read and reread the most? This is one that I keep coming back to, because it’s really complicated and messy and it’s so fucking good. It’s got weird house magic and boys being traumatized idiots who fall in love despite their best efforts. Phenom. Truly.

And thank you for your patience! I know it’s been a long time. I do have every intention of continuing and maybe one day finishing, and you’re a sweetheart for taking the time to send me this message.

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 36

Chapter Summary - Tom goes to bring Mac Tíre for a walk, only to realise Danielle is home early, which leads to a very embarrassing situation.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum@nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom stuck the ear buds in his ears and pressed play, chuckling to himself for a moment as ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ came on, thinking of a time Elle and Emma were out in London and his little sister thought to ring him to give them a lift back to their hotel rather than catch a cab while both were significantly inebriated, he of course, being the responsible older brother, collected them, but rather than bring them to a hotel, brought them to his place; when they got there, Emma had found his iPod and pressed play, that song again being the one to play, leaving both girls singing, horrifically it had to be said, and trying to act like Shakira, as only two drunken Western European Caucasian women could, badly. They did not fully remember their antics, but Tom did, and it still caused him to laugh as he thought of it.

He went into Danielle’s back garden and gave a small whistle, but Mac did not respond in any manner. Checking the dog’s converted garden shed, he noted it was empty and the heated lamp Elle had put in to keep the dog warm if she was not able to have him in the house was off. Terrified something had happened her dog, Tom looked around the garden frantically, whistling and calling the canine’s name. A single bark caused him to freeze, Mac was in the house. Tom looked up to realise that Danielle’s bedroom curtains were closed. Confused, he walked around the side of the house and only then noticed her car in the driveway. Not entirely sure what to do, he thought to just go through the garden gate and go for his jog, but a moment later, he heard Mac barking frantically before the dog was by his side. He jogged to the back door just as it was closing, gently placing his hand on it to stop it from doing so. A terrified scream from inside caused him to jump back in alarm also.

“Elle?” he pushed the door slightly to see what had caused his girlfriend such alarm.

“Tom? What the fuck?” she shrieked, allowing him in.

“I came to get Mac for his run, I didn’t know you were home, when I called him, he barked from inside. I though he had gotten out.” He explained.

“Why were you over at the side of the house?” she asked.

“I realised your curtains were drawn, so I checked for your car.” He replied sheepishly, pointing to the ceiling.

“Who the fuck do you think it was, Goldilocks?” she laughed in disbelief.

Tom gave a small smile before it fell. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” “I came home three hours ago, I decided to just get my stuff from the hotel and get back, I knew if I tried to drive this morning, I would not get here til tonight. We finished yesterday, well last night, so I just got home, thinking I could sleep til noon.”

“I’m sorry.” Tom wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head. “I’ll bring Mac for a walk and let you get more sleep.” “How can I go back to sleep now, you scared the shit out of me.” “Such a classy woman…oof!” he chuckled as she poked his ribs. “Darling…”

“Mmm.” “Are you falling asleep against me?” “Maybe.”

“Bed.” He instructed.

“You smell good.” She commented into his chest.

“Darling, you need to get back to sleep for a while.” “Okay.” Her tone was almost infantile, but she pulled herself from him and headed for the hallway. “Have good run.”

“Elle, are you heading to the sitting room?” Tom gave her a knowing smile.

“No want stairs.”

Tom chuckled and shook his head, “Come on,” he walked in through the house, leaving Mac Tíre to look at the pair indignantly, thinking he was about to go for a walk as Tom forced Danielle back up the stairs and into her room, dodging the two suitcases expertly as he brought her back to the bed. “In you get.”

“Tom?” “Yes, darling?” “I missed you.” She gave a small smile.

“I missed you too, love.” He grinned.

“Do you love me?”

Tom frowned for a moment, “I thought that was obvious.” “You never said it, though.” She curled up against a pillow.

“I think it’s more important to show it as to say it, don’t you?” He retorted with a smile, knowing she was so exhausted, she probably was not aware she was even talking.

“S’pose.”

“What about you, do you love me?”

“More than I should.” She half groaned into the pillow. Tom’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” There was no response. “Elle, what do you mean ‘more than I should’?” He leant down to be face to face with her, only to see her eyes were closed and her breathing was soft and steady, telling him she had fallen back asleep. He was tempted to wake her, to ask her why she would say such a thing. “Elle?” when she didn’t respond, he went to leave and go for his jog only to realise her hand was firmly gripped to his sleeve. “Elle, leave go, darling.” He tried to cajole her awake enough get her to let go but instead caused her to grip him tighter. “I am not getting out of here, am I?” he chuckled. Shaking his head, he took his jumper off and walked around the bed to get in behind her. “I am going to blame you when I get a ‘middle aged man belly’.” He joked, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her head before getting comfortable and falling into a small sleep himself.

A few hours later, Elle woke to the smell of food being cooked downstairs. “Hello?” she looked into her hand to see a hoodie in her grip, a man’s one, she looked at it in confusion before remembering Tom at her back door looking for Mac a few hours earlier, scaring the living daylights out of her. “Tom?” she called out, but there was no response. Getting out of bed stiffly, she went to the landing, heading to the bathroom before listening intently, hearing Bon Ivor playing, telling her it was her boyfriend downstairs. Grabbing the hoodie that had been in her grasp, she threw it on and went down.

When she entered the kitchen, Mac wagged his tail at her, causing Tom to realise she was awake and turn around, his thumb in his mouth as he had been sucking something off his finger. “She lives.” He smiled, before looking down. “I knew there was a reason you had a death grip on that.”

“Sorry, I’ll give it back in a minute.” She smiled back, walking over to him, snuggling into his chest. “Hello.”

“Hello, love.” He smiled down.

“How was your run?”

“I didn’t go in the end, I took a small nap and went to the shop and got you breakfast.” He commented. “Wait, you were in my bed?” “Yes, you didn’t want to let me leave apparently. I brought you upstairs because you were adamant you were going to sleep on the couch, I couldn’t have that, you are playing hostess tonight.” “So you decided to fill me for a week?” she laughed, looking at the large fry Tom was cooking.

“Well, some is for me.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re after losing weight.” He noted. “Well, you know how set it, meals can be hard to get some days.” She dismissed. “I don’t think I can eat the half of that.” “Why, you love a good fry?” “Not hungry.” At that exact moment, her stomach betrayed her, grumbling loudly.

“Elle?” he looked at her, noticing how she would not look away from the floor. “Elle, what is going on?” “Nothing.” She looked at him for a moment, before looking away again.

“Elle?”

“What does ‘wholesome’ mean to you?” she asked, looking at the food cooking. “Wholesome?” the word immediately registered somewhere in his mind. “Good, proper, why?” then it hit him. “Some of the papers called you that the night we went for dinner with mum.” He turned her round to him. “You think it means they were calling you fat, don’t you?” she didn’t look at him and swallowed. “No, no you are not letting them change you, please Elle, don’t let them do that to you.” He begged. “They meant nothing like that, they meant you were not artificial, Hollywood camera fodder, made to look like a doll, but a proper person.”

“I just…why would you…?” “I love you, Elle.” She looked at him in shock. “You asked me this morning when you were half asleep if I loved you, yes, I do. I didn’t want to say it too early because I didn’t want to scare you, but I love you, exactly as you are.” He stated, looking her in the eye. “Now, I want you to tell me something.” She looked at him in a way that showed she was listening. “What did you mean this morning when you said you loved me ‘more than you should’?” he looked at her to see what she would say.

“I…I have been in love with you for a few years.” She admitted.

“Ye…Years?”

“Yes, which is completely weird and not healthy.”

“I thought you thought I didn’t love you, that you thought that I wasn’t as invested in this as you are.” He smiled, relieved to have figured out what she was talking about. He explained as he played with her hair. “I love you, Danielle, I have done for some time.” He looked at her with such adoration; she could not help but believe it. “Now, I have not seen you in a week, you have had a terrible time in work, and I am due in the US next week, so I am going to treat you as your significant other should, and kiss you.” Grinning widely, he leant down and pressed his lips to hers.

“You suave prick.” She smiled against his lips, pressing her own to his; her hands going almost automatically to his ass.

“You, my dear, are obsessed with that part of me.”

“Have you seen your ass, it got ‘Rear of the Year’?” she argued, “It is fucking delectable.” “I am glad you approve.” He chuckled, pressing her into the wall.

“The food…”

“Damn.” Tom pulled back from her.

“So much for your claim that you can cook a full breakfast at once.” She teased, grabbing a toast. “I mean, seriously Tom.”

Pulling the pan off the heat and saving what he could of the food, he looked at her as soon as the last sausage was rescued. “Oh, you are in for it.” Seeing he was about to pounce, Danielle turned and bolted, squealing loudly as she ran through the door to the hallway before Tom caught her and dragged her to the sitting room. “Caught you.” He gave a wide toothful smile as he pulled her to the couch under him. “You little tease.” She leant up and kissed his nose. “I am going to tease you back.”

The smile fell from Danielle’s face. “Tom, no.” “Why not darling?” “Please, no, I beg you, not that.” “You don’t like when I bring you right to the precipice and then leave you, frustrated and begging.” He teased; his voice deep with arousal.

“Fuck, Tom, don’t you dare.” She snarled, remembering the week before when he did the same to her.

“Tut, tut, when you are giving me lip like that.” he shook his head. He pulled down her sleep pants, knowing she was bare underneath, grinning to already see she had the telltale signs of arousal between her legs. “I cannot wait to put my mouth on your…” “THOMAS!” The pair jumped as they looked to the door to see an appalled looking Diana staring at them.

“Mum!” barely thinking, Tom put himself in front of Danielle, blocking her uncovered body from view. “I…” “The living room? Really?” Diana scolded.

“We…but…” Tom swallowed hard. “I…” “Get up and sort yourselves out, it is clear we need to have a very serious discussion.” She ordered, walking into the kitchen, leaving Tom and Danielle looking at the door for a moment before looking at each other. “Oh, holy fuck.” Danielle put her face in her hands.

“She will just probably give out about the curtains being open.” Tom rubbed her leg in comfort. “I’m sorry, but was your nether regions on full display, because if they weren’t, you don’t get to dismiss my holy mortifying shame!” Danielle hissed. “Fuck.”

“It will be alright, darling. Come on, we better get this over with. And before you ask, she walked in on me before, getting off, more than once I might add. This is less embarrassing, at least this time, there’s a girl here.” He helped pull her up and waited for her to fix herself up before turning to leave.

“Are you really going to walk in there with that bulge in your sweatpants?” Danielle asked.

Tom looked down. “It always looks like that when I have no boxers on.” He dismissed.

“You don’t wear boxers running?” She asked in disbelief.

“They chaff.” Tom shrugged. “Stop procrastinating, let’s go.” He ushered her into the kitchen, neither able to look at Diana as they entered. “I’m sorry you had to accidentally witness that mum.” He stated immediately.

“When I asked if Danielle knew this girl you have been smitten for, I was not aware it was her you were actually talking about,” Diana stated, her tone was deadpan.

Danielle frowned and looked at Tom. “Mum heard the last of our conversation the other day, she figured I had a new girlfriend, and I didn’t want to give anything away.” He explained to Danielle before turning to his mother. “We planned on telling you this weekend, mum, honest. That is not how we planned on doing it.” “I gathered as much Thomas; I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that.” Diana scolded. Danielle felt her cheeks go red, that only caused Diana to focus on her. “How long?” “Over a month,” Tom answered.

Diana looked between them. “I was told a few days after that…girl, but this is kept from me?” there was a distinct note of hurt in her voice.

“It’s why I came this weekend too, mum; we wanted to tell you together.” He walked over to the fridge and took out a cake. “We were going to have a nice cup of tea, sit down and tell you properly.” He explained, showing her that he had ordered a beautiful strawberry cake for them from the bakery a few towns over, her favourite, one Diana only got on special occasions. “This was going to be nice.” His tone showing his own upset at how things faired. “I’m sorry.”

That caused Diana to look between them again, giving them a small smile before she began to laugh. “Well, it may not have gone as anyone planned, but I think it is safe to say, that was a unique way of finding out.” Danielle just cringed. “Oh darling, you think that was bad, you should hear how James’ mother walked in on us when she came to stay, that was about the time Tom was conceived actually.” “AAAAHHHHH, MUM!” Tom pleaded, putting his hands to his ears.

“Oh, so hearing about me is terrible, but witnessing your son strip a girl I love like a daughter is fine?” She challenged.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!” Tom argued.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” Danielle sighed into her hands, her face feeling as though she could cook eggs on it with the shame.

#I Hate you I Love You #chapter 36 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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thisguyatthemovies · 5 years

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We’re not in IKEA anymore

Title: “Midsommar”

Release date: July 3, 2019

Starring: Florence Pugh, Jack Reynor, William Jackson Harper, Vilhelm Blomgran, Will Poulter, Isabelle Grill, Ellora Torchia, Archie Madekwe, Liv Mjones, Anna Astrom

Directed by: Ari Aster

Run time: 2 hours, 20 minutes

Rated: R

What it’s about: A group of young people travels to rural Sweden for a summer festival and finds themselves among a pagan cult.

How I saw it: Watch “Midsommar,” the sophomore effort by “Hereditary” writer/director Ari Aster, and you’ll likely leave the theater confused by everything you’ve witnessed. There’s much to like here, and a lot to not like so much. It’s a film that will have you rehashing it for days in your mind, and it’s fodder for great conversation. And it would seem capable of holding up to multiple viewings, but only if you have the stomach for it. It’s a horror movie, though not solely a horror movie, with a bit of complexity and symbolism and a slew of “WTF?” moments. It’s one of those films that seems to want to draw a line between “love it” and “hate it.” But you’ll have an opinion one way or the other.

“Midsommar,” perhaps even more than an in-broad-daylight horror story, is about a dysfunctional romance between a young, emotionally needy woman, Dani (Florence Pugh), and Christian (Jack Reynor), a heartless dude bro who is being urged by his college buddies (Williams Jackson Harper, Vilhelm Blomgran, Will Poulter) to ditch Dani. But then unspeakable horror happens to Dani’s family, and she needs Christian even more than ever, even if he isn’t capable of being emotionally available. Unbeknownst to Dani, the guys are planning a summer retreat to rural Sweden, where they will attend a festival that happens only once every 90 years. Dani ends up tagging along, and her relationship with Christian deteriorates even more once the group finds itself in the midst of a pagan cult.

The wise thing for Dani and the boys to do would be to run at the first sign of trouble, but this being a horror movie, we know that’s not going to happen. Also, if you travel to a foreign land and are driven out to the middle of nowhere and don’t know what you’re getting into, at a time when you are emotionally unstable, maybe don’t indulge in hallucinogenic drugs. It can’t help. And it doesn’t as Dani, Christian and friends are sucked into the weird Swedish rituals and it becomes clear that the “Midsommar” festival is a lot like the Hotel California – you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Let’s look at the bad and then finish strong with the good:

THE BAD

· “Midsommar” is long (2 hours, 20 minutes) and it’s slow, and that makes it seem even longer than it is. Perhaps this is done to replicate the feel of a multi-day festival that takes place during a time of year in Sweden when there is little darkness and thus not much sense of time. Or maybe it’s just slow because that’s what artsy movies are supposed to do.

· Outside of Dani, the characters aren’t flushed out. Christian and Josh (William Jackson Harper) have a bit of a dispute and rivalry about a thesis paper, but that just leads to one plot point (and a ritualistic death). Will Poulter is clearly playing it over the top as the horned-up Mark, but his main purpose in the movie is to rattle off one-liners that are hit-and-miss funny (he makes a reference to Waco, Texas, that few under the age of 45 will get, and the main audience for this is well south of 45). Christian, Josh, Mark and Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) are almost comically male and privileged. They are annoying, as is Dani, who, when she isn’t on the verge of an emotional breakdown, just gives Christian this weird glare when he is being inattentive and unsympathetic. Seemingly dozens of Swedish people dance around in robes and flowers, and they start to all seem alike, which might just be the point.

· The ending. Without giving all of it away, Christian meets a terrible fate (as do his buddies), one that is perhaps deserved or, depending on your view, perhaps excessive. Christian is by all accounts a terrible person and the worst boyfriend imaginable, but Dani could have left his awfulness behind long before getting on a plane to Sweden. It begs the question: What makes for a stronger woman – breaking free and going on with your life independently and then finding someone who really cares for you, or getting revenge in horrific fashion?

THE GOOD

· The “WTF?” moments. They are intense. And it’s not just the gore, which is brutal by mainstream movie release standards. When someone leaps off a cliff headfirst into rocks below, the results are not going to be pleasant. Nor are they when someone leaps off the same cliff feet-first into the rocks and then must be put out of their misery. Aster doesn’t shy away from showing the mangled bodies up-close. Just as unsettling are a dance marathon to determine the festival’s May Queen, with the participants drugged for good measure; and an orgy in which a drugged Christian has been brought in to impregnate a young village woman as several other women of various ages and body types stand and watch and even give Christian a hand, so to speak. Warning: “Midsommar” shows male full-frontal nudity in a couple of places.

· The cinematography (by Pawel Pogorzelski) is, if at times a bit showy, dazzling. A prologue that tells Dani’s story is so mesmerizing that you could forget how disturbing the content is. Part of the cliff scene is shot from above, giving us a sense of how high the cliff is and how isolated those on top of it are as they await their fate below. When the story shifts to Sweden, everything is awash in sunlit whites and yellows, and while that might not be the stuff of traditional horror stories, it adds to the unsettling feeling. Also, the festival is full of wide-open spaces, and if Alfred Hitchcock taught us anything in the famous airplane sequence in “North by Northwest,” open spaces leave little place for us to hide from the bad stuff.

· The score by the British artist known as The Haxan Cloak (Bobby Krlic). He mixes electronica with acoustic strings and other folksy sounds that perfectly complement the disturbing and yet often beautiful visuals.

My score: 77 out of 100

Should you see it? “Midsommar” is so spectacularly and interestingly shot that it deserves to be seen on a big screen. Whether or not you can stomach some of the content and can be patient enough to wait out a long, slow film is a matter of preference.

#movies #movie review #movie recommendation #midsommar #horror #sweden #ari aster

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crystalelemental · 5 years

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Whenever a game operates as a celebration of a series, and an amalgamation of the concepts included within that series, I inevitably find out my favorite part of the series based on what I’m most excited about seeing coming back. To that end: god, I would kill for the Dusk trilogy on Switch.

So yeah, that’s the big take-away from Nelke.

Nelke, as a game, isn’t fantastic. It’s kinda like EOX, I think. They’re both based entirely in bringing together all the parts of the series to that point, and basically operating as a nostalgia trip through all the entries. But because of that, the game itself isn’t doing much to stand out or endear itself to me. I pushed really hard for a one-playthrough 100% clear, not entirely because of my usual ambition for perfection, but so I wouldn’t have to play the game again.

Atelier games have always been about micromanagement, but Nelke takes it to a whole other level. Mostly because there’s...nothing else to do. You have two phases: weekday and weekend. On weekends, you get to talk to your allies, form bonds and all that, research new items, and investigate areas. Investigation is how you get more materials, so it’s the most critical part of the game, in a sense. Without the new materials, you can’t really progress. But you also need to balance the friendship of the alchemists, because research is critically important, and most of the difficulty with the research is not having the friendship ratings necessary to complete it. On a first playthrough, what this often means is showing a lot of favoritism toward the alchemsts needed for late-game research. So if your favorites aren’t among that group? Yeah, good luck working with both. The worst by far is Klein. He needs max friendship to complete the final item research, but the fucker can’t fight, and is an alchemist. Alchemists increase friendship slower than general population, and worse, not being able to fight means those incidents where you can gain a lot of friendship by taking them along to fight monsters getting close to town? Yeah, he can’t do that. So instead, you have to dedicate one of your conversations each weekend to getting another asinine quest from him. It’s obnoxious. For each weekend, you get 12 points of time. Conversations take up 2, and investigations go until you reach the end, or run out of time. The awkward thing about investigating is that...you kinda just learn to run and stop at exactly the right point to gather. If you get really good at it, you can do two conversations and still collect everything. If you buy the increase to speed on a map, three conversations. Which is nice, but it’s also just kind of weird to structure it like that.

Weekdays, by comparison, are the true micromanagement hell. See, you gathered materials over the weekend, right? Now you have to figure out what to do. First, you have to build stuff. You need ateliers for the alchemists to make items out of your materials. You then need shops to sell those items to generate revenue. You also need production facilities that can make more of some of the materials; so flower gardens make more plants, groves make more fruits, etc. You can also dispatch characters to search for materials in areas you’ve already cleared. Then, once the buildings are done, you set up a shopkeeper, and tell them which one item to sell, and their rating in the category of shop will tell you how much you’re selling. So they determine the amount sold. Alchemists are placed in the ateliers, and you then have a set amount of points for each alchemist that determines how much they can synthesize. Material counts also matter. Now, all this sounds okay, right? But here’s the thing: the game will not tell you what you need. You just have to know. You can tell roughly based on how many items are shown in stock when you set an alchemist to synthesize, but let’s say you have 20 Wheat, and two alchemists set up. Let’s say one is making 5 bread, and each bread takes 3 wheat. Let’s then say you have the other alchemist set to make...I dunno, something else with Wheat, and that item takes 2 wheat per. You set them to make 5 as well. Now, clearly, we’re over budget. They need 25 Wheat total, but you only have 20. The game will not register the conflict. It will say all alchemists will be fine and able to complete it, and only once the count is under what a specific alchemist needs will that alchemist and only that alchemist register the problem. So let’s say instead you did this for a turn and gathered 12 Wheat. Your count hit 0, but you gained 12 between turns, so you go into the next with 12 Wheat. The first alchemist, who needs 15, will register a problem. The second alchemist, who needs 10, will not. So let’s say you forget who’s doing what and don’t thoroughly check the second alchemist here. You adjust the first alchemist down to 4 Bread, which can use that 12 Wheat just fine. The registered problem goes away, and you end your turn, content in your success. Except then it registers that everything you needed isn’t made, and next turn you’re right back where you started, except now the shops are low on stock because you’ve effectively wasted two turns.

That’s the real nightmare of Nelke. The only way to accurately check on this, is to check your main menu Supplies. There, it will have a count of how much will be used, and how much is being gathered. But it won’t tell you where. So if you notice a problem, you now have to sift through your alchemists until you find the problem. So good luck with that, I guess.

Oh, but there’s an alternate way to manage that streamlines it a bit! You can set up your requested items, and have alchemists take on these requests as a commission type work. So you throw in, hey, I need 5 bread, and it will tell you which alchemists can take on that work. It’s a little easier to keep track of...but is horrifically inefficient. Like with any micromanagement system, every point matters, which means if your alchemists are taking on all your item needs but have points left where they could do more? You’re wasting time. Which happens a lot with commissions. You have to go back and check the values each alchemist is at anyway, and add in a few neutralizers or some low-cost item generally used in a lot of synthesis. It gets tedious quick.

But hey, I mentioned fairies and should mention that one. Fairies are great. If you have a large or deluxe facility, you can add one or two fairies respectively. For ateliers, fairies increase the number of items produced. For shops, they increase the number of items sold. It’s basically free. Technically, they have wages, but I’ve never once noticed a problem of finances because of wages. If you’re managing your shit right, the wages are negligible, which raises all kinds of issues with me but that’s not important here. What is important, is that fairies are great.

So how do you get the large and deluxe versions of facilities? You need special town items, unlocked via research, and an abundance of space. So, given that it takes time to research the necessary, you may realize a problem. Basic ateliers need to be established to actually work at all. So when those are done, you have a choice. You can make a new building from scratch, or you can renovate. The sick part? They cost exactly the same amount, so there’s almost no reason to ever renovate. Renovations save absolutely nothing on materials or funding, and knock the atelier/shop being renovated out of commission until they finish, which means shops aren’t stocked and it’s just a huge clusterfuck. But you also need the space for both shops, and space is generally finite.

Oh god, space. Okay, so, there are 8 districts in total. Four of them need you to do extra research on how you could develop the land around that area. When a district is first opened, you only get so much space to operate in. When that’s sufficiently filled, you expand and get another patch to work on, at which point you get another expansion. The expansions can be a huge pain in the ass. If they open up in a certain way, it can really mess with your layout, which is important because you can absolutely fill up a district the wrong way and be unable to do things optimally. “Oh, just fill the awkward spaces with the little decorations.” Yeah, that’s what I mean. Their effects are so minor as to be useless, and they actually take up too much of whatever the square resource is, meaning you can’t place enough facilities to develop into a full-on town or city-level district. It’s kind of a disaster.

But all that said...the game’s really not that hard. Like...at all. If you keep on top of things, there’s basically nothing that challenges you. Fights don’t get difficult until the second to last area, and if you buy the stat increases, you’re basically invincible there too. Cost becomes a problem then, but temporarily. Funds are rarely, if ever, a problem if you’re upgrading when possible. The only time a main assignment seems tough is #8, which requires 3 million cole in sales. But you get 33 turns, and I cleared it in half the time, so...yeah. Nothing they offer is really that tough, it’s just a lot of time invested to just micromanaging.

And that’s basically why Nelke isn’t all that fun. It’s great seeing your favorite alchemists together, and the conversations between characters from across games can be fantastic. But there’s barely any gameplay. It’s mostly managing items and requests, and with no real exploration (every single area is a straight line you just run through with 2, maybe 3 fights per round) or engaging combat, there’s just not much that your alchemists are actually doing. I realize having more to do with this level of character involvement would be really difficult, and I doubt there would have been a better way to do a quick thing like this with more effort, but it doesn’t make for the most compelling thing.

So now, I really just want to replay all the core games, and wish desperate for Dusk Trilogy DX on the Switch.

#nelke and the legendary alchemists

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braindamageforbeginners · 5 years

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A Few Words on Clinical Trials...

14 months, two weeks post-dx

It’s come to my attention that there are people following me on social media hoping I’ll figure out how to survive a deadly disease. Gods bless ‘em; that’s now obviously my core function (well, in addition to figuring out how to get a career and/or life that can survive a brain that not infrequently shudders to a halt and explodes)(which reminds me, I got the car fixed, which is a sort of victory unto itself). So, here’s the deal; full disclosure.

A helluva lot of luck is involved. At every step. First of all, I had my first tumor (probably unrelated, but it’s still extremely suspicious) at age 17, which was successfully and completely surgically removed. However, the longest I’ve gone between MRIs is 12 months, so I was tagged and tracked at such an early point that they detected Tumor #2 (astrocytoma grade II) and removed it as soon as possible (ASAP in this case being a 10-month delay while Obamacare protections and funding came into effect so that I could get insurance)(yes, people do die of treatable diseases in America). And, since astrocytoma tends to come back angry (as it already did), I was closely monitored for the two inter-tumor years between Tumor #2 and #3 (I once calculated I’ve had almost 40 MRIs in my life)(there might be a correlation between that).

Secondly, I was able to get into a clinical trial - and stay in one. I’ve written about that previously, but a major takeaway is that you can always refuse treatment or leave a clinical trial, but if you formally leave or are removed, you never, ever get to come back. Also, due to the specificity of cancer treatments, there are loads and loads of qualifying or disqualifying factors for who is and isn’t eligible for a trial - Again, these are usually for patient safety (if you think otherwise, I’d challenge you to inject a known toxic substance into your system and see what happens). I do know, from working at a biotech company, that, even though the costs of running these trials doesn’t justify the $300K that Pfizer plans on charging for treatments, they aren’t cheap, and, if I were a cynical man, I’d try to jam-pack my experimental drug trial with as many people as possible who looked like they’d survive on standard-of-care (SOC is legally required in addition to all experimental treatments). To that end, I’m also lucky - again, in a very weird, funky way.

There are three different forms of the IDH gene in gliomas; I don’t have the best one, nor do I have the worst one. However, “second best” is miles better than the worst one. I also have a methylated MGMT gene, which is important - the unmethylated version is resistant to radiation treatment, which is bad. I also have an ATRX mutation, which is relatively rare, but confers a high five-year survival rate (in this case “high” is 30-50%, which is considered failing in most places).

And I’m young (less than 40) and relatively healthy, which is another good predictor - whether it’s because that means I’m more likely to survive the nastiest napalm baths available and ask for more (and that makes oncologists considerably less ginger about starting you off with the nastiest stuff imaginable), or whether there’s some intrinsic anti-cancer aspect of youth, I honestly don’t know. Same goes with tolerating treatment well - I don’t know if that’s a correlation/causation issue, but again, anything that makes your oncologists feel safer about ordering more/harsher treatment is probably going to add to your life expectancy (if the chemo and radiation doesn’t kill you first). I honestly don’t know if I’d’ve been written off if I was morbidly obese and had heart problems.

So far in my grand design to survive the unsurvivable and pass that on, I realize I’m not coming up with superb results that can be easily replicated. Youth and mutations are random chance, getting into a trial is a matter of being in the right place at the right time (as so much else in life)(although you can do research through clinicaltrials.gov to see if there’s anything you might qualify for).

The advice I can give is this; and it’s worked for me, so far (feel free to change, ignore, or discard it as applicable to your situation):

1. Early detection is key. Familiarize yourself with the most common risk factors and symptoms of brain tumors, and floor it to a neurologist when you have them.

2. Get the very best quality of care, and be prepared to travel. This one is huge. For some reason, lots of people are eager to have their hometown hero perform on them, and the results are usually horrific. When you have brain cancer, the difference between “the very best” and “well qualified” is measured in corpses.

3. Don’t take “No” for an answer. I realise we all need to get better at consent issues, but the word “inoperable” needs to be removed from the medical lexicon immediately. Someone recently accused me of giving false hope when I linked to Anderson MD’s list of GBM myths that “inoperable” is usually code for a facility that doesn’t have the expertise, competence, or technical facilities needed to successfully operate on it. In other words, someone out there will have the ability to do something for you, likely surgically if you move fast enough. Yeah, that might be false hope, but you know what false hope beats the shit out of? Completely hopeless. Real grown-ups are surprisingly fragile and tend to go to pieces at the smallest things. In the past year, I’ve seen my parents throw temper tantrums over arguments they’ve had with my siblings, or an ant infestation. If that’s your mindset, then, yeah, you’re going to be paralyzed and lose that window of opportunity to beat this thing. As I wrote previously, you’re going to go into complete, paralytic shock the first 48-96 hours after you get a diagnosis. Enjoy it, because you don’t ever get to panic, ever again. Same thing with “inoperable,” if you want to accept that and die, that’s your decision. Survival - of any sort - is not for the faint of heart, and you will have to drag yourself across that finish line (or have your friends help you). Again, passing on some wisdom from Original Research Coordinator, the first 6-10 weeks post-diagnosis are the deciding factor for glioblastoma. If someone refuses to treat you, ask for a referral.

4. Stick through the entire treatment regimen. I’ve written previously that there are a lot of things you can do to make yourself more comfortable and healthy during chemo and radiation (that would be where the “complementary medicine” comes in). Again, you can quit treatment at any point, but you can’t always continue it And, as I know, once post-surgical options get removed, they never come back.

5. Complementary, not alternative medicine. There is no cure “they” don’t want you to know about, there is no secret cancer survivor meeting where we all toast each other on finding the fountain of health - you’re thinking of Skull and Bones. Having said that, I get it - cancer treatments of any sort are a shit sandwich and you’re going to have to just get over it and take a big bite. It’s seductive to think there’s a less painful, disruptive, and dangerous path. Don’t believe it for a minute - you’ve gotten a raw deal, and you have to get over it. Having said that, exercise, diet, and lots of CDB (and THC)(don’t smoke it, though) probably made the difference for me completing the full 12 cycles of chemo. I never for a minute thought they would cure of me of anything, but they might allow you to survive the cure.

6. Follow your doctor’s recommendations and orders. Americans are the only people in the world who will happily accept a mechanics’ bill for five grand without doing any research or shopping around; but will argue with a trained professional about an obscure aspect of treatment or research. Back in the third or fourth cycle, at Mom’s recommendation, I asked Head Warlock in Charge (HWIC) about hyperbaric oxygen chambers (they’re good for radiation recovery). He nixed it (Mad Scientist also said she wouldn’t recommend it), and, at the next MRI, I was rewarded with a new glowing dot. In this case, that turned out to be further radiation scarring, but what if that bet had gone the other way? And, in defense of HWIC, he did mention in the most recent consult that he’d be willing to sign off on the hyperbaric chamber in a few months, if there wasn’t any further growth and my radiation scaring wasn’t improving (for those of you who’ve seen me recently, the scarring is only visible from the inside of my skull).

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advocatewrites-blog · 6 years

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Into the Unknown Part 4 Chapter 4

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers, mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

Chapter 4

“OHHH YES! WELCOME BEAUTIES…TO TODAY’S QUIZ SHOW!”

Spotlights engulfed the lab. Two disco balls dropped from the lighting fixtures and engulfed the three into multicolored lights. Confetti fell from somewhere. Dipper knew that he was not going to like whatever happened next.

“OH BOY! I CAN ALREADY TELL IT’S GONNA BE A GREAT SHOW!” said the robot. “EVERYONE GIVE A BIG HAND TO OUR WONDERFUL CONTESTANTS!”

A fake, monotone clapping noise echoed from the robot’s soundboard as more confetti poured onto them.

“NEVER PLAYED BEFORE GORGEOUS? THE RULES ARE SIMPLE. ANSWER CORRECTLY.” said the robot. “OR YOU DIE!!!

Mettaton attacks.

“LET’S START WITH AN EASY ONE!!” said Mettaton. “WHAT’S THE PRIZE FOR ANSWERING CORRECTLY?”

“Uh…” said Dipper. “A new car?”

“THAT IS INCORRECT!!!”

A lightning-bolt shaped bullet shot from Mettaton’s microphone and collided with Dipper’s Soul.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked.

“I’m fine,” said Dipper. “Not sure how many of those I can take. We’re gonna have to be smart about answering them.”

“Alright,” said Mabel. “Making things up is my specialty!”

“GLAD TO HEAR IT GORGEOUS!” said Mettaton. “HERE’S YOUR PRIZE: WHAT IS THE KING’S FULL NAME?”

Dipper actually remembered that one. Papyrus had said it, Undyne had said it, and the turtle that sold them things had said it even though he insisted on calling him “Ol’ King Fluffybuns”.

“Asgore Dreemurr!” said Dipper.

“CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER!”

“I was going to say Doctor Friendship…” said Mabel.

“NOW ENOUGH ABOUT YOU. LET’S TALK ABOUT ME! WHAT ARE ROBOTS MADE OF?”

“Metal and magic!” said Mabel.

That one had come pretty quickly, but Dipper figured that it was easy to guess.

“HERE’S AN EASY ONE FOR YOU: TWO TRAINS, TRAIN A AND TRAIN B, SIMULTANEOUSLY DEPART STATION A AND STATION B. STATION A AND STATION B ARE 252.5 MILES APART FROM ONE ANOTHER. TRAIN IS IS MOVING AT 124.7 MILESPERHOURTOWARDSSTATIONBAND TRAINBISMOVING-AT253.5MILESPERHOURTOWARSSTATIONAIFBOTHTRAINSDEPARTEDAT10:0AMANDITISNOW10:09HOWMUCHLONGERUNTILBOTHTRAINSPASSEACHOTHER?”

“32.058 minutes!” said Mabel.

Dipper had no idea how he could even solve that one, let alone Mabel.

“NEARLY RAN OUT THE CLOCK THERE, GORGEOUS! BUT THAT IS CORRECT!”

“You spent the entire time asking the question!” said Dipper.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE BACK YOUR CORRECT ANSWER?” Mettaton asked.

“We’re good!” Both the twins said.

“EXCELLENT! BECAUSE FROM HERE ON OUT THEY’RE ONLY GOING TO GET HARDER FROM HERE!” said Mettaton.”NEXT QUESTION: HOW MANY FLYS ARE IN THIS JAR?”

“54!” said Mabel.

“WHAT MONSTER IS THIS?”

“Mettaton!”

“BUT CAN YOU GET THIS ONE? WOULD YOU SMOOCH A GHOST?”

“Heck yeah!”

“WHAT A GOOD ANSWER! I LOVE IT!!!!” said Mettaton. “NEXT QUESTIONS: HOW MANY LETTERS ARE IN THE NAME METATTON NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN…”

“56!”

“That is correct!”

“How are you getting all of these?” Dipper asked.

“Alphys is telling me,” said Mabel. “But the smooch a ghost one was all me!”

Alphys froze.

“ALPHYS…” said Mettaton. “WERE YOU HELPING THE CONTESTANT?”

“U-u-uh, I was—” Alphys stammered.

“THAT’S ALRIGHT,” said Mettaton. “I’LL GIVE THEM AN ANSWER YOU’RE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO! WHO DOES DOCTOR ALPHYS HAVE A CRUSH ON?”

The two twins froze.

“Could we…not answer that one?” Dipper asked.

Entry no. 34

During our game of multi-dimensional chess, Bill mentioned something interesting. A Kingdom of Monsters. He seemed hesitant to discuss more; although it seemed more out of ignorance than ill-will. After some prying, he managed to bring up some key points. Sometime before Gravity Falls was inhabited, humans lived with monsters. A war broke out between the two races, leading to the monsters becoming imprisoned underneath a magic suppressing barrier. Bill mentioned that he had tried to enter the kingdom several times to look for someone to help him build the portal, but he kept being chased out by some “annoying dog”.

Whether or not he meant to, Bill has just made a phenomenal breakthrough with my research. Is this Kingdom of Monsters the source of all weirdness in Gravity Falls? Or even the world? Maybe there can be a direct link between the monsters in the forest and the monsters underground. Furthermore, if Bill really wanted to find a scientific mind in the kingdom of monsters, there could be someone else working on a portal right now. Someone else I could compare notes with!

I expect the portal will be finished by tomorrow. Perhaps once Bill can enter our dimension, I can welcome him to Earth properly with a little hike.

It was much later, after the quiz show and after a cooking show and after a news show, when sans made himself known and invited Dipper to dinner.

“where’s that sister of yours?” he asked.

“Well…”

“‘A tragic tale of two lovers, torn apart by the tides of fate’…” Mabel read off of the poster in front of her. “That sounds right up my alley!”

She ignored the fact that 75% of the poster was Mettaton’s face. It would be nice to see him actually acting, and not just the elaborate set pieces he set up when he wanted to kill them. She would have to make a mental note to come back and catch it once Mettaton had calmed down a bit.

Mabel was so lost in thought that she did not notice where she was walking next. She stopped as she noticed she was on stage.

“Oh,” said Mabel as realization dawned on her.

“OH? COULD IT BE…” Mettaton’s voice echoed through the stage. “MY ONE TRUE LOVE?”

Mettaton descended down the fake balcony with all the grace of a vacuum cleaner. The song’s opening covered most of it up. He dropped the hem of his bright blue ballgown and began to sing.

That was when Mabel knew that this was really right up her alley.

“guess it doesn’t really matter,” said sans. “so, what do you know about a talking flower?”

The atmosphere grew suddenly very heavy. Dipper swallowed before he spoke.

“We found it in the Ruins,” said Dipper. “It’s this little gold flower named Flowey—“

“really?” said sans. “couldn’t think of a better name?”

“I didn’t name it!” Dipper said. “It calls itself that!”

“alright. tell me more about flowey mc flower face.”

“Well, when we left the Ruins, he talked about a lot of weird things,” said Dipper. “Stuff like how he was the one that would inherit this world...and how we weren’t the ones he was looking for…sans, how many humans have been in the Underground before us?”

“haven’t you heard undyne, kid?” sans asked. “there’ve been six humans in the underground. not including you two.”

“And is that where you got the lamps?” Dipper asked.

sans fell silent.

“Look, if we’re going to work together, we need to be 100% honest with each other,” Dipper said. “I won’t…judge you if you did something bad. Just be honest with me.”

Sans did not say anything for a moment. Just when Dipper was about to speak up again, he chuckled lowly.

“don’t judge anyone, you say? kid, that’s a good one and you don’t even know why yet,” said sans. “alright. there have been a total of 12 humans in the underground. i’ve seen six. just not at the same time.”

“So there’s a way out of the Underground then?” Dipper asked.

“sure there is. but that’s not what i’m talking about,” said sans.

“Well, what do you know about the other humans?”

“i’d say most weren’t older than you,” said sans. “all came from the ruins, all left through new home. all came at about the same time. don’t know what happened to them. don’t think they knew why they were here, either.”

“Well, do you think that flower might have something to do with it?” Dipper asked.

“don’t know. never seen ‘em before,” said sans after a minute. “well, if nothing else, this run’s been good for information. anything else you need to know?”

Dipper opened his mouth for a minute. But there was not anything else he could think to ask.

“great,” said sans. “if you get to the castle, i won’t stop you. but try and think about what you’re getting into, alright?”

It was only when sans got to the fichus in the corner that Dipper found what he wanted to ask next.

“What do you mean, ‘this time’? You keep talking about ‘this time’ and ‘these runs’, like you’ve already seen all this before!” said Dipper. “What are you trying to hide? I won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me everything!”

“listen, kid,” said sans. “it’s not gonna matter. even if i do tell you everything, you’re just gonna disappear again. and there’ll be another kid waiting for me at my station. or maybe something worse. i’ve given up trying to change this.”

Dipper’s mouth hung open as he tried to think of what to say. Everything that sans said ran through his head. And then he realized.

“You’re a time traveler?”

The light in sans’ eyesockets went dark. He did not say anything.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Dipper asked. “Maybe we can help you! Are you with the same agency as Blendin? Is there actually a Time Baby?”

“well,” said sans. “you’re close. if there’s a time traveler, it’s not me.”

Dipper probably had more experience with time travel than the average person, but it was still limited. There was stuff in the journals and the science fiction books he read, but most of what he really remembered came from the 80’s movies Mabel watched. There was one he remembered quite well, about the crabby man who was stuck in the same day repeating over and over.

“Oh,” said Dipper, because he was not sure what else he could say.

“if that’s all you have to say, kid, then i better head out,” said sans. “it’s almost papyrus’ bedtime, and he gets cranky without a bedtime story.”

“We’ll find a way to fix this,” said Dipper. “Mabel and I. We have, uh…experience with this kind of thing.”

“i mean, you probably won’t,” said sans. “but thanks anyway.”

He walked past the fichus in the corner and disappeared.

It took Dipper longer to leave. Too much was going through his head, not just about what sans had said but how he looked when he said it. He was going to have to set things right. There was no way around it.

When he did stumble out, he was surprised to find Mabel.

“Hey Dipper!” Mabel said. “I just finished up Mettaton’s play! How was your date with sans?”

It barely fazed Dipper to hear it called a date. His mind was on too many other things.

“Do you remember what the Journal said about time travel?” Dipper asked.

“Hmm…I’m not sure about the Journal, but there was that Blendin’ guy,” Mabel said.

“That’s what I was thinking too,” said Dipper. “No matter how we get back home, we need to remember to find a way to contact him.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Mabel said. “I’ll make a note of it in this cool notebook I bought from the turtle!”

#fic #Into the Unknown #Undertale #Gravity Falls #Mettaton #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #Alphys #sans #featured

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terramythos · 3 years

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TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 6 of 26

Title: The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1) (2012)

Author: N. K. Jemisin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, First-Person, Third-Person, Female Protagonist, LGBT Protagonist, Asexual Protagonist.

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 2/07/2021

Date Finished: 2/13/2021

Peace is sacred in the walled city-state of Gujaareh, and must be maintained at any cost. The Gatherers are a priesthood tasked with maintaining this goal. In the name of Hananja, Goddess of the moon, they walk the city at night and harvest Dreamblood-- the magic of dreams-- from Gujaareh's denizens. They bring the peace of death to those who need it... and to those judged criminal or corrupt.

But something else haunts Gujaareh's streets. A Reaper, a rogue Gatherer driven to endless madness and hunger from Dreamblood, is preying on the innocent, casting their souls into an eternal nightmare. Ehiru, one of the elder Gatherers, finds himself caught in the middle of a political conspiracy between his priesthood, the holy Prince, and the monstrous Reaper. An insidious corruption runs deeper than Ehiru knows-- and it may be too late to stop.

The Gatherer’s eyes glittered in her memory, so dark, so cold--but compassionate, too. That had been the truly terrifying thing. A killer with no malice in his heart: it was unnatural. With nothing in his heart, really, except the absolute conviction that murder could be right and true and holy.

Full review, major spoilers, and content warnings under the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, death, warfare, and murder-- including death of children and mass murder. Discussions of p*dophilia/grooming (nothing graphic). Brief reference to r*pe. One character is a minor infatuated with a much older character-- not reciprocated. Rigid gender and social roles, including slavery. Magic-induced addiction and withdrawal. Loss of sanity/altered mental states/mind control/gaslighting.

Last year I read N. K. Jemisin's short story collection How Long 'Til Black Future Month? One of my favorite stories was The Narcomancer, which explored a vibrant, ancient Egypt-inspired world with themes of faith, dreams, violence, and duty. I wanted to read more from the universe, and finally got to do so with The Killing Moon, the first book in the Dreamblood duology.

Jemisin's creativity in worldbuilding is, in my opinion, unmatched in the fantasy genre. I thought Gujaareh was super interesting and fleshed out. While the ancient Egypt inspiration is obvious, it's also clearly an original fantasy culture in its own right. Everything from religious practices to social castes to gender roles to the fucking architecture felt methodical and thought out. The base premise of assassin priests compassionately harvesting magic from people is a fascinating idea and totally gripping. The pacing is a little slow, but I didn't mind so much because learning about the world was so fun.

While there's a hefty amount of worldbuilding exposition in the story, Jemisin doles out information gradually. Bits and pieces of Gujaareen law, etc are introduced at the beginning of each chapter, and usually have a thematic connection to the events of the story. Information is sparing at times, meaning that one doesn't have a full picture of how everything ties together until pretty far into the story. Even something as crucial as the dream-based magic system isn't fully realized until near the end. I like the mystery of this approach, and I can appreciate how difficult it must be to keep the reader invested vs frustrating them with a lack of info. Jemisin consistently does a great job with this in everything I've read by her.

I did want a little bit more from the narcomancy aspect of the story, since dream worlds are such a huge part of Gujaareen religion and culture. In The Killing Moon we see just a few dreamscapes, and then only briefly. There's so much potential with narcomancy as a magic system, yet most of what we see is an outside, "real-world" perspective, which isn't terribly unique compared to other kinds of magic. Dreamblood being a narcotic (heh) with some Extra Fantasy Stuff is interesting, but I wanted more. Perhaps The Shadowed Sun expands on this.

Characterization is the other Big Thing with this book, as it's very much a character-driven story. Overall I'm torn. There's some things I really liked, and others that felt underdeveloped. I'll go over my favorite things first.

Ehiru is probably the strongest of the main cast, and I really enjoyed his character arc. Here's a guy who is completely devoted to his faith, regardless of what others may think of it. Yet he's not a self-righteous dick. He sees Gathering as a loving and holy thing, so when he errs in the line of duty, it totally consumes him. And things just get worse and worse for him as the story progresses. Say what you will about the Gatherers and the belief system of Gujaareh; Ehiru comes off as intensely caring, devoted, and compassionate, and I genuinely felt bad for him throughout the novel. I'm not religious but these kinds of faith narratives are super interesting to me.

Looking at characterization as a whole, I appreciate The Killing Moon's gray morality. No one in the story is wholly good or evil. The Gatherers are an obvious example, considering they murder people in the dead of night in the name of their Goddess-- but do so to help those in need. Despite being a megalomaniacal mass-murderer, the Prince has believable reasons for his horrific actions, and they’re not wholly selfish. Even the Reaper is a clear victim of Dreamblood's addictive and mind-altering nature; it sometimes regresses into the person it used to be, which is sad and disturbing. There's a lot of moral complexity in the characters and the laws and belief systems they follow. This kind of nuanced writing is much more interesting to read than a black and white approach.

Beyond this, though, I struggled to connect with the other leads. Nijiri's utter devotion to Ehiru is basically his whole character, and while the tragedy of that is interesting for its own reasons, I kept wanting more from him. Sunandi is a good "outsider perspective" character but I had a hard time understanding her at times. For example, the two most important people in her life, Kinja and Lin, die in quick succession. Yet besides a brief outburst when Lin dies, this barely seems to affect her. I get people mourn in all kinds of ways but it seems odd. Her sexual tension with Ehiru is also weird and underdeveloped. Perhaps this is meant to be a callback to The Narcomancer, but it doesn't accomplish much in this narrative.

Another issue I had was emotional connection to minor-yet-important characters. Kinja dies offscreen before the story, yet is supposed to be a big part of Sunandi's past (and thus emotional arc). But he's never even in a flashback, so I never felt WHY he mattered to her. Una-une is the big one, though. It's pretty easy to figure out he's the Reaper by process of elimination, but he's barely in the story outside of a few early mentions. There's this part near the end that's clearly meant to be an emotional moment; Ehiru realizes his (apparently beloved) mentor Una-une is the horrific monster, and thus a foil to the situation between himself and Nijiri. But we never saw the relationship between Ehiru and Una-une, and nothing really established this prior... so there's no emotional payoff. It felt at times like this book was part of a much longer story that for whatever reason we never got to see. In some ways that can be useful to make the world and history seem vast, but here it made me feel emotionally distant from several characters. Perhaps flashbacks with these important characters would have helped bridge the gap.

Credit where it's due, though; it's clear a lot of the dark, often brutal tone and stylistic flair in The Killing Moon was adapted into Jemisin's fantastic Broken Earth trilogy. Probably the most notable are the cryptic interlude chapters told from the perspective of a mysterious character whose identity is unknown until the end. We learn bits and pieces of the beliefs and lore of the world through excerpts of common laws and wisdom. I also liked the occasional stream-of-consciousness writing during tense or surreal moments. The Broken Earth is an improvement overall, but I can appreciate The Killing Moon for establishing some of these techniques early.

I enjoyed this book overall and am planning to read The Shadowed Sun. While I have some criticisms about The Killing Moon, I think it just suffers in comparison to other works I've read by Jemisin. It was still an entertaining and intense read, with a captivating and original world. It's not a story for the faint of heart, though, so please mind the content warnings.

#taylor reads #8/10 #2021 reading challenge

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bigklingy · 6 years

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Pokemon Generation Thoughts

Since a blog I follow did this, I thought I’d do mine. Gen 1:

Pros: -The one that started it all. -How crazily into it kids at school were. -Gym Leaders were pretty memorable. -For the time, a good twist for the final battle. -Glitches are fun to mess with. -The crit formula based on base speed was actually kind of interesting. Cons: -Incredibly glitchy, to the point where speedrunners keep finding more and more insane ways to break the game. Spawning item balls that are also trainers that are actually wild Pokemon?! Making a sign give you an Eevee?! Beating the game in 0:00?!?! I know these are glitches you’re unlikely to find without intentionally trying, but there are MANY game-breaking ones you’re very likely to encounter by accident. -Very unbalanced battle system. Psychic types are broken, some moves were coded badly and worse than useless (Focus Energy QUARTERED your crit rate), X Accuracy + OHKOs destroys the game, Wrap/Fire Spin etc were extremely annoying. -Most of the Pokemon haven’t aged well stat-wise. Gen 2: Pros: -I liked the Johto region. -Greatly fixed a lot of Gen 1′s gameplay, far less glitches. -Split Special into Special Attack and Special Defense. -Introduced breeding. -Had another entire region for the postgame, with 8 more badges. -Normal trainers have names now! Phone numbers gave them a bit of personality. -You can actually delete HMs now! -You can catch both mascot legendaries regardless of your game. Cons: -Most of the new Pokemon are extremely mediocre or outright terrible, with very few good ones (stat-wise). -IMO, second worst starters in the series. Typhlosion’s stats are directly copied from Charizard, why?? -The “split path” after the 4th badge, where you could get the 5th, 6th and 7th badges in any order, was a good idea in theory but not well implemented. Whichever path you take last ends up horribly underleveled. -Low levels overall, leading to a fairly easy main story. -Kanto is horribly balanced, almost everything is a joke for the point you have access to it. -Until Crystal, phone calls were generic and boring. In all versions though, phone calls get very annoying. -Cross-gen trading is clunky and awkward, you had to manually delete any move that didn’t exist in Gen 1. -Introduced roaming legendaries. Gen 3: Pros: -Nice graphical upgrade. -Abilities, Natures and the revamped EV system add more strategy to battling. -Introduced a new way to play in Double Battles. -The Hoenn region is pretty nice if you ignore the water areas. Some cool new area concepts we haven’t seen before, like deserts and volcanoes. -Significant plot differences between versions now. -Emerald’s Battle Frontier is very fun. Cons: -Loss of compatibility with older versions, meaning that a huge number of old Pokemon weren’t available until Kanto remakes. -Hoenn in general went really crazy with required HM usage. WHY DID THEY MAKE ROCK SMASH AN HM! -Vanilla Ruby/Sapphire have the worst postgame in the entire series by far. (Just a Battle Tower and one roaming legend) Fixed in Emerald and slightly fixed in the remakes. -Team Magma and Aqua were lame and unmemorable. Fixed in the remakes. -Introduction of version-exclusive legendaries. -Champions excluded, Hoenn probably has the worst Elite Four in the series, with incredibly boring, repetitive teams. -Completing the national dex was insanely convoluted, as Pokemon were split up across multiple games and spinoffs. You needed at bare minimum 4 games, a Gamecube and a Gamecube to GBA cable to do it. Gen 4: Pros: -Physical/Special split, increasing the viability of a lot of Pokemon. -Introduced WiFi, making trading MUCH easier. -Expanded the TM list, allowing for more options. -Most of the new Pokemon introduced had good stats and movepools. My favourite new batch of Pokemon. -Gave much-needed evolutions to many mediocre old Pokemon. -The “route split” where you can choose whether to fight Maylene or Wake 3rd, was kind of well-done. -Best starters in the series imo. Cons: -Diamond and Pearl are PAINFULLY SLOW. Both on the field and in battle. Saving takes forever. Surfing is horrendous. Platinum fixed some of this though. -Diamond and Pearl’s regional dex is horrible. Only one Fire type besides the starters, some of the newly-introduced Pokemon aren’t even in the dex! -And they made some very questionable choices to go with it. Protip: if your regional dex only has two Fire type lines, you PROBABLY shouldn’t have a Fire type Elite Four member. -Team Galactic and Cyrus are my least favourite villains by far. Their plot is a giant mess and it’s not paced well. I could go into more detail, of all their encounters before the halfway point, only one has any bearing on their main goal. The rest are just random acts of villainy for no reason. The Grunts don’t even know what the bosses are planning. -Main story is badly paced, HUGE drought between badges 2 and 3 (fixed in Platinum), and the massive level jump between Gym 8 and the Elite 4 forces a ton of grinding right at the very end (also fixed in Platinum) -No random online battling. -GTS is a mess, only trade via online forums or chatrooms. -Worst Safari Zone in the series by far. -The snow routes are awful. Good music though. Gen 5: Pros: -The fresh start the series desperately needed. -A regional dex of all new Pokemon. -Most new Pokemon have VERY good stats. -Main adventure is very balanced overall. Pokemon are available at just the right times, for the most part (Larvesta and Deino are exceptions) -Introduction of exp scaling, making it hard to get too overleveled during the main story and letting you more easily train low-level Pokemon to Lv 50 in the postgame. -HMs, besides one forced use of Cut, are entirely optional. Thank Arceus. -Gym Leaders are decently challenging, and actually do things in the story. -Some of the best storylines and characters in a Pokemon game. -Awesome twist on the formula at the end. -BW2 are full sequels instead of 3rd versions. Add new areas.. -BW2 has the best balance of old vs new in a regional dex, with an almost exactly 50/50 split. Some old Pokemon are given fresh new spins, like Riolu and Eevee being catchable early in the game. -BW2 has probably the best postgame in the series. -PWT is an awesome callback and a pretty fun battle facility. -Battle Facilities in general stopped cheating as much as they used to. -Added Shiny Charm, giving a non-cosmetic reward for completing the Dex. Cons: -Competitive metagame was kind of a mess, Smogon had to make several complex bans to try and keep everything under control. Mostly only applies to Singles though. -Introduced random online battles, but Ragequitting was rampant. -Introduced Triple and Rotation Battles, but were very under-used and barely anyone plays them competitively. -Worst starters in the series imo. -The Unova region is very linear and, at least in BW1, a quarter of it is postgame-only. -BW2′s plot was far more standard for a Pokemon game. -Some of the new Pokemon evolve at painfully high levels, which got bad when they showed up earlier in later games. Gen 6:

Pros: -First full 3D main series game. -I kind of like Kalos as a region. -Added Fairy type, helping nerf Dragons. (Though they might have gone overboard, Fairy is now kind of overpowered) -The starters are pretty good. -Ruby/Sapphire remakes were nice. -Added tons of nice Quality-Of-Life features, especially making breeding and EV training WAY easier and more accessible. -WiFi is amazing, especially the PSS. -A lot of Pokemon available in the dex. -Sycamore is a cool professor. Shame he wasn’t the Champion. -You won’t know it if you use the Exp Share, but basic trainers are actually very challenging, often having smart movesets and strategies, even egg moves. Try a no-exp share run sometime. These are actually among the hardest Pokemon games if you do. -The postgame Looker quest actually has a better story than the main game.

Cons: -Game Freak did a total 180 on their stance with Gen 5, and decided Pokemon would now be all about the old rather than the new. The games began a trend of GF extensively pandering to Genwunners at the expense of actual new stuff. Very few new Pokemon, all of them almost intentionally made rare. It almost felt like GF was ASHAMED of them, and had to hide them from the wrath of the Genwunners. Other pandering included a direct rehash of Viridian Forest, Snorlax, and a forced first encounter with a Pidgey. Not a new Pokemon, a Pidgey. -Worst tutorials in the series. It’s possible to catch a full team of 6... AND THEN BE GIVEN THE CAPTURE TUTORIAL. -Way too many rivals. Tierno and Trevor are barely there, and Calem/Serena feels undeveloped. -Team Flare are my second least-favourite evil team. They shouldn’t have bothered trying to hide Lysandre as the villain, it was so obvious. -Early pacing issues. Big gap between Gyms 1 and 2 (could’ve easily been solved by making Clemont Leader 2), Team Flare plot doesn’t start until pretty late in. -Worst Champion in the entire series. -Most Gym Leaders and all the E4 not named Seibold are jokes. (XY are weird in that on a challenge run, you’ll be steamrolling the bosses but getting destroyed by basic trainers) -THE EXP SHARE IS HORRIFICALLY BROKEN. Have it on all game, and you’ll be overleveling everyone by 20-30. It ruins what would otherwise be a pretty challenging game. -Kalos Route 13 is the worst route in Pokemon history. -THEY BROUGHT BACK SINNOH’S STICKING MUD, WHY?! -Sky Battles and Inverse Battles are really underused for something they spent a lot of effort marketing. Neither can be done in multiplayer. Sky Battles limited to a bunch of one-time trainers, Inverse Battles limited to only one. Neither can be done in multiplayer. -Controversial opinion, but I actually really hate Super Training. The EVs/Time ratio is way too small to be worth it, horde battles are far better. I only use it to finish off the last couple of EVs on a spread. -Mega Evolution is a mixed bag. It makes some weaker Pokemon useful (Beedrill, Kangaskhan, Charizard), but also makes some already good Pokemon even better (Scizor, Metagross, Gengar, Lucario, SALAMENCE). This means a lot of the more interesting Mega options go unused because you can only have one Mega slot. Evidence of not just popularity power, but more Genwunner pandering is on display. I like Charizard and Mewtwo, but I don’t think they needed two Megas. And NO Gen 5 Megas at all, and even after ORAS only one? (And it’s terrible?) -No new non-Uber legendaries, instead re-using, you guessed it, the Gen 1 legendaries. Gen 7:

Pros: -NO MORE HMs, FINALLY! -More new Pokemon than Gen 6. Each new Pokemon is given at least one unique gameplay trait, which is cool. -Alola is a pretty nice region. -Story and characters are great. Not as good as BW but a big step up from XY. -Team Skull are hilarious, playing all the unintentionally funny things about past evil teams for intentional comedy, almost acting as a bit of self-aware parody. -Genwunner pandering is less evident. Yeah only Gen 1 Pokes got Alolan Forms, but most of them needed upgrades anyway. NPCs from all gens get cameos, not just Gen 1 NPCs. -The Big Bad of vanilla Sun/Moon is a great villain. -The Exp Share is actually kind of balanced now, oddly enough. -Some of the trials are great boss fights, even better than most Gyms. -Poke Pelago’s “EV Bake Oven” allows for easy EV training. Cons: -Went back on a lot of Gen 6′s good multiplayer features. Festival Plaza is confusing and terrible. -Removed horde battles, replacing them with the extremely annoying SOS Battles. This also means EV training is a lot harder. Poke Pelago is good, but it’s non-interactive. -The first island is very hand-holdy and takes a while. -Island 3 feels oddly small for how big it’s supposed to be. -Still not THAT many new Pokemon. -Crabrawler and Charjabug’s evolution methods are DUMB, making them useless for the main story despite being catchable early. -USUM ruined Sun/Moon’s Big Bad’s characterization. Overall favourite to least-favourite: Gen 5 Gen 2 Gen 7 Gen 3 Gen 1 Gen 6 Gen 4 (But my favourite for competitive battling)

#Pokemon #Opinions #Thoughts #Generation 1 #Generation 2 #Generation 3 #Generation 4 #Generation 5 #Generation 6 #Generation 7

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taaroko · 6 years

Text

Post-IW MCU Rewatch: The Incredible Hulk

Okay, time for The Incredible Hulk. This is only my second time watching it. The first time was during my pre-Ultron marathon. I remember basically nothing.

I really like the way the origin story is covered in the intro montage. Universal figured out what Sony did not: if we’ve already had the origin story within the last decade or so, we don’t need it again. Plus the montage is just good visual storytelling, and I’m always on board for that.

He’s watching Sesame Street to improve his Portuguese!

Holy crap that dude can do really unsettling things with his stomach.

Part of me feels like I’m watching the story of what Oz was doing after he left Sunnydale to learn how to deal with his wolf side. This is great.

The intensity with which Bruce tries to make sure none of his blood gets anywhere is really interesting. This is all continuing to be very visual, which is awesome.

Hey, there, Mr. Blue. (I have no idea who Mr. Blue is.)

Loving all this science.

Aww, it was the Stan Lee cameo who got Bruce’s blood-spiked soda?

Oh hey, Tim Roth. Forgot he was in this.

Man, a city with this kind of layout really is perfect for parkour.

Ooh, nice use of shadows to conceal the full Hulk reveal as long as possible.

Is it...cold in this rainforest?

Hahaha, he’s deliberately finding the stretchiest possible pants.

Tim Roth’s character is scary.

Bruce is such a Ravenclaw, guys. None of the other houses are this quiet for this long.

Nice trick with the pizzas.

“Dr. Elizabeth Ross” is her username? That’s not a username. That’s a name.

Whoops! Betty saw you! Sucks to be her current boyfriend. That is some intense emotion.

ARGH THEY DID THE RUN AND HUG THING!

What the heck is this serum? Is it anything like the one that made Steve Captain America?

The shots of them in their separate beds reminds me of this.

Wow I am not okay with those bone marrow sample sound effects.

Bruce has such soulful eyes.

Holy crap Tim Roth definitely got an upgrade.

Hahaha, nice place to store the data. Gross, though. And...wouldn’t his stomach acid ruin that drive?

Ooh, father/daughter confrontation, Tiananmen Square style.

Nooo, don’t break this school! It’s too pretty!

I definitely prefer the way the Hulk looks from Avengers onward.

After all the effort Bruce went through to acquire stretchy pants, these sure look like jeans.

Wow, Tim Roth is insane. (Yeah I’m probably never going to remember the character’s name.)

Ooh, sonic cannons?

Aww, Hulk’s gonna fight through it for his girl.

Blonsky. Emil Blonsky. Okay. And dang that was brutal.

HE ATTAC HE PROTEC

Hahaha, even the bland new boyfriend won’t help Betty’s dad.

*lightning strikes Hulk* Hey leave him alone, Thor. He’s had a bad day. You’re being a really bad friend.

I guess it’s a good thing that USB drive didn’t make it farther than his stomach.

I really like all these quiet soft moments between Bruce and Betty. Stupid heart rate.

Okay, Blonsky healed creepily fast, but at least now I don’t have to listen to the sound of his burned, broken fingers clenching.

Dang, SHIELD has creepy effective servers.

My least favorite thing about both Arwen and Betty Ross is Liv Tyler’s tendency towards being overly breathy when she talks. So it’s super refreshing when she shrieks at that horrific cabbie.

Tim Roth’s supersoldier body is really creepy and weird. Was that a mo-cap suit and CGI? I feel like they went for the wrong physique. His head’s too big compared to his torso. They should’ve gone more barrel-chested, I think. Also EW HIS SPINE.

ARGH THIS IS SO PAINFUL TO WATCH. I do not like this movie’s sound designers. They are far too good at their jobs and my ears are not enjoying it.

Kinda bitter that General Ross is the only one who got to be in another movie. He’s the worst.

I have some...anatomy questions about Abomination. I mean, I know steroids can make certain things shrink, but this stuff took it a step further and turned Blonsky into a sexless golem. They really should’ve just given him improbably stretchy pants too so I wouldn’t have to think about it.

Poor Harlem.

Oookay, they should not have let him talk. That makes it so much dumber.

Man that would’ve been a really horrible death for Bruce.

OWWWW. Sharp elbows!

Whoa! That was a cool way to douse the flames!

Wait since when does Hulk actually call himself that? I thought it was just those college guys who came up with the name. I feel like that needed to have been established better before he started using it as his own name.

Seriously, Betty? You’re telling him to stop? This would definitely be a case of justifiable homicide, and he’s the only one capable of doing it. What the heck are they going to do with a live Abomination?

Wow, is that a real location in British Colombia? It’s beautiful!

Okay, I like that ending. It helps tie in with “That’s my secret. I’m always angry.” He’s learning how to access the Hulk at will now, not just suppress him forever. But that doesn’t mean there won’t still be involuntary episodes.

“That supersoldier program was put on ice for a reason.” Rude, Tony.

I tend to dismiss The Incredible Hulk purely out of a bias in Mark Ruffalo’s favor (I saw Avengers first, so he’s Bruce for me). I’m not sure his Bruce is quite the same character as Norton’s. I can’t even imagine Norton’s Bruce chumming it up with Thor in Ragnarok, for instance, and I’m not sure I can imagine him being Science Bros with Tony either. But this is actually a pretty good movie, and I do like this Bruce. My only real issues are with Abomination being able to talk and Betty stopping Hulk from finishing him off. I like Bruce being carefully on the run, I like Betty helping him, I like the conflict between science and military. Science cannot surge forward unfettered because there are people who would use that to wage war. It’s almost like Bruce is both a nuclear bomb and the guy who first created them. He has to live with the consequences of his research trapped inside his skin, and he’s only barely beginning to come to terms with that.

I’m pretty okay with this being the only MCU Hulk movie. And not just because I have no interest in seeing where things might go with that scientist dude whose brain gets bigger because Bruce’s blood landed on him. That’s a step too far towards comic book silliness for me. The main reason I’m okay with it is that Bruce has managed to have a good character arc just being in ensemble films, and his personality type lends itself well to making the most progress in these group settings. He can’t just hole up on his own; that’s how he ended up stagnating for five years while he was in hiding. It’s a shame Betty Ross got benched, though. I do think Bruce/Natasha is cute, but he and Betty were really intense and sweet, and I prefer Bucky/Nat for her.

Anyway, I liked this enough that I might cave and actually buy the DVD to complete my set. It’s the only one I don’t currently own.

#the incredible hulk #mcu rewatch #infinity war spoilers #kinda #marvel

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