#sorry I cried snapped at you do you still think I’m a semi decent person

[broadwaypunk]

Sorry that was embarrassing and too personal for a wednesday morning sending good vibes!!!

#I love my energy after being an asshat #sorry I cried snapped at you do you still think I’m a semi decent person #my alarm just went off in this rest stop maybe I’m not ok after all

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Twenty One

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

My cheek rubs against the pillow softly, my fingers stretching out ever so slightly. My body teeters between consciousness and sleep, allowing me to understand how comfortable I am without the urge to change it. I can feel the warmth supplied to me by the blanket, and the cool air that comes from my sticking my right leg outside the blanket and off the side of the bed. It dangles over the side, exposing my bare foot to the air lazily. I can hear Aheka rummage around in the bathroom, occasionally hearing the sink turn on for a second before being silenced. When I open my eyes softly, still squinting, I can see her naked form through the semi opened door.

Even though the thought hadn’t crossed my mind or really hit me, this was my first time seeing another naked person in months. The last time I’d seen a woman topless had been when Talik woke me up early for a job. I can remember the supple swell of her breasts, the thinness of her waist, the shadow of abs and ribs under her soft blue stomach- all from the reflection of the mirror she stood in front of. I can also remember feeling distinctly curious and unable to keep my eyes from wandering, no matter how many times I attempted to push my gaze somewhere else.

I’ve never seen a man naked. There have been times where I’ve certainly thought about it, but it’s never been a priority. Every time I think about a boy naked, I can’t help but think of Adamus- the only boy I really know- and immediately stop myself. I imagine if I were in a room with a naked man, I would also have trouble averting my eyes. But men have never been a priority for me. Romance in general has never been close to a priority. I’m not entirely sure if that’s just an independence thing, or a survival thing. Both, probably. I mean, I may want a man in my life, but I’ll never need them. Now that I think back to Talik’s form, I could say the same about women. I’ll probably never have the chance to have a real relationship with a woman, but… that time I watched Talik strip the shirt from her head and expose her sensual form to me, I don’t believe I was thinking about a relationship. I wonder if it’s odd for one woman to think of another in that way. I don’t see why it would, but I’ve never seen two women together in such a way.

Whatever sleepiness I once had is flushed from my system, replaced with a subtle heat in my cheeks and a hyper awareness of my heartbeat. My fingers on both hands curl into loose, clammy fists, my thighs pressed together like a reflex. The leg that dangles off the bed isn’t bothered to move.

“Are you awake yet?” I see Aheka call from the bathroom. She leans forward closer to the mirror, making my breath hitch when her soft breasts come back into view. I snap my head towards the ceiling instead, forcing my eyes to stay on one point of the gray tiles.

“Yes,” I call back.

I hear the door creak open and her footsteps against the floor. From my peripheral vision, I make out her horned form like I would a sleep paralysis demon. “Are you alright?” Aheka asks in her soft, caring voice. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No,” I say, my voice breaking a little. Just keep your eyes on the ceiling, Keres. Don’t you dare break that stare.

“Were you thinking of something again?”

Oh, I’m thinking of something. Just definitely not what you’re thinking of.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Hey, look at me.”

Don’t do it.      

I obey, having to prop myself up on my elbow to look over the side of the top bunk and meet her eyes.

Aheka’s white and deep blue tendrils cascade over her shoulders and around the curve of her breasts. Not too big, not too small, they lie red to match her skin tone, with the tiny, white diamond patterns underneath. Her waist is not so thin in comparison to the rest of her body, but it’s subtle and leads down nicely to her hips. She wears white undershorts and socks, exposing her legs to me. Aheka is thin all together, but not unhealthy. I try my best to not let my eyes linger on her breasts, but I’m sure I fail. The only other breasts I’ve seen are Talik’s, a female bounty Mur collected that flashed me, and my own. To be honest, I didn’t care much for the prisoners and mine have ceased to impress me so much.

“Are you okay, really?” she asks, sincere.

I smile lightly to reassure her. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking.”

"Thinking about something bad?”

“No,” I promise. “I’m  good.”

Aheka turns away after a few seconds, showing me her shoulder blades and third lekku while she opens the closet and searches around. I blink a few times, breathing out in an attempt to refocus myself and cool down. “I’ll get breakfast soon, okay? You can just stay here and relax,” Aheka says as she tugs on some deep blue trousers.

I roll myself over and climb down the ladder that takes me from the top bunk to the floor. My left foot is covered with a sock, my right foot bare. I wear some white undergarments that Aheka tells me are for men, which explains why they’re a little baggy on me. The ones I’ve been wearing for months straight have been taken to be properly washed, which I’m actually pretty excited about. My chest is also exposed to her, but Adamus’s jacket covers my sensual bits and kept me warm at night. My hair, for the first time in a long time, is not in a braid. It’s in a messy bun at the nape of my neck, with sloppy bits falling out towards the sides. My normal “side” bangs are now split down the middle and framing my face informally. When I see myself in the mirror, I actually think I look pretty, in a natural, caught off guard kind of way. The splash of freckles across my nose seems more apparent.

“You know, I can go with you to breakfast,” I tell her, looking around for my clothes. “I’d like to think I’m capable of picking out the food I like.”

The Togruta giggles softly and puts on a loose white shirt, followed by another slightly darker white shirt and medical smock. “I want you to rest.”

Aheka, you caring, philosophical mystery.  

I find my clothes bundled up in a corner. I barely take a step before Aheka cries out “No!” and holds her hand out. I freeze in place, looking around the room awkwardly. “Are… you going to kill me?” I ask.

Aheka sighs out and rolls her eyes. “No, no,” she says. “Sorry. Don’t put those on, they need washing.”

“I’m… not walking out without clothes.” I don’t like the thought of wearing anything other than my black and gray outfit. It’s been with me for a long time, and I like how it looks on me. Plus, I’ve come to realize it’s pretty badass.

“I have a surprise for you. Stay here and wait for it.”

I widen my eyes and don’t even bother to attempt to stop the sarcasm that falls from my mouth. “Whatever you say, captain.”

Aheka sets her shoulders back confidently when I call her captain, smiling a little. Then she shakes the expression away and bends down to lace up her shoes.

“Can I at least wear my boots?” I ask hopefully. Aheka finishes tying her shoes, stands up, turns around, and looks me in the eyes. She smiles softly- something she does when she’s about to deliver good news.

“No.”

Wow.

“Is… is that a joke?” I call out as I watch her walk towards the door. “Aheka?”

The Togruta throws a look over her shoulder before leaving me alone in the room rather comedically. Any past affection or lust I felt towards her has since disappeared. Instead, there is only one word I would use to describe her, and it is no longer ‘sensual’.

I make my way to the bathroom, shrugging off Adamus’s jacket and looking at myself in the mirror. As my breasts have ceased to amaze me, I pay no attention to them. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and examine for any traces of dried drool.

I’ve been living with Aheka for a week, today. It’s still fairly new, but Aheka’s top bunk is the softest surface I’ve slept on since Mur’s ship which was months ago now.

Aheka knows about my nightmares, but not most of my experiences. She knows, at least, that I lived on Ilum, and that I’ve worked as a scrapper. I’ve told her what happened when Adamus found me on Endor. But besides that, I am an overall mystery to her. I don’t know how to feel about that anymore.  

Aheka tells me that she actually studied nursing before the Republic fell. She diagnoses me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, saying not to feel alone because Adamus has it too. A few of the soldiers who have seen war and violence were diagnosed as well, but none of us talk about it. Why would we? What are we supposed to do with this common trait- start a club?

I don’t tell her about how close I was to Talik, however. For some reason, Talik and Aheka do not peacefully coexist in my mind. They would undoubtedly disapprove of each other and strive to show strength and vastly different ways. Talik would call Aheka weak, Aheka would probably refer to Talik as lovely and bold.

Once I’m doing examining my face and noticing my dark circles have faded (not fully disappeared, but not as noticeable as they were), I turn on the cold water and splash my face. I don’t bother to dry it off, and instead turn around and open the shower door. I stretch my arm in and turn on the water before jumping back and stripping myself of my one sock and undergarment.

I place my body back in the shower, because yes, I’ve stopped resenting these people’s showers. The water isn’t hot, it’s warm. I’ve discovered burning hot water isn’t actually my speed. Aheka loves them. I know Adamus actually prefers cold showers. When I questioned Circe if taking a warm shower instead of a hot one was weird, he asked if I was a pervert.

I keep my hair in its loose bun and instead focus on making sure I’m not stinky. Once I’m ready to get out, I dry myself off lightly and bundle my sock and jacket in my arms, going to wait on the bottom bunk.

Not too long later, there’s a knock on the metal door. “Are you decent?” Aheka’s voice rings.

“You left me without a shirt and pants,” I say. “No, I am not decent.”

The Togruta enters, ducking her head slightly so her tall horns fit under. She has dark cloth in her hands and a proud smile plastered on her face. “Adamus asked about you,” she says.

I can’t help my head snapping up in interest. “He did?” She nods excitedly. I force myself to come to my senses and wipe my face of any emotion. “Oh.”

Aheka raises her eyebrows, unconvinced of my apathy. I roll my eyes and sigh, allowing myself to show interest for her sake. “Okay, what did he ask?”

"He asked how you were!” she bounds.

“What?” I deadpan. I see how unnecessarily excited she is and pounce on the sarcastic opportunity presented to me. “Oh my Maker, are you serious?!” I squeal.

“Yes!”

“Oh wow!” I sing, standing up and smiling so hard and fake my cheeks hurt. “I never realized how little I care.”

Aheka stops her bounding and her smile fades. I’ve never been so satisfied in my life.

“You’re lucky you have Post Traumatic,” she grumbles, “or I would’ve called you a terrible person.”

“Yes. I’m exceptionally lucky to have a disorder that makes me unable to love or be loved or live-”

“Okay- look what I got you!” Aheka says quickly and cheerily, holding out her arms to show me the fabrics in her hands. “I got you a few different outfits. Don’t worry, they’re all black.”

My fingers stretch out to touch the fabrics on top, surprised when I like how smooth they feel. This couldn’t have been cheap. “What is this?” I mutter.

“Keres, please just take them.”

Aheka looks at me. I look at Aheka. I can see in her eyes she’s not going to back down. If I don’t accept these outfits, she will smother me with them. They are nice. Almost a little too nice… “Fine,” I say. A large smile spreads across her face.

“This one first,” Aheka squeaks, pulling out a few different black materials and shoving them in my arms. “Go try them on!”

"Do I need a binder?” I say, gesturing to my chest region.

“No, not for this one. You’re small enough that it won’t be noticeable anyway.”

I look at the ground, swallowing. “That’s… not accurate.”

“Go try it on!” Aheka pushes me back towards the direction of the bathroom, my new outfit clutched tightly against my (average) breasts as I hurry off.

“Small…” I scoff as look through the fabrics. As promised, they are all black. I find some new, black silky underwear as well. That’s probably what I’m most excited about. I pull them on over my hips, followed by baggy- yet fitted- trousers. They puff out but tie comfortably around my waist, reminiscent of Jedi robes. I wonder if she did that on purpose. Probably.

The shirt comes next. It’s casual and also has puffy sleeves. There are two separate cloths the wrap around my forearms so the puffiness stops and tightens. The V-line of my shirt doesn’t plunge too much and is slightly askew. As much as I hate to admit it, Aheka was right about not really needing a bra. You can tell I’m not wearing one, but it doesn’t really look bad. I just look comfortable, but not informal.          

I like it. I guess you can’t go wrong with a tunic and pants. I tie up the belt around my top to seal the deal and reveal myself to Aheka.

Aheka stands from her bed and beams at me. “Keres!” she exclaims. I try to think of another time I’ve ever been looked at the way she’s looking at me now. It’s like she’s staring into the sun, but she’s happy about it. Her gaze drops to my bare feet. “Your boots are in the bottom drawer of the dresser.”

I begin to walk over, feeling the outfit out. It’d be great for combat and flexibility. “How did you do this?” I question.

Aheka shrugs. “I just asked Paux to help me,” she says casually. “Circe gave me your measurements.”

I’m about to ask how he would have that but decide I probably don’t want to know and open the drawer. “What about my shoe size?” I say as I gaze down at the two pairs of boots in the drawer. Both are black, but one pair would reach my knees and the other would only meet my ankles. “I had to guess on that,” Aheka replies. “Sorry.”

I take out the taller boots and slip them on easily. They’re tight, but not suffocating small. Rather snug. Good for climbing and hopefully running. I should remember to wear socks with them next time, though. “They’re good,” I tell her.

“Really?” Aheka asks as I stand up and turn around to meet her. “If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it.”

Aheka smiles relaxingly. I don’t smile back at her, but it’s hard not to this time.

My lightsaber swings back and forth slightly as I make my way through the control room. I feel Admiral Sirsal’s eyes on me from across the room, but I don’t turn my head to meet him. Instead I keep my eyes trained on Circe, who is running his hand through his short hair and hunched over the panel. But I don’t reach him, as a great force knocks into me and causes me to lose my breath for a split second.

Sometimes I forget how sturdy Adamus is. He’s not the tallest, not the shortest, but his stature feels broad, and so it is broad. As he bumps against me, my feet sputter on the ground with the recoil, and a lighter force pulls back on my shoulder to help steady me.

“Morning,” I hear his voice say. “You know what day it is?”

The world stops shaking as my eyes return to focus. Adamus looks down at me, and on this particular morning I can see that he’s happy. The look in his eyes, sparking with multicolor flecks, the little dimple on his cheeks hinting at some previous smile- it seems Adamus has an excitable streak I didn’t know about.

"Yes,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Come on,” the boy says with curved lips, shaking my shoulder with his still attached palm. “Get excited.”

It’s weird like this. It’s hard to describe Adamus’s joyousness if you’ve never seen it. He doesn’t really seem like someone who would get that way at all. But when I look at him now, it reminds me of something I can’t quite place. The joy is warm in contrast to the cool tones in his eyes and skin. The light breeze that always seems to pool throughout the ship. It reminds me of summer right after spring.

“I’m excited.”

“There’s the spirit!” he exclaims as he beams.

Two days ago, Adamus found signs of another live force user in the galaxy, just a few jumps away. He didn’t say too much, probably because he doesn’t know enough himself, but he did mention that he’s been getting this signal for months and could never really pinpoint it. Now he has, and he wants my help to go get them.

Everyone on this ship has been searching for some force user, hoping to find a Jedi out there ready and willing to help fight against the Empire. Adamus seems to have some ability that lets him connect to things or people that I just don’t fully understand. This means that at some point, he was tracking me too. That’s how he must’ve found me on Endor. The chances of it being just a coincidence have slimmed down considerably.

            I’m thinking if all goes according to Adamus’s (fairly unrealistic) plan and this group makes allies with the force user, I’ll really be free to go. So far all I’ve managed to do is piss of Adamus with what happened during the vote (which I can still he’s still extremely disapproving of) and find a new love of fruit. Still deciding whether I should count that as an accomplishment or not. But the fact remains that I wasn’t what these rebels were hoping for. Maybe I’m smart, but that doesn’t do much to help if I’m not using it to help the cause. And I have no interest in helping their cause.

My left hand reaches up to rub the back of my neck.

Where would I go after this? The first place to come to mind is Bracca, but I can only imagine the Imperial forces increasing their control on the planet. Nowhere with a Haxion Brood presence either.

Shit, I mentally hiss as I pull my hand away. This is how it is isn’t it?

“When we get there, there’s some things I want to do,” Adamus continues. Nearly forgot he was right beside me.

“Like what?” I ask, though it feels distant to me, like I’m just asking out of politeness.

“Ever had rock candy?”

What is this nerf herder talking about?

I look up at Adamus from next to him. “I’ve never had any sort of candy,” I tell him.

“You’re in for a surprise then,” Adamus promises with a grin. He nudges my shoulder while looking down at me almost smugly. Ass.

“Anything else I should be prepared for then?”

“World peace.”

“Pass.”

Adamus walks away. Circe spins around in his captain’s chair to face me. “It’s always nice to see two people getting along,” he says with his cheek in his palm.

“So,” Adamus says as I catch up to him, his shoulders swinging back and forth with his steps. “You got a yellow lightsaber.”

I don’t answer.

"Pretty rare color.”

“How rare?” I question back with my own curiosity.

“Well,” Adamus begins as we round a corner. “I only ever saw them on temple guards. Never on any actual Jedi.”

“Why weren’t the guards considered Jedi?”

“They were like protectors. They weren’t really aligned with us.”

“Why?”

“Gods, do you always ask this many questions?”

“Do you… not?”

Adamus takes a breath in, and I follow him around another corner to the left. “They were just like you.. They never stuck their nose in anyone’s business. Just did their job as guardians of the force.”

“Am I a guardian to you then?”        

Adamus slows down in front of the door to the meeting room. He turns to face me, fluffy hair ruffling slightly. “Your lightsaber thinks you are,” he tells me. And then he walks into the room and the door closes on me.

And standing there, suppressing a strange shiver that attempts to wash over me, I can only think that this yellow lightsaber should not belong to me at all.

#star wars #star wars masterlist #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #jedi #sith #grayjedi #gray jedi #star wars fandom #fandom

[moonstruckbucky]

Dares & Coffee Dates [one shot]

Summary: “I’m really sorry but this is a dare so please just don’t freak out.”

Pairing: College!Bucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, awkward situations

Notes: This is really stupid and I wrote it in about fifteen minutes so please just. Rip me.

P.S. This is probably my favorite gif of this meatball.

They said high school was the best four years of your life. You weren’t sure who had said that, but it was probably some star football quarterback or head cheerleader who hadn’t had to worry about teasing, bullying, or overall ignorance by their peers.

Now college, college was supposed to be an even better four years, and you supposed it was off to a decent start. Your roommate wasn’t a total basket case from what you could tell, and your professors so far seemed pretty reasonable. What came as a total surprise was the lack of college parties; the first one didn’t occur until almost a month into the semester. You supposed it was the calm before the storm; everyone was too busy acclimating or re-acclimating to college life to really think about partying.

So when your roommate and current best friend Natasha tossed a black shirt at you and told you you were going out, you were mildly surprised. The two of you, for the most part, were content enough to sit around your dorm on the weekends with a movie marathon and takeout food. Despite Natasha’s outgoing personality, she was a homebody at heart.

But apparently not tonight.

Natasha had given you one of your favorite going-out shirts, a thin, soft black piece of fabric with criss-cross straps across the chest. The neckline wasn’t too deep, just enough to leave something to the imagination. Pairing it with your best jeans and a pair of booties, you let Natasha drag you down the hall and out of your dormitory building.

Since Nat had been so laidback about just hanging out at home up until now, you only thought it fair that you indulge her this one thing. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to let loose and relax just a bit.

The house where the party was being held was an older Victorian-style. Bodies and music poured out of it, and you couldn’t help the small swell of excitement from bubbling up in your chest. You and Nat weaved your way into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen for a couple of drinks. The beer choice was shitty, so Nat mixed you a couple of rum and Cokes, and you sipped on it slowly.

The alcohol warmed you and relaxed your shoulders. You and Nat mingled in the kitchen, striking up conversation with a couple girls on your floor, and it wasn't long until you found yourself in the midst of a semi-buzzed game of Truth or Dare. A few more people had joined in, and the game moved into the living room.

Nat, ever the schemer, turned to when it was your turn, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

“Hmm,” you hummed around a sip of your drink, “I’m feeling risky. Dare.”

The group ooh’ed as Nat’s eyes swept the party, bouncing from person to person until she grinned wickedly. You swallowed the lump of dread in your throat, steeling your expression into one of quiet confidence.

“I dare you, my wonderful roommate, to make out with that boy over there who hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we started this little game.” She lifted a finger off her drink to point. Your eyes followed her finger, stomach flipping when they landed on a tall, broad-shouldered stranger leaning against the wall across the room with a couple of his friends.

More surprising than your body’s reaction to him was the fact that he was already watching you. His lips curled into a smirk as he tipped back his beer, and the action had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Nat watched the exchange with a broadening smirk, eyebrows rising when you tipped back the rest of your drink.

“No problem.” Slamming the plastic cup down, you got to your feet, a sudden rise in confidence moving you forward.

The guy against the wall straightened up, eyes suddenly growing nervous as they flitted around the party before landing back on you. Two more strides and you were in front of him.

“Hi,” you told him, a little breathlessly because holy shit he was even more gorgeous up close.

“H-hey,” he stammered, wiping his top lip of beer. A nervous smile curled his mouth. “I’m Bucky.”

“Y/N. Look, I’m really sorry about this but this is a dare so please don’t freak out.” He didn’t have long to contemplate that statement before your fingers curled into his shirt and tugged him down to you.

His lips slanted over yours, a surprised noise erupting from the back of his throat. His brain seemed to catch up with what was happening because his eyes fluttered closed and he began to kiss you back. Fingers tightening in his shirt, you sighed into his mouth when his tongue swept across your bottom lip. Your free hand drifted up into his long hair, curling the strands around your fingers and tugging gently.

You smirked against him when he whimpered into your mouth, and his arms snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your lungs burned with the need for oxygen, but you were so not ready to pull away yet. This kiss definitely topped your list of Best Kiss, even though it wasn’t a very long list. His mouth was soft but demanding, and the way it moved over yours had your nerve endings alight with desire. God, you could get used to being kissed like this.

The sound of distant cheering pulled you back into the moment and, very reluctantly, you broke away. Your lips parted with a smack but your eyes remained closed for a few moments before you let them open. Bucky was staring down at you, the blue in his irises nearly swallowed by the pupil. His eyes followed the movement as your tongue licked at your bottom lip, fingers tightening around your waist.

It was then you realized the cheering was coming from his friends around you, wide grins and laughing eyes watching the two of you. Face flaming, you released Bucky’s shirt, subconsciously smoothing out the wrinkles your fingers caused, and took a step back.

Clearing your throat, you chanced a glance up at Bucky’s face. He was still watching you, this time with a small smirk on his face.

“Well....thanks,” you said lamely before spinning on your heel and walking back to the now loudly catcalling group of your friends. Nat was fanning herself as you dropped back down beside her, and you covered your heated face. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Holy shit, Y/N, that was hot!” cried a brunette girl. Wanda, you think her name was.

Laughing, you mock-bowed. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

The next morning, you were reluctant to leave your bed, but your hangover demanded coffee. Nat was still passed out, merely a bump under her covers. Smiling fondly, you threw on a university sweatshirt and slid into a pair of moccasins, grabbed your wallet and room key, and headed down to the small cafe across from your dorm.

You stood in line, which was surprisingly long for a Saturday morning at....Christ, 8 AM?! Did college students not treasure sleep all that much? Shaking your head, you moved forward in the line until you were at the counter.

“Good morning, stranger.”

Your head snapped down from where it was staring at the menu, eyes widening at the barista.

The guy you’d made out with the night before.

He was smirking, leaning those delicious muscular forearms on the counter, as he waited for you to place your order.

“H-hi,” you stuttered, suddenly feeling very nervous.

“Glad to see you’re not hungover,” he said idly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be fooled. I’m hungover all right. Bucky right?”

He nodded. “Y/N right?”

You smiled, mirroring his nod.

“What can I get ya?”

“What do you recommend?” you asked.

“A date.”

Eyes wide, Bucky slapped a hand over his mouth as a beautiful blush stained his cheeks ten shades of red. It was your turn to smirk as your own cheeks heated up, but watching Bucky struggle was way too amusing.

“I-I mean, I’d like it if I could, you know, take you out. On a date, that is.”

“Are you always this smooth a talker?” you joked. Bucky chuckled nervously, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Normally I have a whole elaborate speech planned out but I guess you’ve rendered me near speechless.”

“Okay, charmer,” you said, blushing like mad now. “I’ll go out with you, and I’ll have the mocha latte please.”

“Really? Great! Um, cool. So I’ll, um, just....” Bucky’s stammering was almost too endearing, but you figured you’d put the poor boy out of his misery. Grabbing his hand and the pen in the cup on the counter, you scrawled your number on the back of his hand.

“Call me when you want to go out. I’m free all week.”

Bucky was frozen solid for a few seconds before his brain snapped back into focus. “Right, um, your latte’s on the house. On me. That’ll be right up.”

“Thanks Bucky.” You smiled, stepping away from the counter to wait.

You watched him work even when he slid your latte across the counter. Every so often he’d glance up and smile at you, and you couldn’t help but think that college was of to an amazing start.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #college!au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes college!au #bucky barnes fluff

[andystanberg]

Red Hair and Hand Me Downs: Chapter 1

No Longer Ordinary

A/N Read on AO3. Read on Wattpad. Read Chapter 2 now. No drarry in the first year, but the endgame is drarry. Based off of @sadfishkid ‘s art of a red headed harry: x

Summary:

Harry James Potter still has dead parents, a scar, poor eyesight and a horrible aunt, uncle and cousin. He still lives in a cupboard under the stairs (until the letters start arriving, that is) and for the most part, he's the same hero everyone's grown to love.

However, instead of James' hair and Lily's eyes, a burst of red sits on his head and underneath his cracked glasses lie a warm, deep hazel.

And so, everything changes.

(Or in which Draco mistakes Harry for a Weasley in Madam Malkin's, resulting in Harry revealing who he is and an unlikely friendly being born.)

-

Harry Potter, for most of his life, believed there was nothing special about him. He knew that his parents were killed in a car crash (or at least, that’s what he was told) and that same car crash gave him the lightning-bolt scar etched onto his forehead. He knew from when his aunt and uncle had had a bit too much wine that he looked almost exactly like his mother, with his freckles and wavy, bright red hair that covered the mark on his head. Aunt Petunia used to tell him when he was younger that his hair was the reason he was so “abnormal” (at least, until Dudley had brought home a friend with red hair too). He also knew that he had that “nasty Potter’s eyes”, to quote her directly. The only other thing he knew about his parents were their names; Lily and James Potter.

Harry James Potter had red hair, brown eyes, a lightning bolt scar, dead parents and slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and, for the longest time, he believed that that was all there was to him. But then the letters started arriving and he was given Dudley’s small second bedroom that held all his old toys (a lot were broken). Then he was whisked off to the hut on the rock where he met Hagrid and learnt that his parents weren’t good-for-nothings, as the Dursleys often had him believe, but rather Lily and James Potter, who were brilliant in everything. He learnt that they weren’t killed in a car crash but rather by a dark wizard (who he later learnt was called Voldemort) and he, Harry James Potter, a boy who was nothing special, was one of the most famous wizards for defeating him. His scar was from where Voldemort’s curse had hit him and rebounded and suddenly, Harry James Potter was no longer ordinary.

Hagrid told him about Hogwarts, the wizarding school who had been sending all the letters and gave Harry one to read at last. Then he gladly went with Hagrid as he was whisked off to the Leaky Cauldron, where everyone wanted to shake his hand, and off they went to Diagon Alley. Harry learnt that he had a small fortune to his name and watched as Hagrid removed a suspiciously small package from a heavily guarded vault.

They then continued going around and buying Harry’s school supplies and Hagrid patiently answered Harry’s many, many questions about the wizarding world and the likes. Harry, never having been allowed to ask questions before, took full advantage of this.

Hagrid had just left to calm his stomach from the Gringotts cart ride with something from the Leaky Cauldron, leaving the boy to walk into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions on his own. As he entered, a friendly-looking witch hurried over, and Harry figured that this must be Madam Malkin herself.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she asked, just as Harry opened his mouth to speak. Glad that he didn’t have to say anything, as he really didn’t know what on earth he was supposed to be getting, Harry just nodded. “Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

She led him over to the back of the shop and Harry spotted a pale boy with slicked blond hair who was currently being fitted by another witch. Harry stood on the stool Madam Malkin gestured to, which happened to be right next to the boy, and then she started her work.

The boy barely gave Harry a glance. “Hullo,” he said, “Hogwarts too?”

Harry replied with a short “Yes,” too busy looking at the boy with interest. Harry, having only attended school with his cousin Dudley who bullied anyone that so much as looked twice at Harry, had never really had a person his own age to chat with.

As the strange boy continued to talk, Harry noticed that he had a drawling voice, almost as if though everything bored him. The boy explained that his father was buying books and his mother was looking at wands. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Harry barely stopped a frown from spreading over his face when he was reminded of Dudley. It was such a shame, really, because the boy, although rather stuck-up and demanding, was the only source of semi-decent conversation Harry’s had in years, aside from Hagrid and that snake from the zoo.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy asked, attempting to bring Harry back into the conversation after noticing he was rather silent.

“No,” was Harry’s short reply.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” Harry said again, curious as to what Quidditch could be. He figured it was a wizarding sport, or perhaps a game.

“I do – Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Funny though, I thought even though the Weasleys were poor, they’d at least have the decency to let their kids play Quidditch. Wait till my father hears about this!” The boy said all of this in a rather disgusted tone, finally looking at Harry. His expression was one of disdain as he took in Harry’s flaming red hair and Dudley’s huge old clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Harry began, truly and utterly confused now, “but what do you mean Weasley?”

“Don’t play dumb. Red hair and hand-me-down clothes? My father told me all the Weasleys have that unnatural hair colour, freckles and more children than they can afford.” The boy said nastily, shooting a pointed look at Harry’s clothes. “The whole lot of them – blood traitors! My father told me so. And judging by your muggle clothing, it seems they also have appalling bad taste.”

It was then that Harry figured that the Weasleys must be a wizarding family of some sort. A wizarding family with the same sort of appearance as Harry, if what the boy said was to be relied on.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Harry said slowly. “My parents are dead.” The boy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. “Besides, they weren’t Weasleys, that’s the one thing I’m sure about.”

“Oh, sorry,” the boy looked ever so slightly embarrassed, before something registered in his mind. “What do you mean, that’s the one thing you’re sure about? Surely your new guardians would have told you about them.”

“Ah, well,” Harry’s cheeks heated up as he mumbled “my aunt and uncle didn’t like the fact that my parents had magic very much. Or at all, really.”

A scowl settled across the boy’s face. “Muggles, are they? That explains a lot. Who were your parents, anyway?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry replied, not liking the way the other spat the word muggles, however, he assumed, from what Harry’s told him, he supposed the boy had a reason for saying it like that. “My parents were Lily and James Potter.”

At this, the boy’s eyes widened. “You’re joking. You can’t be Harry Potter! Prove it!” he demanded, in a disbelieving tone.

“How do I prove it?” Harry questioned, absolutely bewildered. How did people prove these things? “I don’t have my birth certificate on me.”

“Birth certificate?” Draco frowned. “What does that matter? If you’re really Harry Potter, then all you have to do is show me your scar!”

“Scar? Oh you mean –“ Harry, still not used to this treatment, brushed his hair out of the way so the boy could see his lightning bolt scar. Madam Malkin had stopped to check this for herself. His robes would take forever, at this rate.

“You are!” The boy cried happily. “I’m Malfoy. Draco, Malfoy.” Draco seemed to expect Harry to be impressed by this, as he looked rather confident. He held out his hand but Harry just stared at it. Draco, who didn’t seem one for patience, let out a huff of annoyance before grabbing Harry’s and shaking it. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away that you were Harry Potter?”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance, now, did you?” Harry snapped, before flushing and mumbling out an apology.

Draco, at least, had the decency to look sheepish. Harry watched as the boy shuffling about uncomfortably on his stool, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally saying, “I- I didn’t mean- well, you see, Father’s always told me that purebloods were to only associate with other purebloods and well, the Weasley family doesn’t exactly do that, and –“ he broke himself off. Harry got the impression that he was trying to apologise (or something along those lines) and that Draco wasn’t exactly used to doing so. “You’re halfblood, I forgot, I shouldn’t have said that. Besides, you’re Harry Potter so I guess there isn’t anything wrong with halfbloods. It’s the muggleborns you have to be cautious around.” This was all said very fast and Harry had a hard time keeping up.

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds. “Forgot to ask earlier, do you know what house you’ll be in?” Draco asked, eager to change the subject.

“No,” Harry replied, once again feeling down-heartened by his lack of knowledge. He wasn’t even sure what the boy meant by house, let alone which one he was supposed to be in.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” Harry must have looked as confused as he felt, because Draco immediately backtracked, remembering what Harry had let slip about his limited information earlier. “Just so you know, there are four houses in Hogwarts. There’s Slytherin, the cunning ones, Gryffindor, the ones who brainlessly rush into things, Ravenclaw, the smart ones, and Hufflepuff, the fool-hardy idiots who don’t know the difference between a quill and a broomstick.”

“I bet I’m Hufflepuff,” Harry muttered glumly.

“Nonsense, you defeated the Dark Lord when you were a baby! You’re a Potter, too. That ought to count for something, I just know you’ll be Slytherin.” Harry still didn’t feel convinced. “Oh, cheer up. By the way, I know you said you’re relatives don’t like the wizarding world too much, but what is with those clothes? You’re most likely the sole heir of the Potter fortune, one of the oldest wizarding families alive, alongside Malfoy, of course. Surely you can afford some decent clothing.”

“I- well, they, uh… My aunt and uncle don’t really want to waste their money on me, so they give me my cousin Dudley’s old clothes. I don’t exactly want them, but it’s all I have. And besides, I don’t want to spend all the money my parents left me on clothes when the booklist is so long.” Harry was staring intently at his lap and fidgeting with his fingers as he said this.

Draco processed this information and realised that Harry was implying that he paid for all his school books and materials with his own money, which was rather odd since Draco had never know a parent (or guardian) to force their child to pay for school supplies before.

“Are they poor?” He asked tentatively. Or, as tentatively as Draco Malfoy could get, in any case.

Harry scoffed. “Nope. If you saw how much presents Dudley gets for his birthday and Christmas, you’d think the Dursleys’ were the richest family alive.”

“Then why..?” Draco prompted when it didn’t seem Harry was going to say anymore.

“They prefer pretending I don’t exist. What I said about them not liking my parents’ magic goes the same for me. They’re not fond of any kind of magic,” Harry said in a rush. Draco swore that he heard an “or me” at the end there.

Although rather furious with the muggles and having quite a lot he wanted to say, Draco let the subject drop.

“I say, look at that man!” Draco exclaimed suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there and grinned at Harry before tapping his wrist, indicating that he had been standing there for a while now. To Harry’s great delight, he saw Hagrid had two large ice-cream cones, topped with brightly coloured sprinkles.

“That’s Hagrid. Since the Dursleys would never come, he’s helping me buy my Hogwarts stuff. He works as the gamekeeper at Hogwarts.” Harry was rather pleased to know something Draco didn’t.

Draco once again had a disdained look on his face, but this time, he refrained himself from saying anything nasty. “I’ve heard of him.” From the short reply, Harry felt that the things Draco had heard weren’t exactly pleasant.

“Hagrid’s brilliant! Before you, he was the only one who told me anything about Hogwarts and what to expect.” Noticing that Draco still had that expression, Harry continued on, determined to convince Malfoy that Hagrid was nothing but good. “You should’ve seen what he did to Dudley when he caught him eating my cake Hagrid brought me! It was the first time anyone’s ever stood up for me.”

At this, Draco’s frown finally let up. He shot a curious glance at Harry and took in his small frame, big clothes and broken glasses. “Well, there’s no other choice,” he spoke, capturing Harry’s attention. “Let’s be friends.” Draco was determined to protect Harry Potter from that point onwards, and if it meant going against his father’s beliefs, then so be it. (Of course, he wasn’t going to tell Lucius Malfoy about Harry, because Draco’s a – or will be a – Slytherin, thank you very much, and unlike Gryffindors, he was going to be smart about this. When he made the decision to protect Harry that meant from his father, too.)

Harry nodded and was positively beaming by then, but before he could say anything else, Madam Malkin piped up, “That’s you done, my dear.” Harry gave one last smile at his first friend ever before hopping down from the footstool and leaving the shop.

“See you at Hogwarts!” Harry called over his shoulder, just in time to see Draco grin too.

“What’s got yeh so happy?” Hagrid asked, smiling at Harry’s sudden happiness.

“Nothing,” Harry hummed, before gladly accepting the ice-cream he was handed. “Just excited for Hogwarts.” They continued on with the list of supplies, stopping to buy parchment and quills. Harry was once again fascinated by all of the magical inventions (he had spotted a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote) and was going over the conversation with Draco in his mind when he remembered something. “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”

“Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know – not knowin’ about Quidditch!” Hagrid had seemed truly offended by this, much like Draco had. Harry said as much.

“The boy I was talking to in Madam Malkin’s said pretty much the same thing,” Harry began. He told Hagrid all about the pale boy called Draco who had a drawling voice, grey-blue eyes, and blond hair, smooth and slicked back. He also told him about being mistaken for a Weasley and making his first friend (conveniently leaving out a lot of the negative things Draco had said, because the boy did apologise… kind of, and besides, Harry really wanted Hagrid to like him too.)

“Knew yeh’d be makin’ friends in no time! It’s true though, yeh do look like a Weasley! Not tha’ there’s anything wrong with ‘em. In fact, I knew Molly and Arthur from Hogwarts. O’ course, I know their twin sons, Fred and George, well enough from all the times they’ve tried ter sneak into the Forbidden Forest. Troublesome pair, tha’ lot.” Hagrid chuckled. Harry quite liked the sound of the twins, they seemed like a rather amusing duo.

“So what is Quidditch?”

“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like – like football in the Muggle world.” Hagrid explained, then went on to say the equipment used in it. (Harry, personally, was incredibly interested in the flying broomsticks, but Hagrid told him he wasn’t allowed one until next year.)

“And what are the school houses? What are they for?” Harry asked. He knew from Draco’s explanation that there were four, but that didn’t explain what they did or why they were so important.

“There’s four school houses. You have Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. They’re like, ah, they’re the group o’ people you share a dorm and eat with. Yer parents were both Gryffindor, so I figure yer’ll find yer way in there too.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions, as they soon arrived in a shop called Flourish and Blotts. From that point onwards, the few remaining daylight hours were spent going from shop to shop, buying books, cauldrons and supplies for Harry’s future Potions lessons.

Once they were done there, Hagrid checked the school list again. “Just yer wand left – oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

Harry blushed and went to tell Hagrid that he needn’t get him anything, but Hagrid cut him off.

“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’.”

About half an hour later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium; Harry carrying a large birdcage with a beautiful snowy owl that was currently fast asleep in it. “Thanks, Hagrid!” Harry said for the umpteenth time, staring at the bird in wonder. Something for him! This was the most Harry’s ever received in his life, and in one day too!

“Don’ mention it,” Hagrid said gruffly, hiding a pleased smile. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

–

Hagrid and Harry were eating hamburgers at the nearest muggle train station, waiting for the train that would take Harry back to the Dursleys until the start of term. Ollivanders had been a dusty, run-down-looking shop, filled with wands in shoe boxes lining the walls in stacks that reminded Harry of Flourish and Blotts. It was rather dim in there. Ollivander himself had been a peculiar fellow that made Harry feel a bit uncomfortable at times, though Harry didn’t mind too much as he had learnt more about his parents.

He was once again told that he looked almost exactly like Lily with James’ eyes, but he was far more interested in learning what kind of wands his parents had had.

After the introductions were over, he started to wave wands about. He felt rather stupid when nothing happened and stupider still as the rejected wands piled up. (Imagine his surprise when he found out that the wand that had “chosen him”, as Mr Ollivander would have put it, shared the same core with Voldemort’s wand.)

“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” Hagrid spoke up, breaking Harry’s train of thought.

“Everyone thinks I’m special,” Harry said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Draco, Mr Ollivander… but I don’t even know anything about magic! How can they expect great things when I can’t even remember what I’m famous for? I don’t know what happened when Vol- sorry – I mean, the night my parents died.”

“Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, ‘smatter of fact.” Hagrid reassured him, leaning across the table to do so.

The train arrived then, and Harry was sad to see Hagrid go, but, as Hagrid reminded him, they would see each other again soon enough. He was handed his ticket for Hogwarts and told that if there were any problems with the Dursleys, all he had to do was send Hagrid a letter using his owl, which he had yet to name.

Harry left London with a smile on his face and his mood only brightened when the Dursleys ignored him almost completely instead of dishing out chores, like they usually would. In fact, they seemed rather afraid of Harry; Dudley ran out of any room Harry was in and Vernon refrained from yelling constantly. And if telling the Dursleys that he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school slipped Harry’s mind, well, what was the harm in that?

#harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter fic #drarry fic #harry potter au #my works #rhahmd

[i-am-such-trash-help-blog]

Carlo Serda Leucis

Born into his family, the eldest of three sons belonging to King Cornelius Rasham Leucis and Queen Harmony Sera Leucis, Carlo Serda Leucis was born to be the heir of a throne in a very small country, named Mythir, which was somewhat hidden to most people, as it was in the center of a group of mountains. The population was mostly humans, dwarves, and tieflings. Carlos family were all tieflings, all with toned down red skin with imperial style horns, except for Carlo. He was born with teal colored skin and ram-like horns. It was a shock to his mother and father when he was born looking like that, but they soon adjusted to his differences. Two years, to the day, after Carlo was born, his first brother, Sebastian Ferkous, was born, looking much like his parents. Carlo had hatred in him for his sibling, even at two years old. His parents often scolded him for being cruel to him.

Another two years, to the day once again, after Sebastian was born, the third brother, Gerald Henned, was born. Again, looking like their parents, making Carlo feel like the black sheep of the family. As he and his brothers grew, their parents put them into school to study magic and become wizards. While Sebastian and Gerald went down the path of divination, Carlo found himself attracted to the darker arts of Necromancy, finding great interest in the undead and death. He grew a blatant disrespect for the undead, only seeing them as puppets, or as target practise. When he was caught, at the age of 17, using reanimated corpses as dummies, and cutting them down with a scimitar by his father, he was punished severely. He was told that Kings respected the dead, and didn't use them for such cruel acts. Carlo thought differently. His mind was different then his families. He didn't think death was a big deal, and he thought that the undead were there to be used as personal play things for those we had the guts to. When he said this to his father, he was slapped and told that he would never be crowned king of Mythir.

The three years that followed were painful and slow for Carlo as he locked himself away and buried himself in his necromancer studies, going semi insane. He had come to learn the sebastian would be taking the throne, and he wasn’t having it at all. He spent days devising a plan where he would kill his brother, take back his title of being the next crowned, and make it all look like an assassination.

That night, Carlo snuck into the bedroom of his brother, where Sebastian evening tea sat, waiting on a serving tray. He chuckled to himself, and slipped ground up nightshade into it, before slipping into the closet and hiding, wanting to see the moment where his brother faded and his title would come back to him. Carlo waited for about 5 minutes before his brother came in, and sat on the side of his bed, his servants standing by the door. He took his tea, and sipped it over a course of a few minutes, as Carlo watched in anticipation. He smirked devilishly as he saw the expression of relaxation on his brothers face fade into nothing, as he gagged once and dropped to the floor, Sebastian's servants looking shocked and both of them running and screaming for help. As they left, Carlo came out, and walked to his brother, looking down at him and tilting his head “I’m sorry this had to happen, brother, but I won't stand aside when the rightful place of the crown is atop my head.” He slammed his scimitar through his chest and cracking it open, and retrieving his heart, and leaving the room before anyone came back. He could hear the anguished screams of his parents, and he smirked to himself, taking the heart back to his own bedroom, and locking it in a box and smiling. “Oh dear, I'm so glad the rest of my family respect the dead to much to bring them back.” He chuckles slightly and cleans himself of the blood before his youngest brother came in and looked at him. “C...Carlo! Did you hear about Sebastian?!” Gerald had tears running down his face. Carlo raised an eyebrow “No, I heard mother and father screaming though. What happened?” Gerald sobbed “He's been murdered! They think his servent Wilson did it!” Carlo puts a hand on his brothers shoulder and sighs heavily “This is… unfortunate.” Gerald sniffles again. “N..Now father said I have to start training to be crowned.” Carlos face stayed in the same sympathetic expression but it twitched with anger just from hearing that, and he stayed in his room as his brother ran out. He sat on the bed and huffed slightly “Great. Now i have to get rid of him too.” His hand clenched into a fist as he sighed.

Two more years passed after Sebastian's death. Gerald had been training to be king, Carlo slowly started to lose grip of his insanity, but kept a decent amount of control on it. He had been planning the second assassination of his second brother, but had kept it simple. He would get his brother alone, stab him through the throat, retrieve his heart and blame it on the servants again, since it had worked before, except as an extra precaution, he disguise him to look like a servant in the castle. The day came where his plan would happen. A slow day at the palace. He made himself look like one of the male servants who was there most days, but on a stroke of luck wasn't there that day. Carlo made sure he wouldn't be there that day. He looked exactly like him when he was done, as he walked beside his brother in the hall, and went into his room, closing the door behind them. He took a dagger off his belt, and approached Gerald, shoving the dagger through his neck quickly, so he couldn't scream, he just gasped as blood filled his throat, and Carlo gently lied him on the floor Geralds eyes darting back and forth in confusion. Carlo dropped the magical disguise for a moment and looked at him “I'm sorry, little brother, but I will rule, and you won't get in the way, just like Sebastian wouldn't get in the way.” Gerald cried slightly before the light faded from his eyes, and Carlo reapplied the disguise and cracked opened his chest, and ripping his heart out, as he walked out, and went to his room, putting the heart in the same box as sebastian's was in, it being well preserved. He hid the box and cleaned himself off, taking off the disguise and going back to Geralds room as himself, and playing the part he had to, by screaming loudly, calling for guards and his parents.

That afternoon, they had a burial for Gerald, his grave right beside Sebastians. He was crying and frowning on the outside, but on the inside he was yelling in success, until his parents pulled him aside to talk to him. His mother smiled at him “So were having another baby.” Carlos face went from sadness to pure shock, his father grabbing his arm and looking at him “Carlo, my decision still stands of you not being crowned. We will raise this baby and they will get the crown.” Carlo instantly yanked his arm away and went inside the castle to his room, and screamed in pure frustration out of his plans getting destroyed. He grit his teeth as his mind snapped slightly, insanity swallowing him and a sly smirk crept across his face. “Well, I suppose there's only one thing i can do now.” He cackled lightly. “I guess i must just… dethrone the family.” He chuckles and pulls the scimitar from his belt, his eyes glazing over as he gripped it in his hand. He walked the halls of the castle, arriving in the throne room, walking up to his mother and father with a scimitar in hand, no one thinking anything of it. He tilted his head at them as they looked down at him. “What's the matter Carlo?” He father spoke in a soft, almost bored or an annoyed voice. Carlo spun the tip of his sword on his finger and looked at his father, but taking a few steps closer to his mother. “Well father.I believe there is a moment in a man's life where he must take control, and do what he thinks… is right.” As he approached his mother, he quickly swung his sword, in one fluid motion, taking off the head of his pregnant mother. He and his father watched as the body crumpled, and the head went flying to the side. Carlo turned his head to his father and smiled. “And this… right here, is what I think is right.” Guards approached quickly from the sides, his father looking at Carlo with eyes full of tears. “Why? Why would you do this?” Carlo huffs and laughs loudly. “Because you-” he points his sword in the face of his father “-Deprived me, of my birthright. Because I choose a path, you didn't like.” He walks to his father, smirking and looking at him, guards surrounding him on the ready, but his father giving them the signal to halt. “And you know what I did? I killed my brothers, to try and get that right back by giving you no choice! But! Instead, you just have another kid! So i took care of that too. A shame I had to do it by taking care of mother. But, to spare you the heart ache, since you are my father and all, I'll do you a kindness-” his father looked at him in pure horror, and gasped as he felt the sharp blade of a scimitar go through his chest and into his heart, as Carlo looked at him, smiling with sharpened teeth “-The last one, I will do for you.” He pulls his sword away, and watched the light leave his fathers eyes, before feeling a hard thud across his head, then dropping into darkness.

Carlo awoke several hours later in a jail cell. He had his belongings with him, except his scimitar, his bag contained his supplies, and his royal decree, which had a big stamp on it that said ‘Discredited.’ which made him snicker slightly. He was still wearing his royal ring which he left. He looked around the jail and raised an eyebrow, looking at the guard who was keeping him there. “So, may I ask exactly what will happen to me?” The guard looked straight ahead “You are going to be put in the stockades for a long time. You will be flogged, whipped, possibly tortured. You will be made an example of. The Giaonti’s wanted to make sure of that.” Carlo looks at him funny. “The Giaonti’s?” The knight nods. “The next family who were in line for the throne of Mythir.” Carlo nods “Yes, I thought the name was familiar.” He leans against the bars, and laughs a bit. The guard takes his sword out. “What's so damn funny?” Carlo raises his hands “Oh nothing. I was just thinking how there's two hearts hidden in my closet-” he laughs a bit more “And how one of their kids is gonna find a box with two hearts!” He starts laughing hysterically, until he's hit in the head, and everything went black again.

Another few hours past until Carlo woke up again, finding himself in the stockades, people surrounding them, yelling at him, throwing things at him. Carlo really didn't care. He had done what he wanted to do and was willing to accept the punishment that came before his imminent death. A large human male stood in front of him. Carlo looked up and saw it was the new king. He scoffed slightly as the man spoke in a thick, deep voice. “We will not tolerate this type of behaviour! Carlo Serdia Leucis will be punished for two months before executed by being hanged by the neck until dead!” The crowd cheered and clapped as Carlo huffed slightly and pulled at his wrists which were clamped shut tightly, along with his neck. He looked at the crowd of people, who booed him and threw things, like small pebbles and rocks at his face, making several small cuts and bruises. He shrugged it off, and accepted his fate until the larger man yelled out “He will be flogged, every day, and 1 pm!” The crowd cheered loudly. That was the one thing that made Carlo slightly nervous. He shrugged it off though, the crowd thinned, and the larger man looked down at him “I will see that your brothers, you mother, and your father are all avenged, you worthless piece of trash.” He spit on Carlos face. Carlos chuckled “Do you really think a royal should spit? Tsk tsk tsk, you really must learn some manners my de-” he was cut off with a knee to the face.

The following weeks were the roughest of his life. The king was true to his word about the floggings, and people came by to boo and shame him. Carlo was left in the rain, the blistering sun and the wind, outside in the stockade. He was starving slowly, and was dehydrated and delirious. He was sure he would die in the stockade. Until, on the 23rd day of his imprisonment, in the middle of the night, in his delirious state, he saw a figure looking at him from the road. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled weakly. “Well well well, no one's ever here to see me this late.” The figure got closer. “You really shouldn't be here, my darling. If anyone sees you you’ll be in alot of trouble.” The figure got even closer, which made Carlo confused, and a little worried. “Look the night is when i get rest from the belittlement.” He looks at the ground “Please, while i don't deserve the kindness, please lea-” He looked up to see a large female figure, bent down, wearing a long black, billowing dress that was covered in dark feathers. She wore a porcelain mask as she tilted her head from side to side, and spoke in a soft, but eerie voice.Carlo started to panic. “My dear-” She moved a hand to his face, the sleeves of the dress covering her arms and part of her hand, all covered in dark raven looking feathers. “-You have done wrong.” her voice was strict and slightly angry, but in a eerily soft way. “You have disrespected death itself, and that is something that is unforgivable.” Carlo started to sweat as she grabbed his face. “While it is true, everyone dies, the path you are almost at the end of is a corrupt and evil path.” She gripped his face tighter. Carlo huffs “There is no afterlife, you weirdo. We all die, yes, but i do not fear it.” She stands up and looks over him, the mask not moving from her face. “Then maybe i should show you where you are headed, insolent child!” She stomps on the ground, creating a large fissure that sparked with embers and flame. Screams of pain and suffering could be heard, large monsters and beasts could be seen. Carlo refused to look. The figured yelled at him “LOOK AT WHERE YOU ARE HEADED! DOES IT NOT FRIGHTEN YOU YOU INSOLENT BEAST!?” She grabbed his face once again and forced him to look down at what would be awaiting him. He began to panic. “No! NO! I DON'T WANT THIS!” Tears streamed down his face as she kept forcing him to look. She spoke once more. “This is the place where people such as yourself go. Those who disrespect life, and death.” She closes the fissure and forces him to look at her. Carlo looks at her, tears streaming down his face. “W..Who the hell are you?” The figure takes her mask off, to reveal a face that is pale with deep, black eyes, and black hair with feathers in it that surrounds her face. “I am the Raven Queen, Carlo, and if you devote your life to me, I will help you steer away from where you are headed.” Carlo instantly nods “Yes, yes anything to get away from that.” She smiles and puts the mask back on. “Good, my child. Now sleep. You will awaken soon enough.” she gets up and walks away. Carlo yells after her “Wait! How am I to get out of this! Where are you going!? Help me!” He screams until he find himself fading into black into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As he awakens, Carlo looks around, not seeing the town anywhere. He was in the middle of a forest. He tries to stand, but finds himself too weak. He looks and finds his things, including his scimitar beside him, along with a half dead looking raven, who squawks up at him, half its feathers missing, even some bone exposed near its cracked beak. He goes to rub his shoulder, and finds a pendant hanging around his neck, with the symbol of a raven. He huffs. “What in the hells happened?” He didn't know if what had happened the night before was real, or if it was a hallucination. If it was a hallucationation, he didn't know how the hell his stuff got here. Maybe someone who hated his father helped him escape, but even if it was a hallucination, he would devote himself to this Raven Queen, for fear of what was awaiting him in the afterlife.

For the next fifteen years, Carlo made his way to a city far away from Mythir, and settled down. He finished his studies in necromancy, and started to practise it in a more respectful way. He kept his past hidden from everyone he met, saying he was just a traveler. He still wore nice robes, and jewelry, but he started to become someone who was good at tricking people out of their belongings. He learned to read tarot cards, and would read people's tarot for a few pieces of coin. He made enough to live, eventually working for a magic shop owner name Levi Peatrick, a human male, about 45. Levi taught Carlo magic and was also a follower of the raven queen. They became close friends, and began running the shop together, until days would come where Carlos life would be different.