#Bargain Jeans Bargain Jeans Bargain Jeans

[berryhatfingers]

You said you wanted to make people mad on the internet, and you have instead brought delight to my internet. I love your opinions and share them. So I’m build on what you said and potentially piss people off myself.

I feel like despite it being such a huge deal in TSC the fandom has decided to ignore the fact Jean is 19, that he was 14/16(I can’t remember if he had two years before joining the line and I’m too tired to check) when he was sold and because the most abused and targeted person there. The one Riko learned, practiced, and intensified his sadism on.

Like the sexualization of Jean is so frustrating to me. I get that everyone heals and responds to sexual abuse/assault differently, but that’s not the only thing Jean needs to heal from, there’s also cult-aspects, being owned/trafficked, his sister having been sold as a child bride to her death, years of ritualistic torture/abuse, and others, so much else.

Because yeah, Jean is a fighter, his instinct is to fight, he also fights in his own way: keeping French, his accent, and teaching Kevin the language were just some ways in the nest, he had rebellions, smart ones. What he’s doing a USC is also such a big ‘fuck you’ to Riko hating Jean-Yves the French boy. THEIR PR STRATEGY INCLUDES HIM BARELY SPEAKING ANYTHING BUT FRENCH. Like that interaction in the mall wasn’t official strategy, but it’s such a healing move, he’s getting to fight/rebel safely, not having to panic over public statements/speaking, holding openly hold his nationality, his language, his personhood. THAT is what TSC is about.

Yes, we have simping after Jeremy, and yeah, JereJean is probably gonna start teasing in. But just for some perspective guys, it took me seven years to be able handle that sort of intimacy, friends are hard on their own, but those extra layers that are part of sexual intimacy (which I’m including kissing in) had more layers of vulnerability, trust, and triggers.

I want TGR to be Jean getting to heal, coming into his own, letting him have friends, a home, something like freedom, and maybe a flirtation with Jeremy. But Jean didn’t have friends (‘cause cult) he had alliances, his closest relationship was with Zayn and when that bargain got broken we know what Zayn let be. That was a connection/alliance that Jean had to build and fight for. Renee was complicated, friends that could have been romantic in different circumstances. Renee is the first person Jean was friendly with since his sister who hasn’t complicit in his abuse, and even then she knew about the abuse, and removed him from that environment without his consent and without a plan (thank you Neil for sorting that).

So Cat, Laila, Jeremy, the floozies, the Trojans (minus Lucas) are Jean’s first experiences of friendship and amicable companionship. Let the kid breathe. Because @sidevolt is right, he’s NINETEEN.

SocMed AU is a great little teehee moment, and I love it. But don’t forget canon, how young these character are, how traumatized they are. When thinking about Jean remember he and his sister were human trafficked as children, Elodie died, published is the only version where Jean didn’t, and now he is a traumatized kid who’s trying to figure out what life looks like without daily violence and threat of horrific abuse.

I know a lot of pre-2024 fandom material has Jean as older, but even then he was still what, 20/21? Still YOUNG. I didn’t understand the weight of these character’s youth when I first read these books, they felt old, as can happen when you read about characters older than yourself, but I’m in my mid-20s now. I am still young, but I look at these characters and I feel the heaviness Wymack does, because they’re kids, they’re barely legally adults, but further they’ve had to act adult so much while still being KIDS.

So yeah, don’t sexuality these characters, don’t rush let, let them be, let them heal, let them find their place and their rhythm to life rather than saying their healing should be rushed/haphazard so you can get JereJean to be canon in a month.

Let the art be art. If you want those things write or read fanfiction, I know I’ve come off judgey and preachy in this, but like guy, not everything needs to be canon, and not everything need to happen fast in a series either. That’s the power of fandom, that you can have what you want without the canon. Have an au, canon-divergence, headcanon, ship, dream for post-story future, whatever, I enjoy such things, and you get to as well! We can all enjoy fandom spaces however we do so, these are just my thoughts, k thanks.

(Also an aside @sidevolt if I ever start writing fics I will definitely ask for translation help)

i'm french and in my early twenties, of course i want to make people mad on the internet!

here are some opinions :

- i don't want JereJean to kiss in tgr, Jean is not ready for that.

- Jean isn't a weak submissive damsel in distress, he is a 6ft man who's first instinct is fight. just because he had to submit to survive doesn't mean he's naturally submissive

- and yet he is still a teenager with no normal life experiences, so sexualizing the way some people in this fandom do is weird

- the way some people sexualize any character is weird actually

- the socmed AUs can be funny, even if they're ooc and not realistic

- i want tgr to end with Jeremy's graduation, and book 3 to be about Jean learning to live on his own during his last year

- i don't like it when people use french words in fanfic bc most of the time they don't use the words correctly and it makes me cringe. sorry about that one it's a little mean but it had to be said. i'm more than okay to help with translation tho, just dm me !

that's it for now but there will probably be more.

i'd say "don't like, don't interact" but please, interact :)

[maxiwaxipads]

some people put charms around their house like the cross to ward away evil spirits… do you think pikero hangs bargain jeans to keep tuxam away but it only works for a little while until tuxam has gathered the courage to clean up

[anthemsofsuccess]

what hyperfixation does to a girl (it’s barely been a week)

[crehador]

risky move for mahoro to be hiding in here tbh. how much king frottage activity has she inadvertently witnessed already

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Chapter 3: Laundry

Abbie and Ichabod have an unspoken agreement to never, ever talk about the shower incident. And, to avoid future embarrassment (and because she's running out of clothing that will actually fit him) she decides to take him shopping over the weekend. The mall is a strange and fascinating new place for Ichabod, and it's hard to remain frustrated with someone who won't budge from the brilliantly colorful and shiny advertisement posters on all the shop windows when he's staring at them with such awe and admiration. Although, Abbie admits, it'd be nice if he could just shut up for a minute and let her think.

"Lieutenant, the artistry and calligraphy of these…what did you call them…advertisements…is truly a wondrous sight! The work that must have gone into creating such color, such precision! Not to mention all of the wasted trees…they must have cut down an entire forest just to decorate these shop windows! Pity, that."

Abbie grasps him by the cuff of his jacket and tugs him along, weaving in between a sea of customers that continuously bump shoulders with an unaffected Ichabod. The storefronts rush past them in a blur of blended colors and bold, modern font, until Ichabod stops dead in his tracks and locks eyes with one in particular, his expression a caricature of shock and horror.

"Lieutenant, what on earth is that well-endowed woman doing in such revealing clothing? Isn't there some kind of law against this level of immodesty?" Ichabod scoffs, clearly scandalized, and yet somehow, he's unable to tear his gaze away from the gigantic Victoria Secret poster. Abbie rolls her eyes, dragging him away from the decorated pink and red shop windows that display a cheeky collection of lacy lingerie on busty, stick-figure mannequins.

"People are a bit more open about that kind of stuff in this century. There's a lot I have to catch you up on…but first, you need a change of clothes," she explains, rolling her eyes and holding up her hand before Ichabod even has the chance to open his mouth.

"Don't even try it, Crane. We've already had this discussion. If you're going to play up the whole Oxford Professor cover story, you're going to need to blend in. And that means looking the part."

Ichabod scowls, presses his lips into a tight line, and reluctantly follows.

She takes him to JC Penney, Macy's, Kohl's, and Boscov's, pointedly avoids the juniors' shops (even though she's almost certain that his lanky frame could fit their sizes…and even though the potential of seeing Crane in skinny jeans is hilariously tempting) in favor of a more sophisticated, collegiate look. 

After an agonizing two and a half hours of changing rooms and piles of unwanted clothing (he had rejected nearly everything she'd given him) they finally leave the mall with shopping bags full of new jeans and work trousers, a collection of button-up collared shirts in various colors, a couple of sweaters for the winter, pajama pants, t-shirts, boxers, socks, boots, and a brand new, navy blue pea coat on sale at half the price. It was all pretty affordable, considering her rank in the force, but that didn't mean that Abbie wasn't a pro at bargain shopping, hitting nearly every clearance rack she could get her hands on. Ichabod had even commended her on her finds (after gaping at the original prices and threatening to start another Revolutionary War.) 

On the drive home, she blasts the radio and sings along, feeling relatively good about still having the rest of her Saturday off from work to do as she pleases. Ichabod complains about the noise level, jamming his fingers in his ears like a petulant child, which only serves to make Abbie turn the volume louder, mouthing, What? I can't hear you! Too busy enjoying the music!, and laughing at his glowering expression. Ichabod settles for lightly banging his forehead against the passenger seat window.

As they're getting out of the car, Ichabod turns to Abbie and leans across the arm rests and cup holders until he's invading her personal space. He tentatively places his hand on hers, and says, "Thank you for purchasing new belongings for me today. Though I might not always display it outwardly, I want you to know that I am grateful for all that you have done for me. I do not know how to repay you, as I am not currently in possession of any currency, or of the ability to obtain it via labor…but I do hope that I can find a way." 

His expression is soft, his pale, pink lips curved into a small smile, framed by a mess of disheveled, dark brown facial hair. Abbie is struck with a sudden urge to reach up and smooth it over with her fingertips. Instead, she clears her throat, gently takes her hand out of his, and says, "Don't worry about it, Crane. Just promise me you'll actually wear them."

Ichabod gives her a curt nod, and then jiggles the door handle, but it won't budge.

"Hang on," Abbie sighs. "This car's pretty old…sometimes the lock sticks." Without even thinking about it, she reaches across his lap and clicks the little plastic button, just as she'd done a thousand times whenever she'd spent the night out with friends. She feels him flinch and go very still beneath her the moment her arm brushes against his chest. Before she can say anything, he's bolting out of the car and then standing beside it, ramrod straight, with his arms awkwardly folded behind his back.

"What? You're gonna make me carry all your stuff inside?" she laughs, unlocking the trunk with her keys. That seems to stir something in him, and suddenly he's at her side, looping his arms through each of the shopping bag handles and tugging them out of the car as though they weigh nothing.

"Huh. Impressive. Those new boots are pretty damn heavy," she says, sifting through her key ring until she comes across the one to her apartment. She wonders for a moment if she should get a spare made for Crane, and then thinks better of it. It's not like he's staying for very long. Just for a little while, until he adjusts to life in this century. And then he'll get his own place. With Katrina, his sort-of-dead-but-not-really wife. Probably.

"You forget that I was in the army. War requires strength in a multitude of ways," he explains, shifting the weight of the shopping bags from one arm to the other as they ascend the stairs to her apartment.

"Fair enough," she says, dropping her keys onto the kitchen table and shrugging off her coat. "Now, here comes the hard part. I'm going to need to teach you how to do your own laundry, and you're going to need to listen very carefully so you don't break anything, got it?"

Ichabod gives Abbie a curt nod as he follows her into the communal laundry room at the lower level of the apartment complex, clutching a basket full of his brand new clothes. With a small, supercilious chuckle, Ichabod wonders how on earth scrubbing articles of cloth on a washboard and then hanging them out on a line to dry could've possibly gotten any more complicated than it had been back in his time.

Oh, he thinks as he surveys the massive room lined with a collection of black and white metal boxes. Apparently everything is operated by machinery these days.

Abbie takes the basket from him and sets it atop one of the washing machines, cranks the dial to heavy load cycle and selects the button for cold water. Ichabod tries to keep up, memorizing her moves. She explains how the washer works, shows him how to pour in the proper amount of detergent (the very notion of liquid soap still baffles him), and helps him load his new clothes into the machine. Then she explains how to use the dryers, rolling her eyes when Crane argues that drying them out on a line would be much simpler.

"Yeah, except we don't have a linen line and your clothes would get bird shit all over them," she says, arching her eyebrows. "Trust me, you'll get the hang of this, and it'll take much less time for your clothes to dry if you use the dryer."

"Hmm…looks like you're going to have to split it into two cycles," Abbie adds, sifting through his new wardrobe and piling a couple of pairs of jeans and work trousers into the washer after his sweaters and socks.

"So, I've got some errands to run, but they shouldn't take too long. I'll be back before you know it…but you're going to have to stay here while it finishes its cycle to make sure no one steals your stuff, okay?"

"Yes, of course," he says softly, his tone hesitant, disheartened.

"You okay to do the second load on your own?" she asks, concerned.

"I believe I have learned well from your example and should be able to complete the task without tremendous difficulty. I shall see you upon your return, Lieutenant."

Abbie smiles, her lips curving up at the corner in the way that they always do, whenever she's found something he's said or done particularly amusing, and makes for the door. Ichabod pushes the start button on the washing machine, carefully perches on a nearby plastic chair, and waits, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

Abbie returns home about an hour later, her arms full of grocery bags that she quickly dumps onto the kitchen table, massaging the grooves in her wrists left by the weight of the plastic handles digging into her skin. At the sound of her arrival, Ichabod bolts into the room, clutching a bundle of pink and purple stained clothing. He looks utterly beside himself, his expression a combination of outrage and anxiety as he approaches her.

"Lieutenant, look at what that cruel machine did to the new clothing!" he exclaims, holding out one of his formerly white button-up shirts as evidence. "I did everything just as you had explained. I turned the correct dials and pressed the right buttons and added the precise amount of magic cleaning liquid into the container, exactly as you had, but when I took them out of the machine, the lighter shades of clothing had turned different colors! That devil machine is to blame for ruining perfectly acceptable clothing!"

"Crane," Abbie says, her tone a mix of amusement and frustration.

"I am appalled by this century's advances, Lieutenant," he continues, "for they have ruined the kindness you had bestowed upon me, and now I am filled with guilt."

"Crane," she says, softer this time. "It's fine. Come on, I know just how to fix this."

After they put away the groceries, she makes him gather up all of the clothes that had turned different colors, and takes him down to the laundry room again. This time, she makes sure to explain how to properly separate whites and colors so that the dye from his red and purple button-up shirts won't turn his white ones pink. She reiterates the fact that cold water lets colors remain much brighter than they would if he'd used hot water (which he admits may have been his first mistake.) And then she throws in a cup of Tide with bleach, and Ichabod watches with wonder and curiosity as the magic solution turns back time.

She sits with him on the uncomfortable plastic chairs while he waits, the two of them sharing Mad Libs entries and Word Searches. When it's finished its final cycle, Abbie quickly takes his clothes out of the dryer and rushes upstairs with the basket. Crane, intrigued by Abbie's sudden enthusiasm, follows at her heels. She pushes open the door to his bedroom and proceeds to dump the pile of laundry out onto his bed.

"Want to know what one of the best feelings in the world is?" she asks, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ichabod arches his eyebrows, and watches as Abbie takes a few steps backward, makes a running leap toward his bed, and plunges into the rumpled pile of clean clothing, just as she would autumn leaves. She takes one of his new sweaters and wraps it around her shoulders, reveling in its fresh-from-the-dryer warmth and coziness.

"Seriously. Best feeling. Come on, Crane," she says, waving him over. Ichabod stills for a moment, uncertain as to what the proper course of action in this situation would be. But curiosity outweighs propriety, and he slowly, carefully lies down on his back, sinking into the mattress and sighing as the exposed patches of his skin make contact with the warm clothing. Still using his sweater as a scarf, Abbie rolls over onto her side, wraps her arms underneath her head, and watches him. Ichabod closes his eyes and burrows into the cozy pile of clothing, a pleasant smile spreading across his lips.

Abbie makes a soft, low moaning sound at the back of her throat, and says, "It's like hugging a freshly-brewed cup of coffee." Ichabod opens his eyes, tilts his head to the side, and simply stares at her for a moment, his eyes tracing patterns across every feature of her face, burning them into his memory. Yes, he thinks, this is one of the best feelings in the world.

✨ Read Next Chapter | Chapter Masterlist ✨

You Always Want What You're Running From

Sleepy Hollow » Ichabbie

Title: You Always Want What You're Running From

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Sleepy Hollow (Masterlist)

Relationship: Abbie Mills x Ichabod Crane

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: When Abbie invites Ichabod to come live with her, the last thing she expects is for him to start feeling like home.

She'll tell herself, over and over again like a mantra, that it's because she feels indebted to him, that she feels bad for him, that it'll make their casework much easier if she can keep a constant eye on him, that it's convenient.  But really, it's because, in spite of everything, in spite of an impending apocalypse that only they, the unwilling witnesses, can prevent, he keeps her grounded, keeps her sane. For reasons she can't explain, she trusts him.  She hasn't trusted anyone like this since Corbin…and now, Crane is all she has left. In his company, she feels secure. Protected. Cared for. They've only known each other for a short while, and yet…Crane's company feels like home. Besides…how bad could living with a man from the 1700's truly be?

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr: Chapter 1 » Chapter 2 » Chapter 3

[thepiecesofcait]

Will you be like a papa to me?

[ofcnyx]

I am not a professional arits but I thought I'll give it a go and try to draw Dramione for A Slytherin's Bargain -WIP🐍💚🖤

[words-and-coffee]

outside I find myself // caught in rain // body in ruins // when dawn comes // our eyes are full of confusion & thirst // she leans over // says nothing // I want to scream

Mary Jean Chan, Flèche - the five stages - bargaining

[cuips-not-cute]

was supposed to write the characters having a normal, adult conversation and now somehow there's dry humping. every day we stray further from god

[obi-wann-cannoli]

This chapter lookin like a Looney Tunes arrest. smh, get it together guys!

[gender-euphowrya]

the nurse who sometimes does like blood draws for my grandma released a book and it's one of them appeal-to-racists ''i'm from a muslim family let me tell you reverse racism is real'' kinda garbage

but the funny thing is the target demographic is Not reading his book because they stopped at ''i'm from a muslim family"

[keyblades-and-kingdoms]

in any other context, a man telling a little girl to “show me where you live” would be cause for a felony but local dumbass jean valjean thought that emerging from the darkness in the woods while singing was the least terrifying course of action

[lunapwrites]

Hey, past LP? Yeah, hi, I'm gonna need you to quit putting this much of yourself in your fictional queer wizards okay? Okay cool, thanks.

[justaholeinmysoul]

Some of yall really don't know what it means to be working class in some countries. Yes maybe we can afford little "luxuries" from time to time but that doesn't make people rich or capable to completely boycott the low costs companies.

[jean-denim]

I've been trying to figure out what these weird phases I've been going through since I "became an adult," and I've just realized I've gone through the five stages of grief about the state of the world

[thepiecesofcait]

It's no more than we Christians must do.