#i just turn into this self destructive ball of self loathing that does nothing but hurt myself

[red-velvet-0w0]

i know it was a like a whole day ago but im still pissed off about whoever sent me that one anon. like i get they had good intentions but WTF WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT TO SOMEBODY WHO IS CLEARLY SPIRALING

[ckret2]

bouncing off that anon's ask, who would you ship Bill with *outside* of Gravity Falls? Literally any media go ham with it

Invader Zim for exactly one reason: their voices would be sooo annoying together. Imagine it. Imagine the dirty talk. Absolutely atrocious.

This isn't a ship but I think he should hang out with Team Rocket. I mean I guess it could be a ship if you wanna find a way to fit him into the polycule. They've got plenty they can relate to each other on: complicated relationships with parents, being special in your species in a way that makes you a freak/outcast, seeking family via criminal gang, trying to accomplish ONE evil task for like a billion years and somehow no matter how many people you try to manipulate or how clever your cover stories and creative your plans you just canNOT do it...

But mainly I want him to give them terrible advice and horrible help on their criminal ambitions while trying to get them to build him a portal. They waste 50 episodes on 50 different portal-building schemes while Bill gets progressively more irate, and in turn they get equally furious at this annoying talking Ghost-type they can't touch or make go away. Poké balls work on him but he immediately pops back out even madder, which does nothing to help him persuade them that he's not a Pokémon.

Anyway within a month they'd all die for each other. In a very emotional moment when he thinks they're about to be killed and there's nothing he can do about it, he'd tell them they would have made fine Henchmaniacs; and then when they inevitably survive he immediately takes it back.

I think Bill and Unicron would hook up and I think Unicron would make Bill worse. I think he's one of the only beings in existence that could make Bill worse. Bill's got a self-destructive streak a mile wide and Unicron would exacerbate it. They'd break up cordially and then slowly grow to loathe each other more and more in retrospect. Bill would still booty call Unicron when drunk and Unicron would accept.

this isn't necessarily a ship but imagine if bill and getaway teamed up

The Princess in Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer. Bill would promise her a diamond the size of a star and she would build him a portal in less than a week. Bill would compliment her interior decor sensibilities and she might actually compliment his appearance because he's very bright, and that would be enough for them to decide they're besties. They'd get champagne, trash talk their enemies, and bully the plebs like a couple of high school mean girls. They'd make out while completely wasted and deny it when they're sober. Each of them privately thinks the other one is their pet.

Grendel from Grendel. Bill would initially hook up with him expecting him to be the monster equivalent of a party frat boy and then they'd talk philosophy in a dark cave for 18 hours straight and mutually feel like they're not alone for the first time they can remember. They'd make each other worse and then fix each other and then Grendel would die in battle and Bill would get worse again.

I think he could have something with Frankenstein's monster, too—original novel version, not movie version. Similar reasons to Grendel: strong sense of alienation from parents and of isolation from everyone else in the world; feeling of having been created as something totally singular, feeling of having a perspective no one else shares; self-identification as the monster in the narrative of their own life... Plus with the monster Bill's also got "life inevitably culminates in killing my own dad." Bill met him because he was actually trying to get Frank to build him a portal—he's like the first scientist trying to do major projects using electricity—but then ended up more fascinated by the science project than the scientist.

[miss-smutty]

The Destructive Secret - Chapter 1

A/N- So first of all, extremely mature themes, strictly 18+ only This is my baby, I love it and I'm so excited for it but oh my lord! My poor heart writing this. This is going to be a super angsty series. Since I got the idea I've been desperate to get it written, even though it's going to break my heart. The dynamics of it have been driving me insane because I want the first chapter to have a air of mystery to it but then how do I tag it without giving it away? 😩 So I've purposefully left out names in this chapter so you don't know who's who and all will be revealed in good time. Can you work out what's happening? I'd love to hear your thoughts ❤️

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Summary- You've got a secret to hide and it's going to cause complete and utter destruction.

Word count- 2,197

Warnings- Mature themes, swearing, smut, angst, deceit, lies

18+ only!

Taglist-: @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke

Posted: 25th Feb 2021

"Babe, don't hate me... I have to go out of town for another conference this weekend" The deep confliction you feel everytime you do this to your boyfriend, never gets any easier.

"I don't hate you, we'll make up for it next week. How about a little romantic trip, just the two of us" he says sweetly, making your heart tug, you wish he was a bad guy it would make this a lot easier.

"That sounds like a great plan, I'll make it up to you tonight" you say, distracted by your thoughts.

"Well that sounds... Intriguing. I'll see you tonight babe" he hung up the phone but you kept it to your ear, still deep in thought before finally realising and putting the phone on the desk next to your computer.

You finished typing up the letter you were working on before the phone call, looking back and forth from your phone to the screen of your computer, still distracted by your thoughts. The butterflies in your stomach making you feel sick. You gave in and grabbed your phone, typing out a text quickly.

-I've told him. Pick me up from work at 5.30 Friday - you stop typing to think for a minute, before finishing the text with two kisses - xx

You try to get your head back into work, the neverending pile of deadlines building up on your desk next to you. When your phone vibrates the desk loudly, you look around to make sure no one's watching you before giving in to your curiosity and picking up your phone.

-Great, see you Friday. I can't wait to see you xxx

You try to feel excited but the overwhelming amount of guilt you feel always overrides that. You wish it could be different, that you could've met in a different way. That you could actually thoroughly enjoy the time you have together rather than feeling a deep shamefulness everytime you meet.

You've got yourself into something so deep that you can't think of a way out of it, either way it ends somebody is going to be hurt. In fact, one way or the other, you're all going to be hurt.

                             *******************

"Hey babe, did you have a good day?" Your boyfriend greets you as you walk into the kitchen, filled with the aromas of the food he was cooking for you.

"It was ok, busy. This smells amazing. What you making?" You ask, kissing him on the cheek as he stands over the stove, stirring a pot of delicious smelling liquid.

"I'm just making a sauce for the pasta" he says letting go of his wooden spoon and grabbing you by the hand to spin you around and face him. 

"Did you bring dessert?" He says into your ear, moving your hair to the side and planting kisses down your neck.

"What no, was I supposed to?" You couldn't remember him saying anything about dessert, yet you'd been pretty distracted most of the day.

"I'm sure you said something about making it up to me tonight?" He smirks, pulling you in for a lingering open mouthed kiss.

"Oh, yeah. That kind of dessert" you say, pulling away slightly.

"Are you ok? You seem kinda ... Distracted" he asks, a look of concern on his face as you shuffle though the papers in your bag.

"No, sorry babe. It's just work, I've had a lot on my mind today" you lie, sort of. You had a lot on your mind it just wasn't work related, even though you wish it was.

As you put the papers back into your bag you can feel your phone vibrating. Fuck sake, not now. Becoming flustered you accidentally drop the bag onto the glass table, nearly jumping out of your skin from the loud noise your phone made as it hit the glass. 

You notice your hands shaking as you hold your phone in front of you, cursing yourself under your breath for being so pathetic. Reading the text has your heart beating at an unbelievable pace, making you light headed and dizzy. 

-Can you meet me tonight? I hate this, I hate not being able to see you whenever I like. Please Y/N xxx

You pull out a chair and sit down before you fall down, why do you have to be pulled about in so many different directions? It was so hard leading a double life and keeping your dirty little secret, it literally ate away at your soul. You were a shell of the person you used to be, completely consumed with lies and deceit.

Sleepless nights, tossing and turning caused by guilt and work schedules and then still having to sneak away whenever you could. You lost yourself, trying to keep two people happy while completely forgetting about yourself.

"Babe?" 

"Huh?" You say looking up from your phone, you hadn't realised he'd been speaking to you.

"I said, red or white? He asks, furrowing his brow at you.

"Sorry, what?" You look confused, shaking your head as if to shake the thoughts right out of there. You have no idea what he's talking about.

"Wine? Foods ready. Do you want red or white... wine?" Looking more concerned.

"Oh, white please. Thank you, this looks amazing" you say, putting your phone into your shirt pocket and tucking your chair under the table, ready to get started. It really did look amazing, you don't deserve him. 

You watched him sit down opposite you, his ridiculously blue eyes catching yours as his fork passes to his lips. He smiles that sweet smile at you, the one that made you fall in love with him all those years ago. The memories of the years flash in front of your eyes in an instant, the first time he told you he loved you, the first kiss, the first time you made love, beautiful, beautiful memories. You can feel a tear prickling at the corner of your eye, lowering your head, hoping he didn't see. 

"Are you sure you're ok?" He asks, reaching across the table to hold your hand in his. The feel of his touch on your hand sends shivers down your spine and the tears spill from your eyes without warning. You hear his chair screech as he pushes it backwards and rushes to your side.

"Babe, please tell me what's wrong?" He kneels In front of you while you rest your head in your hands, completely overwhelmed with guilt. This poor man, my man, how could I do this to him?

"Don't be nice to me, I don't deserve it" you say, self-loathing.

"What are you talking about? Come here" he pulls you up and sits down with you on his lap, lifting your face to look at him which makes you cry even more. 

"I've been so distant with you, so consumed in my damn work that I've been totally neglecting you - " you cry, looking up at him sincerely, tears streaming down your face messily " - I'm so sorry" if only he knew how sorry you actually were. You loved him, he was your first everything, which makes it even harder for you.

"Hey don't be so silly. I'm a big boy, I think I can handle you being a little distracted, it just means when we do get time together it's more special. You've put up with so much from me, with the tabloids and papparzzi. You took it all on when we were still so young and never complained once, this is nothing compared to that" he wipes the tears away from your cheeks. Oh baby, please don't blame yourself.

"I would do it all over again, you know? It was worth it, I'd never change it. You're my childhood sweetheart, we've grown up together and I... I" you're balling like a baby now.

"Shh, baby. Please don't worry about it. You need a break, you've been working way too hard" if only he knew.

He nudges the side of your face with his soft bearded cheek until you give in and look up at him. The tears are also starting to well in his eyes and he smiles at you, at how silly and emotional you're both being. You suck it up and wipe the tears away with your arm.

"Come on, I've got some making up to do" you say, leading him to the bedroom. Your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket - an incoming call. You reach in and hold down the off button, you'll deal with that later.

He stops you before you make it to the bedroom and pushes you hastily against the wall, unable to wait much longer. His hands feel their way down your body until he reaches the hem of your skirt and pushes it up to your stomach, revealing your lacey panties. Your breath hitches as he pushes himself against you, the feel of his hard cock against your exposed panties makes you forget everything else for a moment. 

"I love you so fucking much" he says against your lips, biting gently on your bottom one while his hands run up and down your body. You reach down to unbutton his jeans, it's all very rushed and desperate, you need to feel each other, feel the love you have for each other. You need to show him, a painful desire that burns in your chest to show him that you love him.

So you push him backwards towards the bedroom door, your hands still working his jeans as your lips lock, never pulling apart.

Shoving him slightly too hard back onto your super-king bed in the middle of the room, you waste no time straddling him. He reaches up to unbutton your shirt, thrusting into you as he does so, the need so bad it hurt. You stopped his fingers fiddling with your button midway down your torso so you could pull off his jeans and boxers, while he props himself up on the bed with his elbows. Watching intently as you take control.

You kneel between his thighs, smoothing your hands down those thick muscles. Waiting for him to position himself at the end of the bed, making sure he has a good view before you run your pierced tongue up the shaft, all the way to the tip. Teasing him, knowing full well how it makes him feel. The ways his head falls back, his mouth hung open and the sounds falling from his lips, stir something deep inside you. It makes you feel hot to know you're turning him on this much.

Circling your pointy tongue around the tip, a sultry stare straight into his eyes makes him groan. You take his tip into your mouth, swallowing the drop of precum, licking your lips for him. Sucking on his cock, feeling it throbbing in your mouth, growing impossibly harder.

You can tell he can't handle it anymore when he pulls you onto him so you're sitting on his cock, your walls stretching around him making you both suck in air at the sensitivity. He leans back up to finish unbuttoning your shirt while thrusting his big cock, deep within you. Finally getting your shirt off, he grips his fingers into your ass cheeks, squeezing them as he sits up. Bouncing up and down on his dick, while you stare into each others eyes, the intimacy overwhelming you. Lost in the moment for a precious amount of time, feeling the sensation of your loves cock filling you up beyond limits.

You pull his shirt over his head, revealing his beautifully, tanned body. Holding on tightly to you while he pushes himself up the bed so he can lean his back against the headboard. Watching your tits move as you bounce on his cock, thrusting into you with his jaw clenched. You know that look, the way he's desperately trying not to come too quickly.

Both of your breathes are getting faster as you bounce harder, the gripping sensation rises through you.

"I love you" you say between breaths, leaning down to say it into his ear. 

"Fuck - " he groans, pulling out of you quickly before he come, your rising orgasm fading away. 

" - fuck Sorry, babe. That was too fucking much" He rolls you over underneath him and quickly positions himself back at your entrance, easing in painfully slowly.

Now thrusting into you at an unforgivable pace, making you gasp everytime he slammed into you. Pushing your knees back towards your face and settling himself between them, holding your head with both hands and gazing into your eyes. He's ready, you're ready, you can feel it rising as he rolls his hips into you. The look of love in his eyes making you feel emotional, he's panting and you're moaning as he lets go and pumps into you making you lose it and scream out as you gush everywhere. Holding onto the sheets, tightly, as you wait for your toes to uncurl, still inside of you he lays on your stomach trying to catch his breath. Your muscles cramp up and shake making you wince as you try to move out from underneath him

"Are you ok?" His head snaps up, concerned.

"Yeah, just cramp" you whine, stretching out your legs when he rolls to your side.

"I really do love you" you say moving into his arms.

"I know you do. I love you too" he says kissing the top of your head. You're brought back to reality when you hear your phone vibrating again on the floor, in the pocket of your shirt. 

"You're popular tonight" he says noticing the sound of your phone as it vibrates the floorboards.

"It's just work, it can wait until tomorrow" you say, content being in his arms for a little longer and forgetting that anything or anyone else exists. Even if it is only for a moment.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Three: Budding Relationships

AN: Each chapter I post I gain more and more readers, and I thank you all!

Word Count: 3.7k

Trigger Warnings: violence, mention of hate crimes

Chapter Four: Enter Sebastian Shaw

Today we had the day off, since the teenagers proved to Charles and Erik they were not prepared to go along with them to ambush Shaw. So, I was once again approved as being the babysitter while Charles, Erik, and Moira go to Russia. I shook my head and chuckled at Erik's and I conversation before he left with Charles and Moira.

Erik laughed mockingly and clapped his hands together, "Are you sure you want her as a babysitter Charles? She did such a horrible job last time,"

Irritation filled me, and I glared daggers at him "Careful, Erik," I said with mock sweetness. "Or you'll find yourself crying like a spoiled two year old," I threatened.

He grinned boyishly despite my threat.

I was currently sitting on the couch with the others in an identical hangout room with another book in my hand. Except this one had a pinball machine, and overlooked a statueless courtyard. Plus, this room had all its windows. Angel, Hank, Raven, Sean, and I were all sitting on the leather couches. Honestly, it didn't surprise me when Sean sat with the girls and I, he just wouldn't give up. Alex and Darwin were playing on the pinball machines, and Alex was beating him rather badly.

"Jesus man, you are KILLING me." Darwin complained, as Alex focused intently at the pinball machine.

"Don't beat yourself up, I had a lot of spare time,"

Alex's last remark confused me. Hank had said that he'd been in prison for the last four years, and I don't think they gave their prisoners meaningless arcade machines. The thought quickly leaves my mind as I heard two CIA agents talking loudly.

"Oh, I didn't know the circus was in town!" an arrogant CIA agent caught my attention. "Hey, come on honey, give us a little uh..." doing a terrible impression of Angel's wings, I could hear her mutter 'no' under her breath, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "No? Come on, let's see the foot," the agent jeered.

I could feel the anger starting to rise up inside of me, as I felt the happiness in the room subsided. Hank got up and walked to the button that closes the curtains.

"There it is, come on Big Foot. Let's go," Hank saluted the man mockingly, as the curtains closed."Hey, come on. Hey!" As Hank sat back down, the room fell silent, except the soft pinging of the pinball machine.

"They're just guys being stupid," Raven comforted, just realizing how much this actually upset Angel.

"Guys being stupid I can handle. Okay, I've handled that my whole life!" she snapped. "But I'd rather a bunch of guys stare at me with my clothes off than the way these ones stare at me!" Angel snapped again, disheartening Raven, who still wasn't completely over last night's events.

More silence.

"At us," Raven added sadly, Angel turned away guiltily, for lashing out on Raven, but there was no way she was going to apologize for it.

A flood of self-consciousness and self-loathing assaulted me, I tried to focus on my physical surroundings, rooting my thoughts enough to sort out my emotions and bring them under control. My hands balled into fists, my entire body tense. I brought my hand to my temple and massaged it with two fingers in an attempt to ease the pain.

Raven's soft voice called across from me, "Sorry, Claudia. Did we bother you?"

"Bother her?" Angel scoffed, voice dripping with attitude. "How could we have bothered her? She has an invisible mutation, no one could ever bother her,"

I forced a smile. Her attitude was merely an obnoxious mask for her fragile heart. I set my copy down of Jane Erye onto the table.

"You're right, Angel. The only thing I have to be bothered about is people wanting to see me swing from a tree," I quipped darkly. "And you know, gaining basic civil rights," I added, my eyes narrowed slightly.

Our bitter conversation is brought to an end by the abrupt sound of a thud coming from outside. We stared at each other in confusion before I stood up, sensing danger. We stayed still for a moment, listening to the thuds, there's silence and then there's a whooshing sound.

"This doesn't feel right," Darwin muttered, before striding over to the curtains and pressing the button to open them. Alex gives the pinball machine one last flick and then followed him. Outside, there was nothing. We gathered around the clear, glass window looked at each other, confused. I waited tersely, my eyes darting back and forth.

"Do you sense something, Claudia?" Raven asked.

"Something's wrong," I whispered, but only Raven heard me. She shot me a curious glance, but was stopped from saying anything by Alex.

"What is that?" Alex demanded, pointing at the black figures blocking the light of the moon.

The light made it only a silhouette, preventing us from seeing what it truly was, all we could see that a silhouette was holding up another silhouette.

And then it isn't.

I cried out in pain as I felt the fear and pain of a man dying strong in my mind. I tried to relax the man, but he was already dead. Just as I opened my eyes, a body came crumbling down to the ground and smashing instantly right in front of the window causing causing all of us to jump back in surprise. I let out a gasp as Angel and Raven let out a scream in horror, clutching tightly onto my arm. I heard more screams and felt more pain as more men started to fall from the sky.

Suddenly, the roof lights flickered on, the sky is littered with falling bodies crashing in various sights around the buildings, the sound of screams and smashing glass, filling our ears. Guards rushed out of the buildings, positioning themselves surrounding the window, blocking us from harms way. They signaled for us to move out of the way, as more attacks proceeded. I searched for the mind that kept killing the CIA agents, but couldn't seem to keep a right mind. Raven let out another scream as an agent tumbled from the sky and into the glass roof outside

Terror filled the room, seeping into my every pore.

"Get back! Get back! Do not leave that room, we are under attack!" A man without a gun shouted.

In a flash of flames, the red man dressed well in a suit appeared in a puff of smoke and we all screamed for the agents to turn around. Taking them by surprise. The guards taking a few moments for it to register before beginning to shoot at him. It was too late, he was gone.

The glass shattered as a bullet hit the window, and we rushed to duck behind the sofa, screams filled my ears. Darwin stood closest to the edge, his arms stretched out to shield us from the oncoming storm. A tornado appeared, swiftly making it's way around the other side of the building, ripping apart what Hank had called 'Cerebro'. I didn't want to watch Hank's pained expression, when he saw his hard work torn away, but I could feel Hank radiating sadness and frustration.

"Stay here, my ass!" Darwin shouted to us, making his way towards the door. Running out into the corridor, we were stopped by some more guards.

"GET BACK!" the agents screamed at us.

"We can help! We can help!" Darwin tried to plead, but we're just pushed back.

Deep down, I knew Darwin realized that we couldn't.

Raven's hysterical, a complete mess. I managed to calm her emotions down with my empathic powers, but she somehow overruled that and became anxious once more. A wave of heat hits me, followed by an immense explosion. Raven screamed as agents are sucked into the flames, and we run back to where we were. Met with more destruction, back into the room, the tornado was moving closer and most of the guards were dead, falling down, one by one. Raven sobbed louder and screamed again when an agent is launched through the only remaining window by the hurricane. I can't be the only person to notice that we've completely backed ourselves into a corner.

The red man stabbed the last agent and Raven whimpered. A good looking Spanish man and the one that closely resembled most people's portrayal of the devil, stepped over the window, entering the room, one on each side. We were closed in.

Someone fired another shot and Raven screamed again.

"Wait, wait! You want the mutants? They're right through that door! Just let us normal people go! We're no threa-" a muffled voice is cut off and Raven's face changed into one of disgust.

A helmeted man, who was easily in his forties, walked through the door. To be honest, he looked kind of stupid.

"Where is the telepath?" The man in the helmet asked, as if it were no big deal that they just killed hundreds of men.

"Not here," The devil looking man noted, you could tell who was in charge there and it definitely wasn't him.

"Too bad," The other man smiled. "Well, at least I can taking this silly thing off," he stated, pulling the helmet off and ran his fingers through his long hair, pushing it back into its place.

At least we agree on something, he does look entirely silly.

But how would that helmet protect his thoughts from a telepath like Charles? No one in the room could read his mind, but I could read his emotions and I knew that he was bad news, there was a danger radiating from him, anyone could feel that. My mind filled with the echoes of his thoughts tied to one specific emotion. Hatred. War, survival, the strongest race. He was thinking of things beyond what we were anticipating.

"Good evening," he addressed us. "My name's Sebastian Shaw. And I am not here to hurt you,"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "Liar. Your little sidekicks just murdered a fleet of CIA agents," I thought.

A lone agent appeared across the courtyard.

"Freeze!"

"Azazel?" Shaw lazily ordered

He disappeared, appearing again outside, swiftly killing the man and teleported back.

Shaw turned back to us, "My friends," He took another step towards us, handing his helmet to the Spanish man. "There's a revolution coming, when mankind discovers who we are, what we can do. Each of us will face a choice: be enslaved, or rise up to rule," His eyes lingered on me for longer than I would have liked. But Shaw was not done yet. "Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us then you are, by definition, against us,"

"So. You can stay, fight for the people that hate and fear you. Or, you can join me, and live like kings," he looked to the boys, none of them attempting to make a move. Then he looked to Angel, standing in front of me. "And queens," He holds his hand out to her and Angel took it with almost no hesitation. I couldn't help sending her a look of pure disgust.

"Angel..." Raven's voice dropped in disappointment, although I didn't particularly like her, it didn't mean I wanted this to happen.

"You kidding me?" Sean's face dropped, he enjoyed flirting with Angel the most, but I never imagined he would be this crushed.

Angel looked back at us, "Come on," she commanded, gesturing towards us. "We don't belong here and that's nothing to be ashamed of,"

Darwin reached out to her, but Angel turned away, ignoring us.

"We have to do something," Raven insisted.

Alex and Darwin exchange a few harsh whispers. Alex pushed Darwin in the side and Darwin turned away.

"Stop. I'm coming with you," Darwin announced, stepping over what was left of the window. Angel smiled, clearly pleased someone had listened to her speech, even Shaw seemed momentarily pleased.

I watched in disbelief as Darwin moved towards the line of mutants. Shaw stepped towards him.

"Good choice. So tell me about your mutation," He said slyly.

"Well I adapt to survive," Darwin explained, Alex lead us into the center of the room. "So I guess that means I'm coming with you," Darwin finished.

Shaw nodded, "I like that," Shaw signaled for him to join Angel and Darwin stood next to Angel.

"ALEX!" Darwin yelled, forming a rock solid barrier and dipping Angel to protect her.

"Get down!" Alex shouted, shoving us out of harms way, sending rings of energy, launching at Shaw, Alex grinned momentarily before his face dropped.

We watched in horror as Shaw had somehow absorbed his energy. I raised my hand to send a telekinetic blast towards Shaw and that's when everything else became a blur, and before I knew it Azazel vanished, and appeared right in front of me within a blink an eye. His tail wrapped around my throat, I yelped lightly when my feet left the floor, kicking out blindly, but my five five frame wasn't really doing anything to stop this man who was nearly a foot taller than I was. I clawed at his tail so air could fill my lungs again, but it was a futile effort as he only tightened his grip

"Protecting your fellow mutants? That's a noble gesture," He shivered slightly, who wouldn't after absorbing that much power. Darwin got up, confused, and Angel moved back towards the Spanish man. "Feels good," Shaw shrugged his shoulders a little and let out a smirk.

"Azazel drop her," Azazel did as he was command, air filled my lungs but only momentarily. As soon as Azazel dropped me, Shaw's hand clasped around my neck, and brought me up off of my feet. I gagged on his choking grasp, my hands once again trying to claw it off my neck. "Now who's this?" Shaw wondered aloud a small sinister smile on his lips, his eyes scanning my body over.

The very air that he gave off was dangerous and intimidating. I mean that was obvious when he first walked through the doors, but it was made all the more clearer now that I was only inches from his face.

It was his eyes. Those eyes that looked right through me and held no warmth.

"Her name is Claudia," Angel spoke up. If Shaw wasn't choking the life out of me right now I would be livid with Angel telling him my name and for betraying us. "She can manipulate emotions, she could come with us," Angel suggested, with a rather large smile on her face.

"Yes, she could," Shaw agreed, nodding his head. "With your abilities, I'm sure you'll be very valuable to us. Your power is very interesting, Claudia," Shaw stated, and a shiver went down my spine when he said my name.

"No...it's not," I managed to utter out.

"Oh to me it is," Shaw disagreed, a menacing smile on his face. "With your abilities, I'm sure we'll be able to control anyone at will. We'll make an army. We'll be unstop-"

"No!" I hissed.

"What?"

"Go...to...hell!" I wheezed out.

"Hmm, it's too bad really, a beautiful woman like you..I saw so much potential in you," Shaw snarled gleefully, then swung his free hand, as it connected to the right side of my face, some of the energy from Alex's power thrown with it, causing me to see stars on impact. He threw me into the wall, my limp body collided with the drywall.

The room seemed to fade, leaving stars in my eyes and I felt my adrenaline crash, but surprising felt more energy than I ever had before.

Shaw turned sharply to Darwin. Darwin goes to throw a punch, but is quickly blocked. Shaw grabbed his mouth. "Adapt to this," Shaw whispered, and we watch, horrified expressions on our faces, as he puts all of Alex's energy into Darwin's mouth.

I watched as darkness slowly crept into my vision as Shaw, Azazel, the Spanish man, and Angel disappeared into a burst of flames. That's when I see Darwin standing there, convulsing.

Darwin tried to find different ways to adapt, but Alex's power was able to destroy the barrier. I watched him turn to platinum, then rock as the plasma burnt within, the orange-red glow peeking out of the rock like lava until he turned to solid rock. Then he realized it just wasn't going to work. He faced Alex and the rest of us, the blonde's eyes widened with terror, as he watched his new friend slowly die. Darwin looked over at Alex with black eyes, as he reached out, wordlessly and the stone started to break apart again. Then the cracks of Darwin's form brightened, and he exploded into only bits and pieces.

And just like that, he was gone forever.

Everyone all stood for a few moments in silence. Then the whole cataclysm sunk in, and everyone began scrambling around. Hank ran out the door saying he was going to find a first aid kit for me, Sean and Raven took baby steps towards where Darwin had diminished, and Alex rushed over to me, examining me. I already felt my face was swelling black and blue, a little shadow of blood remained under my head.

My vision was almost completed darkened, but my eyes met Alex's and in that instant, I knew how much he was hurting. He practically killed a man. Just as the thought crossed my mind, Alex spoke.

"H-He's gone. I k-k- I-I kill-killed him," Alex stuttered, his expression full of devastation.

"No, you didn't," I whispered, feeling even more drained as the seconds passed. "Trust me,"

"Claudia!"

I heard someone yell. But I couldn't tell who it was, for I slipped into unconsciousness and let the darkness envelope me before the person could call my name again.

~~~x~~~

When I awoke my body was no longer on the cold, hard ground of the rec room, but instead on the lumpy mattress I've become used to. Someone must have carried me. I managed to sit up a little less than an inch before my head started spinning and pain shot through my spine causing me to lie back down and gasp loudly.

Pain.

It's a slightly indescribable sensation; all one can really use is a mix of adjectives and synonyms, and even then one couldn't fully describe what they were feeling. Just what the pain feels like, using personifications and such. Right now, I felt like someone had beaten the tar out of me, which is what exactly happened. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to blink, it even hurt to think of even possibly moving again. I couldn't open my eyes, as they were held close with hard crust. I tried to push them open, but could only pry open my left eye, as the more I pushed myself in opening the right one, the more it hurt.

My brown orb peered around the room, my vision was still blurry. It was two o'clock in the morning if I read the time right. It had been fours hours since Darwin's death.

A tear rolled down my cheek, wiping it away. I couldn't tell if it was on my own volition or if I was just channeling everyone's emotions. I didn't want to cry, but I could no longer control it, when tears kept effortlessly sliding down my face. I looked through my tears, and I knew I wouldn't be sleeping for the rest of the night. I touched my head lightly, as I felt a long bandage wrapped around it. It was so sore, and gave little jolts of pain every time I picked up on someone's feelings.

I slowly slid out of the comforts of a bed that wasn't truly mine and let short, loud cry of pain as I moved. I stood up too quickly and a wave of dizziness hit me like a truck, causing me to plop back down onto the bed until it passed. I pushed myself up off the bed again and trudged to the door and into the hallway, I was put in a room at the end of the corridor that seemed to remain untouched by the events, I realized nobody would dare go back to our old rooms, they were just rubble and dust.

It was everywhere. The scent of burned flesh made my stomach turn, and the smoke stung my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach, but there was nothing to vomit. I could feel sweat trickle down the back of my neck, mixing painfully with the open wounds there, but I didn't close my eyes. My stomach was twisted into knots, and it was all I could do not to break down and cry. The pain from everyone else was what was kill me.

Fear. Anger. Despair. Disgust. Malice. Painpainpainpainpain-

I threw myself against the cold, concrete wall in effort to keep myself upright and placed my overheated forehead on the wall to ground me. I breathed deeply, my chest heaving and summoned up what little strength I had to push on.

I wandered more and I found an abandoned bathroom with shattered mirrors and glass coating the ground. I lingered in the doorway, not wanting to take the chance that I might cut my feet open on the shattered fragments. But one of the mirrors was intact, except for a slight, thin crack in the upper right hand corner. It was across from me and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. That in itself wasn't unusual, but it wasn't my face that stared back at me.

My hair was limp black and my eye a dull, muddy color. I stepped closer to the mirror, forgetting about the damned glass. And dear Lord, my face. I looked paler than usual and exhausted, worn out. Not to mention a god damn black eye.

I raked my fingers through my black hair to sort out the tangles, letting out a huff of air, a sardonic laugh escaped from lips.

"This is what I left the comforts of New York for? Death and destruction?"

Chapter Five: A Place to Call Home

[marireadshellblazer]

Hellblazer Issue #9

Beinveneu, Power Bottoms!

The issue starts off once again hammering home the kind of world John lives in. Glimpses like this of what everyday life is like in John's world are so important for world building. We aren't simply being told the place is bad, we are seeing example after example of problems that are inescapable in his environment. Homelessness, prostitution, domestic violence, murder, etc in all it’s gory and disturbing glory. John walks by all this, not getting involved, meaning that this is at least somewhat normal for him. Yet, it still disturbs him; he isn't really numb to all the chaos and darkness around him. He isn't some hardened "badass" who fears nothing. He understands perfectly well that this isn't ok, but good or bad this is still normal in his world. And I think that he feels powerless to do anything about it.

It could also be that seeing these things all around him has to do with his depressive state. That is, the bad parts of society are so obvious to him because that is what he is choosing to focus on. He sees himself as down in the gutter with this dark side of society. I’m not saying this is all in his head or anything, but I think that his feeling that the world is coming down around him inside is reflective of how he is looking at the outside world. In issues like this one John is largely in his own head. Therefore, the world around him naturally reflects his perspective as opposed to what it is/might be like in reality. When you’re sad the world can feel like it’s rushing on around you, happy and oblivious to sorrow, which gives a heightened sense of loneliness. When you’re worried or anxious, time may seem to be either too fast or too slow, and over sensitivity may make the people around you seem rude, or again oblivious, to the problem even if it’s so obvious to you personally. In John’s case, his guilt and feelings of uselessness and failure cause him to hyper focus on the things that degrade the world around him; the literal destruction in the world around him. This destruction and darkness just keeps pulling him in further, victimizing him the way he victimized the people in his life. The humanoid figures chasing him and the oil trying to claw at him are manifestations of how his mind is further falling into depression and self-loathing. His attention keeps going back to the wreaking ball taking out chunks of a brick building nearby, which reflects how the stress and anguish he feels is taking out chunks of him inside. The pain is eroding his hard outer shell that allows for him to keep it together in the face of danger and madness.

In my opinion, issues where John is our narrator, waxing poetic, are some of the best ones. I just love it. But for the life of me, I’m not able to really explain exactly why.

Happy birthday, indeed.

One thing that, according to what I have read, makes Hellblazer stand out as a comic is that it doesn't really engage in "comic book time"; that is, unlike most comics or shows like Pokémon, the main character isn't 10 years old the entire series. John actually ages in real time. In this chapter, he turns 35, and a few issues later, 5 years after this issue came out, John turned 40. By the end of the series he is getting up close to 60. So, fun little trivia piece there.

All the stress, guilt, and just the everyday gloom have caught up to John on what I imagine is not a happy holiday for him. Poor John.

Beautiful, John. Just lovely.

 Be careful what you wish for, hun.

As far as I can tell, I think the D.T. the man is referring to is delirium tremens, which is a symptom of alcohol withdrawal. I agree, not something you want.

I love that in John’s periods of overwhelming self-pity and self-loathing he becomes quite the poet. Honestly, this issue as a whole is really well written.

Also, he manages to light himself on fire. Oh John…

I’m pretty sure this is a reference to a novel by Richard Fariña.

The scene where John pulls himself back together is just awesome. It’s like that hard outer shell is shaking him like “get it together!!” I just love it.

Something that stood out to me is that the wreaking ball comes in and destroys the couch he had been sitting on after his conversation with himself. He leaves the spot where he was ready to just give in and it’s taken out by the wreaking ball that had been serving as a metaphor for his self-hate the whole issue. He destroys the idea of giving up and just letting things go. Things like this are a great reminder of why I love comics. Imagery like this, even though it can be done through written word, hits different when the imagery is presented through art.

Oh man…Zed. Back in the fold. John really does represent freedom for her. I just feel so bad for her. Her situation is terrible, and she knows that running away will only make things worse and, in the end, unless she’s dead there’s no escape. Cults are scary. I’m glad that they have this understanding despite her insistence on staying. There is a kind of love and trust there. Which John then promptly betrays. I do like their relationship and I wish she could have been around a bit longer.

Their scene together is really a beautiful moment. There’s sadness, there’s passion, and it ends with John realizing that he’s once again gone through with yet another betrayal.

Swamp Thing showing up totally changes the tone. Just wham! And now for something completely different!

Dick move taking over his ciggs. Like dude, those are expensive.

I love this issue. All around good time.

I’m feeling this on a spiritual level rn

[catracorner962]

9 Lives of Catra Applesauce Meow Meow Ch. 8 Corridors

Burned a life to save Glimmer.

*This chapter gets graphic please be warned!*

“Do what I ask of you,” Horde Prime commanded. Catra’s heart hammered against her chest, her eyes darting towards where Hordak...the new clone...whoever he was, stood vacantly before them. She shivered. Green light reflecting off of Prime’s white robes. The clones moaned and groveled in their sick revelry.

He’s got you cornered….you pledged your allegiance to him, her mind raced with self-accusation. She’d gotten herself into this mess. Backed herself into this corner through her usual lies and attempts to survive. If Hordak couldn’t please him…..how can I possibly? 

“Don’t pretend you're any better off than I am here,” Glimmer’s words rang through her ears. She winced, stupid princess was right. Catra swallowed, her throat dry. She looked up at him. Searching for any sign of a way out, any card she could play, any tool she could use. Nothing. Prime’s eyes, alight with that sickly glow only stared at her, pleased with the way she was squirming under his gaze.  She cleared her throat, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to press it down.

“Yes, Horde Prime.” He smiled, revealing pointed fangs, pleased.

“Go in now in peace.”

Catra managed a curt bow, and forced herself to walk from the chamber.

I’ll talk to Glimmer, but if she says anything about Adora I won’t….I can’t...no I’ll...I’ll figure something out. I always find a way. Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes, her chest clenched. The bruises and scars along her body ached in an echo of exactly what it had taken to stick around this long. To hold her station. To get to where she’d gotten.

How many lives have I burned through? Five...no more than that. Eight? That many? They all ran together in her mind. The pain of each time jumbled and confused. Catra shook her head, now sprinting down the corridors, as far away from the pool as possible.

---

“You want me to talk to her or not? Trust me, I need cake.”

The clone cocked its head, confused. Catra snarled, tail flicking.

“All these ships and you don’t have a kitchen? What do you eat? Green goo? You want me to talk to the Princess. I need to get her to trust me. Now get me some cake that resembles whatever they’d have on Brightmoon and let me do Horde Prime’s will.” Her stomach churned at the words, she swallowed down bile. The clone nodded.

“We will get you what you ask Little Sister. Horde Prime knows all.”

Catra rolled her eyes, folding her arms.

“Hurry up.”

The clone’s empty eyes looked over her for a moment and she fought the urge to scratch him. Does he know…? Can he really see all? If he really had such omnipotence he would for sure see the doubt and indecision that ate away at Catra’s core. The self-loathing and hatred. Toward Prime himself, toward SheRa, toward the Horde, all of it.  But she was here now, whatever things she had done to get her were in the past. There was no going back.

I can’t just undo….

“Here you are Little Sister,” Catra snapped back to attention at the clone who handed her a small box. She lifted the flap, looking at the pretty pink cake inside. She nodded, turning on her heel and making her way to Glimmer’s cell. She could feel the clone tracing her steps close behind her, causing her fur to stand on end.

I’m running on borrowed time here. Ever since we were beamed up.

They navigated the hallways, and she made sure to purposely make several wrong turns.

As if I don’t know exactly where Glimmer’s being kept.

As if she hadn’t been sneaking there all this time. If only to see a familiar face.

Someone who’s almost done just as bad as I have, some deep part of herself whispered. Just didn’t expect it to be the Queen of Brightmoon herself.

They arrived at the cell, the clone reaching forward to press its palm against the green barrier. Catra’s eyes narrowed, watching the hand remain there until a green diamond appeared, sending the rest of the barrier fading away to allow entrance.

“Give us some privacy?”

“Of course Sister, Prime sees all.”

The wall of green materialized gain, leaving the two of them.  

“What’s with the babysitter?” Glimmer asked, her tone more casual and easy than Catra expected.

“Here,” she held the box out in front of her. Glimmer looked at the cake, bewildered. “It’s the dumb food you wanted.”

Wow she’s just as bad as Adora, the idiot.

“You know?! From your perfect day or whatever.” A crimson blush rose to Catra’s cheeks.

“I remember,” Glimmer pipped up, looking at her with wide eyes and a smile...not twisted with sarcasm or chagrin to match Catra’s own but...a sweet smile, a kind smile. Catra kept her head turned, starting at the floor. 

“I just….thanks,” Glimmer finished her voice shaking a little.

You’re welcome.

“Don’t go thinking I actually care about you,” because I don’t! I do not! “I’m supposed to talk to you, so eat the stupid cake and then answer my questions,” she handed the box to Glimmer who took it, still looking wide eyed at her, for some sort of answer. Catra’s ears flicked, listening for the clone outside.

It’s still there….fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.

What am I going to do?

Get the information from Glimmer. Horde Prime will be proud of you. You could rise above Hordak. Maybe, if you do this, if you continue to do as Prime says. Maybe.

No….no matter what you do he’ll get rid of you like Glimmer said. And Glimmer….she...she..

Sweat dripped down Catra’s temple, curving along the line of her mask.

“What’s going on?” Glimmer’s voice trembled, delicately.

“Shhh, don’t say anything,” Catra turned from the door, back towards the princess, taking Glimmer’s hand in both her own. “Just look at me,” she whispered, walking backward to the farthest point of the cell. Glimmer backed up, finally sitting on the large bed. “An old First One’s ship left Etheria’s atmosphere a few days ago,” Catra knelt on the ground before her, squeezing her hands.

Not for the first time….when you fought her before. When you died, she was holding you when you died. She was holding your hand.  When you came back again, she held your hand. It grounded you. She doesn’t want to hurt you either. You asked her to kill you...and she still didn’t do it. She had every reason to. You killed her mother, Catra’s stomach threatened to empty, looking into those purple grey eyes.

“Prime cannot track it, what do you know about it?”

Glimmer gasped, tightening her grip on Catra’s hand. The cake clattered to the ground on the floor.

“Adora’s on that ship,” Catra’s voice hitched. “Isn’t she?!” She stood, letting go of Glimmer.

“You can’t tell him!” The princess seized her arm, trying to pull her back, “You know what he’ll do to her if he catches her!”

Catra’s ears folded against her skull, face flushing.

She’s right. He’ll do to Adora what he did to Hordak….

She tightened her fist in indignation, yanking it out of Glimmer’s clammy grasp.

“Adora’s on her way here, she’s coming for you! I don’t have to do anything! I just have to let it happen!”

She turned to go, fury in her chest, her tail lashing behind her.

“And you think Prime will reward you?!” Glimmer leapt in front of her, fists balled. “As soon as you’re no longer useful to him he’ll get rid of you in a second!”

Of all Catra’s skill, her  enduring willful ignorance to inevitable truth was the strongest.

“I always find a way out!” She growled, moving forward. Glimmer  grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her backward .

“So you’re just going to run away?! To...to what?!” The princess begged, her eyes rimming with tears of anger. “If Prime captures Adora he can use the Heart of Etheria to wipe out the whole universe! Is that what you want?!”

Catra’s eyes widened, her mouth opened to offer a smart rebuke but nothing came.

What do you want Catra? A question she had met with violence and deception, and blind ignorance, not with an answer.

The princess’s gloved grip  brought her back to reality, tightening around her hand. Tears now pressed at her eyes.

“Catra! Please! Do one good thing in your life!”

There was trust in those eyes. Trust in a better part of herself, trust that there was a better part of herself. A secret heart in her that wanted to save, or at least prevent the destruction of their planet. An appeal to her better half. A hope that a better half existed. Glimmer. Who had gone behind her own friend’s back herself to try and activate the heart. Glimmer who tried to fix it. Who was still trying. Her fingers gently stroked across Catra’s gloved hands, her whole body shaking.

Catra sucked a breath, threatening to let out a quiet whimper.

I...I’ve never done a good thing in my life. Not for Adora...or Scorpia...or for anyone. If Prime wipes out Etheria...Adora will be dead. Everything will be obliterated. The Fright Zone, Brightmoon, the Princesses and the Horde.. Adora and I….we wanted to rule Etheria, not destroy it.  Not destroy it.

The only thing you’ve ever been good at is destroying those you love. Destroying other people’s happiness and hope. Destroying yourself.

“Argh,” She swiped her arm away from Glimmer’s hands once more, shaking, squeezing her eyes shut. If only to get away from the princess’s beseeching look. “Don’t talk to me like you know me!” She cried, 

“You don’t know anything about me!” Catra pounded her fists against the green barrier.

“Hey! Let me out!”

She took off as soon as it dissolved, trying to run as fast as she could, away from Glimmer’s despondent sobs.

---

Catra’s claws wracked down the hall, Horde Prime’s hollow words running through her mind:

“You will be raised up above the other wretched creatures of your home world. Is that not what you want?”

What do you want?

Adora….

Always Adora. It always had been, it always would be.

Catra stopped in her tracks. Staring at the reflective wall, her own forlorn sleep deprived face looking back at her.

This is all I’ve ever been. All I will ever be.

She drew a heavy breath, her chest hurting to even move. Thought’s roving,

Adora and me playing...running through the industrial halls. Laughing even though there was no reason to laugh. Playing and fighting and play fighting.

She could see it clear as day, their squealing laughter, her heart skipped in her chest, blood thrumming through her ears. Her and Adora rolling around on the ground, she would almost always pin the other girl down, laughing. Hands on Adora’s round little shoulders. Catra’s eyes widened, picturing it as if her childhood broken as it was, appeared before her.

It wasn’t all bad. There were good things, there was Adora.

Just Adora.

Not SheRa...not Adora who left but Adora my friend.

“I’m always gonna be your friend,” the sunlit voice of her friend sounded clear as a bell.

Catra’s face fell, staring down the corridor picturing little Adora. Barely enough blonde hair to stay in a ponytail, her large blue eyes, missing front teeth, round face. Her tail flicked back and forth with indecision.

“I’m always gonna be your friend.”

It’s too late….I’ve done too much, I haven't done enough...but I can do one good thing. Glimmer was wrong...you were wrong you sweet, sweet idiot. There’s no better part of me. It doesn’t matter what I want. I don’t matter.

Catra took a deep breath, face going tight, she set her jaw, ears going flat.

I don’t matter. But they do. Adora does.

One good thing.

She bit her tongue, tail now lashing. Catra unleashed her claws, and sprinted towards Glimmer’s cell.

---

“It’s nothing personal, Hordak,” Catra grunted, sliding her claws into the port at the base of the clone’s neck. His eyes faded as sparks flew. Going from green to white. She grunted, heaving him upward, holding his arm aloft.

“I’m coming in!”

Without waiting for an answer she held his hand up to the green barrier, waiting for it to fall away. Glimmer lowered her arms, the shard of a chair leg held in her grip, ready to attack.

“Wh...what are you?”

Catra dropped the clone,

“I….I wanna do that one good thing in my life,” She breathed. “Like you said.” She held out her hand to Glimmer, on a chance, on a wish.  “So...come with me…?”

Glimmer’s eyes widened, her whole form shaking. Catra watched her glance at the fallen clone, then to Catra’s outstretched hand.

She took it, holding tightly. Catra allowed a small smile to flit across her face. Glimmer returned her cautious friendly expression.

I can do one good thing. If it’s the last thing I do. Let it be good.

Catra adjusted her grip, careful to keep her claws from shredding Glimmer’s gloves, then pulled her along.

---

Catra held Glimmer’s arm in a death grip, as much to quell her own pounding chest as to move her forward. Pushing her towards the launch pad. The princess stumbled forward, only to be blocked by a sheer energy barrier. Catra ran to the console, the alarms blaring in her ears.

“What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?” Catra glowered, fingers scattering across the controls. 

“I’m getting you out of here.”  She typed fast, watching the doors on either side of the room slide shut. 

“Good, that should hold them.”

Not for long, but long enough.

“What are you….? Are you saving me?”

Glimmer asked, timid from where she stood. Catra tapped the keys, trying to send a transmission to the incoming Etherian ship.

“Not you,” she lied. “Adora. Even if I send her a message to stay away she’d still come for you. That’s just how she is.”

Stupid heroic Adora who would throw herself into harm’s way for her friends.

Clones moaned, shrieked, their claws pressing and scratching against the grinding metal doors, prying them apart. Catra’s heart sped furiously.

“W...what about you?!” Glimmer’s voice cracked with concern Catra could only hope was genuine.

“Me?” She stared at her hands, her claws. Claws that had cut and sliced. She bit her tongue. Words that had hurled insults, spat lies, weaved deception.  “All I do is hurt people,” she whispered, shaking her head. Then, spoke the truth: 

“there’s no one left in the entire universe who cares about me.”  

Double Trouble was right. You’ve driven them all away.

“Adora?!” Catra asked, eyes frantically darting to the doors where the clones were nearly breaking through.

“Catra?!”

She bit back a smirk at the familiar voice. Even through the static of the transmission.

“Don’t sound so happy to hear me. I’m sending Glimmer to you.”

One good thing. Do one good thing with what’s left with your lives.

If Catra was going to die, as she suspected she would now that the clones had barged through the doors and were rushing to attack her, then she was going to do so not for Horde Prime, or Shadow Weaver or for her own twisted power games, she was going to die doing something for Adora. For someone else. It was the only thing she could do. The one good thing.

“Wait, wait, wait Glimmer is with you?!” Adora’s strained voice panicked in confusion.

“Aaaarhhh!” The clones pourned in, arms ready to subdue her.

“We don’t have time! You need to get to these coordinates now!” She typed furiously, “don’t come here! No matter what!”  She lashed out, punching the first on coming clone in the face. “Horde Prime is coming for you! Arrgh!” Catra kneed another clone in the gut.

“Catra I don’t understand What is….?”

She screeched, two clones pulling her from her feet, their impossibly strong arms slamming her into the wall. Catra squirmed, tears now fully streaming.

“Adora! I’m sorry!” She clenched her fists, trying to yank it free of the clone’s grip. 

“Uuughhh, for everything!”

Catra threw herself forward, arm outstretched, sliding the controls upward. The green barrier around Glimmer began to vibrate. A clone fisted its hand into Catra’s wild hair, twisting it tight and jerking her head back. Three more clones grabbed at her. Too many arms and legs gripping all over her body, their weight crushing her against the control panel.

“Aaaah!”

“Catr…” Glimmer screamed, her body being pulled upward.

“Glimme….go!”

The clones worked her like a puppet,  her head bent backward, neck threatening to snap. A force beyond her control and resistance gripped the top of her head, clawing into her scalp. Her face went flying forward, temple hitting against the corner of the control console.

A defining crack, something released like a pressure valve. Catra’s vision blurred, ears ringing.  A dizzying lethargy shrouded her mind. She tried to open her mouth, to bite and snarl but nothing happened. The clone grabbing her skull lifted her crushed face from the corner and brought it down again. This time, Catra tasted blood in her mouth, hot and metallic and thick. Dark hair matted with torn flesh, she tried to twist away but couldn’t, her thoughts becoming more scattered, her body going more limp with each slam against the edge of the table.

Glimmer….

A….adora..

I….

CRACK

..a...am...

CRACK

...s..so...sorr

CRACK!!!

Her body flailed, twitching, eyes blinking  rapidly, unable to focus. Something wet and globules stuck to her face, mixed with sweat and blood. A warm foul wetness trickled down her legs. The clones brandished her head against the table once more. Her vision went dark. They pressed and crushed against her, holding her captive, bludgeoning her head into the corner but she’d already defied them. She already made her choice.

I did it….

The ghost of a smile, blood ran between her broken teeth.

One good thin

…ssss…..ckk….kaCK...s...shh

Catra died for the eight time.

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Torch - Chapter 11: July

you asked for it, we give it to you, don’t be mad...

Ao3//FFnet

.

Harry thought he’d been through quite a series of unfortunate events throughout his relatively short life, some that’ve left him feeling embarrassed and in need to crawl into a hole and possibly die, and others that have left him a heartbeat away from turning rogue and going after Voldemort guns ablazing. But this, Harry comes to accept, is the worst so far.

Not only did six other people suddenly become acquainted with his most...intimate parts, but two of them happened to be Fred and George. Judging by the grins they’re both sporting, Harry’s in for a hellish summer - or however long he’d be spending at the Burrow before jumping recklessly into what probably will be his death.

Later, when the firewhiskey’s numbed his heart, when he’s too tired and tipsy to scream at everyone and claw at himself to grip the pain and throw it out, Harry lets the images of Hedwig and Mad-Eye wash over him like muddy waters clashing against the shore. The two first soldiers of the war - and Harry wonders how many more there’ll be until a skinny, averagely skilled, not-special almost seventeen year old serves justice and catches the bad guy for good.

A bitter laugh rolls down his throat and Harry shakes his head in self-loath, marveling at how impossibly stupid everyone has to be to put all their trust in him.

Harry starts as he feels a small hand on his shoulder - Ginny’s. As she’d done earlier, instead of saying something or asking him what’s wrong, Ginny takes his hand as she sits down next to him on the front steps. And, like earlier, her touch has a calming effect on him, steering his thoughts away from self-destruction and towards the blissful, golden days they’ve spent together.

But most of all he remembers her as she’d been on their last shared moment, her sad eyes and her bare chest, giving herself entirely to him. And just like then, his heart battles his mind, takes it to a savage war where what he wants to do and what he must do almost blend in, blurred around the edges.

He remembers her standing before him, waiting for him to touch, to feel, to melt into her and he remembers that he couldn’t do it then. He can’t do it now either.

It’s as if Ginny reads his mind because she squeezes his hand tighter and, looking bravely into his eyes as her bottom lip quivers, she says, “You know, I’d really wanted...that to happen then.”

Harry’s breath catches and he nearly crashes his lips to hers, nearly loves her right there, on her parents’ front porch. But instead he mumbles, his voice too shallow to meet the unwavering courage etched in hers, “Ginny, I - ah. Please know that putting an end to this,” he gestures between the two of them, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows, “is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“An end?” Ginny lifts her brow, her brown eyes blazing.

“Yes. It’s how it has to be,” Harry retorts, his voice a little higher and he immediately hates himself for it.

“Why?”

“Because it must. Because you’re not safe if you’re with me. Because I couldn’t live knowing that they’ve hurt you because of me.”

Although he’s careful to keep his voice low, the words erupt like barks from his mouth, clipped and loaded with ill concealed anger. And when she starts protesting that she doesn’t care for her life, that she can take care of herself, Harry loses his mind for a moment and his vision darkens suddenly, he’s out of breath.

He’s astonished to discover that he’d gripped her shoulders sharply and had probably shaken her, the anger boiling in his chest taking over his actions. Ginny stares back at him for a moment, pained and shocked, then smashes her mouth onto his with such force it hurts them both. Harry’s arms immediately let go of her, falling limply at his sides.

She ends the kiss just as quickly and shoots him a look that Harry can’t entirely describe - a little wounded, a little cross, and most of all a steel resolve that sends him into a panicked frenzy because he doesn’t know if she’ll run after him, or fight her own battle or, the most terrifying of them all...if she’ll just forget him.

Ginny smacks the door behind her before he can get a chance to apologise for being a crass prick or ask her what she’d just decided. Sighing deeply, Harry admits he really does deserve the door smacking. Why did he ever think that this, whatever this was, could’ve possibly been better than admitting that he loves her, so much that he feels a big part of him is missing when she’s not there, so much that his heart is broken beyond repair.

Because he’s a stupid prat with a hero complex, that’s why.

“What’s with the face, Medium Sized?” Fred grins at him when Harry finally drags his feet back inside.

Harry simply flips him and starts climbing the stairs all the way to Ron’s room. He’s fairly certain there’ll be enough other occasions for Fred and George to take the mickey out of him on accounts of his physique, but today he’s just not up to it.

An unsettling thought crosses his mind before he drifts to what he has no doubt would be an unrestful sleep: being split into seven, even if by means of Polyjuice, appears to him not so different than what Voldermort’s attempted to do. It’s truly a thought that weighs tangibly on the self-hate load for many reasons, but most of all it’s the fact that Harry keeps finding similarities between him and Riddle every time he stops to think about it. And that makes him retch right there, near the camp bed he’d been sleeping on summer after summer since someone had seen enough good in him to have him rescued from the Dursleys - and, quite truthfully, from himself.

Somehow there’s not much opportunity for wallowing when he wakes up as Mrs Weasley seems to have devised the cleaning schedule from hell to keep them occupied and leave no room for mysterious plots to be cooked up between Ron, Hermione and himself. And honestly? Harry’s a little grateful for that.

The blazing sun overhead casts an orange glow behind Harry’s eyelids at the end of the day, warms the metal rims of his glasses where they press against his flushed cheeks. For a minute, while Ron and Ginny’s mingled laughter still colors the air and Harry’s breaths are still calming, it’s almost like he’s got a normal life again. Like the world isn’t silently waiting for him to take out a maniac they haven’t managed in two decades.

And for a minute, maybe more, Harry thinks he can let himself have it and forget about yesterday, forget about all the bad days he’d ever had. He’s already given up so much, is preparing to give up more when he heads out alone to finish what Dumbledore started, he lets himself be selfish. Only a little longer.

“Alright over there, old man?” Ginny’s voice calls out.

Harry cracks one eye open and finds Ginny smirking at him, hair wild around her face, braid half undone. “I’m just a year older.”

“A year is a long time,” Ginny shrugs and winks, “Grandpa.”

“Whatever happened to respecting your elders, then?”

Hermione returns from the house with lemonade in hand and a smile on her lips, “Are we back to this again?”

“Yes. Harry is an old man and I proved it by totally kicking his bum three games in a row.”

Harry pushes up onto his elbows and blinks slowly. “First, you’re a trained Chaser and I’m not. Second, Hermione was my Keeper. And we all know what that means.”

“Don’t be mean,” Ron puts in as he gulps at his lemonade, stray droplets falling over his cheeks. Hermione gives him an approving nod and that probably genetic Weasley smirk slides across Ron’s face, “Hermione can’t help being allergic to the Quaffle.”

“Oh bugger off, Ronald,” Hermione grunts, kicking Ron’s thigh as she claims a place in the grass.

Comfortable quiet falls over them, the trees in the grove swaying with the wind as it carries the scent of wildflowers over the yard. With the sweet tang of lemonade on his tongue, Harry truly feels a sense of relaxation, of contentment that people tend to associate with summer. It’s borrowed time he can't bring himself to give up.

As if Ginny can read his mind, as if she knows his overthinking, overworked mind is settling on its usual dark track, she nudges his side with the toe of her trainer. “So all I’ve heard so far is a lot of excuses, and I’m nothing if not an excuse eliminator.”

“That’s one thing to call it,” Ron snorts.

“Anyway,” Ginny says with a roll of her eyes, “How about we have a go with the Snitch. Although we’ve seen I’m no slouch as a Seeker either.”

Her eyes catch his and he knows they’re both thrown back to that day, the sunlit weeks that followed, the stolen time. And her smile is a little dimmed when she stands and offers him a hand up, “Let’s put you to the test, eh?”

It’s like she wants him to know she’s momentarily forgot about the day before too, about his words and about her pleas.

So Harry accepts the hand up and ignores Hermione’s pointed stare and mumbles about ‘idiots with self destructive tendencies.’ He has a sudden death challenge to win after all.

The Snitch is for practice, and probably older than any of the foursome, but it does the job. It’s a bit sluggish taking turns, so there’s an advantage to catching it there, but the old thing has no trouble darting off and hiding before Hermione’s finished her last eye roll aimed at Harry.

Ginny doesn’t need to take her eyes off the horizon for the trash talk to begin, mostly the usual shots at his age and eyesight. Ron likes a good gangly something thrown in there, but Ginny’s never been one for poking fun at Harry’s physique. In fact, she seemed to like it well enough - before Harry’s life kicked in with its usual ‘pull the rug out’ disappointing development.

They circle in the air for who knows how long and Harry gives as good as he gets, asking things like whether Ginny can find balls smaller than six inches wide. But when he mentions ‘balls’ Ginny gives him a dangerous look he knows means something scandalous is about to leave her lips - until they light in victory.

He twists quickly and finds the Snitch bobbing in the air, as if it’s about to flit over for a visit with Luna and her dirigible plums.

Though Ginny spotted the Snitch first, Harry’s definitely a few paces closer and he’s fast on the uptake so they’re basically neck in neck, screaming toward the little ball.

Ginny nudges his shoulder a bit with hers, no cobbing, but her set jaw and cheeky grin are just as dangerous. Harry’s so caught up he can barely hear Ron and Hermione’s shouts from below - who they’re rooting for is undetermined - all he knows is the push of the air against his ears, the pounding blood in his veins, and Ginny flying at his side like a comet.

At the last second, she lowers herself just a bit closer to the broom and slips past him so her fist closes around the Snitch. So last second in fact, that his hand closes on top of hers. He can’t seem to release his grip and Ginny doesn’t pull away, even as the wings flutter against their palms. “Gotcha, Potter. No flashy mouth tricks - just quality play.”

Her whiskey eyes find his and if he thought his heart pounded uncontrollably before, now it may as well be beating out of his chest. His thumb brushes over top of hers and it feels like all his insides are in his throat as he murmurs, “Nice catch.”

“I don’t know another kind.”

Somehow, his grip slides to her wrist and she’s released the Snitch to feebly fly over the swaying grasses. Then her hand is around his forearm and they’re breaths apart. “Ginny - ”

Whatever he was going to say, it’s now lost to the summer air as Ron’s voice sounds from below, beckoning them inside.

They spend the little time left of July planning and preparing for the moment they’ll have to leave everything behind, which, to Harry, is in a way exactly what he needs simply because it doesn’t offer much room to interact with Ginny. It’s odd how seeing her now makes his heart leap with happiness and then immediately twist with sadness and guilt.

Even though it’s hard not to catch her eye at dinner, especially when the table’s too packed with people, close members from the Order, and no one can notice. Or when little Gabrielle Delacour arrives with her parents and turns her Veela charm on Harry; the small display of jealousy from Ginny revives the old monster nestled in his chest, gives Harry an extra spring in his step for the rest of the day. She cares enough to show the rest of the world he’s off limits. Only Ron’s withering look wipes the stupid grin plastered on his face.

“Should I be fighting off smitten women having a go at you or is this a girlfriend only task?”

Harry stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder. He sees Ginny, her hair messily twisted in a bun at the top of her head, leaning against the doorframe of her room and staring after him intently. He also notices the puffiness around her eyes that makes the dark rings under them more evident. His insides churn painfully.

“I don’t think women have ever been smitten when it comes to me. I rather tend to attract the usual love potion spiked chocolates kind of people,” Harry shrugs as he fully turns around to face her, one hand gripping at the railing. He feels as though he needs to tether himself to something or else he might just run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her tired eyes till she’s sound asleep and safely pressed against his chest.

Ginny lets out a dejected chuckle, “Clearly you’re not at all familiar with Hogwarts bathroom talk.”

“Oh?”

“But it’s somehow so typical of you to be oblivious of your charms,” Ginny shrugs and Harry forgets himself enough to let a smile stretch onto his face.

“My charms?”

“I believe tall, dark and handsome were uttered here and there,” she smiles a bit as her eyes lock with his and instantly a series of intimate moments they’ve shared passes before his eyes. “But they’re all wrong.”

“They are?” Harry parrots stupidly, heat spreading all over his chest, his face, to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah,” Ginny nods and covers one arm with the palm of her other, brushes it from her shoulder to her elbow as her lips slightly quiver. “It’s actually your eyes. Good night, Harry.”

And just like that she twirls on her heels and closes the door right after her. Harry can hear the springs of the mattress lamenting faintly and tries with all his might not to imagine her crushed on her bed, crying.

He doesn’t even realise it’s his birthday until the sun shakes him out of the poor sleep he’d managed to get once his mind got too tired of playing thousands of different versions of how he might die, how we might bring sorrow and death upon others, all peppered with instances of Ginny crying.

Huh, at least now he can do magic without being traced. Cheers to surviving this long and successfully eliminating the option of rotting in Azkaban every time he feels like actually being a wizard.

Harry gets to enjoy a bit of lightheartedness and bask in other people’s relationship problems when Ron gifts him a book essentially on how to pick up women and not long after Hermione publicly announces she’s about to pack Ron’s pants as soon as they get out of the washer. Unfortunately, he can’t share neither of those moments with Ginny as she’s not there…

Soon enough he locates her when she calls him to her room and Harry steps inside aware of his faint trembling. He comments on the view from her windows and she ignores him, like she should. Who’s invited into their former girlfriend’s bedroom and steers the conversation towards scenery?

A bloody idiot, that’s who.

She mentions Veelas again and his head starts spinning as Ginny looks at him with that blazing look on her face and it’s then when he knows it’s simply become impossible for him to step back. Harry kisses her as fiercely as she’s kissing him, ready to go where he’d previously forbidden himself to go with her, no longer able to control his mind, his body, its reactions to her. Harry’s ready to give himself away completely.

But before the thought of locking the door can cross his mind, before he can take this any further, the door bangs open and they break apart. Lust turns to anger and anger turns to guilt in Harry’s mind as he promises Ron he’s done, he’ll stay away, he’ll will himself to stop. He can’t keep doing this to her, he must never do it again.

An image of Ginny happily in love with another man invades his mind for the rest of the day, obsessing him, torturing him, the faceless man telling him nonchalantly that ‘you’ve lost her, mate’ as the two of them kiss deeply and turn their backs to Harry. They’d never could’ve had a future anyway...

[ladyartemisia28]

Loop of Despair: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: In the End.

Title reference to the cover by Tommee Profitt.

Word count: 1,740

Warnings: Homophobic Language, self harm, blood, & vomit.

Authors Note: Happy late Groundhog day and I'm sorry

Homophobic Language will be used, I will be marking where it will be starting and where it will be ending.

~

Dean momentarily blacked out as his heart began to physically fail him. He found himself coming back to consciousness standing hunched over near the entrance to the room. Dean was unable even able to look at Castiel.

The ghost of Castiel's mouth whispered against his own.

“Did it work?” Cas asks

“Uh, huh” Dean mumbles.

Dean just replays the memory.

The idea of repeating that particular version of the loop was tempting.

‘But that would not stop Cas from dying’

“There is one thing that can.”

He nodded numbly along to his disclosure of the trade his life for Jack's.

Castiel continues his speech to a Dean who was not capable of listening.

“Because the one thing I want is something I know I can't have.”

All Dean wants to do in that moment is response with his own words.

He was at a complete loss. He didn't know what else he could do.

'I've tried to tell him this is a loop and THAT was a waste of time, I've tried to throw myself into the Empty, and I let myself get cut through by that scythe. I tried to gently reject him....'

'I tried to...tried to..'

He couldn't finish that sentence in his mind. All his mind came out was the imagery of Cas's blood.

'And last I tried to tell or I guess show him how I felt.'

'And nothing'

“But I think I know, I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having...it's in just being it's in just saying it.”

'The problem is that he is still happy. Either someone dies or he gets taken'

“What are you talking about Man?” he replies automatically.

'So what I have to do is make sure we both survive AND he is unhappy,'

Cas has a brighter expression on his face as he takes a step forward towards Dean.

'Look at him.'

“I know, I know how you see yourself Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you.

'Ruin his happiness'

“You're destructive, you're angry, You're Broken. You're Daddy's blunt instrument.”

'Take all of the most hurtful things you can think of and say them!'

“You think that hate and anger that's what drives you, that's who you are.”

'I don't want to do this'

“It's not. And everyone who know so you sees it. Everything you have done the good and the bad you have done for Love.”

'Come on, Think of something else!'

“You raise your little brother for love, You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.”

Dean can no longer hold his gaze.

'anything'

“You're the most caring man on earth. You are the most selfless loving human being I will ever know.”

'Time is running out!'

Dean had heard Cas's words more than enough time to memorize everything from the words themselves, to the cadence, to the breaks and breaths.

“You know ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of hell” a tear rolls slowly down Cas's right eye “Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared I cared. I cared about you, I cared about Sam I cared about Jack I cared about the whole world because of you”

“You changed me Dean”

'I just want you to live...no I NEED you to live!'

“Why does this sound like a goodbye” Dean replies his previous words slower to hopefully stall for more time.

He looks at the slowly approaching figure of Cas until he is once again within arms reach.

'This is save his life'

“Because it is”

“I love you”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw with force to keep his response silent.

Dean hears The Empty appear.

'Showtime'

~

~

~

~

~

*BEGINING OF SPEECH*

Dean shoves Castiel away.

“What the Hell Cas?!” Dean says forcing his voice out harshly.

Cas looks hurt but still not sad enough.

He repeated the words that when he would imagine Castiel would reply to Dean's confession

“I...I'm not interested in that...that is NOT something I Could EVER want!”

Dean felt as though he was swallowing a golf ball.

Cas had previously told him that he understood when Dean gave him the gentle version of a rejection.

So him nodding along to Dean's words were tragic but not surprising.

'You deserve the world Cas. You deserve much better than this.'

Dean remembered when he was thirteen or so maybe fourteen. That was when he first realized that he was attracted to boys as well as girls.

It was 1993 or so. He had never heard of the word bisexual so he was conflict incarnate.

He had just enough youthful bravery to try and make a move on a middle school crush.

His name was Mitchell and he had bonded with Dean over a shared interest in music.

As they sat in the parking lot behind the gas and sip.

He remember every word that the boy had said to Dean in return.

The ones that burned him.

The ones that made him curse himself for ever being so vulnerable.

'I was never so happy to move away.'

“I can't believe I thought we were friends! So as we were hanging out, watching movies, you what? Wanted to shove your tongue down my throat?”

“Anytime we touched....I....you” Dean paused his lies momentarily as he catches his voice waver with the wrong sort of emotion. He clears his throat to reset his voice.

“It make my skin crawl”

He could see Cas looking like he was going to say something. Dean would falter if he hears Cas’s voice so he quickly cut him off.

“...You disgust me.”'

He held his breathe and sees that Billie has been taken by The Empty but it has paused as if it was watching the pair.

'That must mean I'm ruining this moment for him. Go more hurtful.'

Cas's face looked similar to the time that he kicked the newly human man out of the bunker years ago, confused and hurt.

Dean pulled more of his deeply painful memories to the surface.

When it came to romance he was not brave enough to try again with another boy until he was 16. He was the son of a hunter that they were working on a case with. They were hanging out alone in the motel room.

This time it reciprocated.

But he was caught by his father.

John Winchester was not known for his being a kind and loving parent.

The violence was not what he remembered for years.

It was the words that cut into him for years.

The ones that made him feel guilt and self loathing when he found himself flustered by male attention.

The ones that silenced him.

“I thought I knew you? But you've been lying to me.” Dean paused to take a shaky breath.

The knives that were in his heart for years Dean took them and stabbed them into Cas's heart.

'Please be sad enough that I don't have to say anymore.'

“I'm willing to forget about this. You are too useful to keep around on hunts. But if you EVER try to say something like this you're gone!” he hears the anger and hatred in his voice.

He hates many things.

Mitchell

John

Whatever is causing the horror loop.

Himself

'But not you Cas.'

He felt like he was in a prison. Like he was trapped in his body watching a living nightmare happen.

But continues to cause Cas the type of haunting emotional pain that he himself had suffered for years.

'Maybe this won't hurt as much since he's an angel and human insults don't mean as much...no he understands what words mean and he understands when they are hurtful and hateful. This isn't 2008 Cas!'

He almost couldn't continue his parroting of his homophobic father's words.

But his mind conjures images.

Cas peacefully surrendering himself to The Empty.

Cas being killed by Billie

Cas bleeding out.

Cas being forcefully torn from his arms

It propelled him harshly forward.

“You are such a fucking disappointment. You...” he quietly said more to himself as he could not find another way to save his angel.

He whimpered out one final word, a slur, before a lurch of nausea overwhelmed him as forced himself from puking.

“Fag”

~

~

~

~

*END OF SPEECH*

He turns to stare at the wall, he could not bear to look at Castiel.

“I'm sorry Dean.” Castiel's deep voice sounded so hurt that Dean immediately wanted to turn around and take back the words. Instead he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots The Empty float in front of Cas.

Dean closed his eyes and holds his breathe as he waits for the time loop to start again.

The Empty.

It speaks in a inhuman voice.

“I wanted you to suffer. This is more painful than anything I could ever do to you.”

He felt the death grip on his heart more painful than any other time. He opened his eyes expecting to be in his usual spot near the entrance.

“You get to live with this, You're welcome.”

He turned his head in shock to see the Shadow get smaller and smaller until it was completely gone. and Castiel's defeated form looking with dull eyes at the floor.

He quickly returned his eyes to look at the wall.

“We need to go find Sam and Jack.” Cas whispers with a heart wrenching tone moved out of the room. “I...I will meet you at the car.”

Dean fell to the ground catching himself with his hands and he rid his stomach of it's contents.

He wiped the puke from the corners of his mouth, took another moment and still nothing.

He stands and hits the wall again and again, his body does not allow the relief from tears.

He took a painful punishing grip of his own left shoulder. Where the absence of Cas's hand print solidified the realization that this was the finally the end of the loop.

'I am so sorry Cas.'

[imagitory]

HPHM Profile: Carewyn Cromwell

<<<updated: 12/6/2020 // original template by @hogwarts-misery >>>

“I can’t just live my life however I want! Maybe I want to — sometimes I want to — sometimes I want to so much that I think of just saying ‘forget the Cursed Vaults! Forget about R and their death threats and the fear and the not-knowing-what’s-coming!’ But...I can’t. As long as Jacob is out there — as long as I don’t know whether he’s alive or dead — whether he needs my help or not — how can I put myself first?! How can I justify chasing the Quidditch Cup, or joining the Dueling Club, or singing in the Frog Choir, when anything great I might do won’t mean a thing, without my brother there cheering me on whether I win or lose!? How can I fight for my dreams...while not knowing if Jacob will be able to share them with me? What sort of person would I be? What sort of disgusting — selfish — cowardly — terrible person would I be, if I abandoned him!? How could I face my mum again — face myself again — if I just threw my brother away?!”

[PROFILE]

NAME | Carewyn Lane Cromwell

NICKNAMES | Carey (by her friends, especially Bill, Charlie, and Tonks); Winnie (by her mother); Pip, Pippa (by Jacob); Cursebreaker (by Andre) [Note: In AUs, Jacob calls Carewyn “Wyn” instead of Pip, as “Pippa” is a reference to the Robert Browning poem “Pippa Passes,” which often doesn’t exist in other universes. XD]

GENDER | Female (cisgender)

SEXUAL / ROMANTIC ORIENTATION | Asexual / Panromantic

[PERSONALITY]

In some ways, Carewyn is an ideal heroine. A bright, compassionate girl, she often finds herself drawn to those less confident than her and feels the urge to protect and take care of them. Even when she was very little, she ended up “mothering” her older brother Jacob by encouraging him to eat and sleep more and offering advice, just as much as he often “fathered” her by inspiring her and shielding her from any perceived threats. But don’t mistake this young Cursebreaker for a saint -- Carewyn actually is an incredibly proud person who protects her fragile, sensitive heart with a hard shell of seemingly unbreakable confidence and cool insight. There is nothing she hates more than showing her insecurities and fears, and so she does her best to always look her best and put her best face forward no matter what, even around the people she cares about. This means that almost none of her many friends have any idea about the demons Carewyn is secretly fighting in her pursuit of the Cursed Vaults and her brother. Carewyn dresses the part for whatever situation she’s in, and she always feels most comfortable when she feels in control and believes she has the moral high ground -- admittedly her moral compass is pretty strong on its own, but she also buries any more selfish and meaner feelings she has as deep as she can, pushing herself to be the best, most moral person she can be, even if it’s difficult for her. She wants to be everything that everyone needs, and unfortunately that can result in Carewyn setting standards that are way too high for herself and secretly resenting and berating herself whenever she falls short, or worse not even participating in something she thinks she can’t put all of herself into or wouldn’t do well in. Her self-loathing is so strong that when something traumatic happens to her (such as Jacob’s disappearance or the death of Redacted), she can suffer from severe spells of depression where she neglects her own well-being and as a consequence forcibly removes herself from the people around her so as not to let others see her in such a terrible state. Because of her own high standards for herself, as well, Carewyn also can be judgmental of others, not being prone to change her mind about a person easily. When backed into a corner, Carewyn can freeze up, but when her own self-preservation or her loved ones are threatened, she can bite back really hard, though she’ll almost always regret losing control after the fact. Carewyn has a very organized mind and works best when she has a plan and knows where she’s going at any given time -- ambiguity and mystery are not this girl’s friends. This sadly can result in her being a real stick in the mud, which makes her an easy target for pranks and mischief. Fortunately, despite her overly serious attitude, Carewyn has a nice dry sense of humor and is a very passionate, driven person. In her fifth year, she was even made a Prefect largely due to her protective, nurturing instincts, though it’s good to note that that doesn’t make her a rule follower. Carewyn only respects rules and the people enforcing them if they have earned her respect and she sees the reasoning behind them. If there’s one thing Carewyn can’t stand, it’s condescension. Carewyn’s core interests are singing (her favorite wizard band is the Weird Sisters and her favorite Muggle band is the Eurythmics), Charms, magical history, and magical creatures.

[BIOGRAPHY]

DATE OF BIRTH | August 29, 1973 (Virgo)

BLOOD STATUS | Half-Blood

FAMILY INFO | Carewyn is the second child and only daughter of Evan Bach and Lane Cromwell. Carewyn’s mother Lane alienated her parents, younger brother, and older sisters -- a well-respected, but very overbearing magical family called the Cromwells -- upon moving to Wales and marrying Evan, who was a Muggle. Unfortunately Evan and Lane’s marriage took a turn for the worse after Jacob was born. Jacob’s magical abilities peeked through at an early age and were interpreted by Evan as deliberate misbehavior despite Lane’s best attempts to diffuse any tension. Nine years into their marriage, Evan and Lane were surprised by a late addition to the family -- their daughter, Carewyn. Rather than bringing Evan and Lane closer together, however, Carewyn’s arrival only seemed to drive Evan further away, as he already had had no instincts about how to be a father to Jacob and felt even less sure about how to raise a daughter. Deciding it was better to give up and just let Lane do what was best rather than mess up, Evan withdrew from Carewyn almost completely, leaving Lane and even his son Jacob to look after her. Fortunately Jacob, an nine-year-old boy at the time of Carewyn’s birth, adored his little sister immediately and went out of his way to coddle and protect her however he could. When Jacob turned 11 and received his Hogwarts letter, Lane was finally allowed by law to tell Evan about her magical heritage and the Wizarding World, but by that point, Evan and Lane’s marriage was so rocky that the revelation finally made it buckle and fall apart. Evan left his family that very night, leaving Lane heartbroken. Knowing her family would insist upon her returning to their estate in Yorkshire if she went to them for financial help, Lane instead charted out alone and raised her two children completely on her own while working as a magical historian and Runes expert. Although Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn lived in poverty for almost all of Jacob’s school career and Carewyn’s childhood, the Cromwells managed to dig their way out of debt a year before Jacob disappeared, now sitting on the perimeter of “lower-middle class.”

MYERS-BRIGGS TYPE | INFJ “The Advocate”

[MAGICAL ABILITIES]

WAND | Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, 11 inches, inflexible (broken by Rakepick) // Laurel and phoenix feather, 12 inches, unyielding (nicknamed her “Excalibur wand”)

BOGGART | Voldemort [Carewyn’s greatest fear is a threat she has no hope of overcoming, fighting, escaping, or controlling...which, yeah, is Voldemort in a nutshell!]

ANIMAGUS FORM (IF ANY) | Robin

PATRONUS | Abraxan Winged Horse

[AFFILIATION]

HOUSE | Slytherin

QUIDDITCH POSITION (IF ANY) | She prefers playing Chaser in Quidditch friendlies, but she’s been reluctant to commit to the Slytherin team due to her extreme focus on finding her brother and fear of letting Orion and the others down.

PREFECT? | Yup!

[ACADEMICS]

BEST CLASS(ES) | Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic (thanks to her mum!)

WORST CLASS(ES) | Transfiguration, Divination

OWL SCORES | 

Charms - O

Transfiguration - O

Potions - O

Herbology - O

History of Magic - O

Care of Magical Creatures - O 

Defense Against the Dark Arts - O

[RELATIONSHIPS]

PARTNERS |

Andre — In the beginning, Carewyn was completely and totally dedicated romantically to Andre, having attended the Celestial Ball and gone on two dates with him. In the darkest part of her heart, though she was a bit afraid that she wouldn’t be “exciting” enough for Andre in the long term, given that he’s always been quite popular and outgoing and she’s only really gotten any esteem at Hogwarts for being a Cursebreaker, which she didn’t really ever want to be. Add onto this some tension brought on by the All-Wizard Tournament where Andre got so obsessed with winning that he took help from his girlfriend and then flat-out didn’t even consider helping her in return and Carewyn’s severe trust issues, and soon the two had a lot of trouble communicating properly. When times were good, they had a lot of fun together, but if they ever weren’t, the two just couldn’t seem to connect and fix it as a team. Not long after the All-Wizard Tournament, Carewyn finally told Andre she needed a break, and after a talk, they decided it was better to end their romantic relationship and try just being friends again. Despite the break-up, they both remain incredibly fond of each other and respect each other deeply.

Chiara — In the beginning of my game-playing journey, I had considered matching Carewyn with Chiara in the long-term. Ever since they first met, Carewyn has both identified with and greatly admired Chiara. Even if Chiara has had such a rough life, she remains ever gentle, kind, and forgiving -- everything, in essence, that Carewyn wants and tries to be -- all without seemingly even trying. She’s never expected anything from Carewyn, no matter how big her reputation as a Cursebreaker has grown, and is always supportive of her choices. She even wants to Heal others, even if her werewolf form is so hell-bent on destruction and harm. Chiara, meanwhile, identifies with and admires Carewyn just as much for her nurturing, sensitive heart, and thinks she’s one of the bravest people she knows. She understands Carewyn’s self-loathing from a first-hand perspective since she struggles with it herself, but she can’t understand it in the sense that she sees Carewyn as a truly wonderful, strong person who should be able to love herself just as much as she loves others. Carewyn frequently spends time with Chiara in her Animagus form during the full moon to keep her company, singing sweet songs to brighten her darker nights. A Chiara/Carewyn ending would’ve been what I considered the “Peaceful” ending, AKA the “Soft uwu” ending -- but it also sort of struck me that the two’s personalities and demons were similar enough that there wouldn’t be as much chance for growth for both of them, and there wouldn’t be as much action or engaging contrast in their interactions, as they would both be pretty universally supportive of each other except when they’re blocking the other out “for their own good.” Even if Carewyn doesn’t end up with Chiara romantically, though, she cherishes her as a friend and would do anything to make her happy.

Diego —  This option sort of came out of nowhere, but quickly developed from a crackship into a genuine ship for me, given that like Chiara, Diego would be able to bring some sunlight into Carewyn’s life and be a dependable partner who wouldn’t put high expectations on Carewyn’s shoulders. As for Carewyn, she finds Diego’s flirting absolutely hysterical. Part of this is because Carewyn herself is asexual, but she also just isn’t the sort to actively “flirt” with people. Funnily enough, however, Diego’s charm does end up endearing him to Carewyn anyway, though not for the reason it might charm others! Although she does find his behavior funny, she can still tell he’s sincerely trying to compliment the people he’s talking to, and he’s also amazingly modest despite his clear talent at wizard dueling. Add onto this that he likes dancing, and music-loving!Carewyn has found he’s an all-around pretty fun guy to spend time with. Diego also isn’t turned off in the slightest by Carewyn finding amusement in his flirting, either -- if anything, he finds it rather endearing, as Carewyn is usually so serious and he thinks she should laugh more often. A Diego/Carewyn ending would’ve been what I considered the “Fun” ending, AKA the “Romcom” ending -- but it also felt as though it was an ending that could only come to be and work well in peaceful times, with Diego not being as well-equipped in dealing with Carewyn’s darker spells or in dealing with more serious issues or deep heart-to-heart conversations.

Orion — This, after a lot of deliberation, is the final end-game ship I’ve decided for Carewyn post-Second-Wizarding-War. Orion really wasn’t what Carewyn expected out of a Quidditch captain when they first met in her third year and his fourth, but being related to two Ravenclaws, she actually finds his vague, philosophical bent kind of refreshing. It can still frustrate her sometimes due to her desire to plan ahead, but she sees how his off-kilter affect keeps others on their toes and, therefore, can shift control over a situation his way. (Rather appropriate display of cleverness, for a Slytherin.) Learning his backstory prompts a lot of empathy from Carewyn as well, given that she also didn’t have any real friends before attending Hogwarts, and she greatly admires how wise Orion has become both about himself and about life, even after going through what he’s gone through. After being on his team for that short time, Carewyn’s developed a lot of respect for Orion, and even after leaving, she’s remained very supportive of her house team and especially of Orion as their leader. Even if Carewyn’s not on the team, she keeps up with Quidditch not just out of love for the sport, but because of her desire to see Orion’s team do well. As for Orion, he got the sense they were kindred spirits ever since they first played side-by-side in the match against Hufflepuff and quietly laments that she’s never been a permanent member of his team. He frequently cites that Carewyn has “more fire than a Firecrab” -- although he can find it a bit overpowering at times, her passion was the thing that first sparked his interest in her, and over the years, Orion has come to see her as an equal, admiring her not just for that passion, but for her determination, courage, and selflessness. Orion and Carewyn are also both incredibly insightful, thoughtful, sensitive people who have the tendency to “create a family” out of their friends that they support and nurture in an almost parental manner. After Carewyn left the Slytherin team after the match against Hufflepuff, Orion attempted to persuade Carewyn to rejoin several times over the years due to his lingering fondness for her, even though he’s always respected her decision not to. It’s only after Carewyn returns to the team to help Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup for the first time in ten years and gets injured in the process that Orion learns that he and Carewyn have the same Patronus -- an Abraxan Winged Horse -- which, according to the old wives’ tale, suggests that they are soul mates. By then, however, Orion is set to graduate within weeks and he knows that Carewyn’s life is of course consumed with dealing with the Vaults. And so he decides not to pursue the chance of a relationship solely based on a superstition, however much he regrets his lack of action later. As adults, the two reconnect after the end of the Second Wizarding War and an unconventional romance starts between the two. This endgame ship gives Carewyn both things I wanted for her while shipping Chiara/Carewyn and Diego/Carewyn -- peace and fun -- while also matching her with someone who can bring some balance and positivity to her life and help her let go of her inner demons and yet who she can also defend, protect, and love with all of her fire. And because of their differences -- Orion being so chill, passive, and philosophical and Carewyn being so sensible, perfectionistic, and passionate -- they’ll constantly contrast and challenge each other too.

FRIENDS |

Bill —  The Weasley family overall filled the void in Carewyn’s heart that Jacob left behind, none more so than Bill. Carewyn adores Bill like few others and supports him in his Cursebreaking 110%, to the extent that she probably would help him do it even if it didn’t involve the Cursed Vaults. Bill quasi-“adopts” Carewyn into his family pretty early on, but only grows closer to and fonder of her over time, as she’s the first person who he’s ever been able to lean on the way he always let his siblings lean on him. Bill’s accompanied Carewyn to every single Cursed Vault, and he is her right-hand man when it comes to who she’d pick to help her with something dangerous. By the time Bill’s graduated, the two stand on relatively equal footing despite their age gap, and after the death of Redacted, Bill and Carewyn solidly become each other’s best friend and confidante, leaning on and supporting each other more than anyone else. The rest of Carewyn’s friend group likes to jokingly refer to her and Bill as the “Mum” and “Dad” of the group, given their shared tendency to “parent” the others. Bill was the one who coined the nickname “Carey” for Carewyn, and the rest of her friend group has totally run with it since, none more so than Charlie and Tonks.

Charlie — If Bill is Carewyn’s surrogate big brother, Charlie is Carewyn’s twin brother from another mother. Carewyn loves talking about dragons with Charlie. (They’re just so cool!) Charlie and Carewyn also like playing in Quidditch friendlies together, even if they’re in different houses, and they can often be seen handling Prefect duties together. Ever since Charlie, Bill, and Carewyn went into the Portrait Vault with Ben and Merula, the two Weasley boys and Carewyn have been closer than ever. Charlie and Carewyn in particular have latched onto each other in Bill’s absence, given how close both of them were to him. As adults post-Hogwarts, Charlie frequently crashes on Carewyn’s couch whenever he flies in for a visit from Romania, if his mother doesn’t insist upon him staying at the Burrow. Charlie and Carewyn refer to themselves as a pair as “Fireballs,” because Chinese Fireballs are the only dragons known to live among their own kind -- and so the word represents how Charlie and Carewyn see each other as kindred spirits.

Rowan — Rowan was Carewyn’s first friend at Hogwarts, but recently they’ve sort of been growing apart, due to Rowan’s extreme focus on academics and Carewyn’s extreme focus on finding her brother. For Carewyn, it feels like she’s changed a lot in five years -- starting as the shunned younger sister of the delinquent Jacob Cromwell and growing into a renowned Cursebreaker who has learned so much and made so many different friends and now tries to protect Hogwarts and her fellow students however she can -- while Rowan has rigidly stayed put where she was, remaining as studious and socially awkward as ever. Carewyn doesn’t resent Rowan for this -- on the contrary, she’s always admired Rowan’s single-minded ambition to be the youngest professor in Hogwarts history, damn what anyone else says, and wishes she had the luxury of chasing her own dreams that doggedly. But at the same time, Carewyn wouldn’t have felt good about herself, if she’d stayed the way she’d been when she first arrived. She sees herself as having been weaker, less competent, and less capable back then, while Rowan was always so brilliant and both emotionally and intellectually ahead of everyone else. Rowan and Carewyn have grown into very different people over the last five years, but Carewyn still loves and treasures Rowan like few people in the world as her first real friend and the friend that in some ways she wishes she could be more like.

Talbott  — The two at first didn’t see eye-to-eye at all, given that Talbott tends to hide most of his positive emotions at first and Carewyn hides her negative emotions constantly --- but once the ice broke between them, the two really connected and became good friends. Carewyn loves Talbott’s sense of humor and was also pleasantly surprised to find out what a great writer he is! She often volunteers to read whatever he’s working on, which kind of weirds Talbott out, but he secretly is happy she likes his stuff. When Carewyn wants some peace, she’ll take some time to fly around in her robin Animagus form, and she always loves it when Talbott joins her for a flight around the grounds. Carewyn often sings little tweeted songs the entire way, and even if Talbott teases her for it, he does actually really enjoy it. Post-Hogwarts they work together a lot, as Talbott is an Auror and Carewyn is a lawyer.

Ben — Ben was one of the very first people who Carewyn took under her wing, and even now, she remains a bit protective of him. She was always really proud whenever he expressed more courage and initiative in the past, but with the advent of sixth year, Ben has grown a lot more reckless and blunt, to the extent he could easily get himself into a dangerous situation and get hurt. Carewyn isn’t sure at all how to react to the development, but she doesn’t like it -- not one bit. Ben himself is struggling with how much Carewyn wants to look at him as someone to protect while never letting anyone else do the same for her. Because he’s known her longer than most, he’s seen Carewyn’s own dramatic transformation from a quiet, but overemotional little girl into a micromanaging, fussing, stoic, confident Mama Bear, and as much as he’s glad Carewyn’s gotten more confidence, he laments being on equal footing with his friend and feeling like he could help her as much as she helps him. Once they get their emotions and issues sorted, Ben and Carewyn become closer than ever, to the point that he, Merula, Charlie, and Bill are co-leader of the Circle of Khanna with Carewyn.

Barnaby — At first Carewyn couldn’t help but look down on Barnaby a bit given how dim he could be, but once he agreed to help her, she was surprised by how sincere and sweet he really was. Soon enough she felt her protective instincts kick in, and now she’s incredibly encouraging and supportive of him. These days you can usually see them chatting excitedly about magical creatures together in class -- Carewyn’s really happy to see Barnaby succeeding in Care of Magical Creatures as well as enjoying it, and Barnaby loves it whenever Carewyn sings to the creatures they’re working with in order to soothe them.

Jae — Although their personalities are pretty diametrically opposed, even down to house placement, Carewyn gets along pretty well with Jae. She doesn’t entirely see the appeal of him dealing with shadier merchandise, but he still agreed to help her when she needed to go to Knockturn Alley despite the risks and he’s a pretty sharp, resourceful person. Carewyn mostly just thinks he should push himself more, rather than just be content with where he’s at. After learning how much Jae likes cooking, Carewyn has enjoyed spending time with him in the kitchens whenever she wants to try out a new recipe.

Penny — Carewyn was actually a bit startled when popular Penny first took an interest in her in their first year. In their fifth year, Carewyn grew a bit more protective of Penny with the Portrait Curse capturing her younger sister, Beatrice -- now that Beatrice and Penny have started to grow apart, however, Carewyn now finds herself stuck between them, feeling sympathy for Beatrice’s position but still valuing her friendship with Penny.

Liz — Carewyn and Liz’s friendship is a bit more casual than others, but they’ve really connected well thanks to their shared interest in magical creatures. You can usually see Carewyn hanging out with her, Charlie, and Barnaby in Care of Magical Creatures.

Badeea — Art buddies! Carewyn is very encouraging of Badeea’s artistic talent, and the two love talking about music and Charms together.  

Tonks  — Carewyn greatly admires Tonks’s wish to be an Auror and loves how funny her imitations can be, but more often than not ends up being the butt of one of Tonks’s pranks.

Tulip — Like Tonks, Tulip loves pranking Carewyn. A LOT. Carewyn doesn’t find most of her jokes that funny, but can’t stay that mad at her.

Fred and George — Carewyn has only just met the twins, but she can already tell they’re going to be a handful. But they’re Bill and Charlie’s brothers, so in Carewyn’s mind, they are already family, so she feels a bit of protectiveness toward them.

Cedric — When Carewyn met Cedric, her first reaction was immense pity, given how much attention he’d managed to accrue in his first year alone when he clearly didn’t feel like he deserved it. Cedric reminds Carewyn of herself in first and second year, when she was still so shy and insecure whenever people would talk about her, so the Slytherin Prefect feels a lot of compassion for Cedric. She sort of hopes everyone will lay off him a bit so he can just have a normal school life without so much pressure.

Percy — Carewyn hadn’t thought she’d ever encounter someone that she would consider a stick-in-the-mud...until she met Percy Weasley. His rat Scabbers is kind of cute, though -- when he doesn’t bite!

Skye — Carewyn appreciates all of the help Skye gave her when she first started playing in Quidditch friendlies, but at present, she’s not talking to Skye, thanks to her going off and starting unfounded rumors about the Ravenclaw Beater, Erika Rath, the way that people spread rumors about Carewyn when she first started at Hogwarts. NOT COOL, SKYE. Orion deserves better than to deal with that sort of drama!!

Murphy — Both he and Carewyn are planners, and that’s great...but Murphy only plays Wizard Chess, a game he’s great at and Carewyn is terrible at, and that’s not so great.

Professor McGonagall —  The Deputy Headmistress is by far the professor Carewyn respects above all others. Even if she finds her class very challenging, she gives every assignment her all because of how much she respects McGonagall and wants to impress her. McGonagall herself nurtures a soft spot for Carewyn, even despite her being in Slytherin, due to her strong moral streak and desire to protect others.

Professor Flitwick — Charms is Carewyn’s best and favorite class, and Flitwick is a large reason why. Carewyn also really admires Flitwick’s talent in wizard dueling and is always thrilled to learn new dueling spells from him. Flitwick had a soft spot for Carewyn’s brother Jacob back in the day, since Jacob was in his house, and he’s nurtured a similar soft spot for Carewyn because of her great talent in and enthusiasm for Charms.

Professor Kettleburn — Carewyn adores Care of Magical Creatures and, by extension, Professor Kettleburn. She just really doesn’t want to lose as many body parts or clothing pieces as he has. Kettleburn always enjoys when Carewyn sings to the creatures in his class -- he finds it incredibly creative and entertaining.

Hagrid —  Carewyn loves Fang SO MUCH. And Hagrid too. Just not his rock cakes. And Hagrid...well, Carewyn’s just so tiny, but with such a big heart!

FOES |

Rakepick — Pre-Portrait Vault, Carewyn didn’t trust Rakepick as far as she can throw her, largely because she couldn’t get a good fix on her. Even Snape, who Carewyn clashes with at times, seems to have a wonky code of honor (META: largely because she is a Slytherin and -- more notably -- is at school before she could see how terribly he treats Harry and Neville!), but Carewyn wasn’t even sure if she could ascribe that to Rakepick. Her initial judgment seems to have been justified, given how Rakepick acted in the Portrait Vault -- but Rakepick’s betrayal, which was somehow even worse than Carewyn could’ve imagined, has only served to make the young Slytherin feel less sure on her feet, as she’s started to connect the dots and realize that her comrades may have trusted Rakepick for the some of the same reasons that they’ve trusted Carewyn herself. Rakepick and Carewyn have encouraged the others, but have also never trusted them with their true feelings or motives, and they both led them into danger all because of their desire to get to the Cursed Vaults. Although they pursued the Vaults for different reasons, they were both relentless, resourceful, stubborn and proud in their pursuit -- and in enlisting others to help them in that pursuit, they were both responsible for every terrible thing that ensued from it.

Ismelda — Carewyn really doesn’t like her intense interest in pain and suffering -- like...at all. Even if she might put on a strong, unflappable face, Carewyn is way too big of a bleeding heart to enjoy death or pain. Ismelda also considering using a Love Potion on Barnaby soured Carewyn to her quite a bit, though Carewyn is glad Ismelda changed her mind and they were able to come to some sort of a truce.

Merula — Their rivalry was much more intense when they were younger and Merula was actively bullying Ben and Rowan -- nowadays Carewyn just uses her help when it’s useful and ignores her when she’s being her usual awful self. After seeking counsel from her mother and Rowan, Carewyn was even nice enough to give Merula her spot on the Frog Choir, even if she’d really wanted it herself. Although Rowan staying constant and unchanging throughout the years is something Carewyn admires in her, however, she absolutely loathes the quality when it’s expressed in Merula. At the end of year 5, she and Merula came to something of a truce, but with the start of their sixth year, Merula’s taken a couple giant steps back in her evolution, which greatly frustrates and disappoints Carewyn. Carewyn wouldn’t ever call Merula her friend, but...well, she’d still been happy to see Merula had actually been able to prove her a little wrong and become a slightly better person. It’s awful to see her regress after going through that slight improvement.

Professor Dumbledore — Although Dumbledore is an amazingly powerful wizard with a very amiable attitude, over the years Carewyn has gotten very, very frustrated with how much she’s told to stop trying to deal with the Vaults. On top of that, the Headmaster of Hogwarts frequently obfuscates things a bit too much for Carewyn’s liking. She can sense that he is trying to be helpful, but that in a way makes things all the more frustrating, as she finds his methods so phenomenally misguided. Carewyn tries to conceal just how low her opinion of the man has fallen, but in truth she’s become rather resentful of him.

Emily —  Oh gosh. Given how fond Carewyn is of Bill and how ridiculously condescending and prone to bullying Emily can be, Carewyn understandably despises her. She hates her more than she ever hated Merula.

PETS (IF ANY) | Mimi (orange tabby cat), Sir Robin the Brave (toad), Lune (bat), Balto (Cruppy)

ANIMAL PRESERVE (IF ANY) | Wicket the Niffler; Tumnus the Porlock; Arjuna the Abraxan; Belle the Fairy; Esmeralda the Welsh Green; Leila the Thestral, Peter Quill the Knarl; Apollo the Hippogriff; Barnaby Jr. the Bowtruckle

[hilllsnholland]

Bucket List - (2)

Pairing: College!Tom x Deaf!Reader

W.c: 2.9k 

Warnings: swears, alcohol, slurs 

Summary: Ice cream really cures the soul 

Disclaimer: This is all written from my perspective as a Deaf/HoH person. If you have comments, questions, or concerns then you are welcome to message me :) 

The only thing Creekview had to offer was the sun. In London, the sun was a distant cousin that came around only when it benefited themselves. As much as Tom loathed the small college town, he loved the weather. He loved the sun beating down his neck while he sat outside Milky, serving ice cream to the somewhat pleasant residents of Creekview.

Milky was what Creekview was known for. It was a small drive-thru or walk up shop that served ice cream and other snacks. On the side of the building, there’s a beautiful mural of cows eating ice cream, looking out to the observer with blank expressions. Every day Tom patted each painted cow on the head on his way to his shift. A good luck sort of thing. It was needed though as the lines and customers got crazy as the temperature rose.

“Fuck this,” Brant spat as he wiped his forehead again. “They can’t even buy us an outdoor fan? Cheap ass white people.”

Tom tries to ignore him and enjoy the feeling of heat on his skin. The Brit tilts his sunglasses up on his face so that Brant can’t tell he’s in another headspace. The party still absorbed his mind. It had been three days since that night but he hadn’t stopped thinking of Y/N. When he got bored he fingerspelled his name like Y/N did. As soon as he got home that night he went online and practiced basic signs. Things like ‘hello’ ‘how are you’ ‘bathroom’ were now part of his vocabulary. It wasn’t much but it would be a gesture of willingness. All Tom wanted was to see her hands move again.  

“I heard you hooked up with that pink haired chick.” Brant smugly says as he leans against the walk-up counter.

“No-”

“I saw her too. Looked like a wild one huh? I bet she’s hella freaky with that pink hair and shit.”

“Nothing happened. We kissed. She left. End of story.”

“Left you blue balling and shit? Sorry man,” Brant slaps Tom on the shoulder and smacks his lips. “I thought your British accent would help you pull but you keep striking out.”

Tom doesn’t respond. He spells his name again and goes through the alphabet to keep his mind at peace. The only good quality thing about Brant was that he was a talker. He could keep a conversation going for hours, but he mostly talked to hear his own voice. Tom could never say a word and Brant wouldn’t even notice.

“Ty got fucked up though. Kevin laid him out flat.” Brant snickers and eyes a few girls walking across the street.

“You told him to say that though, right? You set him up for it.” Tom narrows his eyes on the ground while Brant shifts his weight towards him.

“Hell yeah I did. You got a problem with that?”

Brant adjusts himself to stand straight. He was trying to be an alpha male alright, he was half a foot taller than Tom. Brant puffs out his chest but Tom does not give him the time of day. He knew his dirty work. He knew that Brant was a manipulative asshole, and sadly he was drawn into that culture. Times like this he really misses London. The guys there were assholes too, but this was a new breed of fuckery.

It seems like the div had found something else to be interested in because Brant was now flirting with a girl standing at the counter to order something. Tom went back to his original position of leaning on the wall behind him, his sunglasses tilting off the top of his nose. His mind went back to its usual job of putting Y/N in the center stage of his thoughts. God, if he’s on autopilot then he’s probably thinking about her. It was one meeting and he was hooked on it. He even approached LJ to ask her more that night.

*

LJ was in the midst of refilling the keg, her eyes locked on Harrison as he talks to a group of girls in his Sociology class. Tom had come up behind her hoping for answers. It was her party after all. She seemed to know everyone in this godforsaken town. LJ jumps when she sees Tom but settles with a laugh, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Scared me lovey.” She sloppily says.

“Do you know a Y/N?” Tom is quick with words while Lauren takes a second to think.

“Maybe?”

“She’s Deaf.”

“Oh, Y/N. Yes, I do.” LJ laughs and turns the nozzle of the keg back on. “I met her a while back at another party. She used to go to that Deaf school a few hours away.”

LJ shrugs and gulps down another solo cup full of beer. Tom wondered if he should ask more about her, but would that come off creepy? They didn’t seem like friends, but LJ is the type to gossip a bit. Lauren turns to Tom and looks as if she had come to an epiphany. Her hand caresses Tom’s cheek softly and she flattens her lips.

“That look on your face,” She purrs and drags her nail across his mouth.

“LJ, you’re drunk.” Tom tries to break the tension but she keeps staring on.

“So are you, but you’re...you got that happy look Tommy,” She’s not very coherent as she sways back and forth. “That same look I get when I see Haz…”

Her face becomes more flushed than usual as she breaks out into a fit of giggles. Her hand leaves his face as she turns back around to refill her cup. LJ wipes her face lazily and clears her throat.

“Tommy, be careful baby,” Her voice is shallow in her throat. “Y/N, she’s a different kind of girl. The kind to break your heart.”

LJ spins the contents of her drink around in the cup as she sways. Tom watches her face drop, the look of knowing more but not saying it. Although he wanted to push, there was something eating at him to not do it. Maybe it was self-destruction, but her warning didn’t persuade him any different. He still wanted to talk to Y/N. Learn her story, more than the gossip LJ would have.

“How would you know?” Tom defensively says and grabs the cup from LJ’s hand. “Did you hear that from your dumb rumormongers?”

She doesn’t react right away. LJ hums as her hand squeezes the air the cup had once occupied. Her eyes are sad as she looks back at Tom, almost pitying him. Was this a sick joke?

“Behind every rumor is a little bit of truth. Even if it’s twisted, Tom,”

*

There’s a loud ringing and Tom snaps from his thoughts. It was the customer bell from the counter. Brant was nowhere to be seen, possibly in the back trying to get away from the heat. Tom shakes his head and walks up to the counter with his fake smile ready to greet whatever Creekview trash would walk up.

“Welcome to Milky-” Tom stops and gapes at the two girls standing in front of him.

It was Y/N, staring with huge eyes, and her friend from before who was blinking rapidly. The friend laughs awkwardly, elbowing Y/N, and signs something Tom has not yet learned. Y/N scatters to reply but keeps an eye on Tom while she’s responding. Tom raises his hand and tries to sign, ‘nice to meet you’ while mouthing his words. The friend cackles through her accent, signing something back.

“Sorry, I’m trying to learn,” Tom says while trying to sign.

“You��re alright. We’re just...surprised to see you.” Y/N says while simultaneously signing. “Tom right?”

His name on her hands looks just as beautiful as before. Tom nods and fingerspells Y/N’s name slowly. She smiles, nodding her head and motioning the sign, ‘right’. The friend coughs, pointing to the orange ice cream picture on the counter.

“Oh right sorry,” Tom shakes his head and nods. “Can I get you guys anything?”

“My friend here,” Y/N elbows her friend and fingerspells her name. “Tejas, she wants an orange swirl. I’ll take a Coke Diablo.”

Tom’s mouth feels dry and he can’t form a sign that would be correct in the situation. In his awkward mess of nerves, he stumbles away and into Milky to grab their order. He mumbled to himself as he makes their ice cream, his mind and mouth moving in two different speeds. What could he say to her? Maybe he needs to learn more sign before talking to her? It was a mess, all the little Toms in his head were setting things on fire. Next thing he knew he felt the cold, sticky mess of ICEE on his hand. He grabbed a towel and cleaned up the mess, setting himself straight before going back out there.

With an adjustment to his sunglasses and a mental pep talk, Tom walked back out to the girls. He handed them both their treats, earning a ‘thank you’ from Y/N and a condescending smile from Tejas. She was analyzing him, signing about him when he was right there. Although Tom wasn’t fluent, he could tell she was being snarky.

“$8.64,” Tom says and then watches Tejas sign something. “What is she saying?”

Y/N hands him a ten while signing back to her friend, contorting her face into a scrunched up expression.

“She keeps calling you ‘Hearing Boy’,” Y/N explains then fingerspells his name again. “She’s not very open to hearing people,”

“Why not?”

Y/N interprets the conversation which makes Tejas make a noise that was similar to honking. Her head shakes from side to side as her hands move rapidly, the ice cream swaying side to side and dripping down the cone.

“She says all you hearing people do is make fun of her.” Y/N slyly points behind Tom to where Brant has reappeared. “Your friend there has called her retarded since she moved here,”

Yet again Tom’s biggest weakness was who he allowed to be associated with. It wasn’t a surprise, Brant was a lowlife who would stoop to slurs like that. Tom felt a fire bubbling under his skin, god he wanted to knock him out but Brant was double his size and weight. He shakes his head and exhales.

“Brant is an idiot. A fucking div,” Tom hands Y/N back her money. “But we’re not all like that. Some of us want to understand Deaf people,”

Y/N watches his mouth move and smiles. Tejas looks lost and huffs against her ice cream. She could see what was forming and she was not happy about it. Tom met Y/N’s gaze and raised his hand to try to sign to her.

“Your hair...beautiful,” He signs slowly.

Y/N runs a hand through the dyed hair and giggles nervously.

“It’s fake...all for that party.” She responds. “Do you have time to talk right now?”

Tom immediately signs yes, not caring about if Brant would need his help or not with the impending rush. Y/N signs something to Tejas, who rolls her eyes and then watches her friend walk around the corner with car keys in hand. Tom leads Y/N to the other side of the building where the murals were.

“So, how Deaf are you?” Tom says while dragging his hand across one of the painted cows. “You seem to carry a conversation pretty well,”

Y/N feigns a smile, inhaling harshly as she leans against the wall and slides down. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she looks up to Tom.

“I was born hearing. I was in a car accident when I was a kid, lost the majority of my hearing.” She points to her ears and shrugs. “I can follow along because I know what sounds are. I can read lips alright.”

Her body tenses as she looks towards the beating sun. It was high in the sky, perks of the long summer days. She squinted and held a hand up to block the sun. Without a second thought, Tom hands her his sunglasses and steps into the sunlight. She motions a thank you and puts them on. Tom couldn’t help but smile, she looked better in his glasses than he did.

“So, what happened at the party, that kiss?” Her words are shaky which she masks with awkward laughing. “It was great. I just don’t think you know what you’re getting into-”

“Are you talking about the rumors?”

“Which ones?” Y/N pushes back the fading pink strands and sighs. “There’s so many now. I don’t even care anymore,”

“Someone said you’ll break my heart,” Tom watches her face fall slightly. “But I’m looking for someone to ruin my life anyways.”

Y/N laughs, but this time it's a real laugh though. It came from the bottom of her stomach as if this was the first funny thing she heard in years. Maybe not heard, but you know the specifics are hard. Tom laughs, switching her weight so he’s leaning towards her.

“I think you’re cool Tom, especially with that accent I can’t hear.” Y/N tries to wink behind the glasses but it doesn’t really work. “I just don’t want you to expect much because we don’t know each other,”

“Can I get to know you?”

Y/N looks to him in surprise. There’s a long pause though, she doesn’t speak but she reaches inside of her backpack to find something. Tom isn’t sure if she’s handing him her number or a restraining order but she pulls out a piece of torn out paper. It’s folded perfectly, doodles on the corners of little turtles with sunglasses. He opens it and at the top of the page it says in big letters, ‘Summer Bucket List’.

“What’s this?”

“You want to get to know me right?” She stands and pushes the sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so her eyes are seductively pooling into his. “Read this, then next time we meet I’ll tell you the plan.”

Y/N places the sunglasses on Tom’s head, her other hand rests on the middle of his chest. She can feel the rhythm, fast and all for her. There’s a moment where everything is still, their lips so close from touching but uncertainty clouds the moment. It wasn’t right, Tom was sure of that. If he wanted to kiss her it had to be lead by her. Y/N puts her backpack back on and steps away.

“I’ll see you around,” She says then signs something new. “This is your name sign for now okay?”

She shows him, it’s the sign for ‘hearing’ but with a T hand shape. He smiles and repeats it. A name sign, something only given by Deaf people to their friends and family. Tom took this as a way of her promising to see him again. The list felt heavy in his hands as he watched her walk towards a beat up Cadillac on the corner driven by Tejas.

“How will I find you once I’m done reading this?” Tom yells down the street which causes a few Creekview residents to stop and stare.

“You can try to find me on social media or,” Tom can see her smirking playfully. “Or let fate decide. Your choice.”

Y/N enters the car and that’s the end of their meeting. Tejas whips the car from the space and drives away. The whole interaction felt like a dream. It did not feel real in a conceivable way. Tom looked to the list and back to the corner she was standing at before to make sure this was not a figment of his imagination. He unravels the list completely and was surprised to see only five.

Swim in Creek Lake

Easy enough. That was one of the most popular destinations during the summer. Creekview had a lake that was swarmed by people who were either swimming, tanning, or canoeing. Tom had yet to go into the water though, he usually did a hike around the hills behind the lake with Harrison.

    2. Watch a Drive-In movie

That was something he did not expect. Do Drive-Ins have captioned movies? Tom didn’t even know where they still had Drive-Ins. It had to be something he’d look up later.

   3. Go to DeckFest

Deckfest? The Deckfest? Also known as the Coachella for people who can not afford Coachella. A music festival between California and Nevada, held in a desert, with lesser-known names. It was a mix of Rolling Loud and Warp Tour.

   4. Win a fistfight

Y/N obviously had more layers that he was expecting. The fourth one made him laugh, folding the paper while smiling a little too much. Watching her fight? He’d pay money for that. Tom looks to the last one and drops a bit.

   5. Find my purpose

Tom’s heart panged as he read it over and over. He related to the last item, something he needed to figure out by August also. In the time where he needs to figure out his major, his future, he was more interested in reading this Bucket List and talking to Y/N. Maybe it was master procrastination, or maybe it would lead him to his final destination. Either way, Tom had his roadmap for the summer, all starting with Creek Lake.

///

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Taglist: 

@screeching-student-unknown / @nyctophilicstyles /  @captainbuckyy / @vintage-moonlight / @breadbudzo / @h-natale / @originalpinkpowerranger/ @happywolves81 / @drunkgreek / @iamnida95 / @sydthekidsloth / @spiderboytotherescue / @laureharrier / @starksparker / @madon566 / @nophunleague / @itsbrittneynicole / @hereiamhereigo

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E39 (October 23, 2018)

(This week’s Talks will be posted after the episode airs tonight!)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Taliesin Jaffe! Also ft. Peak Dani (who has had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking show) and Marisha Ray Everywhere.

Announcements:

Marisha’s BtS episode has aired and is now available online on CR’s YouTube. Taliesin: “It’s not ridiculous to say she’s one of the best people I know.”

Matt’s BtS aired yesterday. Brian: “I’ve done twenty-some hours of interviews, and this is the one that broke me.” Liam: “Yeah, he’s super shallow, right?”

There will be a bonus holiday episode of BtS featuring Ashley Johnson.

The Halloween episode of All Work No Play aired last week! Liam: “The most handsome Sam’s ever been.”

Laura’s one-shot was pre-taped and aired on Thursday (now available on G&S’s YouTube). Brian, on trying to maintain a British accent for his character: “It’s a nightmare. I apologize to all the Critters. I’m going to get Peaky Blindered.” It’s truly a thing of beauty.

Stats for this week’s episode:

Matt surpassed 15 nat 20s and 20 nat 1s for the campaign in this episode.

The M9 got their 150th kill: the yuan-ti abomination killed by Nott.

This episode was the first time a character dealt more than 150 damage in an episode, with Fjord dealing 158. However, he only dealt the second-highest: Yasha dealt 301!

By the end of the fight, the Warden had grown an additional 8 heads and had taken a total of 428 points of damage.

Liam has the same mini at home that Matt used in this episode. “The hydra’s in the corner. All the heads are facing the wall.”

Caleb’s been enjoying the Menagerie Coast, but he’s starting to want to go home with all this time on the boat and the island. “He’s very much of the Empire, and sees leaving it as both a chance to learn things that he doesn’t know and experience things he hasn’t experienced so he can do things he wants to do.” He’s also very cognizant that the whole group has needs, and he can’t just railroad everyone to the library. Taliesin: “He’s evolving. That’s nice.”

Liam has dyed his hair green, red, and blue. Brian did purple.

Cad hasn’t yet put together that the Cloaked Serpent is the Wildmother’s mortal enemy. “I don’t think he necessarily believes that that’s what’s happening yet.” Even as Taliesin, he isn’t entirely convinced.

Caleb hasn’t been avoiding Cad or anything. “I think Cad would see what the others see, which that Caleb’s fucked up.”

Everything gets derailed at the realization that Taliesin was in Facts of Life. Brian: “You can’t just throw shit like that!”

Caleb’s been looking at Cad with the perspective of, “Oh, hey, he’s the new guy, let’s see if he lasts.”

Taliesin: “He’s fascinated by your intellectualism. He wants to know that.” Dani: “Yeah he does.”

Cad’s perspective on the M9′s casual disposal of bodies: “It’s all food. As long as the body’s useful, it doesn’t matter where it goes.”

Caleb put a lot of trust in Fjord to hand him his spellbooks. “He does trust Fjord for certain things. Not enough to tell him everything. Caleb’s been getting a little cocky lately.”

There’s some innuendo here. Maybe. Just a little. “Ball’s in your court, Brian.”

Who would they trust to come in and play their characters in their absence? Taliesin: “I don’t have friends anymore.” Brian: “YOU KNOW TERI HATCHER!” 

But seriously, Taliesin would ask Ashley first, then Marisha or Travis, as the ones most likely to get the zen. Liam: “I think Ashley would be number one, RP-wise, for Caleb. And it would probably be Taliesin.”

Mary Elizabeth McGlynn once explained hentai to Brian on an airplane for half an hour. “It was the funniest goddamn conversation I’ve had in my life.”

Gif of the Week: the beheading of the hydra.

Caduceus has “definitely dabbled in some psychotropics. That’s definitely something that grows in the garden.”

Taliesin and Liam generally cut themselves some slack for any mistakes they might have made in a game that’s played late at night after a full day of work. Liam: “Even the bad decisions lead to awesome.”

Taliesin: “I would’ve liked to have gotten the hydra high, now that I know that was an option.” There’s some discussion as to what kind of high a hydra would have, and if each head might react differently. Liam: “I told you we shouldn’t have mixed!”

Brian: “This has more dick jokes than Honey Heist 2, for some reason.”

Fanart of the week: the beautiful orchard chamber.

Taliesin on Travis’ ‘Molly’ slip-up: “Honestly, there’s very few things in the world that delight me more than seeing a little bit of shame roll down his face.” He purposely made an offended face at him. That moment delighted him.

Liam’s getting some great schadenfreude over Travis having to agonize over his RP decisions like the rest of them this campaign. “Fuck you with your emotional investment!”

Taliesin specifically made a character who bonds easily with people. He loves knowing things about the characters but being able to back off from that and feign ignorance.

Caleb being high meant that his self-flagellation got pushed way into the background. “It felt good not to care.” Brian asks if Caleb might seek escape through addiction to something like that, and Liam notes that Caleb doesn’t actually want to escape that self-loathing; he wants to wallow in it. Liam: “He really likes hating on himself. That was the point of all this. He wants to do something unfathomable fueled by self-loathing. There’s a thin little window that, if he sticks the landing, he can untie the knot.”

Clay’s mostly just pushing forward with this whole release-the-snake-of-many-eyes thing in the hopes of getting answers; he hasn’t thought more deeply about it. Caleb think it’s a bad idea; he’d try to stop it if he could. Both Caleb and Clay feel like Fjord’s hiding a lot. Clay’s feeling curious and cautious about what’ll happen when Fjord finds out the things he doesn’t know. Caleb thinks Fjord’s hiding a lot and is making terrible decisions; “Caleb’s such a hypocrite, because he’d probably take steps to stop Fjord from doing the things that he’s doing, still knowing that he needs to do the things he wants to do.”

Talks Machina: That About Sums It Up:

What books would Liam keep in Caleb-esque holsters with him at all times? Hellboy: Seed of Destruction: Vol. 1, and Complete Works of Shakespeare. It would be a little unbalanced. If he could only pick one Shakespeare play, it’d be Hamlet.

Given the chance, Taliesin would dye Liam’s hair “a blue-silver with a little purple highlight, a gentle amethyst. It’d be good, bring out your eyes.”

I just love that this is a thing Brian said: “Fluffernutter. Does that scare you guys?”

Taliesin: “Anytime you have to roll that many times to get something to work, I’m a little hesitant. If we’re not in a cave next time, right next to people who are taking damage, I’d feel a little better.”

How would they defeat a Marisha hydra? Taliesin, instantly: “Could not be done.” He and Liam concoct a plan involving the right margarita, turkish delight, a pickletini, red wine, Minecraft, and giving one-sheet pitch docs to three of the heads.

Brian’s solution in four words: “There’s a weed drought.” Taliesin: “We once came up with a Magic card just called Pile O’ Weed. It’d just be a green card you could tap, and a whole turn would pass and nothing would happen.”

Molly would’ve had two of the fruits, “just to make a point”.

[codynaomiswireart]

“Gauze in the Wound” - Part 3

(Parts 1 & 2)

Going into a bit of a flashback on this segment!  The events in this chapter actually take place before part one, where Varian goes in for his trial with the royal court a few days after being arrested.  It...does not go well.  There is a LOT of angst in this portion, so just be ready for that.  Otherwise I hope you enjoy it!

Another Quick Note: Also, for those of you who are fans of King Frederic, Queen Arianna, and/or Rapunzel, I just want to make it clear that Varian’s dialogue does NOT necessarily reflect my own thoughts and opinions on how the characters conducted themselves in the series.  While I do think that everyone has their share of the blame in how things unfolded in season 01, this piece is very much Varian’s perspective on what had happened, so it’s of course incomplete and serves to primarily to try to justify his actions as he sees fit.  Just so you know and don’t think this is meant to be an attack on the other characters, because I do like the others.  There’s just going to be a lot for everyone to have to sift through in the future for sure.

“Often when he was teaching me to write in Greek the Fox would say, 'Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy of words.'

“A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years which you have, all that time…been saying over and over, you'll not talk about the joy of words.”  ~ Queen Orual, Till We Have Faces

(Several weeks prior...)

[“Varian,” Quirin interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation at his son’s persistence.  “Children have no place in court.”]

“…What was that you were saying Dad?” Varian couldn’t help but think to himself bitterly as he faced the doors of the palace’s throne room.  Any moment now, they would be opened, and an entire court would be assembled on the other side, all for him.  Waiting for him.  The irony of it all would’ve almost been comical, had it not been so utterly tragic.

…So, how many lies did that make now?  Varian had lost count…

With a low, heavy noise, the doors to the throne room finally swung open, and Varian did his best to ignore the murmurings and whisperings that his presence prompted as Pete and Stan ushered him in across the threshold.  It seemed as if nearly the whole kingdom had turned out to watch this trial unfold.  Varian’s head hung low, his dark bangs dangled in front of his face, and his footfalls were heavy on the carpet as he walked through the gauntlet of eyes lining the pathway to the front of the chamber.  The chains around his ankles and wrists clinked together, and their noise echoed painfully off the marble walls, tiles, and high ceiling as we went.

Varian hated it.  All of it.

He hated the feeling of so many eyes boring into him as he passed before them, and he hated all the people behind those eyes.  He hated the feeling of Pete and Stan’s hands on his shoulders as they forced him onward.  He hated the chains that clung to him like metal snakes, weighing him down.  He hated the decadence of the lofty chamber with its purple banners and gold trim – the levity of colors and light only serving to mock his miserable state.  He hated not having his goggles or work apron on, leaving him feeling even more vulnerable than otherwise.  He hated not having Ruddiger at his side (the little creature having been left locked up in their holding cell until after his trial).  He hated the royal advisor, Nigel, who stood ramrod-straight to the side of the dais, and held a scroll in his hands.  Varian hated that scroll, and the list of charges it undoubtedly contained against him.  He hated the Captain of the Guard who stood dutifully to the opposite side of the dais, his hand resting vigilantly on the pommel of his sheathed sword as his eyes followed Varian to the front of the room.

Most of all, Varian hated the two figures that had yet to enter the chamber, though Varian glared daggers at their empty thrones as he was halted in front of them.

“If only…” the incredibly hostile side of Varian thought to himself upon seeing them as such…Though, in a most fleeting moment, Varian also felt a tiny shudder run down his spine at the idea of how it nearly had been what was now before him those few nights ago – the small part of his old self that still had a say in things feeling a sense of horror at the thought.

At what he had nearly-

“ALL RISE,” Nigel’s voice rang out, interrupting Varian’s thoughts and shoving that small voice inside of him back down into the depths of his soul as the door to the side of the throne room opened, and the crowd of people all rose to their feet behind him.  Varian tensed as he heard and felt their synchronized movements like a tidal wave of judgment threatening to break over him at his back.  “FOR THEIR MAJESTIES, KING FREDERIC AND QUEEN ARIANNA!”

As King Frederic and Queen Arianna entered into the court from one of the side doors, Varian had half a mind to sit down right in the middle of the floor out of spite, but Pete and Stan’s grip on his arms prevented him from doing so.  Varian’s eyes followed the king and queen as they went, and for a brief second Varian made eye contact with the queen.  As Varian’s steely, icy blue eyes peered out at her from the shadow behind his oily, ebony hair, Varian saw a wince flash across her face before she forced herself to quickly look away.

Had her expression been out of fear of him?  Out of pity for him?  Both?  Varian wasn’t sure, nor did he care.  He loathed it all in any event.

As the king and queen came to their thrones, the king bid everyone be seated, and Varian could feel the wave behind him come roaring back down again, feeling reality crash its way down over him in tandem.

“COURT IS NOW IN SESSION!” Nigel’s voice rang out again.  “HIS MAJESTY KING FREDERIC PRESIDING!”

Varian’s trial had now begun.

Opening up the scroll, Nigel stepped forward and cleared his throat.  “Varian, son of Quirin,” he began, Varian’s eyes casting down and his hands balling into fists in anguish at hearing his dear father’s name spoken aloud (and in that stupid fake accent).  “You are hereby charged with acts of trespassing, theft, sabotage, conspiracy, disturbance of the peace, avoiding arrest, deliberate destruction of both public and private property, blackmail, assault, illegal animal experimentation, breaking and entering, kidnapping, holding multiple persons hostage, attempted homicide, attempted regicide, and treason.  How do you plead?”

Varian could practically feel the air get sucked out of the room as everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his answer.

…Varian kept silent.

“How do you plead?” Nigel repeated firmly.  Still Varian did not answer.  After a moment of full, awkward silence, the king finally made to speak.

“On behalf of the defendant,” he began, causing Varian to tense up even further as the blood boiled in his veins upon hearing his enemy’s voice.  “I as judge will offer a ‘not-guilty’ plea to the charges presented.”

“The court accepts,” Nigel replied, rolling the scroll back up in a flourish.  Varian frowned hard at the floor in front of him.  Despite how it may have sounded, he knew full well that the king didn’t actually believe him to be ‘not-guilty’ – quite the contrary of course – but it was standard procedure for a ‘not-guilty’ plea to be the default when a defendant refused to speak.  Varian didn’t know much about Corona law, but that much he knew.

“The court will now hear from the defense,” Nigel continued as he signaled for Pete and Stan to let go of Varian’s arms (though the two of them remained stationed close by his sides, ready at any moment to make a grab for him if need be).

“Varian, son of Quirin,” Nigel repeated, Varian’s eyes now turning to look at him with a sideways glare.  “The court will now hear your testimony.  Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Varian’s eyes suddenly took on a faraway look as he heard those words.

“Promises…Promises!?  The TRUTH!?”

For anyone looking on, it was eerie to watch and to listen to what came next.

For a second, it almost looked as if Varian would only remain silent again.  But then, his face turned downward, his eyes shut tightly, as his shoulders began quivering.  Pete and Stan could hear a shaky intake of breath coming from him, and for a moment, it looked as if Varian was going to cry.  Queen Arianna already began to feel having to restrain herself from rushing forward to bring the boy into a motherly embrace as she saw it.  She knew such a thing would surely be against court procedure – and likely Varian would despise such contact – but O how she longed to comfort the clearly hurting child that stood before her (even after all that had happened)!  How badly she wanted to make things even only a little bit better for him, if only she could-!

But what it all actually came to made nearly all the warmth in Arianna’s heart run cold, and she couldn’t help but sit still as stone upon her throne in horror as the realization hit her.

Varian was not crying.  He was laughing.  A joyless, ironic, pained sound to be sure, but it was indeed laughing.  Perhaps there was a hint of a sob somewhere in it too, but Varian’s anger soon pushed it back down.

“Ha ha ha ha!”  Varian’s chuckles crescendoed, before rounding off with a huff of disbelief.   “Really!?” Varian finally burst out, his eyes turning up to glare at the royals, and the both of them feeling horribly pinned beneath the pure fury that held them there with an expression that swung between sneering and scowling.  “REALLY!?  You’re honestly asking ME to promise to tell the truth!?  Ha!  That’s REAL rich, coming from you!  Why don’t you ask yourselves that same question-!”

“None of that now!” the Captain of the Guard called out as Varian dared to take a small step forward in his outburst, and Pete and Stan made to resume their grip on the boy.  Disturbed mutterings and chatterings could be heard growing in the crowd behind them in response to Varian’s words and impudence.

“Everyone, please!” the king called above the din as he stood, everyone pausing and going silent in response.  Frederic swallowed hard, forcing his next few words to come out as Arianna looked up at him with deep concern in her eyes.  “The court has agreed to hear from the defendant.  Let him speak.”

With great reluctance, the Captain, Pete, and Stan stood down, and Varian jerked his arms out of their grasp, his chains clinking roughly together.

King Fredric sat back down.  “Varian,” he tried again, attempting to refocus the proceedings as Varian’s eyes met his own with a response of pure rage.  “You have been brought here before this court to answer for the charges brought against you.  Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“…That depends,” Varian replied through clenched teeth.  “Do you?”

King Frederic’s eyes narrowed.  He knew this was going to be a hard trial, and he knew Varian wasn’t in his right mind, but he wasn’t expecting this.

“What do you mean by that, Varian?” he dared to ask.

Varian guffawed again in response.  “Oh honestly-!?  Please, let’s not carry on this farce any longer, your majesty!” Varian mockingly bowed for a second as he said it, Arianna wincing once again in response.  “You want the truth!?  Fine!  I’ll give you the truth!”  Varian’s voice grew louder as he carried on, his shrill voice echoing around the chamber (sounding almost foreign to his own ears, as all the words he had been storing up inside of him poured out in a verbal torrent that he hardly thought to stop).

“Yeah, I did all that stuff you said!  Yes!  Fine!  Boom, guilty as charged!  You can all go home now!  Congratulations Corona!  You caught the bad guy!  Case closed!  Problem solved!  Way to finally lock up that maniac who just needed to be gotten rid off after ignoring him didn’t work!  Oooh, but you so counted on that in the beginning didn’t you Fred!?”

King Frederic’s mustache twitched in anger at Varian’s casual address of him, but he held his temper and his tongue as the boy carried on.

“Yeah, if only everyone else had ignored the situation like you did!  If only we all had our own ivory towers that we could retreat to away from danger!  Then everything would be all right for you, wouldn’t it?  Well guess what!?  We don’t all have towers!  And it WASN’T all fine!”  Now Varian felt the first stirrings of his emotion beginning to break as he thought of what he was to say next.  But it was all right.  He knew he was right, and the first stitch had already been applied to the wound he scrambled to close as he went.

He continued applying the verbal sutures.  “The black rocks weren’t stopping, and Old Corona was being destroyed!  And my father! – Your friend! – He ended up paying the price for that!  For what you refused to do anything about!  For what your daughter brought upon the kingdom!  And-!”

“What would you have had me do, Varian!?” King Frederic now interrupted, angry that Varian would drag his daughter again into this.  “You know very well yourself that the black rocks couldn’t be cut!  And I gave your village more land to rebuild!  What else was I to do!  It was not within my power to-!”

“But it was within Rapunzel’s power, wasn’t it!?” Varian shouted back.  “You know it!  I know it!  We all saw it only the other day!  She was connected to the rocks the whole time!  She could’ve done something!  And you knew!  Oooooh no, but NO!  This was your daughter of course!  You couldn’t possibly risk her precious safety for the lives of dozens of villagers living on the outskirts!  Oh, but don’t worry your highness!  Your daughter learned better than you!  She knew better than to put hundreds of lives at risk for the sake of one person!  She made that very clear the night she had me thrown out of here after I came begging for her help – begging for her to help save my father from a disaster she started!  Oh, and before you ask if I went to find help elsewhere, of course I thought of that!  But then I find that apparently my begging had been mistaken for attacking!”

Here Nigel shifted uncomfortably in his corner by the dais.

“But good for you, your majesty!”  Varian gave a couple of slow claps.  “Good!  For!  You!  You played your cards well!  Your people are so loyal to you that they wouldn’t even dream of helping anyone who was rumored to have attacked your precious little girl!  Better safe than sorry though, am I right!?  That’s how it all runs around here, doesn’t it!  Never mind if you’re proven guilty or not!  It’s all arbitrary in the end isn’t it!?  With magic!  Nothing works according to the equation around here!  Nothing around here is fair!  Nothing-!”

Varian’s voice trailed away.  He paused, taking a few deep breathes as he found himself dizzy and winded after his long rant.  He staggered a little, but remained on his feet as Pete and Stan reached out and steadied him (though of course Varian felt no gratitude).  Varian swallowed hard, and when his voice came again it was no longer shouting, but the edge still very much there.  “Yeah,” Varian began again.  “I did all that stuff you said I did.  We all know it.  And no, I’m not sorry.  Why you may ask?  Well…” Varian sneered up at the king.  “I could ask you the exact…same…thing.”

Guilty.  Of course that had been the verdict.

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty…

The world echoed in Varian’s brain as he was escorted back to his holding cell in the palace dungeons.  He felt exhausted.  He felt sick – the horrible aftertaste of all his words burning in the back of his throat like bile as he staggered down the stone steps.

The trial had moved on of course, as only trials do in Corona.  With Varian’s unapologetic confession for his crimes, there was little need for witness testimony, though a few were heard nonetheless.  Varian had blocked them out as best as he could…but however hard he tried, he could not block out the sound of the queen’s voice as she had given her testimony.  He honestly didn’t remember a lot of what she actually said, but her tone had dripped with the courage and dignity of a true queen, yet also with all the gentleness and compassion of motherhood.

…And Varian had hated it.

Varian let his arms hang limp as the Captain removed his handcuffs from him, and after taking off his shackles the door was shut and locked behind him.  No one would be coming by again until morning.

Then, silence.

Varian stood in the middle of his cell, utterly despondent as the light of a waning moon streamed in from the barred window.  Cautiously, Ruddiger made his way out from where he had been curled up underneath Varian’s cot to the side, alerting Varian to his presence with a few soft cooing noises.

“…H-how did it go?” Ruddiger attempted to ask through his soft chitterings.  Varian looked down at him for a moment (though his eyes almost left the impression of looking through Ruddiger as opposed to actually seeing him), and then Varian walked a few paces more to where he leaned a tired shoulder against the wall.

At that, the dam broke.

Varian didn’t even bother trying to stop it as the tears and sobs came pouring out of him almost right away, and that tiny voice he had shut away those many hours ago broke back through with a vengeance.  It brought no words with it this time, but only a need to release the heartbreak that burned like acid in his chest.  Leaning back against the wall, Varian sunk his way down into a miserable ball on the floor, burying his face in his arms as he cried in agony, and his brain reeling as the reality of it all began to hit him.

This was it.  He had truly hit rock bottom.

Varian wasn’t sure how long he had been sobbing on the floor, but presently, he wrapped his arms around himself as he suddenly felt how chilled he had become.  He wouldn’t be surprised if he were coming down with some sort of fever after everything.  But what did it all matter anymore anyway?  Why should he bother to-?

Varian’s thoughts were again interrupted that day as he now heard the sound of cloth being dragged across the floor.  Wiping the tears from his eyes for a better look, Varian saw Ruddiger dragging one of the blankets from his cot across the floor, and presently began to pull it over his master’s quivering form.  This done, Ruddiger then brought his face up to Varian’s, wiping away his remaining tears with his forepaws, and giving Varian a few quick snuffly raccoon kisses on his forehead.  “It’s ok,” he seemed to be trying to say.  “I’m here!  It’ll be all right!  I’m with you!  Don’t cry!”

Varian let a few more tears fall in grateful response, Ruddiger wiping them up as Varian pulled him in closer, burying his face in his friend’s fur.

“So, it’s come to this,” Varian thought both gratefully and pitifully.  “I’ve sunk so low I have to be mothered by a raccoon.”

A few minutes later, Varian felt himself beginning to fall into unconsciousness, hugging Ruddiger close as he made to fall into the dark embrace of the first night out of what was to be a long five years-worth for him.  And what about after that?

He felt numb.  He felt hopeless.

Or perhaps…nearly hopeless.

“Please,” Varian found that small voice in himself weakly praying in his mind as sleep took him.  “Please…someone…help me!...”

Xavier stared hard at the fire burning in the hearth, the cup of tea he had made for himself sitting cold and untouched as he rested his chin on his hands clasped in front of him, the blacksmith’s mind deep in thought.  Xavier could hardly believe what he had witnessed during the trial that day.  He could hardly believe that so much bitterness and hatred could be present in so young a person as Varian.

“…What happened to you?” was all the blacksmith could think in grief and bewilderment for the boy as he thought back to what he had seen and heard from him that day.  Of course, on one level, Xavier knew perfectly well what had happened to Varian.  Everyone in the kingdom knew about it.

But…something was still missing.

Xavier couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the whole thing just didn’t feel complete.

“Why?”  The question had been left hanging at the end of Varian’s testimony…and it was a question no one else seemed to be asking.

Xavier cringed as he recalled what he had heard people saying around him as the court had adjourned that evening.

“Can you believe that?” one lady had said.  “The nerve of that child!  I would’ve thought Quirin would’ve raised a more well-behaved son.”

“Yes.  Poor fellow,” a man had replied in response.  “Though even before this whole thing with these horrid black rocks, I had heard that it was all Quirin could do to prevent the boy from destroying Old Corona long before such a disaster came.”

“That’s because of all the witchcraft the he dealt with!” a frightened voice had piped up next to Xavier.

“It wasn’t witchcraft you fool!” another voice interjected a few feet away.  “Everybody knows the boy was a wizard!  NOT a witch!”

“My cousin in Old Corona once told me that it was alchemy.”

“Alchemy?  What’s that?  Sounds like a kind of witchcraft to me!”

“No, alchemy is a science.  At least, that’s what the kid told everyone.”

“Yeah.  He probably told them that so he could go on making his brews and creating his spells to make his monsters and living metal men in secret!”

“Oh come on!  That part has got to be exaggerated!”

“But the witnesses all said it was true!  Oh!  Hey!  If you don’t believe me, we could go over to Old Corona and you can see for yourself!  I’ve heard a whole bunch of his metal soldiers still sit there impaled by the black rocks that the princess used to defeat him.”

“No way!  I’m not going anywhere near that place-!”

Most of the conversations Xavier had overheard went something along those lines, and it broke his heart.  Xavier didn’t know Varian very well, but he had seen the boy a few times before today, and he could hardly believe that such an excitable, energetic, and sweet child could’ve made such a drastic turn as that.  Perhaps most people chalked it up to what Varian had spouted on about earlier, or perhaps a sort of displaced anger in the face of an accident tied to the princess.  But Xavier wasn’t convinced.

Again, something was missing…But how to go finding out about it?

Finding out?

Xavier rubbed his hands over his eyes, really questioning where his mind was going as he came back to himself.  “Really now Xavier ol’ boy,” he muttered to himself, attempting to be practical.  “Remember what happened the last time you tried to help in matters like these?  What a disaster that had been.”

And it truly it had been.  Of course Xavier had found out shortly after that most peculiar day (the one with the whole debacle with his mood potion) that Varian had used a modified version of his elixir for his own schemes.  And what even greater disasters came from that.  Best then for the blacksmith to not try to stick his oar in again if he-

Xavier suddenly sat upright as it hit him like a thunderclap.  “My potion!” he thought to himself with a sour jerk of sick guilt.

Oh no…

Whether Xavier liked it or not, he been an unwitting agent for furthering Varian’s crimes.  In fact, you could even say that it was Xavier’s small potion that proved to be the point from which Varian’s whole revenge scheme was able to start from in the first place.

Varian may have been the one to start the fire, but Xavier had given him the matchbox.

…What to do then now?  Perhaps Xavier was old-fashioned that way, but he felt convinced that given this knowledge was now obligated by honor to try to rectify what he had done.

To the kingdom…to Quirin…

To Varian…

“Well…” Xavier thought aloud, an idea beginning to form in his head as he stood up and walked over to the nearby table, grabbing some paper and ink as he did so.  “Perhaps there is one thing I could do on that front…”

With that, Xavier began to compose his letter.

“Attn: The Royal Advisor Nigel, by urgent request

To their majesties King Frederic and Queen Arianna,

Greetings.  If quite agreeable to you both, I would like to request an audience at your earliest possible convenience.  I have a proposition I would like to make…”

[pxrtgasdace]

(in an AU situation where Roger was in the picture, how different of a character do you think Ace would be?)

♠ @xfaucheuse. munday.

You once asked me something about Roger, but that was for me to answer in character. For the second time in a row I feel forced to cheat but… It does depend on what criteria play in this inclusion of Roger’s.

Meta under the cut.

Firsly, it’s fair to break down just which types of loathing Ace feels for Roger, even if for a bit.

One, Roger had the gall to, as the world’s most infamous pirate, sully a pure lady and condemn her to a bad fate (for we must remember Rouge was searched after), purely by associating with her. Roger’s sin begins with this contact. Of course had he not done so, Ace would not exist in the first place and it’s not smart to defend a mother who might have not been a mother had things been different, but Ace can be so fiery and protective of Rouge as to ignore reason.

Two, Roger was partly responsible for Rouge’s death, though Ace places himself first as his mother’s murderer. If contact was not enough, he left her with child while aware his time was running out, which is a despicable thing to do. I have no idea what contraceptive methods exist in the world of OP but, from Ace’s POV, no good man who knows he’ll die soon one way or another - illness or gallows - leaves a woman who’s alone in the world with an extra mouth to feed. As a pregnant woman, Rouge was chased - which Ace would at some point learn from Garp - and while this event speaks volumes of Rouge’s will, to Ace it also speaks volumes of Roger’s carelessness to “walk around Baterilla as though he were but a civilian”. (I am paraphrasing some character, possibly Sengoku; I’m afraid I do not have notes on this).

Three, there’s a feeling of abandonment here on the behalf of himself and of Rouge too, for the aforementioned reasons. If Roger meant to have a family, he left his family behind, arguably doing nothing for its sake. (We do not know whether Roger took some preventive measure for Rouge’s sake but, if he did, it must have been ineffective, as she survived just enough by her own merit). The one measure he took was to ask Garp to adopt and raise the baby. Ace would have mixed feelings about that, on one hand feeling it’s the only good think the bastard made (not ignoring the bittersweet taste of what his existence is); on the other finding it all the more reason to hate Roger, as though he treated his son like a poor puppy who’d otherwise die without a carer. And what did Garp do? Raise Ace as his own father? No. He’s not even in the role of father but of grandfather, and at some point would little Ace think Garp doesn’t actually want to be so, if he left a baby with mountain bandits.

Then of course we leave Rouge aside and enter Ace’s particular existentialism. Roger is the root of all (of Ace’s) evil(s). Piracy is in his blood and so is anger, rebellion, which happen to be the things he can pride himself about. He loves and hates the way he is, if it comes from Roger. It’s best if he doesn’t think much about his personality in connection with Roger!

In the end, all of these nuances amass themselves in a big ball of loathing (and a smaller one of self-loathing too), and while might not seem important - just nuances, as I said - to me it is important, especially if the question is the exact one you asked. As I said, it depends of a number of terms.

If Roger survives and stays with Rouge, then it’s safe to assume Ace would love him, for they would be a happy family. Perhaps not happy, proper, as Roger’s infamy would make them WG prey or force them into hiding, but at least Ace would be a boy with two parents who love each other very much and, to a kid, that might be enough. Ace’s call to piracy would either be forbidden (if the circumstances make it so) or applauded and one day Ace might become Roger’s fist-hand man. Ace would take up a civilian profession if he had anonymity and be, as a whole, happier with a humble life than he is in canon.

I could link this to how I envision things had Rouge survived and raised Ace but I’d be going way off topic.

If Roger survives but doesn’t stay with Rouge, then Ace’s feelings would be based on whether they know Roger’s alive. Say he and Rouge do, because ‘the criminal Roger is still at large’, Ace would hate him for the reason he never calls him. He’d still be a bit of a brat, a headstrong one at that, and blame the man he would accept as his father for not caring about the family. His mind would understand Roger’s being chased and all that but he’d refuse to believe it. In time, growing up with Rouge while Roger remains alive, not visiting Baterilla where they live, Ace would stop considering Roger as his father, as chances are he would see how fathers and sons interact in the locals, and decide Roger can’t be a father if he’s absent. He would stay quiet seeing such talk upset Rouge, but he would hate Roger all the same. If Roger died on the run and the news reached them, then he would blame him even more at seeing Rouge’s suffering but nothing else would have changed - Ace would have cared for and protected his mother since infancy in this context, “the (little) man of the house”. If, on the other hand, Roger returned, there would be an argument starting with “You’re not welcome here”

But say Rouge dies, Ace is taken to Dawn Island and Dadan WHILE Roger is alive? Pretty much the canon biography we know but with Roger present in the background? Ah, then, again, I have to say it depends on when Roger becomes part of the picture. 

While Ace wouldn’t run to him calling ‘daddy!’, I say the younger Ace is, the higher Roger’s chances of setting things right are. There would be a confrontation still, should Roger come to Mt. Colubo during Ace’s childhood. After all, Ace is something like a hand-me-down son, given by Roger to Garp and by Garp to Dadan, and that to a child should translate as “father didn’t want me / no one wants me”. It would take Roger a lot of time and convincing but, in this state, he could still turn Ace around if he knew how - getting closer step by step, day by day, enchant Ace with stories of the seas and faraway lands and all those fairytale things a little boy would marvel at. He could, in time, accept Roger as his father and once that’s settled, they might stay together or go separate ways, with the promise of meeting on high seas once Ace is a grown-up man.

My view on this might change but, right now, I am inclined to say that, if Roger appared and redeemed himself during Ace’s childhood, that pride he has got in him - the one that makes him snap at anyone who badmouths Pops, for instance - might channel into him liking the idea of being ‘Pirate Prince’. Not in the sense of him acting he’s got a crown on his head, but as in feeling pride in being Roger’s son and wanting to sail with him - I don’t doubt the WG would dub him ‘Pirate Prince’ then. Somehow they tend to empower pirates by giving them epithets that make them legitimate enemies rather than stand superior to them.

But say, in this context, it’s not during childhood that Roger comes to Ace but much later? I am proud to say I have a taste of it thanks to the great nonny who came here to roleplay this situation with me. Something I did not know I wanted and needed so bad! Now that… That would be the Ace we all know and love but an arguably worse one at meeting his dad. It’s the catharsis.

For the first time in a long time, Ace would feel a will to kill. One that has nothing to do with the dangers of the sea and the confrontations they raise. A very selfish - though not totally so, as part of it would be in the name of Rouge - unrestrained, animalistic want to kill. If that ever got animated, I am sure that would be the first time audiences would see a truly dangerous Ace who’s closer to being the likes of a villain than a good guy.

This being said, I do not believe Ace would get to kill Roger. Yes, the Roger nonny plays is in a wheelchair so he can’t fight back, naturally that changes things a bit - however I find it brilliant of nonny to play with Roger’s disease like so. 

It’s not in Ace’s core. In a ‘real life’ kind of way, people can lose control, lose themselves, and say see ya to their core for the sake of feelings and emotions impossible to control. However, from an author’s standpoint, there’s enough calm for a character to remain true to their core, because fiction allows us to control that which we, as flawed humans, can’t. 

And what’s Ace’s core, do you ask? Protection. He’s an older brother. A pirate captain. A commander. He’s responsible for lives and would blame himself for Thatch’s death, even if Thatch’s life was not on his hands - but Marshall D. Teach was one of his men, therefore, blame reflects on the commander. Yes he’s angry. Yes, he is violent. But he is not about being destructive of others, otherwise Oda would have made a villain out of him.

This is why Ace’s “element” is fire. It’s dangerous, passionate, can be untamable but, once tamed, it’s an element of protection, warmth and light, a beacon, which is exactly what Ace is to those he loves and, arguably, to the series itself.

Therefore, in this confrontation, we would be scared of Ace but he would not be able to and have an epiphany or two, That he’s Roger’s blood, not Roger himself. That he has the power to decide whether he’s a monster or not - it’s not blood that dictates it.

I hope I have answered the question though chances are I used it to talk lengths about nothing.

[itsallavengers]

(this is my first time sending an ask on tumblr so this is a huge win for my anxious self) about your body guard AU- does Steve find out that its Obie selling under the table, not Tony? what would Steve do to him? also do the events of IM1 still happen in this AU?

UH I MISSED THIS ASK I’M SO SORRY AND LIKE. I WAS LOWKEY FINISHED WITH THIS AU BUT I WANTED TO ANSWER BECAUSE! I’M PROUD AND DIDN’T WANT U TO BE IGNORED ON UR FIRST GO AT ANON. 

So I like,,, planned out this whole fic just in case someone decided to bid for me  and yes. I decided that this would indeed include the events of IM1. With a few changes, of course.

Firstly, at the point where Tony gets taken, he’s already found out about Steve’s other life. It all came out after Steve apparently got ‘confirmation’ that the tipoff about Tony dealing under the table was true.

He’d stared at the text Natasha had sent him for a very long time, because he basically couldn’t believe it. He had been... he’d been so sure Tony was innocent. He’d have staked his life on it. Hell; he’d already decided to give up his assassin lifestyle in favour of Bodyguarding Tony.

And of course- there was the whole ‘I’m mad in love with you’ thing that Steve had going on. After deciding to let Tony in just a little bit, it really hadn’t taken much to fall hopelessly for the man. 

Because he was good. Steve had been positive of that. He’d been completely and utterly convinced. He’d been...

An idiot.

He’d let Tony worm his way in, lie to him, manipulate him so that he’d trust him. Love him. God- it was every trick in the book that Steve had written, and he’d fallen for it all, hook line and sinker.

And really, it should have been his job. To just take Tony out, there and then. He was closest, he was easiest. He could just put a bullet in the back of his head and walk right out, because at that point everyone trusted him. 

But he hadn’t been able to. Because despite the realisation, despite every lie and false pretence Tony had kept up around him- he knew that at the end of the day, he would never be able to hurt him. Not ever- God, the thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach. 

He tells Clint to deal with it, and hates how much it takes him to just get the words out, to tell him to do the job that Steve had gone in there for in the first place. It takes him an hour and a half just to dial, and even then, he just finishes with a short “I can’t” before slamming down on the end call button. Clint would know what it meant.

After a huge fight, where he lets every bit of raw emotion out on Tony, he slams the door and leaves for good. Tony- completely bewildered and an expression like he’d just been stabbed- had barely even gotten a word in edgeways before Steve had taken his duffel and walked out of his life- no more bodyguarding for the mass-murderer, no more cooking him breakfast and hiding a laugh behind his hand when Tony made a joke while on the job-

No more. He was done. It was over, and he’d learnt his lesson.

Except he can’t let it slide.

He can’t... Tony was so good. And it was near impossible to keep something like that up unless you were a complete sociopath, which he knew how to spot anyway. 

It didn’t make sense, and it was eating at Steve.

So he trawls. He scrapes meticulously, carefully, through every single byte of data Natasha sent him. Doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, just searches and searches and looks at the clock, counting down the moments until Clint takes the shot.

There’s thirty minutes left when Steve finally finds it.

The hidden data, buried and encrypted and completely invisible unless you were looking as hard as Steve had been- but there. Real. Proof.

Tony was innocent.

And clint was about to kill him.

Steve calls him 18 times in 3 minutes whilst driving very illegally to Stark Towers, leaving messages, voicemails, all of them the same.

We made a mistake don’t kill him he’s innocent don’t kill him he’s innocent Clint please answer please we made a mistake I was wrong we were all wrong I’m begging you don’t kill him he’s innocent-

Clint calls back, 7 minutes and 54 seconds later, saying he’s got the message, calm down Steve- but he couldn’t have done it anyway. Because Tony hadn’t been seen since Steve left, and although Clint had been looking for three days, there was still no sign of him.

Steve remembers every threat, every creepy admirer and downright scary assholes he had had to protect Tony from during his time as a bodyguard at that moment, in vivid detail.

His legs don’t give out, but it’s a near thing.

And for the next 34 hours, 18 minutes, him and his team search every corner of New York until they locate Tony.

He’s at a nightclub in Queens, and when Steve slams in, he can barely see for the cigarette smoke and flashing lights around him. In fact, it’s Peggy who spots him first- she grabs Steve’s attention across the room as she yells at the man sat next to Tony, telling him to let go of Tony’s waist before she slams his head into the table.

When Steve notices the man leer and shake his head, turning until he’s facing Tony’s face and licking up his face, it takes him two and a half seconds to cross the room and do Peggy’s job for her. His head goes right through the table, and he doesn’t even think twice about it.

Tony’s looking at him, his face empty and blank. His eyes are glassy, and he’s either high or wasted, or maybe a mixture of the two.

It’s Steve’s fault. 

They take him back home, and Steve puts him in their beat up truck while Bucky gets in the front and starts driving, face like thunder.

All the way through the ride home, Tony just leans against Steve’s shoulder and stays absolutely silent, no matter what Steve says, no matter what they do.It’s like he doesn’t even believe they’re there at all. 

At one point, he slowly pushes himself up and looks at Steve- blank and numb and nothing like Steve had ever seen before- and then presses his mouth into Steve’s, grabbing him by the collar and draping himself over his lap. It’s messy and laced with the taste of alcohol, and when Steve gently pushes him off, Tony just goes right back to leaning against his shoulder. Like a robot. Like...

Steve doesn’t want to think about what it’s like. 

He just holds Tony against him and presses his mouth against Tony’s hair, quietly apologising into the dark strands, desperate and spiked with horrible, horrible guilt.

The others try and tell him it’s not his fault that they got false information.Steve doesn’t believe any of them. 

Tony barely even registers him, even when he’s right there. And it’s because of what he did, what he said- he dug into whichever spot he could find that hurt, because he knew Tony, he knew him so well that it was almost too easy to hit at the most painful places. And at that moment, when he’d felt hurt and betrayed and like he’d been played a fool by a man who was nothing more than a money-hungry murderer, he hadn’t given a damn about what sort of vitriol had fallen out of his mouth.

He’s never wanted to turn back time more in his entire life. 

They put Tony to bed, and the others leave, but Steve remains. He sits on the couch in the living room, trying to nap and failing.

He knows he has to come clean to Tony. It’s the only way he’ll be able to get Tony to understand why he said what he did. Why he walked out.

He knows that once he tells Tony why they crossed paths in the first place, he’ll never see Tony again. And the thought alone feels like being shot in the heart, it feels like an icy burn across his chest, but he knows it’s what he deserves. 

He’s an assassin. Sent to kill Tony. Even if now, the thought made him want to gather Tony up and make sure no-one hurts him ever, ever again, that didn’t change the fact that that was what he had been out to do at the start. And it makes him hate himself more than he has ever done before in his life- knowing how badly he must have breached Tony’s trust, which was a sacred gift to receive in the first place.

The next time he snaps out of his own self-destructive thoughts, it’s because Tony is stood in front of him, looking like shit and staring at Steve as if he’s not sure he exists.

Steve tells him. Everything. 

Somewhere along the line, Tony starts crying, and it feels like the bottom just dropped out of Steve’s world. It feels like every ounce of self-loathing, every scrap of guilt and remorse and horrible feeling just got rolled into one concentrated ball and shoved like a blunt object straight through Steve’s soul, but he can’t stop. Tony deserves to know.

He begs Tony to forgive him, tries to convince him that it might have been a game at the start, but Steve had been fully willing to give up his job as an assassin to be with Tony, because he loved him, and Tony had to know that, even if he didn’t believe it. 

When Steve has finished, Tony doesn’t say anything for a very long time. Just looks at him. 

He says some things, after that. Words intended to hurt, to dig and bury themselves in Steve’s already battered heart in the same way they must have done for Tony, when it was Steve saying them.

Tony tells Steve to go. Says if he ever sees Steve again, he’ll call the cops and use every ounce of sway he has to put Steve and his team in jail for the rest of their lives. Says he hates Steve, and that whatever Steve felt for him, it certainly wasn’t returned.

‘You were just a bodyguard to me, Steve. A hot bodyguard, yeah, but that’s it. And hey- turns out you weren’t even that, in the end, didn’t it?’

Steve tries, one last time. This time it’s him crying, but Tony is just glaring at him, face devoid aside from the sharp lines of his gritted teeth.

Before Steve goes, he tells Tony to hire someone new. A real bodyguard, because someone sent Steve in the first place, and they’re still out there. And the thought of anyone putting their hands on Tony again, when he’s not there to stop them because Tony won’t let anyone near him again...

Tony tells him to fuck off.

Steve leaves.

Months pass.

He and the team keep guard of Tony. Because while Steve had been lying to protecting him, the others had actually gotten to like the guy.

Of course they would. Tony was like sunlight. 

Tony does hire someone new, in the end. Guy called Happy Hogan. Steve doesn’t think he’ll be good enough.

Then again- he wouldn’t be happy unless it was him with Tony.

And that isn’t ever going to happen. Ever.

It’s 9 months later when Tony gets kidnapped.

And Steve can’t describe the feeling of it, really. Maybe an apt description was like someone had just taken his body and stretched, until everything felt like it was tearing apart, agonising and burning inside him.

He punches the wall five times, and breaks his hand in seven places. Bucky, Clint and Natasha have to all team up to wrestle him to the floor, in the end.

A few days later, Steve goes to the only person he knows will want to find Tony as much as he himself does.

Rhodey’s first port of call is to punch him in the face and tell him to fuck off.

Steve comes back the next day.

Rhodey punches him again.

Steve comes back.

Another punch in the face.

Again. Again. Again.

And his face is black and blue, the rest of his team are cracking their knuckles and telling him to let go, but he won’t, he won’t sit and twiddle his damn thumbs when Tony needs him.

It takes 9 punches to the face and a broken nose before Rhodey finally talks to him.

It’s two black eyes and a fractured rib before Rhodey finally lets up and allows Steve to join the search.

They look for three months. By that time, the rescue funds have been cut and they’re down to the bare minimum.

Everyone thinks Tony Stark is dead.

But not Steve. Steve knows, he knows Tony, he knows that the bastard is out there, and he’s going to wander back to them any day now, asking for coffee or a burger because he is an asshole and-

This time it’s only Rhodey who can wrestle him away from the wall. The rest of his team are hundreds of miles away.

It’s a few days later when then they finally see someone.

It’s Tony.

He’s real and alive and sunburnt as fuck, stumbling in the desert with a shirt on his head as he waves desperately to the helicopter, and Steve immediately makes to leave, to fetch him, to do whatever the fuck needs to be done- but Rhodey pushes him back, growling and hissing under his breath about not wanting Tony to think he’s hallucinating.

Rhodey goes out for him instead. Steve waits in the chopper, and his feet are burning. He wants to go out there, he wants to check Tony for all his injuries, kiss them all reverently and hold his hand, feeling him there, real and alive and sunburnt as fuck.

He knows it’s not his place. That he shouldn’t even be there in the first place, but he’s selfish, what can he say- he needs to see Tony. needs to know that he’s okay, like the way he needs air to breathe or food to survive.

Tony finds his eyes first.

“I died, didn’t I?” He asks, a little sadly, and then “Sure, you were an assassin, but somehow I don’t doubt for a second that you’d turn out to be a fucking angel too.”

“I... what?” Steve chokes on his words, unable to believe that he’s actually speaking to Tony for the first time in nine months.

Tony shrugs, and then winces as it hurts him. “You. You impossible man- the assassin sent to kill me, who I was dumb enough to fall in love with- would not be here if I were alive.”

Steve’s heart is doing the dropping thing again as he looks at Tonys chest, at his sad eyes and bloody hands and-

he’s crossed the room and gently, oh so very gently pulled Tony into his arms before anyone can argue with him. And Tony just sighs and wraps his hands around Steve’s back, still unbelieving, but Steve won’t let him think that, he can’t, so he curls his fingers around Tony’s jaw and tilts his head, until Tony is looking directly into his eyes.

“Your favourite colour is purple, but you say it’s red. You tap out curse words in binary when you’re bored. You have tennis balls stored in your workshop so that I could play fetch with Dum-E. You hate peanut butter. I am very real, Tony, and I swear to you, you are not dead.”

Tony blacks out in his arms.

After the initial panic, Tony is pulled into medical,and continues to sleep until they’re an hour off their destination. Steve steadily refuses to leave his side through it all- even when Rhodey punches him again.

Apparently that one had just been for fun- but it didn’t do much, Steve just got another black eye and got on with it. 

When Tony wakes up, Steve’s there.

And once he finally comes around to the idea that yes, he is actually alive, Steve is actually corporeal, and he actually escaped, he turns to watch Steve for a long time again; the same intense stare he’d used on him the day that he’d told Steve to leave his life forever.

Steve is convinced they’re about to have a repeat performance.

But Tony just... finds his hand. And holds it.

Steve doesn’t say anything- but he grasps on Tony’s hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the rest of the world.

In the end, Steve breaks the silence first- telling Tony he quit, as did the rest of the team, and they decided to open up a coffee shop instead. In turn, Tony tells him it was Obie who dealt the weapons, and that after shutting down the weapons productions, he made sure Stane was thrown in jail for a very long time.

Steve says he already knows. Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve tells him that he kept up with what happened with Tony, after he left. Tony looks a little surprised, but doesn’t say anything.

They hold hands until they have to land, and then Rhodey shoves him aside to help him off. 

Pepper and the rest of Steve’s team are waiting for him at the landing pad. They have coffee and burgers for him, and they give them to Pepper before backing away a little. 

Except Tony calls out to them, and they turn around to see Rhodey steering Tony toward them, a stubborn tilt to his chin as he faces them all.

“Does Steve love me?” He asks them bluntly, when they get within range.

Bucky just laughs, and rolls his eyes as Steve’s jaw drops and he makes bug eyes at Tony’s back.

“Is the sky blue?” He replies, before stepping forward and opening his arms a little, asking permission. His face is worried and a little sheepish, but when Tony nods, Bucky breaks out into a happy little beam and steps forward; pulling him in with the same gentle touch Steve had used.

“Right,” Tony swallows, patting Bucky’s shoulder before stepping away and turning around again, facing Steve. “Uh. Well. That’s certainly news.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Steve says bluntly. “Tony, I loved you from the first month of knowing you. For the past year, it’s pretty much consumed me. I know you don’t want anything to do with me, and I do not blame you for that at all, but I just needed you to know-”

He’s cut off when Tony leans forward and wraps his uninjured hand around Steve’s neck, pulling him in and silencing his fast-moving mouth with a kiss.

“Good,” he says against Steve’s mouth, and Steve can feel the smile against his lips, “because I had a bit of a wakeup call while I was in those caves, and I realised that I can’t just let good things slip through my fingers because I’m too stubborn to 

The team whoops, and Rhodey is giving him a glare that promises the shovel-talk of his life, but Steve doesn’t even care, he just pulls Tony in as close as he’ll reach and buries his head into the other man’s shoulder, stifling his sudden wave of tears against the warm skin. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re safe, I love you, I’m so glad, I’m so-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay Steve. Just breathe. I’m here. And I’m not leaving,” Tony says, hand stroking through Steve’s short hair as Steve holds him up.

“I love you,” Steve says again, just for good measure.

Tony smiles, and again, Steve is hit with just how bright Tony really is. Like sunlight.

“It took us long enough, didn’t it?” He says quietly, kissing the tip of Steve’s nose.

Steve does end up finding Obadiah.

After hiring the Ten Rings to take Tony out, he used the remaining cash to buy his way out of prison, fleeing to Cuba where Steve ended up tracking him.

Since leaving his old life behind to work the coffeeshop, he hadn’t touched a gun, let alone fire one.

Luckily, old habits die hard.

There was only one bullet left in the pistol Steve had picked up, but one was enough. He intended to do most of it in a more... hands-on fashion, anyway.

Honestly, considering Steve had prepared for resistance from any guards or traps set in place, it all felt remarkably anti-climatic. Stane barely had time to fumble at the gun holstered to his side before Steve had grabbed him by the throat and thrown him across the room, sending him smashing into the wall at speed. 

A kick down, dislocating the jaw and preventing any cries for help. Twist of the wrist, and out came the bone from its joint, along with the gun from his hand. Punch to the face, just for good measure more than anything. Drive and drive and drive, a constant downpour of punches and snaps until the scum who had sold Tony out to the terrorists was nothing more than a bloody mess of a man, looking at Steve with pleading eyes.

Steve shot him in the head, because he was kind. Any semblance of life left Stane’s eyes immediately, and he slumped against the floor.

Peggy and Clint were coming in to deal with the body (Stane was on vacation- small aircraft, such poor safety record. A tragic accident), and Steve was done here. His last target accounted for.

He pulls out his phone and dials, a smile already on his face. 

“Hey babe, sorry, I just got out of a meeting- how was your day-”

*If any of you want to see more from this au (that sounds rlly weird and threatening whoops sorry), or just fancy prompting me for a fic of your choice, you can bid for me > here 

[starkbarnes-lovechild]

Five Platonic I Love Yous from an Avenger (and a Special Romantic One)

Part 6 (Bucky)

Bucky was self-aware enough to know something was wrong with him. Being under the control of Hydra would do that, even if he was only ever out for missions (which were rare, to be honest) and reprogramming before and after his missions. It would fuck anyone’s mind, especially when one remembered every kill.

Headshot. Precise and quick. Asset could easily run if needed.

A long, thin blade through the back of the neck; paralyze target. Interrogate.

Asphyxiate target. Break target’s neck. Slice wrists. Should look like a suicide.

Accident.

So, yes, he was not the poster boy for good mental health but he was pretty sure none of them were.

Steve had lost so much time, asleep the whole time—at least Bucky was awake now and again, was able to catch up on trends and the like because he needed to blend in. Sometimes, he would look at the blond, see him staring at nothing, lost in thought and Bucky knew he was probably reminiscing what it was like with the Commandos, the time was ripped from.

(Tony and Howard helped Steve a lot, he could see that, the latter probably more so since they began to explore their romantic tension—Tony’s incessant babbling and Howard’s silent support reminding him now exists and the past was not something he should be holding on to, that it was something he should let go because holding on would be deadly).

Natasha—he remembered her, a little girl, no older than four, who looked at him with barely hidden awe whenever he moved for a kill, as if he created the galaxies. He remembered what he taught them, what everyone before him had taught them. He has read the files S.H.I.E.L.D. had on her and it was bad. She might have been trained to kill, trained to withstand torture, trained to not feel anything every time she would slit someone’s throat but she was only human and he could still see that little girl in her eyes sometimes.

(On one memorable night, when both he and Natasha were plagued with nightmares and only had each other for company, she had said, “You taught me how to be a killing machine,” he flinched, ready to run, but she continued, “but you also taught me how to be a human.” He tilted his head confused. She smiled, “You told me I did a good job.”

After, weeks later, he would lie in bed and realize she wasn’t the only one who learned how to be a human that time.)

Clint and Thor, they were both soldiers in their own right. They have always fought for the people, protecting innocent lives and have gone against many. They’ve seen horrors nobody would even dream of and they survived, they surpassed every nightmare they encountered and lived on. They fought, kept on fighting, for the greater good.

(Thor was a naturally jolly person and Clint always had a joke at the tip of his tongue, sometimes a challenge to get the ball rolling.)

Bruce. He was a little more relatable. He knew what it was like to not have control of yourself, to desperately cling to the smallest bits of yourself left while everyone kept on taking and taking until you were simply a shadow of who you were. Bruce knew what it was like to be a failed experiment, to be a tool for people to use. He has caused destruction as he tried to cling to his own humanity and Bucky, Bucky got that, got the feeling of being not strong to enough to keep your head straight, to lose to your own mind and body, to destroy without your consent.

(They were not close, not really, but they fully understood each other in ways none of the other Avengers probably could.)

Loki was a little bit of a wildcard to him at first but soon enough, he and the younger Asgardian were good friends. It surprised most of them, simply because Loki loved to play tricks while he preferred to mind his own business, Loki loved the attention at times while he blended into the shadows. The two of them found similarities far more important than their differences, though.

(Bucky couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get the image of Steve dying out of his head. He has always been the one to protect Steve, keep him out of trouble and make sure he would live for another day. He couldn’t do it for now, though, because he wasn’t cleared to go out on missions with them. He couldn’t watch his best friend, his brother’s back and he felt helpless, more so after this mission which actually landed Steve on bedrest.

He was in the living room, letting sound of the TV wash over him when Loki, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, sat down beside him, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand which he offered to Bucky. The former assassin, took the beverage, trusting the Asgardian and took a sip. The other man simply sat beside him, silent for a few moments. “I know what it feels like to have to protect your brother. I’ve done as much for Thor and I will never stop feeling as if it would not be enough someday. That someday, I would be too late to save him.”

Bucky relaxed with the knowledge that someone fully understood.)

And then there’s Tony. The boy was so young, so naïve about the world and yet he chose to fight—for people who loathed him because he was much better than they could ever be. He chose to help the world, to keep it safe as much as he could. He chose to protect people even when they condemned him when he couldn’t save everyone. He chose to keep on fighting, keep on defending people, because he saw it as his responsibility.

(“It scares me sometimes,” Steve started one day, while they were taking a stroll out, “Tony’s so willing to throw his own life away just to save everyone. People think he’s selfish and self-centered and, other horrible things but if you learned to see beyond the masks?” the blonde had smile, small but filled with fondness, “He’s one of the most selfless people I know. He’s one of the kindest and brightest and…” he breaks off and shakes his head slightly, as I he was trying to find the right words.

They keep walking. It was silent for a moment. “He’s like a star,” Steve continued, “you see him shine from afar, a small blinking light and you wouldn’t know how big or how bright it actually is until you actually try to get close.”

They didn’t talk about it again but Bucky knew it was because Steve understood that he did [does] see what the blond—what their closest friends—saw in the boy.)

Tony was selfless beyond imaginable but he also knew the line between being kind and being used by someone. He was never afraid to say no when he knew the other person was simply using him. He had a sharp mind and Bucky adored that. He loved Tony’s sarcasm, the way he would not let someone walk all over him. He loved the way Tony pushed people to learn, knew just how to encourage them to want to learn more.

Tony was amazing and he couldn’t get enough.

Watching Tony had become a habit, one he couldn’t shake or outgrow. It seemed at every turn, the boy had a surprise under his sleeves. Tony never did what was expected and even if he did what was expected, he did it in the most spectacular way, in a way which would leave people either breathless or shaking their heads. He seemed to enjoy keeping people on their toes, gleefully watching their surprised faces.

(“He has that effect on people.” Howard chuckled, fondness shining in his eyes as he watched his son gesture widely, animatedly, in the center of an enraptured crowd. “If they’re not jealous of him, they want to worship the ground he walks on.” He tilted the whiskey glass he’s been holding since the beginning of the night towards a girl who seemed to half in love with the boy already.

Bucky hummed, felt something inside him clench and thought to himself, can’t really blame them.)

Tony never failed to surprise him at every turn but there were three instances he would never forget.

The first one, Tony was scolding a man, practically twice as big as he was and had almost a foot and a half over him. It was also noteworthy that the man had a military stance, and one who seemed to have been in the military for a long while.

Tony’s arms were moving everywhere, lips moving too fast to be read. His brows were in a deep frown, nose scrunched the tiniest bit to show his displeasure. Buck couldn’t help but think of an angry kitten.

A few moments later, he saw the other man nod and say something. From Bucky’s place he could read the man’s lips, forming an apology. That was when he noticed the two boys with them. The one in front of the bigger man looked like him and was quite big as well, leading Bucky to the assumption they were probably father and son. The other boy, this one much smaller, was standing just behind Tony, a stuffed lion in his arms, dirtied but in good condition.

The bigger man looked down at his son, expectant, while Tony laid a hand on top of the other boy’s head, a reassurance, Bucky assumed, as the taller boy hesitantly spoke. Bucky couldn’t really read the boy’s lips, seeing as he wasn’t moving them as much, but he could assume it was an apology as well, based from how the other one shyly nodded while Tony beamed, the father of the other boy obviously letting out a relieved sigh.

Later, Tony would tell him the bigger boy was bullying the smaller one, and that the father reasoned his son was simply pulling the other kid’s pigtails. “So I told him abuse shouldn’t be condoned and seen as a sign of affection. I mean, if you like someone, you don’t ruin their day and make a bad impression, do you? No! You do something nice and hope they appreciate it. I told him to teach his son good things, not things that would turn him into one of those bullies in school—someone everybody hates but never had the guts to go against.”

(It reminded him of Steve before he became Captain America—always standing up to the bullies).

Logically, he knew Tony could probably take on the bigger man, but all he could think of whenever he remembered the incident was a kitten trying to meow a tiger into submission.*

The second one, he was beyond ashamed because he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place.

Steve was usually his only partner (opponent) on drills, Natasha on certain occasions, because he didn’t trust most of them. Eventually, Thor and Loki were paired with him as well, since he couldn’t accidentally kill either of them. Hulk was never an option as an opponent except for Thor and Loki, but sometimes he would get paired with him if it was a tag-team sort of practice. He’s even gone against Clint a few times and was paired with him more often because they were both long range assets for the team.

The one person he’s never fought with or against was Tony.

All along Bucky thought it was because Steve didn’t trust him with Tony. As it turned out, Steve didn’t trust Tony to go easy on him, he realized as he stared at the ceiling, his back on the mat, confused. He could hear most of them snicker and the few who were trying to pretend they were not laughing and he couldn’t move because. Well. That was not something he expected. He has been watching Tony have a go with all the other Avengers but it seemed like all his observations were useless since Tony still caught him off guard. He was a trained Hydra assassin, damn it! He taught Natasha everything she knew now, which he could tell was eventually taught to Tony.

The boy—call me boy one more time and I will end you—Tony, wasn’t as strong as either him or Steve. He wasn’t even as strong as Clint and he was the only one who wasn’t enhanced in some form, but he was quick, agile, and was incredibly creative. He knew how to use his opponent’s body against them, and when and how to use his own body to his advantage. He could somehow quickly calculate his opponent’s movement, finding a quick way to disable them. Moreover, he could quickly use whatever was closest as a weapon, probably from either Natasha or Peggy herself.

When he got his bearings, he sat up and everyone else who was watching stopped bothering to hide their amusement and laughed loudly. Tony looked so proud of himself that he didn’t have the heart to feel insulted. Instead, he gave himself a mental pat on the back for being the cause of that look.

“You shouldn’t have underestimated Tony, James.” Thor said with a smile, leaning back on the wall. He was still trying to get Thor to call him Bucky because James was too formal, too common.

“You were the one who taught me not to underestimate anyone.” Natasha smirked, arms across her chest.

Loki hummed, slowly twirling a wooden staff Steve made him practice with. “What was that Midgardian saying? You got your ass handed to you?”

He would have defended himself, claim he had not underestimated Tony, but he realized he probably did. It wasn’t a conscious decision, he was sure of that. He knew how Tony fought and has seen him fight with all the other Avengers. He knew Tony purposely made himself appear smaller, weaker than he actually was and Bucky knew that but somehow, Tony still managed to fool him, so to speak. That was why he was caught so completely off guard and had rendered all his observations useless.

A large part of him was ashamed to have lost to someone as young and as small as Tony was. A larger part, though, was damn proud to be part of a team where this young man existed.

The third one, and probably his favourite one, was a week before Steve and Howard’s wedding.

It was an ordinary day, really, but realizations come at the most unexpected time.

He knew Tony baked. The whole tower knew Tony baked. He wasn’t at pâtissier level and he did fuck up more than just two baked goods, but when he baked something he was an expert at, it was bound to be delicious.

Bucky has never seen Tony bake, though.

Well. Until he has.

He and Steve have just finished a round in the gym and was cooling off before they hit the showers. They were on their way to the kitchen to grab a light snack to stave off the hunger, seeing as it’s almost lunch anyway.

AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long played softly in the background as they entered the kitchen and Bucky just, froze.

Tony was there, obviously baking, in just a tank top and basketball sorts. His bangs was tied up to keep it away from his face and an apron wrapped around his body. He has smudges of flour here and there and god he looked absolutely breath-taking and Bucky just wanted to kiss him and, wow, okay, that was kind of new.

He looked at Steve who stopped in his tracks when he seemed to realize Bucky wasn’t following him anymore. They had a conversation with their eyes, a feat that took a little too long to regain. Bucky looked like he was about to pass out while Steve, the jerk, was practically beaming and said, “Took you long enough,” and turned his back to the brunet to continue is journey to the fridge,

Later, they would sit down and talk in Bucky’s room, which used to be Steve’s before the blond moved to Howard’s room. He would panic and Steve would be calm, would tell him to take the chance, to take a risk for something more and Bucky would be on edge for the rest of the week.

(“Give him some credit, Buck. Tony’s a good kid, you might be surprised.”

Oh. He knew Tony was a good person but whether or not Bucky would handle the rejection well, that was up for debate. He didn’t want things to be awkward simply because he was too afraid to be in the presence of the genius.

When he said so to Steve, the blond simply shook his head with a small, fond smile.)

Now, as he watched his best friend dance with his husband, he took a deep breath and turned to the young man standing right beside him and held out his hand, “Wanna dance?” Tony looked surprised but delighted as he reached his own hand towards Bucky’s, a light flush on his softly tanned skin.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist while the younger man placed his own arms around Bucky’s neck. They swayed softly to the music, the acoustic guitars blending well with the singer’s voice. It must’ve been Howard who chose the song, knowing Steve listened to One Direction, Carly Rae Jepsen and Justin Bieber—Starks seemed to have great taste for music.

Bucky holds Tony tighter, still gentle but firmer, and he could feel the younger man do the same. Tony was almost a head shorter, the top of his head just reaching Bucky’s lips. He let his jaw rest by the younger man’s temple. They didn’t even seem like they were trying to dance anymore, simply hugging while swaying from side to side.

“I love you.” Bucky whispered, nuzzling the younger man’s head. He could feel Tony’s breath hitch, hear that air lodge in his throat. He knew, even if Tony didn’t feel the same, they would still be friends, that Tony wouldn’t let it be awkward. He valued the younger man’s friendship more than anything but Steve was right—you never know the chances unless you take the risk.

“I know.” Tony replied, just as softly and, okay. Maybe Steve was right and suddenly, Bucky can breathe. The, I love you, too was not explicitly mentioned but he knew what the younger man meant anyway.

Bucky chuckled, a little breathless, “Great. You just ruined the moment by Han Solo-ing me.” He probably looked deranged, by how big he could feel his smile was, but that was okay. Tony returned his feelings and yeah, he could totally do this. Besides, he could tell the younger man was probably smiling just as widely as he was.

“Please.” Tony huffed, tightening his arms around Bucky’s neck. “It wouldn’t be us if we don’t have ruined moments.”

Bucky simply turned his head and let his lips rest against Tony’s temple, the smile, softer now, still firmly on his face.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

AN:

[J1]You can’t tell me you didn’t laugh at this image. xD

Also, oh my fucking bloody hell! I am finally done with this! *dances around goofily*

[dominaceone]

Crown, Smoke and a Slot

Granted I have a bit of a gambling problem, but not so bad it has ruined my life or will. Thankfully others depend on me and I can stop short of destruction. I’m not trumpeting pride in my vice. I’m freely admitting to it and just reminiscing.

First; Crown, Smoke and a Slot sounds pretty cool right? Just the words have a melody, granted dark-ish, like back room fun, almost a little seedy, but a little twisted elegance also.

There have been times that I have heard or read many ppl (btw, other than btw, some have noticed that ppl is one of the very few words I abbreviate. That may say something. I’m not anti-ppl, I’m selectively pro myself. I have learned that the conglomeration of humanity is not my thing) say that they don’t want to think. At times they want to achieve a certain blankness. I have found the serenity of that myself. This thing, whatever that might be, allows them to switch off. It can be fitness, sex, books, a quiet spot, any number of places, any number of settings, any type of activity.

The added benefit for myself is that in small doses it allows me an option to self loath without implosion or self destruction, or carry those that I love into a cesspool. I can indulge anywhere, but my fave place is "my" Cheers. A secluded casino where I have a ton of comp points and can stay the night if I get slammed. I was at one time almost completely dry. A father’s life lived in the can (bottle) that went nowhere entirely due to drink kept me away. I liked umbrella drinks and Michelob. Had to get into shaving the grays off my balls before I could handle, or at least see the allure of a tumbler with some dark brown liquid and a few ice cubes. Actually enjoy the repulsive inviting taste now.

My Cheers knows my moods. Other ppl will talk with me occasionally, some will ask for some money at times, it was the practiced art of my wife that showed me how to shut ppl down, beg off too much intimacy when I want to be left alone. It was an important lesson and she was correct and my old way was wrong. So the staff; check-in, drink servers and floor ppl all know my moods. If they are good at their job they know your mood. Most are good at their jobs. You can make a minute gesture and it is not considered rude. “Yes, another Crown”, “No that is enough”, “Ok, just the last one”. I’ll walk to a bed after this 3rd or 4th, so I’m good.

If one is lucky enough to find a machine (the slot) that allows you to play, and play, and play, and play… you can strike a smoke in the last bastion of smoking indoors. *Look if you don’t want second hand smoke, there is the non-smoking section, or pick another vice.* I can put my foot up, or feet up, sometimes select a place and you are both social and anti-social at the same time. At times to broaden the effect I talk to myself, or make a brief call, or receive a call and when they say, what was that, I point at my handy earpiece, oh, you are on the phone, sorry. No need to apologize, if I get to loud let me know. Then you don’t even have to say another word, you were on the phone, you may still be on the phone.

You put in your 20 and you select your lines, then… with a smoke in one hand you push spin. When I was delusional enough to think I could win I moved around a lot. Now I just want my Crown, Smoke and Slot. 40 cents at a time I don’t even care about the outcome. I can't be so blithe or in denial as to say, "I don't care", that would not be entirely accurate. The machine is a machine. If it does pay, or pay you back, it feels like triumph. (*Yes doctor, I am aware that is text book gambling issues. This couch thingy really is pretty comfortable. Please don't allow me to fall asleep. I can't afford the extra, or rather I would prefer to spend it on the slot*) Yes at times to make myself grin I will say in my head to the machine, “C'mon, have a heart”. Tin man does not reply, occasionally does, but oops, tin person is relatively consistent. For my wonderful, at times blank place any earnings that are not significant tend to widen and lengthen the blank space. You know, back into the machine. The machine, my rented bot is impartial. Slots no longer have adrenaline, I’m not looking for it. Not sure if others have this reaction, big winnings for myself tend to be a quiet affair. Perhaps I feel I am stealing, or most likely it is relief I can build a kitty for the next venture into the void. Who am I kidding right? Not you correct? I want the peace of the Crown, Smoke and Slot. I can be happy, social, sullen, self loathing and exacerbate that loathing a bit, but the bitter taste, the gross lingering smoke and the monotony of the spin. If I am lucky $20 or $100 can get me through a night. Just spin. Please don’t make me pick anything and I generally avoid the picking ones any longer. Just spin, take a sip, take a drag, repeat.

I have precious minutes left in my life. Only so many left so I have to keep it real with my vice. Yet for those moments, sometimes until sun-up if my schedule permits, it is a peaceful seemingly pathetic existence that has an invitation I hope I never turn away from. I mean that. A good hard look at my own weaknesses is an attempt not to be so damn judgmental of others weaknesses. Also I enjoy my vice. I enjoy the void. I have begun limiting it to my Cheers. Not entirely successful, but better. I forget the Crown is sitting on the counter than remember. Forget the cigarette is in my hand than remember. With the actual realization that it is a vice went the real enthusiasm and I saw it for what it was. My one weakness that is solitude. It is romance with a partner that sometimes talks back, most times can’t possibly talk back. My fave saying inside is, “they gotta keep the lights on”.

How to wax poetic about a vice right? In some ways it is like masturbating in public. You and your irresponsible urchin brethren and sistren, (and you come to know who are your silent comrades). The one's which share your search, share your secret in plain view. Others that are there for the “entertainment”. At night many times there is backing entertainment, even if just karaoke. My Cheers is an older place. It is nostalgia, destine to fail it pains me to say. Please hang in there GoldStrike/Terrible's Roadhouse (more business means my aging oasis could hang in there perhaps). We slide in a bill, some rub the machine or pass a voodoo at the glass, and we spin. We stroke the machine with an uncertain outcome, well, most definitely a certain outcome. Sometimes the slot cum’s, most often it is a very unsatisfying ejaculate that is only worth sliding back in again or keeping in. Cash in and hide the money dummy, yea right. It is the zombie-like dance, the glazing over I am there for.

There is a look when the circle with the red slash is in the bill receptacle. Look metal whore, you are suppose to take my money and keep it. I like your location, but I’ll find another.

The glass is cold on my fingers, the Crown glass sweat cools my fingertips. The stinky cig has tendrils drifting up, and I always blow my smoke vertical in company. Lastly I spin. It becomes a rhythm of unpredictable predictability, a tunnel, a private room in a not so private place and we are all separate together. The taste is satisfying and foul, as it is meant to be. It has to be just disgusting enough so I don’t lose my family and what is truly a beautiful little home. I can feel nothing, or like a piece of shit, sleep it off and get back to work. The point here is the nothing-ish (somewhat the point). Re-enter society and wistfully think, I’ll be back lover. In a while we can nestle close to one another. I can be repulsive and you will welcome me. Bye for just now Crown, Smoke and Slot.