Oh my god or a number 13. Sorry I got excited when I saw it
This was so much fun to write! It’s more lighthearted than the other two but hopefully still enjoyable. If you like reading about dad!Newt than you should enjoy this. Also, it’s longer than the other two so that’s good! I have three requests lined up but I’d love some more so feel free to shoot me an ask or a message. Cheers, May.
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Newt was a great mother to his creatures. They loved him, growing attachments to the unusual human who cared for them. That’s why you weren’t worried about Newt being a father to your baby. In fact, you were thrilled when you found out you were pregnant.
Newt was happy with the announcement too. The two of you had been married for around a year and having a child seemed to be the next step. But under his excitement was fear. He was going to be a father. He was going to have an actual child. A child of his own. He tried to hide his worry from you but you easily saw through his facade.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” you whispered into his ear as the two of you lay cuddled up to each other on your couch.
“Hmm,” he moaned soothingly, playing with a strand of your hair and twirling it in his fingers.
“I’m serious,” You sat up and Newt whined at the lack of closeness between the two of you. “You’ve already had practice with your creatures and you’ve done a wonderful job.”
He nodded his head in agreement but only because he knew giving in would be the only way to bring your head back to his chest. You gave him a stern gaze before laying back down on him. He tried to believe what you said. He really did. But, to him, being the mother to his creatures was completely different than being a father to his actual child. For one thing, the creatures he cared for were independent. They knew how to care for themselves for the most part. Their lives didn’t depend on him to be a good parent. His child’s life would be completely and utterly dependant on the two of you. You were the ones who brought him into the world and you were in charge of protecting him until he could protect himself.
Newt managed to hide his fear from you for the rest of your pregnancy and one day in April, you welcomed your son, Jacob, into the world. Newt immediately fell in love with the little bundle. Everything about Jacob seemed perfect to Newt which didn’t help ease his fear.
Newt avoided being alone with Jacob as much as possible. He loved being around his son but it was much better when someone else was there too. Someone to make sure he didn’t mess anything up. The occasional times it was just father and son, things went by smoothly and without any mishaps though this didn’t calm Newt’s fear at all.
One day when Jacob was almost a year old, you had to go into the city for a meeting and Newt was left alone with your son. Things started off fine as they usually did. Newt read the child stories and watched as he played with his beast figurines, never daring to take his eyes off the precious creature.
Jacob was still too young to say anything comprehensible but Newt loved the little sounds and coos he made as he played. He sat on the floor next to Jacob, gazing in admiration at the little boy who had become the center of his life.
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing in the kitchen. You were a muggleborn and had insisted on having a phone in your apartment so you could communicate with your family but it ended up being used a lot between you and Newt. Thinking it was you, he hurried into the kitchen answering the phone. It turned out to be Queenie, asking if they would be home the following week when she came to England for a visit.
After a quick confirmation, Newt hung up the phone and rushed back to where he had left Jacob. But Jacob wasn’t there. He felt panic rising in his chest and flooding his body as he frantically scanned the room for any sign of his son. He tore apart the room, looking behind furniture and calling Jacob’s name repeatedly. But Jacob simply wasn’t there. He searched the whole flat but there was still no sign of the child. The only place he didn’t bother checking was his case. It was locked up and Jacob was too young to know how to get it open.
“I’m home!” Newt heard you call from the front door and he froze at the thought of having to explain the situation. “Hey darling.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before looking around the room. “Where’s Jacob?”
“Um…I lost our baby.” Newt blurted out and then the rest of the story followed quickly. He explained about the phone call and coming back to find Jacob gone. “I’ve searched the whole house. He’s not anywhere.”
“It’s going to be okay.” You placed a gentle hand on Newt’s arm. “We can’t panic. We know he can’t have left the house because all the doors and windows are locked. He’s got to be here somewhere.”
The two of you split up, each taking a portion of the house to search. Newt ran his hands through his hair in shame, heart pounding rapidly in his chest. You tried not to let your worry show. You knew Newt was tearing himself up over the situation and you knew your panic would make him feel worse.
You turned into the bedroom you shared with Newt and searched the room, looking under the bed and in the closet. That was when you noticed Newt’s case sitting next to your bed, the top slightly open. You felt hope soar through you as you opened the case all the way and descended into the room below.
“Jacob!” you called. You heard a faint giggling that sounded familiar. You knew immediately it was Jacob. You took off in that direction and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him. He was sitting on the ground next to the bowtruckles’ home. They had gathered around the young boy and he laughed as they crawled around on him.
“Jacob,” you sighed breathlessly, scooping up the cause of your panic. “Thank god.” You pressed him tight to your body, kissing the top of his head. “Newt! I’ve found him! I’m in the case!”
You could hear stomping and frantic breathing and Newt came running towards you. His face broke into an expression of relief when he was your son securely held in your arms. He shakily moved to the two of you, engulfing you both in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered shamefully. “I failed as a father.”
“Don’t say that,” you said sharply. “You haven’t failed anything. You’re not the first father in the world to lose track of his son.”
Newt smiled gratefully at you. What had he done to deserve such a forgiving and loving wife? He was constantly amazed that you had even agreed to marry him. You saw the look of love on his face and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his lips. He responded, softly moving his mouth against yours. The moment was ruined when Jacob began to squirm in your arms. You both turned your attention to him to see him pointing at the bowtruckles. “Twuckles!” he giggled.
“Very good!” Newt smiled encouragingly. “Those are bowtruckles.”
“Like father like son.” You rolled your eyes and Newt shot you a grin. “You should take him down here more often!”
“Only if his mother joins us,” he responded cheekily and you smiled despite yourself.
I hope this high school AU fluffiness is to your liking! Happy Valentine’s Day <3
Because That’s Love
Derek hated carrots. Derek hated a lot of things Stiles liked. But none of that stopped Mr. Popularity from asking Stiles out.
Stiles had originally thought it was a joke, becoming another punch line of another joke for the popular crowd to laugh at. So, Stiles may have panicked and practically ran away from Derek when he approached him in the hallway while Scott was invested in staring longingly at Kira as she spoke with Allison and Lydia.
Derek was left in the hallway to stare after Stiles, a slightly confused and bewildered look falling over his features. He looked at Scott for a helpful hint, getting nothing more than a confused look before Scott realized what happened and ran after Stiles. However, he didn’t give up.
Derek had always been a bit of an attention whore when it came to showing off. He did backflips to the cheers of the crowd when warming up before a basketball game. He flashed a charming smile when running for class president, beating Lydia Martin by only a few votes—which didn’t matter because Derek and Lydia entered into a pact to being each other’s vice president, despite the results. He helped to arrange a drive for charity by having rallying the basketball team into posing for a calendar—all classy photos, PG enough for the PTA and school board to not petition.
In short, sitting down next to Stiles at lunch wasn’t that big of a deal to Derek. Derek offered a nod to the others, registering that he wasn’t a threat.
For nearly a decade, Greece has struggled under suffocating debt, which now totals more than 300 billion euros ($338 billion), or nearly double its annual economic output. Waves of austerity measures to satisfy creditors have inflicted great suffering: More than a quarter of Greeks are unemployed, and vital services, like health care and transportation, are running as bare-bones operations. The economy is in recession, and there is virtually no way Greece can dig itself out of such a deep hole.
Last week, Greece’s Parliament dutifully passed a fresh round of austerity measures, including tax increases and new cuts to pensions. Yet, Greece’s creditors met in Brussels on Monday and shamefully failed to agree on terms that would permit the release of 7 billion euros in bailout funds needed by July to keep Greece from defaulting.
Much of the blame goes to Wolfgang Schäuble, Germany’s finance minister and a member of Chancellor Angela Merkel’s Christian Democrats party. Mr. Schäuble opposes debt relief for Greece — as do many German voters, who will head to the polls in September.
No one could ever possibly know how many times Dean had pictured this moment. Not even Sam, who over the course of the past few months, had developed a Pavlovian response to say, “We’ll get him back, Dean,” every time Dean so much as looked in his direction.
But Sam couldn’t possibly know. He couldn’t know how much Dean had mulled over all the times, real and imagined, that he’d let Cas down. All the ways he’d planned on making it up to him, if and when they ever got him back again. All the things he’d say, all the confessions he’d make.
But now? Now that Cas was in the car with him, safe and sound (well, apart from the little matter of the world being about to end), gleefully devil free, and most importantly, without of an audience, Dean couldn’t think of a single goddamned thing to say. Now how was that for a cruel irony?
Dean had taken every precaution. He’d even guzzled a few beers to loosen his nerves a little, before taking Cas out to buy more liquor (that they already had plenty of to begin with).
But nothing helped. The words he’d rehearsed so carefully, straight out of one of those chick flicks Dean secretly loved so dearly, had evacuated his mind.
Now all he was left with was a blank whiteboard for a brain, the seemingly unattainable object of his affections in the passengers’ seat, and a droning silence full of things left unsaid.
Dean had never been so frustrated in his life. He had to say something, dammit, or one of them was going to explode again.
Taking a shallow breath, he prepared himself to speak, unsure as to what would come out when he did.
Their conversation was…anticlimactic. It wasn’t disastrous – if anything, it was their version of small talk, full of references of recent satanic possessions and whatnot.
As it progressed, Dean fumbled towards what he’d wanted to say all along, but it danced maddeningly out of his reach, taunting him with his own inadequacy. Everything he said seemed to come out just a little off the mark.
*You’ve been there since the beginning, Cas. You’ve stood by me at my worst and my cruelest, and never complained once.*
That’s what he was THINKING, anyway. What came out instead was, “But you’re always there, y’know?”
*Nice going, Winchester,* Dean thought grimly. *Making him sound like a goddamn stray cat now.*
This was ridiculous. He’d waited months for this moment, and now he was chickening out? Dean gathered his nerves to say something, three little words he’d wanted to say for years now.
Then, something happened. Memories flooded him, like his life flashing before his eyes, only worse. Memories of times with Cas. The best ones and the worst ones, the ones that reminded him why he could never, ever have him.
He remembered the years of frustration he’d felt in Cas’s presence, angry that the angel stirred up feelings and desires in him he’d worked so hard to repress. He was more attracted to Cas than to any woman he’d ever been with – hell, he couldn’t even get himself off anymore without Cas invading his thoughts – and it made him angry.
He remembered how many times he’d taken that anger out on Cas, putting him down and snapping at him, and not even knowing he was doing it till later.
He remembered purgatory, those long nights he’d spent cuddled up against him (“For warmth,” he’d claimed). Benny, the uncomfortable third wheel, had thankfully replied, “I’m fine over here, thanks,” when Cas had suggested he join them.
He remembered telling Cas to leave the bunker when he was at his most vulnerable, and the long nights that had followed, spent staring at the ceiling and wondering if he’d made the right choice, wondering where Cas was, if he was alright, if he was anywhere resembling happy.
He remembered that night after Cas’s disastrous would-be date – one that Dean was secretly shamefully glad had failed – when he’d confessed to Dean that he had no place to say. Dean had felt awful. But as much as he’d wanted to bring him back to the bunker with him right then and there, Dean knew (or at the time, thought he knew) he couldn’t. Not without risking Sam’s life to do it.
So, Dean did the next best thing. He got him the Honeymoon Suite at a local hotel. Or, more accurately, he’d gotten THEM the Honeymoon Suite at a local hotel.
When Dean had crawled into bed with him, shirtless and just slightly tipsy from the hotel’s minibar, he’d thought he was doing him a favor, giving him some good experience with sex after that bitch of a reaper exploited him just weeks prior.
Oh, it had ended up being so much more than that.
Dean remembered the way Cas had looked up at him then: with such pure reverence, like he was looking at something sacred, and Dean had felt as though he could have drowned in those crystalline blue eyes. He remembered the way Cas had smelled: usually, he smelled faintly like lightning, but at the time, he smelled like cheap aftershave and a slight musk that made Dean feel oddly feral. He remembered how soft and warm and human he’d been, and selfishly, Dean had wanted him to stay that way forever.
To date, it may have been the best night he’d ever spent. So good that it took days for the guilt to catch up with him.
It was bad enough that Cas was a guy (or at least, something that looked like one) and after that day when he was sixteen years old, and John had caught him with that boy from school, well. Sufficed to say it wasn’t an experience he’d ever wanted to repeat.
But to his surprise, Dean was angry at himself for a different reason entirely: moral outrage.
How dare he use Cas like that? How dare he use someone at such a vulnerable point in their lives? Especially, Dean thought grimly, after HE’D been the one to put him there to begin with.
So, Dean did what he was best at: he pretended it never happened. And Cas, by default, followed suit. That night was never talked about, never mentioned. The only difference between them was the fact that the awkward sexual tension they’d always shared had grown thick enough to cut with a butter knife, and even that Dean managed to ignore.
It had been three years since that night, and Dean had just about convinced himself that it was nothing more than another wet dream.
The point was, Dean had had his shot to be with Cas. And he’d missed it. And by the looks of things, he’d probably hurt Cas with it, too, though of course, that had never been his intention.
Of course, there were other things, too – for instance, he’d beat him within an inch of his life less than a year ago, and Mark of Cain or not, Dean knew he’d never quite forgive himself for that.
Bottom line was, Dean was now certain he didn’t deserve Cas. And Cas surely deserved better than someone like Dean.
What he needed more than that, Dean decided, was a family. A brother. And that was something he was sure he COULD give him.
“You’re our brother, Cas,” Dean concluded. “I want you to know that.”
Not sure if I’m putting this coherently, but I think we all also need a little bit of hope, or at least a galvanising call to action. Apathy and negativity is draining. So…I don’t see a point perpetuating the idea that ‘no one cares about Aleppo’, when people do care- people care enough that organisations are doing work to help, which we can donate to, to support. I’m specifically talking about people not in Syria, particularly Westerners with regards to this. I do think the int’l community has failed shamefully in Syria but it’s not a situation where literallyno one cares. I understand doing the ‘no one cares thing’ if there has really been almost no media coverage or any NGOs working to help, but it’s not true in this case. Many news organisations are reporting the situation; I follow the BBC and they’re liveblogging the ongoing evacuation.
Making posts just about how ‘no one cares’, idk, doesn’t it become harmful beyond a certain point, if it reinforces the apathy? By giving impression there is nothing we can do because even if we care nobody else does? I don’t think that’s helpful. Wallowing in this kind of guilt and cynicism is a waste (and a luxury we have that the refugees don’t) when small as it might be, we can do our part by donating, contacting our government representatives or spreading awareness about what’s going on. The situation there is awful, but if what we do helps at least one more person, that is going to mean the whole world to that person. In our position, we have to think ‘yes, we can help’.
Yesterday my eleven year old son telephoned me from Karachi and said “Do not come back with a document of surrender. We do not want to see you back in Pakistan if you do that.” I will not take back a document of surrender from the Security Council. I will not be a party to the legalisation of aggression. The Security Council has failed miserably, shamefully…For four days we have been deliberating here. For four days the Security Council has procrastinated…So what if the whole of East Pakistan falls? So what if the whole of West Pakistan falls? So what if our state is obliterated? We will build a new Pakistan. We will build a better Pakistan. We will build a greater Pakistan…I find it disgraceful to my person and to my country to remain here a moment longer than is necessary. I am not boycotting. Impose any decision, have a treaty worse than the Treaty of Versailles, legalise aggression, legalise occupation, legalise everything that has been illegal up to 15 December 1971. I will not be a party to it. We will fight; we will go back and fight. My country beckons me. Why should I waste my time here in the Security Council? I will not be a party to the ignominious surrender of a part of my country. You can take your Security Council. Here you are. (Ripping papers) I am going.
Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s historic speech in the UN Security Council, 1971