#i wonder what would happen if I showed a priest from thousands years ago this content and go: yeah this is how the bible looks now

[notemaker]

The ringmaster and the amphitheater. The chessboard and the player. Round and round they go.

#THE SILLIES. but also they have DEPTH. Which is INTERESTING #The circus man and the circus tent #theyre the circus duo #two ass CLOWNS is what they are #I find their dynamic very compelling. Its like #Lucifer is the devil from the BIBLE. yet Alastor gets offended by the unfairness of their power dynamic #MY MAN YOU WERE A RADIO HOST WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE #WHEN DID YOUR BAR GET TO THE FUCKING CEILING #Anyways. theyre fun. they have some fun things in common but theyd never admit to it. theyd be the friend to go bitch about someone #also im all for a qpr with these two #theyre so funny. imagine them as roomates #my art #art post #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #I wonder if somewhere down in hell the actual lucifer is looking up at us judgementally #i wonder what would happen if I showed a priest from thousands years ago this content and go: yeah this is how the bible looks now #doodles #radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel alastor

[vynegar]

vyn desert card summary/long synopsis

god there’s just something about vyn that makes me write essays i guess :| here’s another “summary” that’s way too long. (if you missed the one for marius, it’s here; and artem’s will be up next week!)

disclaimers: fan interpretation and i’m not fluent in Chinese, so there may be mistakes. also, i’m not familiar with ancient egyptian practices so extra disclaimer for mistakes in the terms relating to it. “divine orders/divinations/word of the gods/etc” are interchangeable, and many instances of words like gods/divine/etc have quotes around them

the short version: MC is a scribe, but begins to doubt if the Pharaoh’s divinations, supposedly the gods’ will, are truly what’s best for the kingdom. This goes against everything she’s been taught, so she seeks guidance from the High Priest, Vyn. He has long been accustomed to the corruption, but realizes that MC might just bring the possibility for things to change...

card video here (not mine; support the uploader by like/comment/subscribe)

The card opens with MC seeking a way into the temple. Vyn shows up and offers to take her hand and show her the way through a secret passage there.

"His name is Vyn Richter, and in this kingdom he is the High Priest of the god Amun, as well as the “man of their dreams” for tens of thousands of girls.” [T/N: including me]

He returned a few years ago from abroad and inherited his father’s position as High Priest, the closest position to the gods aside from the Pharaoh. MC became a clerk/scribe a year earlier when the new Pharaoh ascended to the throne.

The story has a flashback to why they’re in this situation: MC refused to write down an imperial order for mandatory conscription/military draft since she thinks the kingdom doesn’t have the manpower to spare and could risk their basic production. The Vizier [T/N: second-in-command officer, appointed by the Pharaoh] accuses her of undermining of the divine word that is transmitted to the people through the Pharaoh; the gods’ divination is respected, idolized, and followed above all else in their culture. MC is shocked to realize it’s true, her criticism of the imperial order constitutes doubt toward correctness of the words of the gods, which is the utmost unacceptable behavior and severely punished.

The Pharaoh continues to dictate the order. There’s a choice: write or not write, but both options just lead toward the meeting the next day.

As MC walks home, still confused about if she’s doing the right thing, she encounters construction workers. They’ve been overworking themselves beyond what their body can handle in order to complete renovations on the temple within the timeframe the gods (aka the Pharaoh’s orders) dictated. Once again, MC wonders if this kind of “divination” is really correct and necessary to follow, but is still scared of her own doubt. The worker sees her troubled expression and recommends she ask the High Priest, since he is the kingdom’s most learned individual and one of the few able to communicate with the gods.

MC is told that Vyn can be found in the forest outside the temple. She “follows the sound of water, and the moment her eyesight focuses, the ‘view’ in front of her makes her breath catch.” (10:18 this is the first animation) Vyn is in the middle of the lake, holding a water lily, gazing at the stars, and looking so beautiful/ethereal/etc and MC’s mind goes BLANK while staring at him lmfao.

They decide to walk back to Vyn’s home (a palace, given to him by the new Pharaoh) to talk. When MC asks “Is the divine word really unable to be defied? What would happen if I defied it?” he’s in disbelief. When MC explains that she doubts the divine word because of the results it is bringing, Vyn slightly smiles and says to himself “I didn’t think that someone would realize...” but brushes the comment off.

So Vyn recaps: MC knows that she wants to defy the divine word, but also that the divine word cannot be violated. The answer to her questions should be clear. MC asks if he means the answers are negatives (can’t defy it, and it’s impossible), but Vyn just says “maybe” without more details.

Vyn: But... the fact that you are having doubts means that without realizing it, your heart is already leaning in a certain direction. Therefore, if you absolutely need to find an answer, then I believe it wouldn’t hurt to consider for a moment... Where exactly does this desire to defy “divine words” come from? Once you’ve understood this matter, perhaps your doubts will be resolved.

Or he says in less abstract terms, why did MC think that the Pharaoh’s order for a mandatory draft was unreasonable for the kingdom? As Vyn continues to press her, she explains that it went against the situations she knew and what she thought; other people like the worker she met might unthinkingly obey Pharaoh’s orders, but she still upholds her own ideas and herself. Vyn is shocked at this and asks where this attitude comes from.

It’s from her parents; five years ago, her grandmother fell gravely ill. A diviner said that it was simply the gods’ will that it was her time to go, but her parents persisted and found someone with medicine that saved her. (Vyn is again astonished but covers it up, saying that person unknowingly did a “good thing”. MC says she’d like to thank that person, and Vyn says maybe that person should be the one thanking them.) MC’s parents told her that because they didn’t give up on what they believed in, it caused a “miracle” that saved her grandmother despite what the “divine word” said. So from then on, MC believed that while the divine word was important, so were people’s own ideas. (Vyn is shocked, but then happy, even thrilled? He says to himself, he never expected to find...)

Vyn tries a different approach. He suggests that maybe the reason she has doubts is because the divine orders themselves are the problem. This shocks and confuses MC, since her whole life she’s been told and believed that they were correct since the gods are all-knowing and all-powerful. Vyn says that true gods may be that way, but in this world, of course there are exceptions. Then he offers to take MC to the temple so that they can personally ask the gods for an answer.

At the temple, MC is shocked to see two people there when the temple should be closed; it’s the Pharaoh and the Vizier. She’s in such disbelief that she starts muttering to herself, and to prevent them from being discovered, Vyn pulls her from behind and covers her mouth.

The Pharaoh and Vizier turn away, and MC and Vyn can observe them now. They’re fabricating divine words on stone tablets to follow what the Pharaoh wants (mandatory draft and planned area of attack). Pharaoh worried about divine punishment (Vizier reassures him it’s never happened before), and Pharaoh says that he’s willing to do anything for the kingdom to flourish, even fabricate divinations and sacrifice people’s lives.

MC’s basically been having a mental breakdown as everything she’s ever known is collapsing. Back in Vyn’s home, he helps calm her down by having her focus on him, just him, and the current moment. He confirms that what she saw was all true. Divine words are supposed to be a guiding light for people, a message of hope, but when it becomes twisted by selfish people into a means for power, it becomes a symbol of their greed instead. So her earlier doubts were not toward the gods, but rather, she couldn’t accept the Pharaoh’s will.

MC asks about Vyn; he’s the High Priest, has he accepted the Pharaoh’s will then? Vyn responds he’s accustomed to it; he’s seen too much of people who use tools or are being used, and has been hoping for someone who could break this cycle and cause change. Now he asks what MC plans to do: now that she knows the origin of the “divine words” and the Pharaoh’s determination, will she give up, or work together with Vyn to stop the Pharaoh?

Vyn explains his plan. He was at the lake that night to confirm that knowledge he had learned abroad could actually predict the timing of celestial phenomena: a solar eclipse. Using historical records from priests' stone tablets, he has predicted that a solar eclipse will very likely happen in ten days, coinciding with the important Renenutet festival, where people express thanks to the gods. MC realizes he wants to use the eclipse, which will be seen as a sign of the gods' anger, to reject the false divinations. At noon, there is always a public ceremony where they ask the gods a question, but for the festival, it will be a non-priest woman who communicates with the gods as their oracle.

For Vyn's plan, he needs to convince the Pharaoh and Vizier to postpone announcing the order until the festival; MC needs to convince them to let her be the oracle. Then she just needs to reject his questions; the Vizier will probably object, causing there to be two sets of conflicting divinations. This gives them the opportunity to prove MC's divination as the correct one by asking about the Vizier's divination right before the sun is eclipsed (signifying the gods are angry with it), and asking about MC's right when the sky returns to normal (signifying the gods' approval). MC is concerned about if things will really go as planned, and especially whether they can pull it off, especially her. Vyn can't promise how things will happen, but he is willing to try, and he believes in himself and believes even more in the "possibility" in MC.

There’s a choice whether or not to work together with him. If you choose no, since the plan is too risky, Vyn says that only the gods are powerful enough to stop the Pharaoh. Any other methods to stop him could have even bigger risks. Both outcomes lead to MC feeling like this plan is the only choice.

Next day at the meeting, Vyn convinces them to move the date, but it’s harder for MC to get them to agree to her being the oracle. Pharaoh tells her to kneel at his feet to prove her dedication to the gods (like, fully bent down, head to the floor; shameful and uncomfortable). There’s a choice to either do it (despite really not wanting to) or hesitate. Before she can really kneel (or if you hesitate, as the atmosphere gets more tense), Vyn comes beside her and stops her, positioning her behind him in protection (and also secretly holding her hand beneath his cape to reassure her <333). He takes MC away with the excuse that he needs to teach her the proper rituals for the festival. Pharaoh had basically agreed to letting MC be chosen but seems a bit suspicious of them. MC thanks Vyn, but he says he himself couldn’t bear seeing MC submit in front of them, especially after waiting so long for this “possibility”...

It’s the day of the Renenutet festival. MC is nervous, and Vyn gives her a gift: a piece of cloth he wraps around her wrist: “I’ve heard that in distant nations, there’s a custom of giving precious fabric to someone important, which gives them courage.” and also promises that whatever happens, he’ll face it together with her.

It’s time for the ceremony. MC is up on the altar as the oracle, Vyn asks the gods (by asking MC) what the country should do. MC says they should recuperate and strengthen their necessities, not start a war. Vizier accuses her of saying a false prophecy; he has a stack of parchments that he says are a collection of instances where MC defied divine order, he says MC and Vyn are scheming together, and he has stone tablets (the fabricated ones we saw that night) which have the reliable, true divination: attack nations asap.

The crowd of citizens are in disarray and agitated, and everyone looks toward Vyn as the High Priest for an explanation. He’s calm, and MC can tell that he is waiting for the celestial phenomena but the situation is getting dangerous for them. There’s a choice to trust Vyn and wait, or confess and end it all. You can’t actually confess your guilt because MC thinks it’s unacceptable, as it will lead to complete collapse of order for the kingdom. MC decides to trust Vyn, like how he trusts her and the “possibility” in her, and helps stall for time by arguing with the Vizier.

The solar eclipse is starting to begin now. Vyn goes to the center of the altar, and as the winds pick up and the clouds gather, he asks the gods which divination they truly want, first asking about the Vizier’s divination.

The sun is slowly blotted out, which is seen as the gods’ anger toward his divination and sends the crowd into a panic. Next he asks the gods about MC’s divination. (“I closed my eyes, and what I was praying for wasn’t any illusory divination, but rather for Vyn and I to be able to safely get through this moment.”) Suddenly, the citizens shout and point to the sky as the sun slowly returns. On Vyn’s face, she sees “an expression she’s never seen before – amazement, joy, relief... she then realizes, this is also the first time he’s seen a solar eclipse first-hand.”

With the answer clear to the citizens, their anger turns to the Vizier and the Pharaoh has no choice but to take him into custody. He starts to suspect Vyn knew about the eclipse and had planned this, and Vyn tells him that wanting to restore the kingdom to its former glory is important, but when making decisions he must prioritize the citizens’ wellbeing too, as they also bear the cost of his decisions (Pharaoh realizes Vyn was there at the temple that night).

After that, the festival continues normally. MC leaves to find Vyn to clarify one thing on her mind, and ends up at his palace. She has realized that Vyn intentionally led her to the temple that night to see the fabricated divinations (Vyn is surprised, then smiles). Now she asks why he chose her, and what “possibility” he’s been talking about (again, Vyn seems surprised then smiles). She can’t imagine why he chose her, since they’re so different in background, status, power, etc...

Vyn: Silly. Why do you need to consider so many external factors? Couldn’t it be that I chose you because of yourself? [...] You ask me what that “possibility” is. That “possibility” is everything that you do, every word that you say. Whether it’s thinking about divine orders or later your defiance of the Pharaoh... I believe that these were things that only you could do, because you’re different from other people.

Vyn says that that^ was part of the reason for choosing MC. When MC asks about how he protected her (and held her hand), he realizes she won’t understand his intentions unless he uses “special” methods...

He suddenly takes the cloth that was wrapped around MC’s wrist, then uses it to wrap around and cover her eyes and embraces her.

His voice warm, but also seductive, he tells her forget worldly things and to use her heart and soul to respond to him and understand what he sincerely means. Blindfolded, her other senses are heightened and she can hear his heartbeat. Vyn continues speaking: when he heard her talk about standing by her own ideas and herself, he knew she was the one he’s been looking for. So many others would have been uncaring or resigned after knowing the truth, but only MC was willing to take risks and work towards her goal.

“You... were so dazzling, just like a water lily opening at night. I couldn’t help but want to go closer, to touch. I’ve never been so... unable to free myself. [...] Well then... what’s your answer? From now on, can you stay by my side?”

And MC agrees, but still feels a bit insecure about herself in comparison to Vyn; he reassures her that no matter what happens, he’ll be with her through any difficulties.

 In the after-story, the shops’ business is doing better (the Pharaoh seems to have taken Vyn’s words to heart). Vyn’s monocle seems to be based on the Eye of Horus, which is said to be “all-seeing” – very fitting for Vyn. But MC says that’s not important, what’s important is that he looks very good wearing it. MC notices an unfamiliar plant for sale, and wonders if she should buy it for Vyn’s palace since it’s quite bare... Vyn tells what she’s thinking and asks if she wants to get one and take care of it together. In front of him is an unopened water lily that he bought since it reminded him of MC, and he gives it to her. It’s difficult for them to meet since Vyn’s so busy, but he’s lately been delegating more work to his students and preparing to step down as High Priest to start his own life. He started thinking about this after meeting MC; before, he was alone and didn’t think about it, but now, he’s really begun to look forward to the future. He hopes to one day leave this kingdom with MC.

#tears of themis #vyn richter #mo yi #tot vyn #tot spoilers #tot translation

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 23

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 23 - Child Ghost

Twenty minutes later, each of the three hooligans sat on the bench in the hospital corridor in a daze, each clutching a bottle of fresh orange juice. The nurse had just scolded them for disturbing the rest of the patients in the surrounding rooms, and they all looked a little bit ashamed. A-Yan's face had some colour brought back. After drinking a few sips of the drink, he calmly said: "I c-can't exorcise it completely. I can only figure out the source of this thing. Maybe it's a good thing that it's harder to expel."

Lin Yan asked what he meant, and the little Daoist priest explained: “As the saying goes, 'He who never wrongs others does not fear the knock in the night*.' Although this girl is weak from her illness, there must be other reasons why, out of so many other patients, this thing chose her. If we can find the reason, then maybe it will leave by itself."

*(T/N: 不做亏心事，不怕鬼敲门 - means if you've done nothing wrong, you don't have to worry about any retributions.)

"It-It keeps repeating 'Why haven't you come yet?' It may be a wandering spirit who hasn't fulfilled his dying wish. His Yin energy is very weak. He probably died not that long ago."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. He suddenly thought of Xiao Yu, and couldn't help but reveal his recent doubts to the little Daoist priest. After a long while, he turned his head and looked at the ghost next to him, and whispered: "Last time, I was only concerned about getting rid of him. I never asked him anything."

A-Yan sat curled up in the chair and listened to Lin Yan while gnawing on the cap of the orange juice bottle. He looked like a kitten. He jolted up and said: "Ghosts are divided into different categories. Today, the one here can only manifest by attaching itself to a living person and it will disappear once that person dies. However, the one that follows you is very, very strong."

A-Yan continued: "A ghost has no form at first, but if the soul is resentful and the body is buried in a place where the atmosphere has heavy negative energy, it's very likely to turn into a powerful ghost. A ghost will cultivate for a hundred years with a phantom body and, after a long time, it will develop a real body. When they have a real body, they don’t have to resort to 'bump around' like today, and they can even move around in the daytime without fear of Yang energy. They aren't so much ghosts as they are demons or animals." A-Yan clenched his fingers: " The most difficult evil spirit to deal with is known as the true body of the ten thousand clans. It requires special formations, plus needs to be done at the right time and place, so there's not much room for error. Once a part of the process goes wrong, the exorcist is likely to be drowned by the energy, go insane and instead be harmed by the evil spirit."

"L-Last time the formation was set up, Master made a fake one to fool the ghost, and he found the gap in time he needed. Otherwise, if you wanted to eliminate him, I'm afraid that you would have to gather more than fifteen boys in a Mandarin Duck Formation to have any hope." A-Yan suddenly gave Lin Yan a strange smile: "That was because he had just re-entered the world and was still confused when we tricked him. Now, I'm afraid. . . Brother Lin Yan, at this point, he should have already remembered something, right?"

Lin Yan thought back on all the things that happened at the lecture and the ghost's increasingly human-like behaviour. He was secretly surprised; was this ghost really recovering his memory? He nodded and replied, "He told me lots of things the day of the lecture. He can talk, just not very much."

A-Yan smiled nervously: "Y-Your four-pillar pure Yin is the most suitable alignment to feed ghosts. The longer he follows you, the more physical he'll become, and the more he'll remember."

"But. . ." A-Yan looked into the distance with a glaze in his eyes, his fingers tightly squeezed the drink bottle. He turned back and grinned at Lin Yan: "Be very careful."

"All I can say is that every action has a reaction, and I can't help you with anything at that point."

He didn’t know why, but Lin Yan felt that the way the little Daoist priest spoke seemed to imply something. Feeding ghosts. . . Lin Yan harshly inhaled the hospital’s air mixed with the smell of disinfectant and frowned. “Let's not talk about it. We have to save A-Zhou's cousin first and figure out the reason for the possession. Do you have to find out who the deceased is first?"

A-Yan nodded. Yin Zhou held his glasses, a little confused: "We don't have much time left. Dozens of people die in hospitals every month. We don't have time to go through each of them individually."

Lin Yan sighed: "That's no other option. Go and pull up the records of everyone who's died recently in the hospital. Maybe there's a clue somewhere."

After all, there were several people now that were exhausted from the attempted exorcism, paralyzed on the bench and not wanting to move. Lin Yan discreetly adjusted his position. Xiao Yu suddenly walked over to him, squatted down and grabbed his knees with both hands.

Lin Yan turned his face and snorted. "Weren't you ignoring me?"

Xiao Yu didn't answer. He gently lowered his head and put the side of his face on Lin Yan's knees, long hair cascading behind him like a waterfall. Lin Yan instinctively wanted to reach out his hand to touch his head, then he thought that he was probably still angry, so he put on an indifferent air and cold expression, not acknowledging him.

After a while, Xiao Yu raised his head. He pressed his hands firmly against Lin Yan's legs, stood up, turned and walked further down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Lin Yan asked in a low voice. Seeing that he didn't answer, he had to follow a few steps behind. Xiao Yu quietly returned to the door of Xiao Yang's room and went straight through the door panel. Lin Yan was full of doubts. Peeking carefully through the door glass, he saw that Xiao Yang's mother was tired from crying and was sitting on the side of the bed, dozing off with her arms propping up her forehead. The girl, on the other hand, waited by the window again in the same manner as when Lin Yan had first arrived.

Xiao Yu walked to the girl's back and patted her shoulder lightly. What happened next left Lin Yan dumbfounded. The girl with her rolled-back eyes turned around and quietly "looked" at Xiao Yu, showing a normal human on her face for the first time. The corners of her mouth were pulled downward, a look of aggravation painted clearly on her face. Xiao Yu was tall, so he simply squatted in front of the girl and stroked her hair very softly. They were talking, and Lin Yan's eyes widened. Although he could not hear them, their expressions and slightly moving lips convinced him that they were indeed communicating in a language he didn't understand.

The little Daoist priest and Yin Zhou also followed at this time. They curiously holding the windowpane and looking in. They couldn't help but be shocked by the girl's appearance now.

"She's talking to herself?" Yin Zhou was surprised: "What's she saying?"

"Mortuary language." The little Daoist said in a deep voice. "The language used in ancient rituals to communicate with the dead."

Lin Yan looked at the harmonious picture in the room, unconsciously picking at the crack of the door. He grit his teeth and indignantly thought you're Xiao Yu. At home, you're fierce and want to kill me, yet you go talk to a young girl with such a tender look. You just look at such a pretty young girl that I don’t want to let it go. Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianist teachings have really gone to the dogs. It’s useless for you to think about it. I decided ages ago. When she's a few years older, I'll take her to watch movies and visit the amusement park. Let's see what you can do. . .

"Hey? Are you going to follow him inside?" Yin Zhou patted Lin Yan on his shoulder. Lin Yan had been distracted internally cursing Xiao Yu, and he was so frightened that the hairs on his neck stood on end.

"Holy shit, when did you get here? Were you trying to scare me to death by keeping quiet?!" Lin Yan grumbled, clutching his heart.

"Did you really not hear me talking so loudly before?!" Yin Zhou said in surprise: ". . . Why are you blushing?"

A-Yan smiled and gave Lin Yan a deep look, not making a sound.

The conversation in the room seemed to be over. Xiao Yu stood up. He leaned over and rubbed the top of the girl's head and walked out. Xiao Yang reluctantly turned and stood by the window again. Lin Yan gritted his teeth and waited outside. He internally decided he wouldn't fall for any more of his tricks considering he seemed to do them with anyone. . .

Xiao Yu had already returned to stand in front of him while he was distracted. Lin Yan turned his face away from him in anger, but Xiao Yu didn't care. He took out the memo and the soft-tip fountain pen Lin Yan had bought from his pocket and began to write.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Yin Zhou looked at the pen and paper hanging in the air and stared in shock.

Xiao Yu shoved the note into Lin Yan's hand, then retreated to stand behind him. Lin Yan looked down. The light green note had two lines written on it. The first line was a series of capitalized numbers: "Three-Five-One-Zero-Zero-Four." The second line was a sentence: "He's waiting for his father."

"Father?" Yin Zhou looked at the words on the note and suddenly clapped his hands: "Hey, I got it, no wonder it came to Xiao Yang. Xiao Yang's mother is a single parent. My uncle passed away last year. I came to the hospital to watch her overnight last week and heard her say she missed her dad and it felt like he was still there with her. . . Then what does that row of numbers mean?"

Lin Yan was also puzzled holding the note. When he asked Xiao Yu, he shook his head and didn't speak. Lin Yan couldn't help muttering, "What the hell? You touched her head and smiled for a long time without asking anything. . . It’s not because the little girl looks good..."

"A g-ghost's memories are incomplete. They can only remember what they want. It would be nice if they can remember the numbers." A-Yan suddenly opened his mouth, his eyes sharply focused towards Lin Yan. Lin Yan's face grew hot, and he hurriedly lowered his head to cover it up. He explained to him that he was searching for people, why did his mind take such a strange turn. . .

That being said, why did he always get distracted by a dead person? This isn't going to work, no. Lin Yan secretly squeezed his fist.

Yin Zhou saw that the two of them were acting strangely. He crossed his hands behind his head and looked around in the corridor. When he saw the computer in front of the nurse on duty at the staircase, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he whistled frivolously: "Look, dude. Time for some fun."

With Lin Yan's girl-pleasing good looks and Yin Zhou's series of honeyed compliments, the three stooges quickly got their hands on the nurse's sister's computer. Yin Zhou stared at the screen intently. His fingers flew across the keyboard and the mouse clicked rapidly. After 15 minutes, the corners of his mouth stretched upward. His whole body suddenly leaned back in the swivel chair. He squinted his eyes and exclaimed: "Done. Turns out the info comes from this hospital. Makes it much more convenient not having to check other systems."

Lin Yan leaned in front of the computer, and the homepage showed: "351004, Zhou Jintian, male, 11 years old, died on May 11. Cause of death: internal organ rupture causing extensive abdominal hemorrhaging." A scanned copy of the body claim form was attached below. In the lower right corner where the family members signed, the family name was written in two large characters: "Zhou Mo" with a small red seal next to it.

"From the deceased's information from the database, this line of numbers is the bed number from the morgue." Yin Zhou touched his head: "This ghost is a child. No wonder he's standing by the window all the time, waiting for his father to pick him up from school."

Lin Yan took a picture of the page with his phone. He smiled and pushed the back of Yin Zhou's head: "Good job."

At the spicy and sour noodle shop across from the hospital.

Lin Yan always disliked eating near hospitals. He always feels that there were grieving patients’ families and infectious bacteria floating everywhere, but these spicy and sour noodles were particularly famous. Lin Yan drove the car for a while, and after a lengthy internal struggle, he turned back. Lin Yan scooped a spoonful of spicy soup and was satisfied that a delicious dinner was definitely worth it.

The little Daoist priest left for a shift in the restaurant where he worked. Yin Zhou stayed in the hospital to see the patient and verify the information. Lin Yan sat alone at the snack bar, a greasy orange plastic table with two bowls of spicy and sour noodles in front of him. One was placed in front of him, and the other was pushed to the opposite side. The "person" only he could see was sitting in the opposite chair with his face turned sideways in a daze. It seems that the ghost really didn't need to eat. Lin Yan sighed and asked in a low voice: "You don't eat or sleep, you follow me every day, aren't you tired?"

Xiao Yu ignored him. His slender fingers propped up his chin, and the outline of his side face looked very beautiful in the dimming daylight. The table was near the window, and the warm yellow halo of the street lamp brushed over the bridge of his nose. His skin looked as fine as porcelain. It felt like porcelain too, icy cold.

Things were still awkward.

"Excuse me, can I borrow the chair? We don't have enough." A childish male voice sounded and Lin Yan raised his head. A boy dressed as a high school student was holding the back of Xiao Yu's chair. He saw Lin Yan looked confused and pointed to the boys and girls chatting at a large table next door. The girls were wearing heavy makeup, the boys wearing ear studs, their school uniforms covered in black and blue pen doodles. There were so many people in the store that they were missing several chairs.

"Someone's using it." Lin Yan replied quietly.

"I know you've been sitting here for a while, no one's there." The boy was unyielding.

"If I say someone's there, someone's there, and if they aren't there now, they will be later." Lin Yan was a little impatient.

"Nutjob, it's just a chair, why so angry?" The boy muttered. Before leaving, he rolled his eyes at Lin Yan.

"Sorry." Lin Yan mumbled to the boy's back. He wasn't sure why. No one could see Xiao Yu, which always made him a little anxious. Lin Yan hesitated and for the first time took the initiative to reach out and touch Xiao Yu's statue-like fingers and whispered, "It's lonely, isn't it? Of all the people in the world, I'm the only one who can see you and I treat you badly."

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #danmei novel #bl novel

[umbry-fic]

To Wish Upon a Lantern

Summary: In the midst of their journey, Lloyd and Colette visit a new town and decide to participate in their lantern festival.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Original Character Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 3266 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 22/06/2021

Notes: Fluff fic with a little bit of angst! Written for @frayed-symphony's birthday!

~~~

“Look at these, Lloyd! They’re so pretty!” Colette exclaimed next to Lloyd. She was pointing out the tiny charms on display in the pop-up cart in the middle of the bustling marketplace. “I wonder what they are,” Colette mused.

“They kinda look like a chef’s hat to me,” Lloyd replied, leaning down to get a closer look at the charms. “You know, the one Professor Raine wore sometimes when trying to cook, just without the folded ridges? It’s even pure white in colour.”

The design resembled a cuboid with an open bottom from which a tassel protruded out, the individual strands all ramrod straight without a kink or tangle in sight. The top of the cuboid transitioned seamlessly into a pyramid-like shape, the same string that made up the tassel extending upwards out of the top of the pyramid, tied into a complicated system of knots. Trying to follow the string down its path made Lloyd’s head hurt. At the end of it all, the string formed a loop, perfect for hanging the charm up on furniture. Threaded on the string above and below the “chef’s hat” were two gems, sunlight reflecting off their polished surfaces and making them sparkle.

“I see what you’re saying.” Colette picked up one of the charms by the loop of string, pursing her lips as her fingers rubbed at the knot. It was a rather satisfying feeling. “But I don’t think a chef’s hat would be important enough to a town for it to be everywhere.”

“True.”

By everywhere, Colette truly meant everywhere. Lloyd had seen multiple variants of this charm at other stalls, some with different colours, some with and without the gems on the strings, some with even more complicated knot designs, some with words printed on the side, some without strings altogether and instead using clasps and hooks, perhaps to better attach the charm to clothing and bags. But it wasn’t just products in the marketplace. He’d seen it in murals painted on the walls of this town, and even walked past some children making a larger version.

“The details are incredible…” Lloyd muttered, feeling the material of the charm. It looked to be folded out of paper at first sight, but the texture wasn’t remotely like it. He wanted to ask the stall owner how he’d folded something so intricate and yet so small.

"Ah, young man, looking to buy one of the lantern charms?"

Speak of the devil! Lloyd nearly jumped out of his skin, gaze snapping up to find that the jovial, bearded stall owner was now right in front of him. The last Lloyd saw of him, he’d been engaged in a fervent discussion with another patron, and that had been just moments ago. How had such a large figure manoeuvred in front of him without any noise at all?!

“No, no! Just window shopping at the moment!” Lloyd quickly clarified, acutely aware of how light the sack of Gald in his pocket was.

“Lanterns? These are lanterns?” Colette interjected, head cocked and hands clasped before her chest. “I’ve never seen lanterns like these before…” When she heard the word “lantern”, she thought of fragile glass and cold metal grips, a flame burning with the faint whiff of kerosene, chasing away the foreboding darkness of winding caverns.

“Ah, I thought you might not be locals. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Yeah, we’re just passing through. Never been to this town in Sylvarant before, so we thought why not?” Lloyd replied.

“It’s always nice to see travellers now that the Desians are gone,” the shopkeeper said with a hearty chuckle, his smile hidden by bushy black bristles. “To answer your question, young lady, these are indeed lanterns. It has been this town’s proud tradition to make these lanterns and hold an annual festival involving them, where we send them to the Goddess above. Though we’ve only been able to do so again with the Chosen's success. We’re actually holding our second one tonight!”

“A festival?” Colette squealed, clapping her hands together. If she weren’t in the middle of town and surrounded by dozens of other people who could clearly see her, Lloyd thought to himself with a smile, she certainly would have started jumping up and down on the balls of her feet like an excited child.

For that was precisely who she was allowed to be, now that she no longer had to labour under the title of Chosen. The child that had been buried for so long in favour of performing her duty could now come to the forefront. She could show her excitement over experiencing all the strange and delightful customs of each town they came across, whether it be Sylvaranti or Tethe'allan. And it was always so endearing to witness, the clear delight on her face, and it gave Lloyd even more motivation to continue this journey across the reunited world. Both to collect the Exspheres, and to let Colette experience everything this beautiful world had to offer, now that it was no longer denied from her.

“Yes. Everyone is encouraged to participate! All you need to do is purchase one of the lanterns, light it up, and release it into the sky! You can even write custom messages on the sides. Most people choose to write wishes, such that the Goddess can grant them.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Colette’s eyes were shining just as brightly as the gems on the cart. Lloyd was sure that she had built a vivid picture of the festival in her mind, what with her bright imagination honed from years of daydreaming as she sat within the cold walls of the Church of Martel, wanting desperately to escape but only able to do so in her head.

A festival sounded like a wonderful experience to him as well. All festivals were, events that exuded a magical aura as all types of people, strangers, friends, lovers and family alike, came together in one place just to celebrate and have a fun time. He hadn’t gotten to participate in that many, but he’d love to go to more.

"Lloyd, do you want to go?" Colette asked, nudging him in the side.

That was all it took for Lloyd's smile to slip into a small frown. Colette's terrible habit was rearing its ugly head again.

It had taken him a while to pick up on it, to learn to parse through what was innate to Colette’s personality and what was Chosen behaviour. But once he did, it was rather hard to ignore. The accursed mention of “Lloyd, do you want to…” had started to grate on his nerves - she’d done it with regards to the summer festival at Mizuho, and the newly revamped Altamiran theme park, and likely a thousand other times throughout all the years he’d known her that he hadn’t noticed. Asking was all fine and dandy, but only if she expressed her own desires first.

She always did this. Disguised her desires in the form of questions posed to others, too afraid to just do things for herself. She still thought she needed justification to let loose and just enjoy herself, despite her own happiness being justification enough.

Time to flip her question on its head.

"Do you want to go? To release a lantern?" he countered, eyes narrowing as he held her in a stare.

"Uh - uh, I -" Colette stuttered, fumbling at the unexpected turn of conversation, unable to look away from those intense russet eyes. "Well, we're low on Gald! And you did say you wanted to make it back to Iselia by next week, so if we stay a night -"

"That's not what I asked," he interrupted, taking hold of her hand. He didn't like being this forceful with her, but it was required. She needed to learn to ask for herself, and giving excuses was not the way. "I asked if you wanted to."

There was silence as Colette bowed her head, her hair hiding her face. It was but moments later that she raised it again, uncertainty painted across her face. "I… Would like to go... With you… And release a lantern together," she whispered haltingly, like it hurt to get the words out, shy blue eyes meeting his again. For her, it likely did, battling against her instinct to swallow the words down and the fear that there would be retribution, whether from invisible priests or the world at large.

There would be no retribution, not if he had anything to say about it. He squeezed her hand, giving her an affirming nod.

That's it. I’m so proud of you.

A small smile graced her face.

"Then it's settled!" Lloyd declared with gusto, turning back to the stall owner, who’d been watching the whole exchange in silence. “Uh, except the cost. How much is it?” He expected he’d have to haggle; they really didn’t have much Gald left. But no matter how, by hook or by crook, he would make this happen.

The stall owner burst into roaring laughter, slamming a hand on the cart. “For you two, free of charge!”

“What, really?” Lloyd blurted out, hardly able to believe his ears. Surely this was a deal that was too good to be true?

“Yes, really! Take it as payment for putting such a large smile on my face. Go down to the fields at sundown. I’ll meet the two of you there with a lantern. In return, spread the news of our festival to your friends! And if you choose to return next year, you can pay the full price.”

“Thank you so much, mister!” Colette said. “We’ll be sure to tell all our friends! I’m sure they’ll love the idea so much that they’ll all turn up next year!”

“Ha! I like the sound of that!”

Confirming the details of the meetup, Lloyd thanked the stall owner profusely before walking away hand-in-hand with Colette.

“He was very nice,” Colette muttered.

“That he was. So we shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

Colette mumbled her agreement, that small smile still on her face, soothing Lloyd’s worry that he might have pushed her too far.

There was still the issue of lunch, though. His stomach was growling, and Colette must have been hungry from all the walking they’d done in the morning. But this time, he’d cut her some slack. He couldn’t expect change to occur immediately - it would take time, possibly years.

“Want to go get lunch at that place we saw down the road that sells dumplings? We’ve never tried it before, and Sheena said it was good.”

Receiving Colette’s enthusiastic agreement, (and spotting the relieved slump of her shoulders,) they set off, their fingers tightly locked together. And after lunch, there would be enough time to explore this town to the fullest.

~~~

Colette stood back on the grassy hill, watching the stall owner (whose name she still hadn’t learned), kneeling on the ground and carefully lighting a match. Lloyd stood slightly closer, observing with a keen eye. He was most likely trying to figure out the craftsmanship of the lantern; he’d been obsessed since he’d first seen the charms. She was more interested in the knot, and would likely be spending an afternoon at Dirk’s playing with string trying to recreate it. She didn’t think that would end very well, and a lot of untangling from Dirk and Lloyd’s end would be required, but it would be fun!

Standing too close to the stall owner ran the risk of her accidentally starting a fire, and that would have horrific consequences on plains of short grass such as these, so she was going to keep a safe distance.

As agreed, she and Lloyd had met up with the stall owner at the rolling hills behind the town, though not before exploring every nook and cranny of the town, with its curving arches and winding, narrow streets, watching the children play games with toys she had never seen before and having the honour of joining in. The stall owner had been in the process of unfolding a compact square of an unknown material, unveiling a lantern that was half her height and fitting it with something that resembled a lamp without the glass covering. (How did that fit into a small square?) After which, he’d lent them brushes whose tips were drenched in dark red ink, asking them to write whatever they wanted on the side of the lantern.

Enraptured with the idea of granting wishes, she had written the first thing that had come to mind before she lost her courage to do so. Lloyd had smiled after seeing her wish, choosing not to write another and only adding his name under hers, causing her to giggle as she tried her best not to trip and dot him in ink.

The sun had still been peeking over the hill when they’d arrived here, but in the time it had taken to finish their preparations, it had sunk out of sight, leaving behind only a harsh pink that was quickly being chased away by sparkling stars.

“It’s done!” the stall owner called out, standing up while keeping a secure grip on the side of the lantern. The fire was contained inside the lantern, causing the sides to be lit up in gentle orange light and the tiny words to stick out in harsh red. She’d noticed that quite a lot of things in this town were red. Maybe it was an auspicious colour to them?

Colette ran over to join Lloyd, accepting the lantern from the stall owner so that she was holding one side and Lloyd was holding the other, standing across from her. She could feel the heat of the flame licking at her fingers, chasing away the chill of the night. The lantern was fighting to escape her hold, the surge of hot air doing its absolute best to propel it towards the heavens, where it belonged.

“You can let go at any time,” the stall owner clarified. “Once that’s done, you can sit here and watch your lantern for as long as you want! I’ll be joining my family and giving you two some alone time now.”

“Thank you, mister!” Colette called out after the diminishing silhouette of the stall owner, until he disappeared amongst the throng of others. It seemed like the entire town and then some had turned up for the festival, populating the plains with head upon head. Somehow, upon this one hill, they were the only two present, free to soak in each other’s company.

“On the count of 3?” Lloyd offered, drawing her attention back to him. The flickering flame of the lantern cast him in the same orange light, the tips of his hair catching most of it and rendering the strands an even lighter brown, the features of his face soft while his lower half was covered in twisting shadow. A truly magical sight.

“Okay.”

“1…”

“2…” she joined in.

“3!” they cheered together, throwing the lantern into the sky and angling their heads up to watch.

The lantern rose fast into the sky, wobbling a little in its journey but remaining steadfast. The weather was good today, with no hint of a raincloud and only a gentle breeze that would pose no problems. Theirs was one of the first lanterns, joining the dozen that had already made their way into the clear sky to play by the moon, darkness having fully fallen.

Feeling a tug on her sleeve, she found that Lloyd had settled himself on the grass and was gesturing for her to join him. She did just that, the two of them sitting in silence side-by-side for a few minutes as more and more people released their lanterns.

"Sorry if I was too hard on you in the morning," Lloyd whispered, finally breaking the silence as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"No, it was necessary," she replied, taking his hand and squeezing. "You were just trying to help me. Besides, you've more than made up for it today. And I know I need to start thinking about myself more. It's just… Hard.”

It was difficult, to push past the echoes of the priests in her mind, telling her that as Chosen she had to conduct herself with the utmost grace and not indulge in cravings. That accepting gifts from others were already pushing the line, not to mention asking for things. It wasn’t proper.

“I'm -"

"Stop right there," Lloyd interjected, pressing a finger against her lips, a slightly exasperated smile on his face. “No apologising for what isn’t your fault, remember?”

“Ah, right! I’m - Okay, I’m just going to stop talking,” Colette muttered with flushed cheeks, clapping her hand over her mouth as she let her head fall onto his shoulder. She’d gotten better, but whenever she fell back into one habit, she tended to fall into all of them at once.

At least she could stop herself now. And she wanted to shed those behaviours, not only for herself, but to stop seeing the sad frown on Lloyd’s face. He continued to blame himself for not catching on sooner, for unknowingly encouraging those habits, when it wasn’t his fault.

Lloyd chuckled, leaning his head on hers. “It’s alright. I know it’s not going to be easy, but all you need to do is take baby steps. And I’ll be here to help you.”

“I know you will.”

“Let’s just enjoy the view now, shall we?”

“Mm.”

Above them, there were a thousand pinpricks of light as the lanterns rose into the sky. So many and so dense that they seemed to outnumber the stars themselves, though she knew that was impossible. Or perhaps the lanterns were golden stars, each holding a precious wish that its owner hoped could come true with all their heart, prayed would reach the Goddess. It almost reminded her of gazing up at the grand chandelier adorned with candles that hung in the sanctum of the Church, but instead of a sight that filled her heart with melancholy, the sight before her now was a breathtaking and uplifting one, even if she knew there was no Goddess in the sky.

For surely, if this many people came together with a common dedication, a miracle could still occur to grant these wondrous wishes.

She could barely see their lantern now - it was both lost among the crowd and too high up, the words she’d written on it too far away to make out. But they were still held in her heart.

I wish that I can continue exploring this incredible world together with you.

Mayhap it was a selfish wish. It would have been more appropriate for the Chosen to wish for the good of the world. But she wasn’t the Chosen anymore. Besides, she was sure other people had made such a wish. And… If the wishes contained within all these lanterns were to come true, would the world not be a better, happier place? Would there not be a brighter tomorrow awaiting all of them?

“I’d like to come back next year,” she said, trying her best to push out the desires in her heart, to stop battling against guilt that she knew she should not need to feel. “Maybe with all of our friends?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Maybe my wish will be different next year.

She snuggled closer into Lloyd’s warmth, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, both a comforting blanket and an impregnable shield.

I don’t think it will.

#fanfiction #tales of symphonia #colloyd #colette brunel #lloyd irving #one shot

[astraeagreengrass]

illicit affairs [the woods 2/4]

No one ever tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them

Word Count: 3.657

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, descriptions of a memorial service.

A/N: Thank you to every one that sent me some love on exile! I'm truly grateful for your comments and I hope you like what's coming up on this story. Special thanks to the always wonderful @xbuchananbarnes​ for helping me out with this. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway​ ♡

and you know damn well for you, i would ruin myself a million little times

Working for Nick Fury sometimes made you sick to your stomach.

"That's very old school of you," you said, taking a sip from your coffee. The styrofoam cup was hot to the point of almost burning your fingertips, but having something on your hands kept you from twisting them nervously.

Nick raised an eyebrow - the one you could see, at least - and drank from his own cup.

"Your father always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

"Humph," you muttered as Nick rolled down the steel door of the storage unit. "Do you think he would believe your conspiracy theory?"

He shrugged, black leather duster coat swooshing in the wind.

"Your father was a soldier and a spy," he stated. "One of the best, I must say. He believed in his orders as long as he could question them. So yes, I think he would engage my conspiracy theory, as you put it."

You refrained from comment. That was Nick's way: mention your father enough times to instigate your grief, just enough to loosen your morals. The shame was on you for allowing him - even if his suspicion of an undercover plot inside S.H.I.E.L.D. fascinated your curiosity.

“Can I ask what made you start questioning your own Agency?” you mumbled under your breath as you and Nick made your way to his SUV. The sun was slowly dragging it’s hues across the inky sky, the stars fading as the golden light came to be.

“When Stark hacked the Helicarier’s systems there were some… Inconsistencies,” Nick replied. “Which naturally spiked my curiosity.”

“Naturally,” you smirked.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you that this is not an official assignment, Agent Y/L/N,” he said.

“No, sir,” you shook your head.

“Good,” he pressed a button and the car doors unlocked. “Besides, I’m sure Captain Rogers’ presence in Washington will… Stimulate the inconsistencies we’re looking for.”

“Shit,” you cursed. “That was today?”

Nick tapped the clock on the car’s navigation panel.

“He’ll be at headquarters at nine. I expect you to be there.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

Nick nodded.

“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “Is the treatment working?”

“She’s doing a round of chemo every forty days,” you clicked the seat belt tip in the buckle. “She’s stable, but, you know, it’s cancer. I visit her every weekend, though.”

“Are you sure you can’t convince her to move to the city?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “She’s never gonna leave the woods, Nick. Can you even imagine my grandmother living in D.C.?”

A discreet smile played in the corner of your boss’ lips.

“I couldn’t imagine you living in D.C., yet here you are.”

You didn’t reply, choosing to sip your coffee instead. Nick turned the radio on as he drove off the storage lot and a playlist of Stevie Wonder’s greatest hits was your soundtrack on the journey back to the city. Daylight was high in the sky when the SUV reached the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s colossal headquarters sitting right in the middle of the Potomac.

It was just past seven, but already the premises were bustling with people. You supposed that’s what happens when a superhero starts his first day on the job - people show up early, wearing their best clothes and flawless makeup.

“What the hell,” Nick muttered. “This is an Intelligence Agency, not a fashion show.”

You stifled a laugh.

“You can’t complain about motivation in the workplace now, boss.”

Nick shot you a dirty look.

“My office. Nine A.M. Don’t be late.”

You mock saluted him then went on to find some breakfast.

Natasha Romanoff’s memorial service was held on a balmy December morning, at a Christian Orthodox church in Brooklyn.

All the time you’ve known her, Natasha had never mentioned religion and you were positive that she would’ve cracked two or three jokes about the priest’s monotonous speaking if she were there. Only she wasn’t, and all she left behind was a handful of grieving acquaintances.

There was no body to keep vigil over or bury. In between the thousand of unsaid words between you and Steve, the subject of Natasha’s death lingered. He tried to explain, as he did to so many other things, and maybe you would’ve understood if you just tried to be better at listening - tried harder to make sense of the incredible mess reality had become. Apparently it’s not easy to retrieve a corpse when the person actually died on an alien planet almost ten years ago.

Natasha’s beautiful face smiled at you from a portrait sitting at the altar. Her hair was longer, cascading down her shoulders in fiery red waves that curled into blonde ends. The shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips couldn’t elude the sadness lingering in her eyes. Even so, she hadn’t aged a day since the last time you saw her, in a time so distant it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else’s existence instead of your own.

Remembering 2016 felt like being dunked in ice water. Like the time you jumped into the frozen pond in the woods and opened your eyes underneath the stream, catching the twisted, milky sunlight. Looking back at that life - so peaceful despite all the trouble that surrounded it - was equally as numbing.

It was announced to the general public that the woman known as Black Widow bravely sacrificed her life during what was now being called the Battle of the Earth. Yet, when Steve called two days earlier saying that there would be a private service for Natasha's family members, you wept - not so much because a service meant that she was well and truly gone, but because she thought you were her family.

You met her at S.H.I.E.L.D., of course. Even before you crumbled to dust, you’d constantly wonder how different things would’ve been if you’d never let stupid Jimmy Rodriguéz’s words get to you. If you’d just ignored his taunts instead of hacking S.H.I.E.L.D’s database just to prove him you were smart enough to do it, maybe then an old friend your father never bothered to mention wouldn’t have come to your house in the middle of the night, saying that if you could bypass government-patented digital security, then you should move to D.C. and work for him. You would’ve never left the woods, never traded it for the tangled webs of secrets and deceptions a job as an intelligence programmer proved to be.

Perhaps then you wouldn’t be here, sharing a pew with Steve Rogers - the only man you’d ever loved and probably ever would. Perhaps you would’ve met someone else: a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring guy, but you wouldn’t care because you wouldn’t be very interesting either - just a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring girl. And the two of you would be ordinary, kissing goodbye in the morning and hello in the evenings, with the ever present assurance that this was how things were meant to be. Not the tragic tale of love and loss you shared with Steve.

You didn't wait for him to walk you out of the church when the service was over, yet your plan to flee without an awkward farewell misfired at the sight of Nick Fury by the door. He looked exactly like he always did - black leather eyepatch, black leather duster coat, seemingly plucked from your thoughts.

"Y/N," he greeted you, evidently surprised although only someone who's spent as much time around him as you had would catch it in the tone of his voice. "How are you?"

"Good," you replied, way too quickly. "Fine."

Nick nodded, then turned to the blonde woman next to him.

"Carol, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," he introduced you. "Y/N, this is Captain Carol Danvers."

"Former agent," you corrected, shaking the hand Carol extended. She had a gentle, but strong grip. Noticing her gaze looking up, you turned around to find Steve approaching.

"Carol, Nick," he acknowledged them, then said to you: "You ready to go?"

You nodded, whispering a quiet "goodbye" before allowing Steve to lead you outside.

"Thanks," you muttered when you reached the open air. Even New York's polluted breeze was more refined than the stifling atmosphere inside the church and you inhaled deeply.

"No problem," he smiled. "I was hoping we could talk. You know, if you had the time."

You had all the time in the world, or so it seemed these days. Almost two months had dragged by since you woke up on the floor of your apartment and every minute seemed to make up for the years you missed. You weren’t working or even living in the old building in Bushwick anymore - Cal and Daniel, the father and son duo that first aided you, were. You were just going through the motions.

No one tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them. No one bothers saying that when they break, they scatter, and compiling whatever’s left is a perverted scavenger hunt.

“There’s a coffee shop over there,” Steve pointed to a row of storefront across the church parking lot when you hesitated to give him an answer.

You shook your head, trying to scare off the white noise that always seemed to pester you.

“Sure,” you said, wondering if in your alternate life you’d know how to say no to Steve Rogers.

“So, you've experienced this sort of thing before?” Nick said.

“You get used to it,” Steve replied, looking down at the gravestone. Carved on the marble were the words: Col. Nicholas J. Fury, The path of the righteous man. Ezekiel 25:17.

“We've been data-mining HYDRA's files,” Nick continued. “Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship. I'm headed to Europe tonight, wanted to ask if you'd come.”

Steve shook his head.

“There's something I gotta do first.”

“How about you, Wilson?” Nick turned to Sam. “Could use a man with your abilities.”

“I'm more of a soldier than a spy,” he replied, resolute.

“Alright then,” Nick sighed and you thought he was honestly disappointed. He shook Steve and Sam’s hand and said: “Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.”

He turned to walk away but halted when he saw you approach. It was the first - and only - time you saw him wearing anything other than the black duster coat and you were surprised to find him affable, rather than alien.

He pointed to the file in your hands.

“How many favors did you have to call in order to get that?”

“A few,” you smiled. “Turns out I still have some friends in Kiev.”

Nick snickered, a whisper of a laugh so discreet that it faded almost instantly in the breeze.

“And you’re sure you’ll pull on that thread? With Hydra out in the open and Congress breathing down your neck?”

His real question was implicit: was your relationship with Steve Rogers worth the trouble?

“I’m sure,” you said, clutching the thick manila folder that contained information on the Winter Soldier.

Beyond the dark disguise of his sunglasses, you caught Nick’s gaze - and you were sad that things ended this way.

“Be safe, Y/N,” he offered.

Nick Fury was out of the graveyard and your life before you could wish him the same.

"I'm sorry I didn't call for a while," Steve apologized as soon as the young waitress left your table with your orders scribbled on a notepad. "I had to leave town for a few days."

You nodded, picking a napkin from it's holder in the center of the tiny corner table where you and Steve sat.

"It's okay," you said. "I know you have stuff to do."

He was still, after all, Steve Rogers. You never tricked yourself into believing you were his priority, instead accepted in your heart that you would always be second to The Avengers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes and whatever else Steve set his eye on and it was fine. You'd be the second place as long as you could be something.

"I went back to return the stones," he added. "Bruce managed to repair the quantum tunnel, so Sam and I volunteered to go back and put them in place."

Back. As in the past.

"Okay," you repeated, because your recent conversations with Steve constantly left you lost for words, with all the information about time travel and elemental crystals from outer space. "Did everything go alright?"

"Yeah," he clasped his hands in front of him, and his colossal frame made the wooden chair he sat in look even smaller. "I saw Peggy."

You looked up from your staring match with the napkin, astounded.

"Really?" your tone was clipped and Steve noticed. Throughout your relationship, Steve's former flame was the unmentionable, the firing pin in the granade. Even if you had accepted the silver medal, it didn't mean it wasn't agonizingly painful to know you'd never shine bright in Steve's eyes like Peggy's gold standards.

"In 1970, at Camp Lehigh," he rubbed his forehead. "She didn't see me, of course, but I saw her. There were a bunch of pictures on her desk - her kids, her husband, one of myself before the serum..."

"Why are you telling me this?" you interrupted him, napkin now balled up in your fist.

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. There was a light pink blush crawling up his neck. "Shit, I don't know why I thought this would be a good way to start what I need to say to you, but… I guess seeing Peggy live her life made me realize how much of mine has been wasted."

You scoffed.

"How could you possibly have wasted your life, Steve? You're Captain America! You've saved the world more than once."

"When it comes to you I've wasted it," he whispered. "And I'm no longer Captain America."

"What?" you gasped, purposely ignoring the initial part of his sentence.

"I passed the shield on to Sam," he announced. "He'll do a good job."

"Why?" you breathed out.

"It was time," Steve said, plainly as if you were discussing the weather and not the one thing that defined who he was for over a century. "The guy that wanted a fight so badly he became a military experiment isn't here anymore. He's changed, the world has changed. That shield is too heavy for me now."

You shook your head, stunned.

"I can't believe this."

Steve started speaking, but stopped when the waitress arrived with your drinks: cappuccino for you, espresso for him. She took an unnecessarily long time pointing out the sugar and sweetner were, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, telling him with a giggle to call her if he needed anything. Your coffee suddenly looked unsavory.

"The world needs Captain America," he continued after she was out of your hearing range. "But Captain America doesn’t necessarily needs to be Steve Rogers.”

“I think Sam will do a marvelous job, Steve. I just don’t understand where this decision came from. Is this because of what happened with Thonos?”

“Thanos,” he corrected you. “And no. This has been looming on my mind since before him.”

“Since when?” you questioned. “Because before Thanos you were out in the world being a wanted man. Please don’t tell me this urge for normalcy came to you while you were hiding like a coward.”

Steve sighed.

“Look, I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be...”

“I know I have every right to be,” you cut him off. “I gave you everything and you left me stranded. Do you have any idea how hard that was? My boyfriend of three years became a criminal and he didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye before he fled.”

You slammed your fist on the table, rattling the china. The foam of your drink sloshed, a tiny bubbly dot spilling from the cup to the platter.

Lately, every single one of your conversations with Steve seemed to end in a fight and you were to blame. As much as you tried to move on, either your biological clock wasn't adjusted yet or your heart couldn't let go of the night he appeared on your doorstep after being absent for so long. It might've been five years in history for him, but for you it was a mere sixty days ago. You couldn't match this caring, attentive Steve to the bearded man in the shadows, indifferent and unconcerned, so you lashed at him. You nitpicked his every word and quibbled over the smallest things and he always took it silently, enraging you even further.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I shouldn't have said that. It has nothing to do with the subject."

"It has everything to do with the subject, Y/N," Steve exclaimed, hands flat on the wood, like he was going to reach for yours but gave up at the last moment. "I was so busy trying to make the world a better place that I didn't realize I was ignoring mine until I lost it. Until I lost you."

You rubbed your eyes.

"You can't blame your job for your mistakes, Steve. Or mine, for that matter."

"What were your mistakes, Y/N?" he asked. "You could've fled after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., but you stayed because I asked you to. You could've started a different job, but you took the position with the Avengers because I asked you to..."

"I loved you," you interrupted. "I did all of it because I loved you. And even though sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd said no, I don't regret it."

There's something about the air when the truth is laid bare. It shifts just slightly, as though nature itself can feel the weight of the words spoken, so it moves the atoms around to make space for verity. And in the essence of the world, it is immortalized.

"Do you love me still?" Steve murmured.

"You know I do," you smiled softly. "But I am so broken."

Crushed. Turned to dust long before the Mad Titan snapped his fingers. In the mad race to start over, you were so distant from the finishing line.

You were wrong: your recent conversations with Steve didn't end in arguments, they ended with you crying and him consoling you. This time his chair nearly collapsed as he rose, reaching you in just one step. At first he towered over you, arms hanging without touching your body, but when your sobs intensified he kneeled by your side, taking the crumpled napkin from your hands to dry your tears.

"Shhh," he soothed.

"I'm so sorry, Steve," you said, but it came out jumbled and watery from your tears. “I’m sorry.”

Noticing that the few other patrons and the flirty waitress were starting to look, Steve threw a fifty dollar bill on the table and pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your body as he led you outside.  

Night was beginning to fall over Brooklyn. Sunsets in the city were all about spotting a few twinkling stars amid the smog, before the lights from the skyscrapers scrammed them away. One would argue that the sky in the woods, a dark blue tapestry with hundreds of twinkling dots, was far prettier, but you always thought it was fascinating to see the cosmos shining in the orange firmament.

The city had its own magic. It used to buzz in your veins when you first moved here, staring out this same sky from a window at the top deck of the Avengers Towers. If only you could feel it again.

“Do you feel better?” Steve whispered into your hair when your breathing began to even out.

You nodded, cleaning your tears with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I need to finish packing.”

“Packing?” he frowned.

“I got a call from my grandparents lawyer when you were gone,” you explained. “Turns out I still have ownership over the house in the woods, so I’m planning to move back home before Christmas break.”

Steve’s arms fell and he stepped away from you. The absence of his touch made you shiver.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “Another family lives in my apartment now and I can’t stay with my cousin forever, so…”

“You could stay with me,” he intervened. “You don't have to leave."

"I need to start over, Steve."

"But what about me?" he pleaded.

Steve Rogers never pleaded. He was stubborn and tenacious, the worst person to get in a fight with. You'd learned to cave because he never did, and it was better to swallow your pride than staying days without speaking to your headstrong boyfriend when his job put him in danger constantly. For three years you told yourself that it didn't matter that Steve didn't love you fully - you loved him enough for the two of you. Only enough wasn't acceptable anymore.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Steve," you said. "But just like you're not the guy from the 1940s anymore, I'm no longer the hacker from S.H.I.E.L.D. either."

Steve cupped your face, touching your forehead with his.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "I can't live without you."

You kissed his palm.

"We've made a mess," you replied. "Just let me try and fix it."

You owe me that, you didn't say, but Steve knew. In the misty twilight, he only hoped you could forgive him.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #corneliabarnes #my writing #the woods

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Mages Don’t Meddle

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/Mild Fluff

Word count: 16091

Summary: In a world where magic users must fear each other, Baz Pitch, a British born hex hiding in the 19th century American southwest, is just trying to stay alive. But when he meets a fellow British hex, his world is turned upside down in the most awful, amazing ways possible. PLEASE READ FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!

Read on AO3

AN: Alright some of you may know that my favourite book series of all time is The Hexslinger Series by Gemma Files. It’s a gory but brilliant horror/dark fantasy weird western trilogy about gay cowboy wizards fighting Aztec gods. (It's also where my AO3 username comes from). I've been writing this AU on and off for like two years now lol. So when I saw this event, I saw it as motivation to finally finish it. And I did! Idk how many people are gonna like this, considering the obscurity of the books. The mythos is a bit complicated so here are the basic rules of the Hexslinger world:

1. Magic users exist, called "hexes" or "hexslingers” by most English speakers. They’re commonly known of and feared by some humans because of their immense, usually unstable power. Their magic is usually called "hexation" and a common descriptor for anything to do with them is "hexacious." Being a hex can either be passed down from parent to child or appears randomly. Most are children of a hex man and a human woman as pregnancy for a hex woman can be very risky to mother and child, but it's still possible.

2. Hexes aren’t usually born having magic. Their powers manifest at some point later in their lives except in very rare circumstances. For women it usually appears after their first period, while for men it’s usually after some sort of grievous bodily harm, e.g getting hanged or beaten. Before manifestation, some hexes show no sign of magic at all, while others have hints like perfect aim or weirdly good luck. It depends on the person and their power level.

3. Hex magic varies between people based on personality, culture, family history, and power level/type. For example, an experienced Chinese born hex with refined power will have a very different kind of magic than a newly manifested American born hex with more chaotic power. (That’s literally just from the original books lol.) Even hexes similar in multiple aspects can be completely different in the way their magic is expressed.

4. The only universal trait between hexes is that they all have the urge to feed off each other’s magic. They’re like magic vampires (wink wink). If they get too close to each other, they have the immediate urge to absorb the other's power and kill them. It’s completely instinctual and very hard to resist. Hence why hexes can’t be around each other. Or, to use the common phrase from the universe, “mages don’t meddle.”Okay that's the basics. There's A LOT of other stuff but I think that's all you need to know for this fic imo.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: So there's some period typical racism scattered around due Baz being brown in the 19th century American south. It's not too harsh imo but I still want to warn people. I hope I handled it alright, considering I'm a white af Canadian Irish-Jew, but if I didn't I'm very sorry. There's also a bit of period typical homophobia at the start. The closest I get to slurs is the use of "red" and "Indian" in reference to Indigenous people, "queer" in a negative context, references to sand because Baz says he's Egyptian, and Baz being called "darker folk." I felt it would be disingenuous to not include bigotry of the past and pretend things would be all okay for a queer POC like Baz. Especially since Hexslinger itself has major themes of homophobia, racism, and not being accepted in the majority of society. A few mentions of suicide, self harm, and torture too in relation to hex powers emerging too, which is also major in Hexslinger. The series itself is pretty brutal and dirty with lots of bigotry, blood, guts, and death. So those elements have gotten in here. There is some flesh burning stuff but I don't think it's that graphic, feels pretty typical for Carry On imo. Hopefully this all works well/makes sense.

As always, big thanks to Raegan of @carryonmylovelies Now with that all out of the way, enjoy!

———————————————

I gingerly take a sip of my whiskey. It's a horrible rotgut shite, but there’s worse stuff out in the wild west. This Slipfoot Joe’s seems to be okay by my now very, very low standards for this area.

“Well well, if it ain’t a pretty red boy,” the man behind me croons. His voice makes evey inch of my skin crawl.

I let out a deep sigh. I’ve been expecting this, but I’m still not pleased. “Piss off, arsehole.”

“Oh! Didn’t know Indians could sound English!”

“I’m British Egyptian, you twit.”

The man leans on the bar, smiling wide. It’s easier to count the few teeth he has than guess how many he’s lost. “What brings your sandy ass to our great country?”

The Call. The unending Call that signals all of us to come here.

I take another long sip. “Your gorgeous face, obviously. How much do you charge? I’ve heard American men are cheaper here than in England.”

The man reels back scowling. “You think I’m some queer?!”

“Well, I assumed so. Considering you were just flirting with me, a man.”

He snarls, whipping out his pathetic little pistol. The barrel shakes nonstop. “You got some nerve, boy!”

I finish the whiskey and delicately place the glass rim first on the filthy bar. “And you’re a racist bastard. You don’t see me getting all pissy.”

The gunshot happens in slow motion for me. I don’t even need to turn. I simply hold one hand in front of me and let my magic pour from me like a dragon’s breath. It curls out in front of me, a circle of blacks and charcoal greys and burning scarlets. Every hex’s magic is different. Mine is like a constant roaring fire, always threatening to consume me.

The bullet hits the shield with a tinny clink. Racist Man is frozen with wide, terrified eyes. I turn to him, orange and red reflecting in my grey eyes.

“You- You’re... a hex?!” He splutters.

“Thought that was pretty bloody obvious. Now go, before I drink your blood.”

Racist Man and his buddy scamper out of the tavern. I let the force field dissipate, crackling and popping in the air like a dying campfire. Joe, the bartender and eponymous Slipfoot, sighs as he cleans another glass.

“You know,” Joe says, “I’ve met other hexes. They’re stupid reckless assholes but they ain’t ever drank blood. Just suck each other’s magic.”

I chuckle. “Well they don’t know that, do they?”

“No, lucky for you. What’s a Brit like you even doin’ here anyway?”

My mouth presses into a thin line. I envy him. He can't hear The Call from that damned Hex City. I heard it all the way in Washington, and before I knew it I was on a train southeast. The only reason I haven’t actually gone to the horrid place is sheer stubbornness.

“I’m a hex. Where else would I be going?”

Joe freezes. He stares at me with more concern than fear. “I’d be careful, son. Those hexes I met? One of them was Reverend Rook himself. He’s beyond bad news, ‘specially with that heathen goddess by his side.”

“I know.” I trace my finger on the old wood, trying to focus on that instead of the ringing in my head. “But what choice do I have?”

———————————————

1867, two years after America’s bloody civil war, and it seems they’re about to be plunged into a new one. Except it won’t be slavery versus abolition this time, but humans versus magic. 

The news has spread like wildfire. In the final days of the war, a confederate soldier and unofficial chaplain named “Reverend” Asher Rook was sentenced to hang for abandoning his regiment. But he survived, and the suffering of the ordeal caused his hex powers to emerge. Rumour has it one Bible verse from his lips can level an entire town. Rook decided to use his new powers to steal and murder his way through the west, aided by his ruthless gunslinging lieutenant (and rumoured lover) Chess Pargeter.

He should’ve been just another hex outlaw for those American Pinkertons to take down. But somehow, a mere month ago, Rook made a pact with an Aztec goddess. And together they’ve created New Azteclan, or Hex City to the common man. According to the magical homing signal I hear, that every hex hears, it’s a place where hexes can lose their insatiable urge to feed off each other’s magic. We’ll no longer have to be loners by nature, picked off one by one by humanity. We could be together. We could be safe.

But at what cost? Nothing in life comes without a cost. I know that too well. My magic cost me my home, my family, and a good part of my sanity. I’d do anything to not be a danger to others anymore. And the possibility is right there. All I need to do is go further south and cross the border into Mexico to reach Hex City. But once I do that, there’s no going back. The temptation of the Call will be too strong. And whatever price The Reverend wants, he’ll get it from me.

I sit at the fire, chewing on some absolutely horrific jerky. I’m trying to focus on the flames instead of the voice in my head. I’m not sure whose it is. Maybe Rook’s, maybe his witch goddess’. It doesn’t have a discernible tone, just sort of an indistinct everyman sound, or a thousand voices speaking the same thing. Either way, it’s very annoying.

Come, it whispers. Come seek out Ixchel, the Mother of Hanged Men. Come stand before Her priest-king, to offer up your service. Come to build the First City of the Sixth World- the world of wonder, the world of power. Come, and join New Azteclan.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shout into emptiness, slamming the side of my head with my fist.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” someone replies weakly.

I bolt up. My magic roars to life inside me, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand. “Who said that?!”

The man slowly steps out of the darkness. He must be no older than myself, with his young, round freckled face. He has curly bronze hair, capped by an old second hand cowboy hat. His brown leather coat, plaid shirt, riding boots, and jeans are all filthy with desert dirt. A horse with saddle bags stands behind him. His blue eyes are wide and nervous. I notice a smell on him. Like green fire and smoke, with a strong scent of something brown and sweet. He smells like something I would gladly eat.

He’s a hex.

“Don’t you dare come any closer, you prick,” I say between gritted teeth. “I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp.”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’m not here to drain you. I...I just wanted to ask for some help.” He sounds British like me, but more rough and nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah, right. Do I look that gullible? ‘Mages don’t meddle.’ We’d all drain each other dry if we were given the chance.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, of course I want to by instinct, but I’m not going to. I was just wondering if you had any food. All of mine got stolen by some angry humans.”

I consider just turning him away, or draining his magic and leaving his dried out corpse for the vultures. But he looks so desperate. How long has this young man been out here alone? My aunt had always warned me to be wary of all other hexes. We’re a bloodthirsty species, Basil. Never trust another hex, ever. Not even me. But I’m not my aunt.

I sit down again. “Fine. You can have some jerky. Just don’t come too close alright? I’d like to keep my magic and soul where they are, please.”

The man smiles (he has a nice smile) and sits opposite me at the fire. I throw a bag of jerky, and he catches in one hand. He shoves it in his mouth like a ravenous animal.

“So,” I say, “what’s your name?”

“Simon Snow,” he rep;ies, mouth still half full. “Your’s?”

“Baz Pitch.” Simon chuckles a bit, and I frown. “What’s so funny?

“Well, Baz Pitch is a pretty ridiculous name.”

“No more ridiculous than Simon Snow,” I snap. “What, were you named by circus performers?”

“Maybe. Not sure, actually.” Snow looks at the fire, but it feels like he’s looking right through it, his gaze very far away.

“Why’s that?”

Simon shakes his head. “Hey, are you going to Hex City?”

I huff, blowing some loose, dirty hair out of my eyes. I’m too tired to stop him from changing the subject. “I don’t know. Are you?

He shrugs. “Maybe. So far I am. The stories and Call do make it sound so wonderful.”

I scoff loudly. “Of course they do. Rook wants people to come. Then we’ll get there and be sacrificed to his bloodthirsty goddess. That’s probably what happened to Pargeter. No one’s heard from him lately, according to the locals.”

“But we’ll lose the hunger! What if the Reverend just wants us to be safe? Y’know, as a kindness to his own people.”

“No one does anything out of kindness, Snow. Least of all hexes.”

“You gave me food out of kindness, didn’t you?”

I glare at him over the flames. He shrugs with a faint smile. Fuck. He has a really nice smile.

 “I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “But I’m putting a shield around me. Touch it and you’ll be burned alive. So don’t get any ideas about taking my magic.”

Simon throws his hands up in innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I lay down on my pallet, throwing up my force field. The crackle and hiss of magic around me distracts from the beautiful mage no more than seven feet from me. Whom I’m not sure I want to kiss or kill. Maybe both.

———————————————

I wake when the sun's centre in the sky. I’m breathing, so this Simon Snow hasn’t drained me dry. That’s good, I guess. 

I sit up bleary eyed. Snow is passed out on his own cot, drooling profusely with his mouth wide open (mouth breather). He’s put up his own shield, of course, (at least he’s somewhat sensible). It sort of looks like an electrical explosion, white bolts constantly combusting around him in bubble form. He smells so powerful. It’s taking all of my willpower to not hurt him. To not submit to my basic hex desires.

I take my sweet time to pack my things and douse the fire pit, secretly hoping Simon will wake up before I run out of excuses. Luckily, with a very loud snort, Snow bolts upwards. There’s terror in his eyes, and his breath is uneven and shallow. I know that look. I’m no stranger to nightmares myself.

“A good morning to you, Snow,” I say.

Simon lets out a long breath, waving a hand to dissolve his shield. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you didn’t kill me. What a miracle.”

“I’ll say. Are you leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Where to?”

I sigh heavily. “Well, my map says, there’s a town southeast from here. I haven’t been there before but it probably isn’t too bad. I was going to hide there for at least a bit.”

Simon picks at his nail beds, even though they’re already ragged and bloody. “Can I...can I come with you? I haven’t been around anyone in so long, y’know. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to”

I look at him with the most neutral gaze I can muster. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“There’s still time.”

Simon stands up, brushing the dust off his pants. “Alright, then I’ll make myself very clear. Baz, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, alright?”

I must admit that I’ve been lonely these few months in the desert. Hell, I’ve been lonely for the past few years. I’ve actually missed the company of others. But it’s not like humans or hexes want to be around me. Except for this one, it seems. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. If we don’t kill each other first that is.

“Alright, fine. Just don’t try anything or I’ll burn you from the inside out.”

Simon keeps smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We mount our horses and ride off. I try to keep my eyes ahead instead of on Snow.

———————————————

“I can’t believe the food here,” Snow says. “It’s so much more spicy than in the North.”

“We are closer to Mexico, Snow,” I reply. I’m trying to figure out our route, while also listening to Snow when he’s more than six feet away. The hunger is manageable from this distance. Mostly.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so insane! Why can’t the north people get some spice from here? It would make their chicken more tolerable. London street food was awful but at least it had some flavour!”

That makes me snort out a laugh no matter how much I try not to. Snow grins at me, and his face is literal sunshine. Why must he be so perfect? It’s not fair. “London street food? You mean fish and chips? Those aren’t half bad, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Snow’s tawny face gets a little pink. He rubs the back of his slightly sunburnt neck. “Y-Yeah, they weren’t too bad. Just...other stuff was terrible...”

“Like what?” It’s not late at night now. I’m less inclined to let his dodging go. Call me crazy, but I’d like to know about the man I’m travelling with.

“Um...” He looks down at his horse’s neck. “I-I lived on the London streets, literally, until I was old enough to work for room and board. Finding anyone who would house a hex though, that was a challenge.”

His laugh is tinny and hollow. My heart, or what dark horrible mass we hexes have in place of one, twists at the words. I wish I was surprised. His story is all too familiar.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” I say firmly. “We all have our own rough pasts. It’s practically required for hexes, in my eyes.”

Snow doesn’t look up, but his (pretty) plain blue eyes flick over to me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Hexes are usually shunned and harmed. Finding one who hasn’t been in a dire situation is more rare.”

“Have you met a lot of hexes?”

“Some. Mostly, I’ve heard stories. Far too many are like your’s.”

“Is your’s?”

My grip on the reins is so tight my knuckles are going pale. Memories rush through my head no matter how much I want to stop them. The darkness, the pain, the fire, then the stench of burnt human flesh, all capped off by years of trying to survive on my own.

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“What the fuck?!”

Simon’s screech is ungodly in volume and tone. His horse lets out a similarly panicked bray. She bucks up, but can’t get very high with the red vines tangled around her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss. I try to pull back my own horse, but his legs are similarly wrapped up. The vines circle up and around us. I kick and stamp them with all my might. The blood red flowers look like the gaping mouths of monsters.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Snow bellows. He tries to rear his horse back, but nearly throws himself backwards off his saddle instead. “Fucking shite!”

“Don’t do that, Snow, it won’t help!”

“Then what should I do?!” 

“Just stay still!”

Thankfully, Snow does as I say. Not thankfully, I’m not sure what to do. I know that human blood gets rid of the Weeds, but even if I count as human in this regard, you need a relatively large amount of it. So unless I want to pass out, I’ll need to think of something else. But what else can curb evil bloodthirsty Aztec plants?

“Baz!” Snow’s horse pancis the more the weeds wrap around her, which makes Snow panic in turn. He looks at me with desperate wide eyes. “Baz, do something!”

Oh, fuck it. I’ll solve this the way I solve my other problems.

I reach deep within myself, down to the flames that burn in what’s hopefully my soul, or at least what hexes have instead. I grab that power and let it out through my arm. Fire roars to life in the palm of my hand, and I unleash the full force of it on the Weeds. A tidal wave of blackened-red flames engulf the plants.

“Jesus Christ!” Simon shouts. The plants don’t burn per se, I’m not sure they even can. But they still shrink away from us. I keep pushing more magic out until they Weeds a good distance away. 

“Run,” I say, “now!”

Snow and I both wrench our horses 180 degrees and run like the wind. We ride fast and far with no destination, but we keep each other in sight. Only when my pulse is no longer hammering in my ears do I start to slow down. Snow follows, and eventually we stop near a large tree. All four of us are breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” Snow says. “W-What the fuck were those?”

“Red Plague Weeds,” I reply, dismounting my horse. “They’ve been popping up all around here. No one knows where they come from, but we’re all pretty sure they have something to do with Rook and his witch goddess. Just like every other bizarre thing nowadays.”

“How come I haven’t seen them before in the towns?”

“Because the way to get rid of the Weeds permanently is blood, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes go wide with horror. “Blood? Any blood?”

I sadly shake my head. “No, only fresh human blood. I’ve heard a bowl full collected from the townsfolk is good enough. I don’t even know if hex blood counts. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. We’re extremely lucky we got away.”

“So I gathered,” Snow sighs. “Now what? We’ve gone a good way backwards now, if I had to guess.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to try and move around the Weeds. If we’re lucky, the town will still be reachable.”

“No one has ever called hexes lucky.”

We both laugh a little. Sometimes laughter is the only way to deal with our horrible existences. I pull the waterskin out of my bag and take a deep, long drink. “Let’s stay here for a moment, though. That blast took a lot out of me.”

“Y-Yeah, that makes sense. Um, I’ll just...”

He turns his horse to the side, trotting away from me. My stomach drops out. Where’s he going? Am I going to be alone again? I’ve only been with Snow for one day. That’s nothing compared to the last two years I’ve been on my own. But now I can’t imagine going back to that crushing, never ending loneliness.

“Heading out, Snow?” I keep my tone neutral, holding back the desperate tremor that threatens to bleed out. “Suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

Snow whips his head around. If I were a more hopeful person, I’d say he looks even more panicked than when we were tangled in the Weeds. “W-What? No, I was just gonna go a little further away...”

“Do I smell that bad?” I probably do. Hygiene is not a priority in these parts.

“No! The opposite, actually...” Snow looks to the side, a little red on his face. “You used a lot of magic before. I can still smell some of it. I, uh, want to keep my promise...”

Oh. Right. I should count myself lucky that he didn’t drain me the minute we stopped. “Yes, yes, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Unless...you want me to go...”

I gulp down the massive lump in my throat. “Do you want to go, Snow?”

Snow scratches his neck. He points his thumb to the side. “I’ll be waiting over there, until we’ve both cooled down. Alright?”

I would never admit how much relief that brings me. “Alright. We’ll set off again in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Snow trots over to a good distance away. His brown, sweet smell still lingers in the air, but it fades just enough for me to rest properly. I sit back against the tree, drinking a good portion of my waterskin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Snow doing the same. I try to not watch him. But it’s very, very hard.

———————————————

Nightfall hits before we reach the town. Snow can’t ride very fast, and I’m still more than a bit drained. So once again, I have to sit opposite the man who will most likely kill me soon.

He fidgets endlessly, picking at his nails and sleeve. It’s infuriating. He gnaws on the jerky like a crazed cat or something. I huff and shake my head. Snow looks up at me.

“What?” he says through a bite.

“Do you ever stop moving? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and there hasn’t been a single moment of stillness from you.”

Snow snorts. “I don’t see how that affects you.”

“It’s annoying.”

He snorts again, but there’s a small smile now too. “Maybe this is the real reason hexes don’t interact. We're all arseholes.”

“That is hardly a hex thing, Snow. I’ve known humans and hexes alike that I can’t tolerate.”

“Am I one of them?

I hope my face doesn’t flush too hard. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating his jerky, with far less fidgeting this time thankfully. We sit in silence for a while. I keep sneaking looks at him, then tearing my gaze away every time. The firelight makes Snow’s tawny skin almost glow and his bronze hair sparkle gold. He’s a constellation of moles and freckles. He’s a gorgeous mess. Just looking at him, I can almost forget that we’re supposed to be enemies.

“What part of England are you from anyway?” Snow asks through a mouthful of dried out meat.

“Hampshire. Though if you asked the people here, they’d say I’m from Buckingham bloody Palace.”

Snow throws his head back laughing. It’s a ridiculous, wonderful sound. “Damn true! I’ve lived on the streets of London for the past ten years and an American asked me if I’m related to the bloody queen! They have no idea about accent differences. They think every Brit is royalty.”

I freeze. Snow’s laughs slowly subside. He must notice the utter panic in my eyes. “You lived on the streets of London for a decade? That long?”

He pulls in, curling his thin body in on itself. This Simon is a hex like me, a terrifying being filled with unimaginable power, yet right now, he looks so...small. “Well, not the whole time. It’s been on and off. I found some places to live for a bit but they never lasted. Thank God for magic. Or thank the Devil, if the humans are right about us.”

He chuckles nervously. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, trying to hide the way his laugh makes me face heat up even more. “I guess so. It’s taken care of me since-”

There’s a crack. It’s small, far off, almost indistinguishable from the regular sounds of the desert, but it’s there. My aunt always said I have the ears of a bat. I swing my head around.

“What is it?” Snow says.

“Hush! I think I heard something.”

Slowly, I stand up, crouched over with my fists clenched. My magic sizzles and sparks inside me, begging to be used. I see Snow stand too at the edge of my vision.

“Die hex scum!”

The man launches himself out of the darkness, jagged knife in hand. He knocks me flat down to the ground. All the breath is forced out of me as my back hits the sand.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I push at him with both arms, thankfully keeping my pretty face out of his slashing range. He writhes and struggles like a rabid wolf. His dirty crazed smile, missing most of his teeth, looms over me. I recognise him.

“You,” I growl. “Did you really follow me all the way here from Slipfoot’s, you pig?!”

“Die!” He says that like it means absolutely anything, like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.

Racist Man has no technique. He just screeches and flails with his knife. Aunt Fiona’s words come to my mind immediately. “Every self respecting hex needs to know how to defend himself, Basil.” She said just before pinning me to the ground in one move. I hook my leg around his and flip him onto his back. He gasps and lets out a rattling cough. I hover over him, knee on his chest, pinning his knife hand to the ground.

“You don’t deserve to live, you sand demon.” He spits at me, splashing against my cheek. I flick it off with ease.

“Such an original opinion.” I feel the fire blazing in my gut, threatening to consume myself and everything around me. “I should scorch off all your skin.”

“Course you would. All you hexes, just filthy murderers. No wonder y’all are fleeing to Rook’s heathen paradise. Your kind don’t belong around civilized folks.”

I growl again. First he despises my skin colour, then he thinks he knows anything about hexation. This bastard, so stupid and ignorant. We’re only monsters because we have to be. Because men like him come at us with knives and guns and nooses. There’s no holding the fire back. My hand heats up around his wrist. He screeches as his skin sizzles under my fingers. He drops the knife, but I don't stop. All my rage pushes out through my hand and onto his increasingly scorched skin.

“Get off me!”

I turn to see Simon, struggling against another man. His fingers spark and sputter uselessly as he pounds against the guy with a hand around his throat.

“Better save your man over there,” Racist Man hisses.

I give him one last good death stare. I see him shiver just slightly. At least he has some good sense. “Run fast and far. If you come near us again, so help me God I’ll melt through your entire brain.”

The look of terror in his eyes is enough of an answer. I jump off him and run towards Snow.

“Oi! Off him, now!” I roar.

The other man turns to look at me. He has the same crazed look as his friend. “Or what, you piece of devil shit?!”

“Or this.”

I turn to the fire. With only one hand outstretched, my magic wraps around it, and pushes my power into the very core. The flames shoot nine feet upwards, illuminating the vast dark in blinding light. I turn back to the terrified human. With one swing of my arm, the pillar slams into him. He’s sent flying in a shower of flames and skids on the ground, tossing up a cloud of dustin his wake. I start to march towards him. But Snow throws up his arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he growls.

The tone of his voice stops me in my tracks. Simon stomps towards him, his entire hand now covered in tiny sparks like fireworks. His assaulter sits up, panting heavily.

“You better run now,” Snow says.

He sneers. “Don’t tell me-”

“GO!”

Snow’s magic explodes like a fucking bomb. It’s a bolt of violent and powerful energy that hits the assailant square in the chest. He flies back even farther. I stumble from the sheer force of it. The magic disperses as quickly as it appeared. Snow is panting, bronze curls still staticy with stray sparks. The human scrambles and runs away into the darkness.

We’re left there, breathing hard in the darkness, the embers of the now dead fire our only light. Simon tries to pull out the crackling electricity still clinging to his hair. It curls around his fingers and won’t dissipate no matter how much he shakes his hand out. Finally, I find my voice again.

“That was...”

“Awful?” Snow mumbles. “Yeah, I know. Half the time my magic doesn’t work, the other half it explodes. Pretty fucking annoying.”

I turn to look at him properly, still trying to dust off the little sparks. “No, it was incredible. I’ve never seen magic that powerful, or beautiful.”

Oh fuck, why did I say that? I’m going to explode myself any second. Simon freezes, then turns to me. His lovely plain eyes are soft. Half of his mouth pulls up into a smile. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “N-No one’s ever called it beautiful before. And...no one’s tried to save me either.”

He starts to reach out to me with his spark kissed digits. I see the little bolts pulling towards me like I’m a magnet. My own magic flares to surface, reaching back towards him. Tiny flames from my fingers curl around the lightning. And a part of me, that horrible instinctual part, desperately wants to grab his hand and add his beautiful, terrifying energy to my own until his body is nothing but an empty husk.

I take a large step away, hands behind my back. Simon does the same. His eyes are wide with terror now. We both know how close we came to giving into temptation.

“We should go to bed,” I mutter.

Snow nods furiously. I speed walk to my side of the dead fire. We both lay down and pull the blankets to our reddening ears. The only sound for ages is the desert wind whistling through the cacti. Until Snow decides to speak up again, God help me.

“Baz?”

“What, Snow?” I snap. I can’t talk to him anymore, it’s too damn painful.

“Have...Have you ever actually fully drained anyone?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. The question hits me in my heart. All that comes to mind is my aunt’s face as I saw her for the first time in weeks. Her happiness turned to utter horror in seconds. The memory still aches deep inside me. I can almost feel that horrible hunger when I first manifested. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “No. But I’ve come close. You?”

Snow pauses too. I can hear his shaky breathing clearly. “I had a hex friend back in London. Penelope. She was really good at magic, like you, so she tried to help me. We could only see each other for an hour a day for safety’s sake, and it worked for awhile. But one time, my magic got so out of control that I came this close to draining her.” He makes a loud sniffing noise. I hate imagining the tears I know are rolling down his face. “She told me it wasn’t my fault but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt her. Next day I got on a boat to America. That was almost a year ago. I’ve been alone ever since, and it’s awful.”

“Is that why you want to go to Hex City?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just want to be able to have some choice, you know? Not make choices because of this power I never asked for. Don’t you feel like that?”

I think about my mother, who lost her life because of what we are. Or my six weeks of torture by that madman. Or how I had to run away from my family in fear of what I’d accidentally do to them.

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes, “all the damn time.”

———————————————

We ride leisurely under the blistering sun. The desert has melted into more of a hot, grassy plain. Surprisingly, the climate and terrain actually gets less tortuous the further south you go in this awful state. I’ve only gone this far south once before. The Call somehow gets even stronger here. It threatens to fill every nook and cranny of my brain, but I beat it back. No disgraced Confederate chaplain or Aztec witch woman gets to decide what I do.

Snow is mumbling to himself about it being too hot. My head is whirring with a terrible, awful idea, but it won’t go away. My eyes keep drifting towards his beautiful face, and my mind keeps thinking of his beautiful magic. I got only a taste of the endless, consuming feeling of it, and it was exhilarating. If only he could control it.

I groan. “Snow, stop your horse.”

He looks at me confused, but does as I say. “What is it?”

“Get off. I’m going to help you with your magic.”

His eyes bug out of his skull. “What?! Why?”

“Because as incredible as your magic can be, I’d rather not have you explode when you sleep ten feet away from me.” 

It’s a convincing lie. Honestly, I want him to be able to protect himself. I don’t know exactly how long it will take to get to the south, or what could happen before then. Simon might’ve been killed if I wasn’t there. And I don’t know how long I will be with him.

I swing off my horse and Snow follows. We walk out into the empty plateau. He shuffles his feet nervously, chewing at his nails.

“Stay here,” I say.

I walk out and place my old empty flask on a cactus (it’s rusting anyway). Snow looks at it confused. I gesture to the metal bottle, then put my hands behind my back. “Hit that with a blast but avoid the cactus.

“O-Okay...” I watch his throat as he gulps. God, I want to touch that throat, I want to touch everywhere. But I’ll kill him if I do. It makes me hate my magic even more.

Simon raises his hand and takes aim. Small sparks dance between his fingers. One by one, they begin to increase. A small ball of lightning collects in his palm. Snow curls his fingers in, but they seem to be struggling. The ball starts to grow larger and Snow clenches harder. With little to no warning, a lightning bolt shoots out and hits the side of the flask. A blackened mark is left in its wake, but that’s nothing compared to the cactus. A massive chunk has been blown out of the top. It’s charred remains lay strewn on the gras.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Sorry, I was losing control, I had to let it go. Would’ve been much worse if I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Snow. You technically did hit the flask.”

Snow scoffs, running a hand through his beautiful, sweaty hair. “Sure, I guess...”

I pluck the flask from the half destroyed desert fauna. Another horrible idea is coming to my mind, and I just might be mad enough to do it. “Maybe you need a greater motivator for staying in control.”

“Huh?”

I place the flask on my hand and hold my arm out to the side. “Hit the flask, but not me.”

Snow goes wide eyed again and inhales sharply like he’s been kicked. “A-Are you serious?! You just saw what I did to that cactus, right?”

“Well, you’re going to have to be accurate, unless you want me to end up like said cactus”

He pulls at his curls anxiously. The tiniest of parks fly off the ends. “I don’t know, Baz. I don’t want to hurt you...”

I try to ignore my rapidly beating heart. It’s been so annoying this past week, trying to get what it can’t have. I just flash a smirk at him. “Well, I believe that you won’t. Care to prove me right?”

A red colour spreads across his face. Part of me hopes that’s not just the sun affecting his pale, freckled complexion. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He rubs his hands together. His skin simmers with magic once again. It smells intoxicatingly good. Snow holds his right hand out, palm flat. The electricity builds on the surface. He keeps his hand clenched, but the energy threatens to spill over his fingers. I resist the urge to run in as fast as I can. I didn’t lie, I do trust him. But living on my own for almost three years has given me quite the self preservation instinct.

Sweat prickles Snow’s brow. He uses his opposite arm to keep the other one steady. “C’mon, Simon,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

The jagged white bolt shoots from his skin, far less formless than the last one. It zigs and zags, but in the end hits the flask straight on. The bottle explodes in a shower of jagged metal. I throw up a makeshift shield just in time. When I look at Snow, he’s flat on his ass, panting hard.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“‘Holy shit’ is right,” I respond with a chuckle.

He looks at me with a wide grin. It shines brighter than the midday sun. “I did it! That’s the most controlled my magic has ever been! Thank you, Baz.”

I nod. “You’re welcome, Snow. My aunt always said danger is a great motivator to learn. Especially when it comes to magic.”

Snow lays down on the grass, panting hard. It seems he’s not going to get up any time soon. “Your aunt, was she the one that taught you about magic?”

I kick at a piece of rusted shrapnel, my back to the resting Snow. “Yes, before it manifested, obviously. She wanted me to be prepared just in case. Her whole side of the family has a history of magic. It only appears every few generations or so. We both drew the short ends of the bloodline straw I guess.”

“You’re lucky with that, y’know. I never had anyone to teach me properly. Penny tried, but we never got far enough to make a difference. When I first got magic, this guy called the Mage offered to help. But it turned out he just wanted to drain me. I killed him by accident when he tried. I really didn’t mean to hurt hum, but he wouldn’t stop...”

I turn to him. There’s far too much pain in his eyes. “You had every right to defend yourself. Don’t feel bad.”

He lifts his head up. His smile is sort of sad, but it’s still gorgeous. “Thanks, Baz.”

I smile back as best I can. “You’re most welcome, Snow.” I place my hands in my pockets, desperately clenching my fists in hopes to keep my emotions at bay. “Unfortunately, I’m out of flasks. But we do have an oversupply of fauna. Want to try and not destroy a cactus this time?”

“Okay.” Snow nods, breathing steadily. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Snow takes his stance across from another unfortunate cactus. I watch him and give advice, but slowly have to back away as Snow’s sweet scent permeates the air. I try not to imagine being close to Snow, not having to fear him, him not having to fear me. Oh, what a life that could be.

———————————————

After another week of dodging the Red Weed, we finally get to somewhere. Covent Gardens, a town I suppose is named after the London borough. It’s sizable enough to have a slightly good inn; as in none of the panels are falling off and the sign is missing only a single letter. That’s practically a palace in these parts. I walk in with gusto, making the shutters rattle, Simon following behind me with his head.

Everyone looks at us. I’m not sure how obvious our hexation is, but I suppose we look enough like trouble. Plus my skin tone isn’t an asset here. Or anywhere, honestly. So I sneer and most turned away.

“They’re afraid of us,” Simon mumbles.

“As they should be,” I reply deadpan. I go straight to the barkeep, a bulky white man with truly horrific mutton chops. “I need two rooms.”

The man crosses his unnaturally large arms. “We don’t serve... people like you.”

I grip the bar lip, nails digging into the half rotted wood. “Like me how? Hexes or brown people?”

He sneers at me. “Neither.”

The fire blazes in my eyes. Wood blackens under my skin. “Now listen here, you stupid bastard, you better rent us a room or-”

“Now, now, Basilton,” a familiar voice says, “no need to be so rude. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hello, Nicodemus.”

Nico moves to stand next to me. His suit is cheap, the stitches fraying at the seams. He’s still got that sort of menacing look, but he looks tired too.

“Fancy seeing you here, Pitch. How’s your aunt?” He smiles, showing off his missing eye teeth. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why would you care, Petty? You’re the one who left her after everything she did for you.”

He hangs his head back with a groan. “Still defending your family’s honour, I see. Ain’t my fault I wanted to realise my full potential.”

“What, by getting your teeth pulled out so you could get magic? Even when my aunt warned you what a curse being a hex was? You’re still an arrogant idiot then.”

Nicodemus growls and grabs my wrist. His magic reaches out to clash with my own. It’s slick like oil, wrapping around my fire like a snake. But there’s a roughness to it. A sort of mangy, wild energy that I remember all too well from the hex duel with my aunt. Now, I can smell the acrid tang of it too. It leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m not surprised his magic is as disgusting as he is.

“Looks like you went through some shit too, Basilton,” he hisses. “You’ve got the same fire as dear old Fi. What, the guilt of letting your mum die finally get to you? Try to end it all? Too bad, you just became the monster she never wanted you to be instead.”

His power gnashes at mine, trying to rip it apart and eat it. But Nicodemus has made a fatal assumption; that he’s more powerful than me. I push back against him hard. The fire rushes through my every vein. I revel in the way Nico’s eyes go wide. My hand shoots up to his throat and I shove him down so hard his back bends against the wooden bar.

“You bastard,” I growl. “After all these years you still don’t know how to keep your bloody mouth shut.” I hold his throat even tighter. His eyes bug out of his skull. “Maybe I should shut it permanently.”

I open the gates within, and his magic begins to pour into me. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush. I’m invincible, powerful, a bloody god. Nico gasps and tries to push me away. But I’m still stronger. He could never stop me.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “Stop it!”

I turn to him with burning eyes. Everything I see is cloudy, like a smoke screen or rippling water. “Why?!”

“Because,” his voice is desperate, and maybe even caring, “we shouldn’t be the monsters they think we are. Just look at them, Baz!”

I still have enough sense to hear what he says. The patrons cower in fear, eyes wide with terror as they look at me. It’s not an expression anyone wants to be subjected to, or cause. And though I hate him, Nicodemus is right. My mother never wanted me to be this. Another terrible, murderous, evil hex.

With all my strength and good sense, I find the will to let Nicodemus’ neck go. His power rushes back into him with a sputtering gasp. I glare at him as I pull away, fingers still trailing with flames.

“Leave,” I say flatly. “Now.”

Nicodemus runs faster than I’ve ever seen a man run before. I take a few deep breaths. It takes a moment for my magic to balance out. It still yearns for Nicodemus’ power, but I beat it back into submission. I won’t let the hunger control me. Then I walk towards the now terrified barkeep.

“Rooms still not available?” He shakes his head frantically. “Good.” I slap down some American money. “Two rooms, please. Also throw in some whiskey. I need a drink after all that.”

The man picks two keys out of a box, then a bottle and glasses from the shelf. He shoves them both forward on the bar and takes two large steps back. I snatch them up with a tip of my ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Cheers, mate.”

Snow and I take a table in a corner. No one dares to look at us. I pour drinks for both of us and shove his glass to the other side of the table. We’re as far apart as we can be but it’s still risky. My power is still hungry. And Simon still smells delicious. But I won’t hurt him. I can’t.

“So,” Simon says, vowel drawn out, “who was that?”

I throw back the whiskey. It’s sour and burns my throat, but it's better than Slipfoot’s at least. “His name is Nicodemus Petty. He and my aunt Fiona were friends growing up. They bonded over their mutual family history of hexation. But when my aunt and his sister, Ebb, manifested magic as teenagers, Nico was jealous. Fiona and Ebb both tried to tell him that hex magic was far more of a curse than a blessing, but he never listened. He wanted the power. When I was about nine, he finally succeeded in activating his own latent magic.”

“By having two of his teeth ripped out...”

“Mhm. First thing he did was stumble all bloody mouthed to my aunt’s flat.” I clench the glass so hard I nearly break it. “The bastard attacked her by surprise, and tried to steal her magic. He almost killed her, but Fiona got a lucky shot and threw him out the window.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “As you can guess, I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” He pulls in, picking at his nails nervously. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking...w-what was he talking about? With your mum?”

I pour myself another helpful shot of whiskey. I want to drown my brain in the stuff, honestly. I’ve never talked about my mum, it’s too painful, like ripping out a fingernail. But Snow has shown so much of himself to me. It seems unfair to hide. “My aunt and I aren’t the only hexes in our family.”

His eyes go wide as the revelation hits him, “Your mum is a hex too?”

I nod slowly, then drink the alcohol in one gulp. The warmth tingles in my veins and loosens my tongue. I stare at the glass, watching the light refract through it’s bends. “She was, but my father is human. They loved each other enough to not be scared, I guess. They never meant to have children. I was an accident, but my mother wanted me in spite of the risks. My father said she cried with happiness when she saw I was a boy. She thought if she kept me safe, I’d never become a full hex.” I flick a paint chip off the table with more force than necessary. “Then she died protecting me, doing what she promised.”

“How? Was it another hex?”

“Even worse, scared humans.” 

Snow’s face falls even more. He takes a long sip from his own drink. “So they tried to kill her?”

“They tried to kill all of us. Someone heard of my mother’s hexation, and they rallied a group together to fight our family. It wasn’t a real fight though. The cowards snuck in and tried to stab us. My mother killed almost all of them quickly” My fists clench so tight it hurts. “The last one nearly got me, but my mother stepped in front. He burned to ash just after he stabbed her through the throat.”

“Oh. Not even a hex could come back from that kind of wound...”

“I know,” I say between gritted teeth. “I know that very well, Snow.” I delicately place the glass down with a strained hand. “I...I tried to stop the bleeding but there was nothing I could do. I had no magic then. Even so, I doubt my powers could’ve helped.” A little flame pops up in my hand with barely a thought. Making fire is more natural than breathing for me, after all. I watch the scarlet snake dance between my fingers. “My family’s abilities have always been better at destruction.”

Simon takes another long sip, polishing off his drink. “I don’t know what my family’s like, but I hope they’re not like me. This power...it’s too much for anyone to have. I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“We all would, Snow. That’s what the humans don’t get. Most hexes are just as scared of themselves as humans are.” I pour my third drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve drank so much in one sitting, but if I’m going to get sozzled, tonight is a good time. “But that’s not up to us. We’re born like this. Nothing we can do but try to survive.”

“Believe me, I know that. All I’ve ever done is survive. In the orphanage, on the streets, here in America.” He lets out a small, sad laugh. “Hexation is how I ended up on the street, actually.” Snow looks directly down at the table. “When I was 11, I, uh, had a dream that I was exploding. When I woke up, the entire orphanage had been blown to pieces. Luckily no one was hurt, but the matron couldn’t very well keep a hex among other children.”

“So she thought sending you to roam among other humans was safer?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think she cared as long as I was far away from her.”

I scoff, swinging the glass between two fingers. “Sounds about usual for humans. What made you manifest? A particularly bad paddling from the matron?”

Snow chews on his bottom lip. His fingers drum the wood slowly. “I, uh, actually didn’t have to suffer. I’m one of those rare cases of sudden manifestation, apparently. That’s what Penny called it anyway. She said it was rare but possible.”

My grip on the glass gets even tighter. A sudden jealous rage consumes my mind. So Snow just exploded one day at eleven. That’s awful, of course, I’ll never deny that. But all I can think of is the coffin. The endless night of being trapped in that box, waiting for a relief that wouldn’t come, until I finally broke and became the last thing I ever wanted to be. I went through absolute hell. Of course I assumed Snow had to, like all other male hexes. But he didn’t. He’s never had the acute kind of torture I did. It’s not fair.

“Excuse me,” I say more harshly than I mean to, “I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

Snow’s pretty plain eyes go wide. “O-Oh...okay. Good night, then.”

“Night.” I snatch the bottle up and leave the key for his room. Then I stomp up the stairs with irrational anger still burning me up. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past it. Male hexes get their magic through suffering. It’s a well known fact. How could Snow be like me without the same kind of pain? How could he ever fully understand me the way I thought he could?

The second my room door is closed, I drink down the last of the whiskey bottle. I’ve tried to avoid alcohol over the past few years. It would be far too easy for me to drink away the pain, the memories, the horrible guilt. Eventually, I’d drown myself in a bottle. That’s not a way I want to go. But one night of indulgence will be fine.

I wobble towards my bed, shedding my outer layers as I go. I collapse face first onto the old mattress. Whiskey clouds my mind. And when I finally pass out, all I see is empty darkness. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the nightmares.

———————————————

“...safe?”

“Out cold...”

The voices stay patchy as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to force my eyes fully open, but the pounding in my head is too much. Indistinguishable figures move on the edges of my blurry vision. There’s little to no light. It must still be night, maybe only a couple hours since I passed out.

“Is..right thing?”

“Hex...Rook and Pargeter...dangerous...we...safe.”

“Fine.”

Something grabs both my wrists and my ankles. I try to struggle but I must still be too drunk. I can’t get my limbs to move save for some squirming. I try to summon my magic, but my mind can’t concentrate. It’s no use. Bloody hell, I’m trapped.

“Night night, hex,” a horrible voice says. Something soft is pressed hard against my face. I can’t take in air, I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like the coffin. No, I can’t do this again. I try to thrash harder and scream but it’s still no use.

Oh Lord, I’m going to die here. I wonder if I’ll see my mother on the other side. I wonder if I even have a soul to go to the other side. And I wonder how if Snow is okay. Christ, my last conversation with him ended in anger. If I had known, I would’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say this past week. But the first thing would be ‘I’m sorry.’

I’m sorry, Snow, for everything I said and thought. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone.

“Hey! Get off him, you bastards!” That voice is familiar even in my half drunken state. Thank whatever gods are listening that he’s okay.

“It’s the other one!” one of my assailants shouts. “Wasn’t Garth supposed to take care of him?!”

“That damn idjit fucked up!”

I hear the telltale signs of punches and kicks thrown about. One of the hands on me pulls off. All this excitement has thankfully sobered me up some. I kick some stupid bastard right in the stomach.

“Fuck!” they wheeze. The other humans are wise and let go of my wrist. I’m on my feet in a second.

“Bloody humans,” I growl out, still slurring slightly. “You can’t even let me fucking sleep?!”

The burly barkeep scowls at me. My would be murder weapon is still in his hand. “Eat shit, you demon.”

I scowl right back at him. “Oh, you want a demon? I’ll give you a fucking demon, love.”

The fire blazes up in me, all shining black and scarlet, and I make little effort to contain it. I let the flames fly out and encase the man almost completely. He screeches as his skin bubbles and burns under my powers.

“Stop it!” a woman yells. She comes at me with a knife raised. A whip of fire forms in my hand instantly. With one crack, it wraps around her wrist. She screams in the exact same way and lets her weapon clatter on the floor. She goes to her knees, clutching her blackened, blistered skin.

“You bastard,” she cries. “How could you?!”

“How could I!?” Even more fire plays over my hands. “I could ask you the same thing, human.”

“We’re trying to protect ourselves, monster!”

In that moment, in her eyes, I see every human who’s hurt me. The people who mocked me, who killed my mother, who turned me into this. All sense leaves my mind in an instant. “I’m a monster only because of you!”

With one wave of my hand, she’s thrown against the wall hard enough to make it shake. I spin around to see a man trying to crack Snow’s skull open with a butcher’s cleaver. One well aimed blast sends him flying as well. Another casts two aside. They don’t move much afterwards, but I find myself caring little. Let them die like my mother did.

“Baz, stop it!” Snow shouts. I ignore him as I send the last assailant against the wall, listening to their screams as I burn their chest. “Baz!”

“Fuck off, Snow!” I roar. “I- Ack!”

Pain rips through my shoulder. I clutch it and my hand becomes wet with what I assume must be blood. I fall forward. My nose cracks against the floor. I scream in pain and flames roar out of me in a massive plume They hit everything, including my shooter and the walls of the room. I can feel the whole space burning around us.

“Baz!” Snow’s voice is beyond panicked. I hear his footsteps rush toward me. His hands hover over me but won’t touch. He can’t touch me.

“Get out, Simon,” I rasp , turning my head to the side to look at him. He’s covered in bruises and ash. Yet he’s still so beautiful. “Run before more of them come.”

“Shut up, arsehole! I haven’t turned my back on you yet, and I’m not going to start now!”

If the world weren’t literally on fire right now, I’d find that touching. I close my eyes. At least my dying image will be of him. “Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” Surprisingly, the bastard fucking laughs. My eyes snap open again. The bloody back of his hand is pressed against his mouth as he giggles. “What the fuck is funny about this?”

“You,” he laughs, “called me Simon before.”

My face heats up, and it’s not from the fire. “No I didn’t.”

“We’re fucking dying and you can’t admit you used my first name?”

“I’m dying. You’re being an idiot and not running away like you should!”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Baz, and we both know it.” He jumps to his feet. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Snow-”

“Or are you too much of a yellow belly to get up and try?”

Oh, this bastard. In only two weeks, he’s learned me too well. I scowl at his stupid pretty face as I push myself up on my good arm. At the same time, thundering footsteps can be heard from the stairwell.

“That route is out of the question,” I say. “Where are we to go, Snow?”

“This way.” He holds his hand and in a mere two seconds, the opposite wall is blown to pieces in a rain of spark. “Now let’s go!”

“We’re on the bloody second floor!”

Snow runs towards the gaping hole and throws himself out. I rush to the edge, blood pounding in my ear. No, Snow cannot die, I can’t let him die. But to my utter shock and awe, Snow is floating his way down to the ground. He stops and starts and still hits the ground in an uncoordinated roll, but he’s okay.

“Oh, Snow, you brilliant moron,” I whisper.

“They’re probably still in there!” someone shouts from the hallway. I take a few steps back, breathe deep, and run off the splintered edge just as the humans burst through the door.

Instead of sending my fire outwards like usual, I keep it within me. I will my body to rise high like flames from a candle. My legs move slowly like I’m running in the air. Fuck, this is actually working. Slowly, I let my flame flick and die down, lowering myself along with it. I reach the ground with my own thud but stay on my feet. Snow grins at me. In all this horror, that is the greatest thing to see.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Snow.”

“Agreed, Pitch.”

We sprint to the stables and thankfully find our steeds unharmed. I count ourselves lucky that our attackers didn’t consider them demonic too. Mounting is difficult with my left arm fucked up, but let it never be said that a human bullet could stop Basilton Pitch. I hold the reins with one hand as I spur him into a dash.

The wind whistles in my ears. Snow and I run even faster than we did from the Red Weed. Our kind is always good at running. It’s our natural state.

———————————————

Snow and I ride until it’s nearly dawn. The sky turns purple then crimson with the rising sun in front of us. When I see orange, my horse finally starts to tire out. Snow’s does the same. We slow down then stop.

“Think we’re far enough away?” Snow asks, breath short and strained.

“Yeah,” I reply, sounding the same. “I think they would’ve caught us by now if they were still after us.”

“Good point, good point.” Snow leans forward, putting his forehead on his horse’s neck. “God, I’m fucking knackered. I barely slept.”

“Me too. We should both sleep.”

“What if someone comes after us?”

“Point. Sleep in shifts?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” I slowly dismount my horse, but get my footing wrong and start to fall. I grab the reins with my left arm and practically scream in pain.

“Baz!” Snow rushes towards me, but stops when I raise my good arm.

“Don’t...” I pant, “don’t come any closer. I’m injured, Snow, and my self control is severely weakened. So unless you wish for death now after just barely escaping it, back away.”

“Oh, yeah, right...” Snow backs far away just as he should, but my heart still aches. “What are we going to do about your shoulder?”

“I can fix it, but I’m going to need your belt”

Snow’s brows shot upwards. “My belt? What for?”

“Just throw it to me, Snow, for Christ’s sake.”

Thank God he doesn’t ask another stupid question. He just unbuckles the belt and does what I ask. I try to not let my hands shake as I fold the belt in half. The last time I did this was three years ago, when I sat in a London alleyway after a drunkard broke my leg, a mere four days after fleeing my home for good.

“Baz, what are you-”

“Snow,” I say firmly, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Okay...?”

I sit on the ground, belt held tightly in my hand. “I need you to stay right there no matter what. Don’t move, don’t try to help. The best way you can help is to stay fucking still.”

“What the fuck is-”

“Promise me you won’t move, Simon.” I look him right in his blue eyes, my mouth a thin, serious line. “Promise me.”

Snow gives me a once over, then thankfully nods. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” I put the belt between my teeth. When I check on Snow, he looks beyond panicked. “If it makes it easier,” I say clumsily between the leather, “you don’t have to watch.”

“Baz-”

I slap my right hand over my left shoulder, and it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. My magic scorches my body as it wraps around my injury. The buck shot is pulled through my muscles and skin, ripping and tearing as they go, and I can feel every bit of it. I can also feel as my tissue and bone stretches to knit back together piece by agonizing piece. It’s an indescribable kind of pain. It’s what I imagine hell must feel like. I scream, I can’t help it, but luckily the belt is muffling as well preventing me from biting off a chunk of my tongue. Snow gasps in horror but he doesn’t move. He keeps his promises. I knew he would. He’s a far better man than me.

The burning fades as the skin finally seals shut. I cautiously move my hand, shaking off the shrapnel and gooey viscera that trails between my fingers. God, it's a nasty scab, mangled and uneven and horrifically inflamed. I can only hope the scar won’t be too bad. The one on my calf has faded overtime.

“Are you-”

“Not yet,” I say, cutting off a frightened looking Simon. “This one won’t take as long though.”

I touch my nose, feeling for where the breaks are. I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a horribly painful crack, I move it mostly back into place. I let out a short yell, but just pant and seethe as the bone and cartilage knit back together. I try to wipe the bloody snot from my hand but it's no use. Disgusting, but better than a broken nose. I feel around to make sure things are okay. Well, the tip is a bit crooked, but I can live with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive at all.

“Okay,” I sigh, finally taking the teeth mark covered belt out of my mouth, “now I’m done.”

“What the fuck was that?” Snow’s voice is somewhere between fascination and absolute horror. In short, a proper reaction.

“Something my aunt taught me. Hexes are essentially manipulators of energy and matter. And what are bodies but living energy and matter? With practice, you can fix any part of yourself.”

“But isn’t it painful?”

“Was that not obvious?” I snap. But Snow’s genuinely worried face softens my demeanor. “Yes, it’s excruciating. Hence why I try not to use the technique as much as I can.” I massage my still aching shoulder. “Today it was unavoidable, unfortunately.”

Simon runs a nervous hand through his dirty hair. “Fuck...”

I cough out a small laugh. “Yes, that sums it up pretty well.”

He laughs too, just as shaky and sad. “Sums up the whole night.”

The two of us keep chuckling softly in the wee hours of the morning. The ascending sun hurts my tired eyes. Using so much magic has taken everything out of me. I let out a long, deep yawn.

“You sleep first,” Snow says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“No, no, I can-”

“Baz.” He sounds firm, but also tired, and maybe even a little fond. I’m probably imagining that last one though. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in about eight hours.”

If I weren’t sleep deprived, magically drained, and recovering from grievous injuries, I would protest more. But Snow is damn lucky today. I simply sigh and stand up to get my cot from my saddlebags. I count our lucky stars we didn’t bring in too many of our supplies to the inn. Maybe God hasn’t completely abandoned us heathen monsters.

“I don’t have the energy to put up my shield,” I say, hoping my tone conveys enough.

“Okay,” Snow replies, “I’ll stay away, don’t worry. I keep my promises.”

My pulse flutters involuntarily. A smile creeps across my face no matter how hard I try to stop it. “I know you do, Simon.”

Snow gifts me one of his sunshine smiles. That’s the last thing I see before turning over and letting myself rest.

———————————————

Snow lets me sleep longer than eight hours. I’d be more mad if I wasn’t so exhausted. In return, I let him oversleep too. We’re both passed out by the time it’s dark again. Even hexes with all our inhumanity need to rest sometimes. Snow and I are lucky we get the chance this time.

In the morning, I reluctantly go to the next closest town. We did leave some of our things behind sadly, including most of our clothes. I’m damn well not going to keep roaming around the south of Texas in my bloody socks, and neither will Snow. I get us some new jackets, boots, and hats, ignoring the strange looks I get from the lily white shopkeeper. 

I grab us some more of that disgusting jerky too. If only good food could keep in these horrific conditions. When I reach the counter, the shopkeeper frowns at the things I lay out.

“You can pay for all this?” she asks. I scowl deeply. I’m too tired for this shit.

“Are people like me not allowed to have money here?” I snap.

“Ya can now, but in my experience, y’all darker folk are better at stealing my stock than paying.”

Bloody hell, I’m too tired for this racist shite. I slam two bills on the counter. “There. Hope I didn’t dirty these up too much for you.”

She glares at me hard. As she reaches for the money, I deliberately brush my finger on hers, and she yelps loudly. The edge of her index is red and inflamed. An undeniable burn mark, but far too small for anyone to believe it came from an evil, bloodthirsty hexslinger.

“Oh dear,” I say deadpan. “Your register must have gotten in the sun. Do be more careful.” I shovel the supplies in my bag as she looks at me wide eyed. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

I can feel her scared eyes on my back as I leave. I get on my horse and ride out fast. No reason to stay in this shithole any longer. And I need to get back to Snow, where I belong.

———————————————

“Everything okay in town?” Snow asks.

I toss the bundle of clothes at him, along with a bag of jerky. “No one attacked me, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t get made for a hex. But I did get some flack for my skin tone.”

Snow’s face falls a bit. There’s something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Snow. You’re in no place to apologize for some racist American bastards, it’s not your responsibility. Sorry from you means nothing.”

“But-”

“Would you accept an apology from me on behalf of all the rich men who have treated you like trash before?” Snow’s gaping mouth slowly closes. “Exactly. Now get those on. They’re slightly less dirty than our current garments.”

Snow nods and does what I say. I unbutton off my bloodstained shirt and wince as the tacky fabric peels off my skin. The scab has gotten a little better. That’s something I suppose. My eyes slowly move over to Snow without realising it. I steal a glimpse of his broad, bare back, golden like the rest of him. There are some jagged pink scars but they take nothing away how brightly he shines. I look away before I’m too tempted by what I can’t have.

“Much better,” Snow sighs as he slips on the new boots. “I’m surprised my feet haven’t been ripped to shreds yet.”

“Me too. I’m glad though, I didn’t want to do any more healing.”

“I don’t want you to either, fuck.” I hate how his concern makes me feel so good inside. “I’ll start setting up the fire. It’s going to get dark again soon.”

“By all means, Snow, do all the work. I won’t stop you.”

Snow snorts out a laugh, giving me a cheeky smile I can still see at this distance. Christ, I’m on fire, and for once it’s not from my magic. It’s so much better. I have to look away again before I do something ridiculous and deadly.

By the time the sun is down, Snow has made a wonderful small fire for the two of us. We both warm our hands from opposite sides. I don’t need to do it too much. My magic has almost fully replenished, for better or worse. And I’m so hungry that I actually enjoy the extremely salty bison jerky. Bloody hell, I’m turning into an American.

“Where are we going to go next?” Snow asks, mouth still full. “I’m guessing we should avoid any more towns.”

“Agreed. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not jump out of another building.”

“We certainly agree there. Christ, I was worried I was going to die.”

“Me too, Snow, me too.” I nervously fiddle with the string on my cloth bag. The words are coming out, and I can’t stop them. “I’m sorry, Snow.”

His brow adorably furrows. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for the way I acted that night, before I went to bed. I was very rude to you and I deeply apologize.”

“Oh...okay. Thanks.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I was confused. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Snow,” I sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It was all me being stupid.”

“Okay...”

I sigh again. God, I can’t dance around it anymore. I have to tell him. After putting up with me for this long, he deserves to know.

“I was angry and...somewhat jealous of you.”

His eyes get very big. “Jealous? Of me?!”

“Yes, in a way. Because...you didn’t have to go through the same kind of suffering I did when I manifested. Which isn’t fair, because you lived on the streets while I grew up in a bloody mansion. It’s just not the same suffering I had, and I was angry I had to go through it when you didn't. Which is absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry I pushed that on you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...what happened?”

I stare at him for a long moment over the fire. He holds my gaze, eyes round with worry and care. It hurts me in the most exquisite way. “It’s not a pretty story, Snow.”

His mouth pulls into a sad, slight smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that all hexes live through hardship, and we have nothing to be ashamed of?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Using my words against me, a tactic of a true devious hex.”

He shrugs, still wearing that little smile. “What can I say? I can live up to our reputation sometimes.” Snow’s face falls again. “So what happened?”

With a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead, I start the horrid tale.

“My family always knew there was a chance I could be a hex,” I say. “But since my aunt couldn’t sense any magic on me pre manifestation, we assumed that I wasn’t too powerful, and manifestation could be avoided if we were careful. So I lived in the aforementioned secluded mansion all my life and I was never allowed to leave the grounds. All my time was spent reading, doing school work, or learning about hexation from my aunt, just in case. Everything in my life revolved around my mere potential to be a hex. I could never do or see anything. I felt like a prisoner. And when I was 18, I had enough.

“One evening, I snuck out of my room and went into the nearby town. I just wanted to see what was outside my home. But I was a naive sheltered kid. Of course I got lost on my way there and went into an area I never should have. Someone had knocked me out cold, and next thing I knew, I was in a cramped, dark box.”

“A box? What do you mean a box?”

I clench my fists tight until the shaking stops, then slowly let go. “It was a coffin, Snow. I had been trapped inside a coffin.”

I can almost feel the way Snow’s stomach must drop out at those words. I know, mine did the same when I realised where I was that night. “W-Why?!”

“It was hard to hear him through said coffin, but I got the main idea. He came from some old witch hunter family but had never caught an actual hex, until me. He’d heard the stories about my mother and had been secretly spying on me for months. When I escaped, he took his chance to kidnap me.”

“So he took you just to taunt you from outside a coffin?”

“I wish that was all he did,” I grumble. “He told me that the coffin was a test. There was a chance the hexation had skipped me over. If I was a hex, being stuck in the coffin would make me manifest, then he could kill me in good conscience. If I wasn’t and didn’t manifest, well, as he put it; ‘there are always casualties in the war for righteousness, boy.’”

Snow’s jaw drops to the grassy ground. “So even if you were human, he would’ve killed you anyway?”

“Mhm, mad bastard.” 

“How long did he keep you there before you escaped? A few days?”

I take long, steady breaths, beating back the old fear that creeps up my throat like bile. I can almost still smell that unique rotten scent from the coffin. I’ll never forget it. I never can.

“Snow,” I say slowly, “I was in that coffin for six weeks.”

And I thought he looked horrified before. Snow drops his jerky bag, hands shaking. I want to grab them, hold them still, comfort him in whatever way I can. The urge is almost stronger than the Call.

“S-Six weeks?! How are you still alive?”

“Thank the witch hunter,” I grumble. “He drilled very small air holes in the lid, and gave me enough food and water to keep me alive but starving. I think, hex or not, he wanted me to suffer because I was my mother’s son. A hex’s child was just as guilty of sin in his eyes.” I rub the bridge of my nose. It aches with the pain of my past. “At the time, I had no idea how long I was in there. It was just one endless night of torture. I begged and pleaded with the hunter to let me go, but he only laughed and called me pathetic hex scum. After six weeks, well, he finally got what he wanted.”

“You manifested.”

“Almost as violently as you did.” I trace the lines of my hand, the skin rough from my fire. I remember my mother’s hands being the same. “The details are blurry, but I remember enough. It started as just a tingling in my gut, but soon it became a burn. And then it spread as quickly as a forest fire.”

“Is it always fire with you?” The corner of Snow’s lip quirks up. The bit of teasing lilt in his voice makes me feel a bit lighter. I can't help but smile back a little.

“Usually, yes. It's always run very strong in my family.” I bounce a flame between my fingers. The movement is strangely calming to me. “I quickly learned I was no different. Before I knew it, I let out a massive ring of fire in every direction. It blew the coffin apart, of course, and turned my captor into a charcoal husk.”

Snow scoffs, a surprisingly vicious expression on his face. “Better than he deserved.”

“Agreed. I have no idea what happened to his body. I left almost immediately, though I wasn’t fully conscious. Six weeks in the coffin had deprived me of most of my mental faculties. Luckily, he kept me not far from home, and I could wander back on pure muscle memory. But going home turned out to be a terrible idea.” I grab the small fire and snuff it out in one go. But my fist stays clenched. “My aunt had been staying there while everyone searched for me. The second I walked through the front door, I could easily smell her. She was overjoyed to see me, until she smelled me too. And as I said, most of my mental faculties were gone.”

“So you attacked her on instinct.”

I chuckle sadly. “Quick study there, Snow. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so bloody hungry all of sudden. I can’t even describe it.”

“You don't need to describe it to me, Baz.” He brings his knees under his chin. “I’ve felt hex hunger too. It’s...awful when you’re in the middle of it.”

“And when you’re not, you try to drown it out or distract yourself. But deep down, you know one day you’ll give up and listen. Then it will take over.”

Snow nods, looking at me in the eye. I’ve seen so much profound sadness in a person’s face. “And you’ll hurt someone, no matter how much you’ll regret it later.”

If I have a soul, it’s aching horribly. How could fate be so cruel as to give me Snow? So wonderfully brave and kind to a fault, and who actually understands what my life is like. The perfect man. And someday soon, he’s going to kill me. There’s no doubt I’ll be the one to die. I won’t kill him, not ever. I’d let him take everything from me before I’d kill him.

“Did you hurt your aunt?”

Thankfully, I can shake my head to that. “No, not at all. She was an experienced magic user, while I was a starving, half crazed newly minted hex. She took me down in seconds. When I woke up again, I was cleaned up and in my room. It took a second to regain my bearings, but I soon remembered what had happened...what I had become. There wasn’t any debate in my mind. Within an hour, I had packed my most practical clothes along with any small valuables I could pawn. Then I ran away and never looked back.”

“Which is how you ended up in America.”

“What better way to protect my family from me than by putting an ocean between us? At first, I stayed in an empty little corner of the American frontier. I just wanted to live out my lonely hex existence as long as possible. I didn’t expect the Call or this looming hex war.”

“No one did,” Simon sighs. “Hexes working together has never been possible before. Who could’ve imagined some American preacher would team up with an Aztec goddess to do just that?”

“Fair point. But now he’s made our existences much harder in a way. Look what those humans tried to do to us at the inn. They were even more scared because of Rook”

“Yeah...”

I groan, pushing my face into my hands, rubbing it up and down. “I never asked to be like this. I tried my hardest to avoid being like this. Then that choice was ripped away from me by some madman. Now I’m trapped between murderous humans or a bloodthirsty witch goddess. Why am I here? Why do I have to be here?!”

“Baz-”

“I don’t want this,” I choke out through my building sobs. “I want to see my family again. I just want to go home!”

I breathe hard and fast, holding back tears with all my strength. No, I refuse to cry. I swore to never cry again after the coffin, because I wasn't sure I could survive falling apart again. Yet here I am. I thought I had shed every tear I have there. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” Simon says. His voice is far louder than before. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. It’s...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Slowly, cautiously, I lower my hands, blinking away the tears that had collected. I inhale sharply. Snow is less than two feet away from me. I can count the moles on his face, see the golden highlights in his bronze. But worse, his unbelievably delicious scent fills every cavity of my nose.

“You really shouldn’t sit so close, Snow,” I whisper. My eyes fall down and become completely fixed on Simon’s plush lips.

“I know,” he says under his breath, “but I don’t care.”

He touches my hand, and I feel his magic run through me. That explosive sensation pulses through my veins so hard it almost makes me gasp. The instinctual part of my brain goes fucking mad. It wants me to grab his throat and drain every drop of his magic, his essence, his very soul. My breathing gets shallow and laboured.

“Simon...” I say.

And then he kisses me.

It’s cautious and shy. His lips barely brush against mine, but I feel it everywhere else, especially in the way our powers rise to meet each other. The magic collides, but doesn’t clash. They meld and twist together at our points of contact, desperately needing to connect.

Snow opens his mouth, turning the kiss into one of pure heat and hunger. I gladly do the same. He grabs either side of my face and shoves his tongue down my throat. I grip his collar and push back against him. My entire body is filled with endless energy. I’m a star going supernova. And I want to explode with Simon. My nails scratch viciously across his neck. He clenches his fist in my hair, pressing our faces closer. I shudder as Simon bites hard on my bottom lip. I’m wrapped in cold heat, wrapped up in him. I feel so alive. It feels so right. But it’s wrong.

With all the strength I have, I shove Snow off me. We both fall back on the ground, breaking our closed circuit of feeding on each other simultaneously. Simon scrambles further away panting. I’m similarly out of breath. Both our lips trail white smoke, like they’ve been singed by ice. My magic readjusts after being sucked away and added to all at the same time. A bit of Snow’s explosive energy still sits in me, swirling around like a miniature star. We just stare at each other wide eyed for a long time.

“Shit,” Simon whispers.

I sigh heavily, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Well said.”

“We nearly killed each other.”

“Mages don’t meddle, Snow. We both know that.”

Simon groans, clutching his hair in his fists. “I know, I know. I almost killed Penny last time and I swore it would never happen again. But look at me now. Of course I fuck up.” I can see tears forming under his eyes. “What’s the point of being an all powerful hex if it means being alone forever?! I can blow up a building with my mind but I can’t even bloody kiss you! It’s not fair!”

I pick at my shirt sleeve with shaking fingers. “Maybe God is punishing us.”

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Baz!”

“That doesn’t change what we are, Simon! We’re freaks of nature, cannibalistic monsters!” I nearly rip through the fabric of my shirt. I'm so angry and so fucking tired. “Maybe we truly are devil spawn or something, like all the humans say. Maybe they’re right to be scared of all of us...”

I turn away from him, just staring at the fire. The sting of the smoke keeps me from sinking too low into my self loathing. Snow moves in my peripheral. We sit side by side. My skin prickles as he hovers his hand over mine. It takes every bit of my will to not try and drain him again.

“There’s somewhere we can go where we aren’t 'Devil spawn,'” he says.

I tense up. “Simon, that’s risky. It could all be a farce.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s just a farce, Baz! It’s still a chance. For you and me, for us.” He lightly brushes one of my fingers. I have to rip my hand away before I hurt him again. His pretty eyes are filled with pain. “See? Wouldn’t you like to stop doing that? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

I’ve been running for most of my life. I ran from my mother's legacy for as long as I could. I ran from my family when I feared my own hunger. And I could run now, from Simon and the fear of killing him. But I’d also be abandoning the chance for some sort of happy life. It may not be perfect, but it would be far more than my ancestors ever had before. Can I sacrifice that for fear?

“I’m tired, Snow,” I say weakly. “We should both get some rest.”

“But Baz-”

“Let me sleep on it, alright? Please?”

Snow takes in a deep breath, and lets out a long sigh. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I want to kiss him so badly right now. Just grab his gorgeous, sunshine face and kiss him goodnight. Since I can’t, I smile as genuinely as I can at him. It’s not easy for me, but I mean it with him. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Snow stares at me for a long moment. But slowly, a smile creeps across his face too. The fondness threatens to melt me, “Goodnight, Baz.”

We keep our eyes locked for as long as we can. When I finally lay down, putting my crackling shield around me, the image of Snow’s wonderful face relaxes me into sleep.

———————————————

I bang my fists against the wood over and over, ignoring my already numerous splinters.

“Help!” I yell. “Someone help me! Please, get me out of here!”

All my pleas fall on deaf ears, as usual. No matter what I do, no matter how loud I scream. I’m stuck in this damned coffin. I scratch at it until my fingernails tear from their beds. Blood drips into my mouth, leaving an iron taste in the back of my scream sore throat.

“I’m not a fucking hex! I just want to go home!” I sob so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “Just let me go home.”

My aching arms finally fall. I curl in on myself as much as I can within my confines. I close my eyes, but there’s little to no difference in the endless pitch black. Tears run hot down my face. They leave small trails in the dirt that’s accumulated over...however long I’ve been here. I don’t know anymore. Time is meaningless where there’s no sunrise or sunset. Life is meaningless in here.

“Baz?”

His voice is far away, but it still rings clear. My eyes slide open. “Simon?”

“Oh lord. Hang on, Baz! I'll get you out!”

I can only hear as Snow desperately tugs at the coffin lid. It should be impossible, the thing is nailed shut, but somehow Snow rips it open. The light is dim yet still hurts my eyes. I can't help but hiss at the pain.

“It’s okay, Baz,” he says in that unbelievably soft tone.

His hand reaches to me through the blinding light. Slowly, I reach back. And when I hold it, I know I’m supposed to be in pain, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just calm, happy, safe. Snow slowly pulls me out. His arms snake around my back, holding me up. He looks me over, taking in my decrepit, decayed state from ages in that damn box. And miraculously, he smiles. Even like this, he looks at me with such care.

“You’re alright now, Baz. I’m here.” He cups my face. “I’m here for you.”

Emotions clog up my throat and tears run down my cheek, but this time they’re for a good reason. I put my own shaking hand on his golden face. He’s so warm. “Yes, you are. And I’m here for you too, Simon.”

He’s still grinning as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. But this time there’s no fear I’ll kill him. There’s just the utter joy of being with the one who understands me best, the one I want the most.

Oh, how I want this.

———————————————

I blink awake slowly. The morning sun is just rising over the horizon, turning the grassy landscape violet. I sit up and see the now familiar body on the other side of the fire. Snow sleeps in a knot, arms and legs pulled in. The furrow in his brow says he’s in the middle of a nightmare too. Though mine wasn’t one by the end. Not when he was there.

My mind is made up.

Once again, I’m packing my things lowly, waiting for Snow to wake. Luckily, he stirs while I’m only halfway through tying up the cot. He rubs the sleep from his eyes in such a terribly adorable way.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” he yawns. “Are we going now? Or...are you?”

My heart seizes, but only for a moment. He’s right to be concerned. The fact that we’ve travelled together for two weeks without killing each other is a miracle among hexes. After last night’s close call, a sensible man would leave and never return. I was once a sensible human man. But I’m a deranged, bloodthirsty hex now. Why not act like one?

“You should get up and start packing, Snow. If we’re going to make it to the Mexican border before nightfall, we’ll have to ride fast.”

His eyes go rounder than a full moon. “You mean...”

I pull the pack tie tight. “We’re going to Hex City.”

“What changed your mind?

I sigh heavily, then walk over to him. I stay at a safe distance of course but Snow’s magic pulls me to him, my body begging me to take it. Instead, I simply hold out my hand to him. Snow stares for a moment but does catch on. He offers his own to me. Once again, our magics reach out to each other, wisps of fire and lightning twining together. It sends a faint whisper of that explosive adrenaline through my veins. So incredible and so wrong.

I snap my hand away, fists clenched hard. “Because of that. If I were a more selfless person, I would simply leave, but unfortunately I’m not. Are you?” Snow looks me over. His eyes pierce me in a way no one’s ever has before. He slowly shakes his head. “Exactly. I may be scared of Rook and his goddess, but I’m more scared of hurting you. There’s only one place where I won't.”

“Hex City.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What if you’re right though, and Rook’s price is too high?” 

“Then at least we’ll pay it knowing we tried to have a real life, instead of running like we’ve always had to.” I stand straight with my head held high. No matter the fear, I’m sure of this. “I think we’ve both suffered long enough, Simon.”

The way Snow’s face relaxes means the world to me. I love seeing that, seeing what he looks like without the heavy burden of hexation on his shoulders. Maybe I’ll be able to see that more in Hex City.

“It’ll probably be nice there,” he says. “I mean, a city made for hexes by hexes is going to be weird, but I bet it’ll look amazing in it’s own way.”

I chuckle and nod. “Agreed. Buildings and roads made by magic will certainly be interesting.”

“Penny would probably want to study them.” He sighs, but there’s a lightness to. “Maybe Penny will come one day, and I could see her again.”

“Maybe. I would love to meet her. I might be able to see my aunt again one day, too. I could introduce you to her.”

He beams so bright at me I fear I’ll get sunburnt. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Snow. So let’s get going.”

We finish packing very quickly. Snow gets on his horse as clumsy as he usually does. I snort at the way his American cowboy hat nearly falls off his head. The death glare he gives me has little impact, what with the way he’s grinning. He hasn’t stopped grinning almost since he woke up. I can’t blame him. I have trouble controlling my smile either.

“Ready?” he asks. As if he even has to. I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking to it.

“Ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Snow and I both send our horses into gallops. We soar across the grassy plain, the Texas sun illuminating our way. The impending hex war still looms over us. But I will fight until my last breath to keep any happiness Simon and I can find.

I can almost see our future. Soon, we’ll reach the terrifying and wonderful Hex City. Rook will ask for his price, and we’ll pay, because it’ll mean a freedom we've never known before. We’ll be able to hold hands, kiss whenever we want, sleep in the same bed, simply be around each other with no fear of our hexacious hunger. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of even a few months ago.

For once, I’m going to run towards something good, instead of away from the darkness inside me. I cannot wait.

———————————————

AN: And that's all folks! I hope people enjoyed that, even if y'all have never read Hexslinger. If you wanna read the books, I highly recommend them, tho be warned they require trigger warnings for all the stuff here and more. Almost anything that usually needs a trigger warning is in those books. I'm okay with reading it, but I also completely understand others not liking that shit.

In the positives, it's an extremely interesting and complex series dealing with survival, discrimination, identity, the pain that can come with love, and the unlikely bonds formed between people. The world building is amazing and the magic system is super cool. What I love the most are the characters, who are all very interesting and complex. No one is 100% good or evil, they're just people trying to find ways to achieve their goals or simply live. What actions they take are up for moral debate, but a lot of the time they're at least understandable. There's a lot of period typical bigotry, and it's much more vicious than what I wrote here, but what I love is that there a lot of diverse characters who say "fuck that" and fight back against the shit they get. You've got queer, Indigenous, black, latinx, Chinese, and Jewish main characters in a wild west story who are all well rounded and interesting. That's pretty awesome imo.

Okay enough gushing about Hexslinger lol. Hope this story was good. No guarantee when my next fic will be out. Work and school are killer. Until then, see you later!

#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

[essays-for-breakfast]

Together, Always

Kiane Week Day Six: Promise

Everywhere the eye turned, a colorful bouquet of flowers decorated the forest. Trees seemed to bow under the load of thousands of roses, dandelions, and daisies. Daisies in particular, in garlands, stacked in bunches, or blooming between the grass blades. An uninformed guest might believe chance had let the flowers sprout from the earth for this special day, but Diane knew better. Creating flowers from thin air was an easy feat for the Fairy King.

With a little more time on her hands, she would have wandered through the flower garden for an hour or two, but for now, she had to make due with the view from high up on the Great Tree, the heart of the Fairy King’s Forest.

Diane stepped away from the window carved into the bark, brushed the hem of her dress back into place, and reminded herself that today had finally come. The realization didn’t want to settle in. Every other moment, she looked over her shoulder in expectation to find the Demon King or Cath Palug there. But the dream refused to dissolve. No one played tricks on her eyes or mind. The white silk and velvet hugged her fingertips, entirely real.

Today had finally come.

“How do I look?” Diane asked and turned on her heels. The elegant slippers left the faintest discomfort on her toes. Unsurprising after a life of worn-out boots.

Matrona placed her hands on Diane’s shoulders and fixated her gaze. “Wonderful. I’m so proud of you. And I’m sure your parents would be too if they were here. Are you excited?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t feel my knees anymore. I’ve waited for this day for a solid two centuries.”

Matrona laughed. “I can’t say I know how you feel, but you’ve looked more composed when fighting a horde of Demons. Relax. You’ve earned this.”

“I’m not sure this a good idea.” Diane’s eyes darted back towards the window. The sun neared its midday peak. So soon… “Scratch that, it’s a terrible idea. How many guests have we invited? It must be the entirety of Britannia at this point, and each and every single one of them will stare at me. We should have held the ceremony in private, just like Ban and Elaine plan to do. Why did I agree to this? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Diane, look at me.” Diane released an uneven breath and then looked at her former mentor and the closest person she had to a parent. “The only reason these people will stare at you is because you look wonderful in this dress. You want to unite the Giant and Fairy Clan, don’t you?” Diane nodded. “Then give our people a symbol to hold onto and remind them that a bond between two different clans works. That it really works.”

“But won’t our people be appalled when I’m so small? Most of them have never seen me shrink to human size, not to mention the fact that none of them know what a marriage even is.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. We went over this a thousand times. Our people respect you for what you have achieved, not for your size. And should anyone do so much as cough at you the wrong way, well, I haven’t forgotten how to throw a solid right-hander, human size or not.”

“Thank you, Matrona. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Stop talking nonsense, you would lead these blockheads just as well without me. This wedding tradition humans have might be a little strange and overblown if you ask me. But after a war, a little excess of splendor and happiness is just what all of us need. Ready?”

Diane swallowed. Sweat ran down her neck, and she tucked a loose strand back behind her ear.

“No,” she said. But she straightened her back despite the lump in her throat and gave Matrona her arm. The firm grip offered her something to focus on other than her racing heartbeat.

Half-leaned against Matrona, Diane managed the first steps on the moss-covered ground. If only she hadn’t agreed to hold the ceremony on top of the Great Tree. The mighty boughs formed a clearing large enough to hold five hundred people, sure, but the familiar music of the earth seemed awfully far away. What if Diane stumbled? What if she fell from the tree and broke her neck?

No time to think about all the horror scenarios that were throwing images around in her head, there the curtain of magenta-colored leaves waited for her. Matrona pushed the vines aside, and the glimmer of daylight replaced the dimness from inside the tree.

Rows upon rows of people had gathered between the massive boughs, a crowd of Giant heads and shimmering Fairy wings in green, yellow, and milk-colored shades. Course leather and finest silk hugged as members of the Giant and Fairy Clan stood or hovered next to each other, and in some cases on the shoulders of the other. Amidst the colorful parade, the handful of humans near the front almost disappeared. Unlike with their traditional weddings, no one had set up chairs or benches. And apart from an aisle aligned with daisies, the top of the Great Tree could not have fit another person. The tree’s magenta-colored leaves created a ceiling, grander than any human hall, and bathed the porcelain faces of Fairies in pink hues. Six hundred pairs of eyes stared at Diane.

But all the people blurred and vanished the moment she caught sight of King. He floated in front of an archway of ivy and dog roses, dressed in the white suit he had sown and re-sown to perfection over the past week. With the four ornate Fairy wings and the tidy locks in the color of fall leaves, he looked too good to be true. The biggest smile adorned his face when he and Diane locked eyes.

Only Matrona’s grip around her hand prevented Diane from storming forward and throwing her arms around him. The Great Tree’s scent of ever-lasting spring tingled her nostrils, enough to make her tipsy. A good thing she had declined the bottle of ale Meliodas had offered her this morning. To calm the nerves, he had said. Ha! Such methods might work for Ban, but Diane was already losing faith in her feet without the added punch of alcohol.

She straightened and listened to the heartbeat of the earth, several hundred yards below. Beat, pause, beat. She had practiced this part of the ceremony with Elizabeth countless times. Just one foot in front of the other. Sixty paces, and then she could hold his hand and never let go again.

The quivering in Diane’s legs ebbed as she walked down the aisle and decreased the distance between her and King. And although her toes throbbed in her slippers, she managed the way without a stumble. Meliodas and Ban grinned at her from King’s right side. Both looked surprisingly regal in their matching capes; indigo for Liones and crimson for Benwick. Ban had even found a shirt to cover his chest, a rare sight on the best of days. On the other side of the altar, Elizabeth and Elaine had taken position as Diane’s bridesmaids.

And then, finally, Diane reached King’s side. Matrona offered him Diane’s arm and sat down in the first row between Gerheade and Zalpa.

King squeezed Diane’s hand. “You are beautiful.”

His gentle fingers felt so natural when intertwined with hers. As if they always belonged there. “You’re one to talk.”

They both turned towards Gowther, who regarded their hushed exchange with a smile. King and Diane had appointed him as their wedding guide – or priest as humans called them – the instance Elizabeth had discussed this role with them. No one fit this task better. With a nod, King and Diane signaled Gowther to begin.

“We have gathered here for both an historical event and a deeply personal affair,” he began. Since he had memorized around three dozen texts regarding human marriages in the past week, he didn’t need a book to regurgitate passages from. “Never before in the history of Britannia have the Giant and Fairy Clan forged a bond of the kind these two people in front of you have knitted. Mistrust has always stood between the five clans, as historians tell us. Mistrust will always stand between different clans, they argue. Let us prove these stories wrong. Today, we celebrate the union of the Giant and Fairy Clan, a sense of respect and comradery forged in the fires of the Holy War. Today, we celebrate the union of their leaders, who have ensured the survival of their people through the battles they fought as members of the Seven Deadly Sins. Today, we celebrate the union of two people who have overcome all odds and whose love endured centuries of separation and hardship. Many of us have watched them a portion of their way towards each other. And now they have asked us to be their witnesses as they dare to make the most important step. The promises they exchange today will forever resonate within all our hearts. Diane, Queen of the Giants, will you begin?”

Diane collected her missing confidence in Gowther’s encouraging look. And when she turned towards King, her King, her one and only love, the words tumbled out of her mouth all on their own.

“Even when I had nothing, I had you,” she said. “You were my friend in times of isolation, my light in the dark, my teacher and protector. It’s only through you that I became the person I am today. You’re the sole reason I’m still here. Back when we were kids, I never told you how I felt, but I want you to know this: King, I love you. I love you so much that I feel like half of me is missing every time you aren’t near. Whatever happens, I promise to always stay by your side and support you in any way I can. No gods or armies or loss of memory will stop me. From this day on, I’m yours. The same as I have been for all these years. Will you be mine?”

Tears shimmered in King’s eyes when he nodded. “I promise.”

“Then,” Gowther said, “Harlequin, King of the Fairies, what do you offer in return?”

“Everything I have and everything I am. Diane, I’ve always loved you, and to have met you all these years ago is the most wonderful gift of my life. You gave me shelter when I had nowhere to turn, you showed me a warmth and a kindness I had never seen before. It’s only thanks to you that I learned to forgive and not judge others by their looks or their past allegiances. Nothing can ever compensate the happiness bursting my heart every time I’m near you. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve let you down, and I have taken your memories from you. But if you will give me another chance, I promise you will always have a home to return to and a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold yours. No matter what the future brings, I’m yours. From now until my final breath and long after that. Will you be mine?”

Diane’s heart raced in her ribcage, and through their interlaced fingers, she felt King’s heartbeat in sync with her own. “I promise.”

While they battled their tears and the desire to fling their arms around one another, Gowther continued. He needed to adjust his glasses twice before the calm returned to his voice, and even then, joy swung with each of his words. “As symbol of your union and your undying bond, you will now exchange the crowns of your clans. From this day forward, you will lead your people as one and begin an era of peace and understanding.”

On cue, Ban and Elizabeth stepped forward, each with a velvet cushion in hand. With shaky fingers, Diane took the circlet of unrefined copper from Elizabeth. A multitude of jewels adorned the crown, rubies, garnets, and other stones found deep within the earth. Elizabeth placed a supportive hand on Diane’s shoulder before she returned to Elaine.

Ban likewise handed King a flower crown with a hundred blooms in all colors of the rainbow. And although Ban saved himself a snarky comment, the nudge of his elbow hit the mark. Freed from his stupor, King placed the flower crown upon Diane’s head. Then Diane tiptoed to return the favor.

One of her slippers escaped her foot, but she barely noticed.

“You may now—”

The rest of Gowther’s word remained unheard because Diane threw her arms around King’s neck, and he bowed forward to seal her lips with a kiss. Their first kiss as a married couple, the taste of raspberries and gold Osmanthus and an unparalleled joy.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, applause from the hands of human, Giant, Fairy, Demon, and Goddess. A shower of magenta-colored leaves rained down on them. Their wedding bells took on the form of the wind and the beat of the earth, a most marvelous chime Diane only heard once in her life while she held King, and he held her.

She stroked his hair while deepening the kiss.

Today had finally come.

#kianeweek #kianeweek2020 #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #nnt fanfiction #my writing #king #diane #king x diane #kiane wedding #my take on the wedding #has anyone actually written this scene before? #or is everyone waiting for Nakaba to show it? #why are my paragraphs so long?! #why does everyone monologue so much?!

[contextualstudieslorena]

IS BEING A PART OF THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY A TREND?

+Throughout the years’ many people are seen coming out as queer. And nowadays it is even more common to see queer characters in media as something that is becoming normalised. For example, in this early graph made by Gallup, (an American analytics and advisory company based in Washington, D.C.) we can see that the amount of people ‘coming out ‘ and identifying as a part of the LGBT community grows every year. Yet, it is seen to be more common in people who are born from 2002 to 1997, that being generation Z. After that, being Millenials, who are followed by generation X. Besides that, it can be seen that few traditionalists identify as LGBT, for a reason that I will be talking about in this essay.

We can also see in the graft that those numbers rise throughout the years. And why does this happen? Is it because Millennials and Gen Z started a new trend of being queer? Or is it because they feel more comfortable talking about issues that used to be hidden before.

Queer representation has indeed been growing a lot, if not in movies or magazines, Kids nowadays can spot a drag queen only looking through social media, or even Netflix, a Movie platform that has been seen adding a lot of queer characters to their movies and shows. If Netflix is doing a good job at bringing awareness and representation that is another conversation but compared to 10 years ago, it is noticeable that every day queer representation grows more and more.

Yet, the only place we can see this is in media, as there is not much of it in the regular history classes we have at school.

It is also important to note that kids can be very moldable. They spend more than 11 years of their life copying exactly everything they see, that being something positive or not. And that happens so often, that a boy died in Indonesia after trying to copy the fictional superhero Spider-Man. ‘Police are investigating if a five-year-old boy in Jakarta was trying to mimic Spider-Man after he jumped out a window to his death after being told he couldn’t watch the latest movie in the franchise.’. And as surprising as this can be, it shows kids and teenagers can be influenced by something so much, they will try to mimic it, which might be happening to all the Gen Z adults who grew up with media shoving down LGBT content down their throats. As well as that, they can also be following their friend’s choices to come out and can be even lying to their own selves for attention.

I could spend an enormous amount of time writing about how social media can affect peoples sexuality and gender but I’d rather do something more educating and look at the past. Where humans started coming together as tribes and living in a society, having to deal with the presence of each other and create romantic and social relationships.

When talking about same-gender relationships the queer community mentions how normal gay relationships are in nature. Petter Boeckman, Norweigan Zoologist would say that more than 1500 species of animals have been seen having some type of homosexual interaction, those not only being mammals but as Boeckman stated "We're talking about everything from mammals to crabs and worms. The actual number is of course much higher. Among some animals homosexual behaviour is rare, some having sex with the same gender only a part of their life, while other animals, such as the dwarf chimpanzee, homosexuality is practised throughout their lives." as well as that, he then compares chimpanzees to humans who identify as homosexual "If a female has sex with a male one time, but thousands of times with another female, is she bisexual or homosexual? This is the same way to have children is not unknown among homosexual people.". However, Petter wasn’t the only one who found homosexual interactions between animals, Kurt Kotrschal, a known biologist for researching these types of behaviours has confirmed that these ty pes of relationships are beneficial for the species.

I am mentioning animals not only to show that homosexuality is natural to other species but because they can be even more related to indigenous people.

Indigenous people are the ones who can be seen the most in contact with nature. They have decades of history of not having any contact with other human beings than the ones that were located in the same tribe as them, and as much as they would fight with other tribes and move around they still had their tribes, where they would create relationships in and settle their tents. They didn’t have any contact with books and science before the colonizers came in 1500 and even after that many tribes weren’t discovered by them in the middle of the Amazon forest, so many of them didn’t even get to be influenced by the Europeans and their racism and misogynistic views and homophobic religion.

The point I want to make is that indigenous people are the ones who are the closest to animals, and if they saw an animal do a homosexual interaction, they would probably see it as something that is intended to happen and not weird, as animals don’t have a perception of that is morally wrong or not. They are a part of nature, different from the Europeans who colonized them who were already influenced by the church and their extremist ideas. And as much as it would be wonderful to have indigenous people be so open-minded as they were, Colonization happened, and with that, so did a period where Europeans found the need to force their catholic beliefs on them, as well as bringing many diseases and suffering. Cieza de Leon, a chronicler of the conquest in Peru once said, and I quote ‘ Within a somewhat different framework. During the colonial years, indigenous morality changed, partly as a result of contact with the Europeans.’She also believes and argues that indigenous people had a spiritual justification for doing anal sex with their partners ( which is now seen as something Queer people are more familiar with), that being in a same-sex or straight relationship. This spiritual justification had to do with their religious beliefs. While Colonial Latin American societies would see anal sex within their own beliefs, Iberian societies would see sodomy as a way of showing male dominance.

There are not that many pieces of evidence of Queer indigenous people in history, as the colonizers would murder them and force them to stop being who they truly were. However, there’s an engraving that shows a little bit more about their experience as trans indigenous people in colonial times. In this engraving made by Theodor de Bry in 1594 as part of his Les Grands Voyages, we can see how this homophobia is well represented. In the art piece, 8 men are shown wearing noble clothes, and between them was Vasco Nunez de Balboa, a man known for being a Spanish nobleman who conquered Panama. But what is atrocious about this art piece is what is in front of them, 3 men being eaten alive by dogs after being demanded to do so by the nobleman, after being seen dressed as women. However, what is most ironic about this engraving is the way it’s presented, which plays when seeing the men standing above them. Who present themselves in a feminine way earring clothes that could nowadays be considered quite puffy and girly. This engraving is only the beginning of what queer indigenous people had to go through, of course not mentioning the amount of evidence of homophobia that was probably erased through the time. To summarize Brazil’s colonization process, the European view on lust, nudity, polygamy, cannibalism, sodomy and homosexuality which was normal to indigenous people, was considered to be against nature and gods will, and their job was to basically baptise as many natives as they wanted and shove catholic ideas down their throat.

Yves d’Evreux, a french capuchin priest delivered a highly dramatic letter, that presented his reaction on how he encountered an indigenous that could be considered a trans man. His trip to Northern Brasil (1613-1614) surprised him , as he reacted in a negative way towards them. As he wrote ‘There is, in Juniparan, in the Island, a hermaphrodite, in the exterior more man than a woman, since he has the face and the voice of woman, with fine, flexible and long hair, however [he] was married and had children (...). (d’Evreux, 1874, p. 90) he then mentions this man again, as he ran after him with the French to ‘purify his soul’ and kill him, he was then captured and chained under the fort of Sao Luis and was obliged to say the following ‘You will die for your crimes, we approve your death and I myself want to light the fuse for the Frenchmen to know and to see that we hate your evil deeds [...]: when Tupan sends someone to take your body, if you want to have in the Heaven the long hair and the body of a woman instead of that of a man, ask Tupan to give you the woman’s body and to be resurrected woman, and you will be in Heaven on the side of women and not of men. (d’Evreux, 1874, p. 232). This however is just a glimpse of what transgender people had to go through during colonial times and still to this day. The queer community is a community that is supposed to help everyone, but that doesn’t focus much on the history of indigenous people and how much they suffered.

In conclusion, as much as nowadays, people can be highly influenced by others, the LGBTQ community has been around for a rather long time and it is not something that the newest generation has made up. From the colonization times till nowadays, queer people have felt oppressed and the necessity to ‘stay in the closet’ and not be their true selves while being afraid of getting judged or even murdered by random people or even close ones. However, nowadays people have been talking more about important issues such as homophobia, sexism and racism, which is making queer people feel more comfortable Even though, they are still fighting for their rights, and they’re still in the long run, protesting for all the people who have died since Europeans somehow decided that god found their sexual choices to be unnatural and demoniac. Now, what is left for us to do is to create a healthy environment and show more representation in media every single day, so more queer people feel comfortable without having to spend their entire lives fighting and running away from who they are. Being queer is not a trend, but queer people have been being hidden from us our entire lives. They were always there, and they are always going to be there.

Bibliography:

Partal, Y., 2021. Are there gay animals in nature? Homosexuality in the animal world. [online] Zoo Portraits. Available at: <https://www.zooportraits.com/animal-homosexuality/> [Accessed 5 April 2021].

Sigal, P., 2003. Infamous desire. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, p.2.

Fernandes, E. and Arisi, B., 2017. Gay Indians in Brazil. 1st ed. Springer.

News-Medical.net. 2021. 1,500 animal species practice homosexuality. [online] Available at: <https://www.news-medical.net/news/2006/10/23/1500-animal-species-practice-homosexuality.aspx> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

New York Post. 2021. 5-year-old boy dies ‘trying to be Spider-Man’. [online] Available at: <https://nypost.com/2014/05/04/5-year-old-boy-dies-trying-to-be-spider-man/> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

Jackson, A., Thomas, M. and Steffen, A., 2021. Homosexuality Is Natural. [online] Exposing The Truth. Available at: <https://www.exposingtruth.com/homosexuality-is-natural/> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

Buchholz, K., 2021. Infographic: 5.6 Percent of U.S. Adults Identify as LGBT. [online] Statista Infographics. Available at: <https://www.statista.com/chart/18228/share-of-americans-identifying-as-lgbt/> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

Pictures:

1475. Spanish Explorer Ordering Native Indians To Be Torn Pieces By Dogs Copper Engraving 16Th Century. [image] Available at: <http://www.latinamericanstudies.org/debry-atrocities.htm> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

n.d. Two indigenous women kissing at an LGBTQ+ pride parade. [image] Available at: <http://@indigenasLGBTQ> [Accessed 9 April 2021].

n.d. Trans (We’wha (Zuni) circa 1849-1896 Mexican Indigenous woman. [image].

[musedblues]

Between The Lines

a/n: Here it is! Nothing but pinning and fluff for the much anticipated STL Event! This is my gift for the lovely wonderful @joemazzmatazz​ I really hope you enjoy this, lovie! And I hope that your day is beautiful regardless of this silly little holiday. 💖

w/c: 6k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was Valentine's day. Usually, you were only excited about the day that followed, when all the chocolates went on sale. But this year your roommate had plans to throw some big ridiculous party. Tilly had been planning this bash for over a month now, and you had agreed to help set up and mingle with mutual friends. But until later tonight, you had far too much more to worry over.

"I've gotta go get Joe from the airport." You sighed, sliding your arms into a thick jacket.

"Oh," Tilly realized with a playful roll of her eyes. You let out a frustrated mewl at her disregard as you scrambled to grab your purse.

"I just don't get it." Tilly continued smirking. "Why are you nervous, again?"

"Because." You hissed. "I've gotta tell him. And I don't want to."

Tilly must have registered the true dread bubbling closer to the forefront of your system; because she slouched closer to the door as you stepped out into the hallway. She said, "You have no reason to be nervous. Trust me."

Oh, but how wrong she was. Since Joe had up and left overseas to film his latest project, you missed him. But you came to realize the magnitude of your feelings for your dear friend smack dab in the middle of a grocery store's freezer section, last month. After spending too long debating on ice cream flavors, you chose cherry, because Joe loved cherry and you loved him. Oh shit. The thought seamlessly pieced itself together in your mind as if it were a fact as clear as any other. You raced home in a panic and spilled your guts to Tilly like she was a priest and you, a dirty sinner. Your roommate helped you through that night, and several more that followed when you regretfully avoided Joe's phone calls. You were afraid of letting your true feelings seep through the phone speaker,  or at all. But time was up. You had agreed to fetch your dear friend from the airport some odd weeks ago, and according to the time on your phone, his flight just landed.

Joe deserved to know how you felt, so why not rip the plaster off right away? He'd be pissed if you kept this from him for too long, and you couldn't act like everything was fine. You knew you had to tell him. You just really didn't want too.

As you slid into the driver seat of your car, you reached toward the visor for the pair of sunglasses you stashed there. From out of nowhere a tiny piece of canary yellow stock paper came fluttering into your lap like confetti.

"Oh, wonderful." You huffed a laugh. It was a note from Joe. He was always stashing these tiny pieces of yellow paper in odd places for you to find later, with silly little sentiments jotted down. This one read:

"You're only a day away!"

He must have left this one before he left to go film.

Some notes Joe left were inside jokes. Some were thank you's for dinner. Some were doodles of dinosaurs and maps. You kept them all in a ball jar on your dresser. But all you could do with the latest note was stash it in your jacket pocket with a frustrated groan as you began to drive off.

It all started the first night you went out to dinner with your hoard of mutual friends, who were the only reason you'd met Joe in the first place. They each left one by one, and soon you and Joe were alone with a basic knowledge of each other's existence, finishing dinner at a six-person table. By the end of the night, you'd exchanged life stories and ended up rambling over the topic of arcade games. You marveled over how fun they seemed growing up, but how you came to understand the sad reality that most arcades were just scams to collect change in disguise. But then Joe brought up some bowling alley he swore had a rigged Pacman machine that spit out tickets that won some above-average prizes. He decided he would invite your group of friends there, next weekend. Then, he exchanged his phone number on a slip of canary yellow stock paper because your phone had died and he left his in the car.

The following weekend you met up with all your friends at that bowling alley. They were shocked to see you'd come out of hiding two weekends in a row, and invited you to pick a team to bowl to the death. But then you locked eyes with Joe, walked past the lanes and headed straight for the arcade in the back. Joe had been right about the rigged Pacman. He showed you how to pause the ghosts by holding down a broken button to cheat. But after racking up mega points, the machine was out of tickets. You both presented this sob story to the jaded arcade prize gatekeeper, who simply did not care. Not like you did, either. Even though you had your eye on a silly looking plush green crocodile from the midlevel prizes; the time you'd spent with Joe was reward enough for you.

He called it a night soon after, leaving you with the few friends who couldn't be stopped from bowling. You joined their team, even though you already felt like you'd won something.

You were at ease that evening as you headed toward the dusty car park.

You notice something was resting against your windshield. You were alarmed enough to wonder if this was one of those trafficking tricks, where a kidnapper left something for you to be distracted by long enough to snatch you. But then you noticed just under your windshield wiper, a canary yellow slip of stock paper. It read:

"Sorry I couldn't win you the alligator you insisted was a crocodile. Hope this will do until next time."

Next to where Joe had left the note, you found a tiny keychain with a neon green frog attached. It wasn't quite the river monster you'd been hoping for, but Joe had left it just for you, alongside a note; the latter of which would become a tradition. You stashed both mementos in your pocket and wondered when you'd see Joe again.

One long year had passed by, and you managed to see Joe at least once a week since those first fateful meetings. You added the frog charm to your keychain.  And every time, without fault, Joe would leave behind a note for you to find.

You spent days accidentally snowed inside each other apartments. He bought you Christmas presents and you took him out for his birthday. You watched terrible movies for fun and wound up alone together even in the midst of your group of friends, who were the reason you'd known Joe at all. You'd seen each other cry and fought over things that did and didn't matter. But it wasn't until he flew across the ocean for a while that you realized exactly why you missed him so much.

Considering the time you'd spent with Joe, practically attached at the hip, your heart sunk at the realization that if anything romantic had been blossoming between you, Joe would have done something about it by now. But you had to tell him how you were feeling, waiting any longer would only complicate things further. So as you pulled up to the airport gates and marched into the waiting area, you practiced a speech in your head one thousand different ways. There was a swarm of people buzzing in different directions hardly paying you any mind, but soon one voice cut through the crowd.

"It's you! It's really you! You haven't aged a day in the hundred years I've been gone!"

You spun toward the sound of Joe's excitable greeting and barely caught a glimpse of his bright smile before he was pulling you into a hug. You couldn't help but laugh as you hugged him back, welcoming the boy home, but selfishly longing to be so much nearer to him all at once. Oh no. This was too weird.

"Welcome back." You grinned as Joe reached for his suitcase once more. He was still smiling that stupidly pleasant smile.

"That's all I get?" He playfully jeered. "No, 'I almost died of boredom without you? '"

A nervous chuckled escaped your throat as Joe started walking toward the sliding doors, right up to your car right outside.

"Uh, actually... I. Well." You began, sheepishly following Joe out of the airport. "I was going to tell you something but we can worry about it later."  You feigned passivity, all the things you practiced to say melting off the page in your mind. That wasn't the plan, but the words were out before you could think of reforming them.

"What? You found someone funnier than me to add cometary to hallmark movies?" Joe quirked a brow.

"Impossible." You assured, opening your back car door so he could lift his luggage inside.  "How was your time?" You scurried to change the subject, not really sure what happened to the plan you'd promised yourself to stick by.

Joe didn't seem to notice your internal battel as he eased into your passenger seat, already rambling about where he'd been and what he'd done. You listened with care, truly interested in knowing what he had to say. But one half of your mind buzzed with worry and confusion while you drove Joe home.

You unlocked his door while he managed his luggage from your car. When Joe made his way inside you remembered the plans you'd made for the rest of the evening. He was apart of the group chat where your roommate birthed the idea for her Valentine's day party. Joe was invited, and one late night over the phone (before you started having this strange crisis) you offered to spend the rest of this afternoon with Joe so he could hitch a ride with you to the party.

"So Tilly's party isn't until nine, now. I promised to pick up Zoey and Lyla  and stop for dinner someplace." You chatted naturally as any other time you'd spoken to Joe. Regardless of your feelings, Joe was still your friend and you had plans. You naturally expected Joe to shrug and agree like he always did when your shared plans became altered. He was standing before you, bright forest colored eyes searching your face as his usually permanent grin began to fade.

"Actually..." Joe frowned, flicking his eyes to the floor then back up to yours. "Well, is it okay if I just meet up with you where you stop for dinner? I kind of need to do something. Alone."

"Oh... sure." You tried to hide the shot through your heart as you processed this. Of course, he wanted to show up alone. Lyla always had a thing for Joe, never one to hold back her lingering stares. Joe was single and it was Valentine's day. And right now, you had to pretend like you couldn't care less.

"Thank you for picking me up, Y/N. Text me where to find you." Joe shifted, dawning a little smile.

"Of course, Joe." You smiled brightly, stepping out of the already opened door.

"I'll see you tonight! And you can tell me whatever it was you mentioned earlier!" Joe promised as you skipped down the steps toward your car.

"It doesn't matter anymore!" You waved a hand, opening the driver door, trying like mad to remain casual. Shit. Why did I say that? You just dug a deeper hole for yourself.

"Oh. Well okay! See you later!" Joe waved from the door, shutting it as your engine started.

Okay... Was it just you and your twisted, jumbled up mind, or was Joe acting weird, too? Maybe he picked up on your vibe and didn't want to spend any more time near you than he had too. You boggled your brain all the way home, wondering why you were such a wimp. When you unlocked your apartment door, Tilly was pinning bright red cartoon hearts across the living room wall.

"Oh." She cocked her head at your arrival as you shut the door behind you. "You're alone."

"He's meeting up with us later, I guess."

"You guess?" Tilly wondered in a curious tone.

"I didn't tell him." You huffed, kicking your shoes off.

"You were supposed to bring him here either way! He said he'd help decorate." Your roommate pouted, nodding toward a box of Valentine-themed tinsel on the sofa.

"This is all a bit ridiculous don't you think?"

Tilly's excuse was that every holiday deserved a party, even the one couples famously spent alone together. You proceeded to help decorate, draping streamers and tossing flower petals in place. Your roommate made 'Love Potion' with peach schnapps, red grapefruit juice, and vodka, while you jammed strawberries onto the side of clear plastic cups.

"I'll be handing these out. Take your pick." Tilly held out a bin full of plastic headbands. Some were pink with cartoon hearts attached to a couple of cheap springs, like an Instagram filter come to life. Others were deep red devil horns covered in glitter. You just rolled your eyes and went on setting up snacks.

"When are you going to tell him?" Tilly asked from across the room as she placed her bin of headgear on a table near the door.

"Oh, you know what?" You raised the pitch of your voice. "I think I'll do it right in the middle of your bangin' Valentine's party." You pointed toward Tilly, as if this idea had just come to you like a message from cupid himself. Tilly let out a dry mocking, "Ha Ha."

"You can break out that Prince vinyl, and I'll stand on the coffee table and rip my own heart out in front of everyone!" You really hoped you sounded more like you were joking, and less like you wanted to cry.

"I'm sure we'd all love a bit of a show. But babe, it's gonna be okay." Tilly softened.

"Isn't it funny how you keep saying that and I keep on feeling the opposite way?" You groaned, abandoning the kitchen past a doorway full of shiny maroon ribbon.

"You have exactly an hour to dress up for seduction!" Tilly comically hollered your way, skipping toward her bedroom.

"You mean confession!" You shouted back, sulking toward your own room. After shutting the door, you unearthed Joe's latest note from your pocket. The one that fell from your visor. How hadn't you found it sooner? Without too much thought, you opened the jar on your dresser where other notes had been collecting and went about getting ready.

You stared into your closet for far too long, almost talking yourself into throwing on a pair of leggings and calling it a day. But then you found an unassuming longsleeved dress, one that was passable in the cut-throat world of party fashion, but somehow remained supremely comfortable. It would do.

Then you hurried to fetch your friends from across town. Zoey and Lyla were dressed in tight velvet and equally as confused when you showed up to their door without Joe. "He's never not with you." Zoey pointed out. "Is he okay?" Lyla worried. This only made your heart hammer despite all your efforts to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

You pulled into a shitty diner because Zoey wanted breakfast for dinner. Both girls were enjoyable company, laughing over memes and telling you their latest gossip. The three of you were nearly through your meals when Joe finally showed up to join the party. He was dressed for the occasion, in a cozy blue sweater and dark jeans. You had to turn and sip your soda to keep from staring. Joe slid into your side of the booth with an arm across the seat, trapping you into his side and unknowingly making your guts twist up. Lyla seemed unusually unassuming. Every time before now, when Joe was in her line of sight, Lyla hardly ever hesitated to throw her self near him. You wondered why the hell everyone was being so insanely weird tonight, but then the thought brought you comfort, hoping you weren't alone in all the unease.

While Zoey and Lyla waited in a long queue to pay, Joe dragged you around the corner to an empty section of the diner. For just a moment, Joe stalled and looked to you with a barely noticeable furrow in his brow. It was as if he had something to say but forgot in a flash. Just when you were about to question Joe's antics, he turned away from you and walked deeper into the unused room. There was a giant, brightly painted claw machine in the corner, stuffed with prizes of the highest caliber.

"I dont have any quarters." You frowned, looking toward your friend. His smirk was back, the one you'd missed seeing all this time. Joe just chuckled, reached into his pocket and stepped up to play the game.

You should have been distracting him with a joke. You should have been saying something. He dragged you all the way back here to be apart of the fun. But all thoughts faded while you kept an eye on your dear friend. Joe was surprisingly good at operating the machine, eyes focused on the claw, fingers moving the control in just the right direction. It was becoming a challenge to keep your lovesick thoughts from burning your skin.

Joe broke out into a celebratory jig when the claw latched onto some plush toy and you laughed all the while, snapping back to reality. Joe retrieved a small plush bear from the prize slot and tossed it your way. You caught the thing without missing a beat, but the action caused your head to clog up all over again.

Luckily, Zoey and Lyla popped around the corner, excited to leave for your roommates long-awaited Valentine's day party. You kept a hold of the claw machine prize while you drove the girls in your car, watching Joe's following close behind.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. With the plush bear dangling by its paw from your grasp, you led your crew inside. Past guests who had all already shown up, mostly Tilly's friends. Men with sharp jawlines and nice cologne. Girls in tight dresses, lingerie peeking out from hemlines. And a couple of people you knew, offering hugs and demanding selfies in their matching themed headbands.

Your friends grabbed some from the bin next to the door. Joe chose a headband with cartoon hearts but turned to put it on your head like a crown. All you could do was hope to high heavens that you weren't blushing.

"Snacks in the kitchen. Don't forget to try the 'Love Potion' it's actually pretty good." You shrugged, passing a massive bowl of pink alcohol nestled behind a row of already filled cups. Joe grabbed one as he followed your lead.

"Everyone is in there." You gestured toward the living room entryway, where a group of girls lingered, taking selfies. Zoey and Lyla scurry hand in hand into the dim dance party.

"And you should be too! Nice of you to finally make it." Tilly twirled into your vision, toting an empty tray, her sequined dress sparkling right in your eye.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Joe greeted with a smile. She gave him a half-hearted hug, complaining about running out of finger foods. Your roommate loaded her tray with cups full of candy hearts and dashed back into the room where the party raged on.

The kitchen was empty and quiet now. You reached for a skewer of cherries and plucked one off to eat. A distraction.

"You look really nice. I like this." Joe actually honest to God tugged at the hem of your dress. And somehow, you magically managed to keep from fainting into a puddle.

"Thanks. You too." You shrugged, eating another cherry. You were being weird again. Usually, you'd make a joke or sashay around the kitchen to show off your look. But your feelings were collected in a mess of worried thoughts, and you were being weird. You knew Joe noticed, but if he cared, that didn't show.  He just downed his 'Love Potion' and reached for two wine glasses from the rack near your stove.

"The usual?" He asked in a funny voice, already reaching for the bottles of wine on your counter.

"Of course."

You liked white wine, but not too sweet. He liked red wine, but not too bitter. So you learned one night, to mix them together. Everyone around you practically shrieked in terror, because of etiquette or whatever. But you and Joe eventually figured out the perfect proportion to mix, and he made a show of it every time. You were laughing again, as Joe poured each wine in a separate glass and went on pouring one into the other until he was satisfied. It was like watching a middle schooler at a science fair. He offered you one of the experiments and leaned across the counter to enjoy his own glass.

Then you settled into conversation, like always. He talked about his flight. You bit your tongue. You kept waiting for Joe to mention anything about being occupied earlier. Where he might have gone and why. But he never did. So why did he skip out from you in the middle of the afternoon? And why was he acting like nothing was strange at all? Why was Joe standing in the kitchen with you, instead of flirting with one of Tilly's pretty friends with sparkly devil horned headbands peeking through their silky hair?

Your intrusive thoughts were quieted as Joe asked about you. And somehow you both stared laughing about stupid old jokes, reaching for another love potion and gripping a little tighter to the plush bear in your fist.

When Tilly turned off too many lights and cranked up some tasteless raunchy record, Joe rolled his eyes. You watched him move to the other end of the kitchen, snatching the two bottles of wine, and an unopened box of frosting covered cookies.

"Come on!" He snickered, clearly headed right toward your room. You giggled, pushing yourself from the counter to follow behind him, toward your bedroom.

Usually, when Joe hung out at your flat, you'd had to hide away in your room together often. At first, because Tilly would bring dates home who couldn't keep their hands to themselves far past the living room couch. Later on, because it became a normal and relaxing spot to unwind.

So when you shut and locked the door, to keep any drunken partiers from breaking in, it didn't feel weird. And it wasn't unnatural the way Joe flung himself toward your bed. He reached across the empty blanket-covered space to grab your remote. You ripped off your stupid cartoon heart headband and rested it on the dresser with your plush bear, the same space the jar of notes had taken residence.

Before you knew it, Joe had queued up 10 Things I Hate About You, kicked off his shoes and settled in for one of your favorite stories. Naturally, you floated to his side and tore into the tin of iced cookies, much like any other normal movie night with your friend.

Joe made you screech like a loon, adding his own commentary and laughing too hard to even go on doing so. Maybe it was the wine, but either way, it was paradise. And Joe always made you laugh that hard. Between the sweets and all the wine, You and Joe nearly laughed yourselves sick. When the film cut to the scene where Kat was meant to read her poem, Joe lunged for the remote and clicked pause.

"Okay, name ten things you hate about me, Go!" Joe laughed, laying back and looking up to where you sat cross-legged, sipping some water you'd earlier filled your cup with from your bathroom sink.

"One..." You thought for a second, glancing at the bottle Joe kept a loose clutch on. "That you're hogging all the wine." You laughed, swiping the bottle from his grasp. He gave it up easily, chuckling with you.

"Nine more to go." Joe rose a brow, searching your eyes as you held the wine bottle to your chest. You couldn't think of anything besides the way Joe's eyes peered into yours, how they still seemed so bright in your low lit bedroom. You were suddenly a little too flustered by the sight of Joe laying against your pillows.

"I can't think of anymore." You looked away from Joe's gaze and took a swig of wine right from the bottle.

"I'm sure that's not true," Joe chuckled again, egging you onto listing off the things he did that annoyed you. But you couldn't seem them right now, you couldn't see much of anything past the way your eyes fogged over with a rosy sheen.

"I dont hate you, Joe." There you went again, speaking without thinking and letting your tone reveal more than intended. You hadn't even considered a response before that one came tumbling past your lips, like a half-hearted confession. It was quiet then, with the movie on pause. Even the heavy thrum of music from past your closed-door seemed light-years away.

"What were you going to tell me? Earlier?" Joe asked, propping himself up a little so his eyes could catch yours again.

"Oh uh- no. Nope, not yet. I should probably wait." You decided, feeling vile for admitting you had something to say but holding it hostage all because you were suddenly not at all ready to give up this moment. You figured Joe would catch on to any way you acted trying to hide your feelings, but when you froze up, Joe had yet to call you out. So now you were trapped in feeling too frightened to give any of this up. Say how you felt would ruin all the fun. You didn't want to confess, watch Joe leave and spend the night locked away alone while strangers made out in the hallway outside your door.

Thankfully, Joe didn't push you any further. He just watched you watching him. You knew better than to say another word. But then, Joe shifted. He slid off the side of your bed onto the floor beside you, kneeling with one knee on the ground.

"What the hell are you up to?" You couldn't help but cackle, out of nerves mostly. Joe had that look in his eye, the one he got before telling you a story or showing you something he was proud of.

He reached into his back pocket.a Joe pulled out a pretty velvet wallet. He held it out in front of you.

"I uh... I tried to give this to you at the diner. Unzip." Joe demanded, still holding onto the thing.

You glared suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, taking a beat to try and figure out what this is all about. After setting your bottle of wine on your bedside table,  you did as he said. Inside the wallet was a tiny yellow note.

It read "Happy Valentine's Day" in Joe's writing. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was the first note he'd given you in ages, even though you'd only just found the last one he left, today... This one felt different. Your heart seemed to grow three sizes as you glanced over his holiday greeting once more.

"It always takes you way too long to find my notes. Keep this with you, I'll put them in here for you to find, from now on." Joe explained with a sleepy smile.

"I do." You mocked his kneeling on one knee, ignoring the butterflies multiplying in your belly. Joe's smile was soft as he slowly shifted to sit on the edge of your bed next to you.

"There's something else in there." His voice nearly caught in his throat, it was so quiet. The muffled music from the party outside your door was beating as heavily as your heart inside your chest. Joe was so close to you that you could practically feel him, just far enough away to leave you wishing you really could.

You let those thoughts seep into the back of your mind while you reached into the wallet once more. You pulled out another piece of trimmed stock paper. This note was an unusual shade of tea green, and three words were meticulously scrawled in dark marker.

"I love you."

I love you?

"Joe..."

"I 've had this plan forever, but I started overthinking everything. So I waited till the last minute and I had to go buy more of this paper and I felt really bad about sending you away without earlier any explanation. But I wanted you to have this. It's like a promise. You keep the wallet, I'll keep giving you these notes." Joe gestured toward the gift as you gapped at him. "And also I love you. I know it's a cheesy holiday but it doesn't matter, I couldn't as hold it in any longer and I wanted to do something for you anyway but I didn't wanna freak you out and -"

"That's what I was gonna say. Earlier. I was gonna tell you that I'm in love with you. But then I got scared. I... I never thought you'd. .. " You look back down at the note. His confession.

"Well, I do."

"You really love me?"

"I love you a whole fuckin' lot."

"I love you." You grinned in near disbelief. The irony of this situation was almost unreal. Joe was here, something you'd been so nervous about. If only you could have spoken up at the airport, maybe this day would have gone differently. But a wave of affection washed over you thinking back to Joe's sweet presentation. You wouldn't have wanted this day to have gone differently, after all.

And slowly, you both leaned in. Joe was the first to brush his lips against yours. You pressed yours back with all the care in the world. That must have been enough of a confirmation for Joe, as he moved to cradle your head in his hands while proceeding to part your lips and kiss you like a soldier coming home after too long gone. Your head spun as you registered the way he smelt like fancy cologne and the way his fingertips pressed into your head, pulling your lips closer to his. You thought of nothing but the way he kissed you, warmly and deeply. You lifted a hand to rest on his shoulder. But you couldn't tell if it was because you longed to touch him, or if you needed the extra support from how dizzy his kisses were making you. But they slowed after then and turned into lingering pecks. As you parted ways to catch your breath, you glanced to his gift still in your grasp.

"Thank you for this, Joe." He looked to the wallet you'd fixed your gaze on. "You've got a lot of notes to catch up on, ya know?" Joe had been gone for longer than you allowed yourself to keep track, feeling void grow vaster every day he wasn't around.

"I hope those two will suffice for now," Joe smirked, searching your face. His eyes were still sleepy but they were filled with all kinds of multitudes; flecks of gold and green you'd always wanted to look at a little longer each time your eyes managed to meet his.

"They're the best notes you've ever left me." You beamed, glancing at Joe with a wide smile. Then you were struck with the realization that everything still felt normal. Exceptionally normal. Tilly was right when she warned you not to worry. You rested the wallet on your side table next to a bottle of wine and turned back to throw yourself toward Joe, wrapping him in a hug that was more like a tackle. He laughed at your antics, chuckles dying down when you pressed your lips against his, again. Joe gave you a sweet kiss back before he broke out into quiet laughs once more.

"Were you really gonna lay all that on me at the airport, earlier? Why didn't you? We could have gone viral on Facebook, or something." Joe teased. Yep, still normal.

Even though some shitty pop music still blasted from the living room, you reached for the remote to start the movie over and turned up the volume. The rest of the night faded into some pulsing daydream version of all the things you longed to do with Joe. Lingering touches you'd never let yourself wish for, because you were so sure they'd never come true. Sweet, hot kisses that each lasted a little longer each time you met again after pausing to breathe. You laughed the whole night long, about how you stopped Joe from leaving marks on your neck long enough for you to focus on your favorite part of the movie. You laughed over one of Joe's stupid puns. You muffled your giggles when some drunken party people tried their luck at your locked door handle. You marveled the colors Joe was made up of and he traced every shape of you, with focused eyes and a smile you could have gazed at forever. After the deed was done, and done again, you ended up wearing Joe's sweater, polishing off the last of the wine from the bottle. Joe had somehow found that stupid Valentine's day themed headband (the one with the cartoon hearts) and wore it a little crooked while he snacked on those cookies he'd stolen from the party earlier. He actually ate the last cookie, even as you protested. You were actually kind of hungry, by now.

So once you noted that the music from the living room had been turned off for a while, and noticing the clock on your wall ready somewhere around 2 in the morning, you had no qualms with sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight snack. You collected all the trash you'd accumulated and skipped out of your bedroom door as quiet as a mouse, really hoping some of the fruit skewers were left. There were a couple of guys passed out in the frame of the hallway entry, and you had to maneuver around a few more sleeping beauties in the living room. By the time you rid your arms of two empty wine bottles and an empty tin of cookies, someone else pushed open the kitchen door.

"Holy shit, I thought everyone was asleep." You gasped with a hand on your chest, watching Tilly groggily shuffling toward the refrigerator.

"Fuck!" She cursed weakly. "Someone stole my Gatorade."

"Take one of my coconut smoothies from the back." You shrugged, knowing your roommate only sought to prevent feeling like shite in the morning.

"God, you're an angel." Tilly croaked as you snagged the last skewer of cherries and kiwis from the fruit stained cutting board. Tonight had really turned out in your favor.

"But you look like hell." Tilly went on, shutting the fridge and moving to make her exit. But before she could leave she kept an eye on you while you snacked on the leftover fruit. And the look in your roommate's eye shifted as she gave you a once over.

"Care to explain in explicit detail why you're wearing Joe's sweater?" She asked with a grin and a look in her eye that made you believe the girl would have acted far more excited if she wasn't so partied out.

"You don't need to know everything..." You turned slightly to hide the blush on your cheeks, even in the dark kitchen. But Tilly already knew everything, even what you weren't telling her. "Yet."

After you shared a hardy laugh, Tilly sulked back to her room with one of your favorite smoothies in hand. But not before she said, "I told you there was nothing to worry about."

Of course, she had been right all along. You wondered how Tilly could have been so sure all this time as you walked back to your bedroom. There you found Joe had tidied up the colossal mess you'd made of the sheets and was in the middle of queuing up one of your favorite shows. You performed the ritual of locking the door and throwing yourself on to your bed, and into Joe's arms. He engulfed you in a familiar hold and chuckled as something on the television. As much as you enjoyed being with him, you couldn't get over the fact that he was here with you. You laid next to Joe in the stillness of your bedroom, considering the whirlwind your day had been, reveling in how everything ended up.

You used to only like the day after Valentine's day, when all the chocolates went on sale. It was three in the morning on the fifteenth, and you had a whole lot more too look forward too, now.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #stl event

[dailyaudiobible]

11/05/2020 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 12:1-14:11, Hebrews 7:1-17, Psalms 105:37-45, Proverbs 27:3

Today is the 5th day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian and it is great to be here with you like every day. It's always good to be in the presence of God's people and realize that we are knit together as one body and together we’re taking this journey in community through the Scriptures. And, so, let's get to it for today. We’re reading from the Evangelical Heritage Version. Ezekiel chapter 12 verse 1 through 14 verse 11.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of Hebrews today we came across a name that we have come across before earlier in our reading of the Old Testament, that name is Melchizedek. And we talked about Melchizedek man like a couple of weeks into our journey back when we were in the book of Genesis. And we said, you know, later on this year we’re gonna come across his name again and begin to find out why this guy’s in the Bible. And this is one of these times when we’re gonna dive into something in the book of Hebrews, and it's all Hebrew centric. Like we have to understand the Hebrew context for this to make any sense, which is true of so much of Christian theology. Like Jesus was Hebrew, He came in a Hebrew context, right? And He ministered in a Hebrew context. So, to try to get at the essence of the…the things He was commenting on and the things He was inviting people into is within that context. So, we have to understand that context for it to have any real…real meaning to we who are Gentiles. So, we first encounter Melchizedek in the book of Genesis chapter 14. And I will read. There's just a couple of sentences. “And Melchizedek the king of Salem and a priest of God most high brought Abram some bread and wine. Melchizedek blessed Abram with this blessing. Blessed to be Abram God most high creator of heaven and earth and blessed be God most high, who has defeated your enemies for you. And Abram gave Melchizedek a 10th of all the goods he had recovered.” Okay. So, we met Melchizedek in the book of Genesis and I just read everything there is about Melchizedek there is in the book of Genesis. So, the writer of Hebrews is right. There is no ancestry here. There is like no understanding of where this person came from or where they went. Then in the book of Psalms, chapter 110, we see Melchizedek again. “The Lord has taken an oath and will not break his vow. You are a priest forever in the order of Melchizedek.” The order of Melchizedek. Like what is that? Is that a group of some people who have special robes, like some kind of special color  lining or some sort of special belt or ring or…like how you get in the order of Melchizedek and who is Melchizedek since the Bible gives us so little? And in Psalm 110 this reference to Melchizedek is paralleling King David. So, why is this in the book of Hebrews and how is this connected to Jesus? So, basically we meet Melchizedek in the book of Genesis with Abraham and as we’ve learned from pretty much all of the writings of the apostle Paul, his conviction was that the whole thing starts with Abraham, not really, with Moses and the Torah. Abraham was the first person to receive the promise. So, this is where we find Melchizedek, with Abraham. But there’s significant time between Abraham and King David and then there's significant time between King David and Jesus. And yet these are the times in the Scriptures when Melchizedek shows up. So, we could say that Melchizedek as a figure remained in the oral traditions of the Hebrew people and continued to capture their imagination all along. And I can remember a couple of years ago just going, “alright, I’ve heard the order of Melchizedek my whole life. What is the order of Melchizedek? How does this work? Who is this person? Like, what's this doing in the Bible?” And you start going down that rabbit hole or that bunny trail or whatever you want to call you and it turns into a wormhole. Like you can get lost in it, things that people have thought over the millennia. It’s just vast and wild. And if that's like right down your alley then this is the place to go for everything from pure science fiction to just really inter…interesting interpretations. But here is how we can tie it together from the Scriptures themselves. Melchizedek – Melchi - zedek does mean king of justice or king of righteousness as we’re told in Hebrews. He was the king of Salem, which also means the king of peace according to Hebrews. We can say that he is the very first priest of the most-high God, or El Elion that appears in any of the Bible. Like this is…this is midway through the book of Genesis. The Torah hasn't been written and won't be written for centuries. There is no Bible, at least as we now know it at all at this time. Rules for appointing priests out of the tribe of Levi, the descendants of Aaron, like none of this exists. Aaron hasn't been born. He won't be born for centuries. And yet we have this figure Melchizedek the priest of El Elion, the most-high God. So, if we just take the meanings of the names here, which is something that’s often done in biblical interpretations, trying to find the layers and we would…would end up saying Melchizedek was the first, named at least, righteous priests of the most high God, and a man who also happened to be the king of Salem or the king of peace. Ok, so that’s Genesis. Then if…if we jump a thousand years into the future and we come into King David's time all the things that we said didn't exist had come into existence, right? Moses came, people were let out of slavery, the Torah, the law was given, the Levites were appointed, how priests came to be priests had a process, they came from a specific tribe, the Levites, a set apart tribe that didn't really own any property but were cared for by God's people as they cared for God's people and always continually reminded them who they were and who God was and where they're going. And yet in Psalm 110 we see that David is being called a priest forever in the order of Melchizedek and David wasn't a Levite. So, how does David get to be a priest forever to El Elion, the most-high God when he like…when God's rules have been given and David is of the tribe of Judah not of the tribe of Levi? This is where it gets kid of really fascinating. So, Melchizedek was a priest of the most-high God, also the king of Salem. So, Melchizedek was a priest and a king, a priestly king. And David was king in Jerusalem. Jeru - Salem, same city. So, then the order of Melchizedek is a priestly king and David is being set apart to be a priestly king like Melchizedek despite tribal affiliation or the Mosaic law in the same city. So, if…if we’re following this line of reasoning than David's role as a priestly king was a special exemption or a special exception - the order of Melchizedek. Okay, then Jesus, who is an ancestor, humanly speaking of the line of David seems to bring this fascination with Melchizedek, like to bring it to a conclusion. Jesus is a priestly king in the order of Melchizedek, a king of peace. And, so, since we've quoted Genesis and Psalms then let's go back to, Hebrews, and I quote Hebrews. “And this became even clearer if another priest arises like Melchizedek who became a priest not on the basis of a legal requirement about physical descent but on the basis of the power of an endless life. For it has been testified in Scripture about him, you are a priest forever like Melchizedek.” So, if you’ve, you know, heard the name Melchizedek before in your faith journey and you wondered about that then here's some ways to look at the order of Melchizedek and why that's connected to Jesus. But if we go back one layer than this gives us a good glimpse of what…of how necessary the Hebrew perspective is in understanding the theology of our faith, at least. And then if we go back one more layer behind that even we’re beginning to understand Jesus as a priest, as a high priest, something that isn't really part of our vernacular, an understanding of our faith right now but from a Hebrew perspective is irreplaceable. And, so, Hebrews is written to Hebrews, but it gives us the Hebrew context for the Christian faith and we've explored some of that today.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for that. We thank You that we can just mine the Scriptures, that we can continually go deeper and there is no end. And with the guidance of Your Holy Spirit then we…we get enlightened we become aware, we see more and more and more. Of course, trying to do this without the guidance of Your Holy Spirit, then everything just gets so weird so quick as we can see in all of the various interpretations over millennia about this figure named Melchizedek. And, so, what we’re asking for is that You lead us into all truth. We ask it often. You’ve offered…You've offered to do that. You’ve given it as a gift and a promise and so we want that. We want to walk toward the truth every day of our lives, every moment of our lives. And as we become aware of Your Holy Spirit's guidance that's exactly what's happening. And, so, we thank You for this context as we move forward through the book of Hebrews and we invite Your Holy Spirit to lead and guide and direct us in everything that we should see and everything that we should come to understand and everything that we should be aware of. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning DAB family this is John __ from South Sudan __ in Nigeria. For the past four months even though I was listening to the podcast but I couldn’t record any message. I wanted so badly to send messages to request prayer because I was right there in __ when all the mayhem was happening. But I thank all of you who have prayed and all the people who have brought up the request for prayer. I just came back yesterday to __ South Sudan and I’m right now going into a 14-day quarantine. But anyway, God is good. I have learned and what I sense in my spirit about my nation, Nigeria is that is to do what the angel of the Lord Gideon to do. He told Gideon to demolish the altar of Baal that was set up by his grandfather and then replace it with the altar of the Lord. I…I…I…I got a message and my spirit that Nigeria is suffering from evil alters that have been raised all over the nation and it is time believers begin to demolish these alters and replace it with the altar of the Lord.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family it’s Faithful hope in the UK. Firstly, just thank you so much to those of you who’ve been praying for me and for my children. It is greatly appreciated. Words cannot express how grateful I am for your prayers. So, thank you. As I was receiving those prayers, in a way, the Lord brought my attention to Psalm 56. I just wanted to share that with you. It says be merciful to me oh God for men hotly pursue me. All day long they press their attack. My slanderers pursue me all day long. Many are attacking me in their pride. When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God whose word I praise in God I trust. I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me. All day long they twist my words. They are always plotting to harm me. They conspire, they lurk, they watch my steps eager to take my life. On no account let them escape. In your anger God bring down the nations. Record my lament. List my tears on your scroll. Are they not in your record? Then my enemies will turn back when I call for help. By this I will know that God is for me. In God whose word I praise the Lord whose word I praise in God I trust. I will not be afraid. What can man do to me? I am under vows to you oh God. I will present my thank offerings to you for you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling that I may walk before God in the light of life. And I thought that was for someone else and not just me at this time. God bless you. Love you all. Bye.

Hello and greetings to all the DAB family. This is Walking in the Light in Tennessee. I’ve been listening for about two years…a little over two years. I lost my husband about two years ago and just have found such an incredible resource in the Daily Audio Bible. I’ve shared the link with so many people, friends and family. Not sure who’s listening who’s not, but I know that it has certainly encouraged by soul and my heart and my spirit. I’m calling tonight because first of all I’ve been so lifted by so many of you and pray for so many of you. My heart has been touched by the songs, the messages, through prayers, the…even the struggles. You know, we are…we are common because of our struggles. But I wanted to call tonight because my oldest son, I have three sons, my oldest son has actually been going through a whole lot of things and putting me through a whole lot of things because of it. And I know that the enemy that takes opportunity and end roads through our families sometimes to discourage us and distress us. But I will be not discouraged. Even though I feel discouraged I refuse to surrender my joy because I understand that the joy of the Lord truly is my strength and it’s your strength too. And, so, just the first-time caller. So, delighted. I ask for prayers. Again, this is Walking in the Light in Tennessee. I’m so, so, so happy to be part of this Daily Audio Bible family. What a gift we have. And thank you all for listening and I hope to talk to you soon. Good night.

Hey guys this is Katie from Kentucky and I wanted to call in and just say thank you for everybody who calls and shares a bit of who they are. I remember when I was in high school and I had a very narrow view of what a Christian looked like and it was basically, you know, what I was raised with and the way I looked. When I hear all of your prayer requests, I realize that God is so much bigger and loves us all so much, but we all go through our own struggles. And coming to know Jesus does not mean that all those struggles go away immediately or even, I mean, there are things that last the rest of our lives. And I just want you guys to know that I am praying for you and praying with you but you’re also changing me so much with every call to hear parents praying for their children to hear children praying for their parents to hear people praying about drug addiction. You guys have opened my eyes to how much bigger God is then I had known before joining this community. So, thank you and I’m praying with you. Bye.

Good morning is Ganda I’m from Missouri. I’ve been fighting cancer since 2015…2014. I’m not feeling very good tonight. Just pray for strength and prayer for me if you could it would be appreciated. Again, Ganda from central Missouri. This is my second time calling but I’ve been a listener maybe two years. Thank you so much for providing this program since I have very little use of my hands and I can’t turn the page of the Bible anymore with this __. __ the Bible every day. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[elejahfanfic]

The Vampire Files/7

Fanfiction

Part 7

AU story with tvd/to characters, but also with many others from different fandoms like Nick Amaro _Law&Order svu, that I am borrowing here. And Joel Goran from Saving Hope etc.

Main pairing_ Nick Amaro and Elena Gilbert

Nick and Elena are FBI Agents investigating supernatural activities and homocide caused vampires and demons.

Expect witches, demons, vampires. Inspired by X-files, Twin Peaks, and many other shows

✽-( ˘▽˘ *:)/✽

tag_ @miguelsbrat​

* thanks for reading, xoxo ✺◟(*❛‿❛)◞✺

Back in the city, Elena took her phone and dialed Jenna.

"How is New Orleans?" Jenna said as she picked up the call.

"Bustling. What is the connection of a Bloodborn with the Harvest?" Elena asked without any innuendos.

"I can hear you are in a bar?! Why are you not having a normal drink? Talking of Bloodborn means you ditched Nick or he found something better to do?!"

"Jenna!!" Elena raised her voice, which meant I need answers now.

"I need to look. Get back to you in five" Jenna said and hung up.

She then dialled another number, a person she swore she would never call as long as she lived, but she was desperate.

"Hello Agent" a female voice said picking up.

"Tess." Elena uttered as a hello. The witch knew Elena needed something major if she had given her a call.

"Tell me all about the blood of a Bloodborne" Elena then asked.

The witch was quiet for a second, which meant something terrible was about to come out. Tessa then continued-

"To get the Spirit of the Ancient One! There are no Bloodborns- or?"

"Thank you" Elena said hanging up. “Damn!” Suddenly, all was clear. Davina Claire's death had nothing to do with any of the other cases. She now ran back to the hotel to fetch the SUV and get to the Bayou. Her phone rang. And the display showed Jenna and an unknown number simultaneously.

She answered the other number,"Agent Gilbert? This is Agent Stavros"

“What's up?"

"A cousin of Davina Claire's has come forward  with some new info"

"Listening" Elena said as she now got into the SUV and started the car.

Flashback Twin Peaks

A week after Elena and Dale Cooper had arrived. He had disappeared in the woods.

"He entered the Black Lodge again,” Elena said to Sheriff Harry,"and you cannot follow me in there"

"Tell me what I can do?"

"Nothing. Just wait for us here. I will do my best to get him back. And- this is really very important- whatever you hear and see- STAY WHERE YOU ARE. The evil in there will completely consume you."

Hawk Hill, once the deputy of the Twin Peaks sheriff's department now approached them.

"Angel Heart" the former Deputy said to Elena, who was startled a bit as he called her that and looked at the man slightly wide-eyed waiting to hear why he had come, handing her a bracelet,"this is for you"

Elena took it. And then walked through the trees and she vanished like she had entered some other alternative universe.

Agent Stavros now met Elena in the Bayou at the Pearl Cottage.

Agnes, the voodoo priestes and Jane-Anne now approached the two Agents.

"Why did you wait?," Dean blasted at Agnes,"you knew, didn't you?"

From the Agent’s behaviour, Elena quickly put together that Dean not only knew the woman, but he was close to Davina.

Agnes to explain that the evil spirits didn't allow her to act, and that she tried to save Davina from them. Dean stepped forward got hold of the woman by the neck shouting that she was not telling the truth. Elena jumped and pulled him away from the woman, telling him to calm down and get a  grip.

"This is not helping!"she gritted with her teeth staring into his eyes still holding him tight. He clenched his teeth and tried to collect himself. She could feel his heart wanting to jump right out of his chest with all the anger and pain it was harbouring. His eyes watered."She is dead because of them"

"I know. But now you have to," Elena shot a stern look at him,"remember that you are an Agent of the FBI!!"

Dean ripped himself out of Elena's grip walking away for a second to catch his breath and try and focus. This was not an easy night for any of them.

"Another Special Agent of the FBI, my partner was taken tonight. If you know anything about what is going to take place you have to speak now, before this gets any worse. You all are implicated in the murder of Davina Claire, but if something happens to my partner, thing can get really bad. Death row is knocking at your door."

Elena's phone was ringing again and she knew by the alert tone it was Jenna. She had to take the call.

"Something tells me things are really bad. I left the voice-mail with the data, but - something is not letting me rest, so-"Jenna said.

"Call you later, I am in the middle of something" Elena replied and hung up. At that very moment she could not speak to Jenna. The time was ticking. She looked at the big harvest moon, then at the women.

"Talk!" she said in a low but stern voice.

The voodoo priestess could see a flicker of darkness from Elena's eyes and all she had felt about her as she came out of the SUV now made her shiver slightly.

"Move lespri yo ap chèche pou ou (The spirits are looking for you)" the woman said to her.

Flashback

Twin Peaks, Black Lodge

Elena walked through a long  red curtain into the room with a strange black and white zigzag floor.

"Cooper" she called.

Suddenly there were strange hollow screams coming from everywhere. The light flickered as if the bulb was faulty. She walked across the room and through the red curtain yet again. It seemed like she was in the same room. But there were no screams anymore. Then Dale Cooper got through the red curtain from the opposite side. He looked at her and smirked at her and then went all serious.

"Let's rock."

"Oh, I don't think so!" Elena said and got hold of Cooper's neck. And then he screamed as if thousand banshees came bursting through him.

*

In the Bayou, Elena was losing her tether with the voodoo witch.

"Seriously, you telling me something I don't know!? And I really don't care at this very moment! There is a ritual right?"

Agnes nodded.

"Where exactly????" Elena asked narrowing her eyes at the woman.

The woman was now agitated and suddenly pleaded with Elena that she needed protection if she was going to divulge where the ritual was taking place.

"What is this? She is trying to make a deal?" Dean spat.

Elena gave him one of those looks that said not now. I know that you are hurt and you are not thinking straight and everything sucks right now, but we have to deal.

"You have a deal. You'll get protection." Elena said trying still to keep her calm- "now show me where it is!" Inside her, her heart was clumped up. All the images of Dale Cooper lying in the woods stone cold as she pulled him out of the Black Lodge, Jackson, as she found him lying lifeless by the river. She could not go through it again. Like in a haze she followed Agnes deep into the Bayou, not letting Dean go with them.

****

In Washington, DC

Rebekah called Caroline to come to her house. And as she waited for her friend, she tried once more to get hold of Marcel, but no one knew where he went.

Angrily, she tossed her phone on the sofa, running her hands nervously through her hair. How did life get so upside-down? she wondered.

Flashback A year ago

Marcel walked a blindfolded Rebekah into the apartment.

"Come on Rebekah laughingly pleaded her husband to be to take the blindfold off and show her the grand surprise he had prepared for her.

"Here" he said undoing the blindfold.

Rebekah looked at the place smiling from ear to ear, gasping with happiness, "You got it!!"

"This should have been the wedding present, but now it's my engagement present to you"

"To us!" Rebekah corrected him dearly walking around the lounge all happy then running to him wrapping her arms around his neck kissing him.

"I love you so much!" Marcel said dearly as they broke away from the kiss.

"Forever!" Rebekah said her eyes gleaming with happiness.

"Forever!" Marcel said placing another kiss on her lips.

Rebekah wiped away the tears brimming in her eyes, gazing out in the night. The buzz at the door broke her thoughts and she went to open the door. Caroline stormed in asking what was so urgent that she had to come immediately. Rebekah ushered her in.

"Something's not right. What now?" Caroline pressed on seating herself down on the sofa.

Rebekah sat down as well making a small mimic of a smile- "It's not that bad. It's actually good... but -"

"What?" Caroline was baffled.

"I am pregnant! It should be Marcel first I tell, but- I needed someone close to me"

"Oh, Bekah, this is great" Caroline now exclaimed relieved that it was not something dark.

"It is great," Rebekah smiled,"and I am happy, I really am. You know that I so wanted a baby, a family"

"Yes, I know." Caroline said full of empathy, and she also knew how much it pained her friend that it all came now when Marcel broke it all off.

"I can have the baby on my own. It will be so loved. I won't be the first, but I wanted us to be a proper family. It's not like we didn't love each other. The kidnapping changed him so much" Rebekah took a deep breath.

"He is not answering your calls?" Caroline then asked knowing Rebekah would have tried to get in touch with him.

"No. His phone is off. Not even going to voice mail. Nobody knows where he had gone. I feel that something is not right. I am so afraid that he would harm himself."

"We will find him!”Caroline reassured her friend."I know a very good PI Will Kinney"

"Why would I need a PI? He has maybe just switc hed his phone off." Rebekah was suddely in in disbelief.

"Mabybe” Carolie said,"but if you or Thierry don't hear from him - then try Will."

"I hope it doesn't come to this," Rebekah said and then looked at her belly," I still can't believe it”

"How far along are you?"

"12 weeks" Rebekah replied.

"Soo happy for you. I get to be aunty Caroline"

"Godmother. I know it's early, but I want you to be her godmother"

"Her?"

"I feel it's a her"Rebekah said.

"I'd love to be a Godmother" Caroline went all proud that she was bestowed with such special request.

*** In the Bayou, NOLA

Elena got into a small boat with Agnes. She didn't take her eyes off of the woman nor her helper, who was rowing the boat to the place of the ritual, which was to take place in a little while. She never trusted anyone like Agnes. In her experience deals made with those who dealt in dark magic could turn in a heartbeat and all would dimminish.

Strangely, the voodoo priestes now asked Elena to stop staring at her.

"What? I make you unconfortable?" Elena said with a ironic whiff in her tone.

"Ou gen dife nan je ou. (You have fire in your eyes). Eyes of thousand suns blazing." Agnes said.

Elena was told something like very similar like that once before and now narrowed her eyes at Agnes saying, "They can burn you alive, so I suggest you keep the end of your deal"

"Nan kou te chwazi a (Of course, chosen one)"

Flashback

The morning after the police found Davina's body

"Agnes, you have to help us," Jane- Anne came to the woman completely distressed,"what if they come for Monique?! I can't lose her"

"The spirits showed me the one with the heart of an angel with powers of great obifyo."

"Someone possess that great magic? If only I could get Sophie back"

"She gave up her witchraft," Agnes said,"but we will win this"

"I don't know. Look what happened to Davina"Jane-Anne said sadly.

Elena's feelings of despair were vanishing by the minute as it was apparent they were approaching the supposed place of the ritual. She had to focus even though her heart continued being in the state trepidation for Nick. They didn't have the greatest start and she treated him badly, but not because she wasn't respecting his efforts, on the contrary, she liked him. She liked him a lot. More than she thought she would. And if she found him dead her heart would explode. 

Flashback

A week or so after Elena got out of hospital.

One evening Nick came to her apartment announced. As Elena opened the door he put two boxes one on top of the other right in front of him saying,"They had this pie and I thought you could need some"

Elena smiled a little showing him in.

"And no talk of vampires or any supernatural occurrences"

"OMG. I should get monopoly out!?"Elena joked a little.

"I have not yet been beaten at monopoly!"

"Right! Be ready to have your ass whipped!" Elena went to look for the game.

Her heart was beating fast and she grabbed hold of Agnes, before she knocked Agnes' helper unconscious. She had already sensed two vampires near by. This was no time for pleasantries, and she dragged the priestess to the place lit up with torches.

"Tanpri chwazi yon sèl, pa fè m ' ale la (Please, chosen one, don't make me go there)" Agnes pleaded, clearly terrified of the creatures. Elena now looked at the woman with her eyes gleaming like amber.

"Go!" Elena then said to the old woman.

The woman was not clear if she meant it. Elena now shoved her back to the direction they came from. Whatever was to happen next Elena had to face it herself, she alone had to deal with whatever was coming. And to her horror she now saw Nick being dragged out of the cabin and taken to the ritual spot being pulled up by his legs on a tree. She could see that he was not conscious and that the blood was dripping from his neck.

She closed her for a split second, her blood roared with anger, flooding her heart.            

When the silence breaks with a thunderous roar Seasons change and I transform Oh oh oh, my heart is a storm When the time has come, I'll fly away On wings of a silver hurricane Eh eh eh, my heart is a storm My heart is a storm I shed the skin I need no more Reveal the colours I have never shown before And it spreads like particles of light Like particles of light You'll see me shimmering like crystals in the stars

My heart is a storm

The two vampires and the hybrid didn't see her coming and Elena's attack was like a unexpected storm, unstoppable and swift. Tossing the bodies in the depth of the Bayou waters, she ran back to her partner.    

Untying him, she slowly laid him down on the floor. She checked his wound. The bite was not deep. It was done purposely as they obviously needed it to drip slowly. She now pulled a small tube out of her jeans pocket and applied the ointment on the wound that had magical properties. It sealed the wound and as it got into his blood stream it acted like a booster and Nick opened his eyes, looking at her drowsily, transpiring a joyful so happy to see you.

"You will be fine" she whispered to him taking him up under her arm and they walked to the boat.

_to be continued

****

#nick amaro #elena gilbert #nicklena #fanfiction #nick amaro fanfiction #crossover au #au fanfiction #tvd fanfiction

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 23 Review: In the Not-So-Hidden Temple

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTION OF SUICIDE TOWARDS THE END OF THE REVIEW

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil, which I have let lay barren for far too long. A few busy weeks of mask-making threw me off my posting schedule last April and I have only just begun to get back into the habit of writing episode reviews. Also, I knew that I would need to do a lot of research for this one, so I kept putting it off while I worked on my essay about Strange Paradise on WKBF. But now I’m ready to return to reviewing this show regularly, and let me tell you that I learned some very interesting things while researching this episode.

But first, a word from Jean Paul Desmond.

Jean Paul: “Erica, my darling, I do know what is right and wrong, and to be with you is all that is right for me. I cannot control either, though, for is it wrong to want you alive again? Is it wrong for me to want to give up my life for yours, if need be? Because the Devil will not have my soul! And, if it means freeing you from the capsule, I will. We will destroy each other so that at least we may share our eternity together.”

Jean Paul is wearing a lovely green shirt that, unfortunately, we will never get to see again after this episode. He has also not yet given up on his habit of stalking, as we see when he spies on Matt Dawson. Matt prays for Erica, then goes to investigate the coffins of Jean Paul’s ancestors while Quito sneaks up behind him. Then he starts talking to the mute servant about how much he wants to leave Maljardin and tries persuading him to sail him back to the main island.

That is when Raxl finds him there and tells him something which I can't make out (see Part 1, 2:54 to 2:59). Debby Graham transcribes part of her line as "he is deaf," but Raxl says more than that. Bryan Gruszka of StrangeParadise.net says nothing on either his synopsis or the corresponding trivia page about Quito being deaf, so it’s possible that he didn’t understand her line either. Still, I'll be damned if I can make out anything with the bad audio. The automated captions don't even transcribe any of it, correctly or not, so I have no idea what the hell she’s saying.

"He may not be able to talk," replies Matt, "but he can hear." You would think that being together with Quito since at least 1689 would be more than enough time for her to figure out whether he is deaf or not, but I guess I'm wrong. Anyway, she decides that, because Matt is a minister, she can safely confide in him about the evil on Maljardin aka THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES.

Stop trying to distract her, Dan! Go rant about Jean Paul to a hidden camera again!

Meanwhile, Dan is being a patronizing ass to Alison in the lab as she searches for Dr. Menkin’s missing notes. I can’t tell if Dan was intended to be so unlikeable or if their scenes together just haven’t aged well. Either way, they still have no chemistry (unlike her and Jean Paul/Jacques) and I still have no idea what she sees in him.

But enough about them for now. Let’s return to the crypt, where the interesting stuff is happening. There’s a lot to unpack, so I will be going through their dialogue and analyzing the important bits.

Alison (from the previous scene): “You talk of-”

Matt: “-Evil, of danger, but not of how I am to fight them.”

   Raxl: “God--the Christian God--He is good?”    Matt: “He is love, Raxl.”    Raxl: “So you are good.”    Matt: “I am His servant.”    Raxl: "It is not enough to do as the curandero does."    Matt: "Curandero?"    Raxl: "When evil walks, the soul is lost. The curandero--the sorcerer--calls for it to return to the body."

Here Raxl references a type of traditional healer popular throughout Latin America. According to Wikipedia, the rituals of curanderos and curanderas combine traditional medicine from indigenous cultures with religious practices from both Catholicism and traditional African religions. Sound familiar? That’s because modern curanderismo came about because of the same social factors as the religions collectively known as Vodou[1]: namely, colonialism and the transatlantic slave trade, which led to increased interaction between indigenous peoples, African slaves, and European colonists. When the colonists tried to impose Christianity on the people they enslaved (both indigenous and black), many of them responded by combining Christian figures and trappings with their own religious practices in a process known as syncretism. Although curanderismo is not Vodou, both are syncretic traditions with a similar history and a similar association with witchcraft. This is probably why the show makes the connection between them.

Matt: "And is a soul lost in this place, Raxl?" Raxl: "Most easily. It returns [through the hands] or [through the temples]." [She touches those areas of Matt's body.] "These are its holes in the body. When it departs, it goes from them. When it returns...The magic of the curandero is a fervent belief of my people. You understand?" Matt: "Which you no longer believe."

The Reverend appears to assume that, because Raxl is seeking his help, she must no longer believe in the curanderos’‘ magic. Most likely this is because he follows a religion that tends toward exclusivism, the idea that one true religion exists and all others are wrong. Although Matt has already revealed that he does not believe this--he said in Episode 10 that “a minister should have an interest in all spiritual phenomena” and “any path that leads to God should have a minister’s approval”--he might still unconsciously believe that a non-Christian who expresses an interest in God must want to convert.

Raxl: "I believe the Christian God is good." Matt: "And that I, His servant, can help you with this, this matter of the soul?" Raxl: "Someone must! Please! Help us! HELP US! SOMEONE MUST!"

Yes, he’s still watching them.

And Raxl notices the camera!

Raxl tells Matt that they mustn’t stay in the crypt in case someone overhears. Jean Paul watches as they grab torches and get ready to head to the Not-So-Hidden Temple, and very nearly discovers the temple’s entrance, only to turn away at the wrong moment to scowl at the camera:

Proof that I did not just make that up.

When we return, we see Raxl and Quito escort Matt to the temple. Between the torchlight, the eerie music, and the darkness of the tunnel, it’s a surprisingly effective scene that gives a sense of suspense and wonder. When they reach the temple, Raxl tells Matt about the temple’s history:

Matt: “I’ve read about many ancient temples, but this one is-” Raxl: “Secret and sacred, the Temple of the Serpent.” [She and Quito pass their torches between their hands, as they do in many of their rituals.] “An ancient people years ago lived on Maljardin. You know of them?” Matt: "Like the Aztecs and the Tarascans, the Totonacs." Raxl: "Like them were our island people. For three thousand years, they were one with the Earth." Matt: "Farming people?" Raxl: "Not warriors, not dealers in the Devil's business of death. This was our temple, is our temple!"

So Raxl and Quito are natives to the island and of indigenous Central American descent, related to the Aztecs, Tarascans, and Totonacs. (In spite of this, both of their actors are white.) Unlike the Aztecs, however, they were a peaceful people. That is, except for one little thing...

Raxl: "The Christian god is not displeased?" Matt: "God believes that each may have his own belief." [He touches the altar.] "If this is what I think it is..." Raxl: "The basin of the blood sacrifice."

Meanwhile, Jean Paul heads to the crypt to continue stalking and is shocked to find neither Raxl. nor Quito, nor Matt, nor the very obvious hidden door leading to the Temple of the Serpent:

Well, if you had left your monitor on and watched it for just a minute longer, you would know all about the not-so-secret door to the temple. *Jacques voice and laugh* You snooze, you lose, Jean Paul!

Back in the Temple of the Serpent, Raxl and Matt discuss the use of the altar:

Matt: "God wouldn't be pleased with this!" Raxl: "Only the priests used it, and only to please the gods of fertility and the maize." Matt: "Sometimes humans were sacrificed." Raxl: "As others have sacrificed. You know the Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent?" Matt: "Yes." Raxl: "He gathered bones of the dead from all the world. When he returned, he sprinkled his own blood on them." Matt: "And thus created his man." Raxl: "This is the belief."

Here we learn the identity of the Serpent whom Raxl worships: it is Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec creator god also known as the Feathered Serpent. In Pre-Columbian times, many peoples throughout Mesoamerica worshipped feathered serpent gods, including the Olmecs, the Yucatec Maya (Kukulkan), and the K’iche’ Maya (Q’uq’umatz). Although the legends and appearance of the Feathered Serpent vary from culture to culture, all Mesoamerican Feathered Serpents are generally considered variations of the same ancient deity, once again connecting to the aforementioned practice of syncretism.

Before re-watching this episode, I had forgotten that Raxl identified the serpent as Quetzalcoatl. Because the show, many ads promoting it, and the tie-in novels refer to her religion as voodoo, I assumed (after Googling “voodoo serpent” and reading many pages in the results) that the serpent she worshiped was the Vodou god or lwa Damballah, a deity similar to Quetzalcoatl. According to legend, Damballah created the world and all living things, much like the Feathered Serpent, who restored humanity to life after its death at the end of the world’s previous cycle.

Some modern pagans and Vodou practitioners syncretize Quetzalcoatl and Damballah. This post on La Bloga by Ernest Hogan and this essay by the Steemit user yestermorrow are good examples.[2] Another example of this association can be found in Leslie Marmon Silko’s novel Almanac of the Dead, where one character, a black Vietnam vet named Clinton, says the following about them:

The spirits of Africa and the Americas are joined together in history, and on both continents by the sacred gourd rattle. Erzulie joins the Mother Earth. Damballah, great serpent of the sky and keeper of all spiritual knowledge, joins the giant plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl. When someone dies, the spirit goes to the Dead Country. Legba Gede, Lord of the Crossroads of Life and Death, directs the traffic of the human souls.[3]

Does Raxl also syncretize the West African and Mesoamerican serpent gods? They never say, but I think she does. She likely practices a combination of her native religion, curanderismo, and "the conjure faith” (as she and Vangie usually call voodoo).

Matt: "Did you bring me here to talk of ancient tribal history, Raxl?" Raxl: "Tribal? It wasn't! It is the highest culture!"

Matt inadvertently reveals a somewhat condescending attitude toward the ancient Mesoamerican civilization on Maljardin by calling it “tribal.” The word’s connotations of primitiveness are not lost on Raxl.

Matt: "All right, but what of this danger, this evil that rambles around here?" Raxl: "You scorn what I have said. I see it in your face and in your eyes: your scorn, derision. Your presence corrupts the Temple! It was wrong of me to bring you here, to trust you!" Matt: "Wait! If you must trust someone, trust me. I scorn nothing about this temple. It's a place of worship. I respect it as I would my own. If I seemed impatient with past history, it's only that the present concerns me more."

Sure, Jan Matt. I totally believe you respect a temple with an altar for blood sacrifice. Not that many people would, but still, his claim not to disrespect it is not entirely convincing (to say the least). It’s about as convincing as his insistence that he’s officiated at many funerals in crypts back in Episode 16. Even so, Raxl agrees to trust him and tells him all about Erica’s death and Jacques’ possession of Jean Paul.

Meanwhile, Jacques continues to torment his descendant. He also continues to reference things which no mere mortal from the 17th century would have been aware of:

Ah, yes, just like the bus depot that Louis XIV built at Versailles and the time clock he made all his ministers punch.

But Jean Paul can’t keep himself away from his hidden stalker room for long and returns to it two minutes later to spy on Alison, who is looking for Dr. Menkin’s notes on Erica and who is also desperately trying to persuade Dan that she does not have feelings for her brother-in-law. And then he visits the lab to let them know he was spying on them:

He’s stopped hiding the fact that he’s spying on everyone.

Dan, sick of dealing with Jean Paul and his moods.

Getting salty!

Dan asks Jean Paul when he reported Erica’s death. He insists that Dr. Menkin wrote a statement about her death, which he showed to the Cryonics Society before they froze her corpse, but Dan does not accept that. He asks if he ever told the authorities of Erica’s death, but Jean Paul didn’t for obvious reasons. He refuses to allow anyone to open the capsule to give Erica an autopsy, because that would mean that she could never be revived (not sure what his logic is, since zombies exist in this show’s universe).

He also officially rehires Dan, which is when he learns that Jacques already did so a week ago. This sends Jean Paul over the edge and he sends them off so they don’t see him rummage through the medicine cabinet.

THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE SECTION ABOUT SUICIDE. IF THE TOPIC OF SUICIDE TRIGGERS YOU, SKIP AHEAD TO THE NEXT PHOTO OF JEAN PAUL.

He grabs a bottle of cyanide and sneaks behind them back into the Great Hall. He announces to Jacques that he plans to kill himself and Jacques along with him, as though suicide were enough to defeat THE DEVIL. He is delusional, of course. All that would do is prevent Jacques from taking over his living body (and, as I mentioned above, zombies exist in this show’s universe, so Jacques could--in theory--possess an undead Jean Paul). “Now, be a good boy,” Jacques purrs to him like the handsome biscuit-maker that he is, “and store that away for another day. Now join your guests, eat slowly, and digest what I have said very carefully.”

END OF SECTION ABOUT SUICIDE

I enjoyed this episode, particularly the scenes with Raxl, Matt, and Quito. The Reverend may be somewhat of a creep when it comes to his behavior towards Holly, but I like his other subplot with Raxl and how they join forces against Jacques despite their religious differences and the temple’s dark history. Also, although initially I kept procrastinating, researching for this entry was fun and I ended up having fun going down the rabbit snake hole. I’m not an expert on Vodou, curanderos, or ancient Mesoamerican religions now, but I’ve learned some interesting things.

Coming up next: An analysis of the top five things wrong with Tim’s subplot.

{<- Previous: Episode 22   ||   Next: Episode 24 -> }

Notes

[1] I use “Vodou” here to refer to the real-world religions commonly known as voodoo and “voodoo” in reference to their portrayal in popular culture.

[2] Along with Simbi (another serpent lwa), Damballah is also believed to possess the ability to control snakes; because of this, many of his devotees further syncretize him with Saint Patrick and Moses.

[3] Leslie Marmon Silko, Almanac of the Dead: A Novel (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), p. 429, https://archive.org/details/almanacofdead00lesl. (RIP National Emergency Library)

#strange paradise #soap opera #review #maljardin arc #ian martin #week 5 #episode 23 #extra long corona edition #analysis #great serpent #historicalnote #jean paul's monitor room #the not so hidden voodoo temple #scene transitions #sp and religion #suicidal ideation #tape recorder journal #i'm not a religious studies scholar but i play one on tumblr

[littlelovegod]

between the lines

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The Earth kept spinning, the stars kept shining, humanity kept breathing and dying and falling in love. Crowley thought it was quite unfair of life to go on so smoothly when his heart felt as if it had stopped beating the second Aziraphale had left his sight. -

Sort of an outtake of canon, set around the holy water scene. Mostly based on the show.

Aziraphale had made a decision.

          He’d been up all night worrying, unable to keep still for even a minute. Of course, angels didn’t need sleep, but Aziraphale, always one for earthly pleasures, often took the night to get some reading done and rest. He loved how serene and still the world became at nighttime. The streetlights outside the windows of the bookshop gleamed gold like dimming stars, and the sounds of people chattering, traveling, and most of all living faded until there was nothing, save him and his books. He quite liked it that way.

          But tonight was different.  All the noise in the world was inside Aziraphale’s head, and he could not get it to hush up.  All this internal chaos stemmed from one thing: he’d heard from a reliable source that the demon known as Crowley was planning a robbery on a church.

          If Aziraphale knew Crowley, and he did, then there was only one thing he could want from a church. Holy water. Just over a century ago, Aziraphale had denied his request, with good reason. How could he give Crowley the thing that very well may kill him? How could he live with himself knowing he had given Crowley the means for his eventual death? And yet, he had no other choice — Crowley going out to get his own holy water was far worse.

          So he made a decision. He couldn’t stop Crowley. Six thousand years had taught him nothing if not that. The demon did whatever he wanted, no matter what Aziraphale thought about it. It was part of why he — well, that’s not worth discussing. Angels did not think such thoughts about demons. It simply wasn’t the way of things.

          Crowley would get his holy water, but he would get it on Aziraphale’s terms. Aziraphale would just have to hope that he never used it.

~

Crowley had no doubts.

          He had no fears, no worries, no concerns about what he was planning on doing. He was sure everything would go just fine, he wouldn’t experience an agonizing death, and certainly a very angry Aziraphale wouldn’t show up. He’d get his holy water and go home. Everything would be great.

          At least, that was what he told himself as he slid into the Bentley, taking a second to admire his James Bond bullet-hole windshield decals. A good purchase, that.

          He was about to put the key in the engine before he sensed a body beside him.  He inwardly groaned. Well, at least that was one thing to check off the “List of Things that Could Go Horribly Wrong”.

          “What are you doing here?” he asked, turning his head to look at the angel seated beside him.

          “I needed a word with you.” Aziraphale said through tight lips.

          Crowley frowned. “What?”

          “I work in SoHo. I hear things.”

Crowley feigned confusion, and Aziraphale continued, “I hear that you’re setting up a caper to rob a church.”

          So the bastard angel did know. Crowley opened his mouth to come up with some elaborate story that would quite clearly explain why he so badly needed to get into that church, but Aziraphale interrupted his train of thought.

          “Crowley, it’s too dangerous. Holy water won’t just kill your body. It will destroy you completely.”  The distress in his voice was evident, and Crowley shifted in his seat uncomfortably, turning his head away from the heat of Aziraphale’s piercing blue eyes. He wondered absentmindedly if he was just imagining it, or if Aziraphale truly was so holy that even his gaze could harm a demon.

          “You told me what you think 105 years ago.”

(and you think I don’t know how dangerous this is? I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is a necessity.)

          “And I haven’t changed my mind.” Aziraphale responded, prompting Crowley to frown in preparation for another argument.  “But”, he paused, “I can’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous.  So, you can call off the robbery.” As he spoke, he pulled something out — a thermos. Cream colored, with the middle section a comfortingly familiar tartan pattern. Comforting, until Crowley realized what the circumstances would be if he ever had to use the water. Even as he was trying to find a way to be able to fend for himself, Aziraphale just had to insert himself into everything. That was how things were between them, Crowley supposed. He’d never truly be able to escape the angel, but at least the opposite was also undeniably true.

          Crowley’s hands shook as he took the container. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap” Aziraphale warned, as if Crowley would even think of doing something as stupid as that.

          “It’s the real thing?” Crowley cursed himself for the waver in his voice, but he knew how much this meant. For Aziraphale to give him actual holy water…

“The holiest.” Aziraphale replied, and something in his voice told Crowley this hadn’t been blessed by just any priest—Aziraphale himself may even have done the deed.

          “After everything you said…should I say thank you?”

               (thank you so much, angel, this means more than I can say.)

          “Better not.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered to Crowley’s for a second, then away.

          Crowley gathered himself, turning his head towards the angel. “Well, can I drop you off anywhere?”

               (don’t leave yet, I haven’t seen you in so long.)

          “No, thank you,” came the polite reply.

       Crowley did his best to school his features (after all, Aziraphale turned him down often, why should he be so upset?) but something must have shown through, because Aziraphale began speaking again, this time with a softer tone.

               “Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could…I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

          Crowley pouted, catching the apology in Aziraphale’s eyes and knowing it would be impossible to make him stay. Of course he wouldn’t stay. Crowley should never have thought otherwise. Still, he gave it another try.

          “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

                (please, Aziraphale.)

          “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

               Crowley turned his head away, knowing that hurt was written across his face, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Not hard to go fast when you’re barely moving, angel.”

               (I’d slow down for you, if I could figure out how)

          “I’m — I should be going. Goodbye, Crowley. Use that water wisely, please.”

          And then he was gone, and Crowley was left alone, holding the one thing most demons would do anything to get away from. But Crowley had never been “most demons”, had he.

          “Most demons” didn’t feel this way about angels.

~

The Earth kept spinning, the stars kept shining, humanity kept breathing and dying and falling in love. Crowley thought it was quite unfair of life to go on so smoothly when his heart felt as if it had stopped beating the second Aziraphale had left his sight.

Several days later, with the holy water locked away in his safe (where it would stay until it was needed, but heavens, Crowley hoped it would never come to that) Crowley was lounging in his apartment, watching Saturday morning cartoons and tossing an occasional glare towards his plants. He had been slacking in that department lately; they seemed to be a less vibrant shade of green. They were probably due for a good scolding.

          As much as he tried to focus on other things, his thoughts kept slipping to Aziraphale. More specifically, to their conversation in the Bentley. Something was off about the way the angel had acted, and he couldn’t seem to put it out of his mind.

          Aziraphale worried a lot. It was a part of him, one that Crowley had grown to be quite fond of.  But something about the tightness of his voice that night was…different. It was fear, not worry. Sure, he was giving Crowley something that had the power to hurt him, but he must have known that even Crowley would take care around such a deadly substance.

          Unless.

           Unless Aziraphale thought Crowley wanted the water because it had the power to end his life…oh goddammit. Crowley jumped up from his comfortable position in his leather-studded chair, limbs flying as he scrambled to reach his phone.

          “Aziraphale!” he shouted the instant the phone was picked up. “You idiot, I’m coming over. Be at the bookshop when I get there.” He didn’t wait for a response, just hung up dramatically and made for the door.

          Crowley didn’t bother knocking when he reached the bookshop, easily miracling the doors open and yelling Aziraphale’s name at the top of his lungs. There was one customer finishing up his purchase upon Crowley’s arrival, who quickly gathered his books and left, sensing that this man was not someone he wanted to mess with.

          “Yes, yes, I’m right here, Crowley, I can hear you. What do you need?”

          Crowley was not one to mince words. “I don’t want to use the water to kill myself, you moron!”

          “You — you don’t? I thought you wanted it for insurance, in case it all goes bad?” Aziraphale still looked confused, but Crowley could see a bit of relief dawning in his eyes.

          “I do, but if I have to die, I’d rather not have it be by holy water. Miserable way to go. I want it for protection. A contingency plan, if you will. Just in case.”

                (just in case you can’t always be there to protect me.)

          “Oh. I still don’t approve, but that’s... a little better.”

          “What, can’t bear the thought of me being able to protect myself?” At that, Aziraphale gave him a look, and Crowley instantly shut up.

            “No, I’d rather you have a plan in the event something happens to me. I don’t necessarily like the thought of you being, ah, alone, but I suppose it’s good to plan for such things.”

          “Hopefully I’ll never have to use it. But of course, if I ever get sick of this mortal coil…” Crowley left the end of the statement hanging, giving Aziraphale a crooked smile. It occurred to him that the teasing remark might be a bit much, considering the circumstances, but as any demon worth his salt was wont to do, he pushed his limits.

          Aziraphale didn’t return the smile. “Don’t say that.”

          “I didn’t mean it, angel.”

          “Promise me, Crowley. Promise me you won’t ever use that water—or anything, for that matter—to end your life.”  Something in his eyes made the smile die on Crowley’s lips.

          “I swear on Satan’s crown, Aziraphale. I won’t.”

          Aziraphale didn’t reply, just moved towards Crowley, slowly reaching up to take off his ever-present sunglasses. Once he could see Crowley’s eyes, he tucked them neatly into Crowley’s jacket pocket, then pulled slightly away.

          Crowley was silent, just blinking slowly at Aziraphale. It was a good thing he did, because it allowed him to catch Aziraphale’s next words, spoken quietly into the musty bookshop air. “I don’t want to lose you.”

          “You’re not gonna lose me, angel. If anything, it’s...it’s me who’s afraid of losing you.”

               (don’t take that lightly, angel. I never, ever admit I’m afraid.)

          Aziraphale exhaled, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes again. “I’m not the one who lives my life so carelessly, my dear. Your people and mine would do awful things to us if they found out about our Arrangement, you know that.”

          “I can…” Crowley scowled, “I can try to be more careful, if you’d like.”

          “I would like, thank you.” Aziraphale replied, brightening a bit.

          “But if I have to slow down, it would be nice if you’d, well, speed up; meet me in the middle?” Crowley asked hopefully, lifting a hand towards Aziraphale’s face.

          The moment ended quickly, Aziraphale’s hand flashing up to catch Crowley’s wrist. “Not…not yet. I’m not ready. I need time.”

          Crowley sighed, wishing he was still wearing his sunglasses to hide the pain flashing in his serpentine eyes. Aziraphale used to compliment those eyes often. He hadn’t done it for several centuries.

“I’m guessing that means you won’t accept my offer for dinner at the Ritz.”

          “I’m sorry, Crowley. Truly. Just, take care of yourself, please.” Aziraphale gave Crowley  a pained smile, sliding his hand along the demon’s wrist to lace their fingers together, giving a single squeeze, then letting go.

          “Sure, angel. I’ll wait for you. If we’ve got anything at all, it’s time.” Crowley took a step backwards, away from Aziraphale and towards the door.

          “I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale nodded farewell, and Crowley felt the angel’s eyes on him until the heavy wooden doors shut with a heavy thud. The sound reminded Crowley of a gavel on a judge’s bench, condemning him to a life far too full of sin for any angel as holy as Aziraphale to want for his presence.

~

Sometime later, on his knees in the midst of a burning bookshop, Crowley thought he understood why Aziraphale was so loathe to risk losing him. He wouldn’t wish this pain and suffering on anyone.

          As Crowley walked out those wooden doors for what he was sure would be the final time, he ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair, feeling the heat of Aziraphale’s funeral pyre on his back. They had run out of time, and now he had no one to wait for, no one to love.

          He was going to go get absolutely hammered.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #go fic #ineffable husbands fic #angst #i'm only a little bit sorry about how angsty this is lol #one shot #fan fiction #writings

[qqueenofhades]

(As always feel free to ignore but) If I may suggest a palate cleanser for those of us still living in the land of Judgment and Deep Sighs after the last two TSAS chapters: The Calamity Companions being Good At Things (although possibly still dumb in other ways) during the Crusades (historian's choice as to which)?

Ahahaha. While chapter 20 did offer some amount of redemption for one half of the Brothers Dimm, if only since he literally could not dig any further and had to go the other goddamn direction, that does not mean our judgment is any less real. Also, as I have reminded you, just because they’re good at one very specific thing does not in the least guarantee that they will be good at others. So. You win some you lose some. You have been forewarned.

Zara, Dalmatia

November 1202

The great city walls of Zara, pummeled under the relentless bombardments of Venetian siege machines, lie in piles of broken stone and mortar, gaping like broken teeth and casting uneven shadows in the sunset glimmering over the sea. The crusader fleet lies at anchor in the harbor, crosses flapping over their sails, just as the crosses that the citizens of Zara hung off the walls in a vain attempt to remind their attackers that they too are Christians have now been torn to shreds, trampled under a thousand hobnailed boots. The place is uneasily, unnaturally quiet. Most of the citizens have taken refuge in the homes still standing, or gathered their things and fled inland, toward Nin or Biograd, while the Franks and the Venetians squabble like dogs in the street over their plunder. It tastes sour in Garcia’s throat as he paces along the seaward side, glancing up at the mess. He’s in mail and leather and green-crossed tabard, sword strapped around his waist and his hand on the hilt; he can’t help but expect trouble. The fact that Zara is his ancestral home territory, just over two hundred miles north of Ragusa, sharpens the insult. A city of Christians callously attacked, sacked, and used as collateral on the massive debt of 94,000 marks that the crusaders seem unlikely ever to pay back to the Venetians. As starts to Christendom’s Fourth Crusade go, which has already been hampered by bad recruitment and leadership squabbles, this feels… well, it certainly doesn’t feel good.

Garcia swears under his breath. He didn’t want to be here to start with, having had his fill of crusades after the last one, and wouldn’t be, but Papa insisted that the Knights of Lazarus, who after all were founded as a crusading order, had a responsibility to supervise this one particularly. Asher de Clermont seemed to guess that this was going to go badly from the start, but that is just Papa for you. He knows things no one else does (and, Garcia supposes, almost two and a half thousand years of military experience means absolutely nothing can surprise you). The sack of Zara would have been much worse for the citizens if Garcia and Gabriel hadn’t charged in there and pulled them out, gotten them to safety before the walls broke completely, but it still rankles Garcia immoderately. They don’t have the authority to override the decisions of the crusade’s human commanders, but he can’t help but feel like they should. What are they here for otherwise? Hope they can prevent too much innocent bloodshed while it’s happening, but stand there dumbly while it’s being proposed to start with? To hell with that. Papa’s rules about not interfering with human governance already cost them Richard. He should be here. He was supposed to be here. But instead he died in agony three years ago, and they had to watch it happen.

Garcia’s mouth tightens still further, and his fist clenches in its gauntlet. He’s not feeling charitable toward anyone at the moment, the Venetians especially, but his father isn’t far behind. Did Asher think they were just planning to – what? And it’s not just supernatural authorities who will hate this. The pope is going to have a bloody fit when he hears – Garcia wouldn’t be surprised if Innocent excommunicated the whole army, though it’s no less than what they –

“Good evening, darling,” a voice says behind him. “I must say, with a face like that, you could take down the rest of the walls on your own.”

Garcia jumps, whirls around, and discovers that he has been so absorbed in his angry thoughts as to miss the sauntering advent of his brother. Of course, even in the middle of a sacked city and a semi-active battlefield, Gabriel de Clermont has to saunter. His hair is obnoxiously and perfectly windswept, cloak thrown artfully over his shoulder, a roguish cut on his cheek already beginning to heal, and his teeth flash white in the autumn dusk as he smiles. “Out here brooding by yourself, Garcia? You know there are better places to do it.”

“What, in the city? So we can watch them fight over some parish priest’s altar silver, or some old woman’s copper coins?” Garcia is happy to see Gabriel, he always is, but he does wish that Gabriel would appear to be taking this with even a drop of seriousness. “Doesn’t it bother you? All of this?”

“I prefer not to think too much about why humans do what they do, darling.” Gabriel comes to a halt next to Garcia, nudging his shoulder affectionately, and they stand side by side, staring out to sea, until Gabriel produces a wineskin, takes a deep swig, and tosses it over. “Here. Something for the pain.”

Garcia grunts, debates tossing it back, but then takes a long drink of his own. It won’t get him drunk, of course, but it helps. “What have you been doing? Admiring your reflection?”

“Breaking up some of those particularly unedifying squabbles, in fact.” Gabriel indicates the cut on his cheek. “Showed my fangs to some miserable little shit who was trying to steal a merchant’s takings, so he pissed himself and ran away. Really, almost too easy. Though there were a few who were less pleased at my intervention, so I had to throw them through a window.”

Garcia raises an eyebrow. ‘”I thought you didn’t care what humans did? Besides, what with Papa and his blasted insistence that we don’t interfere, are you allowed to throw looters through windows, or – ?”

“Papa is not here, my love.” Gabriel says this in a tone as if Garcia is very stupid not to have noticed this fact, but he is desperately fond and will enlighten him anyway. “And he never said we couldn’t take a few more hands-on measures, if the opportunity arises, otherwise we might as well not bother being here at all. Besides, I don’t recall we have to listen to everything he says, now do we?”

There’s just enough of an edge in Gabriel’s voice, despite the jocularity, to make Garcia realize that he’s not the only one holding a grudge against their father for Richard’s death. He glances at Gabriel again, but Gabriel carefully looks away, keeping his eyes on the sunset sea. Then he says, “I do recommend it, you know. Throwing the worst offenders through windows, or any other suitable object that presents itself. It is most cathartic.”

Garcia raises the other eyebrow. He can’t deny that the idea does sound good, and really, it is entirely compatible with their mandate to defend the citizens of Zara. The crusaders might bewail and bluster and fulminate about Gabriel and Garcia de Clermont aiding their enemies, but while they don’t know that they’re vampires, they do know instinctively that they are not to be messed with. Everyone has seen the two of them fight. It is… singular.

“Come on,” Gabriel says, jerking his thumb at the sounds of a scuffle behind them. “By the sounds of things, there’s still plenty left for you. Eh?”

To hell with it, Garcia thinks. Papa is not here, he does want to blow off steam, and Gabriel always knows what will make him feel better, whether or not it is, strictly speaking, what he is supposed to do. So he follows his brother into the darkening streets, they spend a very enjoyable hour or so absolutely terrifying anyone who is trying to steal that which does not belong to them (throwing is proceeded to in a few of the more extreme cases), and at the end of it, stand side by side in the square before St Donat’s. Garcia cannot deny that did in fact feel much better than brooding alone, and he wipes the grime off his forehead with his vambrace. “Do you think that will have put a stop to it?”

“Possibly,” Gabriel says. “Though more fun for us if not.”

Garcia looks at him again, sidelong. “Do you want – should we go somewhere? Have a feed? I could use it.”

“Oh, ah.” Gabriel coughs. “Later, dearest, later. I – have a social engagement.”

“Wh – ” Garcia stares at his brother in deep exasperation. “Zara fell a week ago. Don’t tell me you have a lover already.”

“If I saved a lovely young widow from a pack of Venetian condottieres, and she felt inclined to invite me back later to express her gratitude in more intimate ways – ” Gabriel raises one shoulder as if to say that truly, this face cannot be blamed for it. “It would be uncharitable of me to leave her without protection too long in these dangerous times, wouldn’t it? And no, her husband did not die during this attack. I am not that crass. Two years ago, of fever.”

“Jesus.” Garcia raises his face in mute appeal to the darkening heavens. “You are unbelievable.”

Gabriel smiles, but something about it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just efficient, darling, that’s all. I shall see you later, or perhaps you shall find a fetching widow of your own to nibble on? Or widower, you know I’m not particular. So – ta?”

With that, he sweeps his cloak over to the other shoulder, adjusts his hair to an even more exquisite degree of tousle, and proceeds off down one of the narrow lanes to the presumable dwelling place of his paramour. Garcia stands there, wonders if he can hit Gabriel with a rock from here, and sighs deeply. Then he turns on his heel, decides that if nothing else he can at least go back to the crusader camp and silently judge Boniface of Montferrat and Enrico Dandolo from afar, and, still muttering, departs.

#timeless ff #gabriel x garcia #the shadows among the stars #the brothers dimm #is that my new tag for them #maybe #extasiswings #ask #all souls au

[lordendsavior]

BIALYSTOK, Poland — The marchers at the first gay pride parade here in the conservative Polish city of Bialystok expected that they would be met with resistance.

But last week when Katarzyna Sztop-Rutkowska saw the angry mob of thousands that awaited the marchers, who numbered only a few hundred, she was shocked.

“The most aggressive were the football hooligans, but they were joined by normal people — people with families, people with small children, elderly people,” she said.

They blocked her way, first hurling invective, then bricks and stones and fireworks, she said. From the balconies, people threw eggs and rotten vegetables. Even before the march started, there were violent confrontations, and by the time the tear gas cleared and the crowd dispersed, dozens were injured and Poland was left reeling.

Much as the racist violence in Charlottesville, Va., shocked the conscience of America, the brutality in Bialystok last week has rocked many in Poland and raised grave concerns over a steady diet of anti-gay political propaganda in the country. 

In a show of solidarity with the L.G.B.T. community in Bialystok, thousands of demonstrators took to the streets of Warsaw and other cities around the country on Saturday. They carried rainbow flags and vowed to combat intolerance.

“One week ago, the government betrayed the people in Bialystok, gays and lesbians,” said Pawel Rabiej, the openly gay deputy mayor of Warsaw. “Warsaw is for everyone and so should the rest of Poland. Solidarity will conquer the time of contempt.”

Since this spring, when the governing Law and Justice Party stepped up its anti-L.G.B.T. language in advance of European Parliament elections, the language has only grown more heated as national elections approach this fall.

Jaroslaw Kaczynski, the leader of the governing party, told supporters at a July campaign event staged to look like a family picnic in Kuczki-Kolonia, a village in central Poland, that it was their duty to defend the nation from what he called Western decadence.

“We don’t have to stand under the rainbow flag,” he said.

In recent months, more than 30 localities have passed legislation declaring their region free from “L.G.B.T. ideology.” A national conservative newspaper, Gazeta Polska, distributed stickers so people could designate “L.G.B.T.-free” zones, a stunt that drew a swift rebuke from the American ambassador to Poland, Georgette Mossbacher, and others and was later banned by a Polish court.

A “L.G.B.T.-Free” sticker promoted by a Polish publication.

A group in Warsaw called “Stop Pedophilia” has been traveling the country smearing gay people with baseless claims of abuse.

For weeks, the group set up a tent in the center of the old town square of Bialystok to spread its message. Even after the violence last weekend, the group’s truck still patrolled the streets, broadcasting its claims over loudspeakers.

“What happened in Bialystok was the result of months of propaganda,” Ms. Sztop-Rutkowska said.

The anti-gay language has also been pushed by many figures in the Roman Catholic Church.

Two weeks before the march, Archbishop Tadeusz Wojda issued a letter that was read aloud in all churches in Bialystok and the surrounding province of Podlasie, asserting that gay pride events constituted “blasphemy against God.” He invoked a Latin phrase that was once the rallying cry of priests fighting for freedom against Communist rule. “Non possumus,” he wrote. “We cannot accept this!”

Dozens were injured in Bialystok. The police have identified over 100 people and accused them of attacking the marchers. At least 77 have been fined or charged. One man was accused of beating a 14-year-old boy.

In the week that followed, the violence was condemned by officials from both the governing party and the church — though both also denied responsibility for fomenting fear and hatred.

L.G.B.T. supporters in Warsaw on Saturday.

Jakub Przybysz is well acquainted with the hatred directed at gay people in many parts of the country. It is why he hid his sexuality for years.

Even before the recent anti-L.G.B.T. campaign, it was not easy being gay in this conservative town. There are no gay-friendly clubs or coffeehouses. It would be crazy, he said, to walk hand-in-hand with a same-sex partner.

“The only open life you can live is in your own apartment,” he said.

Still, when he learned that Bialystok County had been declared a region free of “L.G.B.T. ideology,” he was “shocked and horrified.”

“I don’t want to leave this country, but I wonder if there is a place in Poland where I can feel safe,” he said.

Bozena Bierylo, a Law and Justice councilwoman from the Bialystok County, said that the legislation was a response to “provocations” from L.G.B.T. minorities and their “demands” for sex education classes.

Still, she said, “any violence is unacceptable.”

Mr. Przybysz said that the anger he witnessed at the march has been fueled by language from political and religious figures.

His account, along with those of other eyewitnesses and videos, showed how quickly a mob mentality can grip a community.

The march was supposed to begin at 2 p.m., but a group of people who wanted to protest against the event were granted a permit for the same day. Extremist groups put out calls for supporters from across the region to join them.

Police detaining an anti-L.G.B.T. protester in Bialystok last week. 

They assembled on a grassy knoll overlooking the Square of the Independent Student Association, once the site of an old Jewish cemetery that was buried by the Communists after the war.

Ms. Sztop-Rutkowska, a sociologist, said that as she was surrounded by thousands of angry protesters, perhaps the most chilling thing was that there were familiar faces in the howling crowd.

“I recognized a former neighbor,” she said. “A friend recognized their doctor. A student of mine saw a counselor from her child’s school.”

“One young girl from Warsaw came up to me and asked if she could stay with me,” Ms. Sztop-Rutkowska said. “She was so terrified she burst into tears.”

They held each other as they marched.

All along the way, they were met with scorn and derision. One image that has spread around the country showed a man, his small child in a stroller in front of him, confronting the police and shouting at the marchers as he tried to stop them.

An older lady on a balcony waved at the marchers only to be met with shouts from hooligans in the crowd. “We know where you live, you whore!” they chanted.

Videos showed mobs chasing people. One ended with a young boy being stomped on by a group of large men.

Fans of the local soccer team were among the far-right protesters who confronted L.G.B.T. marchers last week.

Talk of the violence has gripped Poland in the days since, with endless hours of discussion on radio and television.

Even as political leaders and church officials have tried to distance themselves from the violence, the campaign against the L.G.B.T. community has shown no signs of abating.

Przemyslaw Witkowski, a journalist, was riding a bicycle with his girlfriend in the city of Wroclaw on Thursday evening when he spotted anti-gay graffiti and told his girlfriend it was shameful.

Apparently, someone overheard Mr. Witkowski. A short time later, a man confronted him.

“You don’t like this graffiti?” Mr. Witkowski said the man asked him.

“I said I did not,” Mr. Witkowski responded.

The man attacked him.

“He beat me badly, leaving me on the ground bleeding,” Mr. Witkowski said from the police station in Wroclaw on Friday, where he was undergoing a physical to catalog his injuries, which included a broken nose and fractures in his face. The photos of his bloody face have been widely shared across the country.

Mr. Witkowski has written about extremist groups and said he was worried for his country.

“We are unleashing things that in the future cannot be stopped,” he said. “It is happening.”

#if anyone's interested this is an informative read #but also bialystok and that region (which is very close to where i come from) #is definitely one of the most conservative regions in poland #so like it's both a reflection of how conservative poland is #but also not really #this is definitely an extremity #but an extemetiy that is very deeply rooted in the more 'mild' way of homophobia in this country #and def more or less quietly supported by the governing party (and other conservative parties) and some parts of the church #poland

[douxreviews]

The Mummy (1999) Review

"You better think of something fast, because, if he turns me into a mummy, you're the first one I'm coming after."

The Mummy, a (very) loose remake of the classic Boris Karloff horror film of the same name, was released 20 years ago today. To mark the occasion I've decided to a look back at this classic adventure film and explain why it remains my favourite blockbuster of 1999. Yes, I actually rate it higher than The Matrix. Look, it's great an' all, but does it have a scene where Neo scares away Agent Smith with a cat?

No, it does not, and that's why The Mummy will always be better.

Despite being savaged by critics upon release (its Rotten Tomatoes score is only 58%), The Mummy was one of the big hits of summer 1999, earning $415m worldwide. It was followed by two sequels, the CGI saturated mess that is The Mummy Returns, and The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, which committed the unforgivable sin of replacing Rachel Weisz so I have boycotted it on principle. There was also a spin-off, The Scorpion King, a fun, but forgettable Conan knock-off which is little more than a stepping stone on the Rock's eventual path to global superstardom. There was also that reboot from a few years back with Tom Cruise, but we're not going to talk about that. The franchise may have crashed and burned, but the original film, well, the original remake of the original film, has endured amazingly and is probably more popular now than when it was first released.

Thousands of years ago, in the Egyptian city of Thebes, the high priest Imhotep is having it off with the Pharaoh’s mistress, Anck-su-Namun. When their affair is discovered by the Pharaoh, the pair murder him. Before they can be captured, Imhotep flees and Anck-su-Namun kills herself, knowing her lover will use that old black magic to resurrect her, which has to be the most extreme version of a trust exercise I have ever seen. Imhotep takes her corpse to Hamunaptra, the city of the dead and one of ancient Egypt’s top three tourist destinations, but is stopped by Pharaoh’s bodyguards before he can complete the resurrection ritual. As punishment for his crimes, Imhotep is mummified alive and cursed so that one day he will rise again as a super-powered zombie and bring about the end of the world. Why is it so many curses make the cursed super powerful? If Imhotep wasn’t evil this could almost be his superhero origin story.

Anyway, skip ahead a few millennia and Hamunaptra is now a ruin being guarded by the decedents of Pharaoh’s bodyguards, who are no doubt cursing their ancestors for their obvious shortsightedness. This might explain why they half-arse guarding the place. Instead of maintaining a full-time garrison to keep away any wannabe treasure hunters, they routinely leave the place wide open so any idiot can just waltz in. So, really, they've got no one but themselves to blame when a curious librarian decided to have a flick through the Book of the Dead and start waking up mummies.

The Mummy is the closest anyone has ever come to recapturing the joy and spirit of Raiders of the Lost Ark. It is by no means that film's equal. Raiders was made by one of cinema's greatest craftsmen, while The Mummy was made by the guy responsible for Van Helsing and G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. Nowhere is this more obvious than in the action scenes, which are often unremarkable and a little too reliant on sometimes dodgy CGI for their spectacle. Fortunately, though, the film succeeds in spite of this obvious handicap.

What The Mummy might lack in amazing action and effects, it more than makes up for with lots of great humour and some amazing heroes. I really have to give Sommers some credit here; he might not be a great director, but he wrote a fun, breezy script that doesn't takes itself too seriously, but avoids slipping into self-parody. It's also endlessly quotable. The quotes section of this review will probably give War and Peace a run for its money.

But at the end of the day, it's the characters that make this film what it is. They are why I keep coming back to it again and again, why I occasionally bother with the sequel, and they are why I will always prefer this movie to The Matrix. That film might have groundbreaking special effects and some exceptional action sequences, but when it comes to its heroes... well, let's just say that Neo is a character best suited to Keanu's own unique brand of minimalist acting.

The Mummy, though, is blessed with a fantastic central trio in Rick, Evelyn and Jonathan, all brilliantly bought to life by Brendan Fraser, Rachel Weisz, and John Hannah. Sommers really hit the jackpot when he cast those three. There have been many pretenders to Dr. Jones' throne over the years, but Rick O'Connell is the only one that ever seemed like a serious contender. Evelyn is the brains of the entire operation and while the story often places her in the damsel in distress role, she never, ever feels like one. And Jonathan is essentially the anti-Jar Jar, a comic relief who is genuinely funny without having to resort to cheap laughs or silly pratfalls. He may not be as heroic as Rick or as smart as his sister, but when the fighting starts Jonathan is always there to help out and if you need some ancient Egyptian translated in a jiffy, well, he'll try his best.

Notes and Quotes

--The name Ardeth Bay is a tweaking of Ardath Bey, the alias Imhotep used in the original. The character was originally meant to die, but test audiences liked him to he got a reprieve.

--While all the heroes are great, Imhotep himself is a pretty flat villain. He's mostly just an excuse for the FX department to show off.

--Difficult not to think of Scooby Doo when that American loses his glasses.

Beni: "O'Connell! Hey, O'Connell! It looks to me like I've got all the horses!" Rick: "Hey, Beni! Looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the RI-VEEER!"

Rick: "Well if it ain't my little buddy Beni. I think I'll kill you." Beni: "Think of my children." Rick: "You don't have any children." Beni: "Someday I might."

Evelyn: "I know, you're wondering...what is a place like me doing in a girl like this."

Hangman: "Any last requests, pig?" Rick: "Yeah. Loosen the knot and let me go."

Jonathan: "Americans."

Rick: (a spooky wind blows through Hamunaptra) "That happens a lot around here."

Evelyn: "Look, I... I may not be an explorer, or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker, or a gunfighter, Mr. O'Connell, but I am proud of what I am." Rick: "And what is that?" Evelyn: "I... am a librarian."

Jonathan: "Imhotep. Imhotep."

Evelyn: "I will give you one hundred pounds to save this man's life." Hassan: "Madame, I would pay one hundred pounds just to see him hang."

Rick: "I only gamble with my life, never my money."

Evelyn: "Patience is a virtue." Rick: "Not right now, it isn't."

Evelyn: "You swear?" Rick: "Every damn day."

Rick: "Well, you probably won't live through it." Winston: "By Jove, do you really think so?" Jonathan: "Well, everybody else we've bumped into has died. Why not you?"

Evelyn: "Abdul? Mohammed?... Bob?"

Evelyn: "Oh, I've dreamt about this since I was a little girl." Rick: "You dream about dead guys?"

Rick: "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Evelyn: "The only thing that scares me, Mr. O'Connell, are your manners."

Evelyn: "You know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance." Beni: [laughing] "Really? They do?" Evelyn: "Oh, yes. Always."

Beni: (Translating) "Come with me, my princess. It is time to make you mine, forever." Evelyn: "For all eternity, idiot."

Rick: "Mummies!"

Three and a half out of four wrong sides of the RI-VEEER!

Mark Greig has been writing for Doux Reviews since 2011

#The Mummy #Rick O'Connell #Evelyn Carnahan #Jonathan Carnahan #Ardeth Bay #The Mummy 1999 #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews