except as i said the cat should have been hiding under the table and crying


Fic Request: 
“Could you do one where the reader is marks younger sister [ like 7-8] except when she’s busy in her room dark comes out and comes in her room and she sees him and she forces him to play tea party ?” 

Originally posted by lum1natrix

He was free of that wretched whelp’s clutches. 
Dark rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he sighed free air. 
Mark was clawing at the insides of his head, pulling on the restraints that Dark had placed on the imbecile’s conscious. 
He’ll no doubt get free, Dark will give the worm enough credit in his attempts to gain control. 
But Mark wouldn’t be quick enough. Dark had time to do as he pleased. 
So, where should he begin his day? 
Somewhere in the house, there was a gentle giggle. Dark’s head snapped towards the sound. 
Mark bellowed inside his mind. His voice muffled by Dark’s influence. 
“Interesting,” Dark said as he started towards the noise. “What are you hiding, Mark? Is there something you don’t want me to see?” 
Another small laugh radiated through the house, leading Dark to a room adorn with stuffed toys and brightly colored walls. 
Confusion raked Dark’s mind. Wait, this wasn’t Mark’s house. Where the hell was he?
A little head looked up at Dark from the middle of the room. A small girl was seated by a tiny set of chairs and a table. In those chairs were various stuffed toys, that each had small plates with plastic food on them. 
“Mark!” The girl yelled excitedly. “Come join the tea-party!” 
Dark’s mind whirled. Who was this….imp? 
The girl got up and ran to Dark, grabbing his hand and yanking him into the room. 
Dark felt his other half stiffen in his mind. Fear taking over Mark’s conscious as the girl smiled up at the entity. 
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” She exclaimed cheerfully. 
“What is fun about pretend tea?” That was the only thought that emerged from Dark’s mind. He was just as confused about himself as Mark was. 
The girl giggled, “It’s always fun! You can have has much cake and tea as you want.” 
But then the girl frowned slightly, “Do you prefer coffee?” 
Dark blinked. Why was this goblin still clutching his hand? 
Why wasn’t he doing anything about this goblin clutching his hand?!

Her name is (Y/N)! Mark yelled, his anger giving him enough strength to talk clearly.
The girl, (Y/N), released his hand and looked up at him with wide, worried eyes. 
“Is everything ok?” She asked and Dark felt something twitched in his chest. 
“Uhh, everything is fine.” He found himself saying. “Do you mind telling me where I am?” 
“You’re at Mum’s house, silly.” (Y/N) replied. “Babysitting,” Her voice became bitter at the word and Dark chuckled. 
“Ahh, I understand now.” He said, grinning. “Say, how fast can you run?” 
Mark made a ruckus in Dark’s mind, but the entity shut him out. Smiling warmly as (Y/N) shrugged. “Well, how about we play a game of hide and seek-tag? Where you hide, I find you and have to chase you?” 
It has been a while since he was in any sort of cat-and-mouse game. Dark found the thought very appealing. The child screaming, running as he- 
“No, we’re playing tea-party!” (Y/N) said stubbornly. 
Dark raised as eyebrow, crouching so he was somewhat at eye-level with the dwarf. 
“Oh? And what if I want to play something else?” Dark challenged. 
“Well you can’t,” The girl spat bitterly. “You’re playing with me!” 
Before Dark could utter another word, (Y/N) stomped to her side of the table and plopped down on the carpet. 
She crossed her arms and waited for Dark to move. The entity growled quietly, he didn’t have time for this. 
You’re not going to win, Mark chuckled. That girl can get the whole family to sit and play tea-party with her. When she wants something, she gets it. 

But Dark refused to be pushed around by a child. He stood to his full height, glaring down at the girl with black eyes.
“Like it or not, imp, I’m not going to play tea with your toys.” Dark growled, keeping his voice steady. “Now, get your ass outside before I loose my temper.”
(Y/N) poked her tongue at the entity. “You’re not the boss of me, Mark!”
Dark’s skin bristled and his fists curled into balls.
“I’m not Mark, you filthy rat!” Dark spat.
The girl recoiled under his anger, “M-Mark, what-what happened to your eyes?”
Dark faltered. His anger diminishing as he stared down at the trembling form of the child. Tears were forming and her bottom lip quivered.
Now look what you did! Mark yelled. You made her cry you fuck! I don’t expect much from you, Dark. But you could at least have the decency to not terrify a child! 
Dark grumbled, looking over at the small mirror on the girl’s wall. His eyes were completely black and a slight red glow rimmed his body.
Sighing, he calmed his anger and returned his body to normal. Taking a slow step forward, he sat by the girl’s table.
“I prefer coffee over tea,” Dark said quietly.
(Y/N) sniffled, wiping her tears away and nodding. After a moment, her terror seemed to vanish and her smile was broad, not smug or victorious, just gleefully excited. 
Dark watched as the girl pretended to pour tea into each of the tiny plastic cups around the table. 
She grinned up at Dark, “Do you want biscuits or cake with your coffee?”
Dark’s mind was whirling. Was he seriously sitting at a child’s table being asked if he wanted a fake treat? 
Just accept it and move on, Mark snapped. It’ll be over soon and you can do what you like. Just don’t hurt her. 
“Biscuit,” Dark muttered irritably and (Y/N) placed a plastic biscuit on the plate by his “coffee”. 
“Drink up!” (Y/N) said with a wide smile. She lifted her cup to her lips and pretended to sip on the drink. 
Dark took the tiny saucer and cup in his hand. The small objects sat in the palm of his hand, and when he brought the rim of the cup to his lips, he was sure he’d accidentally swallow it.

Just so you know, I’m never going to let this down. Mark said in his head.  
And Dark softly growled a warning, ignoring the confused gaze from the little goblin opposite him

Eight Days A Week (a Yuri!! On Ice nanny au)

okay but a nanny!AU where Viktor has somehow acquired a bushel of children and needs a nanny to help care for his screaming brood - enter Yuuri, freshly retired from what he thinks was a failed figure skating career, and in desperate need of money to help pay off his student loans.

(it’s also on AO3)


Yuuri’s nervous – it’s his very first meeting at the nanny agency and he has no idea how he’s gong to pull any of this off, when Viktor Nikiforov, the world’s best figure skater (ret.), walks in. Yuuri nearly has a heart attack, but his excitement and energy quickly vanishes when he realizes that Viktor, who stood on the podium with Yuuri at Worlds two years before (for Yuuri’s first and only World medal, a bronze) doesn’t recognize him at all.

By the time Yuuri takes this in (wondering why he thought Viktor would even remember a washed-up nobody like him, anyway), a weary, weary Viktor is telling him that the longest a nanny has lasted with Viktor’s kids is a week, and the last one left after three hours, recommending that Viktor hire an exorcist instead of childcare help.

Yuuri, whose hurt feelings won’t pay the rent, swallows his crushed dreams and accepts the job.

(He tells all this to his roommate Phichit that night. “Wow,” Phichit says. “Your life sucks.”)

The next day, he goes to Viktor’s house and the door is opened by a tiny blond ball of rage, who promptly kicks Yuuri in the shin and runs off.

“That’s Yuri,” says a young boy lurking behind the hall stand inside. “He’s three. He hates you.”

“What about you?” Yuuri asks, favoring one leg.

The boy considers. “I’m Otabek. I’m five. I hate you too.”

Viktor comes up, removes the cricket bat from Otabek’s hands, and brings Yuuri inside. “The children didn’t want to come meet you,” Viktor says in way of explanation as they go into the large house. “I can usually find them.”

They discover Sara and Michele (twins, Viktor tells him, and six) in the kitchen, eating crackers under the table. Jean-Jacques (seven) is climbing a bookcase in the library. Mila (nine) is reading a book in front of the television, with the dog Makkachin at her feet. It takes a while to find the last two, Georgi and Chris, both twelve, but Viktor finally locates them sitting on the garage roof. Georgi has a guitar and Chris has a water gun, which he promptly uses to squirt Yuuri in the face.

“There they are,” Viktor says.

Yuuri takes off his glasses to dry them. He’s a little shell-shocked. “Eight children.”

“Yes.” Viktor hesitates. “I have to go. Are you staying?”

Yuuri puts his glasses back on. “Um, sure?”

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Let’s tell another story where Voldemort, snippets of prophecy in hand, went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters–

Neville Longbottom didn’t do magic until he was nearly eight (and even then it was just bouncing down the stairs after he had tripped), but his grandmother beamed proudly all the same. 

“Used up eight years of it slaying dark wizards,” she told her other society ladies over tea. 

But Neville, in any ‘verse, was not a stupid boy. When people praised him for things that weren’t his fault, he knew better than to believe they were looking at him. Overlooking the stammering, pudgy kid in the corner isn’t that much different from seeing the scar and not the boy. 

His grandmother smiled at him and Neville gulped, tried to will magic into being, because one day she would expect him to be done recuperating from his toddling heroism. 

This was a Neville who stepped onto Platform 9 ¾ with all eyes on him– the Remerberall clutched tight in one sweaty fist, the sleek black cat his uncle had bought him under the other arm. He did not ask for Hufflepuff, even though he wanted to, because he was supposed to be brave. 

Let’s tell this story: if Voldemort went after the Longbottoms, then the Lestranges went after the Potters. 

Peter still betrayed James and Lily to enemy hands. Sirius still chased him down and laughed when he was arrested on the blasted-apart street. Both of these boys were still raised by families that did not know how to love them. Just the scar exchanged hands. 

Except– I wonder if old Dumbledore would have made Harry go to the Dursleys then, or if that particular condemnation was only for the Boy Who Lived, who needed blood protection. Would Harry get to go to Lupin? Or maybe one of the Order members with a more stable income– Andromeda Tonks, maybe, who already had her own little girl to raise, and who despite all the complications did miss having siblings around. 

Little Nymphadora, who even then demanded to be called Tonks, turned her hair every color and let baby Harry tug on it. Harry grew up loved, in this world, but he still grew up lost. He still studied his reflection like meeting his eyes might mean meeting someone else’s. 

Harry still grew up knowing how to use a telephone, spent Christmases with Muggle grandparents. Andromeda went toe to toe with Dumbledore when she disagreed with him; “If I am to raise this boy, then I am going to. I won’t be your nanny, Albus. I don’t care what half a prophecy this boy once was. I don’t care if you glower. I’m a mother and I am a Black and you can think twice before you think about trying to frighten me.”

Ted told Harry and Tonks the story of Goldilocks (he turned his Metamorphmagus nose to a bear snout whenever appropriate), and Andromeda told them about the Deathly Hollows. 

“Which brother is the baby bear?” asked Tonks, not yet old enough for Hogwarts, a literary critic’s light in her eyes. “Which one is just right?”

When Harry went to St. Mungo’s, clinging to Andromeda’s steady hand, tugging on Lupin’s robe, Lily never quite met her son’s eyes. James stole bottle caps and played catch with shaking hands, tried to sneak them out into Harry’s pockets, grin skittering. 

“I think he thinks they’re snitches,” Lupin said. Harry was eight before he learned his father and Lupin were childhood friends. He was surprised. He’d always thought Lupin was much much older. 

In this world, on the Great Hall stone, there was a boy in the crowd named Ron who would be a Gryffindor, because every Weasley always was; there was a boy named Draco who would be a Slytherin, before the Hat had even barely touched his head. 

In this world, there was a boy in the crowd who would be a Hufflepuff, because his big sister was the best thing in the world and Nymphadora Tonks wore yellow on her sleeve. 

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Title: Tempest

One Shot

Author: so-small-so-annoying

Original Imagine: Imagine Loki cuddling up to you and trying to distract you with sweet kisses during a thunderstorm, as you are scared of them.

Rating: G

Notes/Warnings: This was drawn primarily from my own experiences with thunder storms when I was younger. I’ve outgrown the fear of them since then except when they get really, really bad, so I tried to pull on the memories of what it was like on those really bad nights lying awake during a thunderstorm. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. :) 

It was late…really, really late. And you were tired. So why couldn’t the sky just take a damn break? It had been storming for the past four hours straight, with only minor breaks, and not even decent breaks. The kind of breaks that make you think it’s over and then it starts up all over again. You’d done everything you could think of to block out the raging thunder and the flashes of lightning. You’d put in headphones first, trying to drown out the sound, but then your iPod had died and there was no power in the house, so there went charging the damn thing. You’d found some wax earplugs and tried those, but that didn’t keep out the lightning, or stop the house from shaking every time thunder decided to rock the ground. You’d had your head under the blankets, under a pillow, but that was only great if you didn’t mind suffocating instead.

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