#The increased maturity level definitely caught me off guard

[social-cocoon]

I watch all the live action ATLA eps and overall I think it was fine. The first ep was atrocious but the rest of them weren't so bad, though some of the changes they made started losing me in the last 2 eps.

Also I may have become a giant Kyoshi fangirl

#The increased maturity level definitely caught me off guard #For some reason I was more scandalized about some light cussing toward the end #than I was about the gnarly violence

[burkymakar]

Hi my favorite athletic reader. If possible could you post anything important from Baughers new article on Gabe?

lol i feel so used. it's under the cut haha

Gabriel Landeskog rolled up to the Avalanche practice rink, a 19-year-old figuring he was heading into a meeting about the upcoming 2012-13 season. A potential lockout loomed, and he wondered if he and his teammates were about to get information on what would happen next.

But only one teammate was there when Landeskog got inside Family Sports Center in Centennial, Colo.: captain Milan Hejduk. Then-Colorado coach Joe Sacco was there, too. They wanted to speak to Landeskog privately.

At the time, Hejduk was entering his 14th season with Colorado. The veteran was the only player left from the Avalanche’s 2001 Stanley Cup team, and he knew his career was winding down. He was no longer a top forward on the team and didn’t feel it would be right to remain captain. Someone else needed to take the role, Landeskog remembers Hejduk telling him that day.

“And I think that person is you,” Hejduk said.

The young winger was caught off guard. He let out a stunned laugh. At the time, no permanent captain in league history had ever been named at so young an age. A tornado of emotions followed: shock, excitement and — naturally — nerves. He called his dad immediately after the conversation.

“You’ve got to this point being who you are,” Tony Landeskog told his son. “Don’t try to be somebody you’re not.”

That advice stuck with Landeskog, and from that day forward, his “C”-embroidered jersey has been a constant for the Avalanche. It was there through the promising years with Nathan MacKinnon, Ryan O’Reilly and Matt Duchene, and it was there when that core fell apart. It was there through the pain of rebuilding, and it was there as the Avalanche emerged as a league power.

Now, its era in Denver could be coming to a close.

For the first time in his NHL career, Landeskog is a pending unrestricted free agent. And after a decade in Denver, he doesn’t know what’s coming next.

“The uncertainty is something I’ve never dealt with,” Landeskog says. “I’ve always known that come September, October, I’m going to pull on that Avs jersey.”

Landeskog has repeatedly said he wants to stay with Colorado, and the Avalanche want to bring him back. But with star defenseman Cale Makar set to receive a massive raise in restricted free agency and the Avalanche up against the salary cap, general manager Joe Sakic is facing tough decisions this offseason.

Landeskog wants long-term security. Currently, he’s in limbo.

“I can’t help but be honest with you that I’m a little bit disappointed that it’s gotten this far and it’s had to come to this point,” Landeskog says.

Now 28, Landeskog could be looking at his last chance to sign a major, multiyear contract. The Avalanche, meanwhile, must decide how much they are willing to spend — and for how many years — on a physical, two-way forward approaching 30.

Teams must submit protection lists Saturday for the July 21 Kraken expansion draft, and if Colorado doesn’t protect Landeskog, Seattle will have a window to bargain with him before free agency begins July 28. Landeskog’s reputation as a leader and production (52 points in 54 games this past season and 171 in 181 over the past three) will make him a popular target should he reach the open market. Teams like the Kraken, Blues, Kings, Flyers and Oilers jump out as potential suitors.

Talks between the Avalanche and their captain have increased in frequency in recent days, but the sides are still far away from an agreement, according to a league source.

“We’ll see what happens,” Landeskog says. “I’m still hopeful that we can agree on something and come to terms, but if it was up to me, I would have liked it to be done eight months ago, 10 months ago.”

In the nine seasons since Hejduk handed over the captaincy, Landeskog has gone from a green-but-mature up-and-comer to the calming presence on an elite team. He’s now a parent, one of the older players on the Avalanche and their unquestioned leader.

“It’s been a constant learning curve,” he says.

He’s grown, and he’s growing. The question is if that will continue with the Avalanche.

One day during his first season as captain, Landeskog stood in the Family Sports dressing room for a players-only meeting, taking note of teammates in their 30s, veterans who had spent more than a decade in the NHL. In only his second season, Landeskog could hear his voice shake.

“It probably was pretty laughable how nervous I was,” he says.

The Avalanche were in the midst of a rough stretch in what amounted to a season of rough stretches. Landeskog leaned on older players — Hejduk, Jean-Sebastien Giguere, Paul Stastny, O’Reilly and Erik Johnson, to name a few — and one suggested a team meeting.

Landeskog doesn’t recall what he said that day, but he remembers the nerves — that quiver in his voice — and how the older players had his back. Others chimed in, and the team dissected what was going wrong.

Ultimately, the group was simply a transitioning team without enough talent to contend, and though Landeskog was captain that year, the team used a leadership-by-committee approach. Landeskog credits his teammates’ support for making the job easier, and Stastny remembers him being unafraid to ask questions.

Landeskog says he asked about everything from travel-day logistics to organizing team functions. The communication didn’t translate to on-ice success that year, as the team finished 16-25-7, but it laid the groundwork for how Landeskog still views his role as captain.

“That’s how leaders learn, too: They learn from other guys,” former teammate Greg Zanon says. “I think he was born for the job.”

Before giving Landeskog the “C,” Sacco and then-Avalanche general manager Greg Sherman both reached out to Hejduk, wanting to know what he’d think of the young Swede taking over the role. Landeskog, who had just won the Calder Trophy, hadn’t been a name on Hejduk’s radar for the captaincy because of his age, but the more he thought about the decision, the more it made sense.

So he voiced his approval for the player 17 years his junior.

“What can you say negative about Gabe?” Hejduk says today.

“It was only a matter of time,” Stastny adds. “If it was fast-tracked a year, I don’t think anyone really cared. Everyone knew it was coming.”

Still, Landeskog was nervous. He’d played in only 82 NHL games and was still trying to figure out the league himself. He didn’t know how his teammates would react to such a young captain. Part of him still thinks he might not have been ready.

Despite Landeskog’s concerns, the announcement went over well with the team. Duchene and winger David Jones tweeted their congratulations, and defenseman Ryan O’Byrne remembers liking the decision when he read the news on TSN’s website.

“The only conversations I had with teammates were, ‘Gabe’s the captain. That’s so great,’” O’Byrne remembers. “Why would we wait to give him the captaincy? There’s no reason to wait. He (was) ready. He’s just that type of person.”

“Even the older guys on the team looked up to him,” adds former Avalanche left winger Cody McLeod.

Landeskog’s makeup had begun earning praise from the second he arrived in North America from Sweden. He played major junior hockey for the Kitchener Rangers in the Ontario Hockey League and became the team’s first European-born captain. Sherman praised his confidence after drafting Landeskog second in 2011, saying he was mature beyond his years.

“It was like he was 30 years old already, the way he handled himself, the way he talked to us, talked to the media,” says Ryan O’Reilly, now the Blues captain and still a friend of Landeskog’s. “Everyone respected him right away. It’s rare. It’s why he was named captain so young.”

Adds Hejduk: “I had half the maturity Gabe had at 18.”

Shortly after learning he’d become captain, Landeskog came to the Pepsi Center (now Ball Arena) for a passing-of-the-torch ceremony. Hejduk presented his successor with a burgundy Avalanche sweater featuring a white “C,” and Landeskog pulled it over his white button-up shirt. The two shook hands and posed for cameras.

When Landeskog looks back at those pictures, he can’t help but notice how young he looks. His beard had yet to grow in, and he’d fashioned his hair — lighter than it is now — to be spiky in the front.

“I feel old when I look back at those pictures, because I was definitely a little kid standing there next to (Hejduk),” he says.

“The first year, year and a half, with him, if we went out for dinner, it was like he wasn’t even allowed to have a glass of wine or a beer,” says former Avalanche center John Mitchell, adding that Landeskog struggled to win poker games on team flights.

Landeskog, who has gone from too young to drink to now sponsored by Bud Light, believes he might have been too uptight early on in his captaincy. He’s learned to relax a bit more — that a season is long and sometimes the best approach is to focus on himself. He can’t expect others to work hard or play well if he’s not doing it himself.

The Avalanche’s decision to toss Landeskog into the fray as a teenage captain allowed him to learn the role before the team entered the win-now mode it is in currently. But Colorado’s progression hasn’t been linear. In 2016-17, the Avalanche finished last in the league by 21 points. Landeskog frequently had to face tough questions from reporters when he didn’t have answers.

“It definitely takes a toll on you when you have to do that,” he says. “But at the same time, I always knew that was part of the responsibility and part of the job. Playing in the NHL, being able to wear the ‘C’ in the NHL, it’s a dream not many people get to experience.”

And in 2017-18, tides began to shift for the Avalanche. MacKinnon had his first superstar-level season, finishing second in Hart Trophy voting, and Landeskog and winger Mikko Rantanen both scored more than 20 goals. The trio ascended to become arguably the best line in hockey, and smart drafting and savvy trades gave Colorado a deep defensive core, led by Makar, the Norris Trophy runner-up as a 22-year-old this past season.

As expectations have risen, the team and its captain are still searching for a deep playoff run. The pieces are in place, and the Avalanche reached the second round each of the past three seasons. But they haven’t broken through.

This past season, the Landeskog-captained Avalanche reached the regular-season pinnacle, winning the Presidents’ Trophy, given annually to the team with the best record in the league, and they were a consensus favorite to win the Stanley Cup entering the playoffs.

Landeskog dominated the Blues in a first-round sweep, igniting the Avalanche with a Gordie Howe hat trick (fight, assist, goal) in Game 1.

“He’s the captain for a reason,” Makar said after that game.

But Colorado faltered in its next postseason matchup, against Vegas, letting a 2-0 series lead slip away and losing in the second round for the third consecutive year. The most complete Avalanche team of Landeskog’s career couldn’t get over the hump.

“I’m proud of this group,” a dejected Landeskog said after the game. “I’m excited to be a part of this group. I love all the guys in there.”

And they love him, too. Ahead of the season, MacKinnon called him “the perfect captain,” and Avalanche coach Jared Bednar described the captain as their emotional leader, someone who drives them into the fight on a nightly basis.

“Usually those types of guys, top-three picks, are franchise players,” Hejduk says. “It seems like that’s the case with Gabe. I hope he’s going to finish his whole career with the Avalanche.”

That’s what Hejduk did, spending all 14 of his seasons with Colorado, but it’s not a common path in today’s NHL.

After 10 years with the Avalanche and nine as its captain, and with so much shared history, Landeskog could be the exception.

Since he was 19, it’s felt like he would be. But the coming weeks will show if that reality has shifted.

#askos #anon #the athletic #gabriel landeskog #colorado avalanche

[vegetacide]

TaG: Bloodlines (Part 8.. )

Veg • notables: Any errors in this are strictly my own

Ty to @gumnut-logic and @scribbles97 for the brainstorming help and the encouragement.

Previous:

Part 1 | Part 2 Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Rating and General warning: Mature content head. If you are not a fan of medical issues of a female nature in relation to pregnancy please proceed with caution.

Characters: Virgil, Kayo, (V/K) 

Location: TaG-verse AU | Tracy Island

E N J O Y

8-8-8

Part 8 -  Susulan

Lady Penelope being true to her word found a wonderful woman who was well liked and sought after and she was one of several that Doctor Coxley had recommended to their Grandmother.  

The tall Haitian by the name of Cecilia had credentials as long as Kayo’s arm and had worked in some of the best kitchens in the world. Several of which had Michelin star ratings due to her amazing contributions and somehow they’d managed to scoop her. 

She was a true marvel and the whole family took advantage of her skills. 

The boys were in heaven and so well fed that often they found themselves all camped out in the living room  or out by the pool in various states of full bellied contended lethargy. Happily stuffed and satiated after a mind blowing meals.  Before long it was like Cecilia had always been there and things in the house seemed to settle down back into some form of normalcy.  

The two weeks following her arrival just seemed to coast by and as previously arranged the date of Doctor Coxley follow-up had come and gone with barely a hitch.. 

His trip had been a simple affair, the boys having been out on a call at the time.  One of their security operatives had shuttled the doc to the island with little fanfare.  

Kayo, though frustrated at being basically bed bound the last few weeks, found herself decidedly nervous.   She was eager to know if the improvement of her condition would be enough to appease the doctor. She’d done research herself as she’d had plenty of time on her hands but she was by no means an expert.

Her pressure was down,  bleeding tampering off to the odd bout of spotting. Energy levels were increasing daily and her appetite was healthy.  She felt better now then she had in a while despite the lingering morning sickness and she was twitching to do something other than staring at the walls all day.    

Grandma had been happy with the results as the forced rest seemed to have helped but there was no telling if she was going to be able to return to some form of duty or not.

Upon the Doctor’s arrival Grandma had shown him to their infirmary where Kayo had been waiting as patiently as she could.     

After a quick but thorough exam her doctor had snapped off his gloves and tossed them in a bin before making a quick note on his data pad.   When he’d turned back,  he’d handed Kayo a towel and given her a hand up from the awkward position she’d had to sit in.

The island medical facilities were top notch for basic injuries but for things of this nature,  not so much.   

“Well, “  He’s begun pushing his glasses up his nose.  “Things are looking good.  The bleeding has for the most part stopped through you may still experience a bit of spotting.  Typical of placenta previa.   

“Baby’s heart rate sounds strong and your weight gain is all within acceptable levels for your age and fitness level.”  

He’d paused as he’d looked over his note.  “I’m pleased to see you’ve taken appropriate measures the last couple of weeks and I do see a marked improvement in your BP but,” he stopped for emphasis.  “It’s still higher than I would like to see it. 

I know you’ve been eager to get back to some sort of normal activity level but I would have to recommend that for the time being you refrain from anything too strenuous.  At this stage of your pregnancy we don’t want to mess around as you still have some twenty odd weeks to go.”

Kayo had been disappointed by the results but she would do whatever needed to be done.  

“Additionally,”  He added, setting the data pad down to make sure he had her full attention. “Going forward I would like to be able to monitor you personally.  Allowing you to come home was the best course of action given the situation at the time but I have my reservation about you not being within east travel distance of a hospital.  It’s quite a hike out here even with access to the type transportation you have at your disposal but given the nature of your pregnancy I strongly recommend you relocate to the mainland.” 

That certainly hadn’t been what she expected and her hand automatically settled on her middle.  “Is there a problem?”  

Doctor Coxley gave her knee a pat.  “Just call me being overly precautious. I would rather have the necessary staff and equipment and not need it than need it and not have it.”  

He’d smiled at her then,  turning to gather up the equipment he’d brought with him. “I’ll advise Doctor Tracy of what we’ve discussed so arrangements can be made sooner rather than later. And I would highly recommend you make the move in the very near future as traveling any later could have detrimental effects that we would like to avoid.”  

He’d left shortly after with directions to call him if she had any further questions.  

It was definitely not what she’d been expecting to hear and her anxiety kicked up a notch. 

The island was a secure haven but the outside world was a different story.  If the media got wind that she was on the mainland and pregnant there would be no way to stop that shit storm that would follow. Their family privacy would be out the window in an instant and the vultures would start circling like that carrion loving garbage eaters they were. 

She’d cursed as she dropped her face into her hands 

“So, “ Virgil said,  stepping from the bathroom with a towel slung low around his hips.  “He wants you to be closer to medical help if need be.”

His wife gave a nod and he leaned a heavy shoulder against the door frame, arms crossing tight over his chest.  

It wasn’t idle that was for sure, security wise it was a nightmare and as for call out the logistics were .. well to say it wasn’t the best was putting it lightly. 

“We’ll talk to Scott and Dad in the morning.  We’ll figure it out somehow.”

Fiddling with the end of her hair, Kayo looked off out the darkened window.  “It’s not going to work with both of us being there.  Two isn’t something you can just park anywhere without it being noticed.  Even on a GDF base eventually it’s going to get noticed.  And what about the pods?”

Brows dipping, Virgil pushed off the door frame.  “What are you saying?”  

She braided and unbraided the end of her hair,  eyes distant and when she flicked her gaze up to him he caught on to her train of thought.   Shaking his head he walked the short distance over to her and crouched at her feet.  

“That is not an option and you know it.”

“Virgil,  we don’t have much of a choice here.  You’re needed here and we can’t just up and move Two and all her gear to the mainland for the next four months.  It’s not logical or safe.  It would be easier to set up a secure location for me.  I can take a small security detail with me. Logistically its a sound option”

Virgil shook his head, taking her hands in his.  “No,  that is not a viable option, Tan. It’s too risky.  Not with us having no idea where your uncle is or what he’s up to.”

“It’s been months since there’s been any sightings or news on him.. Maybe it’s time we stop hiding..”

Shocked, Virgil blinked at her.  Five months earlier she’d thought that not having the baby was a better option than having it because of the Hood and now she was doing a complete about face.  

“Kay, stop.” He gave her hands a squeeze running his thumb over the back of her knuckles. ‘What’s really going on here?” 

She pulled away and got to her feet to walk across the room.  Taking his shirt off the back of a chair she tugged it over her shoulder,  her small frame dwarfed by it and Virgil got a flashback of a morning so many months ago.. One he didn’t care to be reminded of when there had been a real possibility of them not being in the position they were in now.  Like having to make this sort of decision. 

He would take this though over any other option as difficult as things were at the moment the alternative was not something he even wanted to fathom. 

Her shoulders shrugged and she turned back to face him.  “I’m just trying to not.. I don’t know...”  Her shoulders slumped.  “It’s just that things are so complicated and having to worry about ‘him’ all the time is exhausting.”  

Going to her,  he wrapped her in his arms.  “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just not do anything rash before we’ve exhausted all the alternatives.”

Her slender arms slipped around his waist and she burrowed into his chest. When they were along like this was the only time he ever got to see this side of her.  The vulnerable one that she tried hard to hide from the others. 

Her confidence was always such a striking thing about her.  Standing out and making her bigger than life but in the closed confines of their space the masks peeled away.  Her guard came down and he got to see the woman underneath the warrior.  

Pulling back,  he took her chin in his hand and tipped her head up so he could see her face. Brushing his thumb over her pulse point, he kissed her brow and then each check reverently before skimming his lips over hers.  

She sank into him easily,  having long ago given up her internal battle against the feelings she’d hidden so well from him.  

He caught himself though as her fingers pressed into his back. It was late and he could tell by the shadows under her eyes that Kayo needed sleep desperately.  The emotional toil of the day having cost her considerably.    

Her breath ghosted across his lips as she sighed,  knowing like he did that stopping before things got out of hand was for the best right now. 

“Come on, we can discuss this in the morning when we both aren’t dead on our feet.”

Her nod in agreement was singular and concise.  A flicker of her confidence with the simple gesture returning behind the verdant green of her eyes.

She stood back, took his hand and tugged him towards the bed.  

8-8-8

TBC

NEXT

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #TaG Bloodlines #vegetacide #Virgil Tracy #Kayo Kyrano #virgil/kayo #Virgil X Kayo

[arethereanyoriginalusernames]

Spooky's Review of "Bad Luck Jack "

....

Well if there's one thing that this short did, it influenced an increase of notes on my old Zoophobia stuff.

Disclaimer: this is an opinion based post. You're not obligated to agree with me. Have fun with what you enjoy, and if your opinions differ from mine, I'm happy to agree to disagree. Life's already miserable, so let's try not to give ourselves another reason to be sad. I hope you enjoy.

////////////

As someone whose account is still on Tumblr's recommended accounts list for the Zoophobia tag, I suppose I have a(n imaginary) obligation to at least discuss this short.

Of course, I reccomend you actually watch the short before reading this, but I'm actually not going to get into much spoilers here. Surprise, I actually don't have much to say about the story. I have heard people say they dislike the short due to its' simple, slice of life story. While I see where they're coming from, I actually don't mind this. Especially after the super packed HH pilot, Helluva Boss and Addict video. This actually felt strangely refreshing, having something not full of edge and chaos.

I liked the animation here for a similar reason. Yeah, there were some animation mistakes, and weird moments with characters moving stiffly, but once again, after HH and HB, the setting and atmosphere here was a nice change.

Most of my thoughts are centered around two things; the voices and the music. And before we get into these topics, I would just like to say.... Zoophobia is the furry version of Glee. I'm fucking calling it now.

---- The Voices

I'll go over the voices in the order of introduction in the short.

I love Christina Vee as Kayla's singing voice, but then again, I love it when she sings anything, so....

Kay's talking voice, however... well, it certainly caught me off guard. I get that Kay's Australian, and it seems that she'll be using a lot more of her country's slang and language, but I feel like the accent was a little over done. It's legitimately hard to tell what words are coming out of her mouth at times. That being said, her VA still managed to get Kay's personality and emotions across really well in spite of this.

Zill's voice admittedly bothers me a bit. I find that his and Jack's voices are far too similar, and I wish that there was more to the voices that helped them stand apart. I personally would have Zill's voice be a bit lower, and maybe give him more of a cool, easygoing attitude when he talks.

Damian was a bit of a surprise. Granted, Vivz has described his voice as high pitched and giggly, but, and maybe this could be just me, his voice reads as little kid to me. Like, preteen kid. Which isn't necessarily an issue per se, just something I found interesting. He definitely sounds like the spoiled brat he is.

Jack reminds me of your generic cartoon male lead. I feel that it would have been good to integrate a more hushed, anxious tone into his speech, mainly to separate him from Zill voice wise. Apart from that, didn't mind this one either.

Spam is really certifying that Irish tag out here, ain't he laddies? My only critique is to try to match his talking voice to his singing voice a bit more. You can tell someone else is doing the singing, and I think that something like that can be worked on.

Vanex is... good. I mean, there's not much else I can really say here. It's good. There ya go.

Rusty also sounds pretty similar to Jack and Zill, save for the tone. I think that giving a bit more grit to the voice could do some good here.

Autumn is one that I found interesting. He has a very mature, formal tone which fits the character fairly well. Yeah, his voice also sounds like the majority of the other male characters, but again, I think his voice is alright. Diversifying the male voices would definitely help his stand out more.

----------Music

Hey, something I actually have some experience in! (Over a decade playing instruments and studying music theory)

I don't mind the songs, and I think that they're on the same level as "Inside every demon is a rainbow ". By which I mean that they're not bad, but... they're also not great or memorable.

Honestly, the biggest problem here is how generic each song is. Granted, I can imagine the characters singing these types of songs. Of course Zill and Kayla are singing the sappy love song. Of course Spam is singing ADHD the musical. Of course Jack is... ok, it's harder to imagine Jack singing a pseudo "Dear Evan Hanson" Broadway ballad, but given that the song is non diegetic , thus moreso meant to reflect his emotions, we'll give him a pass for this one.

But speaking of Jack's song, while I think it's the best one, it also is the most frustrating to me. Due to it becoming this song depicting the emotions and feelings of Jack, it had a chance to stand out. Have some character in it. I called this a pseudo Dear Evan Hansen song, but here's the thing. Dear Evan Hansen, like many Broadway shows, have songs that don't just move the plot forward, but introduce us to the characters. We get an insight into the character's mind, and it's a chance to learn about them and relate to them.

Jack's song could have done something like this, and I think it's trying to, but it just falls short. We don't necessarily learn anything new about Jack, as we can already tell he has these thoughts from earlier scenes. The lyrics don't even really expand on these thoughts for the most part.

Not helping is generic dramatic song backing track Number 145. That's the other thing about the songs in this short. The lyrics are already not the most groundbreaking stuff in the world, but the instrumentation really isn't helping. There's nothing really outstanding here. No cool build ups, dynamics, time signature changes, key changes, chances to belt out some high notes, unique vocal melodies, nothing.

Imagine Zill and Kayla's song if it sounded less like a rejected Train song, and had some more character to it. We could start with Kay alone, only her and the piano, singing a verse. Her verse has a bit of a build up and crescendo, leading into Zill's entry in the second verse. Zill's entry could be accompanied by the entrance of the other instruments. After his verse, kay could come back in. We have some playful back and forth in the form of call and answer, leading to them harmonizing, all the while the music swells up, and just as the piece is reaching its climax, and they're about to kiss...

Boom! Cock blocked by the local trash demon.

I could make separate posts explaining what I'd do with each of these song, but I'm sure nobody wants to read a post where I go full music dork.

And besides, I think you get the picture.

All that being said, though, I enjoyed the short overall and would reccomend it for anyone looking for a pick me up in these trying times.

I apologize for wasting your time

- Spooky S Skeletons

#zoophobia

[tinytony-snack]

Pancakes and Henley shirts

[A/B/O, superhusbands, cute, funny, established relationship, mpreg]

+

“Good morning,” Bucky yawned as he entered the kitchen of the communal floor. If Steve wasn’t busy glaring at his pancakes, he would’ve told Bucky to cover his damn mouth. He growled thought, a deep sound that would’ve made anyone else turning back on the spot.

“I doubt it,” he muffled, having his mouth filled in with his breakfast. He was eating his usual huge number of pancakes, bacon and a spinach omelette, but instead of having a quiet breakfast, he was devouring the food as if they attacked him personally.

Bucky stopped, and a quick glance at his friend was enough to imagine how Steve’s morning went. “I should’ve known better than saying something as controversial as good morning,”

Steve grunted in response, a deep sound that came out of his throat, and stabbed an innocent piece of bacon. They stayed quiet for a while, Bucky poured himself some Cap’n Crunch cereal and milk in a bowl and sat at the kitchen’s aisle in front of his friend. Steve was fuming, and stabbing, and swallowing without chewing a pile of innocent pancakes.

Bucky cracked first, and after a heavy sigh he let down the spoon and glared at Steve.

“Clint said you didn’t say a word to him when he was here earlier, and something about killer vibes,”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise, and a strong sense of guilt made the last bite more difficult to swallow. His rumbles eased, becoming a background noise.

“I didn’t notice he was here,” he admitted, lowering his gaze.

“Yeah, he figured. What’s going on Stevie?” Bucky had an inquisitor gaze, the kind that brought Steve’s memory back of almost a century.

Bucky was improving day after day, and they were all getting used to his presence in the tower. For Steve, it meant getting re-used to his ways of doing, and trying to keep separate what he remembered about his best friend and the person he became. They were two different people, even if Bucky had full control of his mental faculties again, years and years under HYDRA influence changed him at his very core level.

“Tony kicked me out from our bedroom last night,” he said, making a vague gesture with his hand — something he took from his husband — and talking like it wasn’t a big deal.

Bucky didn’t buy it and continued staring at him suspiciously.

“I asked him if I could wash him, a proper bath with scented salts and all the products he likes, and he,” Steve rumbled in distress again, filling his cheeks with all the food he could.

For a moment, he thought Bucky was smiling at him, a sweet and amused grin, but it went away quickly as he appeared.

“He got upset, accusing me to not liking him as before, that I only want to touch his-” That time Bucky interrupted him, with a screech of the spoon against the bowl.

“-belly,” Steve finished, glaring at his friend. “Next thing I know, he’s pushing me out of our bedroom, growling at me and yelling that I didn’t want him anymore, I was only interested in the baby,” three stabs followed his words, and his mouth was full again. His body required an incredible amount of food when he had to deal with Tony’s sudden mood swings and is pregnancy logic.

“And you haven’t seen him since?” Bucky sounded genuinely surprised: he hadn’t been around for so long, but enough to notice that whenever there was Tony, Steve was nearby. Their attachment even increased after the Omega got pregnant.

Steve shook his head twice, and with a sad sigh he got up to get more food. Twenty-first century made him an emotional eater, he coped drowning everything in maple syrup.

“I made breakfast before leaving this morning, hoping to eat it with him and settling his doubts, or, or fixing whatever I did wrong when I asked for a bath. He ate before I came back,” and that’s what really made him miserable: after a whole night alone, his Omega still avoided him during the day.

Maybe he really hurt Tony, he wasn’t only being over-dramatic or throwing a tantrum for his hormones out of whack. Steve had been patient during the past weeks, always support his Omega during the pregnancy: he prepared in time, he did all the lectures - and made Tony at least listen to him reading them - and asked JARVIS to find useful information on internet. There was too much trash over there.

Last night, the Omega caught him off guards: he didn’t expect to be accused of losing interest in the most brilliant, breathtaking, handsome man on the entire planet. The thought kept him awake all night, and he hoped breakfast would’ve been a chance to clarify, to remember Tony he loved him above anything else.

“Did you take off your shirt?” Bucky asked, bringing Steve back to the real world. He stopped with the fork mid-air, his lips already parted to take in the next enormous bite. He probably looked like a fool, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, but he couldn’t process what he heard.

“Are you joking?” Steve let out another growl, a warning that resounded in the room. Bucky provoked his instincts by joking about his expecting Omega, and about the fight they had, as weird as it could sound. The other Alpha didn’t wince, he shrugged and dunk the spoon in the milk, while pouring more Cap’n Crunch.

“It works with Sam ‘n Clint,” he spoke while chewing, and it wasn’t pretty. A memory soothed Steve’s spirit: Bucky used to lose his charm when there were only the two of them.

“What?” He sounded hopeless. He needed all the help he could get to make Tony happy again. Tony’s anger was bad for both of them: his Omega was on edge, he was feeling the need to hide from his Alpha, and Steve couldn’t take care of his lovely Omega.

“Just take off your shirt and enjoy the show,”

Steve rolled his eyes up, and Bucky pointed the spoon toward him.

“Hey, how come after seventy years I’m still teaching you how to court pretty Omegas?” He sounded a lot accusatory for Steve’s likings, with the pointy spoon in his direction.

“And after seventy years, I’m still ignoring you,” he answered, very mature. His best friend had the ability to make him sound like a sixteen-year-old again.

They finished their breakfast in peace, Steve still focused on attacking the food and Bucky looking at him with a wry grin plastered on his face, sometimes chuckling and shaking his head, as if Steve was definitely beyond help.

+

After breakfast, Steve joined Sam in the gym, and actually asked for suggestions. Sam’s moral compass often led him to a solution; he trusted Bucky with all his life, but they still had very different ideas about relationships.

In fact, Bucky had joined Sam and Clint, who were already mates, after having experienced the free life twenty-first century allowed, while he had had his eyes only on Tony since he fell from a wormhole in the battle of New York.

After Sam finished laughing at him for being both dramatic idiots - Steve didn’t get upset anymore, he was quite used to it and limited to roll his eyes - he tried for real to help a friend in need.

Talking with him and releasing some frustration against two punching bags, made him recover sufficient calm to confront his Omega. He stopped for a shower first: Tony didn’t like when he showed sweaty in his lab, and the Omega’s mad already. Better not to make it any harder.

He sighed of relief when his passcode opened the tinted glass door: Tony threatened him more than once to change it without letting his Alpha know, and Steve thought, that time, he could’ve done that for real.

“Tony?” He announced himself, looking around to find the genius.

Tony was working on a 3D holographic model of an iron man boot and he didn’t turn around to face Steve, he acknowledged his Alpha’s presence only by stiffing for a second.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked, hoping to get a real answer. He stepped nearby, sitting on a swivel chair and leaning forward. He didn’t want to impose on his Omega, hence being on a lower height than him usually helped.

“What, you wanna ask if I’ve slept and eaten enough for the baby’s health?” He sounded strongly bitter. What would’ve been so terrible about that, anyway?

He knew Tony cared about their child as much as himself and was trying to quit bad habits like not eating enough, or not getting enough sleep, because he was too focused on something else.

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but Tony cut him off.

“Don’t waste your time here, I did, I did. I slept all night and ate everything you left, and I also watched a documentary about giving births, Jarvis will confirm it. It was disgusting, by the way. The documentary, not the food. Now that I think about it, also the food wasn’t that good. Clint had to remove every little piece of mango from my fruit salad. Why did you put it, were you trying to poison me?” A rush of words hit Steve, leaving him disoriented and confused. Tony was talking and moving agitated, and the growls Steve was hearing weren’t a good sign either.

“Wait, Omega wait. Of course I wasn’t trying to poison you. Since when you don’t like mangoes? You made me buy one just the other day,” it wasn’t the first time Tony was being unreasonable, and his pregnancy hormones made it worse.

“Can’t I change my mind? I bet you wouldn’t hold it against your child!” He yelled in Steve’s face, who was looking more worried second after second.

“I’m not holding anything against you, I didn’t even bring it up! Why do you think everything I say is only about our child?” He resisted the urge to stand up and to physically make Tony listen to him. He would never hurt his Omega, but someone needed to get him out from his own head.

“’Cause it’s true! I know when you said I love you, in reality you mean the baby. I don’t matter anymore, and you’ll get rid of me eventually,” that only left Steve with the most ridiculously baffled expression, with open wide mouth and eyes.

He was about to talk back, and standing up just to make a point, but arguing with Tony exhausted him and it wasn’t good for the Omega too. He didn’t want to spend another night alone, and not being able to look at Tony in the morning, wandering around with the cutest sleepy head and making grabbing hands toward him until Steve put a mug of hot coffee under his nose. Well, it hadn’t been coffee since the Omega got pregnant, but they didn’t talk about it.

Forgetting everything Sam said only half an hour earlier, Steve stood up carefully, without meaning to appear authoritative. He unbuttoned the three buttons of his gray Henley shirt, after which he removed it in a slow motion. Tony and his growls froze, and it was his turn to look stunned and bewildered.

“Huh, oh. You’re... You had...” He waved with his hands in Steve’s chest direction. “There are muscles,” He had his mouth wide open and was gasping for hair, without stopping his hands which were creating imaginary shapes in the air at Steve’s abs height.

That was new for Steve: he knew very well Tony could ramble disconnected words for minutes when he was nervous, but he was never wordless. Steve couldn’t remember a time when Tony had to search for words, instead of having a million of them already on the tip of his tongue, ready to talk a mile a minute.

He didn’t look upset anymore, and that was very positive, therefore Steve decided to use that as an opportunity to make peace. Since Tony was remaining still, except for his hands and mouth, he closed the distance and took Tony’s wrists, yanking slightly to make his Omega pressing his fingers against his own chest.

Tony’s scent instantly surrounded them, sweet and yet powerful, leaving Steve amazed. It was the scent of a pregnant Omega: it smelled like fresh, beautiful flowers, with something of warm and tantalizing brought about by his arousal.

His Omega was excited, and Steve released a low rumble of approval from his chest.

“O-oh,” Tony stammered, stroking him over his pectorals and down to the abdomen, following the marked lines of his muscles. “God, you’re gorgeous,” a purr from the Omega, vibrating though his body and curling the edge of the words.

The purrs increased as Tony pressed his faced in the middle of his chest and inhaled deeply. “Alpha,” he moaned around the word, melting like the sweet, perfect Omega he was.

Steve couldn’t believe Bucky’s questionable method worked, for that reason he took a few seconds before reacting. He had his Omega completely relaxed against him, his delicious scent was filling his nose and he could sense a rush of Tony’s wet slick pooling between his thighs. Fuck, he could already feel the delicious taste on his tongue.

He let go of Tony’s wrists and embraced him with an arm, lifting his chin up with the other hand, forcing him to look up. Tony’s eyes were lost in the haze of pleasure, his vision was blurred, softening at the edges.

Steve’s smile was soft then, sweetened by Tony’s cute expression and loud purrs. “You okay sweet thing?” He asked softly, bumping their noses together affectionately.

The Omega buried his face again in Steve’s neck and nodded, still stroking his fingers over the Alpha’s muscles. “’m fine,” words muffled by his position, but Steve already knew it, anyway. “You smell good,” he mewled, stroking his lips against Steve’s skin, making the Alpha groan, his eyes falling shut.

Steve tried to ignore the tightness in his pants; as badly as he wanted to bend his Omega over the nearest surface and resume the previous night activities, for the sake of his marriage he forced himself to settle. Bucky’s method was dangerous, having Tony’s pliant in his arms was making him forget he had somewhat hurt his Omega.

The Alpha allowed himself only a deep breath of Tony’s hot scent, rumbling deep in his chest, a coaxing sound that had his Omega purring in response.

“You smell incredible,” he stated breathlessly. He was overwhelmed by how good the Omega smelled, and his hands, both on Tony’s back hugging him tight, twitched to grab two handfuls of his swell ass.

“Wanna tell me why you were mad?” He nuzzled his nose in the Omega’s hair, stroking his back and shoulders gently.

Tony circled Steve’s neck with both arms, and looked at him directly in the eyes, for real that time. Steve waited, gaze awed by the beautiful face he was observing, and the Omega stuck out his lips, closing his eyes and leaning forward.

He was demanding a kiss, and Steve huffed a laugh, but he wasn’t really laughing, it was full of fondness as he gave Tony what was due him. “Cute Omega”, he whispered, kissing him carefully, cupping his jaw gently, his thumb brushing over his cheek.

Tony’s answer was to purr again, knowing how he affected the Alpha. But Steve needed answers and growled back with a bit of a warning. The Omega pouted, so adorably the Alpha had to resist kissing him again.

“The baby gets all your attention, you never look at me anymore. You- You’ll grow tired of me, bored.”

“That’s not true, I always look at you,” Steve said seriously.

“Only at my belly,” he pouted more, and moved his gaze away.

“At you,” Steve’s voice was final, leaving no room for confusion or misunderstanding. He cupped Tony’s cheeks, gently, he didn’t force the Omega to look back at him but he did, and Steve kissed him on the lips. Tony wrinkled his nose but kissed his Alpha anyway, digging his fingers in Steve’s biceps and using them as a lift when he raised on tiptoes.

The kiss lasted long that time; they kept it chaste, soft lips moving across each other’s with a light caress, every little movement expressing every bit of love they had for each other. It was an amazingly big amount, and they felt it all. Tony tilted his head back, and the Alpha growled possessively at how perfect his Omega was, at how he tasted so good, all for him.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” Steve breathed the words on Tony’s lips, eyes half-open and fingers laced in dark, short hairs. “I’m still trying to figure out how to make you understand...”

“What?” Tony asked, blinking slowly. Steady purrs were vibrating from his throat.

“How amazing you are. Brilliant, the bravest person I’ve ever known. Too reckless for your own good, and it scares the hell out of me, but that’s how you are. Kind, funny, and so so very smart. You’re the only person who knew how to help me understand a world I could hardly recognize. I know I don’t talk about it, but it was bad before you. For me, it was terrible, I had lost everyone and everything I knew,” he had to stop for a second, just admiring the view.

Tony’s hazel eyes were wide open, liquid and wet at the edges. He wasn’t pouting anymore but his lips were still curled, as if he was keeping them still. He was. Tony’s lips always trembled a little when he was emotional, and it was another detail Steve loved about him.

“Are you gonna proposing again?” Tony’s throat sounded dry. Typical of him, joking at the worst possible time.

Steve chuckled, shook his head and pressed his lips on his Omega’s forehead, keeping them there. “Silly Omega, I would propose to you every day”

He heard a soft gasp from Tony, then strong arms circling his waist, and the profile of the Omega hiding below his chin. He fit there so well, the first time it happened it made Steve stop searching for a sense of belonging; he found his home.

“How could I ever be bored with you? I want to spend every day taking care of you, baby or not on the way. You’re the one I love, the one I want to grow old with, laughing at terrible jokes and worrying for your life every time you put yourself in danger to save others,”

Steve hugged Tony back as tightly as he could, straighten himself and lifting the Omega up with one smooth movement. Tony instinctively wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist as he did, without even a flinch, and still with his face hid in the Alpha’s neck.

“You’ve planned dis,” a sigh from the Omega, who sniffled. “You’ve planned to make me cry,” another sigh as he went on with his accuses.

Steve’s smile was big and bright, the kind that only Tony could make him do. He started moving slowly, the weight of his Omega was almost non-existent but in real he didn’t have a place in mind where to go. He just wanted to keep hugging Tony, soothing him with feather-light kisses on his cheek and gentle rumbles.

“Yes, I did. I’m a master strategist, I’ve planned to get you mad just to make you remember how good I am at removing shirts and do declarations of love,” he joked too, easing the atmosphere.

A wet giggle escaped from Tony, and his entire body shook because he was trying to not laugh. A fist bumped Steve’s shoulder, lightly but firm.

“You’re good at removing shirts,” the Omega confirmed.

“Are there any chances we can keep it between the two of us?”

“Not one, mister Rogers,” more giggles followed the words. Steve couldn’t blame him, Bucky’s method worked, eventually.

“What if I’ll bribe you, mister Rogers?” He asked affectionately. They both changed their last names after the wedding, and the complete version was Stark-Rogers, but every variant was like honey for his ears.

“... What kind of bribe?” The Omega asked after a moment, sounding amused and pretty interested.

They left the lab while talking; Tony was leaving a trail of delicate kisses on Steve’s neck and jaw, sometimes rubbing his nose against his skin to scent him. Steve was just gladly enjoying all those sweet attentions and couldn’t wait to reach their floors to reciprocate.

“Hum, I’m thinking about cheeseburgers and ice cream for lunch. How does it sound?”

“Shit, it sounds good,” and the keen Tony made, Steve could only consider it as lascivious. Maybe Steve was getting lunch earlier that day, a tasteful, trembling and moaning lunch.

#tony stark #steve rogers #iron man #captain america #omega tony stark #omega tony #alpha steve rogers #alpha steve #mpreg #stony #stevetony #superhusbands #stevextony #ironshield #domestic stony #domestic avengers #bucky #writing #fic #fanfiction #stony fanfiction #stony fic #stevetony fic #stevetony fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #omegaverse #a/b/o #henley shirt men #fluff #cute

[take-me-tom-hiddleston]

A Dark Place

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan

Rating: Mature (strong language, no smut)

Genre: Angst/Comfort

Word Count: 2,205

Prequel to Burn Up in Your Atmosphere by @captainrogerrsbeard​ and @murder-daddy-bucky​; It works as a oneshot, though, too!

Summary: Chris stays behind the scenes to serve as Sebastian's moral support during the filming of his pinnacle scene in The Winter Soldier. He quickly realizes just how much he is a force to be reckoned with.

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

Notes: Just a quick thanks to @captainrogerrsbeard​ and @murder-daddy-bucky​ for letting me contribute to their epic Evanstan story!I hope you all enjoy this little tidbit of angst, comfort, and slowly brewing romance, told from Chris's point of view.

Today was one of the very rare days that Chris wouldn’t be needed on set of The Winter Soldier, but he found himself there anyway. He couldn’t do anything to really help, but maybe he could at least prove to be some sort of moral support.

Sebastian had been anticipating this scene since the moment he finished reading the script, and Chris could sense his growing nerves over it for the past week. He couldn’t blame him, though. Seb was the newcomer in this film. Even with The First Avenger under his belt, between Chris, Scarlett, Mackie, and Robert Redford, he was still by far the most inexperienced with the film industry. And while Chris and everyone else who had worked with Seb were already impressed with his talent and work ethic, he knew Seb still felt the pressure to prove himself as a professional film actor.

Then, of course, this scene was easily one of the most emotionally raw and vulnerable of the whole damn film. The turning point. The moment when the audience’s perception of Bucky would turn from unyielding villain to tortured victim.

And Seb only had three short lines to do it.

He had complete confidence in him, though, and Chris was excited to see him tackle something so gritty. Despite them being close in age, Chris couldn’t help but feel an almost elder-like protectiveness of him. He knew in his bones Sebastian was ridiculously talented, despite not having a whole lot of opportunities to show it until now, and he wanted the world to see how good this relatively unknown artist was. Cause he once they did, his inevitably long and fruitful career was Seb’s for the taking.

Chris stood just behind the empty directors’ chairs as the crew finished up getting the set ready. He glanced over to where Seb sat shirtless on the set chair. He was talking scene details with the Russos and Robert, while one of the makeup artists flitted around him to touch up some of the extensive scarring on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he wagered they were addressing the short yet brutal physicality of the scene.

Chris looked closer. He could tell Seb was already sinking into Bucky’s…rather messed up psyche. He looked tired, like he’d stayed up most of the night, despite going to bed early. His blue eyes were heavy with dark circles and his mouth was downturned in a way that Chris wasn’t particularly comfortable seeing. Up until now, Seb was normally so full of smiles and general light-heartedness. Even during their intense combat scenes so far, he would joke and laugh with Chris in between takes. But then again, being an emotionless assassin didn’t require quite the same amount of mental preparation as being a tortured prisoner of war.

Eventually, Joe and Anthony returned back to their seats, sending Chris an excited look his way. Robert returned to his starting place behind the armored door, and Seb repositioned slightly on the edge of the chair. His weary eyes flickered to Chris’s. Damn, he looked rough.

Chris sent him a little nod of encouragement. Seb’s lips pulled up in an appreciative, but pitiful little smile before his gaze fell down to his lap.

“Everybody ready?” Anthony called, the final medical and bodyguard extras going to their starting places, raising their guns at him. Seb rolled his shoulders a couple times and cleared his throat before looking back up and nodding.

He then trained his vacant, devastated stare just slightly off from the camera. Chris raised his eyebrows.

Then, cameras started rolling.

Robert, Grillo, and a group of tactical agent extras walked through the door towards Seb. Robert took off his glasses, tucking them into his suit jacket. “Mission report,” he commanded. Seb didn’t move. “Mission report, now.”

Nothing.

Chris felt the tension rise throughout the room as Robert walked forward and leaned in, his gaze narrowing at an unmoving Seb that refused to look him in the eye.  

Robert suddenly reared back, his hand roughly backhanding him across the cheek. Chris visibly flinched as the loud crack of skin meeting skin reverberated throughout the room. Seb’s head flew to the side as he let out a small pained grunt, and Chris could see the actual redness of the impact on his cheek. Jesus Christ. He wasn’t surprised they decided to go for a genuine strike, but…that was rough.

Seb slowly turned his head back towards Robert, his eyebrows furrowing and expression contorting. “The man on the bridge…,” he quietly murmured, eyes dropping for a second before looking at Robert for the first time. “Who was he?”

“…You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

His eyes drifted in thought, the pitiful confusion Bucky was feeling so palpable in Seb’s eyes it was painful to watch even from where Chris stood. He glanced at the camera, seeing the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tension in his jaw. “…I knew him.”

Robert sighed before pulling a chair up and sitting down to get on Seb’s eye level, almost like he was trying to explain a complicated concept to an unknowing child. And Seb looked upon Robert with such pained, confused innocence, he almost did look like a sad child looking for any semblance of an answer he could find.

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.” Seb turned his head down, gaze on Robert intensifying and breath slowly picking up as he continued to speak. “And I need you to do it one more time.”  He swallowed hard and looked away, like he knew deep down that he wasn’t supposed to be helping the likes of Alexander Pierce, but he didn’t know why. “Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to give it a push.” His gaze remained on Robert, but turned distant, like he was seeing straight through him, his muddled brain struggling to reveal long covered memories. “But, if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

There was a palpable silence. Seb blinked, struggling for words. “But I knew him.” Then Chris leaned in as Seb’s face crumpled with crippling confusion. Joe and Anthony shared a quick unspoken look before looking back to the scene.

Robert sighed, clearly put out by Bucky’s struggles and reluctance to acknowledge him. He stood. “Prep him.”

A small glint of fear passed through Seb’s eyes. Bucky knew what those words meant.

The extra looked between Robert and Seb. “…He’s been out of cryo-freeze too long…”

Robert turned to stare hard and uncaringly at the broken man before him. “Then wipe him, and start over.”

Fuck, the look on his face. It was…haunting. A mix of fear and pain and confusion that it damn near took his breath away.

Two scientist extras moved in on Seb, definitively pushing him back in the chair and holding out a mouth guard for him. He took a deep breath, letting his fear be replaced with bitter resignation as he accepted the guard. His eyes burned in anticipation as he bit down hard, his jaw straining under the pressure. His torso shot ramrod straight against the chair as the eventual CG cuffs would wrap around his arms. His sweat-slicked chest began heaving, frantically waiting for the pain.

Chris glanced at Grillo. Even through Rumlow’s tough exterior, he was clearly struggling to watch, and Chris couldn’t tell if that was an intentional character decision or Grillo’s personal discomfort at the scene coming through.

The camera steadily moved in on Seb as his panic increased. And right when it had lined up to directly capture his face, he let go.

Chris could feel the scream bubble up within him, starting with a violent intake of breath through his nose. It traveled upwards into his neck, each and every muscle and vein tensed and skin turning red from lack of consistent breath. His bright blue eyes widened, shining with tears and blood chilling panic like a caged animal.

The blood curdling noise that ripped out of Seb’s throat left Chris wide eyed and frozen, every muscle in his body tensed. It cut through the air of the set like a deadly knife, the scream feral, wild, and excruciating. For a split second, Chris forgot Seb was acting and every inch of his body was covered in horrified chills.

Robert and Grillo left the room with the rest of the tactical team, leaving Seb’s violent screams unendingly echoing through the air.

Anthony and Joe shared another look before somewhat quietly calling for cut.

When Seb finally stopped screaming, Chris was fairly certain the whole room let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. He was breathing hard, gasping for air as his body relaxed on the chair.

He sat up and immediately let his head wearily collapse into his hands as he took out the guard and caught his breath.

“…I think that’ll do,” Anthony said, looking almost breathless himself. Seb stayed where he was, running a shaking hand through his hair. The rest of the cast and crew quietly tried to shake everything off and reset. “Really good job, guys,” he called.

“Seb?” Joe gently called, “Are you good for another take? You can take a minute if you want.”

He took a labored breath through his nose and slowly sat up, “No, I’m good,” he weakly called, though he seemed anything but “good.” Seb ran a hand across his tear-streamed cheeks and visibly tried to shake himself out of the dark place he’d just plummeted into. When no one said anything, he trained his exhausted eyes to the Russos and repeated, “Seriously, I’m good. Let’s go again.”

They took his word for it and called for places. As everyone prepped again, Seb’s gaze slowly slid over to Chris.

They locked eyes. Something stirred in Chris. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly; all he knew is he longed to go over there and comfort his friend. This had been much more difficult to watch than he could have ever anticipated, and he knew Seb had to be deeply struggling after tapping into something so horrific. On the other hand, though, he also felt…stunned and full of pride for his friend. Chris knew how talented Seb was, always had, but, this was…Jesus, this was a whole new level. The kid deserved everything the world had to offer and then some.

Chris sent him a small smile, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Seb grimaced before tearing his eyes away to reset.

And then he did the scene again. And again. And again.

Eventually, Chris couldn’t stay any longer and had to leave Seb to it, and they continued that scene for the rest of the day. But watching it for so long had put Chris into a funk himself, and he couldn’t seem to shake it. He just felt…well, disturbed.

When he knew they had finished for the day, Chris couldn��t stay away from Seb’s trailer. He lightly knocked before putting his hands in his pockets.

There was a few moments of silence before Chris heard Seb walk over to the door.

Needless to say, when he opened the door, Seb looked worse for wear. He was all out of costume and back into some comfortable clothes, but his downtrodden expression radiated sheer emotional and mental exhaustion. Chris did notice a little life spark in his eyes and the sight of him, though. “Hey, Chris,” he quietly greeted, a small weak smile on his lips. “Thanks for being there today.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “It meant a lot.”

Chris smiled and brushed it off, “Oh, yeah no problem. It was nothing.”

Seb shook his head. “It was definitely not nothing. Seriously, thank you, having you there for support really helped.” His gaze dropped shyly. “Meant a lot.”

“…How are you doing?” Chris asked. “That was some really intense shit back there.”

Seb put his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the door frame. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He didn’t look all that okay. “Just tired, I guess. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, uh, I was just going to ask if you wanted to maybe grab a drink? Might be good for you after the day you’ve had, but uh…if you’re tired, I’ll just leave you alone. Another time,” he said, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t. But that didn’t mean Chris didn’t really want Seb to say yes.

Something Chris couldn’t place flitted through Seb’s eyes as he took in a breath, “Uh…yeah, actually. I guess I do need to get out of my own head for a few hours. Thanks. Let me just grab my wallet.”

Chris smiled, not having expected Seb to take him up on his offer. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Seb quickly returned, jacket on and slipping his wallet in his back pocket. Maybe Chris was imagining things, but he did seem to have ever so slightly more life in his step.

The two men shared a small smile. “Let’s go.”

#Chris Evans #Sebastian Stan #Evanstan #chris x sebastian #Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan #Burn Up in Your Atmosphere #captainrogerrsbeard #murder-daddy-bucky #take-me-tom-hiddleston #my works #fic #evanstan fic #rpf #captain america #bucky barnes #prequel #oneshot #hurt #comfort #angst #the winter soldier #fanfiction #a dark place #comment #reblog #like #follow

[charles-alexander-potter]

♛ OUT OF CHARACTER ♛

✘ NAME/ALIAS, AGE, & PRONOUNS

Nutteh is what I go by. There’s a somewhat lame, convoluted story behind it, but I’ve been using it for years - why stop now?

I’m 23 years old.

She/her pronouns.

✘ TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY

CST, and given that I’ve got a full-time job and several needy critters I’d say my activity would be somewhere around a 7 or 8 on average (with 10 being the highest activity level). Obviously it’ll fluctuate a bit, but I have no doubt I’ll be able to swing at least an hour or two a day for replies and such.  

♛ IN CHARACTER ♛

✘ DESIRED ROLE:

Charles Alexander Potter -- A grand name - fierce, strong, promising, and everything Charles’ parents were sure their baby boy would grow to be. How could he not? His bloodlines were full of grit and grandeur; they didn’t know that his name would be just about the only imposing thing about him.

✘ CHARACTER APPEAL: His surname drew me in before anything else, honestly. As readers we know so little about the Potter family beyond James, and it didn’t occur to me that a Potter almost definitely attended Hogwarts alongside Tom Riddle himself. So that was a major draw. I also liked how unexpected Charles’ personality turned out to be; I’m more of a James-esque type of person - extroverted, irritating, etc. - so to see a Potter portrayed as bookish and brooding caught my attention, caught me off-guard. It’s atypical of me to cast a glance at male characters like Charles, if I’m being honest; I’ve played Hermione pretty extensively over the course of my roleplaying “career,” but any male characters I play tend to be more extroverted in nature. So, I think the novelty of a male bookworm combined with my knowledge of how to write left-brained characters would be an exciting sort of challenge.  I see a bit of Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin in him as well, a combination that really intrigues me. Charles might even end up being some kind of example as to what Peter could have been, which is a role that I’m both curious about and anxious to take on. I’m already getting out of my comfort zone exploring the Riddle Era - might as well go all-in, right? Who wants to play a character who doesn’t scare them just a tiny bit?

✘ WHO ARE THEY? Charles Potter is a scholar. He is a thinker. His brain is his best asset, and he is the first to admit that it gets much more exercise than any other part of his body. Quiet and bookish, he seems like a textbook wallflower, but wallflowers don’t typically keep company with people like Declan Prewett and Leo Yaxley. What, then, drew them to him? It’s a question not even he has an answer to, but unlike nearly every other question he’s faced with, he doesn’t mind not knowing. Perhaps, he hopes, it was because they saw something in him - some kind of hidden potential. Charles has plenty of potential - he’s a brilliant student with an old family name - but potential of the unscholarly kind? The potential to be brave, to be daring, to make a real, tangible difference? That’s something he remains uncertain of. 

✘ ANALYSIS:

birthdate — October 17th, 1927 – Charles was born in autumn, coming into the world so quietly that his mother feared the worst. It wasn’t until he was given a good hard slap that he finally cried out, but even then he was reserved. Like the scales of his Libra sign, Charles’ demeanor is balanced and nearly always has been, but that is just about as much stock as he’s comfortable putting into astrology; it’s an interesting subject, to be sure, but he remains guarded. It’s also worth noting that his birthday puts him in a bit of an awkward spot when it comes to his year at Hogwarts. With an October birthday, Charles is automatically at a  different age than most of his peers. They catch up eventually when their own birthdays roll around, but this slight age staggering is a contributing factor in Charles’ overall maturity level; it’s probably another reason why he tends to have more friends in seventh year than sixth. 

 gender identity & pronouns — Cismale, he/him pronouns.

sexuality & romantic preference — Charles is heterosexual, though it isn’t uncommon for others to be doubtful of that. Considering how painfully shy and awkward he is, he doesn’t appear to be interested at all in either sex, but the truth is that he is attracted to women - just quietly so. He was a late bloomer, certainly, but a bloomer nonetheless.

wand — Beech wood, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core – As a young boy, Charles was the perfect candidate (and eventual match) for a beech wood wand. They’re suited to wise and inquisitive owners, and the more Charles’ skills improved, the more subtly and precisely his beech wand began to perform. Similarly, a phoenix feather core meant that Charles’ wand sat on the shelf for quite some time before finding him. A finicky core and a finicky wood reflected the fine-tuned precision with which Charles approached nearly everything in his life, and now, at the top of his class and with undeniably impressive skills, it’s clear that no other wand would have sufficed.   

boggart — Charles’ boggart morphs into the Aviators - Declan, Leo, and Bellavie - all of whom turn away from him and pretend he doesn’t exist. Above all else, Charles fears being alone. Now that he’s had a taste of true friendship, he doesn’t think he could handle the life of a loner again. 

amortentia —  The musty odor of old books on mahogany shelves, the grass after a rainstorm, baking bread, leather, black tea.

patronus — By age fifteen, Charles was producing a corporeal patronus. His professors didn’t seem surprised to find that he could do it, but they also couldn’t pretend not to be impressed when a sharply defined raven erupted from the end of his wand. A highly intelligent and inquisitive bird, but one that isn’t difficult to overlook, the form of Charles’ patronus makes perfect sense. 

✘ CONNECTIONS:

Declan Prewett – Charles was familiar with the Prewett family well before attending Hogwarts. Pureblood inner circle soirees often brought the two together, but Charles never did more than watch the Prewett boy tussle with the others. The Prewetts were rather like the Potters in their beliefs, though Charles’ family was less outspoken. The boldness with which Declan and his kin expressed themselves enticed Charles, and he found himself smirking behind his books at Declan’s cutting remarks to Abraxas Malfoy and the like during whatever gathering they were forced to attend. Before Hogwarts, he might have spoken to Declan once or twice, but for years he was content to watch, studying the way the golden boy carried himself and the way his smile seemed to draw praise from everyone it touched. As far as Charles was concerned, Declan was the epitome of all things Gryffindor, so when the two eventually crossed paths it was like being initiated into a club he was supposed to have joined ages ago. For Charles, Declan represents inclusion. As intangible as the Gryffindor can seem, he is a warm and welcoming person, and Charles is endlessly thankful for that; after all, were it not for Declan’s ability to see his potential, there’s a good chance he never would have realized it at all.   

 Leo Yaxley – Charles, very attracted to people who say what they mean and what they believe, was just as familiar with Leo’s parents as he was with Declan’s. Simon Yaxley was a hero - Renfred and Lenora quietly commended his work, but Charles would be lying if he said he didn’t revere him. By extension, then, Leo seemed just as untouchable as his father. Charles’ eyes were filled with stars when it came to the Yaxleys, but 1939 stood to show that having a family name within the Sacred Twenty-Eight didn’t protect you from the consequences of your actions - especially not when those actions slighted other pure-blooded families. Simon Yaxley’s death sent a shudder through the wizarding community, but no one was affected quite like Leo. Seeing as he was at Hogwarts at the time of his parents’ deaths and Charles was not, Charles didn’t see firsthand how much he struggled. By the time September came around again and Charles finally boarded the train to Hogwarts, it was almost impossible to tell that Leo had been through Hell and back. He was resilient and fierce, flanked by Declan and fearless in the face of opposition. Circumstances had changed for him, and yet here he was, still just as steadfast in his beliefs as his father before him. Charles was incredibly impressed, and he remains so to this day. He knows now, of course, just how hard the last seven-odd years have been for his friend; ever perceptive, he’s learned how to read between the lines when it comes to Leo Yaxley. He sees the pain behind the valiant facade, and he can’t help but notice the way Leo’s eyes change when Declan - his left and right arm - is around.  

Bellavie Chambers – The warmth emanating from Bellavie always reminded Charles of his mother. She was a bright, golden light in a rough-and-tumble Gryffindor world, but…she was also a Gryffindor, and such a fact could not be forgotten. Charles learned very quickly not to write her off as a hatstall; after all, a girl who ran with wolves like Declan Prewett and Leo Yaxley was bound to have some wild blood in her. Still, Bellavie’s kindness drew Charles in from the beginning. He always felt safe around her, and he was considerably less intimidated by her at the outset than he’d been by Declan and Leo. Perhaps her muggle heritage had something to do with that? Curiosity always made him less timid, and muggles were an unfailing source of wonder. He probably ran her ragged with questions about her family, her community, and when he learned that her father and brothers had fought - and were fighting - in the muggle war, he did it all over again. Her heritage might have had a hand in drawing him to her, but her spirit kept him close. He is continuously inspired by her kindness in the face of prejudice and hatred, things that she endures firsthand and at a steadily increasing rate. Charles is not a very fun person to pick on - he isn’t reactive - but mention Bellavie and he can’t help but take the bait. The first time he heard someone call her a “mudblood,” he ended up in the hospital wing with broken glasses and a black eye. His response came as a shock even to himself; he always kept a level head, always thought through his actions carefully, methodically. He wasn’t a “hit first, ask questions later” type of person - but, it seemed as though the lion inside him was not caught in a perpetual slumber. 

Irma Weasley – She absolutely fascinates him. He doesn’t want to treat her like a specimen in a museum - she wouldn’t let him anyway - but his curiosity often gets the better of him. He finds himself staring at her sometimes, brow knitted, but it isn’t because he’s disgusted - quite the contrary. For years now he’s wanted to ask her about…well, about herself. About everything. The Oinker lies open on his four-poster more often than not, but he finds the content less interesting than the way Irma writes. It captivates him. She speaks with a wisdom that he can only hope to have, and the questions he has for her dance on the tip of his tongue until he’s sure they’ll explode from him. But, something holds him back. What if Irma thinks him rude? What if she finds his questions intruding, scrutinizing? It isn’t just her experiences he’s interested in, though, and after six years of little more than pleasantries exchanged between them, he’s still trying to find the best way to convey this. 

 ♛ WRITING SAMPLES ♛

✘ PARA SAMPLE(S):

Charles squinted down at his parchment, struggling to read his own handwriting in the waning light. The library had nearly emptied; dinner would be served in the Great Hall soon, what with twilight fast approaching outside the castle walls. Aside from the scratching of his quill, the stacks around him were silent. Students were bustling outside in the corridor, no doubt reconvening after a long day of classes. Charles stayed where he was, planted into a chair by the window with the last, feeble rays of sunlight filtering through his dark curls. He shifted, leaning ever closer to his parchment. He really should have known better - he already wore glasses, and it would only take a second to turn up the oil lamp beside him - but, that would mean separating quill from paper, something he wasn’t quite ready for yet. The wheels and cogs in his head were practically visible, turning ever faster in sync with the feverish pace of his writing. His brow knitted, and he used his right index finger to push his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. With a final flourish - a final, confident jerk of his quill across the parchment - he paused, straightening. Brown eyes darted over his scrawl, and almost as an afterthought he reached over and turned up the flame in his lamp.

 ‘A Potions prep never looked so good,’ he mused, somewhat facetiously. He’d be the first to admit that his handwriting wasn’t easy to read, but he didn’t think someone would need to take two terms of Ancient Runes to decipher it either (as Declan was so fond of putting it). Maybe if he wrote better, he thought, he’d have the pleasure of being accepted into the Slug Club. He almost snickered to himself - almost. Slughorn’s pack of elites wasn’t something Charles was itching to join, especially considering some of the people his Potions professor considered “elite.” Leo and Declan were included in the circle, of course, so Charles couldn’t discount the club entirely; however, the amount of old pureblood surnames that cropped up on Slughorn’s guest list made him quite glad he wasn’t invited. He supposed he was just a bit too boring and predictable for Slughorn’s taste, which sat just fine with him. As much as he liked Leo’s and Declan’s company, he was still very much an introvert at heart. It was nice to have an evening to himself from time to time, to spend a bit of time talking with Bellavie about things less intense than the mounting blood war and Riddle’s Knights. 

Coming suddenly to his senses, Charles glanced down at his wristwatch. He squinted again. If he left now, he’d make it to the entrance hall just in time to catch Bellavie on her way back to Gryffindor Tower. He hadn’t made any concrete plans with her, but she was always accommodating, so he rose from his seat and stretched, his joints exploding into a symphony of cracks and groans. He heard Leo’s voice in his head: “And here’s Charles, our grandfather…or great-grandfather, it’s always hard to be sure…” His lips curled into a smirk, and he dragged a hand through his hair. The Forbidden Forest had turned into a hulking shadow in the hazy purple light of dusk, and Charles considered it for a moment from the window, still clutching his quill; the side of his left hand was dark with ink smear, but it was such a common occurrence that it might as well have been a birth mark. ‘The hazards of writing with your left hand,’ he thought, giving the smear a half-hearted rub before reaching for his things. 

By the time his parchment, ink, and books were tucked safely into his bag, the lights in the library had dimmed even further. He seized the handle of his lamp and emerged from his nook, moving with long, deliberate strides toward the exit. He’d been right in assuming that he was alone - not a soul remained among the bookshelves, the librarian included - so he set the lamp carefully atop the front desk and turned to leave. Just then, though, something caught his eye. The notice board beside the library’s double doors had a new addition. 

“N.E.W.T PREPARATION COURSE” it read, its letters so absurdly large that Charles couldn’t have ignored it if he tried. But, Merlin, he wished he had. Dark eyebrows twitched toward one another, and his jaw set; his grip tightened on the handle of his bag, but despite the desperate itch in his legs, he couldn’t seem to move. He was frozen, standing alone in the library with a wave of emotion crashing over him. Anxiety bubbled about like a hot potion in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard. Brown eyes traveled over the next line: “Seventh Years Only.” 

Ever since befriending Declan and Leo, Charles had dreaded this. Even at the ripe young age of thirteen, he was not naive; there would come a time when the two of them would be finished at Hogwarts, and as much as he wished he was older, he would have to be left behind. He fancied himself one of them, thought of himself as an honorary seventh year…But nothing he did would change the fact that they’d be well on their way to becoming Aurors before he even left Hogwarts. Charles handled this truth the way he handled all other unpleasant emotions - he buried it. He shoved it back into the dark recesses of his subconscious, fighting it valiantly every time it threatened to emerge. Lately, however, it was getting harder and harder to conquer. 

The library doors swung open, snapping Charles none too gently out of his reverie. He flinched, and he found himself staring into the face of a bewildered-looking third year. “Sorry,” she muttered, but he shook his head, stepping aside and sweeping a hand toward the stacks. “No, um…my apologies. After you.” The girl disappeared just as quickly as she’d come, it seemed, and Charles was alone again. He raised an index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and with a brief, heavy sigh he pushed through the doors, his thoughts as focused on the present as he could get them.

✘ HEADCANONS:

–> Charles is the only son of Renfred and Lenora Potter, but it’s a title he doesn’t necessarily carry with pride. He remembers, as a young boy, long nights lying in his bed, listening to his parents in the next room. The headboard slammed repeatedly - desperately - against the wall for hours, and more often than not the next several weeks would find his mother withdrawn and his father irritable. Ever curious, it wasn’t long before Charles asked his mother what was happening. Her face remains burned into his memory; the way it fell, the way lines appeared on its surface and added far too many years to an otherwise youthful visage. With pale, trembling hands she cupped Charles’ cheeks and fixed her gaze onto his. “Charles,” she breathed, one corner of her mouth twitching, “my love.” She smoothed a bit of hair away from his forehead. “We’re trying to give you a brother.” Later, Charles would cock his head at his mother’s specificity - surely a sister would have been just as welcome? It would have, of course, but a family within the ranks of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” needed all the heirs it could get, and Lenora and Renfred were no fools. There was more to it than that, though; anyone with eyes could see that Lenora Potter was bursting with love, and all she wanted was to give more of it.

There was a time, fleeting but poignant, when a flicker of hope ignited in his parents’ eyes. It was like the first days of summer had come to the Potter household, and to it alone. But, it vanished before long, and Lenora locked herself in the master bedroom for what seemed like an entire year of Charles’ life.

Charles didn’t mind being the only child, but the longing and determination his parents showed for the birth of another made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he was not enough for them? Maybe this was his fault? Guilt gnawed at him from the inside out, and at a painfully young age at that. Every passing glance at his mother threatened to incite a wince, but the unconditional love with which she showered him eased those thoughts until they were comfortably numb. That’s where Charles stands now, nearly of age and ready to strike out on his own. He loves his family just as much as any son would, but deep down in the dark recesses for his mind there is a small, nagging voice. 

“You’re all they’ve got,” it says. “And you’re not enough.”    

–> Lenora Potter’s love for her son was so great and so palpable that it could almost be cut with a knife. Renfred, however, was more reserved in his affections. He wasn’t unkind and he never acted cold or distant, but Charles always felt the weight of scrutiny upon him whenever the two were together. Parents expect things of their children - great things - and Renfred was not alone in that. A wonderful flyer in school (and in general), Charles’ father was adamant about mounting his son onto a broom as early as possible. At the ripe young age of five, Charles marched out onto the lawn with his father, carrying an old spare broom and dragging its bristles over the grass. He trembled, but Renfred’s determination was infectious; Charles swung a short, scrawny leg over the handle, but his anxiety coupled with entirely not enough confident control over his own body turned the whole thing into a disaster. He took off like a bullet from a gun, and even though he was, by some miracle, able to stay on the broom, he collided with the corner of the storage shed and  was knocked out cold. 

The next thing Charles can remember is the family hounds licking his face. He woke to find himself in the sitting room, Lenora and Renfred bent over him with faces so white they could’ve been ghosts. He had broken his right arm and sustained a pretty serious injury to his head; he wore a bandage wrapped around it for weeks, and once it was removed only a nasty scar (hidden by the hair above his right ear) remained. His arm healed entirely; one of the perks of being young and pliable. In the late stages of learning how to write at the time of the accident, however, Charles found that he could no longer use a quill with his right hand as he’d grown accustomed. He could have waited for his arm to heal, taking up writing again once he could properly handle a quill; but, ever persistent and fascinated with the written word, he learned how to write with his left hand. When it came time for him to learn wand work, it was the left that held the wand. He wasn’t crippled or broken - not by any means - but Renfred never seemed to forgive himself. He was very clearly disappointed that his son would never be a great flyer like the Potters before him, but he refused to hold that against Charles. He would live up to his name in other ways, he believed, but there was a certain amount of guilt added to the scrutiny Charles felt under his father’s dark-eyed gaze that made him squirm.

 –> Charles was always convinced he’d be sorted into Ravenclaw. His mother, also a Ravenclaw during her time at Hogwarts, had instilled in him a passion for wit and learning at an early age, so it came as quite the surprise when the Sorting Hat declared him a Gryffindor. Unlike some of the other pure-blooded families and their children, the Potters never set out to turn their son against any house in particular; but, Renfred was a very proud Slytherin in his day, and it was safe to say that Charles hadn’t really proven himself to be chivalrous or daring or any of the others things a Gryffindor was supposed to be - at least not yet. Still, his parents didn’t hold his odd placement against him. He wasn’t made to feel like a black sheep, but that didn’t mean he never did. His first year at Hogwarts was rather lonely; he excelled in all of his classes, of course, but he found making friends difficult. He hung back from the rabid Gryffindor Quidditch fan-base, and he often sought solace in the library rather than the noisy common room. The thing about Charles, though, was that he was used to being on his own. His childhood had been spent largely in his parents’ small library, and he’d never had many playmates his own age. Loneliness was commonplace. As far as he was concerned, that was how things were supposed to be. However, everything changed during his second year when the Aviators adopted him as one of their own. They were older and exactly the sort of people Charles never envisioned himself keeping company with, but even when he felt like pinching himself he knew he could never look back; from that point on, he felt included - he felt like he belonged - and he realized that lions are nothing without their prides. 

–> The Potters were not a pure-blooded family reminiscent of the Malfoys or the Blacks. They were proud, yes, and they cherished the bloodlines that had come before them, but the high-headed, “holier-than-thou” attitude of many Sacred Twenty-Eight families did not extend to them. Charles was never raised to think of muggles or muggleborns as “less than.” When the pureblood soirees brought him within earshot of school-age Lestranges and their ilk, he listened to them scoff at their muggleborn classmates, calling them “mudbloods” and turning up their noses at the very idea of them. This never failed to make Charles uncomfortable, and it was something that, whenever he brought it to his parents’ attention, was met with somber headshakes and quiet assurances. “Don’t use that word, Charles,” they’d say, “and don’t ever assume you’re better than someone because of where you come from.” What he always found confusing, though, was that Renfred and Lenora uttered this in hushed voices. Conversations of that nature only happened behind the doors of their modest countryside home, far away from any pureblood ears. He never doubted that his parents were good people, but, if what they were telling him was what they truly believed, then why wouldn’t they tell anyone else? The Prewetts, the Yaxleys, the Weasleys…they were all vehemently outspoken pure-blooded families. Why couldn’t the Potters be the same?

Cue Mr. and Mrs. Simon Yaxley’s murder, 1939. Fragile connections within the pure-blooded community began to falter, and Charles was suddenly jolted into a place of clarity. So that was why his parents played it safe. Unlike many boys his age, however, he kept himself from adhering blindly to their example. For weeks - months, even - eleven-year-old Charles lay awake in the dark, night after night, staring up into the blackness and tossing thoughts back and forth in his head. As somewhat of a scholar, it had always behooved him to remain neutral, to consider both sides of an argument without bias. He hovered in what he would later describe as a “moral gray area” for far too much time, and it wasn’t until he connected and fell in with the Aviators that he truly “chose a side” in the wizarding blood war - the one he’d barely known about beforehand because he didn’t have to. Now, the Resistance is as much a part of him as it is of Declan, Leo, and Bellavie. Any kind of prejudice disgusts him, and the injustice of it all weighs so heavily upon him that he finds it difficult to sleep at night. Unlike a lot of his peers, he is fascinated by the muggle news. He finds out what he can about their conflicts, their wars, and their current situation is dangerously similar to the one brewing in the corners of the wizarding world. The parallels baffle him, but not quite as much as  his fellow wizards’ efforts to ignore them.

–> The bookshelves of Charles’ childhood bedroom are stuffed with journals. Notepads upon notepads lay jammed between muggle histories and wizarding literature alike, filled from cover to cover with the ramblings of a lonely, inquisitive boy. A quiet child, the cacophony of thoughts in his head couldn’t always be easily expressed; he never had many friends, and the ones he did have didn’t share his interests. He needed an outlet, and that’s where his notebooks came in. He’d scribble away after a day of broadening his mind in the library, or after wandering in the orchard near his home. It was a daily ritual, and it was one he found essential to keep his thoughts in order. Even now, well into his schooling, he keeps a stack of journals in the trunk at the foot of his four-poster. His reflections and musings fill page after page, and he truly believes that cataloging things in such a way keeps him sane. 

#; about #; application #tw; miscarriage

[midnightswhim-blog]

It’s raining. 

I’m alone. Coldplay’s Sparks is on my playlist now. A lot has been happening ever since she left.

The first year was tough. The toughest year I have ever endured in my life. I pictured you as my all. I pictured you as the lady that’d be in white walking down the aisle. It was tough for me. 

There are no good news for any bad news. Learned it from then onward. 

2016.

 I was vulnerable, left off-guard after she left. I was alone - literally. I locked myself in the room for days and confining myself from meeting friends. Played truant for countless of times just to have my days off from work. 

I barfly-ed almost every weekend. Devouring every food I could get just to have my self-love from food. Started smoking again after years of not doing so. Bought my own cigarette packs ever since she left until today (which I have vowed myself not to buy pre-break up). After-work drinking session until late at night. Signed for a “covenant” with a church community which I am now regretting til this day. Crazy, whirlwind thoughts of the “what-if’s”,”could have’s”. Binge-listening to Coldplay as they are our favourite band and Ghost Stories is our specific favourite album. Desperate in trying to get her response from unanswered WhatsApp texts, SMSes, calls, e-mails, messengers and even the traditional letter-writing. Without warning, streaming of tears often happen usually at night right before I sleep. 

As a result, I gained weight. I often sleep-deprived. Coughing non-stop. Bad stench of cigarettes everyday. Day-dreaming. Lost focus in my part-time studies resulted in quitting from the college. Self-hate 24/7. Hated my job. Peppery all the time. Short temper. Kept on talking to myself. Long story short, I wasn’t being myself after the end of our 6-year relationship.

2017.

I have decided on NYE of 2016 that I should not be doing this anymore. I need to move on for my own sake. Not for her, not for the so-called “salvageable relationship” but for me. I cut down my stalking of her profiles, decided to go for a vacation and tried to get myself on the dating game again. Alas, I was on Tinder (haha!).

Gotten a few matches. The first match was a Bidayuh girl, petite, coeval. Had a few conversations through texting and decided to meet-up after a series of texting. Joy was alright. So-so to be exact. She has tattoos on her body which was absolutely a no from me and she doesn’t enjoy reading. She smokes cigarettes which obviously a no-no for me too. Also, a heavy Marijuana consumer. I don’t do Marijuana and with my career-then was heavily linked with the Constitution and legal Acts in my country, a strong no for her as my girlfriend.

However deep inside me I was trying to give her a chance. Probably I was comparing herself to my ex which I know is unhealthy. I was comparing throughout that night of ours at McDonald’s and I know it was wrong. We finally called it a night and I followed her behind her car to escort her back home.

We texted again as how it was before but this time with corny-callings & with the “i love you’s”. It wasn’t genuine as I was fighting, trying to compromise to myself that she is alright, she’s a good girl and she’s gonna be a good girlfriend.

After 3-weeks of knowing each other and things somehow started to get serious (the way I see it from her view and not mine), I decided to play truant and we went to a resort which is an hour drive from downtown. We made out and it wasn’t great. I wasn’t sincere as it felt different/insincere. After which it ended, I shoot her down after getting ourselves washed up and said “no” for this so-called relationship to continue. She was my “almost”. She was sad. She was begging that she would stop taking Marijuana if we could continue on and trying to achieve the “relationship” we “both” wanted. But I said, no, she shouldn’t have to do so; in trying to change herself 180 degrees just to please me. I had enough of that prior to Joy, as both my ex and I tried our very best to please the other half. I do not want to hurt her and myself especially so I called it off. I felt relieved and Joy however, was mad. She threw all her tantrums on Twitter (in which she thought I wasn’t stalking) called me all sort of names in which we both agreed that this had to end maturely. I unfollowed her instagram, deleted her contacts from my phone and no-contact ever since.

A month later I had another match. Joelyn is her name. It was an accidental super-like as I was trying to increase the brightness of my iPhone’s screen but lo and behold, she swiped right. We had series of texting and it was fun.  She was “almost” like my ex. Her fashion sense is better than Joy. She know what Tumblr is and she knows who The Neighbourhood is and she enjoys listening to Coldplay too. Another bonus point for Jo. I judge girls based on these and apparently she has all the checklists checked. Texting Jo was fun. We met days later and I drove for an hour to her campus and gotten ourselves cups of Starbucks. The night was enjoyable. She enjoyed listening to the things I said and likewise as well. It was fun. We called it a night and I sent her off back to her campus as she was on her final semester in Quantity Surveying. 

We texted again ever since and as always, we moved on to the second level of texting and with corny-callings. It was fun. We then decided to have a weekend stay in a vacant house, family-owned. We watched movies, lame ones and we slept but no make-outs as I do not want to rush for this one. The next day however, we made out and it was brief as my brother arrived minutes after we engaged ourselves in HAHA! What a thirst I need to endure after months of not doing so hahaha!

Weeks later, Jo and I decided to engage ourselves in a relationship. It was flowery, butterflies and rainbows, for me the very least. I was proud of her. Super fucking proud. I’d never thought that I could have someone as my girlfriend again. Daily spamming my social media with her photos and tagged her on memes and gossiping about her friends and mine. 

A month rolled out well. The second however she started to show her real stripes. She started jokingly joked about having a sugar-daddy, tweeted sugar daddy stuff, dreaming of getting expensive things which was WAY out of my budget as I was merely a court interpreter. 

In the final month of ours, I had enough. Enough of this relationship after she said she gotten annoyed by my lame jokes (and my, all girls loved my lame jokes hahaha), she hated me using the “hahaha” expression cause to her it’s annoying (??) and constantly talking about sugar-daddy in which I felt a sharp blow every time she mentioned those as she doesn’t seem not to appreciate or support the career I was living as at that time. It was hard cause I was proud to have her, she’s pretty and obviously that gotten my ex’s ego down too hard as she countless of times changing her socmed photos with alluring ones; in which she had never done so throughout the years of us together. Her race is somewhat a rare gem and if we’d both gotten it til marriage it would be a hybrid/mix of races and we’ll definitely have cute and handsome kids. 

I cared too much about Jo. I loved her but she doesn’t seem like she is when she was with me. I was just an opportunity she used to fill up her needs. A company she fakingly called as a “boyfriend” so as to meet with her “opportunist” needs. A stuck-up, self-absorbed, selfish ex girlfriend I would call, based on the way she treated me and the way she tweeted stuff on her Twitter.

2018.

A year after the break-up, we met and was trying to know how life was after the break. I had two-almosts but that’s it, nothing serious and none on Tinder. 

Jo however proudly bragging about having more than 10 Tinder dates and most of it are hook-ups, caught by the police once after a made-out session in the car (cheap thrills fuck yea), and had good sex with the boyS she went out with. I was like, “wow how cheap can you be?”. 

It’s June now, and still single ever since Jo and I broke up. Probably because I had too much of expectations in relationship. I can say that I am tired of this chasing game now. I can also safely say that girls nowadays wouldn’t even have their heads turned if a guy isn’t financially stable. Maybe I am now afraid of getting hurt again. It took me a while to get myself up from Joelyn I wouldn’t lie even though it was only a five-month relationship. 

Oh well. *shrugs*.

Time to get off from the office now.