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amidstthemists · 5 months

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You, a troublemaker, have a chance encounter with Buggy when he and his crew raid the ship you’re on.

You were always the jokester on your ship. The rest of the crew tolerated it, but jokes were your bread and butter. As a pirate, the days were long and the work was hard and you’d be damned if you didn’t keep yourself amused with silly rhymes, one liners, snarky comebacks, absurdisms, whatever you could come up with, really. Usually you were responded to with a roll of the eyes, a suffering sort of smile, even silence, but sometimes you said a real zinger and got the crew to come together in laughter. Those were the best times. But you enjoyed some of the less tolerant reactions too. You found a particular enjoyment in being a menace.

When your ship was taken over by a group of theatrically inclined circus pirates, everyone in your crew was certain they would all be dying in strange, unusual, and possibly theatrical ways. That was what you were prepared for, too. And, sure, it was unfortunate, but at least the lighting was sure to be great and your inevitable demise was sure to be creative. Being a pirate, believe it or not, was often very tedious business unless you were actively in the middle of some mischief. Dying sucked, but at least it would be interesting and keep you occupied.

And your good humor, much to your captured crew’s chagrin, was there to keep you company until the theatrically inclined circus pirates figured out what to do with the lot of you.

When a certain clownish pirate captain made an appearance, sauntering around the deck of your ship as if he owned the place, a member from your crew elbowed you hard in the ribs and warned, “Better not be planning any funny business.”

If your hands weren’t already raised in surrender with the rest of the crew, you would have put them up defensively. But a mischievous smile was playing on your lips as you said, “Who knows what I’m planning?”

“Who said something about my nose?!” Captain Buggy’s voice was so loud that everyone jumped at the exclamation.

Your eyes moved over the fine yet intimidating figure that was the invading clown pirate captain. His outfit was flashy and makeup was unapologetically clownish. He moved with a grace and confidence that belied the outrage he clearly felt over a comment on his nose. You realize that he must have been insecure (and, overall, overcompensating) for something, but what really got your attention was the frown that defied how his makeup stretched into a smile. His makeup begged for him to smile and, aside from whatever insecurity he harbored, he looked like he could take a good joke. It would be a shame if he couldn’t take a good joke, after all, since he was, in fact, a clown.

Everyone averted their eyes when he stared them down, shining blue eyes roving over each member of the crew you belonged to. Everyone, that is, except you. You looked back at him, unwavering, an amused grin on your face.

“What’re you smiling about?” He questioned, taking a few lumbering steps over to you. He was so tall and moved with such unique grace, such intense purpose.

“What? People can’t smile when they see a clown anymore?” You asked back, daring to lower your hands only to be jabbed in the ribs again, this time by a member of Buggy’s crew. Your hands darted back up into a surrender, but you rolled you eyes as you did it. “I thought that was, like, the whole point. And, anyway, you should think about smiling more. A frowny clowny is a little bit of a contradiction, I would think.”

Buggy advanced until he grabbed ahold of your collar and said, head cocked and inches from your face, “Well, Captain Frowny Clowny is a little pissy-wissied because some fuck-twat should have kept their mouth shut instead of talking about something that wasn’t their business. And, come to think of it, I could have sworn that voice came from your direction. Do you know anything about that, princess?”

You could feel his breath on your cheeks, could feel how strong his hand was, and wondered in equal parts what it would be like to be kissed by someone like him and what it would be like to be thrown overboard by someone with such enthusiasm. When you smiled again, his eyes flickered to your lips before darting back to lock gazes with you. He was impatient like a man but as feral as an animal in his intensity.

“I do.”

“Oh, really? Pray, why don’t you share with the class what you know?” If he was an animal, he liked to play with his food before he ate it.

You felt everyone’s eyes on you and you knew that he felt them too: the captive audience for his performance. But he didn’t know that you liked an audience, too.

“All I was saying was—“

“—so it was you who had something to say. Why am I not surprised?—“

“Hush, I’m not done.” Your voice was a little choked from how the collar cut into your throat, but you pushed on anyway, smile as unwavering as the rest of you. “All I was saying was that why are you so upset about your nose when you have so much more to worry about? I mean,” you wheezed out a giggle at how the expression on his face changed, “I mean, you have twice as many eyes as you do noses and you’re acting like your nose is your biggest problem. What’s up with that?”

“What?”

“And don’t even get me started on your ears.”

You and Buggy stared at each other in silence. The whole ship seemed to be holding a collective breath. Your smile settled into a closed mouthed, triumphant smirk, and when he looked at you like he was trying to read another language, you wiggled your eyebrows. Then, just when you thought he was going to throw you overboard after all, a smile broke through the clown’s determinedly fierce looking scowl and you two started to laugh together.

He released his grip on your collar, smoothed down your shirt, and slung an arm over your shoulder. “You’re not half bad, princess.” He started to lead you away from your crew. “You know, I’m feeling generous.” He looked to his crew, “Take the loot, take whatever you want, but they get to live. Go crazy. Let’s give them some stories to take back to port about Captain Buggy and his dastardly crew.”

He waited for the chaos and carnage to start before looking back to you. “Have you ever thought about running away with the circus? Because do I have an offer for you…”

#buggy the clown #opla buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #no y/n #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy x you #opla #one piece #one piece live action #foul language #but no other cw #fluff #this has been on my mind for a while #so has the stupid clown #why do I love him

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melloween-candie · 1 year

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Teen pregnancy [P.3]

A Carl Gallagher x Fem Reader fic

Summary

You only started dating Carl for about 2 months. That was right around the time when he and Dom broke up. Deep down, you knew you couldn't compete with her. He would always choose her before you. Yet you were only 16 years old when you discovered he got you pregnant. This news terrified you so much. You didn't want to lose him, and you knew he was already going through so much shit stuff with his family and his "business." Better yet, you were scared about how your family would react, let alone his. At least you have Debbie, your best friend, who's also pregnant with you.

Warning! Small spoilers, Cussing, Fake friend, Mention of cheating, Verbal abuse, Mention of bullying, Manipulation, Small mention of alcohol, Slight mention of isolation, Paranoia, Lying

Note! If any of that makes you uncomfortable- DON'T READ THE STORY!

Word count: 854

[Angst/Fluff]

Part 1, Part 2, PART 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (Completed)

Shameless Masterlist

Fandom Masterlists

/"Talking"//Thinking//Muttering-Whispering/

***Narrator's Pov***

It has been about 2 weeks since all that happened. You've been avoiding Carl the whole time. Always giving him excuses, saying you have a girl's night with Debs or how you're too busy with your studies. When really you and Debbie had been planning on seeing a doctor for the both of you.

Meanwhile, Carl worked on getting out of his situation. He removed his Cornrows, gave Fiona his money to pay for the house, and he stopped doing his runs entirely.

This caused a certain someone to notice. How could she not when Carl has recently been working with her father to become a cop.

That's right, Dominique Fu*king Winslow, Carl's ex and your worst nightmare.

You two used to be friends until she found out that you liked him- Now she'd do anything to destroy your life. Throughout your time dating Carl, she has constantly tried to break you guys up. Of course, Carl being oblivious, never noticed. In fact, he's still friends with her.

His reason for breaking up with her was because she did, in fact, cheat on him. Though the only reason why he chooses to stay friends with her is that he wants her dad to like him so he can become a cop. Or at least that's what he told you.

But that all doesn't matter now. She wants him back, and she will do whatever it takes to get him back.

Time skip!~

***Carl's Pov***

It has been about a month and a half since all that went down. You and Carl hung out occasionally, but you both mainly focused on yourselves. You and Debbie became inseparable again, and Carl had just been doing his thing until Dominique approached him.

"Hey, Carl~" Dominique looked at him. "Carl!"

Carl jumped out of his thoughts to find Dominique in front of him. "Oh hey."

"I just wanted to ask, how's your pregnant girlfriend?" She asked with evil intentions. "Oh, and your sister's pregnant too, right? What luck!" She giggled.

"H-how did you know that?" Carl looked around, making sure no one heard.

"Oh, you know, rumors spread quite quickly in the southside~," She said nonchalantly.

Carl started panicking. He didn't want to stress her out even more. He knew if his girl found out that the school was spreading truthful rumors about her, she'd flip.

"Who started these rumors?!"

"Who knows..." When Dom realized Carl was about to leave, she grabbed his arm. "Hey, listen, Carl. I know you're in a really stressful situation right now and everything, but I was wondering if you wanna attend this party with me?"

Carl looked at her for a second in complete disbelief at what she just said.

"I get it if you don't want to, but I figured it would be a good way for you to relieve your stress and everything. You know, since you're gonna be a dad soon, I'd figured you'd at least want to have fun one more time." Dominique smirked, knowing that what she had just said ultimately convinced him into going. "I'll text you the details later. Also, don't bother bringing your girlfriend. There's gonna be alcohol."

Then she left, leaving him to contemplate his thoughts.

***Y/n's Pov***

Throughout your weeks of school, people started acting differently towards you. Every time you walked down a hallway, people would start whispering. Your other friends started avoiding you, and people started staring at you more and not in a good way.

It made you even more paranoid. You knew you weren't showing; it's been only a month since you found out after all, and besides, Debs and Carl both agreed to keep your pregnancy a secret since you didn't want the whole school to know.

You decided to go talk to Carl about it. When you found him, you saw Dominique walking away from him with a smirk on her face.

What's that all about? You sneaked up on him.

"Hey, what was that about?"

"Huh?" Carl turned to look at you. "Oh, nothing."

"Oh, um, ok."

You couldn't help but feel uneasy about the whole situation.

Why would he be talking to Dominique of all people... a-and why now?

You looked at him while you two walked down the hall. You remembered reading something about body language and how to tell if someone was lying to you. You weren't entirely sure if it was true, but you had a bad feeling that Carl was gonna lie to you soon.

Ding~ Carl looked at his phone. Stopping in front of your classroom door.

"Hey, listen, I won't be able to hang out with you tonight."

"What! Why?" You asked, devastated. "You promised you'd come to me and Debbie's ultrasound checkup!"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I can't go tonight."

"Why not?!"

"Uhh-" Carl scratched the back of his head. "Look, I gotta meet up with Sargent Winslow for something..."

Carl then left you hanging in the hallway alone.

Sargent Winslow? Since when was Sargent Winslow more important than our kid?

You weren't an expert, but you were pretty sure that Carl just lied to you.

#shameless #carl gallagher x reader #fanfiction #depression #debbie gallagher #fiona gallagher #foul language #manipulation #mention of bullying #teen pregnancy #fake friend #paranoia #small spoilers #mention of cheating #isolation #drama #teenage romance

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leaslichoma · 6 months

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This might be controversial but I think that Flandre Scarlet from Touhou Project would swear a lot. She's eternally a tween vampire and her Japanese lines use a lot of rude intonation. I think that she's like a middleschooler who just learned the f word and is using it all the time with her friends now that she can get away with it except she's been that way for five centuries and since she's a vampire who can destroy anything nobody can stop her. Part of my basis for this is this interview in Bohemian Archive in Japanese Red, where Remilia chastises Flandre for calling her "That girl". Chastising Flandre for calling Remilia "That girl" seems a little peculiar with etiquette (which admittedly may be in character for Remilia), but if this would be better translated as Flandre calling Remilia "That b*tch", Remilia's reaction makes more sense and it's also way funnier. (I don't actually know if this is a better translation)

Also, when you consider that Flandre also probably uses Shakespeare era English on account of her age her speech patterns are probably utterly bizarre. It'd get really crazy when you consider that some words which are considered vulgar today were once acceptable in every day speech or had different meanings (sh*t, f*ggot, c*nt). For example:

"Quit dodging my danmaku thou f*cking c*cksucker!" "Wow, that's some pretty colorful language there Flandre, where did you learn those words?" "I am over four f*cking centuries thy elder and yet thou hast the audacity to tell me what words I can and cannot use!? F*ck thou, stupid, stupid, b*tch-*ss whore of a witch! I shall use whatever f*cking language I damn well please!"

And also

*Enters a room where someone is playing a bassoon* "Wow [NAME], I had no idea you were so skilled at playing the f*ggot, you really are quite the musician."

"It's getting rather cold in here, Sakuya. Throw another f*ggot on the fire, won't you?"

#touhou #touhou project #flandre scarlet #f slur #swearing #foul mouthed flandre #foul language #incorrect quotes #incorrect touhou quotes #text post #thoughts?

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emperornorton47 · 5 months

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#foul language #swearing warning #Swearing #Latin #glossary #best memes

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ghostly-penumbra · 1 year

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Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King

Chapter Five: Butt call? Booty dial?

[1] [2] [3] [4] [here] [6] [7]

Ao3

Summary: "How can a hell denizen botch a summoning this bad?" you ask. Well, Blitzo is stupid, easy as that.

Warning: Suggestive language, explicit language, implied sex. Helluva Boss levels of foul language and inuendo, overall. The use of a gun...

- - -

Blitzo looked around at the candle-lit BDSM dungeon and sighed, squiggling down in chalk the circle for the summoning according to what he understood from the grimoire.

“Kinky bastard, making me do all the heavy-lifting.” He grumbled under his breath, putting in place the pikes to which the handcuffs would be attached.

Blitzo wasn’t at all against roughing it up in bed –or the floor–, but ever since that shit-show against the human government, Stolas had discovered that he liked ‘certain scenarios’, and now he made Blitzo play the part of the deranged cultist to his ‘defiled god’, and he would be alright with that, really! If only the jackass wouldn’t have him go through ALL of it rather than just get to the fucking. Maybe he shouldn’t have used the bear traps. Dramatic much? Yeah.

“And now, I summon you, oh great- you know what? I’m not saying all that bullshit! Hey, you, pompous dick, come over here so I can bend you over!” He yelled at the Circle. “Oh, what? Too vulgar for your Highness? Hmm?” A devilish –or rather, impish– smirk spread on his face. “Ah, come on, you star-caped annoying royal! Don’t ya want me to give you another little death? That was good, wasn’t it? If so, then bring your big, crowned head here and let’s have some fun!”

The chalk on the floor flickered with a weak light, powering up and then dimming down again, as if unsure of what it was supposed to do, to bring.

“Ugh, you’ll be the death of me like this.” Blitzo grumbled dragging his hand down his face.

Finally! The circle glowed a bright green, and the inferno-red flames of the candles emulated it, making the imp look up from the grimoire.

“That’s not supposed to happen like that.”

Above the circle, a spiral of green fog slowly spread out, opening a gateway to a purple landscape filled with doors. Looking directly at it as he was, Blitzo couldn’t protect himself from the flash of light that inundated the sex dungeon and blinded him.

“Ow! MotherFUCKER!” He groaned, scurrying away to hide behind a tantra chair and stumbling all the way there.

The imp rubbed at his eyes and once the light had subsided (haha, sub) he risked a blurry glance back.

Colourful spots danced on his vision in the darkened room, and the green candlelight seemed extra bright, so Blitzo could be –only a little bit– excused for not noticing the dark creature shrouded in stars, with bottomless green pools for eyes, and a headful of dancing, green and white flames.

When he did, though, he reacted the way anyone who had just performed a botched summoning ought to: shooting first, asking questions never.

“Hey! Ouch! What the Hell, man? You called me here!” The creature –whatever the fuck it as– complained as a bullet hit it, in a wobbly, high-pitched voice. (Considering its sinister presentation, Blitzo would consider anything other than a growl to be high-pitched.)

“Sucks to be you then, I guess.” Blitzo said, even as he looked for a way out of the dungeon without having to take down a wall or something.

(For a born and raised denizen of Hell, he didn’t consider that by doodling drawing the Circle closer to the door, he would be effectively trapped with what would come out of it.)

(Okay, fine. However annoying Stolas could be, he’d never force Blitzo to do something he didn’t want, and it had been Stolas he had wanted expected here. So. No really his fault.)

The whole room was frozen solid in a second, by a thin, yet firm, sheen of ice.

Blitzo gulped.

“Come out and let’s talk.” The being said in a voice much like the ice: deceptively normal until you tried to fight it, and found out that it wouldn’t give. You can start explaining to me why am I here in…”

“Hell.” Blitzo informed what posed as a human teen, but he wouldn’t be dumb enough to confuse for one.

“Yeah, why the heck am I in Hell, man?” It did look like a teenager, at second glance as well as the first one.

Blitzo made inventory of the weapons he had on himself at the moment anyway, because Stolas was a very kinky demon, knowing damn well how fucked up teenage-whatevers could be.

(All teenagers of any kind were awful, that was just a fact. Except for Loona, of course, she was great.)

“You tell me why the fuck did you use the summoning circle of a Prince of Hell?” He reloaded his gun and readied his whip. He would have to go for the throat, since rather than legs it had a wispy tail, with no hipbones to secure the whip when he pulled.

“Is that what this is supposed to be?” The awful, no-good thing said with a snort. “You should consider some drawing classes, buddy.”

Blitzo shot his gun four times and threw his whip at the asshole’s neck, watching how his body morphed holes into itself, closing them again once the bullets had gone through, and how the whip landed on his neck and then fell down when he pulled at it, and all he got for his trouble was an unimpressed lift of an eyebrow.

“Huh, ‘Guess that’s out of the table, then. Blitzo mumbled.

The temperature in the room dropped even lower still. He swallowed hard and looked back up to the teenage figure, who had approached in complete silence and now seemed to be surrounded by wreathing shadows.

“If that is all I have a question, mister imp.” The thing said, with cold mist coming out of its mouth and frosting on Blitzo’s face with every word it spoke. “W҉̢̛̱̍͊̂h̶̢̘͉̬̐̕e҉̢̘͙̋̊͑͡r̵̢̛̳̲͐͑͛ȇ̶̬́̈́̕͜ i̴̢̖̖̭̾͂͠n҉̢̞̳̮҇̐ H҉̧̛̰͓͚͂̈ę̴̬͈̦̃̐̈́̕l҉̧̛͓͚̉̓l̶̢͍͎͕̓́͒͝ a̴̧̭͕̟҇̓̓̌m̴͉͑̓͗͢͡ I҈̢̛̗͚͊?҈̨͈͈̈́͗̕”

Blitzo fingered the grenade safety behind his back, and discarded the idea of making a run for the book and to the human world as quickly as he had it. Even if the book was completely safe and unfrozen right where he had left it, Blitzo was still pretty much frozen to the one right now, to his very soul, if he had had one, and could only imagine how easy it would be for the thing looming over him to wring his neck or impale him with a pike of ice.

Damn, and the day had started with plans for a good kind of impaling.

“For real, man, which circle is this? Can I just fly away or do I need to take the Lift?”

In the span of a blink, Blitzo was no longer facing some eldritch abomination, but a very tired very stressed guy with bags under the bags of his eyes.

“We’re in Pride, so, no need to get to the lift, kid.” The imp offered with a small shrug.

The boy –boy again? Those dead eyes screamed college and taxes!– nodded and looked around the dungeon, grimacing. With a wave of his hand, the ice covering the place melted into nothing, without even a wet patch to be seen anywhere.

“Look,” it started. Or he, or they, whatever, “I don’t want to even think about what you’re up to, but the people that insist on calling me clueless or naïve are wrong, so, he locked eyes with Blitzo, and there was a knowing look to him, of the kind that considered knowledge to be a burden, “tell Prince Stolas he owes a big favour to Phantom for not ratting him out on improper use of an ancient hellish artefact.” He floated over towards the still open grimoire, and looked back at Blitzo. “And do take some drawing classes, for the sake of anyone that can be summoned”

His hands moved on their own and the next thing he knew was that he had thrown the grenade up to the laughing being as it phased through the ceiling.

“Shit.” He cursed, and the next-next thing he knew he had dashed to the adjoined bathroom whose door was no longer covered in ice and jumped out the window as the sex dungeon –which, yes had been in an upper floor– blew to bits and pieces.

- - -

Also, even tho I try to write things in order, this was the last chapter I wrote, since I realized seven is a better number than six when dealin with mystical stuff. That's why it was kinda rushed and not as good as the others.

#Danny Phantom #Helluva Boss #Danny Fenton #Blitzo #inuendo #mature themes #no beta we half die like danny #foul language #ghost king au #ghost king danny #ghostly-scrypts #Danny Phantom Crossover #Helluva Boss Crossover #crossover

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awobbles · 4 days

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Graph Paper (Toon Turf/Shorts Wars Fanfic about Rusty’s lore)

Rusty was strolling through the woods near Toonville to relieve some of his stress. It was perfect outside. It was quiet, and there was a nice little breeze. He comes to this forest a lot to calm his nerves. His life can be stressful at times, especially with having to work and go to school.

As he walked through the woods, he saw something bizarre. A small rip in the graph paper. It was like a rift in time and space had opened up. He walked towards it. Should he try and rip it open? Would it be dangerous? You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat.

He reaches for the two strips of paper sticking out, and pulls them apart. The rip in the graph paper became bigger, wide enough for him to walk through. He cautiously took a step inside, and found himself in a new place.

It looked like a recording studio, but the backdrop was made of graph paper. The person recording looked to be a person, but he wasn't a toon. The person on stage was... Oh no... It's that rabbit monkey! Why was he here?

Riggy’s head turned, and he spotted Rusty.

“Hey!” Riggy yelled. “How the fuck did you get here?!”

Rusty tried to run away, but Riggy quickly caught up to him and grabbed his arm. Riggy dragged Rusty over to where the camera could see him.

“Look at this, Danno!” Riggy shouted. “Another toon found their way out of Toonville!”

Riggy tightened his grip on Rusty’s arm.

“How did you get here?!” Riggy snarled. “How did you get out of Toonville?!”

“I’m sorry!” Rusty yelled. “It was an accident!”

“The fuck you mean it was an accident?!”

“I didn’t know I would end up here if I went through that rip in the graph paper!”

“Hey,” said the person who was recording. “Let’s just talk this out. No need to get violent.”

“But Danno,” Riggy complained. “He's not supposed to be here!"

“He’s just a kid, Riggy! How about you leave the room for a bit while I’ll talk to the kid?”

Riggy sighed and let go of Rusty. He then went off set. Danno turned to Rusty.

“So,” Danno said. “What’s your name?”

“Rusty,” Rusty responded. “My name is Rusty.”

“And how did you get here?” Danno asked calmly.

“I was going for a walk in the woods and I came across this rip in the graph paper,” Rusty told Danno. “I ripped it open and saw that it led to somewhere else, so I walked through it.”

Danno nodded in understanding.

“I’m sorry about Riggy,” Danno apologized. “He’s a bit unpredictable.”

“Yeah,” Rusty responded. “I know.”

Danno looked at Rusty, confused.

“Have you two met before?” Danno asked.

“Yeah,” Rusty replied. “I don’t wanna talk about what happened.”

“Don’t worry, I understand.”

Rusty looked towards the rip in the graph paper again.

“I should probably getting going before my parents get worried,” Rusty said.

“Good idea,” Danno responded. “Hope you have a better rest of you day.”

Rusty walked towards the rip the graph paper. Before he left, he turned to Danno and waved goodbye. Danno responded by also waving goodbye. Rusty looked back at the rip in the graph paper, took a deep breath, and stepped through it. He was back in the forest was in before. He noticed the sun was setting. It was getting late, and he should get home. He quickly ran out of the forest and back home.

#rusty the rusty spotted cat #toon turf #toon turf oc #riggy the rabbit monkey #riggy the runkey #danno draws #danno #danno cal drawings #riggy toon turf #riggy shorts wars #foul language

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dustbunny105 · 1 year

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I was really worried for Cosmos when he first indicated he was getting in touch with Blast Off, so this all makes me ridiculously happy :,)

#transformers #idw2 #fate of cybertron #cosmos #blast off #cosmoff #foul language

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andreafmn · 1 year

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12 Days of Ficmas - Day 3

Prompt (by @12-days-of-ficmas): it’s cliche it’s trash i don’t care oh no the heating in our apartment is broken guess we’d better cuddle

Word Count: 2.8K

Story Description: It's cold and the radiator in the cabin doesn't work. Will (Y/N)'s plans for the night be ruined?

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader

Warnings: a whiff of smut, bad language

A/N: i'm gonna be honest, i have not watched the last season of stranger things, so I'm still in the season 3 mentality. this fic will be set in December after everything that went down on that season (obvs Jim isn't a prisoner and the Byers and El don't move to California)💖 and whoops, I'm late, but there's a bonus coming in a bit 😉

Follow 😊 -> TikTok • Instagram • Business

If you’d like to be tagged in 12 days of ficmas, let me know in the comments.

For any other story: click here

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That's One Way to Get Warm

Hawkins, Indiana got cold. Far too cold for comfort and your heating system not working would be a devastation like no other. The very dilemma (Y/N) was facing at that very moment.

But her day didn’t start that way.

It had actually started quite normal – as normal as it could be with a kid that has biokinetic powers.

They had all had a hell of a year. The Russian infiltration in Hawkins; fighting the Mindslayer; closing the door to the Upside Down; almost losing Jim; Mike and El becoming an item, then not, then yes once more.

The last two had been the hardest for (Y/N). She had been taking care of Eleven alongside Hopper since he’d taken her in during winter the year before. By that time Hopper and she had just been friends – close friends, but nothing more. He had trusted her with the secret that the girl was out of the upside down and she offered to help him take care of El.

During that time they grew closer than they thought they could. (Y/N) was younger than Hopper and they knew the town would talk – small towns always talk. But they couldn’t help what they felt. And when El went missing they only had each other to lean on. So, that’s what they did.

It didn’t take long for them to finally admit their feelings for one another. Soon thereafter El reappeared in Hawkins. And after defeating more otherworldly creatures, the three of them became a family. And, at least on paper, Jane Hopper was theirs.

The three of them learned something new day by day. (Y/N) learned how to be a mother, El learned how to live and function in society, and Jim Hopper learned patience. So. Much. Patience. In the blink of an eye, he had gone from a lone wolf bachelor to living with his girlfriend and his adopted child. And even though he would not have traded his present life for anything, it took him some time to get used to it – old habits die hard.

Yet they all found their rhythm as a family. It wasn’t long until they felt like a unit. And when their summer from hell came to an end, they were grateful they had each other to fall back onto. It brought them closer than they ever thought possible.

As the months passed, they started having ‘normal’ family problems. Who left an almost empty jug of milk in the fridge; Hopper forgetting special dates; Eggo waffles being finished far too fast; El going out with friends on a school night; El going out with Mike.

The latter was the hardest for Jim and (Y/N). El was growing quickly before their eyes. Although they were not her birth parents, they had been by her side through milestones no other parent would understand. And she was their daughter.

“Okay, honey. You’ve got your gift?” (Y/N) asked El as she was preparing to leave her in Mike’s house for the party’s little Christmas party.

“Yes,” El smiled.

“And Mrs. Wheeler is gonna take you home at nine o’clock, correct?”

“Yes, (Y/N/N),” she chuckled at her surrogate mother’s persistence. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, honey,” (Y/N) smiled and hugged her from the driver’s side of the car. “Have fun. I love you!”

“Love you too! Bye!” El called out as she ran from the car to the front door, trying her best to avoid the snowy weather.

As soon as the girl was inside the house, (Y/N) felt confident enough to drive back home. When she got to the cabin, the sun had completely gone. The trail to the cabin had started to get filled with snow and the windows had started to get frosted.

The thing (Y/N) loved the most about the cold was being able to warm up comfortably. Sometimes it was with a warm and thick blanket, other times with a nice fire, and there were other times when she warmed up by partaking in… physical activities. But the radiator was always on.

It was a small cabin, so it didn’t take much to warm up the space. Still, there was nothing better than the radiator. The little machine was a godsend during Indiana winters. Those were simply unforgivable.

(Y/N) wrapped her jacket close to her body as she walked from the warm car to the porch. Snowflakes landed on her hair, melting quickly after contact, dampening her hair a little. As her hands shook, she dug through her bag for the house keys. She could already hear Hop telling her to keep the car keys and the house keys together so she didn’t have to fumble for them.

“But if I lost my car keys, I would lose the home keys as well,” (Y/N) repeats the story herself the same answer she always gave him. This time she was regretting it. “Screw you, Hop.”

Seconds after, she finally fished out the silver keys.

She entered the cabin promptly after, hanging her coat onto the hook and shaking off the snow that had dropped on her. Without thinking much of it, (Y/N) made a beeline for the radiator. The house had become freezing inside in the few minutes she had gone to leave El at the Wheeler’s house. And she wanted Hopper and El to come home to a warm and cozy house.

(Y/N) was a woman with a plan. She would turn on the radiator, put some cookies in to bake, set the fireplace, and wait for her family to come home. It was a nice and perfect plan. Until the radiator didn’t switch on. She turned the valve to the utter end and nothing happened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” (Y/N) yelled out. She had no idea how to fix anything, it was too late to call someone to repair it, and she wanted — needed — heat. So, she called the next best thing. “Hey, Flo. Is Hopper by chance still there?”

“Oh, hello, (Y/N/N),” she chirped. “I’m afraid he already left.”

“Shoot. How long ago?”

“About fifteen minutes already, I think. Is everything okay?”

“Is there a chance you know how to fix a radiator, Flo? Ours is shot.”

“Oh, honey, I can barely work a phone as it is,” she joked. “But I’m sure Hop will be there soon enough.”

“I just hope he doesn’t break it further,” (Y/N) laughed. “You know how he gets.”

“Well, then, start a fire by now cause God knows that man knows how to break things more than he knows how to fix them.” Flo’s laughter rang through the phone, and she couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll tell Randy to go check up on it tomorrow.”

“Alright, Flo, thanks. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you as well, honey.”

As she hung up the receiver, all (Y/N) could do was let out a yell of frustration. Hopper would be home in the next ten to fifteen minutes, which meant ten to fifteen of freezing temperatures. So, she took Flo’s advice and started building a fire in the fireplace. Everything she touched was cold, frozen by the weather outside.

Putting on a jacket and finally getting the fire lit, she tried to do what she had planned. But she could feel the cold seeping into her bones, begging her to sit on the couch in front of the fire. Still, she fought through it and was able to put the cookies in the oven, to at least do one of the things she had planned for.

As she was closing the oven, the front door swung open, and Jim stepped through with a smile on his face. Until he noticed it was as cold inside as it was outside.

“Uh, baby, why isn’t the radiator on?” Hopper asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Well, your trusty radiator is broken so we’re stuck with just the fireplace,” she responded. “I was thinking we could put some comforters on the floor, some pillows, and we could all hang out in front of the fireplace tonight. Until we can call someone to repair it tomorrow.”

“Why would we call anyone? I can fix it.”

(Y/N) bit her tongue, not wanting to say anything that could offend him. She knew it would end badly, but she would thoroughly enjoy the journey. She knew her boyfriend would become frustrated with the radiator and eventually break some part of it, which would they then end up replacing the whole thing. She just liked to see him fight with inanimate objects.

He fetched the tool bag from outside, plopping himself in front of the machine. Hopper started by twisting the valve, testing in fact that it wouldn’t turn on. Then, he started twisting bolts that did not need to be tightened. After, he resorted to hitting the pipe that connected the radiator to the valve.

“Um, Hop, I don’t think that’s gonna do anything,” (Y/N) finally chimed in. “We can just call someone tomorrow.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Hopper grumbled. “We don’t have to spend money paying someone else when I know I can fix it. Just give me a sec.”

(Y/N) could see his eyebrows furrowing, annoyance growing inside him. Nothing he did seemed to work, not even shaking the old machine. Out of frustration, he kept hitting the pipes harder and harder until one of them broke.

“FU-UCK!” Hopper yelled out as he slammed the tools to the floor.

“Hop,” (Y/N) called out lovingly from the couch. “Come here.”

“I can’t fucking believe this. This old piece of sh…”

“Baby, come here.”

Finally, the man looked up, any anger he had quickly dissipated when he gazed at her. Hopper got up from the floor, defeatedly walking toward her. He sat next to her, his head in his hands.

“I’ll call up Randy tomorrow morning to see if there’s any point to repair it,” he sighed. “I should’ve just listened to you and left it alone.”

“It’s fine, Flo already called him,” she chuckled. “I love you, Hop, but you’re not good at fixing stuff like this.”

“So, you had no faith in me?”

“Not precisely,” she grinned. “You’re good at so many things, but not this.”

Hopper faked being angry — he did feel a bit offended that his girlfriend didn’t believe in him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, a scowl plastered on his face. He avoided her gaze, knowing he would break the moment he looked into her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Hop. You don’t need to act offended.” (Y/N) bit back her laughter, not wanting to anger him further. She knew exactly how to change his mood quickly. She moved until she was sat next to him, running her fingers across his arms. “Look on the bright side. We can cuddle on the couch until El gets home.”

It didn’t take much for a mischievous grin to appear on Hopper’s face. Especially when (Y/N) planted a kiss on his lips. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her over him until she was straddling his lap. She let out a gleeful shriek and circled her arms around his neck, lowering her head to meet his lips once again.

“I have an idea on how we can heat up without the radiator,” he grinned. “Might make up for the fact that I broke it.”

“Very funny, baby,” she purred as his beard tickled her neck. He left a trail of kisses from her jaw down to her neck, biting slightly. Just enough to not leave a mark. “But El’s gonna be home soon, and I don’t wanna traumatize her just yet with that kind of thing.”

“But she won’t be here for another…” he looked at his watch. “Another twenty minutes. We can definitely have some fun until then."

“Don’t start something we can’t finish, baby,” she whined against him. (Y/N) was getting warmer. Partly because of the fireplace, but mostly from Hopper. She could feel her want growing – she could also feel him growing, – but she knew they couldn’t go on. Thankfully, the oven beeped. “We should seriously stop, Hop. Either way, I need to get the cookies out of the oven.”

“Oh you’re such a tease,” he groaned as she got off him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know. Think of something else,” she laughed. “Now, help me get the comforters and the pillows out to the living room.”

As (Y/N) placed the cookies on a rack to cool, Hopper started moving the furniture to make space for the bed cover and pillows. He brought out as many blankets as he could and placed them all on the floor, creating two makeshift beds on the floor.

“You know, I was thinking,” Hopper called out.

“That’s never good,” she chuckled.

“Normally, no,” he joined in the laughter. “But I’ve been thinking it’s time we start upsizing.”

“Upsizing? What are you talking about, baby?”

“You know, expanding.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Hop?”

He joined her in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her toward him. He looked down intently into her eyes. “What do you think I’m saying?”

“Bigger house.” He nodded and kissed her temple. “Bigger… family?” He nodded again, kissing her cheek. “Finally a ring on my finger?”

And he smiled brightly as he nodded, kissing her lips passionately. “I’d say it’s about time.”

“That is the greatest gift ever, Hop.”

“I wanna talk it over with El first, though. Make sure she’s part of this transition.”

Before she could answer, a honk beeped from outside.

“We can ask her now,” (Y/N) smiled. “She’s here.”

She kissed his cheek and exited the cabin. Outside, Mrs. Wheeler smiled at the woman, waving her hand from the car as Eleven exited the car. The girl said goodbye to the woman and skipped over to (Y/N)’s side where they watched as Mike’s mother drove away.

“Did you have fun, honey?” (Y/N) asked her as they walked inside.

“Yes. Max gave me an Eggo ornament,” she smiled. “Can it go on the tree?”

“Absolutely!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Hopper called out. “How was it today?”

“Fun,” she responded. “I have a waffle ornament. Goes on the tree.”

“Well that’s fun,” he replied, unsure of what to say.

As she placed the lacquered ornament onto the tree, she commented, “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, well, the radiator is kind of broken,” (Y/N) replied. “But I was thinking since the heat is out, we could sleep in front of the fireplace tonight. Before we can eat cookies, snuggle up on the sofa, and watch a Christmas movie. Make a whole thing out of it.”

“Sounds fun,” she responded. “Where do I put ornament?”

“Anywhere you want, honey.”

El levitated the ornament, placing it on the highest point, making sure no one would miss it. A smile spread onto her face, proud of her gift and her work. After, she went into her room to change into her pajamas and later helped (Y/N) plate the cookies while Hopper changed out of his uniform.

A couple of minutes later, the three of them were under thick blankets watching Miracle on 34th Street. Half of the cookies were done and three glasses of milk at different fill heights. And as the movie finished, and they were all slightly crying, Hopper spoke up.

“Hey, kiddo, there’s something we wanted to talk to you about something,” he started and only continued when she gave him all her attention. "(Y/N) and I were thinking that it was time for us to start expanding. Buy a bigger house, get married, maybe have a baby. What do you think about that?”

“With me?” El asked worriedly.

“Absolutely, honey,” (Y/N) answered quickly. “We would never think of a future without you. El, you are our daughter now and forever. Don’t ever doubt that.”

(Y/N) took the girl into her arms and gave her a tight hug, one Hopper joined after, his big arms surrounding them both. Tears were streaming from (Y/N)’s eyes and she wasn’t sure if it was from the movie or what El had asked.

“I would like it,” she said after. “Big house, a brother or sister. Big, happy family.”

Once they were all settled on their respective makeshift beds on the floor and El was deeply asleep, Hopper placed a soft kiss on (Y/N)’s lips. On his face, a huge smile danced, his eyes full of love.

“What was that for?” (Y/N) chuckled tiredly.

“For everything,” he sighed contentedly. “For our future, for helping me with El even if you didn’t have to, for putting up with me, for giving me a chance, for…”

(Y/N) gave him another kiss to stop his rambling. “I wouldn’t change this for the world, Hop. You, El, and whatever comes next, that’s my forever,” she smiled. “And take tomorrow off. El is gonna be gone for the whole day.”

With a grin on his face, he responded, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Taglist: @honeylovemoon @supernaturalwriter @beckiej0073-blog @skyesthebomb @krazyk99 @klf1999 @ilikepunsbeth @magimtz23 @sl-ut @adaydreamaway08 @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @toomanythoughts33

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belvira · 2 years

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Very funny twitter thread

#seddera side #twitter comedy #twitter unchained #foul language #reality tv #tati westbrook

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dayfalwastaken · 8 months

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Scott was wild in 2003

Source: https://twitter.com/cawthonmedias/status/1683044718421110788

Context: Scott used to frequent game forums back in the day, which were like the wild west of the internet at the time, so think of them like proto versions of 4chan. You can imagine the kind of friendly discussions that were going on back then. In any case, this was two decades ago, and Scott was super young. He's clearly shown to have come a long way since then, and I'm glad he mellowed out.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #scott cawthon #animdude #game forums #screenshots #swearing #foul language #curses

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melloween-candie · 1 year

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Teen pregnancy [P.9]

A Carl Gallagher x Fem Reader fic

Summary

Warning! Teen pregnancy, Mention of torment, Mention of favoritism, Small spoiler, Cussing

Note! If any of that makes you uncomfortable- DON'T READ THE STORY!

Word count: 732

[Angst/Fluff]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, PART 9, Part 10 (Completed)

Shameless Masterlist

Fandom Masterlists

/"Talking"//Thinking//Muttering-Whispering/

***Narrators Pov***

It's been about two months since the confrontation occurred, and Y/n is now in her second trimester. Meanwhile, Dom is only about a month or so.

At some point between the two months, Carl managed to convince Y/n to give him one last chance. To his surprise, she said yes. Luckily for him, she still loved him.

Throughout the two months, Y/n’s baby bump has become more noticeable, and that made her school life even worst.

With Carl constantly having to baby Dom with practically everything, Y/n was left to fend for herself. She wasn't too happy with it, of course; this just fueled her belief that she would always be his second choice.

Carl tried to care for them both, but being an adulting teenager is hard. He was forced to work for his sister's dinner “Patsy’s Pie” as a dishwasher. He was so embarrassed by it that he didn’t want anyone to know. Fiona only told him, “Money’s money. No matter how you make it.” That made him question why she never wanted to use his drug money. He could have helped the family a whole lot faster…

Time skip!~

Carl was sitting on the couch cuddling with Y/n when all of a sudden, he got a call from Dom.

“CARL COME QUICK!”

Mind you, Y/n and Dom didn’t stop being enemies. However, by this point, Y/n was already sick of everything. She was over it. She didn’t really care what Carl would do as much as she didn’t before. So, she let him go.

“Sorry baby,” Carl kissed you on the cheek- “But you of all people know what Winslow would do to me if I don’t go…”

“Yeah, yeah-” You shoved him away from you. “Go already.”

“I love you.” He said, rushing out of the door.

You just sighed.

Time skip!~

At the Winslow’s household Carl knocked on the door only to find it already open. The house was quite messy. He walked in to hear something fall to the ground.

“Dom!” He rushed upstairs and slammed her door open- “What’s wrong?!”

“OH Good!” Dom turned around holding two dresses- “I need your help picking out a dress for homecoming!”

Carl looked at her as if she was insane… He looked around her room- it was in total chaos.

“Dom… What makes you think-” Carl was somewhat baffled. “Why do you want me to help you with this?”

“Well-” She looked at him as if he was dumb. “Homecoming isn’t every day. Besides I wanted to talk to you about which color scheme we should go with-” She raised the blue dress “Blue? Or-” She raised the red dress “Red?"

“Are you serious right now… I THOUGHT YOU GOT HURT?!”

Dom looked at him confused. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe It’s cause your house is a complete mess! Not to mention your front door was OPEN!”

“Oh well… my dad must have forgotten to lock it or something- Look that doesn’t matter! Your here now-”

“No!” Carl interrupted her. “This whole thing doesn’t matter!”

“What are you talking about!? Of course, this matters!”

“NO, it doesn’t, Dom! I don’t care about homecoming! I might not even go! Besides, if I did, what makes you think I’d go with you?!”

Dom started to cry…

“This is my first homecoming! I’ve dreamed of this! YOU know how much I wanted this! Do you honestly think I WANTED TO GO PREGNANT?! Do you know how many plans I had to cancel because I’m pregnant? Don’t FORGET, CARL. I’m carrying YOUR BABY TOO!”

“Of course, I can’t forget! You WON’T LET ME!”

And with that, Dom stormed out of the room… Carl felt kind of bad, but he was just so over it. He was in love with Y/n- He wanted to be with her- but he can’t now. Not entirely, at least.

While Dom was probably crying in the bathroom, he decided to fix up her room. He did feel somewhat bad for saying all that, but he wouldn’t take any of it back. It was how he felt. He wasn’t the type to apologize if he knew he didn’t actually mean it.

As Carl was cleaning up, he found some papers, documents…

“The he*l…” Carl looked at the papers closer- “DNA tests? Wha…”

#shameless #carl gallagher #carl gallagher x reader #young love #teenage romance #teen pregnancy #drama #foul language #fanfiction #small spoilers #mention of favoritism #mention of torment #arguing

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moonstrider9904 · 2 years

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Wrecker: FUCK OFF

Wrecker: (imitates heavenly choir)

Wrecker: (moans)

Wrecker: Son of a bitch-

Hunter: What is wrong with him-

Crosshair: He just tried a slice of cake.

Hunter:

Crosshair: He liked it--

Hunter: Yeah, I figured.

#hunter's like oh yeah it all makes sense now #you know the cake is good when you do all of these #cw swearing #foul language #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #tbb incorrect quotes #clone force 99 #the bad batch incorrect quotes

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elianas-cozycorner · 1 year

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𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘸𝘰 | 𝘕𝘰 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘜𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥

Summary: Our dear Ms. Blackwood finds herself in the office. She has a favor to ask of the old miser, Ebenezer Scrooge: have Christmas luncheon with her and her daughter.

Author's Note: Hi all,

Whew, two updates in a week! Since my semester has started off quite slow, I have been able to indulge my creative side a little more than usual. I couldn't help but write for this storyline and, as a result, have a 3000+ word chapter for you all!

I am also very grateful to announce that two of my very lovely, very academically proficient friends have offered to beta read the chapters for me. As a result, some minor changes have been made to Chp 1 (already published at this time). They do not alter any major plot points but are there to enhance the flow and immersion.

Word Count: 3288

Ao3 - Mature Rating

WARNINGS: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS PERIOD-TYPICAL SEXISM AND RIDICULE OF SINGLE-MOTHERHOOD.

The word whore is used once or twice to describe reader and her current situation.

Please let me know if you would like to be included in a tag list!

“I’ll say, Ms. Blackwood, this is certainly no way to run an establishment!”

From some room in the very back, Scrooge hears a clattering sound and the rushing of footsteps. The creaking of the door is accompanied by a small murmur of pain. Well worn hands brace themselves against the doorframe and gentle eyes meet stern ones. In her eyes there is a hint of fear and he knows then that she will ask for another extension.

‘Will I give it?’ He wonders.

-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷

You brace yourself against the doorframe, heaving deeply from how quickly Mr. Scrooge’s voice had sent you scrambling and knocking over several miscellaneous items. One moment you were in the stock room arranging the fabric racks and tar-coal dyes, the next you were waking to the impatient call from your lender. Now he stands there across the room, in his fine pants and vest, more handsome in the firelight than frightful. It’s almost enough to knock the wind from you. Almost. His cruel, icy gaze squashes the feeling as quickly as it comes.

You smooth out your dress to distract yourself, suddenly ashamed not to be wearing a crinoline or gloves. Gently raising a hand, you adjust any hair that may have come undone from pin and braid. “Sir, my sincerest apologies! I must not have heard the bell chime whilst arranging my stock.”

“Yes, well,” The miser began, walking further into the room and stopping at the till counter. His eyes scan your form, a look of distaste briefly crossing his features. “I am sure you have your excuses well thought out. Now, if I suspect correctly, you know why I have come to call on you.”

The cold hand of dread grasps your heart and it feels as though a rock has lodged itself in your throat. One hand rises to fiddle with the buttons of your opposing sleeve, tracing the thread that loops delicately through them. Yes, you had been expecting him to come. He was here to collect, as he always was. Mr. Scrooge never made social calls, being only about business and business alone.

“W-why yes, sir.” You slowly stepped up to the counter, standing as close to the man as you dared. “I am 15 pounds overdue.”

“No, madam.” He grins cruelly, greed settling into his face. “You are overdue 15 pounds and we must add onto that this month's payments. The final payments. You understand then, that I am owed 23 pounds. ”

“But sir—“

He cuts you off by tapping his ledger against the wood. “Ah, I presume you are without the means to pay once more?”

There is a dark twinkle in his eyes now. It’s not greed, but something else, something darker. He enjoys this.

“I only have 10 pounds, sir. I— I am happy to pay it, but the rest I cannot provide you.” You swallow harshly, trying your best to keep eye contact. A dark flush of embarrassment has worked its way up your neck, to your cheeks, and your ears.

“What excuse have you this time, Ms. Blackwood? Hmm? Mother fell ill, did she ?” The miser keeps his voice even, but the words are cold and mocking.

“No, Mr. Scrooge,” You start, trying to keep your voice from wavering. Eventually, you can no longer uphold eye contact and instead find great interest in the till counter.

“No?” He leans forward on his cane, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to catch your gaze. There is a moment of silence as you attempt to dignify him with a response. It clearly wears on his patience.

“No, I suppose not.” He speaks harshly then, adding as much bite to his tone as appropriate.

Something within you cracks at being so boldly disrespected in public address; it did not matter that he was the only other person there, it would have been a shameful moment in the company of others. At the same time, however, it also strengthens a resolve in you. ‘ Mother fell ill’ , the words echo in your head. No, your mother had abandoned you long ago. That wouldn’t stop you from being a good mother, from protecting the welfare of your child this time around. Just as the man before you scoffs and attempts to open his ledger, you catch his gaze.

Ebenezer Scrooge is allowed only a moment of surprise, agog at the fire in your eyes, before you begin speaking. “No indeed, sir. As you well know, I am unwed, sir. I am left now with debts that are not my own, which I must repay, and a trade-skill that the textiles are rendering mute! No indeed, sir!”

“Why I—“ He begins, but you do not allow him to finish.

“I am a seamstress, Mr. Scrooge! I work tirelessly for meager sums, laughable sums. These garments are all I have , sir. This is my only method of income. How, then, would you suggest I manage? I must pay for my health, for my meals, for the fabrics, and yet I am expected to give it all to you? You!? ” You take a deep breath, now red from your rising anger. “And what of my daughter, Mr. Scrooge, what of her? What should I do with her, hmm? Shall I leave her in a workhouse? Shall I turn her to the streets with the pauper boys, so that she may sell papers for all her days? So that she may make her own sums? She has just made her eighth year here, Mr. Scrooge!”

For once, Ebenezer is stunned into silence. All malice has been wiped from his features and instead has been replaced with utter shock. His eyebrows, so arched and eyes so wide, would have been funny if the situation were not so dire. You had openly admitted to your lender that you had borne a child out of wedlock, thus divulging your family’s greatest scandal, and placing yourself in the path of ridicule.

You swallow harshly, watching his expression turn from surprise to confusion, to horror. When you next speak the words are so quiet that the crackle of the fire almost swallows them, “I thought I would have already lost her, sir. To her early— early winters or… or consumption.”

Ebenezer snaps his ledger shut and stares at you like you’ve just grown another head. He revels in silent horror for a moment, like a perfectly stupefied statue. He opens his mouth and closes it several times over; a true fish out of water. You stare at one another for a long while. The man’s face grows redder by the second.

Eventually, he finds his words. They are soft, stuttering, and without any of its previous authority, “Y-yes. V-very well, Ms. Blackwood.”

“Pardon?” Surprise colors the word.

A soft clearing of his throat, “I said very well. You have until Boxing Day. Two extra days. ”

“Y—“ You clear your throat in return. “Boxing Day, sir?”

“That is what I said, is it not?” He opens his ledger again, places it on the counter facing you, and allows you to retrieve your own pen.

You dip the tip into your inkwell and lift it back up to sign the page but his large, gloved hand catches your wrist. The touch is surprisingly gentle. Tired eyes meet cunning ones, and suddenly his old demeanor rears its head. The angry furrow of his brow, the deep seated frown, and his rigid posture return. He looks down at the page, at the name above the blank space under the pen, and sighs deeply. 50 pound — Jenkins.

“There is a condition,” He adds. “I cannot afford the responsibilities of your personal welfare, nor may I show any form of favoritism among my clientele. As you may be aware, there is much burden in this life. Much of this burden falls upon me, as a contractor and lender, you see. So, I will do something for you; I will give you two extra days but you must come up with a new sum. Let us say… double? No, for a third extension let’s say— triple? Discount the ten pounds you are able to pay…”

You balk, stunned by his lack of compassion. Never had Ebenezer Scrooge seemed so unredeemable, so unfeeling, as he did now. You cry out, despair mingling with outrage. “59 pounds! Why, Mr. Scrooge, that is cruel!”

“You are right,” He nods once and pretends to contemplate the thought. “I should ask you for a round number. Much nicer, neater, don’t you agree?”

He lets go of your wrist and rests his hands on the ebony cane. He leans back slightly, puffs up, and watches you expectantly. “60 pounds. Yes, that’s a good round number. I should have asked it of Jenkins, really, but this will do.”

The pen trembles all the way from the inkwell to the page. You almost let it slip from your fingers, shaking violently and trying to suppress tears. The water behind your eyelids gathers quickly, blurs your view of the page, and makes it hard to sign for the transaction. Once the pen is tucked away again and the ink begins to dry, he holds out his palm. You reach for the till, unlock it, and grasp at the mishmash of gold sovereigns and shillings you’d earned the past weeks. You attempt to find a bag for it, still holding back tears, but he turns his palm to face you.

“On the counter, please, Ms. Blackwood. I would like to count and authenticate it here.” He checks his pocket watch while you sort the coins into piles.

“There, sir.” You step back, allowing the miser to lose himself in his monetary endeavor. Before you know it, your body decides that a quick lap about the room would do some good for your constitution. You begin to make your rounds for closing hour, decidedly done with people for the evening. The night would only get chillier and your daughter was like to be out with the urchins, busking the evening away. Not even the chime of the bell above the door distracts you when Ebenezer finishes his catalog and removes himself from the premise without so much as an evening farewell. You only notice the silence and rampant tears against your skin when your nightly tasks are complete.

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“But I’m owed fifteen,” Bob Cratchit glances down at his hand and thumbs the small pile of shillings.

“Consider the other five your payment to me .” Scrooge sighs and sits back in his chair to look at his employee.

“For what, sir?”

“The ink you so carelessly spilled this evening, of course,” Another sigh. “And the day off you insist on taking tomorrow.”

“Well,” Cratchit swallows, unsure of himself. “It is Christmas, sir.”

“Yes,” Ebenezer looks away and glares at the door to his office from which his nephew had disappeared. “As everyone is so fond of telling me.”

Bob fiddles with his top hat, scrunching the edge. “Sir, this isn’t enough.”

The graying gentleman turns his glare from the door to his employee. He makes a noncommittal hum at the back of his throat and waits as the redhead continues, “My family, you see, my children– My boy, in fact– my boy needs medicine.”

Now standing behind his desk, the miser looks at the man before him as though seeing him for the first time. One hand slowly puts away his daily ledger as he begins to speak, “You have children? Yes… Of course you do.”

One well-pressed jacket arm winds across the redhead’s shoulder as employer meets employee. “Cratchit,” The tone is pure velvet and malice. “Times are hard. And my financial burdens are considerable.”

He guides the man around, turns him toward the door, and gives his best smile. “Now, should I add to them by paying for the upkeep of your entire family? Does that sound fair to you?”

Neither man notice the crackling whisper, nor the tendrils of ice that crawl across one Jacob Marley’s portrait. ‘ Scrooge….’

“No, sir.” Cratchit’s voice comes out pitifully muted.

“No, sir, indeed,” A small smile. “You’re the second person who’s pleaded such a case today. Must be the season. Now, let’s get you on your way, shall we?”

The two men step from the office into the main workroom of Marley & Scrooge, Private Bankers and Moneylenders. The aforementioned owner is about to herd the man closer to the door, to his jacket on the rack, when it swings open. A hefty basket swings through the opening first, followed by gloved hands, and a very familiar shawl. The shopkeeper of Louwermon’s bustles through Ebenezer’s door.

“Oh, Ms. Blackwood!” Bob Cratchit chirps happily from beside his employer, moving forward to take the basket from her. Scrooge, on the other hand, cannot suppress the surprise that overtakes his face, nor the subsequent look of annoyance.

“Bob Cratchit!” You smile widely, genuinely. Ebenezer notes its beauty instantly; the way the edges of your mouth curl up, the way your lips pull back to reveal stunning teeth. It sets his cheeks aflame for a brief, shuddering moment.

You break his reverence, “Just the man– men , I had hoped to catch!”

“Oh?” The moneylender cuts in. “To what do we owe this… pleasure?”

You ignore the snark in his words, instead greeting him properly with a delicate bow before turning back to your friend. “In here,” placing your hand on the basket, “are new clothes for your children. The winter months can be so cruel, so cruel. I have fashioned for Tim a new coat, so that he may be unaffected while busking.”

Cratchit’s smile is contagious for soon their lady guest is returning it in full. Scrooge watches the exchange with great interest. ‘ Free clothing? For Cratchit’s children?’ The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. ‘ Such a despicable loss of profits.’

“Thank you!” Bob evokes your given name as he shakes your hand. In fact, he repeats it several times over, along with thanks, as you giggle.

The sound is, to Scrooge, like pure joy. It reminds him of his dearest sister, of her laughter and her warmth. And the sound of your name, previously unknown to him, sends an unusual chill up his spine. Their mirth goes uninterrupted, until at last he is forced to interject. Like her, he has had enough of people for one night. With one hand, he guides Cratchit to the door.

“Good night, Mr. Cratchit, go home. ”

The redhead complies nearly immediately, having spotted his children across the way. Scrooge watches as Bob takes the stairs two at a time, far more animated than a father his age should be. He doesn’t even bother with the door, assuming his remaining company would follow suit. Several seconds tick by before he realizes you will not be joining his employee. With a deep sigh, he closes the door and turns to face you.

“Very well, Ms. Blackwood. Follow me.” He turns on his heel and beckons you into his office. He sits once more in his chair and crosses his arms authoritatively.

“Mr. Scrooge,” You take a deep breath as if bracing herself. It piques his interest greatly. “Kitty– That is, my daughter, and I would love it if you could join us for Christmas lunch tomorrow. I understand that it is an uncouth ask, perhaps one borne of a selfish desire to reconcile today’s events with you. But she would very much like to meet you.”

Scrooge feels himself recoil before he can even comprehend all that you have said. His lips part into a nervous smile. “What?”

“Christmas luncheon. Oh, do say you’ll come, Mr. Scrooge!” You smile again, that pretty, pretty smile.

‘If only she knew.’ His hatred for the wretched season ran deeper than the pits to hell. All the joy borne of a time that only showed him great sorrow.

Not only that, but you were asking him to risk his reputation; as a gentleman, a lender, a banker. To discredit himself now, to be seen with a working woman without escort, with an illegitimate child, would throw away all his years of hard work. “No.”

“No?” you don’t seem shocked, just slightly disappointed. “Oh please sir, it would mean the world to us! I have oft been told that my Christmas lunches are the–”

“I said no, Ms. Blackwood. Does such a word count for nothing in today’s society? Nothing at all?” He feels growled words build up in his throat, feels them leave him, but he doesn’t care.

“It’s just that my child, sir, has never had a Christmas with others.”

“I fail to see how that is my problem, madam.” Scrooge stands from his seat. He watches as you take a step back. It pleases him to know he has the ability to elicit such a reaction.

“It is very hard to keep a child from the world on Christmas, Mr. Scrooge! As you well know, today’s gentry would shun me for keeping her, for having her. I would never do such a thing as leave her, you see, but minding her alone is–”

“And that was product of your own incompetence!” The miser’s voice drips with discontent, even as it raises in volume. He watches you recoil at his loud vocalization but continues. He has had enough.

“How, pray tell, could a woman so fine allow herself to be so defiled? You are young, beautiful! Had you not been so foolish as to conceive, had you waited as any good woman should, as any good wife should, perhaps you would not be in such a position!”

“Sir, do n–” You try to interject, but he glares you into submission.

“No, you have done far too much talking as it is, Ms. Blackwood! So much damage you have inflicted upon my evening that I find it within my right to speak now. It is my turn and I am not quite finished with you.” He rounds the desk, looming over you:

“It is by your doing that you are here. That is, working while a child waits on you. Have you a servant? A governess? No? I thought not! Barely able to stay afloat, barely able to provide, and raising what shall no doubt be an uneducated woman. You are paying debts that need not be yours. Had you not squandered your life like a whore you would not have shamed your family. They would not have thrown you to the dogs, would not have stripped you of heritage or allowance.”

Tears begin to stream down your face. You try to hold them back with a hand to your mouth. He barely registers the broken sobs and is completely oblivious to the sudden chill that has overtaken the room. Something crackles around you both and the wind howls wretchedly outside, but the dam has burst, he will say his piece. Prudence, previously tucked in her bed, has come to your side. She is snarling at him, seemingly following the conversation, but no vocalizations escape her throat and she goes unnoticed.

“Catherine– That is, Kitty, deserves far better than you will ever be able to offer her. She deserves a governess, a proper mother, and a father to provide her with comfort before her hand is exchanged. At this rate, she will be lucky to have any prospects! And you , Ms. Blackwood , have none. No decent man, no self preserving gentleman, will want to wed you. You will die a spinster. That is your truth.” The man stands there, chest heaving from such an impassioned speech, and has the gall to look self satisfied.

“So no , madam, I will not be joining you, nor anyone else, in any celebration of this wretched season.”

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