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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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c ant stop thinking about jealous!joel miller and the way he’d react to seeing others flirt with you. just a little after your arrival to jackson, the three of you tired and just starting to socialize. you get talking with a friend of maria’s who introduced you. and joel is there watching, pretending to be interested in whatever the bored housewife hanging off his arm was even talking to him about. he burns with jealousy he doesn’t know what to do with and ends up crossing the bar to get to you where he makes some kind of show of getting his hands on you and subtly proving his protectiveness and jealousy over other men talking to you. OR he waits until you’re home to shove you up against a wall OR drags you into the bar back room to be all “what the fuck were you doing with him? and why was he touching you and laughing?” and it’s just all so hot. give it some real angst for me, please?

hehehehehe

Jealousy, Jealousy

Joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

having just settled in Jackson, she and Joel are having a hard time learning to share what's theirs.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, pretty rough sex ngl, semi-public too, joel's a teasy lil shit, a dash of angst, a hint of fluff, yeehaw

..............................

She can feel his eyes on her, and it’s starting to make her nervous that he’s going to make a scene. She, on the other hand, is doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing, being social, mingling with the Jackson community, proving that she isn’t a wild stray that hisses when provoked. Joel on the other hand…

He’s sulking like a damn teenager at the bar in the Tipsy Bison, and she’s been with him long enough to know that his daggered stare is pointed directly at the young man she’s talking to. Maria had introduced her to the guy, Graham, that morning when he joined their patrol shift. He was friendly and easily started cracking jokes with her, crinkly blue eyes and a sandy mop of hair topping off his downright sunshiny disposition. The polar opposite of her man who currently looks like he could moonlight as the grim reaper with the way he’s staring at them.

Joel is already on probation of sorts, after he knocked another guy’s lights out because he was getting a bit too insistent with her down at the stables. Having been on the road for so long, neither of them are used to settling things with means other than guns and fists. Ellie has jokingly begun calling them “big bitch and bigger bitch” for the way they just can’t seem to shake their standoffish nature. For the record, Joel is the bigger bitch. But she’s trying, really hard, and is going to be pissed if Joel thwarts her attempts at making a new friend.

Luckily, Graham is easy to talk to, even when her eyes keep darting over to the other end of the bar where Joel is sitting. She has to do a double take, however, when she sees that someone has joined him. She smiles politely, laughing along to Graham’s story while she racks her brain for the name of the woman who’s suddenly got a claw– hand– on Joel’s bicep where his arm is propped on the counter. Veronica? No, Vanessa. She rolls the name around in her mind, letting venom strike through each syllable.

“Hey, are you good?” She’s startled out of her imaginings of what Vanessa would look like with a bloody nose by Graham waving his hand in front of her face. She takes one more glance at Joel, whose attention has completely shifted from her to his little hanger-on. She has to practically wrench her eyes away from the sight and back to Graham, letting out a forced laugh.

“Sorry, I just– zoned out for a second. What were you saying?” The nagging voice of Maria in her head telling her to “be social” is the only thing keeping her attention on Graham. As she glances back across the bar, her stomach twists when she sees that both Joel and Vanessa are now gone from their seats, but her anxiety is short lived when a broad palm comes to rest around the curve of her hip, warmth spreading across her back that can only be coming from her radiator of a man.

“Graham.” She has to hold back a laugh at the way Joel says his name like it’s a curse, but the bite is lost on Graham who just offers him an easy smile.

“Hey, Joel, it’s good to see you, man. I was just telling her about how–”

“Actually, son. I’m gonna steal this one from you. Our kid needs us.” That makes her head whip around to look at him, but his eyes stay trained on Graham, the only acknowledgement she gets is his fingers flexing where they’re splayed on her waist. Graham’s face falls.

“Oh, um, of course. I hope everything’s alright.”

“It will be.” With those gruff few words, Joel herds her off her stool, slinging his arm over her shoulders as he guides her through the crowd and out of the bar, night already sweeping down the main drag of Jackson. He’s pushing her along at a clipped pace, but she’s having none of it, stopping dead in her tracks to look at him fully.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Ellie? What– is she ok?” He huffs, trying to get her to keep walking, but she holds her ground, not budging when he tries to shuffle her along.

“Ellie’s fine, alright? I– fuck, I made that up.”

“What? Joel, what the hell are you–” Before she can get the rest of her incredulous question out, he’s grabbing her wrist and tugging her down an alley between two storefronts, pushing her up against the brick wall as she struggles to figure out what the hell just happened. But that’s a little hard to do with the way her mind goes blank when Joel smashes his lips against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth when she gasps at the harsh squeeze of his hands groping her ass. When he pulls away with a little smack, a lewd string of spit snaps between their mouths.

“It was either this, or punching Graham’s teeth in.” Before she can respond to his breathless statement, he’s licking back into her mouth, slotting his hips with hers and grinding hard so she can feel the heat of his erection rutting into the front of her jeans. The only thing that gets him to finally let up is her harshly tugging at his hair, making him groan low as he pulls away.

“Are you telling me that all this is because you got a little jealous of Graham?” The hard set of his jaw tells her all she needs to know, and she lets out a laugh.

“Joel, I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that.” He huffs at that, his fingers flexing into the plush of her ass.

“That don’t mean a thing. Saw the way he was looking at you, darlin. Didn’t like it one bit.”

“Well that’s rich coming from you when you had that sweet little thing hanging off your arm at the bar.” She regrets it the minute it leaves her mouth, even more so when a very smug look washes over Joel’s face.

“Hmm, I’m not the only one who’s jealous, huh?” She tries to jerk away when he traces her cheek with his fingers, letting out a huff as he just crowds her further against the wall. He chuckles, the asshole.

“Don’t be like that, darlin. Ain’t nothing for you to be jealous about. Not looking at anyone else but you, you know that.”

“And you know that I’m not looking at anyone else either. I was trying to make a friend, you know, like how Maria told us to?” She jabs her finger into his chest, punctuating her words with a few prods. Joel doesn’t seem convinced.

“Can’t you make friends with someone who isn’t trying to fuck you?” That makes her scoff.

“How many times do I have to tell you? He wasn’t trying to fuck me. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve done a thorough job of letting everyone know that I’m your woman.” Joel seems to consider her words, doing something unexpectedly sweet when he trails his palm down her arm, drawing her hand up to press a kiss over her knuckles.

“That’s right, darlin. You’re mine– my woman. Same as I’m your man. But I think you could use a little reminder of that, huh?” Before she can respond to that with something snappy, he’s shutting her up with another crushing kiss, both his hands returning to her ass as he pulls her hips to slot with his. He smears his lips down her neck, nosing away the collar of her shirt before sucking harshly at the newly exposed skin, making her throw her head back against the brick wall with a sharp gasp.

“Joel– fuck– what if someone sees?” The low thrumming laugh he lets out shoots straight down her spine, pooling syrupy heat through her core.

“No one’s gonna see, not if you’re good and quiet for me. Can you do that, honey? Be so good for me, huh?” It infuriates her, really. How quickly he can melt her down, her usual bite going soft and sweet with each kiss, each squeeze of his hands, until she’s all but whimpering for him to give her more. He continues mouthing at her chest until she tugs him up by her fingers raking through his hair.

“No more fucking teasing– I–I’ll be good– just, please–” he cuts her off with a hard roll of his hips into hers, a pressure that makes her dizzy even through layers of clothes. She has to hold back a whine when he completely steps away from her, leaving her slumped against the wall as his eyes take a salacious path down her body and back up to her face.

“Turn around for me, darlin. Show me what’s mine.” Under any other circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes at that entirely pigheaded statement, but she’s got just enough warmth running through her veins from his touch and the liquor she had sipped on to comply without hesitation, turning around and splaying her palms out on the wall as she arches her back, hips shimmying slightly out.

He presses right up against her, heat grinding into her ass while his hands knead and squeeze the sides of her thighs. She yelps when his palm comes down hard on the curve of her ass and he shushes her, leaning further against her while his lips trace the shell of her ear.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me. Gotta be quiet right?” She sighs, mind a little too hazy to answer as his fingers curl around her waist to fumble with the buttons of her jeans, harshly yanking them down along with her panties until the fabric bunches just under the swell of her ass. She’s entirely unprepared when he lays another slap to now bare skin, the burn rolling and spreading through her, doing nothing to help the dampness she can feel smearing in between her thighs.

“C’mon, honey. Need you to tell me if you’re gonna be good for me. Else I can’t give you what you want.” Now he’s just being cruel, and she’s had about enough of it, huffing and craning her neck over her shoulder to glare at him.

“I already told you, you precocious asshole. Just fuck me al–” she can’t finish her sentence, not when he’s sliding into her heat in one languid stroke, his hips fitting snug against her ass. Joel groans low, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as he stills inside her.

“Precocious asshole – those are some big words, darlin. Don’t want anything in that pretty head of yours except my name by the time I’m done with you, you understand?” She tries to press her hips back, seeking anything more that he’ll give her, but his firm hold on her hips keeps her stilled, aching around his pulsing length.

“Only gonna ask one more time. Do you understand?” He punctuates his question with a deep grind of his hips, the tip of his cock nudging a spot inside her that makes her eyes scrunch tight from the prickling pleasure.

“Fuck– yes! I understand, I understand, just– please, Joel. Need it so bad.” That seems to appease him, and she sighs when he pulls his hips back, finding a slow roll back into her that makes her preen in his grip.

“That’s my good girl, huh? All mine. I’ll give you what you need, honey.” Any slowness, any gentleness, dissolves with the brutal pace he sets, fucking her up against the wall, rough palms bouncing her hips back against his as they both pant heavily into the clear night air. His one hand comes up to rest over hers where its splayed across the wall, and she imagines fleetingly that his knuckles are gonna be scraped from the way he curls his fingers between hers, twining their hands together and grazing against the rough brick with each punishing thrust.

“So perfect like this– fucking made for me, darlin– right? Just for me.” His words are a hot fog in her mind, and it takes everything in her to form a coherent reply.

“Yes, yes– s’for you– all for you– all yours, Joel– please–” A broken cry catches in her throat when his other hand snakes around her hip, pressing firm against her pelvis as his fingers drag sloppy shapes across her clit.

“That’s right, honey. My girl, my woman– no one else’s. You gonna come? Huh? Gonna come for your man?” His words are choppy, disjointed by low grunts and his hips never stutter in the relentless rhythm he keeps. It all becomes too much, her release catching her off guard as her hips jerk in his hold, the only thing she can manage is a crackled whimper of his name as he fucks her through it.

“So good for me, darlin– that’s it– shit–” She slumps against the wall when he pulls out, the ringing in her ears dissipating just enough to hear the wet glide of his hand as he finishes himself off with a few harsh strokes, warmth smudging over her low back, dripping down her ass as he sighs out her name.

They stay like that for a moment, Joel pressing his forehead into her shoulder, she barely holding herself up against the wall as they both catch their heaving breath. Finally collecting herself, she huffs at his cooling spend now smeared over her skin.

“Joel, how the fuck am I supposed to walk around with your come drying on my ass?” He grumbles at her protests, already hoisting her panties and jeans back up her hips, giving her ass a little pat once they’re back in place.

“Don’t worry, darlin. I’ll clean you up real good soon as we get home.” She finally turns around, immediately resting her back against the wall when her knees start to wobble. Joel grins at her, all wicked and smug, as he tucks himself back into his jeans. She huffs.

“You are impossible, Miller.” He hums at that, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and press a shockingly sweet kiss to her lips.

“So are you, darlin. S’why we work so good together, huh?” She has to smile at that, leaning up to steal another kiss from him, but the moment is over all too soon when someone interrupts them.

“Goddamn it. I leave you two alone for a few minutes and I find you out here necking like a pair of feral cats. This is a family community, have some decency, alright?” Tommy stands at the mouth of the alley, hands on his hips, and an entirely exasperated expression on his face. Joel steps more in front of her while she tries to subtly zip up her jeans that are still hanging unbuttoned around her hips.

“Got it, brother. Sorry– we were just headed home.” Tommy just shakes his head.

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t Maria who saw you two. Jesus– just– go home. Never wanna see y’all making out again. Fucking scarred for life now.” She’s just relieved that was all Tommy saw.

They sheepishly step out of the alley, Joel tucking her under his arm as she offers Tommy an apologetic smile. Tommy shakes his head one more time before heading off toward the bar. When he’s far enough away, Joel lets out a rumbling laugh. She, however, is less than amused.

“I swear to god, Joel Miller. You are gonna get us kicked out of this damn place one of these days!” She smacks his chest, but he grabs her wrist, holding her palm there as he pulls her into him.

“Me? What about you, huh? Takes two, darlin.” She fights it, she really does, but she can’t help the smile creeping across her face with the way he quirks an eyebrow at her, both of them dissolving into breathy laughter. He sighs, squeezing her hip with his one hand.

“C’mon, trouble. We better get home before the bible brigade comes hunting for us.” She snorts at that, head tipping back in a laugh as they start walking away toward their home. He slings his arm over her shoulders, both of them stumbling along with how close they insist on staying to each other

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Just for you, darlin.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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harringrooves · 3 years

Text

Inspired by the #cherrylanechallenge day 1 prompt knife but this is not spooky at all so technically this is just a random little ficlet! AO3

The chair outside the principal's office is already taken when Billy gets there. He lets his eyes follow the trail from the clean, white sneakers up the impossibly long stretch of denim clad leg and even further upwards over the two toned striped polo shirt to the moles peeking out from just under the collar.

Steve Harrington glances up at him, then grimaces. Sighs.

"Jesus Christ," Harrington mutters.

"What are you doing here?" Billy grunts. There's no where left to sit, so he flung his jacket onto the linoleum and drops down onto it, back resting against the wall directly opposite Harrington.

Despite the distance of the entire width of the hallway between them, when Billy stretches his legs out the scuffed points of his boots almost touch the edge of Harrington's sneakers.

"Waiting for Mrs Reyes."

"Yeah, no shit."

That earns him a glare from Harrington. Billy's stomach turns a little at the disdain in Harrington's dark eyes, but it's the curiosity shining through that makes him squirm. Like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"Why're you here?"

Billy rolls his eyes, letting the familiar motion draw out the equally familiar sneer. "Same as you, dumbass."

Harrington huffs and turns away again as they both fall silent, glancing at the door every so often as the minutes tick by. It's not at all a comfortable silence. Harrington's not looking at Billy so Billy shouldn't be looking at him. But the walls are blank and the only other remotely interesting thing is the name plaque on the principal's door.

So Billy traces the letters dutifully, keeps going even when he gets nearer to the end of Reyes and stripes creep into the very edge of his vision. Even when he hears Harrington shift in the chair, moving his legs under him onto the seat then over the arms than back down to the floor. Even when Harrington asks, "You go crazy on some kid again?"

Billy goes round and round the shape of the capital R. "No. The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Harrington laughs. It's loud and braying, and not what Billy would've guessed King Steve's laugh would sound like. He imagined something smooth and dark, something that would exude effortless charm with an undertone of something mysteriously rich and out of reach.

It just sounds like a teenage guy laughing, if a teenage guy was also part donkey. Billy would find it funny, if Harrington wasn't laughing at him. "What?" he repeats harshly.

Harrington eventually quiets. "What do I mean? The night at the Byer's, you went like, fully psycho. Your eyes were fucking dead. Did you get like that again, is that why you're here?"

Finally, Billy tears his eyes away from the plaque and meets Harrington's head on. "No," Billy says firmly. "I didn't fucking- no."

Harrington shrugs. "Whatever. Wouldn't surprise me if you did, sooner or later."

That stings. In California he was good at skating and surfing and babysitting and he was top of his class in English and History. Even after she left everyone knew him as Rosaline's boy (never Neil's), with the blonde hair and the yellow surfboard and the white smile that was a little too charming for his own good. Here in Hawkins, he was the Hargrove kid, the one who fucked and ditched, the one who fought and drank.

Maybe Billy's fine with everyone else thinking that about him, but not Harrington. Billy won't let himself think about why, but he wants Harrington see him. To look at him and think he's better than that night.

"I got kicked out of shop class," Billy bites out quietly. Harrington blinks at him.

"You got in a fight in shop-"

"I didn't get in a fight, for fuck's sake!"

Harrington holds his hands up in mock placation, bobbing his head mockingly. "Alright, alright." He stretches his leg out and lazily nudges at Billy's foot. "What'd you do then?"

"Made a knife," Billy mumbles, eyes back on the plaque.

Harrington laughs again. "You what?"

"I made a-"

"A knife, yeah." Harrington cocks his head like a little dog, some of his fringe flopping into his eye. "You know that just makes you sound even crazier, right?"

Billy just shrugs and lets his head fall back against the wall. "Wasn't for me, it was s'posed to be a gift. For- for Max." Harrington freezes.

"You were gonna make Max a knife as a gift?" It sounds like Harrington's struggling with every implication of that sentence. That Billy would gift Max something. That a knife was an appropriate gift. That Billy would care enough about anything to create something hand made.

"Yeah." He can't help but let a little bit of defensiveness slip into his tone. Billy kicks Harrington's foot away, probably a bit harder than necessary. "It was a replica of that one her character has in that stupid game her nerd friends play. Demons in Dungeons, or whatever." Dungeons and Dragons. Billy's not that stupid, but he's also not that shameless to admit to knowing what it's called. "It was a full scaled up one, even got the pattern on the handle half done."

"That's- cool," Harrington says hesitantly. "Didn't know you cared, Hargrove."

"Shitbird's birthday soon. Thought she'd like it." Billy glances over to Harrington, who's watching him with narrowed eyes. Billy coughs, shifting his shoulders a little to roll off the weight of the scrutiny. "Doesn't matter, that fucker Morrison confiscated it anyway."

Silence falls again, still just as awkward as last time but lacking a large amount of the hostility. Harrington's still watching him. The plaque's lost it's draw and Billy resorts to tracing the seams of his jeans with a fingernail.

"I'm failing English," Harrington offers abruptly. Billy's head snaps up, but for the first time Harrington's looking away as he speaks. "That's why I'm here. They're not sure if I'm gonna graduate."

"Sucks," Billy says roughly. Harrington nods slowly.

"Yeah."

Billy swallows, fingers clenching into fists atop his thighs. "I could, uh, give you my notes."

"Why would I need your notes?"

"'Cause you're failing English." Billy doesn't mean to say it like Harrington's an idiot, but those big brown eyes are wide and confused, like he's never thought about actually asking for help. "And 'cause I'm acing it."

Harrington's nose wrinkles in obvious disbelief, but he doesn't challenge it. He just sighs and lets his head loll to the side, propped up by his fist. "Yeah. Whatever. I'll do anything, at this point."

Billy nods silently. Harrington opens his mouth again, but he's interrupted by the click of the office door finally opening. Mrs Reyes pokes her head out.

"Steve," she greets him warmly. Her eyes slide over to Billy on the floor and her lips thin ever so slightly. "William."

"Hi," Billy says as obnoxiously peppy as he can manage.

"I'll see to you in a minute, after I've spoken with Steve." And then Harrington steps through into the office and the door swings shut once again.

Billy could get up and sit in the now vacant chair, but he stays right where he is until it's his turn to be called in. Harrington looks at him as he passes him in the doorway, but it's obvious that he's a million miles away, frowning at Billy but his mind no doubt occupied by something else.

Mrs Reyes doesn't ask what happened, just gives him a Friday detention and a lecture on how badly his behaviour is going to affect his record and how that's such a shame given his academic achievements. Billy lets it wash over him, not bothering to really pay attention. He's heard it all before.

When school lets out and Billy makes his way out the Camaro, he almost trips over his feet at the sight of Steve Harrington leaning against his car, twirling a knife in his long fingers.

"Here," Harrington says as soon as Billy gets close enough, holding the knife out to him blade first. Billy takes it gingerly and slips it into his jacket pocket.

"How'd you get it back?"

Harrington's chest puffs up in some god awful display of smugness as he smirks at Billy. "Morrison leaves his office unlocked during lunch. Everyone knows, it's like the number one place to make out. I was in an out, the couple in there didn't even notice me."

"That's disgusting. But, thanks, I guess-"

"Don't." Harrington holds up a hand, wincing a little. "I didn't do it for you, I think Max will really like the gift so if anything, I did it for her. And consider this payment for the notes."

"Payment?" Billy's brow furrows. "I didn't ask you to pay me." But now that Harrington's mentioned it, he definitely should have. Harrington's rich, everyone knows that. Billy could've got an easy $100 or some of the good weed Tommy's always talking about Harrington having.

"And now you don't have to," Harrington says smugly. "I give you the knife, you give me the notes. I don't want you asking me a month down the track to give you like $80 or a bag of weed or whatever in return. So there's the knife, aaaaand we're even."

Billy glowers as Harrington grins smarmily at him. "Fine. We're even. Now fuck off, some of us got places to be."

Harrington dutifully pushes off the Camaro, walking backwards towards his own car a few rows over. "Cool. Give me the notes whenever this week."

Billy doesn't say bye, just gets in his car and drives off, studiously not watching the fading image of Steve Harrington in his rear view mirror.

...

Max loves the knife. She doesn't hug him, but she nudges his shoulder with hers and declares that she's going to tie it to her belt and carry it with her at all times from now on. Neil goes purple trying to hold back his commentary on just how ladylike and appropriate for a young woman that is. Billy gets a cuff to the back of the head later, but it's worth it.

Harrington does get to graduate. He leans over from his seat beside Billy's (alphabetical order) during the opening speech of the graduation ceremony and whispers closer than necessary into Billy's ear, "Thanks, man." He doesn't so much as glance at Billy for the rest of the three hour ceremony, or during the party later that night that goes until daybreak the next morning, but it's worth it.

Billy bides his time. He can handle one more summer if it means getting enough cash to be independent when he leaves for college in a few months. Neil sucks as much as always, and driving Max everywhere cuts into the hours he's able to put in at the pool, but when she drags him to the new mall after his shift and right into the blissfully cool ice cream shop, Steve Harrington's eyes catch tellingly on the bare skin between the bottom of Billy's crop top and his tiny, red shorts and it's so, so fucking worth it.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #this isn't spooky at all i'm so sorry 😩#also unedited af #where does this fall on the canon timeline??? nobody knows!!#hg fic #harringrove fic

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infinitegalahad · 3 years

Text

WIFE

Summary: You and Dick, after years of indefinite separation and depression, have finally reunited. Dick can’t wait to start a family with you. You love Dick, but you soon realize that you cannot bear him a son, a daughter, or a child.

Word Count: 10.9k (i’m being generous)

Warnings: Infertility, period typical sexism, Loneliness, based off of a mitski song what did you expect, here comes the angst train *sad choo choo*

Notes: Female reader. and title (literally) taken from Wife By Mitski, which I rec listening too for the extra painful experience. So I’m back from the dead...ish. I wanna apologize for going AWOL for two-three months, guess Iw anted to focus on other works and I feel like x readers are not my strong suit. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna write them! I can’t promise anything, but I am planning some stories. Not as long or as painful as this is, of course!

I’m not gonna lie, I cried while writing this. Not only because it’s Mitski, but infertility is something that hit’s close to home for me and my family. Was this story just me projecting my generational trauma into this fic? Never! Anyways, hopefully I won’t go AWOL again, atleast not for that long. It’s really hard to find the motivation to write, but I’ll do it. For you guys ;)

Taglist: @easy-company-tradition

When Dick Winters had left for the war five years ago, he had made a promise to you the night before he was drafted. You were nineteen and naive, planned for college and he was twenty-seven, a post-graduate and Business Major. Your father was his professor and one of his best students. You would see Dick every Friday Night. As you would pick at the leftover peas on your plate, he would turn to look at your father to talk about something business-related. His eyes, you could never tell if they were a light shade of blue or green, would meet yours. It would be for a brief second. Those brief seconds would make you drop your fork and your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

You had a small crush on Dick Winter’s.

It took you a few weeks to catch onto his eye color. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and green, reflecting a mint color. The taper candles would always lighten his eyes up. The reason you finally found out this eye color was because each dinner, you’d catch Dick staring at you. You were naturally oblivious to it, keeping your head down as your father talked a business deal. But whenever he mentioned Dick’s name, you would look up, see Dick’s dilated mint pupils looking right into your eyes before he swiftly turned his head to your father, acting like he was listening to every little word he was saying.

Dick had become a family friend. Instead of dinners once a week, he would come by your house more frequently in the summer months. The summer you had met Dick, there was a three-month-long heatwave. From what you understood, Dick had been doing an internship with your father along with extra studies, extracurriculars, and even more. It sounded like a lot for a young man. He was over three times a week, always in your father’s studies or the porch, drinking lemonade as he and your father discussed business. You’d sit on top of the porch, lazily slumped in a chair in your floral dirndl, reading And Both Were Young as you watched Dick Winters, in shorts and a tight white shirt with his strawberry blonde hair a little messy. Every time he spoke, your heart would skip a beat.

“Two jobs?” You cried, skipping ahead of him in your flats that you had slipped on in a rush, the heels hanging out of the back. “And an internship? How do you do it all?”

Dick looked down at your tiner figure, his lips curving into a subtle smile at your question. Whenever he smiled, his cheeks would wrinkle. It was a small detail you caught into about Dick that you adored. “I don’t go to parties a lot. Not worth the time that I’ve got. I work these jobs so I can get through school and support my family.”

“That’s very admirable, Dick. Not a lot of guys my age would even consider that.” You remarked with a compliment. Dick walked beside you, hands behind your back with a straight back. His gaze lingered in you as he scanned your figure. Now that Dick was around more often, you always made sure to wear your best outfits. You wouldn’t have considered yourself very vain, but with Dick, something had changed. You started wearing the pretty pastel dresses your mother approved off, fine pearls, expensive cologne, and even the short rompers that your mother didn’t approve of. When wearing makeup, you felt like a woman more than a girl, which is what you wanted Dick to see you as.

“Thank you, y/n.” The strawberry blonde politely thanked with a curt nod. The two of you had a little routine now. While your mother would make dinner and your father would smoke a cigar in the back with the dogs, you’d take Dick into your backyard and down a little cobblestone trail to a hidden lake. You liked to go there to read to escape, and Dick needed a small break from working in the burning heat. So it was idle. “Do you have plans now that you’ve graduated?”

“Yes. I’m starting classes at Franklin and Marshall since they’ve allowed women. My mother prefers I stay home and learn how to be a lady instead of reading,” You explained with a sigh. The only woman in a class full for men. Times were changing, and nothing was going to stop you from working. “She cares more about her grandchildren then her daughter’s desires.”

“Well, it is your choice? Not your mother or father’s. As long as you were happy, then they should be happy for you. I think you’ll like it,” Dick kindly reassured, “You’re a very nice young lady, y/n. I’m sure you’ll do great things.”

The two of you arrived at the lake. The sun was setting over the sky as it shined on the lake. There was an orange and pink hue in the sky. Dick and you stood besides each other. The strawberry blonde shut his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling a small breeze in the night. The air got colder in the nights, which felt like a refreshing treat after a long day of work and unbearable heat. The sun made his strawberry blonde hair and skin glow like he was some kind of god.

You admired Dick as he stood there, biting your lip and hands playing with the belt fabric on your skirt.

“Dick?” You managed to choke, your voice cracking.

He opened one eye and looked at you, worried. “Is everything okay, y/n?”

“Can you please kiss me?”

Dick looked bewildered. It took him a second to process the question. His expression was that of a high school student stumped on an equation in math class. He hadn’t been outside much, maybe the heat was getting to him. “I don’t think I heard that correctly.”

“Can you please kiss me?” You reiterated, biting your lip in vexation. “I haven’t met a man like you, Dick. None of the boys my mother is setting me up with are like. They aren’t as intelligent, hardworking, cordial. When I tell these boys I want to read and live my life, they put me down-call me insane and ill. But you don’t do those things. You just stand there and listen to me. I may not make sense since I am probably just some young immature girl who knows nothing about being a proper lady. You even give me kind words of advice. No other boy would do that. Only a man would do such a thing.” You vented, letting your words spill out like vomit.

Dick wasn’t reacting at all. At Least it wasn’t obvious. He turned his figure towards you, eyes glued as his lips puckered against each other’s. He seemed taken aback by your honesty since you were someone who was reserved, only speaking when necessary. That didn’t mean adding your opinion to one of your father’s at dinner. Dick wasn’t obvious to your “rebellious” nature. Your mother would always scold you for interrupting the men. Your father didn’t mind your info if, and so didn’t Dick. He was interested in your perspective, and would always ask for further intake since it was the gentlemen thing to do.

You looked at him and shook your head, turning to walk back. “Forget it,” You sighed as you walked past him, your shoulder brushing against his. Dick got a smell of your perfume, a lavender and vanilla, it was definitely expensive. He liked y/n’s armora, especially after a long day of being in a stuffy room full of whiskey and burning cigars. “You probably think I’m just a mad woman-“

Dick thought about his decision for a second. He had to think thinkly. When he made up his mind, he sped walk towards you. “Wait,” He called. He saw you turn around with your silky (y/h/c) (y/h/t) spring right behind you. He scrunched up a fist feeling a lump grow in his throat as he looked a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re not a mad woman. I think you’re wonderful to be around. I always enjoy our conversations and our midnight walks,” Dick commented. He was at a loss of words for the kiss. When you had asked, you sounded like you were begging, but hid it.

It took him a while to realize that the two’s of you had a fair amount in common. You both were soft spoken souls, friendly but quiet. You distanced yourself from large crowds and were usually confident in each other since you both had a trust. You know how eachother worked like nobody else did-a small, intimate detail that only the two of you would watch into.

“You’re also growing into a beautiful young woman each day. Being a lady doesn’t mean being all prim and proper, it means being mature, kind, and respectful to others. That’s what you are.” Dick was only a few steps away. You listened to every word he said, your hands restraining themselves from touching his chest. He could once again smell the cologne and see the moonlight shine on your eyes and hair-the gloss you wore sparkled as well.

“But I couldn’t kiss you. You’re father wouldn’t approve of it.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back. Your hands met his chest. You were so caught up in the heat of it that you didn’t realize that your hands rested on Dick’s Ivory collared shirt. Dick, however, didn’t protest at all.

You gently scrunched the fabric, “He’s not here. Just one. Before my mom tries to marry me off. Just one kiss and I won’t ask for anything else of you, Dick.”

Dick put his bigger hands onto yours as his thumb finessed the small part of your soft, [y/s/c] skin in between your index and thumb. “I…”

You gave him those eyes. They were begging. One kiss from a real man and you would be content.

Dick let out a defeated sigh, “...will. Just one. For you.”

So he did. In the moonlight, Dick Winters held you close and became your first kiss. Your lips were like a sweet treat. It felt miraculous after a long day of work. It was meant to be quick, but he was obsessed with your cushion lips and sweet lip gloss. His hands firmly rested on your lower back as his fingers scrunched with the material. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was yours, so he made sure to be gentle with you, even though he struggled. The whiff of your perfume, your shirt showing off your abdomen, the silliness of your hair. It was hard just for it to be one kiss.

Dick walked to you, your arm slung in the hole of his elbow. The two of you didn’t speak any words once you arrived back for dinner. It was a typical dinner. Your mother always made Salmon, rice, and peas on Saturdays, which occurred to be Dick’s favourite meal. Your mother raved about boys who could “tame” you, your father spoke of a new business deal in the news, you picked at the leftover peas, and Dick looked at your father with his weary king eyes, attempting to look interested in the conversation.

What kept him away in the dinner as your bare ankle, brushing against his trousers. It was a little bit distracting. Thank god he was a good pretender. It felt so wrong to be doing this, yet so right. You were unlike a lot of women Dick had met. You always caught his attention, watching you each day as you grow into a young, educated woman.

To tame your foot, Dick wrapped his ankle around yours, tenderly holding it down until the meal was over. After dinner was over, Dick wished your family a goodnight.. He gave your mother who adored him a kiss on the cheek, your father a firm handshake, and you apart on the shoulder. His fingers struggled on your bare shoulder for what seemed like forever, brushing against the edge of your neck.

And with that, Dick was gone into the night. You headed to bed and changed, not washing your lips. You had a smile on your face as you twisted and turned. It was a one time occurance, but it felt like your fantasy had come to life.

But before you knew it, it would all be over. Dick would be back on Tuesday, and the two of you would act like nothing had ever happened.

But what Dick and you didn’t know is that it wouldn't be the first time of hushed kisses, lingering fingers, and limbs grazing passionately against each other.

————

The US had entered the war overseas. Most of the boys in your class were putting a pause on their lives to go fight in Africa, The Pacific, or Europe. Anybody who was over the age of eighteen was required to draft, so town was a shit show of crying mothers, lanky boys who could possibly never come home, and military trucks. You wanted to apply to be a combat nurse, but you weren’t of the age requirement.

Dick was going to war.

Ever since the night at the lake, you and Dick kept a closted relationship. He still came over in the Summers. Some days you wouldn’t even see him. But the small moments you had together, whether that be watching the twinkling stars on your walk on the lake hand in hand or cuddled reading books on a rainy day in your isolated greenhouse porch, mattered so much. If you had a bad day, he'd sit there and listen. He wouldn’t judge or give any advice. You didn’t know if he understood your struggles, but it made you happy to know that someone would sit there and listen. For comfort, he would take the book out of your hands and bookmark it, slide off your dangling flats, and pull you into his chest.

Dick’s language of romance wasn’t grand or romantic. Although reticent, his tranquil actions were nothing but idyllic. It was the little things that counted, whether it was fresh perennial’s picked from the field or even a hug. Your relationship didn’t have to be based on gifts and what others thought of you. It was the little things that counted.

The night before he was drafted, Dick invited your family over to his farm. It was at the edge of town and down a long dirt road, leading to a little white house and large red barn. It was picturesque, a cornfield and trees for miles on end. There was no constant chatter, horns blaring, or pressure-it was just quiet.

When your parents and Dick’s parents were distracted in conversation, Dick requested to take a walk with you. As much as you enjoyed talking to the bubbly Anne, you needed a small escape. You followed Dick to the back of his tiny kitchen. Being the gentleman he was, he held the door open and let you walk ahead of him. The only noise that could be heard were the chirps of crickets and the wind gently blowing. You held a hand down on a dress your mother forced you to wear. It was a Jade summer frock, but Dick had complimented you. So it made the frock somewhat bearable.

The two of you walked in his backyard. You had no clue where he was leading you. You turned to Dick to ask. He didn’t respond with words. His fingers edged on your as you unruled your fingers, letting his hand sink into yours. His hands were worked, and you felt awful so you gently caressed the upper skin with your thumb.

“Where are we going?” You questioned as you looked left and right, clinging onto the shawl that hung from your shoulders.

Dick looked down at you. He had a subtle smile on his lips as he looked down at you. All of the anxiety he had felt about being drafted, work, and the war faded away when he looked at you. Dick didn’t need to kiss you to know that you loved him; he could tell from the gentle look of your stunning (y/e/c) eyes. He watched you look into the never ending field ahead of you, the wind blowing loose strands of your updo. You wore a little bit of makeup. It was always subtle. He knew you hated wearing makeup and did you want to do it to look “presentable”. Dick didn’t care what you looked like, whether it be in overalls or a dress, he was infatuated with you.

He should have known from day one that y/n, the mischievous daughter of his Economics professor, had been yearning for him. He attempted to get lost in the papers and speeches of your father in his regal office with the shades closed and the whiff of smoke, earth paper, and Whiskey. Even when he was trapped in the office, you were still on his mind with your elegant perfume and book in hand.

“Here.” He announced, overlooking the cornfield. The colossal, green plants waved in the wind, in front of a hazy smoky dull sunset. You didn’t respond and simply looked into the sunset, slowly watching the shining sun set into the ground. “The cornfields, they remind me of you.”

A smirk curved on your gloss lips as you squeezed his bigger, worked hand with your tinier one. “Is that so?”

“They're wild. No matter the season, they are always growing. They're not the easiest plant to manage, there...unruly.” Dick explained, still a gentle smile on his tringale face.

“Are you comparing me to a bunch of crops?” You teased as your head landed on his shoulder. “Not a lot of women find that very romantic.”

Dick leaned his head on top of yours as he, your thighs brushing against each other.

“I’m going to miss you a lot,” You broke the silence.

Dick didn’t move and had an eerie stoic expression. He tightened his grip on your hand before looking down to let out a soft sigh.

The sun didn’t shine anymore, the corn had stopped moving in the wind, and the stars didn’t sprinkle. You felt your stomach drop as goose bumps appeared on your exposed arms and legs. You froze and looked down at the grass, seeing your feet nestled right next to Dick’s.

The possibility that this could be the last time you saw Dick, held him, read with him, and kissed him haunted you. As a child, you had made it official that love was off the table. But when the giant gentle with red hair and mint eyes waltzed into your kitchen on that fateful night, your world had been turned upside down. Trying to be logical, you could live if Dick died. He was far too old to marry you, and most likely showed no interest. You could've been just a pretty face for him to silently hold before acting like you never shared tender moments in the moonlight. If he died, you would move on, marry someone your mother chose out for you, and start a mundane life of cooking, folding laundry, and having children.

But emotionally, if Dick didn’t come back to Lancaster, something would be missing from your life. Something important.

“I can’t promise anything. You know that, sweetheart.” Dick cautioned you, whispering into your hair. At Least he was being honest-better than sugar coating a sensitive subject. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused. You were being stubborn, pushing away the emotions and trying to think logically. But in all honesty, it was catching up to you know. Tears stung at your eyes as your mouth quivered.

“I know, you don’t have to tell me, ” You sniffled, “I’m not an idiot. I prefer it if you be straightforward with me.” Dick looked at you with his thin eyebrows knit together and narrowed eyes. After sharing such a kind moment, he most likely wouldn't wanna break news that would tear your heart to pieces.

You preferred if he’d just spit out the words and get it over with. Make it easier for both of you to handle.

He moved on his hands to your cheek to wipe the incoming tears, but you refused. You turned your head and swiped the tears with your shaky palm, red lipstick and mascara staining your skin.

You scoffed in frustration, “Just say you want me to break up with me. It’s for the better. I’ll go to school, you go to war. We act like nothing ever happened. For the greater good. It was fun while it lasted..But I...nevermind.” You looked down at the ground, refusing to look at Dick. One glance and the next thing you would know, tears would be streaming down your face as you ran into the night.

Dick turned and followed after you as your footsteps increased with a few mumbled sniffles. “That’s not what I wanted to say-”

A pained sob escaped your mouth as you walked forward, a red face with tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please, for the better of us. It’s better to use your mind over your heart and not worry about some young, naive girl who had a crush on her father’s best student!”

“Y/n...”

You continued to walk forward and ignore Dick’s pleas, but your stomping slowed down.

“Y/n...”

Dick was creeping up behind your. Your speed walking slowly turned into slow, sluggish steps. Tears streamed down your face as your hands slung at your sides. Dick was now right behind you, watching you as you sniffled. You slowly turned your head to look at him with mascara running down your face.

“Oh, Sweetheart..” Dick softly sighed. Your whole body turned around as you fell into his arms, letting out a loud sob. Small sniffles turned into wails as you cried into his chest, staining the ivory collared shirt. He stroked your hair as he ran reassuring circles on your back. He wanted you to get all of those pestering emotions out. After a few minutes of sobbing and Dick comfortingly holding you close, he broke the silence.

“That’s not why I brought you here,” Dick cooed into your hair as he traced mindless figures into your lower back.

You looked up with your big (e/y/c) orbs, letting out a little sniffle. He had a soft smile on his face as he wiped a stray hair from your face, slowly tucking it behind your hair. “Then...why did you bring me here..?”

“This cornfield holds a special place in my heart. I come here a lot. It’s peaceful, but lonely.” Dick explained as he grabbed your hand, holding your tiny one in his own. He looked down at you, “After working with your father, I’d come home and run here. I’d stop midway to look at the wind and the way it moved the corn. It was so relaxing, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To not feel lonely?”

“Yes. I felt alone, until I met you.” He admired, “I was surrounded by people, but I still felt alone. But when I spent time with you, I didn’t feel alone at all. It was a highlight to see you, even if it was sitting across from each other at a table or seeing you, laying on the porch. I looked at you and I got happy.”

“Dick, I…” You were speechless. His words wanted your heart, but his message baffled you. “Appreciate your kindness, but what do you mean?”

The gentle strawberry blonde held your hand. He didn’t hold it tight, but used both his hands to hold them up. He slowly backed up and lowered himself on one knee. From the books you had read, you knew what this way. Initiatively, you would’ve said no and ran away. But Dick had courted you with his gentle hold, reassuring words, and sheer presence.

“I couldn’t keep it any longer. I know there’s a chance that this will be the last time you see me for a while or at all. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I..can’t hide it. I love you, y/n. I don’t care if you want to start school and make your own money, I don’t care if you wear pants, I don’t care what you do. I care about your happiness. I want you to live a long and happy life. You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met. I understand you’re young, and you can turn this down if it’s too much. Dick announced as he pulled a velvet box from the back of his pants, he opened the box to reveal a golden Celtic band. You put a hand on your mouth in joyous disabelif. “I want to be with you, but only if you want to be with me. You’d never be alone...Will you marry me, y/n?”

“Dick, this is…” You chuckled in disbelief. One minute you were crying, now you were laughing. Dick in one hand held a beautiful ring, and the other hand your delicate hand. “Wonderful. But my parents...they…”

“I talked to your father. He said pick out a white dress you want.” Dick replied. “You’re mother cried. I thought she was upset, but she was beyond happy. She told me she knew you had an eye on me since I started coming over for dinner. They approved...but if you don’t want this, I understand. I just couldn’t hold it in, even if I don’t come ba-“

“Yes, Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Your words started low, but then turned to loud cheers. You squealed, nodding enthusiastically. “I will, Dick. I’ll marry you. I don’t care. If something does happen, I'll be happy knowing that I’m yours. Even if you don’t…” the three lettered words struggled to come out your mouth. It was such a rough word. Unable to bring yourself to say it, you chose to leave your pessimistic side for something more optimistic. “I won’t be alone, even if you’re in Europe, The Pacific, wherever. I’ll just know you’re here, in my heart and dreams.”

It turned out that this whole dinner was a setup by your family and the Winters. It just had to be Anne Winters that she found about your relationship with Winters. Being sixteen and sassy, she casually shrugged it off and stated that “Dick was a horrible liar”. It should have been obvious with Dick’s favourite meal, the fact that you were placed right next to time, Anne’s teasing, and your mother pestering for you to look presentable. It all made sense now.

But there was one ball in the air-the ceremony. Dick would be leaving for Toccoa the next day, the afternoon. Your parents wanted a big ceremony for the morning. The Winters didn’t care-they just wanted the two of you to be happy considering that Dick was going to be away for a long time or forever.

You and Dick had to come to an agreement. You announced at the end of dessert that you would wait to be married until Dick came back from the war.

Obviously, this caused a bit of uproar. But with Dick leaving tomorrow, they chose not to make a big deal of it. As long as you and Dick were happy, your families could be nothing but be happy for you. Even if it was a short amount of time.

After the storm that settled, you and Dick had left his house. You hopped in his truck and drove to the local chapel Dick had attended with his family every Sunday. In the middle of the night, the two of you eloped. He made sure to pull over and pick out a group of Perennials, all kinds of your favorites. You even stuffed some into your messy updo which had turned into a half updo.

After your quiet ceremony, the two of you drove back to your estate. There, the two of you spent your first, and poetically final, night together in your childhood bedroom; making love, cuddling, and cherishing every moment you shared with each other.

The variety of perennials’s Dick had picked out were placed into a blue and white ginger jar. It was meant to be a memory of Dick. He wouldn’t be there psychically, but spiritually, he would be right there.

Dick was surprised to learn that you weren’t a virgin. He was raised a Mennonite, waiting for marriage. You, being a curious young woman, had experimented. It was once, and an unpleasant experience. Before, you had felt indifferent about sex. It was something that women were meant to desire. You were told to be a virgin and wait for a man to take control of you. Hating those words, you chose to do the opposite. Nobody knew of your little secret, besides Dick-your husband.

Dick was nothing like the boy you had lost your virginity to. Unlike that boy, he was a man. Not because he was masculine and tough, but because he treated you like his equal. He never treated you any differently from your father. Dick had morals and integrity, he was compassionate, quiet but polite, open-minded, and used his brain and heart. That was what you defined a real man as.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you. He didn’t care about his feelings, he only cared about yours. He wanted to make sure that you were enjoying yourself. You aided him in some areas, but the two of you were on a ride after a rocky start. Dick always asked how you were doing, if you wanted him to stop, go slower, or if you needed to break. He left sloppy kisses all over your body and had his hands wrapped around you like a young child with a bear. Dick didn’t let go of you once.

That night, the two of you held each other close as you chatted for hours on end. That was what you had looked forward to, not the sex. Sex was still a big piece in your marriage, but it wasn’t the most important. You looked forward to the long and mindless conversations the two of you had. Dick held you in his warm arms, toned and muscles from the workout’s he did year round. He would hold you close to his body as the two of you discussed life after the war.

It didn’t matter what the future held. If Dick was gone for one year, ten years, or forever. What mattered was the two of you had each other in your little moment of peace before all hell would break loose.

You and Dick had chatted the whole night away. The next thing you knew, you would go from the bedroom to the train station. It was a moment you dreaded, but it had to be done. Dick once again had a stoic expression. He kissed his mother, your mother, and sister, shook his father's and your father’s hand, and gave you a long sweet kiss on the lips. Dick struggled to pull away, but he knew it was for the best. Before climbing onto the train, he promised to write to you at every opportunity he got and tell you about Europe, the war, and anything he desired to tell you.

The next thing you knew, you were alone again.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your shoes and walked up the stairs. Your mother asked if you were okay, to which you silently nodded your head. Your father had noticed your unusual silence. He had offered to take you shopping, thinking that money would make you happy. All you did was politely decline and retreat to your bedroom.

Your room was stuck in time. The sheets were all over the floor and Dick’s tall figure that had been imprinted on the left side of your bed. The dress your mother forced you to wear laid on the floor, along with your flats and pearls.

The sun shined through the curtains as you crawled onto the side where Dick had laid. You closed your eyes and sunk into his pillow, holding onto the disappearing scent of your husband.

On Top of the books, you had been reading were the perennials; lavender, daylilies, and stonecrops. You looked up from the pillow, your nose buried into the pillow and a blanket loosely covering your legs.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel that so alone anymore.

———

One year turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into four. You kept the calendar’s from over the years in your room, neatly stored under your bed. You found it funny how time flew by. You could remember the first day of walking in your classroom and the day you walked off the podium with your diploma. The pretty perennials that Dick had given you from what seemed like a decade ago had died. They were withered and derived of the bright colors they once had, hanging on the side of the blue and white ginger jar. The perennials reminded you of yourself. Once you had been a fiery young girl, and now you were an exhausted graduate student who was bound to become a widow.

Around the time you had found work at Lancaster, BBC announced that the war was over in Europe. That should have phased you and made you jump up with glee, but in all reality, it didn’t. The optimistic side you once had was long gone, turning into a pessimistic bitterness. The war was over in Europe, but not in The Pacific. Dick still wouldn’t be coming home, and you learned to accept that.

Sure, he had sent you letters in the beginning. Lots of them. He would talk about his adventures in training, his dreadful drill sergeant, his friend who was a “one of those city folk”, and so many more things. He expressed his boyish pride in being a patriot for his country. His little letters used to make your day. But as the leaves fell from the trees and the years passed, his letters would slow down. The last one you had received in January, written in December. It was short and sweet. The letter rested in your drawer. As the days passed on, a small part of you broke. You had been married for five years, yet you felt like you weren’t even married. No Dick kissing you, holding you in your arms, or comforting you in your darkest moments.

When the flowers had slowly withered, so did your hope.

But that all changed on a warm September day. Your mother had called you from your room, not specifying what was awaiting for you at the door. You grumbled and got up, taking off your glasses as you walked down the stairs, expecting to see another colleague trying to woo you.

You didn’t expect to see a tall man with a soft smile, strawberry hair, and a neat military uniform. Your husband-Dick Winters.

It was like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You dropped everything, running right into his arms. You buried your face in his chest as he pulled you in close, his worked hands resting on your lower back and hair. He smelt amazing, and his uniform was soft. You missed his tender touch and soft words. It had been forever since you had seen him. In that moment, nothing mattered. No words needed to be spoken. In all honesty, you never wanted or needed pity from others. You just wanted someone-Dick-to be close. You thought of yourself as a coward, but all you wanted to feel was alright.

“Sweetheart, I missed you. I’m so sorry,” He apologized, stroking your embrace. His voice was stoic, as usual. It really was Dick. He was home and in your arms, at last.

“Don’t. Just stay. Please.” You softly cooed into his chest. No, you couldn’t let go now.

Dick let out a soft chuckle and stayed in the embrace. War was a strange beast. It stripped families of their children and caused mass discussion. Dick thought he wouldn’t come home and see his wife who had married the night before he was drafted. As the years had gone by, Dick began to regret his choice. What if he had left you a widow?

But that was the past. It was gone-nothing to waste tears on. In your extended embrace, the future didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth stressing. Dick and you lived in the present moment and made it beautiful.

-----------

Nothing had changed after Dick had come home. Life was still the same, except you weren’t as alone. Dick was still his stoic self. He was a doting husband. You expected him to struggle when he returned to civilian life. He wasn't used to homemade dinners and a bed much-the flashes of exploding limbs and artillery flashing through his eyes. Both you and Dick were independent. It wasn’t a bad thing. You could spend hours reading as he did a puzzle in another. On some days, the two of you would do activities together. You’d lay your head in his lap as he’d did his puzzle. On other days, Dick would be needier. Originally, he wasn’t vocal about it. It took you a while to catch onto it. He held your hand more in public, pulled you closer as you slept, and whenever he was in a mood-he’d come right to you and just give you a look. You knew the look all too well-and knew how to cure it. Dick would wrap his arms as you snuggled into his chest and talk about anything your minds came to. Sometimes you’d talk, but other times the two of you would close yours and fall asleep. Dick wouldn’t have any nightmares if held you close for comfort.

Without you, Dick didn’t know what he would do. How he could return to the simplicity of life.

Somehow, he returned. And every day he made sure to thank you for making him feel like a human and not a machine-whether that be through a gentle peck, a cuddle, or even a literal “thank you”. He loved you more than anything in the world.

----------

Shortly after Dick returned, the two of you moved out to New Jersey. His “city-boy” friend (his name was Lewis Nixon, but Dick called him Lew) had offered him a job at his parent’s nutrition company. So off the two of you drove from Lancaster to the suburbs of Haddonfield. Haddonfield and Lancester were virtually the same; small country bumpkin towns isolated from the big cities.

You and Dick had bought your first house (which was given by Nixon was a “late honeymoon gift). It was a small colonial house in a tiny suburb, pristine white with red doors. The decorations in the house were limited, a few photos of your and his family with elegant furniture gifted from your parents. It was a little big for your liking. It was a nice gift, but in Nixon’s words, it was for the “incoming armada of redheads”.

Babies. Children. Of your kin.

Dick had mentioned having children. When he was still adjusting, he’d hold you close as he talked about his plans for the future. Buy a farm in Pennsylvania, build his own business, and start a family of his own. He had told you that anywhere you would go, he would go. Anything you wanted, he wanted. He was about thirty two and you were close to turning twenty-five. It was expected at your age to have young children, but with no husband around and a job, it was difficult to settle down. You would gulp and smile, looking down as you held his hand.

Dick didn’t want to pressure you. He knew that were siginactiatly younger. Times were changing, you had a job and life of your own. He never wanted to interfere with it. When you would get insecure about not being the “ideal wife”, he’d reassure you that you were his wife and didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want. Dick wasn’t a man who put fear into others to get what he wanted. He was a patient and gentle soul.

You had tried a few times here and there. As much as you tried to enjoy something that was pleasurable, it was painful. You hid it from Dick, but Dick wasn’t an idiot. Dick wanted you to enjoy it. You could his mint eyes, hungry yet soft, as he laid on top of you, both of your hands restricted as you did the deed.

You weren’t making any noises, looking to the side. Something was wrong, you knew it. But you couldn’t break it to Dick. How would he react?

Dick catched onto his. He pulled himself together and pulled out. You looked at him and gave him a stubble style as he scooted closer to you, his breath heavy and gelled hair a mess.

“Hey,” You smiled awkwardly, clenching at the sheets.

Dick looked at you, a smile curving as his lips as his hand caressed your cheek. “How is my wife doing?”

It was a private nickname. He called you it after the war, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. Sometimes it was “my little wife”, which could be sweet or driven by lust. The little nickname made your heart skip a beat. You were proud to be his.

“Good. I’m tired,” You yawned as you held his hand close, playing with his big fingers.

Dick looked at your face as he admired your natural beauty, a pearly smile, your hair loose on the pillow, and your figure covered by a thin sheet. His hand moved from your cheek, your nape, and eventually your stomach. He drew slow, soft circles around your tummy.

“My little wife with our baby,” Dick remarked, his fingers dancing across your bare skin. Any girl would’ve fallen head over heels if a man had said that. You should have been happy, you wanted a family.

But how could you tell him?

There was a long silence between the two of you. All you did was look into his mint orbs, stroking his hair out of his face.

“I hope he, or she, looks like you. So they get their mother’s beauty.” Dick looked down at your stomach and planted a kiss.

You gulped, thinking of a response. A pretty white lie. “And there’s dad’s redhead and kindness. If you’re a little guy, I’ll tell you that it’s hard to find a man like your day.”

“And it’s hard to find a woman like your mother. She’s a firecracker,” Dick jabbed as he playfully ruffled his hair.

“Dick…” Your words were low as you held back a sob. You plastered a smile, it hurt to lie. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t even know if I have a baby there…”

“Well…” Dick laid his head on your stomach, gently finessing the skin under your breast. “If It was a girl, what would her name be?”

You hated the feeling-naming a baby that wasn’t in your stomach. Dick believed that you were pregnant, or at least he believed you were. In response, you bit your lips-looking like you were deep in thought.

“Margaret,” You announced, “Molly for short. After my grandmother, in her memory.”

Dick tilted his head up and nodded, “For your grandma,” He planted another kiss and rested his head once again, “A boy?”

“Lewis? You like that fellow a lot.”

Dick shook his head, “No. I can’t look at him and our child the same way.”

You let out a chuckle before shaking your head. An image of a little baby flashed between your eyes. Mint eyes, dimples, and soft red hair. You wished it would occur.

“I can’t think of a name. You?”

Dick was silent for a minute as he laid on your stomach, your fingers entangled in his locks.

“Thomas. His name could be Thomas,” Dick proposed.

“Why is that?” You questioned.

Dick let out a sigh before crawling up to you, pulling you into his arms,“He was a C.O, to replace Sobel. I didn’t know him for long since his plane was hit. He’s listed as missing in action...but,” He froze on the words, unable to say it. You looked up at him Dick, who looked to the side with guilt tugging at his heart. You planted a kiss on his chin.

“He was twenty-two years old, just married. He sent a letter out to his wife to tell her that he was coming home. She still believes he’s out there, lost in some forest, finding his way home..” Dick looked down at you. Just like Meehan, he had been freshly married, sending out a letter. While Dick had kept his short and sweet (he didn’t want to promise anything), Meehan was too big for his britches. He didn’t show his fear, confidence in the face of adversity.

“Okay, Thomas it is. I like that name” You expressed.

Dick saw your face glow up, and so did his. He smiled, nodding along. “Thomas and Margaret,” He looked at your stomach once more, running his hand across your flat stomach. “I like that too.”

You nuzzled into his chest as he planted little kisses on the nape of your neck, holding you close for warmth. The two of you remained there, the only noise being your breathing.

Pulling your head back, Dick moved his hands down to your lower back to pull you up, closer to his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Dick?” You looked into his mint eyes, the candle in the room glittering in his orbs.

Dick held your cheek as he admired your face, “I love you, my little wife.”

You looked down before looking at your husband, moving slowly up to his face.

“And I love you two, my big husband.”

Maybe time stopped when Dick’s lips had met yours, but the flutter only intensified. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees went numb. You could only focus on how soft Dick felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all of your senses.

It wasn’t clear if you had dreamed this all, but the raw emotion in the way Dick’s fingers curled against yours. Dick kept his eyes open, sneaking a guilt peak every time you took a breath for air, just to make sure you weren’t a product of his imagination.

You weren’t sure if nature rooted for this moment, but it distracted you from everything. You just laid there with Dick, draped each other's arms as you sloppily kissed. Dick pulled you in once again, gently placing his lips onto yours until your knees had once again gone numb, overpowered by his. His other hand rested on your stomach as he murmured Margaret and Thomas, talking about how excellent of a mother you would be to your babies.

By the time you became aware of this, you froze, letting Dick kiss your body. You looked at the ceiling, hands in his hair as he decorated your skin.

It was like a car had run into you, throwing you down to the side-a rude awakening. As much as you denied it, it was creeping up on you.

There was no Thomas. There was no Magaret. There was never going to be a Thomas or Margaret.

Your stomach was flat, nothing moved. There was no life in your stomach ever. No matter how many times you tried, wished, prayed, there was only one conclusion.

There would never be a son or a daughter in your stomach-ever.

From that point on, life was slow. You woke up, gave Dick a kiss goodbye, worked from home, cooked dinner, read with Dick, fell asleep at an ungodly hour, and repeated the mundae routine everyday. With Dick being a general manager, he would work late hours. At some points, the only time you would see him is late at night when he’d crawl into bed giving you a kiss or early in the morning. Still, in his weary and stressed state, he’d always kiss your stomach every night and morning.

With your irregular cycles, constant negative tests, and pelvic pain becoming more evident in your marriage, you decided it was best to see your Doctor. As much as you didn’t want to know the possibility of what could be wrong, at least you would have an idea of what it was and how to make it better.

It turned out you couldn’t make your problem better. The doctor had a sympathetic look in your eyes as he listed off possibilities. You just sat there and looked at your stomach; your cold hands pressing against your stomach.

You were infertile.

There was never a Margaret growing in your stomach, nor was there a Thomas. There was nothing in your stomach.

How the hell were you going to tell your doting husband this?

---------

It was another Friday night in September. The leaves fell from the trees, the radio softly played in the back, it was peaceful in your little white house. Dick still hadn’t come home yet. You attempted to act like everything was normal as you put on a nice dress, pearls, and a fake pearly smile. It was all fine.

Nothing was fine.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down into the haunting abyss. This feeling of dread and tightness became background noise as if it were traffic on an unseen road. There were times where you could handle it, and times where you could not. This was a day where you couldn’t handle it. Each day passed, and the more you repressed it-it hurt. It hurt even more than it was supposed to.

You were faced with a dead-end, a terrifying one, with thoughts of temptation and contemplation. You felt even lost in your own home and marriage, feeling helpless and scared. This wasn’t supposed to happen. In the partial society you lived in, a woman’s identity revolved around the ability to convenience. As a girl, you laughed it off, saying you’d do what you’d please. But you were no longer a fiery girl, but a broken and bitter woman. Bitter at the world for forcing the idea that women were baby machines. You, as you typically did, pushed it away.

Stuffed it into a closet, but it was now pouring out. All the baggage that you had repressed was right in front of you. You never felt like you belonged in the parthricaral society you lived in with their white picket fences and predictable lifestyles. That didn’t mean you didn’t want a family of your own. You had a husband, a job, a house, everything seemed perfect. But one thing was missing-a baby.

The older you had gotten, the more it affected you. Going to those parties for Dick’s job and seeing all the wives with their babies and fumbling toddlers. You didn’t feel anything towards them at first, but they eventually grew on you. Dick’s first few days home contained long conversations about what your lives would be after the way. You would chat with him for hours about it to distract from the nightmares that flooded his mind, holding his hand.

“A nice little farm near Lancaster, one or two kids, my own business, and the most important thing...you ” Dick would say, his words full of love. “My wonderful little wife, Margaret, Thomas, and me, on our farm. We’ll have each other.”

The kettle boiled in the water, the loud noise screeching in the kitchen. You dropped the knife and heard it clack onto the ground. All you did was stand there with wide eyes and shaky legs, looking down at the ground as your nails dug into the counter.

You couldn’t bear him children-you tried and tried and tried but to no avail. If you were not Dick’s, then what were you?

---------

Dick had taken off his trench coat, sliding his shoes off as he neatly put them right next to yours. He let out a sigh as he loosened his tie. Work had been stressful once again. All he could think about was seeing you and his growing little babies. Of course, he never told anybody. But knowing the thought was between you and him made it special-something so personal and beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see your face and hold you close, talking for hours on end. Anything you said or did made him head over heels, just like it had done to you five years ago. You had been distant and not your usual self, and Dick was worried. He knew of the insecurities you had, feeling like you never had fit into a certain mold.

He had walked into the kitchen and instead of finding you, he found a dropped knife and kettle that was overflowing with boiling water. It looked like you had left in a hurry. He made sure to check all of the doors to see if you had left, in which you had no. In a calm manner, Dick cleaned up the kettle and put the knife back where it was. He wanted to help so you wouldn’t stress.

The pitter-patter of the shower coming from upstairs alerted Dick. He walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, seeing the bathroom light creak from the bathroom. Creaking the door open, the all to familiar noise hit his ears. The bathroom was foggy as the shower ran. Looking down, Dick saw the water come to his feet, staining his wet socks. Your flats were spread on the ground along with your knit cardigan, soggy from the water. Inside of the shower was you, clothed with your makeup running, hugging your knees as you looked down.

Dick let out a soft sigh as he looked at you, his shoulder slouching down. It was paining him to see you in this state, “Oh honey..”

You didn’t move, only your eyes did. He walked towards you, into the shower. He wore a white suit and dress pants, which were now we're stuck to his skin. He put himself right next to you as the hot water warmed his cold skin. You adjusted yourself to lean on his wet shoulder. Dick said there as you leaned on him for comfort, listening to the white noise of the shower.

“I tried,” You mumbled as your fingers ran circles in his arm.

Dick looked down at you with his strawberry hair sticking to his forehead and drips of water rushing down his face. He frowned, tiping his head to the side.

“I tried and tried, time after time. I tried so hard and I…” You lamented, grasping onto Dick’s arm. It was hard to spit out the words. You had already said the first half of it, you needed to say more. “I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Dick questioned, his fingers lifting your chin. Tears streamed down your cheeks, your mascara coming down along with it. His thumb wiped away the incoming hot tears. He was too kind to you. His mere presence reassured you. “Don’t cry, my little wife. Let me help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need, I-”

“I can’t have children. Not now, or ever.” The words came out your mouth. It felt like you were spitting fire. It felt strange like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. Even though it was gone, it still lingered. “I went to the doctor last week. I’m infertile, Dick.”

Dick just sat with a frown on his face. You couldn’t tell what was going through his head. His free arm had wrapped around your shoulder was slowly falling as he let go of your chin, making an “oh” noise.

You looked at him and let out a sob as your face fell into your hands. “I didn’t wanna tell you. I know you’ve wanted children, every man wants that for their wife. You want a son who looks like you, and a wife who can provide that for you. I can’t. I wanted it too, but I watched my dream break. I’m supposed to give you a baby like a normal wife should...” Through the sniffling and sobs, you refused to look at Dick. He seemed disappointed, but you could never tell what he was feeling. “If you want a wife who can give you a child, then, by all means, do so. I’m worthless.”

You could feel it. Your relationship was over. Maybe it was for the better. Dick could start his family, and you could work a job in Philadelphia. They did have an opening in Philadelphia. It was better to have nobody-so you couldn’t get hurt and hurt others around you.

“No,”

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you turned to Dick. You scooted back, not able to tell if he was upset at you. “No?”

“No. You’re not worthless, y/n.” Dick attested, “What would make you think such a thing?”

“We’ve always wanted a family down the line. You would kiss my stomach every night, talking to the...” You looked down at your flat stomach, your hand gently squeezing the skin. It broke your heart even more just feeling what Dick assumed was Margaret and Thomas. “Just didn’t want you to get mad at me. I know you're upset with me.”

“Don’t give me that malarkey,” He growled, crawled closer to you as he grabbed your cheeks with your foreheads nuzzling towards each other. You could feel the warmth on the top of your forehead, “I’m not upset. You didn’t have to hide this from me. I should’ve known, I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

Dick tenderly grabbed your shoulders and leaned you back on the white subway wall. He was gentle as he wiped the sticky hair from your face for a clearer view. He had a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with you leaning into it.

“But if I can’t give you children, what good use am I?”

“The reason I married you wasn’t that I wanted a family. At that moment, in that cornfield, I wanted you to be my wife. If I didn’t tell you, I don’t know if I would’ve died content with my life,” Dick complimented with a kiss to your wet hand. “You're not just a pawn used for children-my little wife. Just because you can’t have children doesn’t mean I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t even consider the thought. It’d be hard to find someone like you, y/n. Nobody as hardworking, beautiful, and fiery”

A chuckle escaped your lips, “Like a cornfield?”

“Like a cornfield,” He assured. “I don’t care about children, the past, the future, anything. I married you because I was in love with the beautiful, growing woman five years ago, and I still am. All I care about is my little wife, y/n-you. I love you.”

You nuzzled into his shoulder, “I..love you too, Dick.”

Silent communication was your and Dick’s form of romance. You didn’t need big gestures and materialistic gifts to feel comforted, sometimes you just needed someone right next to you, or in your arms. The silence was nice and the warmth was needed. Dick’s warmth felt like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. You wished that you could extend the night just so you could stay in his comforting embrace, relived in his hold. In his hold, you believed that there is nothing to fear, that there is all sunshine and love. Dick was the cure you needed, a lone star in an otherwise empty sky, he was the morningstar that you prayed wouldn’t disappear.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Dick said as he got up. “I’ll even run you a bath. Does that sound good, my little wife?”

Your fingers held the tip of his hands. Your (y/c/e)‘s met with his mint ones that shined in the pristine light. He gently helped you up with a hand resting on your waist.

Resting a hand on his chin, you looked down and shook your head. “I want to make dinner with you. I feel clean.”

“Are you sure?” Dick questioned, pulling you closer to his body. “I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well I’m not tired. I haven’t felt like we’ve talked lately. You’ve been gone and I’ve been distant.” You confessed. The brutally honest was needed now. You tipped your head to look at Dick. “I wouldn’t mind a helping hand.”

“Fine, if you insist,” He placed his hand on your upper back and swept you off your fear. You let out a little chuckle as you snaked an arm around his shoulder for stability, “You said you needed a helping hand.”

Once you and Dick changed out of your wet clothes and into your matching silk robes (gifted by Lew, the man even had your initials engraved into the pocket), the two of you headed down to the kitchen to cook. The radio played in the back and the kettle silently brewed as you sautéed the chicken and Dick set the small table in the tiny dining space.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You looked behind you as you washed your hands of the greasy oils and spices.

“Did you grow up with dogs?”

You nodded as you dried your hands, “Two-a Westie and Cairn terrier. Your point?”

Dick came over the counter as he leaned on it with a smirk. It wasn’t condescending, but it looked like an idea had popped in his head. You loved it when he smirked or smiled; the dimples on his cheeks would show.

“I know you get lonely when I’m not around. Lew knows a lot of good breeders in the area. How do two dogs sound?”

You were lonely. Loneliness was a feeling you knew all too well. It haunted you as a child and adult. Except when you were a child, you thought it would disappear. But in truth, it did not.

“Two dogs sound nice, Dick,” You confessed. The kettle began to make a shrieking noise. Walking over, you grabbed two cups and poured hot water into them. The water from clear to a darkish brown. You let the bags settle for a few minutes before taking the two cups over and handing one to your strawberry blonde husband.

“There breed? Are we sure Lew won’t try and steal them?”

“Well, Lew wouldn’t steal them. He and Grace already have enough animals to take care of,” Dick put his two big hands around the mug. “Two terriers, a boy, and girl. Just like the ones you grew up with.”

“Ok,” You smiled, raising your eyebrows. “And their names?”

Dick took a sip of his tea before smacking his thin lips. “I was thinking of Margaret and Thomas. Do you like that?”

You finally knew the answer to why Dick was asking about getting dogs. Not that you were in protest. Dogs were like children-just easier to take care of.

“Yeah, I like that a lot.”

Dick put a hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeezed. He smiled at you, and you smiled back.

Within the week, Lew had come over with the cutest puppies you had ever seen. He had also brought over all of the necessary supplies for two puppies, and even two sweaters with their names. One was a feisty and quiet Westie named Thomas and the other was a sweetheart with a sour side named Margaret. You and Dick loved them more than anything in the world. They were fed Filet Mignon from the table, slept in between you and Dick, and always for what they wanted. Even Dick gave into their puppy eyes whenever they got into trouble. The reason he wanted dogs in the first place was for his little wife; y/n-you. Not only did he want to make you feel a little less lonely in your little colonial house, but protected. Dick wasn’t always there to look out for you, even though he knew you could handle yourself just fine. Still, it was the thought that counted. Knowing that you would have two little balls of energy to keep you entertained made Dick content, and so did you.

Lewis Nixon was right all along. He never saw you and Dick having children. In his wise words, dogs were “far superior” than children. Dogs didn’t cry as much, they weren’t as needy, and they didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night. Mostly.

You would see the way the dogs would interact with Dick, and how Dick would interact with them. He’d treat them like children. From rocking Margaret in his arms to having long conversations with Thomas about why he shouldn’t bite you his mother while you peacefully sleep, it made your heart skip a beat, seeing Dick be so gentle with the two puppies.

Every night before you would head to bed, Dick would always remind you that his dream had finally come true; buying the little patch of land in Lancaster for the farm was within reach. He’d give you a kiss and pull you close as the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

You broke away from the terrifying cliff that you had looked down, heading towards your morning star, Dick, with hope that it wouldn’t disappear.

#dick winters x reader #richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #richard winters imagine #my writing #oh gosh this is painful #also listen to wife by mitski #y'know if u wanna even cry harder #all aborad the angst train #*sad choo choo*

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years

Note

Hi! Do you think you could write something about being Scott Lang’s other daughter and dating peter?? Thank youu

Like Father

Pairing: Peter Parker x Lang!reader

Synopsis: “You see your dad shrink down to the size of a thumb tack and ride on the back of an ant and you think, “hm, that’s the grossest thing I’ll ever see.” And that this happens.” You gestured to the mess in dismay, noticing something shiny on Peters wrist. “Are you guys handcuffed together!?”

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

“Baby sitters here!” You called upon hearing the doorbell ring, despite being the one closest to the door. You refused to answer to door when people rang it out of silent protest for your dad making the doorbell chime “La Cucaracha”. It embarrassed you every time. Every damn time.

“Let it ring again!” Your dad called from his makeshift lab in the basement. “I want to hear those sweet tunes.”

“I’m going to answer it, just so you cant hear those sweet tunes.” You yelled back as you opened the door.

“Hey Mr. Pym.” You said, expecting to see Hank Pym, Cassie’s usual baby sitter. Instead, a complete stranger in a hood stood in your doorway. He gave you an awkward smile as he stood there, shivering in the rain. “Oh. You’re not Hank.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The stranger said in a voice much higher than you’d think he’d be carrying considering his broad shoulders and strong demeanor. “I’m here to babysit Cassie. C-could I please come in?” He asked, still shaking from the cold.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” You said sheepishly as you opened the door for him to walk in your house. He took a step inside and gently shook off the rain drops from his coat. “Here, let me take your coat.”

You slid the damp raincoat off the strangers and hung it up on the rack next to the door. Once his hood was off, you could see the stranger more clearly. He was young, probably around your age or older. There were incandescent rain drops clinging to his tousled brown hair that reflected off the lights on the ceiling. He wore a wool sweater that looked like someone’s grandmother knit over a button down top. He was undeniably cute, in a nerdy kind of way. You became unexpectedly aware of your appearance, pulling down your skirt and pulling up your top. You were planning on going to a party and never normally dressed up. You didn’t want to leave this stranger with the wrong impression of you in case this was the last time you saw him.

“I see you fell for my reverse psychology to open the door.” Your dad said triumphantly as he came up the basement stairs. “Peter, you remember my daughter.”

“Uh, no actually.” You said, never taking your eyes off of Peter, who was giving you the same wistful look. You racked your brain for where you’d met this handsome stranger, but you came up empty. “We’ve never met.”

“Oh, you’ve never met Peter?” Your dad asked you, leaning against the doorway. You shook your head no. “Even better. You opened it for a complete stranger.”

A completely adorable stranger, you thought.

“I’m Peter by the way.” Peter awkwardly stuck his hand out for you to shake. “Peter Parker.”

“Y/n.” You said as you took his hand. “Y/n Lang.”

A bashful smile dressed his lips. If you thought he was cute before, he was even cuter with a grin.

“Mr. Lang, you never told me you me you had a second daughter.” Peter shifted his backpack on his shoulder and looked almost offended at your dad.

“I don’t like to give to much information anyway.” Scott shrugged and folded his arms. “I’m a very private man.”

“Since when?” You snorted. “You shouted your phone number out the window of your car the other day because some guy let you come into his lane.”

“Well, some guy was very nice and I wanted to thank him. And if it weren’t for some guy, you wouldn’t have gotten to school on time.” Your dad was heavy with the sarcasm, as usual.

“Well maybe you should take some guy out on a date tonight instead of Hope. I’m sure she’d love that.” You dished his sarcasm right back as Peter let out a laugh.

“You’re funny.” Peter said as he scratched behind his ear. Your dad looked surprised, then smug, at Peters sudden declaration. You, on the other hand, were throughly blushing and remained silent, not even giving him a thank you.

“Like father, like daughter.” Scott remarked, unblind to the connection forming between you and Peter. He knew his daughter well enough to know when she was crushing. You were witty and quick, and never one to be rendered speechless. After all, you were your father’s daughter. But here you were, standing in front of Peter, and not saying a word.

“Well, I’d hate to keep Hope waiting. She’s a truly hideous woman and doesn’t go out on dates often.” Scott rubbed his hands together and looked around for laughs at his joke. You did nothing but roll your eyes and toss him his keys. Peter, not knowing your father well enough to know he was never serious, looked horrified.

“He’s kidding.” You quickly assured Peter. “He worships Hope like the sun.”

“Yes I do.” Scott clapped his hands, proud as ever. Cassie suddenly came into the room and ran into Scott’s arms.

“Bye Daddy.” She said, giving him a hug.

“Bye pumpkin.” Scott kissed her cheeks and set her down. “Ready to go, Y/n?”

You looked between your dad and Peter. You had two options. Go to a fun party with your friends after a stressful week at school, or stay home with your little sister and a total stranger. The choice was obvious.

“I actually think I’m skip the party.” You said, much to Peters surprise, but not surprising your dad at all. He saw it coming the moment Peter walked through the door. “I think I’ll just hang out with Cassie tonight.”

“And Peter?” Your dad asked with a wicked grin. You gave him an angry look.

“Yeah.” You said, staring your dad down. “And Peter.”

When Peter was distracted with adjusting Cassie’s fairy wings, you and your dad got in a silent fight. He made kissy faces and dreamy eyes at Peter while you mouthed “shut up!” and hit him on the arm. When Peter looked up, you and Scott cleared your throats and leaned against opposite sides of the doorway, pretending nothing happened.

“Well, I best be going.” Scott said, shooting you a wink. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“Okay, bye dad!” You yelled as you pushed him out the door. Scott left and got in his car, yelling something about how Teen Mom 2 was already cast.

You locked the front door and turned to Peter. To your surprise, he had Cassie in his arms, who had her arms comfortably around his neck. They were giggling quietly among themselves.

“Oh.” You blinked at the sight. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“I’ve babysat her a few times.” Peter told you as he fixed Cassie’s tilted crown. “Whenever Hank can’t make it.”

“I never knew that.” You said, feeling dumb for being the only Lang who wasn’t buddies with Peter Parker.

“Because you’re never home.” Cassie said, kind of sadly. You didn’t expect her answer to be what it was. Sure, she wasn’t wrong. But you didn’t think your after school activities and hang outs with friends had an effect on your little sister.

“I’m home now.” You told her, feeling guilty for not realizing until this moment that your little sister missed you. “And I want I hang out with you guys.”

“Really?” Peter asked, a gleam of hope in his pretty brown eyes.

“If that’s okay.” You offered.

“Yay, Y/n!” Cassie held up her little arms in triumph.

“I guess it’s okay.” Peter laughed at her reaction.

“Great.” You smiled, feeling surprisingly exciting for the night ahead. “Let me go change.”

You went up to your room and stripped out of your party clothes. You opted for a big Captain America shirt that your dad brought you after the battle at the airport and some soft sleep shorts. You wiped off your makeup and put on some light mascara and tinted lip balm. You judged your appearance in the mirror, decided you liked it, and went downstairs.

When you came down the stairs, Peter was running around the room with Cassie in his arms. Her fairy wings were on and her arms were out, Buzz Lightyear style. Peter was making plane sounds as he jumped over furniture. You didn’t make your presence known just yet. You wanted to watch how sweet Peter was with your little sister for a minute more.

“Peter.” Cassie giggled. “I’m not an airplane. I’m a fairy.”

“Well what sounds do fairies make?” Peter played along.

“I heard that they sound like wind chimes.” You said with a smile. Peter stopped spinning around and smiled sheepishly at you.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized. “She likes it when we do this.”

“Don’t apologize.” You told him, walking further into the living room. “You’re good with kids.”

“I’m good with my favorite kid.” Peter set Cassie down, gave her a fist bump and wandered into the kitchen. It made you wonder how many times he’d been in your house without your knowledge. “How about we make your favorite brownies, princess?”

“Brownies!” Cassie cheered, getting the mix out of the pantry. Hearing him call her “princess” tugged at your heart strings. He was being a better sibling to Cassie than you had been lately. That stopped tonight. You helped Cassie and Peter mix the batter and spoon it into a pan. He helped Cassie crack some eggs and add in the vanilla.

“Alright miss.” You said once the oven was preheated and ready to go. “You’ve been a great help but you can’t use the oven. Peter and I got this part.”

“I’m gonna wait in my room.” Cassie told you before scurrying away, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Peter. He popped the brownies in the oven and immediately got to work cleaning the mess you’d made along the way.

“You don’t have to do that.” You told Peter as he put the ingredients you used back in the fridge. “We can leave it for my dad to clean when he gets back. Cassie and I are very good daughters in that way.”

“Its no trouble.” Peter told you as he wiped the counter top of any stray crumbs. “I like your dad. I’m happy to help him out.”

“You do?” You asked in shock. How could a smart guy like Peter like your butthead father?

“Yeah.” Peter laughed at the disgusted face you hadn’t realized you were making. “He’s funny.”

“Funny looking.” You replied.

“I see where you get it from.” Peter said playfully, untying his apron and putting it back in the drawer.

“People say we’re alike, but I don’t see it. My dads a little nuts.” You admitted with a proud smile. “He’s kinda like a sentient roomba.”

“I would love for you to explain further.” Peter chuckled as you picked up a rag to help him clean.

“Like, he means well, but all he does is clean and bump into things.” You said as you hit your hip on the corner of the table.

“Like father, like daughter.” Peter commented as you doubled over in pain.

“Speaking of my father, how do you guys know each other?” You asked, rubbing your sore hip.

“We met in Berlin a few years ago.” Peter said casually.

“Oh.” You nodded. “Wait, you were in Berlin? At the battle at the airport?”

“Yeah, uh, I’m…Spider-Man.” Peter stammered. He wondered why he even bothered wearing a mask these days if he did nothing to keep his identity a secret.

“So you’re the one who made my dad fall over like he was in Guilliver’s Travels?” You recalled the story your dad told you, which involved him growing really big and Spider-Man wrapping “something sticky” around his huge legs.

“It’s um, The Empire Strikes back, actually.” Peter reluctantly corrected you, not wanting to seem like a smart ass. “And he’s totally cool with that now. He knows I had to do to to impress Mr. Stark.”

“So you’re like a full blown Avenger?” You asked coyly, knowing Peter wasn’t the type to brag.

“Yeah, basically.” Peter nodded in a higher voice than usual. “Mr. Stark recruited me for that fight and I’ve been working with him ever since. He basically became like a father to me since…” Peter trailed off and looked embarrassed for a second.

“Since?” You asked, trying to meet his gaze, which was glued to the floor.

“Nothing. He’s just like a father to me. That’s all.” Peter finished. You knew not to press the topic any further. Peter looked up at you graciously for understanding.

The ding from the oven pulled Peters attention from you. You watched him curiously now that he had a new air of mystery around him. He knew exactly where your oven mitts were and slipped them on. He took them out as Cassie came bounding into the room.

“Are they ready?” She bounced up and down, trying just to see into the pan.

“They’re a little burnt, but they’re ready.” Peter told her. He bent down so she could see how they came out. You admired how gentle he was with her, keeping the pan away from her so she couldn’t burn her fingers.

“They’re so ugly.” Cassie said with wide eyes. “I love them!”

After eating too many brownies and wiping Cassie’s face with a warm towel, Peter suggested another activity.

“How about some makeup?” Peter asked as he put the dishes in the sink.

He’s washing the dishes, you thought, he’s perfect.

You watched Peter with a sly smile. He was being so domestic and wholesome that your heart melted.

“Cassie’s too young for makeup.” You suddenly realized what Peter had said.

“Not for her.” Peter laughed as he dried a plate and put it in the correct spot in your cabinet. “For me.”

“Follow us.” Cassie commanded as she lead you and Peter by the hand into her room. She got out her Claire’s makeup set and sat Peter down in her rolling pink chair. He sat down like he’d done it a million times before. You just stood by and watched as Cassie smeared shimmering purple eyeshadow to Peters eyelids. He was so compliant, staying perfectly still as she poked and prodded at his face.

“Shoot.” Cassie said as she finger painted orange blush to Peters cheeks. “I left your tiara in the basement.”

“Well I simply can’t go out like this.” Peter pretended to be insulted as he gestured to his outfit. Cassie giggled with delight.

“I’ll be right back. Y/n, can you put his lip gloss on?” Cassie asked as she crossed the room and went out the door.

“Sure.” You called as Cassie ran out of the room. She had been standing on a stool to apply Peters makeup, but you didn’t need the stool. You couldn’t get to his lips from where you were standing. You tried to go in from several different angles, but you could never reach. Finally, you straddled Peters lap and looked up at him shyly, lip gloss tube in hand. Peter hesitantly rested his hand on your legs with a feather light touch.

“So, uh,” you smiled nervously at him, which he returned. “Or you a Cherry Red kinda girl or a Princess Pink?”

Peter laughed, fanning your face with his minty breath. “Princess Pink. Cherry Red would clash with my blush.”

You tapped the tube against the heel of your hand and twisted the cap off.

“Pucker up.” You instructed. You absentmindedly puckered your own lips as you applied the sparkly gloss to Peters lips. He kept his eyes trained on you as you lathered it on. You were so close. Close enough for him to smell your perfume.

“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” Peter asked without moving his lips. You were concentrating pretty hard for someone using Claire’s lip gloss.

“Why?” You laughed softly. “You want some?”

“I just want to know the name.” Peter smiled, careful not to mess up your work. Though you didn’t have to be, you were both speaking quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence.

“I’m not sure. I’m think it’s one of those dumb ones like “Midnight at the Beach.” As if anyone knows what a midnight at the beach smells like.” You answered him. Peter took a whiff of the air. Your air.

“Midsummer Bay Breeze.” Peter suddenly identified after racking his brain. “My mother used to wear it.”

“Used too?” You asked, wiping off some excess gloss with your thumbnail.

“She and my father died when I was young. I live with my Aunt now.” Peter confessed. You set the tube down and looked at him seriously.

“I’m so sorry.” You told him, squeezing his hand. “You didn’t tell me that before.” He’d begun to tell you before when you had been talking about Mr. Stark, but he stopped himself.

“I didn’t want to scare you away.” Peter said honestly.

“What changed your mind?” You asked curiously, still in a hushed tone.

“You weren’t sitting on my lap before.” Peter said with a sly smirk. You pursed your lips and rolled your eyes.

“Is it okay?” You asked his cautiously, treading the water. “That I’m sitting there now?”

“It’s more than okay.” Peter tilted his chin upwards, his lips grazing yours as his breath fanned your face once more. You stayed like that for a minute, just breathing each other in. The scent from his sticky gloss wafted into your nose, causing you to smile.

“Are you going to kiss me, or am I going to have to lie to my diary tonight?” You whispered when he was taking to long, making you more and more anxious with every passing second.

“You keep a diary?” Peter teased, reaching his chin even higher.

“You keep talking.” You didn’t let him get another word in as you pressed your lips to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He moved his hands to your waist and kept them there, in true gentleman fashion.

“Ugh.” Peter giggled, when you pulled away breathlessly. “You totally messed up my lip gloss.”

“I found it!” Cassie burst into the room with a purple, feathery tiara in her hands. You wiped Peters lip gloss off your mouth quickly and got off his lap.

“Thank goodness.” Peter said, snapping out of his love struck daze. “My outfit was incomplete without it.” He took the tiara from her hands and put it on his head. He turned to you after taking a look in the mirror.

“How do I look?” He asked you with a cheeky grin. Cassie looked between him and you thoughtfully.

“Like a million dollars.” You told him, clasping your hands together and resting your chin on them.

“I feel like it too.” Peter smiled, his smeared lip gloss glistening in the light.

“You’re terrible at putting on lip gloss.” Cassie suddenly spoke up. “You got it all over Peters mouth.”

Needless to say, your diary heard all about it.

But that was eight months ago.

“What the hell is this?” You stopped in your tracks when you walked in on Peter doing the unthinkable.

“We’re doing magic together!” Your dad cheered. There were about four decks of cards scattered around the room like confetti. They were sticking out of your dads pockets, Peters sleeves, and you were pretty sure there was one stuck to the ceiling.

“I can see that.” You grumbled angrily. “Why?”

“We’re magic buddies.” Scott replied with a shrug as he pulled a long, colored handkerchief out of Peters shirt pocket.

“You see your dad shrink down to the size of a thumb tack and ride on the back of an ant and you think “hm, that’s the grossest thing I’ll ever see.” And that this happens.” You gestured to the mess in dismay, noticing something shiny on Peters wrist. “Are you guys handcuffed together?”

“One of the magic tricks didn’t go as planned.” Peter told you timidly. You groaned loudly and stamped your foot.

“This is like the worlds worst reboot of A Bugs Life.” You complained. “I’ve seen a five foot tall ant in our shower, and somehow, you handcuffed to my boyfriend is worse.”

“Technically, your boyfriend is handcuffed to me.” Scott sassed you.

“That’s just not true at all.” You deadpanned.

“Yes it is.” Scott taunted. “Because I have the key.”

“Then use it!” You exclaimed, growing frustrated.

“That’s a great idea.” Scott realized. “I didn’t even think of that.”

Scott took a small metal key out of his pocket and unbuckled the hand cuffs. Peter slid out and went over to you, giving you a kiss hello.

“I won’t do magic with your dad anymore if it bothers you that much.” Peter said with a grin, knowing damn well he’d still be doing magic with your dad. “But I do have something to show you.”

Peter pulled out a magic wand and held it up for you to see. He shook the wand, making it turn into a single rose.

“Aw.” You said as you took the rose. “I didn’t hate that as much as I thought I would.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled. “Your dad taught me.”

“And now I hate it.” You said sarcastically.

“Fine.” Peter agreed. “What about this?” He pulled a card out from behind your ear and handed it to you with a cheeky grin. You took the card skeptically and looked at it.

“The Queen of Hearts.” Peter said softly, in a more serious tone. “Because you’re the Queen of my heart.”

You took the card with a small smirk, hating how much you adored the trick.

“You’re lucky I love you, Parker.”

“I already know that, Lang.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #peter parker x lang!reader #spiderman x lang!reader #scott lang #antman #antman and the wasp #spiderman: far from home #spiderman x you #spiderman x y/n #cassie lang #tom holland x y/n

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shsl-otaku · 4 years

Text

Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 18

Y/N: Raven Sin of Despair

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @supremetodoroki @happynoodle @remikay313 @milkysamu @kageyamis @yogurthdecoco @alysplxnet @i-understand-that-refrence

•••

"Step right up! Get your swords from a skilled blacksmith!"

"This fine specimen was found in the tomb of a king!"

You, Ban, Meliodas, and King strolled through town, merchants and markets left and right.

"You expect us to look through all this, Captain?" Ban asked, hands in his pants pockets. You snickered as he walked next to you wearing his red leather pants and a white apron that had the Boar Hat logo.

"You’re really just wearing an apron," King said, looking at Ban with a criticizing look. You laughed at his comment, causing Ban to glare at you.

"Let’s ask an arms vendor," Meliodas said, leading the way.

"Looking for anything in particular? Or are you in the festival?" A voice said. You looked to see an old man sitting on a stump of wood. He appeared to be drunk. You blinked, raising a brow.

"Nope, we’re looking for a weapon. A hammer," Meliodas replied. "We heard there was one here."

"Oh, that’s easy," the man said, stroking his mustache. "See that?" He asked, pointing to what looked like some sort of incredibly large boulder with a tiny building on top of it. "It’s behind there."

The four of you thanked the old man and walked to the far side of the boulder. Your eyes widened at the large hammer that was leaning on the boulder.

"It’s Diane’s Gideon," King exclaimed.

"It really was here," Meliodas said, smiling.

"Oh my god, how has it not broken that hill yet," you said, looking at the hammer with wide eyes.

"Now, let the annual Vaizel Fighting Festival begin," a shrill voice called out. You looked to see a large crowd of men standing in front of you guys. The voice came from a tiny figure who was mostly hidden by a small helmet.

"The use of weapons is strictly forbidden," he yelled. "Men who let their fists do the talking should sign up right away! The winner gets 100 gold coins and we’re throwing in this Giant’s war hammer as an added prize!" The men all cheered and raised their fists.

You hid your face behind your hand to hide your laughter. "How can someone take home that prize when they can't even move it? They're like ants compared to it!" Ban laughed at your comment.

"What a barbaric festival," King sighed, shaking his head. "Right, Captain?" He turned to look at Meliodas, only to gasp in dismay to see the three of you looking at the ring, grins on your faces.

"We’re signing up, right?" Ban asked, grinning at you and Meliodas.

"Let’s see who’s the best," Meliodas said.

"Those extras don't stand a chance," you said, grinning.

"Hey! Count us in," Meliodas yelled at the referee, dragging King to the ring.

"Count me out," King yelled. You and Ban cackled as King tried to scramble out of Meliodas’ grasp.

A man suddenly grabbed Meliodas by the collar, holding him up. "This is no festival for kids," he yelled. “Beat it!”

You suddenly jumped up and landed a drop kick on top of the man’s head, causing him to yell out in pain and drop Meliodas. He rubbed his head and looked to glare at you, only for his eyes to widen when he saw your cold expression.

"Keep your hands to yourself you disgusting pig," you said lowly, making the man's eyes widen in fear.

"Hey, buddy," a man said, putting his hand on the other man’s arm. He had big, dirty-blond hair, purple eyes, and a muscular build. He wore a pale yellow vest over a sleeveless green shirt. "Don’t spoil the fun, okay? This is a festival. Plus, you should be more polite to young ladies like her."

The large man glared at the blonde man. "W-Who do you think—?! You know that I’m Taizoo, the winner of this festival three years running, right?" He spared a glance at you again. If looks could kill, he would've dropped dead when he met your eyes. He shuddered then turned to trudge away towards the ring.

The blonde scratched the back of his head then looked at you. "Are you alright, Miss? Did he try to hurt you?" You quickly changed the deadly expression on your face to a more lighthearted one.

"Mhm, I'm alright. Thank you," you said, smiling politely.

The blonde's eyes widened at the sight of you. He blushed furiously. "H-He was definitely not being a gentleman! What kind of man would try to mess with such a beautiful lady as yourself?" He folding his arms over his chest. Ban’s eye twitched at his sentence.

The blonde cleared his throat. "A-Anyway, I’ll be going to participate in the festival. Let’s all have a good time," he said, smiling at you and the other Sins.

You nodded. "Of course. Thank you again for earlier." He blushed and waved at you all before walking deeper into the crowd.

Once he disappeared from your view, you turned around, only to tilt your head in confusion. The three Sins sweatdropped.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," the three said, sweatdropping at how you scared Taizoo earlier.

King floated back a few inches away from you, nervously. Ban shook his head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Your eyes widened and you looked up at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"What does it look like?" He said. "Making sure you don’t get lost. Or harassed." You turned away from him so that he couldn't see the slight blush on your face.

The four of you followed the crowd up to the top of the large boulder/hill, where a flat stone fighting ring was in the middle. Some men were standing on the ring, while others crowded around it. You leaned closer to Ban to avoid getting touched by other people.

"The Fighting Festival elimination round will now begin," the referee called out. "Fighters, step into the ring!"

Ban and Meliodas jumped into the ring, grins on their faces. You stepped onto the ring, bringing the attention of many men onto you. You ignored the stares and blushes and whistles that went around as men saw you pass them.

"I wish I’d stayed behind with Diane," King whimpered, hesitantly stepping onto the ring. You laughed.

"Okay! Let’s get Diane’s sacred treasure back," Meliodas said cheerfully.

Men chattered and flexed their arms everywhere, their wives and children waving at them from the crowd. They averted their attention to the referee.

"The referee will be yours truly, Love Helm," He said in his shrill voice. "The rules in this round are simple in the extreme! Knock your opponent out of the ring! Throw them out, okay! Push them out, okay!" Your e/c eyes glinted in anticipation. A smile slowly made its way onto your face.

"Punch them all in the air, also okay! If it’s barehanded, okay! The nine contestants still standing will move on to the finals!" You, Ban, and Meliodas grinned at each other.

"Without further ado, let the elimination round begin!" Love Helm yelled, causing the men to all cheer. They all launched themselves at each other, breaking out into fights.

Two men made their way to you, grins on their faces. "This isn’t exactly a contest for girls, but since you are one, we’ll go easy on you," one of them said, grinning at you.

He reached his hand out to you, which you responded by grabbing his arm and throwing him over your back. He grunted as his back slammed onto the ground. You grabbed his ankle and threw him out of the ring, yelling. His friend gasped.

"Y-You threw him out of the ring," he said. He growled and tried to punch you, only for you to jump up and do a spin kick to his head, making him collapse onto the ground. You grabbed him by his collar and threw him out of the ring.

Ban yawned, standing across the ring from you. "Elimination rounds are so boring," he said. He turned to look at you, a smile on his face as he saw you throw men out of the ring, your e/c eyes fierce and full of fire, your hair following you as you moved, your s/c skin bathed in the light of the sun. Ban threw men left and right, not taking his eyes off of you.

You caught a brief glimpse of Meliodas and Ban chatting as they fought off their opponents. You rolled your eyes and smiled, until a man yelled out and charged at you. You ducked and did a low spin kick to his ankles, causing him to collapse with a yell. You then nonchalantly kicked him off of the ring.

You turned around as you heard the grunts of many men. Your eyes widened when you saw a girl who wore a purple hat and cloak, hiding her identity. You knew who she was right away and grinned.

You gasped as you saw a large man charging towards her, her back facing him.

"Look out," you yelled, sprinting to the man and doing a jump spin kick, sending him flying out of the ring. She looked at you and gave you a nod of appreciation. She gasped when you hooked your arm around her neck.

"Hey, Diane," you whispered in her ear.

Diane looked up at you, her purple eyes meeting yours. "Aww, you knew already?"

"Of course I did," you laughed. "I know my best friend’s strength. How the hell did you get this small though?"

"I’ll explain later," she said, smiling. She pulled her hat down so that it’d cast a shadow over her face. "For now, let’s just beat these guys!"

You grinned and got into a fighting stance. "Right."

The two of you took down opponents back to back, a pleased smile on Diane’s face and a mischievous grin on yours.

"Wow! Talk about moves as fast as lightning! These two girls are taking multiple men out of the ring all at once! These two are the definition of dangerous and beauty," The referee called out.

"Wow, Y/N’s doing pretty good," Meliodas said, looking at the two of you. "But who’s that other girls with her?"

Ban raised an eyebrow at the girl who was fighting with you. "Don’t know. I’ll ask her in a bit."

Meliodas looked at Ban, who was now wearing a a jacket that looked suspiciously identical to the one he used to wear, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, where’d you get that top?"

•••

You crossed your arms, looking at the now almost empty ring. Your eyes scanned to see who was left. You recognized the blondie, Taizoo, a very muscular man who you didn’t know, Ban, Diane (who is still undercover), and Meliodas.

Your eyes widened when you recognized the drunk old man from earlier, who was now standing in the ring. 'Huh?!'

"So, who is still standing in the ring?" The referee called out. Your eyes widened when you realized that there were only 8 instead of 9 people left in the ring.

"There’s one more who hasn’t fallen out of the ring," a man yelled, pointing at someone. You followed his finger to see a traumatized King clinging to his floating pillow.

You laughed at his expression as the men in the crowd were complaining that he was "cheating."

"I admit that it’s playing dirty, but no weapons were being used," Love Helm said. "Therefore, I’ll allow it!"

"Yeah! Go, King," you yelled, laughing but also feeling bad for the poor fairy.

"Good for him, winning by playing dirty," Ban said, snickering.

"Nice way to cheat," Meliodas yelled at King, giving him a thumbs up.

You smiled and made your way to him and Meliodas, shaking from trying to not laugh. You stopped laughing when you realized that Ban was now wearing a jacket that looked just like the one he wore before Guila destroyed it.

"Uh, Ban?" You asked, sweat dropping. He turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "Where’d you get that top?"

#ban x reader #ban #ban fox sin of greed #sds ban #sds #sds x reader #seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins x reader #meliodas #elizabeth liones #diane #harlequin #hawk captain of the scraps disposal #nanatsu no taizai

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writers-blogck · 4 years

Text

BNHA Imagines - MISC 01

Meeting for the First Time

Hitoshi Shinso:

He was pissed that he was put in the General Studies, he should be in one of the hero courses! Those tests weren't made for a quirk like his so there was no way for him to show off how powerful it could be. Plus, just to top it all off and piss him off further, he could hear a couple of students whispering about him. He could tell they were all support heroes, huddled up and gossiping. He thought that this would go away when he got into U.A. but guess jerks would always find a way. He was used to it by now. "He looks super creepy, it's like he wants to be known as a villain." The one girl spoke, obviously frightened by the purple-haired boy. "I know. Mind control is always bad, how could a hero have that quirk?" "I bet he'll drop out and join the League of Villains. He already fits the part." The words filled him with both anger and sadness. He had lived his entire life with those words and worked every day to prove them wrong. He had thought that since U.A. would be different since he had expected the students to be smarter but it was obvious that he was wrong. The three years here would be filled with voices and hidden stares just like the rest of his life. Why should he expect anyone to think differently? "You do realize that the number three pro-hero is a man-made up of fire, right?" A new voice spoke up, bringing Shinso out of his thoughts and made him pay attention again, "That seems pretty villainy to me. What about thirteen? I'm sure people thought that her quirk could only be used for villainy. Plus it has been scientifically proven that a majority of villains were students who either failed or kept being told they could only be a villain instead of a hero. So please, be my guest if you want to keep berating him but don't be upset when he treats you like a villain. Even the best person will be a villain if they are diminished enough. All it takes is one bad day." Your eyes glowed a medium blue as you stared at the girls. You were part of the support class as well but still had a powerful quirk. It was called Memory Card, allowing your brain to reach super-genius levels for up to fifteen minutes. You would remember anything you had ever been told and could use this power to access all of that knowledge. It helped that you were just super smart, to begin with, knowing your brain was made to support such knowledge. As your eyes slowly changed back to (e/c), the group of students scurried away. Before Shinso had the chance to talk to you, you were gone. At that moment, he made it his duty to go find you and at least learn your name.

Mirio Togata:

Panic began to fill your chest as you crumbled against an alley wall. The dim street lights were the only thing lighting up the world around you. Everything seemed so dark and like there could be anything just around the corner. Whispers swirled around you and you could feel she was on her way. Why did it have to be like this? You would prefer not having a quirk to having to go through this. It made your entire body want to shut down.

Most of the time you were able to control her. As long as you were able to keep yourself calm and collected, she couldn't take control. You were able to use your quirk as it should be used. It was able to make people see their biggest fears, something which kept you from training with it as much as you should. How could you train with someone when you would have to make them feel that way? You had vowed from a young age to only ever use it in emergencies and against bad guys. Yet, due to your lack of training, she was able to take over every now and again.

Nightmare felt like a demon at times. You had no clue how these types of quirks worked. The only other person who you knew who had something like this was Tokoyami and he didn't understand himself. Dark Shadow got stronger when he was in the darkness, Nightmare got stronger the more you lost control of your thoughts. Breathing hurt as you gasped, fingers scratching at your neck as if something was choking you. You had medication to keep these episodes from coming on but you had run out. The doctor said he could see you in a few weeks and that you shouldn't have any attacks. Well, obviously he was wrong.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, one of the only things you were able to feel at that point. The rest of your body felt like it was numb and wasn't in your control anymore. No matter how many times you reminded yourself it wasn't real, it didn't help. Her sharp talons had attached themselves deep in your back and were planning on staying there. She had never gotten control of your body but you were terrified one day she would be strong enough. "Hey!" An echo reverberated around your skull, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was a male voice and while Nightmare could mimic someone, this sounded different. It felt hot, unlike everything around you that was freezing you to the bone. It seemed to only strengthen due to the voice but a patch of warm spread on your shoulder, shaking you. Loud thunder rumbled from above - she was angry. The talons tightened but you forced yourself to focus on the soft warmth until you felt your eyes open again.

The alleyway faded away as the light returned, bringing you out of your attack. The sun was shining down at your crumbled form against a tree on school grounds, your skin suddenly becoming quite warm. How long had you been here with the hot sun shining down on you? As you sat up properly, you could feel the sweat under your blazer and made a mental note to get some water as soon as you were inside. "Are you okay?" Your attention shifted to the boy standing above you, his voice exactly like the one you heard before. He was larger than you overall, suggesting him being an upperclassman. He wasn't part of 1-B, the class you had been assigned to. They told you that if you had more control over your powers, you could have made it into 1-A. You wanted to but you had no idea how to train without using someone else. What class was this boy in? General Studies? Support? Your mind was in a daze, slowly shifting your attention to the blue worried eyes looking down at you. Blonde hair was pushed back, though it was beginning to get messy with the heat. The first thought in your head as you saw his face for the first time was: Can the sun be a person?

Tamaki Amajiki:

Japan was so different than America. You knew you were lucky to be one of the transfer students to U.A. but it was intimidating with the entirely new country. The manners were so different here, they had so many ideas of what was polite and what was disrespectful. How would you learn it all? Would someone get mad at you because you were a foreigner? These thoughts filled your head until a shout rang out and you felt a large amount of force push against you. It was easy to regain your balance after stumbling back an inch or so. The sound of metal crunching up filled your ears as you began to focus back in on the present. What had happened? "Oh my god, are you okay?" A purple-haired boy that was much taller than you asked, running over in your direction before slowing as he got closer. His eyes moved from your figure to the crumbled car in front of you. A mixture of confusion and panic washed over his face as you casually looked down at the ruined vehicle. Luckily, no one was inside. What had happened? You glanced toward the direction it came from before you felt pale hands ghosting over your skin in search of some type of wounds. "I'm fine!" You smiled up at him, causing him to stumble back to put some space in between the two of you again. "That's a full car that just hit you. Maybe you have a concussion...Hm, you need a medic but the villain is still attacking...What should I do?" He mumbled the last part to himself, body rocking back and forth on his heels. This reaction was normal for you when someone saw your quirk for the first time. You were small, just reaching 5 feet (a symptom of your quirk), which often caused people to see you as fragile. It was rather ironic when they finally saw what you could take.

"I can take it. I am like super dense, you definitely can't pick me up. I'm 300 pounds if you can believe that!" "What...?" "My friends from home call me Buggie because of my quirk. I'm like an ant, do you know about them? I'm sure you do but some people don't think about how strong they are. They can carry up to 1,000 times their weight! I can do that too, isn't that really cool? I mean, lifting 1,000 times my body weight is straining but you know what I mean. " "Yeah, alright. If you're not hurt..." There was doubt in his eyes but he needed to get back to the battle. He would have to trust you if he could get back to Fatgum and help him. What if he was being hurt right now? His stomach twisted and he felt like he was ready to throw up. "No, I'm fine! I can move this car if you need, I could easily pick it up and-" "Ah- I don't have time. I'm sorry, I need to get back to that villain." A simple nod was all that you got as a parting before he was running off, white cape fluttering behind him. You wondered if he was a student of U.A. as you walked away, looking down at the address of the school that you were trying to find.

Nejire Hado:

When Ryuku decided to take you, along with Tsu and Uraraka for your internships, you were shocked. You were a quiet and shy individual, feeling a lot smaller than the two other girls. Both of them weren't afraid to speak out about what they think or how people are going to react. To you, this was your everyday life. Your quirk allowed you to see the future, multiple versions of the future. Sometimes it was good but you often saw so many terrible and dangerous things. Such simple things could hurt so many people. It had left you filled with anxiety, wishing you could turn off your visions. What was even more shocking was the member of the big three that also was part of your group. The three of them had spoken to your class, though you had a hard time paying attention, you still were able to remember her. Nejire, that was her name. She was so much nicer than you thought. She was so patient with you, it had to be due to Tamaki. She was used to dealing with someone with a fast-acting mind.

"Senpai..." You spoke softly, catching the attention of the blue-haired girl. The first time you had called her that was an accident but she seemed to like it. You couldn't help but wonder if she paid more attention to you than the other two girls. Was that fair? Were you just overthinking it and seeing things that weren't really there? "Yes?" She smiled and your heart couldn't help but skip a beat. Nejire was just so pretty and sweet, it was hard to keep yourself from getting flustered around her. She was what you dreamed to be but you doubted you would ever be as good as her. You didn't even have a chance, why did you keep trying? Shaking your head ever so slightly, you pushed those thoughts away to focus on the task at hand. "Are you sure you want to take me on patrol with you instead of Tsu or Uraraka? I'm certain they would be more suited for it...I don't want to mess up and make something-" "You are perfect for patrol, my little kohai. Plus, I want to get to know you better and you seem to be less nervous when there are not many people. Don't worry about it, I'm certain about my choices. I like to think I make pretty good ones, you know?" Her arm flung over your shoulders, leading you forward as you were left in silence. How could your face feel this hot? Was the air thinner? "O-Okay..."

How were you going to survive this girl?

All-Might:

The two of you were much younger when the two of you met for the first time. It was hazy to remember how it all went. It was strange to think there was a time you didn't know him or Aizawa or the others. They felt so permanent in your life now that thinking before them felt wrong. All-Might was one of the top heroes and the others were rising in the ranks just as much! Why would you want to focus on the past when the present was so good? It wasn't as magical as the press tried to guess. They said he rescued you from falling off a bridge or you had been a hostage but it was nothing that fancy. The two of you had met your first day of U.A. because the two of you were in 1-A. Toshinori attracted the attention of most of the other students and you would be lying if you said you didn't check him out like the others. He was handsome- a strong body with a dazzling smile. The full package. When lunch rolled around, you would be surprised when he approached you first, asking if he could sit with you. It wasn't that you approached him first and fell in love like the media believed. It was the exact opposite. If anyone asked him to this day, he would be willing to gush about you for hours if they let him. At first, it was a simple adoration as a friend who was proud but it began to change. It would all be out in the open when he ended up kissing you while a camera was pointing at the two of you. That was when all shit went loose. But it was much simpler back when the two of you were in school. It was no different than any puppy dog crush between two people. The two of you had no clue of the chaos and pain that waited for the two of you in the future. Who would expect their happiness to be on a timer?

Aizawa Shouta:

It wasn't rare to find Aizawa drinking at a bar in his free time. He was stressed and it was only getting worse as the year progressed. His students were being put in more and more danger and there was nothing he could do about it. These villains were getting ahead of the pro heroes and it was increasingly becoming hazier on if they could win. One would like to believe the good guys always will win but Aizawa knew better. He had lost that innocence long ago.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, making him look up to see the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They held no grief or guilt in them and instead sparkled in the dim bar light. They were holding a small glass of wine, their lips dyed with a faint hue of red. "I'm fine." He grumbled, eyes drifting to the whiskey in his cup. Was this his second glass? He didn't keep track, he just drank until those thoughts left. It was one of the only ways he was able to get some sleep recently. It wasn't healthy but he didn't know of another way. So much was happening and he was in charge of making sure his students were safe. Bakugo had gotten kidnapped, who knew what else was coming? They were children...

Without any warning, they sat down in the stool next to him silently. Nothing was said between the two of them at that moment or the rest of the night. Aizawa didn't have to do anything and yet, the person stayed. He had expected to get annoyed but the presence of another person helped. His mind was able to relax if only for the few hours they were able to spend together. The minutes passed as they sat together, drinking their respective drinks. The sun soon set and the darkness began to cover the city. The time of the villains. He needed to go, he had work in the morning. He may not get a lot of sleep but he was going to take advantage of the warm liqueur in his stomach and the calmness this person provided. As he stood to put his jacket back on, his eyes glanced over at the dark streets again and couldn't help but think about how dangerous it was outside. He was a hero, after all, he was trained to go out when it was like this but when he looked at the other person, they looked just like a citizen. Before they parted, he took a chance and offered to walk them home. He was considering taking it back but once they agreed, he was too far gone.

Hawks:

For your first two years of attending U.A., you were an intern under Aizawa. He would never admit it but he had a soft spot in his heart for you. When you first entered the school, you had no family and had self-esteem about as good as Tamaki's, one of your juniors. You could remember seeing him get into 1-A as you were finishing up your last year. That had been a hectic time for you but you were part of the top three of your own year and had to give a speech. You were proud when you heard the shy boy was in his own big three. You knew he had talent when you met him.

Most of your time was spent in your internships as you had two to do, something extremely rare. Your official internship was under Aizawa and you were training to become a teacher at U.A. but you wanted some more fieldwork under your belt. When you first started, Aizawa did have you go on missions and such but it had declined the older you got and the more concrete your goal of working at U.A. became. It was true but you wanted more. That was when you met him for the first time. He was amazing to watch! When hearing that he was only twenty, you decided that you would internship under him.

Aizawa tried to talk you out of it but he knew once you had something on your mind, you wouldn't stop until you got it. It took a lot to finally get the boy to agree to take you under his wing. He gave a long list of reasons why the two of you would be a terrible pairing but you kept coming back with reasons that destroyed his complaints. In the end, it was your determination that made him agree to let you tag along. What would your life be if he rejected you? Once you finished your final year in U.A., you were given a position as a teacher's assistant, to Aizawa as was expected. When you got a few years under your belt with him, Nezu would then allow you to teach first years. It was a dream come true! Training future heroes was amazing but you did have that tug every now and again where you wanted to help with more hero work. Hawks decided to let you come with him on patrols whenever you got that way, the two of you going through many sleepless nights together. The press even dubbed you as Hawk's 'semi-sidekick'. You weren't in the front lines a lot but you really appreciated what Hawks did.

Hawks had no clue what to expect when he took you in. He had never been a mentor to someone and it was strange when they were only three years his junior. The mentorship morphed into a strange friendship that only strengthened once you graduated. What he didn't expect was to begin feeling differently about you, no longer seeing you just a kid. Aizawa had accepted his soft spot for you during your second year but Hawks was still in denial about how he really felt. The two felt different types of love for you but without you even knowing, you had them wrapped around your finger.

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talkfastromance4 · 5 years

Text

Cross Her (C.H) Part I

Yeah, so. I haven’t posted anything in a HOT minute. But this little Calum-and-Grace-world I’ve created is very near and dear to my heart. I’m not sure how many parts this will be, they’re kind of lengthy but I hope you like it.

Please let me know what you think so I can post more.

Summary: With a new album and tour soon to be on the rise, 5SOS’s management has decided to put Calum into a public relationship.

Warnings: none except cute fluff from Calum

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist

With the promise of a new album on the horizon, and with Luke and Sierra now engaged the band’s management and PR have come up with an idea for Calum to get a girlfriend. The four young men are sitting in a conference room listening intently to their management’s pitch.

In theory, it sounds great. The first single to be released is a love song and with three of the four members being married, engaged and happily committed, it will be seen as kind of tired. But if the song is tied to Calum and his new ‘love’ the sales will increase tenfold and will skyrocket on the charts.

Calum nods along but at the same time he doesn’t like the matters of his heart to be discussed like a business deal. His three best friends keep looking at him during the whole meeting, waiting for him to throw a tirade or silently walk out in a brooding cloud. Calum walks the line on both discreet and outlandish very easily, so who knew what he was going to do?

“We’ve got some ideas thrown around for who you should be paired up with—“

Calum snorts. ‘Paired up with’ sounds like he’s back in school being assigned a lab partner. In this case, there’s really no difference is there?

“Who’d you have in mind?” Ashton asks twiddling his thumbs together on the table.

“Taylor Swift, she’s been in the business for a long time. She knows the ropes, she can handle press and the fans really well—“

“No, she is great, musically and otherwise,” Calum says shaking his head, “but no. Not her.”

“All right,” Francesca huffs then looks at the next name on her list. “Then there’s Selena Gomez, she’s been out of the limelight since that whole Justin Bieber fiasco. She’s also been in the—“

“Why does it have to be someone so famous?” Michael asks, his glass green eyes darting from Calum to their team.

“It will draw the crowd and other people’s attention,” Dewey states.

“Who else?” Calum murmurs in defeat. He rests his chin in his palm, his voice muffled by his fingers in front of his lips.

“Uh, Sofia Carson, Camila Cabello. . . there’s also a young woman who has become famous over Instagram recently. She’s a uh. . .” Francesca peers at her tablet, “she’s an aspiring poet but her fanbase is huge. Almost 7 million followers, she posts a lot of content on all platforms.”

“What’s her name?” Calum asks suddenly intrigued.

“Grace Fallows, she’s 24, cute little thing,” Francesca nods.

On the outside Calum stays stoic, but on the inside he’s beaming. He already follows her on his own Instagram. He loves the poems she creates, they’re clever and beyond impactful with just a few choice words.

“Can we see if she’ll do it?” he asks. “She seems more up our style than the others, more genuine.”

“I’ll get in contact with her and see what happens,” Francesca nods.

Calum glances at his friends who grin encouragingly back.

»»»

The first time Calum and Grace meet is three weeks later in the same conference room where the discussion was first established. Francesca and Dewey had her flown in from Southern Wisconsin a few days ago with the promise of landing her a manager, a publisher and an editor all in one meeting. The three subjects were sitting alongside Francesca and Dewey while Calum and Grace were across from each other at the other end.

He smiles at her immediately when he walks in, which she returns happily but nervously. He’s never seen what she looks like because her Instagram page is all of her poems, she never posts a selfie.

But he knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. She has dark brown hair that waves around her round face, and has the biggest, dark blue eyes he’s ever seen. He notices her playing with the rings on her fingers, a habit he and the guys have been known to do when they’re feeling anxious.

“We’re so glad you could join us on such short notice Miss Fallows,” Francesca smiles warmly.

“Thank you for arranging everything,” Grace nods. Her voice is quiet and full of kindness, it piques Calum’s interest even more. He notices her eyes dart about the room and at the other five faces down the table, she inhales a shaky breath.

“Joining us today are Cordelia Fox, Gwen Gilbert and Alonso Lopez,” Francesca introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” Grace says politely.

“And I’m sure you know Calum Hood,” Dewey laughs heartily pointing to Calum.

Grace’s dark ocean eyes slide down to Calum who gives her a slight wave, she smiles impishly. A little flush of pink colors her cheeks and she fiddles with her rings a bit more quickly.

The meeting lasts for almost two hours, Cordelia, Gwen and Alonso chat with Grace about their plans for her to get a book published within the next 9 months. Grace listens intently, her eyes wide and appearing glossy a few times because her dreams are just within reach of coming true.

“So, what are your thoughts, Miss Fallows?” Cordelia smiles kindly.

“I mean . . . this is amazing. I’ve been wanting to be published since I started my Instagram page,” Grace begins. “I would love to work with all of you, but I’m just slightly confused with why C-Calum is here.”

She stutters over his name because she has been a fan of the band for yearss She’s amongst the other fans waiting aptly for the new album to drop. She wanted to come into this meeting being calm, cool and collected with a twinge of professionalism added in. But she’s never had a meeting with a probable manager or whole writing team before and to throw in a member of one of the biggest bands in the world?

Her stomach is doing cartwheels.

“Uh, that’s another matter we need to discuss,” Dewey says a bit uncomfortably in his chair.

Calum feels a bit smug at that, he was uncomfortable at the meeting about this three weeks ago. He doesn’t want to come off as smug because Grace is present. He doesn’t want her to think this was all his idea, a fake relationship and all the PR.

“With the band’s new album coming out, we thought to help up the ante would be if Calum had a girlfriend to help promote the single. It’s a love song. And with Michael already being married, Luke is newly engaged and Ashton’s relationship is stable, we thought a fresh, new relationship would reflect the song perfectly,” Francesca smiles.

“So . . . all of this—“Grace motions the table generally”—is just so I can be used as a fake girlfriend?”

Francesca and Dewey open and close their mouths like fish staring out of a fishbowl. Calum shakes his head, silently cursing his team. This was a fucking dumb idea and he hates the expression on Grace’s face, like she’s being used, like she’s just a small pawn in this big scheme.

“Grace,” Cordelia leans forward on the lacquered maple table, her blond hair falling in front of her face. “Whether you say yes or no to the fake relationship, Gwen, Alonso and I still want to be a part of your team. We aren’t the strings attached to this deal, you are the puppeteer. You call the shots, and I’m sure Mr. Hood agrees.” Cordelia’s powder blue eyes meet Calum’s.

He nods immediately looking to Grace. “Absolutely. I follow you on Instagram and love your poems. There’s absolutely no pressure for you to do this.”

Grace chews on her lower lip then sits up a bit straighter in her chair.

“Can I have a day or two to think about it? The relationship part.”

“Of course,” Cordelia smiles. “Right, Francesca?”

“Uh, y-yes, of course,” Francesca smiles tightly “The first single release isn’t for another three weeks, but if we could know by Friday that’d be wonderful. I’ll send over all of our contact information, including Cordelia—“

“Actually I’d like to talk to Cordelia on my own,” Grace states.

Calum grins. He likes her spunk and hopes she’ll agree to the deal. Even if it’s not real, he has a feeling she’d make it fun.

»»»

“So, how’d it go?” Ashton asks Calum while they’re out for iced coffee after a cardio workout.

“All right. Cordelia really liked her. I did, too,” Calum smiles. “She made Francesca and Dewey sweat in their seats though, she called them right out on the bullshit of it all.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that,” Ashton laughs. “So, did she agree to it?”

“She agreed to the book deal but wants a few days to think the fake relationship bit over,” Calum shrugs swirling his ice in his cup. “Which I respect. I don’t want her thinking it was my idea.”

“You crushin’ on her already, bro?” Ashton giggles taking his straw in his mouth.

“No, it’s just a big fuckin’ deal to be put in a relationship with someone for PR,” Calum’s voice comes out a little clipped.

“Right. Sorry,” Ashton apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry they’re forcing you into this as well.”

Calum shrugs. “Comes with the job I s’pose.”

“Do you think she’ll agree?”

“I—“ Calum’s cut off with his phone buzzing in his hand. He smiles when he sees the name on his phone. “That’s her now, she wants to meet for coffee tomorrow.”

“That’s a good sign,” Ashton raises his eyebrows.

»»»

Calum was actually really nervous to meet with Grace for coffee because the meeting could go either way. She’ll either yell at him for agreeing to this or she’ll tell him she’ll do it and they’ll set up their own boundaries outside of his team.

He taps his fingers waiting for her at a table in the back of the store, some fans came and said hello but otherwise he was left alone. He hoped no one would come up to him when Grace is with him, he didn’t want to freak her out too much.

The bells above the door jingle and he sees her small frame enter, the gust from the door causes her brown hair to fly in her face. She tucks the stray strands behind her ear as her eyes scour the place for the tall Maori-Australian man.

Calum stands from his chair waving to her and she catches sight of him easily; it’s a small shop and he’s a tall guy. She smiles then weaves her way through the tables and other patrons to him but accidentally bumps into one of the baristas.

He’s a young teen with a face full of acne and a lanky build. He apologizes profusely, his cheeks turning even redder when he sees he bumped into a pretty girl.

Grace smiles kindly and touches his shoulder in comfort. “You’re totally fine! Don’t worry about it.” She flashes him one more smile before continuing her way to Calum who is as much enamored by her as the teenage boy.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says briskly. “I totally forgot I could order an Uber instead of catching a bus which terrified me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Calum smiles easily. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Um a vanilla cappuccino please,” she smiles.

“Be right back,” he touches her shoulder gently then heads to the counter.

Calum watches her from his vantage point. Her brown hair is pulled back halfway behind her head and she’s got on a white t-shirt with dark denim overalls. She has white converse on her feet and he really likes that considering he’s wearing his black pair.

Grace crosses her legs then begins to play with her rings while waiting for him to return. It makes him feel a little better she’s as nervous as he is. This actually feels like a first date but it’s so far from it it’s ridiculous. He sort of wishes it was a first date.

The same teenage boy hands Calum their drink order and Calum gives him a ten dollar tip hoping that will ease his embarrassment.

“One vanilla cappuccino,” Calum says sliding the mug in front of Grace then he sits across from her.

“Mmm, thank you,” she grins giddily holding the mug in both of her hands. “So, this whole relationship thing wasn’t your idea, right?”

Calum pauses his motions of bringing his own mug to his lips. “Wow, right to it, huh?” he half jokes setting his mug down but she doesn’t laugh. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “No, it was not. I’d never ask someone to fake date me, but apparently that’s what our team thinks is best for this album.”

She eyes him for a moment, Calum’s heart is beating hard in his chest. She stares at him as if analyzing him then lets out a breath.

“Okay, you’re telling the truth.”

Calum chuckles. “You got a super power of spotting lies?”

“Sort of,” she purses her lips and Calum is hypnotized at the pinkness of them for the moment. “My intuition is super strong, I can read people really well.”

“That’s good to know. What’d you pick up on about Francesca and Dewey?”

She purses her lips again forcing Calum not to stare at them again, she taps her chin for good measure and dramatics.

“They’re very analytical, they do want you guys to succeed but they think you do that with more of the public eye on you rather than your music. Their intent means well,” she shrugs taking a tentative sip of her drink.

“This might be a weird question,” Calum leans forward on the table lowering his head a little. He notices her eyebrows twitch in the cutest way. “Do you like our music?”

She visibly relaxes then giggles. “Oh thank God, I had no idea where you were going with that. But yeah, I do like your music. I got into you guys a little bit during the One Direction era but then I really got hooked when Youngblood came out.”

“You mean you weren’t around for our awkward Twitcams and YouTube lives?” he’s silently praying that she says no, those videos are so cringey now. They were ridiculous teenagers who thought they were badasses and clearly weren’t.

“Oh no, I definitely saw those,” she giggles again. “You were pretty raunchy back then.”

She’s teasing with him and it makes him smile and blush slightly. He groans at the memories of those videos, he’d always smack the guys’ asses for no reason and try to get naked on camera. Again for no reason.

“That’s embarrassing,” he shakes his head then looks up at her through his lashes.

“It was funny. My little nineteen year old heart swooned,” she presses her hand to her heart.

“I guess that counts for something. So, what are your thoughts on all this?” he asks. “Francesca and Dewey won’t have a say on how exactly we do this, we can set our own boundaries. I don’t want you to feel pressured at all and, if you do decide to do it, we’ll get to help you promote your book.”

“It’s a little crazy,” she laughs. “Twenty-four hours ago I was back home bingeing Pretty Little Liars and now I’m here with a book in the making and a fake rock star boyfriend.”

“Yeah, things move fast in LA—wait, are you saying you’ll do it?” he’s astounded.

“I was actually on the fence but when you said we could set our own boundaries . . . that made up my mind. I feel like I’ll be here for a while talking with Cordelia and I need friends so . . .”

“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I promise you, I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she giggles.

»»»

After the meeting with the team and the guys about Grace agreeing to the fake relationship, a contract is set for the relationship to last until her book is released. Calum wants to help her out as well even if it is in this weird, twisted way. Nine months of fake dating, hopefully he won’t actually catch feelings.

Grace was a little nervous meeting the rest of the band, especially Luke because he’s so tall and towered over her.

“You make me feel like an ant,” she giggles and the guys laughed. Calum really enjoyed when she giggled, it caused her nose to scrunch up and her cheeks got really round.

“Would you want to catch dinner with us tonight?” Ashton asks. “We can all get to know each other better

“Yeah, that sounds great,” she smiles. “Text me the address—“

“No, no. I’ll pick you up,” Calum shakes his head. “I won’t have you spending money on an Uber all the time.”

“Okay,” she blushes.

»»»

Calum knocks on her hotel room door at promptly 6:45 p.m, the exact time he said he’d be there. When Grace opens the door he’s welcomed with her perfume, lilies and ocean water. She’s wearing a pretty black dress with a silver belt and her hair is straightened.

“Hi! Wow, you’re right on time. Um, I just need to get my purse.” She disappears and Calum catches the door before it slams in his face.

He peers in her room, it already smells like her and he notices a big gray fuzzy blanket on the hotel bed. Clearly it makes her think of home, he notices the curtains are shut and her suitcase is zipped shut on the opposite bed.

“Okay, ready,” she beams in front of him.

»»»

The first five minutes of the car ride are silent but it’s comfortable. Calum doesn’t know what to say first, his mouth goes dry every time he tries but when he looks over at her he sees her bare legs.

“Does everyone in LA eat dinner this late?” she asks.

“Uh . . . this is late?”

“I had to order myself an appetizer at 5 in my room cause I was so hungry,” she snickers, “but I’m always hungry anyway.”

Calum frowns. Not only is she far from home in a hotel by herself, but her habits and lifestyle have completely changed. And she’ll be here for nine months being viewed as his ‘new girlfriend’ while also having a deadline for her first book.

“I’m sorry, we should’ve asked when you normally—“

“Oh, no! It’s fine! I was just curious, it’ll probably help me in the long run anyway, and it’ll help me lose a few pounds,” she shrugs nonchalantly and stares out the window.

Calum gives her an exasperated look which makes her laugh.

“What?”

“You don’t need to lose a few pounds, you look fantastic, Grace,” he tells her and turns smoothly into a large parking lot.

When he looks at her he’s pleased to see she’s blushing and he’s not lying. She’s petite but her curves are out of this world, and her legs. Her legs! He never knew he had a thing for calves but hers seem muscular and he wonders if she danced when she was younger.

“Well, thank you,” she says quietly and he notices her playing with her fingers.

Calum pulls into a parking spot near the front and thankfully there aren’t any photographers or fans waiting outside. He doesn’t want her to get freaked out by the chaos of his life with flashes and screams from fans quite yet. He wants to make sure she’s comfortable with him so she can trust that he’ll keep her safe.

“Ooh, is this Italian?” she asks peering up at the sign out of her window.

“Yep, best Italian restaurant in LA.”

“I love Italian.”

She snatches her purse and practically leaps from the car and Calum hurries to her side so he can walk alongside her. He locks the car then shoves his hands in his pockets. The doorman opens the door for them and Grace thanks him kindly with her warm smile and Calum lets her walk ahead of him.

Once inside she tucks against his side while he weaves to the back of the restaurant where he knows their table is. The guys asked if their significant others could join them but Calum thought that would be a bit overwhelming for her in one night. They all exchanged a knowing look but Calum had no idea what it meant.

“The guest of honor has arrived!” Ashton shouts raising his beer glass, his eyes are already a little glazed over and Grace giggles.

She hugs them all quickly before sitting at the head of the table where Ashton told her to sit. Calum sat next to her silently wishing he was a bit closer.

When the waiter came by to ask for her and Calum’s drink order, she denied the house wine and ordered a mint mojito instead. Calum ordered a beer and asked for a rush order on the breadsticks throwing a wink at Grace as he did.

“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly then takes a sip of her water.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl deny wine,” Luke says incredulously.

Calum shoots him a glare and smacks his best friend in the chest.

“OW! What was that for?”

“Don’t be rude,” Calum shakes his head disapprovingly.

Grace laughs into her water at the altercation. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t really like wine. Whenever I drink it I get a headache and I forget what I’m trying to say. I’m more of a rum girl.”

“Ah, there we go!” Ashton hollers. “Rum’s a good choice.”

“What’s your signature drink?” Calum asks.

“Malibu and pineapple juice,” she smiles with her tongue between her teeth.

Calum has the desirable need to kiss her smile but he refrains. None of this is real as them being in a relationship, he has to get that in his head.

Throughout the dinner they ask her questions about her home and how she got into writing but that was a fleeting topic. Calum made a mental note to ask about that later when it’s just them, he loves talking creativity. Grace gushes about the food and asks them all questions about themselves.

Soon their table is filled with laughter and more drinks as funny stories come about. Many of them are about Calum because his best friends want to embarrass him in front of his ‘girlfriend.’ She enjoys herself, she truly does.

She really feels like she belongs and that they’re all slowly moving towards friendship. Throughout the evening, Grace notices Calum looking at her a lot, it makes her face feel warm. She’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or his deep brown eyes gazing at her.

The guys order another bottle of wine, Calum is all about having another glass when he notices Grace has gone quiet and she’s playing with her fingers again. He knows the sign of anxiety and she’s doing it right now, whether it’s from the amount of alcohol or just the night in general, he’s not sure.

“You guys enjoy that last bottle, I’ve had enough,” Calum says throwing his napkin on the table and he looks at Grace. “How about you, Grace? Ready to go?” he figures he’d give her an out and if she refuses then he’ll stay.

“Yeah, I’m ready if you are,” she sighs and the twiddling stops.

“Oh sure, leave us with the bill!” Michael hollers and Luke barks out a laugh.

“Oh, get off. I caught the bill at Poison,” Calum shakes his head standing up. He pulls out his wallet anyway and tosses a few twenties on the table. “That should cover me and Grace.”

“Oh, I can put in some—“Grace says reaching for her purse but Calum’s large hands stop her.

“My treat,” he grins rubbing his thumb over her knuckle gently.

“At least let me pay for my drinks—“she shakes her head trying to unzip her purse under his long fingers.

“Man, you’re sweet,” Ashton smiles then glances to Calum. “but it isn’t necessary, don’t worry sweetheart. We’ve got it covered.”

Grace slumps in her seat but finally gave up. “Okay,” she sighs. Calum removes his fingers and helps her out of her chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Our pleasure,” Michael smiles. “You kids get home safe now.”

She waves goodbye and Calum nods at them ignoring their eyebrow waggles and winks and follows Grace to the front of the restaurant. The tables are still packed with people and Grace gasps stopping in her tracks causing Calum to nearly knock her over.

“What is it?” he asks in alarm.

“That’s Leonardo Di Caprio!” she whispers excitedly.

Calum looks in the direction she’s subtly pointing in and sure enough, he’s there with a glass of wine and a table full of models and other friends.

“Want to go say hi?” Calum asks enjoying the size of her star struck eyes.

“What?” she squeaks, “are you crazy? I would literally die! Let’s go.”She grabs his wrist pulling him out of the restaurant.

He’s laughing at her as she has her actual freak out in the parking lot. He notices her fingers are still latched around his wrist, he likes the feeling.

“I’m guessing he’s a crush?” he asks once they’re in his car again. It’s nearing midnight and he really doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, even if the drive is fifteen minutes to her hotel.

“Ugh, yes,” she rubs her temples. “He’s so much older than me but I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

Calum chortles as he peels out of the parking spot and gets onto the main road to go on the highway.

“I’m sorry, that’s really weird to say,” she shakes her head staring at him.

“No it’s not. This is all new to you, I kind of like seeing you experience it all. It’s adorable,” he admits. He inhales through his nose, was that the wrong thing to say?

“You think I’m adorable?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles looking her way to see she’s pointing to herself, “is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s just . . . have you seen you? You’re the most adorable thing on the planet.”

“I think that’s the mojito in you talking.”

“No, it’s the me in me talking.”

Calum laughs at her verbiage.

“Okay, that made you ten times more adorable now.”

“Your smile makes you fifteen times more adorable,” she insists and it causes him to smile once more. “So you’re in the lead by five, you win. That’s math.”

“Your brain earns you another fifteen.”

“My brain?!” she shrieks in laughter.

“And your laugh, so that’s another ten and your giggle is pretty damn cute so that’s another . . . fifty, I’d say. So no you’re 65 points ahead, you win.”

She huffs in her seat.

“That earned you another five, make it 70 points,” Calum adds smugly.

“You can’t just keep adding! A person can’t be that adorable.”

“You are,” he grins.

“Okay, so I’m at 70 and you’re only at . . .” she thinks back on the numbers they’ve been throwing about “twenty-five?! That’s not fair. Can I give you some of my points?”

“Nope, you keep the points I give you, those are the rules, sorry.”

“Okay then bucko,” she folds her arms angling her body to him in her seat, “you get another twenty because of your laugh, and you get fifteen more for the cute faces you make.”

“What cute faces?”

“There! That’s one of them! You’re doing one right now, ha! So now you’re at 60 and I’m at 70.”

“Can’t even give me an extra ten so we’re tied? Wow, Grace, I thought you were nicer than that,” he shakes his head in mock sadness.

“Okay fine, you get a solid ten for your hair. It’s very Disney-Prince-like.”

“What does that mean?” he laughs making another face.

“It’s so curly and perfectly styled, like a Disney Prince.”

At the stoplight he gives her a sidelong glance. “That earned you another five points.”

“Are you kidding me?!” she throws her hands up in defeat.

“You’re more adorable than me, Grace, just accept the facts. That’s math remember?” he’s leaning across the console giving her a smug look.

“Using my own words against me,” she grumbles and pushes on his forehead lightly so he’s looking at the lights.

He knows it’s an innocent gesture, but his skin is on fire from her touch and it was only on his goddamned forehead.

“Okay Mr. Math Wiz, let’s test your skills.”

“How?”

“Have you ever played War?”

»»»

They’re sitting in the middle of her bed with a deck of cards playing War. High card wins and you keep going until one person has all of the cards. Grace changed into leggings and a large long sleeved shirt as soon as they were in her room, Calum was comfortable enough in his black slacks and black t-shirt.

“Y’know, this isn’t really a math skills game,” he says as they flip their cards. He’s got a 9 and she has 10 so she takes the cards.

“It is a skills game,” she retorts.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you come up with your poems?”

“Um, different things give me inspiration. Usually it’s a word or phrase and it just sparks something in me. Sometimes a song will give me a feeling and I’ll go off on that. I love when word vomit happens, it just keeps coming out, it’s not always good but it’s better than writer’s block,” she explains.

“What do you do when you have writer’s block?”

“Listen to music, read other poetry and go crazy,” she laughs. She snatches two more cards. “I hate writer’s block, especially when I really want to write something good but nothing is flowing. It’s the worst.”

“Do you write them all on your phone?” Calum takes the two cards this time.

“Sometimes,” she nods biting her lip. “but I prefer writing them in a notebook. If you saw my process you’d laugh, it’s so crazy. There’s so many scribbles and circled words, question marks, you name it. It doesn’t look like it makes sense but it makes sense to me.”

“That’s not crazy, that’s your writing process. Mine is pretty similar actually.”

“Really? How so?”

“I like writing songs down in a notebook, too. Makes them more real, I think. I like to know I can physically change it instead of deleting it, cause then I can go back to the first idea if I wanted to,” he explains taking another set.

“That’s how I think, too,” she smiles then abruptly shouts, “I DECLARE WAR!”

“What the hell does that even mean?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“We both have the same card, so we draw until one of us has the higher card. Go, go, go!”

Their three cards deep until she has an ace and he has a 5. She laughs a ‘mwahahaha’ as she takes the cards. Calum can’t even be mad.

“That laugh earned you another ten,” he comments putting his card down.

“You’re ridiculous,” she shakes her head.

They stay up playing War until 2:30 in the morning when Grace finally wins it all. She yawns as she pulls together all the cards.

“I should get going so you can get some sleep,” he says rolling off the bed.

“You can’t drive in your condition.”

“My condition?”

“You’re sleepy! That’s just as dangerous as drunk driving, Calum,” she says sternly.

“I promise, I’m fine. I live five minutes away, Grace.”

She stares at him for a beat then gives in, her eyes are heavy. “Fine, but text me when you’re home safe?”

“I promise. Did you have fun tonight?” he asks by the door.

“I did have a lot of fun, thanks for it all.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When um, when exactly does this whole thing . . . start, exactly?” she motions between them.

“Uhh, I think Francesca said on Monday they want us to be seen out in public together. We’ll be releasing the new single in two weeks, so.”

“Right, right,” she nods looking at her toes in the carpet.

“Hey,” Calum says softly so she’ll look up at him. “it’ll be okay, yeah? We’ll come up with our own rules, remember?” he smiles tiredly.

“Yeah, okay,” she sighs bouncing one foot on the floor. “It’s just so weird, you know?”

“I know, but we’ll make it work. We’ll make it be like how tonight was, easy and fun.”

“Easy and fun,” she mutters, “I can handle that.”

“Good. I’m gonna go cause you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” he chuckles. “Sleep well, Grace.”

“I will when you text me you’re home.”

They bid goodbye and he walks down the hallway to the elevator. In the time it takes for Grace to brush her teeth, wipe off her make-up and change into her pajamas, Calum is already home and has texted her.

She shuts the lights off and snuggles into her bed smiling at her phone.

Grace: ‘I’m glad you got home safe (:’

Calum:‘thanks for being concerned. Another ten points ;)’

Grace: ‘calum. I’m almost at 100 points! That’s insane’

Calum: ‘that’s accurate. Now go to sleep and dream sweet dreams.’

Grace:‘I’ll try. You have good dreams, too’

Calum: ‘doubtful, I don’t remember any of my dreams’

Grace: ‘really? That’s sad. I once had a dream I was best friends with Ariana Grande and we were just walking around saying hi to fans. It was so cool’

Calum: ‘Grace.’

Grace: ‘yes?’

Calum: ‘go to sleep lol’

Grace: ‘okay fine’

Calum: ‘goodnight, grace (:’

Grace: ‘goodnight calum, goodnight moon . . .’

#calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood fanfiction #calum fluff #5sos #5sos imagines #5sos writings #calum imagines #calum hood writings

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 4 years

Text

Family Fights - Chapter Two

Summary: Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes: This is a repost. When I re read the first chapters of this fic to write the third, I realized that it was packed with grammatical errors and that the pacing was terrible. Unfortunately, I can’t (or at least i don’t know how to) edit posted chapters on ao3, but I can at least re-post a slightly better version of the chapters here.

Read the first chapter here

She was gardening outside. The moonlight illuminated her extensive flowerbed, and for the first time since she was five and dropped an acid potion on them, her roses just wouldn’t bloom. They laid wilted on the ground, the bushes not strong enough to support themselves. It was a truly macabre vision, especially with the putrid smell coming from the rotting plants. But then, the bushes began to move. The twigs began to intertwine and form a figure. Maven watched horrified as her deep red roses began to melt into blood, and the plants formed a four meters tall troll-like creature. As the blood dripped down the leaves, the librarian raised her gaze to see strings attached to her once-a-rose-bush, just the way a puppet would have. At the end of the strings, controlling the troll, was her sister. Her face bigger than the Moon, her body seeming to disappear behind the trees staring down at her with angry, green eyes and a Cheshire like grin

“You failed me.” Myra hissed. “You failed me, and I’ll never forgive you. You failed me and you shall DIE” Maven’s surroundings dropped as if made of paper, like would happen if one cut the corners of a cardboard box, giving way to nothing but darkness all around her, her sister’s legs dipping below the ground horizon, making her feel like an ant on a platform. “Myra, I’m sorry!” Maven cried, tears streaming down her face. “Sister, please come- please c-come back!” She stuttered as she dropped to her knees before the flower monster, her tears mixing with the blood on the ground. “NEVER” The Marra shouted, and with a movement of her hand, made the troll raise it’s hand, ready to strike the librarian. “Madam!” The librarian woke up with a start at the child like voice and the small hand on her shoulder. When she could focus better, the nightmare finally releasing her from its crutches, she saw a young face and long blue hair. The Hilda girl, she recognized. “Where am I?” She asked as she tried to control her beating heart. “Safe.” Came another voice, a more mature one. Johanna offered her a cup of coffee as she sat on the bed at Maven’s feet, and she happily accepted the beverage. “The kids found you this evening passed out near the woods. We didn’t know where you live, and we just couldn’t leave you there, so we brought you here. I hope you don’t mind.” “Um, no, of course I don’t. Thank you. Can you tell me exactly where you found me?” “You were lying at the gates to the Huldrawood when we went out to get a badge. Why were you there?” “You were crying in your sleep.” Hilda pointed at Maven’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks before she could answer the first question. “Are you okay?” The librarian took a deep breath and looked out of the window near the bed. “I’ll be fine.” “What happened?” Asked another kid from the other side of the room, near the girl Maven usually saw him with. So, the whole trio was there. “That’s was none of you business, kid” Maven spatted and regretted it immediately when everyone’s faces fell. They had taken her out of the streets and welcomed her into their home. The least she could do was be grateful. “I think I just lost the person I love the most.” It was obvious in the boy’s face he had come to regret his question. “Who?” Hilda asked, aiming at gentleness and failing, and Johanna glared at her. “Hilda! That’s not polite!” “No, that’s fine.” Maven said as she sipped her coffee. “It was my sister.” “Oh.” Johanna’s face filled with sympathy for the librarian. “I’m sorry for your loss. How did she die?” Maven twisted her nose. “Die? Who said anything about dying?” “W-well, but if she didn’t die maybe you can still get back to her.” The girl she recognized as the biggest bookworm in town after herself spoke for the first time, and Maven sighed. “I doubt that. She made a bad decision. And I didn’t stop her. And when I realized it, I only judged her. I promised I’d always protect her. And I failed” She spit out, choking with unshed tears. “Hey, if you don’t try, you’ll never know!” Came yet another voice. She looked at the bedside table and gaped at what she saw. “An elf?” Maven spat in surprise. “You can see him?” Hilda asked, just as surprised the librarian could see Alfur as the librarian was at seeing him. “You have signed elf paperwork?” “Well, I’ve yet to meet a witch who hasn’t”

Maven realized those were the wrong words the moment they came out of her mouth. She just couldn’t believe her carelessness; that was supposed to be kept a <em>secret</em>.

“You’re a witch?!” David asked wide-eyed, and Maven stood a little straighter. “Yes, I am.” “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Alfur chirped. “Witches are the only kind of humans elves usually get along with. No offense.” He said looking at the other people in the room. “Witch or not, it doesn’t matter. You need help. What can we do?” Johanna asked, and Maven sighed in relief as she realized that this friendship wouldn’t be ruined by ignorance as many others had been before. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to do. Nothing can undo what happened to my Myra.” Maven lifted her head abruptly, an old ritual coming to mind. “Unless...” She turned her head and faced Hilda, a plan forming on her thoughts already. “Unless what?”, the child asked. But before she could get her hopes high, Maven realized she couldn’t be selfish enough to let her wishes get in the way of a kid’s safety. “Forget it, Hildie. It’s nothing.” A heavy atmosphere intruded the room, and silence hung heavily around them. “Frida, David, your parents must be worried. Hilda, can you walk home with them?” Johanna asked softly to her child, who looked like she would oppose. Her mother lifted her eyebrows, making it clear that there would be no discussion.

“Yes, mum. I’ll take the opportunity to take twig out for a walk. Come on, guys.” The door closed behind the children, and Johanna took her gaze from them to her guest. “There is a way to help you. You just don’t want to say it.” It was more a statement then a question, and a right one. “I’ll go get us something to eat, and then we can discuss it, okay?” Maven nodded with her head hanging low, until Johanna put her hand on the librarian’s shoulder, making her look up at the slightly older woman, a blush warming her neck and creeping up to her face at the proximity. “Okay.” She whispered as her host left the room. After a few minutes of uneasy thoughts and shifting movements from Maven’s part, Johanna was back with a bowl full of cookies. Before she could even offer the snack, the librarian began speaking, wishing to end this as soon as she could. And if there was any remote chance that she could get what she needed and have her little sister back, she was taking it. “Who is the father?” She asked rather harshly. “Who is Hilda’s father.” Johanna sat down at Maven’s feet again, blushing prettily, and the librarian had to admit the colour looked rather nice on her. “I- er, I don’t know.” Maven lifted her eyebrows, surprise clearly written on her face. She’d never been one to judge people, and she was a firm believer that one could do whatever they wanted with their body, but the sweet artist hadn’t given her the impression that she was that kind of person. At Maven’s reaction, Johanna was quick to clasp her hands over her mouth, and the pink on her face turned to green. “What, NO! Oh Gods, it’s not what you’re thinking! Hilda- Hilda was adopted is what I mean!” Maven’s jaw snapped shut and she cursed herself for jumping to conclusions. The poor woman looked like she was going to faint before her. “I beg your pardon. I should have worded my doubts. So you mean you didn’t get to meet her biological parents?” “Er, no, I didn’t.” She murmured as she fiddled with a biscuit on her hand. “I found her in the woods, actually. I had gone to my grandfather’s cabin to see if I could find some inspiration. The day I ventured farther into the forest, I heard a baby weeping. Oh, Maven, she was so young and she was alone. I couldn’t leave her there. I took her in and fell in love with her.” She finished with her eyes wet.

“The two of you are perfect together. I’m glad you found each other. Does she know?” Johanna gave her a dry little laugh. “Yeah, she does. Not like it’s easy to keep something from her, anyway.” “And do you know why she was abandoned?” Maven quirked an eyebrow. “Of course not! All I know is that they were monsters if they couldn’t even care for the safety of their child!” Johanna spat and Maven could feel suppressed rage beneath her skin. The mother might not know, but the witch? Oh, the witch had seen this story a thousand times. “Let me ask you something: have you ever seen anyone other than Hilda with natural blue hair?” Johanna furrowed her brow as she searched her memory for the image of someone with such unusual hair colour. “No, I can’t say I have. But I imagine it’s some kind of genetic mutation or something? The doctors could never put their fingers on it.” Maven pinched the bridge of her nose, stressed to see the culture passed from mother to daughter amongst her kind so lost to most people. “Oh my- no, Johanna, I’m afraid it has nothing to do with genetics. Or science, even. When one is born with an unnatural hair colour, it is believed that this person has magical gifts. That they are, let’s say, prone to engage in witchcraft.” She paused for a moment, letting the other woman try to wrap her head around that information. “It can be passed down to generations... or pop in suddenly on a child coming from a non-magical family. When it happens, the children are usually abandoned, given away, mistreated, and murdered even.” Maven knew she’d gone too far when a sob erupted from the sweet artist, and she tried to give her what she hoped was a reassuring look. “Don’t fret. These things would happen on old times. Now this knowledge has been practically forgotten. Your Hilda just had the fortune of being born into a family of cruel magicphobes who happened to know of this.” Another sob came from her. “How can you say she was lucky?! It was awful what happened to her! She could have been hurt!” “Well, but instead you found her, didn’t you?” Johanna was silent again, and she stuffed her mouth with a vanilla biscuit. “Yes, I suppose I did.” She answered when she finished chewing. “But if it’s such an obvious sign, why don’t most people know about this? How come no one suspects?” Johanna gesticulated as she spoke, throwing crumbs around the room with her movements, and Maven scoffed. “Why, since they created hair dye no one can tell natural from fake hair anymore. Before it existed, witches would usually hide their hair in some way. But nowadays there’s no trouble. Some of us still keep a part of our hair natural to let others know we are one of them.” The librarian lifted her hands to her scalp, separating the hair strands so that the gaping woman in front of her could see the purple sprouting from the roots. A few moments of uncomfortable silence went by, and it was only broken when the mother opened her mouth again. “Why did you tell me all that?” “Because the only way to save my sister is if Hilda helps me” Maven answered after taking a deep breath. Johanna was silent, but she nodded in a sign for her to continue. “The Marra are a society of kinds. They seek teenagers who want more power, more control, more... freedom. They twist their minds to make them believe that spending the rest of your immortal lives giving people nightmares is the best way to live. And when they convince them of such, the adolescents go through a ritual, in which they gift their soul to the goddess Niorun, acquiring, in exchange, immortality and the ability to enter people’s dreams.” “Why would that goddess do that?” “She doesn’t know what they use their abilities for. As the goddess of dreams, Niorun thinks that the Marra’s loyalty to her comes from the desire to give pleasant dreams to others, the way she does, and not nightmares. But the point is, my sister has joined them.” Johanna lifted her head as if she’d been electrocuted, her jewel bright eyes wide awake. “Beg pardon?” She stuttered with effort. “You heard this right. My sister has joined the Marra. And that was two years ago. I- I believe that she has already performed the ritual” Maven felt the stinging of tears behind her eyes, but she refused to let them drop. “She hadn’t aged a day...” she whispered. Johanna squared her shoulders confidently. “And what can we do?” She asked in a strong, unwavering voice. “You said you needed Hilda. I’m sure she’d have no trouble in agreeing to help.” “You don’t understand!” Maven protested. “Not only is the spell we’d need to do dangerous, but the training Hilda would need would unlock her magic forever!” She hugged her legs and looked away from Johanna. “And I can’t let her hurt herself to help Myra! Best case scenario, the ritual goes smoothly but everyone looks at her like she’ll curse them!” Maven cried, unable to contain her tears any longer as she realized the depth of the situation her sister had put herself in. She only heard the gentle padding of Johanna’s feet getting lower and then higher, right before feeling her hand on her shoulder. “Here” Johanna offered a napkin and a smile as the librarian looked up at her. At that moment, Maven was painfully aware that she had broken down in front of Johanna. Wonderful. “Calm down, and talk to me. Why do you need Hilda for that spell?” “Because it requires the energy of two witches to work. That’s also what makes the spell so dangerous. There’s no way to get my sister’s soul back,” <em>unless you want to fight a goddess</em>, she added in her mind. “And so the only way to make Myra human again would be by making a new soul for her.” “Can... can only witches do that?” “Yes, I’m afraid so. Witches have more energy, and more control of it. A normal person would probably die with that spell.” Maven sighed, knowing there was no way Johanna was allowing Hilda to help her now. “And Hilda is the only witch in Trollberg?” The question was met with a nod. “You said she’d require training... can the training make the spell... safer?” Johanna had left the bed, now pacing hypnotic circles on the wooden floor. “Certainly. The better the witch can manipulate the energy and elements, the safer the spell is.” “Could you train her?” The answer took the librarian by surprise. A small spark of hope ignited in her chest. “You’d let me?” Johanna sighed. “Hilda will kill me if I don’t let her try. But if it’s been too long and we still don’t think it’s safe, I’m afraid I’ll have to put my daughter first.” Johanna had barely finished speaking before Maven had gotten up and raised her arms as if to hug her, letting them drop again as she got a hold of herself. “Thank you. So much.” The librarian whispered with true gratefulness, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and biting on her bottom lip. There was something about the woman in front of her that made her incredibly soft, and she’d have to be cautious.

“You’re welcome” Johanna smiled shyly at Maven. At any sign of danger to her family, she would make Hilda back down immediately. But why cut down all the options before even trying? Why not allow Maven a little happiness? _#_#_#_

Hilda closed the door behind her and looked around to find her mother and the librarian sitting at the table, and Twig sniffing Maven’s shoes, where he had ran to as soon as the girl had opened the door.

“Hey mum.” She said as she approached the women. The walk to her friends’ houses had been a tense affair, the three of them too immersed in their own thoughts to speak. The tension in her house, however, seemed to have dissipated.

“Hey Hilda!” Johanna greeted her with a nervous yet encouraging smile. “Are you up for an adventure?”

#fic: family fights #hilda fanfic #hilda fic #hilda the series #hilda librarian #hilda librarian fanfic

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fanartandfics · 5 years

Text

Jumping Letters

Word Count: 2,011

Description: The reader gets turned into a six year old and the boys find out that you have dyslexia

A/N: I have dyslexia so I wanted to write something. Everybody’s dyslexia is a little different, but hopefully this is some relatable content

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“Ow!” You yelp as your body slides down the wall. You’rer stuck between the wall and the table holding the witch’s altar. You kick it with your feet sending the herbs and candles flying at the old hag. “Okay, let’s end this,” you cock your gun and step around the table. Your boots crunch on the broken glass and dried herbs like freshly fallen autumn leaves. Before the witch can even raise her hand to place one last hex on you your bullet lodges squarely in the center of her head. “Ha,” you say to yourself as you tuck your gun into the waistband of your jeans. All of a sudden your jeans don’t fit. They’re too big, same with all of your clothes. Your gun drops beside you and before you completely lose yourself you call out for Cas. Cas arrives not a moment later to an empty room.

“Y/n?” Cas squints his eyes scanning the room as he draws his angel blade. He sees the witch’s body and a pile of clothes on the floor. He recognizes the yellow flannel to be yours and leans down to inspect the heep. A head pops up looking up at Castiel. Cas withdraws his hand for a moment not recognizing the child in your clothes. Then he looks at the hair and eyes, there’s no mistaking that it’s you. “Y/n?” Cas asks again holding his hand out to you. You rise to your full height which is barely four feet. You look scared and you don’t look like you recognize who he is. “Y/n, it’s me, Cas,” Cas uses his shortent name in hopes of jogging your young mind. You don’t seem to register as your eyes look around the room landing on the bloody witch’s body. Your small lungs take in a shuddering breath as you whip back around to look at Cas tears already streaming down your plump face. Cas quickly takes off his trench coat and wraps it around you. He figures the boys can help figure this out in the bunker away from the dead body.

You two arrive in the bunker. Sam reading as usual and Dean drinking a beer and typing on his laptop. Both look up as they hear the whoosh of the feathers.

“Hey, Cas, what did you have to leave so quick for?” Dean asks curious.

“For her,” Cas pulls the coat away from your face, still holding you.

“Is that, Y/n?” Sam stands.

“Yes,” Cas walks you over to Sam and puts you in his arms, “I think a witch did this to her so I’m going to find Roweena,”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam nods clutching you absentmindedly. Cas nods to Sam and Dean then disappears. The pages in the books russell as Sam sits down with you in his lap facing him. “Y/n, do you remember what happened?” Sam asks calmly. You don’t look to be more than six or seven years old.

“No,” you say quietly. You bring your hands to your face trying to avoid eye contact. Sam smiles at the childish action.

“That’s okay,” Sam says while stroking your hair, “Do you know who I am?” You just shake your head this time. Sam frowns a bit and glances at Dean who shrugs. “I’m Sam, and this is my older brother Dean,” Sam points across the table to Dean who gives a smile back.

“Hi,” you say shyly. The boys chuckle at the responds.

“I’m going to get her some clothes that fit,” Dean closes his laptop as he stands. Sam pulls out his laptop and finds some kid story books online. Dean comes back with an old shrunken cotton white shirt. “Pass her over to me,” Dean holds out his arms as Sam carefully passes you. Dean sits with you in his lap as he puts the oversized shirt on you and ties it so it’s more like a romper than a dress. Sam smiles watching the domestic scene before him. “There that’s better right?” Dean asks you rhetorically. You seem more comfortable now that you're not bundled in a very oversized trench coat. Snapped out of his train of thought Sam checks the time. It’s six and he figures that Cas won’t be back till after dinner.

“I’m gonna get started on dinner, Dean, if you want, I brought up some stuff on my laptop for her,” Sam pushes his computer toward Dean and leaves the library. Dean flips through a couple of the books on the screen before you stop him and point one out. “Fancy Nancy? Really, Y/n?” Dean jokingly teases you digitally opening the book.

“I wanna read,” you shush Dean before he can start the first sentence. Dean chuckles and leans back in his seat,

“Okay, Y/n. Go ahead,” at any age you know how to take charge. You stumble through sentences, make up words and can barely begin to sound out words over two sylabbls. Dean isn’t sure if this is the impact of the spell on you or if something is wrong. When Sam comes in with the spaghetti and meatballs he immediately notices the look of perpelection on Dean’s face.

“Everything okay?” Sam inquires setting the plates of food in front of everyone.

“Yeah,” Dean relays back. Still a face of concern, “Y/n, can you read another story out loud for us?” Dean encourages as he flips through tabs to find another book. Sam can tell that Dean is prompting something and leaves his food untouched for the moment. You nod your head as you read another Fancy Nancy books for the boys. You stutter, stumble, pause and skip over words just like last time. After a two pages you fade out not feeling like reading anymore. The brothers looked at each other having a conversation with shifting eye contact and deep signs. You catch on that there is something wrong and don’t hesitate to ask.

“Nothings wrong,” Sam replies to you a little too quickly, and glances at Dean who confirms.

You all eat dinner and Sam and Dean joke around with you, all concerns forgotten. After Dean puts the dishes in the kitchen sink Cas is back. Dean jumps as Cas is right behind him.

“I’ve returned,” Castiel states,

“I noticed,” Dean pushes Cas back a few feet, “personal space buddy. Y/n is in here.” Dean leads the angel to the TV room where you and Sam are watching a movie. “Cas is back!” Dean annoces and you two turn around.

“Hello, Y/n,” Cas squats in front of you a palmful of powder and herbs in his hand. He gently flows the mixture into your face making you sneeze. Your whole body folds over with the force of the sneeze. When you straighten up and your back to your full size.

“Whoo!” you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “that sneeze knocked my soul out of my body,” you joke smiling at the boys. Sam gives you a side hug.

“Welcome back,” he smiles back at you and so do Dean and Cas, “what do you remember?”

“Well I killed that witch…” you pause thinking, “... and then I was shrinking. I wasn’t sure if I was sinking to ant size or what so I prayed for Cas.” You close your eyes thinking some more. “I remember being here for awhile, and now we’re here.” Dean laughs at your vague play by play,

“You were turned into a six year old,” he says smiling,

“That was a rough year,” you joke back. Sam and Dean’s smiles falter a little, but you shrug it off figuring you’ve all had a weird rough day.

The next day you come into the kitchen where Dean is making breakfast.

“Good morning, Y/n! Would you mind reading the grocery list to me?” Dean says keeping his back to you as he scrambles the eggs.

“Sure,” you walk over to the list and place your finger on the paper so you can pin the jumping letters. Dean watches the action from the corner of his eye. “Bread… milk… soba? Oh, wait soda,” you laugh grabbing a pen, “I think we need more ketchup while your at the store,” you scribble down the request and place the list next to him so he can grab it later. Dean glances at the list as you head out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee, one for Sam and one for you. You managed to spell ketchup as “kethup” forgetting the c completely. “Here you go, Sam,” you place the coffee cup to his right as you walk around to the other side of the table. “What are we reading today?” You pick up a book on the top stack. Sam eyes you from over his book. The book was titled Rougarou New Orleans, but you just skipped past the first word in the title, “New Orleans,” you announce opening the book up to the first page.

“What book?” Sam prompts you,

“The New Orleans’ one” you show him the cover letting him read it instead. Sam isn’t sure if he’s reading into this too much, but he’s tired of beating around the bush. Dean walks in if on cue and sets down his own cup of coffee.

“Y/n, do you have dyslexia?” Sam questions gently. He puts on the same face he does for victims families. You know that face, it's a pity, and it’s sorrow. Dean mirrors his younger brother’s expression. You try to read their faces more deeply, they’re joking, right?

“No.” You state, maybe a little too defensively. You sit back in your chair trying to stay casual. Is this a big deal to them? Or to you?

“Y/n,” Sam says even more gently, like he’s trying not to scare you, “when you were turned into a six year old you couldn’t read. You displayed classic signs of dyslexia,” Sam extend his hand across the table offering you to hold it. You stay where you are.

“It could’ve just been the spell,” you shrug, “I mean I didn’t remember you guys, and I don’t remember it happening,” you counter Sam’s point. Dean fishes into his pocket and pulls out the grocery list and puts it on the table.

“Y/n, you had to use your finger to hold your place while reading, you misread soda, and you spelled ketchup wrong,” Dean trumps your previous counter argument strengthening Sam’s. You pause appalled. How are you going to play this off? You let out a rush of air.

“Fine. I have dyslexia.” You breath in, “but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still a good researcher, a good hunter and if I hadn’t gotten turned into a six year old you would have never found out,” you point a finger at them both your voice rising. “I’ve learned to cope with it and hide it,” you say more quietly sitting back in your seat arms crossed.

“Y/n, we aren't trying to embarrass you,” Dean takes the grocery list off the table.

“We just weren’t sure if you even knew you had it. You’ve done an amazing job at handling it,” Sam adds in. “We just wanted to help you,”

“I got it,” you say curtly,

“We know,” Sam put his hands up in a don’t shoot the messenger gesture, “we just want you to know you don’t need to hide it anymore.” Your holding in a breath still fuming to yourself. Your scared that your facade had crumbled, but the rational part of you knows your making a mountain out of a molehill. Dean can see that your almost on the edge of accepting this,

“We won’t treat you any differently, and I promise not to tease you about it,” Dean offers hoping that’s what you need to hear. Your shoulders relaxed and your chin drops to your chest like your armor is sliding off your body.

“Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear,”

#dyslexa #dyslexic #dyslexic!reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #SPN #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #Sam Winchester #Sam Supernatural #dean winchester #dean supernatural

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rederinserthell · 5 years

Note

Are you still looking for things to write? Could you write about Reader being All night daughter and being the 5th best hero, they would have a similar quirk to all might just not as powerful but still powerful. And they come to the school to see who their dad picked to get one for all. (If you want it can be Aizawa x Reader if you need romance)

I choose to do something different with Aizawa, and I hope you don’t mind what I did. I thought it’d be weird to have him as a romance option, considering he and Yagi went to school together and were in the same class. If you see where I’m going here. So, he’s considered an uncle to the reader. Makes sense, right? Cool. Also, I have absolutely nothing against Midoria, that’s just how the story came out of my head. I hope you like it!

Warnings: non

Being All Might’s daughter wasn’t very easy. You were always held to a very high standard, with enormous pressure on your shoulders to be as great as your dad. Of course, you knew his secret. One For All wasn’t his natural quirk, but you somehow inherited a part of that quirk. Your quirk being supper strength.

No one has really tried to find out what the heaviest thing you can lift is, because there was footage of you as a child lifting an entire airplane while your father was being interviewed at an airport he had saved from a terror attack. Everyone was shocked and scared, but your father was so proud. He called you Small Might from that day forward. Of course, that didn’t mean you’d inherit One For All...

Your father, in his older age, chose not to give you his magnificent power. He explained that you just weren’t ready for that kind of power, that you would break under the pressure of being the new All Might. So he gave it to some kid he met on the street! It broke your heart.Why would your father give such a power to a kid and not you, his own daughter that he taught and raised as his own? You had to meet him, to see why this kid was so worthy.

Walking into UA high, you found that class was in section. Your father had talked about working at the school and what class this kid was in. You were thankful for your dad’s loud mouth. Finding class 1A was fairly easy seeing that all of the classes were numbered and lettered by floor.

You were about to step through the doors when you remembered that class was still in section, so you just poked your head in. There was Aizawa, teaching his quiet class of future heroes. He abruptly stopped mid speech at the sound of his door slowly opening. His cold gaze turned to you but softened at the realization of who you were.

“(Y/n)... What are you doing here?” His slow voice questioned. You stepped in fully, soft gasps emitting from the students as they saw you, suited up, walk into their class. Of course they knew you. You were All Might’s DAUGHTER.

“I.. came to observe. To see who will be joining me out in the streets to fight crime!” You smile wide, putting your fist up. It’s a show, Aizawa knows it, you know it, they didn’t. Aizawa gave you a knowing look but said nothing.

“Okay. You can sit at my desk while I teach, then.” He turned back to the bored as you went and sat, scanning the small group. You’ve never seen this kid, you don’t even know his name. You dad was very secretive about this. The only way you would really know who got your dad’s power is to see them in action.

“Hey, Zow-wow.” You interrupt the erasure hero again. With a long sigh, he turned to you again.

“Yes?” He looked so tired.

“When can I see them in action?” Your big smile appeared again, but he wasn’t gonna fall for that. He’s always treated you like a child, never giving you what you want immediately.

“Tomorrow.” He turns back to the bored. You begin to wine and slump in the chair.

“But uuuuuncccle...” You cry and wave your hand at him. He’s obviously getting irritated by this. Turning back to you, his cold gaze turned red hot, searing anger burning in his eyes. Oh fuck

“If you want to see so bad, come back tomorrow, or you’ll be kicked from my class.” He warned.

For the rest of class, you were silent, watching the students work while Aizawa preached about how important it is to keep bystanders calm.The bell rang, and everyone left for lunch. Except one kid. His bright green eyes and dark emerald hair standing out in the empty room. You yourself were about to leave with Aizawa when he caught your eye. The older hero left, not noticing your stop, leaving you with this child.

“Hey- why are you sticking around here?” You ask, walking back in and crossing your arms, looking down at the kid as he began to shake and blush, stumbling over his words as he tried to make a coherent sentence.

“M-M-my n-name is- i-i-is M-Midor.. M-midoria! I-Izuku M-Midoria!” He stumbles out, looking up to you with nervous eyes.

“Hello, Young Midoria.. Is everything okay?”

You couldn’t even reach out to see if he was burning up before he started thrashing around in his spot, reaching for his stuff and yelling about how great you are and how thankful he is to have your dad as a mentor. He whips out a small book filled with writing and pictures of different heroes, pulling open a page about you! He might be your biggest fan, or at least, the biggest fan you’ve met.

“C-Could you sign it for me!?” He quickly asked. Laughing heartily, you take the book from him gingerly and flipped to the back page.

“Sure! Anything for a youn-” you didn’t finish your sentence because you turned right to the page with your dad’s big signature on it. That’s right... That’s why you’re here. Turning to the next page, you quickly sign it and give the book back.

“Say- you uh.. When did you get my dad to sign that for you?” You ask, crossing your arms once again. Midoria looked a little confused, but soon realized what you meant.

“O-Oh! A little bit before school started this year. I ran into him on the streets when he saved my friend, Kacchan, from a goo villain! He signed it for me then...” He thought for a moment, looking away. Was this the kid? “Then we talked. Then he started mentoring me here!” He got out, obviously sweating through that last part. Your smile was no more, you looked down at this kid with resentment. Why him? He looked like he couldn’t kill an ant, let alone beat up bad guys. This kid was a wimp!

“Did he... give anything to you? Ya know, something that might be.. valuable. Maybe, completely unique?” You hinted hard at what you were trying to get to, leaning down to be eye level with Midoria. He began to blush and sweat, looking around nervously.

“N-No! No-ot besides t-the signature! haha..ha” He rubbed his neck. Oh you knew, alright. You weren’t dumb. It’s him.

“Alright, figured I’d ask.” You ruffle his green hair, giving him a big smile. “You keep working hard, K? I hope to fight along side you one day!” And without another word, you left.

You were gonna have to chat with your dad.

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omgmusiclove · 5 years

Text

An Introduction of Sorts

So...I finished an Hetalia one-shot that has been languishing around. Hope you enjoy!

Title: An Introduction of Sorts

Main Character: America

Secondary Character: Juan Ponce de Leon

Mentioned Character: Native America

Implied Character: Spain

Summary: Little America meets Juan Ponce de Leon in 1513 in the region now called Florida.

Early morning dew on wet grass was the best feeling in the world. It made your bare feet feel cool and slippery being able to squish together the damp dirt under the grass between your feet. It also made the grass smell and look good. It was like seeing millions of crystals against the rising sun.

This would be the last few times he could enjoy this as rising temperatures accompany the oncoming of summer. In the middle of the day, April would bring hot humid weather which really wasn't that fun to play in unless you were in shade or water. Little America got on his knees and felt the grass with his hand. The water would splay around his hand and evaporate quickly as the sun started taking its spot in the sky, the beautiful dawn turning into broad daylight slowly.

America crawled a little bit more on the grass. He would find all sorts of things when he crawled around. Like insects, mud spots, tiny creatures, and his favorite-worms. Worms were a sight to behold. They never died if you played with them to hard and accidently tore them apart (like America tended to) since they would just become two worms. They felt really squishy and cool and never bit you like some spiders and ants. Worms were America's favorite pastime and he found a little patch of them.

As time went on and America spent his day laughing and giggling with his worm friends, the ocean started losing its “quiet” sensation. The Atlantic was always one to be wild and have crashing waves but you could always tell when the waves started sounding different. Instead of following through, the wave would be interrupted with a smack against hardwood. A ship was breaking its way through the Atlantic heading to shore unbeknownst to America.

He didn't quite realize that anyone was coming until the ship hit shore, crashing against the hardened sand. Looking up, America saw a huge sleek wooden ship. It had majestic sterling white sails that covered the top of the ship and a huge intimidating flag that had four squares of castles and lions...things that America never really noticed or saw before.

The men (and there sure was a lot) ranged from light skin like his own to a little more olive skin color. They were tall and trimmed looking men wearing breeches, stockings, long overcoats over a simple shirt, and some of them even wore hats. Many of the ship men looked rather plain but some of them especially one figure stood out with more elaborate clothing that shined against the sun. Who were these guys?

America, being little enough to hide amongst the grass parts that were growing tall, hid himself. He crouched down into a little ball resembling a cat and peeked through the grass fields watching as the men started getting off of the boat and onto shore. America could hear them speaking in some language he couldn't understand and never heard of. It wasn't nation speak that he was inherently born to know but it wasn't the one of the native tribe languages either. These new voices were exotic sounding different from each man: hopeful, excited, curious, commanding, demanding.

There was one voice who stuck out the most. The man with the most elaborate clothing yelled over the group in a commanding leadership type way. He seemed bold and very forthright about his ambitions. It reminded of America of the leaders from the various natives. This man must lead them.

The men after hearing the instruction of whatever the lead man was saying starting going out into the fields away from the shore and started exploring. Each went different directions in a group, their voices exclaiming things in awe about this new world they were seeing for the first time.

America crouched himself together a little more not necessarily knowing what to do. He had overheard of new people coming to his lands from Native North America that was the other personification of the native peoples here and where his other brother whom he never saw lived in the north. Native was talking to other tribe's leaders of news from the South America and Caribbean tribes of people coming from the ocean on boats and cultivating their land. Some of the stories had sounded horrific with some tribes being conquered or used as slaves.

It had sounded scary to America and he didn't quite understand a lot of it. One thing is for sure, there was bigger nations out there somewhere older than him and they were not probably as nice as Native was to him. Could these guys be from one of those bigger nations?

Heavy boots clamped down on the now dry grass near his hiding spot catching America off guard. The man looked around and said something strange when he heard a little squeak that America couldn't stop in time. America closed his eyes and tightened his mouth shut trying not to be caught by this weird beast. The boots came closer and closer until America felt one on top of his head. It pushed down a little bit causing America to move quickly on instinct and consequently do a somersault that landed him on his bum.

Blue eyes and brown eyes looked at each other for a long while, just staring. America could see that this man was definitely one of importance because of his lavish cloth that draped him. It resembled the high level leaders of the Natives except without feathers or paint or bow. This man had silk, well-kept hair, and a sword. The man's eyes burned a hole through his emotions flitting through them a mile a minute. America shivered. Something inside him, an inner voice, was telling him that this man was not a nation. The way his eyes were staring showed various states but especially one of surprise of finding people on this land. It gave away a flair only a human could possess. A nice little curious touch to the human persona.

The man grunted and crouched down to America reaching a hand out to to keep him steady. America not really wanting to be touched by someone he didn't know used both his hand to grab the intruding appendage and push it to the ground. The man was startled a little a bit and uttered a word that sounded like a curse.

“You are a strong baby,” he murmured under his breath. A toddler shouldn't have been able to do something like that. Not a normal human toddler. He looked back at America curiously and wondered if this baby was special. Like the man that was always beside the royals. A special person...a personification. America not really understanding the man's tongue kept his hands on top of the others.

“What are you doing here?” America asked in broken nation speak. He was still young and not having much contact with other nations, his speech was not exactly up to par yet. Even though he had deduced that this man was human he figured that this was going to be the best choice for communication. He most likely did not know any native tongue and nation speak had words from all sorts of languages. He could probably understand at least some of them.

The man raised a chiseled eyebrow at the weird gibberish. He didn't comprehend many of the words used there.

Sighing, the man said, “Me llamo Juan Ponce de Leon. I am here on exploration from Spain. You being here shows that there is people here.” He smirked in an amusing way. “You are not a normal human are you little one?”

America's eyebrows went down in confusion. What was this...Juan person saying? He caught one thing from that gargin, his name.

America didn't know what else he should do and uttered the most intelligible thing that came to mind. “Huh?”

Juan's mouth dropped the smirk and turned into a frown which was followed by a silence. Everything was dead around them except for the distant ocean waves beating against each other in a competition.

Then like a geyser sprouting its water from its whole, Juan fell into a fit of laughter. It was jovial and heavy. It caught America so off guard that his grip on Juan's hands lessened which enabled Juan to break free. His freed hands immediately covered his belly as his laughter continued almost growing silent. America's face grew a wondrous shade of red across his cheeks. He didn't exactly know what he did to cause this man to laugh so heavily. He simply just couldn't understand him....he never really seen anyone from the Old World.

Juan was finally able to regain control of himself and cleared his throat. He got back up on his two feet and straightened out his lavish clothes. His stately eyes looked down upon America and his mouth formed into a patronizing smirk.

“You don't understand me...,”he stated. Then his eyes looked up onto the landscape. Scouting out the surface, America's land was new, clean, fresh with new resources that have never been abundantly used or even discovered. It was like looking at heaven's virginal angels-pristine and immaculate.

All his to exploit.

Juan's eyes landed back on America with a look of greed. His smirk turning from patronizing to hungry.

“You have never seen one of us huh? A European from the Old World. The way your land looks, little one, means your people live like savages. An uncivilized group.” Juan sneered, eyes leering. He bent down to pick America up and cradle him like the little child he was. America was too stunned to do anything other than let him be cuddled but the cuddle wasn't warm. It wasn't like Native's cuddles. Native's cuddles were warm and comforting. He knew he was safe from the world with Native's strong arms around him. This guy's cuddle was cold. Like a barren winter wasteland. There was no warmth in Juan's cuddle and at no time did he feel protected. America knew he had to do something.

The little child started writhing and wriggling around uttering little whiny noises. A kitten trying to get out of the bigger cat's grasp. Juan looked down and gave a patronizing smile.

“Oh, little one. You can't escape from me. You will help us bring new riches to Spain!” Juan started walking back to the ships where he would be able to gather his men. Catching young America was the first step (already completed) and the child could help them navigate the unknown lands and deal with the indigenous savages. This child would not grow up like them.

When they got to the ship, the soldiers automatically surrounded Juan ready to serve. One of the men noticed that Juan was carrying a bundle that was struggling to get out of his grip.

“What do you have there, Commander Ponce? A baby?” asked one of his men.

“There are people here? Asked another.

Juan looked at the man and scoured over the rest of soldiers and stated, “this is no ordinary baby. When I saw him, he showed too much intelligence and strength to be a regular human baby. This young one represents this new colony we have found here.”

Silence rung around the group. It was always interesting to the humans to hear about those special people. Most humans saw these “special beings” throughout their lives but always convinced themselves that it just had to be another person. Other humans knew better and believed in the nations especially if their late family has seen them in the past. Then there were high ranking humans that dealt with the nations on a regular basis. Subsequently, there were humans that did not necessarily believe Juan and those that did. No one dared to dissent or consent, though, to the commander.

“He will come back with us. It would be lovely to show the royal family that a newborn colony personification has been created. Vamanos!”

Juan led the way and headed towards the ship’s dock. His men followed after him.

Little America was scared. He started screaming and squirming in the conquistador's grasp. He did not want to go to wherever this man was taking him.

A squirmish had ensued between Juan and America. America was an abnormally strong country and, even was he little, he was able to play with the bison and swing them around just using his bare hands. America decided that he needed that strength now and started kicking and clawing and yelling out. Surprised by the burst of pure strength, Juan let go of the baby nation and America fell to the ground, shaken but unharmed. Juan, realizing that he needed to use force, grabbed his sword and quickly swung it at the child’s arm making a warning cut that went from America’s upper arm arm to lower arm.

America cried out from the pain not expecting the sword to come out. The blood was a small trickle (the cut was not that deep) and the blood was fresh and hot. Tears started rolling down America’s eyes and he looked up at his torturer with teary eyed fury. He was angry that this big guy that came from lands elsewhere had the gall to try to force him to go back with him. He wouldn’t allow himself to just be used as a toy to exploit.

Very swiftly, America grabbed onto the edge of the sword, new tears forming from the cuts it gave his hand, and yanked hard. The force of the yank was so much that Juan Ponce fell face forward onto the ground with a very grueling thud. He groaned and when he was finally able to lift his face, it was covered with dirt and grass. His head was pounding with pain from the fall.

America now in control of the sword, grabbed hold of the hilt and pointed it towards Juan.

“Leave now! I am not afraid to use this,” America shouted. His young voice was strong but not quite steady. It had a slight quiver to it that might have loosened the punch of America’s words.

Juan looked at his circumstances. He had lost against a baby! A little baby, not more than two years old, was now holding him at sword point. His pride was severely hurt. His men had just witnessed him lose against a child- not even a full grown nation! Oh, how he wanted revenge but he would have to bide his time. Juan, for once in his life, decided not to push his luck.

Staggering to his feet, Juan put his hands up and looked at the child.

“I will leave you now,” he stated. America just kept his gaze and held the sword at Juan’s face.

Slowly, walking backwards not daring to turn his back on the child, the great Juan Ponce de Leon was forced to retreat. He left behind his sword and finally turned his back when he got close to his men.

“Sir, are you okay?

“Si, head back to the ship and get it ready for sail. We have a lot to tell our superiors,” Juan ordered.

Looking back at America, who now had put the sword down, Juan vowed to come back and colonize this little nation. He would get his revenge and this little nation (no matter the strength) and the savages that live with him will not be able to withstand the army that he would yield.

He would, personally, make sure that this New World would be his.

#axis powers hetalia #aph america #fanfic #aph spain #aph native america #historical fiction

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tarithenurse · 6 years

Text

I see you - A Heimdal fanfic

Ch. 1 - From a distance

Pairing: eventually Heimdal x fem!reader Wordcount: 1041 Warning: questionable morale, mentions of former abuse

A/N: Decided to post it, just to get some sort of idea if ppl are interested. If not, then I won’t continue because there’s no need to spam you guys with stuff you don’t like. I got this idea that requires quite a bit of switching back and forth between PoV at first. Also, for once I’ve not written down the plotline, because this is the first time that I’m writing anything with Heimdal and I want to leave room for that char to develop without too many restrictions even if I know roughly how this is going to end.

A smile graced your face. A new city and a new job. How was it not supposed to be a stepping stone to a brand-new life too? This way, you could leave behind all the bad memories and rebuild yourself as you wanted to be. Happy. Not looking over your shoulder in fear of your ex. It had taken so long before you finally got away from him and his abuse, and you’d only succeeded because of your sister who coincidentally was the one that got you the contact here on New York leading to the dream job at the publisher.

Gone were the days of working three jobs just to stay out of home, despite the shitty pay and the little time it left for yourself. The job at the bookshop had been fun but offered to few hours and the pay had been below anything that was worth mentioning. At the veterinarian, you’d learned a lot when you had to help in bigger procedures or go along to the farmers’ to assist there, which was tough but fulfilling. Unfortunately, the work that gave the most hours was at the local bar, and as such it was the one job, you’d never been able to quit. As long as you dressed like a hoe and allowed some customers to get a bit handsy, you’d be guaranteed a nice, fat tip at the end of the shift. That’s where you’d found your boyfriend. He’d seemed amazing, but as soon as you moved together…he’d changed. Four years. That was how long it took before you finally admitted to someone else how bad things were. After that it only took a month and you were on your way to a better life.

When you finally arrived after hours in a cramped van and shitty motel rooms, you felt like a weight got lifted from your shoulders and chest, allowing the city-air to flow freely into your lungs as you stretched after the long ride. Yes, this was going to be your home and you knew you’d be safe.

…

The first time Heimdal laid eyes on her, it had been pure coincidence. Each day, his gaze fell on worlds and beings beyond count to ensure the safety of Asgard and its people. Such was the task of the Guardian of the Bifrost. He would stare and listen across time and space without hesitating unless something appeared to be of importance to his king, Odin. Heimdal had done the same that day, only to find his attention drawn back to the same Midgardian individual only seconds after his gaze had drifted by. Why? Among hundreds other, the young woman was walking through the green landscape of a vast park, everyone else confident of their place in the universe, all of them oblivious to the vastness beyond their reach…but unlike the men and women around her, this lady saw. She noticed the smile on the face of a child, the many yellow hues of the snapdragons, and the scurry of the ants crossing the path before her feet. None of the splendor in the universe had any worth, in Heimdal’s opinion, if you could not be amazed by the seemingly drab and inconsequential details. Studying her, the Asgardian found that her beauty laid not only in her appearance, but in the attentiveness to her surroundings which made her move like a soap bubble carried on a breeze. Although the task as the Bridge Keeper and Guard of Asgard required watching and listening to strangers, for once it felt like an invasion of the person’s privacy. Dragging his attention elsewhere, Heimdal fought to ignore the bright presence far away across the universe without truly being able to forget the Midgardian.

It became a routine, a habit, for Heimdal to find the woman once a day. Only for a few seconds, he swore to himself each time he studied the face with the lively [Y/E/C] eyes, or how her nose scrunched up by each new scent she encountered. Only a few seconds more, when she paused to listen to the faint trill from a bird. And so, seconds became a minute until guilt would force the Asgardian to look away into an infinity that seemed dreary without her radiance.

…

It had been another sunny day like the so many this month already. You’d taken a detour through the south-eastern corner of Central Park just to see how the little family of ducks were coming along in the Pond and to visit a particular beautiful Japanese Zelkova tree. Next time, you told yourself, you’d have to bring a book and sit there with the back against the wood and the sounds of the city reduced to a distant murmur. As you continued, the noise grew louder as a testament to the constant activity and millions of people who lived in New York. There was always something going on, and after almost three months of getting used to your new home, there’d still not been a single day where you discovered something new.

By the time you passed by the base of the Stark Tower, you saw a small plane land high above on a small pad built probably for that exact purpose, after all: the owner of the place had a thing for flying and making grand entrances whether it’d be in a suit, a helicopter or something else probably didn’t matter. In fact, you’d seen the billionaire fly in a few times already or his friends arrive in similar (though not quite as individually confined) ways. No one bats an eye at it anymore, and the only person who really seemed to care this time was an old guy with aviator sunglasses and a white moustache who was sitting outside a café. Pulling out a set of binoculars, he tried to straighten his back enough to aim the lenses at the platform. Glancing over your shoulder, you didn’t recognize the people up there, but even at this distance it was easy to tell that none of them was Iron Man.

You were almost at work, just past the Flatiron when it happened. It was the first sound, the one like electricity, that made the hairs on your arms and neck stand on end, but it was the one that followed that made you turn around to see. Nothing you knew could make that sound. Almost like a soap bubble rupturing in slow-motion, but the pop got drawn out to become a tear through which the sound escaped. Following the direction it had come from, you looked to the sky where a bright blue beam was creating a hole into the darkness off…you had to blink before you could believe it, but it was the infinity of space that lay beyond that breach in the sky.

Only a few people around you had noticed it too, however that changed when they started shouting of fear of what was appearing through the hole. They could only see the enormous, flying sea-snake-like monster and a scattered multitude of dots around it. You could see what the dots were, making your mind dig out memories from old history books about chariots used for warfare.

It’s an army. An invasion.

As you saw the horde fan out and dive between the buildings, you’d already started running back the way you’d come. Back towards the new sounds of explosions and screams that clawed at your eardrum although you were too far away still to help.

#I see you #fanfic #fanfiction #MCU #marvel #heimdal #heimdal x reader #Loki Laufeyson #Thor Odinson #Avengers #chapter 1 #I see you ch.1

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surveys-at-your-service · 6 years

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Survey #168

“i’ve wished for this, i’ve bitched at that, i’ve left behind this little fact: you cannot kill what you did not create.”

Which internet browser do you use? Chrome. Have you ever lived on a university campus? Nope. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? *The* ex, when I was going through old photos on my Mom's FB looking for something. Do you play any games on your phone? DragonVale and Pokemon GO. Have you ever shaved your face? Only above my lip every now and then to avoid that dreaded lady-stache. :') What color is your front door? White. What was the last vaccination you got? Couldn't tell ya. When was the last time you were at a party? A year ago. Did you ever get called horrible names like whore, skank, or bitch? The only two I can think of are bitch and martyr. Who’s your favorite rapper? And your favorite song by this favorite rapper? Eminem, "Love The Way You Lie" or "Space Bound." How about your favorite band? And your favorite song by this band? Gah you know the story, I'll just do Ozzy for this one. Hard to say. "See You On The Other Side" probably wins, but "Mama I'm Comin' Home" is on its heels. Has anyone ever made a promise to you that they’d change? Who? Juan, probably. What’s your television addiction? I don't watch TV of my own volition, but I'd be happy to watch The Good Doctor. Have you ever had any painful dental work done? If so, what? Nothing worse than just getting braces tightened. Is there anyone you’d like to apologize to? Dad again to his face about how wicked I was to him and am so thankful he forgave me. I just haven't because I want that in the past and I'd probably break down anyway. What was the last song you listened to that made you cry? Idk. Could you go a month without talking to your best friend? That's my gf, no, I'd lose my mind. Can you make yourself sneeze? No. Is there something that you haven’t told anyone that you actually would like to tell someone? Meh... I think it's better I don't. How has your style changed since you were in high school? Not really. What was the last new drink you discovered that was delicious? Dunno. What’s the most Lisa Frank-worthy article of clothing you own? Nothing, really. What color is the rim around your full-length mirror? Black. What is your favorite way your hair has ever looked? How it is now. What are five things you are good at? Interacting with animals, being there for people, writing I'd like to think, being a great beast mastery hunter in WoW like 1v1 me bro, and uhhhh panicking over the most minute things. What are five things you are bad at? COMMUNICATING, initiating conversation, arguing w/o crying, understanding finances/economics, and math. Do you enjoy drawing at all? I do, but I rarely do it because I'm way too critical and get annoyed. And fixing mistakes cleanly can be hard. I want a drawing tablet one day hopefully in the near future, because I feel like I'd be more motivated to do it. Quickly fix errors. What was the last thing you were frustrated with yourself about? Oh boy, idk. This is so common. Do you have unusual sleeping/waking hours? No. In your personal opinion, which hair color is the most beautiful? Probably blonde with some darker highlights I guess, if we're talking about natural colors. Actually, for girls, maybe red. How about eyes? Sapphire. Last sporting event you watched? Dance recital. Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? No. Are you skilled when it comes to working in the kitchen? HA no. Do you listen to music while driving? It has to be quiet or I can't concentrate. What’s your favorite style of jeans? (Skinny, boot cut, flare, etc) Skinny. Are you deathly allergic to anything? No. Who was the last person you had sex with? Or are you a virgin? Jason. Are you Italian? No. Would you ever go vegan? There's no way I could survive. Where’s the nearest GameStop near you? Like... 10-15 minutes? Have you had an argument with anyone recently and if so, do you still have issues with that person? Sara, but only because I said something stupid. No, I have zero issues with her. Who was the last person that asked to hang out with you and what’s the story of how you met that person? Colleen, girl scouts. Is there something you generally always ask for help with? Cleaning the animals' cages. Don't have anything to put them in so I hold them while Mom cleans it. Unfair to her, I know, but I can't do both and Mom doesn't seem to mind, plus she wouldn't hold any of them. Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? No. What was the last thing you took a video of? Teddy being a goof. Have you ever been somewhere where you didn’t fluently speak the local language? No. What is your least favorite kind of weather? Hot and humid like fuck off. Describe the 'look’ you did the last time you wore makeup. Uhhh mildly winged liner, black eyeshadow, black lips. If you got pregnant the 1st time you had sex, how old would the kid be now? I don't remember when it was 'cuz I've said before I didn't really. Realize it was sex until literally this year when I looked back on it. But anyway, six-ish. Have you ever polished and waxed your car? N/A As a kid, did you have any friends with parents who yelled a lot? Don't think so. What’s the biggest risk you’ve ever taken? ODing. Have you ever lived in a small community where everyone knew each other? No. What are some of your least favorite foods? BEANS, mushrooms, asparagus, brussel sprouts, cherries, nuts, etc. etc. etc. I'm picky as hell. Do you give your pets gifts and treats for their birthday/adoption day? Only Teddy 'cuz I actually know his rip. Has anyone ever set you up on a blind date? If so, how did it go? No. Do you believe your ex cares about you? The only ex I feel /sincerely/ does is Girt. What is the strangest type of candy you have eaten? Idk. What would be your most ideal profession? Meerkat biologist. What kind of rides do you enjoy the most at amusement parks? Kinds that don't make me fear vomiting. What is a topic you definitely don’t want to talk about with anyone? Weight. Where do you carry the things you need with you when leaving the house? Pocketbook. What’s the last thing you made with your hands? Uhhhh a drawing? Have you ever been physically or mentally abused? How did it affect you? No. Do you consider yourself a vengeful person? If so, why’d you think that is? Not in the least. Do you own any accessories with your name or initial on them? I have a "B" necklace somewhere from someone, but. Never wear it. Are you nervous/anxious, for any reason at all? Nah. For once. What was the last compliment you received from the opposite sex? Dad said I looked great when I got in the car to go to the theater. Have you ever been to an orchard? No. :c What are your plans for Halloween? I've no clue. :/ Do you plan on carving a pumpkin this year? Yeah. What’s your favorite Halloween movie? Hocus Pocus. What’s your favorite kind of apple? Red. Do you like to roast marshmallows? Yeah. If you have a job, who’s your closest friend at work? N/A When was the last time you stayed in a hotel? Where was it? Shit, not since a dance competition at the beach years ago. Have you ever gotten your nails done? Like twice because I was invited. Who was the last family member of yours that died? Idk. Who was your favorite president? Not educated enough on this. The last type of sandwich you made or ate: I believe ham, cheese, and mustard. The last time the weather was just the way you like it: Been a long time. The last time you apologized and the last time you received one: I dunno. I say "sorry" like obsessively, but a serious apology, idk. To me, either Mom or Sara. Do you have a smartphone or a dumb phone, or no phone? Smartphone. Do you own any tapestries, and if so, what’s on it/them? No. Have you ever made a collage for your bedroom wall? No. What types of churches do you find really boring? All of them. On what day is your local grocery store the busiest? I would guess the weekend? What day do you usually go grocery shopping? I don't, Mom does. She doesn't have a regular day. What devotional do you read, if any? None. What is your favorite color for cars? Burnt orange. Have you ever tried writing with the opposite hand? How good/bad was it? Yeah, not good. Do you prefer dark, brown or white chocolate? Milk/brown. Have you ever had a controlling boyfriend/girlfriend? No. Have you ever written a love letter to someone as a joke? That's fucking evil. No. How many true heart breaks have you had in your lifetime? One. Do you have any gay family members? Mom's cousin or something. Who was the last person to sleep over at your house? Sara. Would you ever get a boob job? I DON'T NEED ONE LIKE ONE OF THE THINGS I LOOK FORWARD TO MOST WITH LOSING WEIGHT IS NOT HAVING TRISHA PAYTAS TITS. Did your last relationship end because of you or the other person? Me. Have you ever tried to break up anyone because YOU liked the guy/girl? No. What would you think if you found out your ex was gay? My very first "boyfriend" I think actually is. I'd be stunned if Juan, Girt, and especially Jason came out, although Jason would make me fucking cackle. Boy could I say some shit about that. Would you ever take someone back if you found out they cheated on you? Nah son. Have you ever lied to your boyfriend/girlfriend? I've never told a serious lie, but I'm sure I've told like minuscule ones ("I'm fine," etc.) every now and again. Would you be upset if you caught your boyfriend looking at porn? Yup. Minority opinion, but. When was the last time you were on a city bus? Never. Do you have a garden? Does it have flowers, vegetables, or both? No. Have you ever burned an ant with a magnifying glass? No. Have you ever had an ant farm? Maybe? I had a lot of those little animal kit things as a kid, like frogs and butterflies. Have you ever had crabs, turtles, or lobsters? Hermit crabs. Briefly turtles. Has anyone ever told you you’re too young for something? No, I think? Maybe. What about for someone? No. How many times have you changed a diaper in your life? Literally once when it wasn't even dirty???? Why did I do that??????????? Has a younger person ever confided in you as an adult? Yeah. Have you ever felt responsible for someone’s death? No. Who knows your biggest secret and why did you tell them? No one. What’s your best memory with your ex? Aaron: group skating rink date. Juan: I'm not sure, probably making him play a Just Dance game with me lmao. Jason: That's like impossible to say with how long we were together. But a time that will always stand out for me is when we were playfighting, I came storming into the kitchen, big time slipped in the middle of "yelling," and he caught me and we laughed for like a full minute. Tyler: Nothing, really. Girt: He was reading a memento in Amnesia: A Machine For Pigs, and I'll say the writing is very unique, and he got to one sentence he read in THE most incredulous voice, and I spat my drink e v e r y w h e r e. I deadass laughed/cried for like ten minutes and still had outbursts afterwards. It was one of those "you had to be there" things. The last time you felt insulted/offended: Dunno. The last time you held a baby: Over a month ago when I had to hold Keegan for whatever reason. The last form you filled out: Something for my new doctor. The last video game you played: So here's a super weird fact about me; as a kid, I loved hunting games, all the while even then hating hunting for sport irl. Not a clue clue why. I recently got more "back" into gaming and I'm working on beating Dangerous Hunts again. What is your favorite type of cat? Persians. What religion were you raised in? Are you still that religion, if you had one? Roman Catholicism, and no. What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? Wiccan and Buddhism. What heritage does your last name imply? Scottish. Recently, what artists/bands have you been listening to a lot? Powerwolf, Mother Mother. Do you know any HTML coding? No. Has anyone ever called you rich? HA as if. What makes you feel beautiful? lol How many bathrooms are in your house? One. Last time you were on a plane and where did you go? March, Illinois. Hopping on one again tomorrow!! Are you considered a very sensitive person? Probably by those who know me well. I know I am. Have you ever told someone you never wanted to speak to them again? Dad, yeah. What is the worst name anyone has ever called you? Being called a martyr still hurts, and that was like two years ago. When was the last time you cried out loud in front of someone? Mom around a week ago or something. Have you ever been questioned by the police? No. Have you ever had to be put on medicine for a mental disorder? Yeah. What do you normally drink when eating at a restaurant? Mtn. Dew if Pepsi products, otherwise Coke. Have you ever been in a car accident? One. Are you currently in a happy relationship? YEAH!!!! Do you normally have nightmares or good dreams? Neither. Just weird. What if a friend asked you to go with her to get an abortion? OH WOW I AM *NOT* THE PERSON TO ASK. I really don't know. I've made my opinion on the subject pretty clear, and if the abortion wasn't for your own mental and/or physical health and rather you just not wanting to face the consequences of your actions, idk if I could go. Have you ever had a deep conversation with someone who was high on anything? No. Are you experiencing problems within a current friendship? No. Ever made yourself throw up? No, I fear vomiting too much to ever. Who of the opposite sex has seen you at your worst? Jason. When at a fast food place, do you usually order a small, medium, or large drink? Medium. Do you dip your pretzels in anything? No. When was the last time you started a new medication? Recently for knee pain. What is your favorite type of nut? None. Where did you eat the best pizza you’ve ever eaten in your life? Literally Domino's lmao. Do you know what year your parents married? No. Do you know anyone who was adopted? Yeah. Do you prefer loose leaf tea or teabags? You know my opinion on tea. What is your favorite place to get Chinese food? I dunno the name of the place Mom goes. Do you part your hair to the side? It's parted far to the left. Is winter your least favorite season? No, it's my second-favorite! Do you know someone who’s a stripper? No. Are you sitting in a spinning chair? No, I'm in bed. When’s the next time you’ll go to a haunted house? I've never been to a "real" one but would LOVE to. How old is too old to trick-or-treat? I really don't care. Honestly believe there's no magic age where it's no longer okay. I still would if not for societal expectations. Have you ever caught a firefly? Yes. Do you own any camouflage? No. What's the next really important thing you have to do? Get to my flight on time. Are you looking forward to anything? T O M O R R O W A P P R O A C H E S How late is too late for coffee for you? I don't drink coffee. Have you ever written or considered writing a play? No. How about a novel? If so, could you give us the synopsis of the plot? Yeah, as a kid. It was about a family of meerkats of different "breeds" (dragon, fire, ice, etc.) plagued by their king's brother as well as the prince finding love. That's all I remember of it. Who is considered the "black sheep" of your family? Why? Lol me. I'm just pretty different from like everyone with "problematic" traits. What's a color you hate? Puke green. What's an odor you hate? Old garbage. What's a sound you hate? Babies screaming omfg. What's something you'd never ever dare to ask another person? Hmmm. Probably if they've ever been raped or molested. What's something you've always wanted to ask someone but haven't dared? OKAY. So I coulda sworn one of my best high school friends was pregnant in middle school, before I talked to her at all. Then I believe I saw her with her baby once when we were in the gym for something. When we became friends, she never spoke of having a child and most certainly didn't look a bit like she'd had a baby. I never wanted to ask because you know the stigma of teen pregnancy. What is a song you cannot stand? Any country song where the singer has that godawful southern-as-hell twang. What's the worst/best thing you've done without your parents knowing? *shrugs* If you wear earrings, what does your favorite pair look like? Idk, I haven't looked at my earrings in a long time. Have you ever won any money from a scratch card? Like a dollar or so on the rare occasion my parents bought one. How about a slot machine? No. Do you like playing bingo? Sure. What's been the best thing you've found at a flea market? I love this little dragon figure I have. Oh, and my shipwreck lamp! Do you ever glance at people's butts? I'm a sucker for ass tbh okay. Like I'm not a dick that's gonna stare, but I'm guilty of glances, sure. What's something that catches your eye about other people? Their style. What's a random funny scene from a movie that has stuck with you? The first thing that came to my mind is from the Scooby movie where the girl introduces herself as Mary Jane and Shaggy goes, "That's, like, my favorite name" lmao. Oh, the things you miss as a kid. Are you one of those people who will not use a public washroom? I avoid it as much as possible. Have your parents ever disapproved of the person you're dating? No. What kind of things do you collect? Right now, just meerkat and Silent Hill stuff. YouTuber merch will happen when I can afford to buy it myself ha ha. Do you have a thing for body hair? No opinion. Not too into heavy back or chest hair, but still, don't really care. Is there anyone into you that you have no interest in? No clue if Girt still likes me, but if so, I don't reciprocate the feeling romantically. What's the longest you've slept for? Like 11 hours, maybe? Do your parents have a bad relationship with anyone? Not especially other than between each other. Were you raised by someone other than your parents? No. Do you prefer the color pink or blue? Pink. What's the last chore you did? Vacuumed. Have you ever had pet mice? Rats. What is your godmother's name? I don't think I have one. What's the last party you went to? A year ago at Summer's. Have you ever been to a jungle? No. What is your favorite jungle animal? Tigers! When did you first find yourself attracted to someone? I dunno. Elementary school. If you met a genie, what would you wish for? Financial stability, world peace, cure for Alzheimer's/dementia. Have you ever ran away from home? For like two hours or less. Is your father injured? No. He has a bad back, but. Would you be willing to die protecting your country? Like in the military or something? No. Have you ever dated someone from a different country? For less than a day. Are you part Native American? Not that I know of. What are your pets' names? Teddy, Bentley, Roman, Venus, Kaiju, and Mitsu. Do you like to go hunting? NONONONONONO. I'd have a hard time doing it even for survival. Have you ever worked two jobs? No. Who is the oldest sibling in your family? Katie. What are some of your happy thoughts? Being with Sara, imagining a positive future, remembering all I've endured and conquered, etc. etc. What's your favorite pattern for clothes? Plaid, I suppose? Do you ever wear fur? No. Who is the worst boss you've ever had? Why? N/A What are the names of the all the dogs you've ever owned? Trigger, Angel, Teddy, Dale, Delilah, Harley, Cali, and Bentley, I think. Where did you meet your current or last significant other? YouTube. When did you last ride a bike? Years ago. What did you last ask your parents permission for? Uhhh. I dunno. Oh, actually, I was thinking of spending a day with Dad, and I wanted to know if it would bother Mom. She said no, but I don't believe her. I didn't do it, though. Why were you in a waiting room the last time? Psychiatrist appointment yesterday. What's your lawyer's name? I don't have one. Do you own a lot of scarves? Do I even own any??? Would you ever get a face tattoo? No. What kind of car did you take your drivers test in? Haven't taken it. How much was the rent/mortgage at the cheapest place you’ve ever lived? I wouldn't know, I don't pay it. Who in life have you felt the strongest need to protect? Holy shit, Sara. What is the cruelest thing a person has ever said to you? Who even knows. What crime from history fascinates you most? No clue. Who do you think was the worst criminal in history? Maybe Saddam Hussein. Who has the weakest set of values in your family? Idk. What is the most disturbing sound you know of? Bones cracking. What's the shortest amount of time between orgasms you've ever experienced? N/A Which laws would you most like to change? Off the top of my head, we. Need. More. Gun. Fucking. Control. I'm not for a ban of firearms, but jfc, it's too easy to purchase a goddamn killing machine. What the oldest you'd like to live? 80, maybe? After that I can just imagine poor health that would really suck. Which sibling is or was favored most by your parents? I actually think it's me, tbh. Mom and I have an incredibly strong bond and have serious history, and Dad's and mine is very deep and definitely as a kid was the storybook father/daughter relationship, and now that we're reunited, I think we both cherish each other more. What's the biggest surprise you've ever had in bed? Waking up in the middle of the night to Jason groping my boobs. Who is the person you most wanted to have an affair with but didn't? I've never wanted that. Who have you most feared in your life? Dad. What would make you go insane the fastest? Losing Sara for the same reason as Jason. What was the quickest friendship you ever made? I'm not sure. What is your strongest reason for your opinion on abortion? I guess you have the right to be selfish if you're put at risk. You come first. What would you most like to hear from your father? He's proud of how far I've come. What one natural thing would you most like to see? Maybe a volcano erupt from a safe distance. What has been the single most important influence on your life? The breakup. What is the most worthy cause on earth? Seeing all life as equal and actually acting on that. Caring for one another. What would you most easily be driven to kill for? Sara's safety.

#survey #quiz #questions #random

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theliterateape · 2 years

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American Jobs—Cleaning Up Bars on a Graveyard Shift

by Don Hall

Waiting tables didn't take and, given I had a full class schedule on top of rehearsals for the multiple bands I was in, I needed to find either a well paying part-time gig or something on the graveyard shift.

A friend of a friend recommended a job working nights (midnight to 9:00a.m.) on a cleaning crew for a few of Wichita’s more prominent restaurant/bars. It paid well and it fit my schedule, so I bit.

I met the Chase at midnight at the same Chi-Chi's I had injured a child in. I walked in and he sized me up. He looked hard. You know the guy—pot belly as hard as a rock, a permanent five o’clock shadow, a shock of wiry hair poking out of a weathered ball cap.

He handed me a pair of enormous hard rubber gloves and we walked back to the kitchen. “Turn it on and power wash the place,” he growled as he passed over a thick black hose with a nozzle.

“Power wash?”

“The water is frigging hot as hell so don’t get it on you if you can help it. Spray everything. There are drains on the floor so don’t worry about that. They’re supposed to put away the pans and cooking stuff but if they didn’t...” and he grabbed the hose back, took aim at a metal bowl half-filled with dried up refried beans and cockroaches, and blasted it across the room. “...target practice.” And he cackled like he’d told a dirty joke about a whore and a priest.

It was then I noticed the cockroaches everywhere in this kitchen. Like bigger, dirtier ants in regiments marching from discarded chips and glops of guacamole, conquering these islands of food and streaming on to the next.

Target Practice.

There was a checklist hung up on the wall. The floors of the entire place. Carpets. Bathrooms. We didn’t do the windows but we did disinfect the surfaces and table tops.

He and I cleaned four bars that night. Chi-Chi's. Joe Kelly's Oyster Dock. Willie C's Cafe. Savute's Italian and Steaks. Each took us approximately two hours and it seemed like the places weren't that clean but Chase was in charge so I just did my best and moved through it. He handed me a weekly schedule on a greasy legal pad page. I never saw Chase again.

On my next scheduled shift, after a day of classes, rehearsals, and four hours of sleep, I met the crew. This time we started at Joe Kelly’s Oyster Dock. It was a fish place with a huge circular bar in the middle and a hard wood floor made with planks of aged wood. The crew was comprised of Duffy and Tim, both about a decade my senior.

Duffy wore lots of black camouflage. He had a dark blue Mohawk and had a fifteen inch knife strapped to his left leg. He rode a Japanese motorcycle and wore mirrored sunglasses even in the dim recesses of the restaurant. He also was a frothing Born Again Pentecostal Christian.

Tim was a classic burnout. Think Jeff Bridges in The Big Lewbowski but without the charm. He’d done a lot of drugs in his younger years and it showed in his perpetually stoned demeanor and vacant stares. That night, he told me his favorite job he’d ever had was as the manager of The Circle Cinema, Wichita’s since closed down porn theater. He loved that gig but got fired for being caught getting a hand job by a sixteen year old girl.

Now, being eighteen years young, I can’t say I was the brightest bulb in the lamp but my wattage outshone these two retards like a lighthouse lamp eclipses a Christmas Tree strand.

On the third week, Tim handed me a note from Chase. Scrawled in black pen and in all caps, it read: YOU ARE NOW THE CREW SUPERVISOR. EXTRA $3.00 HOUR. YOUR (sic) IN CHARGE. Neither Duffy nor Tim cared much. They weren’t big thinkers so having the college kid tell them what to clean and in what order wasn’t a problem.

Of the two, Duffy was the more focused. All I had to do was give him the order (“Do the floors, disinfect the bar, hit the kitchen.”) and aside from him jawing on and on about Jesus and Christian Rock all night, I never worried about him.

Tim, on the other hand, was like working with a child. Almost every night, I had to talk him through the order of cleaning the floors (“First sweep. Then vacuum. Then wet mop. Then dry mop. Then buff.”) The guy was just barely there on most nights and spent long smoke breaks at the bar in between each step. “Which one now?” he’d ask in between drags on his Winston Lights.

Neither of them would clean the bathrooms. Ever. That was the only area that my Supervisor authority ran dry. Any time I’d even suggest that Duffy do the bathrooms he’d go into a full-on rant/whine about it. Tim just ignored me when I’d task it to him. So, the bathrooms were almost always my domain.

Here’s a bit of knowledge to dole out. Drunk men are juvenile. They piss on stuff. They piss on the floor around the urinals. They piss on the toilet. They piss on full rolls of toilet paper. Like Storm Troopers in Star Wars, their aim is for shit.

Drunk women on the other side are monsters. Filthy and almost angry in the bathroom. Shit smeared on the walls. Used tampons stuck to the floor. Half-empty glasses left in the corners covered in lipstick. Half-eaten food on the sinks.

I don’t know if when half-cocked on Long Island Ice Teas, the longstanding rage at being paid less and treated like a pair of tits on legs seeps out like a poisonous sweat, but going into any women’s restroom after a Friday or Saturday night of business was like entering the threshold to hell.

I found my rhythm, working the grave yard shift and going classes during the day. I didn’t sleep much but I was eighteen and imbued with more energy than a weasel on crack so that never seemed a problem. Duffy and Tim were both odd founts of random knowledge and they’d tell me stories of women they’d been with, of other jobs they had, and conspiracy theories about Iran and Russia and mind control via the television.

There was the time Duffy spent an entire shift on target practice and grabbing crock ware bowls filled with roaches and microwaving them. There was the night Tim forgot about his cigarette and caught a vintage Coke sign on fire in Willy C’s Cafe.

It felt like I was living two lives. Each day surrounded by hopeful, enthusiastic, and highly dramatic college students. Lots of chatter, lots of noise. Each night it was as if I had transported to a movie about the dystopian end of mankind. In places reserved for social gatherings but deserted. No rules because there was no one to enforce them. Two guys working with me who seemed completely out of step with the rest of humanity yet still showing up and half-assing their way through life just the same.

The work became routine and, for some reason, the rote labor was a comfort. I didn't have to think about what I was doing so I had plenty of mental space to wander in my thoughts.

I recall one night both Duffy and Tim called out and I cleaned all four restaurants alone. It was work, for certain, but it was kind of bliss, too. I'd come in, turn on all the lights, crank the sound system to the local radio, and jam out in solitude.

After a few months, even the women's restrooms felt benign and expected. I was becoming accustomed to the disgusting nature of the job.

Then there was Walter.

Walter was a skinny-as-a-matchstick kid (actually he was five years older than me) with a pompadour haircut and out of his tiny body came the voice of James Earl Jones. It was a dissonance to hear him talk with this booming gravitas and then see the pipsqueak dude uttering the sound. He was also a fantastic actor. I knew Walter from my regular casting in Wichita’s Shakespeare in the Parks and, when he was looking for work, I hooked him up.

Now there were four of us and we could hit two bars at the same time. I always paired up Duffy and Tim because regardless of the work, Walter and I had grand, sweeping conversations about theater, art, movies, and music. We also both really like to prank each other.

Walter’s pranks came in the form of phone calls and plastic vomit. It was if he spent a lot of time at a Spencer’s Gifts and just couldn’t get enough. My pranks were mean. I was gifted my sense of humor from my grandfather who was known for tricking his son into believing he was deaf by talking to him for hours without making a sound and taught his grandson (me) to try to catch rocks with his head.

One night as I’m buffing the floor in one of the restaurants and Walter is on bathrooms, Walter came out from the women’s. His face was as pale as a sheet of paper and he looked mortified. I shut down the buffer.

“D-Don. I can’t. I mean, I just can’t...”

“What is it, dude? What’s going on?”

“There’s a...it’s in the toilet...there’s a fetus in the toilet...”

“A fetus? Like an aborted fetus?”

“Yeah...”

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure. I. I can't go back in there. I know I'm supposed to do the restrooms but...I can't, you know?"

“Oh, fuck. OK. Why don’t you buff and I’ll go check it out.”

The relief on his face was visceral.

Sure enough, when I took a look in the third stall, there was what appeared to be a curled up, pink fetus floating in the bowl. I was a bit horrified until I notice the tail. A long thin tail one might see on a...oh. Apparently, this rat had been in the sewer system and the water had gradually peeled off every strand of fur, leaving nothing less than a curled up, pink dead rat in the toilet.

And, yes. I’m a horrible asshole.

I’m a bastard because I put on my rubber gloves, picked the rat up by it’s tail, put it behind my back, and walked out to Walter. I feigned horror. I made my lower lip tremble. He shut off the buffer.

“Was it...?”

“Yeah. A fetus. A dead baby in the toilet.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“I think it’s a boy fetus. How about you CHECK!” and I hurled the rat at Walter. It hit him square on his skinny chest and he let out a high-pitched scream so alien to his deep vocal stylings that it created another sort of disconnect. He squealed a second time, like a tea kettle or an actress in a Jason Voorhees movie. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he dropped like a sack of flour onto the floor.

I laughed so hard I felt like I might go blind or have a stroke.

Walter quit that night. I cleaned the rest of the place myself. A week or so later, I caught up with him at Shakespeare rehearsal. I offered my apologies but a few others wanted to know why. And, in his booming voice, he told the tale of the fetus with epic flair and managed to recreate his screech to boot. When he was finished, we all applauded him and he took a bow.

I worked this crew for a full year before transferring schools to another state (better scholarship with a good high school friend in the marching band).

When I clocked out the final time, Tim and Duffy pulled me over to the Joe Kelly's bar. Tim reached over and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam. At 9:00a.m. the three of us drank to my future and their hope that the next supervisor was as easy as I was.

Like Chase, I never saw them again. I also never ate at a Chi-Chi's again in my life.

#graveyard shift #night janitor

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch

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How on Earth did we survive two years without new episodes of Netflix’s brilliant sketch comedy series I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson? The first batch of six episodes premiered on April 23 of 2019 and proved instantly iconic.

Contained within the season’s roughly two-dozen sketches was absolutely hilarious and essential comedy that provided ample memetic kindling for the internet’s conversational fire. For the focused enough mind, it’s entirely possible to communicate with one’s friends exclusively in I Think You Should Leave memes. Lord knows, I’ve tried it.

Thankfully, ITYSL season 2 has finally arrived on Netflix after its COVID-19 delay. It features 28 sketches that range from “pretty funny” to “I can’t stop laughing. Oh God, I can’t stop laughing. It hurts, surely this is the end. Surely, I will die.”

Check out our rankings below and then begin yelling at our chances like Spectrum is dropping your network.

28. Credit Card Roulette

If nothing else, Tim Robinson and I Think You Should Leave co-creator Zach Kanin are incredible comedy scouts. Through two seasons, the show’s sketches have been a who’s who of up-and-coming comedic talent, like the wonderful John Early who is featured in this sketch. Unfortunately Early is not served well by the material here, which doesn’t rise to the same ludicrous heights as season 2’s other sketches. The best moment is Early’s immediate resolve that he’s not paying the bill, but the sketch doesn’t go too far after that.

27. Dave’s Poop Double

The sketch that serves as the cold open of season 2’s final episode doesn’t get things off to the best start. The concept of Tim’s “Luka” hiring a guy who looks just like his coworker Dave to take monster shits every time he gets up is certainly fun but missing an important layer of added absurdity. Luka is probably the best name for any of Robinson’s random characters yet though.

26. Little Buff Boys Pt. 2

Season 2 features many more callbacks to previous sketches than the first season did. This followup to Little Buff Boys is the worst of the bunch but still quite funny. Perhaps the only thing more absurd than a Little Buff Boys competition is someone being proud of running “one of” the biggest LBB competitions in the Greater Cincinnati area. This sketch also passes up an easy Cincinnati Chili joke in favor of creating the truly vile “cherry chuck salad.”

25. Detective Crashmore Trailer

This trailer for action thriller Detective Crashmore is funny enough on its own but doesn’t reach another comedic level until the AOL Blast interview two sketches later. Still, I unironically want to see an action film with a lead character whose main quip is “Eat fucking bullets, you fuckers. You fucking suck. You fucking SUCK!”

24. I Should Have Got That

I Think You Should Leave deserves a big spread in AARP magazine. No other sketch show revels in the talents of older comedians quite like this one. After 81-year-old comedian Ruben Rabasa stole the show in season 1, season 2 ups the ante with many more sketches letting old folks shine. It’s Bob McDuff Wilson’s turn this time around and his child-like obsession with his student’s burger kills right up until the shockingly dark kicker.

23. Office Surfing

“I almost killed myself, Jullliieeeeee” is one of the best line-reads of the season. The sketch it’s built around isn’t too remarkable but man, does Robinson knock that one out of the park.

22. “No, I Don’t Know How to Drive”

This is a quickie but a goodie. Robinson’s characters break down in tears quite often this season and this is one of the better occasions. How far have Tim’s characters come – from reveling in the existence of four-wheeled motorcycles to looking at the inside of a car and weeping “I don’t know what any of this shit is and I’m fucking scared.”

21. The Capital Room

Speaking of top tier comedic talent, thank God Patti Harrison stopped by another season of I Think You Should Leave. This time around, we get two heaping doses of Patti. This one, the first of the two, is the inferior but still quite great. In the span of roughly 30 seconds, Harrison unveils the saga of a woman who A. Got sewn into the pants of the Thanksgiving Day parade Charlie Brown float, B. Hates all bald boys, C. Sued the city and won a fortune, D. Is now helplessly addicted to wine, and E. Is tragically self-aware that her money will run out soon.

20. But It’s Lunch

Just like last year’s opening sketch, “But It’s Lunch” (this is probably a good time to mention, that I’m naming all of these things myself. You could very easily call this the Hotdog sketch but that would confuse it with last year’s hotdog sketch) sets the perfect opening mood. The sight gag of Robinson’s Pat trying to stealthily eat a hotdog is wonderful, and the fact that things so quickly escalate to hotdog surgery and puke is just sublime.

19. Carber Hotdog Vacuum

The follow-up to “But It’s Lunch” occurs a full two episodes later and proves to be a hell of a pay-off. Robinson’s unnamed character (who is obviously Pat) very quickly reveals that there is one very specific reason he made this hotdog vacuum invention and you’ll never guess what it was. We all make mistakes. We shouldn’t be fired for them.

18. Insider Trading Trial (Stupid Hat)

This sketch somewhat mimics the experience of trying to explain what I Think You Should Leave is like to someone who has never seen it. “So, this guy took too small a slice of toilet paper…” or “…and then he has to have to have sex with his mother-in-law.” “Insider Trading” rotely describes the bizarre behaviors of one of Robinson’s deeply strange characters, Brian, as it’s being read into the court record. Brian and his stupid fedora with the safari flaps is in attendance to provide a visual aid. As are some hilarious flashbacks in which Brian attempts to roll the hat down his arm like Fred Astaire and instead encounters only wheelchair grease.

17. The Ice Cream Store is Closed Today

Before he was a criminal lawyer, Bob Odenkirk was one of the most legendary sketch writers of all time. It’s only fitting that he stop by ITYSL season 2 to provide his comedic blessing. Odenkirk is great from the get-go but this one doesn’t really get rolling until the end when Robinson finds himself truly immersed in the fictional life of this sad old man. “His wife’s sick but she’s gonna get better” is a shockingly emotional moment amid pure farce.

16. Barbie and the Blues Brothers

This is the sketch that climbed the most in my rankings upon a second viewing. What first seemed to be a waste of Conner O’Malley’s manic comedic energy became a semi-classic once I submitted to its strange vibes. I don’t even know what to call this one but Robinson’s character refusing to stop dancing as Barbie the dog melts down is hilarious. O’Malley is better served by last season’s “honk if you’re horny” sketch, still he gets some bangers in this time around like “She thinks he’s a whole new guy because of the glasses and the hat” and “it’s her house, she’s doing what’s right!” Robinson once again closes this nonsense out with some well-earned tears. “It’s just me, Barbie. I’m not the Blues Brothers.”

15. Jaime Taco (I Love My Wife)

“Jamie Taco” is a prime example of just how rapidly (and how well) I Think You Should Leave is able to veer into pure nonsensical genius. At the top, this sketch comes perilously close to making an actual statement about how men are too quick to pretend like their wives are horrible nags. This sketch, however, has its sights set on something much dumber…and therefore better. Our hero (played hilariously by Richard Jewell’s Paul Walter Hauser) loves his wife because she helped him through his darkest moment, which just so happens to be when snotty young actor Jamie Taco refused to let him say his Henchman lines in a play.

14. Comos Restaurant

All hail the return of the great Tim Heidecker! Heidecker, of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! fame, is one of the few comedians with a strange enough sensibility to be reasonably seen as an I Think You Should Leave forerunner. His season 1 turn as a walnut-obsessed jazz douche is a classic and this one reaches similar heights. This time, Heidecker’s character, Gary, and his lovely date, Janeane (Tracey Birdsall), have good reason to be annoyed by their date night at the sci-fi cosmos restaurant being interrupted by some hacky jokes. Of course, they use this opportunity to reveal that Jeannine’s mom used to drink puke for the Davy and Rascal radio show to pay for school supplies. It’s oddly refreshing to have a Heidecker character given a game partner and Gary and Janeane make one great team.

13. Detective Crashmore Interivew

While the Detective Crashmore trailer is the setup, this interview with AOL Blast is the punchline. Detective Crashmore is played by Santa Claus, because why not? Actor Biff Wiff’s gruff, nasally Midwestern timber is the perfect accent to accompany this lunacy. This is a Santa who in one breath demands to be taken seriously as an actor (Billy Bob Thornton-style) and in the next admits to seeing everyone in the world’s dick.

12. Sloppy Steaks (I Used to Be a Piece of Shit)

From here on out, it’s nothing but absolute homeruns. “Sloppy Steaks” could very well have been number one on this list and few would have batted an eye. The setup here is amazing as it gives Tim Robinson a reason to essentially have beef with a baby. The baby cries because he knows Robinson used to be a piece of shit. But don’t babies understand that people can change? That’s funny enough to begin with, but the real gut-busting moment here is the reveal of what “being a piece of shit” really means. In this case it means slicking one’s hair back and dousing the steaks at Truffoni’s with water to make sloppy steaks.

11. Johnny Carson Impersonator

Just a quick rundown for those who are confused…

Johnny Carson = Can Hit. George Kennedy = Can’t Hit. George Bush = Can’t Hit.

10. Driving School (Her Job is Tables)

This is the rare I Think You Should Leave sketch that actually provides an answer to all the lunacy. As Robinson’s character’s Driver’s Ed class watches Patti Harrison’s actress in some dated videos, they can’t help but wonder what she does for a living. “Tables,” Robinson answers over and over again. This would be funny enough on its own but the reveal that Harrison provides tables to Monster Cons is a rare and valuable moment of “Ohhhhh that’s why” for this show. Equally as valuable is Harrison, who really sells that those tables are her lifeblood.

9. Claire’s Ear-Piercings

One has to wonder how much time goes into choosing the perfect “order” for the sketches in I Think You Should Leave. Two seasons in a row now, the show has selected pitch perfect opening and closing sketches. This closing number is oddly melancholic as the Claire’s orientation video for girls who want to get their ears pierced somehow gives way to one 58-year-old man named Ron Tussbler’s existential dread. If we really get to see the “highlights” after we die, forcibly fake laughing every ten minutes to make the voyeuristic experience all the richer sounds like a good strategy and not sad at all. Hang in there, Ron.

8. Little Buff Boys Competition

What. A. Crop. It was a virtual certainty that ITYSL season 2 would feature a spiritual successor to the classic “Baby of the Year” sketch in season 1. Thank God “Little Buff Boys” is up to the challenge of replicating that magic. This one has all the right elements to be another hit: Sam Richardson (in a wig this time, no less), a grand pageant hall, and some precocious youths. Troll Boy also joins the canon of young ITYSL characters who everybody instinctively hates alongside Bart Harley Jarvis.

7. Tammy Craps

There’s something weirdly nefarious about this commercial for a poisonous doll that doesn’t have farts in her head anymore. It’s a criticism of late stage capitalism crossed with the cursed nature of the Annabelle movies…while not being like either of those things at all. In reality, this is just another absurdist concept sprung from the terrifying inner depths of the writing staff’s mind. It also happens to be a particularly great one. The girl weighing her clothes down with rocks so she can hit the magical 60-pound threshold to safely play with Tammy Craps is one of the best gags of the season.

6. Karl Havoc

“Little Buff Boys Competition” and another upcoming sketch are likely to produce the lion’s share of memes and quotes from this season of ITYSL. But the one quote that’s stuck in my mind most aggressively comes from this hilarious episode 1 clip. The sight of Robinson’s Carmine Laguzio posing as the dead-faced freakshow Karl Havoc and muttering “I don’t want to be around anymore” is quite simply one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed. This is a marvelous, unnerving, utterly hilarious sketch. That there are somehow five better sketches speaks to how strong this season is.

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5. Dan Flashes Pt. 1 (Office)

I Think You Should Leave is now two for two in introducing the most cutting edge items in men’s fashion. Season 1 featured the arrival of the highly practical TC Tugger shirt. Now season 2 ups the ante with the stylish Dan Flashes. This sketch succeeds because it takes a simple question “Why is Mike laying down during a business meeting?” and divines the most outlandish answer possible. Mike isn’t eating because he’s spending all his money on Dan Flashes shirts.

4. Dan Flashes Pt. 2 (Hotel Menu)

It’s one thing to introduce a hilarious concept, it’s another thing entirely to put it into practice. This second entry into the Dan Flashes canon is amazing. Back in part 1, it seemed as though the intricate patterns on the Dan Flashes shirts have a hypnotic effect on men who look exactly like Tim Robinson. Seeing the reality of that – pasty men battling one another to get their credit cards to the cashier before the other – is truly hilarious stuff.

3. Coffin Flop

This is the second sketch of the entire season…the second! And holy shit, does it set a strong precedent for what’s to come. This impassioned message from the Corncob TV CEO for Spectrum to save his network and its precisely one television program is a masterclass in shock humor. Watching body after body busting out of shit wood somehow never loses its grim luster. Somehow, in a sketch that features dozens of naked corpses flopping to the ground unexpectedly, it’s Robinson’s monologue that hits the hardest. “This world is so fucked up. And people are mad at me because I showed a bunch of naked dead bodies with their spread blue butts flying out of boxes? Really?”

2. Calico Cut Pants

Every episode of I Think You Should Leave season 2 features five sketches save for episode 4 which has only three. And that’s because episode 4 is dominated by a near 10-minute epic called “Calico Cut Pants.” In many ways, Calico Cut Pants is the platonic ideal of an ITYSL sketch. It takes place in a nightmarish world where every bizarre action only leads to an even more bizarre reaction. Nothing ever cools down. There is always something stranger on the horizon.

In this instance, Mike O’Brien (longtime SNL writer and the creator of the terminally underrated comedy A.P. Bio) plays an office drone who enters into a living hell merely because his co-worker helps him out of a mildly annoying social jam. Robinson’s character introduces him to a website that advertises pants with piss stains on them. That’s all well and good but once you know about Calicocutpants.com you Always. Have. To. Give. It’s like PBS, but more demonic. This remarkable sketch includes everything that’s great about this show, right down to characters with inexplicable idiosyncrasies like Tim Robinson’s adamance that doors must always be held open for him.

1. Ghost Tour

The funniest moment in ITYSL season 2 (and maybe the funniest moment in the history of the world) occurs in this sketch. Tim Robinson’s character has been admonished for his potty mouth during a ghost tour over and over again. The tour guide even said he’s ruining his job. But this poor man sincerely cannot understand why he’s in trouble. This is a tour for adults and he’s following the rules by using adult language. Like any good Robinson character, he truly believes that he’s the sane one and it’s the rest of the world that’s taking crazy pills.

So in his darkest moment, the man musters up his strength through tears and delivers the following query:

“Not trying to be funny. Not trying to get a laugh. I don’t want anybody to have the worst day at their job. But. Do any of these….fuckers….ever blast out of the wall and have, like a huge cum shot?”

Cue: riotous, damn near apocalyptic laughter. What a treasure and blessing this whole show is.

I Think You Should Leave season 2 is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch appeared first on Den of Geek.

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