This fic is kind of a sequel to Numb. You don’t have to read Numb to understand the story, however the backstory as to how the kid was born and such is in that fic. Nah, this one is more of a fluffy, silly Icy’s stellar parenting fic that follows the same characters from Numb.
The child was so much like her that it was annoying.
Sure the girl looked more like her father, she definitely had his eyes and his nose. But her snark and sarcasm could only have come from one place.
Yup, that child clearly inherited Icy’s trademark sass.
And this particular trait always seemed to surface when the pair argued.
The girl always made Icy question whether or not she was that bad…that much of a hassle when she was about fifteen years old. In the end Icy would always end up with something of a smirk, declaring inwardly that she was probably worse.
As of that moment, her daughter had taken to laying on the sofa, taking up as much room as possible. Something she did just to piss Icy off.
That was what ignited the fight. Icy had just made her way back from work—the ice witch had become a rather successful competitive dualist. The day was rather long and tiresome. The tournament semi-finals just around the corner. Spell practice was intense—it had been all week—Icy refused to let the gold medal slip through her fingers this year.
At the end of the day, the woman just wanted to take a seat and not do anything much.
The plan was simple enough in her head. But a pain in the ass to execute when she found Lucille lounging on the couch, laying on her back, holding a cellphone above her head.
“How about making some room?” Icy requested.
“How about, I’m comfy right here.” Lucille answered without looking away from the phone.
“It wouldn’t kill you to move your feet.” Icy declared.
“It wouldn’t kill you to go to the store and buy me my own couch.” Lucille shrugged. “Or at least walk into the other room and find a different one.”
“Actually, I was planning on watching T.V.”
“So was I.” Lucille snatched the remote and turned the T.V on. And she made sure to change it to a channel she knew Icy hated.
“You don’t even like this show.” Icy stated.
“Neither do you, and that’s what counts.” Lucille shrugged.
Oh yes, the girl was definitely like her mother. Watching them bicker, for Duman, was like watching a crappy soap opera. The two could go at it all night—screaming across the house until one in the morning.
Threats of taking away cellphones and running away in the mix.
Neither of the two seemed to ever want to let up, both having a need to get the last word. “Why couldn’t she be more like me.” He would often mummer to himself as Icy and Lucille continued their sass off.
“Can we please go to bed.” Duman would ask after a few sleepless nights full of yelling.
And he would get a unison response; either “shut up”, “stay out of it”, or a simple “no.”
And that was how it would usually come to an end.
The two always seemed to find common ground in messing with the poor wizard.
Yup, like mother like daughter.
One, small, happy…ish family.
The child was so much like her that it was annoying.
Sure the girl looked more like her father, she definitely had his eyes and his nose. But her snark and sarcasm could only have come from one place.
Yup, that child clearly inherited Icy’s trademark sass.
And this particular trait always seemed to surface when the pair argued.
The girl always made Icy question whether or not she was that bad…that much of a hassle when she was about fifteen years old. In the end Icy would always end up with something of a smirk, declaring inwardly that she was probably worse.
As of that moment, her daughter had taken to laying on the sofa, taking up as much room as possible. Something she did just to piss Icy off.
That was what ignited the fight. Icy had just made her way back from work—the ice witch had become a rather successful competitive dualist. The day was rather long and tiresome. The tournament semi-finals just around the corner. Spell practice was intense—it had been all week—Icy refused to let the gold medal slip through her fingers this year.
At the end of the day, the woman just wanted to take a seat and not do anything much.
The plan was simple enough in her head. But a pain in the ass to execute when she found Lucille lounging on the couch, laying on her back, holding a cellphone above her head.
“How about making some room?” Icy requested.
“How about, I’m comfy right here.” Lucille answered without looking away from the phone.
“It wouldn’t kill you to move your feet.” Icy declared.
“It wouldn’t kill you to go to the store and buy me my own couch.” Lucille shrugged. “Or at least walk into the other room and find a different one.”
“Actually, I was planning on watching T.V.”
“So was I.” Lucille snatched the remote and turned the T.V on. And she made sure to change it to a channel she knew Icy hated.
“You don’t even like this show.” Icy stated.
“Neither do you, and that’s what counts.” Lucille shrugged.
Oh yes, the girl was definitely like her mother. Watching them bicker, for Duman, was like watching a crappy soap opera. The two could go at it all night—screaming across the house until one in the morning.
Threats of taking away cellphones and running away in the mix.
Neither of the two seemed to ever want to let up, both having a need to get the last word. “Why couldn’t she be more like me.” He would often mummer to himself as Icy and Lucille continued their sass off.
“Can we please go to bed.” Duman would ask after a few sleepless nights full of yelling.
And he would get a unison response; either “shut up”, “stay out of it”, or a simple “no.”
And that was how it would usually come to an end.
The two always seemed to find common ground in messing with the poor wizard.
Yup, like mother like daughter.
One, small, happy…ish family.
