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martellprincess-writes · 2 years

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STARVING // sukuna x f! reader

includes: DARK CONTENT // 20+ // minors + under-20s DO NOT INTERACT please // NONCON // f! reader, yandere! sukuna, sloppy makeout, dacryphilia, lots of saliva, biting, hickies, blood, fear kink, mind breaking, extreme sadism, slapping, corruption kink, name-calling, multiple orgasms, oral (f! receiving), heavy fingering, no aftercare

themes: breaking + entering | confessions | the chase | mind-breaking

prompt: This is for the anilysium server's collab! The theme is confessions and the prompt I got — “that was nothing but a silly childhood promise.” Thank you CATH for hosting/organizing this collab and being so, so welcoming!

summary: Yuuji carries a burden, a burden who listens in on his thoughts. Thoughts of you. So many thoughts, so constant that now that burden’s own interest has peaked. Now that burden watches you when you’re with Yuuji too. And now that burden has a confession to make.

wc: 3.2k | reblogs and interactions appreciated!

m. list | haikyuu bad boyfriends m. list

The sound of your key twisting in your door lock is heard over the chatter you make with your neighbors, an older couple on their way out for date night.

“Have fun!” you say, voice echoing into your apartment as you get through the door. You kick it closed behind you, setting down belongings, taking off your coat and shoes, a soft smile on your face as you make your way to your bedroom.

The warm lighting from the lamp you thought you'd turned off shines through the slit in the doorway, illuminating your face as you enter. You freeze, your bare foot stepping back at the sight of a man with a pink head of hair seated on the window sill.

His head is down, shoulders rounded, hands clinging to the edge of the sill at his sides.

You suck a breath between your teeth.

“Yuuji.”

It was as if he was a stranger now, things so foreign and unspoken between you two. Yuuji was always kind and warm and open-hearted, but it was the unknowability as of late that made it feel like what you two once had, the feelings you both danced around, had just about slipped through your fingers. He was going through something he wouldn’t tell you about. Gojo-sama had explained it as best as he could, but neither of you ever really talked about it. Once he’d taken that curse, Yuuji avoided you at all costs.

He was destined for bigger things and he was outgrowing you.

“I’ve always wanted you.” Yuuji says, voice muffled under his black face mask.

Your eyes go wide. Your lips almost crack into a smile, heart fluttering so fast you barely register he doesn’t sound like himself.

His eyes trail from your feet to your ankles, up your legs that unfortunately disappear into your work skirt. He settles on your hips, your waist.

Your breasts.

You collarbone, and finally, you.

You’re frozen the entire time, his eyes alone lighting sparks all over your body.

“Well, wanted you as in…I’ve always wanted to…make you cry.”

He tilts his head, pulling his face mask off one ear before he lets it swing off the side of his face.

Your teeth clench, fingernails digging into palms at the sight of him. The markings on his face. The sneer. The feeling that you’re in his trap, that he knows something you don’t.

It’s not Yuuji.

“I’m…” dumbstruck, all you manage is, “supposed to be with Itadori.”

His laugh booms, startling you.

He stands, your lips slowly parting as he approaches. He seems…taller, bigger. Stronger.

He leans down, resting his palms on his thighs as he brings his face to yours, a grin stretching across his face.

“You still holding out on that?”

He watches you swallow the lump in your throat, he hears your heart pound, smells the cool bead of sweat materializing at the back of your neck.

“You know I hear his thoughts, right? I live in his mind. He’s told me about you. And that…” his eyes trail down your blouse again. He shakes his head slightly, speaking low, like he’s now distracted. “That was nothing but a silly childhood promise.”

His gaze rolls up your chest until he’s at your eyes, hitching your breath in your neck with him. He straightens up, stepping into your space. You clutch your arms against your chest in a knee-jerk reaction, right before his body presses into you.

You step back, stumbling into the half-open door. “Wh-what’s your name?” you ask, a weak attempt to both hide your fear and distract him.

He huffs, letting you have it. “I, my dear, am the king of curses. But you can call me Sukuna.”

He keeps pressing closer, towering over you. Hesitantly, you turn your cheek, a sweaty palm clinging to the edge of the door behind you.

“What do you want from me?” you whisper, voice weak. Making you cry might not be such a challenge after all.

Your chin quivers, a soft squeal escaping as you pinch your lips between your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as his fingers ghost your face.

You press your head against the edge of the door as he traces your features, squeezing your pretty little chin in his fingers.

His lips press against your cheekbone. His hot breath sears as he whispers, voice low, hoarse, sending shivers along your spine. “I want you to spread your legs open for me and sing.”

You spin around, gaining the courage to run out the door. You make it halfway through the kitchen, reaching your arm out to the front door when—

You're falling. It’s a pit of darkness, everything black, no sign of the world you know. The air sucked out of you, your eyes bulge, too shocked to even scream, the agony of not knowing when this will—

In an instant, it’s over. You fall to the ground on your palms and knees, gasping desperately. Everything is still black, the floor is covered with an inch of cool, stale water. You look up, searching for sign of life, seeing reflections rippling in the black water.

Across the water in front of you, black meets a luminescent blue. Lines that make out some sort of…barrier. A stage. At the center. Orange, red, alive.

A shrine. There Sukuna sits, no longer looking like Yuuji. You see the tattoos that go up his arms and into his white robe. The king of curses, and you’re in his kingdom.

He has a lazy smile on his face, cheek pressed against his knuckles. “Don’t be nervous, doll. It makes my heart race.”

You jump to your feet and start running again, but running gets you nowhere. Sukuna switches from domain to real life again and again, driving you crazy. Spinning your directions, you’re headed for your bedroom once again. You dive in and out of darkness, feet pounding against water, feet pounding against your wooden floor. The stark contrasts of both environments fucks with your sanity, your sense of reality.

You trip, falling to palms and knees into the water before you’re stumbling to your feet again.

Suddenly, it’s your apartment again and you’ve ended up in front of him, running straight into his direction. He reaches out and catches you, arm hooking at your waist like a wall you’ve just run into. Sukuna picks you up while you kick and scream, taking you to your bed. Your head spins and you don’t know if your voice even resonates. It feels like it disappears into nothing, like you’re still in his domain, suffocating in his world.

He tosses you into your bed, your body bouncing as he climbs on top, pinning your legs under his shins. Sukuna locks your wrists above your head.

“Please, please—” you cry out, unable to even convey what you’re begging for.

The king of curses brings his lips to yours but you squirm, pretty squeals releasing as you avoid his mouth.

Sukuna presses his arms against yours, pushing your body deep into the mattress.

“I like when brats beg,” he grins, bringing his lips to the crook of your jaw. He plants the lightest peck, his hot breath lighting up your skin as he chuckles. “Such a simple touch and you can barely take it, hm?”

You turn your cheek, exposing your neck to the predator. Sukuna’s mouth trails, smiling as he goes down your jugular, feeling the beat of your heart. He presses his tongue against you, almost tasting the blood pumping at such a speed. He gathers his lips into a lewd kiss that makes you flinch. As he gets lower, going down your precious artery, his kisses get more forceful, shoving you into the bed.

Your thighs rub together under him, a soft moan getting caught in your mouth.

“You smell like desperation. And fear. Delicious.”

You feel his teeth bare before he sucks your skin through them, making you yell out. Sukuna makes sure to give you a reason to yell, biting down into the side of your neck.

You cry out, body writhing under him.

“Ah, you’re a screamer,” he smiles.

Before you can catch a breath, eyes wide and pleading up at him, Sukuna sucks the air out of your mouth. His teeth clash against yours before he’s sucking on your tongue, forcing it past your lips.

He drags it out of you, along with a groan from deep in your throat. He slaps you across the face before his face is pushing into yours again, shoving his tongue against yours. He keeps his tongue wet, saliva pooling against your lips before he starts to kiss and suck all over your chin. Your breasts push against his chest, tough and toned. Heavy.

He bites your lip, making you squeal. Hot tears prick at the back of your eyes as he tangles your mouth with his, sloppy and impatient kisses continuing to dilute lines he’d blurred by flipping you back and forth between realities. Your mind hazes, eyes half-lidded, lungs reaching out for air that isn’t there.

Sukuna sits up, leaving you panting. He looks down at you, seeing you red in the face. The orange lighting behind him casts a shadow to make him even more dark, more sinister. But still, you see Yuuji.

He takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head. Your eyes draw down to his abs.

You don’t really see Yuuji’s body much, which alone is enough to make you blush, but now — the tattoos, so close to notice the cuts of muscle…

He tosses the shirt aside, reaching for the button of his pants. “You taste sweet.”

You swallow, looking up at him as he undoes his zipper.

His white teeth sparkle. “I bet your blood’s even sweeter.”

Sukuna reaches forward and rips your blouse apart. You yell, trying to push him off, trying to knee him, but his head dips into your chest, pinning your wrists at your sides. He splays hickies all over you, sucking your flesh through his teeth, marking you as painfully as he possibly can.

As he goes down your stomach, all you see is the pink head of wild, unruly hair. Your chin quivers.

“Yuuji…! Where’s Yuuji!”

He chuckles, vibrating the pit of anxiety weighing like bricks in your stomach. “Oh he can’t help you now, dove.”

“Please,” you cry out.

Sukuna rolls you to your side, biting into the dip of your waist. You scream, and it’s like a game to him. The deeper he bites, the louder your pitch. And your pitch makes his dick twitch, so deeper he goes.

Deep until he’s tearing skin.

He tosses you onto your back again, laughing maniacally against your body before he bites into the fat of your stomach. He licks your wounds, getting what little taste he can.

His head starts to go down your pelvis, pulling your skirt off with your panties. The pit of anxiety in you dips into something else the further down he trails. Your thighs tremble, your mind lulling you into silent compliance.

You cling to your thin panties and Sukuna decides to let you have the moment of safety. He slips only your skirt off you, bringing his breath against your clothed clit. It tickles, making your fists clench.

“I like a girl with a little fight.”

You feel his fingers ghost your knuckles, trailing down to meet you at your panties. “You’ve held onto those tears I wanna see for quite a while now, haven’t you?”

Your fists fight, clenching, but he gets through them anyways, prying your fingers open. “Stubborn little dove.”

He holds your panties in his fists and rips them apart, forcing a gasp out of you.

You barely have a chance to shudder against the cool air on your wet, sweaty, spread-open thighs before they meet Sukuna’s tongue. Flat, wide, large, and hot. Every inch he touches tingles, your lower back arching desperately for only a moment before his hands are at your thighs. His short, black nails dig into the fat of your legs as his tongue laps you up, an iron grip locking you in place.

His tongue gets into your folds as you both play at a tug-of-war. Your heels dig into the mattress, begging to get away from his greedy mouth and gluttonous grip. He instead pulls you in, digging his fingers into your hips, forcing your clit to ring against his nose.

Sukuna’s sharp tongue teases at the edge of your folds, lining you out to bring every sensor on your body to life. He feels your figure sink, your hips starting to dip into the bed, so he shoves tongue into your hole. You gasp, clawing at his fingers until he gives you one on each hand to hold.

He eats you out like he’s starving — sucking and fucking you feral. He buries his face into your pussy, loving how hard you clench your thighs around his head. He hopes you’ll try to kill him, groaning into your body with the sloppiest, nastiest, most depraved, wet sounds. His big hands smack anywhere he can on your thighs and ass, igniting pulsating responses out of you.

He sucks your clit, making your hips twist his body too. Your sweaty palms grip fistfuls of his hair, the soft fluffiness a contradiction to what he’s putting you through. You cry out, tears at the edges of your eyes, threatening to leak. Sukuna pushes down on your stomach, and suddenly you’re shaking, toes curling and body clenching.

You cum in his mouth, but it’s just the beginning.

Sukuna scoots back so he’s looking directly at your hole drooling with pretty white cum. He nips at your thigh, making your body flinch, but more importantly, making your inner lips flutter.

He licks his lip, bringing his hand to your hole, wanting to watch his fingers slide into you.

He pushes the tip of his finger against the bottom of your hole, opening you up so he can watch. He blows cool air, seeing your juicy muscles throb, hearing you whimper as your breasts lift and sink up above.

Sukuna pushes the pad of his finger in, pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy sucking his finger in. Just watching it makes him want to bend you over and fuck you. The more he presses down on your hole, the more your pussy begs.

“You can fight all you want, but your body tells another story, doll.”

You can only whine in response.

“How long have you wanted this, hm? Have you been waiting for that brat to take you this whole time and he missed his chance? Poor kid.”

You squirm, hands stretching out against your bed sheets.

He puts his finger in further, letting it go knuckle deep. The feeling of his knuckle stretching you out...you grip the sheets. Sukuna is slow but deliberate, pushing his finger down to reach some part in your gummy walls you're not familiar with. Your muscles respond so well, like being a drooling hole for him is your only true purpose.

He slowly, very slowly, pulls his finger out, paying attention to how your walls react. They beg him not to go, pulling him in any time he stops.

“Dirty girl,” the king of curses whispers.

He brings another finger to your hole, sucking on the inside of your thigh to make your pussy contract like mad. His fingers go in and out, another pool deep in you starting to coil. Above him, your stomach crunches, your body curling as you clench every muscle. He looks up at you, seeing your face screwed, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yuuji!” you call out, making Sukuna laugh.

“Are you begging for him to save you? Or pretending it’s him making you feel like this.”

Your muscles quiver around his fingers at that, your toes crawling up his side.

Sukuna thrusts his fingers in and out of your velvet walls, scissoring to draw out squelching sounds that mix with your shy little moans. Your mouth widens into an O before you throw your head back into the bed.

“You want another finger, don’t you?” He smirks. “Two is not enough for this pretty, little dove.”

“No,” you whine.

Sukuna squeezes a third finger in, stretching you out nice. He chuckles at your noises. “So tight, like a good little princess.”

He curls his fingers, making you arch and cry out.

In a fell swoop, Sukuna takes his fingers out, crossing them over one another. He swirls his way inside you again, his knuckles causing even more friction around the opening of your hole. He gets in deep, his knuckles massaging your insides. He hits spots you’d never felt before, the back of your skull digging into the bed for help. Tears leak down your temples, mixing with your sweat. Your pants are now erotic moans as your muscles start to build up with pressure. You feel sparks at the back of your eyes, your body arching further and further.

Your teeth clench, ears ringing. You can’t think, can’t breathe. Sukuna bites into your thigh, tasting iron again and making you scream. The next thing you know—your thighs vibrate, something hitting you in waves.

You shake uncontrollably, legs locking around his fist as you clench your teeth, blood rushing to your face. Sukuna cackles at the sight of you, deep moans releasing from your throat.

He twists his fingers in further, pressing down, getting deeper and deeper, until you’re drenching him in your sweet juices. You sob, loud gasps as you start to cry. Tears leak—

“There you go, dove.”

Before you know it, Sukuna climbs on top of you, bringing his opened mouth to yours so he can swallow your orgasmic mewls.

Your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, mouth hanging open. He thrusts his cock into you before you can even think to voice any more pleas. Tears stream harder as he drags your arms above your head, stretching you out. He feels your mouth move, you attempting to speak even this strung out.

“If you say his fucking name, I’ll rip your throat out,” he grunts.

Your breasts press up against his chest, his grunts pushing into the side of your mouth as he hammers into you. He loses himself as he pumps you full, his arms slipping off yours.

Your hands reach for his shoulder blades, nails digging into his skin as he pounds you. The squelching sounds mixed with his grunts and skin-slapping. His sweaty forehead against yours, his teeth hitting yours as his groans get deeper and deeper—

“Tell me I’m your king,” he grunts into your ear. “Tell me I’m your fucking king.”

“—Nnnph,” you stifle a cry.

Sukuna forces your lips open with his. He thrusts into you violently now, his hips slapping bruises against your thighs. Punishment until you break.

And with your eyes glazed, your mouth drooling, your body twisting into yet another orgasm, you’re putty in his hands.

“You’re my king,” you cry. You sob, voice weak, another orgasm barely beginning to flush before he’s flipped you onto your stomach.

“Again!”

Sukuna drives your thigh up your side, spreading you wide before he buries his thick girth inside of you again, hitting new spots. He digs his head into the crook of your shoulder.

“You’re my king—” your voice is shrill, your mind breaking under this king of men.

“And who do you belong to?” he grunts.

You moan loudly, cumming all over his cock as he spurts thick white deep in your walls. Your cheek presses against his fluffy head.

“You’re my k—king—and I belong to—you.”

a/n: fun fact, this is my first sukuna fic! let me know what you think~

read more of my works here! ❤️‍🔥

tagging the lovelies @hanayanetwork 🌸 @anime-central @planetonet 🪐 @shibuyawardnetwork

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #sukuna ryoumen x reader #tw noncon #tw dark content #yandere x you #anilysium server collab

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 years

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not jealous | jake sim

summary: jake sim is not a jealous person. at least that's what he tells himself. so why does he find himself going through your phone when a certain "bluejay park" decides to text you?

pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. mentions of jay park]

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: angst, cursing (very minimal), one slightly suggestive sentence, jake being cute, some more angst lol, slightly cheesy bc jake’s just too cute ugh

wc: 3.8k

a/n: ok i loved writing this, which is why i went on to almost 4k words LOL oops. but anyways, i love jake a little too much and this type of scenario has been running around in my head for a while now so i decided to put it into words. also i may have created this blog just so i could post this somewhere LMAO anyways yeah this was my first fic so hope you guys enjoyyyy <3

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

At least that's what he tells himself. To be fair, in his past relationships, he never showed any jealously. Then again, he doesn't know if he can call those relationships, "relationships". Does a fifth grade relationship with a girl who he was once dared to kiss during a game of Truth or Dare in the basement of a classmate's house during their 11th birthday party count? He doesn't remember being jealous when the same girl was later dared to kiss his classmate, Sunghoon. (Funny enough, that's how the two boys came to be best friends 'til this day, but that's a story for another time.)

But really, Jake doesn't think jealously is one of his traits, even if he's now almost 20 years old without any experience with love other than his current relationship with you and that short-lived romance in the fifth grade. (What was her name again? Jake would have to ask Sunghoon later.)

So he doesn't know what clicked in that brain of his that lead him to this current situation he was in. He doesn't know why he felt a little spark of anger in him when your phone, which you left right next to him on the couch while you went to take a shower, kept buzzing with texts from "bluejay park". He doesn't know why he couldn't kept his eyes distracted from the messages, although your phone was constantly lighting up because whatever it was Jay had to say to you, he would not shut up about it. He doesn't know why he questioned what your relationship with Jay was for a split second.

In fact, you're close with all of Jake's friends. That's one of his favorite things about you, you get along so well with all his friends you might as well replace Jake himself in the friend group. So he doesn't know what tells him to take a little glance at your phone—at the messages.

But he finds himself doing it anyways.

Hearing that the water in the shower was still running (you were always the type to take long showers), he quickly grabs your phone and scrolls through the lock screen just to find that he couldn't even read the messages since you had your notifications set so no one could read them unless the phone was unlocked (darn you and your settings!) Thankfully, Jake knew your passcode––and you knew his too––or he thought he did. Until the iPhone vibrated, telling him the passcode was wrong.

He must've entered it too fast or something. So he tries again.

And again.

Until the iPhone switches its screen to say: "iPhone is disabled. Try again in 5 minutes."

There's no way. You never change your password. And even if you did, you would tell him—you two even had each other's fingerprints saved into each other's phones in the past (you know, before the world decided that Apple's home button was too lame and decided to just completely get rid of it). If there was an option to save multiple faces for Face ID, you two would be that couple that saved each others faces in your own phones.

That being said, Jake sat there, your phone in hand, frozen. Why was your phone locked? Why was Jay texting you 10 texts per second? Why did he feel guilty about this entire situation?

He hears the shower switch off and in that moment, he swears he feels his heart beat just a little faster. He tells himself there's no way you'll be out before the 5 minutes are up. You followed a really meticulous skincare routine (one that Jake memorized by now) that took an extra 15 minutes of your time after each shower.

"Hey Jake?" Your voice calls out from the tiny bathroom door crack that you left open before you hopped in the shower, "Is my phone out there? Do you mind bringing it to me?"

Fuck.

Jake shifts on the couch. Taps his foot on the ground. Returns your phone to its original spot. Clears his throat.

"Don't you want to get dressed first?" he calls back, quite timidly.

He can hear you stop moving around in the bathroom. Probably telling yourself what an odd response that was. To be fair, it was an odd question, considering the fact that you two have been together for so long, it’s not like he hasn’t seen you undressed before...intentionally or not.

Next thing he knows, the steam is rolling out of the bathroom door and you're stepping out in your towel, eyebrows raised.

"If you didn't want to get up from the couch, you could've just said so, you lazy butt," you smirk at him as you walk towards him and the couch, leaving a faint trail of water drops behind you. Jake's eyes follow your figure as you go to grab your phone and lift the screen towards yourself.

That's when he freezes. You do too.

You cock your head, as if asking yourself why it was disabled. He can hear the gears in your head turning.

"Jake, did you try to unlock my phone?"

He runs through all the possible excuses he could blurt out. Come on Jake, think of something! But he knows he can't lie to you.

Too many beats of silence pass by.

"Maybe," he finally says—or more like murmurs. He looks up to you like a child looking up at their mom, who just them caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. To his surprise, you don't show any hint of anger. A flash of confusion—and is that worry he sees?—crosses your face for a split second before you shrug and turn towards your room to change, dropping the subject. It was natural for you two to use each other's phones anyways. So then why did you have that look of worry?

Jake knows you well, a little too well. But that's what you love about him. He can easily read all your emotions. One of the many things he picked up from dating you for almost two years now. But why would you care if he tried to get into your phone? Why would that worry you? All the possibilities run through head and his own worry begins to increase. He trusts you. He does.

So then why does the thought bother him throughout the entire day? Why does he bring it up during dinner later that night, when you're both cuddled on your sofa, slurping take-out ramen while rewatching your favorite k-drama under the thick blanket that you always keep in your living room for nights like these?

"Huh? Of course I've heard from Jay today, we had that conversation about that stupid meme you boys kept laughing about in the groupchat we're all in, didn't we?" You answer him when he asks if you've heard from Jay lately. You sit up from your warm spot under Jake's arm to put your empty bowl on the coffee table in front of you. When you lean back, you look up at him,

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just wondering," he says, avoiding your eyes by keeping his own trained on the series currently playing on your TV. This would be your third time rewatching this series together. He would never complain to you though, he knows how much you love it and if he were being honest, he was secretly attached to the characters—not that he would ever tell you, he would never hear the end of it from you and the boys.

"You're being weird. Just tell me, or did you forget that I can practically read your mind," you say with a giggle and shove to his side, the one you were currently warmly cuddled into. Jake wasn't the only one who learned how to read emotions; you could read him just as well as he could read you. And like you, that's one of the many things he loved about you. But maybe not in this case.

He toyed around with the contents inside his ramen bowl with his chopsticks.

"I just..." God, how does he word this? Why was he having trouble explaining it? You were the easiest person to talk to. To him, you were the only person he could tell everything to.

"Jaywastextingyouabunchearlier," he blurts out quickly, but not quickly enough for you to miss it.

He feels you shift under his arm. He feels the air in the room shift. Tension.

"What?" Now you're sitting upright, legs criss-crossed in front of you on the couch but turned, so your body is completely facing him. He mirrors you, sitting up to put his ramen bowl next to yours on the surface, but he stays facing the TV.

"Your phone kept going off because of him when you were showering," he says with a little more confidence. But inside, he was nervous as hell, the same nervous as when he asked you out for the first time many moons ago. But it's too late to back out now, he brought it up first, anyways. Guess we're having this conversation now, good going Jake!

"Is that why you tried unlocking my phone earlier? I mean I thought you were just trying to leave selfies on my phone like you always do but you were trying to read my texts?" You question, slightly raising your soft voice. He doesn't know how to react, he hates confrontation.

"It wasn't like that, Jay just kept spamming you and like I—why was he even texting you in the first place? Then your phone got disabled because you changed your password, which you never do by the way, so I–"

"I changed it because my little sister kept getting into my phone when I went to visit my family yesterday! Did you really think I was hiding something from you? You know I can text whoever I want, right? You don't own me."

Okay so now he's managed to make you angry. Good going Jake, part 2!

"Okay but what does Jay need from you so bad that he has to send you like 50 messages at once?" He's standing now. So are you, eyebrows furrowed together as you collect your bowls from the table.

Standing there, bowls in hand, you say, "Jake, that's none of your business! It wasn't even that big of a deal, I don't know why you felt the need to nosy around."

"Well, if he's texting you non-stop, then obviously it's a big deal! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you would just tell me what you guys were talking about," he murmurs back, eyes narrowing. You scoff as you trail into your kitchen. He follows behind and stops at the other side at your kitchen island as you place the dirty dishes into the sink.

"No, we're having this conversation because you obviously don't trust me! It doesn't matter what we were talking about, it doesn't matter who I was texting! I could be texting your mother and I shouldn't have to tell you what we were talking about! That's why we're having this conversation," you say as you turn back to face him from the other end.

He hates this. He hates fighting with you (which is a very, very rare occasion). He hates that you think he doesn't trust you. He hates his insecurity eating at him, telling him to keep questioning you on why you and Jay were talking in the first place. He was aware that you were close with his friends, but it wasn't until the texts he realized just how close you are with them. It's not that he didn't trust you, he just didn't know how to act when it came to you and other guys. God knows how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you, so the thought of him losing you to someone else actually terrified him. Not only were you his first real relationship, but he wanted you to be his first and only one in life. You were it for him.

"Why did he text you." He deadpans from his side of the kitchen.

You scoff with a hint of exasperation. "You're kidding me."

You stare at him. He stares back, quirking an eyebrow, as if restating the same question back, as if testing you.

You're fuming now. Why was he making it so hard? Why was he doubting you? Out of frustration, you start laughing, which scares him. That can't be good.

"Fine. You wanna know so bad? Take a look," you're one tone level away from screaming as you take your phone out of your pocket, unlock it, and open up your conversation with "bluejay park", sliding the phone across the island to reach him.

Jake stares at the phone which now lies there, unlocked, facing him. Isn't this what he wanted? It is, right? That's why he started this dreaded argument with you in the first place.

Then why does he feel so fucking awful?

He looks back up at you, to see you sighing and looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to force your forming tears back into your eyes.

Yup, he feels horrible.

"Happy? Happy to know we were just trying to plan a surprise birthday party for you but you and your jealously just had to know huh, Jake?" You quickly state, voice cracking, as you tried not to choke up. You weren't sad that he found out about the surprise. You were sad that it felt like he didn't trust you. That he thought you were the type of person to do god knows what behind his back. You hated the feeling of not being trusted. Especially by Jake, of all people.

"Fuck."

Jake's face (and heart) falls with the most broken expression you've ever seen. But you're too sad, angry, tired (a mix of all?) to care. Your only goal right now is to not let him see you cry.

You hurry past him, across your apartment, and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, leaving behind a shocked, and regretful, Jake.

His heart shrinks when he hears the door slam shut and a little more when he looks down at the still unlocked phone in front of him. He didn't have the heart in him to look at it anymore. Of course he trusted you, he knew what you said was the truth.

He mentally screams at himself for assuming the worst––for thinking that you, a literal angel, would betray him. First, he thought he was losing you to someone else. Now, he was afraid he just lost you through his own actions.

He hesitantly sulks over to your door, softly knocking when he reaches it.

"Y/N?"

No response.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I let my—”

"Jake just please leave me alone for now," he hears you painfully say from a distance, meaning you're on your bed. He knows the door's unlocked—the lock on your door hasn't been working for a long time now, despite the many times he tells you to talk to your landlord about it. But he doesn't find it in him to open it. He knows he messed up. If he saw you in there right now, crying, he wouldn't know what to do. He wouldn't know what he would to do himself, knowing he was the reason behind your tears.

He nods in silence, knowing you can't see him, but does so anyways and returns to his spot on the couch. He could leave right now, go back to the dorm with the rest of the guys, let you have your space like you wanted. But his heart hurts at the idea of leaving you sad, angry, or a combination of both. He can't leave this unresolved. He fucked up, he has to fix it.

And so he sits on your couch for another hour. The clock on the wall behind him continues to tick as the silent tension in your apartment continues to grow. When it hits 11pm and he's sure you've slumbered off into sleep, he quietly enters your room.

He can see your figure in the dark, your back facing the door as you're curled up into yourself under the comforter. He feels his heart drop a little more when he imagines you crying in that position from earlier. He slowly peels the comforter open and gets into his side of the bed, careful not to bother your sleeping figure.

Laying there, staring up at the ceiling, he's never felt more like a stranger in your bed. It's not that he hasn't slept over before, god knows he's probably slept over at your place more than he has in his own bed. But right now, in this moment, he just felt awful. Like he didn't deserve to be in such close proximity to you. How could he be deserving? He violated your privacy, made you feel like you weren't trusted, doubted your relationship.

These thoughts run through Jake's head as he stares up at your ceiling fan, wishing he could turn back time to a few hours ago, before he checked your phone, before he let his insecurities get to the best of him.

You can feel the dip he makes in the bed behind you when he gets in. Of course you're not asleep. There's no way sleep could reach you when you had the recent events constantly replaying in your head like a broken record.

You knew Jake with all your heart. You didn't have to look at him to know he was probably laying there, hurt, staring up at the ceiling, drafting what to say once you wake up—or once he knows you're actually still awake.

You decide to break the tension by turning to lay on your other side, facing him.

You were wrong. Thanks to the little sliver of moonlight shining through your sheer curtains, you can see him, now laying on his side, already looking at you with so much regret in his eyes. You can almost hear the cracks in your heart physically forming.

His eyes widen when he realizes you're still awake. He opens his mouth to say something, but not before you quickly shift over to his side of the bed and embrace him in a tight hold, burying your face into his chest. Without any hesitation, he returns the gesture, arms holding your body as close to him as possible. As if once he let go, he'd lose you forever.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he breathes you in. He didn't even know he was holding his breath all this time.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry Y/N," he mutters into your hair. He feels his hoodie getting wet from where you buried your face. He pulls you closer, if that's even possible, feeling his own eyes heating up with sadness. He would never forgive himself for making you feel this way.

"You know I trust you right? Please know that. I shouldn't have assumed the worst when I saw your phone. I...I let my insecurities get to the best of me."

You move your head from its home on his chest to look up at him, as if asking him to elaborate. This was new to you, you didn't know he held insecurities in your relationship. But it wasn't because of you, no, you were his entire world. Losing you meant losing everything.

Jake's never been the best at saying his feelings. That's why it took him so long (with the help of his six best friends) to finally confess how he felt about you. He was afraid of letting people in if they could easily walk out. Maybe that's why he never let anyone into his life before you. But oh, were you an exception. The second he met you, he knew he was fucked. But thank god he did, because thanks to you, he's been able to be more open, more vulnerable. He's able to talk to you about anything and everything. He doesn't have that same fear of losing people anymore, not when he has you in his life to reassure him every step of the way. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't know how to tell you that his new fear was, in fact, just losing you.

The sheer idea of you not being a part of his life anymore terrified him.

"I hope you know you're never going to lose me Jake, if that's what you're insecure about," you softly mutter as you wrap your free arm that's not stuck in between both your bodies around him to gently play with the ends of his hair. It's as if you could read his mind, he loves that you know him so well.

"It just sucks that you could even think I would ever do something as awful as what you were assuming...with one of your closest friends nonetheless," you continue.

"I know. I know, and I feel terrible. I'm so sorry. I know you would never do anything remotely close to that, and I know you would never intentionally try to keep anything from me," he sighs. He shifts so he can lie down on his back, bringing you with him to lie on his chest, never letting you go once. "It's just...I just don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you Y/N. Everyday, I ask myself what heroic thing I must've done in my past life to deserve this life with you and I can't help but think you could just as easily be stripped away from me."

As much as your heart breaks listening to him rant, you feel your love for him grow even more. You knew how hard it was for him to put his true emotions into words, and him telling you this reminded you how much trust he had in you.

After some moments of silence, moments of him drawing random shapes onto your back, moments of you two just holding each other like it was the end of the world, you speak up.

"I love you. I'm sorry for making you doubt yourself—"

"No, it's not your fault, I can't help but think things like that. I just don't know what I did to deserve you, and I know that I need to be mo–"

"Babe let me finish," you say with a little giggle in your tone. He immediately stops and mutters a little "sorry". How cute, you tell yourself.

"I was gonna say," you look back up at him so you're making direct eye contact now. "You're the only one that's ever on my mind, Jake. I can't help the way you think, but I can assure you that there is no one else I would rather be with. And I mean that for the rest of life."

You snuggle back into the comfortable hoodie he's currently wearing (you make a mental note to yourself to steal it from him later) and decide to ease the tension,

"So you're stuck with me for life, sorry to inform you Mr. Sim."

Jake lets out a laugh, looking down at you to see you returning his smile with a cheeky one.

"I love you. So much," he says so sincerely, so genuinely, that you almost tear up again from how content you were. Now you were asking yourself, what did you do to deserve him?

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

No, he just loves you.

A lot.

3K notes · View notes

turtle-steverogers · 3 years

Note

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

#i did not proofread this at all so i just kNOW im going to read this back later and find a whole bunch of typos oops #stucky #stucky fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #idiots in love #sad stevie aw

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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script-nef · 3 years

Text

So why won’t you realise it '^' | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

1.9k words; Movie date [2/6]

Spoilers of Howl’s Moving Castle!! Beware!!

�� Previous chapter | Masterlist

“Eh, Shouko! What do you mean you can’t make it?”

“I mean, another person is about to come in and they need me to heal them. By the time I’m done the movie will be finished.” Shouko’s voice over the phone is laced with annoyance and sadness coupled with lethargy. You don’t know how she pulls off such a unique combination of emotions but she somehow accomplishes it every time. “And I was looking forward to it…”

This would have been the first time you had a break with her since the trip to France. And while she enjoyed it a lot, the same couldn’t be said for the two males. Which was weird since Gojou is infatuated with sweets and Ken-chan agreed to come. So it was kind of weird when there was a tense atmosphere between them. You know your brother and Gojou are nearly polar opposites, but their animosity wasn’t usually that strong.

They brushed it off as nothing when you asked if something was wrong, which was sort of dubious since you could kind of see the black cloud looming over the both of them, but you let it go. If it was something important, they would be able to handle it themselves or report it to you. You couldn’t sense any cursed spirits nearby so you guessed that they were just in a bad mood for some reason.

Still, you had a wonderful time and found some new snacks that everyone enjoyed. So a day well spent, all in all.

And Ken-chan told you to tell him if Gojou ever offers overseas trips or anything similar, so he must have enjoyed it. Maybe you can ask Gojou to take all of you to Denmark one day.

“Ah… my dear Howl. Life and curses separate us again.” Her voice is full of sadness now, no doubt mourning over her chance of watching her favourite character on a huge screen with surround sound disappearing.

“It’s okay! I’ll bring you the figurine and we can watch it again here in about… uh…”

“Ten years?” She sounds like she’s about to drop dead.

“Uh… yes… But maybe five years? Hopefully? You know, I shouldn’t watch it without you. I’ll come back to school.”

“No, no. Watch the movie. At least you’ll get to see it. Ah, they’re coming now so I have to go.”

“Ah, okay. Bye, Shouko! Stay positive!”

A non-committal sigh accompanies a small “Bye” before the call clicks off. A frown takes over your face at the lost opportunity for her. She was looking forward to this for a long time and you leapt at the chance for another girls’ day out. Being able to watch a childhood favourite is an added bonus. But now you’re standing in the movie theatre, the ticket desk just across the room and an extra on your hand.

It’s a shame because it cost quite a lot. Shouko is definitely going to mope about this when you get back and maybe start smoking again. She always has a pack on her even if she said she quit, and smokes one if she’s stressed or angry. You should call someone and make sure somebody takes it away from her.

You should probably hold onto the ticket and give it back. Or maybe that would make it worse for her, serving as a reminder of this day. Conflict rages inside your head. There’s a high possibility of either decision breaking her heart. Again. A buzz from your phone saves you the trouble of deciding.

Shouko: I sent someone as my replacement.

A tap on the shoulder makes you turn as you type in a reply and you come face to face with a black jacket. Gojou’s head pops down.

“Hey there. I think you called for a replacement!” He seems to be in a ridiculously good mood, even more so than usual. Maybe his students successfully finished another mission. Which is great. It also means more paperwork for you. Which is not so great.

“How did you com—ah. Teleportation.”

“Ding ding ding! Correct!” He's been using the skill more frequently lately, popping in and out of places like one of those Whac-A-Mole games. . It gives you heart attacks all the time and you’re sure he gets a kick out of it. You saw how his smiles widen when you flinch or react. Thankfully it’s when you’re alone so other people never see you jump what feels like a metre into the air.

“Do you want popcorn?” He breaks you out of your thoughts. “I think they have the new caramel flavour. Apparently it’s way too sweet.” So perfect for Gojou. Even though he’s asking if you want it, there’s a spring in his step which definitely means he’s getting some. Probably the biggest option they have.

And you’re proven right because he comes back with two huge buckets which look impossible to finish. When you try to object, he cuts off with “I’ve eaten three buckets before. Alone.” With the smile he’s giving you, it really doesn’t sound like he’s joking. You try to take one to lighten the load but he says it’s alright.

He signals the way to the theatre rooms with his head, walking beside you as you find your way.

“So what’s the movie?” Your head snaps to him in confusion.

“You don’t know?” A shake and a shrug. “It’s Howl’s Moving Castle. This was Shouko’s idea since she loves it and this year is Studio Ghibli’s 40 year anniversary. The cinema is having an exclusive showing of their movies this month. Only one session per movie, for some reason. Surely they would make more money if they played it over multiple days, but. I dunno. Executives make weird decisions.” A light scoff from him to tell he knows exactly what that’s like. His hatred for the higher-ups runs deep. You don’t push it.

“So she wanted to come but got held back at the last minute?”

“Yeah. Ah, here are our seats.”

You’re placed in the very middle of the room and you both make yourselves comfortable. Shouko went all out for this movie, upgrading the seats and making it a recliner. Your poor back, abused after sitting in chairs and hunched over computers for so long, practically melts into the plush cushion. It’s so comfortable that you might fall asleep in it if it isn’t Howl that’s about to start.

Feet dangling in the air, you look over to Gojou to see him on his phone. It looks like he’s in a chatroom and you catch the words ‘Shouko’ and ‘favour’ before looking away. You didn’t mean to peek, but it’s not like you can consciously not read something. It was in your line of sight and you averted your eyes as soon as you realised what you were reading. Your brother brought you up better than to pry into other people’s businesses, even if it’s really, really tempting.

“Phones need to be placed on silent, you know.” The ads are coming on the screen. He smiles at you, slipping it into his pocket.

“Just talking to Shouko. She says she hasn’t even started properly.”

Disappointment fills you. Gojou is a good friend to watch this with but you hoped Shouko would somehow miraculously finish in time. She would be devastated.

“I’ll have to make this up to her when we get back. Give her the figurine and keep her hap—ah! I forgot! Gojou, I was supposed to ask someone to take her ciga—” He cuts you off with a light pat on your hand.

“Don’t worry, I did it already. All of them are safe out of her reach and I gave her packets of hot chocolate instead. When we get back, she’ll have drunk at least half of them and be in a good mood.” What a Gojou-like replacement. He smiles like a child wanting pats on the head for a job well done. You just barely catch yourself from moving.

Gojou gets a rep for being aloof and neglectful, but he does take care of the people he holds dear to him. His friends, members of the school, his students. You hope you’re included in the list.

Actually, the more you think about it, the more you realise he’s different from initial perceptions. You learn more and more about him as time goes on, in the most delightful sense. He’s somewhat like an onion, new characteristics being revealed every time a layer is peeled. A snicker escapes at the thought of Gojou dressed up like an onion, just waddling around. He shoots you a questioning head tilt which you wave off.

In the years that you’ve known him, he made himself into a trustworthy friend. One full of laughs and ridiculousness. Maybe it’s his childishness that puts you at ease, but he’s incredibly comfortable and easy to relax around. Thoughts trail and the words fly out of your mouth before you even think.

“You know, I think you would make a wonderful boyfriend.”

He freezes completely, like somebody’s zapped him in place. You stare at him, wondering what’s wrong, but the lights dim and by the time he gathers coherence, your concentration is on the opening sequence.

“Ah, that was so good! Ugh, I love Howl. Isn’t he so cool?” You skip out of the room, remembering to take the figurines provided at the exit, with Gojou trailing behind you. “You know how she asks him to wait for her in the past? The first thing he says to her in the movie is ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ He searched for her the entire time! This is modern poetry. This.”

“Do you think Howl would be a good boyfriend?” The question stops you. It’s different than usual for some reason, the voice asking the question and the intensity of it. He’s still his aloof self, all smiles and grins, but there’s something you can’t quite place that’s wrong. It’s unnerving, but you diligently answer his question.

“Um, I mean, yeah? Look at how cute he is with Sophie. See?” The figurine is a frozen shot of Howl and Sophie dancing in the rain with an umbrella that’s not being useful at all. They’re both incredibly detailed, so much so that you can see their clothes and skin drenching wet. Wow, this is actually a phenomenal job. Shouko will be so happy. It makes your heart lighter knowing that at least something might light up her day.

“Why is he cool?” Gojou seems to be invested in Howl. It confuses you since he just watched the movie with you and he saw how awesome Howl is.

“Hm, well for one he can do magic.” He opens his mouth but you shush him with a finger to his lips. “Yeah, I know, what we have is kind of like magic too. But theirs is just… different. He just makes it seem kind of elegant. And he overcame his fear just for Sophie. Remember the scene with Sulliman and in the cluttered bedroom? He still found the strength to protect her even though he was so scared before. It’s admirable. I guess I like strong guys.”

“Hmm~” His tone is contemplative. “You know I’m stronger than him, right?”

A question mark forms over your head. He’s being really weird today. “Yeah? You’re the strongest in the universe, silly. What’s up with you?” Gojou just chuckles and ruffles your head.

“Nothing, nothing. Just making sure you know.” He slings his arm around your shoulder, the intensity gone and the light spring in his step back. “Who else do you think is strong?”

Next chapter →

#gojou x reader #gojou imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojou #gojou satoru #fluff #series #female reader

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mynumberfivethings · 3 years

Text

I Heard A Rumor...

They land back in 2019, which is a relief, of course, until it’s not.

“What the fuck even is the Sparrow Academy?” Diego grouses. “Lame ass bird fucks.” he chucks one of his knives across the cramped motel room they’re currently occupying and watches it get lodged firmly into the tacky wallpaper.

Allison grabs the second knife Diego’s about to fling out of his hand and glares daggers at her brother. “We’re staying here for free, because I rumored the motel staff into not noticing we exist, so maybe don’t wreck the place?”

Luther nods in agreement. “Allison’s right, we need to be as inconspicuous as possible right now.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Whatever. So Five, now what?” the siblings all go to turn to Five for the answers they’re so desperately seeking, only to be met with the sight of the pseudo thirteen year old laid curled up on one of the beds, sound asleep.

Luther frowns. “How in the hell can he seriously sleep at a time like this?”

Allison leans over Fives still form and not so gently shakes his shoulder, jarring him awake. She feels a little guilt upon seeing the initially panicked look on his face as he comes to awareness once again, but damn it, she just wants to see her kid again, is that too much to ask?

“We need to figure out a way to get back to our timeline.” she tells him, arms folded over her chest.

Five scratches the sleep from his eyes, unaware he’d even passed out in the first place, wincing as he sits up fully on the mattress. “This is our timeline.” he informs all of them, his voice coming out scratchy and thin. God, he’s exhausted. And practically everything aches.

“What do you mean?” Klaus shakes his head. “In our timeline Ben is very much dead-not some weird emo douche who flocks with a crew of birds-so please do explain how the actual hell this makes any sense.”

Five sighs, “We changed the linear time of events and the order in which they were supposed to originally occur when we were in the sixties and now this is, for all intents and purposes, our timeline.”

“Screw that. We need to reestablish our actual timeline.” Allison counters. “I’m not staying in this weird alternate bullshit dimension any longer than we have to-we still have the suitcase, right? Let’s go back to the sixties and fix what we broke. Easy.”

Five looks at her like she’s lost her mind. Which, she very well may have, he thinks briefly. “Look, I know you want to see Claire again, but you need to consider-”

“No.” Allison interrupts angrily, tears starting to fill her eyes. “You don’t understand at all. How the hell could you? You haven’t had anyone for years, but me? I’ve had people, people I care about-which might be a foreign concept to someone like you, but-”

“Right,” Five cuts her off in turn, unwilling to linger on the sting her words have caused. “I just need time to-”

“Time? Haven’t you had enough of that, already?” Suddenly the room is engulfed in complete and utter darkness and the Hargreeves go into high alert, trying to figure out where the hell that voice is coming from.

Could it be one of the Sparrow Academy heroes? Could they have followed them to the outskirts of town?

“Show yourself, you coward!” Diego shouts, knives at the ready to attack their intruder.

A flash of thunder illuminates the room for only a split second before the lights come back on and the Hargreeves find themselves frozen in place, unable to move even a muscle, try as they might.

Save for one: Five.

“What the hell...” he mutters, as he watches his siblings struggle to try and move from their positions.

“Now, Allison.” that same disturbing voice commands.

Allisons eyes go wide as her mouth begins to move without her permission and out come the words, “I heard a rumor you killed your brothers and sisters.”

They watch with dawning horror as Fives eyes roll to the back of his head and turn an off shade of blue before he seamlessly plucks Diegos knife from where it was embedded in the wall earlier and faces his family, where they stand, helpless.

“Shit!” Diego curses, trying in vain to move even a single digit.

Vanya tries to conjure her own powers but finds that she can’t for some reason. “Five...” she calls out, knowing it’s futile.

Five blinks over to Klaus first, who yelps in surprise, he barely has time to beg Five to reconsider when Five brings the knife down-

There’s boisterous screaming and panicked yelling and general chaos and Klaus is so sure this is it, that Five has plunged the knife straight into his heart and done away with him, until he opens his eyes and realizes nothing is protruding out of him...

Instead, Five has thrust the knife into his own leg. He’s breathing hard, his trembling fingers still hovering over the hilt of the weapon.

The disembodied voice booms, “Allison!”

And Allison curses, but she can’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “I heard a rumor you stabbed me in the jugular.”

Fives eyes go pale blue for a second time and without even flinching he takes the knife out of his upper thigh and blinks so that he’s facing Allison this time.

They can all see him struggling, perspiring, fighting against the rumor as he brandishes the knife in one hand, raising it up above his head slowly.

Allison tries to let out another rumor, a contradicting rumor, perhaps, the way she had done when Five had been in front of Klaus, but again, the words get stuck in her throat.

Whatever being is in the room is in total control of her powers...

Allison feels something collide with her neck but it’s not the sharp sting of a knife she’s expecting. It’s Five’s forearm against her, protecting her from his own attack as he shoves the knife directly into his flesh. He’s panting now, with the force that it’s taken him not to obey her mind control.

“Kill them.” the voice demands angrily.

“Fuck you.” Five bites out through clenched teeth.

As if those were the magic words, the voice departs and the Hargreeves can feel their limbs and move about once again, the tense atmosphere dissipating.

“Holy shit!” Klaus gasps out, “What the fuck, Jesus!”

Five grunts as he removes the knife from his forearm and wields it threateningly. “Allison,” he practically begs, his voice strained. “Unrumor me. Now.”

Allison is more than happy to comply, hurriedly saying, “I heard a rumor you didn’t want us dead.”

The knife clatters as it hits the floor and Five collapses next to it a second later, exhausted and hurting something awful.

“Shit,” Diego grabs a bunch of hand towels from the bathroom and kneels down. “We gotta stop the bleeding.” He presses two towels against the stab wound on Fives forearm and Vanya grabs the rest to press against the one on his thigh.

Five tenses up beneath them, his face scrunching up in pain. “Fuck!”

“I saw a first aid kit in the lobby by the front desk, I’ll go get it!” Allison calls out, already halfway out the door in her haste.

“Should we move him to the bed?” Luther asks, hovering over his siblings, concern and anxiety eating away at him.

Diego curses. The hand towels are drenched in blood already. They need to stop the bleeding and soon, or else. “Elevate his leg.” he orders, letting Luther help Vanya try to stem the bleeding there. “Klaus, go get more towels from one of the maids if you can.” Klaus scurries to obey while the others continue to put pressure on Fives multiple injuries.

Klaus and Allison arrive back at the motel room almost simultaneously, one with a stack of clean towels in their arms and the other with a giant red box in hand.

With the extra towels and the supplies from the medical kit, they’re somehow able to stop the bleeding long enough to move Five up to the bed. Luther’s extremely gentle as he transfers him from one spot to the other.

When it’s time to stitch him up, Vanya and Klaus volunteer to do it. Five is too exhausted, both mentally and physically to pretend to be stoic about any of this. He throws his good arm across his face, shielding his eyes from the light.

“What do you guys think that was?” Luther asks the room at large, when the silence stretches on too long.

Klaus doesn’t look up from where he’s threading his needle on Fives thigh, replying dryly. “Yet another person place or thing that wants us dead?”

Diego scoffs. “It’s gotta be one of those Sparrow fuckheads. Who the hell else? I bet it was that goddamn cube-I still can’t believe dad adopted a fucking cube-Christ.”

“Whatever it was, it was in control of my powers.” Allison frowns deeply. “When I tried to unrumor Five nothing came out-even when I tried rumoring one of you into being able to move again, so that at least we would stand a fighting chance against our little serial killer over here, nothing.”

Vanya nods, “Same here. I tried to use my powers but it was like there was some kind of a block or something? Like when I was still taking those prescription pills.” She looks at Fives pale face-what she can see of it, from underneath his forearm-and risks the question, “Five, how did you manage not to....you know...?” As someone who’s had first hand experience being unwillingly rumored by their sister, she knows it’s not something one can easily brush off.

Quite frankly, it’s a miracle they’re all still breathing...

“Yeah, I thought for sure we were dead.” Diego walks over and playfully ruffles the top of Fives messy hair. “Good job not making yourself an only child.” he jokes, freezing entirely when in response to his teasing Five lets out what can only be described as a faint whimper.

“Five?”

“I almost killed everyone.” Five struggles to get the full sentence out, his breath hitching. “Fuck.” he curses, unable to stifle a sob. It’s a pathetically sad little noise, but it brings the rest of his siblings to his side immediately.

“Hey,” Allison kneels down beside the bed and places a careful hand on his knee. She feels him flinch underneath her. “You resisted my rumor-twice. Do you know how rare that is? You saved us.”

Five scrubs his face with the sleeve of his white button up shirt and finally uncovers his eyes. They’re red and puffy from crying, eyelashes wet with his tears. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” he admits brokenly. “I can’t lose you guys again.”

“Shit Five,” Diego leans down and briefly touches their foreheads together, the palm of his hand cupping Fives head. “You’re not alone, we’re right here. Not going anywhere.”

Vanya nods determinedly. “That’s right. You’re stuck with us.”

Luther towers over the group with a faint but genuine smile. “You know, I always figured you loved us, but I guess I didn’t realize the extent until today.”

Five sniffles, wiping away more tears he can’t seem to stop from coming. “I would trade you all up for a decent cup of coffee.” he lies, feeling more exposed than he has in literal years.

Klaus smirks. “Nuh uh, no take backs, Fivey. You loooooove us.”

Five rolls his eyes but it doesn’t have quite the same effect it normally would, considering the fact that he is still very much crying.

Allison clears her throat, squeezes his knee again, this time to get his attention, and says, “And we love you. I’d ask if you know that, but honestly I think the answer would make me too sad.” she sighs. “Five, I’m really sorry about what I said before-I was taking all my frustrations out on you and I spoke carelessly, without thinking.”

Five shakes his head, overwhelmed. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not.” Allison insists. “Five, I don’t know if anyone’s said this yet, but I think it’s long overdue. I’m so happy to see you again. I missed you, you know. A ton.”

Five didn’t think he was childish enough to still need to hear such silly sentimental things. He’s not the type, he’s tried to convince himself. It’s not as though he was expecting some big tearful family reunion upon his arrival, after all. So he wasn’t crushed or anything when his return was met with little more than perhaps confused contemptment. He had things to do, apocalypses to stop and all that jazz.

That’s what he told himself, of course.

But it doesn’t ring very true now, not when he can’t help but let out another sob.

He’s too old for this, he thinks, as Diego pulls him gently to his side and Allison grabs hold of his hand.

He doesn’t need them to love him back, he thinks, as Klaus finishes taping up his wound with a tenderness only reserved for those he loves, as Vanya wraps gauze around his forearm with care.

He’s been fine all this time, he thinks, even as Luther says, “Good to have you back, Five.”

It’s good to be back, he thinks, turning his head so that it’s buried against Diego’s shoulder when he lets out another sob.

#tua #long post #fic #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #the boy #hurt/comfort #five gets rumored #hargreeves family #hargreeves siblings

348 notes · View notes

fandom-imagines · 3 years

Text

October

Fandom: Halloween

Pairing: Michael Myers X Reader

Warnings: Death, attempted rape (not by Michael), hurt. (also not proof read because it’s 4am and I’m very inspired so I’ll proof read it another day).

Summary: Y/N hates fall, but that changes upon meeting someone special.

Words: 2.8k

A/N: I’ve been obsessed with the song ‘we fell in love in October’ by Girl in Red and yeah this just kinda happened because of it.

Fall had never been Y/N’s favourite season. As a matter of fact, it was one she hated and dreaded the most each year. Well, until she met him.

They met during October, nearing Halloween.

Sure, she had heard the whispers about the infamous Michael Myers who murdered his sister and many others. Did she care? No. Not really anyway. It wasn’t like she’d ever see him… right?

Well, that’s what she thought. She had never believed that she’d ever meet him, nor see him. But, everyone can be wrong sometimes.

The stars glistened brightly as Y/N lay on a blanket, gazing at them dreamily.

It might have been cold, freezing actually, and the jacket that hung loosely from her body provided very little warmth, but she still enjoyed it. Despite hating fall, she did particularly like the late nights. Not many people would be around on the nights due to the cold weather which meant that she was able to be alone whenever she wished, except for Halloween of course when children and teenagers alike would be wandering the streets of Haddonfield.

Lost in her thoughts whilst staring at the stars, she finally realised something.

“Shit I’m lonely.” A slight chuckle left her lips at the words.

As if on cue, a sadistic voice sounded behind her causing her whole body to tense, “Do you often talk to yourself late at night?” She could almost hear the smirk through his words which was followed by numerous laughs.

Quickly climbing onto her feet, she turned to face the people, who she quickly assumed was a gang after seeing their similar outfits and weapons ‘hidden’ in their pockets.

“Sometimes, yes.” She gave a casual smile, doing her best to hide how afraid she truly was. Despite the shaking of her hand, she showed not true fear, her eyes simply filled with determination. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“I believe you can, pretty lady.” The man, who she believed to be the leader of the gang, stepped towards her with a huge smirk on his lips.

“How so?” Y/N’s head tilted to the side, hair falling with the movement, covering her face in a cute manner that almost made the men feel guilty; key word being almost.

Nothing could really change their beliefs after it being instilled in them from being children.

All five of the men walked towards her, an action that made the girls strong stance falter. Both her stance and demeanour crumbled into tiny pieces as the first guy grasped her shoulder tightly, leaving her unable to shrug it off despite her attempts.

“Let go of me.” She mumbled, eyes darting towards the ground.

“Awe, you sound so cute when you say that.” Another man chuckled, beginning to palm himself through his, almost too tight, jeans which made her realise what was about to happen. “Say it again.” He stifled a moan at her small, afraid whimpers.

“Please.” Her tone was a pleading one, simply sparking the enjoyment and pleasure in the men’s eyes.

“Awe, she’s so cute guys. Maybe we should kee-“The leaders voice was cut short by a knife to the heart, blood quickly making its way to his mouth, pouring down his lips. Everyone, besides the perpetrator of course, stood frozen still.

Y/N watched in horror as each of the men were slaughtered in front of her.

It was only once the last man fell to the ground that she finally looked up to see the man who has rescued her.

“Michael…” The name left her lips before she could even stop herself. All she got in return was a simple head tilt from the extremely tall man. “Thank you.” She whispered to him before taking a step forward. “Even if it was a strange last sight, I still appreciate it.” Her words came out hoarse now as she realised that it was the end of her life.

Michael simply tilted his head again, looking almost like a confused puppy. In fact, it was cute to her. Sure he had just murdered five men, but he saved her and she couldn’t thank him enough for that, even if he was about to kill her.

Y/N’s eyes closed as she stood in front of Michael, his body towering over her in a way that intimidated her significantly. Her body braced herself for the stab.

One second…

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

She wasn’t sure how long she was stood there, but the stab never came. Her eyes flew open, wondering as to why she was still breathing, only to reveal Michael was no longer stood there.

That was at the start of October.

It had been over a week since then and she was still alive as well as extremely confused.

He saved her and then didn’t kill her? Michael Myers? Willingly sparing somebody’s life?

From what she had heard, she assumed that that wasn’t normal for him. But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became.

Each night was spent wondering why he spared her life; why he saved her.

Sure, maybe it was the bloodlust. But why would he spare her? She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her and he was some bloodthirsty killer.

She thought nearly every hour of every day, pondering why he spared her, but she was unable to think of a valid and reasonable answer.

Little did she know, she would receive her answer that day.

Y/N’s lips formed into an O shape as she puffed out the smoke from her lips, cigarette limp in her hand which hung beside her thigh.

The roof she was on was one she visited often.

Nobody was able to come up here, meaning that she was the only one here.

She did love to be alone, like she was right now.

Or so she thought.

Behind her stood a tall, masked man that the entirety of Haddonfield knew as Michael Myers, the guy who killed many, including five men a week ago.

He stalked towards her, knife nowhere in sight, simply store in his pocket, close to reach if he needed to grab it, but hidden enough to not scare the girl.

He watched fascinated as she lifted the lit cigarette to her lips. He caught sight of her painted fingernails, a nice shade of red. It was strange of Michael to pay attention to such simple things, tending to be focused on the colour of the blood pouring from his victims. Maybe that was why he noticed her nails; the blood red reminding him of his victims.

Michael himself wasn’t entirely sure as to why he spared her life. He had stalked her for the past week ever since the incident, the feeling in his stomach leaving him irritated. He became especially irritated when he couldn’t bring himself to force the steel knife into her chest whilst she slept soundly, oblivious as to the fact that there was a killer hovering over her, unable to strike.

There was a small part of him that understood what the feeling was, an extremely small part that he ignored.

He was infatuated with her.

Maybe it was the way she did her best to stand up for herself, or the way she walked towards him unafraid despite having just witnessed him kill five other men. It could also be how she thanked him, despite knowing who he was. Or maybe he just liked the way his name sounded falling from her lips and he wished to hear it again.

He wasn’t sure which reason it was, maybe a combination of all of them. But he was fully aware of the fact that he couldn’t kill her; he had tried multiple times in the week following the incident but, despite the voices screaming at him to do it, he couldn’t bring himself to end her life.

Michael was now behind her on the rooftop, nearing the edge where she was stood, gaze focused on the scenery ahead of her, blissfully unaware of the shadow looming over her.

His huge hands gripped her shoulder, pushing her gently, a big enough push for her to be scared, a scream leaving her lips, but his grip tight enough making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

He didn’t want that.

Eyes wide, she spun around to face the person who had almost killed he.

Her eyes widened even more as she saw who stood in front of her,

“Michael…”

He simply nodded before leaving.

“Don’t go.” She called for him, pleading for him to stay, almost like she had pleaded for the men to stop.

She watched as his body came to a halt.

“Michael,” His body tensed, “please stay.”

He did.

That was how their relationship, if you could even call it that, began.

That was two weeks ago.

It’s only a week until Halloween.

Until Michael next killing spree.

Y/N wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Michael had ended up staying at her house nearly every night.

Sure, he crashed on the couch, surprising her, but he did stay with her.

The two grew attached to each other, even if Michael was unaware as to this fact. He was, however, aware of the fact that he couldn’t kill her; he couldn’t even harm her, even if he wanted too.

It was another night with Y/N lounging on the couch, watching some random movie that was playing on the TV. Weirdly enough, she was alone tonight. She had no idea where Michael was, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried. But she knew him well enough, or at least she liked to think she did, to know that he could take care of himself. He’s a big man, quite literally.

A knock on her front door pulled her attention away from her thoughts as curiosity filled her body. She didn’t know who it could be. She wasn’t exactly expecting somebody, and it wasn’t Halloween so there’d be no kids looking for free candy, something that Y/N began to curse at herself for, remembering that she had meant to pick some up today.

The knocking grew louder and more aggressive the longer she waited.

“Hello?” Her voice was confused as she greeted the weird man on her doorstep.

“Y/N, right?” He was straight to the point.

“Uhm…?”

“Dr Loomis, I need to speak to you.” He barged past her, startling her immensely and she internally begged Michael would be here soon if things went badly.

“Okay?”

She carefully closed the front door, turning to face the guy named Loomis who was now stood in the middle of her lounge.

“What is it?” Her words were cautious, chosen with extreme carefulness as she wasn’t entirely sure who this man was.

“I know of your relationship with Michael Myers.”

Crap.

“My what?” Her words sounded confused, despite her knowing exactly what. “Michael Myers? As in the killer?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know he’s been staying here, and you’ve been letting him. In fact, I know you’ve become quite attached to him but let me tell you this, he is evil, and doesn’t feel anything for you. I’m quite sure he’s simply here for a place to stay and will kill you when he finds another place.” Loomis’s words were sharp, he wasn’t playing around.

“I seriously don’t know what you mean. Now, I think you should leave before I call the police.” Y/N demanded, walking over to swing the front door open for him to leave.

“I’ll be back to deal with you.” He spat before having the door slammed in his face.

Y/N wasn’t too sure how long it had been as she was curled up on the couch, wondering what she could do.

Should she tell Michael? Should she keep it from him? How did this guy even know? Why did he want to know? What should she do?

The back door swung open, Michaels way of alerting her to his presence.

She payed on attention to the noise, simply remaining in her thoughts.

It wasn’t until he was in front of her did she finally break from those thoughts, looking up at him with such fear in her eyes, shortly followed by tears leaking from them, trickling down her cheeks.

“S-sorry.” The girl hiccupped, tilting her head in order to make her hair fall in front of her face, not wanting Michael to see her like this.

Once she realised that Michael wasn’t leaving, she glanced up.

He stood there, bloody knife still in hand as though he was preparing to attack, not her but somebody else. His masked head was tilted, the same as he did when he was confused.

“I met someone today.” Y/N’s words were quiet, not noticing the way Michaels grip on the knife tightened at the sentence, knuckles turning white as his whole body was strained with anger. “He knows you’ve been staying here. He said his name was Dr Loomis.”

Michael left.

That was two days ago now.

She hadn’t seen him in two days, and it was safe to say that she did miss him. And, weirdly enough, he missed her also, in his own Michael way.

She wandered the streets, unaware of the gaze focused on her and her alone. Y/N had decided on a thick jumper today which hugged her body in a way that actually provided warmth this time. Her jeans were also a source of warmth. The wind blew through her H/C locks, tossing them behind her.

She looked beautiful.

The girl had arranged to meet a friend today in order to take her mind off of Michaels disappearance.

She had let Loomis’s words get to her, assuming that he had found somebody else like he had said. But, he hadn’t killed her, not yet at least.

Her steps slowed down, eventually halting as she realised something. Something she wished she hadn’t.

She loved Michael.

She couldn’t think about this for more than ten seconds before hearing her name leave somebody’s lips behind her.

“Y/N! Hey, why’re you stood still you weirdo.” Jessica, Y/N’s friend, giggled as she jogged to catch up to her.

“Hey.” Y/N’s smile was forced, the daunting realisation from moments ago still on her mind.

“How’re you doing?” The other girls smile was not forced, genuinely happy to see her friend after three weeks.

“I’m good.” Another forced smile, “How are you?” She tensed as Jessica’s arms wrapped around her friends shoulder.

A relieved sigh left Y/N’s painted lips as the door closed behind her.

The thought of it being unlocked didn’t even cross her mind, desperate to get inside, change into comfy clothes and just sit down. However, those plans were stopped when she felt a rough hand tug on her elbow, turning her to face him: Loomis.

“What the fuck?” She did her best to rip her arm from his grasp but to no avail, “Let go of me you creep!” She yelled, violently tugging her arm again.

“Tell me of your relationship with Michael Myers!” Loomis yelled back, refusing to let go of her, despite how hard his grip was, both of them unaware of the fact that bruises would be left.

“I don’t have one!” Another yell from her.

“Yes you do! Where is he?”

Tears began to pour down her cheeks and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was from panic, stress or the pain in her arm.

“Please let go of me.” She whispered quietly, tears falling to the ground.

“Only if you tell me where he-“ Loomis’s words were cut short due to a stab through the heart, reminding Y/N of the way Michael and her met.

She felt the grip on her arm loosen before watching the body drop to the floor, revealing a shaking, panting Michael. “Michael…”

He was covered in blood, shaking with both anger and hatred.

How dare Loomis touch what is his.

His…?

Michaels sudden realisation was similar to Y/N earlier that day.

Michael had seen that realisation happen, however he wasn’t sure as to why she simply stopped in the middle of the street.

He wanted her to be his and his alone.

He wanted her to belong to him and him alone.

No, he needed her to.

Michael showed no sign of the internal conflict he was facing as he stood in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Her words were concerned, more worried about Michael than the pain in her arm as well as the bruising.

A simple nod from him followed by a head tilt, wordlessly asking her the same.

“I’m okay.” She gulped, unable to look him in the eyes, something which irritated him.

His annoyance was evident in his stride towards her, leaving her afraid.

She gulped again once he was in front of her, watching as his arm raised towards her, hand tightly gripping her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes, his eyes showing a strange emotion for him.

Trust.

They fell in love in October, and that’s why Y/N loves fall.

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bearseokie · 4 years

Text

Working Other Occupations | GOT7

got7 m.list | navi.

Mark: Gas Station Clerk;

knows everyone because his store is so busy

the store has two checkout lines, but his is always the longest

knows the best brands in the stores, constantly recommends them

gets frozen yogurt every day, collects his spoons

never leaves the slushie machine alone, his tongue is always red or blue

hates cleaning the bathrooms

prefers the night shift over the morning shift

blasts music

begs people that buy cigarettes to try quitting by chewing gum

steals energy drinks

pays for people's items when they don't have enough to cover it

smiles at everyone for no reason

found a stray cat behind the store, named it and deemed it the gas station kitty

stands at the counter, refuses to sit down

raps to songs playing while he restocks

runs around the counter to open the door for elders

challenges himself to see how long he can stand in the freezer

befriends the cook that makes hot food so he gets free meals

pumps gas for his friends and elders so he knows they get taken care of

hoodies

Jaebeom: Mechanic;

works on vehicles part time

gets stuck somewhere almost every day. once it was his hand in the exhaust pipe. once his entire body got stuck between the bottom of a truck and the creeper. it was a funny call for help.

wears a black jumpsuit and boots every day, loves that his name is embroidered onto his uniform.

blasts alternative music in the shop

thinks his job is like math

all of his co-workers are buff dudes with tattoos, and he admits he looks out of place

long hair that gets caught in Everything

sits on the creeper and rides it around when he's too lazy to stand up

is actually really good at his job, and has never had a complaint

women stop by to request that "he must look at their car because the check engine is on" but it's just a glitch, he gets their number anyways

always offers to buy food for his co-workers when they've been working long hours

always is on coffee duty

keeps a jar of lollipops for the client’s kids

got pranked by his co-workers once, hopes it never happens again

they asked him to get into a car to check if the steering wheel was even, then they lifted the car. he was in the air, stuck for almost an hour while they worked on it because "it would be a waste of time to bring it back down to let him out", he still appreciates them though

knows a lot of the rich people in the area specifically because he works on their cars

loves working on Ferraris and Lamborghinis

got to drive both to test run them, he was in love

is always covered in grease and oil, smells like them too

rough hands

Jackson: Workout Trainer;

always wears black tank tops

goes into the gym to do his own workout before his client shows up

brings extra water

gets way too excited when his client wants to do another workout

has a personal connection to all of his clients

will treat them to meals and give gifts to support their hard work

all of his fits match

wears insoles for extra support and asks his clients to get them too so they won't be as sore

is naturally loud but is quiet when he works out / when he is watching over a client

real bike rides & hikes

always makes clients start off with the basics, the smallest weights, shorter movements even if they are familiar with the workout / equipment

wears sweat bands like they're actual accessories

messes around from time to time by "running" on the gazelle, skipping on the treadmill, swings from the pull-up bars

acts like he's done more than everyone else when they aren't paying attention

pretends he can't lift a heavy weight when his client tells him they don't know if they can, so they feel inspired to try and be better than him

the best spotter

gets angry at other people in the gym when they are checking out / flirting with his clients, tries to explain that they are focused

protein shakes that smell okay and taste awful but he considers them a necessity

headbands like he's in an 80's workout video

always bouncy and excited, even when he's tired

Jinyoung: Dental Receptionist;

holds his index finger up at people when he's in the middle of something

types very fast

will hang up on you if you're rude to him

is friends with all of the dentist's in the building, and constantly chats with them even if people are waiting for their appointment

dentist still hasn't come back? they're talking to jinyoung

has a jar of mints on his desk, never offers them to anyone

is only nice to kids

bought new toys for the kid's waiting room because the old ones were boring, now none of them make noise but are enough to busy them

will purposely shred important papers just to give people a hard time

hates his desk chair

plays generic stock music in the office

goes through pens like crazy

hates check-in calls to remind people of their appointments, so he doesn't even do them most of the time and just hopes for the best

no insurance? sucks for you now you have a bill in your name

staples aggressively

plays solitare

makes the waiting room freezing while he's perfectly fine

gets up in the middle of someone checking in to walk around doing nothing until he feels like coming back

shows no emotion unless he hears a kid laughing

waves goodbye instead of telling people to have a good day / evening

Youngjae: Librarian;

shushes people that shush others

sneaks up behind people when they are focused

laughs way too loud and bothers everyone

the scanners hate him so much that they will glitch and shut down the entire computer

wears plaid pants and comfy tees, pushed back hair and glasses, never wears his contacts to work

brings his own lunch / snacks but still buys things from the staff room's vending machine

plays music in his earbuds when restocking and reorganizing

puts his own name down for newly released dvds so he gets to watch them first

carries a backpack of random stuff for when he gets bored

doesn't actually like books that much

accidentally sings at full volume to the music in his ears

buys stickers to give to the kids when they check out their books

runs up and down the aisles when no one else is around

recommends the same four books to everyone

writes in his notebook for half of his shift

when the kids get lost from their parents, he holds their hand and lets them hang out with him at his counter while he calls over the intercom

thinks there should be a bigger music section

wears a watch but still stares at the wall clock

bad sleep schedule so he's always dozing off

loves decorating the library with themes

Bambam: Retail Employee;

very sassy

wears brands even his own store doesn't sell

is actually the nicest person ever to work in retail

fingertip length organized racks

perfectly folds Everything because he believes presentation is one of the most important features of anything

will change a mannequin while people are shopping if he hates the fit enough

rants about how more people should thrift clothing instead of buying new things every time because it's better for the environment to recycle and benefits & supports local thrift stores

holds up clothes when people are checking out and compliments their taste

actually enjoys comfy clothing over designer, but will never admit it

takes a whole shift just to choose one pair of shoes to put on display

loves when kids ask his opinion on what they should get

spends his breaks looking over the jewelry section

steals candles

hates when people mess up the t-shirt section because he always has to fix it

electric shopping cart races

always has his long sleeve uniform shirts rolled up to his elbow

has knowledge of the best makeup brands in the store

severe hatred for the low-quality tees with weird quotes on them

loves all of the jeans with rips in them and always recommends them to customers

can make the floors so shiny he sees his own reflection in it

Yugyeom: Roller-Rink Employee;

part time dj, part time employee

puts on his favorite beats and skates around until he has to switch songs

kids try to climb him because he's so tall

has multiple pairs of skates for different days of the week

skates backwards

big shirts and ripped jeans

usually the leader of kid's birthday parties

held one of the parties and became the special guest because all of the girls loved him so much, they made him their prince for the day

loves watching people hold on to the walkers because it's funny

teaches old people how to skate safely by holding onto the edge of the rink

has to make the girls that flock around his booth find another activity to do

aggressively competitive lazer tag player, always gets his vest on first so he gets a head start

drinks monsters like it's water

doesn't buy the food they make inside, just steals it

hates being on rollerskate duty, always has to clean them and restock them properly because the high school kids place them in random spots

dyes his hair a different color every month

thinks the blacklight is the coolest feature of the entire rink

has so many high scores on the old arcade machines that kids cry trying to beat him, he buys them candy so they stop being upset

decorates the dj booth with neon colors

once got stuck putting his arm into the claw machine trying to get a toy that he wanted for himself

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 reaction #got7 imagines #got7 au #jackson wang #mark tuan #im jaebeom #choi youngjae #bambam #kim yugyeom #park jinyoung #got7 headcanons #kpop headcanons #kpop au #got7.headcanon

154 notes · View notes

soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years

Text

Hold Me, My Hands Are Cold pt. 1

Fili x Reader x Kili

These cold nights suck, but being sandwiched between two pretty princes doesn't suck in the slightest.

*There are two other parts on my AO3 that are smut if you're interested*

Traveling during the days is rather easy for the most part.

All you really have to do is keep an eye out, not fall off your ride, and follow the group. If there's conflict you hide in the middle of the group, and joining in on pleasant conversations is basically second nature.

These things are all a cinch. Easy as pie. Simple.

What isn't so simple, is staying warm at night when your little body simply refuses to retain heat.

Your body just doesn't stay warm all that easily, and as frustrating as it is you certainly can't complain about it because it's your choice. You prefer not to sleep in the middle of the group despite the persuasion of the others.

"It's safer." They insist.

"It's so much warmer." They assure.

"It's quieter." They promise.

"We won't bother you." They lie.

On night one you knew that there is no way you'd be able to stand another night in the midst of this pile of dwarves. Bilbo shared much of the same sentiments, too. So the both of you sleep together at the end of the group, but he doesn't need the warmth like you do. And, believe it or not, Bilbo Baggins is also a horrible blanket hog.

Now, you've only actually slept next to Bilbo, Dori and Nori, and Bofur so you don't know if all of their sleeping habits are the same, but you simply cannot afford multiple sleepless nights in a row.

Only that's exactly what you've got now that the air has turned icy and the ground frozen as the nights get colder and colder the deeper you get into winter.

The cold was bearable at first because the beginnings of winter aren't usually that bothersome, but after the first week it really began to freeze.

It was at this time you began to share your sleeping space with Bilbo, and though the first two nights of sleeping next to the hobbit were nice, he didn't take long to show his true colors. In the middle of the third night, you awoke to the feeling of your warm covers being literally ripped off of you. One look to the right told you that it was Bilbo who had done it, and unconsciously too.

No matter how hard you pulled on that blanket or how vigorously you shook him, you simply could not get him to let it go. So you eventually gave up and lay there on the freezing ground with nothing to cover you other than the chilly air.

This went on for another week.

Eventually you reached your breaking point, though, and explained to Bilbo as kindly as you could that you think your sleeping arrangement is going to have to end. He actually seemed kinda bummed about it and asked you why.

"But you get so cold at night, what's prompting you to leave?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, my dear Bilbo, but your sleeping habits are going to be the death of me. Every morning I wake up nearly frozen through, so while I very much enjoy sleeping next to you I'm afraid I just can no longer handle it when it's so cold." You reach up and place your hand on his shoulder, smiling sympathetically. "I hope that isn't too harsh. Once the heat returns, though, I'll be back."

At the end of your explanation Bilbo is smiling, so you assume that you haven't hurt his feelings and go about the rest of your day. Little did you know, the two princes were eavesdropping not too far back.

---

When night falls once more and the sun is replaced with the white light of the moon, Thorin calls for everyone to stop and set camp for the night.

You assist Gloin and Bofur in securing the ponies as part of your nightly duties, then move on to your things which you'd settled against near a tree off to the side and further from the fire than you'd like.

Before long Bombur has some soup cooking in his large pot, and the smell wafts over to your sleeping area.

Not 10 minutes later is said dwarf calling for everyone to come get their food, but you decided to wait until everyone has got their before going to get your own to avoid the hassle.

Two pairs of feet disrupt your meal time, and when you look up to see who belongs to those feet, you smile. It's Fili and Kili, and they've both got their dinner in hand as well as an extra bowl held in Kili's other hand.

"Hello, boys. What can I do for you?" You ask, moving to stand up.

You're stopped when Fili places his free hand on your shoulder and urges you to sit back down. "We just came to eat with you, is all. We brought you a bowl as well." The older brother explains.

Suspicion makes you look between the two of them distrustingly before you zero in on the food that Kili is holding. "What did you do to it?" Your approach to this is wary, for you're not entirely certain that they wouldn't mess with your food just to prank you.

"You think we would mess with your food? I'm hurt that you think we're stupid enough!" Kili exclaims with a good-natured laugh.

Fair.

You sigh and pat the spots next to you, "Well, sit down then. But I'm warning you, any funny business and I'll skin you both." Your delivery isn't the most threatening you will admit, but it was meant as more of a joke anyways.

The two dwarves settle on either side of you and Kili hands you the extra bowl, and the rest of dinner goes in comfortably with nice conversations and lots of joking around.

Eventually, though, the soup is all gone, bellies are full, eyes are droopy, and it's time for lights out.

When Fili and Kili left that ever present cold returned, so you burrow into your bedroll and cover your head with your blanket in hopes of warding off the mid-night chills. Like you expected though, it does very little.

You don't know how much time passes, but pretty soon you're more focused on warming up than you are on actually sleeping. For a split second you even regret your decision not to sleep next to Bilbo anymore.

At some point your teeth begin to clack together upon their own accord, and you've since pressed your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in hopes of keeping all of your heat centered. The cold has also decreased blood flow to your fingers, toes, and face, so everything has begun to feel frigid and stiff. It's gotten to the point where all simple movements are a chore.

Right as you're about to accept your fate of becoming an ice cube, there is movement somewhere just in front of you.

You're alert right away, but, not wanting to notify whoever it is that you're awake, you don't immediately jump into action. Instead, you grasp a part of your blanket and slowly tug it down to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

But it's no intruder at all. Rather, you're met with two handsome faces hovering over you less than 5 inches away. You jump and pull your blanket back over your head reflexively, startled at how close they were (how did they move so quietly??).

Quite chuckles register just above you and it successfully makes you huff indignantly.

You reach up and pull your blanket back down, glaring up at the pair of them suspiciously much like before. "W-What are you two planning?" You stutter out despite trying to appear cross. The chattering of your poor teeth is just too strong to stop with speech, apparently.

They look at each other and have a silent exchange instead of answering you, and when it seems that they've come to a conclusion they both straighten up.

So you try again. "Hey, whatever shenanigans you're getting up to I want no part of."

Still they do not answer.

Verbally at least.

Before you can even open your mouth to demand acknowledgement again Fili is at your feet and Kili has moved behind you. You try to sit up but a pair of arms coming up beneath your armpits and hands grabbing your ankles halt your movements.

You almost complain, but Fili's hands are really damn warm on your icy ankles and- holy shit these two are strong.

They lift you up like you're nothing and walk you over towards where their things are, still offering no explanation to their antics might I add, and moments later you're being lowered to the ground gently to lay between their things. You almost get up to return to your things, almost, but when Kili walks back over and grabs all your belongings and brings them over, you realize you just don't care enough. And they've already succeeded in kidnapping you away from your cold patch of ground anyway, and their patch of floor is much warmer than your own.

You don't really know what you were expecting when they came over and 'woke you up' and literally carried you over to their area, but when Kili settled down to your right and Fili did the same at your left, suffice to say Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Warmth spreads to your cheeks as you look back and fourth between the two, meeting their eyes each time you turned to look at the other and vise versa.

"Did we startle you?" Fili asks suddenly, amusement sparkling in his pretty blue eyes.

You just nod dumbly, looking at him silently as you try to process what the hell is going on.

Then Kili speaks up, "We've shocked her dumb." It's meant as a joke, you know, but yeah he's not wrong though.

"I'm not used to being ambushed like that. Especially by two handsome princes who are constantly pranking everyone else." You reply evenly despite your horrid mixture of embarrassment, flattery(?) and incredulity.

"Aw, she thinks we're handsome." Fili speaks up again.

Oh god did you actually say that part out loud?

They laugh again.

Shit you didn't say that in your head either.

You shake your head quickly and pull your blanket up to just under your chin. "W-Well, why did you bring me over here anyways?" An attempt to be nonchalant is made on your part, but you don't really think it's working.

"Isn't it obvious? You're cold, and we are quite warm. Just because we like jokes doesn't mean we'll let the cutest member of our group freeze in the night." God the way Kili says that is so natural it's almost like he isn't complimenting you in an obvious attempt to fluster you.

"Aye, Kili's got it exactly right. And there is no recollection of you saying you want us to bring you back, so..."

Ah, now you get it.

They may have brought you over here by force, but they by no means intend to make you stay if you don't wish.

Who knew they are actually total sweeties behind... nah you knew that the whole time.

Deciding that their explanation was good enough, you look back up at the sky and lay your arms by your sides. "I'll accept that. But I'm not getting any warmer over here by myself." You state in an attempt to be confident.

You only fluster yourself with your words though, and when a blush settles across your face again, they decide to poke and prod at your cheeks.

"She's gone and made herself blush." Wow, great observation Fili. It's not like it's obvious or anything.

"Okay, okay, we shouldn't bother her anymore. I'd hate to see her explode... or leave." Kili states in a softer voice than before.

It seems they've had their fill of teasing you (finally), because you're suddenly being engulfed by two strong (WARM) pairs of arms.

Fili, who is still at your left, turned onto his side and wiggles his right arm beneath your head and ushers your head to rest on his shoulder. Then he moves his not-pinned arm to lay on your stomach, curled so his hand lies on your sternum, between your breasts. It's not a sensual touch in the slightest, and the heavy weight there makes you feel protected.

Meanwhile, Kili has also turned onto his side with his heavy arm settled across your midsection. You can feel his chin pressing lightly against the top of your bosom, his head resting on your shoulder as his leg comes up to wrap around your own. His fingers press into the soft flesh of your side, and you release a quite, pleased sigh. Much like Fili, his touches and the placement of his head is in no way meant to be venereal.

Being wrapped up between Fili and Kili like this makes your heart thump in your chest, and for a few moments you're not sure what to do with your hands of if it's okay to move.

"Relax love, just get comfortable." Kili mumbles muffledly against your chest.

You try to do as he says and shift around slightly, closing your eyes as you lay your right arm just below Kili's and grasp his hand while simultaneously turning your head to press against Fili's neck because of the access this position gives you to it.

Right away you're wrapped up in a cozy warmth and two safe embraces, and for the first time since this horrible winter has started, you feel comfortable.

Sleep came quite easily to the three of you that night, and for the first time since this damn winter settled in, you actually slept through most of the night.

When you wake, it's still dark and you aren't quite sure what time it is.

It doesn't seem like anyone else is really awake yet other than Ori, who is on watch and minding his own business like a good boy, so it must mean that you've got a good few hours left to sleep.

You simply stare up at the sky above for a little while, before an obvious weight on your chest comes to your attention when someone moves.

At some point in the night, Fili removed his arm from behind your head (no doubt because it fell asleep) and it was no tucked beneath him. His left hand had somewhat migrated in the middle of the night and now, instead of on your sternum, his heavy hand, quite literally, is placed on top of your left breast. Thank god it's the left one, though, because it's your favorite. One of his legs is hooked around your left one too.

While you're gazing down at your intertwined legs, you see that your other leg is entrapped as well, stuck between Kili's as he's basically on top of you.

Kili's head also migrated in the middle of the night so that it's now laying on your sternum between your breasts in place of where Fili's hand was before (now you're beginning to wonder if it really is accidental, I mean come on, both of them?). His right arm is curled around your midsection too, and your right arm is sprawled out off to the side.

Your left hand is no longer clutching Kili's, for instead it simply rests on your stomach.

Slowly you lower your head back to the ground, allowing your eyes to slip shut once more when they begin to droop. You're much to comfortable, more so than what's good for you probably, and you find that you loathe the idea of getting up any time soon.

It doesn't take long for sleep to get ahold of you again, and when it does, you're basically dead to the world.

---

The next time you wake up, it's not a natural occurrence.

Movement and soft whispers bombard your senses, and, wanting to things to stay as they were, you whine and mumble a quiet, "Shh... 'm tryin' to sleep..."

The shifting stops right away and silence ensues once more.

Right when you're at the edge of sleep again, though, you feel something gentle sliding down your cheek and another 'something gentle' caressing your arm.

With a quiet sigh, you open your sleepy eyes and release a big yawn, eyes watering from the action.

The first thing you see is Fili's face hovering above yours and his hand gently rubbing your cheek. You glance down and are met with soft brown eyes looking up at you with an expression you've never seen on that face before. His fingers are gently stroking the cool skin of your arm, and it successfully causes goosebumps to spread across your arms and legs.

You break eye contact when heat begins to spread to your face, and you look back up at Fili who was watching you the whole time.

"G-Good morning." You stutter out shyly, gaze flickering down to Kili's briefly.

They both grin at you and reply in unison, "Good morning, Y/N."

They're whispering, you notice, and with a quick graze of a look around camp you see that only a few early risers have begun to get up for the day, for the sun has only just begun to peek out from the horizon.

The weight on your chest suddenly disappears, and another face comes up next to Fili's.

You don't try to get up and instead just look up at the both of them. "Um... hello." You greet again. It seems your brain has ceased all rational functions, because you can't come up with anything witty or sassy to say for once.

"Hi." Kili whispers back, not seeming amused by your loss for words like he normally would.

Okay now it's getting kinda weird.

You reach up slowly and pinch their cheeks in your hands, watching as Fili's nose twitches and Kili straight up glares at you.

"I guess we haven't broken her after all." Fili muses, sitting back to give you some space.

You sit up into a seated position once they're both out of your way and you stretch your arms above your head to loosen your tight muscles, squeezing your eyes shut from the effort. You groan softly from the pleasant stretch of your limbs, arching your back slightly to raise your hands higher. Once you're satisfied you allow your hands to drop back to your lap and reopen your eyes, looking between the two who are, still, staring at you.

A blush unconsciously stains your cheeks again, and you begin to wonder when you've become so self conscious around these two.

Whatever trance they were in seems to have broken, because suddenly they're both smiling again and moving to gather their things.

"Now wasn't that much better than freezing to death?" Kili asks, slinging his arm around your shoulders after shoving all of his items at his older brother.

"Hm, good question," You pause as a bashful smile curls at the corners of your lips, "I'll have to try it again before I can decide."

Your answer seems to please him, because his grin grows and he looks over at his brother, "What do you think?"

Fili only rolls his eyes at Kili's antics as he packs your blanket back into your pack for you, "Of course she has to try again, no one can make a decision after only trying something once."

"Yes, I do suppose you're right, Fee."

"Of course I am!"

"I wonder what else we can do to shock her?"

Gods these two are going to be the death of you.

#fili x reader #the hobbit #tolkien #kili x reader #fili x reader x kili #fili imagine #fili #kili #kili durin #kili fic #the hobbit fanfiction #fluff #kili imagine #originally posted on ao3 #2 other parts are smut on my ao3 #my ao3 is Soyeahthishappened #reader insert #reader

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dalekofchaos · 3 years

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My critique of the Sequel Trilogy Lightsaber duels

My biggest problems with the Sequel Trilogy are the blatant rip off and unoriginality, no clear plan at all, lore breaking bullshit, lack of worldbuilding and poor executions of great character concepts. In this post, one of my My biggest gripes with the Sequels is the terrible Lightsaber fights.

The only good duel in my opinion is Finn vs Kylo Ren. This feels raw and powerful. A hardened soldier who has just became familiar to Lightsaber combat vs a trained dark side warrior. Despite Ren's years on training, though, Finn puts up a good fight and is able to hold his own before having his back sliced up. But.....that's what kills the fight for me. Finn's injuries. If this were in the first 6 movies or anywhere in the EU, Finn would be in a wheelchair or in a bacta tank for life. And guess what? A movie later and Finn’s injuries are never brought up again or treated with any severity.

Like Finn’s injuries, Finn’s rivalry with Kylo Ren is dropped for no reason whatsoever and never mentioned again. Finn and Kylo Ren are narrative foils, yet after TFA it’s dropped??? From the start they have been prominent foils to each other: dark from light and light from dark, both in the First Order but in drastically different positions. And Kylo too obviously has strong feelings about his defection. I also believe that Finn is the awakening in the force that Kylo and Snoke felt. Perhaps that is why Kylo focused on Finn and is so angry about him. Finn is also the first person to use the legacy lightsaber and is the first to actually fight Kylo. TLJ could've focused on Finn and Kylo being narrative foils having a force connection and Kylo wondering why Finn would switch to the Resistance while Finn wonders why Kylo joined The First Order and Rey standing in the middle of it all wondering with the new realization that her family has a mixed past of good and evil and her questioning where exactly does she belong? The way at the height of tfa when Kylo Ren rejected Han Solo’s offer for redemption and killed him he looked over and noticed Finn. Like they both locked eyes and in that moment was a surge of emotions between them— shock (and some fear) on Finn’s end, and anger on Kylo’s as he shouts at Finn that he’s a traitor— and those circumstances set Finn and Kylo up to be the dynamic for the sequel trilogy. They were foils, and the trilogy had the potential to truly expand on that and see their development in a final standoff/rematch at the very end. But it was wasted, because why have good movies.

Rey vs Kylo Ren. This duel was bullshit from start to finish. Okay, I don't care how force sensitive she is. I don't care that she downloaded Kylo's abilities in the interrogation. ANd I don't give a fuck WHO she turned out to be related to. If you are thrown into a tree, you are gonna be out for at least an hour. I will hand it to them that it feels like a genuine fight, but it just feels cheap when Rey won. It also doesn't make it any better that Kylo's injuries doesn't force him to wear the helmet at all times, his facial wounds are non-consequential. Rey has no prior training. Never held a lightsaber. Rey fighting off thieves with her quarterstaff is not the same thing, it is understandable that Kylo was struggling because of his injuries, but Rey didn’t struggle against Kylo. Even Luke struggled with Vader and Anakin struggled with Dooku. What should have happened is as it looks like Kylo is about to win, Chewie from the Falcon fires his bowcaster to keep Ren at bay and both Rey and Finn make it to the Falcon. This way we can keep Kylo Ren strong and show Rey struggling to overcome Kylo. It will also show This is how powerful he is when injured, so imagine him at his peak. Instead we get a pointless fight instead of Rey and Finn just escaping Starkiller base while Ren collapses due to injuries and Rey beating Kylo served no purpose(the end goal to destroy Starkiller Base was already accomplished) and helped derail their villain of the trilogy.

The Throne Room Duel. Everyone knew that Rey and Kylo would kill the Praetorian Guards. This is a fight with absolutely zero stakes. It's one thing if Rey and Kylo dueled Snoke himself, that might be a good fight. But come on, did anyone REALLY think they would lose? There is no tension in the scene and it is pointless. Kylo Ren and Rey are fighting a faceless a group of guards that we know absolutely nothing about and have literally no purpose in the entire story except for this one fight. We know neither of the characters are going to die because these are just faceless red shirts and there is still like 30 to 40 minutes left of the movie. Terrible editing takes away any enjoyment one might have with the fight choreography, if you've got to literally photoshop out the bad guys weapons in post production to not look stupid you might need to recoreograph the shot. There are multiple times where Rey, Kylo and the guards are just doing motions and actions because they look cool but serve no purpose but to look cool. Kylo stabbing the ground? Pointless. Rey twirling her rave stick around while someone falls behind her, pointless. Not even once do we see them displaying their powers is what cheapens the fight. Kylo Ren is powerful enough to freeze a blaster and a person in place and Rey herself unlocked Kylo’s powers, so the two of them could have easily ended the fight sooner than it was dragged out. Kylo is powerful in the force but he SERIOUSLY could not stop a Praetorian Guard choke holding him and Rey struggled with a guard? Rey and Kylo were stronger in TFA and are just made weaker in the duel with the Praetorian Guards. Kylo could have frozen half of the guards and Rey could have mind tricked the other half into killing the frozen guards and Kylo and Rey could have finished them. They are masters of light and darkness, but they are made weaker. The throne room scene is a symbolization of everything wrong with the movie. It’s all flash, but no substance and the more you think about it, the worse it gets.

All this duel makes me believe is that Rey and Ben should’ve both switched sides in TLJ. Rey gives in to the dark side and Ben returns home. Rey is the most Sith like character if you obey the rules of George Lucas for Light and Dark sides of the force. Ben Solo is more Jedi like throughout the movie until the end. Let me explain. Rey throughout the sequel trilogy has given in to her passion and anger. In the end of TFA Rey gave in to anger and hate to defeat Kylo. and in TLJ she is shown to use anger and hate throughout the movie. She is shown to as Yoda put it “take the quick and easy path to the dark side” gives in to anger and hate in almost every scene before she boards the Supremacy and gave in to the temptations of the dark side water cave. Her dark side actions in TROS speak for itself. Ben is calm and clear minded like a Jedi, he even wants to cut all ties to attachments like a Jedi. Everything we were told of the Jedi and how disciplined they are, Ben displays that in TLJ until after the Throne room fight. Hell, EVEN THE THRONE ROOM FIGHT SUGGESTS THIS. Think about the fact that Ben really does not move or even engage. He just stands there and dodges and swings once when the guard rushes him. Contrast that to Rey, who is clearly being more aggressive with her lightsaber and attacking rather than just being passive. How again is Rey the Jedi and Kylo is the dark side force user in this movie? They’re fighting in the exact opposite way they should be. Rey fights for the kill while Kylo gets a glancing blow in the armor in the opening fight. Their style of fighting in the Throne Room with the Praetorian Guards really suggests that they should’ve switched sides. What they should have done is have Ben realize that Snoke was evil and shows regret for his actions and turn to the light. While Rey feeling betrayed by Luke and the revelation of her family turns to the dark. This would not only be unexpected but would even rival Vader’s “I am your father” twist. And it would logically follow what we’ve seen of these two characters leading up to this point. Rather than just out of the blue Kylo turns angry and irrational and Rey is calm when Ben was calm and rational throughout the movie and Rey was full of anger and hate throughout this movie. You have them follow an arc that makes sense for their individual personalities. Ben is always calm, but he felt betrayed by those on the light, but he comes to realize that betrayal was an incorrect perception and he desperately wants to make amends to Luke and Leia and therefore he should rejoin what he knows in his heart is good. While Rey is full of passion and anger and as that builds up and she realizes that even the great Jedi Luke Skywalker is a disappointment and her family abandoned her, she knows the only person who can live up to her own expectations is herself and that self-centered attitude leads her to the dark side. That would make sense and we would have something to fight for, save Rey from herself or stop her.

Luke Skywalker and Kylo Ren. Originally, I thought they were gonna have Luke first send the Walkers’ turboblasts right back at them and use the force to bring down the transports, TIEs and the shuttle and then toy with his nephew like Vader did to him and leave Kylo Ren in defeat and his ruined fleet. In a way he did(minus the ruined fleet), but it took away any tension away by having Luke just be a force projection. He wasn't there. His moment with Leia and 3-PO doesn't feel genuine anymore. And the "duel" if you can call it that is just bad. Luke doesn't have his Green Lightsaber and their blades do not clash. A Jedi is all about defense. But a Jedi will also fight in self-defense to defend others. The argument that Luke did the "most Jedi thing ever" is bullshit. A Jedi will stand up for what's right and face the threat. Instead Luke pulled a practical joke and died pointlessly. I mean if he instead pulled the X-Wing out afterwords and told R2 "Come on R2, we've got work to do." I would forgive that and then we could've gotten a genuine master and apprentice relationship between Luke and Rey and a proper reunion between Luke and Leia. But no, he has to die of force exhaustion. If Palpatine, who uses the force like crack didn't die of force exhaustion, then why did Luke?

The duels in TROS are all equally terrible. Not once did I felt any excitement between Rey and Kylo's duels as I did with Finn and Kylo from TFA. Every Lightsaber duel is forgettable. The fight in Ren's Quarters is just bad. The fight on the Death Star Ruins is just terrible. It's like they both got high on deathsticks and could barley remember that they are both trained with a Lightsaber. Fighting in ruins surrounded by water SHOULD BE EXCITING! But they did everything in their power to make this duel boring, mediocre and lackluster. They act as if they are swinging bats, not Lightsabers. Lightsabers aren’t baseball bats, stop treating them like they are!

The worst part is that THIS was the final Lightsaber duel of the Star Wars saga. A huge step down if compared to Obi Wan vs Anakin in Mustafar and Darth Vader vs Luke Skywalker in the Emperor’s Throne Room, which unlike the previous prequel, had awesome shooting and use of the soundtrack, also being very lengthy.

Then we get the Luke and Leia flashback. The ONLY well choreographed fight scene is a fucking flashback.

Then Ben Solo and the Knights Of Ren. Again, we know the Knights are gonna die. If JJ Abrams bothered to characterize the Knights, then yes they might've had a chance, but like the Praetorian Guards, they exist for background and die pointlessly.

Of Course we don't get to see Palpatine duel wielding his twin Sith Lightsabers and fighting Rey and Ben, cause JJ mr I hate the Prequels can't give the fans any decent Lightsaber fights. Instead of Palpatine facing Rey and Ben in an epic climatic final battle, we get Palpatine killed by his own lightning.

The fights in TFA is adequate at best. TLJ is meaningless. TROS is absolutely terrible and forgettable.

John, Daisy and Adam deserved better choreography than they were given. There's no excuse for the lackluster duels we see in the ST, whether from Rey, Finn or Kylo.

One of the biggest complaints for the Prequels is Lightsaber fights is "they are too choreographed" and anyone who believes this is an idiot. What? You wanted Jedi in their prime to slap sticks like old people? You wanted them to fight like drunken hobos? One of the best things in the prequels was finally getting to see the Jedi finally go all out in some awesome lightsaber duels. The Jedi should be masters at Lightsaber combat. Fight choreography is a good thing. Look at the duels in the prequels. You can like or hate them but the duel between Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon and Maul was great. As was Obi-Wan vs Jango, Yoda vs Dooku and every duel in ROTS. Even The Clone Wars had great fight choreography. There was more planning and choreography in The Clone Wars S7E10 than in the whole sequel trilogy.

Seriously, why wasn't Nick Gillard contacted? He is the main reason why the Lightsaber duels in the prequels were so good. I don't care if too many Lightsabers were a big complaint amongst the Prequel haters, the duels were good. So instead of great fight scenes, you traded great fight choreography for mediocre baseball bat fights?

The choreography is not the issue alone. There is no emotion. In TFA. Starkiller Base was already set to blow, so the fight was pointless. In TLJ there is no emotion at stake for the Throne Room fight and the Resistance already got away prior to Luke's pointless death. Rey vs Kylo doesn’t even matter because the characters HAVE THE SAME GOAL. Both want to get to Exegol via a wayfinder before the duel and both get to Exegol with a wayfinder (or memory of it) at the end of the duel. While Kylo gets redeemed, the duel wasn’t necessary for this part as Leia just needed to talk to him and then give him the force induced memory. The only thing this proves is that Rey is not a Jedi because she gives into anger and blind rage to start the duel.

The duels in the prequels and originals had themes, emotion and meaning. Not just that but they looked damn impressive and was the spectacle that helped made Star Wars, Star Wars.

There isn't any good musical scores for any of the Lightsaber fights either or at the very least, nothing memorable. Nothing as iconic as Duel Of Fates, Battle Of Heroes and the Throne Room fight in ROTJ. I don't remember any themes in the Sequels and that's a problem.

And it doesn’t help that these duels have no meaningful deaths either. A bunch of faceless guards and Luke (through indirect means) are the only deaths via a duel. But this is what happens when you hide the mentor archetype on an island and have the hero and villain go at it for three films.

The Lightsaber duel is no longer an emotional spectacle and a grand duel to the death. It's a bunch of idiots high on deathsticks fighting pointlessly and fighting for absolutely nothing. Rey fights like a Sith but she's a Jedi. Ben fights like a Jedi but is leading the First Order? They don't matter anymore and the duels in the sequels are the most forgettable thing about them.

#Anti Sequel Trilogy #Anti TFA #Anti TROS #Anti TLJ #Rey #Finn #Kylo Ren #Ben Solo

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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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ruewrites · 3 years

Text

We’re Blooming Together Chapter 8: Wishing on a Star

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 4587

Warnings: Drinking, Nausea

Chapter 1-Chapter 2-Chapter 3-Chapter 4-Chapter 5-Chapter 6-Chapter 7-Chapter 8-Chapter 9-Chapter 10-Chapter 11-Chapter 12

How to look professional but sexy at the same time… While yes it was a party, Asmo knew there could potentially be people there that Asmo wanted to impress, and of course he wanted Solomon’s attention. Maybe he was overthinking it, it was entirely possible that he was overthinking everything, but he just wanted to look good. He really wanted to look good.

Why the hell did he have so many clothes?

Well, he knew why, but still. Multiple outfit options were splayed out on his bed, every now and again he would swap bottoms and tops, accessories and shoes… He couldn’t even think of makeup yet until he had his outfit together perfectly. Would it be too tacky if he tried to match the design he made for Solomon? Probably… He needed to figure out his own thing. Pink had always been a good color on him, so he could start there.

While normally he would love shorts, he didn’t want to be too cold. Sure it could be a tactic to get Solomon to cuddle up against him for warmth, but he didn’t want to be uncomfortable all night. Unfortunately he also couldn’t be able to snuggle up against Solomon all night either.

Alright. That narrowed down some of his options. Now he could get rid of tops that didn’t match. He supposed he could show a little skin. Maybe high waisted pants and a crop top? Yes he wanted to attract Solomon’s eye, and maybe he was basing his outfit off of things he’d noticed had drawn his eyes in the past. Whether it be on mannequins in stores or said in passing. But he was also doing it to hopefully strike up conversation with future employers or business partners.

But his skin, showing that off was for Solomon. Other people could look if they wanted to, in fact, he would encourage people to look at his bare arms, or the part of his stomach that his top was too short to reach, or how the mesh above his chest made his collar bones visible. They could even look at other parts of him like how his pants hugged his legs ever so perfectly, how his heels would make his back arch slightly, or how his makeup made all of his most wonderful features stand out that much more.

They could admire him, but it wasn’t for them. He was locked in on Solomon.

Then it’s a date.

A date…

He said it was a date, and this was for him. He would take a jacket, but only for if he got cold. While it would be absolutely romantic for Solomon to give him one of his sweaters or jackets, he didn’t want to ruin his design.

Asmo had just finished painting his nails, when his phone buzzed, alerting him to Solomon’s presence downstairs.

“Oh.” Solomon’s voice was quiet. He looked a bit surprised, and Asmo swore he saw his eyes do a quick once over his body. Good. So far so good.

“You look really nice.”

Asmo couldn’t help the smile that curled up on his lips. “Oh? Even nicer than earlier at school today?” he asked, walking around Solomon, pretending that he was inspecting the outfit. He was more than satisfied with the way Solomon’s head slowly followed his movements. Perhaps Asmo was intentionally putting a little more swing in his hips, perhaps…

“I would dare to say yes,” Solomon said, eyes quickly flicking over him once more, “You, really took your time to… to….”

The sentence tapered off as Asmo stepped closer, their eyes locked together. Asmo couldn’t help but wonder if he should try to kiss him. His heart was pounding against his chest as he inched closer. Solomon was frozen in place and Asmo couldn’t help but wonder how lost he was in his eyes. Solomon’s eyes looked even prettier in this moment. They were dark, mysterious, endless, just like the night sky. Asmo swore he found himself searching for shooting stars. But what do you wish for when all you’ve ever wanted is standing right in front of you?

“Oi, you still need pictures for yer portfolio or nah?”

Perhaps you wish for people to stop interrupting important moments in your life. That would be oh so incredibly nice.

Solomon straightened himself as his eyes snapped towards Mammon. He cleared his throat and nodded in an attempt to gather some of his lost composure off of the floor. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste,” he smiled, looking down at Asmo once more, “Where would you like to take them?”

The nice thing about the Morningstar estate was that it was huge. A large garden sat behind the house with stone benches and angels and other decor scattered throughout the various exotic plants that grew there. Asmo tightened his jacket around himself with one hand while holding Mammon’s camera in the other. Mammon was showing Solomon some of the best ways to position himself. The look on Solomon’s face was almost comical. The glances he would steal towards Asmo screamed ‘help me’ and all Asmo could do was giggle and shrug in response. Perhaps it was good that Solomon was going to be a professor rather than going into the fashion industry. He looked the part, but being positioned didn’t seem to be one of his strong suits, especially not when Mammon was going over all of his tips a mile a minute. He looked a little awkward, but they could make it work. He still looked hot.

“Alright, just remember what we talked about,” Mammon called, to which Solomon gave him a rather unsure thumbs up. “Camera.”

Honestly Asmo was happy to return the camera to his brother, even if he had asked for it rather rudely. Yes, he was a little cold for now, but having Solomon’s eyes on him would make it so incredibly worth it.

“I hope you’re ready after these,” Mammon said, snapping pictures in quick succession, “After this set I’ll let ya look at them to see which ones you like, yer gonna get ‘em developed yerself, and then we’re gonna pregame.”

“Aren’t you driving?” Asmo asked, crossing his arms. Honestly, he couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised.

Mammon huffed, turning to look at Asmo, “Well duh, well drive there first and then pregame.”

“Mammon, brother dearest, that is far from the point.”

Asmo wasn’t about to let Mammon’s stupidity ruin his fun night. Besides, if worse came to worse, he’d call Simeon to come and get them. Problem solved. Maybe… Maybe he’d be able to go home with Solomon. Oh he couldn’t only imagine what it would feel like falling asleep in his arms! But he had to get him to confess first. He just had to. This party would be one of his best options.

It was amazing what a little alcohol could do. It would relax both of them, lower their inhibitions, bring them down to their most basic desires. Based on what Solomon had written in his letters, Asmo had know doubt that confessing would be one of the things that he wanted to do the most. This party would make him confess. This party had to make him confess.

******

Asmo wasn’t sure if this place was nice or a while in the wall. It was too dark to tell. The only lights surrounding them were bright, multicolored, and flashing. Wisps of smoke trailed across the floor from hidden spoke machines and they were surrounded by people laughing and drinking. Was that a mini bar in the corner?

Well, this was certainly a lot nicer than any college party he’d been to. Still crowded, but nice. He was a little dizzy from drinking in Mammon’s car, and every now and again he’d bump into Solomon’s side. He just had to keep his balance and he’d be fine. Asmo wasn’t drunk, but he was feeling a pretty pleasant buzz coursing through him.

Mammon had already disappeared into the crowd, most likely to find some of his work friends. He had been wearing a design from his employer when they left the house… Honestly, Asmo was starting to think this was less of a work thing, and more of a ‘it’s time for all of us to show off and be a little full of ourselves’ thing. Which Asmo had no problem with at all.

“Solomoooon!” he giggled in a sing-song voice, wrapping his arms around Solomon’s arm, “Let’s go find a place to take a picture. I wanna post a real nice one on my page.” He felt Solomon’s hand brush against his exposed waist, just for a moment. They weren’t soft, but they weren’t too rough either. It was a happy medium that sent a nice sensation along his smooth skin. They were also cold, really cold. But Asmo didn’t mind, the goosebumps would disappear eventually. He’d let himself freeze over if it meant that Solomon would touch him first. If Solomon would kiss him...If Solomon would whisper those three magic words.

He couldn’t see Solomon’s lips in the dark, and he struggled hearing him above the thumping of the bass, but he knew that Solomon followed after him without resistance.

As they pushed through the crowds looking for proper lighting, Asmo couldn’t help but notice people hiding in the corners and couches. People curled up together, people kissing, people making out, people whispering to each other, people drinking together… They were almost entirely shadows, hidden from the light, their forms only illuminated every now and again by a strike of green, or blue, or red. Asmo wanted to be in the places of those people. He knew how good it felt. He knew the high it could bring. He’d experienced it before yes, but now he wanted to experience it with Solomon. He knew it would feel good. He knew they’d enjoy themselves. Even just cuddling in Solomon’s arms, tucked away from the rest of the crowd, and hearing Solomon recite his letters to him softly in the dark.

A crack of light broke through onto the floor in gentle streams, gently caressing the smoke. And Asmo had no hesitation when it came to pushing the door open into a small bathroom. There was an ornate mirror, lined in gold and resting above a marble sink where Asmo could see their reflections perfectly. They made such a cute couple, they really did. The music was a little more muted from inside the small bathroom, and Asmo could finally hear himself think, but more importantly he could finally hear Solomon.

“I think the lighting in here will do, what do you think?” he asked, turning around ever so slightly to look at Solomon. He shrugged his jacket off before Solomon could even respond and tied it around his hips. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice, but he certainly didn’t want to leave it on the floor. However, seeing Solomon watch his movements in the mirror made it all worth it.

“Yeah- Yeah. I think this’ll work,” he said.

Asmo grinned and pushed himself back into Solomon and held his phone up. He swore he felt him shudder ever so slightly. “What do you think of this angle?” he asked, leaning more into Solomon’s shoulder so that their faces were inches apart. Asmo knew what he was doing. All Solomon had to do was wrap his hands around his hips, all he had to do was hold him close, all he had to do-

There was a quick knock at the door that made them jump. “Just a second!” Solomon called, “Alright, I think we look good.”

Asmo nodded, a little annoyed at the interruption, but smiled for the picture nonetheless. It was cute, but Asmo still wished he could have seen what might have happened… Ah well. “Ready to head to the bar?”

*****

Asmo had to stop himself from giggling as he watched Solomon gawk at the fluorescent drink in front of him. It was a bright vibrant blue color that faded into an obnoxious yellow with a cherry on top and something circling the rim. It was cute, almost like when they were kids and Solomon would become enraptured in something. In some instances, he still had a boyish charm about him especially when you got him on about something he liked.

He was currently sipping on some pink nightmare with a strawberry slipped onto the side. They were all fruity and burned just right as it slipped down his throat. “Are you going to drink it?” he asked, leaning against the bar counter.

“Yeah… Yeah it’s just so.. so bright,” he frowned, squinting his eyes at the drink, “How do they make it so bright? Is it like… like drinking a glow stick?”

Both of them had already had a few drinks at this point, indiscriminately taking shot after short of whatever looked best. Asmo was definitely sure he was a little past tipsy now, but Solomon hit the lottery when it came to the drinks with the highest alcohol content. The man had an aesthetic and it came with a price.

“I don’t mind splitting it if you-”

“Shhhhhhhhh,” Solomon’s finger was on his lips and he leaned forward a bit. For a moment Asmo was scared that he was going to fall off the stool if he leaned any closer. He wanted Solomon to make a move on him, but he didn’t want to make a trip to the ER….

“I-I can drink it,” Solomon said, then he stopped, fingers running over Asmo’s lips for a moment, “They’re so soft. How do you get them so soft?”

Asmo stuttered a bit. Yes he wanted Solomon to make a move, but it didn’t stop his heartbeat from becoming irregular. After all, Solomon was a wonderful man, and his fingers were moving back and forth over his lips. “I uh.. Chapstick…”

Incredibly expensive chapstick.

“You know,” Asmo continued, trying to regain some of his composure, “It’s cherry flavored, I’ve been told it’s really good.” Do you want a taste?

He watched Solomon focus in on his lips, and he held his breath. Maybe he was actually thinking about doing it. Maybe Solomon would kiss him and confess right here. Asmo was getting ready to close his eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He let Solomon’s finger part his lips ever so slightly and leaned forward. Then he heard the rocking of the stool and a stumble.

“Solomon!” he caught the man just in time before he fell off the bar stool. Alright… Maybe Solomon had had a little more than he thought. Solomon blinked as if in a daze before looking up at Asmo.

“Hey Asmodeus, why is your skin so smooth? And how did the sunset get into your eyes?” Solomon didn’t make any move to touch him again, but he did shoot some finger guns Asmo’s way.

Oh… Oh that was bad… That was really bad. But bad in a cute way.

“Wait, is it sunset or sunrise? …. Asmodeus do you know? I can’t remember which one is brighter… Or peaches… They could also be peaches…. Tangerines?”

Now it was time to stop. The sunset thing was cute, but this…? This was drunken rambling.

“Solomon, dear, why don’t we bring your drink over to a couch or something? That way you can sit better,” Asmo suggested, taking the blue, glowing concoction in one hand, his own in the other. The real challenge came with trying not to spill anything whenever Solomon bumped into him. It was so packed with people, the last thing he needed to do was ruin one of these expensive outfits. He couldn’t help but feel anxious about it until they found an available couch. After all, ruining another designer’s masterpiece could ruin his career before it even started.

“Why don’t we sit here?” he asked, sitting the drinks down and patting the spot next to him. He jumped a bit as Solomon plopped down onto the red felt beneath them. He plucked his drink from the table in front of them and brought it to his lips. Asmo could help admire him. Oh how lucky was that glass, what Asmo wouldn’t give to have those lips on him.

“You want the cherry?” Solomon asked, plucking it from the inside of his glass. Asmo didn’t even get to respond before the smooth, plump, red fruit was being pressed against his lips. It was cold, just like Solomon’s hands. “You said your chapstick was cherry.”

He pushed a little further.

Oh drunk Solomon was certainly a little more forward. Asmo nodded before opening his mouth just enough to eat the cherry. The entire time, Solomon watched him with the goofiest grin Asmo had ever seen. They normally let loose with each other but this was more flirtatious.

“Didn’t you want it?” Asmo asked

Solomn’s smile widened and he chuckled slightly, “You said your chapstick was cherry.”

Oh. That was flirtatious…Or it could just be Solomon’s drunken ramblings… Or it could be hinting to a deeper desire.

He was so obsessed with Asmo’s cherry chapstick, with Asmo’s lips….

Their fingertips were inches apart. They were already close together. They had to be in order to hear each other over the loud music. Asmo wanted to move closer. There was nothing more that he wanted in this moment than Solomon to touch him and tell him how much he loved him. He’d never known a stronger desire in his entire life. He’d never wished harder than he had for Solomon.

Kiss me.

That’s what he wanted to say. He wanted nothing more than that. Solomon wouldn’t- didn’t have to ask. Asmo would let Solomon taste the cherries on his lips. He thought back once more to the people in the shadows, how they were intertwined and so caught up in only each other. That could be them. He could feel his hands on the back of Solomon’s neck, right above his tattoos, playing with the ends of his silver hair. He didn’t care if it wrinkled the suit he made, damn his design, Solomon was so much better. Solomon was all he ever wished for in this life with his starry eyes and charm. Asmodeus had always thought he was the charming and charismatic one in this relationship, and most of the time he was, but Solomon still managed to make his heart skip a beat. His body was heating up and he couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol or Solomon himself.

Solomon was quick and witty. And Asmo loved him. Asmo was honestly starting to wonder if his magic stemmed further than simple tricks of the hand. What sorcery had he cast upon him to make him feel this strongly?

“Excuse me,” a soft voice barely managed to pop up above the music. It took Asmo a while to register. He turned his head to find a girl standing before them. She was pretty. Perhaps one of the models? She was staring at Solomon. His Solomon.

Asmo could feel his blood start to boil.

Who said she could look at him the way she was? Yes he was attractive but-

...

But what? What was the but? What was supposed to follow it?

The more Asmo stared he came to a realization that there was a group watching from a distance. They were giggling, turning around and whispering to each other and watching intently. Asmo’s fists balled, he wasn’t stupid, he knew what this was about.

“I- um-” she couldn’t seem to find her words, and Asmo’s annoyance spiked.

“Yes?” he snapped, trying his hardest to keep the sugary sweet tone to his voice and failing miserably. He couldn’t help it. He worked so hard for Solomon. He’d waited so long. Asmo finally accepted how he felt towards his long time friend. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t-

“I’m sorry, are you two… together?”

Asmo stopped himself. A ‘yes’ lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Then it’s a date.

It’s a date.

A date….

That’s what Solomon had said. He slowly turned to look at Solomon who was already staring at him intently. His head was cocked to the side and his brows were furrowed. Suddenly Asmo felt chilled to his very core, and his composure dropped ever so slightly.

A date.

Wouldn’t Solomon say something himself if that’s what he’d really meant? If it wasn’t him just using a figure of speech?

“I...Well…” he couldn’t find his words.

The woman’s face lit up once more and her focus back to Solomon, “Oh! Well, do you mind a quick dance? Just one?”

Asmo couldn’t tell Solomon what to do. He realized this.

“Well…”

“Please?”

Solomon looked at Asmo for a moment. He still seemed a little off, but it looked like he was waiting for Asmo. Asmo couldn’t find his words.

“Just one. It’s just one dance.”

Asmo swore Solomon had said something similar to him once during their senior prom when he’d been dumped. Asmo’s current favorite song had come on, he’d looked at Solomon with the most pleading eyes (similar to the girl before them now). Solomon had said yes. They’d been close together, laughing and swapping jokes and words back and forth. They had been so natural together, just being themselves. He’d always been comfortable around Solomon, and as much as Asmo had wanted too, he hadn’t put his head on his chest.

Solomon wasn’t one to say no to such a simple request, and it looked like nothing much has changed since. Well… He could say no. He’d done it before…. But-

He watched her grab his arm and pull him into the crowd. Asmo didn’t even realize he was following. He didn’t feel like he was inside himself. He was going through movements. Neither of them had said anything… Why should they? They hadn’t confirmed anything… But Asmo certainly hadn’t denied anything… Solomon hadn’t confirmed anything… Was this all just their normal banter?

It couldn’t be…

It just couldn't be. It wouldn’t be fair.

It was just like her all over again. Solomon’s first girlfriend. The one that had shattered Asmo the first time. She was somewhere deep inside that woman, and she was taking Solomon from him all over again….

Or did Solomon even belong to him in the first place?

He tried to hold on to his anger, to his jealousy, as he watched the two of them, from Solomon’s awkward drunken stupor to the girl’s tipsy giggling. That grip loosened with every passing moment and Asmo hated it. It was easier to be angry than vulnerable, and he was terrified of being vulnerable here, being vulnerable now. Everyone else in the room disappeared. Honey-comb eyes were fixed on the pair in the spotlight.

That could have been him.

That should have been him.

Time seemed to stop around him as the girl leaned ever closer to Solomon’s face, and then Asmo had to rip his eyes away. The pounding of the bass once again flooded his system and the room suddenly felt too claustrophobic. There was too much. It was all too much. He was overwhelmed. He needed to get away.

Asmo tried to hide his face as he shoved his way through people this time. He didn’t care about the warpath he could potentially leave in his wake.

Consequences be damned right?

The soft light from the bathroom drew him in away from the crowd, away from his embarrassment, away from Solomon. He was starting to regret the alcohol, he could feel it weighing heaving in the pit of his stomach.

The noise that left him was inhuman. It was raw. It was uncontrollable.

Pain bloomed into his knuckle as he bit down, hard, but it was nothing compared to the petals slowly being ripped off one at a time deep in his chest.

Shakily he paced his small prison.

He was an adult.

He could take care of himself no matter what happened.

He was more than capable.

He was….he was.

A tear dropped onto the tiled floor beneath him. Then another, and another, and another. They wouldn’t stop. No matter how many times he wiped them away, they kept coming down, faster and bigger than before.

This wasn’t one of the possibilities he’d prepared himself for in things that could happen. It was his own fault. He’d been smart before, keeping everything locked deep in the back of his mind where they belonged. They’d been unacknowledged and had no way to gnaw at him. But then he’d let those stupid letters open him up, just a little bit, and he’d pushed the door open then rest of the way. There was no taking it back now. That was the real reason he’d never said anything to Solomon. He’d been afraid. Afraid of being wrong, and he’d been right. He’d wanted Solomon to confess first to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of.

He’d wished for and dreamed of Solomon for years because he was something that Asmo couldn’t have. Solomon was funny, and witty, and handsome, and talented, and smart. He made Asmo laugh and feel more wonderful than anyone else could make him feel.

Asmo couldn’t have that. Asmo didn’t deserve that. He was stupid that he ever thought otherwise.

A date.

Asmo had invented this fairytale romance in his head, put words into Solomon’s mouth and thoughts behind his actions, and now he was paying the price.

Solomon didn’t think of him like that. He’d never thought of Asmo like that, and he never would. Asmo had been stupid to think otherwise. Yet he’d jumped anyways. It’s because he’d do anything for Solomon, even now he’d do anything for him. He’d jump again and all Solomon had to do was say the word. Solomon had him under his spell, and even though it sent a searing, burning pain though him, Asmo wasn’t sure he wanted to be let go. He couldn’t forget the way Solomon’s touch felt. Hands running through his hair… Fingers touching his lips….

The alcohol in his stomach was stirring. He really regretted the alcohol, it was under a long list of regrets that Asmo had within this moment. It had to stay down. He needed to keep control of one thing about himself right now. Something, anything would do. Everything was shattering around him, he just needed to keep something, anything to keep his sanity, to keep him from completely breaking down.

Then he made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. His makeup was completely ruined, smudged and dripping down his face. His pretty eyes were completely bloodshot. His face overall was red and blotchy. Strawberry blonde locks, normally perfectly in place, were frizzed and scattered in every direction…. Had… Had he really ripped at his hair? Fat tears still continued to roll down his face.

Knees buckled as Asmo fell back onto the cold tiled floor.

His fingers buried into his hair and his face in his lap, and he let out a guttural cry. He was alone, he was broken, and he wasn’t sure if his sobbing would ever stop.

He took it back. This was nothing compared to the first time. It hurt so much more.

Asmo had never been more grateful for the loud bass pounding through the speakers outside as it drowned out his sorrow.

#solodeus #soloasmo #asmosolo #asmodeus x solomon #obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me solomon #obey me mammon #tw drinking #tw nausea #human!au #WBT #love letters #angst #this chapter is angst folks #ruewrites #friends to lovers #slow burn

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chipper9906 · 3 years

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 2: Rubble and Ruins

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 12,627

Overall Word Count: 24,700 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (2/?)

Chapter Preview:

“You know what would be nice? If we at least once got to kiss without either of us crying. Two for two’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

He had thrown the joke out there in some sort of an attempt to lighten the mood. That’s not to say that he wanted to divert from this conversation, but more because of the way he could see that Sylvie was sinking back into her memory of that day, and he knew that would lead to no good. Nothing but self-blame and a whole lot of regrets - as seemed usual for nearly every decision a Loki has made in their life.

But the attempt at a joke did not get a laugh out of Sylvie. Not even a smile. Instead, he felt his heart leap into his throat at the way her eyes - that were still boring deep into his soul - flickered down to his lips, lingering there for just a moment before returning back to his intense gaze.

“We’re not crying now.”

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Miiphus was one of the smaller planets that existed within the universe. At least, smaller than most other planets from its neighboring systems, to the point where the entire population of this one planet was probably equal to around the population size of one city on any other planet.

It had its charms, though. For one, those that were born and lived on this planet got to experience the whole ‘small town’ vibe that was lost to time to many civilizations as time went on and the population grew and grew. That kind of scenario where you personally knew everyone in the village, almost as well as you knew your own family. Hell, everyone practically was family. It was vital for this kind of small community for everyone to help each other, for everyone to treat one another like family. It was the only way to survive.

This… was not the impression the two of them received as they first stepped onto Miiphus, however. At least, certainly not for Loki. The very first moment he stepped out from that Time Door, he had to pause to take a moment and absorb the horror of what they'd walked into. Sylvie was striding on ahead, apparently with a destination in mind and, apparently, not being phased at all by what surrounded them.

It was… complete and utter destruction. There wasn’t a single step he could take without stepping on rubble, of whatever remained of a family’s home that once stood proud and tall, sheltering its occupants within. Whatever the city once was, was now reduced to nothing but smoldering debris, and — to his horror — the occasional charred body laying about, their clothes now pieces of blackened rags that clung to soot covered bones and whatever bits of burnt flesh that hadn’t completely succumbed to the heat. The white color of their bones stood out amongst the debris, shining in the dark night as the glow of the five moons over their heads shone down.

“What is this place?”

“Miiphus,” Sylvie answered dutifully from ahead of him. “Fourth planet in the Dioscuri System. This is -- was -- pretty much the only city it’s people had built.”

“Are you sure the Apocalypse event hasn’t happened already?” Loki called out to Sylvie, resuming his pace and chasing after her once he realized how far ahead she had gotten already.

“Certain,” Sylvie asserts, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was keeping up. “If you think this is bad… just wait.”

Loki didn’t know where to look. He didn’t even know if he wanted to look. There’s only so many tiny, child-sized corpses that were holding onto the remains of their parents — families frozen in that one moment of terror — that he can take before his violently turning stomach threatens to empty its contents.

Which, now he thinks about it, would probably be nothing more than bile. He couldn’t even remember the last time he ate…

Billows of ash were kicked up into the air with every step they took, careful not to tread upon a loose skull here and there. His lungs burned with every inhale, not just for the soot that was starting to cover them, but with the knowledge he was breathing in more than just soot. How much of this ash was compromised of the remenants of this planet's people? How much peeling skin, flakes of bone, and burnt organs were filling his lungs?

“Don’t think about it,” Sylvie’s voice, thankfully, snaps him out of his thoughts. He had seemingly come to a stop without realizing it, and Sylvie stood watching him with a knowing look. “It’s not worth dwelling on. There’s nothing we can do.”

Loki swallows thickly, his throat feeling tight and restricted. He tries his best to follow Sylvie’s advice, keeping his gaze from wandering over to his surroundings. He keeps his eyes focused on the back of Sylvie, following her lead as she guides them out of the ruined city. Despite his attempts not to let his eyes wander, he can’t help but take the occasional glance whenever they entered a new street. The consistent level of damage inflicted upon each building was almost impressive when he thought about it from a different viewpoint. Or, at least, the viewpoint he once had. Turns out, all it takes is to be imprisoned by an overwhelmingly powerful organization that dictates all of time and decides that you don’t have the right to exist in their universe for him to change his mind about the allure of control over others.

It’s of a great relief when he sees the buildings around them becoming sparser and sparser, appreciating the lungfuls of fresh air he was breathing in as the city landscape gradually changed to flattened farmlands. “Do we even need to hide in Apocalypses anymore?” Loki asks, jogging forward to reach Sylvie, walking side-by-side. “I mean, what with everything going on, I doubt us being in the wrong place is going to show up on their radar anymore.”

“Maybe not,” Sylvie agrees — or so Loki thinks. “Or maybe now that there’s an infinite amount of TVA’s out there, it might be best to assume they could know more than we do — especially if He Who Remains is in charge of them — and He himself could be doing all he could to hunt us down, and kill us; just like we’re trying to do to him.”

“Right…” Loki mumbled awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. “Um... if that is the case, then… what if some of the TVA’s have already figured out that we’re hiding in Apocalypses? I’m sure if I could figure it out, then-,”

Sylvie came to a sudden stop with a tired-sounding sigh, holding out an arm to stop him mid-stride. He did so, looking around to see if she had spotted something he hadn’t noticed. “You could be right. Thing is, we really don’t know. We don’t know anything, it feels like. Everything that could happen, could happen; it’s already happened, or it’s about to happen, or… or…. or I don’t know. But what I do know is that hiding in Apocalypse’s has worked in keeping me alive for the past thousand years or so, so I’m going to keep doing that until it doesn’t.”

Sylvie didn’t even wait to hear his reaction, carrying on forward and leaving him standing there for a few seconds staring at the space she just was. Loki shakes his head, bringing himself back to reality and chasing after her once more.

“I’m going to apologize in advance for all the questions, because I know they’re annoying-,” Loki begins, and it at least gets a huffed exhale of laughter from Sylvie. “-And I don’t mean to sound like I doubt your navigational skills but… how do you know where we’re going?”

The mostly flat farmland had given way to more of a hilly, uneven terrain, spotted with the occasional stubby tree that probably provided hikers and nearby farmers with much-needed shade in the heat of the day.

“Because I’ve been here before,” Sylvie’s voice comes out breathy, the two of them slightly winded by the up and down climb of the land. She had come to a stop at the top of the hill, taking the time to catch her breath as she waits for Loki to reach her side. He reaches the top only a few moments after, bending over to place his hands on his thighs and take in deep lungfuls of air that his body was demanding, the cool night air freezing as he inhales sharply through his teeth.

The movement of her hand out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, glancing up to see her gesturing at the valley below them. Not that he needed for her to point it out; it was kind of hard to miss the multiple rows of tents that were nestled into the valley, stretching as far as the eye could see. Small campfires were dotted between the tents, and he could just about make out the sight of people milling about the place, evidently enjoying each other’s company despite the late hour.

“What am I looking at?” Loki asks, slowing straightening himself back up to a stand.

Sylvie turns her head to look at him, a sad smile on her lips at his question. “The last of this planet’s people.”

This was… this was it? All that he could see, to the ends of the horizon… an entire planet’s population reduced to numbers that could fit in a single area he could see from a few miles away. The quiet of the night had never seemed so eerie now, looking down to what he knew was likely the last night of an entire planet’s existence.

“Come on,” Sylvie says softly, the delicate touch of her fingers against his hands a welcoming comfort. She gives his hand a light pull, a request to keep moving, and he follows after her without much thought. He wasn’t too sure why, but the idea of going towards all these people and intermixing with them felt like… like they would be intruding. The TemPad wrapped around Sylvie’s hand was a guarantee that they’d get out of this, that they’d hop away to yet another world and leave this one far behind. But for these people, it was their very last night. It almost felt like… like they were mocking them.

They closed the distance far too quickly for Loki’s liking, the glow of the multiple campfires growing stronger and stronger as they approached. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Loki whispered lowly to Sylvie. “Won’t they notice us?”

“They won’t care,” Sylvie assured him. “They’ve already lost so many people; the idea of strangers doesn’t exist to them anymore. They’re just happy to see someone that's…”

“-Alive,” Loki finishes her sentence grimly, grimacing as he looks around to the last of the survivors.

Sure enough, as the two of them weave through the small gathered crowds of friends, families, neighbors, everyone, people barely bat an eyelid at them. There are a few occasional curious glances, accompanied by whispers of a language he does not know, but they soon turn back to the fires they were huddled around, absorbing the warmth the flickering flames provided.

Loki feels some of the tension building in his shoulders drop away as they manage to find a somewhat secluded spot at the other end of this refugee settlement, sitting just at the edge between the mass of makeshift tents and the seemingly infinite stretch of wilderness beyond. It seemed that whatever group that had been situated around this fire had retired for the night, the last of the flames flickering pathetically in the blackened pile of wood and ashes left behind. Loki gives a quick glance around to their surroundings, making sure no one was watching as he guides his magic towards the fire, encouraging its flames to become rekindled.

“Impressive,” Sylvie remarks at the sight of the newly born flames that roared to life, their color briefly a light shade of green as they’re created under the effects of his magic. It lasts for less than a second, though – not long enough for anyone lingering nearby to notice the strangely green-colored fire before it’s returned to its usual comforting orange glow.

“It’s a neat little party trick,” Loki comments with a sly smile, taking a seat on one of the logs that had been rolled over to the fire. It felt as uncomfortable as it looked. “I might have set fire to Thor’s cape a few times while I was learning it.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes at him, though the small smile pulling at the corner of her lips gave away her amusement. “And they were entirely accidents, I’m sure.”

Loki grins unashamedly at her as she drops down next to him with a tired-sounding huff, rolling her shoulders back in an attempt to alleviate some of the built-up tension. She grimaces at the soreness of her muscles –particularly in the stiffness of her neck – bending it left and right to try and work out some of those knots.

She nearly jumps to her feet at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, making the pain even worse as she whips her head around to see who was touching her. She supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised to see it had been Loki, who looked about as startled at her reaction as she had felt at his touch, already having removed his hands from her as if he had touched a boiling hot stove.

“Sorry,” He says, eyes wide as saucers as he holds his hands out in front of him in a clear message that he wasn’t going to touch her. “I… probably should have asked first.”

“What were you even trying to do?” Sylvie asks, placing a hand on the spot of her shoulders where his hands were moments ago.

“...Trying to give you a massage?” Loki states like it were obvious – which for most, it probably would be. “It’s just, you kind of looked like you needed it, and I thought maybe you’d…” Loki trails off awkwardly, clearing his throat as his gaze drops away from her inquisitive one. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea-,”

"No, don't apologize, it's..." Sylvie begins to explain. “Sometimes, it’s just… hard to switch off that paranoia. Nearly every close call I had running from the TVA was because I let myself relax too much — let my guard down in times I thought I was safe.”

Loki nods in understanding, but the guilt still had yet to leave his face. He held his hands in his lap like he wasn’t too sure what to do with them now, tapping his fingers against his arm in a nervous repetition.

Sylvie sighed quietly to herself, wondering how exactly it is that they managed to find a way to make every single quiet moment between them awkward in some kind of way. Then again, in their defense, this wasn’t exactly something they had done before. Flirting with strangers she had no intention of getting to know was something she had learned quickly as she grew older within apocalypse after apocalypse. Truthfully, it was easy. Turns out it doesn’t take much coercing to get someone into your bed when the world is crumbling apart around you. A few looks, a few suggestions here and there, the constant reiteration that this would be their last night on the planet, and BAM — yet another mark to add to the tally of her body count. The non-murder one, she means.

But… it wasn’t like that with Loki. She had no plans to seduce him, get her fill, and be gone before they even got the chance to know her name. What she had with Loki was... something she had never had before. Something didn’t know she had even wanted before. Whilst there was no denying that the most physical side of her attraction to him resulted in the same kind of, um… cravings that were just as prevalent as all her other romantic endeavors, she had never felt this… this more emotional attraction. He understood her like no one ever could — more than she understands herself, it sometimes felt like. And as much as she feels she too understands him, she’s overtaken by this desire to know more. She wants to know everything about the man sat by her side, down to the pointless stuff like what his favorite color is. She wants to know what it feels like to have his hands on her body, and for her to welcome it, not jump three feet in the air and have to fight back the urge to take a swing. She wants to know what it’s like to open her eyes every morning, and feel her heart race not from fear but from exhilaration and contentedness at the sight of him laying next to her, instead of yet another stranger.

She wanted… him. Every part of him, from the good to the ugly. Long ago, she had accepted that she would live her life with only herself for company. And now? Now, she found it next to impossible to envision a scenario where he wasn’t by her side.

Except now, it seemed that she had knocked any and all confidence that Loki might have once had, and the moment was fading from view before it had even gotten the chance to start. She bit down the frustrated groan she wanted to release, feeling like she had just kicked a puppy with how dejected Loki looked.

“Promise me this won’t stop you.”

Loki glances up in surprise at her words. “Promise you… what?”

“I know I’m not…” Sylvie’s face scrunched up as she tried to think of a way to put this. “I’m not the easiest person to get along with. And I know that it’s even harder when we’re…” She struggled to find the right word, opting instead to gesture between them with a flail of her hand.

Loki stared back at her with one rather judgemental-looking eyebrow raised. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more concise than that-,”

“I’m trying to say that I don’t want you to stop trying,” Sylvie got out in a rush, the flush of heat to her cheeks a sensation she hadn’t felt in quite some time. “All of this is super new to me, and yeah, it might take me some time to get used to it. But I will. So long as you-,”

“-Keep trying,” Loki finished for her with the subtlest twitch at the corner of his lips. “I think I can do that.”

“Good,” Sylvie sniffled, trying not to act as awkward as she felt, playing off the redness that had spread across her face as heat rash from the fire. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

Loki couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself at her failed attempts to act nonchalant, not withering In the slightest at her light-hearted glare. “So… do I try and give you a massage again, or…”

Her glare only strengthened. “You can be an incredibly infuriating man at times, I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Loki replied. “But I also feel it adds a bit to my charm, don’t you?”

“Hmm… I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” Sylvie said, stretching out her limbs in the direction of the fire, savoring the warmth that radiated from it. What she didn’t notice was that, as she stared into the beauty of the flickering flames and spitting golden embers, Loki’s eyes were still fixated on her, enjoying a different type of beauty — though one that was no less mesmerizing: the light from the fire bouncing off her face, casting shades of soft oranges and reds that battled with the shadows of night and the sharp bright light from the moons overhead.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re another version of me,” Loki wonders out loud, resting his chin in his hands as he continues to drink her in.

Sylvie cocks an eyebrow at him, regarding him out of the corner of her eye. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re just so…” Loki paused, and the trailing end of his sentence was enough to arouse Sylvie’s suspicions - though she still waited patiently for him to finish his thoughts. As someone who prided himself on his choice of words and rather extensive vocabulary, he suddenly found himself devoid of words. Really, there was only one word echoing around in his head as he looked to her, and… and maybe he was overthinking all of this. Maybe the simpler option was the best.

“Because I’m…?” Sylvie tried to get him to continue his sentence, the playful smile on her face hinting that she was expecting Loki to say something insulting here in an attempt to rile her up.

“Beautiful,” Loki’s voice was soaked in a softness he didn’t even know he could reach. It was clear Sylvie wasn’t expecting this answer, the teasing smile on her face dropping away to a look of genuine shock. “Although, I’m sure you know that already, and I’m sure I’m not the first person to tell you that, but-,” And there he went, rambling away again. She just seemed to have that effect on him.

The touch of her hand on his knee was enough to bring his ramblings to a stuttering stop, effectively drying up any words he were to speak - or, at least, any words that actually made some sort of sense.

“It’s the first time I’ve heard it from someone that matters,” Sylvie tells him.

Loki smiles, placing his hand atop hers on his knee. “Then I’ll be sure to say it more often,” He says it like a promise — one he fully intends to keep.

There was that part of her, a part she’s sure will always be buried deep within, that was telling her to stop all of this. It was one of self-preservation, needing to be cruel to prevent the heartache later down the road. It was hard to shake off the years of saying goodbye to every person she’s ever crossed paths with, only getting to know people for the briefest of times before they’re obliterated from the universe. She learned fairly quickly that it was better to stay away and live a lonely life than one of single-day friendships and infinite, painful goodbyes.

Even now, after all that’s happened, it still remains there. It was all supposed to end with her sword plunged into the chest of whoever ran the TVA, and she had done that. And yet… here she was again, running from the TVA and creating yet another plan to take out their leader again. Oh, and there were multiple versions of him somewhere out there, most likely already out on a quest of conquest. There was even a chance that He already knew of them, from where some form of the TVA out there hot on their tails having reported these two stubborn variants in possession of TVA equipment to their all-powerful leader

Well… at least she didn’t have to go it alone this time. Even with that voice screaming at her to get away from Loki as fast as possible, to separate herself from him before those already messy, judgment-clouding feelings only grow all the more messier, and all the more stronger. No, this time, it was different. This time, she would not listen to that voice. She would allow herself to have these moments, of his touch on her, and she’d…. she’d let herself want this — because God’s help her, she does.

“Wait, hang on a minute,” Sylvie starts, narrowing her eyes at him in amusement. “What you just said… are you insinuating you don’t find yourself beautiful? You? You’re a Loki -- narcissism is what makes us!”

“Well, I’m not sure if beautiful is the word I’d use…” Loki said. “Perhaps ‘dashingly handsome’ or perhaps even ‘dapper’, or something along those lines. But… it’s also ‘beauty in the eye of the beholder' and all that, is it not?”

Sylvie somehow manages to pack a whole lot of sarcasm into her hum of agreement. “Kind of sounds like you’re just trying to fish for compliments now.”

“Is it working?”

“Afraid not.”

Loki ‘tsked’ with a click of his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You should know better than to lie to someone who does it professionally, Sylvie.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I saw the way you looked at me back on Lamentis,” Loki said, getting a confused eyebrow raise from Sylvie. “In that little mining cabin? I couldn’t quite figure out if you were going to threaten me to get the TemPad, or seduce me.”

Sylvie’s snort of laughter chipped a tiny bit of his ego off. “I was trying to enchant you. Needed to find some way to get close enough to you without getting a knife in my throat.”

“And seduction was the best way to go about that?” Loki exclaimed.

Sylvie shrugged her shoulders. “Worked before.”

Loki wasn’t too sure why the thought of Sylvie looking at others in the way he had looked at her made him feel quite so bitter. Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he was feeling like that. He just didn’t like to admit that the claws of jealousy had dug in quite so deep.

“Well, now I feel like I owe you a compliment, what with you looking so downcast,” Sylvie said, giving his shoulder a playful nudge with her own.

“Only if you mean it,” Loki grumbled, flicking out a hand to cast a bit more of his magic to revitalize the dying flames of the fire.

“You know, there’s a reason I kissed you back in the citadel-” Sylvie began, only for Loki to quickly interject.

“Oh, well I had assumed it was due to me pouring my heart out to you; unless me becoming a crying mess suddenly made me irresistible to you-”

“Would you at least let me finish what I was saying?” Sylvie shoved his shoulder perhaps a little bit harder than she should have, nearly sending Loki sprawling off the log. “Look, I could give you the usual compliments, with the -- what were the ones you used? Dashingly handsome and what not?”

“But… you won’t?”

“No, I won’t. But not because I don’t think them, but because… because whatever this is-” Sylvie gestured with a hand between them. “-It goes deeper than all that.”

“Ah…” Loki said quietly, looking away to the fire with a nod of his head. “You know, the whole ‘beauty is on the inside’ thing is what people say to ugly people.”

Sylvie did all she could to bury down the urge to shove him into the fire. “All right, you want the truth?”

Loki perked up at that, looking back over to Sylvie in anticipation.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘the eyes are the windows into the soul?’” Sylvie asked, getting a somewhat confused-looking nod in response. “You’re a very skilled man, Loki. Especially in the art of manipulation, and deceit. You somehow find a way to twist everything you say, to turn serious conversations into a game – one where somehow you always end up on top, knowing everything you set out to discover, without the other person even realizing they’ve lost. I’ve seen the sharp wit of your thoughts reflected in your eyes when we first met, and you were trying to play that very same game with me. I’ve seen the… cruel humor shining in them as you fight, the enjoyment you find in inflicting that kind of pain.”

Sylvie’s eyes were boring deep into his as she spoke, and Loki wondered what exactly his eyes were giving away in this very moment.

“But when we were in that citadel? When you were begging for me to stop, and I had my blade held to your throat? I saw none of that in your eyes. No ulterior motives, no trickery. Just… you. You, bearing the entire truth, and it didn’t even matter how much conviction your words held. I saw it all in your eyes, anyway. And that’s when I knew, I…” Sylvie huffed out a quiet laugh. “I was doomed. I couldn’t kill you. And I didn’t want to hurt you, either. But I knew that I was going to have to if it meant keeping you safe. Even from me.”

“And so you kissed me,” Loki said.

“And so I kissed you,” Sylvie echoed softly. “Because I knew I needed to say goodbye, and because… because it was the only way I knew how to say that I felt the same.”

Loki looked down to the ground, sliding his tongue across his upper lip unconsciously before he spoke. “You know what would be nice? If we at least once got to kiss without either of us crying. Two for two’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

But the attempt at a joke did not get a laugh out of Sylvie. Not even a smile. Instead, he felt his heart leap into his throat at the way her eyes — that were still boring deep into his soul — flickered down to his lips, lingering there for just a moment before returning back to his intense gaze.

“We’re not crying now.”

It was as clear an invitation as any. And yet, the thought of leaning in and closing the distance between them still filled his body with uncertainty and hesitation. Not because he didn’t want to — in fact, just how much he did want to was all kinds of terrifying with how much it overwhelmed him — but because… truth be told, he was scared of messing this all up. Both times they’ve kissed, he had let her take control. She had been the one to make that first step, to reach out to him and let their lips slide together. She had been the initiator, and he had been the eager and willing participant.

Now though, that didn’t seem to be the case. The tension was building between them with every passing second, and he knew full well that Sylvie was doing all she could to say ‘Kiss me, you idiot’ without actually saying anything out loud. And yet, that fear remained that he’ll step over the line, push her boundaries too much, and… that’d be it.

But he’d made a promise to her. He said he’d keep trying, no matter what.

So he kept his promise.

Loki leaned forward, pausing a hairs-breadth away, their lips barely brushing against each other. He gave her that opportunity, that moment where she could decide if she wanted to pull away. He gives it a beat, a single breath of anticipation against his mouth. He thinks she may start to say his name - most likely to call him an idiot - but then he swallows up her words with his lips. There was no rush to it. No in the moment, emotions on a knife’s edge, desperation to it like there had been the other times. It was just… them. She wasn’t kissing him because it was a goodbye, or a distraction, and he wasn’t kissing her in the fear that he may never see her again. It was simply because they wanted to, and because they can.

Loki’s hand drifted up to her face, caressing the side of her jaw and leaning deeper into the kiss. Heat seemed to burn through his veins, almost as if he was actually sitting in the roaring fire nearby instead of being sat next to it. It felt like his entire body wanted to sink into it, into their kiss, into her. And, judging by the way her hand had latched onto a patch of shirt by his chest, scrunching it up so hard that he could feel the scratch of her nails against his skin, she wanted it just as much as he did.

And… that’s when the cheering started.

They both startled apart, ripping their hands away from one another and instinctively reaching for their weapons. It appeared that a small group of the locals had wandered over, curious to know who the newcomers were, and had walked into quite the sight. Both Loki and Sylvie wore matching red faces at the sounds of their cheers and hollering, not understanding a word of what was being spoken but understanding the teasing in their tone nonetheless.

“Seems we’ve attracted quite the audience…” Loki murmurs to Sylvie, leaning his head towards her to keep his voice unheard from the locals.

“They… they didn’t do this last time,” Sylvie whispers back. “No one took notice, or came over to see who I was.”

“Well, it’s not like last time, is it?” Loki spoke to Sylvie, but his eyes were cautiously trained on one of the locals who had stepped away from the group, approaching the two with a big smile on his face and an object in hand that he couldn’t identify from here. “You weren’t with me.”

They both still kept a hand on their weapons as the man approached. The man didn’t seem to take notice — and if he did, he didn’t seem to care. Like the others of this planet, he was dressed in a long robe that cut off just after the ankles, it's likely once strikingly turquoise color now covered in a layer of dust, with various rips and tears slashed into the silky looking material. The smile had yet to wipe from his face as he arrived at their fire, babbling away in whatever language it was that these people spoke. Neither had any clue as to what the man was saying, but the friendliness of his tone seeped into his words, and whilst the two of them remained somewhat wary, it did help to relax some of the tension that had been building since the man arrived.

“I’m sorry, we… we don’t speak your language,” Loki tried speaking slowly and carefully, enunciating every syllable clearly.

The man did look slightly taken aback by the strange language they spoke, and for a moment, the two of them wondered if they were going to have to use their blades after all. There was a good chance they might be mistaken for these people's enemies, and trying to claim your innocence when both parties don’t speak the same language was going to be quite tricky…

Thankfully, however, it didn’t seem to be the case. The man seemed to brush by the issue of them speaking an entirely different language quite quickly, plastering the beaming smile straight back onto his face after he got over his initial shock.

“Yalti,” The man spoke one word, enunciating just as carefully as Loki had prior. He pointed a finger to himself as he spoke, prodding at his own chest. “Yalti,”

“Yalti?” Loki repeated the word, pointing at the man. It seemed to do the trick, the man’s smile somehow brightening even more.

“Yalti!” Yalti, apparently, proclaimed, jabbing himself in the chest with even more enthusiasm. Yalti then pointed his finger to Loki, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“I think he wants to know your name,” Sylvie craned her head towards Loki to speak quietly, as he had before.

“Oh, um,” Loki cleared his throat, mirroring the man’s previous actions and pointing a finger to himself. “Loki.”

“Loki?” Yalti spoke his name with great care, as if pronouncing his name wrong was of a great rudeness. “Loki!”

“Yes, Loki,” Loki repeated himself with a small chuckle, the man's enthusiasm rubbing off on him.

The two of them startled once more as Yalti shouted something to the group nearby, followed by the yell of Loki’s name. The sounds of the people’s cheers were something odd to hear, especially as they were then followed by a single word, yelled out to the night sky.

“ LOKI! LOKI! LOKI! ”

Loki could only turn his bemused gaze over to Sylvie, who looked just as flummoxed with what was going on as he felt.

“Perhaps they know me?” He offered, looking between all the people, that who were of a species he did not recognize. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…”

As the cheers began to die down, Yalti started to speak to them once more. Of course, they still didn’t know what he was saying, and whilst Yalti looked a tiny bit frustrated at the lack of communication, he still seemed to be having fun with what was going on. He reached out a hand, this time pointing his finger towards Sylvie.

Sylvie gave the man a polite smile, pointing to herself as she answered his silent question. “Sylvie.”

“Sylvie!” Yalti gave her name the same treatment as Loki’s, passing on her name to the crowd. And, just like with Loki, they returned her name in a chorus of cheers that tugged at something within her heart. She hadn’t had many people to tell her name to. In fact, until meeting Loki, there hadn’t been that many times she had even heard it being spoken to her. And now here she was, listening to a group of survivors chant her name like she was their savior. Like she had done something good, just by being here.

“ Sylvie! Sylvie! Sylvie!”

“This is… surreal,” Loki said, unsure whether to keep his eyes trained on the — now clearly — inebriated crowd as their cheers slowly drifted off with them as they dispersed into the night, or on Sylvie, as she watched them leave with a look that somehow both made him want to smile, yet comfort her at the same time.

“That’s one word for it,” Sylvie utters gently.

Whilst the rest of the group had disappeared back to wherever it was they had come from, there was one lone figure who had chosen to remain. They both watched as Yalti dropped down onto one of the other logs grouped around the fire, taking a long swig from what Loki now recognized as a canteen. Yalti took deep gulps from it, appearing to savor every last drop. Loki almost made the joke to calm down; it wasn’t the end of the world. Except… it was, and the joke didn’t seem quite so funny anymore.

Yalti catches their stare, pulling the flask from his lips with a friendly smile. His hands go into the interior of his robes, pulling out another flask and offering it to them. Not one to pass on such a kind gesture, Loki reached out to take the flask from him, hoping the smile he gave in return showed his appreciation.

“Really hope this isn’t poison or something…” Loki half-jokes to Sylvie as he unscrews the lid, taking a precautionary whiff of its contents. Whatever it was, it smelt strong, strong enough that he could almost taste the bitterness of it just from its smell. It was accompanied by a musty, sweet kind of odor though, the two opposites clashing yet, oddly, complimenting one another.

Loki throws caution to the wind with a shrug of his shoulders, bringing the flask to his mouth and taking a tester sip. The beverage was, indeed, bitter overall in taste, burning as it slipped down his throat. But when he let it settle on his tongue for a moment, he could taste the hint of something sweet that he had smelt before, something almost like… honey? Something rich, with an earthy and kind of smokey taste. Some type of whiskey, perhaps? Or, the closest thing to whiskey that this planet had. Whilst he was more of a wine kind of guy, even he had to admit that the smooth flavor of the drink had its charms.

“You’re not going to get ‘very full’ again, are you?” Sylvie teases him.

“Only if you join me,” Loki challenges her, offering out the flask for her to take with a flash of teeth.

He hadn’t really been expecting for her to rise to his challenge, and so it filled him with a strange sort of delight when she took the flask from his hand, taking a deep drink from the flask herself. She caught his enthralled yet shocked face from the corner of her eye, handing the flask back to him with a shrug.

“Nothing happens until daybreak,” Sylvie tells him, enjoying the warmth of both the fire and the drink as it settled in her belly. “Can afford to have a bit of a rest until then.”

“Right…” Loki almost forgot that they were in the middle of an apocalypse. It seemed much too calm for it. “So... you’ve been here before?”

“Just the once,” Sylvie says, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “I try not to go back to an apocalypse I’ve already been in. Less chance of the TVA figuring things out that way, and…” Sylvie trails off, her grimace deepening even more. “I suppose it’s easier to watch strangers die, than faces you’ve seen before.”

“And… and what of home?” Loki asks timidly. “I don’t know if you knew, but um…”

“I know,” Sylvie’s voice came out as nothing more than a whisper. She brings the flask back up to her mouth to take another much-needed drink. “Ragnarok, right?”

Loki smiled sadly, giving a small nod of his head. “I… where — or when, I suppose — they took me from, it was before then. I only found out myself not too long ago, when I was searching through the TVA’s files on apocalypses to… well, to find you.”

“Then you probably know more than me,” Sylvie said.

“You never went there? I would have thought, of all the apocalypses you could go to-,”

“Loki, I already have to live with the knowledge that Asgard — my Asgard — is gone; wiped away from the timeline, and dumped into that dreary hole. All that were on my timeline: my people, my family? They’re… they’re gone. Probably devoured by Alioth,” Sylvie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her obviously distraught voice catching the attention of even Yalti, who had mostly been politely ignoring their conversation that he didn’t even understand. “So yeah, funnily enough, I didn’t really fancy having to actually watch it be destroyed with my own eyes.”

“Okay... okay...” Loki said gently, the sight of her pain reflecting itself onto him. “I get it, okay? I just… I wasn’t really thinking about it that way. I was… I was just thinking of home, and… and how much I miss it.”

“ ‘Least you have more memories of home than I do,” Sylvie huffed miserably, holding out the flask for Loki to take. He does, and she crosses her arms across her stomach, leaning against them atop her legs. “Sometimes I wonder how much I remember of home are actual memories, or… dreams of what I think it was like.”

Loki swallowed down his mouthful of whiskey nervously, shuffling in place on the log. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…. do you remember what happened when the TVA took you? Any idea what your Nexus Event was?”

Sylvie gave a slow shake of her head side to side. “Wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, really. I was just… existing. Playing with my toys, I think. I had this…” Sylvie paused for a moment, a genuine smile of nostalgia creeping onto her face as she lost herself in her memories. “-This beautiful hand-carved boat. I think father might have even crafted it himself, I’m… I’m not too sure.”

Loki found her smile infectious, feeling the corner of his lips tick up in response to the glazed, lost in thought look in her eyes. The smile didn’t last long, however. Not with the implication behind her words. Had she really been that young when the TVA took her? Just a child, playing with her toys, and that was enough for the TVA to deem her unsuitable for the timeline?

“That’s when the TVA came,” Sylvie said, the hardness returning to her eyes once again. “It was her: Judge Renslayer. She wasn’t a judge at the time, though. Still had to work her way up the rankings — no more than a hunter back then,” Sylvie let out a humorless laugh. “Think I might have delayed her promotion a bit when I escaped under her watch.”

“Ah… that’d explain why she seemed to have it out for you in particular,” Loki connected the dots, thinking back to the fog-filled chambers of the Time-Keepers, of the vicious look on Renslayer’s face as she prepared to wield her weapon against Sylvie.

“I hope Mobius got her,” Sylvie spat. “Stabbed her with her own damn pruning stick -- give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“She was his friend once,” Loki pointed out. “He might think twice about sending someone he cared about to the Void,”

“She didn’t think twice about pruning him.”

“I’m just saying,” Loki continued. “Mobius, he’s… he’s got a good heart. He trusted me, even when everything else told him not to. Maybe you’re right, and he went straight back to the TVA, walked into her office, and pruned her. Or… maybe he saw the face of someone who was a friend, and found he couldn’t do it — even when he knew she would turn against him if given the opportunity. Maybe put her in a time-loop-,”

“Alright, I get it,” Sylvie huffed in annoyance. “You’re comparing him and Renslayer to me and Mobius -- other Mobius. Are you trying to say that I should have killed the other Mobius?”

“What? No-! ” Loki spluttered. “I’m saying that there’s a chance that Renslayer might still be out there. Whether that be with her still in charge at the TVA, or one of their prisoners, or… I don’t know. I’m still not entirely sure what her role is in all of this.”

“She didn’t even know about the Time-Keepers,” Sylvie brought up. “She was in the dark as much as we were, and yet… she didn’t care. She still wanted to stop me --stop us -- and protect Him.”

“Are we sure she didn’t know about He Who Remains?” Loki asked. “It seems odd that she’d be so desperate to protect Him, when she doesn’t even know who he is.”

“Maybe she won’t be the only one to react that way to the truth of who their leader really is,” Sylvie said. “Maybe some, like Mobius, will want to tear it all down. But others like her? Maybe they just… can’t deal with the thought that all their work was for nothing. Maybe they cling onto the idea that they did something of importance, and that He Who Remains did what they did for a reason.”

Loki groaned softly, barely resisting the urge to bury his face into his hands. “It’s… it’s all going to be such a mess. I don’t know if Mobius will have taken over, or if the TVA broke out into civil war, or…” Loki shook his head, leaning his head back with a heavy sigh. “We need to find a way back, Sylvie. Mobius is going to need our help, and… as much as I hate to admit it, we’re going to need the TVA’s help with this, too.”

For a moment, Sylvie said nothing. Loki could only sit, waiting awkwardly for her reaction, wincing in preparation for the argument that’s about to come.

“I think you might be right.”

‘Well, that’s a first,’ Loki thought.

“Come again?”

“Don’t start,” Sylvie shot him a look of warning. “I was thinking about it earlier when I made the Time-Door to this place…” Sylvie held up her arm, the two of them watching the mesmerizing glow of the golden cracks streaking across the TemPad. “This TemPad, it’s… it’s nothing like the ones I’ve used before – the ones all TVA workers have. I’m still learning how to use it, but it’s… confusing, to say the least. I can just about select a place and-or a time with it, but… clearly I don’t know everything, since I accidentally sent you to the TVA in an entirely different timeline.”

“Is there any way to select a certain timeline?” Loki asked, glancing between Sylvie and the TemPad.

“I don’t know,” Sylvie said. “With the TVA’s Tempad, there… there wasn’t a need to jump between timelines, because there was only one available to them. They weren’t exactly jumping into different branches, rather… they were jumping to the time and place the branch originated from and pruning it out of existence before it could develop into a separate timeline.”

“But… that’s not a TVA TemPad,” Loki pointed out the obvious. “It’s ‘He Who Remain’s’ TemPad. He said it himself didn’t he, that his first variation in the thirty-first century discovered technology to open up Time-Doors between multiverses? Surely he then used that to jump between the different timelines and… prune them all until only his was left.”

“Maybe,” Sylvie says, dropping her hand back down to her lap. “There’s another problem, though.”

There was always a damn problem. “What is it?”

“I’ve got no idea how much charge is left in this thing,” Sylvie gestures lazily to the TemPad with a twitch of her hand. “Maybe ‘He Who Remains’ found a way to give it infinite charge -- or maybe it’s stuck with the same limitations the TVA’s TemPad’s have.”

“So… there’s every chance the next Time-Door we open could be the last?” Loki guessed.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

Loki leaned back on the log, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “Then I suppose we better make every one count.”

Sylvie nodded her head in response, looking down to the TemPad as she dragged her fingers leisurely over its smooth surface. It responded to her touch, leaving a glowing trail along the golden cracks that followed wherever her finger went. It seemed almost… alive in the way it responded to her touch.

“What exactly happens here?” Loki brings her attention back to him. “What causes the apocalypse?”

“War,” Sylvie answers, her eyes trailing off to the ruined city that was now no more than a shadowy background displayed on the night sky. “Some other civilization in this solar system that had left these people alone, for the most part. Not too sure on the specifics, but… there was some sort of disagreement between the two planets. Whatever it is… let’s just say that the other planet is much more advanced than this one. These people… they stood no chance against the power they hold.”

“And so… what, they just decide to wipe out the entire planet to win the war?” Loki asks.

“Apparently so,” Sylvie answered. “At first light, the other civilization sends down a warning. One last offer for them to surrender, and save what remains of their people.”

Loki glances over to Yalti, who had been watching them converse in complete and utter silence. Despite not knowing what they were talking about, the look on Yalti’s face was that of a haunted man. Strangely still, whilst it was Loki that was looking to him, Yalti had his eyes fixated on Sylvie, who shuffled uncomfortably under his peering stare.

“I’m guessing they don’t take the offer?” Loki asks Sylvie, tearing his gaze away from Yalti to look to her.

“No,” Sylvie is unable to look away from Yalti as Loki did, feeling a strange bundle of nerves begin to rise at just how intensely he seemed to be observing her. “No, uh… they don’t.”

“Why not?” Loki asks, even though he knows Sylvie doesn’t have the answer. “Their city is destroyed, it seems like they barely have enough resources to survive, let alone to rebuild. What’s left here that they’re willing to die for?”

“Pride?” Sylvie guessed. “Stubbornness? An unwillingness to leave their home?”

Yalti slowly stood from his place on the log, the movement catching both Loki and Sylvie’s eye. They watch, ready to leap into defense at a single wrong move as Yalti somewhat stumbles towards them, having a difficult time walking in a straight line with all the alcohol that was running through his veins.

His hands go into his pockets once more, and Sylvie and Loki look to one another, waiting for the inevitable moment a weapon is pulled on them. Yalti’s hands slide back out of his pocket, now clutching a small, square-shaped device that appeared to be made of some sort of sleek and shiny metal, with a smoky glass screen sat on top. Yalti slurred out a few words in his native tongue, gesturing to the device as he does so. When they only blink blankly at him in response, Yalti gives a bit of an annoyed huff before running his fingers across the metal square. A dull light emits from the screen on top, and it’s only a few taps of his fingers across it later that a holographic image bursts to life above the device.

It was… a picture of a young girl. Maybe around eight, ten at most. It was more than just the glow of the screen that lit up Yalti’s face as he looked to the girl with a fond smile stretching across his face. He glanced over to Loki and Sylvie, and they both were somewhat startled to see the tears that had begun to build in his eyes. Yalti pointed to the little girl, then pointed his fingers back at himself, jabbing himself in the space above his heart multiple times to try and get his point across.

“It’s… his daughter,” Loki breathed in realization. “And she, um… Sylvie, she kind of looks like-,”

“-Me,” Sylvie finished Loki’s sentence for him. “She looks like me.”

Loki was starting to understand why Yalti had been staring at Sylvie as much as he had now. The image of the girl, whilst somewhat grainy and flickering, still showed a striking similarity to Sylvie — or, at least, how he could envision her to have looked when she was a young girl herself. Sure, there were a few minor differences here and there: such as the girl's eyes being a tiny bit wider, or her nose having a slight downward turn to it that Sylvie’s didn’t, but… for Sylvie, it still strangely felt like looking back in time at herself.

Yalti pressed atop the screen once again, and the image burst to life. What was once a still picture changed to a moving image, displaying the little girl out somewhere amidst this planet's countryside. The girl giggled with delight as she ran through the long grass of a meadow, being chased by Yalti, whose own booming laughter rang out into the cool night air around them. Yalti reached out a hand towards the holographic video, as if trying to reach for his daughter within. But of course, his hand only passed through the displayed images, and the smile slowly dropped away from his face.

The hologram flickers, sending the video into a mess of glitches, becoming almost recognizable as it struggled to continue playing. Then it flickers again, and again, and all three can only watch as the hologram disappears altogether, sucking away its bluish light until they’re left in nothing more than the orange and reds of the fire. Loki and Sylvie exchange looks as Yalti keeps his eyes fixated on the powered-down device. He closed his eyes, the movement squeezing out a single tear that sluggishly trailed down his face, leaving a clean line through the dust that had caked his skin.

When Yalti opened his eyes again, he seemed almost relieved to see them still sitting there. Perhaps, when you’re going through the end of the world, not many people are willing to listen or share in your individual grief, especially when they’re all going through grief of their own. Yalti caught their eye, raising a hand to point in the direction of where the image of his daughter once was, before pointing over his shoulder to the remains of the city. He then raised his hand into the air, whistling a long note that dropped in pitch as he lowered his hand down towards the ground. They hadn’t needed his mime-like explanations of what happened. There was only going to be one reason why the girl on his holographic device wasn’t with him.

“I’m sorry,” Sylvie says, hoping that the meaning of her words comes across in the gentleness of her tone.

Yalti gives her a shaky smile, taking a single step towards her — probably the most steady movement he’s made since he joined them by the fire. He lowers himself down onto his knees in front of her, raising one hand up to her face and tenderly cradling her cheek. Loki sat in silence, not wanting to interrupt such a moment, yet also wanting to step in, knowing that Sylvie would likely feel uncomfortable with a stranger touching her this way. And yet, Sylvie did not shove Yalti’s hands off of her, nor did she look all that disturbed by what was happening. Yalti speaks to her again, and the raw emotion packed into his voice as he got out those few trembling words was enough even for Loki’s chest to clench in sympathy. The two of them could only stare at one another – this poor, unfortunate man haunted by the vision of who his little girl never got the opportunity to grow up to be, whilst Sylvie was haunted with her own visions: the vision of the happy life, and the caring father she never got to experience.

Yalti’s hand dropped away from Sylvie’s face, bowing his head to her in what Loki could only assume was either some form of respect, or perhaps even their way of saying goodbye. He gets clumsily back up to his feet, clumsy enough that Loki briefly wonders what the chances were of him falling straight back into the fire was. Fortunately, they didn’t have to witness such a thing, as Yalti seems to get his feet under him.

“Sylvie,” Yalti says her name, one of the only pieces of their language he had learned from them. He then turns to Loki, repeating the same bow he had given to Sylvie. “Loki,”

Loki found himself mirroring the bowed movement without much of a thought, tipping his head towards the ground. “Yalti.”

Yalti shot them one last grateful smile, lifting his hand and giving them a kind wave — a gesture they at least recognized. Then, just like that, he had turned away from them, walking off in the direction of the tents and the welcoming town’s people within.

“You okay?” Loki made sure to ask Sylvie as soon as possible.

“-‘M fine,” Sylvie tried to brush his concerns off, but Loki could easily pick up on the little sniffle she made after saying this. “Bit of a shock, I guess. But I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Loki said, trying to catch Sylvie’s gaze as she stared blankly into the fire. “But if you do… I’m here to listen.”

Sylvie glanced over at him, managing to force out a somewhat strained-looking smile. “I will. Someday. Just… not today.”

‘I will’ was better than just a ‘no’, Loki supposed. Not that he could blame her for not wanting to talk about what had just gone down. He picked up the flask from his side, offering it out to Sylvie again. She looked down to it, looking moments away from reaching out for it. She seems to think better about it though, shaking her head in a ‘no’.

“Probably a good idea,” Loki said with a soft chuckle, tucking the half-drunken flask into his shirt pocket. Sylvie seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, eyes unfocused and glazed over as she played absentmindedly with her fingers in her lap. Loki watched her quietly, content to sit here in the comfortable silence they had found themselves in.

But the silence didn’t last long. They almost didn’t notice the gentle notes being sung from somewhere within this planet’s little make-shift town, being crowed out by what must have been a fairly decent-sized group. The beginnings of the song at least seemed to snap Sylvie out of whatever thoughts she was trapped in, the two of them perking their heads up simultaneously, listening out for the direction of the sound.

Then, another chorus of voices joined in. Whatever this song was, it seemed to be known by all of this planet’s inhabitants. And then another group joined in. And another. The voices just kept adding to the song, the soft undertones of the song growing louder and louder as more people add their voices to it.

It was… it was beautiful. They didn’t know the meaning behind the lyrics of the song, but they didn’t need to. The power behind it seemed to vibrate through their chests, chilling and somewhat haunting in sound, yet… undeniably beautiful to hear. It was not a song of hope, nor was it a song that was sung to inspire defiance in the face of almost certain death.

It was a goodbye.

“How do you do it?” Loki asks, his voice no more than a murmur amidst the chorus of voices that filled the air. “All those different apocalypses, so many civilizations you’ve watched be extinguished… How did you keep going?”

“Because I had to,” Sylvie answers woefully. “You know, every day, I would ask myself the same kind of thing: What’s the point anymore? What is there left to keep fighting for? Everything I ever knew was… gone. My life was nothing more than endless running, trying to keep one step ahead of an organization that knew everything that was ever going to happen. I would dream of the day I finally came face to face with the Time-Keepers, and I tried to grab hold of the feeling I imagined I’d experience as I sunk my sword into their chest.”

Sylvie frowned, almost as if she was annoyed with herself. “I could never imagine it, though. But I kept chasing for it, because… it’s all I had. I didn’t want to think about what came next, because once I earned my freedom… I didn’t know what to do with it. What would there be to keep me going?”

“A new chance at life?” Loki offered. “The opportunity to do whatever you wanted, and not have to worry about the TVA deciding you weren’t allowed it?”

“That’s what should have kept me going, yeah,” Sylvie said with a shrug. “But it wasn’t. Every time I opened up another Time-Door, and I watched the last moments of the world I had come to know for the shortest of times… I told myself that that was why I was doing this; because my mission wouldn’t just free me. If I ended it, then… I would end all of that misery. Their worlds wouldn’t have to be put through an apocalyptic event, just because some all-knowing dickhead wrote it into his story. People wouldn’t have to lose their daughters, their sons, their family, everyone they love, because one man thought they would need it to ‘be changed by the journey’. That’s how I did it, that’s why I forced myself to watch the ends of a thousand worlds. Because without that anger, that desire for revenge on other’s behalf? Then…”

Loki already knew what she was going to say, but in no way did he want to hear her say it.

“Then one of those days, I might not have bothered to open up that Time-Door.”

He might not have ever wanted to hear such words from her, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t understand. He glanced down at where the flask of whiskey was peeking out from his pocket, fighting back the temptation to take it out and drink from it once more.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but, um…” Loki began awkwardly, eyes darting between the ground and Sylvie’s waiting gaze. “I’m glad that you went through all that, if it meant that… you, uh… you chose to keep fighting.”

Sylvie huffed in disbelief at his words, lightly tapping her boot against his leg. “Yeah, I’m sure you're grateful that I stuck around long enough to single-handedly screw up every single timeline by creating an infinite amount of ‘He Who Remains’, whose only desire is to rule over them all.”

“We both fought to be stood in that office at the end of time, Sylvie,” Loki reminded her. “Don’t go and place all the blame on yourself.”

“You’re not the one that held that sword though, are you?” Sylvie countered. “I killed him, and I can’t share that blame with anyone else.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Loki tried his best to counter her self-sabotaging efforts. “And you’re here now, aren’t you? Trying to set it right?”

“Doesn’t mean I should have done what I did.”

“Maybe not. But what’s done is done. Yes, there’s… there’s an unfathomable danger that we’re now going to have to face. But just think about how many lives you changed with your decision. All those people who made one change in their life, perhaps one to try and better themselves, and they get to continue to live that life without one single ruler deciding that it doesn’t fit into the story he’s crafted.”

“I know, I just… I can’t stop thinking about Him. I don’t even know how much time we have left before he - whichever version of Him - makes his first move. Maybe he already has, and we just don’t know it yet. How long before the war he starts stretches out across every timeline I created by killing him?”

Sylvie brings her hands up to her face, rubbing her fingers across tired eyes. “All of this… because one man decided he should be the master of everyone’s destiny…”

“Well… at least he did one good thing,” Loki claimed, much to Sylvie’s confusion. She dropped her hands away from her face, looking to Loki with an almost wary frown as she waited for him to elaborate.

“And what’s that?”

“He weaved the strings of fate together that led me to you.”

“That was awfully sappy,” Sylvie lied straight to his face, pretending she didn’t feel the bubble of warmth that filled her chest and was trying to force an embarrassingly giddy smile onto her face - which still crept onto her face, despite her best efforts to contain it.

“Ah, you love it,” Loki said, and a part of Sylvie hated that it was entirely true. The sight of the abashed smile on her face brought out a tender one of his own, enjoying this brief moment of something good that they got to share; something he had a feeling came few and far between when living a life composed of the ends of others.

The songs of the people had long since died off, leaving them with nothing more than the sounds of nature around them, and the strangely pleasing sounding cracks and pops of the fire as it continued to burn away. The night was quiet, but not in an eerie way. It felt like the world was inviting them to rest: the blanket of warmth from the fire washing over them, combined nicely with the cooling breeze that brushed over their skin; the reassuring feel of the other pressed against them, sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, knowing that the person next to them would keep them safe.

The touch to Loki’s shoulder surprised him, glancing down to see that Sylvie was resting her head against his arm and using him as her own personal pillow. Which, he found, he did not mind in the slightest. She had closed her eyes, looking the most at peace he thinks he’s seen her be since… never, now that he thought about it. Even in the brief nap she got aboard the train on Lamentis, her sleep did not look particularly restful; almost like she was sleeping with one eye open, ready to defend herself if the need arises, never one to show a single ounce of vulnerability to anyone.

‘I can’t sleep around untrustworthy people’

The warmth of her skin bled through the thin cotton material of his TVA shirt — a sensation he’s not particularly used to. In fact… he’s fairly certain no one has ever used him as a pillow before. There certainly weren’t many people he would let rest against him, or even be as close to him as she was. It was insane when he thought of how much had changed in such a short amount of time. How much he had changed. His perspective had shifted entirely, becoming the kind of man he used to laugh at. Love was weakness. Love was giving someone else the opportunity to take advantage of you, distract you from what truly mattered. Love was something that turned you soft, that made you think twice before doing what needed to be done.

Oh, how he was wrong. Love was… power. Love was giving yourself to another person -- not relying on that other person to make you whole, but to better one another, to strengthen the weaknesses you thought were buried and hidden.

Love was… everything that she was.

For a while, Loki just… sat. It felt like his eyelids were being weighed down, and his entire body felt ready to sink into itself and fall into that deep, dark nothingness. But he knew that, even in a place like this where everyone seemed friendly, that it was important for at least one of them to keep on guard. Especially when said place is the location of a fast-approaching apocalypse. But as the minutes ticked by, and the effects of drowsiness seemed to dig its claws in, it didn’t take long before he found his head leaning to the side, resting against the top of Sylvie’s head where she had finally fallen into somewhat of a restful slumber as she laid against him.

The minutes that passed by seemed to last for hours, time slowed down as it mocked him in his efforts to stay awake. Even now, as he looked up at the impressive expanse of stars sprinkled within the night sky, it almost looked as if some of them were missing. Huge chunks of space where stars should be simply vanished, left with nothing but a blob of pitch black.

Actually… it looked more defined than a blob. There was… a certain shape to the missing spots, kind of thin-looking with large appendages sticking out from either side. And… and now that he looked at them… were they… were they moving?

“Sylvie…” Loki regretfully whispered to get her awake, not wanting to interrupt her much-needed rest. “Sylvie, the stars are gone.”

The strangeness of his statement roused Sylvie from her groggy state, blinking blearily up at him as he stared transfixed at the sky. “The stars are… what?”

“There’s so many of them,” Loki tore his eyes away for just a second to tell her, before they snapped back to the various different spots of emptiness. “It… it looks like someone punched out holes in the sky…”

It took a few moments for her blurry vision to focus onto what Loki was referring to, squinting up at what did in fact look like splotches of the sky that had been reduced to nothingness. It wasn’t until she saw smaller, almost impossible to see black blurs of movement that looked to be falling from the missing spots that the reality of what was happening crashed into her. Loki could feel her entire body go tense next to him, shooting up from the log with the most frantic and downright panic-stricken look he’s ever seen for her, frightened enough that his body seemed to instinctively react – jumping up from the log as adrenaline shoots through his system, looking wildly between the falling objects and Sylvie.

“What? What is it-,”

“They’re not holes in the sky,” Sylvie stated the obvious, fumbling for the TemPad. “They came early.”

“Who did?”

“The other civilization,” Sylvie answered, her fingers shaking as they swiped across the TemPad. “Those are space-crafts, Loki. And that’s not a warning. This is it; this is the end.”

It was only then that it sunk in for Loki. Other people nearby had also taken notice, a confused murmur rippling across the fields. People had begun to leave their tents, taking a look for themselves to see what was going on. It didn’t take long after that for the screams of terror to break out, erupting into chaos as these unfortunate souls scrambled for cover that did not exist.

That's when the bombs hit. Or, he assumed they were bombs. Not that he could hear the explosion. At least, not from here. Not yet. But he could certainly see it. He could certainly see the multiple waves of blistering fire as it erupted upon contact with the ground, watched as the wall of destruction was forced towards them. There was nothing he could do, no magic he could use that would shield them from the force of the blast that was about to hit them.

"Sylvie-,"

"I'm working on it!" Sylvie was still frantically tapping at the TemPad, and the reminder of their early conversation about how much charge might be left in the TemPad came rushing back.

This could very well be it. This could be their last moments, once again stood side by side, watching as the end of a world, the end of their time, approaches. Unstoppable. Inevitable.

They were met with the horrific sight of the night sky set aflame, watching as this tidal wave of death washed over the little town. It kind of reminded him of Alioth: of the time it barrelled towards them, intent on swallowing them up and reducing them to nothing. Loki could on watch on in horror, taking in the sight of these people’s little make-shift homes disintegrating from the intense heat, those sheltered within barely able to get out a scream of agony as they’re burnt to a crisp with it-

And then the ground under their feet turned into a rectangle of gold with a familiar-sounding blip, only able to meet Sylvie’s relieved eyes for a split second before he once again found himself falling, sinking down into the Time-Door manifested below them. His last view of this singular world — one he knows he will never forget, whilst being yet another average day for Sylvie — rushing by as he dropped.

He knew now why Sylvie did all she could not to get attached to anyone. For when he thinks of Yalti, he won’t think of the kind stranger that offered them a drink and shared his memories with them. He’ll think about how he knows what the smell of a person's skin boiling off their body is like, and the gurgled scream he gave as his body began to melt.

He could only hope that somewhere out there — whether that be in a separate timeline, or in some semblance of an afterlife — that Yalti will get to see his daughter again.

On the bright side… he now had more fuel to fan the flames burning deep in his stomach. He knew that finding a way to eradicate ‘He Who Remains’ from the timeline — from every timeline — is a task made from necessity. But after witnessing something like this? Knowing that he may have to watch many, many more?

He might just take pleasure in watching the light leave the last variation of ‘His’ eyes as they bring him to his end.

Next Chapter - - ->

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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