Namesake Necklace by WiCeBa
Pairing: Gen, Severitus
Rating: Not Rated
Word Count: 121k
Podfic available here
Read by: Sisselin
Length: 10-15 hours
Harry and Dudley are attacked one evening, and Snape is called to fix it. A child sized Harry, who looks much more like Lily than James at this age, was not what he was expecting.
Of all my fic ideas the only one I really want to write (in english) and would if I had a beta reader is the Riddler gets turned into a kid Hattercrow one.
I just really enjoy the idea of a plot that appears to be innocent and fluffy but evolves into an angsty analisys of grief and sacrifice.
Basically Jervis worries about the future (and how his perfect family can be broken at any moment because it was created by a spell) Jon mourns the past (and the Edward he knew) and Edward questions the present (and who he even is as he never became the person most people know him as). And I really though a lot about it.
I didn't decided in an ending. But I know it would be a bittersweet one.
The cab driver took a look at Darcy’s face in the mirror and twisted around to face her. “You okay, kid?” he asked.
He had that grizzled, unshaven and slightly greasy look that made it nearly impossible to place an exact age. That aside, it was probably a safe bet to assume he was at least a decade older than her, so she let the ‘kid’ thing slide. “I’m fine,” she said, entirely unconvincingly. “Just come back from a vacation.”
“Ah,” he nodded sagely. “Need any help with your bags?”
“Nah, I’ve got it.” Darcy sighed, staring up at Stark Tower. “Can I have a second?”
His eyes slid sideways towards the meter, still running. “Sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nevermind. Drive safe,” she instructed, shoving a twenty in the slot. It took a few seconds to wrestle her backpack and carry-on out of the cab, and it took some fancy footwork to keep from tumbling the tourists and rubber-neckers to the ground when she finally tugged it all free.
She headed towards the live-in lobby, reserved for Stark and Avengers employees that called the Tower and its adjacent buildings ‘home.’ The cool wash of the scanner reading her bags and - according to some nifty new enchantment enhancements from Strange - her intent made her shiver and curl further into her sweater.
Home sweet home.
Jane’s was the first familiar face she found, in the hallway leading towards their corner of the Tower. “You okay, Dee?”
“I’m fine,” Darcy said. This time she managed to muster up a small smile. “Just need to get back into the groove, you know? Vacations always throw me off for a few days.”
The physicist slipped her arms around her and squeezed. “Come over tonight,” she asked/ordered. “I’ll make pancakes and Thor brought home some of that weird sausage stuff you like.”
“Tempting,” Darcy admitted. “I think I need some ‘me’ time, though. There’s some stuff in my suite that I should take care of.”
Jane nodded. “It’s an open offer, come over whenever.” She grabbed up the carry-on without prompting and walked Darcy the rest of the way to her door. “JARVIS locked up for you, nobody’s been in, not even the cleaning crew.”
“Thanks. And thank you, JARVIS.”
“Of course, Ms. Lewis,” the AI said.
“So, I’ll see you later?” Jane asked, clutching the carry-on to her chest as she watched Darcy unlock and open her door.
"Later,” she agreed. “And Jane?” she couldn’t look the other woman in the eye.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” For being so understanding. For not pushing. For being here.
The smile that lit up her face was as brilliant as her stars. “You’re welcome.”
Darcy’s suite was exactly as she’d left it.
Exactly.
She took a tremulous breath, then fixed her eyes on the doorway to her bedroom and did not deviate. She had to step carefully, but she did not look down, not even when her carry-on caught on something on the floor. She merely lifted it above the debris and continued until she could drop her things by the side of her bed and faceplant onto the duvet.
“Darcy, I must inform you that there were several attempts at entry during your trip,” JARVIS said quietly.
She rolled over onto her back. “The usual suspects?”
“Yes. As well as Mr. Barton and Rogers.”
“Huh. Let me know if anyone tries again but... I’m not accepting visitors right now. I need some time to myself.”
“Understood, Darcy.”
She stared at the ceiling for a few more minutes, then sighed and stood. She should unpack and clean up her room, that was the responsible, adult thing to do right now. It had nothing to do with wanting to avoid the rest of her apartment, no sirreebob. Nothing at all.
Darcy couldn’t even lie convincingly in her own head, to herself.
“This is gonna suck,” she muttered, once all her clothes had been sorted to the appropriate piles and drawers and her bed had been remade.
Out of excuses, she turned to the doorway. From her place by the bed she could see the back wheels of a toy firetruck lying in the hallway. She walked towards it, lifted it, and took a few deep breaths as she turned it over and over in her hands. There was a petite ballerina doll shoved into the driver’s seat of the truck, clearly not part of the original set.
Darcy stuffed the truck under her arm and headed to the kitchen. Time to sort and say goodbye, for good this time.
An hour later, she had two garbage bags full of donation materials. One full of clothing sized appropriately for 5-8 year olds and the other full of toys. There were a few toys she’d kept out, little things for the most part that were missing pieces from aggressive play. There were two stuffed animals sitting on top of one of the bags and, try though she might to convince herself otherwise, Darcy felt like their beady black eyes were staring at her.
The tiger in the train conductor outfit had tipped over sideways and was half sprawled over the sloth in the sailor uniform. The pose was so reminiscent of their respective owners that Darcy felt her chest seize up, breath coming faster and faster until she dropped to her knees. The only sound in the apartment was her choked, heaving sobs and wet sniffles.
“Darcy...”
“Yeah, J?” she asked, sitting up and hastily wiping her face with the ends of her sleeves. “What’s up?”
“Mr. Barton is at the door.”
“Tell him - tell him to wait a second, I’ve got something for Nat - .” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the sloth, scrubbing at her face with her free hand. Darcy sniffed a few times and pasted on a bright smile. “Be cool, D. Be cool.” She opened the door, took one look at the marksman, and - “Nope,” she said, shaking her head at the sight of Clint Barton holding a tea set. “Not doing this right now.”
“Darcy - “
“No. Just... here,” she shoved the sloth at him until he shifted the tea service to one hand so he could take the toy. “I can’t, okay? I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen or - or go back to how it was, like you can, like Steve can. It wasn’t - that won’t work for me. I didn’t really know Natasha or Bucky, I knew Natty and Jimmy and they’re...” She took a deep breath and smiled. “They’re all grown up, they don’t need me anymore, and that’s totally fine, okay? That’s how it should be. But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Clint shook his head, “Darcy, no, I don’t want to pretend either! I just...” He shrugged, and it was awkward and borderline comical with his hands full of tea and sloth, but the look on his face made fresh tears prickle against the backs of her eyes. “I don’t want to lose what we had,” he murmured.
“I can’t look at you without seeing her,” Darcy said thickly. “And that’s not fair, not to any of us, so I think - I think you’d better go, for now. I need time.”
“I can give you time,” he said after a moment. “I can be patient... but Darcy, I’m not the only one waiting on you.”
Because of this reblog and me thinking of this comic... and all I could see was baby!Shard. ^,^’
sry, @walonvaus, I had to ^,^’
"You can't be serious!" Isander threw her arms up.
"Why not? He worked for me well enough all grown-up." Diane looked at the tiny splotch of black in her palm. Huge eyes blinked up at her. "I'm sure he'll be even more cooperative if we relieve him from this pitiful state, no?"
"Or he'll kill us all for having seen him like that." Isander pointed the torch at the blob.
Diane had to admit that this was a likely option as well. "So, what shall it be?" She poked the mini-demon with her index finger. "Sudden death or sweet degradation?"
Ava stood awkwardly at the address Natasha had given her. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was going on, to be honest. Natasha’s message had been cryptic, even for the Black Widow. But Ava understood Natasha needed someone she could trust.
Certain the coast was clear (or clear enough for a Romanoff secured apartment), Ava knocked. “Hello?” she called. “Natasha sent me. My name is Ava. I’m here to help.”
Shoving her hands into her overly large coat, she glanced around again. Maybe this was some weird-ass training thing...
