#I’m also proud of myself for keeping the kara character without turning him into an asshole

[karumaitsu]

Hey in that matsuzo comic you did a while back what did it actually mean?? I’m so dumb bro you gotta help me it’s driving me crazy

(Also I love your art u is a treat) xx

I’m glad I finally got an ask like this because I’ve been needing an excuse to dump my original vision for the blog since I don’t think I will continue anytime soon

So, here’s an unplanned stream of consciousness explanation for Karumaitsu:

Before I go off and forget the question entirely, the basic of the blog is that during a review (the sandwich one) Karamatsu unwillingly becomes a witness to a crime (I was thinking a murder of some kind) and the culprit starts to stalk Kara and generally harasses and threatens him. Though he tries to deal with it quietly and by himself, Osomatsu gets involved and the two find a way to deal with the stalking permanently. The person in the first post is actually Osomatsu, and although I never really worked out the kinks, I was planning on the ending to be Kara and Oso luring the stalker to a secluded area to fatally confront him.

The reviews, asks, and little events all take place in the past. In my head all of the reviews and ask responses (save for some of the story related posts) are like video uploads on a YouTube channel, and my first post, the forest at night, is the latest upload. I wanted to try and give the effect of someone seeing that, wondering what the hell happened, and then going through the entire channel’s uploads to see what led up to that point.

My basic premise was to take a gag that I felt was a good enough hook to turn some heads and separate myself from other blogs. I went with food reviews because I had a lot of art/joke au(?) versions of the boys surrounding food, and also I find the absurdity of Karamatsu (my favorite) making food reviews in some broke ass car on the side of the road somewhere (Plus, Karumaitsu just sounds nice to me). I wanted to add a overarching story and horror/thriller twist to the premise, which could be a way to make the blog a little more interesting for anyone who might come across it, and keep me from getting bored and having it go the way of my previous ask blogs (which ultimately didn’t work out lmao)

If I’m honest, I think a combination of graduating high school and my waning interest in Tumblr/Osomatsu-San really killed my desire to continue with the blog. I also have a nasty habit of waiting a long ass time to start a project I’m unsure of, and I think if I had jumped on the project sooner, I would have finished it. I had it all planned out and I only had about 5-6 reviews left before concluding the story altogether. I also get impatient, so I feel my execution was off. If I were to go back, I would remake the sandwich review make it more easy to understand what happened (not too easy, but more than what I had). You’re not dumb for not getting it Anon, I just didn’t feel like I stuck the landing.

I’ve wanted to revive the blog multiple times over the years but it never seemed like a good time, and a lot of the work I do now is focused less on fan art but my own oc story Hexcode (which this blog has helped me work out the kinks in, so I’m greatful) but Tumblr is really bad when it comes to oc work which is why I’ve essentially abandoned it. I do have an idea for another horror/murder mystery au with a Flowershop!Kara, I have some doodles and it’s some of the few Oso-related art I want to make these days. However I know myself well enough to know that a blog, especially on Tumblr will prolly be short lived, especially since the fandom just isn’t what it used to be, and I’m certainly not the super fan I was back then.

I’ve rambled far too long already but I do really want to thank everyone who supported this blog while it was active, this was by far my biggest and fastest growing blog which I’m still shocked about. Specific shoutout to @taramatsu-san for not only contributing art but overall just being a really neat and supportive person. We don’t talk too much anymore but if you see this you’re valid!! If anyone is still interested in the stuff I’m working on now, I’m most active on Instagram and like I said earlier most of my work is just oc stuff now, so if you’re not interested it’s no worry. Maybe I’ll come back to this concept someday, but for now I feel it’s best to leave it as is.

I probably won’t see any replies or asks, I rarely go on Tumblr anymore but feel free to message me on Instagram, Twitter, or even discord, my handle is Bodyshot#2845. See ya later alligators 👌

[meadweos]

Hello! I’m Ellie, this is Dorcas and I hope you enjoy this trainwreck of a soft as all hell introduction to my babe. I’m super excited to be writing here okay byeeeeeeeee.

is that LILY JAMES wearing that HUFFLEPUFF scarf ? no, it appears to be DORCAS MEADOWES who happens to be a SEVENTH year and a MUGGLEBORN !! SHE is CISFEMALE, and i heard they’re COMPASSIONATE and BENEVOLENT but might also seem NAIVE and DAMAGED. they appear to be leaning towards the side of the ORDER, but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. ( ellie / nineteen / gmt / she/her )

TRIGGER WARNINGS : death, injury, hospital mention, dogs.

PART ONE. BASICS / MAGICAL FULL NAME & MEANINGS  : Dorcas ( GAZELLE ) Andromache ( MAN / BATTLE ) Meadowes ( LIVED IN OR NEAR A MEADOW. ) DATE OF BIRTH : November 16th. AGE : 17. ZODIAC SIGN : Scorpio. HEIGHT : 5 ft 7 in. EYE COLOR : Dark brown. LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED : Ambidextrous.  FAVORITE COLOR : Light blue / black. SCHOOL : Hogwarts. BLOOD STATUS : Muggleborn. WHAT ARE THEIR PARENTS JOBS? : Her mother was a stay-at-home tutor, and her father was a doctor. ( Her aunt is a therapist. Her uncle is a lawyer. ) DO THEY HAVE ANY MAGICAL BLOOD? : Not in her immediate family. Her fifth, twice removed, much, much older cousin is a wizard (of Emeric Switch fame! Imagine that!) HOW DID THEIR MAGIC FIRST MANIFEST ITSELF? : She wanted to talk to the dogs at the local pet store, and accidentally ‘phased’ through the door. She was found half an hour later just stroking a pitbull puppy which had latched itself onto her. YEAR : Seventh year. HOUSE : Hufflepuff. PATRONUS : Panda. ( THE PANDA IS A RESOURCEFUL ANIMAL, AND THOSE WITH IT AS A PATRONUS ARE THE SAME. THEY ARE GOOD AT USING WHATEVER IS AROUND THEM, AND INCREDIBLY CREATIVE AND BRIGHT. THEY ARE FRIENDLY AND WARM, AND MANY MAY GO TO THEM FOR ADVICE OR HELP, WHICH THE PANDA WILL WILLINGLY GIVE. THEY ARE A BIT OF A HEALER BY NATURE, ENJOYING COMPANY AROUND THEM AND USING IT TO ENHANCE THEMSELVES. THEY LOVE TO EXPLORE MANY AREAS OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE WORLD, TRYING TO BROADEN THEIR HORIZONS AND KEEP THEIR MINDS OPEN. ) BOGGART : Her father, sat in the same armchair he’d always loved. His head turned towards her as he tells her it was all her fault, and the room shrinks. UPDATED: Earlier, and for very good reason, I wrote a drabble centered around what her Boggart would be for a different roleplay. It’s different than what it is now, but I’m nevertheless extremely proud of it. You can read it here. AMORTENTIA : What is it about true love, dearest? What makes everyone go wild? Is it the prospect that someone, someone whole, and unflinching, is out there - waiting for you? Waiting for your embrace, your touch? Or is it just that they are tired - tired of making homes in people and receiving nothing back? You, though. You make homes in all manner of things. And, anyway, who decided homes can’t be humans? Who decided home is a stationary concept? That your heart can’t be held in the hands of many people, that it cannot be crushed and sewn back together in a matter of minutes? Who decided that love, that great big messy concept, has to be romantic? You are as messy in love as you are in life - that is to say, you build pieces of yourself from the people around you, from the pieces of themselves they give you. The skin beneath your ear? Composed of the whispers of secrets from your first boyfriend. Your nose? Your mother’s love. The inside of your wrist? The balm of Emmeline’s arms around your body, shielding you the only way she can.  No. It isn’t so impossible that love is greater than the romance. That love is so many more things. The Greeks of old always said there were many kinds of love. Eros. Agape. Philia. Storge. Ludos. Pragma. Philautia. It is these things that you, alone, recite in that dungeon. The cold seems to envelop you as you take in a breath, the tendrils of your senses magnifying. It can be overwhelming, you know, but you are not as surprised as you expect to be. Warmth, sinking between your fingertips, laps at your cheek, at your lips as you breathe out. It sticks to you, to your tongue. Like caramel and peanut butter, the batter of the cookies your aunt always makes, the s’mores that you made around the campfire just last week. Her hair, or is it her perfume (?) wafting in your direction - regardless, you stay rooted to your place. Daisies, growing wild, the way they had at home, in your back garden. The smell of old brick and something crumbling - that weird Dragonleather smell that stays in the air whenever Hagrid passes, the smell of bursting fireworks (that time that the Marauders hadn’t realized there was anyone still down the corridor) and butterbeer, warming. Your dogs breath, laughter bubbling up as you remark on the smell of toothpaste, on peppermint and mossy treebark.  You’re not surprised to smell all the things that make this place home - you’re not surprised to smell that it’s not made up of just one person - just one thing, fixable - but many. Moving parts that flare up and slide away into the background of your senses. WAND : Phoenix tail feather core. 9 inches. Black Walnut. PETS : Owl, named Athena. Also owns a pitbull, the light of her life, Agape ( LOVE AND AFFECTION ) or Aggie, for short. CHARACTER INSPIRATION : Cinderella, Sonya Rostova, Izzie Stevens, Craig Middlebrooks, Ann Perkins, Ella Lopez, Jess Day, Riley Matthews, Penelope Garcia, Kara Danvers, Capheus Onyango, and Jane Villanueva. ( CHARACTER TAG HERE. )

PART TWO. ARE YOU GOOD AT… DANCING? : I certainly try.  SINGING? : Yes! COOKING? : Somewhat. DUELING? : Never been better. STUDYING? : If my grades are anything to go by, yes. MAGIC? : Uh, I’d hope so.

PART THREE. HAVE YOU EVER… DRIVEN A CAR? : Yes. Not well, though. FALLEN IN LOVE? : … Yes. HAD SEX? : Yes. LAUGHED SO HARD YOU CRIED? : I don’t know anyone who enjoys their life who hasn’t. SMOKED? : ... No. DONE DRUGS? : Nope. BROKEN THE LAW? : Accidentally. KILLED SOMEONE? : No.

PART FOUR. LITTLE SECRETS BIGGEST FEAR : Losing everyone. And everything. SOMEONE YOU ADMIRE : Emme, McGonagall. SOMEONE YOU FEAR : I don’t really know. Dumbledore, when he’s mad. Whatever that ponce of a miserable Muggle hater is called. SOMEONE YOU MISS : Grandpa. Terry. My brother. Mum. Dad. SOMEONE YOU COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT : Emme. Myself, too. SOMEONE YOU COULD KILL : Anyone who hates muggles. DO YOU WANT KIDS? : Maybe someday. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED? : To the right person? Yeah. BIGGEST REGRET : Not sleeping in the same room as my brother that night. ( I could have saved him. I should have saved him. ) CAN YOU SEE THESTRALS? : Yes.

PART FIVE. FINISH THIS SENTENCE I AM… : Sleepy. Wishing Emmeline was here. I WISH… : Ice-cream could become a person. MAYBE ONE DAY… : I won’t feel this guilt anymore. SOMETIMES I… : Fall in love in the morning, and out of it by lunch. MY FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : Herbology. MY LEAST FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : History of Magic, Divination. IF I COULD DO IT AGAIN, I WOULD… : Save my brother. IF I COULD GO TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL, I WOULD CHOOSE… : Beauxbatons, not Ilvermorny. IF I COULD CHOOSE A DEATHLY HALLOW, I WOULD CHOOSE… : The Stone. ( Say it like it isn’t a mantra, Dorcas. As though it isn’t something that’s poisoned your dreams since discovering those stories may be based in reality. )

PART SIX. MISCELLANEOUS

DESCRIBE THEIR AESTHETIC IN THREE WORDS : Sea, daisies, laughter. THEME SONG : Lavender’s Blue ( CINDERELLA SOUNDTRACK - 2015. ) / Sonya Alone ( BRITTAIN ASHFORD - NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) / Times are Hard for Dreamers (Pop Version) ( PIPPA SOO - AMELIE - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) TOP FIVE SONGS IN THEIR ( MODERN ) PLAYLIST : You Are Enough - Sleeping at Last, Yellow - Coldplay, When I Kissed the Teacher - ABBA, Breathe - In The Heights, & Paradise - George Ezra. VINE THAT FITS THEM : ( x ) RANDOM HEADCANONS : 1. Dorcas loves deeply. Deeply, deeply, deeply. It’s intrinsic to who she is. She’s protective, maddeningly so, and unable to sit still. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and is a nightmare when it comes to pacing herself. She knows not of patience, or of taking time to breathe. She consists solely of love - a palace built between her ribs of the people that she loves. In this, she is a typical Taurus Hufflepuff. ( x ) 2. Dorcas lost her parents at a very young age. She doesn’t often speak of it - speak about them, about the parents that she lost and the brother that she was unable to save. They were killed in a home burglary turned murder spree when she was six. They’d been meant to go on holiday, but Dorcas had come down with the stomach flu, so they’d foregone the vacation when it spread to Dorcas’s younger sister, Calliope. The only reason that Dorcas survived was that she managed to climb beneath her bed with her younger sister Calliope facing the wall, only her back visible from the opening created by the duvet. She gets stabbed three times, one of those stab wounds narrowly avoiding piercing her spleen and the major abdominal arteries. She still has the scars on her lower back. Callie was uninjured, and she was the one who managed to get to the neighbors house (by climbing out of the window from the second floor and dropping at least eleven feet). Dorcas remembers, mostly, finding out her parents and brother were murdered. The rest of it often feels incredibly foggy. She went through therapy for a number of years before she was discharged from the North West Surrey Mental Health Trust. The nightmares, today, are infrequent, but some nights are worse than others. She often takes a calming draught before she goes to sleep - provided by Madame Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing.  3. Dorcas’s best friend in the universe is Emmeline Vance. They aren’t in the same house, but that doesn’t matter. They met at eleven, on the train to Hogwarts. Dorcas, with brown hair down to her hip, and Emmeline’s hair newly cut into a bob ( her parents had gone wild at her for that one, ) and that was it. The rest, as they say, is History. If you can’t find Dorcas, she’s usually with Emmeline. 60% of her spare time is spent wherever Emmeline is. They’re one another’s great loves. She doesn’t know what she’d be without Emme.  4. Dorcas wants to be a Herbologist or a Healer when she graduates. She’s not sure how likely that plan is to succeed with everything going on - how far she’ll get before she abandons it all to help the people that she wants to help, desperately. As it stands, 40% of her spare time is spent either in the Potions classroom or the Herbology classroom - Potions is a required course for becoming a Healer.  5. If this were a modern AU, Dorcas’d totally be a theater kid. She’d also be that kid that is always making scrapbooks - always half finishing projects, the one that has too many cacti and exotic plants in the corner of her room. She’d keep her phone on her, always, lockscreen always changing. She’d love bands like Little Mix and butcher the Spanish when she tried to sing songs like Despacito.  6. FUTURE: Dorcas manages to live through the Wizarding War ( well, mostly ) without casting the Killing Curse. She’s fast, she’s quick, and she doesn’t stand still. She’s often the one coming careening past the others, ducking beneath their outstretched arms as light - green, red, blue, yellow - is cast against the ground. She Apparates in and out, as though her being there is a mirage. People, injured, bystanders, disappear from where they’d been only seconds before, as soon as her hand secures around anywhere she can grip on. She works with trembling hands, to heal those that she can. Four separate times she manages to Apparate away from under Voldemort’s nose.  The first time is with her arm hooked under Fabian Prewett, his unconscious body bruised and the cut on his arm infected with what she suspects is a modified strain of the venom of the Venomous Tentacula. The second time is with a handful of wands - all belonging to fellow Order members. The third time is with Dedalus Diggle. He’s a handful, that time, splaying limbs, cracking as they twist around. They have a spell maker in their midst but Dorcas is the only one that can sooth the pain, to make it all more bearable while they try and fix it. The fourth time is with Emmeline. Emme’s far too headstrong for her own good, and knows how rare it is that Voldemort himself makes an appearance. Dorcas is the one that breaks Bellatrix’s focus - the Cruciatus curse trained on her best friend, on her Emmeline, flickers when Dorcas passes, a blur of black leather and hair tied up in a bun, bangs hanging low and the light long since dimmed in her eyes. When Emmeline comes to, the pain still ricochets through her bones, and Dorcas is powerless to help. It takes days for the aftershocks to fade. The faintest roar of rage is still heard in Dorcas’s brain. She’s just too slow, in the end, to save herself, although she doesn’t try. She’s not ready, but she is. She’s not happy, but she is. She knew there was only one way this could end. The one incapable of love striking down the one composed entirely of it is the only end that makes sense in a world at war - in a world in which war stories are not one of morals. War stories are made of absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. It just takes her years to realize. Years to reconcile. Being soft does not make her immune to this. Being alive doesn’t. She is happy, but it is not a happy ending. No - it’s a very sad beginning.

[hiverforesteevee]

Hearth: plus size reader is everyone's favorite hug. It's like the cure all to be hugged by reader. Legends Crew cuteness perhaps? Or even have them working in the character is actor universe as the favorite makeup artist for all the CW show fav. Characters?

Legendary Superflarrow x Phantom of the Makeup!Reader

General Audiences

TW: self-image issues

I worked on the makeup artist half of this prompt, but I’ll definitely do the Legends cured by hugs half as soon as my teachers stop assigning essays :)  I clearly know nothing about makeup, but hopefully, you’ll enjoy this anyway.

I know most of these titles are really lame, but I’m proud of this one :)

However, I clearly know nothing about makeup; hopefully, you’ll enjoy this anyway.

This fic features the following characters: Amaya, Barry, Kara, Kendra, Oliver, and Sara.  I’ve wanted to take a crack at writing Kara for a while now, so hopefully, she doesn’t disappoint!  And now that I’ve been informed that Sara’s bi—despite the writers’ half-assed attempts to convince us she’s lesbian—I now feel comfortable having her in these things.  There’s some debate about whether bi includes being attracted to nonbinary genders, but that’s close enough for me since legendarysuperflarrowverse doesn’t have any nonbinary characters.

And before anyone busts out some Supergirl prompts, I’m not familiar with it beyond wiki articles and fanfiction, so Kara’s probably the best I can do since she was at least in some crossovers.  I’m more familiar with Arrow, just don’t ask me how Ollie got from point A to point B during his pre-return to Starling days.  Flash may have a convoluted timeline, but at least we know how it became convoluted; Arrow’s just like Ollie’s in the Bratva now!  …Because reasons!

I’m hankering to write coldflash x reader, but I’m stuck for ideas. Thoughts???

🦊⚡🌻📖🐦🏹🕊️

So what if you’re fat?  You don’t need to be 100 pounds to help everyone with their makeup.  You’ve got Hollywood wrapped around your finger from clients who only allow perfection to touch their bodies such as Amaya and Sara, to folks who’d go out slathered in slop from Walmart such as Oliver and Kendra, and to catastrophes such as Barry and Kara.  Mulan’s relatives may not be able to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, but you can make a sow’s ear look like the belle—or beau—of the ball.

Speaking of balls, there’s this celebrity charity hootenanny that all of your clients and friends are chattering about nonstop.  Ollie’s the first to ask if you’re going.

“I don’t have time to get myself ready.”

“Why not?”

Ollie is near and dear to you, but he’s even blonder than Sara sometimes.

“I’m getting all of you schmucks ready.”

“Oh! I-I can l—”

“Oliver Queen, sit down!  I’m not letting you leave this chair looking like the Phantom of the Opera!”

Half his face is done, and half is au naturel.  It would insult your beautician’s degree to unleash him upon the general population—never mind a society of elite, well-muscled or at least lean celebrities and paparazzi.

…Maybe you do have time to prepare yourself for the shindig, you just have other plans: a hot date named Felix Nett!

“Netflix???” Sara, as always, sees right through your BS while you’re manicuring her nails.

“Inconceivable!” chimes Barry.

“It’ll be so much fun!” Kara is bouncing in her seat as much as she can without jostling her freshly-painted toes and fingers.

“I’m going as Princess Buttercup!” chirps Kenny.

“I called Inigo!” because of course, Sara did. “Barry’s going as Westley.”

“I was gonna say that…” Barry pouts.

“I’m going as Maleficent,” reports Amaya.  Kara’s going as Rapunzel, and Ollie as Robin Hood.

“You go as Robin Hood every year,” you remind him.

“Because I’m an awesome Robin Hood.”

“You should go as Maid Meriam next year.”

“No,” he refuses flatly, eying Barry and Sara suspiciously when you give him twin grins. “There’s only two crossdressers in this group, and I’m neither of them.”

The group—minus Ollie—groans with disappointment, yet they quickly perk up again at the notion of helping you find the perfect costume.

“Guys, please no,” you squirm away from their attention.  You flap your flab a bit, “There isn’t much that makes this look good.”

The friends stare at you as they consider your worlds.  Then Amaya perks up, “Darling, you spend so much of your time making us you look beautiful, it’s our turn to repay your faithful service.”

They drag you to their favorite stores once their makeup settles.  Barry and Sara recommend the wildest costumes, Ollie and Kara make more conservative selections, and Kenny and Amaya find nostalgic characters to borrow.  Scarves and hats fly everywhere until you settle on… oddly enough, combining all their tastes into your own unique flavor.  They applaud your creation; Ollie wolf whistles at you despite the glaring hindrance that it’s too small to wear.  You blush under their attention until they haul you away to a tailor.

Your pride insists on doing your own makeup, and soon enough, you don your mask and become a Phantom yourself.  Your cape trails behind you as your friends lead you into the hall.  The lights are bright, the music’s suave, and the hors d'oeuvres are more expensive than a week’s worth of meals.  You don’t recognize most of the food or drinks on offer, so you skip the buffet table for now.  You’re not sure what to do, exactly…

So Sara decides for you.  She pulls you onto the dance floor and leads you in a waltz before passing you onto Barry, who gives you over to Kenny, then Kara.  Just when you’re dizzy from it all, you hear a camera flash and duck away from the press.

“Don’t be shy,” Kara cups your cheek and pecks your lips—another flash. “You look gorgeous.”

“Next to all of you?” you glance back at where Sara’s spinning between Kenny and Amaya while Ollie and Barry share a dance. “I don’t think so.”

“Then don’t think, silly!” she kisses you deeper this time, igniting a flurry of flashes, yet her sunny affection keeps your mind off onlookers.

Barry taps your shoulder and grins, “May I have this dance?”

You look back at Kara, who sends you off gladly, happy to share.  The rest of your friends are also of the mindset that sharing is caring.  You end up getting kisses and dances from all of them by the end of the night!

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Here is my first attempt at writing for the Supergirl fandom. I don’t know if it’s any good but I’m pretty proud of it.

This story does contain a minor character’s death but is mostly just 2500 words of Winn-centric angst with the tiniest bit of Monwinn thrown in because I’m weak and literally can’t help myself.

leaving these broken pieces behind you

“Winslow Schott Sr., aka the Toyman, was found guilty today for his acts of terror on the city last year. Previously serving a life sentence, Schott has now received the death penalty and is scheduled to be executed by way of lethal injection later this month. Family members of his original victims declined to comment and….”

Winn didn’t hear any more as he quickly made his way out of the cafe, forgetting all about his coffee and the donuts he’d promised to bring Kara. He doubted that anyone there even knew who he was, but it still felt like all eyes were on him.

Had he known what was happening in a courtroom on the other side of the city, he would have never left his apartment this morning.

He’d wanted nothing to do with the trial. Agent Chase had promised him that he wouldn’t have to testify, and so he’d pushed it all from his mind. He’d tried to anyway.

Numbly walking into the DEO he knows he’s not imagining the stares any longer. People here know his name and oh how he wishes he could go back to the days of being the invisible tech guy. Before he can reach his desk he hears someone calling his name and the attention it draws makes his skin itch and his throat tighten.

“Winn! Are you alright? We heard–”

“I’m fine Kara, honestly.” His smile is too wide, his cheerfulness is too fake. He doesn’t care.

“But Winn–”

“I said I’m fine,” he shouts.

Kara’s eyes widen briefly before a look of hurt passes over her features. Again, he can’t really bring himself to care.

“Sorry,” he offers halfheartedly, “but I really need you to drop it.”

Kara goes to speak again, but Alex stops her with a hand on her arm as she walks up to them.

“Winn, why don’t you go home for today. That wasn’t a suggestion,” she adds before he can argue. “We’ll call you in if anything major comes up, but otherwise we don’t need you here being distracted.” Her voice carries all the authority of an Assistant Director, but her eyes hold that same soft Danvers concern he’s used to only seeing from Kara.

Grabbing his bag he walks back out without a word.

“Whiskey and make it a double.”

“Sure thing buddy!” On some level Winn can see that Mon-El has gotten better at his job; he doesn’t even need to check the labels before grabbing the right bottle anymore. Normally Winn would feel proud of his sort-of friend but today he feels nothing. Or he feels too much, he’s not sure. The numb feeling had begun to subside on his walk over. He’s hoping the alcohol will help fix that.

Mon-El sets the shot glass in front of him and Winn knocks it back quickly before motioning for the Daxamite to pour him another. The bar is practically empty at this time of day and the other man stands back and watches with his usual charming smirk as Winn downs the second drink just as fast. Mon-El asks what brings him in this early, but he ignores him and the alien begins to ramble about his morning and the other patrons he’s served.

Winn’s not sure if he hasn’t heard the news or if he just doesn’t care. It could go either way with Mon-El. He grunts in response to the alien’s continued gossip and motions for him to pour a third shot.

Mon-El does so, but he watches him down it with a furrowed brow that on a normal day Winn would find cute. He asks for a beer and Mon-El sets it down before walking off to busy himself with something else, and Winn cares about his disappearance more that he’d like to.

He’s been at the bar for several hours and Mon-El has given him several more drinks without a word. Winn doesn’t notice when the alien slips out to make a phone call or when someone sits down on the bar stool next to him until they put a hand on his shoulder.

“Winn?”

He turns to stare at Kara for a moment before falling clumsily forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “I’m not fine,” he whispers brokenly.

“I know,” she replies. She wraps her arms around him in a tight hug and he both loves and hates that he can feel it.

When he wakes up in the morning there is a blissful few seconds where he doesn’t remember the events of the day before. Then, with the pain of his hangover it all comes rushing back.

He’s not in his bed but sprawled face down on Kara’s couch. The ridiculous amount of natural light that falls into her loft is blinding him and he gropes around for something to cover his head.

“Good morning.” Her voice is softer than the harsh knock of a mug against the table next to him and he’s grateful to have a best friend who knows how to control her volume.

He sits up slowly and grabs the mug, inhaling the scent deeply before taking a sip. Kara sits next to him on the couch and nervously adjusts her glasses.

“What can I do?” she eventually asks. The crinkle in her forehead is out in full force and he focuses on it as he thinks.

“Just be here, I guess?” It comes out as a question because he doesn’t know what he needs right now. He does know that he doesn’t want to push her away again though.

“Always,” she answers, although it wasn’t necessary. He already knows she’s not going anywhere.

“Winn are we not even going to discuss this?”

“There isn’t anything to discuss. It’s my decision and I’m not going,” he sighs. “I’m not going to the execution, and I’m sure as hell not going to see him beforehand.” He turns back to the monitors at his desk with an air of finality, but of course she doesn’t let it go.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?” Kara leans against the desk, crosses her arms across her chest, and tilts her head to the side like she’s trying to read him.

He attempts to ignore her and focus on the schematics he’d been studying before she’d ambushed him, but her words ring in his ears.

He’d never gotten to say goodbye to his father; he’d never even really noticed when he disappeared. One morning his dad was there and the next thing he knew there was an unrecognizable monster in his place being dragged into jail. He’d never seen his father again and after last year he knew that he didn’t even exist anymore.

Winn angles his chair so he’s facing her head on. He tries to find the words to explain it to her and finally comes up with a pathetically simple, “No.”

“Why did you keep your name?” Mon-El asks. He’s at the bar again, but this time he’s sticking to club soda.

“Huh?” is his eloquent response.

The other man motions vaguely towards where Kara is standing watching Alex and Maggie play pool. “Kara told me you have the same name as your father and that it draws tension to you.”

“Attention,” Winn corrects.

The Daxamite nods before continuing, “She also said that your mother left you and you were given a new family. So why did you keep your name?”

Winn makes a mental note to talk to Kara about private information. Specifically that it is not to be shared with the hot alien frat boy he barely knows.

He can feel Mon-El’s eyes on him as he stares down into his glass and decides he needs something stronger for this conversation. Mon-El looks hesitant, but Winn promises to limit himself to one beer.

“I stayed with a lot of different families after my mom left,” he begins once he’s had a few sips of the alcohol, “but none of them really wanted to keep me so I wasn’t given a chance to change my name while I was in the system.”

Mon-El’s brow furrows and Winn definitely finds it cute this time.

“Why don’t you change it now?” The alien leans his forearms against the bar and his face is suddenly a lot closer. Winn’s not sure if it’s that or the beer taking quick effect that is making him feel lightheaded.

He sits back and drinks nearly half the bottle at once. “Why did you decide to go by Mon-El instead of using the name Kara gave you?” he eventually asks after a few moments of intense staring.

“Because it’s who I am, it’s the name I was given by my people and it’s a way for me to remember them by,” Mon-El says passionately.

Winn tips the bottle in the alien’s direction and raises an eyebrow smugly. “Well, there you go.”

“Hello Winn,” the cheerful voice startles him. He spins around in his chair and sees Mon-El approaching his desk.

“Hey dude, what,” he pauses and scratches the back of his head, turning back to his monitors, “what are you doing here?”

Mon-El leans casually against his desk and picks up a stapler, fiddling with it and wasting staples. “I’m here to train with Kara,” he says.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s been replaced in this aspect; it makes more sense for Kara to work with him since she can spar against him safely. It’s not like he misses watching the Daxamite show off his abilities. Definitely not.

Winn grabs the stapler as the constant clicking becomes annoying and sets it back on his desk. He brushes the small piles of staples into his waste basket and glances at the alien out of the corner of his eye. He barely notices the way the other man’s muscles flex and strain against his shirt sleeves when he crosses his arms.

“Would you like to join us?”

“Joi-join, join you?” Winn clears his throat. “Join you where?”

“For training!” Mon-El grins widely and rocks back on his heels. “I know your wig is out because of your dad and I thought a good work out might help you.”

“Wigging out, I’m wigging out because of my dad,” Winn corrects, and he realizes that it’s true. Even nearly three weeks later he’s still a mess of feelings, mostly anger. Maybe a round or two against the punching bag wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Unless, you think you can’t keep up with us?” Mon-El’s smirk is so smug Winn is tempted to exchange the punching bag for his face, if he didn’t have to worry about breaking his hand. Instead he settles for rolling his eyes.

“I’m still human dude, by definition I can’t keep up with you.” He turns back to the monitors and locks his computer before standing. “But I’m in, let’s go.”

“Sweetness!”

“Winn, Winn stop! Stop it!” Kara’s voice breaks through the haze of adrenaline he’s fallen under as she pulls him back, stopping his wild punches with her arms wrapped like a vice around his own. His breath is harsh and ragged, and his vision clears slowly, the red tint that had shadowed everything now receding.

A visibly concerned Mon-El is standing behind the punching bag to steady it. The fabric is marred with bright red streaks and Winn looks down at his shaking hands, the knuckles cracked and blood seeping through the tape he’d wrapped around them. He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until Kara’s hold on him shifts into a comforting embrace. His tears soak through her cape as he lets out all of the emotions he’s bottled up these last few weeks. He cries for his father who died a long time ago, for his mother who’d been too weak to stay and live in her new reality, and for the little eleven year old boy who’d lost them both.

“I’ll go, but,” he looks up at Kara and Mon-El, who’d come to stand beside them, “will you come with me? Both of you,” he adds looking straight at Mon-El who looks surprised but nods right along with Kara.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” Winn whispers as he glances around the small room. A curtain was drawn on the other side of the large window facing the rows of seats as if they were waiting for a play to start.

“Well then let’s go. This place is a bum,” Mon-El says loudly earning him some annoyed glances from the families of the Toyman’s victims.

Kara throws the Daxamite an exasperated look before turning to her best friend. “Winn, we’ll do whatever you want. Do you want to leave?”

Before he can answer, the curtain is pulled back and the room goes silent as the prisoner is led into the room by two guards. His face is passive and he looks more like his father than when Winn last saw him; older and grayer than in his childhood memories, but with the same stoic look that he would get when he was lost in thought.

Winn sits frozen in his seat and barely reacts when Kara grabs his hand and Mon-El puts an arm around his shoulders, subtly pulling him a little closer. His eyes trace his father’s face imagining the man he could have been, committing him to memory. That’s what he was here for after all; to say goodbye, to get closure. For the first time in a long time he allows himself to wonder what kind of life he would have had if none of this had ever happened.

While he’s being strapped down and his arm is prepped for the needle, the Toyman takes his time glancing at the crowd. His eyes meet Winn’s and his emotionless features are twisted up into a sinister smile. Winn looks down at his lap, not missing the wink the monster sends him or the way the aliens on either side of him each tighten their hold protectively.

The needle is inserted. Each plunger drops. One. Two. Three. And in just a few minutes the last piece of his father is gone. Everyone stands and starts to shuffle out of the room, and he practically has to be dragged out by his friends.

Winn doesn’t get to say goodbye and he doesn’t get closure.

Once again those have been stolen from him by the same evil that stole his family nearly fifteen years ago. Once again Winn is left to deal with the mess. Walking out of the prison, one hand still in Kara’s and the other claimed by Mon-El, he knows this time he won’t have to do it alone.