#reached for her hand in vain. it was nothing personal she had said. the paycheck would have been worth it. they imagine it must have been.

[trollbreak]

Girl help I’m tormented and thinking abt the snake themed bitches destroying each other and exalting each other and cycling in an endless spiral into power and desolation and

[ironstrange-is-the-endgame]

Stephen trying to help Tony with his alcoholism

Honestly, I don’t even now. It was supposed to be dark, but not as dark as it is. Anyway, there’s a happy ending because I just couldn’t let it be totally angsty. I hope you’ll like it.

tw warnings: alcohol as a coping mechanism, unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol withdrawal

The war was won, but Tony knew that he failed, he knew that whatever happened was because of him. He knew that Steve’s death was on him And without Steve, there was no Avengers, it didn’t matter how much he tried to keep them all together. He had never been enough.

Thor left, shortly after and Tony couldn’t blame him because his people still need a home and even if Norway agreed to let them live in a huge island in the Nordic Sea, diplomacy and restoration were in his and Loki’s agendas. Clint retired, once for all, he said. He came back just because his own family went dusted and he needed to find them, but he didn’t want to lose not even one more day in some undercover mission for SHIELD or the likes.

Tony could understand him. And then there were Nat and Bruce.

The Russian spy was the only person who still lived at the Compound, but she went back on SHIELD paycheck and she was more abroad than she was in the US. Tony suspected that she blamed him for Steve. He couldn’t pretend she wasn’t right. He blamed himself as well.

And then there was Bruce. After the final battle when the good doctor forced the Hulk out of him, the big-guy Bannered his friend, and honestly nobody had an idea of why, but the harsh transformation forced the doctor into a coma. And that, on top of everything, was Tony’s fault.

He tried to put together the New Avengers initiative, and when it worked even better than he could guess — Carol was indeed a great leader, she and Rhodey being the ultimate power couple, Peter and Harley worked more than perfectly together and Vision and Wanda were something already tested out on the field — Tony found himself alone, in an empty house. And he went back to every mistake he made once he was younger.

“Boss,” Friday told him, while Tony was still in the workshop, trying to improve Harley’s suit with something at which he hadn’t thought yet. “Ms Romanoff is coming back at the Compound.”

“Great!” Tony said, and the irony sounded weak also in his voice. He ran a hand between his hair and took another sip of the whiskey he didn’t even realize he was drinking it. Not that it mattered. A few moments later, the glass was empty and he rapidly filled it again, before walking upstairs once that his AI communicated him the spy has arrived.

Natasha looked trashed, and Tony knew which was the reason. They just had different copy mechanisms, at the end of the day. They spoke for some minutes, and when she said she was going to sleep, Tony decided to follow her example. He wasn’t going to do nothing in the workshop anyway.

–

He had no idea how long had passed since the conversation he had with Natasha, the woman left a couple of days later while Tony was in a particularly productive strike of five days straight in the workshop with the only company of some empty bottles and a muted Friday when the doors of the lab swung open.

Tony rose his eyes on the person who walked inside. The two other people who had authorisations for the lab where Rhodey and Peter, though Tony cut his best friend out after the one time when he tried to throw away Tony’s whiskey. He didn’t have a problem with drinking. It was the only thing that was keeping him together if you asked the genius.

The last person he was waiting to see walking through the windowed door, though, was the one who was now standing there, casual clothes and blurred sharp face, and the loyal piece of outerwear as well. Stephen Strange was the last person Tony had ever expected to walk into his workshop and his entire life.

They got together, short after Thanos’s defeat, then - Tony had no idea of what happened, but it was sure it was because of him. He must have said or done something that was too much for the wizard to bear and he walked away, saying that he loved him, but he wasn’t in the right place for a relationship or something as dumb as that, for what Tony could remember. It wasn’t like his memories were so good anymore, especially when he tried to numb the majority of those.

The former surgeon was helping them with Bruce, using his contacts to finds the best treatments and facilities, but if that was a dead end, he never said it out loud. Tony had given up to hopes a long time before, and that was the last conversation they had. Stephen was really trying to help him, back then, and he refused him, telling that Banner was as good as dead and he didn’t want to cry for another friend. That had been a couple of months before and the last time Tony had been sober, probably.

“What happened?” He asked, going back to his blueprints. He didn’t like what he saw scribbled on those, but it was better than looking at the man icy eyes. “Is Bruce…? There is any news?”

“Banner is stable,” Stephen said. There was something off in his voice, but Tony couldn’t say what it was and he didn’t even care. He loved the man, probably he was still in love with him, but he also knew that he was a burden. That was the only reason why everyone gave up on him. “I’m not here for him.”

“Good, Natasha is upstairs, if you are looking for her,” Was the only answer Tony gave him. He didn’t even know what reaction he was hoping to receive from Stephen, but the last thing he was waiting for was for the man to move his hand, and making his glass shifting to the end of the workbench he was working at. Out of pure instinct, Tony moved to catch the glass before it was out of his grip.

“I’m not here for Nat either, Tony,” And fuck, someone should have forbidden Strange to use his first name because that brought him back to a lot of moments he was desperately trying to forget. “I want to speak with you. Can we seat somewhere?”

Tony pointed at a sofa Rhodey had him move down there in hopes that he would catch more sleep every now and then. It went unsaid that it was a vain hope. “You can speak, though I’m not sure I’ll be listening to you.”

The wizard huffed but took his place on the couch, and Tony went back to his work. He wasn’t planning to pay attention to the other man’s words, but when he started to speak it was difficult for him to call Stephen’s bullshit out. “I’m worried for your wellbeing, Tony, everyone is…”

“Yeah, sure, everyone,” He interrupted, irony filling his voice. “You are a terrible liar, Strange. Everyone, whoever they are, is probably worried because I cut founds. Is not like I’m something more than a walking bank.”

“You are more than that, and you know it,” Stephen said, again. And if Tony knew the man well enough, the only thing he wanted to do was to cross the distance between them and touch him. Or maybe he was just projecting. Not that it was important. He couldn’t do it and the only other thing he can do was saying something that would have pushed away the Sorcerer Supreme for good. And in there was nobody better in doing that than the one Tony Stark.

“It’s difficult to believe when it comes from someone who used my as his sugar daddy and then decided the money wasn’t worth the luggage I come with.” And he saw, all over Strange’s face, that he hit close from home. The man stood, Cloakie followed him and looked as it was moping, and walked out the workshop, turning once he reached the door.

He looked like he was going to say something, but then he walked out without a word. The moment Stark reached again his glass, the golden sparkles of a portal were already gone in the thin air. Tony looked at the half-empty Glen McKenna’s bottle and decided it was good time to go back to work, between one sip of the whisky and the following.

–

Stephen knew it was his fault as well as he knew that he shouldn’t have walked away. But the truth was that he wasn’t the right person to do that, while probably the only one. He was still feeling guilty enough for having broken up with Tony, but now knowing that he thought that the only reason why Stephen was with him was that of his money turned things under a different perspective.

Stephen looked at his shaking hands and reminded how he felt when he woke up in a hospital bed, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to perform a surgery in his entire life. Operation after operation, despair was the only thing that was left to him. Despair and alcohol. So yes, Strange knew what Tony was going through and knew that until he would ask for help there was nothing they could do. But he couldn’t either leave the man he loved destroy himself.

He just knew that he wasn’t in any place for a relationship and that Tony’s state would have brought him only to be dependant to Stephen. And he wasn’t stable enough to be the person Stark deserved in his life. He had to make a call, and he did the wrong one.

Stephen took his mobile, his long and scarred fingers lingering over Christine’s number. She knew what was better, she was, probably, the only person who could help him in that moment, because, and Stephen realized that only in that moment, he behaved exactly the same with his best friend, when he was in Tony’s shoes.

But, in that moment, the screen flashed with an incoming call from the one Black Widow. Stephen and Nat were somehow friends, despite them being usually closed up and distant from the other people (or maybe because of that), they both cared about Tony and since the genius started to push anyone away, including Peter and Harley (and both kids were blaming themselves even if in different ways) they were the only ones who were still looking after him considering that, in the end, even Rhodey gave up. (“It’s not the first time I deal with this,” The Colonel said to Stephen. “It’s terrible, but with Tony is the only way.” He simply couldn’t, though, and, apparently, Nat neither.)

“What’s wrong?” He asked, because the only reason why Natasha would have called him was that something was wrong.

“It’s Tony,” The woman sounded agitated over the chattering at the other side of the line. Stephen could hear Friday, Rhodey and someone else. His hand shook worse than ever and Stephen could feel how his how voice was more trembling when he spoke.

“What happened?” He didn’t know what answer he was hoping for.

“I don’t know. Pete and I walked into the workshop, and he was on the floor,” She said, and everyone else wouldn’t have recognized the worrying in the spy’s voice, but Stephen did. “I had Friday run some scans on him, but it’s better if…”

“I’m coming,” It was because of him, Stephen knew that. It was because he left, because he didn’t want to answer to Tony, didn’t want to hurt him, both with a sharp reply or giving him hope. He loved the man, and just because he loved him, he knew he wasn’t the right person for him. And whatever Tony did, it was because of him, probably.

He rose from his kitchen chair and fretted to open a portal to the Compound.

It took a total of half on an hour to have Tony moved in his room, and Friday’s scans to come back with the answer Stephen was expecting for. Tony’s unconsciousness was from a too much high level of concentration of alcohol in his blood and it required another couple of minutes to have from the Avengers medical personal the green light for some IV. Tony was highly dehydrated and probably had been suffering of recurring migraines in the past weeks or so. And Stephen didn’t notice. He just saw how Stark kept drinking and drinking without paying attention at the fact that was probably going to drink himself until he could numb all his thoughts.

Stephen should have noticed it. He should have known because he was a doctor, but he had been selfish and thought just about distancing himself from Tony. He hated himself, and that was the reason why he left the room once that Stark started to move in the bed. A couple of nurses that followed him from the med bay were still looking at the screens, and Stephen walked out deciding to trust them with helping Tony into consciousness again.

He had never been good in speaking with patients, even if Tony wasn’t a random patient. He was the man Stephen loved and that he hurt over and over again. Natasha was standing in the hallway, her posture stiff, her long and now blonde hair kept in a bun away from her face, her full lower lip trapped in her teeth.

“The kids are with Bucky at Sam’s place,” She said, before rising her eyes on Stephen. “How is he?”

“I don’t know, Nat… I should have seen that coming, before,” A soft hand fell on his arm, and when he looked at the person by his side he saw a soft smile on Nat’s lips.

“You are not the one who lives there,” And while she wasn’t completely wrong, Stephen knew that it was his fault. He knew about Tony’s abandonment issues. He knew about how he guilty he felt because of Steve. “What do you want to do, now?”

“I… I need to speak with him. But it’ll do it tomorrow, once he’ll sober up a bit,” Nat nodded, walking toward her own room. Stephen didn’t have his oom in the Compound, because he wasn’t an official Avenger, but he wasn’t going to leave the building anytime soon, so he went for one of the common rooms. The sofa wasn’t comfortable, but it was better than going back to the Sanctum.

–

Friday woke him up after a while, as he asked her to do in case something was wrong with Stark and when the doctor entered the room, he found the genius bent over the WC in his private bathroom, sweaty and shaking.

Stephen helped Tony up, took a washcloth to tidy him up and then walked him back in the bed before deciding to sleep the rest of the night on a chair. Tony woke up three more times during the night and none of them he was totally aware of what was around him.

–

When he woke up in the morning, the first thing that Tony did was looking for one of his bottles. He knew he kept them somewhere in the room, but he couldn’t even remember of going to bed the night before so he had no idea where it was. He just knew that he needed it before the memories of Steve’s cerulean eyes dug deep enough to remember him that Captain America died because of him, and that Bruce was in a coma and everyone else hated him, or used him just for his money like Stephen did. Stephen. Thinking about the man was painful.

He loved him; he fell for him like a stupid teenager - or even worse, his teenagers weren’t so blindly in love - and everything he got back was the doctor telling that neither of them was ready for a relationship.

“Fri, be a good girl and tell me where did I leave the bottle yesterday,” He said, surprised when a soft “ehm…” came by his left side. Fighting against the spinning room, he turned too look at the intruder. “Fri, why Merlin is there?”

No response came from the AI. “Tony, we need to speak,” Tony tried not to look at the Supreme Sorcerer, knowing what effect his eyes had on him. Apparently, though, the man didn’t appreciate.

“Perfect! Let’s let my find something to drink and we can speak,” He said, while a part of him suspected that the drinking part was exactly what Stephen wanted to speak about. He didn’t have a problem with drinking. He had much more alcohol, when he was younger and if only Rhodey was there he could say it to everyone else so that they would stop to bother him.

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about,” Strange said, proving Tony’s point. He wasn’t ready for that conversation, not now and probably not ever, but he knew as well that letting the man speak was the best way to let him go away. “You lost consciousness in your workshop and if Nat and Peter wouldn’t have walked downstairs to look for you…”

“Peter…?” Tony interrupted, his brain was working slower (and he wasn’t going to say that it was because of the alcohol because that wasn’t the reason), recently, though the kid’s name was enough to bring it back fully operative. “Did he saw…?”

Stephen shook his head. He didn’t know how much Peter saw because he didn’t ask when he arrived last night, but he didn’t want to hurt Tony more. “I don’t know,” He decided for, a moment later. Tony was shaking and he knew it was because he didn’t want for his kid to see him like that, to see how his mentor destroyed himself.

He still wasn’t sure about the all ‘being a model for younger generations’ thing because he had never had a model in his entire life, and was scared as fuck to do something wrong, but he didn’t realize that he did it, over and over again. “I shouldn’t have drunk when the kid was around,” He said. “I… I can fix it…” He didn’t even know what he could fix. He just felt his breathing becoming less steady, and he couldn’t see anything in front of him but for black and white flashing lights.

A moment later, a trembling hand was tracing small circles against the skin of his wrist. Fuck! He knew that a glass of wine would have been enough to stop that suffocating sensation that was taking over him. Maybe he could trick the doctor to have a little bit. If not that he didn’t believe to himself while he was thinking about that. And when he collapsed against Stephen’s chest, the man hugged him tightly.

Stephen wanted to tell Tony a lot of things, but he simply couldn’t, not in that moment, not when he was so broken and vulnerable.

–

Stephen waited for Tony to feel better and have something in his stomach before presenting the argument he wanted to speak with him. Which meant that the two of them started to argue, and Stark tried to throw him something during their conversation. But in the end, Tony gave up with the promise that he could avoid to attend AA meetings. He didn’t want that to go public, and the doctor agreed. Tony would have to meet a therapist while Stephen was the only doctor to take care of his well being.

Which evolved in the Sorcerer Supreme asking Wong to keep an eye on the Sanctum while he was moving at the now alcohol-free Compound. And which meant that Stephen had to bear with Tony’s abstinence one day and the other. (To be honest, he must admit that Nat, Rhodey and Carol helped him, and Bucky came to the Compound and spoke with Tony about something that nobody knew, but which helped the genius).

There were goods and bads day, while it wasn’t like Stephen had expected for something different. He had been there, at Tony’s place, and while he had been forced to give up on alcohol and painkiller drugs because of Kamar Taj, he knew how awful the man must have been felt.

And that was the reason why Stephen didn’t push him away when Tony crawled against his body during that night. It was around a couple of weeks had passed since the night in the workshop how they started to refer it to, and Stephen was reading some books Wong delivered him that morning — if he couldn’t work at the Sanctum, he could at least try and study something — when he heard footsteps against the floor and, a moment later, a soft knocking over the door.

Tony was a shivering mess, hair damp with sweat against his face, flushed cheeks and lost glance. Stephen could hear his fretted breathing from where he was, and immediately felt worrying and getting wide with panic. “Tony?” He asked.

“Can I come there?” Stephen nodded, letting the other man entering in his bed and trying to calm him down. It required almost twenty minutes for him to know that Tony woke up and was this close to go to the closest supermarket to buy some cheap vodka.

“You didn’t do it, though,” Stephen said, placing a soft kiss against his hair and regretting it a moment later. He must help Tony, not being, again, a selfish prick. He loved him, but they couldn’t work together. Even if Tony’s therapist told him that his feelings were reciprocate

Tony needed to heal, and Stephen needed it as well, while he was maybe better in pretending he had his shit together. He didn’t. Stephen had trust issues and enough of commitment problems to drive anyone crazy. He was damaged goods, and not at all an easy person to be with. The only thing that could happen between them was the worse downfall as possible. And Stephen cared too much for the man for it to happen.

Tony was softly sobbing against his skin, by now, and Stephen had no idea for how long they stayed like that, but it had been long enough for Stark to fall asleep and that was the only thing that mattered, if you ask the Sorcerer.

–

Stephen told him about his own substance abuse problems after almost six months. By now, they fell into an easy routine, and the doctor moved back for longer periods to the Sanctum, especially when Tony was with the other Avengers. It was pleasant, and since Bruce woke up, and despite still have a lot of rehab to do, was doing pretty fine, things were actually going on the right way.

Tony looked at him and leaned closer, their lips merely brushing. And, for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen knew that kissing him back wasn’t wrong, Stephen knew that, even if the road was still long, Tony was himself enough to not to fall in his arms just because Stephen was there, because he was the easiest choice.

A couple of days after, Tony decided that he was ready to speak and apologize with Peter. The kid wasn’t angry with the genius, to be honest. But after what happened that night in the workshop, after seeing him lying on the floor — apparently he did saw him —, he just left, saying that he would have to meet his mentor when he was ready.

With Harley it had been different, Stephen knew that. The blond teen was actually angry with the man, but that also meant that they sorted things out easily once that Tony convinced himself that he needed help. And the Sorcerer knew that Tony was scared that the young Parker could refuse his apologizes.

Now, Harley, was by Tony’s other side in the backseat of Stark’s limo, smiling at him. “You’re Tony Stark,” He said smiling at his mechanic. “You can do it, dad.”

The hand Stephen was holding started to shake when Harley called him like that, but the light in his eyes was of pure pride. He nodded, and Stephen could do nothing but look at the man and follow him out of the car. They walked upstairs, reaching May Parker’s apartment.

The woman welcomed them with a cold smile before disappearing into the kitchen, letting them enter the house. Stephen couldn’t blame her, and he knew that Tony would have left the house the exact moment May decided for him to.

“Mr Stark!” Peter’s voice came from the main room and, a moment later, the kid threw himself in Tony’s arms, hugging him and trying to update the man on his past six months. Stephen looked at the man he loved, the kid from Queens in his hug and Harley looking them. They both weren’t in their best places, yet, but with each other and their kids they would have made it.

[brazil-also-loves-rwby]

To move on 1 - RWBY FANFIC

Hello everyone. This is my fanfic Para Seguir Em Frente. I translated it because I received many visits from countries with English language. MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Please comment.

PS: This fanfic should be just an Oneshot, so it's slowly developing in my mind. Please be patient. Suggestions are always welcome. Originaly posted here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13256016/1/To-move-on

Oscar took a deep breath and dismounted from the horse that had brought him a good part of the way back home. It was strange to be back after so long. Everything seemed exactly the same and at the same time different. The fields, the barn, and even the house seemed smaller than he remembered. Maybe because he was so taller now. Maybe because he had seen that the world was so much bigger than this little piece of land. Nostalgia hit him hard in the chest, fueling his nervousness. Suddenly, he felt the same 14-year-old boy as he had been years ago, afraid of being scolded by his aunt for a slip.

'Fortunately I'm not a boy anymore.' Oscar said to himself mentally and for a fraction of a second he found himself waiting for an answer that would not come. His sweaty palms thwarted his claim, so Oscar wiped them on the sturdy fabric of his combat pants before knocking on the door. He could hear a painfully familiar female voice respond in the background and hurried footsteps approaching. Oscar had time just to draw one last breath of courage before the door opened in front of him.

His aunt stared straight into his chest, seeming to be expecting someone lower, so he saw all the emotions in her face as she looked up to find his face. Confusion. Recognition. Relief. Joy and finally, fury. His aura was active before her fists met his chest for the first time, out of pure instinct, but he did not do anything else to stop the blows from continuing to strike him.

- OSCAR PINE! HOW DO YOU DARE TO APPEAR HERE, LIKE NOTHING HAD EVER HAPPENED, AFTER YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK, RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME WITHOUT LEAVING NO MORE THAN ONE LITTLE NOTE, FOR YEARS ?! YEARS OSCAR ?!

She screamed and punched his chest, tears tearing at her words until finally consuming them in a continuous cry. Soon, the hands that had beaten him now clung to the fabric of his shirt as if he would disappear if she let him go. Oscar wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, feeling his own tears escape his eyes. He held her close to him for a long time, until the sobbing stopped. Slowly, breathing still half trembling, she moved away to look him in the eye.

- You're going to tell me everything that happened. - She tried to look angry, to no avail. She looked just tired and relieved that he was there.

- Yes ma'am. Oscar agreed with a smile.

They went in and Oscar made tea. They both remained silent, assimilating each other's presence, until they sat facing each other on the kitchen table, their full mugs in hand.

- Why did you run away without saying anything? She spoke first. His voice was low and controlled now, but Oscar felt the resentment and sadness in each word.

- I ... I was afraid that, if I told you, I would convince the two of us that I was going crazy. At worst I would rid you of the responsibility of raising an insane orphan.

-And why in the name of the gods would you be mad? - Oscar gulped, staring at his own reflection of the tea for a long moment.

- Because I was listening to the voice of a man in my head, insisting that he was a millenarian mage destined to reincarnate in the body of a person with a similar soul until the world was ready to receive the judgment of the gods. - He looked up to meet his aunt's shocked expression.

- Was about you that the gods were speaking on the 'Return Day'? About the young boy with two souls? - Oscar nodded and his aunt just stared at him for a long time, absorbing the absurdity of the situation. Taking a deep breath, she took a long sip of her tea and continued. - Tell me everything. When it started?

- Shortly after the fall of Beacon, when the last incarnation of Ozma, Ozpin, passed away. Ozma spent months convincing me that I was not going crazy. - Oscar took a sip of tea, trying to wash away the bitterness of the difficult memories that would follow. - Telling me we had little time and Salem, the witch who controlled the grimms, had already destroyed Beacon and Haven was their next target. I almost lost my mind, but ... He shared his memories with me. Things I could never know, but they were true. And, like I said, if I was right, I had no choice but to help save the world. If I were wrong ... You would be rid of the burden of dealing with a madman.

- But ... You left with nothing! Any money! For months I thought you starved, alone in the cold! - She sighed, calming down. - That, of course, until the first check came. - She frowned. - You disappear for months and suddenly I'm getting liens with no information other than 'Oscar' on the paychecks. If I had not known better, I would have thought you'd fallen for the mafia. - Oscar laughed lightly.

- I left without money because I could not force myself to steal from you. I was leaving you to take care of this entire farm alone. I had no idea if you could do it or not. So I just got all the food I could and left. - He sighed. - When I finally met Qrow and the other hunters, Qrow gave me access to Ozpin's bills and cards. I asked Ozpin if I could send some money home, so we scheduled a monthly deposit on your behalf.

- You went to a group of hunters?

- Well, with the exception of Qrow, none of them had graduate from the academy. But they were all capable and determined fighters. You see...

Oscar calmly explained the events that led to the fall of Beacon, his way to Haven, and then to Atlas. He sometimes paused stoped in the middle of the description of the battles, or before the revelations of Ozma, to calm his aunt. She listened to everything, bashful.

- There were many other battles. We had to ensure the safety of the relics and, with Raven's death, Ruby became the new Spring Maiden.

- Wait. - She asked, more than an hour later, as she rubbed her temples to ward off a headache. - You did not say that power passed to...

- The last person she was thinking of, if she was a young woman. Yes. Ruby was able to persuade Raven to trust her enough for this, in her last moments.

- But from what you said, the woman hated the that girl.

- I ... I do not think that was the case. There were family issues and strong ties involved.

- I see... So Ruby became the Spring Maiden, and...

- In short, among Salem's many attacks and schemes, we end up with the entire RWBY team as maidens. We put Cynder on a huge machine to transfer her powers to Blake, who was injured and could no longer fight. Magic was the only thing that gave her strength to survive. We thought we'd lost her that day...

The woman reached across the table and took one of the nephew's hands in a gesture of comfort. He smiled at her and continued.

- Later, we lost both Winter and Summer Maiden in the same incident. It was a surprise and devastating attack. - He squeezed her aunt's hand in return. - We never got a chance to make a plan if one of the ladies died. Apparently they decided to keep the girls in their final thoughts. The sudden magic they received that day saved our lives.

- For how many horrible experiences you went trought, Oscar? I listened on the radio, day after day, to the news of disasters and attacks, while you were out there living it all...

- I did not experience anything compared to Ozma, aunt. He lived years in bodies that were not his, fighting an impossible fight, watching people die in vain. I still vividly remember his feelings when Ruby finally defeated Salem in the 'Final War'. It's been a month, has not it? It took me a long time to get here, with the chaos that the world is now. It still seems like yesterday.

- How did she do that? Defeated the witch, I mean.

- With her silver eyes. - Oscar's voice became almost reverent, still amazed at her friend's courage. - We covered her guard, we cleared the way and she literally grabbed Salem by the face, forcing her to meet hes eyes, and fired the energy of the light against her. Everything that was grimm inside Salem was gone. All hatred and all madness, leaving only one woman who lived too long behind.

- So she learned the value of death?

- She had known it for a long time, but the poison of the grimms was too much for her mind. As much as she had her memories and intelligence, she only wanted destruction like any other grimm. Without it, she was able to think clearly and bear the burden of her thousands of sins. With that, the curse broke.

- And the gods?

- As I said, we have assembled an army with warriors, soldiers, and hunters from all kingdoms against Salem. As we used all the relics against it, it was a consensus that humanity was as united as possible at this time. So we risk our luck and call on the gods.

- I remember ... - The woman shuddered, remembering the moment. - I was hiding in the basement of the town hall, along with the others, when it happened. Suddenly we were all in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thousands of people, in front of the gods. It was terrifying to see those dragons above us.

- Yes. We were just below them. But luckily, we were considered worthy of a second chance. Salem was finally awarded with her final rest, just like Ozma.

- What happened to him, exactly? He ... Is not with you any more? - Oscar shook his head.

- No. The God of Light gave him the opportunity to live one last life in Remnant, but he refused. He said that, unlike many past lives, I was my own person and we never really merged together. So he... He just walked away of me. I felt him leave my mind and materialize in front of me. Can you imagine what it is like to live intertwined with someone for years and never have really looked into their eyes?

His aunt said nothing, letting him get lost in his memories.

- He left to the afterlife, like Salem. Even so, part of him never left me. I have his memories, the accumulated knowledge of lives and, well, some of his mannerisms as well. - He laughed awkwardly, gesturing at how he sat in the chair, straight, confident, and elegant. - The rest you and the rest of the world witnessed, the announcement of the return of the gods. - Aunt Pine nodded and continued, moistening her lips.

- The Dark Brother... - She murmured the god's title with fearful reverence. - He ... He said he gave us our gift once more. The magic.

- Yes. - Oscar held both hands forward and let little shiny balls dangle in his palms. - We all have magic now. You can do it, too. Some people, of course, will discover greater aptitude for different uses of magic in the future. And that's why I'm on my way to Vale.

- Valley? Why?

- The team RWBY has had some experience with magic, but I'm the only person who really has knowledge on the subject. So I will be teaching teachers, so this knowledge can be passed on to all realms. So... Maybe you... Would like to move in with me? I'm going to receive a generous salary. - I could say 'absurd' instead, Oscar thought mentally. - I can buy a beautiful house in the city or a cottage by the woods. Anywhere you feel most at ease...

Aunt May looked at her nephew for a long moment. He really had changed. He was tall and strong, hardened by many battles in such a young body. He spoke with confidence of a person with years of experience. But now, asking for her company so timidly, she saw clearly the 19-year-old nephew he still was. He was afraid she would reject him, after all. Her eyes filled with tears once more.

- Foolish boy. Of course I will go with you. I've already lost you once and I will not let you out of my sight again so soon.

She got up to hug him and he found her halfway around the table, receiving her with open arms.

The next morning, while Oscar was still asleep, she set up a modest altar for the gods. Lighting a candle for each of them, she clasped her hands and thanked them for their mercy, and prayed that her life would be long enough to see the faces of her grandchildren. She and Oscar never admitted to each other but, in their hearts, they were mother and son.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Contrition: Chapter 1

Pairing: Chase Collins x Female!Witch!Reader Summary: As a Hedge Witch, you usually keep to yourself, performing odd jobs here and there for superstitious (and wealthy) people to exercise demons or expel ghosts or whatever. Sometimes this means just reading out of your book for a half an hour to give the customer peace of mind. Other times it means accidentally materializing a murderous warlock back into the physical plane. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of murder and death, struggles with addiction Word Count: ~5,122 A/N: AU where the events of The Covenant happened in 2011. Series is already completely written, so I’ll be releasing chapter at set intervals (One chapter every 3 days, so the next will be out the 18th at 4 pm EST and so on).

Masterlist // Next Chapter

You hated Ipswich. Hated the Sons of Ipswich and the way they used magic. The town was boring, but the people were superstitious (dating all the way back to the age of witch hunts), which meant you’d get jobs there on occasion.

So when you got a job from someone complaining about an old, haunted farmhouse, you groaned. It was more than likely one of the Sons playing pranks on the unsuspecting, naive townsfolk, but money was money so you packed up your tomes and reagents and drove partway across the country.

On the off chance it was an actual haunting, you brought salt, iron, and enough herbs for a bevvy of smudge sticks.

The drive wasn’t particularly intriguing and you went through at least ten CDs on the trip (you cursed being in the middle of nowhere where not even radio signals could reach). Your GPS crapped out the closer you got to the town until you eventually had to start actually reading street signs.

“Stupid-fucking-middle-of-nowhere-hick-town,” you muttered bitterly.

You were so focused on trying to find the road you needed that you nearly drove straight into a man who was crossing the street.

Well, “man” was perhaps a bit too generous. He couldn’t be older than thirty and was one of the damn SOIs.

You had half a mind to plow through him just to make him use magic, but slammed your foot on the break at the last second. You glared at him as he walked over to the driver’s side window, nearly retching at the smell of degenerative magic wafting off him.

“The hell do you want, SOI?” you asked, having half a mind to just drive away.

He frowned down at you, confusion lining his features. His dark brown eyes scanned the inside of your car and you had half a mind to hex him just for that. “You almost ran me over with your car and now you’re calling me a bean plant?” he asked, swagger making you want to punch him in his stupid face.

“S.O.I.,” you said with barely-contained annoyance. “Son of Ipswich.”

His face darkened as he stared down at you, posture suddenly tense. “I know we’re kinda well-known around here, but how could you tell I’m a Son of Ipswich from just a glance?” he asked, smile tight.

You rolled your eyes. “Please, I could smell your consuming magic from miles away.”

He stood straighter and your hairs stood on end as he gathered his powers, preparing to fight you, but you were already waving him away.

“I ain’t here for you, SOI. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just got called for a job,” you said disinterestedly. “You gonna leave the me hell alone or are we gonna have a problem?”

He stared at you for a moment longer before relaxing ever so slightly. “I’m going to tell the others about you. Don’t be surprised if one of them drops in on you later.”

You glared up at him, hand reaching for one of your wards, just in case. “If one of you ruins my cleansing we’re gonna have issues.”

He smirked at that. “I get it now. You’re a hedge witch.”

You bristled at his tone. How dare he, with his necrotic, draining magic, judge you? You’d live ten of his lifetimes, existing more nobly than he ever could.

You bit back a plethora of curses and instead smiled in a manner you hoped was disarming. “I’m going to say this once, and only once: Leave me to my own devices while I’m in Ipswich and we won’t have any issues. Cross me while I’m working and you’ll live to regret it.”

He seemed to regard you for a moment before extending his hand. You flinched away from it, hand tightening on your ward, before you realized he meant to shake your hand.

“The name’s Caleb Danvers,” he said when you still hadn’t moved to take his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I know that name. You ascended a few years ago. Blasted the Fifth into oblivion.”

He looked suddenly sheepish and perhaps a bit nervous, which was odd for a man of his stature and power. “Yeah, that’s me. Nice to know my reputation precedes me.”

You leaned back into your seat, unimpressed, flat stare boring holes through his skull.

He sighed. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. It was wrong of me to test you like that. I could tell you were different but I couldn’t tell how. Let me make it up to you by making sure Pogue, Reid, and Tyler stay out of your hair while you’re in town?” he asked, all toothy smiles.

You scoffed. “Nah, let em bother me. I’ll send ‘em back as toads, just to amuse myself,” you said, perhaps a bit too spitefully.

Caleb let out a deep sigh. “I can tell I’m not going to win you over. Just... good luck with whatever you’re doing, alright?”

You glared at him. “I don’t need luck, Son of Ipswich. Keep it, because you need it more than I ever will.”

And without saying another word to him you shifted your car into gear and resumed your search.

A barn. Your client- a frazzled middle aged woman whose name you couldn’t be fucked to remember- wanted you to cleanse a barn. She’d apparently bought the land recently and while she was trying to clean up the barn, a few strange occurrences had her questioning her sanity. Scared, confused, and superstitious, her search for someone who could remedy the supernatural led her to you.

She refused to go anywhere near the property until you were done so you made the trip down the pothole ridden one-lane dirt road in your Jeep by yourself.

The barn was really more of an open field where a barn had once stood. A few support beams still existed, but it was clear from a glance a fire had destroyed most of the original building. You had to watch your footing as you clambered through the tall grass with books and reagents in-hand, as old farm tools (some of which still looked dangerously sharp) were strewn about.

As soon as you got close, an uneasy feeling settled at the base of your spine, which immediately made you pay more attention to your surroundings. You’d learned long ago to listen to your senses, and right now they were telling you there was something dangerous nearby.

It seemed the lady wasn’t completely paranoid, after all. You’d have to work for your paycheck today.

You set your tomes down and grabbed the small white-wood bowl that was black on the inside from previous smudge sticks. You pulled a smudge stick from your coat pocket and lit it with a snap of your fingers.

You walked forward, waving it slowly, expecting some of the negative energy to dissipate, but it only seemed to get stronger the closer you got to what used to be the center of the barn.

It was almost suffocating, the negative energy swirling in the area. You’d been doing this a long time (much longer than someone would guess based on your appearance) and you’d never felt anything like this before.

You backed away slowly, realizing you’d have to bring out the big guns for this one. The smell made your nose scrunch up; rotting flesh not unlike that which you recognized from only the angriest, most violent spirits. It was better to be safe than sorry with cases like this.

You grabbed your tome, salt, and crystals from the spot a few yards/meters away and returned to the spot you’d left the smudge stick at. Once you found a space you were sure wasn’t full of sharp objects that’d puncture your ass, you took a seat. After pouring a small, neat salt circle you grabbed two more smudge sticks and levitated them short distances away to opposite sides of the barn. Even that didn’t do much to staunch the negative energy that seemed to be pouring out of the very air around you. You had an iron dagger by your side, ready to grab it at a moment’s notice if need be.

The tome’s pages creaked gently as you opened it and flipped to the page for cleansing spirits. The incantation was a long and powerful one, designed to rid an area of even the strongest spirit. Normally it’d be performed by a coven, but you were a Hedge Witch. You worked alone. In the space In Between.

Knowing you’d be at it for the better part of an hour, you grimaced and wiggled a bit, trying in vain to get just a little bit more comfortable. Realizing it was a fool’s errand, you began reading.

An hour. You read for an entire hour. Did the whole thing twice and still the foul energy permeated the area.

“That was interesting.”

You nearly jumped a foot in the air as you spun around, trying to see the person who’d just spoken.

No one was there.

You turned as you stood slowly, pivoting to look in every direction. Something had definitely spoken, but spirits were never that clear; you sensed their feelings and intent rather than hearing their words.

Suddenly, a fresh wave of the energy rolled over you and you fought the urge to gag.

You knew that smell.

You’d smelled it earlier today.

“Son of Ipswich,” you hissed, drawing your dagger.

“So you know what I am,” the voice said. It was loud, as though the speaker was right behind you, but when you turned there was nothing there. Again.

“Show yourself, coward,” you spat. “I have no time for your games. Which one are you? Caleb? Pogue? Tyler? Reid?” you asked, turning slowly on the spot. Your other hand slowly reached into your pocket, reaching for your warding crystal. If you could just see the bastard, then-

“Ha!” the voice laughed, though it sounded hateful rather than amused. “I’m not one of those losers.”

You spun, though you knew what you’d see: nothing. “Bullshit!” you swore, glaring at the air around you. “I know a Son of Ipswich when I smell one. I’d know that rotting stench anywhere. Now show yourself before I blow the whole area to hell.”

“Can’t do that, hot stuff. Whatever you did seriously messed with the In Between, but I can’t even make myself corporeal on the physical plane. Hell, I haven’t been able to see the physical plane in... what year is it?” the voice asked, suddenly sounding almost innocently curious. For the life of you, you couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

Your best option was to keep him talking until you discovered his hiding spot. You weren’t buying his crap for a second. “2018,” you told him.

But he didn’t respond. You knew he was still there- his foul stench was still stinking the place up- but he’d stopped talking.

Finally, “Six years,” the voice breathed, sounding distraught.

You froze, mind slamming into overdrive. Six years. Son of Ipswich.

“Chase? Chase Collins?” you whispered, hoping to hell you were being punked or something.

“How do you know that name?” he asked, sounding wary now.

You stood there, dumbstruck. “Everyone in the magical community knows the story. Chase Goodwin Pope, the missing son of Ipswich. Addicted to his powers, he tried to forcibly take the powers of the other Sons of Ipswich. Killed his adoptive parents and an innocent schoolmate to hide his secret,” you said, facts rolling off your tongue without you having to think about them. This was bad. This was very, very bad. You’d weakened the In Between in the area by performing your cleansing, letting Chase, who’d been banished from the world by Caleb, once again see the physical realm.

Chase growled his anger. “Now you’re the one spouting bullshit. You don’t know anything about me,” he spat. The energy around you came to a crescendo and you fought back the urge to heave the contents of your stomach up on the spot.

He was stronger than any spirit would be and he’d be trapped In Between for eternity if you didn’t do something. People would get hurt. He’d drive people insane and his ability to traverse the In Between would only grow the longer you left him.

“Fine. Then tell me about it. Face to face,” you said, steeling yourself as you took a deep breath through your mouth.

He barked out a short, bitter laugh. “Are you mocking me now, little witch? You think I’d still be trapped in this hell if I had the power to free myself?”

You glared at the space in front of you. “I can get you out.”

He sounded surprised and dubious when he spoke next. “And why would you do that?”

You frowned. “’Cause you’re too dangerous to normal humans in there,” you said. Then, your lips tilted up into a challenging smirk. “Plus, I can’t kill you proper unless you’re in the physical realm.”

Chase’s laugh was loud and amused. “You think you can kill me, Hedge Witch?” he asked. It was clear from his tone what he thought the chances of that were.

You crossed your arms and shrugged. “Well, if you’re so sure that I can’t kill you then what’ve you got to lose? You get to walk free in the physical realm and kill an insolent Hedge Witch as a bonus.”

Chase took a moment to respond, but he sounded just as cocky and self-assured as ever. “Do the spell, Hedge Witch.”

You smirked. “I knew you’d come around. You need to perform the same spell from your side too. I take it you can see my spellbook?” you asked, nodding down the book in question.

“Yeah, it was the first thing I saw when the world started forming around me... besides your ugly mug, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Sit across the book from me. I have it memorized so I’ll let you read off of it,” you ordered as you sat back down on your well worn spot. You felt the energy shift around you as he moved in the In Between.

When he spoke again, he sounded like he was only a foot or so in front of you. “Let’s get this over with, then. I haven’t casted in six years and I miss the feeling,” he said.

You glowered at the space in front of you, but nodded. “Yeah, the sooner this is over the better.”

“It didn’t work,” Chase bitched, still as invisible as ever.

You smirked, fighting back a laugh. “Yeah, it did.” You winced as you felt a strong wave of energy flow through you.

“Well your head’s still attached to your shoulders so I’m gonna have to say no, no it didn’t,” he argued.

“That’s because that wasn’t the spell to get you into the physical realm,” you said, barely holding back a shit-eating grin.

There was a pause, then he spoke, deadly calm, “What the fuck did you do?”

“Where are you, exactly? In relation to me?” you asked, reaching into your pocket to pull out a thin cyan crystal.

“About two feet in front of you and a little to your left,” Chase said bitterly. “Now are you going to tell me what that shit was for, or-”

His words died in his throat as you crushed the crystal in your hand. Cyan smoke enveloped the area around you and you quickly stepped back, waving the smoke away as Chase Collins slowly materialized.

He was looking down at his hands as though he could barely believe it. He lifted a shoe and then placed it back down on the ground uncertainly, grinning when it hit the ground. He even did a little hop which would have been cute if he wasn’t a damn murdering psychopath.

He looked up at you and you forgot to breathe for a moment as those clear blue-grey eyes zeroed in on you. No wonder Caleb and the other Sons had been so quick to trust him. With a face like that, who wouldn’t?

“Thank you, little Hedge Witch. But I’ll be going now,” he said, grinning viciously as he stuck a hand out, likely to send a bone-crushing concussive blast your way.

You smiled blandly as exactly nothing happened.

The smile slowly slipped off his face and he looked down at his hand like he didn’t recognize it. His gaze snapped back up to you and he thrust his hand out again, but, once more, nothing happened.

He stared at you with rapidly growing horror. “What did you do?”

You smirked at him like a cat that caught the canary. “We sealed away your powers,” you said with probably more satisfaction than was necessary.

Chase looked at you, horrified. “That’s the spell we performed? You took away my powers? That shouldn’t even be possible! I should be dead!” he said, sounding both scared and angry.

You rolled your eyes and began gathering up your things. “Yeah, well, there are plenty of things you SOIs don’t know because you think you’re too good for certain magics.”

He was advancing on you menacingly, closing the distance between you in only a few long strides. “I don’t need magic to kill you, you fucking bi-”

You looked up just in time to watch him get blown backward the second he tried to touch you. He flew at least fifteen feet through the air and landed in a heap in the tall grass.

“Oh yeah, did I forget to tell you you can’t touch me without my permission?” you asked with a smirk.

“Fuck you!” Chase yelled back, sounding more than a little winded.

You tucked your tome under your arm and grabbed the last little bits of crystals and other paraphernalia that had come out of your bags and pockets during the excitement.

“Come on, then,” you called to him, turning your back on him to walk back towards your Jeep.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you crazy fucking Hedge Witch!” he yelled. From the sound of it he was on his feet again and walking towards you.

“Then you can stay here and wait for the other Sons to find you, powerless and alone,” you countered, not bothering to turn around when you felt your wards catch an object he’d flung at the back of your head. You heard something heavy and metallic fall to the ground a second later, followed by a muttered curse.

“Your choice, Goodwin-Pope-Collins, but choose fast. I got places to be and I’m not coming back,” you said, as you placed your tools carefully into the back seat of your car.

You weren’t too surprised when you heard the passenger-side door opening as you slid into the driver’s seat.

You glanced over at Chase who, if looks could kill, would have murdered you ten times over. “Good choice,” you said with a smile as you turned the Jeep on and did a U-turn in the grass and headed back towards town.

One glamour crystal and a thousand dollars later you were on the highway, Ipswich a distant speck in your rear view mirror.

“So you’re a con artist,” Chase said from his spot in the passenger seat, staring at you with as much judgement as he could muster.

You smirked. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I do real work... but when there isn’t I like to think of it as being paid to give people peace of mind,” you explained.

“A thousand bucks is a lot of money for peace of mind,” Chase said, obviously annoyed. “Where are you taking me?” he asked suddenly, turning those sharp steel blue eyes on you.

You shrugged lazily as you sped down the nearly-empty highway. “Dunno yet. Not so sure I should let you outta my sight. Something tells me you’re dangerous even without your powers.”

He didn’t respond to that, instead changing tactics. “What did you do with my powers?”

“Sealed ‘em,” you said as you turned up the stereo, attempting to tune him out.

He growled in frustration and turned the volume down to almost nothing. “What does that even mean?” he asked angrily.

You glared at him, but returned your eyes back to the road after a second. “Exactly what it sounds like. I sealed your powers away so you can’t use ‘em. They’re still part of you which is why you’re not six feet under right now, but you can’t access ‘em,” you explained.

“How did you get me out of the astral realm?” he asked, obviously trying to catch you unawares.

“I’m a Hedge Witch, idiot. The In Between is a place I know intimately even if I don’t frequent it myself. Getting you out was easier than banishing a restless spirit,” you snarked.

He stared at you flatly for a second or two. “I hate you,” he deadpanned.

You nearly laughed at that and a mirthless smile worked its way onto your face. “Feeling’s mutual, pal.”

By the time you pulled into the driveway of your home, Chase had grown tired of grilling you for information. You were sure he wasn’t done, but he at least had the decency to pause long enough to eat and sleep.

“Wake up, fucker,” you said, throwing a used napkin at his face.

He jolted awake instantly and grabbed sleepily at the napkin, finally looking up and glaring at you when it made an audible squishing noise in his hand. “Where are we?” he asked tersely as he peered up through the windshield at your little one-floor country house with unmistakable disdain. There wasn’t another house around for over a mile.

“My home,” you said with a smirk as you opened the door to your car and hopped down onto the pavement. You heard the passenger door open and close and a second later Chase was as close as he could be to you without being blasted away by your wards while you gathered your items up from the back seat.

“And why the hell did you bring me here?” he spat.

You carefully juggled your things in your hands and used your hip to shut the door, giving him a dirty look when he didn’t move to help you at all. “Because you’re dangerous and I can’t in good conscience let you out into the world,” you said as you trundled over to your front door, thankful you’d had the foresight to have your keys in your hands before you got to the door.

“And what’s to stop me from just leaving?” he asked, barely two feet away.

“Nothing, really, but you won’t,” you said as you unlocked the door and practically fell through the doorway in an attempt to keep everything from tumbling to the ground.

You could feel him glaring holes through the back of your skull as you placed your things down in the entryway (putting them away was a problem for a later date- you were dead on your feet). “Because you’re the only way I can get my powers back,” he guessed shrewdly.

You turned to look at him, hand on your cocked hip. “Ooh, I guess there’s something in that noggin after all,” you said, giving him a pat on the head before he could flinch away. His hair was silky soft, which you hadn’t been expecting. When he wasn’t blasted back into the front door he looked at you incredulously for a moment before a wicked grin crept onto his face, but you dashed his hopes before he tried something stupid. “Nah ah, don’t even think about it. The wards are still in place. I can touch you if I want, but you can’t touch me unless I let you.”

He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “So I’m stuck with you until I can figure out how to get my powers back. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

You rolled your eyes and walked to the kitchen. “You’re not getting your powers back,” you said, rifling through the pantry for something remotely edible. You really should clean it out more often, but that was so much work and the fungus was sometimes useful for potions.

“Says you,” Chase said defiantly as he trailed after you like the world’s angriest, murderiest puppy.

You whirled on him, his attitude finally getting the better of your patience. “Look you stupid, arrogant, high-chasing witch boy,” you spat, poking him so hard in the chest that he almost lost his balance. “Your powers eat away at your life force. They’re addictive and sanity-inducing. They corrupt anything and everything around them but you dense motherfuckers never seem to realize that! You use and use and use until you’re wrinkled and decrepit at forty! Even Sons who grow up knowing about their powers don’t always have the ability to stop themselves from using! You didn’t have that. You grew up using more than any of the other four Sons combined, not knowing what it’d mean the moment you hit eighteen. You deluded yourself into thinking you could extend your life if you took the other Sons’ powers- their very lives-, but that’s not how it works! Don’t you see, you absolute fucking dimwit? I did you a fucking favor by sealing your powers. You’ll be able to see your twentieth damn birthday! You can have a life!” you yelled, having gotten louder and louder the longer you spoke without realizing it.

Chase looked murderous as he loomed over you. “And I didn’t ask for that! I didn’t want this you pretentious bitch! I need my magic! It’s a part of me and it’s not your right to take that away from me!” he screamed, face beginning to turn red from anger.

You took a deep, calming breath and stared him dead in the eyes. “If you’re trying to convince me that you’re in control of your decisions, you’re doing a poor job.”

Chase lunged for you with a barely human snarl, nearly causing you to flinch, but he was readily repelled backwards by your wards. He landed in the kitchen in a heap, scattering pots, pans, and spices everywhere.

He let out a string of curses that would have made the devil himself blush and stood as though he’d merely been sitting down on the floor and not been blown fifteen feet into a solid countertop.

You watched calmly as he reached for anything and everything. Dishes and glassware were dashed upon the tiled floor. Silverware was thrown through your windows. Food was flung across all the surfaces. He didn’t try throwing anything at you, instead focusing on destroying anything he could see. Cupboards were ripped from their hinges and used to dent the sides of the refrigerator and oven. The glass top of the stove survived the assault of the cupboard drawer only to be shattered into a spiderweb pattern by the electric mixer.

He didn’t stop, even when not a single thing in your kitchen remained whole. Instead he moved to the living room and you watched quietly as he began destroying everything there, too.

By the time he was done, the stuffing from your couch and pillows made the room look almost festive, as though it had snowed indoors. All of your cluttered knick-knacks were in pieces on the floor and each and every window was shattered, ensuring the living room was now drafty.

When he began walking down the hall, though, you narrowed your eyes, patience once again wearing thin. He was sick, but even your kindness had its limits.

He reached out for the door handle on the right and you moved quick as lightning, tossing a deep blue crystal at him, which shattered on impact with his arm and enveloped him in a thick, stifling fog.

You watched as he slumped slowly then eventually passed out on his feet and fell to the floor with an almighty thud.

You sighed as you walked over to him and nudged him with your foot. Out like a light.

When asleep, he looked almost cute. Innocent, peaceful. Not like a man capable of destroying half of your possessions in a fit of rage.

You grumbled your annoyance as you hefted him onto and over your shoulder.

The walk to the spare room was a little less than graceful (Chase wasn’t exactly small and you could tell just from this simple contact that he was very, very fit). You ended up dropping him accidentally when you tried to open the door and only just barely managed to stop him from landing on his neck with a last minute hover spell.

You opened the door and carefully pushed him into the room, doing your best to avoid running him into errant table or chair legs. One slight struggle of lifting him into the bed later and your mission was accomplished. You huffed in satisfaction and exhaustion in equal measure as you ran a hand through your hair. You glanced down at him and your breath caught in your throat. The warm evening sun streamed in through the windows, alighting the particles that danced in the air around you before finally landing on Chase’s sleeping form. You found yourself perching on the edge of the bed without thinking about it, hand outstretched towards him. His hair, which normally stood up thanks to some sort of hair product, had fallen onto his forehead and you brushed it aside with the lightest of touches.

He was gorgeous. Intelligent. Driven.

And so, so tragic.

With a sigh you tore your eyes from his sleeping form and left the room, leaving the door unlocked so he wouldn’t tear a hole through the wall to the outside world or something when he woke up.

You went to your room- the first door on the right- and collapsed onto your bed with a pathetic groan. What had you been thinking? Taking a Son of Ipswich with you, and the most insane one at that? Surely you’d sustained brain damage in your years on this green earth.

No, helping things is what you did, whether it be an under-watered plant, a bird with a broken wing, or a half-insane magic-addicted warlock.

You set the alarm on your phone to go off relatively early in the morning, though you had a feeling you’d be woken up by your house guest long before then, and buried your face into your pillow, not even bothering to remove your clothes.

“It’s gonna be a long, long few months...” you grunted to no one in particular. Your bedroom kept its impartial silence and you sighed once more before sleep took you.

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