mr crouch

5

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Chapter Seventeen: The Four Champions

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

8

GIFSET REQUEST MEME | myflawslaidoutonebyone asked → harry potter + favourite character

» You know, house-elves get a very raw deal! It’s slavery, that’s what it is! That Mr Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he’s got her bewitched so she can’t even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn’t anyone do something about it?

Happy Uncle’s Day

A mother’s day fic of sorts.

A/N- This is part of my Uncle Sam and MJ series. It should make sense if you haven’t read the other parts.

Uncle Sam and MJ Masterlist

Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my future works


Sam and Dean were working a case close to home for once and had to interview a witness in town. Unable to bring MJ with them, they decided to leave her at children’s time at the library. She went most weeks already as it was, Sam encouraged Dean that it was important for her to spend time with kids her own age.

“Remember,” Dean said as he dropped his daughter off, “behave yourself and I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up.”

“Okay Daddy!” MJ gave her dad a big hug and waved bye as he left before going to join the other kids.

“Hey guys,” Mrs. Jacks, the librarian said. “As most of you probably know, this weekend is Mother’s Day, so today we’re going to make Mother’s Day cards.”

MJ watched as all the kids around her got excited to make their mom’s cards. MJ frowned, she didn’t have a mom to make a card. As their other kids started to work on their masterpieces MJ just sat there, sad that she couldn’t make one.

“What’s wrong MJ?” Mrs. Jacks asked, crouching down next to the upset toddler.

“I don’t have a mommy to make a card for.” The older woman gave her a small smile and laid a comforting hand on her back.

“Well, maybe you could make a card for someone else, to thank them for taking care of you like a mom does.”

MJ frowned again, “I don’t know what a mom does.”

“Well, moms take care of their kids. They love them, protect them, they feed them. They worry about and care for their children. They take care of you when you’re sick, they worry about you and they give great hugs. Do you know anybody that does that for you?”

MJ’s face lit up, “My Daddy and Uncle Sam do all those things for me. They’re the bestest.”

“Well then, why don’t you make one or both of them a card.”

MJ though hard, “Well, why don’t I make Uncle Sam one. Next month we’ll celebrate Daddy day, so this time we can celebrate Uncle’s Day!”

Mrs. Jacks smiled down at her, “Well it looks like you’ve got some work to do. I’ll leave you to it.”

MJ set to work immediately, making the best card for Uncle’s Day. She couldn’t wait to tell her dad her plans.

Dean knew as soon as he picked his daughter up that she was up to something. She was grinning ear to ear and bouncing excitedly in one place. He waited to see if she’d say anything and she didn’t until they were buckled up and on their way back to the bunker.

“Daddy?”

“Yes munchkin.”

“This weekend is Mother’s Day.” Dean sighed and looked back to his daughter, surprised to see that she didn’t appear all that sad, “We made cards at the library today, but since I don’t have a mom I made one for Uncle Sammy. Uncle Sammy takes care of me just like you and since next month is Father’s Day I thought maybe we could celebrate Uncle’s Day this weekend instead of Mother’s Day.”

Dean was a little shocked. He expected the five-year old to be a little more upset, but

Instead of being down and out she was coming up with something new to celebrate. Something that fit their little family perfectly. Here she was surprising him once again with how mature she was, which was probably more Sam’s influence than his own, “I think Uncle Day sounds great MJ. I’m sure Uncle Sam will be very honored.”

And Dean knew he would be. Sam adored his niece and Dean knew this would mean the world to him.

MJ went all out. Uncle’s Day was a very big deal in the five-year olds book and this being the first, it had to set the bar high.

Unlike Dean’s birthday, getting up early and surprising him wasn’t an option; Sam got up way too early. She painted a large banner which she had Dean hang in the library while Sam was distracted with breakfast in the kitchen. MJ skipped into the room, as her Uncle was putting out breakfast, she stood patiently waiting for him to finish. Sam turned around to find this niece behind him staring up at him expectantly, “Hey sweetheart.”

A whole grin broke across her face, “Hi Uncle Sammy!”

The tall man crouched down to her level, “What’s up?”

She pulled her arms out from behind her back and held out a card to him. Sam took it confused, and was even more lost when he saw Happy Uncle’s Day messily written across the top, “Whats this?”

“Happy Uncle’s Day. Today is actually Mother’s Day, but since I don’t have one I’m making it Uncle’s Day because you take care of me like a mommy or daddy. I love you Uncle Sammy.”

Sam felt tears stinging his eyes, this mean more to him they he knew how to say. He pulled his niece in for a hug, “I love you too kiddo.”

“Ya know, I think it’s very fitting, Sam’s got the mommy hair, nice and long.” Dean teased from the doorway, getting identical glares from his brother and daughter. Dean raised his hands in mock surrender.

Later that night after MJ went to bed, the brothers sat in the library enjoying a beer, a permanent smile still gracing Sam’s face. Dean held his beer up, “Well, Happy Uncle’s Day Sammy. I couldn’t have done any of this without.”

“Thanks man, but you do it all. She’s your daughter.”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I meant it. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You’ve helped me raise her since the start. You get just as much credit as I do and I think we’ve done a pretty damn good job.”

Sam raised his beer to his brothers, “She’s is pretty amazing.”



tags: @27bmm @exploratiionist @iamflanneltrash @fabulouslycassie @winchesters-favorite-girl @wordstothewisereaders @jesstherebel @mogaruke @percussiongirl2017 @captainemwinchester @rosie-winchester @generalgoldfishldrm @sassyspn67 @aiaranradnay @spn67-sister

harry potter challenge ϟ 3/3 wizarding families: crouch

“Father, I didn’t! I didn’t, I swear it, Father, don’t send me back to the Dementors… No! Mother, no! I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t know! Don’t send me there, don’t let him! I’m your son! I’m your son!”

"Who do you want to be?"

*inspired by a tweet that I came across last night showing something that ksoo wrote in BWCW😁*


“Okay, kids. You can all go home if your guardians are already here to pick you up,” Yixing dismissed his students as the bell rang. His eyes landed on Kyungsoo who meticulously packs his things back into his Pororo bag and remembered that he wanted to ask him something.“Kyungsoo-yah, can you come here, please?”

5 year-old Do Kyungsoo wondered why Mr. Zhang called for him. It is going home time, right? He looked up confusedly on his teacher and saw him smiling. It looks like he won’t be scolded. Seems like Chanyeol kept his promise to not tell on him pulling on Chanyeol’s ear.

It was his fault for teasing Kyungsoo, anyway.

The toddler left his bag on his seat and obeyed his teacher. Mr. Zhang crouched down and kneeled in front of him so they can talk face to face. He smiled at Kyungsoo again and the kid giggled cutely.

“Is there something wrong, Kyungsoo-yah?”

“Sorry, Mr. Zhang. Your cheek gets a deep hole when you smile! Yeollie has one too. He looks funny! ”

Chuckling, Yixing ruffled his student’s hair playfully. “It’s called a dimple, Kyungsoo-yah. Do I look funny to you?”

“No, Mr. Zhang! You are handsome! Just like Nini.”

Then, Yixing remembered.

“Actually, Kyungsoo-yah, I called you because I have a few questions about your answers to our activity yesterday.”

Kyungsoo’s face fell and his lips pushed out in a pout. “Did Kyungie answer wrong, Mr. Zhang?”

“No! No, you didn’t, Kyungsoo. I’m just curious.”

Kyungsoo tilted his head to the right, his eyes widening a little bit more than normal. Yixing pulls out Kyungsoo’s worksheet from his desk and laid it in between them. He pointed on the first question and asked, “Who is Jjangu, Kyungsoo-yah. Why do you wanna be like him?”

“Oh!” Kyungsoo clapped his little hands and his chubby cheeks were pushed up because of the big smile he has on. “Jjangu is Nini’s dog, Mr. Zhang. And I want to be like him because he makes Nini smile always! He gets to play with Nini always! Kyungie wants to make Nini smile and play with him always too, Mr. Zhang.”

Amused at the confirmation of his suspicion, Yixing reached for his treat stash and took two cookies and gave them to Kyungsoo. The toddler’s smile grew bigger as he received the cookies with two hands.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhang but Kyungie can only eat one,” he pouts slightly. “Eomma says Kyungie can only have one cookie a day.”

“You give the other one to your best friend and eat it together. I’m sure he likes cookies.”

In fact, Yixing knows because he has seen Kim Jongin, or Nini, go thru a pack when his brother, Yixing’s best friend, invites him over to their home.

“Yes, he does!” Kyungsoo exclaimed in excitement. “Nini likes cookies but he said he likes Kyungie the most!”

“Okay, okay. You can go now and meet Nini to give him his cookie,” Kyungsoo rushed tonhis seat right away to get his bag but went back to bow and say his goodbye to his teacher.

Yixing gets up from the floor and picked up Kyungsoo’s worksheet where the answer to the question “Who is your favorite person?” is ‘Nini❤’.

He hopes Mr. and Mrs. Do aren’t the jealous type.

the weasleys: percy weasley

“Enjoying it? I don’t reckon he’d come home if Dad didn’t make him. He’s obsessed. Just don’t get him on the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch…as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion… Mr. Crouch was telling me… They’ll be announcing their engagement any day now.”

French Study Session

“Y-Yeah I-I do.” Luke utters, his voice sounding out of breath as you smirk at him, your hands quickly slipping from his biceps to reach and grab his hands, sliding from your thighs and brushing them up to your chest. His large hands grasping your breasts as you keep on rolling your hips on his.

Originally posted by fivesosgif

Words: 5000+

Request: No

Rating: R


You felt tears begin to well in the hollow of your eyes, your cheeks heating up as you felt your ears begin to ring, the room felt smaller as you swallowed shallow breaths while looking at the thin sheet of paper in front of you. Your eyes falling amongst all the red scribbles on the paper, including the corrections of words and obvious x’s to were you got the question wrong. You felt so defeated.

You couldn’t stop looking at the paper in front of you. You always tried to be the best you could possibly be, always going over and beyond on assignments and doing so fantastically well on tests that you don’t understand how it just went down hill all of a sudden, especially in French, you are so good in it.

“I am very disappointed.” Your French teacher, Mrs. Addison, says and you can feel her eyes on you but it takes everything in you not to look back up at her with tears on the verge of spilling over your lids.

“I-I just don’t know, I don’t understand.” You say while bringing your hands off of the desk and carding them through your hair, a frustrated sigh falling from your lips as you continue to read over every red pen correction.

“Neither do I, your always so good.” Mrs. Addison says, crouching down to level with you, which causes you to bury your head deeper into the desk, trying not to make your French teacher see you cry over such a low mark. “I can’t believe it.” You say, shaking your head and closing your eyes, swallowing the ache in your throat that you always get whenever you’re on the verge of tears.

“Y/N don’t worry, I’m sure that you’ll do good on the next test, just like the rest.” She says, rubbing her hand up and down your back, the sound of her watch clashing against her skin and your back causes you to sigh before you nod your head.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll just try extra hard next time.” You state, peeling your eyes open and staring up at your teacher, her effortless smile set out on her lips before she stands and begins walking around the narrow classroom and chats with a bunch of students.

Your shoulders immediately slump as your chin drops low, you’re back to staring at the failed test in front of you as another sigh rolls out of your mouth, you just wish that you could’ve done so much better.

“Why do you look so sad?” Jocelyn questions, her voice not holding any sympathy what so ever as she smacks down on her bubble gum obscenely.

“I’m sad because I just failed one of my French test.” You say, your head tearing away from the desk and staring in front of you to see Jocelyn sitting with her body sat upon her desk as her feet drum against her seat, making you roll your eyes at her childish position.

“Calm down, the world isn’t ending,” Jocelyn says, this time it’s her turn to roll her eyes. Making you watch her with annoyance before your lips turn into a frown. “I know, I know, it’s just that I really like to do good and I just don’t understand what I did wrong.” You imply, your hands finally tearing away from your hair to rest along your jawline, your head in your hands.

“You don’t need to understand, it’s not like it’s going to be on the next test.” Jocelyn says while taking one of her hands off of her lap and bringing it to shove strands of her unruly curly chocolate her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah but it’s going to be on the exam.” You state while looking up at her with a rised eyebrow, which only receives you the exact same look.

“Fuck the exam, let’s go out for pizza instead.” Jocelyn says before her thin lips break out into a devilsh grin, a laugh falling from your lips before you look up at the clock and see it’s time to go. Your hands slipping the red marked up paper into your binder before standing and grabbing everything else.

“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t want to turn out like you.” You say while tucking your chair into the desk and looking at Jocelyn with a smirk as she hops off hers and begins to walk to the door way filled with your classmates.

“Hey, you’re getting there bugger,” She remarks while smiling, making you turn around and push her towards the door instead of her walking in front of you.

“So you going out to lunch with Levi again?” You ask her as you guys begin to walk down the hallway, the sound of Jocelyn’s sneakers hitting the floor can barley be heard with all the slamming of lockers and jingling of keys.

“Yeah, so I’ll catch you later.” Jocelyn says while smiling at you, her body trailing to her locker which is down the hall. “Yeah, see you later.” You utter before you turn down the hallway when you don’t see Jocelyn’s brown hair anymore.

You walked down your hallway with ease as the sound of laughter and sneakers kept on filling your ears before you even reached your locker was when everything begin to clear out and people started to make their way downstairs for lunch.

You opened up your locker and stuffed your binder on the top shelf before you tossed your pencil case on the one before it. You turned around to look at yourself in the small mirror that was stuck to your locker, checking yourself to see if your hair was still in place, no mascara running, no lip gloss smudge, and nothing stuck in your teeth. With all of those checked off your list you quickly spritz a little bit of perfume on to your chest before placing it back into your school bag.

“Hey Y/N,” A blond boy says just as you shut your locker, causing a gasp to fall from your lips and jump in the air slightly, a relieved sigh falling from your lips when you realize who it is.

“Hi Luke, can you please not do that to me ever again.” You say urgently while turning towards him, a small smile spreading on his lips as he just nods his head. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, thought you knew I was here.” He says while running his eyes over your face to see if you’re still shaken up, his smile growing wider when he sees that you’ve calm down.

“Nope I didn’t know about it.” You state, pushing away from your locker and beginning to walk down the other side of the hallway, Luke walking quickly next to you before letting a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“You sure do walk fast for a girl that is short,” He says, his lanky self nearly consuming you as you turn down the end of your hallway and begin to make your way to the stairs.

“Thanks for the compliment,” You say while turning to give him a serious look, causing his cheeks to heat up before you stop in your tracks, Luke stopping also to see what’s up. “Why are you following me around, what do you want?” You question while looking him up and down, his usual pair of skinny jeans cling to his skin as a black and white striped shirt is loosely hanging off his shoulders.

And you know that you are coming off rude, it actually is surpising you on how much of a bitch that you’re acting towards him since you’re never like this towards Luke ever.

Luke has always been a sweet guy towards you after you became friends with him in French class, always telling you jokes when you look bored out of your mind or writing on your desk, you at sometimes, just to piss you off; but even whenever that happened you never acted like a bitch towards him and you never even thought the test would have this much of an impact on you.

“Oh, I saw your test and I was wondering if you wanted me to help you go over it with you.” Luke says while peeling his left hand away from his hips and rubbing behind his neck, looking at you with squinted eyes as you look back at him with a rised eyebrow, your left foot laced in your black Converse tapping the tiled floor as your other foot stayed planted to the ground.

“And why would I need your help?” You inquire, staring Luke down as he now stands in front of you with wide eyes and cheeks growing even deeper in colour.

“I was only suggesting because I heard you talking to Jocelyn about it and I thought I could help you, but it’s okay, I understand.” Luke says while nodding his head, his legs beginning to carry his body towards the flight of stairs. You know that your acting like a bitch and Luke is a really sweet guy, way too good for this world, way too good for you to be acting out on him for just a test that you failed on.

“Luke wait, yeah, can you go over it with me. Teach me where I went wrong.” You say while trailing down the first few steps to meet up with Luke, a surpise look in his eyes as he looks at you bewildered before answering.

“Uh, yeah, definitely.” Luke says, smiling at you with his gorgous smile before nodding his head proudly, making you laugh lightly before looking up at him through your lashes painted with mascara.

“So come to my house at seven! Sounds good?” You declare watching Luke nod his head before rocking on his heels.

“Seven o'clock, sounds great.”

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Injury for this one! (Please tell me I’m not the only one hella shook from that season finale.)

It had been two days since Jughead accidentally slipped down a few steps in the Andrews’ house when neither Archie nor Mr. Andrews were home. His foot had twisted uncomfortably with the fall, but he figured he could walk it off. He was wrong, severely wrong.

Since the fall, his foot had swollen to triple its size. He could hardly slide his boot over it, but he would force it over the swelling anyway with a sharp wince. When he was alone, he would examine the blues and blacks painted over his pale skin with furrowed brows. He would ghost his fingers above the injury, and the heat that rolled off from his foot was concerning.

His mind supplied a simple ‘hospital,’ but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the necessary funds to pay a visit to the hospital, and there was no way in hell he would ask Archie or Mr. Andrews. He was already burdening the two enough as it was; he had no intentions of adding to that.

Jughead took pride in his ability to hide ailments; however, hiding his foot injury was becoming increasingly difficult. By the fifth day, the pain was unbearable, and it took every ounce of his willpower to not walk with a limp. Taking the stairs multiple times a day was going to be the death of him, and he was just in the middle of contemplating an excuse that would support his decision to sleep on the couch for a while when Archie accidentally backed up and stepped on his injured foot while they were in the kitchen for breakfast.

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Prompt: “I really liked imagine being rescued from an exploding starship and it’s sequel. Anyway we can get prequel… Please please!!!” -Anon

Word Count: 2,543

Author’s Note: It was really fun revisiting this story, as it was one of the originals that I wrote without a prompt. Really glad I got to explore this! Enjoy everyone!

Part 1  Part 2

NaNoWriMo Word Count: 28,389

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I Hate You - Hook Imagine

Rating: G

Warning: you being slammed into ship walls, Killian almost dead, and a special guest appearance with Ursula!

Summary: Requested by @imaginereadingimagines You and Hook have always argued about everything from the direction the ship sailed to the escape plans from each port. You hate him with every ounce of your being. At least, that is, until one escape plan doesn’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1066


“Just because you paid me does not mean I will not throw you off this ship!”

“Not if I do it to you first!”

The entire crew groaned. Ever since you, the infamous thief made a deal with Captain Hook, there was rarely a moment of peace. Everyone knew you wouldn’t leave, though. You were wanted in many kingdoms and realms, and the Jolly Roger was the only ship that wouldn’t turn you in. Captain Hook benefited as well. He split the treasures that you stole with you, allowing him to get the items he needed to ‘exact revenge on the crocodile.

Suddenly, the door to the Captain’s Quarters swung open. You emerged and stomped your way below deck.

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

“Watch me, pirate!” You rolled your eyes, thankful that he wasn’t following you. Even though the annoyance of pirate was gone, your blood was still boiling. You clenched your fists. You kicked a nearby pole. 

You regretted it.

You winced at the pain and lifted your foot off the ground. Kicking the pole was not a good idea. 

“You, (Y/n), did the Cap’n say where we headed?”

You turned around and grinned. “We’re headed to Misthaven, Mr. Smee.”

“Misthaven? Isn’t that the one where the queen died, king died, and the princess-”

“Murdered someone. Yeah, that’s it. But the girl’s stepmother is not one great person either. I hear some other bandit is there, too. Steals from rich and gives to peasant.”

Mr. Smee shook his head. “Doesn’t seem safe to me? What’s so important there anyway?”

You shrugged. “That’s actually what we were arguing about. Misthaven is full of people with nothing! And he insists that we stay there? It’s completely ridiculous. And he will get caught!” You caught yourself. “He get everyone on this ship caught!” You stared at Mr. Smee. “Admit it, even you’re wanted somewhere.”

He nodded. “Yea. Wasn’t a good day for me.”

Suddenly, the ship swerved. You and Mr. Smee were thrown to the side of the ship. You grunted, holding your side. “Smee? You ok?”

“I’m fine!”

You examined your surroundings. You hurried to the deck, Smee tagging along. You held on to a mast. The boat rocked violently. The water on the floor made you slip a couple of times. When the boat seemed to steady, you went to the wheel where the captain was. “What the hell is going on, Killian?”

The floor tilted again. You held on to the wheel t make sure you were not flung to the ship’s side again.

“I got it under control, (Y/n)!” he yelled, trying to steady the ship. “Now let go!”

Suddenly, something rose from the water. 

You gasped. “Killian! I think that sea goddess that hated you is back!”

She was beautiful and powerful. She had the body of an octopus with green scales and amazingly long tentacles. She climbed on board. Many pirates took out their weapons, but she easily got rid of them.

“Oh Captain,” she called, cackling. “Did you forget about me?”

You growled. She had no right to torment those people, especially your crew. You licked your lips.“I’m gonna help them,” you said. You ran to the crew members and helped them to their feet. You tried formulating a plan to defeat the sea witch. 

“(Y/n)!” he yelled, reaching for you. But, once he let go of the wheel, the ship rocked to one side. Captain Hook went back to the wheel and steadied the ship. 

You had a sword in hand, ready to strike her in the chest

Suddenly, the sea goddess struck him with something dark. 

You gasped as Killian fell tot eh deck floor, eyes closed. You screamed. The sword clattered to the ground. You flew over there and helped him. You sat down and placed his head in your lap. You pushed his hair away from his face. “Killian, you idiot,” you whispered. The ship shook violently again as the witch sauntered away.

“Hey!” you shouted. “Come back here! Bring him back!”

The octopus turned her head. “Oh, well, I can’t. You see, that was a sleeping curse.” She cackled. “Good luck trying, Dear!” The enemy crawled back into the sea. 

You felt a tightening in your lungs, like a heavy ton was placed on your chest. You grit your teeth. “I hate you so much right now,” you muttered. “You have to wake up. Please?”

The entire crew approached you. They all asked questions about what exactly happened. You didn’t answer them. 

Mr Smee crouched down and patted your shoulder. He took off his beanie and held it to his chest.

“There has to be someone out there. Smee, who loved him?”

Smee shook his head. “No. There isn’t.” Mr. Smee gazed at you. You were so desperate. You looked at Killian with tears in your eyes. 

Then, the deckhand suddenly had an idea. “(Y/n), kiss him.”

“What?” you sneered. “No! I can’t be his true love!”

“It makes sense,” Smee argued. “You two may argue, but you care about each other. You really do.”

You shook your head. “You’d have to be crazy to believe that.”

“Who else is crazy then?” Smee asked.

Every single crew member raised his hand. One stepped forward and added, “Lady (Y/n), if you don’t try, he’ll sleep forever.”

You sighed. You clenched your jaw. “If this doesn’t work, no share of my treasure next trip!” You leaned in close. You closed your eyes, trying to hold on to the hope that it’ll work. You twisted your head and crashed your lips onto his. 

A pulse of magic emanated from the kiss, and all of a sudden, a hand was cradling your cheek. You smiled and kissed Hook again, holding the hand on your cheek.

The entire crew cheered, but neither you or Killian cared. Killian kissed you harder. He might’ve bruised your lips, but you didn’t care. You may have hated him, but the feel of his lips on yours was magical, literally and figuratively. 

Your lungs burned, so much to your dismay, you pulled away from him. 

Killian smiled. “I’m not gonna lie, I have dreamed about this before.”

You shoved him away and pointed at him accusingly, “You dare try to die on me again and I will end you, Hook! And that’s what you say to me when you almost die?!” You groaned. “I hate you.”

Killian smiled. He kissed you deeply. He whispered, “I hate you, too.”


Hey, guys! I hope you like this one! I hope you like it imaginereadingimagines! I had a fun time writing this. Sorry, if you didn’t want Ursula, but I love her and she was too perfect for the role of the-person-who-curses-Killian!

I am totally procrastinating studying for my final, so I can’t say when the next one will be up. Tomorrow at the latest is the best answer I can give you guys! 

Anyway, love you all! Thanks for reading! 

Comfort.// Ron x Reader

Title: Comfort.

Request: “OMG what if you write an imagine comforting Ron about Fred.”

Pairing: Ron x Reader

Warning: Defiantly sadness. Maybe get tissues ready.

A/N: I have this huGE crush on Ron, but I also don’t because I enjoy saying im the daughter of Ron and Hermione.


Watching your best friend die, was the worst possible thing, but watching your boyfriend’s reaction – that was worse.

Fred, he was your best friend, one of the closets people you had to a family. The Weasleys were the closets you had ever gotten to a family, and when everyone found out about your crush on Ron, it was their duty to get you two together.

You stood beside Ronald, Hermione, and Harry as you walked into the infirmary, holding onto Ron’s hand, you squeezed it, tightly. Almost breaking Ron’s hand as he liked to described it, which then led you and Hermione slapping him. None of you talked, but as soon as you felt Ron walk faster, you did. Turning your attention to the red headed boy on the ground, he was almost completely insight. “No,” you whispered, your heart shattered at the face you soon saw. Mrs. Weasley was crouched on the ground, moving the hair from his forehead, George, who was standing with Bill, crying his eyes out. His bloody eyes must have hurt. Ron finally noticed, he gasped loudly before letting go of your hand, running to the side of his now dead brother. He started crying, which lead you to start crying, not that you weren’t crying before.

You had to fight. There was no time for you to just sit and watch. If you were to dare stop, you’d be dead.  You and Ron couldn’t hold each other at the time; you could only give each other apologizing looks. When the war had ended and you went home with the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, you knew everyone was going to be an emotional mess.

The first to break was George. He had looked in the mirror and busted out crying, you had held him as he cried, letting Ron to sleep on his very tiny bed. He would mumble how he lost his other half, and how they’ll never have their kids play together. George had never cried so much in his life. Once he stopped sobbing into your chest, he left to go to his room, just sitting there, staring off into space. You would hear a soft sob once in awhile, but didn’t want to bother him.

Mrs. Weasley was the second to break, and so Mr. Weasley. They had gotten a soft glance of George and Mrs. Weasley had forgotten, nobody knows how she forgot, but she did, “How are you Freddie?” she asked as she made a salad for the family, when George had told her that Fred died, only hours before this huge family meal, she busted down crying. Mr. Weasley had comforted her, as he cried. She kept mumbling, ‘He’s gone. He’s really gone.’ Which broke your heart into pieces, you thought you were going to cry, but you didn’t.

Bill, Percy and Charlie were next to break. Those three broke together, and you didn’t know what hurt worse, watching them all try and catch their breath, or that they were all huddled up together, trying to stop the tears. “It’s none of our faults Percy,” Bill wheezed, “It’s mine though.” Percy cried harder into his arms.

Ginny and Harry had been the next to break, which made your heart break into so many pieces. Ginny was in Harry’s arms as they cried together. They were cuddling at first, and then Ginny started softly crying as so Harry. You had accidently walked in on them, you had meant to knock on her door but you weren’t really thinking. You had stopped in your tracks when you saw this, your lip trembled as Ginny would whimper out things about Fred.

Hermione broke. She broke when she had gotten in the shower. She had taken a longer shower than before, and when Mrs. Weasley asked you to go check on her, you told her you would. When you walked up the steps and to the bathroom door, you heard the faint cries of her. She hadn’t cried earlier that day, trying to keep strong. You had knocked on the door, asking if she was okay and that it was almost time to eat. She answered you with such a weak voice, saying she’ll be down in a minute, and she’s okay. Your heart ached when you saw her. Her eyes were blood shot and puffy. She gave you a weak smile sitting next to Ginny.

The last to break was Ron, it was at dinner, he had taken one look at Fred’s empty seat, looked away and started eating. His eyes kept glancing around the large quite dinner table; his eyes always lingered on Fred’s chair. It wasn’t in that moment that Ron had broken down, it was when George started talking about the shop, all the new inventions he and Fred had made. That’s what broke Ron. Everyone had tried their hardest not the cry as George talked about it. Even George let a few tears out, but when George said “I don’t know who’s going to work in the shop with me now,” Ron lost it. He had always thought about helping, with both brothers. Not just one. You pulled him away from the table, sitting in the hallway of the second floor, you held him in his arms. Brushing your fingers through his knotted red hair, and letting him cry into your shoulder. He had let out a loud sob, making Hermione and Harry run up the stairs. You could feel tears run down your cheeks. Ron’s tears stained your maroon shirt. You soothed him, “It’s okay Ron,” you cried out one time, “The one’s we love always find a way back to us.” You quoted Luna, making him smile. He loved Luna; she was one of your close friends. Kind of a nutter, if you were to asked Ron.  You and Ron had stayed in the position you were in until everyone finished dinner.

You both went up to his room and laid down on his twin bed, letting him lay down so you were laying on top of him. “I miss him too,” you whispered to him “I know.” He whispered back. His hand stroked your Y/H/C before kissing the top of your head, “Thank you for being here.” He whispered as you fell asleep to his steady heartbeat. “I love you.” He whispered again, closing his eyes.

Accepting Him

Fandom: The Boy
Characters: Brahms, Mr and Mrs Heelshire
Relationship: Brahms/reader
Request: Have you seen The Boy? Could I request one where the reader is a old friend of Brahms and doesn’t know hes still alive but agrees to be a nanny to the doll to repay the family? And its like the same plot as the movie but its her abusive dad Brahms kills and she stays? Thx
Authors Note: Massive Spoiler – but what a great movie!
You looked out of the window of the black taxi, the trees becoming a blur. The taxi driver was focused on the road which you were grateful for since you didn’t feel like speaking to anyone.
You were going to stay with the Heelshire out in their big country home. You were both dreading and looking forward to it.
You had known the family many many years ago, back when you were 7 years old. You have been best friends with Brahms, whos weirdness matched your own. But you were from an abusive family and he hated that. SO when the whole Emily thing had happened, your family had dragged you away to another country so that the police wouldn’t find out about the nasty hand shaped bruise on your arms or the black eyes you had.
You had found out that Brahms had died not long after you left in a house fire. It had devastated you. So you were surprised when you accidently stumbled across an add to look after a 8 year old boy called Brahms who lived at the same address, you were on the phone straight away.
Mrs Heelshire picked up the phone. You were surprise at how she still sound just as you remembered her.
“Hello, Mrs Heelshire. You may not remember me but-“ you had barley finished your sentence when you heard her calling to her husband.
“Daddy, come here. Its [y/n]! You remember her? Brahms little friend!” She sounded so happy despite her somewhat monotone voice. You had heard Mr Heelshire coming in the room and asked how you were. You had always adored them both. They were more like parents that your actual parents. They had tried to protect you from the violence you had endured.
you spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries and finding out how you were. But you were curious and that curiosity got the better of you.
“The reason I called was because of this add I found.” As soon as you spoke, you heard the other side of the phone fall silent. You allowed them to gather their thoughts before Mrs Heelshire spoke, her voice shaking.
“Yes, we are looking for a nanny while we are away on holiday.” She was rather vague which made you frown but you were glad she couldn’t see you. She would always tell you off if you had frowned a her when you were younger.
“For Brahms. But he- he would have been 26, would he?” You ask, originally going to say but he was dead but then you decide against it.
“Yes, my dear. But he is still very much with us. He is still a child, still 8 years old.” She said and instantly you understood.
You had seen plenty of cases where parents who had not grieved properly never accepted the loss of their child. Instantly you thought of a doll. Perhaps that was what they required.
You had suffered from guilt over the years. You should have stayed to help Brahms and maybe you could have helped him more. Maybe if you had been there, he wouldn’t have been killed in the fire. These maybes killed you every day. You had never forgotten him.
“May I apply?” You ask, hearing the intake of breath on the other line. They hadn’t expected that.
You heard a muffling sound which you assumed was a hand being placed over the phone and voices which were muffled. You had allowed them to speak amongst themselves.
But they had accepted and offered you the job there and then. In fact, Mrs Heelshire had sounded thrilled as she told you she would pay for your travel expenses.
She asked if you had a job that you needed to give notice period but you told her you were a writer so it would be nice to spend a couple of months away and that you could work on your new book.
So, here you were. The house began to loom over the trees as the taxi driver stopped the car to open the gates. Memories flooded back to you.
When you would come up here, you were small enough to slip through the gates and run up the path.
You blinked away the tears as the driver gets back into the car and drives up.
Arriving outside the grand doors, you were surprised at how it hadn’t changed. Apart from the outsides of Brahms room. That was boarded up.
Of course, Mrs Heelshire was waiting for you outside and she smiled as you got out the car. You weren’t sure how she would greet you but she embraced you with open arms. As you pulled back, she moved a strand of your [h/c] hair out of your face.
“my, my. You grew up to be so beautiful.” She mumbled, more to herself than you but you couldn’t help but smile at her. It was very rare you received compliments since you kept yourself to yourself.
Her smile faulted as she looked over her shoulder into the house.
“Come, there is much to go over.” She then turned on her heel and walked inside.
You followed her but only after the driver had said he would place your luggage inside for you.
She talked you through your duties, cooking and some light cleaning. She told you that there will be a man who delivers the groceries once a week and that they kept and froze all the leftovers. You nodded and smiled, showing you understood.
Then she took you to meet Brahms.
As you thought, he was a doll. When you walked into the room, Mr Heelshire was crouched by a chair, speaking to someone in the chair and as he moved, your mouth nearly fell open.
The doll was so similar to the Brahms you remembered. His big eyes, neatly combed black hair. Even down to his smart outfit.
Of your own accord, you walked forward and kneeled in front of Brahms, looking at him.
You knew Mr and Mrs Heelshire eyes were focused on you but you didn’t care. You felt a pang of pain in your chest. You missed him every day and now, you may have a chance to repay him and this family for leaving. You reached out and ran your finger down his cheek.
“Introduce yourself dear. He may not recognise you. You have grown up so much.” Mr Heelshire nodded to you.
“Hi, Brahms. It’s me, [y/n]. Remember me? We used to play together when we were children.” You smiled at Brahms, taking his small, porcelain hand and shaking it lightly.
Mrs Heelshire smiled, placing a hand over her heart.
You spent the rest of the day with Mr and Mrs Heelshire and Brahms of course. They showed you how to clean the traps and what clothes Brahms needed to be dressed in and the way your day should work. You got very excited when Mrs Heelshire asked you to read poetry and play classical music. Mr Heelshire said a number of times that things weren’t as they seemed and that Brahms was still here. You agreed with him.
When you were finished, she asked for a moment alone with Mr Heelshire and Brahms. You stood in the hall, a little nervous. What if they resented you for leaving?
But Mrs Heelshire opened the door, beaming at you.
“He wants you, if you will still have him?”
Of course, you agreed.
—————-time skip ——————–
After Mr and Mrs Heelshire left, you followed the rules to a tee.
You woke, dressed and cared for Brahms. You had sat with him the first night and poured your heart out to the doll. You cried, sobbing about how sorry you were and that you wanted to stay with him but they wouldn’t let you.
However, you were slowly beginning to believe that he was alive, the doll was alive. Little items would go missing, like a neckless and some clothes. Sometimes, things weren’t where you left them and sometimes, it was the doll himself who had moved. You had tested your theory by placing him on the floor and drawing around him with chalk and he would move!
At first, you didn’t believe it but now, you were sure he was here, in spirt or something. You assumed he had forgiven you for leaving since he never did anything to hurt or scare you (on purpose). He would never go out of his way to make you happy.
Like leaving your favourite book on your bed to read to yourself or he would give you hints to what you could write about.
You would sit with Brahms and play the piano for him, or read to him.
Over time, you became attached to him.
It was apparent that he didn’t like Malcom, the delivery boy. But neither did you. He was too noisy and rude. But he did only come around once a week.
You were sitting with Brahms, reading to yourself when you heard a bang from downstairs. You jumped and looked at Brahms.
“Was that you?” You asked, but when you heard it again, you knew it wasn’t Brahms. You quickly got to your feet and picked up Brahms, holding him close to your body protectively.
Walking down the corridor, you called out ‘hello?’ a couple of times before deciding the noise was coming from the pool room.
You turned the corner and there stood your father. Abusive, drunk, controlling father.
“There you are [y/n]! Get your stuff.” He stumbled across the room, bashing his hip on the table and grunting.
“How did you knew where I was?” You ask, your voice shaking as you hold Brahms tighter. Your father’s eyes fell on the doll, smirking at you.
“Your flatmate. Ran into her while she was forwarding on your mail. Managed to nick a letter and here I am. How dare you leave without my permission.” He became enraged, walking up and grabbing your upper arm. You struggled but he squeezed tighter, making you cry out in pain.
“Stop it, you’re hurting me!” You cry out, pulling back. Just as you did that, he left go and you fell backwards, your head banging against the wall. You whimper to yourself, checking Brahms before yourself. You were relieved to see he was unharmed.
“Now, get your stuff. Now, [y/n]!” He demanded as he turned.
“Please, don’t leave me.” A quiet voice, only loud enough for you to hear. Your eyes widened as you looked at Brahms. Had he spoke to you?
Your eyes light up as you thought of an idea.
“Can we leave tomorrow? It’s so dark out and we are so far from anywhere. And in the morning, I’ll make food.” You call out, still looking at Brahms but you could tell your father had stopped.
“Fine. Get me some covers, girl.” He growled and you scrambled to your feet, running out the door with Brahms in your arms. You set him down in his room.
“I don’t want to put you in danger again so I’m going to leave you alone for just a moment, okay?” You ask but don’t get a reply so you took that as a yes and ran out the room to grab covers and pillows.
Your father was already passed out on a couch by the time you had got back so you threw the covers over him, knowing that if he woke up and saw them folded in a corner, you would get a whack for being lazy.
You ran back to Brahms and shut the door, locking it from the inside. You lay down beside him and wrapped your arms around him.
“I’m not going to leave you, not again. But I need your help.” You whispered to him, the fear in your voice obvious. You whispered to Brahms a few more times that you weren’t going to leave him but you began to grow sleepy, your eyelids dropping.
You were dozing when you heard your name being screamed by your father at the top of his lungs. He sounded both angry and scared which was dangerous. You instantly noticed Brahms was gone and the door was open. You scrambled out of the bed and bolted down the hallways, your heart beating hard against your chest.
‘please let him be okay. Please let Brahms be okay.’ You prayed as you rounded the corner of the pool room to see your father leaning against the pool table, blood on his forehead. You looked around and saw dead rats in his luggage.
“There you are. What the hell is this?” He demanded, walking over to you but all you could do was shake your head, your eyes falling on Brahms in the corner. You mumbled his name as you ran around the table to pick him up. Your father followed you.
“Really, the doll? You think I believe that?” he then snatched Brahms by the legs and pulled him from your grasp.
“No, no, no. please!” You gasped, trying to get him back. But your father was no hold Brahms fragile body by the leg and swinging him around.
“You think I’m going to believe that a doll did this. You need to grow up. ‘Brahms’ is dead. And it’s all your fault.” He sneered at you, knowing how to kick you when you’re down.
“Please, just give him back.” You cried, tears running down your cheek as you held your hands out to him.
you father turned to you, smirking. You didn’t like that smirk; it was one he would give you when he would have a horrible idea.
“Once I break this doll, I’m going to kill you.” He sneered then raised the doll over his head and slammed it down on a chair. The porcelain face shattered into a thousand pieces before your eyes. You fell to your knees, your eyes wide and your mouth open. You let out a cry of angst as you watch one of Brahms eyes falling off the seat.
You had failed him again.
You buried your head in your hands as you sobbed. Hearing footsteps, you prepared yourself for the pain but it never came.
Instead, there was a number of bangs and thumps which made you look up and around. Your father had frozen and was looking fearfully at the wall. He walls shook and the light dimmed slightly.
When the noise had stopped, your father started to walk towards a mirror than was on the opposite wall. You pushed yourself back so your back was against a wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. Just as he was about a foot away from the mirror, it shattered, shards of glass flying everywhere as your father stumbled back. The space behind the mirror was hollow and a figure began to appear. It wore a black vest with a thick, chalk coloured sweater. His face was covered with a mask of a dolls face, similar to Brahms one. He had jet black hair which curled at the ends.
As he emerged from the hole in the wall, he looked at you and then to your father.
“Who the fuck are you?!” You father cried out before pouncing at the man.
It would seem the man expected his and gripped your father arms, swinging him around and slamming him against the wall. But your father was still a little drunk and a little pain would stop him. He lunged at the man again and once again, the man managed to better him. He pinned your father down on the floor, his hand on your father throat.
Your father looked at you, his eyes begging for help but you just shook your head.
The amount of time you had been thrown about a room, chocked, struck, beaten by him. You honestly didn’t care if this stranger killed him.
Your father’s eyes fell shut and he stopped struggling.
you watched his body go limp and felt relived.
It was over. You would no long have to run and hind from him anymore.
But the relief was short lived at the man turned his attention to you. You held your breath as he stood and walked over to you, somewhat timidly. As if he was afraid of what you would do.
You closed your eyes as you saw him crouching in front of you, waiting for him to finish you of too. But you were surprised when you felt a shaking finger stroking your cheek. You opened your eyes and saw the man in front of you, his eyes begging you for something.
As you looked into his eyes, you saw something familiar. Something you had seen before.
The timid strokes reminded you of the first time you had come here to look after Brahms, the way you had greeted him.
Then it clicked.
“Brahms?” You asked, your voice shaking as his eyes widened. He gently nodded his head, his curls bouncing slightly.
He was alive. After all this time. You glance to the hole in the wall. He had been living in the walls. He had been here all along.
You reached out and traces a finger down his masks cheek. You could see the burn marks around his eyes so you assumed his whole face must have been burnt, hence the mask. It all clicked together.
It was him you had been looking after. It was from inside the walls.
Your emotions were everywhere. You were filled with relief and sadness. Joy and pain. But as you stared into his eyes, you felt love.
Something behind Brahms moved and your eyes caught a glimpse of your father stumbling over to Brahms, his pocket knife raised above his head.
“Watch out!” You cried, pushing Brahms out the way and pouncing forward.
Your father brought the knife down and it caught your cheek.
Brahms was quick to tackle your father from the side, the knife falling out his hand just as he fell to the ground. You watched Brahms grab a piece of the broken doll and ram it into your father throat. Blood spurted everywhere as your father let out a gargling notice, his legs falling still.
You ran to Brahms, cupping his cheeks and turning his face to look at you.
“Brahms, you okay?” You asked, your voice shaking as he looks at you. He nodded slightly but his hand raises and touches your cheek. When he pulls it away, you see the blood on his fingertips. You raised your own hand and touch your cheek, the cut stinging.
when you winced you felt a slender hand wrap around your wrist gently and pulled it away. You looked at Brahms to see his eyes on your cheek.
He began to stand up, pulling you up with him. You were too busy concentrating on him to see how he was concentrating solely on you. His eyes skimmed your face, his hand reaching up to cup your good cheek.
He then took your right hand and pulled you out of the pool room and into the kitchen. You stumbled a little behind him, head still spinning.
He was so tall. You couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by him slender body.
As you entered the kitchen, he pointed at the large dining table before going into the cupboard with a medical kit. You went over and stood by the table, not wanting to sit and risk getting blood on the wood.
Brahms turned back to you, in his hand was the medical kit. You could see he was shaking slightly. The adrenaline must have worn off and now he was worried. Worried about you or because of you, you didn’t know.
He pointed to the table again.
“I don’t want to get blood on the table, Brahms.” You said, trying to keep your voice normal. He probably was worried about how you would react.
He shook his head slightly and walked over to you, placing a hand either side of your waist and lifted you up to sit you on the table. You couldn’t help but giggle at this.
He had picked you up as if you were the same weight as a doll. Which was ironic.
Brahms then stood in front of you and started to dab at your cheek with an antibacterial wipe. They stung and you flinched away.
Brahms pulled back when you winced, his eyes screaming apologies at you for the pain. You smiled slightly at him, straighten back up to show you were okay and Brahms got back to work. You knew there was nothing that could be done since he couldn’t cover it with a bandage or plaster and it wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitching. So you would just have to wait for it to heal.
You took that moment to let your mind wonder.
You pieced together everything in your mind. The missing items, the moments, the noises. It was Brahms but not in spirt, in person. Despite the past months, you felt safe with him. Even though it was a somewhat strange situation, you trusted Brahms with your life. He could easily kill you. He had proven he was strong and that he could. But he wouldn’t.
Because he needed you. And you needed him.
Your eyes moved to his mask. You knew he had been badly burnt and that was probably why he wore this mask. He wanted the perfect skin of that mask, of the doll. Your heart wept for him. You wondered if his mother or father had encouraged him to wear the mask.
You reached out both your hands, your fingers trailing along the cheek of the mask. You noticed Brahms had stopped and was staring down at you, his eyes wide. You hooked the tips of your fingers around the sides of the mask and began to pull it up, attempting to remove the mask. Brahms hand quickly but gently grabbed your wrists, his eyes begging for you to stop as he let out whimper.
“Don’t you trust me?” You asked gently, frowning slightly. You saw him falter a little as if he was asking himself the same question.
Slowly, he lowered his hands and you lifted the mask off his face.
The right side of his face was badly scarred with burns while his left side wasn’t as badly. In fact, even with the burns, you were surprised at how handsome he was.
His eyes were staring at the floor, his black curls falling in front of his eyes. He had a full beard but it didn’t go up the side of his face due to the scars. You placed the mask gently to the side then reached out your right hand to brush the curls out of his face. He looked up at you.
“[y/n].” He spoke quietly. His voice was a little raspy but angelic.
“Hi Brahms.” You smile, as if it was the first time you had met, which it was.
Before you knew what was happening, his arms were waist around your waist and hugged you close, his face buried in your neck. You didn’t waste any time wrapping your own arms around him, holding him close and trying to sooth him.
When he pulled back, he kept close with his forehead against yours. Your eyes glanced down at his lips. They were full with a small scarring on the right side of his top lip but you didn’t care. To you, he was perfect.
Gently, as if not to scare him, you leaned forward, your hands on the back of the neck and your thumbs rubbing small circle. Brahms watched you closely, as if he didn’t believe what was happening but the second he realised this was real, he quickly closed the gap between you in a sweet kiss. The kiss, though full of inexperience, was passionate. His hands held you close with a sense urgency and he left out sweet little moans every now and again.
You pulled back a little for air, despite Brahms desperation to continue the kiss. You knew he probably wouldn’t have kissed or been with a girl but you hadn’t been kissed before anyone either.
Just then, the clock in the kitchen chimed midnight, making you jump a little.
“Oh Brahms. I didn’t realise how late it was. We should really get to bed.” You jumped down from the table, making Brahms take a step back, his head hung and his body slouched over. You smiled a little to yourself before reaching out and taking his hand. You thought of sleeping in your bed alone and something about that made you uneasy.
“Could you stay in with me tonight? I can sleep on the floor or something. I just don’t want to be on my own.” You asked shyly, avoiding eye contact with him. You really wanted for him to stay but you didn’t want him to feel forced.
You saw his feet stop in front of you and felt his arms wrap around you and he started to guild you toward the door.
He kept you close as he walked up the stair and to your room. You assumed that was he was agreeing to stay. And as you thought, he came into your room with you.
Neither of you bother to take off the clothes as Brahms walked around the queen bed. You walked over to the small armchair in the corner of your room which you had fallen asleep in before but a pair of arms wrapped around you and lifted you up before Brahms walked over and placed you on the bed. He then walked around the bed and crawled in beside you. Brahms lay on his back, his arms by his side but the warmth of him drew you so you cuddled into his side.
The last thing you remembered was an arm wrapping around you and his body turning so Brahms was holding you close.

  • Alecto Carrow: Which goes better? The chain or the pearls?
  • Mrs Dolohov: The chain.
  • Barty Crouch, Jr.: An amateur’s mistake! Can’t you see that the chain accentuates that long, turkey-like neck?
  • Mrs Dolohov: Yes, but the pearls draw attention to the non-existent bosom!
  • Barty Crouch, Jr.: Yes, but the chain hangs down and draws attention to that huge spare tire, and those square, manly hips!
  • Alecto Carrow: Fine! Why don’t I just put a sign on me that says, “Too ugly to live”?
  • Barty Crouch, Jr.: Well, fine, but what are you going to hang it from: the chain or the pearls?
  • Alecto Carrow: None! I’m going to spray paint it on my hump!
The Adams Administration (part one)

(@hamil-tots AU)

The kids stood awkwardly around Mr. Washington’s desk. Alex shifted nervously on his feet. Why had he asked them to all come see him? Were they in trouble? Had the middle schoolers been telling him things again? He gave John a confused look across the space, but he just shrugged in response.

Aaron finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Mr. Washington? Why’d you wanna see us?”

Mr. Washington smiled and crouched down so they were on the same level. “I just want to let you all know that-” Oh no. This could not be good. Did he hear about something he did? Did James Reynolds tell? Alex had to do something, and quickly.

“Whatever it is, Thomas started it!” Alex blurted out, pointing at Thomas accusingly.

“Did not!” Thomas retorted, crossing his arms.

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Mr. Washington motioned for them to settle down. “No one did anything, no one’s in trouble. I just wanted to let you know that Martha and I will be going out of town this weekend. You’re going to have a substitute Monday.” There was a general murmur of confusion amongst the kids, and Mr. Washington continued. “His name is John Adams, and I’m sure that you’ll-”

“But why do you hafta go?” Alex interrupted.

“Martha and I are going home to visit family in Virginia. Now, as I was saying-”

“But why?”

Thomas elbowed Alex slightly. “It’s cause him and Mrs. Washington are gonna go to Virginia! Can’t you hear?”

Alex shoved him back. “I heard! I just asked why he had to!”

Thomas glared at him. “No you didn’t!”

“I did!”

“Didn’t!”

“Did!”

“Alexander! Thomas! One last time, we’ll be back before you know it. I’m going to ask you all to be nice to Mr. Adams, and I’ll see you again soon. And remember,” he added jokingly, “while I’m gone, no parties.” He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. “Now, does anyone want to pick the story?”

Alex excused himself and went outside to the playground. The Schuyler sisters were already out there, playing in the sandbox, and he could see some older kids on the swings and in the field. He ran over to the Schuyler sisters. Eliza looked up and waved.

He sat down in the sand and started looking through the toys. “Didja hear about Mr. Washington?”

Angelica nodded. “Yeah, we left when you were arguing with Thomas again.”

Eliza leaned towards Alex, taking in his expression. “You seem kinda sad. How come?”

“I dunno, I guess I’m just gonna miss Mr. Washington.” Alex raced a toy car around the sandbox, nearly bumping into Angelica. She scrambled backwards a bit and climbed onto the edge of the box.

Eliza dusted a bit of sand off of Philip. “But Mr. Adams can’t be that bad. Mr. Washington wouldn’t get him if he was.”

Alex heard a familiar mocking voice behind him and turned around. “John Adams?” The King and Samuel got off of the swings and walked over. “I know him.”

Angelica stood up protectively in front of Eliza and Alex. “He’s gonna be our substitute, so?”

The King looked as if he was trying very hard to hold in laughter. “He was a substitute at our school once too. He’s awful!” He nudged Samuel, who seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face as well.

“What do you mean, awful?” Alex asked, leaning to the side of Angelica.

Samuel turned to the King and whispered just loud enough for Alex to hear. “Don’t tell them, it’s better if you don’t tell them.”

The King just stepped back, smirking. “Either you tear him apart or you tear yourselves apart. Whichever comes first. Either way, this is going to be fun.” He turned around, his blanket smacking a bucket of sand onto Alex’s toy cars, and ran back to the swingset. Alex watched them go, straining to hear whatever it was they were saying to each other.

“You don’t believe them, do you?” Eliza looked up at Alex and Angelica. “I mean, they’ve gotta be lying, right?”

anonymous asked:

Single dads Eren and Jean flirting with Kindergarten teacher Maroc~ Eren and Jean competing for his attention but their kids getting it all instead xD

“C'mon, c'mon dad! We’re gonna be late!” Balancing the tray stacked with brownies would have been much easier had his other hand not been occupied by an excited five year old, tugging him along the sidewalk, but Jean somehow managed. This wasn’t his first day wrestling the little bundle of energy after all and short child legs could only scurry this quickly.
They reached the gate without a catastrophe in form of baked goods crumbling to the ground and the boy jumping in front of him let out a joyful shriek as he took in the festively decorated backyard of his kindergarten.

There were several big, colorful tents already bustling with life, tables to draw and craft at scattered all over, a big barbeque station in the back and other, smaller food booths all around.
Everything was decorated with balloons in all shapes and sizes, fluttery paper bands with cute slogans painted on and photos stuck everywhere they would hold. St. Sina’s Kindergarten sure knew how to throw a nice summer fete.

Before his son could tug him much further onto the yard there was a soft tenor calling out for them and Jean turned to see one of the teachers, Mr. Bodt, heading their way.
His heart wasn’t doing that silly fluttery thing, it wasn’t.
“Oh, Mr. Kirschtein! I’m glad you could make it.” That smile was dazzling, as always, the sunlight catching in his dark, round eyes and making his hair shimmer like the richest chocolate. Okay, maybe a little bit of fluttering, if Jean was being honest.
“Yeah … yeah, I finished most of my paperwork last night, so…” Mr. Bodt nodded, smile still bright, before he crouched down in front of the boy still clutching Jean’s hand.

“My, Luke … what a nice skirt you’re wearing! It’s new, isn’t it?” He reached out to carefully tug at the hemline with the white cotton trim, making the boy beam with pride and run a small hand over the blue and purple fabric.
“I told dad how you said we could wear whatever we wanted … and he got it for me … and I…” Luke bit his lip as he cast his gaze down, a little shy all of a sudden, and squeezed Jean’s hand.
“It’s okay, go on…”, the teacher’s voice was soft and encouraging as he tipped his head to the side, still smiling. Luke still needed a little nudge from his father and a warm “Yeah buddy, tell Marco.” before he looked up again.
“I feel … really pretty”, the boy giggled, rubbing a hand across his flushed face as he grinned at his teacher.
“And you look really pretty, too!”, Mr. Bodt exclaimed, all enthusiasm and kind honesty as he regarded his charge one last time before getting up again and turning his attention back to Jean. Those big eyes would be the death of him someday.

“We uh…”, Jean began awkwardly, still struggling a little to keep the tray upright, “we brought brownies?”
“I helped!”, Luke cried immediately, bouncing on his toes. “I stirred the batter and put it on the tray! And dad let me put the flour in … but not the chocolate cause it was too hot…” Mr. Bodt’s eyebrows shot up at that and, gaze flicked between father and son and the tray stacked with treats a few times.
“Oh? Those look great, I didn’t know you…”
“Could bake?”, Jean finished with a lame chuckle. “Yeah I’m actually, uh … pretty good at it? Cooking not so much, but…”

“His cooking is awful!”, the boy next to him fake gagged, clasping a hand over his mouth and making Mr. Bodt laugh.
“Well, it’s a good thing you eat lunch here most of the time then, right?” The teacher sounded amused, eyes twinkling with laughter as he looked at the child, then back at Jean.
“Uh, anway … my brownies are great, you have to try them. And I also make mean crêpe, maybe you should…”
Before Jean could finish the lame pickup line of Mr. Bodt having to come around sometime to try them his son gave a piercing shriek and let go off his hand to run off back to the gate where a father had just arrived with his daughter.

“Carla!”, he cried out, wrapping the little girl in a clumsy but enthusiastic hug that was returned with just as much energy as they bounced up and down a few times. Mr. Bodt laughed at the sight, a sound so honest and clear that Jean had to take a deep breath.
“It’s like they haven’t seen each other for ages instead of just a day.”
Jean hummed and swallowed down the disappointment and anger rising up in his throat.
That Jäger guy did always have the worst timing. But there was no use in whining and self-pity, the afternoon was still young, he’d get another chance to talk to Mr. cutest teacher alive and maybe not make an ass of himself this time.

Leaving the kids to their excessive greeting Jäger strolled over with a wide grin, holding a large bowl out in front of him.
“I brought potato salad!”, he proclaimed victoriously and Jean was confused for a second before he heard Mr. Bodt’s almost pornographic moan and couldn’t help the deep flush creeping up his neck.
“The one you made last year?”, the teacher asked with way too much enthusiasm to his voice and took a step forward to peek under the lid Jäger lifted for him. “Oh, that smells heavenly, I might just jump in there and never come out again…”
Both men laughed and Jean felt something sting in his chest, anger again as well as something else, something more vicious.
“Please, feel free too”, Jäger snickered, eyes drifting over to Jean for a moment as he flashed a sharp grin.

This had been going on for at least a few months, both of them being crazy attracted to sweet Mr. Bodt, both trying to somehow make a move but always failing thanks to the other or one of their kids – who were getting along incredibly well, by the way.
Just now they came running again, hand in hand as they almost barreled into their teacher, screaming something totally unintelligible. At least it ripped Mr. Bodt’s attention away from Jäger and that damn potato salad.

“Hey, hey, calm down you two!”, Mr Bodt laughed and crouched down again, laying his hands on either of their shoulders. “What did you say?”
“Look, look Marco!”
“We match, Marco!”, Carla cried out, tugging at her purple and blue shirt and pointing at Luke’s skirt with the same colors.
“Ohh, you’re right!”, Marco smiled and looked at their respective outfits. “You both look very nice!”
“Earlier he said I look pretty, Carla!” Luke was flushing a little again as he told his friend about the compliment and she giggled.
“You do, silly!” Then she turned back to her teacher. “We need to show you something, Marco!” They both took one of his hands and tried to tug him along, almost tipping him off balance as he struggled to his feet again. Two kids with that much energy were harder to handle but he had even more practice.

“Okay, just give me a second, yes?” With that he turned back to Jean and the man standing behind him.  “I assigned you both to the salad bar, if that’s alright? Just over there … your shift starts at two and then an hour? Of course you can stay and enjoy the party with us afterwards…”
“Second’s over!”, Carla insisted and the kids began tugging again, this time Mr. Bodt went with them willingly, only shouting over his shoulder that Jean could give his brownies to Petra Ral if he saw her around.

Hearing Jäger clear his throat he turned back to him, looking at that raised eyebrow and borderline smug expression.
“One hour, eh?”
“Ugh, shut up…”
It would be one very long hour. But to get the chance to talk to Mr. Bodt again today, Jean could tolerate one shift at the salad bar with Eren Jäger. Even just barely.