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#BLOND ANGRY BOYS WITH MOMMY/DADDY ISSUES
twpsyn-who · 2 years
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I was thinking a little bit about the Steve, Eddie and Billy dynamic and came to the conclusion that they are literally BakuKiriKami and now I can not unseen it.
#I have no clue how bad Billy is I only know that he's a big jerk (and probably worst than high school Steve)#anyway I visualize him as a angry Pomeranian too so he and Bakugou 👌🏼#also Steve and Kirishima being sunshine boys willing to die for their friends and family (also them being Bakugou/Billy apologists first#and human being last)#and Eddie and Kaminari give me the same fucking vibe they also.play guitar and barely pass any classes absvbsjs at least there's someone#to tutor Kaminari#also Billy and Bakugou are yk#* looking at people who read the manga for BNHA and are at day with Stranger Things *#BLOND ANGRY BOYS WITH MOMMY/DADDY ISSUES#Kami and Eddie being drama queens half of the time too#I actually idk what Kiri and Steve can have in common besides THE FUCKING HAIR AND SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME AND PRODUCTS IN IT AFSJDHSJ#* lowkey thinking at a BNHA AU with the stranger things characters rn *#i'm fucked#I love Katsuki but post high school Katsuki would be a shit big brother and I'm not afraid to say it#MUSIC. STEVE AND KIRISHIMA LISTENING TO THE SAME SHIT AND BEING MADE FUN OFF BY THE OTHERS AHDHIDJD#also Steve and Kiri are chaotic dumbasses no I don't get criticism over it they go in head empty and get yelled at for being idiots after#ok mostly headcanon but yk Steve and Kiri having that one lesbian bff (ik Mina is not lesbian hence why headcanon but yk what I mean man)#STEVE AND KIRI HAVING THAT CHARACTER DEVELOPED like yk Kiri learning to believe in himself and be more confident and stuff and Steve being#a better person#Eddie and Kami are 100% good with kids while Billy and Baku scare the shit out of them#sorry I am rambling rn#i don't even know how to tag this#bakukirikami#tagging only ships cuz I don't have enough tags afshdjej#stranger things#boku no hero academia#bnha#harringroveson#editing this cuz NOW I KNOW THEIR SHIP NAME. but also fuck harringroveson
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bucknastysbabe · 1 year
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Omg I love your writinggggggg. We need that religious kink with Aegon (or Aemond), we know their mother had to have accidentally given these boys some religious trauma on top of their horrible daddy and mommy issues djdkjdndmd —@thattargboy (on anon cuz it’s a sideblog)
So. I had a hard time with this one but I loved it. When it comes to religious trauma there’s so many angsty ideas that pop into my head. So def went darker than intended. Hope you like it though!!! @thattargboy
Kink Bingo - Religious Kink
Rating: Explicit
Tags: Religious trauma, everyone has mommy issues, TW: dub-con, Incest, sister!wife!reader, Aegon is a shit head because He Doesn’t Know How To Process Emotions, dry humping, clitoral orgasm👍
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Father, Mother, Maiden, Warrior, Smith, Crone, and Stranger
The statues stood tall in the great Sept besides the faceless Stranger. Candles were lit, people praying to the gods quietly. Knelt down, lips mumbling and begging. You kneeled at the feet of the Mother, praying for her patience and strength.
He was behind you.
Aegon hated the Sept, avoided it at all costs much to your own Mother’s chagrin. He took after most male Targaryens, fashioned themselves closer to gods than man. High in the sky on gleaming, golden Sunfyre. You felt he would burn ten times hotter than any dragon flame in the Seven Hells.
You didn’t know why he accompanied you today. Prick preferred to waste away drunk in Flea Bottom or go take his dragon on a reckless joyride. You shook the moron out of your thoughts to pray.
Most devout Mother, grant me your kindness, wisdom, and love for all.
Save me from my wicked blood.
Save my children from abomination they had no choice.
O benevolent mother, please.
“Is this what you do all day?,” he drawled. Aegon leant on a column lazily, lidded eyes glassy. Your lips twitched but you remained placid. Turning to face your husband, and brother, you said, “No Aegon. This is one of the many things I do in a day.” Not like he cared.
Aegon yawned, “So exciting.”
Your chest tightened in anger. The hot headed dragon blood did not like being smothered like this. Aegon snorted, “They’re not real. I don’t know why you waste your time.” You couldn’t help but tighten cold hands in your dress hard as possible.
Angry tears welled up in your eyes, but you remained silent and hoped he would get the hint and leave. Nope. You heard his boots scuffle to your side, the prince falling to his knees. Your own lilac orbs met violet. He raised an amused brow, getting closer into your space. You snapped your head away with a huff.
“What do you want? I figured you’d burn up stepping foot in here.”
Aegon’s pouty lips turned down. He mumbled, “That’s what mother always said,” the blonde jerked his chin towards the statue, “I always prayed to her and received nothing.”
Exasperated, you deadpanned, “Because you defile all of her daughters. Really, why are you here?”
“Our actual mother told me to come see you. Said it might save me from my wicked blood to sit with my pious sister.”
Aegon looked more uncomfortable and downcast, eyes dropping to the floor. You eyed him coolly before remarking, “She won’t answer our prayers because we’ve committed a grave sin. Marrying blood into blood like the dragon does.” You looked up at the carved statue, face loving but cold as the stone it was made from.
Your brother laughed, “If we’re doomed why waste your time here dear sister?”
Finally you snapped at him, “I believe that maybe she will pity me for being married to my own brother, one who is a drunkard that lies with whores until he’s sick with it!”
He flinched as if struck, pale curls swishing as he turned away. Your eyes flickered down to his pallid hands, trembling at his sides. Guilt ate at you— hate begets hate. You stammered, “I- I’m sorry Aegon, please.”
His gaze flashed back at you with a newly found anger. Aegon hissed, “What makes you so high and mighty sister? Because Otto and Alicent like you so much? You’re no better than me looking down on everyone like you do.” He gripped at your wrist and yanked you forward.
Aegon’s snarling face was mere inches from you now, wine on his breath per usual. His cheeks were flushed and eyes wild. You hated how handsome your husband was. All of the Targaryens were ethereally beautiful like that— making attraction almost inevitable.
“S-stop. I said I was sorry,” you murmured.
He growled, “Apologize to the Mother then. Apologize to our mother for spurning your brother while you’re at it.” You whimpered softly, eyelashes fluttering under the pressure. Alicent was the last thing you wanted to think about when Aegon was stirring up unholy feelings. Anger, lust, you couldn’t tell.
The elder sibling wrangled you back up, tucking himself behind, knees caging your legs in. You whispered in shock, “A-Aegon? What are you doing? People will see!” His chin came to nestle on your shoulder, hands came round to clasp over your own.
“We’re only a couple praying. They wouldn’t dare approach when the white knights are about.”
His hips were flush with your ass, cock throbbing between your cheeks. You whimpered again, face reddening in embarrassment. He rutted against the giving flesh softly, purring, “C’mon and pray for your dear brother’s salvation.”
“Y-you’re ma-my husband,” you said.
“Knew you as my lovely sister first,” Aegon mused.
He rutted harder, gasping into your neck. He licked and sucked at the soft skin, you moaning before cutting the sound off. One of Aegon’s ringed hands snuck between your legs. He growled, “Pray for me now. Save me from the fires of hell.”
You felt woozy, limbs wobbly and weak. Your husband’s fingers drug against your sensitive bundle of nerves, shame and desire overtaking any rational thought. You warbled, “O Mother, please save us from sin. Forgive my brother for he knows not your forgiveness, ah!”
Aegon was panting now as he used your body for pleasure. He whimpered, “G-good, keep going, so sweet.” The blonde’s fingers slid through your slick to glide easier around your button. Your thighs trembled while you recited, “Save your child from the fires of the Seven hells, smile upon thee O Mother!”
He groaned desperately, moving faster and faster. Your own breath was a nervous staccato, quivering hands wringing together. You whined, “No more, I’ve prayed, Aegon!” His swirling digits paused while he smugly joked, “Say stop and I will.”
It only took you a shameful beat before begging, “Please, please don’t stop Aegon.”
“That’s my sweet little sister.”
You shut your eyes, unable to take the shame. The Mother’s presence loomed over the pair of you— just like Alicent’s did. But he felt so good. Your head lolled upon his shoulder while you whined and gasped. Aegon groaned, “When we’re blood of dragonlords we don’t need this nonsense mother forces upon us,” he drug his fingertips up sharply, “If you want something, take it.”
You gasped and stilled in surprise, whining high in your throat as your cunt tightened and gushed between your taut thighs. Aegon cried out into the sept, echoing as he reached his peak. You felt his cock throbbing and leaking onto your fine dress, Aegon smiling against your mottled neck.
In a fit of clarity you scrambled from the elder sibling, feeling a retch bubble up. You cursed, “You’re sick! No one will ever love you— blackened and vile creature!” Aegon blinked out of his stupor, eyes suddenly going wide.
He murmured, “You don’t mean that. Don’t say that.”
Still sprawled haphazardly on the floor you reiterated, “No one will love a wretch like you Aegon, as much as you drown it out with the drink.”
The prince’s cheeks grew wet with tears, another shaky plea leaving his lips. He watched you get up and give another scathing look before stiffly walking away with a Kingsguard. His violet eyes looked up to the Mother. He screeched at the bitch. The dried spend in Aegon’s pants now felt disgusting. He was disgusting.
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driftwithme · 7 months
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Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy is a bit of a Chaleigh song for me:
So boycott love
Detox just to retox
Chuck is the type to self-sabotage his love life in a multitude of ways. Sometimes, he convinces himself that he is not intersted in love at all or that even if he was, no one would be adequate unless the person was a j-pilot or something, because else they'd never understand Chuck. Sometimes, he tells himself he doesn't have enough time anyway, he's too busy dying for the world and the jaeger program. Sometimes, the worst of all, he thinks about Raleigh and has to convince himself of all the previous reasons plus Raleigh is a coward plus he hates the blond and he deserves so much better than a has-been. Otherwise, his love would climb his throat without permission and left him bare for Raleigh to disdain at.
So he goes on a cycle of purging his rage to work on his relationships or even ignore everyone in an attempt to he cordial, just for his repressed feelings to explode and send him back on a vicious spiral of more desperation and need-want-now-now.
As for Raleigh-- he acted similarly enough, isolating himself, pushing everyone away to relive his past mistakes over and over, in eternal punishment. Maybe Chuck did a number on himself, but Raleigh was not much better in that regard.
And I'd promise you anything
for another shot at life
Then comes Operation Pitfall and Chuck's left to regret-- regret everything, including the fact that he never allowed himself to be openly in love, even if it made him feel miserable. He's not ready to die, but when has the world care about it?
Raleigh is now thinking about the future for the first time in the past five years.
No one said they had good timing, but oh if they want to live. If there was a way, if by some miracle they could...
Imperfect boys
With their perfect ploys
And they are! Imperfect boys! Who plan and scheme beyond themselves!
Emotional constipated boys with a lifetime of war service and traumas and daddy and mommy issues. Amazing rangers who can pilot the best jaegers avaible but don't find the words to talk to each other properly. The beloveds golden boys of the public for their determination and their courage and their big hearts.
They are too smart to their own good and too clever for the kaijus to stand a chance and proud to realize they can't approach the thing blooming between them like it's just another battle, another war. They want to play the strategies in the wrong place by the wrong reasons lol.
Nobody wants to hear you sing
about tragedy
!! Nobody wants to hear their sad stories !! No one wants to hear how Raleigh lost his brother while they were still on the drift !! How Chuck sold his youth for a chance to stop the apocalypse !! People think is the consequence of their actions !! They do not care about the reality of the rangers and their backstories !! When everyone is fighting to survive, no one wants to hear another sob inducing tale !! They want to hear about the survivors and their bravery and their wins !!!!
Well, I'm being unfair. Maybe the public do want to hear about Chuck losing his mom and Raleigh's dad abandoning him and all the less heroic details that made them the rangers they are today. Thing is, I don't see Chuck and Raleigh being intersted in that martyr treatment, so this is more of what they tell to themselves, that no one wants to hear their tragedies. They just go on.
BONUS FOR THE PRE-CHORUS
I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine
You could take the "complete machine" here as the jaeger itself or the PPDC or the jaeger program. Either way, Raleigh and Chuck are both outliners. A bit too unpredictable or angry to trust in their decisions, they could make or break the whole thing.
They both feel like they're not enough and they both know they're some of the best and they feel out, lonely, abandoned.
What a match
I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet
It doesn't matter who is who.
Raleigh's half doomed from his first solo-piloting and Chuck's half doomed 'cause he's part of the jaeger that will close the breach by detonating the stupid bomb.
Chuck's good intentions and good heart are hidden behind all his anger and mean words, fitting him in the semi-sweetness description. Meanwhile, Raleigh is sweet by nature but the suffering and the years has made him a bit bitter and nostalgic.
They're like the worst most chaotic match.
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maxwell-grant · 3 years
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Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?
Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).
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But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.
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There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.
There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.
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And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way
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"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!
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Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.
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...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-
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The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.
Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.
A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!
The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.
An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.
He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.
The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.
A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.
The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"
"Hard to say. We'll do our best."
"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."
Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.
Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.
He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!
Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!
He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.
This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.
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The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.
Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.
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But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.
Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.
Annabelle.
She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.
A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.
"Mommy? Mommy's here?"
Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.
"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"
It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.
"Yeah."
Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.
"'kay."
The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.
Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.
One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.
Sometimes I get cold at night.
"Even in the summer?"
Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.
She nodded.
He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.
She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.
The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.
She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.
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(Art by Jill Thompson)
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Kaz: Straight friend groups be like: blonde girl, chad, the funny one, Kyle, brunette girl, frat boy.
Kaz: Gay friend groups be like: know-it-all whump magnet, speedster with identity issues, agent of chaos who bounces between holding all or none of the braincells with no in-between, ghostwriter with mommy issues, feral alien biker-gymnast, cryptid rich kid with incomprehensible tastes, tired alt-rock designated babysitter, angry homeschooled legacy kid, happy eccentric DILF, nerd with too many ideas who's trying his best, himbo who can benchpress an aircraft carrier, smug eccentric DILF, blind ex-vagabond, two-faced robot with daddy issues, know-it-all whump magnet's feral alter, secret brother, team-mom number four...
Bree: How much longer is this gonna go on?
Oliver: How many people do we know?
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dwellordream · 3 years
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And on the Baratheon side of things, Shireen having dirty blonde hair, Renly and Gendry having brown hair, all of them having average height/build instead of being as tall, well-built, and large in general like they should be. They're supposed to be complete Units ™, ugh. And Gendry's personality changes. Like, give me bitchy, angry, grumpy, pain in the ass Gendry. It's what we deserve! The only thing holding back my rage over that is Joe Dempsie's titties, tbh. (2)
Also, the Lannisters having brown hair, especially Jaime. And Asha being called Yara. That is one of my biggest issues. I'll literally gag because I'm that extra. I hate it so much. And when Loras is referred to as Highgarden's heir, same with Trystane and Sunspear. And when Podrick is portrayed as this charming lothario figure instead of the skinny, stuttering boy he is. Also - and this is probably something that book only fans do too - when fics take place in the canon universe, but use dad/daddy/papa and mom/mum/mama instead of Father and Mother. There's probably more that I can't think of right now, but those are the ones that are always on my mind. I am so sorry for how long this message got. I didn't mean to rant this long, but it had been building up for awhile and it seems like I can't help being obnoxious, so thanks for dealing with that! (4) I don’t think I ever got part 1 of this rant but I appreciate your anger haha.  I actually don’t care when they use Mum/Dad in certain instances in fics because for example I was reading Wolf Hall and Cromwell as a boy calls his father Dad and it sounds natural for the time period. And Sweetrobin does call Lysa Mommy/Mummy in AGoT. But coming out of the mouths of the most of the nobleborn children it sounds a bit strange.
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snarkybluechristian · 5 years
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Hazbin Hotel: Satan’s Plan Part 8 (Collab with Dinobot King)
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The room’s walls were colored pink with glitter almost everywhere.  There were chairs arranged in a circle with a red rug covering the floor.  
From what Sir Pentious could see, the crowd was diverse.
There was a small, chubby dark-skinned female demon with black eyes with hot pink pupils wearing a short purple dress and a purple necklace who was eating from a box of donuts.
There was a gray-blue-skinned demon with dark blue fins on the side of his face and running along his spine until it reached the angler fish lure on the top of his head wearing a blue lab coat, black gloves, and black boots who was sitting shyly alone in his chair.
Then finally, there was a white dog demon covered in black spots with a black leg, ears pierced multiple times, yellow and red eyes, and blond and pink hair wearing a spiked dog collar, a pink dress with a skull on it, black fingerless gloves, and a black short-sleeved jacket who was curled up sleeping on the floor in the center of the circle.
“Crymini, wake up!” Vaggie yelled.
“Dammit, woman,” Crymini groaned groggily as she woke up.  “What’s your deal?”
“Hey, kid, you do not give me back sass!” Vaggie retorted.
“For the last time, I died when I was 19,” Crymini growled getting in her face.  “I am not a kid.”
“Ladies, please, let’s calm down,” Charlie said as she pulled a reluctant Sir Pentious into the room behind her.
“It’s not my fault this bitch was being rude,” Vaggie replied irritably before she noticed the tall snake demon being pulled into the room behind Charlie.  
“What is he doing here?” Vaggie asked defensively.  
“Well, you’re not particularly welcoming,” Sir Pentious said as Charlie let go of his hands and he crossed his arms defensively.  “I thought this was supposed to be a rehab center.”
“Hey!” Vaggie retorted.  “I don’t tell you how to do your job!”
“Alright, Vaggie,” Charlie said in a calm tone in an effort to calm everyone down before she started speaking up to begin the meeting.  “How about we get this meeting started?  Hello, everyone!  This is the Happy Hotel’s newest patient, Sir Pentious!  Woo!”
Sir Pentious glanced at the group and rolled his eyes at them.
“Hello, Pentious,” Angel said swinging the door open and shutting it behind him.  
“What are you doing here, Dust?” Sir Pentious hissed.
“Sir Pentious, he’s part of the group, too,” Charlie said calmly.
“So, what did I miss?” Angel asked as he slid into his chair.  “Did Sir Pentious bear his soul yet?”
“You were almost late,” Vaggie chided quietly sitting herself in a chair beside him.  “What the hell were you doing?”
“Relax, doll,” Angel said.  “I merely had some personal business to attend to.  So, what’s on the agenda today?”
“Our new member was just introducing himself, but it seems that you two already know each other,” Mimzy said sliding her box under her chair.
“Everyone knows who he is,” Baxter chimed in as he sipped from a cup of water.  “Aren’t you the snake demon who’s always trying to take over hell?  What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, did the incident with Cherri Bomb finally make you quit or somethin’?” Crymini asked sitting back in her chair and scratching her ear.
Sir Pentious crossed his arms defensively and said sarcastically, “Hello, fellow scum of the earth.  I look forward to avoiding all of you as much as possible.”
“Well, bud, looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” Angel quipped.  “This is a no bullying zone, so if you have a problem with us, I suggest you pack your bags and scram.”
Vaggie smirked while Charlie facepalmed in frustration.  
“Ok, Angel, that’s enough,” Charlie said bringing the group back to focus and sliding into her chair.  “Alright, Sir Pentious, would you like to tell us the story of your life?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Sir Pentious retorted.  “It’s none of your business.”
“Why?” Charlie asked.  “Does it have anything to do with why you’re constantly trying to take over hell?”
“God, how long is this session?” Sir Pentious responded with annoyance.
“As long as you make it,” Vaggie retorted.
“Okay, fine,” Sir Pentious said sarcastically.  “I lived in London.  I wanted to be king, but the royals said no and I drank myself to death.  There, happy now?  I’m going back to my room.  I need to talk to my Egg Bois…”
Sir Pentious tried to get up from his chair, but Charlie grabbed his tail and forced him to sit back down.
“Sir Pentious, you have to be honest with yourself and everyone else to achieve redemption,” Charlie said getting back into her chair.  “You have to get in touch with what it is that is making you depressed, sad, or angry.”
“I don’t want to and you can’t make me,” Sir Pentious said rising from his chair again.  “I’ll achieve redemption on my own…”
“No, you don’t, mister,” Charlie said pushing Sir Pentious back onto the chair and handcuffing his left hand to the chair he was sitting on.
“Hey!” Angel complained.  “I told ya to stay out of my stash, Charlie!”
“Bloody hell, woman!” Sir Pentious shouted.  “What in the hell is wrong with you?  Uncuff me this instant!”
“No way!” Charlie said getting close enough for him to see her clipboard.  “Not until you start talking about your life!”
“I don’t have to say anything,” Sir Pentious said turning away.
Vaggie twitched her eyes, growled, got in his face, and yelled, “Come on!  You came here because you wanted to be rehabilitated.  So, what is it?  Why do you want to be the Devil?”
“Vaggie, get out of his face!” Charlie pleaded.
Sir Pentious glared and Vaggie reluctantly backed down as Angel said, “It really ain’t that hard, snake.  What is eating you?  Mommy issues?  Daddy issues?  Were you lonely?  Were you poor?  Were you a user?  Or, was it something else entirely?”
“Angel…” Charlie pleaded as Angel lit a cigarette.
Sir Pentious’ glare intensified as Angel kept goading, “You know what I think?  I think you had it easy in your life.  I think you always got everything you wanted in life and when you died you had to work like the rest of us and couldn’t stand it.  And now that you can’t get what you want here, you want to make amends with God so you can move on to Paradise and have it easy again.  Typical.  I could never stand rich bastards like you who had it easy.  No offense to you, Charlie.  You’re different.  You’re trying to do something.  People like Pentious here don’t give a shit.  Try to tell me I’m wrong.”
Sir Pentious scoffed and hissed, “What are you talking about?!  I know what your family was!  We’re cut from the same cloth, ya bloody hypocrite!”
“I left those bastards long ago,” Angel argued back before taking a drag from his cigarette.  “What’s your excuse?”
“THEY NEVER GAVE ME WHAT I DESERVED!” Sir Pentious finally screamed.  “I WAS TORMENTED AND REJECTED BY EVERYONE!  I WORKED HARDER THAN THEY DID AND WAS BARELY TOLERATED!  WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE, YOU HAD ACCEPTANCE AND SOCIAL STANDING!  I WAS REJECTED BY OWN BLOOD RELATIVES AND MY OWN SOCIETY ALL BECAUSE I WAS A ‘HALF-BREED!’”
Everyone went silent except Angel who asked, “What the hell does that mean?”
“That means that unlike you I’m not white,” Sir Pentious hissed more quietly.  “I’m only half-English.  The other half comes from India, from my mother’s people.”
Sir Pentious noticed the clipboard that Charlie had placed on the ground.  He used his hat to signal to his Egg Bois to pick it up while a flood of restored memories started flowing his way.
“Uh, Sir Pentious, do you care to expand on that?” Charlie asked.
Sir Pentious looked at her and felt the kindness behind her voice.  It touched him.
So, Sir Pentious began his tale, “My father was the child of a wealthy English inventor who along with his wife was radically Christian and progressive for his time.  My mother was the daughter of Indian merchants who were like-minded.  When my father moved with his parents to India, he fell in love with that daughter.  My grandparents were close friends and approved of their union without hesitation.  Soon after that, I was born.  My skin was lighter because of my father, but I looked very much like my mother.  I had brown skin, black hair, and steely brown-gray eyes just like hers, just like a cobra’s.  That’s what they would all say.  I grew up in India knowing the values of the West and the East.  I had grandparents and parents who loved me and my many cousins on my mother’s side to play with.  I was never considered different from any of them.  I was loved, and I was happy.  They all shielded me from the world’s prejudice.  My grandparents both died happy.  My father was happy too until my mother died.  She fell ill during her pregnancy with my younger sibling.  I was only nine, and from then on, everything went straight to hell…”
Sir Pentious was surprised to see tears falling down his face.  Charlie walked away from her chair and wrapped an arm around Sir Pentious.  The Egg Bois continued sneaking towards the chair, but Sir Pentious was too lost in his memories to notice.  
“My grandfather’s business partners forced my father to return to the homeland.  He didn’t want to, but his kind and gentle heart was heartbroken and he didn’t have the strength to keep resisting.  So, we both returned to London.
“Upon our arrival to London, his biological family refused to acknowledge me.  They couldn’t bear the fact that my father had married an Indian woman, so he rejected them.  My father was a true Christian man whose progressive values made him an outcast, but we were not alone.  My father had a spiritual family in the church he grew up in.  They were all radicals who were as progressive as my father if not more and were also considered outcasts in their own families.  They were the righteous people who campaigned for justice locally and abroad.  They ran organizations to help the poor.  They sponsored abolitionists.  They even campaigned for women’s suffrage.  They loved their neighbors as themselves, and they accepted us without a second thought.
“My father and his friends protected me as much as they could.  They raised me as much as he did.  They all taught me many things, including how to play the organ, and gave me a loving environment, but even so, I knew I was an outcast.  I could see it in the glances of passersby when we were out in public.  I could hear it in the comments others made.  I could feel it in our small insular world.  My holy family always stood up for me.  My father encouraged me and taught me how to stand strong.  He even kept up correspondence with my family in India for me.  We went to visit them whenever we were on holiday to escape, but it all wasn’t enough.  I could still feel the hatred of the world I grew up in…”
Every single misfit was focused on Sir Pentious’ story.  Not even Vaggie noticed when one Egg Boi picked up the documents while the other Egg Boi took pictures on his smart phone.
“Then when I was old enough to go to boarding school, I felt that hatred in its full force,” Sir Pentious continued.  “Without guardians to protect me, the school tore me apart.  They housed me in a room by myself as if I were some sort of animal.  The other students bullied me mercilessly.  They stole my possessions.  They mocked me relentlessly.  They called me a ‘half-breed’ and tormented me daily.  None of the adults did anything to make it stop.  They punished me whenever I spoke up against it.  They joined in the bullying.  I constantly received harsh punishments for minor infractions and rules I didn’t break.  They accused me of cheating because they could never believe that a ‘half-breed’ could be more intelligent than any other white student.  They marked my grades as low as they could get away with for the slightest error.  The only one who was kind to me there was the colored groundskeeper who defended me whenever he could.  I tried to stay strong and keep my torment a secret from my father and his friends.  I excelled in my studies despite their best efforts, but the bullying only grew worse until one day the aggression got physical.  
“The strongest players from my school’s rugby team were plastered.  I was walking back to my dormitory room after studying in the library all evening.  They found me and beat me within an inch of my life.  They left me beaten and bruised and almost too hurt to move.  The groundskeeper found me, got me help, and stayed with me at the hospital while my father was called for.  If I was found any later, I would have died due to the severity of my injuries.
“When my father arrived, I told him everything.  He was furious.  He brought multiple lawsuits against the school and brought criminal charges against the people who beat me and left me for dead.  His lawyer friends helped him as much as they could, but ultimately, the school had friends in higher places.  They forced my father to agree to a settlement and those bastards who almost killed me never faced a single disciplinary action…”
Sir Pentious’ frill spread out and he started shaking in fury at the restored memories.  
“I left that school and started attending classes in another college while living at home and apprenticing under my father.  My father and his godly friends counseled me as much as they could, but I couldn’t let go of my anger or my hate.  Their cruelty had poisoned me, but it had destroyed my father more than I ever knew.  He slipped into a depression that neither I or his friends could counsel him out of.  When I graduated, we worked together making inventions and bonded more closely than ever.  I thought he was getting better, but one morning, I found him dead.  He had drunk himself to death.  It turned out that he had been drinking for a long time.  The world had broken his heart.
“In his will, my father left everything to me.  During his funeral, all his friends of the church, much of my mother’s family, and even the groundskeeper came to bid him farewell, to mourn with me, and to comfort me in my time of sorrow.  Many of them even accompanied me to take his ashes to India.  But no one in my father’s family came.  Not a single person would even approach me or acknowledge my existence or pay tribute to my father.  And for what?  All because he had fallen in love with an Indian woman…”
Sir Pentious started shedding angry tears and his voice raised in his fury as he continued, “That was the straw that broke the camels back.  I realized then that the world was a horrid place where the good and the righteous like my father and his friends couldn’t triumph because of the corrupt, racist, unjust, and white-washed vermin who crushed anyone who dared to defy their corruption!  That world had broken my kind and gentle-hearted father because he refused to abandon me, so I decided that I would break it back!  I could no longer turn the other cheek!  I had to destroy the world that destroyed my poor father and me so that good men could triumph!
“So, instead of returning to India to live with my mother’s family away from the prejudice of England, I stayed behind and became a villain.  I created inventions that I sold for profit to fund underground terrorists the world over.  Anarchists.  The Irish Republican Army.  The freedom fighters among my mother’s people.  Extreme abolitionists.  All of them came to me and relied on my funding and eventually my inventions to help their causes, and I was glad to give it.  I saved my assistant Toulouse from a workhouse and got his help going even further.  I began carrying out terroristic missions myself.  I let my black hair grow long enough to flow down my back like a hood.  The survivors started calling me ‘the serpent’ in all the newspapers, so that’s who I became.  ‘The serpent,’ the karmic snake in the grass that would carry out God’s wrath and rebalance the world!”
Tears flooded Sir Pentious’ eyes as he stared at the floor and relived his restored memories once again.  The Egg Bois took the last of their pictures, slid the clipboard back under the chair, and gave a thumbs up to their boss.  The hat saw it, but Sir Pentious didn’t respond.
“I didn’t get what I wanted,” Sir Pentious sobbed.  “I got vengeance, but I didn’t see my work completed.  I contracted tuberculosis at the age of 48.  I died in my sick bed with Toulouse right beside me.  It was so unfair…”
Charlie walked over to Sir Pentious, gave him a big hug, and said, “It’s okay, Sir Pentious.  Just let it out.”
And for a few minutes, that’s just what he did.
All the misfits sat in silence except for Angel who finally broke the silence and said, “That explains why you’re obsessed with takin’ over hell…”
“Angel!” Vaggie snapped.
“What?” Angel replied.  “It does.  He wants to take over hell so he can finish his work of bringing down those who make the world a shitty place.  It makes sense.”
“He’s not wrong,” Crymini chimed in scratching her ear with her back leg.
The two Egg Bois scampered onto their boss’ lap and gave him the biggest hugs they could.
“You’re going to be just fine, boss,” Austen said.
“Yeah,” Thrys agreed.
Sir Pentious smiled as conflicting emotions rose inside him and rested in his chest.  On one hand, he felt relief at sharing his story.  On the other hand, Sir Pentious felt the same odd emotion that he had felt when he saw Delilah that morning.  Guilt.  He had just distracted them so his Egg Bois could steal their information…
“That was a wonderful share, Sir Pentious,” Charlie said finally letting go of him.
“Thanks,” Sir Pentious replied genuinely.  “Could you take the handcuffs off now?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Charlie said digging the key out of her pocket and unlocking the handcuff around Sir Pentious’ wrist.
“I’ll be taking that back,” Angel said in annoyance as he unlocked the handcuffs off the chair and stuffed them in his pocket.  “Say, Sir Pentious, where did those eggs come from?”
“Huh?” Thrys asked.  “What do you mean?”
“I think he’s asking where you guys came from and how you know Sir Pentious,” Charlie said.
“Oh,” Austen replied.  “Well, the only one of us who knows that story completely is Toulouse.  All we have our bits and pieces of his memories.  Only the original has every memory, so you’d have to ask our boss.”
“Well?” Angel asked curiously.  
“If you must know, I found Toulouse when I was searching my local workhouse for an assistant,” Sir Pentious replied.  “Ordinarily, anyone else would have just taken out an ad in the newspaper, but I knew that very few employees would be willing to take orders from a ‘half-breed,’ especially in London.  So, I searched the workhouse instead for someone I knew would be grateful to serve me.  That is when I met Toulouse.
“Toulouse was the only child of two French farmers.  Their farm failed when his father died of illness, and his naïve mother thought they’d have a better chance of starting over in London.  But they ended up in the workhouse instead.
“Those workhouse bastards were beyond cruel to him. Toulouse was a French immigrant who only came there to save the life of his sick mother and had no idea what he was getting into. He was only 15. He couldn't have. He didn't speak a word of English.
“The moment his mother died, he was taken back to be forcefully bathed, had his clothes taken from him, was placed in a uniform, locked away, and given a number. Number 22. He had to hide his few possessions so they wouldn't be taken from him and sold. They put him in the mentally ill ward of the workhouse with other maniacs because he was slow, depressed, and too frightened to speak.
“Modern medical literature would describe Toulouse's mental condition as a mix of high-functioning autism and attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder, but back then, the doctors simply described him as a mentally deficient imbecile. It was horrible. I can't imagine how scared he must have been or how horribly those calloused monsters must have treated him.
“He slept on straw beds and ate rationed food. Toulouse was starved and isolated fairly often because he taught himself how to pick locks and frequently tried to escape that prison. Can you blame him?  They put him through hell.  Those monsters didn't do anything to comfort him or help him. They embezzled much of the money used to help the inmates and cut corners whenever they could!
“The day I came, Toulouse was trying to run away in a straitjacket. They were sending him to an institution so that their colleagues would receive more government money and they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. It made me sick. I had to do something.
“So, I gave them a bigger bribe to let me take Toulouse in myself. He was in such bad shape. He was starved, scared almost to the point of mania, and unbelievably lacking in social graces. I was the only one who could speak to him or calm him down since I learned French in school and practiced it regularly in business.  I had to teach him how to read, write, and speak in English. I had to teach him how to behave in formal company. I had to practically raise him. But Toulouse surprised me. He learned pretty readily. He was not stupid or mentally deficient after all. He only needed guidance, a steady hand, and a structured yet nurturing environment and he prospered. Wish I could say the same of his clones...”
“So, you’re a kinder person than you seem,” Angel said with a smile.
“No,” Sir Pentious said defensively.  “I knew he’d be the perfect assistant…”
“Your Eggheads don’t look like perfect assistants to me,” Angel retorted.  “Admit it.  You did it out of the kindness of your heart.  You became the kid’s family and he devoted his life to you, like a son.”
“Awwwww!” the Egg Bois said hugging their boss more closely.
“So, what if I did?” Sir Pentious retorted.  “They were going to send a mentally disordered but perfectly capable young man to prison!  It would have been a waste!”
“Whatever you say,” Angel said.  “Ya big softie!”
Sir Pentious only glared at Angel for a moment before he returned to his own thoughts.
“Alright, guys!  The meeting is over, and now…” Charlie said cheerfully grabbing her tuxedo and ripping it off to reveal a black and white bikini under it.  “It’s time to go swimming!”
Sir Pentious’ mouth dropped open in shock as all the other misfits pushed the doors open and rushed into the pool area.  Meanwhile, Austen got a call on his smartphone.
“Hey, Sir Pentious!” Charlie said cheerfully.  “Aren’t you coming?”
“Yeah, Pent-y!” Angel yelled from outside wearing nothing but his booty shorts.  “Come play with us!”
“I…uh…” Sir Pentious said searching for the right words in his embarrassment.  
“Boss,” Austen interrupted.  “It’s Toulouse.”
Sir Pentious took the phone and said, “Toulouse, what is…?  Oh, God!  I’m coming.”
“Sorry, princess,” Sir Pentious said quickly slithering backwards and trying to hide his relief.  “I have something urgent I need to take care of at home!  Cheerio!”
“Uh, okay…” Charlie said hesitantly walking outside.  “See you later.  Don’t forget curfew.”  
Sir Pentious turned around and slithered quickly out of the room with the Egg Bois riding on his tail.
“Boss, what is it?” Thrys asked.  
“Delilah’s gone,” Sir Pentious replied.  “Remind me to thank her later.”
7 notes · View notes
katiebug445 · 5 years
Text
Cold Coffee
Pairing: Jean/Armin  Fandom: Attack on Titan  Word Count: 5648 A/N: I found this sitting in my google docs. This was the very first Jearmin fic I ever wrote, waaay back from last winter. I never posted it anywhere because I didn’t think it was very good. But after a little bit of editing (see: I did the first half and got tired), I think it’s okay enough to post. It’s self indulgent as all fuck and Jean apparently has a cat named Brad? I don’t know... 
Tick, tick, tick, tick, the steady, easy, rhythm of the clock on the wall behind him was about enough to put him to sleep.
Jean Kirstein leaned against the counter, his chin in his hand, and was itching for something to do. His eyes lazily followed people walking by outside, chatting amongst themselves as they went about their lives, and he longed to be out there with them, instead of stuck in his stuffy, overpriced coffee shop.
He hated days like this, the days when things were so slow, that watching paint dry would be preferable to being here another second. He glanced at the clock, and he was discouraged to find that only a minute and thirty seconds had passed since he checked it the last time. With a sigh, Jean pushed off the counter and scrubbed his hands across his face to wake himself up.
Thanks to Sasha and Connie coming in late Friday night and all day Saturday, they’d caught up on inventory, and he personally had helped them restock everything. Levi made sure everything was spotless when he arrived after lunch. There was nothing left for Jean to do aside from praying to whatever deity that was paying attention for a customer or two.
He didn’t even have homework to occupy him.
Jean could hear Eren and Mikasa in the back, bickering about a math test they had the following day, and only the prospect of losing his job kept him from mouthing off to Eren. He knew from experience that if Levi caught them at each other’s throats again, they’d both be fired on the spot. And Jean needed this job. Bad.
The sky was beginning to darken despite it being just a little after 4:00 in the afternoon, and Jean had a sinking feeling that it would probably be freezing by the time his shift ended. Great. With another glance around to make sure nobody was miraculously going to be heading inside, Jean pulled out his phone, opened up a couple social medias, and began scrolling.
Marco seemed to be having a blast at the convention he’d decided to go to last minute, and Jean wished he was with him. From the pictures he’d been posting, he was making all kinds of friends with cosplayers, and had an entire backpack full of merchandise that Jean was envious of. Sasha was out sick, and her twitter was nothing but a solid stream of tweets and selfies posted from her bathroom floor, and how wonderful a boyfriend Connie was for risking contracting whatever virus she had to keep her company.
With a sigh, Jean shoved his phone back into his arpon and went back to staring aimlessly at the door. He had half a mind to try hacking the speakers and pull up one of his playlists, but Levi had a strict policy about that (thanks to Eren) now, and he knew he’d get his ass handed to him if he tried.
Finally, he heard the bickering coming up from the back and after a moment, Eren emerged, his face red and his eyes murderous. Jean couldn’t help but snort. “What’s wrong? Did mommy and daddy have a fight?”
“Shut up.” Eren growled, leaning against the display case with his arms folded tightly across his chest. “It’s none of your business.”
“I beg to differ. If a fight’s gonna break out, I wanna make sure I get a good seat, and have enough time to put a hundred on Mikasa.”
“Are you looking to start a fight?”
“Not at all. Just wantin’ your girlfriend to know she’s got my support, is all.” Jean snickered.
“Will you shut up?”
“No.”
Eren stalked up to him, shoulders hunched and looking like he was about to punch him right in the face. He probably would have, too, if Mikasa hadn’t chosen that moment to poke her head out and break them up. She looked every bit as angry as Eren, and that cold stare of hers was about enough to make both boys fear for their lives. Instead of egging the hot headed idiot on anymore, Jean turned around and went back to staring at his watch while the lovebirds tried to resolve their issues in low voices at the opposite end of the counter.
It was by complete chance that he noticed him. Jean rolled his eyes at the two and let his gaze fall to the windows, just in time to see a mop of blond, wind-blown hair struggling at the door. Jean straightened up, trying not to look like he was pissed off or desperately looking for something to do, and put on his best customer service smile. “Afternoon,” he greeted.
“A-Afternoon.” The mop mumbled.
“What can I do for ya?”
The kid had just opened his mouth, and suddenly Jean was being shoved out of the way by the full force of Eren Jaeger. He opened his mouth to scream at him, to tell him to stop being a rude ass, but he decided against it last minute. No need to scare off their fist customer in over an hour. Jean swallowed his remark and relaxed his stance just a little.
Figuring that Eren had things under control, he didn’t think he was needed up there anymore. If he happened to bump into Eren on his way out and knock him a little off balance, though, he wouldn’t have complained.
When Jaeger called the drink order, Jean got to work, trying to catch whatever bit of conversation he could between Eren and the customer. It seemed like they knew each other, pretty well from the brunette’s sudden shift in tone. He thought he even caught him smile once or twice. Creepy.
When blondie’s hot chocolate was finished, Jean brought it up with a smile, and a little wink to the guy, who muttered a quick thanks. After that, he was on his way, and off to a table near the back. Once he was out of their eyeline, Jean wheeled on Eren and caught his arm before he could disappear. “Mind tellin’ me what the fuck that shove was about?”
“None of your business.”
“Kinda my business when you almost shove me down, Jeager.”
“Just stay out of it!”
With a roll of his eyes, Jean decided to drop it. He knew if he continued with it, either Mikasa would kill him, or Levi would fire him; neither of which he could afford right now. He did, however, flip Eren off when he wasn’t looking, though, and that brought him a small bit of satisfaction.
~~~
The next time Jean saw the blond was the first day of Christmas break. It was busy as hell, and he and Eren had been at each other’s throats their whole shift. They’d already gotten a warning from Levi, and Mikasa’s look promised horrible things if he said one more rude thing to Eren.
In short, he’d been having a horrible fucking day.
Jean was sulking at the register while he waited on Connie to finish the last round of drink orders, and drummed his fingers impatiently at the counter. The bell above the door jingled, and Jean looked up, recognition flashing across his face as the blond walked in, head half buried under a huge scarf and a hat that walked straight out of the ‘40s.
“Hi again.” Jean said, trying to sound cheerful. “I like the hat.”
The blond gave him a small, startled smile, and went to looking at the menu board. Jean waited patiently while his big, blue eyes scanned quickly over Levi’s handwritten words, and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from drumming them again. He found himself staring at the boy across from him, watching as his lips moved while he read off the drinks, and decided that he was… kinda cute.
The blond must have noticed him staring, because he lowered his head and mumbled out something Jean didn’t catch.
“Say that again?”
“Can I just get a large hot chocolate?” He said just a bit louder.
“Sure thing. What’s the na--”
“I got it from here.”
Jean had no idea where Eren had come from, but he was suddenly there, shoving him out of the way again, and Jean actually had to bite down on his cheek to keep from yelling. That was twice, now. There was a reason Eren kept getting in the middle of this, and he wanted answers. Now.
The blond was taken care of, and he headed back to the small table in the corner of the store. Jean noticed, as he sat down, that the blond had a book in his hands. He tried to read the cover, but he couldn’t make it out from where he was. It wasn’t insanely important, anyways, he guessed.
Besides, he had bigger things to worry about right now.
Jean grabbed Eren by the arm, and felt as the smaller boy tensed up immediately. “Mind telling me what that was about?” Jean asked, raising his eyebrows.
Eren responded by pulling his arm back and walking away, sneakily flipping him off as he went.
~~~~
He came back the next day, at the same time, and thank God Eren had the day off.
It was near 6:00 in the evening, almost every table in the place was full up, and the heat was about enough to suffocate him. He’d been stuck at the register again, and thankfully, they were busy enough that he didn’t have a lot of time to think. Jean almost didn’t realize it was the blond at the register, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw who it was. “You’re back!” He said.
The blond smiled that same shy smile and gently asked for a large hot chocolate, and for the first time, Jean realized how soft of a voice the blond had. He liked it. He wanted him to say more things.
“Is the hot chocolate here really that good?” Jean asked. “I’ve never had it before.”
The blond looked up, and gave a small shrug. “It’s not that bad.”
“Well, what do I have to do to turn that ‘not bad’ into ‘pretty good’?”
“Uh…”
“I’m just kidding.” Jean replied, shooting him a smile. “What’s the name for the order?”
“Armin.” Said the boy.
“Armin.” Jean repeated. “Well, Armin, I’ll be sure to get that out to you soon, if you want to have a seat.”
“T-Thanks.” Armin replied, turning away from the counter and heading off to that same seat as the day before.
“Connie,” Jean called, turning back to his friend. “Go ahead and add a little whipped cream to that hot chocolate before you send it up. Forgot to say it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the change enough for the addition, and left it on the counter until he could open the register again.
After a few moments, the drink was brought up, and Jean decided that instead of calling him up, he’d deliver it to Armin himself.
He grabbed the cup in his hand, hurried out from behind the counter, and headed off for Armin’s table. “Sorry about the wait,” Jean said by way of greeting, “We’re a little backed up right now, but it’s still warm.”
Armin jumped, his book falling out of his hands and onto the floor, and started apologizing for being a clutz. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I’ll get it, I’m sorry.” He kept mumbling.
“No, it’s okay.” Jean stopped him from bending down, and set his drink on his table. “I’ll get it.” He reached down and picked up Armin’s book, which was a battered copy of The Hobbit and handed it back to the boy with a gentle smile. “You like Tolkien?”
“Kinda?” Armin replied, gently taking the book back and clutching it close to his chest. “This is for school, though.”
“He’s good.” Jean said, his eyes flickering to the novel in the other boy’s hand again. “What’s your favorite?”
“I-I don’t know, this is the first I’ve read.”
“Well, that’s a good book. I promise. Kinda weird, but good.”
“Cool.” Armin replied.
They stood in an awkward silence for a moment, and, taking the hint that their conversation was over, Jean cleared his throat. “Well, Armin, enjoy your book, and your drink. Have a nice evening.”
“You too.”
Jean kicked himself the whole way back to the counter, wondering when he became such an awkward dweeb. Nobody would ever let him live that down if they found out.
~~~
It was freezing the next afternoon when he arrived at work. It had been raining since he woke up and the temperature was dropping rapidly. He wouldn’t have been surprised if by the end of the night, they’d have snow.
Jean took off his coat and shoved his hat in the breast pocket, hanging it up and rubbing his hands together to get some warmth back into them. “Hey, losers.” He said, getting a small scoff out of Eren. Jean snorted and went to clock in.
Much to his relief, Levi had the day off, which meant Marco was in charge, which meant they could goof off without the fear of being yelled at. Jean took the chance to hack into the bluetooth and put on his own music, which improved his mood even more.
Just as he predicted, by 4:00, the rain had turned to snow, and Marco had gone outside to put salt down on the sidewalk. Jean was busy repeating one of the songs he knew Eren hated for the fifth time when the door opened, and Marco walked back inside with Armin. Jean slid his phone back into his pocket as the opening chords started, and he heard Eren cussing him out from the back.
Jean covered up his laugh with a cough, and gave Armin that same smile. “Hi.” He said. This time, the other boy had a backpack with him, and he looked to be having a little trouble supporting the extra weight. Jean decided to have mercy on him and not chat him up too much right now. “Large hot chocolate, as usual?”
“Y-Yeah, thanks.” Armin said, shooting him a half smile before heading off to that same table again and setting his backpack on the ground. Jean couldn’t help but watch him. He pulled a laptop out of it and set it on the table, firing it up and hunching over when it turned on. He then pulled a pair of headphones out, stuck them on, and began clicking around.
Again, Jean personally took it upon himself to deliver Armin’s drink to him, and set it down on his table. When the smaller boy looked up, he slid his headphones down around his neck, and grabbed his drink. “I didn’t realize you knew Tolkien.” He said. “It surprised me.”
“Well, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jean replied, snorting.
Embarrassment colored Armin’s cheeks and he began to backtrack. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. You just didn’t… you didn’t strike me as the type, is all.”
“Oh?” The taller boy said, taking the seat across from Armin. “And what exactly is my ‘type’, Armin?”
Armin studied his face for a long few seconds, Jean shifting a little under the weight of his gaze, before he finally shook his head in defeat. “I don’t know.”
“Just don’t seem like the typical nerd?”
Armin just blushed and dropped his gaze to his computer, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”
Jean wasn’t having it, though. He leaned forward on his side of the table, his arms resting on the pressed wood, and smirked. “Well, if it helps, I don’t know either. If you ask Eren, I’m nothing but an asshole.”
Armin turned back to the counter, finding his friend up at the counter, shooting glances their way every few seconds. The blond quickly turned back around and cast his eyes down again. “Well, Eren’s not always right about everything.” He muttered.
A small chuckle escaped Jean’s lips, and he got back to his feet. “I better get back. But hey, next time, don’t hesitate to talk to me about the book, alright? It’s a good one.”
“Noted.” Armin replied, watching Jean walk away. If he felt his cheeks get a little warm, he wouldn’t admit it.
~~~~
Armin showed up at the same time the next day, 4:00, and had his laptop with him again. Jean made sure he was front and center at the register, and greeted Armin with a flirty smile. “Large hot chocolate and the back table?”
Armin squinted, looking between Jean and the menu board for a few seconds, setting his laptop down on the counter. “How about a coffee this time?”
Jean just chuckled. “You got it.  Anything else?”
“Two sugars and some time on your break?”
The taller boy blinked, not knowing what to say to that. Instead of saying anything, he nodded, and, with a slight blush in his cheeks, Armin took off for his normal table.
Jean just stared after him for a second, trying to process what just happened. Armin had been coming in for the last week, and he was always very shy. What brought on the change so suddenly? Shaking his head, he got started making the other boy’s coffee for him.
After a moment, he took it out, and set it down on the table. “I’ll be out soon, give me about twenty minutes, okay?”
“Okay.” Armin replied, shooting Jean a quick, barely there smile, before turning back to his computer and sliding his headphones up over his ears.   
Jean found himself staring at Armin’s table several times, wondering what the sudden request was about. The most logical assumption was that he wanted to talk books, and Jean, well… he wouldn’t complain if that was it.
He found his eyes flickering up to the clock every few seconds, and was desperately counting down the time until he could tell Connie he was going on break.
“Alright,” Jean said, plopping down in the seat across from the smaller boy, “what’s up?”
Armin studied him for a moment, and slid his headphones down around his neck again. “How’d you get interested in books?” He asked. It sounded a bit dumber coming out of his mouth than it had in his head, but he was genuinely curious.
Jean ran his tongue over the sore spot in his cheek while he thought. “I don’t know… When I was young, my mom would read to me a lot. I guess I just… stuck with it as I got older.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, she’s… pretty cool. Don’t tell her I said that, though, alright?”
That pulled a laugh out of Armin, and the blond took a sip of his drink, lost in thought for a moment. “What are some of your favorite authors?”
Jean shrugged. “Steinbeck, King, Tolkien, obviously.” He chuckled, shooting the smaller boy a grin. “Harry Potter’s not that bad, either.”
Armin’s eyes lit up. “You know Harry Potter? What house are you?”
Jean leaned back in his chair, giving a small roll of his eyes. “Well, I personally thought I was Slytherin when I first got into the series, but according to Pottermore, I’m… I’m Hufflepuff.”
Armin couldn’t hold back a small laugh at hearing that, which he tried to hide behind his cup.
“In my defense, Marco and Sasha are, too.” Jean pouted. “But what about you?”
“Ravenclaw.”
“Wow. Nerd.”
“There wasn’t ever a question.” Armin replied, shrugging. “I knew from day one.”
Jean laughed to himself, watching the smaller boy as he typed away at his keyboard for a second or two. “What about you, Armin? How’d you get into reading?”
“My grandpa.” He said simply. “When I was little, he would show me pictures from when he used to travel. He had lots of pictures of the ocean. I always wanted to know more about it. I can remember we’d go to the library, and I’d always come away with a huge stack of books about the water, or marine life, and everything in between. Eventually, that just gave way to just a love for reading in general.”
“No fair, your story’s more heartwarming than mine!”
That startled a laugh out of Armin. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be!” Jean teased, “I have nothing to compete with!”
“Now that’s not a very Hufflepuff attitude, you should be ashamed.” Armin retorted, laughing again.
Jean snorted. “What about favorite authors?”
Armin thought for a moment, shutting the lid on his computer. It looked to Jean like this was a harder question for him than it should have been, and he couldn’t help but think it was kind of adorable.
“Well…” Armin started, eyes fixed on a photo on the wall. “I really like Rowling, obviously. I like John Green… Neil Gaiman.”
“I’ve read a few of Gaiman’s books. They’re pretty good.”
Armin smiled at that. “What about Terry Prachett?”
Jean shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Jean!” Armin replied, a little louder than he expected. “You have to read Terry’s books! He and Neil were good friends before he died!”
“Okay, I’ll try to hunt one down.”
“Please!”
Jean opened his mouth to reply, but saw the time, and swore to himself. “I gotta get back or I’m gonna get in trouble. This was… kinda fun, Armin. Maybe we’ll do it again tomorrow?”
“Sure.” The smaller boy shot him a smile, and took a sip of his drink. “Same time?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Cool.” Jean smiled, a bit sheepishly.
~~~~
When Jean got to work the next afternoon, Eren was leaning against the counter, waiting for him. His arms were folded, his jaw was set, and it made Jean a bit nervous. He stopped in his tracks just inside the door, waiting for something to happen.
“Can I help you, Jeager?” He asked after a moment.
“Yeah, actually.” Eren replied. “Stay away from Armin.”
Jean walked passed the smaller boy, shrugging out of his coat and shoving it behind the counter. “And why, Jeager, would I do a thing like that?”
“Because.”
“Because…?”
“He’s too good for you.”
Jean stopped for a moment, wondering why in the hell this was becoming such a big deal, and folded his own arms. “Just out of curiosity, why do you care so much who Armin talks to?”
Eren pushed himself off the counter and took two steps towards Jean, eyes murderous. “Because I know how you are. I see you at school, Kirstein; you kinda make yourself hard to miss. All you are is an egoistic, horse-faced bastard, and Armin deserves better.”
Jean had to fight not to touch his face after Eren’s comment, and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie instead. “That stings a bit, I’m not gonna lie.” He retorted. “And what makes you think there’s enough going on between Armin and I that warrants this?”
“Come on, Jean. Everybody sees you two. You don’t interact with anybody the way you do with him. We all know what’s going on. You even have his drink order memorized already!”
“I have it memorized because it’s easy, you moron!”
“That doesn’t explain the flirting!” Eren shouted. “Just back off, okay? Leave Armin alone.”
“What else is there to explain? Just because I know how to talk to people without screaming in their face, you think I’m hitting on him? Are you that dumb?”
Eren didn’t say anything to that, just flipped Jean off before walking away, and left the taller boy there to calm down. Jean braced himself against the counter, taking breath after breath and trying to still his hands, and glared at the spot where Eren disappeared. He couldn’t believe he’d been ambushed like that. 
Who in the hell was Eren Jeager to say who he could and couldn’t talk to, especially when they requested time with him in the first place! Jean didn’t want to stop talking to Armin because he enjoyed their banter, and he enjoyed the blond’s company in general, but now that Eren said to keep away made him even more determined to keep their line of communication open.
Jean shut his eyes and counted to ten, just like his mother had taught him, and took one more breath before letting it go. A small flood of customers came in about that time, and Jean put on his best retail face to deal with it, a small part of him hoping Armin would be among them.
He wasn’t. In fact, Armin didn’t show up at all that day, much to Jean’s disappointment. He couldn’t help but wonder if Eren had gotten him with the same threats that were thrown at him, and he worried. What if Armin wouldn’t be back now? What if Eren had gotten into his head, and told him a bunch of crap about what he was supposedly like?
Armin wasn’t in the next day, either. It was the last day of winter break, and after this, it would be even harder to see him because of school and work, and a million other things that could stand in his way. Jean’s eyes flickered hopefully up to the door every time someone walked by the windows, only to be let down when they went on.
He found himself missing the blond more and more as the hours passed. He longed for another conversation about books, or how he made a pretty terrible Hufflepuff, or anything that made Armin’s eyes light up like they had before. Jean couldn’t help but wonder what happened to him in that short amount of time; how had Armin gone so quickly from just another customer to someone he sought out like this?
What was happening to him?
~~
6:00 AM came along much too early. Jean lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a mountain of blankets piled around him, and his small, gray tabby cat laying on his chest. With a tired groan, a sleepy hand reached up, scratching the tabby gently behind the ears as it began to purr. “Brad, I have to get up. I know, it’s tragic.” Jean shifted gently, not wanting to disturb the cat too much, and sat up.
With a stretch, the boy got to his feet, got started looking for his school things, and got dressed.
~~
Jean would have been lying if he said he wasn’t looking out for Armin that morning. He thought he’d spotted him at one point in the hall, but it turned out to be another short blonde named Krista or something. Jean wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t really important at the moment.
He kept an eye out for Armin the whole rest of the day, but he didn’t see him. He did spy Eren and Mikasa, though, and part of him wanted to ask about the smaller boy, but he knew it wouldn’t be worth the chewing out he’d get. Instead, Jean went about his day, his heart stopping every time he mistook Historia for Armin.
~~
It was another week before he saw a glimpse of Armin again, just as he was walking to class. Jean had just gotten inside, and he saw those familiar eyes, that smile, and he made to open the door back up, but he was already gone. Jean sighed, taking his seat, and resolved to hunt him down later.
Sooner came later on in the day. Jean was in the library, looking for a couple books to read over the weekend, when he spied that blond hair again. This time, he wasn’t letting him get away. Jean set his books down, and quietly took off after Armin, looking around to see if he was alone or not. He saw an empty row of books, and grabbed the smaller boy’s hand, pulling him into it, and put a finger to his lips.
“Where have you been?” Jean asked in a whisper, his hand still wrapped around Armin’s wrist. “I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks.”
Armin, still getting over his shock, looked up at him sadly. “My grandpa got really sick, and then I caught it trying to take care of him. Today’s the first day I’ve actually felt like a person again.”
Jean released his wrist and pulled back, clearing his throat. “Is your grandpa okay?”
“Yeah! He’s fine now. Healthy as a horse.”
“Good…”
It fell silent between the two for a few seconds, awkwardness filling the space around them, and Armin let out a small laugh to break the tension. “I might have to insist on a large hot chocolate later. It’s been too long since I had one.”
“I… might be able to help with that…” Jean replied, taking another step back. It had only just occurred to him how close they’d been standing, and he felt awkward about it now. “Consider it on the house, though.”
“No, I couldn’t do tha--”
“Yeah, you can.” The taller boy said, quickly adding, “On one condition: You gotta keep me company on my break again.”
Armin pretended to think about it for a moment, and then smiled. “I don’t know, Jean, that’s a lot to ask, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“I know, it’s such a tragedy, but you’ll get a free drink out of the deal.”
The smaller boy giggled, and slipped passed Jean back out into the main hall. “What time do you go in tonight?” he asked in a murmur.
“Right after school.”
“I’ll see you then, then.” And then Armin was gone, back on the hunt for his books, and Jean was left standing there watching him go.
He raised his hand and gave a small little wave to his retreating form, not sure what just happened. “See you then,”
~~~
Armin came through the door at 4:00, same backpack on his shoulders with the top of a laptop sticking out, and waved when he saw Jean. He quickly made his way to the front and spread his arms out to the sides. “I’m here for my hot chocolate.” He told him.
“Your hot chocolate on the house, you mean.”
“Jean, you don’t have to do that, I’m serious.”
The taller boy shrugged. “It’s one hot chocolate, man. You’re a loyal enough customer that you’ve earned it.”
Armin mulled that over in his head for a moment. “As long as it won’t get you in trouble.”
“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
With a nod, the smaller boy hurried off to his table, and Jean got back to work.
Armin jumped a little when a cup was sat on the table next to him, and Jean plopped down into one of the vacant seats. The smaller boy looked down, confused, and eyed the cup suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you paid for this one, too?”
“I might have.” Jean muttered, taking a sip of his own drink. “Didn’t think it’d be very fair if I came over sporting my own drink while you didn’t have anything.”
“It’s too much.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Let me pay you back.”
“Armin. It’s a couple drinks. It’s not a huge deal.”
“Please?”
“Fine,” Jean replied, “you can pay me back with your company.”
“Jean.”
“Armin.”
The two stared at each other for a tense few seconds before Armin finally gave in, leaning back in his seat, and sighed. “I actually brought you something.” He said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small, worn book. “I - I thought you might enjoy a new read, but don’t feel obligated, it’s… well, it’s kinda dumb.”
Jean took the book from Armin and smiled, trying to hide his excitement. “You might want to be careful, Eren already thinks I’m hitting on you. Do things like that, he might think we’re actually dating.”
“Wait a minute, you mean you weren’t hitting on me?” Armin challenged.
That shut the taller boy up for a minute, and he stuttered, floundering for something to say. “I… Maybe a little, but, I - I…”
Armin laughed, a grin spreading wide across his face, and met Jean’s eyes. “Well, I’m flattered, Jean.”
Jean stopped for a moment, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for Armin to laugh at him, or tell him to stop, or any other way the smaller boy could have stomped on him. “I sense a ‘but’,” he said eventually.
“No, not a ‘but’, but maybe an ‘and’.”
“What does that mean?” Jean asked.
“Well, how about, ‘and, maybe bringing that book was my way of hitting on you’?”
Jean blinked, taking a moment to process what Armin just said, and a slow grin spread itself across his face. “I - I guess I’ll have to accept that book, then.”
“Cool.” The smaller boy replied, relieved.
Things fell to an awkward silence for a few seconds, the two staring at each other while waiting for the other to say something, and Jean cleared his throat. “So, where does this leave us?”
Armin thought about it for a moment. “How about, on your next day off, we go out for ice cream. I’m kinda burned out on hot chocolate and coffee. My treat, though.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Rad.” Jean grinned, unable to fully hide the blush in his cheeks. Things fell silent between the two for another moment before Armin started telling him about the loaned book, and Jean listened with an interested ear. After a little while, they moved onto other books, then music, and Armin walked away with several new bands to listen to when he got home.
They spent all of Jean’s break talking and laughing, and realizing just how special the other was. It was only after Jean had returned to work that Armin tried to take a sip of his hot chocolate, and realized that both it and the other boy’s coffee had gone completely cold.
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warlockwriter · 5 years
Text
I Believe In Santa Clause
Fandom: Jericho (2006)
Rating: General
Characters: Bill Koehler, Sarah Koehler (OC), Nathan and Wes Koehler (OC)
Tags: Kid!fic, Christmas
Word Count: 1619
Summary:  Bill and Sarah's son, Nathan, has a rude awakening a few days before Christmas. How will he deal with it, and will he ruin Santa Clause for his younger brother, Wes?
The story takes place in the canon divergent Jericho universe created by @ihaveallthesefeelsokay and all original characters are used with her permission.
A/N: This is totally hazard duty pay. She knows why. ;)
December 21, 2022
The phone rang one morning, just as Sarah was in the middle of a diaper change for Libby. It was an odd time for someone to be calling, and she considered not answering it. But both boys were in school. What if something had happened to one of them?
Fortunately, Libby wasn’t being fussy, and she managed to juggle infant, diaper and the phone. She’d never have been able to do this when Nathan was a baby. Her parenting skills had improved dramatically by her third.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Koehler, this is the nurse at Nathan’s school.”
Visions of horrible injuries raced through her head. It had only been two months since Bill had been hurt so badly. “What happened?”
“He’s physically fine, Mrs. Koehler. He’s...well...he’s having a bit of an emotional meltdown, and I don’t think he’s in any shape to stay in class. Can you come pick him up?”
She still had an hour before needing to pick up Wes, so she said “Of course. I’ll be right there,” finished changing Libby and raced for her van. What could have happened? She and Bill had wondered if any of their children would develop his panic attacks or, God forbid, her mental health issues, but surely six was too young for that?
Firmly, she told herself to stop worrying. She’d learn what had happened when she got to the school. Fortunately, there weren’t any deputies patrolling the route to the school because she might have exceeded the speed limit just a bit. And by “bit,” more like 15 miles per hour.
She fumbled the car seat straps twice but finally got Libby out of the back seat, and she hurried for the office. The women behind the counter recognized her. “Oh, you’re here for Nathan? He’s in the nurse’s office. Go ahead and go back there.”
When Sarah arrived at the nurse’s office, Nathan had apparently calmed down some. He was still crying, but softly, his sobs more like hiccups than cries. His eyes were red, and his cheeks tear-streaked. The nurse--Sarah couldn’t remember her name just then--looked up and said, “Here’s your mom, Nathan. See, I told you she was coming.”
Of course, as soon as Nathan saw her, he started crying harder. She went down on one knee, and gathered him close. She tried to listen, but all she could make out was “Rachel” and “mean” and “not true.”
She hugged him close with her right arm, holding an unconcerned Libby in her left, and gave the nurse a quizzical look.
The woman nodded and said, “Apparently, Nathan still believed in Santa?”
Oh! Now Sarah was starting to put things together. Rachel had always been a bit of a trouble maker, and had she really just ruined Santa for Nathan?
“He did. We figured it wouldn’t last long, but we’d hoped maybe one more year?”
“I think that ship has sailed.”
Sarah found herself getting angry at the nurse’s indifference. Nathan was crying into her chest, and she wanted to get all three of them out of there. However, good manners indicated she be polite. “Thank you for calling me. I’ll take it from here.”
She looked down at Nathan. “Let’s go, honey. We’ll go get Wes and head home. I’ll make you hot chocolate, and maybe we can start on Christmas cookies.” She’d planned to make them on Friday, but they would freeze until Christmas, and she had everything she needed for them.
Nathan gave a huge sniffle, took her hand and walked with her, his small body still shaking with the occasional sob. When they got to the van, she said, “Wait a minute, hon. Let me get Libby strapped in.”
With a dejected air, he stood by her while she fastened the car seat. As soon as Libby was in her seat, Sarah dropped down and gathered her son to her in a huge, full body hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. What did she say?”
He cried a bit more into her chest before finally saying, “That Santa Clause isn’t real and anyone who believes in him is a baby. I’m not a baby! Libby’s a baby.”
“What did your teacher say?”
“That Rachel was wrong to be nasty about it but right about Santa.”
It hurt her heart to hear the listlessness in her son’s voice.
He looked up at her. “Why didn’t you and Daddy tell me the truth? Why did you let me believe if it’s a lie? You tell me and Wes not to lie.”
Oh, the hard questions. How to field this one?
“Yes, your father and I do tell you not to lie. Because lies hurt people. But Santa Clause doesn’t hurt anyone, and children have been believing in him for many years. I was older than you before I learned he wasn’t real. It’s...just a fun thing for parents to share with their children. It makes us feel young again, I guess. Does that make sense?”
Nathan screwed up his face in thought before finally saying, “I guess so. Wish you’d told me instead of Rachel.”
She hugged him again. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” She held him for a minute before saying, “It’s time to go pick up Wes.”
He nodded, and she could see he was thinking about something.
“What, Nathan?”
“You say believing in Santa is a fun thing to share, right?”
“Yes.” She wondered where he was going with this.
He nodded his little head, blond hair flopping in his eyes. She really needed to cut it again. “Okay. So no telling Wes. He still believes, and I won’t ruin that.”
Sarah couldn’t help herself. She hugged him again, hard. “That’s good, son. That’s exactly right. I’m so proud of you.”
Nathan was solemn on the trip to pick up Wes. He didn’t even fuss when his younger brother complained that “he’d wanted Mommy all afternoon. No share with Nathan!”
Sarah was able to mollify Wes with cookie making, and the kitchen was a cheerful mess when Bill came home.
“Are those cookies I smell?” he said as he walked in and gave Sarah a puzzled look. He’d known she’d planned to make them on Friday, just before Christmas Eve.
Before she could say anything, Nathan went to his father, still with a solemn expression, took Bill’s hand and led him outside. Sarah didn’t take any notice, keeping Wes involved with sprinkling colored sugar on cookies.
About a half hour later, they came back and Bill gave her a nod. He was filled in. Sarah hoped Christmas Eve would still be special for Wes, but she was prepared for damage control, if needed.
***
Christmas Eve, 2022
Sarah and Bill had both been a bit on edge all day, but Nathan had been perfect, saying nothing to tip off his little brother. He hung his stocking and listened while Wes chattered excitedly about what Santa would bring him.
Sarah made their usual Christmas Eve dinner, oyster stew. It was odd to her, but apparently it had been a Koehler tradition for several generations, and Bill’s mom had taught her to make it.
The boys mostly had warm, oyster flavored milk, piled high with oyster crackers while she and Bill ate the actual oysters. They had decided to be just the five of them this year, with the family visiting starting on Christmas Day.
Another Koehler tradition was opening one present on Christmas Eve, and they all gathered around the tree. They opened in backwards age order, with Sarah helping Libby with hers.
Nathan sat quietly, with his chosen present in his lap. Wes was ripping into his package and exclaiming over the book he’d wanted. Sarah was watching Nathan. She knew her son and thought he was planning something. She hoped it wasn’t going to cause a Christmas Eve crisis.
What he did do, however, took her breath away.
Nathan started to rip open the paper on his present but then stopped and looked up, as if he’d heard something. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, son?” Bill asked.
Nathan started smiling broadly. Wes looked up from his book. “What did you hear?”
“You didn’t hear it?” Nathan asked.
Wes frowned. “Maybe? What was it?”
“Sure sounded like bells and maybe little hooves on the roof.”
Sarah got it. She met Bill’s eyes, and saw her husband was hiding a smile behind his hand.
“Really, Nathan?” Wes yelled.
Under the circumstances, Sarah and Bill both declined to remind him about “inside voice.”
Nathan got up and hurried to the window, followed closely by Wes. Nathan pushed back the curtain and pointed. “There, Wes! Just over the Miller’s house! Do you see it?
Wes squinted his eyes, looking where his brother was pointing. Suddenly, his face broke out in a huge grin. “I do, Nathan! That’s Santa’s sleigh, isn’t it?”
Nathan put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I think it is.”
Wes looked into the distance for a long moment before turning to his parents. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see?”
Bill shook his head as he knelt between his two sons. “No, Wes. I didn’t get to the window in time. But I’m sure glad you saw it, buddy.”
Wes stood by the window, snuggled next to his dad, a look of wonder on his face. Nathan quietly went to hug his mom.
Sarah held him close and whispered in his ear. “Well done, Nathan.”
He looked up at her with a sad, sweet smile. “I wanted it to be good for him.”
“Merry Christmas, Nathan,” she said, giving him her most approving smile.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
Opening the remaining presents was almost an anti-climax after that.
END
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caroline18mars · 6 years
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Into the night - Chapter 108
“Well, well, seems like he does care a little bit for you after all!” Cedric disconnected the call and stared at her, something he had been doing all through the phone call, the entire scala of what insanity really looked like clearly visible on his face, she wasn't getting out of here alive, she was now sure of it, and the worst thing was realizing that this wouldn't be a quick and merciful death, he was gonna take his time with this and drag it out into a violent and endless suffering. “Although I have to say that he's nothing like he used to be with Charlotte” he brought his face so close to hers, she could feel the tiny little particles of his spit splash against her skin, repulsed she tried to pull away but then the palm of his hand connected with her cheek again. “I told you..Jared doesn't love me, so abducting me..was one of the dumbest stunts you could have pulled, ok?” she breathed through the stinging pain but her resistance was met again by the back of his hand this time “I mean, come on, can we just stop with this whole crap? When will you get it through that thick stupid skull of yours that Charlotte didn't love you, she never did, ok? She only loved Jared and even now she's gone, she still loves Jared, can't you see that she would rather kill herself than be with you? Even in death there's such a deep rooted connection between those two that nobody can't touch, ok? You're such a goddamn idiot!” she lisped through the blood in her mouth. Cedric's eyes shot fire and lashed out so hard the chair with her on it toppled over and her head bashed against the concrete floor, knocking her out for a few minutes. Back at the house, the insecurity about Jordan's fate drove Jared up the walls, all day he had suffered from heavy flashbacks to Charlotte's last days, impacting every single one of his human interactions, he knew they all meant well but the 'Oh Jared, I'm so sorry, they'll find her, I'm sure of it' and the 'let's take a walk, it'll take your mind off things' or 'do you want to talk about it?' bullshit was driving him mad. His hand was on the doorknob, hesitating a bit, not knowing if revisiting this room was such a good idea right now, but nothing was, everything was completely fucked up anyway. The door opened and his hand instinctively reached for the switch that would bring everything and her back to life in seconds, the light threw it's soft glow in the room while he took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scent of her perfume. “Hey babe” he whispered to himself as he slowly looked around the room filled with her clothes, hearing that Cedric was once again trying to hit him where it hurt was just too much, here he could be alone with his thoughts, alone with the memories. So he took a deep breath and let himself slide to the floor with his back to the wall and he closed his eyes, his lips moving like he was mumbling a feverish, silent prayer.
”Noah, sweetheart, do you want to come with us, we're going for a walk, we could go to the icecream parlour afterwards?” Nahla walked into the kitchen where she found Constance and Noah behind bowls of fresh soup, maybe this walk would take his mind off things and at the same time take a bit of the worry away from this family's shoulders. Noah turned in his seat and slowly shook his head, a mask of infinite sadness on his beautiful young face. Constance watched him and felt her heart break when he turned in his chair again and took the big spoon in his little fist to stir his soup with, something he had been doing for half an hour without saying a word. “Sweetheart, why don't you go check on Jared and ask him if he wants some soup? I think he's upstairs” Constance frowned as he meekly did as he was told and let himself slide off his chair, walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two women to share a worried conversation. The door creaked a little as it was slowly pushed further open, why couldn't they just leave him alone? “Jared?” Noah softly asked, standing at the door like he didn't dare to come in “Grandma asked if you want soup?”. Was that all these people could think about in this family? Solve every issue with talking or sharing a meal, no he didn't want any goddamn soup! Was it so hard to understand that food was the last thing on his mind when his girlfriend was missing? For fuck's sake!. He took a deep breath, he didn't want to shoot the tiny messenger, so he just shook his head, but then he saw the silent tears running down Noah's face and his breath hitched in his throat “hey, come here” he stretched his arms out to Noah who finally dared to move and fell straight into them, sobbing against Jared's chest. Jared just let him cry and rocked him ever so gently, pushing a kiss in his tousled blonde hair now and then “where's..my..aunt..Jordaaann, I miss..her” he hiccuped through a new batch of tears, “I know, buddy, I know..” Jared whispered in his hair, he didn't want to go into details about her absence to Noah, the cops had explained a few things to Noah already and he didn't want to cloud the boy's head with too many details. All he wanted to do was to be there for him as much as he could, it's what Jordan would want, so he held him until the sobbing slowly died down and he started looking around the room. “I like that dress” he slowly raised his little arm to point at the luscious bloodred dress that Charlotte loved to wear so much, “I like it too” Jared pushed his lips in the boy's hair, “is it aunt Jordan's dress?” Noah raised his head to look at him sniffing away a little sob. “No, it's not your aunt's dress” he sighed, trying not to get too emotional “all these clothes are Charlotte's, do you know Charlotte? I told you about her”, Noah frowned a bit “she was your girlfriend before aunt Jordan, she is in heaven too, just like my Mommy and Daddy”, 
Jared swallowed away the tears and just hummed affirmatively. His eyes darted over to a picture of Charlotte Jared had put there, the picture where she walked the catwalk at the end of one of her shows, “she's really pretty” Noah nestled himself against Jared's chest again, unable to take his eyes of the picture. “Yeah, she was, she was so beautiful” Jared mumbled getting lost in his memories, “aunt Jordan says you love Charlotte more than you love her because Charlotte is more beautiful, is that true?”. Jared's heart jumped in his throat and he wiggled a bit so he could sit up a bit more, “I loved..” he started trying to find the right words to explain this “no, I love Jordan as much as I love Charlotte, I just love them in a different way, ok? They're both different and so much alike at the same time..” he knew he wasn't making sense when Noah  frowned at him, “but you cannot love two girls, it's not right, you have to like one girl more than the other, is that why my aunt Jordan didn't come home? Because you love Charlotte more?” the boy shook his head. “hey” he put his hands onder the boy's arms trying to make him face him but the boy started struggling being all upset “Noah, hey, look at me” he grabbed the boy's shoulders now “look at me!” he said a little louder and finally the boy lifted his head and looked at him with big angry eyes, “I love your aunt Jordan, ok? I love her more than anything else, ok? And I also still love Charlotte, I'll always love her”, the boy started shaking his head again, not wanting to hear more, too bad, he was gonna gonna explain and Noah was going to listen “look, you still love your mommy and daddy even if they aren't here anymore, don't you?”. Noah's frown lifted a bit and slowly he started nodding, “but at the same time you love your aunt Jordan very much as well, right?” he could see the penny drop, “yeah, I really love my aunt Jordan, she's my mommy now” the boy nodded, “exactly, it's the same with me, ok? I love your aunt Jordan just as much as I love Charlotte, your aunt Jordan was the only one who helped me get over Charlotte's death, the only reason I'm alive right now is because of your aunt, do you understand?”. Noah suddenly let himself fall against Jared again and put his little arms around his neck “do you wish Charlotte could come back again? Because I wish Mommy and Daddy would, all the time”, Jared put his chin on top of the boy's head and hugged him real tight “there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish she was still here”.
Per couldn't take her screaming anymore, spook her? Sure! Torture and kill her? No way, this was not what he had signed up for! But what could he do? If he crossed Cedric's plans then he too would be carried out of here in a wooden box! He covered his ears with his hands, he needed to do something, he didn't want to be an accomplice to murder. Maybe he should run away from here? Where to? If Cedric didn't find him then the police would, his DNA was all over the place! He was trapped, just as trapped as she was..a light in his head switched on, what if he sped up her train? Her phone, he needed to find her phone, if he sent a message to Jared or the cops to put them on the right track, he needed to play both sides now, it was the only way out of here and the only way to get exonerated. Slowly he opened the old door and tiptoed his way down the stairs, retracing her steps where she had last used her phone, he plucked his own phone out of his pocket and called her, all he had to do now was follow the buzzing sound, only to find her phone at the bottom of the stairs. “Hold on, I've got a text” Jared let go of Noah for a second to grab his phone and nearly had a heart attack when he saw her name on the screen “Oh god” he mumbled, letting go of Noah and shot back to his feet. It was an address, nothing more, just a simple address “SHANNON!” he yellled as he grabbed Noah's hand and dragged the boy with him in his rush to get out of the room. “What is it? What happened” Shannon came storming up the stairs taking several steps at a time, “a text..from Jordan” his face as white as paper and his hands trembling as he showed the text to his brother, “the cops! Where are they? Where the fuck are they?” he gritted his teeth, “I dunno..we'll call them and..” he looked at Noah who stood there looking at them with scared eyes. “Is everything alright?” Constance who had been alarmed by the commotion stood at the bottom of the stairs, “Mom, can you look after Noah?” he grabbed Noah and nodded at Jared to follow him, handing Noah over to their mother, “sure, yeah..what's going on?” Constance gave him a confused and concerned look. “I'll explain later, but right now we really need to go, ok?” he gave Noah's leg a reassuring squeeze before he and Jared stormed out of the house. “Flannagan” the cop sipped his coffee, they had been driving around trying to narrow down the search for this girl, but this area was just a spiderweb of narrow alleys, “I've got a text from Jordan, she sent me an address, where are you?” Jared's ragged breathing resonated in his ear. On the other side, Jared wasn't gonna take no for an answer “I'm not asking you again, it's simple really, if you don't tell us where you are, we'll go over there by ourselves” he turned the ultimatum up a notch, his devious plan worked “alright..alright” the  cop sighed before he revealed their position.
”Get off of me, NO!” Jordan cried kicking and screaming with her last bit of energy, one of her kicks hit her agressor on the knee and he pulled back, cursing under his breath “fuck you, little bitch” he snarled as he grabbed the knife and pushed it against her throat, she coul already feel the sharp blade pushing into the bruised skin of her neck but then there was a sudden commotion outside and a banging on the door downstairs that made him pause and look up. Jared's heart was pounding in his throat, he was sitting in his car's passenger's seat looking at the cops approach the building while they were parked a little further down the road, yes he had to promise them not to make a move and stay in the car at all times, but he was itching to get out there and go look for her himself, they were so fucking slow! What did they expect? That Cedric would just open the door and invite them in for coffee? “I can't do this” he gritted his teeth. Shannon looked at his younger brother and held up his hand to him “yes you can, it's gonna be alright, just let them do their job, ok? We don't even know if this is the right address, for all we know this could be one of his decoys or traps, we all know what he's capable of”. Jared let his head fall back against the headrest “that's reassuring, I feel so much better now” he sarcastically spat back but Shannon didn't even hear him as he kept staring out of the side window following the cops' every move “Oh god! Per”. Cedric heard someone race down the steps and yanked Jordan up by her hair, no, this was not happening “Goddammit! Did you call the cops? Huh? Was this your fuckin' idea?” he threatened her with the knife again, almost blocking her air passage with it. Jordan was mortified but at the same time a tiny flicker of hope of getting out of here started to spark inside of her “No..n..oo, I don't..h..ave..my..ph..one” short and heavy spurts of breath fell from her mouth due to the lack of oxygen and she felt herself being dragged out of the bedroom while he held her in a deadlock. Per ran towards the door, looking behind him to make sure the coast was clear when he pulled open the frontdoor, making such an abrupt appearance the cops took a step back “Jordan, he's got Jordan” he panicked as two guns were being aimed at him “you've gotta help her, I didn't want this, I swear I didn't want this, you've gotta believe me!”. Jared didn't think and faster than the speed of light, he pushed open the cardoor and jumped out, running as fast as he could towards the building where things were going down. “Come any closer and I'll shoot her! I swear I will” Cedric yelled, holding a gun to Jordan's head now as he dragged her down the stairs and approached the door, forcing the cops to back off when they saw him and his hostage, “ok, calm down, don't do anything stupid, we only want to talk” one of the cops tried to reason with him. “Oh really? Well tough luck, because I don't want to talk to you! But I'll say a few words to Jared, where is he? Huh? Is he with you?” Cedric shouted. Adrenalin pumping, Jared pushed forward, ignoring the shouts of the cops to get back, he wasn't going to just stand by and let him hurt her any longer, his heart skipped several beats and his mouth went dry when he saw her being held captive with a gun to her head, the fear he saw in her eyes was simply unbearable. “LET HER GO!” he heard himself shout “it's me you want, not her!” but Cedric only laughed “hello Jared! There you are!” he paused for a second “so we finally meet again..you still don't understand do you? I don't want you, I just want you to hurt as much as I did..You killed my Charlotte, now I'm going to kill something that is yours” there was no more man left, there was only insanity. Jordan stared at Jared, taking in ever single detail of him, this was probably the last time she was ever going to see him and it broke her heart or what was left of it, she was either gonna die here or her heart would just give up while Jared still had a lot of life to live and so in a desperate attempt to save at least one of them, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and with more force than she thought she still had in her, she kicked back real hard against Cedric. There was a loud bang of a shot, Per who threw himself on Cedric as they all fell back inside the narrow hall, Jordan's loud painful cry and..then there was a deafening silence that slowed down time and space, like the earth suddenly stopped turning.
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toraffles · 6 years
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Little Red Flowers [first, possibly only, chapter]
Does anyone remember that one excerpt of a fem!Harry fic I was working on? I had the entire first chapter written out almost two years ago, but knowing myself, I decided not to post it until I’d at least written the second chapter. Lo and behold, that... never happened, and also I realized that I really don’t have much plans for the future of this fic anyway, so here is that first chapter for your perusal. Please don’t expect a continuation, because one won’t be coming. I do have a lot of ideas for this, but I’m not going to write them here because I may salvage them for another fem!Harry fic that @glowssary​ annd I are idly playing with. So, without further ado:
LITTLE RED FLOWERS
CHAPTER ONE
It is both alarming and not when the child is found on their doorstep, with irises of deep teal and wispy hair the vermilion of sunrise. Like a prophecy, she can already foresee that those eyes will brighten into a brilliant green in a few years, and she needs not even glance at the letter clutched in tiny fingers to know whose child this is, because she knows, she knows, and she also knows exactly what this means. She bends down and snatches at the envelope left atop of a pile of soft blankets, carefully avoiding the gaze of the infant who stares at her with those too familiar eyes.
Petunia Dursley née Evans, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, is written on the back in slanted, looping calligraphy that tugs at a memory she has long since banished, for it is mired in the humiliation and resentment that fills her to the brim wherever magic is involved, wherever Lily is involved. The paper is an unbleached off-white, thick and pulpy between her fingers, and skimming the contents tells her little more than what she has already determined for herself.
Lily is dead. Lily, her little sister, her only sister, is dead. And she must be, for there is no other reason for this child, obviously the offspring of Lily and that Potter boy, to be laid out in a little woven basket and left on her doorstep.
Petunia takes a carefully measured breath. She blinks, once, twice. She takes another breath.
Her little sister has been taken away by magic once again, but this time, this time there is no potential for second chances and apologies, this time there is no future for reconciliation, this time she is irrefutably, irrevocably late, no do-overs, no take-backsies Lily is gone gone gone and Petunia never had the chance to tell her why she had been so cruel to her, not even once, and suddenly she is angry, suddenly she is furious, because how dare that girl, how dare she die before Petunia was finally ready to ask forgiveness, how dare she leave Petunia alone as the last of their family, how dare she hoist onto Petunia the burden of caring for her stupid little infant -
Remembering herself, the blonde cants her head to the side and stares into the solemn scrutiny of Lily’s child, fascinated by what must be her little sister’s baby pictures brought to life all over again. The child’s face is wet with silent distress. Salty moisture trails paths over plump cheeks and a pert nose and a puckered little mouth. Petunia brings a hand to brush soft fingers over the child’s brow but it is shaking too badly, and she fears she may catch her nails across those beautiful eyes. She brings the trembling hand instead to her own cheek and when she brings it away it is damp with something like dew.
It takes a few moments, but Petunia is startled to realize that the child is not crying at all; it is an illusion caused by her own tears, crawling down her skin and dripping onto infant features. Somehow, she finds the image too comforting to move away: it seems almost as if Lily herself is crying for Petunia, for her misfortunes and her resentment and her bitter, bitter heart. She never could quite figure if Lily would have forgiven Petunia for everything she had ever said, for every hostile jeer and cutting barb, for every moment she had hurt the redhead and smiled about it. And now she never would. But surely, surely, this child is more than enough to wash away the regret that drowns her lungs, thick and heavy. If it was Dudley in this position, she knows Lily would have taken him in as her own, would have cared for him like her own son, so maybe if she does the same...
The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, she thinks, lifting the child in her thin arms and holding it close. Its breaths are sweet and warm against her skin, which has begun to chill in the brisk November air.
“Holly Euphemia Potter,” Petunia says into the empty wind, tasting the words on her tongue. Lily has followed the maternal tradition of naming baby girls after flowers, and this soothes her a little. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
The door slams shut at her heels as she turns inside. It wouldn’t do to linger outside too long; after all, what would the neighbours think?
Holly Potter is a very ordinary little girl. Or at least, she tries very hard to be an ordinary little girl. Not because she finds ordinariness to be particularly compelling, but because Aunt Tuney says there is nothing better than being ordinary and of course Aunt Tuney is right; in her experience, Aunt Tuney is always right.
Except when it comes to Dudley.
Aunt Tuney loves Holly, this is true enough, but she utterly adores Dudley, who equally adores making Holly as miserable as he can. Unfortunately Aunt Tuney refuses to believe any such thing about her Darling Diddlykins, and the few times Holly bothers to truthfully report the origins of the scrape on her knee, or why her pretty new smock has dirt smeared messily on its skirt, or the reason why there are drying tear tracks on her cheeks, a few words from Dudley quickly clears up the issue.
Often, the situation unfolds as such:
"I didn't do it!" Dudley will say, following Holly's accusation.
"Holly Euphemia Potter," Aunty will then respond, her voice sharp. "I did not raise you to be a liar. You must tell me the truth, right away."
Thus Holly is often forced to lie in order to avoid being punished for lying when she only wants to give the truth. And Dudley, having never been told off for bullying Holly, continues to do so without qualm or worry, for he is secure in his mother's trust.
This is how Holly finds herself being chased around on the playground by her large, fat cousin who is brandishing at her a long stick. On the end closest to her there is a snake coiled up tight and hissing angrily; the afternoon sun gives its grey-black scales a menacing sheen.
She is especially afraid because she can hear him - for it is a him - threatening to bite and tear and hurt whichever human he can land his fangs on first. She doesn't want to be hurt, not at all, so she runs and runs as fast as her five-year-old legs will take her.
Eventually, Holly knows she will tire.
She takes a quick glance over her shoulder to gauge if Dudley has begun to sweat through his shirt yet, and shrieks when she sees how close the snake has gotten.
"Stop it! Go away," she cries out.
It is not Dudley who answers her plea, however. Rather, it is the snake who irritably snaps, "Believe me, you moronic little monkey, if I could leave I would in an inssstant."
Holly almost stops to gape at the mean creature, but at the last moment remembers she must keep running if she wants to avoid being bitten. "You said a bad word!" she manages to squeak out through heavy breaths. "Aunt Tuney will wash out your mouth with soap!"
"Foolisssh creature, your threatsss ssscare me not," it hisses back. "I will sssink my teeth into your flesssh and revel in the tassste of your blood. My venom will make you writhe with pain until the life drainsss out of your sssoft, weak body - "
Holly claps her hands over her ears and shakes her head because she cannot bear to hear the cruel thing's threats. She is scared, so very scared - no, no, she is terrified, she's really going to die and go away forever, like her mommy and daddy did, she's never going to see Aunt Tuney again or eat delicious trifles and bombes or wear pretty frocks that make her feel like a princess or even start Primary School and make even one friend, though she's supposed to begin attendance this very September.
I don't want to die, she thinks to herself with desperation that fills her to her toes. Let me get away from here, I want to get away from here, please, please, please, take me away...
Holly squeezes her eyes shut and wishes as hard as she can, expecting nothing to happen.
When she opens them again, she is very, very surprised to find that something, in fact, has happened. And this something is a rather big Something indeed, for she does not recognize where she is in the least.
Holly sneezes messily.
For one, never has she ever been privy to such filth in her short life. This is in small part due to Aunt Tuney's constant crusade for cleanliness, but mostly because of the impossibly thick layer of grime that coats every surface she can see.
The place she has found herself is a hovel in the truest sense of the word. The walls are composed of worn, rotted bricks riddled with holes; the original colour of the stone is indiscernible underneath all the moss and mould that monopolizes it. There is light enough to see but it streams in not through the tiny windows, which are an invariable murky gray-brown and thick with scum, but through the gaps in the tiles of the roof. The building itself seems to sag with age and neglect, as do all surviving articles of furniture. Carcasses of various creepy-crawlers litter the dust intermittently, dried out husks with wings made too heavy for flight and abandoned shells with too many little legs pointed into the air.
Holly glances down and sees that her own feet have made a pair of straight indentations in the grit. The dust rises all the way to her mid-shins, and to the left of her knee is a small green-bodied creature with large filigree wings. It is dead, as is everything else in this little shack, but she's never seen such a kind of insect before.
‘A lacewing fly.’
The words flit through her thoughts, nearly silent and quicksilver fast; she only just manages to catch and hold onto them long enough to make sense of what has been said. The distinct feeling of being not-alone slams into her like a trainwreck, but a quick survey of the shack once more reveals nothing, and nobody, that had not been there previously.
"Hello?" Holly calls out curiously. "Is somebody there?"
Her only answer is a thick silence.
The redhead tilts her head and considers the insect. It certainly does look like a fly, and she supposes that its wings are rather lacy. It's possible that she could have made the name up all on her own, but just as she is beginning to attribute the noise to her imagination, the silence is broken once more.
‘You can hear me?’
Despite the wording this is not so much a question as much as a demand. Holly is caught between the compulsion to give a prompt answer and the desire to keep quiet just to be contrary, because Aunt Tuney always tells her that rudeness should not be rewarded.
But in the end, curiosity triumphs, and Holly replies, "Ye-es? But where are you, mister? I can't see you."
‘... For lack of a more appropriate description, I suppose I am in your head. So to speak.’
In her head? How could he have possibly gotten into there? Holly means to ask, but the voice continues on in a musing sort of way that is not at all conducive to a conversation.
‘How curious,’ says the stranger in her head. ‘The child was not conscious of me before - what was the trigger? The snake, perhaps? Parseltongue is an ability she must have acquired from my residence within her; to my knowledge the Potters are not bound closely enough to Slytherin's line for it to be inherited, and the girl's mother was a muggleborn. The use of an ability so deeply entrenched with my presence, then, may have incited awareness…’
And Holly knows he must be talking to her, for there is no one else for him to be talking to, but oddly it seems to her as if he is not speaking to her at all, not least because she hasn't the slightest inkling what the disembodied voice is going on about. Perhaps he is speaking to himself. In which case she must distract him from his insanities, which Aunt Tuney says is the Proper Thing To Do when she sees somebody acting in a manner that is Not Ordinary and therefore Embarrassing. Of course, Aunt Tuney also said that the preferred method of dealing with Not Ordinary people is to remove herself from their company, but she does not know how to remove herself from her own mind.
"Who are you, then, mister-in-my-head? What's your name? I'm Holly."
'Tom Marvolo Riddle' drifts across the surface of her subconscious like a whisper without sound or words without letters, coalescing into a vague not-quite memory of a thin woman looming over her, graying hair tightly drawn back in a bun and sharp features set in the most hostile expression Holly has ever seen.
'Tom,' the woman snaps. Her voice is cold to the touch and the way she forces out the word makes it sound like the worst sort of profanity; far, far worse than when Uncle Vernon stubs his toes on the kitchen doorway in the mornings. Holly thinks she should be frightened of this old lady with eyes that freeze her through - except how can she be, when it is only too clear that the woman is masking her own fear?
But Holly blinks and the woman is gone. She is once more alone in the dirty shack.
‘I am Lord Voldemort.’
Exempting, of course, the stranger in her head.
"That sounds stupid," she tells him truthfully. "I like Tom better."
There is a loud silence and suddenly her head hurts it hurts it's splitting in half -
‘Do not dare presume to call me by that name,’ says Tom, who sounds so very calm even though she can feel his anger like a knife through her skull.
"Okay," Holly manages to hiss through gritted teeth, bent forward with her hands pressed tightly against her temples. "Okay. Not Tom."
The headache lifts as suddenly as it had come.
"You're really mean," Holly mumbles to the ground with a petulant scowl. "And Voldemort still sounds stupid."
‘You are an irritation and a taint on your blood who doesn’t deserve the Gift,’ rumbles Not-Tom, the cold fury in his words lashing against her nerves like a whip. ‘Always simpering after an "Aunt Tuney" who does not even consider you an actual person as opposed to a reincarnated doll of her sister, and allowing that fat, stupid little oaf to trample all over you, and bending over backwards just for the slightest indication of acknowledgement from the fatter, stupider oaf that damned aunt of yours married, God knows for what reason. You let them use you like a rag and instead of becoming enraged that they dare treat someone magical in such a way, instead of punishing them like the insignificant worms that they are, you find pleasure in it. You bask in whatever attention your darling Aunt Petunia deigns to give when she's parading you around like a show pony in front of her acquaintances, leap to whatever inane chore your imbecilic uncle tosses to you, and do absolutely nothing as your dim balloon of a cousin drags you through a puddle of mud and blames you for getting his clothes dirty.’ As the tirade winds down, Holly is left taking shallow breaths and trying her best to keep at bay the stinging high in her nose. In a final measure of spite, Not-Tom hisses, ‘You, Holly Potter, are a house-elf to muggles, and it disgusts me.’
She doesn't understand why this stranger hates her so much, doesn't understand how his words hurt so deeply. Slowly, through the sharp heat behind her eyes and the ache simmering deep in-between her lungs, she manages to respond, “Aunt Tuney loves me.”
‘She does not, you little fool. She is using you to allay her own guilt towards your mother, and does not care for you personally one whit.’
Holly bursts into tears. Big, wet sobs wrack her body violently, and she wails into the air without abandon, free to cast away years worth of suppressed emotion because there are no Dursleys here, no one to tell her be-quiet and what-would-the-neighbors-say and I-don't-want-to-hear-it. And because Not-Tom must be right, everything he says just feels so right and she doesn't want to think this to herself, not ever, but his words ring with truth and she cannot deny it and it hurts her on the inside.
'Stop it,' the voice snaps frantically. 'Stop your caterwauling this very instant, or I'll - '
Another headache pounds at her temples but Holly only cries harder and stumbles forward in confusion, pressing palms against her closed eyes in an attempt to ease both the pain and her tears. The throbbing in her head quickly withdraws but the dust scattered by her movement does not, and Holly cannot stop from sneezing heavily. Compounded with the tears still blurring her sight and the trembling of her limbs, any sort of balance abandons Holly utterly; she trips over her heels and falls onto her rump.
Unfortunately, she lands on a certain patch of the wooden flooring where the earth underneath had been made hollow years before, with the intention of hiding a highly precious object. Decades of rot have left the floorboards of the shack frail and thin and even the impact of her weight, slight though it is, is enough to crumble what remaining strength there is to be had into dust. Holly falls into the floor with a short shriek, and the result of her misadventure is a massive cloud of dust that rises into the air almost angrily, attacking her eyes and nose and throat with all the ferocity of a dragon roused from slumber.
Holly begins to sneeze uncontrollably, and tears stream down her cheeks for an entirely different reason. Her hands flail at her face in an attempt to bat away the dust, and when this fails she gropes along the dirt underneath her to propel herself up, only to graze something that burns her fingers with a shock of electricity.
'What was that?' Not-Tom demands tersely. 'Open your eyes, I need to see.'
‘I can't,’ Holly thinks at him. She cannot breathe, let alone speak, and she is most definitely unable to do any seeing. ‘The dust…’
‘Get rid of this wretched mess, then. Do you have magic or don't you?’
‘Magic?’
'At your age, accidental magic should not be overly difficult. Merely will it to happen - wish the dust out of existence.'
‘Go away,’ Holly thinks fervently. ‘Go away, go away, go away.’
Nothing happens.
‘You made your way here, somehow, what did you do then?’ says Not-Tom, his voice edging the boundary of impatience.
What had she done earlier? Well, she’d just…
‘Make it go away, please.’ The words are a faint susurrus curling in the corners of her mind, but they thrum down her spine like thunder, like ebullition, like power, thick and heady and entirely hers.
Holly takes a calm breath and opens her eyes.
All around her, the shack looks almost exactly the same as it had before. It looks just as dull and dilapidated as when she had first opened her eyes here - only, all the dust is gone. All the dirt and grime and the carcasses of unkown little creatures have disappeared, as if the rafters, the floorboards, even the air itself, have been scrubbed clean during the interval of a long blink.
‘You...’ Not-Tom begins, only he seems to think better of it and instead continues, ‘Look down.’
She pushes herself to her feet and does so. Within the crack in the floor is a small, rectangular case, plain and black but for the small gold-gilded letters inscribed on the lid - T.M.R., it reads. Unlike the rest of the shanty, the box looks untouched by age, its edges straight and crisp, its paint gleaming and unfaded. Plain though it is, the case is... oddly compelling. It seems to beckon to her, wordless whispers of secrets and her greatest desires granted and the return of lost love. The jolt of pain from earlier all but forgotten, Holly crouches and reaches for the box with stubby little fingers.
‘STOP.’
Holly stops. Her hand hovers midair as she is brought back into herself.
‘You were lucky the first time,’ her disembodied passenger chastises. ‘You will not survive second contact. I have no desire for electrocution, so do not touch the artifact again unless I say.’
The child nods frantically in agreement, too disturbed by the brief loss of self-awareness to have done otherwise anyway.
‘How did you find your way here, of all places?’ murmurs Not-Tom, once more speaking at her, rather than to her. ‘It explains why my presence is magnified enough for coherence, but the questions this situation poses… they do not sit well by me.’
His voice fades off and Holly sits in silence, bewildered and a little scared. She knows that Not-Tom is thinking deeply on something because her mind feels heavy with the weight of his thoughts, intangible to her but for the unfamiliar strain between her temples. She's not sure what she's doing here, and now that the novelty of the situation has worn off, she can feel confusion and fear crawling to the forefront of her emotions, both warring for primacy.
She… she wants to leave. She wants to go back home. Dudley had witnessed her display of strangeness and she'll probably get a thorough scolding for it, maybe be sent to bed without supper, but that prospect is still eons better than staying here, alone in this dilapidated hovel without a single clue where she is and only a cruel, disembodied voice for company.
‘Yes,’ Not-Tom interrupts shortly. ‘Yes, that is a wise decision, present circumstances being as they are. Repair the floorboards and then leave this place, and do not return for as long as you are able.’
That sounds like a perfectly valid plan to Holly. She determinedly imagines the broken flooring beneath her being set to rights and, as politely as she can, asks her ‘magic’ to make it reality. The largest lath of floorboard floats level with the rest of the ground, and shards of wood, thin and grayed with age and use, piece themselves like puzzle pieces along the sharp edges of the break until it seems as if the boards had never been cracked at all.
Once the repairs are finished, she begs to be brought home. Her magic is only too happy to comply, and the moment her feet touch the plush grass carpeting 4 Privet Drive’s front yard, she springs into a dash straight into Aunt Tuney’s apron skirt with a bawl caught in her throat.
Later, when she's up in her room with only a single piece of toast for supper, she realizes that the voice from earlier is nowhere to be found. Her mind feels quieter. Lighter. Emptier. Quite honestly, she isn't sure if this relieves her or not, but she puts it out of mind as a singular occurrence and resolves to never think of it again. That night, her dreams are vibrant and bizarre.
… a snake with filigree wings rebukes her for trespassing into its castle of dust, saying she should have known better… after all, TMR is inscribed in gold on the black banner out front… oh no, why hadn’t she seen that earlier, so sorry… only, the room had been lit as luminously green as her eyes, and it had been so hard to see anything, you understand… if you bite me, mister snake, I will scream, except someone is already screaming…
Holly wakes up the next morning, and remembers little of the previous day’s misadventure. She goes down to breakfast, has fruit and cereal and orange juice, and plays with her few toys before Aunt Tuney calls her to attend a social gathering of the neighborhood children. Life goes on as normal.
And then, on one sweltering afternoon several years later, Holly meets Tom once more.
ORIGINAL NOTES —
What is this. What am I doing. Who am I. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE.
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GONNA DO WITH THIS //AGONIZED SCREM
Unlike the common fan misconception, James Potter’s parents were not Charlus and Dorea (née Black) Potter. They were actually named Fleamont and Euphemia. Honestly, I was going to make Holly’s middle name Lily, but my friends @our-brightest-stars and glossary (sidenote - please go check these people out they are wonderful authors and they helped me figure out my direction with this story so much mwahh such great friends) both gave a great big “No” to that, so Euphemia it is. It's definitely pretentious enough to suit the only heiress of an old pureblood family, and Lily was an awkward fit, in any case. I also struggled between the first names Holly and Harriet, but for the purposes of this story, a flower theme seemed more suitable to further ingratiate Harry to Petunia.
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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years
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Hey Buddy
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Request: Hey! Congrats on your writing anniversary! I was wondering if you could write a Dean x reader, where reader ran off not knowing she was pregnant, and Sam brings her back with their 2 year old. Dean should be mad, but really he's just glad she's back. Smut please? 
Pairing: Dean x reader
Word Count: 1,600ish
Warnings: minor language, smut
Well this was going to be awkward. It'd been awkward enough with Sam and he was good at dealing with that sort of thing. Dean...he was going to be a whole other issue.
“So...you look good,” said Sam, breaking the silence for the first time in three hours as he drove you back to the bunker. “He's cute.”
“He's got his father’s playfulness that's for sure,” you said, glancing back at the blonde tuft of hair that had his face jammed in his blanket while he slept. “Thanks for...ya know.”
“It used to be your house too,” said Sam.
“I just need a few days to hunt down this stupid pack so I can take him home again,” you said. You'd always wondered if something would come back to haunt you someday. A pack of werewolves wasn't exactly what you wanted your toddler around.
“Dean and I can do it. You guys just hang out somewhere safe for now,” said Sam, giving you a smile.
“Are you treating me like a civilian Sam Winchester?” you asked with an eyebrow raise. “I only need a place he's safe. I can handle the pack myself.”
“I don't know how soccer mom you've gotten to be just yet,” he said with a chuckle.
“He's too little for that yet. He likes cars and trucks though,” you said, Sam smiling.
“Is that why you left?” asked Sam, nodding back. “You didn't want him in this life?”
“I didn't even know Sam,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “He wasn't exactly planned. I just needed some time from Dean. Remember, we were arguing about the whole family thing?”
“You didn't want to marry him I recall,” said Sam, tilting his head at you.
“I did. Dean just...it was too fast for me Sammy. I thought how can the guy who barely believed me when I told him he was worth something actually know he wanted me? I didn't want us to be together and then have it all fall apart,” you said.
“I'm not taking sides. You just never came back. We never heard from you apart from you saying you were alright every once in a while,” said Sam.
“I was going to but then...Jack kind of showed up,” you said. “I thought staying away was best for him.”
“It probably was. Not telling Dean though…” said Sam. You turned to look out the window. “I guess you can stop beating yourself up over that now at least.”
“I've been doing it everyday for years Sam. This is only going to get worse once Dean knows, not better,” you said, glancing back at Jack.
Another hour or so and you were pulling up to the bunker, Baby parked outside. Jack immediately wanted to run over and look. You kept an eye on him as Sam pulled out your duffel and then Jack’s, slinging one over your shoulder but having it pulled away.
“You handle mini Dean over there,” said Sam. “He does look just like him with that plaid shirt on.”
“Whatever happens in there, just give us a few days so I can keep Jack safe,” you said. Dean wasn't going to be mad or pissed. He was going to be enraged, flip his shit so badly you'd probably be lucky to make it out of there alive.
“You're family, Y/N. We’ll always have your back,” said Sam. You picked up Jack and rested him on your hip, following Sam down the familiar steps and through the door. You missed this place so bad.
“You get her okay?” asked Dean, walking over from the library. He gave you a smile when he saw you and you hoped maybe this wouldn't be as bad as you feared.
“Hi Dean,” you said, almost shyly.
“Hi!” said Jack, reaching for Dean. You tried to rein him in but Dean shook his head and held out his arms, scooping him up.
“Hey buddy,” said Dean, holding him up high with both arms. “What's your name?”
“Jack Winchester,” he said. You froze, Sam dropping the bags to the ground. That wasn't exactly how you wanted this to happen.
“That's interesting,” said Dean, keeping a smile on his face as tucked Jack against him, sure to notice the hair and green eyes by now. “My last name is Winchester too.”
“Are you my Daddy?” he asked, the color draining from your face.
“I'm pretty sure buddy,” said Dean, turning to face you. You could only nod in horror. “Yup. I'm your Daddy.”
The sight of Jack reaching his arms around Dean made you groan. This was going to tear that poor boy up when he-
“I think your mommy and me need to talk Jackie. Okay?” said Dean, giving your son a tiny hug that made your heart melt.
“I’ll take him while you two figure things out,” said Sam, taking Jack from Dean. You sighed and followed Dean out of the library and down the hall to your old room. He shut the door quietly as you waited for the yelling to start.
“Let me just say something,” said Dean, standing in front of you, his hands on your arms. “I’m not mad.”
“How can you not be mad? I didn’t tell-”
“Y/N, this was not a place to raise a child. I had the mark back then, remember? One wrong move...you did the right thing keeping him away,” said Dean. “Not telling me...I wouldn’t have been able to do some of the things I had to the past few years if I knew I had a kid. I’m not angry with you.”
“Don’t let me off that easy,” you said, shrugging him off. “Yell at me. Do something.”
“Okay,” said Dean. He put his hands back on your arms and pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. You’d almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss him, the feeling it sent through you.
“Dean,” you said, panting when you both broke away. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Stay for good. I miss you. I want to know him. I’m better now. I mean, I still have a lot of the same problems but I’ve calmed it down,” said Dean.
“I never wanted him in this life,” you said. “Dean, our son-”
“We’ll make it work. Just stay a little while.”
Two Weeks Later
“Uh, hi,” said Dean, coming in his room late that night. “What are you doing in here?”
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of the pack. For how you are with him,” you said.
“I love the little guy,” said Dean. “I don’t know how you did it all alone.”
“I want him safe but I want him to have you too,” you said, staring at your lap from where you sat on Dean’s bed. “He deserves you, Dean. I’m the one that doesn’t.”
“I want both of you, sweetheart,” said Dean, shutting his door before climbing on the bed beside you. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not mad. Surprised? Yeah, that’s a word for it. But I can understand what you were doing, what I did to push you away in the first place. You’ve already stayed much longer than you were going to. It makes me think you might have forgiven me after all this time.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I was going to come back, always. It just took me longer than I would have liked,” you said. 
“Me too. You did come back with a pretty kick ass surprise though,” said Dean, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you to lay down with him.
“You really like him?” you asked, finding no doubt in Dean’s eyes.
“I don’t like him. I love him. You gave him my last name too I noticed,” said Dean. You shrugged.
“You’re his father. There was a time when you wanted that to be my last name too,” you said.
“Still do. I’m going slower this time though. Not chancing that I’ll scare you off again,” said Dean, nuzzling his face against yours.
“You won’t,” you said, tilting your head back when Dean hit that spot he knew wound you up but finding him retreat. “I haven’t had any in close to three years Dean. Don’t tease a girl if you aren’t going to deliver.”
“None in three years? I better ease you back into this then,” said Dean, rolling to hover over you.
Not before long Dean was still hovering over you, clothes discarded, Dean keeping a steady rhythm as he pumped in and out of you. It was completely vanilla but Dean had changed. He wasn’t even focused on the end goal, on himself. He was murmuring sweet words into your ear, kissing your lips, pressing his forehead against yours, reminding you of why you loved him.
You felt yourself come slowly, riding out the high as long as possible thanks to Dean who was following shortly after. He lazily thrust a few more times after he’d finished, his pants mixing with yours as you saw a tired smile cross his face.
“I missed you, Dean. I’m sorry for not coming back sooner,” you said. Dean leaned down and kissed you, pulling out of you and rolling you so you could lay on his chest.
“I’ve got my family again. Don’t worry sweetheart, everything’s going to be just fine now.”
@anokhi07 @xxwinchester-22xx @charliebradbury1104 @everyday-supernatural-af @squirels-angels-and-moose @youwerelikeadream @drugpug@darkx143 @kristaparadowski @tom-is-in-my-tardis @tanithlowisabamf @smoothdogsgirl @dancingalone21 @ktrivia @demonic-meatball  @oaisara @feelmyroarrrr @cojootromuelle @gallifreyansass@fangirl1802 @itstheprincess @casgetoutofmydiddlydarnass @mogaruke@secretlyfurrydragon @perpetualabsurdity @ria132love @heycassbutt-67 @aingealcethlenn @docharleythegeekqueen  @missmotherhen@smacklesandstretch67 @ceeceewinchester  @tumblinwith-me @xfanqirlinq @heaven-is-aplaceonearthwithyou @hey-um-misha@bennyyh @acreativelydifferentlove @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @lovelife-tothefullest @under-general-asthetics @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @missdestiel67 @evyiione @jensenackesl @xxxdevine-demonsxxx  @ayeeitsemry @mac5323 @bellastellaluna @atc74 @captainemwinchester @lemonadegazeelle @nanie5  @idalinette @maximoffangel-girl @quiddy-writes @sassyspn67 @arryn-nyxx 
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ellamscarlett · 7 years
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REVIEW
Hi everyone!
This is my first review for this blog! I'm so excited!
So...without further ado... drumroll...
***
Counterpart by  sara_holmes (Part 1 of the Puzzle Pieces series)
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Words: 217,400
Status: Completed
Author's summary: coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.
Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?
(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.)
***
Counterpart is the first in a series of fics, The Puzzle Pieces, written by sara_holmes and published on Ao3 (you can find it here).
In this universe Bucky is part of the Avengers and Clint's friend (they have a bromance and they are really adorable together!).
Also, Tony and Steve are together (sort of). They have sex, really good sex, but they haven't really talked about feelings or relationship things and they are still hiding from their friends.
The story begins with a distress call from dr. Reed Richards, who has received a request for help from the Captain America of an alternate universe.
In this new universe the Avengers are dead fighting Hydra, but that's not all.
When the Avengers travel to that universe, they find a little surprise: a six years old child with blond hair and blue eyes. He is a Steve Roger's clone made by Hydra and he has all the super soldier serum powers!
The Avengers rescue the boy and they take him to their universe.
Tony loves him at first sight and he seems to slide in the role of father without hesitation, on the contrary, Steve has issues... a lot of issues....
Prepare yourself  because, in this story, Tony is the talkative and responsabile one whereas Steve is the emotionally constipated one.
Little Steve, named Arto, is adorable, but he comes from a lab and he has been an experiment for all the six years of his life. So he's very clingy all the time and he has a bad temper.
A really bad temper, with these extreme tantrums and he has super strenght too so, when he is really angry, just Steve or Bucky can successfully restrain him, and Bucky is not on his friendly list...
Arto knows that Steve is his daddy, but he has to learn how to trust that his new family are not about to abandon him.
Steve knows that Arto is his son, but he's panicking and he doesn't know what to do...
Slowly the family comes together, with Steve and Tony as mommy and daddy and Clint as big brother!
But Hydra has a plan and Arto could be still in peril!
This story is a long travel between sweetness and bitterness and, believe me, it's worth it.
The dynamic between Arto, Steve and Tony is played to perfection, with a slow-building relationship between them that it's so heartbreaking.
Insecure!daddy!Steve is my new kink and daddy!Tony is simply adorable (but let's be true, I love Tony in any form, so...)
Another reason to read this story (if you need it) is the Bucky/Clint bromance!
I don't usually read fics about them, but here? They are so sweet! I loved it!
***
So ...what are you waiting for? Run to read it and let me know what do you think!
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Note
ahhh i'm so happy that there's another imagine blog for ouran!! i wish you the best ^.^ can you do an imagine where you're a foreign exchange student and after a rocky encounter the host club takes you under their wing? thanks!!
Thank you so much for requesting!! Thank you, I shall do my best~
Please leave me feedback on what I could fix/make better. Constructive criticism is always welcome~~
~~~
   The blood rushed to my cheeks as I sprinted down the third floor hallway. I can’t believe that actually just happened… Lesson learned. I heard angry footsteps running behind me, slowly but surely gaining on me. Curse my short legs. I ducked into the closest door and slammed it shut behind me, completely missing the 7 pairs of curious eyes on me as I slid to the floor, panting. 
   I caught my breath and sighed in relief as I heard the footsteps run past the door without even slowing down.I buried my head in my hands and groaned loudly. Why did I ever leave America? Why would I move to a country with an entirely different language!?
   I looked up sharply when I heard someone laugh. The unexpected sound had come from a short blonde perched on top of an extremely tall, dark haired male. The blush returned to my cheeks as I realized that they had just seen that entire episode.
   “I’m so sorry!” I managed out in my faulty Japanese. “No need to apologize princess,” a taller blonde started, “what brings you to this place in such a rush?” My blush darkened as I recalled my predicament. “It’s stupid…” I trailed off. The dark haired one with glasses spoke up. “Stupid enough that you come sprinting in here looking like a deer in headlights?” I looked down. He had a point. 
   “I guess…” I started, “So, as you can tell, my Japanese isn’t the greatest quite yet, I just moved here from America and have only a basic grasp of this language. That makes it a bit more difficult to talk to people. I was talking to someone, and tried to give them a compliment, and I guess I offended them on accident…” 
   A couple of twins popped up in front of me. “Well? What did you say?” They asked in unison. I hesitated, then opened my mouth to say what I thought was a compliment. The reaction was instantaneous. The tallest on covered the small blonde boys ears, the twins burst into uncontrollable laughter, dark haired boy with glasses smirked and pushed up his glasses in a way that made them glint, hiding the amusement in his eyes, and a feminine looking brunette lifted a hand to his mouth in shock, but amusement danced in his large brown eyes. 
   The tallest blonde, however, had a very dramatic reaction. He went completely red in the face, and his mouth dropped open. He was silent for a few seconds, in shock, before he exploded into a stream of Japanese. He was speaking so rapidly that I only managed to catch a few words here and there, those words being: ‘princess’, ‘pure’, ‘naughty’, ‘guilty’, and ‘daddy’. I almost hoped I had heard that last one wrong.
   Eventually, most of them had calmed down, but the tall blonde grabbed me by the shoulders. He shook me back and forth, demanding to know who had taught me to speak like that. I just tilted my head to the left, curious. “What did I say?” Everyone, at the same time, chorused “NOTHING!”
                                                      *Classroom*
   The next day, I was in my classroom, talking to a red-headed girl, until she asked me what hobbies I had. I tried to answer her question with the limited vocabulary I had in Japanese, but at the end of my sentence, her eyes went wide and  I felt two hands slam over my mouth. I must have done it again. I silently cursed myself as the red haired twins (whose names I had learned to be Hikaru and Kaoru yesterday) made excuses for me. “She didn’t mean it,” one twin said. “She doesn’t know the language well.” The other continued. Then, they chimed together, “We’ll be taking her now. Good day.” I waved goodbye as I was dragged away, two hands still clamped firmly over my mouth. They sat me down next to Haruhi who was trying to contain her laughter, having heard the entire exchange. “We just can’t leave you alone, can we?” I blushed and looked down. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?”
                                                      *Lunchroom*
   It was now lunch time, and I was sitting with a group of girls who had invited me to sit with them in order to interrogate me about America. I noticed the entire Host Club sitting one table over, but I wrote it off as a coincidence. “What’s your favorite thing about America?” I thought about it for a moment, before responding. I caught a look of horror on some of their faces, and amusement on others, before I was lifted off of my seat and thrown over a shoulder. I realized that it was Mori who had abducted me, and I let my head rest against his back. “I did it again, didn’t I?” He grunted his agreement, and I was ready to cry from sheer frustration. How many times did this have to happen to me!? How is one person this bad at a language, and this good at finding all of the unacceptable words? Behind us, I could faintly hear Honey apologizing for my disappearance, and explaining how I ‘couldn’t play right now’.
                                                        *Hallways*
   I was making my way to the third music room, as was requested of me by the twins and Haruhi. I was embarrassed. Mis-translation happening once was understandable, but three times in a matter of two days? That’s just too much. I was interrupted from my thoughts by another student asking me for directions to the choir room. Being a new student, I didn’t know the school well enough to know where that room was off the top of my head, but I did have a map. I told them to hold on a moment as I dug around in my bag looking for the map. When I found it, I looked up and noticed that they were gone. I was confused. Why would they leave? I helping them. Unless… I must have done it again. 
    I dropped to the floor dramatically, tears welling in my eyes from frustration. How is this even possible!? I wadded the now pointless map into a ball and threw it across the hallway. I put my head in my hands and wallowed in self pity for a moment, when the map was placed back in my lap. I looked up in confusion to see Tamaki smiling down at me gently, with a slight amusement in his eyes. “So, you did it again?” I gasped lightly and my eyes widened. How did he know? He then spoke again, answering my silent question. “Kyoya and I ran into a student who looked a bit upset, so we asked them what the matter was. The answer told us that it was probably you, so we reassured them of your innocence and Kyoya is currently directing them on where to go.” “Thank you…” I murmured, looking down. “It was no issue, really.” A soft voice spoke behind me, making me jump a bit. Kyoya. 
   Haruhi then appeared behind me. “Would you like us to help you learn Japanese? We can help you not misspeak quite as often.” My eyes widened at her offer. “Only if it’s okay with everyone… I’d hate to be a bother.” The twins wrapped their arms around me from each side, and looked up at Kyoya with puppy eyes. “Can we keep her mommy?” Twin 1 said. Why were they calling Kyoya mommy? “We’ll take good care of her!” Twin 2 finished. Honey then joined in, chiming “Wee wanna help her learn Japanese!!!” Kyoya simply glanced up from his notebook. “Ask you father.” Father? 
   The twins and Honey  looked over at Tamaki with big eyes. I was still crushed between the twins, and I looked up at Tamaki with confusion on my face. He was considering, but the second he looked at me, he joined the now group hug with the twins, Honey, myself, and now Tamaki. “We’ll keep her!!” Everyone cheered except Mori, Kyoya, and Haruhi, who simply clapped.
   I just shrugged, deciding to go with it. They seemed like nice enough people. I couldn’t  wait to see where they took me…
~~~
Thank you for reading!! As stated above, constructive criticism is always welcome, just leave me a message. Thank you and have a lovely day!!~
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wuffsky · 6 years
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Her name was Sam.
You asked me if I dreamed last night, and I told you no. Truth be told, I did, but you can't very well tell someone you've only been "officially" dating for all of 4 months some things. Even if you count the other 4 months of courting each other, I couldn't tell you I dreamt of our daughter.
I dreamt of the labour, and I recall the pain being nothing like I'd imagined. Hardly memorable in comparison to the joy going through it brought. And when she was born... she was perfect. I could smell her. I vividly remember that smell. Instantly, I fell in love with her in a way I could not describe. A way I'd never known. She had your wild ginger-blonde hair, and she was an absolute joy. You loved her in a way I never thought I'd see in another human. She grew into your quick wit and iron will. She picked up your craftiness and mine, in the two separate senses. She was smart. My god, she was smart. And so much like you.
Whenever I told people she got her good looks from her dad, you'd pipe up and say your looks would never compete with mine. The Scottish showed in her, much more so than my Freek-y curves. As a teenager, she dyed her hair black and lined her eyes in the uneducated way that kids used to before the eruption of YouTube makeup tutorials. She was a small town girl and liked it that way.
She grew up watching you love me, and seeing you take care of us. She never had to doubt your love for her. We were wrapped in its warmth every day. I'm wrapped in its warmth every day as it is. But with her... it was different. It was our family, and there's no way to put that feeling into words.
The first time a boy did her wrong, you egged his house with her. You told her to watch how you treated me, and to not let a boy treat her any less than that. She was daddy's little girl, and your words stayed with her. She dated her fair share of asshole men, and asshole women, but she was always strong about it. She stood her ground and was never pushed around. It made me so proud, and so thankful that she didn't endure self-confidence issues like mommy did over asshole men and two-faced women. I always told her that she and daddy were my Angels, and that I was so lucky to have you two.
I can't write what happened at the end, because it isn't happy, but god, she was so strong. She held me up with the weight of the world on her back.
. . . . . . . . .
You know, men have tried to talk children with me in the past. Scott particularly. He wanted a child any way he could get it. I told him no, over and over and over again. I humoured him here or there, maybe in the future, blah blah blah. But the thought of being stuck with a child with that man made me want to throw myself off a cliff. I would have ended up like my mom, being beaten and staying for the child. I didn't want children before him, and after him, quite frankly I was scarred and terrified. I definitely didn't want any with Jared. He probably would have raised a drugged up daughter that partied her life away... I do feel bad saying it, for the record. (Sorry, I know you're probably peaking again but it's probably true. Especially if she were to see her dad commit suicide via overdose at, what was it, 50?) I would have been miserable and I would have cried a whole river over it.
But you, my dear. My darling dear. You are a reasonable and responsible person. You get protective and you get angry if anything so much as scratches someone you love. You take necessary precautions. You don't knowingly make stupid decisions that put others at risk. You work your hands to the bone for the people you love. It's an outstanding site to watch, honestly. Your dedication and patience is unmatched by anyone I've known. I still don't know how I managed to snatch you and your fierce loyalty up for myself, but I'm never letting you go. You've got a lifer on your hands, handsome. Maybe one day I'll show you this.
Maybe one day we'll have a daughter named Sam.
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