#Bad things happen bingo fill: school struggles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bcdrawsandwrites · 1 year

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[ID: The first image Psychonauts fanfic banner on a black-to-gray gradient background. On the left in white text it says “Prompt #5: Never Be Hurt Again” On the right is a light blue animated figment of a scaler (a long metal dental tool with thin hooks on either end).

The second image is a Bad Things Happen Bingo card. Various prompts are marked with a half-brain (prompt requested but not filled) or full-brain (prompt requested and finished) symbol, while the “Never Be Hurt Again” prompt specifically is marked with a full brain symbol. /end ID]

Okay I keep forgetting to post this, but I thought of it just now so I’m finally taking an opportunity to get this posted! Here is, FINALLY, my next fic for my @badthingshappenbingo challenge! \

I am currently NO LONGER OPEN FOR REQUESTS. I have enough to work on to get a bingo! I MAY decide to reopen prompts later if I want to keep going after finishing these fics, but for now, requests are closed!

This request is for @loveandmad! Hope you enjoy it! Also big thanks to @jaywings and Pinky G Rocket for beta-reading.

Prompt: Never Be Hurt Again Characters: Caligosto Loboto, his parents, and various OCs for his backstory Warnings: Emotional manipulation/parental abuse, (SPOILERS: implied dental torture)

---~~~---

Traffic honked and wailed in the streets below his window. It was not the city he had been in originally, the one that his parents sent him to a few years ago; he had chosen this city.

—~~~—

"Stoneton?" Caligosto looked from the pen in his father's outstretched hand to the application on the kitchen table. "That's on the other side of the country."

"Yes, but it's a very good city," his mother replied, with the same enthusiasm she'd used to talk about the "very good highschool" or the "very good summer camp" that he'd been forced into in the past, that he still had nightmares about.

"I don't know..."

"Look, son, we're doing you a favor!" His father slammed the pen onto the table. "You want dental school? Here it is. We're offering to pay for your tuition!"

"Your father is willing to give up the money he was putting toward his second yacht! We're making a personal sacrifice for you!" His mother looked away. "I don't know how we managed to raise such an ungrateful child..."

"No, no! It's not that—"

"We're doing this for you, son! You want to live your dream of becoming a dentist, we're letting you do that!"

You never wanted to before, Caligosto wanted to say, but the words retreated back down his throat. To live his dream... he couldn't let this slip away. He stared down at the application again, then grabbed the pen, the yellow gleam of the kitchen light glinting off its metal surface.

—~~~—

Light danced on the tip of the hook as he turned the scaler in his hands. He stared at it, feeling its weight in his palm, remembering the last time he'd used it.

His fingers clenched around it, knuckles white beneath the glove.

—~~~—

The room was a blinding white and silver, save for the dull gray chairs and the dummy heads strapped to them. The heads were painted in flesh tones, faceless save for gaping mouths with complete sets of teeth. Many of his classmates had shied away from these at first, but Caligosto had always rushed to his assigned dummy, half his mind giddy with the thought of finally getting to practice, and the other half with the thought of his parents seeing him as a successful dentist.

He held the scaler down toward the dummy, ready to practice methods of scraping plaque from teeth, when his professor strolled by.

"Now, you'll probably deal with patients who put up a fight," she stated. "Some patients will struggle and squirm. Some may try to bite."

Of course, they'd gone over this before. This professor had always liked to make a show of taking off her glove and revealing a scar one of her own patients had left on her hand. So he nodded along, continuing to move the hook between the fake teeth, digging gently into the silicone gums.

"But you may even have patients who are... unnatural, so to speak."

He paused.

She strode toward a cabinet in the back of the lab as she spoke. "Of course, you need special methods when dealing with them. There are certain tools we have in the medical profession to deal with them, which I'll show you in a moment." She glanced over her students with a glint in her eye.

Slowly he looked back down at the dummy, unsure of why his hands were going numb.

"They're known for all sorts of tricks," she went on, turning to open the cabinet. "They can dismantle your tools with just a look!"

His hand twitched, leaving a small scratch on a fake tooth.

"Or they could reach out and infect you with a deadly virus, just by their touch..."

He gripped the scaler, his knuckles turning white.

"Even if they don't touch you, some can reach out with an invisible hand and change your future, just enough to bring you misfortune!" Finally she turned around with a strange pair of earmuffs in her hand, and something about the sight of them sent a jolt up his spine and caused his chest to burn, and he jumped away from his dummy. His professor didn’t notice as she continued, "That's why—"

"Th-that's not true."

He suddenly became aware that everyone was staring at him, and that his professor's grin had fallen. "Pardon?"

It was too late to back down, so he straightened his back. "They can't dismantle something instantly. They can do it without their hands, but they still need to pull it apart. And there's no psychic power that can cause illness, unless they're spinning you around like a ferris wheel!" He snorted. "And if they could change their future, wouldn't we see a lot more of them winning the lotter—"

"Stop."

He shut his mouth, but his eyes were locked on the earmuffs she held, and he wasn't sure why the sight of them was making him tremble.

The professor approached him, her gaze dark. "Are you defending these mentalists, Loboto?"

"Wh-what?!" he sputtered, head snapping up. "No! I just—"

She got in his face, and he swore he could feel some form of terrible, familiar energy from the earmuffs in her hands. "Never in my class would I ever have expected to encounter a psychic sympathizer!"

The phrase turned his stomach to ice and lit his head ablaze—outraged that she would accuse him of such, and horrified by the implications.

It wasn’t the last time he would hear it, or even worse terms that he didn’t like to think about.

They came up during a meeting with the dean regarding his dismissal from the college. They were spat upon him when he tried to apply for jobs in the area as he scrambled to find his footing. They were hissed at him from former classmates who had once gotten along with him.

The term was even snarled at him over the phone, when he contacted the last two people he could think of for help.

“Psychic sympathizer.”

—~~~—

The shriek of metal on glass brought him out of the memory, and he stared down at the faint scratch across his window.

After taking a moment to unclench his jaw, to breathe, to set the tool aside onto its cart, he turned away from the window and strode across the dark room. There was no point in reflecting on those memories, those terrible manglings of his character, those people who chased him away from what had felt like the one chance of ever achieving his dream. They were behind him now.

But his foot nudged a book that stuck out from the lowest shelf, and he reached down to adjust it, frowning when he noted the misaligned printing on the spine.

—~~~—

Caligosto plucked up the book, flipped through it, picked off the sticker, and slipped it into his jacket. It had gotten easier after the first several times; his hands no longer shook, though his nerves still fluttered in his chest. After browsing through the shop for another quarter hour, he shrugged and trotted out, bidding the owner good-day as he headed back to his apartment to plot his next course of action.

The book, while a measly paperback, was a signed copy, and would surely yield him enough money to cover the rest of this month's rent, which was due in two days. He just needed to choose the next store carefully—one he hadn't been to in a while. There was Jamie's down the road, but he'd just sold a set of pilfered baseball cards there a week ago. He hadn't been to the one on 5th and Maple in a while, but it was closed today... Ah, right, the one another town over—he hadn't been there in a couple months, so that one should be all right. It would be a bit of a hike, but it would be worth it.

So he made the trip, which ate up a chunk of his day, clutching the book under his jacket. Just one more time, and he would be set for another month—another month to figure out how to get out of this dump.

"Got a good one for you this time!" Puffing up his chest, he slapped the book onto the counter. The force at which he'd done it had caused the binding to come somewhat loose, and he fought the urge to wince, hoping the man wouldn't notice. "It's a signed copy, you see?"

The shop owner slid the book closer to himself, lifting it up and turning it this way and that, studying it through narrowed eyes.

Even though he'd gotten away with it before, the sweat still trickled down his back as he awaited the man's evaluation. Maybe he could settle for a lower price if the shopkeeper wasn't willing to pay what it was worth—just so long as he could cover his rent, that was all he needed—

The man huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Not a signed copy," he remarked. "It's a photocopy." He'd pointed out the spine, which, now that he looked more closely, didn't even have the title aligned, part of it folding over onto the back cover of the book. When the man opened it, his finger traced the margins, which didn't line up with the edges of the pages. He set the book back on the counter, giving him an unpleasant grin, one with poorly-placed veneers, revealing the blackened teeth between where the porcelain didn't line up with the gums. "I'll give you two bucks."

He trembled all over, the blood rushing from his face, before his mouth twisted. "I hope you choke on your own rotten teeth!" He snatched the book before storming out.

His trek back to his apartment was made in a blind, numb haze, his stomach sinking as he wondered just how he could word a plea to his landlord to allow him another week to pay the rent. If his landlord would even allow that, if his landlord hadn't already heard the gossip being spread about him.

The thoughts left him the second a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him behind a building. His mind clicked into self-preservation mode while some voice screamed in the back of his head that this was it, someone had caught him, or someone had heard the rumors and come after him—

"C-Caligosto, is that you?"

He found himself staring at a young man with a frightened, pale face, and dark circles under his eyes. At first he narrowed his eyes at him, prepared to bolt, only to realize he recognized the man's messy orange hair, though it was a lot messier than the last time he'd seen it.

"...Bower," he said slowly, yanking his arm away. He'd shared a few classes with the student during his short time at the university. "What do you want?"

"Help," Bower choked, huddling in on himself. "I... I just need your help with—"

"I haven't been a student in months, in case you haven't noticed," he said, voice dripping in bitterness.

"Yes, exactly, that's exactly why I need your help!"

He stared at him. "What."

"Everyone avoids you, so—so... no one would know!" A manic smile stretched across Bower’s face as he spread out his sweaty hands.

"...No one would know what?"

"Look, I-I kinda owe someone some money—"

"You're talking to the wrong person."

He turned away, but Bower caught him by the shoulder and turned him back around. Jerking his arm away, he grit his teeth and glared down at the man, who held up his hands.

"I owe them a lot of money! And—and if you can help me get some, I'll give you half."

He opened his mouth to protest, and closed it, looking away as he mulled things over. "Do you have a plan of some sort?"

"I-I do. But it's risky, and I need help. And after that, you never have to speak to me again!"

"...You never spoke to me anyway."

"Look, I know, just—please, just this once?"

Deep down, he could feel something—something telling him it was nice to feel needed. Not to mention, he did need the money on short notice.

He steeled himself. "All right. What's the plan?"

—~~~—

He shook his head. While it had been the moment to launch him into his current career, he'd been foolish to think that he'd been needed by that idiot. No, Bower hadn't needed him specifically. If he'd refused, he would've found someone else. No, Bower had used him, and had been planning on keeping all the money for himself, if he could get away with it (which he hadn't—as he'd predicted, Bower had gotten caught by the police, and ratted him out, but he'd been long gone by the time they'd come looking for him).

He'd been free.

—~~~—

With his few possessions in a duffel bag hanging on his shoulder, Loboto strolled down the sidewalk of the new town, which looked brighter and more promising than his old college town ever had.

It would be a new leaf for him. Perhaps he could forge a license and start a dentist practice, if not here, then somewhere further out. The robbery had given him more than enough money to rent a new apartment for the rest of the year, so housing wouldn't be a problem for a while. Just so long as he could find a job to start with...

He stopped at the bulletin board, perusing the job postings and skimming past event fliers. He wasn't terribly picky, so long as it was something that could pay for rent and still have some left over for food and savings—

A pair of familiar glasses caught his eye, and his blood ran cold.

Wanted: Caligosto Loboto.

His teeth grit so hard they nearly cracked, he tore the poster from the board, and ran.

—~~~—

...It was better now.

The police hadn't found him, of course. Never, in the past few years of his career, though they'd searched. Oh, they'd searched, and he'd had to move again later, but it was all good now.

Especially since his new client had opened up a world of new possibilities to him.

—~~~—

Loboto found her staring at the tools, still in pristine condition, arranged on the shelves. "Interested in those, are we?" He tipped his head. "Do you need some dental work done?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than his heart began to flutter in excitement, and he perked up. "I know you're here for business, but if you ever need some work done on your pearly whites, I can—"

Nora held up a finger. "I'm just here for business."

His heart and hopes dropped to the floor, and his shoulders drooped. "Yeah, of course."

Yet she was still looking over the tools, eyes narrowed. Without a word she picked up a dental hook, pressing it into one of her fingers until it drew blood.

"Hey!" he cried. "You should be wearing gloves—"

"These tools, Cal," she said quickly, rubbing the finger she'd pricked against her thumb, smearing the blood. "They look like they would hurt."

Grumbling, he snatched the hook away and hunted for a bottle of cleaning alcohol and a cloth. "No," he said absently, stooping down to snatch up a bottle. "In the right hands, the procedures can be mildly unpleasant at worst."

As he disinfected the tool, Nora reached out to him. "So could those same hands..." She gently grabbed one of his palms, and he yanked his hand away, shooting a glare at her. "...make them hurt?"

He stared at her.

"Perhaps, enough for a patient to beg, to plead, to give whatever information you want?"

Loboto held the hook away from her, but hesitated a moment. "...Why do you ask?"

Nora stepped back, regarding the tools on the shelves. "It doesn't look like they've seen much use, and it would be a shame for them to go to waste."

—~~~—

His hands shook, in spite of his smile.

This was it. He was finally going to see his dream come true—perhaps not in the way he'd originally planned, but that's the fun of it, isn't it? He was past all of that nonsense—his parents and professors and even the police trying to control him, trying to get in the way of his goals.

His dreams were coming true. He was finally, finally getting to put his skills to use. And no one was going to convince him otherwise.

"Cal!" a harsh voice called from the room he'd remade into a new "dentist's office." "Your patient isn't cooperating. Get in here!"

"Right away!" he called in return, wheeling his cart into the room.

On the other side of the room was his client, Nora, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. And before her, strapped to the dental chair, was his patient. Both his mouth and eyes were wide, the former from a mouth prop forcing his jaw open, and the latter from terror.

Loboto looked him over, selecting the scaler from his cart and fighting to keep his hand from shaking. He looked from the patient's teeth and gums, then to Nora, who nodded impatiently at him. He stared down at the pointed tip of the tool in his trembling hand—one of many tools that hadn't seen use since his college days.

"Get on with it," Nora hissed.

He clenched the tool, forcing his hand to still, and aimed it at the patient's gums, grinning down into his terrified eyes. "Say aaah!" he said, and jabbed.

#caligosto loboto #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #bad things happen bingo #my art #my writing #fanfic #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH #I really wound up agonizing over this one for a while for some reason #(also I know the reference to yachts might be a bit of an anachronism)#(but Psychonauts is no stranger to those sooooo)

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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Sweeter than Strawberries | Jungkook

→ summary: at euphoria bakery, seasonal changes also bring seasonal menu items. when you find out that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake was phased out after the end of summer, it takes only one puppy eyed look from you for jeon jungkook to make it for you anyway—just don’t tell his boss about it, alright?

→ genre: bakery!au, s2l, fluff → warnings: none unless you count the fact that i’m writing shy!jungkook again :^D, we love mutual pining in this house ex dee → words: 4.5K → a/n: this was commissioned by @ihatemathanal!! i was super stoked to write this bc it’s really cute and sometimes it’s nice to just write happy fluffy things every once in a while (aka zee is turning into a fluff writer jfc) it got a lil longer than it was supposed to, but that’s bc i got carried away lol anyway i hope you guys enjoy!! (ps: this also works for the bgw bingo so... tyg for s2l fics!! let’s get it!!)

For the most part, the beginning of autumn is usually your favorite time of the year. When the tree leaves begin to yellow and the air gains a significantly colder bite, this signifies the end of pit stains and sweaty thighs and the start of sweater paws and chapped lips. Above all, you are most excited, of course, for an excuse to gorge yourself on steaming mugs of hot chocolate, paired with delicious mountains of warm gooey brownies.

For the most part, these are all things that often get you excited for the coming chill. What you do not think to remember, however, is that while these seasonal changes bring more good than bad, there still remains a little snag: a small oversight, if you will. As businesses all over the world begin the annual transition to the colder months, so does your favorite bakery across the street from your university. After all, summer ingredients grow scarcer as the year nears its end, so it’s understandable for bakeries to switch up their menu to keep up with both the supply and demand.

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, long story short—

Your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake is about to get phased out. No, scratch that—it’s already been phased out, right from under your very nose, no less!

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. You have always known it was a specialty drink; your best friend had even been the one to introduce it to you just near the end of your summer classes:

“This is Euphoria Bakery,” Namjoon had said with a smile, waving cheerily at the two boys manning the till. You heard him chuckle in amusement when your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, staring longingly at the sweet treats and baked goods lining the display case.

Namjoon had stolen your attention away, however, when he pointed to the chalkboard menu on the wall. As it turned out, the bakery also doubled as a cafe, serving the usual coffees and teas while also making the occasional specialty drink for different seasons or holidays. The chalkboard was decorated beautifully, the menu items written out in neat cursive with tiny little doodles littering its margins. On one of the boards, there was a new drink item being advertised in bold pink letters—a great summer treat!—or so it said.

“Jungkook-ssi, can you get me and Y/N a strawberry shortcake milkshake? Extra whipped cream for me, please!” Namjoon called out to one of the boys, startling the younger of the two. The boy, Jungkook, must have been busy fiddling with the cash register that he hadn’t noticed your arrival.

“N-Namjoon-hyung? Sorry, I was just busy counting the money—” Jungkook stopped short in his speech, his tongue getting caught in his mouth when his eyes landed directly on you. He had made a strangled sound, like he had swallowed his spit too quickly and was struggling to regain his composure. “H-Hello?”

You realized belatedly that he must have been greeting you, as you had been distracted by his fidgetiness. His nervousness was cute, if a little bit contagious; you couldn’t help feeling anxious too, like your heart was missing every other beat, even though you had no reason to be. “Hello! My name is Y/N. It’s my first time coming here, but Namjoon says your new summer menu item is really good? I wanted to try it out for myself.”

Jungkook nodded, still staring wide-eyed at you as if in a trance. You expected him to start... well. You weren’t an expert on how bakeries or cafes are run, but you were pretty sure he should’ve started doing something after you had spoken, perhaps ring up your order on the register, or start working on your drinks. Instead, he’s still frozen in place, like he’d somehow short-circuited within the last two minutes.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed his odd behavior because the man working with him suddenly pushed Jungkook to the side, a brief smirk flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced by a more subdued, professional smile.

“Sorry about him. He’s usually my best baker, but sometimes he can get a little... distracted when he’s confronted with sweet things,” the man said nonchalantly, but it seemed that his innocent-sounding comment had embarrassed Jungkook greatly.

“Jimin-hyung!” Jungkook whined, stomping his foot not unlike a bunny. If you squinted a little bit, you could definitely see the resemblance.

Namjoon, who had been quietly watching everything unfold, chose that moment to pipe up. “Oh, I see. I didn’t know you had a type, but after thinking about it—” Namjoon shot a surreptitious glance at you, before turning back to Jungkook with a teasing grin, “—I can definitely see why.”

At the time, you had no idea what was going on, mostly confused as to why Jungkook had suddenly become so red-faced while Namjoon and Jimin giggled like a couple of high school girls. It seemed like you were somehow the main reason for his embarrassment, so you were quick to poke Namjoon in the stomach, effectively silencing him.

“Hey! Stop teasing the poor boy. He’s just being nice,” you said, pointing a soft smile back at Jungkook. “Sorry about him. I’m sure you’re an excellent baker, judging from how wonderful and cute all these cakes on the display look.” Somehow, your praise had only made Jungkook’s cheeks brighten even further. He cleared his throat as if to say something in response, before changing his mind and scuttling away to the back room instead.

“I’m going to start making your milkshake! D-don’t mind me!” He called out from behind the door, causing Jimin to finally break down into raucous giggles, nearly doubling over from his own mirth.

“Aish, that kid. He never learns, huh…” Jimin sighed, but the smile on his face is kind—the sort of fond look an older brother might have for his kid brother. He turned back to you and Namjoon with that lingering softness as he rang the two of you up, before chatting idly with you as you waited for Jungkook to finish making your drinks.

“I’ve never seen you around, Y/N-ssi. Jungkook—sorry, I meant I definitely would’ve noticed you if I did. You go to the same university as Namjoon-ssi, right?” Jimin asked, flipping a pen between his fingers with incredible dexterity. You were slightly distracted by that, faintly jealous of how his short fingers could somehow manage such a feat.

“I—yeah, I do. I’m assuming you’re also a student?”

“Yep. I actually met Namjoon-ssi when we took that one music theory class together. I was handing out flyers for this bakery after class and he happened to be one of the first people to actually come,” he said, winking at Namjoon. You watched with much interest when your friend turned a faint shade of pink, his hand coming up behind his neck—a signature tick of his whenever he was feeling shy or nervous.

“I-It was nothing… I mean, your seasonal drinks are always so good! I remember your old snowman-shaped donuts with the raspberry filling? I still dream of it sometimes,” Namjoon sighed, eyes going glassy for a moment.

Jimin laughed, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents. “Oh, stop it! I remember how you’d come here even after we stopped serving that donut and you’d beg us to make them again.”

“And yet you never did, even though I know you have the ingredients to make them,” Namjoon pouted, but there’s endearment dancing in his expression.

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “I never pegged Namjoon as a sweet-tooth guy, so this is honestly all a very big surprise to me. I should be pumped for this milkshake then, huh? Hopefully, you aren’t just hyping it up and I’ll end up disappointed.”

Before either Namjoon or Jimin could retort, Jungkook had reappeared from the back room with two large cups in hand, almost tripping over his untied apron string but managing to get to the counter in one piece.

“Here you go. I hope you won’t be disappointed when you try it,” he said, gaze averted downwards when he hands you your cup. Your fingers grazed each other for a second, nearly causing both of you to drop the drink like it was on fire.

“S-sorry,” you laughed it off, feeling your ears get a little red from your blunder. You pointedly ignored Namjoon’s arched brow, no doubt enjoying your sudden shyness. Without waiting for him to get his own cup, you casually tear off the straw wrapper and take your first sip of the drink.

“So?” Jungkook asked after a while, watching with bated breath as you take a good gulp of the milkshake. “How is it? Is it worth the hype?” You don’t speak for a moment, further aggravating the two bakers as you carefully chewed on the bits of strawberry in the drink.

“This—” you said, speaking slowly for increased dramatic effect. You could hear Namjoon groan beside you, used to your need for unnecessary anticipation. Even as you paused for a moment longer, you could already feel the smile creeping up your face, unable to completely hide your giddiness. “—is fantastic. Show-stopping. Best thing since sliced bread! I could live on this shit alone.”

Jungkook released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, chuckling in relief as you began to completely devour the treat in mere minutes. “I’m… really glad you like it,” he said with a wide, toothy grin. You were so immersed in your drink that you missed the way he sighed softly, hand gently cradling his chest where his heart would be.

Namjoon had taken his own sip as well, sighing dreamily as the creamy and sweet flavor overtook his palate. “Truly the best drink in existence. If I was a Twitch streamer or some shit, I’d promote this regularly for free.”

His comment made Jimin giggle softly, but his gaze is trained on something else entirely. “I’m flattered, but maybe don’t promote Y/N’s cup, over here. We don’t typically have strawberries and hearts doodled all over our cups,” he said, smirking slyly.

Lo and behold, your cup did have small doodles littering its sides whereas Namjoon’s was just a plain white paper cup. “Oh,” you said, blushing furiously when you finally noticed. Your flush was nothing compared to the one on Jungkook’s cheeks, however. The two of you refused to make eye contact after that, both of you trying (and failing) to silence the amused snickers of your respective friends.

Despite that slightly embarrassing (and heartwarming) experience, that had marked the start of your love for the tiny bakery and their special strawberry shortcake milkshake. You returned to Euphoria Bakery as often as you could throughout the summer, even going to visit it without Namjoon most of the time. You would even occasionally go out of your way to visit the bakery, even after your summer classes had ended and there was really no reason for you to be around the area.

It also didn’t hurt that the boy behind the counter was especially cute, with his big doe eyes and melodic laughter that always got your heart beating erratically in your chest. It hadn’t taken long for you to admit to yourself that you had a not-so-tiny crush and every visit to the bakery only made you fall deeper for him.

Namjoon has assured you that Jungkook clearly has a crush on you too, but you’re quick to shut him down. It is one thing to be shy and awkward around a girl and another to have a crush on the aforementioned girl. As you visited the bakery more and more, you do notice that Jungkook is more reserved when it comes to other female clientele, although, dare you hope? He does seem a little bit more… nervous, when he talks to you, but that could be your lovesick eyes playing tricks on you.

Never mind the fact that he only ever seems to leave cute doodles on your cups alone, but that could just be a coincidence, right? After all, he can hardly hold a conversation with you when you try to speak with him, always eager to rush to the backroom to make your drink.

Your visits usually consist of making idle chit chat with Jimin after greeting both him and Jungkook. The younger boy often dips the moment he sees you through the glass door, automatically going to prepare your favorite summer treat without even having to ask for your order. He never stays to stick around long enough to make conversation, as he eventually excuses himself to do some chore or another. During one of your trips, you tentatively asked Jimin if Jungkook was avoiding you, to which the blonde boy just laughed heartily at your query.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually; he’s just nervous. Don’t tell him I told you this, but…” he trails off, peeking over his shoulder to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t accidentally overhear him. When he turns back to you, the smirk on his face is equal parts amused and mischievous. He looks a little impish, though you aren’t sure if he’d take that too kindly. “Jungkook always stares out the door, waiting for you to arrive. I’ve caught him red-handed far too many times for it to be a coincidence.”

Your cheeks flush warmly at his words but don’t say anything after that. You suppose all you can do is wait for him to start warming up to you eventually, and you hope the day comes sooner as the summer days grow shorter and shorter.

Of course, that day does come eventually, but probably not on the day you wished it would happen.

Like all good things, summer comes to its close and so does the summer menu options offered at Euphoria Bakery. Jimin had already told you a week beforehand that your favorite strawberry shortcake milkshake would get phased out as soon as July hit, but you refused to listen. You had hoped that as his regular customer and friend, perhaps Jimin would make an exception and prolong the milkshake’s lifetime for your sake, but it seems that Jimin has made it clear that friendship and business are two separate entities that he will not allow to coincide.

“Please Jimin? Just one more time? I’ll even settle for a small size,” you beg, your entire body draped over the cashier counter like the pathetic plebeian that you are. Thankfully, since you have made it a habit to pass by the bakery when it’s close to closing time, there aren’t any other patrons left to judge your pitiful display. Unthankfully, that also means Jimin is free to flick you on the forehead with no holds barred, leaving a large red welt where his finger hits.

“I already told you that I won’t budge, not even if you licked my Balenciagas. Besides, we’re out of strawberries anyway.” Jimin huffs, rolling his eyes at your pained whines as you grasp your head in agony. “Oh stop it, will you? I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

“I beg to differ, hyung.” Jungkook pipes up, startling both you and Jimin. Jungkook is usually content to wiping down the glass displays or tables while he passively listens to the two of you bicker, humming occasionally to indicate that he’s still listening, so it comes as a small surprise whenever he does decide to speak up. He must have noticed this too, as his ears quickly begin to redden as he scrambles to finish his sentence. “I-I mean, hyung might have small hands, but his finger flicks are no joke. You could break someone’s skull with that thing.”

“Who are you calling small, huh?” Jimin growls, but the playful smirk on his face tells you that he’s just teasing. He pulls Jungkook in a headlock, who surprisingly doesn’t seem all that bothered by the fact that Jimin is actively trying to block his windpipe with his strong forearms. “Take it back!”

“Never,” Jungkook wheezes, effortlessly removing himself from Jimin’s grip. He dusts himself off, not even breathless. “Also, why’d you lie to Y/N like that? We still have strawberries in the back. How else would we make our strawberry jam tarts?”

Jimin squawks indignantly, folding his arms. “How dare you sell out our company secrets! I could fire you for that!”

Jungkook scoffs, bumping Jimin with his hip. Jungkook must also not know his own strength, because he accidentally causes Jimin to stumble a few steps back, nearly toppling over one of their bread racks. “You’re joking. If you fired me, no one would be able to make the bagels in the morning because you never know how to proof them correctly.”

“Slander!” Jimin hisses, pinching Jungkook’s side in retaliation. You and Jungkook laugh at his childish pouts, but the older boy can’t hide his own mirth for too long. “Fine. You can stay. But you,” he points at you this time, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You better not seduce my boy over here to make your strawberry shortcake milkshake. I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He drags his finger to the corner of the walls, where there is—

“There’s nothing there?” You follow where he’s pointing, but all you can see is a stray cobweb that Jungkook must have missed while dusting this morning. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

“Jimin is thinking of installing surveillance cameras soon. He’s convinced that someone is trying to steal his banana cream pie recipe.” Jungkook shrugs. He slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulder, glaringly delighted when their height difference becomes even more apparent while he stands close to him. “Anyway, I promise I won’t get ‘seduced’ by her, or whatever you want to call it. Why don’t you head home early for tonight? I’ll close up and I’ll try to convince Y/N to try our other pastries as a replacement.”

You open your mouth to try and protest, but Jungkook sends you a cheeky wink, making sure that his boss doesn’t catch him in the act. Bemused but interested to see what he’s up to, you decide to keep quiet and wait for him to continue.

“Don’t try and think you’re being slick here, buddy,” Jimin says, closing in on Jungkook’s personal space by pressing his chest against his. “If I see that you break the bakery code and serve her that drink… There will be consequences.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically as he gently pries the smaller man away from him. “Yeah, yeah. I got you. No funny business, I promise. Now get out of here, hyung. Leave the rest to me.”

Jimin gives him one last firm look before squinting warily at you, lips pursed tightly. “No seducing,” he repeats, wagging his finger at you. He unties the apron around his neck, throwing it haphazardly at the coat hanger on the back door where his jacket was hanging. He folds it over his arm and points at the corner of the ceiling with his free hand once more before exiting through the front entrance, the soft bells hanging above the doorway tinkling in his wake.

When he’s gone, you release a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. “Well, that was easier than expected. I didn’t think you’d be able to get him to leave. He must trust you a lot, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Nah. He’s just lazy. He hates closing the bakery and will jump at any opportunity to go home early.”

You nod. “Seems like him.” There’s a beat of silence. “So… How much seducing am I gonna have to do to get my milkshake, huh?”

Like you guessed, Jungkook immediately turns red at your words, spluttering and stammering over his spit for a few seconds before managing to come up with a reply. “O-oh, there’s no need for that. I was gonna make the drink for you anyway.”

“But what about the quote-unquote consequences?” you ask, still worried that you might be getting Jungkook in trouble. You’d rather have your arm cut off than have him get punished, no matter how small it might be.

“No need to worry about that. Jimin might pretend to be a prickly old man sometimes, but he’s mostly just full of hot air,” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll just make me treat him to some skewers or something. He’s just teasing.”

“If… If you say so? I just really don’t want him to get angry with you…” you say, voice turning small as you tried to reign your embarrassment in. “I know I made a fool of myself just moments ago and begged like a baby for the milkshake, but I was just exaggerating…”

“Something tells me that you aren’t, but let’s pretend for your sake that you are,” Jungkook says. You huff indignantly at his teasing, but you’re more overjoyed by the sight of his cute bunny smile. You had only seen it in passing a few times in the past, but seeing it directed at you is an entirely different experience. Because of you, your mind helpfully supplies.

He heads over to the backroom to begin preparing your drink, but he keeps the door open this time so you can see him even from behind the counter. You can mostly only see the large industrial ovens and bread racks filled to the brim with all sorts of pastries proofing for the night, but you do catch a glimpse of the sole blender near the back. Jungkook grabs the glass jar first and then walks over to the fridge just out of your sight, most likely to grab the ingredients needed for your milkshake.

The bakery is mostly silent, save for the sound of Jungkook moving and assembling everything. You rack your brain for some sort of conversation starter, as the atmosphere between the two of you has begun to return to its usual awkward state as you skirt around each other, unsure of where either of you stands. You might have known him for a while now, but today is the most you’ve ever spoken to him and the tension is palpable.

“So.” You clear your throat, heart beating a mile a minute in your chest. “I… guess this is going to be the last time I have this drink, huh?”

The sound of Jungkook chopping on the cutting board pauses for a second. You can only see his left shoulder from where you’re standing, but you can see it tense even then. “I… I mean, will you stop coming over to the bakery if it is the last time?”

There are so many things you want to say all at once, but the words somehow get caught in your throat. You want to say that you love coming to the bakery to see them (though it’s mostly Jungkook if you’re being honest) and that the strawberry shortcake milkshake had just been an excuse to visit for a while now. You want to keep visiting for as long as they’ll have you—but you don’t know how to say it without hot humiliation running down your spine. You don’t want to weird him out by confessing to him all of a sudden. And so, you clam up, not knowing how to respond.

When Jungkook throws in all the ingredients in the blender, he doesn’t turn it on immediately. He tilts his head to the side, not fully looking at you but giving you a view of his beautiful side profile. You see his Adam’s apple bob for a moment, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Because… If that’s how it’s going to be, then maybe… buying a couple of skewers for Jimin won’t be so bad.”

You freeze. “What? Are you saying that...”

“I’ll keep making the drink for you, even if it’s not on the menu anymore?” Jungkook finishes, turning fully to face you. There’s a shy grin on his face, coupled with the ever-present pink flush high on his cheekbones. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. We’ll have to be sneaky about it, though. You’ll have to come to the bakery only when I’m closing so that he doesn’t catch us but otherwise…” He scratches the tip of his nose, looking embarrassed. “If… If you’re fine doing that, I mean.”

It feels like an eternity before you can remember how to function like a regular human being again. Your insides feel like molten lava and you’re certain that your internal organs have begun to self-destruct right after that super-effective hit from Jeon Jungkook, super baker boy extraordinaire. It’s mind-blowing how effortlessly cute he can be, making you realize belatedly that his quiet demeanor over the past few weeks had been a blessing and not a curse. If he had been this sweet with you from the get-go, you’d surely be melted butter on a sidewalk by now.

“I would love you—I mean, I would love it if you did that for me, actually.” You stammer, resisting the urge to punch yourself in the tit. You’re thankful for the lack of mirrors at the bakery, for you are positive that you must look like the devil’s blazing red testicles at this point.

“Great,” Jungkook smiles softly. He turns the blender off, pouring your drink into a paper cup. “Oh, before I forget…” He grabs a marker from the small tin can near the cash register, and you watch as he quickly scribbles a few hearts around the circumference of the cup. “There we go. Now it’s done.”

As Jungkook hands your drink to you, you’re hit with a moment of déjà vu when your fingers brush just like the first time you had met. You sense the same familiar shock of electricity when you touch, but instead of pulling away like before, Jungkook surprises you for the third time that day.

When he’s sure that you have a secure grip on your cup, he grabs your free hand with his, unfurling your fingers until he can get a hold of your pinky. He curls his pinky into yours, linking them together with a bashful smile on his lips. “There. Now we pinky promised to each other.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” you mumble, giggling lightly when he still refuses to let go. “I pinky promise.”

Five minutes away from Euphoria Bakery, Jimin sits quietly in his parked car, his figure hunched over the small screen of his phone as he chuckles loudly to himself. There is a tiny video of two people, a boy and a girl, with their hands held together. Despite the quality being grainy and warped, Jimin needs no confirmation as to who those people are; he’s always known, after all.

“All according to keikaku.” He whistles happily, already salivating at the thought of all the skewers Jungkook will have to buy for him.

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

antidote

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 2.4k

warnings | mention of rook’s death and breaking her wrist when she was a kid, so you know. a little angst. some suggestive language towards the end!

author’s note | so this is my late entry for day one of warm in wayhaven, cooking – as usual when i’m writing these two i can’t shut up for the life of me

•─────────────────•

He wakes up from his first nap in a week to the smell of chicken.

There’s only one person in the entire warehouse that could be cooking at 2 in the morning without burning the place down.

He trods barefoot down the dark hallway, his sweatpants hung low off his hips.

Putting on pants was a formality, really. But he had roommates that’d have aneurysms over anything less, so he’s usually at least half clothed when he ventures outside of his room.

The smell gets a lot stronger, mixes with other scents the closer he gets.

Her heartbeat’s stronger in his ears, though, so he keeps going, despite the way his nose is crinkled and his fists are clenched.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, he stops at the doorway, perching his hip against the frame.

She’s pulled a chair up to the stove, chin balanced on her knees that are up against her chest.

Her eyes are glued to the big silver pot that sits there, steam leaking out from the ventilation tiny holes in the lid.

Her hair’s tossed up in a messy bun, and from the glimmer of light from the overhead light above the stove, he can see that a few strands are plastered to the back of her neck and forehead.

She reaches out to twist the knob all the way to the left, then struggles to pick the pot up.

Despite him not announcing himself, he’s next to her in a flash, moving the pot to the other burner in a flash.

“Oh, hey,” she murmurs distractedly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah.”

She nods, barely even giving him a second glance, grabbing the lid and placing it on the counter.

The steam threatens to curl higher and higher, but with a quick flip of a switch, the stove’s fan is pulling it into its vents.

There’s something definitely wrong with her – she’ll bake cupcakes for an elementary school bake sale at 2 a.m., but never soup. Who the fuck makes soup in the dead of night?

“I’m not an expert on human food by any means,” he starts, grimacing at the way the scent wafts towards him when she swirls the wooden spoon through the broth. “But why the hell are you making soup when it’s hot as fuck outside?”

She shrugs, dipping the spoon flat against the surface of the hot broth, filling it to the brim. “I was hungry.”

She brings it to her mouth, lips pursed, and blows on it, thin tendrils of steam floating towards him.

He’s still trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with her when she sips it, a small tired smile blooming across her features.

The soft breathy hum that buzzes from her throat is low enough for both of them to hear, nearly matching the pitch of the whirring fan.

He doesn’t wanna press his luck with her, considering they're being civil.

It’d been a week since they were ambushed and she came face to face with her attempted kidnapper.

Things between Mason and Sofía were already… complicated, to say the least.

Different attitudes, different wants, different needs. He’d managed to fail in all three of those categories, disappointing her over and over without really trying to.

There was a certain level of avoidance from the both of them for the days following the ambushing. It’s not that he wanted to get her alone nor he did he care if she was avoiding him, but this was the first time he’d been alone with her all week, so he wasn’t going to actively try to fuck this up.

“That’s it?” he asked, keeping it simple.

She ignores him, instead flitting around the kitchen to grab a bowl and a spoon.

Well, she’d be amicable if she kept quiet – she wasn’t wrong with that one.

He watches as she fishes out sliced vegetables, an ear of corn, and chicken, then fills the bowl to the brim with broth.

Setting it on the table, she grabs a stained tortilla warmer from the microwave and scoots up to her bowl, digging in with one hand, a tortilla rolled in the other.

She’s still sweating under the heat, her chest glistening, the seams of her tattered tank damp underneath her armpits.

He sinks into the chair across from her, arms crossed.

“You gonna keep ignoring me?”

“Maybe,” she says from behind her hand (and around a mouthful of veggies).

“Tell me to leave, then, and I’ll go. Just say the word, sweetheart.”

He knows she won’t.

She lifts her eyes from the bowl to meet his own lazy gaze. Without saying another word, she dunks her rolled tortilla in the broth and takes a bite.

“That’s what I thought. You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“You’re not that invested in my life outside of work, are you?” She challenges, mashing the back of her spoon against a vegetable until it’s smooth, scooping it up with a little broth and popping it into her mouth.

He shrugs. “I just know you’re lying, that’s all.”

“You lie all the time,” she counters immediately, pointing the tip of the spoon at him.

“When?” He knows she’s right, but she hasn’t brought it up since she stormed away from him outside of the warehouse, drenched and shivering.

“You lied at the bakery.”

Bingo.

He leans forward till his elbows are on the table, resting his chin on the back of his interlaced fingers.

“So that’s what you’re upset about.”

He’s a foot away from her, the temptation of closing the gap between them nearly tugging his shoulders forward.

Her face contorts into a grimace, bordering on disgust. “That’s not at the forefront of my mind, no.”

She swirls her spoon around the bowl, eyes following the movements of her wrist.

“I hate the summer. I always have.”

He stifles a wince as he leans back until his bare back presses against the cool plastic.

“Bad things always happen to me in the summer, you know? Dad died during the summer. Mom forgot to pick me up at science camp for a full twenty-four hours when I was 9, and I had to spend a whole day alone with no friends after everyone had gone home. That’s also the same summer she took her first month-long assignment.

“The next summer, they extended it from a month to a full summer. I broke my wrist on my neighbor’s trampoline, and she didn’t even visit me until my cast was getting sawed off.

“Bobby dumped me for the first time during the summer before he studied abroad so he could sleep with whoever he wanted.”

She shakes her head, dropping the spoon and tortilla.

“Sorry, I, uh, I’m just happier in the fall and winter,” she smiles apologetically.

“And that’s why you’re makin’ soup at 2 a.m.?” He asks, eyeing her warily.

“Yeah, kinda. It sounds stupid when you put it like that, really,” she giggles, scooting the bowl forward so she can rest her elbows there too, her chin in her hands.

A sigh escapes her, low and grim. “This dish is really special to me.”

He waits for her to continue, but she just sinks her teeth into her bottom lip instead, chewing nervously at the skin there.

He kicks his toe against her slipper clad foot, a gentle nudge to get her to speak.

He’s gotten pretty good at reassuring her without words, he thinks. Better than when they first met, that’s for damn sure.

“My favorite picture of my dad and I is one where I’m sitting at my high chair and I barely have two teeth in my mouth and my dad is feeding me mashed zucchini and yucca root. He’s laughing and smiling like he wouldn’t rather be doing anything else in the entire world than eating soup with his daughter.”

Mason stiffens at the mention of her father, and even worse so, feels remorse start to trickle into his bones.

It’s stupid to think he could’ve done anything. He pushes those thoughts to the side, recognizing the remaining scrappy morsels of humanity in him clawing its way to the surface. Impulse has always been the most human part of him – maybe she’s changing that.

He doesn’t really know who he was before this, but what he does know is any inkling of humanity he has surfaces when he’s with her.

Yeah, he can’t feel what it’s like to lose a parent, but watching Sofía tear up over bittersweet memories was enough on its own.

“Your dad cooked?”

“Yeah, from what I can remember, yeah. All of our old cookbooks are in his and my abuela’s handwriting.”

She looks like she wanted to say something more, so he leans back, arms across his chest, waiting.

“When I was in high school, I tried making it on my own and it was so shitty. I wanted to surprise Rebecca, because I knew she was getting back from a stressful work trip, and I couldn’t do it like he did. She didn’t even notice that I’d tried,” she sighs, picking up her spoon again to sip the broth.

She hums again, chews, swallows.

“I don’t know why I was so naive back then, you know? I thought I could chop a couple veggies and toss them into seasoned water and it’d turn out just like Dad made it.

“In reality, I didn’t even know what it tasted like. My mom described the taste to me once before, but she never cooked, so I just went off of what she told me. I romanticized the whole thing right down to making up the flavor in my own head.”

“That’s probably why I made the soup tonight. I miss when I was happy, but even then, what the fuck did that even look like to me? I’m just telling myself I was happy because I saw photos of me being happy, but I can’t recall that feeling by memory at all.”

She darts a hand under her eyes to rub it away before he notices, but he can see her eyes glistening.

“How am I homesick for a life that was never really great to begin with, you know?”

He leans forward, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember. Fuck those old memories. Make new ones.”

He’s speaking from the heart now, compelled to say something before his mind can stop him.

Chuckling with a quick sniffle, she gets up to grab a drink from the fridge. “I know you mean well, but it’s hard when you’ve got an active bounty on your head.”

“Things will get better.” He’s not a beacon of positivity in the slightest, but she’s too good to be feeling this bad, so he has to say something.

“Things can get better.”

“What?”

“It’s not guaranteed. Not for me, at least. Probability’s never worked out in my favor,” she smiles weakly, unscrewing the cap to the water and sipping it politely.

“You’ve got a team making sure things will get better, sweetheart. No matter what.”

“You’re all here by force, though. After you leave, I’m still gonna be stuck here, and –”

She waves her free hand, the other one gripping the damp water bottle.

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll be less of a mess in the morning.”

“Not all of us,” he says, delayed, but hoping she gets it.

“Not all of us what?”

“Are here by force.”

She grips the bottle harder, the plastic crackling. She knows what he means now.

“That’s… uh, good to know,” she murmurs, a smile tugging at her features. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t do anything to warrant a thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting back down at the table. “You’re gonna have to get used to my manners, Mason.”

“Never,” he smirks, leaning over the table, over the soup, running his thumb over her bottom lip before standing.

“You don’t like it because you don’t have any.”

He snorts, a hearty laugh ripping out of his vocal cords and echoing off the tile flooring. “Damn right.”

She smiles, too, this time though with her whole body. It’s dim in the kitchen, but she’s shining nonetheless.

The smell’s grown on him a little bit. The shit honestly reeks, but he doesn’t mind it.

He follows her when she makes her way to the cabinets underneath the countertops, retrieving a big glass bowl.

When she bends down, he tentatively steps behind her, leaving a hair’s width space between them. He’s hesitating to touch her, even as she glances back at him reassuringly and closes the gap between his stomach and her back.

The hum that leaves her this time as he hooks a lazy arm around her waist sounds just like the one she let out when she tasted the soup.

She gently guides his hands to grip the edges of the bowl while she pulls the pot closer.

“So what’s this shit called?” He asks, crinkling his nose as she ladles it in, grimacing when some splashes his hand.

He knows he’s there for something, but he can’t quite remember what for when she licks the stray drops from his thumb.

“Caldo de pollo,” she smiles, snapping the plastic top until it’s airtight, guiding him to the fridge.

He knows “pollo” is Spanish from the times Felix watched kids shows to pick up on English. (He could never quite shake the looping sound byte of Felix’s southern drawl saying “poy-yo” when he discovered Dora the Explorer.)

“You gotta make it for Nate sometime,” he suggests, wrapping his other arm around her waist when she closes the fridge door.

She turns in his grasp, splaying her hands on his bare chest, dragging her thumbs over the tuft of hair in the middle of it.

“Thank you, really,” she whispers, eyes trained on her moving hands. “I mean it.”

He’s shit at accepting thanks with words, so instead he kisses her. He fights the urge to deepen it, to open his mouth to taste her.

She’s not ready to let him in like that just yet. He thinks it’s enough that she’s letting him touch her at least.

The lingering taste of chicken is disgusting, but he’s enduring it, because Sofía’s humming like he’s the best thing she’s tasted in years.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #twc detective #wayhavensummer #mason x sofía #detective sofía olmos #my fic

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pigeonwhumps · 2 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Heyyy so I have a BTHB now! If you want to request any of them for my OCs or a short unrelated drabble, hmu!

List of prompts and links to fills below the cut.

Key:

Not started

WIP/requested

Posted

Squares:

Non-Consensual Body Modification

Personal Effects Reveal

Disproportionate Retribution

Vertigo

Working Through the Cold

Degloving

Financial Trouble

Crippling the Competition

Stage Fright

Finger in the Mail

Gilded Cage

Parrilla

Chained Heat

I Have You Now, My Pretty

Punishment Box

Intubation

Damaged Wing(s)

Thrown from a Horse

Prank Gone Wrong

Rage Against the Reflection

Scarpia Ultimatum

Troubled Fetal Position

Cramping

Epidemic/Pandemic

School Struggles

#bthb #bthb card #bad things happen bingo #masterlist

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Going Under

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: cursing, spn level gore, drowning

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: Drowning

Summary: When the reader and Dean are captured by a nest of vamps, things take a slight turn when the readers life is suddenly put in mortal danger. Will Dean be able to save her in time?

“I can’t believe you.”

“Are you seriously going to bring that up right now?” You hissed, eyes blazing as you leaned forward to look at Dean.

“You’re damn right I am!”

“Dean, look around you. Now is really not the time.” You tried to gesture to the room around you but ultimately failed due to your zip tied hands.

So. . . Things may or may not have gone terribly wrong while you, Sam, and Dean were working a case. The three of you had been expecting a few vamps but somehow it had quickly turned into a full nest. One thing led to another, you and Dean were captured and Sam was yet to be found.

“Oh it never is, is it?” He grumbled, his eyes focused on his own restraints as he tried to figure out how to get out. He couldn’t have been more than four feet in front of you, the two of you facing each other. But it wasn’t the person in front of you that had you worried- it was what lay directly behind you.

The two of you were being held in the natatorium of the high school all the victims had attended, the air humid and filled with the strong scent of chlorine. The only lights that were still on were the ones embedded in the walls of the pool, the reflection of the water dancing turquoise on the tiled walls and ceiling. Your captors had yet to come back, the only sound being the lap of water hitting the edges of the pool.

Unlike Dean, you had your back facing the water. The back legs of your chair resting on the lip of the pool. Apart from your hands being bound together with zip ties you also had to worry about your ankles. Thick rope dug into your skin, binding them together. The other end of the rope had been looped through one of the holes in a cinder block, the piece of concrete partially sticking out over the ledge of the pool. All it would take was one small nudge to send you sinking.

Needless to say; this was not an ideal situation to be in. . . And to top it all off, Dean was still mad at you for the so called “hiccup” on the previous hunt.

“I told you, I’m not gonna apologize!” You snapped, leaning forward once more in your chair.

“Well you should! What you did was reckless and stupid!”

“I was saving your fucking life! You could be a little grateful every once and awhile!”

For a split second you expected steam to come out of Dean ears, his jaw clenching as he glared at you. “You jumped into the line of fire!”

“Yeah, to save your ungrateful ass! If I hadn’t done something you would be dead!”

Dean opened his mouth once more to respond, but was stopped short when the doors leading out into the hallway banged open, revealing what had to be the biggest vampire you had ever seen. It was like looking at a six and a half foot tall pillar of solid muscle.

“Well what do we have here?” He grinned, stalking across the concrete floor and towards you and Dean. “A Winchester tied up all pretty for me? It must be my lucky day.”

“And you must be the big ugly vamp I’m about to kill.” Dean fired back, twisting his hands in his bindings. His words getting a loud chuckle from the vamp, but once his amused expression fell he was driving his fist into the side of Deans face, his head being whipped around by the force.You wriggled in your seat, the instinct to kill growing tenfold.

“Hey big guy, hands off him!” You tried to leap up but didn’t get very far with your ankles and wrists bound, the failed action making you drop back into the seat. You could see Dean giving you one of his warning gazes, silently telling you to back off.

The vampire turned, his back now facing Dean as he took a step forward. “And who’s this?” He grinned, grabbing your chin forcefully with a calloused hand.

“Don’t you dare touch her!”

The vampire paused, looking back over his shoulder at the struggling Winchester. “Is she yours?”

“I ain’t nobody’s, you big ass freak.” You spat, taking your opening when he turned back to you,and slamming your head into his full force. He stumbled back with a string of curses, hand leaving your chin to slap over the point of contact.

“Why you little-“

“Bitch? I know. Very original.” You deadpanned.

Lowering his hand from his head, the vampire set his gaze on your before bringing hit hand back and connecting it with your cheek in a harsh slap that echoed across the pool. Head knocked back by the sudden force, you stretched your jaw. You gave yourself a moment before looking back up at him, a bloody grin on your face.

“I know pillows that hit harder than you do.”

He raised his fist again.

“I said don’t fucking touch her!” Dean growled, the plastic chair he was bound to creaking loudly as he tried to free himself.

Where was Sam? Sam needed to find them and quick before this dude did anything to permanently harm either of you.

The vamp smiled, clearly getting a kick out of seeing a Winchester squirm in his seat. “This is mildly entertaining to watch.”

“Fuck you.” You snapped, leaning forward once again. All you wanted to do was keep this guy away from Dean.

“Alright, and that’s enough from you.”

What happened next was so quick neither of you had time to properly process what he was doing. The vamp stepped forward and nudged the cinder block with the toe of his boot. The block disappeared over the edge of the formerly still pool with a loud splash and you were pulled back with it. Deans eyes widened in pure terror as you let out the beginnings of a yell before being swallowed by the water as well. It was as if gasoline was poured onto the spark of fear in his belly. One moment he was frozen in shock and the next he was struggling harder than ever before against his bindings, eyes flicking back to the number on the edge of the pool saying his deep it was.

8 feet.

There’s no way your gonna be able to fight yourself to the surface with your ankles bound to that block.

“You son of a bitch- I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Dean hissed. The adrenaline pumping through him was at an all time high. A sudden idea tumbled into his skull and Dean was suddenly planting his feet on the floor and pushing himself back with all the energy he could muster. The plastic chair careened backwards, and between his weight and the concrete flooring, the flimsy piece of furniture broke, pieces of plastic shrapnel flying out across the floor.

Meanwhile, you were struggling. A lot. Your head was pounding, every cell screaming for oxygen as you struggled at the bottom of the pool, your hair rising upwards like seaweed as you tried to break the zip ties, your body arching in your struggle. You tilted your head in the direction of the cinder block, the one thing keeping you from the oxygen your body so desperately needed. It felt like every inch of you was throbbing, your lungs on fire.

When was the last time you were this scared for your own life? You couldn’t remember.

Blackness slowly began to seep into the corners of your vision after a solid thirty seconds of struggling. You needed to breath. You needed to take a breath. And even though you try and fight it, you suddenly inhale whether it’s air or heavily chlorinated water. Just like that a cold flow of water is thrust up your nostrils, a stream cascading into the back of your throat and nose, sending jets of pain through your body. The steady hum of the water in your ears slowly begins to fade into something softer, gradually muting into silence, one with the darkness. You give up on the fighting and thrashing, allowing the water to hold you in a suspended position beneath the surface as everything goes black, your body giving one last spasm before shutting down. . .

Dean rolled to his feet quickly as the vamp lunged at him, using the plastic handles of his chair to somewhat defend himself as the monster attacked. He blocked the first few blows before he lost the upper hand, the vamp bowling him over and sending him sliding across the floor.

“I would just give up. She’s probably gone by now.”

Dean ignored him, crawling to his feet again before slamming into him. Once again, he only got a few punches in before he was pinned beneath the massive body. Solid hands wound around Deans throat, beginning to squeeze. It only lasted a second though before Dean hears the distinct whistle of a blade moving through the air, and the vamps head is suddenly freed from his shoulders, revealing a very bloody Sam behind him.

The younger Winchester let the machete drop from his hands as he pulls the corpse off of Dean, chest heaving. “Where the hell is Y/N?”

Y/N.

Dean is up and on his feet in seconds, rushing across the concrete floor as he quickly shrugged off his jacket before diving into the lit up water of the massive pool. It’s not hard to find you, but the chlorine burns his eyes as he dives to the bottom. The rope keeping you tethered to the cement block is thick, and Dean is thankful for the blade he keeps stashed in the side of his boot.

He works fast, his adrenaline still pumping as he saws through the rope. His lungs have never burned like this before and everything in him is telling him to go to the surface for more air. . . But he doesn’t. After what feels like an eternity the rope finally snaps and Dean wishes he could let out a sigh of relief. Wrapping his arms around your torso he searches for his last bit of strength and kicks upward.

“Dean!”

That’s the first thing he hears when he breaks the surface, taking in lungfuls of air as he tries to tread water. You are dead weight in his arms, and its difficult to keep the both of you above the waterline. Through the water in his vision, he can just barely make out Sam, his brother on his knees at the edge of the pool.

“Sam- help-“

Dean somehow managed to get close enough to the lip of the pool that before he knows it, Sam has his hands underneath your armpits and is hauling you out of what almost feels like a grave. Dean sucked in a breath before bracing his hands on the edge and pushing himself out of the water. Its only when hes on his knees next to Sam that he almost freezes at the sight of you.

Almost.

You look like a rag doll, your body limp and lips a light shade of blue. Fear runs rabid through his body still and just like that he is back in action.

“Sam, cut the bindings on her hands.” Dean spoke quickly as he pressed his ear to your chest.

Heartbeat. He needed a heartbeat.

After a moment he pulled back again, rolling up his sleeves as he started the compressions on your chest.

“You are not allowed to die on me, you hear? And definitely not like this.” Dean huffed. A small part of him was afraid that he might break your ribs with the amount of pressure he was using, but the desperation to see you breath took over and he ignored it.

“Dammit Y/N-“

Tilting your head back slightly, Dean lifted your chin and pinched your nose shut before placing his mouth over yours to create a seal. He gave you two breaths before pulling back and continuing the compressions.

His eyes stayed glued to your face, hoping beyond anything he would see a sign that you were still with them.

Nothing.

And then his mouth was back on yours as he tried desperately to breathe life back into you. “C’mon sweetheart. I got some things to say to you and I can’t do that if your dead.” He pulled back, hands going back to your chest.

Sam let his brother continue the cycle two more times before he was clamping a hand over Deans shoulder.

“Dean-“

The hunter swatted him away, continuing the compressions. “She’s not dead. She’s alive. She’s alive and she’s staying that way!” He panted,ignoring the sting of tears in his eyes as he leaned back down to give you another set of rescue breaths.

Apparently he was right because barely a second after he pulled away, you coughed. . . Or more like slightly gargled. A spray of water leaving your lips as you choked.

“There we go!”

Dean let out a sigh of relief as his shoulders dropped, the hunter helping to roll you to the side as you emptied an unhealthy amount of water from your lungs. His hand rubbing your back softly. Filled with relief he let out a light chuckle, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Unfortunately your body was still too weak to keep you conscious and once the water was out of your system you were slumping back onto the wet floor, your head coming to rest on Deans thigh.

“Y/N?”

“She’s out. But we need to get out of here Dean, I took down a bunch of them but I don’t know how many vamps are still here.” Sam sighed.

There was silence, Dean too focused on the unconscious Y/N in his arms to hear his brother properly.

“Dean!”

Snapping out of his state, Dean looked up- your head resting on the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Hand me one of those towels.” He pointed behind Sam towards the rack, several towels rolled neatly and stuffed into it.

Sam popped up into his feet, quickly retrieving one before handing it over to his brother- who wrapped in snugly around you and then hoisted you into his arms.

“I got ya. I got ya.” Dean breathed, cheek coming to rest on your wet hairline. “We’re gonna get you back to the motel, and your gonna rest up and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He couldn’t tell if he was saying those words to comfort himself or you. Maybe it was both. Both would be preferred.

With Sam taking the lead, the two of them navigated the empty halls of the high school wanting nothing more than to leave it all behind.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

When you first eased into consciousness the first thing your body registered was that you were breathing. And this time it was actual air and not water. The second thing you noticed was that your body felt like lead, even your eyelids were struggling to open. Your fingers wiggled against the soft sheets as you slowly attempted to opened your eyes, the morning light trickling through the blinds of the motel room to illuminate the space.

You tried shifting your position, your body stiff as you let out a groan. Your sudden movement and noise gaining the attention of the other people in the room.

“Y/N?” Suddenly setting down his glass at the small table, he turned towards you, clearly surprised to see you awake. “Hey, how you feelin?” He spoke softly, sitting down besides you on the bed before reaching for your hand.

“What- what happened?”

Bracing your hands on the mattress as you tried and sit up. Dean was besides you in an instant, sticking a pillow behind you before helping you up to lean against the headboard. Why was Dean suddenly being nice to you? Last time you checked he was mad at you.

“You almost died, that’s what happened.” Dean scolded, sinking back down onto the side of the bed.

“Dean-“ Sam began, quickly being cut off by you.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean; almost died?”

“I mean, you almost drowned to death in a pool.”

Dean watched your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Drown? That didn’t make any sense. You knew how to swim. How the fuck could you possible drown?

“What were we doing at a pool?”

“What were we-“ Dean choked on the words, unable to believe you just asked that. “Y/N we were hunting a vamp nest.”

That’s all he had to say before it slowly came back to you. Bits and pieces falling into place. Some parts were still blank, but you remembered a good portion. Dean and you being caught. That big ass vampire. . . Something having to do with a cinder block?

“Wait Y/N, what all do you remember?” Sam spoke suddenly, worry crossing his features.

“Everything up until getting caught. . . And maybe a little more. But I don’t understand the drowning bit.”

Turning his attention from you to his brother, Dean looked at Sam with wide eyes. “Why doesn’t she remember?”

“I mean in some cases of drowning if there’s a lot of water in the system and depending on how long she was under. . . There might be some brain damage.”

“I’m sorry, brain damage?” You and Dean spoke in unison. You sat up a little straighter, suddenly worried.

“I don’t think it’s too serious, but I can call Cas. See if he can’t stop by to check on you.” Already pulling out his phone, Sam left the room leaving you and Dean to sit in silence. It felt like you sat like that forever before anything was actually said.

“Do you have any idea what I’d have to go through if you’d died last night?”Dean spoke suddenly, looking across the bed towards you.

“What?”

“Years of guilt. Crippling, self loathing guilt.” He continued, eyes darting down to look at his hands. “I know what you were trying to do last night. Antagonizing that vamp to keep him away from me. Putting yourself in harms way like you always do.”

Oh. Oh. That’s what this was about. You may not remember last night clearly, but that didn’t mean you didn’t remember the times before. It was what Dean had been angry about before as well.

“Dean-“

“You’re not supposed to die for me, Y/N.” He added. “And neither is my brother. But no matter what I say, or how hard I try to drill it into your skulls, you’re not gonna stop trying.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to stop trying. I love you too much to.” The second it left your lips, you were slamming a hand over your mouth.

Okay so maybe you did have brain damage. There’s no way a sane person would just let it slip they love someone. Nuh-uh. No way.

You watched Dean with wide eyes, trying to judge his expression. His own eyes widening for a moment before a soft and knowing smile fell across his features and he was reaching across to pull your hand away from your mouth. You didn’t realize until that moment how close he really was.

Dean gently leaned in, giving you more than enough time to pull back. . . But you didn't. His lips eventually pressing against yours softly. And no, it wasn't some sort of powerful, passionate kiss. It was a gentle and close-mouthed kiss like you do when you’re in eighth grade and you’ve never held hands before with a boy. It’s almost as if he’s testing the waters, seeing if you really want this. You do. More than anything.

“You know, I’m falling for you so much that it’s freaking me the hell out.” He paused. “That’s why I got mad. I don’t want you getting hurt, especially for me. Now I know that’s no excuse for me being a dick, i just- don't ever scare me like that again. I thought I lost you last night-”

“I wont. . .wait, You're falling for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hated me?”

“I could never hate you.”

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans @mrsmaybankhere @malindacath @littleagxs

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #spn x reader #dean winchester imagine #bi-danvers writing #spn #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #dean winchester one shot

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years

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Concussion- Prompt Fill

Jon falls out of a Kayak

CW nausea, concussion, hospital mention

Thanks for reading! I am still accepting bingo prompts (Bing card by the wonderful @celosiaa)! Tell me a character and which prompt, and let me know if you want art or writing! The starred prompts are ones I already have received, and probably have outlined! (I am much faster at art just fyi). Sorry this one took so long, I wrote it a week ago and hated it!

Jon doesn’t like the outdoors. In his experience it’s loud or wet or sandy or bright or crowded or filled with bugs or hot or spider ridden or just generally uncomfortable.

But that doesn't matter, because he needs to prove that things are alright with Tim. He has finally earned enough trust or goodwill or something to be invited on a kayaking trip.

Even back when things were good, Jon rarely got invited along to these things. Tim knows Jon isn't the outdoorsy sort, but occasionally invites him so he doesn't feel excluded.

A traitorous part of Jon thinks that he was only invited as a joke. But more of Jon doesn't care if that is true. He earned that invitation, and it doesn't matter that he is baking in the heat or that driving to the lake made him carsick or that he already has 30 mosquito bites and counting. He. Does. Not. Care.

It doesn't matter because he is here with Tim. And Tim is having a good time.

They paddle around the secluded lake for a couple hours. Jon almost has fun. He isn't having a bad time. Tim has been cracking jokes, and Jon is having something adjacent to fun. Not to mention... it just feels damn good to be included. Usually it's Tim and Sasha, or on occasion Tim and Martin. Not that this is the first time since... everything that Tim and Jon have been alone together... it's just.... Kayaking is important to Tim. And Jon rarely merits such a heartfelt invitation. And even if it isn't really his scene. It's worth the itchiness, and sore muscles, and carsickness and oppressive heat. It is all worth it.

Jon doesn't really know how he ends up in the water. One minute he is breathing hard, his back and shoulders burning after all that paddling, trying to convince himself that he probably doesn't need his inhaler (that he left in the car in any case), the next... he is in the water. Life vest dragging him towards the surface... or where the surface would be if the kayak wasn't in the way.

He cracks his head on textured, blue plastic, and it doesn't even have time to hurt before Tim is hauling him out of the lake.

He can't say it really hurts. Just the surprise, and the moment of timelessness and involuntary tears when something smacks a person from nowhere. The brief moment of everything being a little too sharp and a little too blurry all at once.

He coughs as he breaks the surface and Tim's strong arms lift him back into the kayak as if he weighs nothing (which... Martin would say is the case). It's probably the firefighter training.

Water is streaming off him, and there is some sort of weed tangled in his hair.

"Boss, you alright, there?" Tim clapping him on the shoulder, almost knocking him out of the kayak again. (Jon isn't sure if the fact that it is a two seater is better or worse). "Whoa there!"

Tim is steading him again. He's honestly feeling a little dizzy and a little distant. But that's probably just the surprise, right? Probably.

"Not your boss," he grumbles, trying his best to scowl despite how Bright everything is, and how he really is very very damp and how maybe jeans weren't his smartest move today. He lets that hang for a beat. "...Thanks Tim."

He offers a tiny smile, trying not to shrink in on himself, like he did... back then.

"Fine, you alright, buddy? What even happened?"

Jon shrugs. "I'm in one piece, I think."

Tim fishes in the water for Jon's dropped paddle. "Maybe it's time we head back, wouldn't want that to happen again. I need you in top form if you wanna come out again with me!"

His head is starting to hurt.

Jon flushes slightly. "I'd... really like that, Tim."

Tim hands him back the paddle and they head back towards shore, and the car, and their respective domesticities.

The headache isn't exactly gone by the evening, but it isn't bad. Not worth telling Martin about, although he couldn't escape Tim telling Martin how he fell out of the kayak, and having Tim show Martin the pictures of one very damp and disgruntled Jonathan Sims dripping in the kayak, and Jon in Tim's spare workout clothes in the car. And Jon looking faintly ill with ginger ale clutched tightly with eyes closed on the way back. And of course the selfie with Tim giving him a sloppy cheek smooch while Jon wears a truly terrible hat that he has no idea why Tim owns.

Tim stays for dinner.

By the time that Jon wakes up, Martin has already left for work.

His head hurts. Not migraine bad, but he makes a mental note to tuck some excedrin into his bag just in case. Best to be prepared for these things.

He drags himself upright with a groan, trying to ignore the way that the room tilts for a few moments as he gets up.

School.

Right.

He's got work today. And as long as Martin isn't there to be disappointed in his decision making, a headache is not going to stop him.

It's too bright outside, and Jon isn’t hungry for breakfast. Tea counts as breakfast, right? That's good enough. There's milk and sugar in there... that has to have enough calories to count for something, right? It's fine.

Halfway through class, Jon has to sit down. Abruptly. His lecture trailing off into a dizzy silence.

The headache has become too distracting, the tilting of the room around him making it hard to stay tethered to the Earth's gravity. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids, trying to stop the listing of the room.

He hears a student calling his name, but he can't make himself parse out who. And the Eye doesn't seem inclined to tell him.

Which is probably for the best, because he is beginning to wonder if he can take much more headache.

He doesn't know how long he's been down, but Martin is there now.

Fluttering hands, checking him for a temperature, coaxing him to look up, shielding him from the fluorescent lighting.

Jon leans into the cool of his hand.

Martin's hands in his hair, smoothing away the bedhead, Jon forgot about before leaving the house. Jon making an embarrassing sound as he relaxes into the touch.

Until Martin reaches the crown of his head, and Jon hisses in pain.

Martin has been talking to him the whole time, but the ringing in his ears has been too distracting to make out words until now. "Jon? Love, did you hit your head? Can you look at me? Tim said you fell yesterday, did you hit your head?"

Jon struggles against the painful light to meet Martin's gaze.

Martin is shining a pen light in his eyes.

Jon tries not to feel betrayed. But the light Hurts. And he just wants to go back to bed, and be held, or maybe have Martin bring him an ice pack, and he's starting to feel sick as well as dizzy.

"Jon-love, we should get you to a hospital. I need to get you actually looked at."

Jon whines in complaint, but doesn't have the energy to argue as Martin guides him up, folding against Martin's chest, when his legs try to give with the pins and needles of inactivity.

He doesn't want to go to the hospital. It's bright and he is very tired. And he feels so guilty that someone... probably one of his students called Martin in when Martin had likely just gotten off his shift and should be at home and sleeping and not scraping Jon's ass off the floor again.

It hadn't been this bad earlier! He's fine! Really!

"Jon-love, why didn't you say something?"

And Jon tries not to cry. "I was fine... didn't hurt then."

Martin tuts over him and holds him close.

The hospital is just as bad as he fears, and he's pretty sure he guilty cried on Martin at least once, and possibly also took a nap in the waiting room, but when it's over, Martin shoos Jon into a waiting cab, and trundles them both home.

Jon is dozing on the couch, because Martin is making dinner and he can't bear the thought of being farther away than one room over, and Jon has never been comfortable about the idea of eating in bed. Breakfast in bed (Or dinner in this case) sounds good in theory, it just sounds messy and awkward in practice. His phone has been confiscated after he sent a brief email to his students. Martin wasn't happy that he already was ignoring the don't look at screens and don't think too much instructions.

That will be an argument for tomorrow, and the next day until they eventually reach a compromise. One Jon knows Martin won't be happy about, and one Jon will feel the bite of guilt over, but his students need him, and it really isn't a bad concussion. He might let Martin fuss over him a little more than normal, but only until the extra work catches up with Martin. Then it will be Jon's turn to look after him.

“Jon, Tim just texted. He says he’s sorry he didn’t know you were hurt, and that you don’t have to go with him again.”

Jon wants to cry again. He breathes as deeply as he can, trying to draw courage into his lungs. “Could you… tell him I Want to go? I promise this won’t happen again? I… had fun… and I want to go kayaking with him.”

Martin enters the room with his phone in one hand, and a spatula in the other. He kisses Jon’s forehead softly, and starts to type one-handed.

“And please tell him to not feel badly? I didn’t really notice until …well until you got called. It was just a headache until then. Not even a bad one.”

“Of course love, just tell me if it gets worse, alright?”

Jon hmms in agreement.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw nausea #cw hospital #cw concussion #jonmartin #hurt/ comfort #whump #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #tim stoker #words #my words #my writing #art #my art

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vampire--dad · 4 years

Text

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle Server prompt bingo! @lovelyeskel

Prompt: Established Relationship

——————

“You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

Jaskier smiles. He wasn’t sure about growing a beard, but since Geralt did for the winter, he thought he might as well. Over the years his hair has slowly become streaked with gray, including his facial hair. He just about fainted when he saw the first one grow through. It only spread from there. Geralt loves it. He never thought the bard could be any more beautiful, yet here he is, his ageless smile framed by brown and silver hair. The hair in the top of his head has grown as well, now brushing against his jawline. Geralt can’t help but run his fingers through it whenever he gets the chance. It’s as thick and soft as ever.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister,” Jaskier says, setting aside his lute and delicately placing himself across Geralt’s lap. The witcher’s arms slide around his waist and pull him close. “You still owe me ten ducats for throwing that snowball at Eskel’s backside because you didn’t have the balls to start the fight.”

“Mmm. What’s mine is yours… or some shit like that...”

Jaskier laughs as Geralt peppers his cheeks and lips with kisses.

“I’m sorry to tell you, dear heart, that’s not how it works,” Jaskier chuckles.

“What are you going to spend it on anyway? It’s the middle of winter.”

“I happen to be saving up for new lute strings.”

“I’ll buy you new lute strings.”

“Is that an excuse to get out of paying me?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Geralt.”

They chuckle and share a slow kiss. Ciri feigns gagging as she witnesses them over Eskel’s shoulder. Her uncle laughs and scratches his head, wondering when this girl got so good at gwent.

Lambert sees it too. He hates to admit that seeing his brother happy with Jaskier stings. He once had someone like that. Once. And he slipped right through his fingers. He should never have let Aiden go on that contract in Ellander alone. He should have gone with him. Maybe they could have fought off Karadin and his assassins together. But there’s no use in reminiscing. He and Geralt saw to it personally that Aiden was avenged. Perhaps killing Karadin was cold, but he couldn’t let the man go on after what he had done. Philanthropy means fuck all when your past is covered in blood. You don’t get to walk away from that. Or at least that’s what Lambert tells himself.

The doors to the keep burst open, groaning loudly enough for them all to hear. All eyes shoot up to the hall that leads to the entrance. Several of them reach for swords as the wind howls inside. Vesemir goes first, scowling at the hallway as he approaches it. Eskel and Ciri are the next to stand, Ciri holding a blade as they walk towards the hall. Not just anything can open those doors when they’re bolted shut. Geralt shifts Jaskier off of his lap with a frown and joins Lambert as they disappear down the hall together. Jaskier is left in the common room by the fire, knowing he won’t be much help.

A man covered in snow leans against the open door, shivering and clearly too weak to stand on his own. Short, sandy brown hair hangs damply from his head. Vesemir grips him by the collar and tosses him against the stone wall as Geralt and Eskel struggle to close the doors against the wind. Ciri props the man’s chin up with the tip of her blade, revealing a pale, scarred face, a weak toothy grin, and a pair of familiar yellow eyes— one, at least. The other is covered by a thick leather eyepatch.

“Alright, sweetheart, lay off. I don’t mean any trouble,” the witcher chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.

Lambert stands frozen in the hallway, staring at the man, but at the sound of his voice, his heart almost stops beating. It can’t be. It’s not possible. Before any more can be said, he forces himself between Ciri and Vesemir, shoving his father and niece out of the way, and stands before the man with tears gathering in his eyes. He knows that voice, that smile, that beautiful man he tortured himself for ever letting go on his own.

“Aiden…?”

“Here he is, the man of the hour,” Aiden laughs weakly. “I was just looking for you, wolf—”

Whatever shitty joke Aiden had planned for him is cut off. Lambert throws his arms around Aiden and squeezes him tight, trying to reassure himself that this is real. He is real. Aiden is alive. His arms are wrapped around Lambert’s middle and his head tucked into the crook of his neck just the way he used to. He grabs Aiden’s face and plants a bruising kiss on his lips as the others watch in bewilderment. He barely even notices they’re there. Aiden’s lips are ice cold and just as sweet as he remembers. A tear slides down his cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ciri doesn’t think she’s ever seen her uncle cry. He pulls away with a relieved laugh.

“You asshole, I thought you were dead,” Lambert breathes, brushing Aiden’s wet hair from his eyes. He pulls Lambert closer in desperate search of any warmth he can cling to.

“Please, takes more than a measly little crossbow to rid you of me, wolf,” Aiden says affectionately, gently wiping a tear from Lambert’s cheek. “Now can we please talk about this somewhere warmer? I just about froze my ass off getting here.”

Without a second thought, Lambert lifts Aiden from his feet and carries him to the common room to sit by the fire. The other four witchers stand about, looking from person to person in confusion. Geralt smiles knowingly.

“So that’s why he killed Karadin,” he mumbles. “He thought he had lost the man he loves.”

“You seem to know what’s going on,” Ciri says with her hands on her hips. “Mind filling us in?”

Geralt explains their story as he remembers from Lambert. Vesemir and Eskel glance down the hall with reproach at the mention of a cat witcher. Geralt gives them a look of warning. He remembers feeling the same reproach, but he won’t judge the man if Lambert, of all people, loves him.

“I know the reputation that the School of the Cat has made for itself, but this is Lambert. He doesn’t trust easily, we all know that. If he can trust this one enough to let him get that close to him, perhaps we need to trust his judgment.”

Eskel and Ciri nod slowly. Vesemir doesn’t, but Geralt knows better than to push it. They return to the common room where Aiden is wrapped in a blanket before the fire with Lambert by his side. Jaskier has run off to the kitchen to get him something to eat. He and Lambert talk quietly about the things that had happened to him while he was gone, the wolf staring lovingly at the cat and stroking his hair gently. Eskel’s never seen that look on Lambert’s face. Perhaps Geralt is right. If anyone can break through that rough exterior Lambert keeps up, they deserve their trust.

As the others take their seats nearby the fire again, Lambert sits up a little straighter and introduces everyone. His arm is wrapped tightly around Aiden’s shoulders.

“These are my brothers, Geralt and Eskel, Geralt’s daughter, Ciri, and Jaskier is Geralt’s husband.”

“Daughter?” Aiden asks, cocking an eyebrow at Ciri. “Witchers can’t have children. What kind of chaos did you have to meddle in to end up with one?”

“It’s a long story,” Ciri and Geralt say in unison.

Aiden had always known he was going to end up at Kaer Morhen with Lambert’s family. He could never tell if he looked forward to it or dreaded it. The School of the Cat has a reputation and he knows the wolves will hold him to it until he can prove otherwise. He nods slowly and turns back to Lambert.

“And what about the old bastard— where’s he gone off to? What about him?” Aiden asks.

“That’s Vesemir. Our... mentor.”

Vesemir has retired to his room without a word. Lambert is almost relieved. If anyone is going to give Aiden a hard time, it’s him. Lambert was never one to refer to Vesemir as their father. Geralt and Eskel do, when he’s not around, but he can’t. The man might have taught him everything he knows, but he’s not his father. His parents are long dead. Aiden nods slowly.

“I remember you telling me about him.”

Jaskier returns and hands Aiden a bowl of stew. He smiles gratefully at him, noticing at last that he is the only one who doesn’t have yellow eyes, the only non-witcher in the room. He quirks his head slightly at him.

“It’s not common to find a human in a witcher’s keep, let alone married to one,” he says. His voice constantly carries a tone of mischief. “How did that happen?”

Jaskier chuckles as he sits next to Geralt and slips an arm around him. He sees why Lambert would like this one. He’s got that same snarky sense of humour.

“Many, many years of following him around and trying to keep him alive until he realised I wasn’t so bad for a bard,” he teases, gazing at Geralt lovingly. The witcher chuckles and kisses the bard’s cheek.

“More like many, many years of annoying me until I realised there was no getting rid of you,” he says with an amused smile. Jaskier laughs softly and shakes his head. They could save the flirting for later.

“Enough of that, you old brute. Aiden, how did you get to Kaer Morhen in the middle of winter? It’s bad enough to travel in winter in general, but up here in the mountains…”

Aiden shrugs as he shovels stew into his mouth. It’s been weeks since he’s had something proper to eat.

“The mages that found me had planned on keeping me until spring. I had other ideas. One of ‘em found me pretty enough to help me sneak out with a few of their warming potions and some extra cloaks,” he says with a smug grin. Lambert’s hold around his shoulders tightens possessively. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry, wolf,” he teases. “Nothing happened. I was busy sneaking out to get back to you. Couldn’t let you go without me for too long.”

“Just making sure,” Lambert mutters.

Lambert lays on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching as Aiden strips himself of his sodden clothes before the fire. As long as it has been, neither of them want anything. They just want to spend the night in each other's arms as they used to after a hunt.

“That scar is new,” he observes. He knows all of Aiden’s scars like they’re his own. Aiden glances down at the thick pink line that creeps across his ribs and down his back.

“Oh, right. Cockatrice. Little fucker caught me off guard,” Aiden says indifferently, slipping under the covers with Lambert. His skin is cooler than usual. Lambert runs his fingers along the scar as if he’s committing it to memory along with the others.

“If that’s the case, you deserved it,” he teases, kissing along Aiden’s jaw with a smirk. “Should never have had your guard down.”

“I’d just lost an eye, wolf,” Aiden chuckles.

“Shame, too. You’ve got the prettiest eyes…”

“Lambert…”

The wolf sighs with content as he pulls Aiden into the circle of his arms and presses a soft kiss on a scar on his shoulder. It’s his favourite, that scar. The one he gave him when Aiden decided to introduce himself by trying to kill him. His hands roam down Aiden’s back, fingers brushing over old bumps and ridges from past battles. It’s soothing, for both of them. He still can’t quite believe that Aiden is here, he’s alive. He might just go visit those mages and see if he can return the favour once winter passes.

“I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Aiden smiles softly. He loves when Lambert calls him kitten. There were times he thought he’d never hear it again.

“I missed you too, pup.”

#geraskier #lambden #let lambert be soft #i love that bastard so much #i promised kellie something soft after the amount of angst i wrote yesterday #fanfic #the witcher

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emiken-070907 · 3 years

Text

A Diffrent Kind Of Story - Buisnesse

After showing her capability of beating the second princess of the Afterglow Savanna in chess to her new acquaintance, they proceed to show them how things are with her and the Octavinelle trio.

A Different Kind of Story Chapter 3

"You have quite some sass, don't you?" the vice of Octavinelle said, very amused.

"I mean, why not. Just because she's royalty doesn't mean she shouldn't know how to take criticism, right?"

'Criticisms'. A kind way of phrasing it. It was obvious that it wasn't a question., yet it got an annoyed huff out of Leona.

"Would you like to continue, Leona-senpai? Or would you like to go back to your dorm and take a nap?" the brunette smiled innocently.

"Shut up, herbivore. Don't tell me what to do. Just continue," he said as he dismissed the girl with a swift hand motion.

The reflection of them began to go hazy again.

The next thing that was seen in the mirror was Yuko and Grim, seated in one of the chairs of Mostro Lounge. The restaurant was filled with many other guests, who chattered without a care in the world. Besides the chattering of the students, quiet and relaxing jazz music could be heard.

Yuko and Grim just finished their dishes and talked about this and that. Grim mostly complained about the other first-years of their little group, with Yuko just listening. The two haven't left yet, since Azul wanted to meet them for something.

"Hello, Koebi-chan~" Yuko looked up to see two mismatched, droopy eyes and a lazy grin.

"Hello, Floyd-chan. How yo-" The seconde-year suddenly lanched her arms around them and squeezed her. They let out a choking sound for suddenly getting the air squeezed out of her lungs.

"F-Floyd, please let me go. I-I can not breath", the younger one choked out. As predicted, she didn't listen. The Ramshackle Prefect, still struggling, tried to free herself while their upperclassmen just laughed. Even Grim complained. That got some heads to turn.

"Floyd, please let her go," a gentle voice said. Floyd let out a quiet. disappointed 'Aww' before, finally, letting go. "Good. Now apologies to Yuko-san."

"But Jade-"

"No buts. We do not squeeze any of our guests. No matter how close we are to them", the calmer twin scolded. The second twin turned around to face Yuko again and apologized before getting sent off to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Yuko-san. You know how easily carried away my sister can get."

Yuko just waved it off, saying that it was nothing. And if considered how bad Floyd's mood can get, it was. Jade, as always, smiled politely.

"Anyways. I was sent here to show you the way to Azul. I suppose you two have some kind of business to discuss."

"Ah. Thank you, Jade. Are you coming, Grim?" Still angry about what happened, the feline jumped onto the prefect's arm so they can get going.

By now, Jade, Yuko and Grim were standing in front of Azul's office's door. Jade then knocked on the door, asking for entry. From the other side of the door was a 'come in' audible. Jade opened the door for Yuko and Grim to enter, then closing it again so they could talk in private.

"Hello, Yuko. I'm glad to see you here again." The dorm leader got up from her office chair to greet her guests.

"I'm also delighted. Especially since we can talk without any... unusual circumstances," Yuko said as the two of them, awkwardly, shook hands. Azul quickly cleared her throat before offering Yuko a seat. They took the offer and gently placed their companion on their lap.

"So. What did you want to talk about?"

The other took a seat as well, opposite of Yuko. "Don't worry. I don't want to make a deal with you if that's what you thought. I already learned that I can't fool you to sign one." The dorm manager took one of the snacks that were on the little table in the office.

"So you admit that all of your deals are a scam? Or am I misinterpreted that?" The younger one also took one of the snacks as a dessert.

"I never said that. But sometimes, if my clients are foolish enough, or other reasons, I may bend the contract in my favour."

"So all of this 'being professional' is also nothing but talk if things like that happen here."

That certainly struck a nerve in Azul. Now the fun can begin.

"So your saying I can't be professional? Hah, you have a silver tongue, I give you that," the octopus said amused, as she took a bite from the snack in her hand.

"Never said that. I learn more and more about this school."

"Such as?"

Bingo. "Why would I tell you? It certainly would be good fuel for our little talk, but there is also plenty of other stuff to talk about."

A little 'tsk' escaped Azul's lips. "So that's where this is going. Is there at least anything of value that you 'learned'?"

"What do you consider of being 'of value'? Maybe then we'll get somewhere."

Azul put her hand under her chin in thought. "Well, some secrets or things of that sort would be of use, I suppose." Yuko, who was petting Grim (already asleep again), reached for another treat, curious where this is heading.

"You are a scammy one, aren't you? Even though, I expected nothing else if I'm honest. To refresh your memory, I am very close to the headmistress and other dorm leaders, right?"

"My, my, you're right. So I suspect there are something I could use for... 'businesses'. What would you like for that kind of information?"

Yuko hummed in the thought. "Well, I do require some money for the interior of my dorm. It would also be of use if you'd have some favours to pay back. So how about this." They pulled out a piece of paper, wrote a sum of madol and slid it towards Azul. "I offer you some information. In return, you give me money and some favours. How does that sound?"

The businesswoman eyed to piece of paper, considering the deal. "Are the twins also involved in the 'favours' I'd own you? And how many are we even talking about?"

That got Yuko thinking. Azul was mostly the brain of the group, while the tweels did all of the hard work. It would allow more options if they're in the deal. "Mmh, since you three are often together, it would be best if they are involved in our little deal. About the favours, how about 4?"

"I actually couldn't care less if these two play a role here. It would mostly affect me anyway," the other thought out loud. "But only 2 favours."

"3 favours."

"Deal" The head of Octavinelle snaped once, and a golden contract appeared out of thin air. She then laid the piece of parchment on the table, in front of Yuko, waiting for it to be signed. "Just sign here the matter is sealed."

And Yuko happily obeyed. Azul smiled contented after it was signed gracefully.

"Then this is finished. I'll hand one of the twins the things you want to know." Yuko got up, taking Grim in their arms before bowing. "It was nice to make business with you. Until next time," she said as they left the room.

"Little question", Riddle chirped head in hands. "Did you just promised Azul to tell secrets from others? Others who have an actual influence on the student body? Just for some money and three favours?!"

Yuko chuckled slightly, Azul glaring at him, clearly offended. He knew what others thought of his schemes, but he still liked to play the victim.

"Let's just say it would've been of use for her to clarify what kind of secrets."

Riddle looked up, who did not expect this kind of answer.

"In other words; You scammed the scammer."

"Haha, you could say that. In the end, I just gave information that wouldn't be of great use. Yet, she was not able to say that I cheated since I just promised her some secrets, but not what kind of secrets," the girl revealed with a small, devilish grin.

"Moving on to Scarabia, shall we?"

First

[A/n: Sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors, English is not my first language!]

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3pirouette · 3 years

Text

Fic: Nobody's Baby: Menace (1/1)

Title: Menace

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Menace at AO3

Nobody's Baby Series at AO3

Story Summary: Steve wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, he supposed that things would change, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure and neither was Howard.

A/N: Set in April of 1954, right before the Epilogue of Nobody’s Baby. For Steggy Week Day 6: Our Favorite Family. I’m also using this to cross “Domestic Fluff” off my Steggy Bingo Board because I don’t think it gets much more domestic OR fluffy.

I… have no idea what kids learned in school in 1954. Just… made my best guess.

~*~

Steve wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, he supposed that things would change, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure and neither was Howard.

Mandy was enough of a tornado; at eight she had the energy of three grown men and the ability to sit still for about five minutes if something didn’t capture her attention. But adding Peggy into the mix…

He scratched his head, looking at the dent in the refrigerator. He was strong enough to reshape the metal, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to get to it without disassembling the whole thing. He bit his thumb and turned back to his wife who was watching him from the door, hands on her stomach.

“How, exactly,” he started, curious but still gentle, “did you manage this one?”

Peggy looked contrite, her lip between her teeth and eyes sad as she stroked her pregnant belly. “I leaned on it too fast.”

Her earnestness hit him in the gut and he could do nothing but laugh.

She gently pressed off the wall, frustrated. “It’s not funny, Steve!”

“Awww,” he tried to suppress his laughter, but it still trickled out as a chuckle as he pulled her tight into his embrace. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just…” When she sniffled he knew he’d gone too far. Steve leaned back, taking her chin gently in his hand. “I’m just getting really good at home repairs, is all.”

Peggy shook her head fiercely, eyes welling. She was still subject to horrible mood swings, even this late into the pregnancy. “I’m a menace.”

“You’re my menace,” Steve replied quickly, kissing her forehead and cradling her tight in his arms. “Besides, the refrigerator needed a little… style.”

He wasn’t sure if the sound Peggy made was a laugh or a sob, but her held her just a little tighter, anyway. They hadn’t been sure, after so long of trying and nothing happening, that they’d be able to have children of their own. Being pregnant was a big enough surprise after years of thinking it wouldn’t happen, but the enhancements she was displaying since, well, those were a little harder to deal with.

Howard had tried to figure out exactly what was happening, but could only give them his best guesses since he and Erskine hadn’t ever gotten this far in their planning or research. He assumed it was something about Peggy and the baby sharing blood supply and genetic material, but as to how long it would last once the baby was born or if it was a permanent change to Peggy’s system, he didn’t know. Anytime they asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to, Howard would wave his hands in the air and say it was the “miracle of pregnancy.”

Neither Steve nor Peggy were very partial to that answer.

The hearing and sense of smell were both helpful and annoying to her, the quick healing was quite useful, but the strength had knocked her for a loop and almost seven months later she was still having little… mishaps.

“I know I say this all the time,” Peggy mumbled into his neck, “but how did you manage?”

“It was a war,” Steve whispered, not caring how many times he’d have to talk about it. “People didn’t care if there was some collateral damage until I figured it all out.” He swayed them side to side gently, rubbing his hand over her back. “Though, they were a little sore on the USO tour if I managed to break something.”

Peggy shook her head against him. “The kitchen table, two chairs, three… three doors off the hinges, the shower head, two holes in walls, the typewriter, the bathroom sink, and the refrigerator. Any other casualties I’m missing?”

Steve winced, but said it anyway. “The dollhouse.”

She deflated in his arms. “Yes, and the dollhouse.” She turned sideways, letting her belly rest against his so she could lean into him. “What if this never goes away?”

Steve let his hand flatten over the curve of her stomach, stroking gently through the fabric of her dress. “Then we will have the most well protected kids in the world.”

“Right,” she muttered, “As I stumble around and put holes in the walls.”

Steve continued gentle strokes up and down over the curve of her stomach. “No, by then you’ll have regained your balance and with the little guy—”

“Or girl,” Peggy mumbled.

“Or girl,” Steve amended quickly, “on the outside we can get you training- get you used to it.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “No matter what happens, in a few weeks we’re going to have a new focus, but I’m not going to let you struggle, ok?” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here with you.”

Peggy hummed, unconvinced as she did a little two step to turn them to face the refrigerator. “Perhaps.” She sighed, her tears abated for the moment and her mind set on more practical things, “But what are we going to do about right now?”

“Well—”

Steve’s long, drawn out syllable was interrupted by the slamming of the back door and Mandy tearing into the kitchen, her bag falling off her shoulder and braids in shambles. “Hi Mom, Dad!” She hugged them tight, her bag falling to the floor.

Steve’s arm wrapped around the girl as Peggy held tight to him, Mandy’s energy nearly knocking her over. She let her hand settle on the back of the girl’s head after she finally regained her footing with more than a little help from Steve’s sure grip. “Well, aren’t you full of energy today!” Peggy laughed out, her fingers running over the hairs sticking out of the braids.

“School was so boring today,” Mandy mumbled, looking up at them. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to Peggy’s stomach, whispering something unintelligible to the baby before pulling away from her parents.

Steve could see Peggy tearing up again as she rubbed the spot Mandy had kissed. He gave her a little squeeze and turned back to Mandy, who was gleefully chattering on, unaware she’d done something precious. “Math was a review and I got all the answers right from last night’s homework, so I just had to listen. Then we had time to read our chapter books, and we had to write a summary, which is boring because I already read it, so why do I have to talk about what I just read?”

Steve smiled as Mandy sat herself on the floor, digging through her bag. “So that you can show you understand it. That’s an important skill.”

Mandy looked up at him and after a moment of contemplation, shrugged. “Ok,” she muttered, turned back to her bag. “We had art today, too, and that was pretty fun. We used different kinds of macaroni to make a map yesterday, and then after lunch today we painted it.” Mandy was almost halfway in her backpack now, looking for the errant art project. She pulled it out with a flourish and smiled. “Miss Williams said mine was the most colorful, and Jeremy got in trouble.”

“Jeremy got in trouble?” Peggy asked, smiling as Mandy stood and tried to show them both the sheet of paper filled with an explosion of various shaped pastas in bright colors.

“He said they should have kept the pasta for lunch because lunch was bad, so he got sent to the principal’s office for talking back.” Mandy shrugged and handed the picture to Steve. “He’s not wrong. The turkey sandwiches were dry.” She scrunched up her face and shook her head like she was trying erase the memory of the food.

“Be that as it may, this is quite lovely dear!” Peggy smiled and looked at the paper. “What is it the map of?”

“Well, we were supposed to make a map about a place we know, but I thought that would be boring.” Mandy sat back down on the floor and started to put all the papers and pencils from her bag back in. “So, I made a treasure map instead.” She stood back up and hefted the bag over her shoulder. “I only have a little homework tonight so I’ll be done pretty fast. Just some science homework. What’s for dinner?”

Peggy stepped away from Steve, setting a hand on Mandy’s shoulder. “Well, that’s good that you don’t have much, because Aunt Ana has invited us over for dinner tonight.” She smiled and moved to head her towards her room. “We need to get you a little more presentable, and you can work on your science while we’re talking about boring adult things after dinner.”

Mandy squealed in delight, bouncing. “Do you think Aunt Ana’s cooking or is it Uncle Jarvis? Maybe she’ll have the little rolls I like. Oh! Will Bernard be there?”

Steve shook his head, chucking under his breath as he moved towards the refrigerator, a glint in his eyes.

Peggy laughed and flicked a half-unraveled braid over Mandy’s shoulder. “Absolutely not. Bernard lives in California, darling.” She turned her daughter towards the door. “I’ll let you pick your dress but you must sit still for me to fix your hair, understood?”

Mandy could barely hide her excitement for the night out. “Yes, Mom.”

“Hey, what do you think? Temporary fix?” Steve caught both of their attention, pointing to the refrigerator where he’d hung Mandy’s art up with a magnet over the dent with a proud smile on his face.

Peggy rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him, rubbing a hand over her belly “I suppose it shall do for now.” She sighed happily, felling just a little overly domestic at the sight of Steve standing by their daughter’s artwork, proud of both her and himself. “Alright, you two, we need to get a move on. Edwin’s expecting us.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, starting to move then stopping, turning his head to the side as he contemplated the macaroni art. “Mandy?”

She and Peggy stopped half out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Is this…” he paused, a concern growing in his head, “is this our yard?”

She nodded proudly. “Uh huh.”

“Oh!” Peggy smiled, smoothing down her daughter’s hair, oblivious to Steve’s discovery. “I can see the shed and the little garden patch in the back. Very good job.”

“And…” he paused again, this time his hesitancy caught Peggy’s attention and her smile dropped just a bit. “And where’s the treasure?” Steve asked, cautiously. “I don’t see an ‘x’ to mark the spot.”

Mandy chuckled, her face alive with what they’d come to know as her mischievous smile. “You’re going to have to find it.” She turned, moving out of the kitchen and bounding up the stairs. “Especially if you want it back!”

Steve and Peggy stared at one another for a long moment, the sound of Mandy bouncing around in her room a far second to the panic they both felt.

“What did she bury?” Peggy asked, her voice quiet and as deathly serious as if she were in the field.

“What are we missing?” Steve asked, just as serious, eyes flying all over the room. He and Peggy passed one another as Steve kept looking for little holes where trinkets or heirlooms might have caught Mandy’s eye while Peggy scoured the colorful macaroni for anything that might be a clue. Steve stopped and turned slowly, another thought dawning on him. “Honey?”

“Hum?” She asked, eyes still scouring the page.

He tried to keep his voice as calm as he could, but he knew that if he was right, this was unlikely to go well. “Where’s your ring?”

“I couldn’t find it this morning; I must have missed my jewelry dish last night and I couldn’t quite get on the floor to check under…” She stopped, her mind finally clicking over. She stood slowly, looking at him. “No.”

He grimaced. “I mean…”

Peggy’s jaw tightened and her eyes grew serious. “You need to take this one back,” she gestured at her belly. “I can’t handle two.”

Steve smirked and took her hand, gently pulling her towards the stairs. “A little late for that, I think.”

Peggy reluctantly let him pull her along. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t handle another little carbon copy of us scooting about, being sneaky and subverting our every effort to parent them.”

He stopped them at the bottom of the stairs, smiling softly. “It’ll be fine.” He kissed her softly then started up the stairs. “Let’s just take it one refrigerator and wedding ring at a time, huh?”

Peggy grumbled and started up behind him, significantly slower. “That little devil is lucky I love her, Shield has some beautiful new detention cells I’ve been dying to try out.”

Steve paused at the top. “She’s scrappy, like her mom.” He kissed Peggy’s forehead and helped her up the last few stairs.

“And as stubborn and sneaky as her father when she gets an idea in her head.” Peggy took a slow breath and stood near the doorway. “It’s your turn.”

Steve rubbed his face, suddenly not liking where this was going. “Then why’d you come up?”

“Because while you’re digging out in the yard for my ring, I’m going to have to get that whirlwind of a child ready and as you just saw, I do need a hand nowadays if I’m to get up here in one go.” Peggy shook her head and gave him a push towards the door. She smiled, a glint and a challenge in her eye. “You’re up, Daddy.”

He took a deep breath, and with a voice and facial expression Peggy knew well from the days of the red, white, and blue suit, entered enemy territory. “Amanda Grace? Where did you bury your mother’s ring?”

Her voice was so proud when she replied, Peggy nearly doubled over with laughter. “I told you, you’re going to have to find it. That’s what the map is for!”

Peggy wasn’t sure she was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, she supposed that things would change, but the truth was, super strength and buried rings and all, she wouldn’t give it up for the world.

#steggyweek21 #steggy bingo bash #3P's Fic #Nobody's Baby

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mercerislandbooks · 3 years

Text

Try Audio Books for Book Bingo!

Thanks to the recent Seattle Times article with the reminder that listening to an audio book constitutes reading a book for the purposes of Book Bingo, I was able to use some of my recent audio book “reads” to fill in a few Book Bingo squares!

For me, audio books have been a fun way to squeeze in a few more titles per month. I listen when I work out, on my way to and from work, when I’m knitting, and, when I’m really into an audio book, on my lunch breaks. I especially like listening to YA (bonus points if they have dual narrators, so fun!), romance, and some nonfiction, which is often narrated by the author, as you’ll see below. Every so often I’ll add in a literary fiction, like Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet. The pleasure of truly excellent prose spoken aloud adds a depth to my experience of the story. I can’t listen to an audiobook as fast as I can read a book, so it gives me more time to think about the characters, what is happening in the plot and speculate about what might happen next. When I listened to The Dutch House (read by Tom Hanks) I was continually surprised by the twists of the plot. When I listened to Gold Diggers, I was able to step away long enough to remind myself these were fictional characters, because I thought they were making so many bad choices!

Island Books partners with Libro.fm, a local independent audio book platform. Readers who want to support Island Books and get downloadable audio books can purchase a monthly subscription, or buy audio books a la carte, while designating their chosen independent bookstore. Most of our staff uses the Libro.fm app, and whenever I personally mention in a recommendation card or in a blog that I listened to the audio book, it has been exclusively using Libro.fm.

Here are my recent audio book “reads” that are helping me fill in my Book Bingo!

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green

I’ve read several of John Green’s YA titles, (The Fault in our Stars, Looking for Alaska, and Turtles all the Way Down) and heard he had a podcast, but never listened to it. So when I saw he had a book of essays coming out, and that he was reading the audiobook, I thought it would be a nice change of pace from all the YA rom-coms I’d been devouring. There’s something lovely about hearing an author read their personal essays aloud, knowing that they are acutely aware of the intent they are trying to convey to their reader/listener. Having no preconceptions, I found this a delightful ramble through John Green’s thoughts about things as varied as the Indy 500, Kentucky Bluegrass (which I initially thought was the music genre and was confused as to all this discussion of lawn care), and Air-Conditioning. Green gives a concise deep dive into each subject, but always circles back to his own, quite moving, personal experience. The through line in each, either explicitly or not, is the disruption of the Covid pandemic, and he imbeds in each essay a snapshot of whatever uncertainty we were all contending with at that particular time. I used The Anthropocene Reviewed for my “Poetry or Essays” square.

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston

I know this has already been one of the big books of the summer, especially among the late teens and early twenties readers. I had it in my to listen queue when I found it listed on the Seattle Public Library’s “Peak Picks” page - perfect way to fill in that square! I listened to the bulk of it on a recent road trip and, for me, the audio book was the perfect way to submerge myself in the story without overthinking the moments that slightly strained my credulity. August has recently moved to New York City as a way to hopefully finish college, extract herself from her mother’s obsession with a particular cold case, and be alone without feeling lonely. She stumbles into an apartment situation with a handful of quirky characters, a job as a waitress at a pancake restaurant, and a commute on the Q train to school. Which is where she meets Jane. August has a crush at first sight, especially after Jane rescues August with a scarf to cover her coffee ruined shirt. But August starts to realize there’s something different about Jane - she listens to cassettes on a Walkman, she’s always wearing the same outfit, and she’s always, always on the Q train whenever August gets on. This is certainly a romance, and there’s plenty of steamy moments, but the relationships between August and her roommates moved me the most as they slowly break down her protective shell. August struggles to let herself love others, and to let herself be loved, so listening to her gradual change was tender and sweet. I loved seeing her find her people, a place where she felt like she belonged, and realize how full and good her life could be. One Last Stop would also work for Romance, QTBIPOC and Coming of Age Book Bingo squares.

The View Was Exhausting by Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta

This one I didn’t start for any particular Book Bingo square, but The View Was Exhausting would work for Romance, Beach Read, QTBIPOC, or Recommended by a Local Bookseller (me!). All I knew going in was it was a romance with the fake dating trope and set in the upper echelons of Hollywood society. I figured it would be a fun escapist look behind the scenes of a lifestyle a million miles away from my own. Whitman “Win” Tagore is an A-list British Indian actress chasing after a coveted role in a Hemingway film adaptation when scandal erupts in her personal life. She retreats to Saint-Tropez to do damage control by calling in her on again off again “boyfriend”, society darling/male model Leo Milanowski. The world thinks that Win and Leo have a love story for the ages, but since the moment they met at age 20, it’s been about public image - fake dating on a global stage. First I was captured by narrator, Tania Rodrigues, and her precise English accent that she molds to fit every character. Her voice reading Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta’s words made me feel like I was in each exotic location. Second, the whole concept raised really interesting questions about the double standard for men and women in the film industry, and especially for women of color. Win feels like she has to faultlessly maintain her image in order to have the career she wants, and so as not to make it harder for any other British Indian actresses coming up behind her. She goes to great lengths, with her loyal publicist, to craft the image she thinks the public wants, the producers and directors want, and is exhausted by the effort. I found myself wondering if Win could just refuse to play the game? This is an audio book I raced through because I couldn’t wait to see what would happen!

I hope everyone is finding something fun to read or listen to this summer. If you want to sign up for a Libro.fm membership, go to the sidebar on our website, islandbooks.com and click on the link. Time for me to pick my next listen!

— Lori

#island books #lori robinson #BookBingoNW2021 #Librofm #audiobooks #summer reading #john green #the anthropocene reviewed #casey mcquiston #one last stop #mikaella clements #onjuli datta #the view was exhausting

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flydotnet · 4 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Like blood on a patch of fresh snow.

I'm not sure of where this fic went, but... oh well. I don't want to look at it for much longer, so here y'all go, 1.9K words of whatever this is. I really wanted to write more NaomiLG because I love them, but I realize I'm really not their best writer, so I need to hone my skills. Take this weird-ass oneshot with a very specific and picturesque prompt as an attempt to nail them. It was fun to imagine all of the red-on-white imagery, at least. Title comes from a Rammstein song because it played while I was writing this and I figured, y'know, it means "red rose", so why not make it the title? It at least sounds epic to someone like me who knows shit about German. No correlation to the lyrics, though, far from it lmao.

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Rosenrot

Summary: Naomi's past catches up to her in a street as someone else's blood spills for her.

Fandom: Trauma Team (spoilers for TC:SO and TT) Ship: Naomi/Little Guy

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Like a widow who had lost her spouse, Naomi started wearing black after losing her ability to save lives. Back then, she didn’t really know why, probably to remind her of the sins she still had to expiate. It felt weird to her to wear white again, since it kept reminding her of the life she had to leave behind, that of a lifesaver whom people trusted with literally all they had left.

Even now, even as her life has gone back on track (she has a stable job, a daughter and friends who hold her in great esteem – things she thought she’d never have until a year ago), she continues wearing black because it feels more comfortable to be able to fade back into the shadows would she ever need to slip back into the night. She can’t ever live in the broad daylight, not anymore she knows this; but, as long as Alyssa doesn’t mind, then she doesn’t have a reason to complain. The cold and silence have their perks.

Wearing black, at first, was to hide stains when she was working with Delphi. God knows there was little hygiene there, so blood could easily show on clothing when they weren’t careful. Wearing black robes (or whatever outfit they had given her that looked very little like a robe) allowed them to conceal the dark reds and rusts more easily without having to think about it too much. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

On the other hand, blood is too visible on white. Of course, it is the point of wearing it for surgical procedures, since it’s easier to disinfect – it’s still too visible for people like Delphi or, in a way, her. Even to this day, seeing reddish stains on white fabric makes her uneasy, reminding her of things she’d much rather never think about again. She’s like the black-clad widow staring at the radiant bride with a wine stain on her dress: she knows what she lost and has the feeling of seeing a bad omen.

There is this one thing about Delphi she has stopped minding, and it’s Little Guy, or whatever his real identity was supposed to be. If he reminded her of their dark past not too long ago, he now represents what they could become: atoners, working for “the right side” for once, working in the shadows to help the living move on like they’ve had to. Unlike her, he didn’t let himself dwell on the past, preferring to get moving.

The moment she understood it the most when he started to wear white more than black, renouncing to the colour she was always used to see him dress. It felt weird, at first, but he knew how to pull it off, and she got used to the new habits. Never dwell on the past, let herself get swiped away by the changing winds. Moreover, Alyssa really liked it whenever he’d drop by the house after driving her home after work or getting Alyssa from school when she couldn’t.

But now, the past has caught back to them. Ex-Delphi members have found them again, motivated by the recent rise (and fall, but they forgot about that second time) of Adam’s nephew trying to bring the virus back right as PGS cases flare up across the USA. They’re not running away, this time: she did that enough when going to seek amnesty in Europe, so now, she better prepare herself to strike. Little Guy already cocks his FBI-licenced gun out, intending to strike judging by the little tremors in his fingers.

It goes in a flash: a couple bangs, blood spilling on the ground, dirt and smoke and iron fill the air of an urban cul-de-sac. The commotion is such that it’s difficult to follow anything until the stench of violence lifts up and so does the smog it created. For a moment, she believes they may have both gotten killed, and that she’s already passing into the afterlife, in denial of everything, not ready to face death nor discover if there is, indeed, something on the “other side” that isn’t roaming around this world and calling the “voodoo hotline”.

One thing quickly becomes clear: she is still alive. In fact, everyone is somehow still alive, because she sees their three assailants with their weapons on the floor and wounds in their legs: they were only harmed to disarm them. She pats her own clothes and body to check if she hasn’t been injured, remembering reflexes she had thought long gone coming back to her in a moment’s notice. To her fortune, she seems okay, as she only feels dirt, dry clothing and skin under her fingers’ touch.

Seeing the men lie on the ground in pain, she already grabs her phone and calls for help, going into not too many details for everyone’s safety and privacy.

“Little Guy,” she starts calling to her partner so they can get away from this place before being brought into this, her finger about to swipe the call off, “let’s go.”

His response is delayed.

“Sure… Sure thing.”

His voice sounds strangled and hesitant, drier than her clothes, and it prompts her to turn around. As soon as she does, however, her own breath gets caught in her throat as her entire body tenses up. Her mind, which was until now fixated on running as far as possible from the scene before they were going to be questioned about the bullets in their pursuers’ limbs, immediately switches to the same sort of panic she felt in Caduceus Europe all those years ago when she witnessed a fellow surgeon collapse in pain.

Little Guy!

He’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall that cornered them until now, a hand loosely holding onto his gun, the other barely holding onto a striking red stain on his clear, monochrome attire. It’s expanding moment after moment, replacing the immaculate white of his shirt and suit jacket with a much darker colour. If it was only the bloodstained clothes, it’d have been fine, no matter how much this man frets over such things – but it’s not what is scaring her so much about this.

“Little Guy, what happened?!”

As he struggles to get an answer out, she takes his pulse: there, obviously, since he’s breathing, but weakening. His breathing is quick but shuddering, as if fragile like glass.

“One… one of them was armed,” he replies, swallowing every few words. “One bullet hit… my flank, I think?”

Not caring for the nail polish Alyssa put on her fingers last night, Naomi digs under the bloodstained jacket and where the incriminated wound must be. There, she confirms Navel’s suspicions: it’s indeed in his flank.

“If my assumption is correct, it shouldn’t have hurt an organ,” she says, a little bit of relief pulsing through her. “We need to get you into a hospital asap, though, you’re bleeding profusely.”

She grabs back her phone, which she previously slipped into her pocket, and adds the information on a fourth wounded. She gives more information on their location and the circumstances, merely forgetting to mention this is all because of Delphi’s doings and their smothered shady pasts, and stays on the line, putting the phone in speaker mode so she doesn’t miss crucial information.

“You should go, Dr Kimishima,” Navel whispers, eyes getting glassy and unfocused, the speed at which this happens prompting her to check the wound again. The blood has spread even further, making the fabric stick to the wound. “Don’t… let them catch up to you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you for dead. Plus, I’d rather have to search for amnesty again than get pursued for not helping someone in critical need.”

It’s the pragmatic way to say she’d never handle having his blood on her hands and his death on her conscience. He, however, doesn’t reply, letting uncomfortable silence install itself as they wait for assistance to arrive.

When they do, the sirens’ shrills muffle Navel’s breathing, lights almost covering the blood stains on his suit and her fingers, slipping under her nails, drying out already.

It could, however, never erase the image from her mind.

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Naomi waits in this bedroom, all alone and in silence, for a little while. She doesn’t know how long exactly (probably around half an hour, although it feels like more than that), all she knows is that the chair she’s sitting on isn’t very comfortable and that she needs to remember when to pick Alyssa from school; two things that, for the moment being, don’t matter much.

The weather is beautiful, today. Even earlier, when they were outside, there was a gentle breeze blowing through their hair. She merely forgot about it due to thinking about literally anything else under the sun, mostly her colleague whom she found out wasn’t just randomly hit during the kerfuffle. To be fair, she should’ve guessed that was what had happened when she suddenly found herself on the ground rather than standing, but…

She suddenly hears Little Guy stirring and, finally, opening an eye. His injuries were fortunately not as grievous as she was afraid they’d be, even if he’s clearly landed himself for at least a week in the hospital. What an idiot.

“Doc… Doctor Kimishima…?”

“Go back to sleep, Little Guy, you still sound like you’ve pulled a week-long all-nighter.”

As if obeying her (but most likely because losing this much blood tends to leave you weak, and his corpulence isn’t exactly one that’d take kindly to blood loss), his eyelids flutter; but he doesn’t go back to sleep. At least, not yet.

“Are you okay…?” He asks, voice recovering some clarity, even if it’s unlike his usual swagger.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking you that, you know; but I’m okay. Better off than you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles once before groaning in pain.

“Urgh, I forgot how sore post-surgery was…”

“You’ll get used to it. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sure you do, Dr Kimishima.”

She drops the playful banter for something else altogether.

“Oh, and, Little Guy?”

“Yes…?”

“Never do that again. I don’t want to see you covered in your own blood again.”

His face, which is slowly regaining more colour, distorts a little.

“Even if…”

“Even if it means saving my life.”

He looks aside, in silence. She guesses he’s unable to honestly give her the answer she wants to hear, so he instead prefers not to say anything. Well, that’s something she expected would happen: people have told her he was wrapped around her little finger. Too bad that this man got infatuated with someone like her whom death and misfortune follow her every step. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, considering the number of close calls he found himself in when he was by her side. You sometimes have to wonder what other people even think…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he eventually replies.

Naomi can’t stay upset about it forever, especially when she sees how dishevelled and vulnerable he looks with his hair askew, dark rings under his eyes and hospital gown, so far from the sharply-dressed bachelor she’s come to appreciate.

“Good. Just be careful and we’ll be clear.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

As long as he doesn’t mind being so close to death, she’ll make sure he doesn’t meet it.

#bad things happen bingo #trauma center #trauma team #naomi kimishima #little guy navel #how do you even tag this dude #bthb #bloodstained clothes #my writing

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lulaypp · 3 years

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Momentarily Closed To New Request. <3

Hi. I figured I'll give this its own post to keep things and myself organised XD

So, I have recently aqquired myself a Bad Things Happen Bingo card!! And while I will be filling some myself for funzies along the way, I will also be open if anyone would like to request for anything from it!

Feel free to send me an ask or anything that I can see with:

A trope from the card (will be left under the cut along with a separate list where I will be crossing off any filled/taken squares)

Character(s) of your choice

Any other important bits and details if you want; including, but not limited to, anything I should avoid

I might take a bit of time, but I will do my best to get around to doing it when I can <3 Thank you!

Edit: Oh I just thought of it. While I will try to default a happy/happy-ish-kinda or hurt/comfort ending, you might want to specify XD Just tell me if you feel like having a good or bad ending or I can go wild. <3

The Bingo Card:

Sound Torture

Caught in a Storm

Outnumbered in a Fight

Hand Stomp

Rope Burns

Locked in a Freezer

Scalding

Tampering with Food/Drink

Punctured Lung

Electrocution

Undeserved Reputation

Hate Plague

Villainous Rescue

Blackmail

Whipping

Kick Them While They Are Down

Angry Mob

Memory Loss

Wrongfully Arrested

Lifted by the Neck

Insecurity

Dissociation

School Struggles

Precarious Ledge

Used As Bait

#Requests #Feel free to drop by me what you like!#<3

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

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Fanfic year in review 2020

So I was tagged by @mrmustachious @eirabach @tsarisfanfiction and @hodgehegposts. Thank you all. I’ve not been writing for much longer than a year so this is actually going to give me an interesting snapshot of just how much fanfic has taken over my life.

Total number of completed stories: 48 and apparently 4 WIP (of which I had completely forgotten about 2 of them - oops)

Total word count: 130,837 in the completed stories, about 85,000 published words for my WIPs, maybe 5000 that haven’t been shown to the world yet.

Fandoms written in: Thunderbirds (44 published, 3 WIP) & SKAM (4 published, 1 WIP)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Far, far more, both in terms of words and number of stories. I started writing at the end of November 2019 so I still see this all as a very new venture for me. I had no idea a year ago that writing would become this much a part of my life.

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

Oh my goodness, um, maybe Becoming Thunderbird One because even though I can see so many stupid errors that I should have picked up in the editing, it’s one of the few that actually provoked an emotional response from me as I was writing it.

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Undertaking any sort of writing was a risk because I’ve never really done anything creative until now. I have tried to stretch myself and expand out of my comfort zone (what comfort zone - I’ve not been doing this long enough to have one of those) by starting a Bad Things Happen Bingo card to make myself write whump. I have also challenged myself to write ships, smut, characters that normally stay silent for me and multi-chapter fics; all in the name of making sure I explore and attempt a wider range of writing.

Do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?

To finish High Expectations which has been a victim of life stresses. That story got so long and involved that I have to be in the right frame of mind to pick up all the threads and that hasn’t happened much lately.

I’ve also signed up to the @skambigbang which gives the dual challenge of a new way of writing (drafts? deadlines?) and writing for a new fandom.