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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #second madame nie #jin guangyao #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #what does the fox say

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 3,778 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: None really! A/N: This is the final part of a miniseries! Find the previous part on the Masterlist!

Your name: submit What is this?

The next morning, Daryl was still sitting watch outside the barn as he had promised you when some movement up at the farmhouse caught his eye. He straightened up when he saw it was you stepping onto the porch. He immediately started heading over and met you at the steps. The bruising on your arm from your boyfriend’s hand and fingers and on your face from where he had hit you had darkened overnight and his stomach twisted and clenched with anger. The split in your bottom lip glared out against the delicate pink around it, a dark crimson slice.

“Hey. Are ya alright?” His blue eyes were narrowed in concern.

You nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” You glanced over at the makeshift campsite. It was quiet and still. “Everyone still sleeping?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Ya sure ya should be up and about? Ya got a concussion.”

“I’m okay.” You gave him a long look and Daryl waited. He could sense you were on the edge of saying something. You tried to gulp down the nerves. “Would you—will you take me to go talk to him?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Ya dun owe him anythin’,” he drawled. The gravel was heavier in his voice than usual.

Daryl nudged his nose up at you in a nod. He turned to lead the way but you called him back.

“Daryl—” There was worry and anxiety etched in your brow and somehow the archer knew what you were trying to ask.

“I won’t leave ya alone with him. Don’t worry.”

You gulped, grateful that he understood implicitly, immediately. You went down the steps and fell into stride beside him.

“How’d ya sleep? Ya get some rest?” he asked, casting a sideways glance in your direction. It almost physically hurt him when his eyes hitched on your injuries.

You nodded. “A little. Except Hershel had someone coming in to wake me up every hour or so… I guess that’s to make sure I wasn’t going into a coma after the—the concussion…”

Daryl felt that familiar burn of rage in his chest. “Is it that serious?” he asked, stopping dead. “Maybe ya really shouldn’t be up. We should get ya—”

“I’m fine. I think he was just being cautious,” you countered.

Daryl gulped under the fixed gaze of your eyes but ultimately nodded and started toward the barn again.

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked kindly, concern in your tone.

Daryl shrugged vaguely. “Nah. But s’alright. Wanted to make sure he was locked up and couldn’t get to ya. Once the others are up, I’ll catch a few hours.”

You gave him a grateful smile, feeling your cheeks warm a little with a blush. “Thanks for that.” He only nodded.

Finally, you both arrived at the barn and Daryl unlocked the door and paused with his hand on the latch. “Ya sure?” You looked a little afraid, but you nodded. He swung the door open and followed you inside. He passed in front of you as you crossed the space to a huddled figure leaning partially up against the opposite wall, half-slumped over toward the dirt floor. Daryl rushed up to him and kicked the bottom of his boot hard. “Wake up, dumbass!” he growled.

He stirred and lifted his head. You could see that his face was bloody and bruised, with one eye completely swollen shut, the result of Daryl’s fists the day before. You felt sick when he noticed you were there, his whole body language changed. His whole demeanor changed, but you knew it was just all an act.

“Oh, baby. Babe, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you! I just got so jealous. Please, I just—I love you so much!” He was immediately pleading. Your heart started to race and the sick feeling in your stomach only increased.

Daryl was immediately on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and thrusting him hard against the wall. “Shut the fuck up! I don’t wanna hear another goddamn word out of ya. Ya ain’t even deserve to look at her, but she’s got some things she wants to say, and you’re gonna listen. Got it?” Your boyfriend averted his eyes and said nothing, and Daryl released his hold on him. Your ex-boyfriend’s eyes drifted back to you. They were cold, hard.

Daryl stood just behind you, watching the scene carefully for anything going the slightest millimeter wrong.

“They asked me what to do with you. You’re gonna be gone, but whether that’s away from here or dead is mostly up to me.” You paused and gulped again at the tightness in your throat. “But I think a quick and easy death is just too good for you. Besides, I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands, even yours. So, I’m gonna tell Rick to take you way out, alone, into the middle of nowhere and just leave you. So maybe you’ll feel a modicum of the fear you put me through every day. You’ll experience how alone I felt, how isolated. How helpless. How robbed of every part of me that mattered. And then the walkers can have you. Or maybe you’ll meet someone just like yourself and get a taste of your own medicine.” Your bottom lip was quivering a little but you were determined to get through this. “And there’s something else you should know. Right now, this is the last time I will ever think about you. But you? You’ll think about me every day. You’ll think about what you did. But I don’t care about you anymore. It’ll be like you never existed.”

You stared at him once more for a long moment and then turned to look at Daryl. He nudged his nose up at you in a nod and you headed for the door, leaving behind the man you had once loved who you now didn’t recognize. Daryl latched and locked up the barn and you waited for him, your arms across yourself again, subconscious armor. He was anxiously chewing his bottom lip when he turned around and caught your striking eyes. “Ya did good in there. Ya feel better? After havin’ your say?”

Your expression turned a little sad. “Maybe a tiny bit. But mostly no. Besides, it was a lie. He’ll haunt me for a while. But it’ll be different. He won’t have control over me anymore. And I won’t live every day like I’m walking on eggshells.” You studied Daryl’s face for a moment and felt a warmth growing in your chest. “Thank you, Daryl. For everything.”

He shook his head. “S’nothin’.”

Your lips curved in a small smile and Daryl watched with surprise as you came close to him and stretched yourself up on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Setting your heels back down, your eyes flickered between his, memorizing the shades of blue in them. His expression was a little impassive, but you didn’t mind. You smiled up at him again. “Get some sleep,” you said, gently touching his arm, before turning and heading away back up to the farmhouse. The trail of warmth and slight tingling, like the remnants of a static charge, were still strong on his skin even as your figure faded away.

Daryl’s heart was hammering in his chest still as he laid down on his cot in his tent, chasing sleep.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Two Months Later “Hey!” Daryl jumped up from the log he was seated on beside his small fire circle as he saw you starting to cross the green space toward the tree line. You paused and turned at the sound of his voice and the smile you gave him sent a rush of heat to his chest which quickly poured into his face. You just brightened when you smiled and he found it damn near irresistible. “Where the hell ya think you’re going?” he said, jest plain in his voice as he jogged over to you.

You adjusted the strap of your pack on your shoulder and rested the other hand on the hilt of your knife, which was sheathed at your hip. “Gonna go see what I can forage. If I have to listen to Rick and Shane bickering anymore today, I’m going to lose my mind,” you joked.

“Yer just gonna go off out there? By yerself?” he asked you, his brow drawing down low over his blue eyes. “Real nice. Where the hell is my invite?”

You laughed jovially, and Daryl felt another jolt to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. He loved the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, and how now you gave into it with your whole being. You were just like that, despite everything you had been through and despite the state of the world, you just gave into it. It gave Daryl hope. You straightened up and gave him a half-smile. “Well, where’s your crossbow? Come on. How are you gonna keep me safe from walkers without it?”

Daryl smiled back at you, just a small one like he always did, but it still filled you up every time you saw it. He lifted his chin in a nod. “Be right back,” he drawled. You were happy to wait for him while he grabbed his gear and returned to your side.

You fell into stride beside each other at an easy pace and headed toward the tree line. “So, Rick and Shane were goin’ at it again, huh?” Daryl asked. “What was it this time?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Nothing. That’s the thing… Shane is just—I don’t know. He takes any excuse he can to pick an argument with Rick. He’s just—I don’t know…” you trailed off. “He makes me uncomfortable,” you said.

Daryl glanced over at you, his face darkening with a shadow of concern. “He do somethin’?” He felt a swell of protective fire in his chest.

You met his blue eyes and shook your head. “No. No, nothing. I just mean he seems… unstable,” you said. You had reached the edge of the woods now and you pulled a small bag out of the side pocket of your pack and unsnapped the loop over your knife hilt. You scanned the ground for edible plants and mushrooms.

“Ya, cuz he is,” Daryl agreed, glancing around to check for any sign of walkers. “I’ve known plenty of assholes like him before… He just seems to be better at foolin’ people about what he really is. At least he was. Promise me somethin’, though?” You looked up at the archer with a quizzical expression. “If he does anything to ya, tries anything ya don’t like—Hell, him or anyone else, ya tell me, alright?”

You suddenly lost your courage to hold his eyes in the wake of his protectiveness and you felt your cheeks burn a little with a blush. You averted your eyes back toward the ground but nodded. “What would I do without you, Daryl?”

He shrugged and hummed a vague and somewhat dismissive noise, even while he felt that fluttering between his lungs he always associated only with you.

You passed the time easily beside Daryl, and managed to find some wild mushrooms and berries that would add some much-needed variety and nutrition to everyone’s diet. You had just been thinking that it was probably time to head back when Daryl suddenly straightened up and looked skyward.

“We better get goin’,” he said. “S’gonna storm.”

No sooner had he spoken those words than the light seemed to shift and darken. You nodded. “Yeah. Those clouds don’t exactly look friendly.” You shoved the bag you had been collecting berries in back into your pack. “Let’s go.”

Daryl led the way quickly through the underbrush as thunder rolled in the distance. You both emerged from the tree line into the pasture just as lightening cracked and the sky opened up and unleashed a torrent of rain. You were both soaked in an instant and you let out a gasp of surprise at the coldness of the rain. Glancing over at Daryl, who was squinting at you through the downpour, you couldn’t help laughing at the situation as you tried to fend off shivers as the freezing rainwater rolled down your skin.

“C’mon! My tent is closest!” he yelled over the rain. You nodded and took off with him through the grey veil, running with abandon the way you had when you were a child trying to get home before dark. Your socks squished inside your inundated boots as they pounded the saturated ground. Your jeans were heavy with moisture and you felt your clothing and hair clinging to you as you moved.

When you arrived at Daryl’s campsite, he hastily unzipped his tent and held the cloth door open for you to pass inside first. You rushed in but tried to corral yourself in the middle of the tent so you wouldn’t shed rainwater all over his space. “Oh my God,” you said with a laugh, looking over at him as he zipped the door closed. “Soaked through and through.” He set his crossbow down at the edge of the tent and you gulped as you watched water droplets roll down from his wet hair and descend over his collarbone and strong arms. You tried your hardest to prevent a shiver from wracking through you, but to no avail. You were soaked and the autumn rain had been stinging with cold.

Daryl was trying his hardest to avoid looking at how your wet clothes were clinging to the curves and angles of your body and he was grateful for a distraction when he saw you shiver. He went to his duffel bag and pulled out a clean towel.

“Thanks,” you said, accepting it gratefully and trying to wring the water from your hair with it before wrapping it around your shoulders. “Not sure how much good it will do,” you said, laughing as you looked down at your sodden clothing and boots.

“Guess I shoulda pulled us outta there a little sooner,” he drawled, still avoiding looking at you because every time he did he felt like his brain started to go fuzzy and the warmth kindling in his chest was almost overwhelming.

It suddenly struck you how familiar this felt, but at the same time how different. “Not the first time I’ve hidden from the rain in here,” you said suddenly, not even really meaning to speak the thought aloud.

Daryl’s eyes snapped up to your face. That night had been on his mind since the moment the first raindrop hit him. He anxiously chewed his bottom lip and nodded.

The atmosphere between you in the small space, with the rain hammering on the outside of the tent, was sudden charged and heavy.

“But it feels different this time,” you said softly. “Nothing to hide from. Nowhere I’m supposed to be.”

Daryl’s blue eyes flickered between yours. “I shoulda known,” he said regretfully. “I shoulda done somethin’ about him sooner.”

You gave him a sad smile and shook your head. “That’s not on you. Any of it. You did enough.” You took a somewhat hesitant step toward him and Daryl watched as the towel slipped from around your shoulders and fell to the floor in a soft pile, forgotten in the intensity of the moment. “You do more than enough.” You studied his face, each fleck of blue in his eyes, the angles of his jaw. His shirt was clinging to his strong chest and you wanted more than anything at that moment to reach out and touch him, press your hands gently to him in the way he too deserved to be touched.

Daryl couldn’t look away from you. Your gaze, you were magnetic and he felt like he was being drawn in, pulled in. He was seconds away from tumbling into something he would be only too happy to get lost in.

But you suddenly turned and Daryl watched, puzzled, as you went to the upended box that served as a table beside his cot. You carefully moved aside a stray crossbow bolt and a wrinkled paperback and found what you were looking for; the pressed honeysuckle you had found that night, months ago, picked even longer ago before that. You laid the delicate, papery flower out on your palm before turning back to the archer.

He shifted a little anxiously as he saw what you had in your hand.

“You kept it. This whole time,” you said, glancing from the crimson bloom back up to meet his eyes, which were narrowed slightly at you as he waited to see where this was going, nervous but reeling with hopeful anticipation. “Why?” you asked simply. You were merely half a foot apart now, your palm held up flat between the two of you revealing the muted shades of green and red.

Daryl gulped down his nerves and shifted in a shrug. “Ya know why,” he said simply, his deep voice almost feeling like it was wrapping around you.

You stared back down at the flower in your hand. “It’s just a flower. It’s not—” But whatever you had been about to say was stopped by Daryl’s lips on yours. He clasped your face delicately in his hands and kissed you with an urgency that wouldn’t be ignored, couldn’t be.

At first you let out a soft noise of surprise, but Daryl’s nerves vanished as your lips gave softly beneath his and suddenly you were kissing him back eagerly. Your hands were on his sides, feeling the tensed muscles beneath his wet shirt and neither of you noticed the honeysuckle bloom floating gently to the floor as you sank into one another. You arched up onto your toes and looped your arms around his neck, pulling into him more deeply. Daryl’s hands lightly found your waist, your hips, one finally settling in the small of your back keeping you against him with gentle pressure. The world outside seemed to fall away and vanish and it was just you and him and the sound of the storm. The kiss was hungry and fervent but eventually softened and Daryl watched with disbelief as you pulled slightly away and your eyes opened, eyelashes fluttering, revealing the striking color of your irises which he was finally able to study as closely as he wanted, memorizing each hue, fleck, and ring of color. Your lips curved in a smile as you looked up at him and you were sure your cheeks were flushed, because wow. God you had wanted to do that for a long time, longer than you had admitted to yourself.

You clasped his face gently and ran your thumb along his strong jaw, subconsciously biting your bottom lip.

You felt one of his fingers lightly moving on your lower back, like he needed to feel you, really feel you to know this was real.

“Can we, uhh, do that again?” you said with a smile.

Daryl’s mouth twitched up on one side in a smile and he nudged his nose up at you. Before he could even lean in you had arched up on your toes again and pressed your lips to his. This kiss was soft and wanting and sent bolts of electricity through both of you, sending goosebumps rising on your skin that weren’t at all related to your soaked clothes.

You finally broke apart, breathless, and loved that Daryl’s arms were still around you. He seemed unwilling to let you go, and you hoped he never would. You were both all shy smiles for a moment until another shiver ran through you and Daryl felt it beneath his hands. One of his eyebrows immediately quirked down and he broke with you only long enough to collect the towel from the floor and wrap it around you again. His fingers then gently plucked the pressed honeysuckle from the canvas floor and he reached around you to replace it on his improvised nightstand. “Ya should go get some dry clothes on. Can’t have ya getting’ sick.”

Your eyes were still connected with his and you nodded vaguely. “Yeah. But I don’t want to leave,” you said quietly. Daryl chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Ya ain’t gotta. I got plenty of dry clothes in here. C’mon,” he said, gently tapping his fingers where they were resting on your lower back. “We can both change. I’ll face this way. I won’t look. Promise.”

You smiled widely at his sweetness and nodded in agreement. The idea of cozying up in Daryl’s clothes sounded like the best thing you could imagine at that moment, wrapped in his smell, and safe and warm with him close by.

Soon you were both in dry clothes. Daryl’s eyes drank in the sight of you in his oversized shirt and gulped at the rush of heat pouring outward from his chest. He’d wanted this for so long and now that it was happening it still didn’t feel real. You went and sank down on Daryl’s cot, moving toward the back edge to make room for him, giving him an irresistible and expectant look. The archer sank down beside you, gently putting one of his arms underneath your head and draping the other over your waist, his fingertips lightly tickling your back. You both just couldn’t stop looking at the other, and the sound of the storm outside was the perfect backdrop.

You reached out and rested your palm lightly against his chest, feeling the expansion of his lungs and the steady cadence of his heartbeat. “I’m sorry it too me so long to figure this out,” you said softly.

Daryl only looked back at you with a soft expression. “Don’t be. I woulda waited as long as I had to. You’re worth it.”

You gave him a smile and a look of wonder before kissing him softly again. “So are you.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl dixon gifs #my gifs

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 3 years

Text

Cooking class

Word count: 2109

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Very minor injury (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hey! I saw your post for a request and this idea popped into my head. Y/n is a fantastic cook, they can do everything right and make great food all the time, while Natasha usually sets towels on fire when they try. Y/n suggests that Natasha enrolls in a cooking class, and does it with them so Natasha doesn't feel so bad. Y/n ends up rewarding Natasha with little kisses and 'good job!'s for the things they do well in class, and eating bits and pieces of the foods they mess up to prove that it's still edible and they're learning

Summary: Natasha is a horrible cook so reader takes Natasha to a cooking class.

A/n: So this was an anon request so I hope whoever requested this likes it! Also this is the second fic in two days which may not seem like a big deal but I actually feel productive for once. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and I hope to finish some of my other requests soon in case anyone is wondering, and I’m always open for new requests.

Natasha let out a frustrated sound so you looked over, trying not to laugh at your girlfriend but failing spectacularly.

“It’s not funny.” She whines looking over at you with an annoyed expression.

“Sorry love,” you respond, “keep going I promise not to interrupt again.” She narrows her eyes at you but turns back to her task. She’s preparing some pizza dough that she is going to use later on in the class and honestly you never thought someone could mess up on pizza dough that much. There is dough literally everywhere, the sink, counters, floor and even her face. The most funny thing however is how she is completely covered in flour from when she opened the bag wrong and it flew into her face. Surprisingly she agreed easily when you had suggested the idea, because she wanted to help out in the kitchens sometimes but she was banned from everything but the toaster for a reason the avengers called the pie incident but refused to speak further on when asked.

You glance back over at her to see how it’s going and although everything still is a mess it seems like she has managed to combine all the ingredients properly into a ball and is now kneading it. You step towards her and give her a hug from behind, not caring that flour was now getting all over you as well.

“Good job Tasha,” you whisper in her ear. You pull back and when you look at her face you see a slight hint of a blush. She rarely blushes but you always find it so cute when she does so you decide to make it your personal mission to get her to blush as much as possible today. She is just setting aside the dough to rise when the instructor speaks again.

“I see that most of you have already finished, or are just finishing up with your dough and setting it aside. From what I can tell it looks like everybody is doing well so far, however before we can continue everybody should make sure their workstation is clear.” As he says the last part he seems to look mostly at your workstation as well as the one diagonally in front of you, which are by far the two most messy.

Natasha starts clearing up the station while you brush as much flour as you can off of your clothes and wash your hands. As she continues to clear you grab a wet cloth and gently wipe down her face and arms to get rid of all the dough and flour. It takes awhile for the both of you and your workstation to be clear and once it is you realize everybody else is finished and waiting for you.

“Ok now that everybody is done,” this time he obviously glances your way, “we are going to prepare some of the toppings for later. This part shouldn’t be hard so just follow along with the recipe and ask for help if you need it.” Natasha picks up the recipe and you read over her shoulder.

“How about I help you with the topping but you do most of it?” You ask her. “We’ll both help cut up the peaches and make the balsamic sauce. This class is meant to be teaching you and not me after all.”

“Sounds good,” she replies while taking a peach and placing it on the cutting board. She starts to chop but she keeps slicing way too thick at the top and way too thin at the bottom. You giggle slightly and she narrows her eyes at you scowling and puts down the knife.

“I’m not laughing at you Nat, I promise.” You explain. “Well I am but can you blame me? You are a crazy good assassin that probably can kill me easily with that knife in many different ways yet you can’t cut a peach properly.”

“I still don’t see how that is funny.” She huffs but with a hint of a smile.

“I’m sorry, here let me help you.” You grab her hands and guide them into making steady cuts. When the first peach is fully cut up you step back again.

“Why don’t you try to do the next one on your own?” You suggest. She nods and starts to cut seeming a little unsure of herself. While it’s not perfect it’s much better than the first time so when she finishes you let out a small cheer and kiss her on the cheek. She gives a hesitant smile which you’ve learned means she feels good about herself but doesn’t know how to express it properly. You cut the rest of the peaches in silence, her slices gradually getting better.

“You’ve already improved so much!” You praise her, your heart melting when you see her smile and blush. “Why don’t you try the next part on your own?”

“Ok,” she answers, “I think I can do this part.” She starts mixing a few of the ingredients for the balsamic glaze and you, thinking she had it under control, start to glance around because you want to see how the others in the class are doing.

“Eeekk!” You hear Natasha squeal so you quickly look back over at her. The glaze is splashed all over the front of her and splattered all over the counter.

“What happened?” You ask, this time managing to only laugh inwardly as to not offend her.

“I thought if I mixed it as fast as I could the ingredients would combine faster,” she states, “but then this happened.”

You fight hard to keep your straight face, “Tasha, love, that’s not how cooking works.”

“Well I know that now.” She responds in an annoyed tone.

“I know and it’s okay, you can just redo it while I clean this up, does that sound good?” She nods and starts finding the ingredients she needs again while you take some paper towel and clear up the counter. Unfortunately you can’t do anything about the mess on Natasha’s shirt but luckily she purposefully wore a shirt she didn’t mind getting messy.

“Everybody should be just about done by now,” the instructor says, gathering the attention of the class, “Right now I want you to put flour on your counters and start to split your dough up to make the flat breads. Then you can put some topping on and pop them in the oven, make sure not to burn them.” The rest of the class immediately gets to work but before you or Natasha can start the instructor comes up to you.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve noticed that you’ve been having some trouble, so don’t be afraid to ask for any help,” he says, “it is my job.” Natasha is obviously not pleased by what he said and scowls at him, opening her mouth to speak.

“Thank you, we will.” You say quickly before Natasha says something rude. He nods and turns away to go back to the front.

“I wasn’t doing that badly.” Natasha states.

“Don’t worry about it, let’s move onto the next step, why don’t you preheat the oven?” You respond to her, avoiding her statement because she really was doing ‘that badly’. She grabs the flour and opens it, this time making sure that she doesn’t get it all over, and then starts to put it on the counter. Meanwhile you get the dough and split it up into two pieces, one pizza for each of you.

“I’m going to be bad at this part.” She says with a small frown.

“No, no, no, don’t say that Tasha,” you rush to encourage her, “this part is the best part because it’s so fun, and it’s impossible to mess up!”

“If you say she.” She says doubtfully and you laugh. Both of you get to work, at first just playing with the dough in your hands to get a feel for it and after that using a rolling pin to flatten the dough. When you’re finished you take a step back to admire your work.

“Huh, it doesn’t look that bad.” Natasha decides.

“It looks amazing, I knew you could do it Tasha!” You exclaim while hugging her side and pressing a few quick, light kisses to the side of her neck.

“I mean it’s not a huge deal.” She blushes.

“Still, it’s pretty good,” you tell her, “but now we need to focus on putting our topping on.”

She giggles. “You say that like it’s something that requires a lot of thought.”

You gasp dramatically. “Ms. Romanoff, the presentation is the most important part of the dish, it requires a lot of attention to detail.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I forgot!” She plays along. “Why would the actual cooking part matter when you can focus on making them look good?”

“Exactly.” You tell her before both of you get to work, putting all the topping on the flatbread.

As much as you joked about it you tried to make yours look as good as possible and when you were done although it didn’t look perfect you were satisfied with how it looked. At least until you glanced over to see how Natasha did.

“How did you manage to make yours look like it should be in a cookbook?” You ask her, truly amazed by how pleasing it looks and not even knowing how she can make something as average as topping look like art. She just blushes and shrugs, pleased with herself but not wanting to admit it out loud.

“Anyways we should probably get them in the oven now because it looks like others are starting to.” You tell her.

“Of course, I’ll put them in!” She replies quickly, transferring the flatbreads onto two trays and shoving them in the oven. You lean over after she shuts the door and set the timer but when you look back at her and smile, you see she is standing by the sink with the water running over her hand.

“Tasha are you ok?” You ask, immediately rushing over to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just a small burn.” You examine her hand and it doesn’t look as small as most burns people get from cooking but then again Natasha gets injured all the time so this probably isn’t a big deal to her.

“Ok, but just make sure to take care of it.”

“I will don’t worry, I swear I’m the only one on the team who actually knows how to take care of themself sometimes. Remember the time Tony forgot to eat and collapsed?” You laugh at what she said. Although in the moment it was scary, in hindsight it was a funny story to tell.

The two of you keep bringing up old avengers moments and exchanging mission stories until you hear the timer beep. Everybody seems to have put their flatbreads in at the same time because there must be at least ten timers going off and it’s so loud you can’t even think. Luckily Natasha doesn’t seem to have the same problem because she grabs oven mitts this time so she doesn’t burn herself again and pulls the flatbreads out of the oven.

Her face falls when she sees them. The one on the top shelf, although somewhat crispy looking, seems fine but the one on the bottom shelf is practically black on the bottom.

“How did this happen?” She asks. You take a moment to think because the only way it could have happened was if Natasha had preheated the oven to the wrong temperature but you don’t want to discourage her.

“Well maybe you accidentally set the wrong temperature,” you tell her gently, deciding to be truthful, “it doesn’t matter though, because it still looks great!” She attempts a smile but looks thoroughly unconvinced. In order to try to make her feel better you grab the knife from earlier and cut a tiny piece off the edge. Your first instinct is to make a face when you put it in your mouth because it really does taste bad but you smile through that.

“See Tasha? It’s fine.”

“Y/n, it’s ok I know it’s bad and while I’m disappointed I’m not upset,” she says, “thank you for trying to cheer me up anyways.”

“Ok, fine I have to admit it was pretty burnt. But the other one looks good and besides I’m sure whatever we make next week will turn out better.” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and you laugh at her.

“Next week? Y/n, we’re doing this again next week???”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #y/n #x reader #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

selfie | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Is this a rom-com, slice-of-life drama with unsolicited social commentary about gender stereotypes, idol music, and the meaningless meaning of the word, “adult”? Yes. But also, Jeon Jungkook shouldn’t be in love with his hyung’s little sister and he is. Shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of depression, anxiety, loneliness; fluff, but also frustrating because flirt already, sheesh; loons-to-lovers; non-idol!AU - oppa’s bestfriend!Jungkook x SHINee fangirl!reader

happy lunar new year!! year of the ox - jk’s lucky year <3

–

previous episode.

2. in which the two loons getting somewhere, only for more misunderstandings to happen.

Is this too much?

You stared at the picture and the message. Jeon Jungkook once again. Sending a picture of himself at the gym. It was a while since the last one, so his hair was slightly longer now. Was he growing it out? Oh well, none of your business. You sent your usual reply.

You sighed and went back to your journal, only to have your phone aggressively sing ‘3 PM’ from the Animal Crossing New Leaf OST. Directly asking for a video call this time. You thinned your mouth into a line and closed your journal, sliding it out of frame before accepting the call.

Jungkook’s big brown eye filled up the screen, directly on the camera.

“Why don’t you respond like a normal person?”

“Why don’t you start conversations off like a normal person?” you shot back, placing a hand on your cheek and leaning against it. There was stationery scattered all around you, but your journal was behind the charging stand.

Jungkook withdrew his eyeball, frowning. You could see his entire face now, his long black hair tied up into a silly sprout on top of his head. He was still wearing the dark gray sweatshirt from the photo, but he seemed to be in his apartment. All you could see was the wall.

“What about the pic though? Is it too much?”

“Too much what?” you responded irritably.

He waved his hand, shaking the phone with his movement. “You know… Too, ‘Hey I work out and am attractive, pay attention to me’ much?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even looking at the camera. Or wearing a sleeveless shirt.”

He blinked at you. “Should I?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, those are things not to do. Picture is fine,” you added, shifting some pens away so you could rest your head on your forearms.

“Oh.”

He looked uneasy for a second before the camera jostled around as he scurried to a different part of the room. You puffed your cheeks and closed your eyes, not wanting to get motion sick.

“I’ve been playing Persona 5!” Jungkook said cheerfully, making you open your eyes to see him directing the camera at his television where the Persona music was merrily playing. “Just finished Sakura Futaba’s Palace.” He switched the camera back as you smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“Nice.”

Jungkook seemed to spy your deflated form on your desk.

“What’s wrong?”

You breathed out. “Nothing.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You shrugged. “Just thinking.” Your eyes flickered to him, smirking a little. “You wouldn’t know about that, I suspect.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. Other than that, he didn’t react to your remark.

“Thinking about what?” he asked, leaning back into his gray couch. His long hair flared out, sprout blooming against the cushions.

Your eyes shifted to the pens all over your desk. To your tablet, where you had been practicing digital drawing for a little while now. Just little drawings of cute animals, no people yet. To your journal, where you had been writing your diary entry.

“Lonely.”

You said the word without thinking. It was the title of your diary entry. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it was the only thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered back to Jungkook, who was watching you carefully. You sighed, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“All my friends are busy with school and their jobs. Oppa is always at work or with his girlfriend. Parents are always working.”

You could feel the distance between you and your high school friends. They were chasing your dreams and you were chasing nothing at all. You weren’t distant from your brother, but you were respectful of how much time he wanted to spend with his girlfriend. She might become his future wife someday, after all. Would you have a future husband one day? You wondered what he would be like.

You shook your head and shrugged. “But I did it to myself by taking a gap year, so it can’t be helped.”

“It’s okay to feel lonely.”

Slowly, your gaze shifted back to Jungkook. He was getting up from the couch, holding the phone up as he walked to what looked like the kitchen.

“I mean, you can’t help what you feel, right?” he said as he set the phone in a cupboard and went to the fridge. “Feeling lonely isn’t some kind of crime, so you don’t need to lock it away or anything.”

Jungkook picked up a take-out container and opened it, stiffing the contents. He seemed to be debating if it was edible or not. How long had that been there? You wanted to ask but then again, you didn’t want to know. Jungkook shrugged and dumped the mysterious contents into a bowl.

“I’ll talk to you whenever you want.”

You scoffed. “Why would you do that?”

Jungkook placed the bowl in the microwave and set the timer. The machine hummed as he turned around.

“To prevent you from feeling lonely.”

A butterfly danced in your chest.

You chuckled. “Why would I want to feel annoyed instead of lonely?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking out some chopsticks. “At least you have someone to be annoyed at instead of being alone?”

Two butterflies danced in your chest.

You huffed and rested your cheek on your forearms.

“Have you been talking to your Confidants?”

“What?”

“In Persona 5.”

“Who?”

You slapped your forehead. “Listen up, you monkey…”

“I’m an ox in the zodiac.”

“I mean your monkey gameplay…”

You began to explain the importance of Confidants in Persona to Jungkook.

That’s how you ended up in video calls with Jeon Jungkook several times a week.

He would usually start the call by sending a selfie, to which you would respond with your usual question mark. He was going to university for graphic design and worked at an electronics store part time. You, on the hand, were doing nothing. Well, not nothing, because you were clumsily learning digital art, but unless you were showering, you were always by your phone. Checking idol social media, especially SHINee. Sometimes your brother and his girlfriend asked you to accompany them to dinner, but you always declined, because being the third wheel was weird.

Also, watching your brother in love was weird.

Bleh.

“They always make out in front of me,” you were telling Jungkook as he asked why you weren’t at dinner earlier with your brother and his friends. Your brother had taken his girlfriend, of course. “It’s weird.”

Jungkook winced. “Yeah, I get what you mean. But I was there.”

“So what?”

Jungkook raised his hands. He was in his bed, rolling around in gray sheets. “Maybe you care?”

“I’d like to be spared watching oppa’s PDA, thanks.”

As usual, you were at your desk. This time your tablet was in front of you. You pushed the pen around, indecisively drawing lines and undoing your last action, twisting your mouth to one side, not really looking at Jungkook. He wasn’t doing anything of note, anyway.

“You don’t like PDA?”

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. I don’t really care.”

“What are you drawing?”

“Nothing good,” you sighed, putting down the tablet pen. The little cat character looked back at you, its expression the same bored and dispassionate face you usually had. You hadn’t really decided on a color for it yet. Maybe gray. That’s how you usually felt, anyway. You knew the collar color was going to be aqua though. A nod to your SHINee obsession.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

You looked up to Jungkook’s smile. There was a radiance about it. You felt the two butterflies dancing in your ribcage once again, fluttering, fluttering. His two front teeth where just ever so slightly too large for his mouth. It was endearing, like seeing a bunny. You looked back down at the little cat you created. Maybe you would make a bunny for Jungkook.

Pfft.

Why would you do that?

You laughed, confusing Jungkook as you placed your hand over your mouth, eyes squinting as you chortled to yourself, trying to imagine Jungkook as a silly little bunny. Probably one that worked out too much and drank banana milk every day. Probably loved to take selfies too. A cool bunny who wrote sunglasses sometimes and was probably altruistic and interesting.

Not like you.

Your laughter died down, eyes on the cat. You picked a cat to represent you because it was lazy and didn’t do much. Spent all day sleeping and staring outside, but never actually trying. Curious about things, but never committing.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asked, lifting the camera and holding it above him. You saw his long black hair flare out around his head. He was casually handsome, the kind of attractive that didn’t need much to be that way.

That’s weird. Why would you think something like that?

“Your face,” you replied, missing the usual bite you usually had behind your words. “You need a trim.”

He raised his eyebrow, pursing his lips. “You don’t like long hair?”

You pointed at the phone even though he probably couldn’t tell what you were pointing at. “The ends of your hair are splitting. It’s not going to grow well at this rate.”

“Are you a secret barber or something?”

“I’m a human being who cuts her own hair,” you replied impassively, sitting back in your chair.

Jungkook looked surprised. “Really? Since when?”

“Since the last time oppa attempted to cut my hair in high school.” You cringed at the memory.

Jungkook looked apologetic and ready to burst out laughing at the same time. “He tried his best.”

“He did not,” you retorted, remembering the botched bangs and blunt shoulder length cut. It was horrible. You went to the salon afterward and had it trimmed into a short pixie cut, because you would rather be bald than look like an overgrown coconut.

“The pixie cut was cool though.”

“Eh.” You shrugged. “Too hard to cut it by myself. Need some length to hide my mistakes.”

“Your hair always looks nice though. A little messy.”

You touched the top of your head self-consciously. Maybe you should start brushing it before accepting his calls. You didn’t really brush it that often because, well, who was going to see you? You basically only brushed it when you noticed a tangle.

Jungkook was smiling at you. His dark brown eyes seemed sparkly because of the overhead lights in his bedroom. The butterflies in your ribcage circled each other, looping round and round. You made a disgruntled face, reaching up read the current time at the top of your phone.

“Don’t you have class early tomorrow? Go to sleep.”

And then you pressed the end call button.

For some reason, relief and disappointment washed over you. Relief because there was a palpitating anxiousness you felt when you looked too directly into Jungkook’s eyes. Disappointment because maybe you shouldn’t have hung up so abruptly. That was a little rude.

You noticed you had a text. From Jeon Jungkook.

Good night.

Jungkook placed his phone beside him after he sent the text. He thought about sending a selfie too, but maybe that was too much. She had just seen him seconds before, anyway.

Why had she hung up like that?

He smiled as he remembered her laugh. He liked her laugh a lot. She hid it behind her hands and her eyes always squinted when she did so, nearly making them disappear. It looked a little bit like a cat when it was purring in satisfaction. Jungkook wondered what made her laugh like that. It must have been a thought, because he could see her face changing as she observed him. When she stopped laughing, her face was different too, becoming introspective.

She looked pretty today too.

Her hair a little messy, combed through with her fingers. That’s how it looked best, he thought. She had a natural prettiness, the kind that needed no help to be that way. Every action she did seemed cute, from the way she held her pen, to the way she twisted her mouth to one side when she was working on something, to the way she touched the top of her head, lips parting in thought.

If she wanted to be a model, she probably could.

At least, Jungkook wanted to take her picture.

He frowned a little. He’d been consistently sending her selfies before calling her and she always responded with a question mark. Maybe she wasn’t used to taking selfies? Or maybe, and what was more likely, she probably didn’t even care about them.

Jungkook exhaled, flopping to his side. Should he give up? But then he remembered her face right before she looked at the time. It was like she was staring at the screen, at his face. And for a split second, he swore he saw her upper lip upturn a bit, shyness in her gaze, a bit of pink flushing her cheeks. Was it just the lightning or something? His mind playing tricks on him?

“Bleh.”

Jungkook made a weird noise and plopped his face into his pillow.

Jungkook stopped calling you.

You wondered why. You had been kind of rude to him last time. Maybe he was mad at you? Maybe he wanted an apology? But you weren’t really sure what to apologize for. And it was weird to call without a purpose, right? And besides.

You didn’t really need to apologize to Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t even really your friend. He was your older brother’s friend.

You chewed on your lip, staring at the last picture he sent you. He wasn’t your friend. He was… well, what was he trying to do? Why was he talking to you? Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was nosy. You did say you followed his art Instagram, so maybe he was enthralled with the idea of knowing he had a fan or something?

But you weren’t a fan, per se.

Well, a little bit. He was really talented.

But not that much!

Because Jeon Jungkook was kind of annoying. He still hadn’t returned Persona 5 to your brother. Not that your older brother noticed, at all. He never finished Persona 5 and it was mostly your game now, with how many hours you had sunk into it. Jungkook hadn’t even known about Confidants until you told him. Hmph. Didn’t he look up game guides? Well, he should. Confidants were really important to the game. They helped you with useful abilities during boss fights by developing relationships with the other characters.

You stared at the last selfie Jungkook had sent you.

You kind of wished he was looking at the camera.

Maybe you needed a Confidant. You certainly didn’t really know how to develop relationships with anyone, except maybe your older brother. But that was because he was your brother and familial responsibility. Well. Not true. Your brother was really nice to you.

That’s why you folded his underwear for him, even to this day.

Sigh.

Jungkook did like SHINee though.

At least that was one thing in common, right?

next episode: 3. in which only a major event can bring these two loons back together – SHINee is back!

masterpost

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Never Too Late 1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: No I don’t know when the next chapter will be up or why I’m posting. The last few days have been some of the worst of my life and everything’s fallen apart.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought thirty-nine was hard. You remembered it clearly, as if it was yesterday. A whole year. Another year. Gone. You greeted forty as you had every day. At your desk behind the ridiculous protective glass as you renewed licenses and issued permits.

The same tedious, draining eight hours, the same dull co-workers, the same broken water cooler, the same sign flashing numbers as you beckoned forth the next impatient person. ‘What took you so long?’ ‘This is ridiculous.’ ‘Goddamn pain in the neck.’

No one wanted to sit in the old and stiff plastic seats just to get a terrible photo taken and have to wait even longer for the actual card to arrive in the mail. And you didn’t want to help. That became clearer the longer you were there. The job was thankless and dull. Like everything else in your life.

You left as you did every night. You promised yourself it wouldn’t be like your last birthday. No bottle of wine burning in your gut. No splitting headache the next day as you stared into the toilet bowl. Just a little treat that couldn’t possibly turn bitter.

And that was just like you. No risks, no spontaneity. The same old routine. You could hear mother’s voice then. ‘You’re too stubborn. That’s why you never held onto a man. You waited too long. Nothing is ever going to be perfect enough for you… for grandkids.’ Well, she had others. Your sister had a boy and a girl, and your brother was blessed with three daughters. More than enough for her. Unlike you.

It was raining. On your birthday. In the middle of summer. Typical.

You were soaked by the time you got to the train and hesitated to follow through on your planned sojourn. You got off a few stops before yours and climbed up to the street. The downpour slowed to a drizzle. You dipped through the automatic door and the air-conditioned grocer chilled your damp clothing.

You went to the refrigerated glass shelves of pastries and specialty desserts. A whole cake to yourself seemed exorbitant; not just on your stomach but your wallet too. They had single slices of cheesecake but only plain left. You wanted chocolate or strawberry or something that you would slightly regret.

There was a pretty cupcake; chocolate with mocha icing and a drizzle of dolce leche and some garish edible beads sprinkled over. You took the small plastic container and headed for the frozen aisle to grab a pizza; thin crust with cheese. The calories added up along with the years.

You paid for your measly meal and slightly ridiculous dessert and headed back out onto the street. Your flat slipped on the pavement and you steadied yourself with your other foot only for your toe to catch a crack in the pavement. You flailed and fought but in your usual graceless existence, there was little else you could do but resign to fate.

The plastic container was crushed beneath your chest atop the pizza box and your purse fell painfully down your arm as your knees scraped through your wool pants. Just your luck. Just your fucking luck! You cursed in your head and slowly pushed yourself off the mess, chocolate smeared across your blouse.

You wanted to cry. And scream. You wanted to disappear as the apathetic New York rush passed you by. As life passed you by. And the urge only got more intense as a shadow stopped before you. As your eyes glossed over the shoes and followed the long legs up a formidable figure. As the man with the golden hair knelt and helped scrape up the mess onto the pizza box.

“Oh my god,” You grumbled as you took it from him embarrassed. “You don’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’d really prefer it that you just…” You shook your head, you could barely look at him. “Just ignore me like everyone else. Please.”

“Come on,” He offered you his hand but you just stared. He grabbed your elbow instead and helped you stand. “I’m sure they have a dozen more--”

“It’s fine.” You swept past him and shoved the box and mess of plastic and icing into the trash. He followed you, barely evading other pedestrians as he did. “ I’m just… Thank you. I’m fine.”

You turned away and he caught your elbow again. He was strong. You turned back, annoyed with him as much as yourself. And now that you looked at him directly, he was familiar. And that was worse. You cringed and wiggled your arm free.

“Hey,” He let go and pointed down. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked and the knee of your pants had soaked through with blood. You sighed and shook your head.

“It’s just… another nail in the coffin,” You huffed under your breath. “I’ll survive.” You assured him and spun away once more. “Happy birthday to me.” You grumbled.

You heard him behind you then felt him beside you as another New Yorker narrowly avoided him. You were starting to get angry and the humiliation curdled in your chest.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked.

“How--” You glanced over at him. “I...whispered that.”

“I have good ears,” He smiled.

“You would.” You frowned. “Well... Steve Rogers,” You announced as you crossed your arms and stopped again, a snarl hurled in your direction from a passerby. “You saved me. Your work for the day is done.”

“You know who I am?” He mused.

“I might be clueless but not that clueless,” You said. “Look, thank you. I aready said it once.”

“Let me buy you a cake,” He said. “Then my job is done.”

You squinted at him. Long and hard. No man was ever this nice to you. Not without reason. And this was the Steve Rogers. The Captain America. He was every woman’s dream and every man’s envy. You were a forty year old hermit covered in rain and cupcake.

“Really, you’ve done enough.” You hissed. “I can’t--No.”

You marched away from him but he was relentless. He kept you from the subway as he rounded you and blocked your path.

“You seem like you’re having a bad day. Let me make it better.” He said.

“Why?” You asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, you know who I am. So we’re halfway there.” He smiled. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head as you considered him. If you humoured him, it would be over sooner. You couldn’t imagine what urge drove him to his persistence. Was it a genuine need to be valiant? A compulsion? Pity? Maybe he amused himself with the pathetic missteps of others?

You gave him your name. Begrudgingly.

“There’s a bakery close to here. Established 1934.” He said. “I went to the opening with my mother.”

“You really don’t--”

“The more you insist I don’t, the more I want to,” He interrupted. “So, let me do something nice.”

You stared at him and the mist began to thicken. The rain drops bounced off the awning over the next storefront and ran down the aged brick of the neighbourhood.

“Come on, before you catch cold,” His hand was on your arm again. You let him usher you past the subway entrance; more eager to be out of the rain than anything.

The door rang as you entered. The bell was old and tinny and the inside betrayed its age. Not in a bad way. It was clean and smelled of bread and cloves. The hand painted cards lined before the trays of baked goods and the faded portraits of loaves and bundts were of another time. You felt old and not very all at once.

“Their black forest is good,” Steve said as he shook the rain off his thin jacket; if the rain hadn’t broken the humidity, he’d have been stolid. “Red velvet…” He looked at you. “French Vanilla.”

“Oh, do I seem vanilla to you?” You challenged as you turned to the display and avoided his eyes.

“It’ll be nice. A treat to take home for the family.” He said. “Husband? Kids?”

You scoffed and bent closer as you read. Your glasses were at the bottom of your purse. A new prescription you were in denial off.

“I’ll take a slice of the cherry chip.” You said to the woman on the other side of the counter. “Please.”

“She’ll take the whole cake.” Steve reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My treat.” He slid a bill across as you stared at the floor. “No one to share with?”

“My cat died after Christmas,” You shrugged. “I suppose I could bring it in for my co-workers.”

He was quiet as the baker boxed up the cake. The tension between you thickened.

“I know it’s kind of… frowned upon to ask but--”

“Forty,” You interrupted. “A nice, even number, I guess.”

“Ah, a whippersnapper,” He nudged you before he took the cake from the banker with a thanks. “I think I’ve bothered you enough.” He held it out to you. “Happy birthday.” He glanced out the window as you accepted the box. “You should wait this thing out but…” He pulled up his hood and checked his watch. “I got a friend waiting on me and he’s not very patient.” He grinned. “And I was late when I ran into you.”

You watched him go. He swung the door open and the bell rattled again. The rain pattered off his hood as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at you one last time before he dove into the city crowd and sidestepped the splash of a passing car. You looked down at the dark green box.

Well, at least you could say it hadn’t been an entirely uneventful birthday.

🎂

Break was almost over. You spent your last few minutes in the washroom. You leaned closer to the mirror as you frowned. That made it worse. That new line around your lips… and the crow’s feet. Was that another grey poking through?

Well, it might help if you stopped scowling. You left your reflection behind and returned to your desk. You got settled and punched back in through your computer. The next number flashed across the screen facing the waiting room; G645I. You didn’t watch to see them stand and approach. You grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it as the shadow neared.

“And what are we here for today?” You asked as you finally looked up.

“License renewal,” The paper slid through the slot beneath the window as you blinked up at the familiar voice. “Ten years already.”

“Oh,” You took the form and turned to your monitor as you typed.

Steve Rogers said your name as if to confirm your fears that after a whole two weeks, he still remembered the woman with cake smeared across her front. You bit your lip without thinking as you looked at him.

“Did you enjoy the cake?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the little ledge, as close to the window as he could get. You didn’t miss Gloria’s errant glances as she ignored her own applicant for yours.

“It was good. Thank you.” You focused on inputting his information. You hid your startled realisation as you keyed in 1918. Whatever they had given him, you wanted some. “I think Gary enjoyed it more. He’s just down at counter three.”

“You sure you’re forty?” He asked.

Your lashes flicked up and you rolled your eyes.

“Coming from you…” You muttered.

“Well, I had help.” He chuckled.

You carried on and scribbled across his form.

“I need you to back up to that line. Look at the camera.” You said tersely as you hit a few buttons. “No smiling.”

He couldn’t help a curve of his lips as he backed away but he squared his jaw and wiped away his amusement as he hit the marker. You focused the lens and took the picture quickly. His image appeared before you and you finished up the renewal as he stood at the window.

“Never really thought about Captain America needing a license,” You gathered up his copy and stapled it to the confirmation. You slipped it to him and his fingers somehow brushed yours beneath the glass.

“Even I have rules,” He kidded.

You narrowed your eyes at him and struggled not to shake your head.

“Three to six weeks,” You told him. “It’ll be in the mail. Keep that in your vehicle.”

“And… how was the rest of your birthday?” He asked.

You were quiet. You considered him and swallowed. You could hear the titters of your co-workers. You wondered how he didn’t, or perhaps he had learned to ignore it.

“Better,” You confessed. “Thank you again.”

“No, thank you,” He folded the paper and tapped it on the ledge. “You’re a doll.”

“A doll?” You echoed.

“Forgive me. My age shows.” He laughed. “You have a good day… take care of yourself.”

“You too, Mr. Rogers.” You said stiffly.

“Oh, and… as an elder, can I share with you something I’ve learned over the years?” He paused as his hand rested just on the other side of the glass.

“Sure,” You said.

“Sometimes you gotta break the routine. Do something fun. Something for yourself.” He backed away slowly. “Get a little wild.” Your brows drew together and he winked. “From one geezer to another.”

He turned and strode past the of chairs of impatient applicants. You took a breath and tried to shrug away your discomfort. It felt almost patronizing to have him talk to you like that. Like he knew you. Like he, the laboratory adonis, could relate to the paunch under your waistband or the slowly sagging skin on your arms. It was almost as if he had been rubbing it in.

#never too late #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers fic #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #dark!steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #captain america #au

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ghost-at-the-masquerade · 3 years

Text

The Little Things

Rating: PG, for talk of preparing an animal carcass

Count: 1856

Summary: Link has dinner with a stranger out on the road

A/N: Yes, I’m going to make Link use they/them pronouns, no I don’t take criticism on this, don’t @ me

----------------

The smell of blood still wafted toward the camp, from where they had let the deer drain. They started at the collarbone, slicing all the way down to the groin, then up the inside of each of the legs. Someone could always use more leather, so they wanted to keep the hide well intact.

Sitting across from Link on a tree downed long ago, Stemm - a traveling chef, by his own description - started to peel carrots and potatoes. The skins he let fall among the grass, the clean vegetables he dropped into a large stockpot to wait. It was much too soon, but he needed something to do.

When Link went to wipe the sweat from their forehead with the back of their arm, they left a little smear of blood that caught a lock of hair and matted it to their eyebrow. The sight of it had Stemm’s face twisting into the most polite agony he could manage.

The time came to split open its belly and he excused himself to stoke and adjust the fires - meat and organs did better in different temperatures at different times, he said.

Link twisted around to grab another, larger pot to drop the more palatable organs in, and the rest were given back to the earth, that Farore may put them to better use.

Their boots were soiled as they worked to separate the carcass into manageable cuts, the better part of an hour drifting by them as they were engrossed in the work. Every now and again their gaze flicked over to Stemm, tutting around the camp proper. Always seeming to produce more cookware and utensils and little bottles of spices from his pack. He had a rather fine set of glass bottles he kept water in, too - as well as some spirit that stank all to hell. Highly impractical for travel compared to a waterskin, but lovely nonetheless. A pair of the ones filled with water were sitting in a half-rotted bucket with a pilfered ice rod.

They piled the meat onto a spare sheet of leather they had so they could haul it all the few feet to the fire, hefting it over the log with a grunt.

Stemm spared them a smile for all of their work. “Thank you, yes, it’ll be fine there.”

He took the opportunity to go on while they paused to take a breath, “It makes me feel like such a fraud, not doing all my own prep, but butchering is just… such ugly work.”

Link couldn’t help but cock the bloody eyebrow at him. The lock of hair came loose with the movement.

“Don’t look at me like that - it’s not that I had some… pampered upbringing, my parents did their own hunting when I was young. We just moved to a bigger town before it was my time to learn. And if someone has already prepared the meat for you, well…”

They wondered, at times, if people in their previous life had spilled their guts to them like this. Their silence left a lot of room for it.

“I suppose I was so excited to travel and to do it all myself that I didn’t think about what ‘doing it all myself’ would entail.”

Link’s expression softened some. They could sympathize with being in over one’s head.

“… What are you waiting around for? I can handle this part, you wash up.” He shooed them with one hand, pulling the meat toward himself with the other.

They huffed through their nose at his tone, but they didn’t need to be told twice.

Twilight’s somber blanket settled over the grass, made the soft sands twinkle as Link stepped into the shallow waters. Going in almost up to their knees, they found a rock to settle on, dipping their arms into the cool river flow and scrubbing the deer’s blood free from their arms and boots. Blood dried on skin is rather like the first layer of paint on raw wood, thin and clinging seamlessly.

Pulling back, droplets on their skin became flecks of gold in the dying light. They reached into a pouch at their hip for a bar of soap and comb. The bar was only about the length of their palm and a third of the width, off-white in color - not unlike honey diluted in milk. They rubbed a conservative lather into their palm; it would be some time before they returned to Hateno for more, but they wanted the copper smell off their hands. They only just remembered the smear on their face before rinsing off.

The comb was simple, a chunk of birch wood carved and left unfinished, but with much thicker teeth than their last one. Hair tie held between their lips, they dipped the comb into the river, closed their eyes and began to run it through their hair. Their ears twitched with every rustle of the trees behind them.

Clean and calmed, they took a deep breath and rose to return to camp.

Stemm greeted them heartily, in much higher spirits now that he was in his element. He already had several pounds of meat salted and packed into leather satchels, while another had been cubed for their supper.

Link took their seat at an angle to him, not quite next to him. Stemm was proving to be quite the multi-tasker around the cook pot, moving seamlessly between preserving the meat and prodding the chunk of fat he had rendering out in the bottom of the pot. It had been strung up by a chain, held aloft by three metal rods - an incredibly handy contraption, Link would have to see about finding one.

At each step, Stemm explained how staggering each ingredient’s addition would change their texture and flavor. Link sipped their chilled water and decided to keep their disagreements about what the texture should be to themself; they could deal with mushy onions in their stew for one night.

With everything coming together, he whipped out a smaller wooden spoon, took a taste and pursed his lips, looking up to the sky. “I wish I had a little sweetness to take that edge off, but I’ve just run out…”

Link’s ear twitched with a thought, and they dipped their fingers into another one of their hip pouches. From it they drew a flower, not unlike the Silent Princess, but half the size and without its luminescent qualities. They held it up as a suggestion, “Maybe this?”

“That?” Stemm leaned close to scrutinize the flower, “No, I’m afraid those are quite bitter.”

They shook their head and insisted, “Cousin of the star flower. Breeding out the glow takes out the bitterness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Usually, yes, but they’ve been moving back that way for a while. Have you been under a rock?”

Rather than argue the point further, they popped the flower in their mouth - only to immediately stick out their tongue and let the mushed petals fall off.

Stemm laughed victoriously. “I told you!”

With their eyes unfocused on the grass, something deep within them wavered, but only momentarily. It was too silly a thing to unsettle them. Even if it was one of the few things they thought they remembered.

“The one thing I was prepared for was finding tasty plants!” He glanced again toward the dying light while digging something out of his bag.

“Don’t know how much you can do by firelight, but here-” He held out a small, leather-bound notebook, “You can copy this.”

It was soft in their hands, telling of its relative youth. The cover crackled quietly as they opened it. The pages detailed a number of edible wild plants native to central Hyrule and Necluda, including flavor profiles and notable lookalikes.

Link set it on their knee so they could sign, “Thank you, but, I don’t have anything to copy to.”

For a moment he seemed surprised. Then he shrugged, a relaxed smile crossing his face. “Keep that one, then. I can make another.”

Their mouth worked and they struggled to make the sign feel sincere enough, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. It won’t do me much good when I head out to Akkala, anyway.”

With that reassurance they relaxed some, settling in to skim the notes while he finished.

The sun ducked away behind the far trees and its last light vanished, turning the camp into a bright bubble in a dark ocean.

Turned out Stemm was right about it needing a bit of sweet, but it was far from inedible. Link was more than glad to take a second helping. Simple, but warm and filling. He was definitely still wrong about onions, but the potato was good.

Stemm had no stories to tell and his sign wasn’t strong enough to keep up with Link’s, so the night air was left to the crickets, crackling of fire and the tittering of breeze through the grass and leaves. In time, they agreed to part in sleep.

Link settled down into the embrace of a nearby elm. Stemm stayed closer to the fire, with his sizable pack to prop him up. Firelight faded, gave way to the silver grace of the moon, orange glowing embers not unlike the shrines waiting for them in the distance.

——

Link woke at first light. Hummed deep in their throat and stretched, scratched their shoulder against the bark before even bothering to open their eyes. They could already feel the knot that had formed in their hair.

Sitting up, they saw Stemm still asleep, his mouth dangerously open to the sky. They shook their head, starting to fix their hair when they noticed a small line of leaves laid parallel on their thigh - korok mischief. A little smile tugged at the corner of their mouth. They carefully stacked the leaves and tucked them away in a pocket.

It was time to go - their deal was done and a number of important tasks awaited them. Link stood and took a final stretch. But still, they looked over to their companion. He had done them an extra kindness.

Stemm’s rig was still set up - perhaps they could make use of it. Link knelt with a bit of bounce, considering the remnants of the fire.

They reached into the depths of a pouch and grasped the handle of a short sword - though not short enough to keep them from having to bend over at a funny angle to get it out, falling onto their hip. Exposed to the open air, the blade flared to life with eerily silent fire. A bit of tinder, another log and the tip of the blade was all that was needed. A little extra kindness, then they would go.

Three eggs scrambled into fine curds, peppered with fresh herbs and salt flakes, gently folded over on itself with a wooden spoon. A hopefully respectable omelet they set nearby under a korok leaf.

Link put their hands on their hips and regarded a man they would likely not see again, one more time. The Dueling Peaks loomed. The sun crept higher. And strangers parted.

#The Legend of Zelda #Breath of the Wild #BotW #BotW fic

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ahgastae · 3 years

Text

worst chefs in seoul (outline) – kim seokjin x gn!reader

➥ word count: 3.9k | reality/cooking show au | crack | fluff

➥ m.list

➥ a/n: we’re back at it again with another wip i never finished lol. this one is the outline for what was intended to be a social media au (as evidenced by some of the notes i left for myself), though it’s likely that’s not how it actually would’ve come out. i’d love to hear some of your thoughts/reactions, and i hope you enjoy ♡

day ???

start w y/n and yoongi goofing off on twitter

the whole y/n eating a moldy grape thinking it’s a kiwi thing

and yoongi panicking bc of it

could transition into them talking about the finale episode of their favorite show: worst chefs in seoul

they’re both huge fans, and equally complete disasters when it comes to culinary skill

yoongi likes the show bc he likes the competition aspect and tbh he got addicted after y/n forced him to watch the first season w them

y/n also likes it for that reason, but the main reason they watch it is bc of a certain kim seokjin

anyway, they talk about the finale, and then yoongi says something about the next season’s ‘nominations’ coming up soon

y/n jokingly says they’re going to nominate yoongi bc of that one time he made tacos with dog food

and yoongi fires back w the time they managed to light the microwave on fire making cup o’ noodles

they agree to let each other live

…..for now

sike!

the two actually do end up nominating each other w/o the other knowing

y/n honestly just thought it would be funny if yoongi got picked and yoongi was like “fuck it why not”

little did they know…..

while the nomination guidelines assure that the selection process is completely random, this is a reality show

meaning for anyone w a brain that’s obviously not the case

contestants are actually chosen by the show’s assistant producers and approved by the chefs themselves and then the higher ups

but who are those assistant producers??

none other than park jimin and kim taehyung

neither of them keep their involvement with the show a secret, and one takes it a teensy bit more seriously than the other

anyway, they’re usually told to find a batch of contestants (that they feel) would conjure up the most drama for the show

it is tv, after all, and they have to keep people watching

and that part is crucial

to their credit, they do (somewhat) succeed for the most part

jimin selects yoongi and namjoon from the nomination pool bc he thinks joon’s clumsiness w yoongi’s nonchalant nature will work for max chaos

and taehyung chooses y/n and jungkook bc while their competitive drives are similar, y/n’s subdued nature has a big chance for conflict w jk’s out-there attitude

(how do they know all this? they’re experts at what they do leave me alone)

day ??? 2.0

y/n (and yoongi, secretly) is ecstatic when they get the emails/DM/whatever that they’ve been “chosen for the next hot season of worst chefs in seoul!”

but then yoongi asks if it’s allowed for them to know each other and accept the nomination

like they’re best friends. is that going to present some kinda problem that’ll get them both kicked off??

should only one of them accept it?

(he’s immediately ready to sacrifice his own nomination bc he knows how much y/n cares about this stupid show)

y/n says they’re not going to let him do that bc they were both chosen, meaning they both should get to go

but—

“it’s fine!! we can just pretend we don’t know each other when we’re on set!”

and so they’re off

to some undisclosed location in seoul

day 0

jimin and taehyung are the first to greet everyone, collecting all four contestants together for a tour of the dorms

and y/n starts texting yoongi in a panic bc both of their dumbasses forgot that the contestants are separated into teams as soon as they arrive

yoongi prolly says smth like i’m two feet away from you why are you texting me

(y/n reminds him they can’t make it seem like they know each other)

yoongi acts like it’s not that big of a deal

prolly says there’s a good chance they’ll end up on the same team

and if they don’t they can just hang out in the dorms when the cameras are off and away

which is when jimin loudly announces that this season, each team is getting their own dormitory

and that contestants will be required to stay in their dorm while filming the season, except for approved ‘outings’ for the show

he moves on before anyone can ask what that means

they’ll be allowed to pick whichever dorm they want to stay in for the first night, since they want to get the contestants’ reactions on camera when they reveal the teams

but after they’re revealed tomorrow, it’s your dorm and your dorm only

y/n and yoongi automatically gravitate towards each other

they end up together in the ‘new’ dorm, which yoongi grumpily notes is practically bigger than their whole apartment

y/n wonders if they ended up in seokjin’s dorm, and gets excited at the thought of this being a ‘test’ to see which chef’s team they’ll be on

to which yoongi asks what makes this dorm his?

“idk i just...feel his aura in here”

“.......okay, weirdo. i’m gonna go ‘feel his aura’ in the bathroom and take a—”

“yoongi!!”

y/n can either ask what yoongi thinks of the other contestants or they can both pretty much blow them off entirely for the time being

idk which yet

day 1

next morning, the contestants are woken up bright and early by none other than our favorite assistant producers

the wake up call comes in the form of a new group chat between the six of them

along with a link to ‘download’ the calendar for the shooting schedule

(which is really an app/virus that disables certain functions on their phones)

((such as most social media and texting numbers outside their ‘parameters’))

after that’s all hashed out, jm & t explain that this group chat is for any and all notifications and updates about the show, as well as any questions and/or concerns the contestants might have

“can i just vote to eliminate myself now and go home?” and

“how do i get this fucking thing off my phone” and

“when do we find out what team we’re on??”

the answers to which are

you’ll find out when filming is finished

and right now!

they tell the contestants to get up and get dressed as their first day on set officially starts now

y/n and kook immediately jump into action and leave the gc

joon lags behind a little confused but follows the flow

yoongi, ever the people person, gets aggressive when they don’t answer his questions about their goddamn malware

“is this even legal?? are you even fucking allowed to just disable our devices like this?”

“what if there’s an emergency??”

“looks like you’ll just have to find out, huh?”

yoongi’s phone then crashes and won’t let him unlock it until the first block of filming is finished

jm: “oops ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ”

day 1 recap

we find out through our superfan what happens during the first episode

(maybe do something like this person is some kinda press/‘news’ account dedicated entirely to w.c.i.s. and the two chefs)

((mayhaps they leak the contestant list before it goes public??))

((jimin and tae could have some kinda unspoken rivalry w them lol))

anyway the story is told through them in a series of twitter threads

(plus a few messages from y/n to yoongi freaking out about the teams they get put on)

first event of the day is: the team announcements

yoongi and joon end up on team kim seokjin and y/n is on team jyp w kook

being split up puts a bit of a damper on their plans, and with this stupid cell block they don’t know if they’ll even be allowed to talk to each other

none of them get much time to react, though, as they’re then shuffled off to their respective kitchens

where they finally meet their respective chefs

and, lo and behold, y/n is goddamn terrified

jinyoung is even scarier in person than he is on tv

“don’t laugh at me yoongi!! this is the guy who made a girl sob on live television!”

“and now ur gonna be the next person what’s the problem lmao”

while y/n tries to get past their fear, they’re given their first official task: work together with their new partner to create a meal of their choice

the catch is that they aren’t allowed any help from their chef yet

and since the teams were just announced literally like 10 minutes ago, none of them have had much of a chance to get to know each other

(the network knows this, and does this on purpose since most of the seasons’ first episodes are spent either arguing or being completely lost)

things go about as well (read: badly) as expected

y/n and kook soon discover their very conflicting personalities and spend the majority of the round bickering back and forth about what to make/how to do it

meanwhile yoongi slaps a piece of sliced cheese directly on the stove while joon runs around like a chicken w its head cut off

in the end, team jyp somehow manages to come out victorious

they cobble together some (semi) edible banana milkshakes to present to the judges

(‘together’ meaning y/n wanted to make plain vanilla milkshakes and kook switched it for banana milk when they weren’t looking)

yoongi and joon tried (keyword being tried) to make grilled cheese

but between yoongi’s cheese-to-stove method and joon dropping their two pieces of burnt toast right before the timer rang

they didn’t get many points

as their reward, team jyp has the honor of picking what they’ll be making tomorrow

they’re given the rest of the day to think and talk it over while team ksj is told to reflect on what went wrong in today’s trial

back at the dorms (now in their separate teams), y/n finds that yoongi finally graces them w a response

(and that they were right about which one was ‘seokjin’s’ dorm)

yoongi tells them about ‘that little shit’ locking him out of his phone and that he honestly just wants to get tf out of there contract or not

y/n convinces him to stay and stick it out, if not for them then for the prize money at the end

yoongi then asks what dish they’re going to pick for tomorrow, and asks if they can pick something he at least has an idea how to make

cue y/n saying that they were thinking of suggesting one of seokjin’s signature dishes but not knowing if kook would go along w the idea

“he kept trying to switch out our ingredients for banana milk and i don’t know how to tell him to knock that shit off”

“honestly you know i’m not one to take charge but he wasn’t even listening to me!! what’s to say he’s actually going to listen to the PROFESSIONAL chef here to help us??”

“aNd SPeAkINg oF THaT”

cue y/n whining about how they wanted to be on jin’s team and it’s not fair that they both got stuck w jinyoung AND a bratty kid on their team

yoongi sympathizes since he was looking forward to them being on the same team, but makes y/n agree that if he has to give the competition a chance then they have to give kook one too

“i mean yeah he seems like a bit of a dumbass but isn’t that why we’re all here? bc we have no fuckin clue what to do in the kitchen?”

hmm...fine they’ll give him a chance

but they still think he’s a lil shit and don’t really wanna talk to him at all, let alone reach some kinda compromise on what to make

they don’t get much or a choice, though, as they both receive a mysterious message from...jungkook? in another group chat?

the contestants find that they have all been manually added to another gc

except this one is missing the two assistant producers who love to breathe down their necks

everyone but jk is immediately suspicious

is this some of trick to get them to screw up?

to break some kinda hidden clause in the contract none of them actually read?

wasn’t that thing they downloaded supposed to block incoming messages like this?

“but wait, yoongi, then how were we able to…?”

but as of right now, they don’t get any answers

and they’re all too afraid to ask anyone but each other

“well we’re all here so...we might as well get to know each other right?? :D”

this is where we get our first in-depth look at the four people stuck on this show together, who in their lives nominated them and why

(y/n and yoongi’s lying skills are put to a bit of a test as they each rush to pull stories right out of their asses)

kook talks about bambam and says his nomination said smth about “adding banana milk to everything f*ckin thing he makes”

he doesn’t really get why that was enough to land him a spot on the show but he thought it would be pretty cool to be on tv and just went along with it

namjoon talks about hobi and emphasizes that he’s not that bad of a cook

he just gets nervous and confused when it comes to recipes and cooking which expresses itself in the form of his unabashed clumsiness

joon then asks if they’ll really be prevented from having any outside communication until filming is finished

he, like yoongi, questions the legality of deceitfully installing the block on their phones

y/n says there probably was some kind of hidden clause that allowed them to do that, as they “can’t imagine seokjin would take part in a competition that abuses its contestants”

to which joon replies that they don’t actually know seokjin so they can’t really ‘imagine’ anything about how he will or won’t act

right as yoongi is about to jump in and tell him to back off, jungkook decides that that’s way too much legal talk for him

he forces changes the subject back to the gc as a whole and says that even if they’re prevented from talking to their friends he’s happy they’ll “at least have each other :D”

y/n feels like part of that is directed at them and feels bad for how they thought he was ‘just a dumb kid’ before

namjoon, however, is still hesitant

he’s not sure if this chat could get them in trouble in regards to the show and their contract and what not and says that they all should probably delete it just to be safe

but that is unanimously vetoed by y/n and kook (and yoongi, reluctantly) and they decide that if the block allowed it to pass through then it must be allowed

before joon can argue anymore, they all receive a message from tae in the ‘official’ gc

he briefly explains the lights out policy of the dorms and tells them that they’re probably going to want a good night's sleep for their ‘big day’ tomorrow

yoongi then says smth like “well...guess that’s lights out then” and jk responds excited as ever w “night guys!! see you all in the morning! :)”

and y/n can feel their soul leaving their body for even thinking anything ill about him

day 2

contestants are woken up bright and early by alarms they didn’t set

(“oh great, so they just hijacked every app on our fucking phones then”

jimin tells them all to hurry up, get dressed, and meet the chauffeur outside bc they can’t afford to be late

(“literally! every second you waste is money docked from the network’s wallet! so get your asses in gear, guppies!”)

y/n and kook get outside first, but yoongi and joon are nowhere to be seen

y/n decides to text the q & a gc to get the dirt on seokjin

they kinda start sucking up to jimin and tae to see if they’ll reveal any info, particularly about what the chef is like and if it’s possible for him to talk to the ‘other’ team’s contestants

and while the producers are pleasantly surprised that one of the contestants actually want to use that gc for something other than yelling at them

they unfortunately can’t give much info besides what most people already know

and confirm that one of the chefs talking to the other’s students was probably not allowed, but that it’s also never really happened before so they’re not really sure lmao

(“taehyung!!” “what? was i not supposed to say that?”)

jimin cuts the conversation short there as yoongi and joon arrive and they all get on the shuttle for the set

taehyung does say one last thing tho

“good luck!! hopefully they don’t tear u up too bad!”

but first

our superfan gives us the downlow on the competition and how it works

after being split into teams, the contestants will rotate between ‘training’ w their chef and competing against each other in timed trial rounds

prizes can be won for both events, but the ones for the trial rounds are generally more competition based while the ones for the training rounds are more about luxury/quality of life while filming

each trial round win counts as a point towards the team’s score in the competition

only trial rounds affect this score

once a certain number of points has been reached (5), that team moves into the next phase of the competition

instead of working as a team, they are split up and now have to work against each other to win the favor of their chef

and in the finale, after one last big cookout competition, an individual winner is chosen and crowned a ‘former’ worst chef in seoul

once the contestants arrive on set, the chefs reiterate that today is just a training round

(they all let out a collective sigh of relief)

and it’s a good thing everyone woke up so early bc they’re just in time to learn how to make breakfast!!

“it’s not like we had much of a choice-oof.”

“anyway! team jyp, since you won the pretrial round yesterday, you get to decide what both teams will be learning how to make today. so, y/n, jungkook. think carefully. what do you want for breakfast?”

y/n is about to suggest seokjin’s signature strawberry and cream crepes when jungkook, who is still half asleep, blurts out “omelette”

(also i’ve decided that jackson is the host of the show now and i’m not changing my mind)

and it’s decided. they’re makin’ omelettes

(y/n is only a little bit peeved)

shuffled off to their separate kitchens, y/n is reminded of just how terrified they are of jinyoung

sure, they thought he was scary yesterday when they realized they were on his team, but now he has to actually teach them and they can’t help but think he’s going to make them into an idiot sandwich by the end of the day

as such, they try to keep half-asleep kook in between them and jinyoung at all costs, even if it meant running around the kitchen like a lost puppy

jinyoung, fully aware of how the show portrays him and how fans view him, notices this almost instantaneously

but he unfortunately doesn’t get to pull y/n aside to address it before jungkook starts digging through the fridge for banana milk and almost throws the entire carton of eggs on the floor

professional chef jyp mode: on

and they’re off

it’s a little difficult with y/n dancing around the kitchen anxiously and jungkook’s absolute aversion to being told what to do (as y/n predicted), but jinyoung manages to whip them into shape long enough to (barely) make a ham, cheese, and “green onion? wtf is that?” omelette

team seokjin, however, does not favor as well

yoongi apparently doesn’t know what tf a green onion is either and just throws in whatever green vegetable he can find while jin is struggling to keep namjoon from setting himself on fire

….and it turned out to be celery

that, plus joon somehow managing to burn the omelette to a crisp, costs them the training round

y/n and kook start to celebrate their victory and actually working as a team when jackson informs them that their ‘prize’ is they get to eat what they cooked while the other team gets whatever is left over on the catering table

“i hope you listened to your chef!”

“...jungkook, please tell me you used actual milk in this”

“um…”

back at the dorms, the contestants share their thoughts on their first day of training, as well as their first official day w their chefs

(also include y/n saying something about their banana milk omelettes actually not being half bad)

y/n immediately recalls how much they were terrified of jinyoung, almost cutting their finger off when he glanced over their shoulder when they were slicing the green onions

jk agrees, adding smth about how he didn’t think a scowl could ever be so intimidating

“it reminded me of my mom’s face when she found out i tried to pierce my own ears in the bathroom in middle school!! i was too afraid to push the needle all the way through and walked around with it in my ear all day until one of my teachers finally noticed and sent me to the office!”

...ok jungkook

during all of this, yoongi and joon are both like...wtf

“seokjin was literally nothing but nice to us. even when namjoon almost set his sleeve on fire lmao”

“hyung how did u manage that” “doesn’t matter”

jungkook thinks the difference in the chefs is hilarious, but y/n is only upsetti spaghetti

they go on a bit of a rant about how badly they wanted to be on jin’s team

saying something about how jinyoung is scary and mean and they’re almost positive he can sense their fear or something and probably use it against them while jin’s team would be so much better on the sole fact that they wouldn’t feel like he would turn them into an omelette for getting something wrong

cue jk being all babey asking “you...don’t wanna be on a team with me? :((“

and y/n immediately PANICS and tries to explain that NO, it’s not HIM but yoongi saves their ass by saying that seokjin is just their favorite and that’s all

jungkook feels better, but then namjoon is like “hol up. we all just met. how could you possibly know that?”

insert more y/n fumbling and jk confusion

yoongi (once again) covers w some bullshit story that he was able to just guess that based on what y/n’s said in the gc so far

joon wants to question it further, but jungkook informs them that the lights out call just came in before he can

another yoony/n sigh of relief

in private, y/n freaks out to yoongi for almost blowing their cover to the others

prompting a short conversation over whether they think they can trust them or not

y/n admits that they’re warming up to kook, but is a little suspicious if namjoon will keep their secret yet

convo ends with yoongi saying something like “well, the kid’s right about one thing. at least we know we have each other”

end.

#kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x you #jin x reader #jin x you #bts jin x reader #jin #kim seokjin #bts jin #jin fic #seokjin fic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts crack #bts fluff #me releasing my old wips to try and make up for the fact that i haven't actually written or posted anything for months?#it's more likely than you think #my writing #on hiatus 🌙

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bibliotechnician · 5 years

Text

Just a bunch of excerpts I’ve shared with people over the course of the last few years or so. They’re split up by ship where applicable, timeframe where not. I might make more of these as they show up in archive searches or being written. If something stands out and you want more of it, lemme know; they’re all unfinished drabbles-in-progress.

Warning for some ... ah ... implied necropophagy in brief for one of them, which [for those unfamiliar] is cannibalism of dead people.

---------------------------------------------

SAURKRAUTS

"What is that." It was less a question, more an observation. He stopped behind her, the scuffle of his boots and clacking of the gun belts falling quiet in the inky black. The only sound came from far off, a constant dripping trickle of water that penetrated the thick silence, so tangible it felt like someone could cut a slice off it. Even then, she knew he could at least see her enough to read her movements, and she was aware of him within her space. "What is it?" he whispered back, tentative to break the stillness. Something else was breaking through, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Something that sent a shudder up her spine and set her metaphoric hackles raising. This wasn't the usual tunnel anxiety either. This was something real, something dangerous. She took a step back and broadened her profile in threat, grateful to feel his hand at her back to make sure she was steady. Instinct pulled her to look at the thing, whatever it was. But the problem was that there was nothing to see enough to actually look at. What is that... The thought plagued her head before the panic started setting in. She was underground, in a tunnel, the thought set her to hyperventilate. She barely heard Reiner's voice asking low and with concern if she was alright, the sound of her breathing and her heartbeat in her ears, the feeling of the tunnels closing down, the darkness pushing in, the shuffle along one wall... "There!” It erupted from her like a cannon, echoing around the concrete tube as startling as Reiner's flashlight beam cutting into the black abyss. Crouched on a jutted piece of masonry was a figure. It looked vaguely human in shape, swathed in black tatters, completely still even as the light hit it. "What the fuck ... is that..." That sure seemed the question of the day... She waited, staring at it. The longer she did, the more uneasy it made her feel. The hackles stayed up, her head lowered like they were. Whatever it was emanated a malevolence that penetrated the suit and her skin and her muscles and anchored deep in her bones. Volk prized herself for her ability to observe and conserve but this thing didn't want that, evident when a pair of wide yellowed eyes opened on the bottom of where the head was supposed to be. A wave of feeling hit her, foreboding and furious, and she went to pull the Tikhar from her side. It was only then she noticed the barrel of Reiner's rifle already aimed at it from over one shoulder.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

MAKSIM

"Well, it is just lying around doing nothing but rotting and feeding the occasional hungry mutant." he started, his voice devoid of any extreme expression but there was an odd quirk of a smile on his face that made her stomach drop. "I would still rather hunt for rats. Or Nosalises. Or something I still deem perfectly edible." she told him, turning away to look for her own quarry. "Oh, you won't find rats in this tunnel. They rarely frequent it here." There was a musical twinge to his voice now and she was almost afraid of what it meant. "Besides. They don't tell you that human meat is sweet to the taste, especially when it's been fermenting for a short while. Give me a moment to have it cut and cleaned, you'll think you're eating pork from one of those lucky livestocky stations. It helps it go down smoother, in the end..." She shied from him then. "Fine. I'll eat mutant meat then, but you won't catch me eating my own, regardless of them being dead." "They certainly won't be missing it, it's not like I'm asking you to help me hunt a living breathing human being." "How is this any different." "It doesn't squirm so much. Or scream, or beg, or fight. You maintain a good healthy level of energy..." "God, I fucking hate you." "You know, everyone says that." he said, back to his flat tones and chilling smirks, a flash of dim light off the blade of a well-worn trench-knife in his hand, the sickening shlup of it passing through decaying skin and muscle making her gag and taste bile in the back of her throat. "You should all really think up better ways to express your distaste, hate is too broad a term to use. Try 'disgust', or 'repulsed', those are good words to use. Or get used to it. We're very likely going to be here for a while."

-----------------------------------------------------------

BOOKWYRMS

She heard him shuffle to a stop on the stairs, taking a precautionary glance at the yawning doorways around the the top landing before looking behind her. He was looking at the catalogs along the wall with a look that she could take as some form of longing. It was hard to tell through the lenses on the gasmask, but there was the sparkle there. One of curiosity, and she figured he knew what the catalogs meant to Brahmin. She knew he had been here before, and that it had left him terrified of the place. She didn't ask him about it, she didn't need to. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. She wasn't here to force it. After all, it had taken her about two months to convince him to follow her, and another had passed before he approached her to try. She walked up next to him, looking from the catalogs to him. "Do you want to try?" she asked him, her voice low so as not to attract attention so close to the front doors. The look he gave her was reverent, though he lowered his eyes to the side. "I don't think I'm allowed to." he answered, sheepish and almost a whisper. "Because you're not officially Brahmin." she replied, watching him avoid her gaze as she pinpointed the reason. "You know, I don't adhere to a lot of Brahmin ways. Despite being one in their system." She added, with a nod toward the drawers on the wall, "Go see what they have for you. If you're meant to be here, they'll know more than me." The excitement was palpable, she could feel it waft off him in giddy waves as he made a beeline toward them, running a hand reverently over each surviving drawerfront until he found the one that apparently spoke to him. His fingers were on the knob, but he paused, offering a side glance to the Stalker as she walked into his field of view. She nodded her head at him and he pulled, sliding it open in the long casing of aged cards that had once served as a filing system. He reached forward, eyes scanning over the contents as he went, until he found the one that spoke to him the most. He pulled it out slowly, turned it around so he could see the writing on it, and she chanced a glance at it. Brave New World, Huxley. "What does it mean?" he asked after a moment, unable to see how her brows knit and her lips thinned. "...It has a lot of meanings. It is how you want to interpret it." she said at last, stopping his arm as he made to slot it back in. "Nein. Keep it. Keep it in mind, all will be made clearer as you look into yourself, now or later." She heard him cough a laugh, slotting it into a pocket. "For someone who doesn't believe in the spiritualism of the Library, you certainly see this as something to be worshiped." "The Library is a building. But there are things hidden in it. Strange things, stranger than you, me, the Librarians. Be aware that it is not the Library to praise, but that which it contains. That is what it is to be a smart Brahmin. That thinking keeps you alive."

"Aha! I see you have documented Librarians among these pages!" she crowed triumphantly. Artyom looked momentarily confused before glancing over her shoulder at the page she was staring at and looking side-eyed toward her with a playful condescension. "You are not a Librarian." A snort was awarded him with a, "Says you." The worn journal was snapped closed and handed back to him. "No. Really. I think you're the first one outside my father to say that in recent years." "I can't be the only one who still sees you for human." he stated, accepting his journal back from her. "Oh yes. Outside Papa, it's always a Librarian ... or a tree ..." He thought back to a point he'd seen a tree, trying to make the correlation before nodding slowly. "Alright, the tree I understand. But a Librarian? How do you get confused for that. It seems a bit strange, outside the whole 'working in the Library' thing..." She leaned her shoulder against him, her voice low. "Listen. You stare down one guy in a bar around here..."

"The Codec doesn't exist." Artyom started, as though the words had slapped him in the face for being a stupid child. "It ... it doesn't?" The question was quiet and tentative, almost like he was afraid he'd stepped on a nerve with it. Volk sighed a little and relaxed some, realizing maybe something so blunt wasn't a good way to go about it. "No. It doesn't. The Council actively believes in it, so to them, it wasn't a meaningless crusade. They sent one of their own believers with you, so you didn't have a chance to know the truth. But I can tell you with certainty that the Codec doesn't really exist, at least physically, within the walls of the Library." she told him. The tone change did wonders for his own anxiety and she saw him visibly relax with a slump of his shoulders. "If it doesn't exist, though ... How would you know?" "If anyone in this station would have found it and brought it back, it would have been me." "That sounds arrogant..." "I've crawled that Library top to bottom for many years and asked the Librarians to find it. The smart ones, at least." She looked him as sincerely as she could in the eyes. "If they haven't found it, I haven't found it. I'm sorry to say that it doesn't exist."

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EXODUS

"What. Is. That." Anna did not seem surprised in the least. Of course she wouldn't be, Volk mused to herself. She was already used to this and had been for years. Probably due to the morning she'd had, or maybe it was because the Spartan sniper was puffing nonchalantly away on a cigarette of her own, Volk pulled out a pre-rolled stick and lit it. "It's a bruise and a split lip. What do you think it looks like." There was a glint her eyes at that, a bit mischievous perhaps. She knew exactly what her shorter sister was referring to and chose to divert attention. All it got her was a scoff and a look of fatigue that seemed to span decades. "You know damned well what I mean, you walking tree. What is that!" She pointed toward the struggling mutant held firmly by the neck in the German's other hand, futilely trying to get away from the tightened belt like a collar either to bite its captor's hand and arm or simply to get away. "Oh! That. Ja..." Volk started, staring at it for a moment. The position it was stuck in could not have been comfortable for it. Served the little bastard right. "...The locals call them 'humanimals'." "...Okay, I'll bite. What is it doing here." Anna sighed, defeated and unamused. "Learning some fucking manners."

#metro 2033 #metro exodus #metro oc #saurkrauts #bookwyrms #some other crazy shenanigans like two polezhaevskaya line drabbles #also retcon #and anna being done with literally everything her crazy german sister does anymore

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rockmiyabideusexmachina · 5 years

Text

2019 Megaman Valentine’s Day (Talent) Contest Results!

Part two of results day, even though I always label the Talent category as Cat. 1, these results are in reverse. Oh well. Again, raffle prize winners will be contained in both posts, so keep an eye out after my commentary on your art. Not all raffle prize winner are contained in this post. I’ll be contacting all winners soon enough, so sit tight!

To see the Humor category results, please head to THIS POST.

Will any of our Iron Chef contestants be able to create an artsy meal with these ingredients?:

To find out, along with your Talent category winners and full gallery of entries, click here after the break:

Category 1 (Talent) - The Way To A Mega Man’s Heart Is Through His Stomach

This category had the larger amount of participants, and was honestly a lot harder to judge. I really was going back and forth on where to place people, because I love so much about all of them! Your delicious culinary character combos were all delectable in their own right, whether they were actually edible pieces of art or not. I did leave this category up to interpretation a bit more, despite the initial description wording it as a food-themed pinup. As long as it contained some sort of food with a character, it technically fit the theme.

Thank you once again to all who participated. You all make holding these events fun year after year!

I know imgbox gallery gave people some issues before, so as always, let me know if images or links appear broken. Crossing my fingers this works smoothly this year! XD

After each entrant’s name, there will be a link in the character description to the entry, too, just in case the external inserted images don’t load for you.

[Full Talent Gallery]

1.) @prar-draws - Zero and Ciel

While most entries focused on sugary sweets, such as pastries or candies, prar thought outside of the box just enough to stand out against the rest. Taking Zero and Ciel’s already long hair and turning it into ramen and soba noodles, the pair are relaxing together in an overflowing hot tub bowl of their pasta-y strands, broth, veggies and then some, while they enjoy their own bowls of noodles. Despite being heavily layered in clothing, *warning* this is one steamy, saucy pic! XD

*For coming in 1st (in back-to-back years, no doubt), prar has won $100 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value.*

2.) @digitallyfanged - Tron Bonne and Megaman Volnutt

Ever the tease, Tabby’s Tron is wooing Volnutt with a sugary-sweet sensory overload at the hands of both her, and her Servbots. Or maybe at the head, too, based on that 2-tier strawberry cake that doubles as a hat on happy Servbot. While including so many treats were definitely eye candy in this piece, so too is Tron in that dress, causing Volnutt to deeply blush.

The soft glow of the lighter transparency background, along with the usual shine of your lighting on the pair in the foreground, help them stand out. Even if my mouth is watering more at all the Servbot’s treats. Hahaha.

*For coming in 2nd, Tabby has won $50 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value.*

3.) @irischroma - Nana

Nana is ready to split her banana split sundae with you. I see what you did there. Your mission is to follow her every command as she feeds you, in her bonus rpg/sim screencap. I really liked the use of multiple halftones to accent the shading on both her and the background of the full image. The background itself is really cool, to incorporate the ice cream mounds, syrup and sprinkles, which also actually align nicely with the sprinkles on her apron. Truly adorbs.

*For coming in 3rd, Iris has won $25 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value*

And the remaining wonderful entries, in alphabetical order by alias:

@bracedshark - Marino

The first entry to embrace food-themed clothing, Marino is the living embodiment of the chocolate peppermint sundae she is holding. I love mint chocolate chip ice cream, so Marino’s green hair and clothing accents fit that ice cream color perfectly. Also while tying in your traditional peppermints as accessories on her, as well as the sort of melty pinkish mascara dripping down the side of her cheeks.

*Bracedshark is the winner of Raffle Prize #1 - The cel of Duo*

@drewblossom - Ice Man and Roll

Another great use of food-styled clothing, Drew made a precious cinnamon roll dress for Roll, and an ice cream cone vest with a more whipped topping trim for Ice Man. Ice’s hair also adds to that whipped cream feel, yet despite dancing around, does a good job keeping that cherry from falling off the top of his head. XD This is a super cute scene, and has even better apparel style.

*Drew is also the winner of Raffle Prize #4 - The Tamashii Nations Zero figure and Zero emblem wristband*

@hyperbole1729 - Tundra Man, Top Man, Snow Robbit and Eye Ice

The first of two yummy cookie entries, which I’ll assume were baked around the same time, feature both real world treats, and 2D ones. I give Hyperbole big props for making the Snow Robbit and Eye Ice enemies into cookie shape form. They look super delicious, and I’m a guy who loves cookies with tons of frosting. XD Taking the pic on a wintry snowflake plate makes them stand out even more, so I totally loved your creativity with that.

That baking didn’t only take place in Hyperbole’s kitchen, as Tundra and Top also spent the day making the same treats. I think their cookie cutter shapes have given me a clue to how you made yours. LOL Very cute!

*Hyperbole is the winner of Raffle Prize #3 - The Zero plush and framed X 3D sprite art*

@larytello - Zero and Ciel

Strawberry cake seemed to be the most popular choice of romantic treats, and here lary has Zero feeding Ciel her slice. Your digital airbrush shading has really improved, and it shows in this piece! It really gives a nice depth and definition to their arms and legs, not to mention the folds in Ciel’s dress, or the shine off of their helmets. Even with the heavily pink background, with all the hearts, they both still stand out nicely against it, despite their color schemes. Super cute!

@papillonthepirate - Roll.EXE

Our other real world food entry is a sugar frosted Roll.EXE cookie, complete with rosy cheek sprinkles and lemon-flavored ribbon candy antennae attached to her. Again, like Hyperbole’s submission, Papillon had the perfect heart decal plate design to help accentuate her creation, along with the doily it’s sitting on. I’m sure she was delicious! I appreciate the extra creativity taking the theme of the contest literally and making an actual tasty Mega Man character treat!

@peach35 - X and Zero

A very cute scene of X and Zero sharing desert and a drink with swirly-shape sippy straws at a quaint little bistro off the shores of Dopple Town. And I’d imagine the pair of strawberries left snuggling on the table also sort of symbolize the hunter couple cuddling up after their cake and conversation, too. Pardon the pun, but I like the slice of life feel to the scene, that sort of gives it this Norman Rockwell-styled feel. The detail on your strawberries and lemon slices really turned out quite great; they look pretty real!

SockMonkii - Ashe

Ashe is so busy devouring that chocolate/strawberry filled cake slice, I don’t know if she fully realizes how much she has missed on her face. XD In fact, I think she’s likely eyeing the rest of the whole cake as the booty she’s after, rather than of any admirer. LOL The ribbon and bow background, along with all the hearts, help emphasize the cake as a romantic gift. Again, I see a lot of growth and improvement in your art style after a year’s time, and I think this pic turned out great!

@star-crossed-swords - Blues and Tempo

While definitely a sweet and romantic drawing, this entry felt like it fit in more with last year’s humor category theme, Beauty and the Beastman.EXE, that I almost wondered if you got mixed up with an older contest post. ^^; So I decided to go with the assumption that Quake Woman/Tempo had something delicious leftover on her hand that Blues was kissing off of her, to fit it within the content requirements. :D Their formalwear looks very nice on both of them. I like the sparkles on her dress coordinating with the starry sky outside the window.

SubZeroIceSkater - Tundra Man

I totally read that tagline in Tundra Man’s voice. And the more bittersweet, the more pure chocolate, so it sounds good to me! Containing most of his stage enemies in cacao form, this box of chocolates is like a your chances at an extra life in item roulette. You never know what you’re gonna get. That’s sort of reverse Forrest Gump logic...right? I love how the box is designed just like his helmet’s rupee with icicles protruding, along with all the beautiful sparkling snowflakes and hearts in the background. I want a box, badly!

#Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rock Miyabi's 2019 Megaman Valentine's Day Contest #Fanart Contest #Too many tags to list

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hydrospanners · 6 years

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Ask meme for Nirea! 2, 4, 5, and 9!!

Thank you for asking!! You are a goddess! I moved #9 up above #5 because I completely lost control and direction with that one and it turned into some kind of weird pseudo-fic and the only apology you’re going to get from me is the cut I put it under because it got so unnecessarily fucking long. Here is the link to the meme!!! I can’t promise all of my answers won’t be so excessive but ask anyway!!

2. Would they be a class specific character? (ie. Imperial Agent only. Republic character only)Nah, fam. Rea could wiggle her way into every class’ story. Whether you keep her or not would depend on your choices/alignment though.

4. Where would you recruit them from? Alderaan. She hates it there and I love to fuck with her.

9. What would they say if you clicked on them? “Hey, did you see that Cathar earlier? With that ass? Damn.”“Wanna see a trick?”“Bet you can’t do this.”“I don’t know whose idea weather was, but they deserve to be punched. A lot.”“I hear ya.”“We should get another droid.”“I just want one day where no one tries to kill me. Is that so much to ask?”“How far do you think I can bend this before it breaks?”“Hey look at this. Think it’s edible?”“Got time for some pazaak? We can play Nar Shaddaa rules.”“Are we there yet?”“Hey, do you smell that? Smells like--Oh. Shit. I think that’s me.”“See that thing over there? I bet you twenty credits I can lift it.”“Don’t mind me. Just admiring the view.”“Spot me a few creds? I’m good for it, I swear.”“You’d be so bored without me.”“Yeah, yeah. I’m with you.”“We have a saying on Corellia: Fuck off, I’m busy.”“Ugh, I’m bored. This is boring.”“Don’t look at me. This is your show.”“It wasn’t me!”“Alright you get first guess this time, chief. Is it mud or is it blood? Right there on my leg.”“Don’t worry, chief. I can’t resist me either.”

5. What would their recruitment mission be? It’s an ordinary sort of day in your extraordinary level 30 life. You’re just doing your thing, fighting crime, doing crime, rescuing random people and murdering somewhat less random people. You’re headed to Alderaan for your own reasons.

That’s when you get a call from whoever it is that’s always calling you with problems that only you can solve. From whoever usually preaches to you about duty, who gives you orders or threatens your life or just offers you good old-fashioned credits in exchange for your services, like any sensible person would. There’s a problem, they tell you. (There’s always a problem.) It’s a mission gone sideways, a crashed ship with a not entirely inconsequential Jedi on board who may or may not have gone rogue. Information is scarce, danger is guaranteed, and the problem is on Alderaan where the political situation is too unstable for any big, bold moves.

You take the job. It’s already on your way, and besides, you see potential in it. Potential good, potential credits, potential prestige. The potential to quiet your insatiable bloodlust, however temporarily. Whatever it is you’re looking for.

The Republic bosses want answers. What happened to the ship? To the mission? To the Jedi? They want you to bring her back into the fold if you can. They don’t say what to do if you can’t, but you can guess. The Imperial bosses want an edge. They want whatever was on that ship, but mostly they want the Jedi. She’s a thorn in the Imperial side and if they can’t make use of her, if she hasn’t fallen like rumor suggests, they want her out of the way.

Maybe you ask what the ship’s mission was, what the Jedi was even doing there. Maybe you know better than to ask questions. Regardless, the only information you get is a name.

Nirea Velaran.

A human woman, physically formidable for her species and notoriously unpredictable. She’s good with words and better with lightsabers and ‘dangerous’ is the only thing anyone will say about her for sure. That, and she’s Corellian.

It’s not the profile you’re used to for Jedi. Maybe that peaks your curiosity. Maybe it worries you. Maybe a job is a job and you don’t give a fuck about the details.

On Alderaan you follow the columns of smoke to a small lake nestled between snow-capped peaks, an oasis that might have been peaceful before a small frigate blew a crater into the mountain. The ship is split down the middle, its innards scattered across the ice. You don’t see any bodies, but your scanners detect something alive and moving in the wreckage.

You find a scavver in the remains of the ship’s engine room, greasy and poorly-clothed, elbow deep in the ship’s hyperdrive. The only weapon you can see is a shock stick that’s seen better days, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room.

She’s unconcerned by you and your armed companions. Asks if you’re in the market for an Aratech repulsion compensator. They’re hard to find, she promises, because Aratech pulled out of the hyperdrive manufacturing business almost as soon as they got into it. They make good speeders and, in her opinion, they ought to stick with that. She promises to give you a good price on account of her not having to haul it down the mountain if you buy it up here. She also tells you how the Jedi wasn’t interested on account of not having a ship anymore.

Maybe you notice the knowing gleam in her blue eyes, maybe you don’t. Either way, this scavver has information you want. You negotiate. With charm, with reason, with threats. It doesn’t matter how. You get what you want in the end, just like you always do.

The scavver takes you to the ship’s bridge, where she says she met the Jedi earlier. You find a Republic Senator’s corpse on the floor, two distinct lightsaber wounds in their chest, but none of the carbon scoring you’d expect from a fight. You get what you can from the ship’s damaged computers, but it doesn’t amount to much more than navcharts, a manifest, and escape pod launch records. When you turn to ask the scavver where the Jedi was headed, you find that she is gone and the path out of the bridge is sealed behind you.

You make a new path, of course. You always do.

The scavver’s trail predictably takes you back to your ship. The good news is that it’s still there. The bad news is your protocol droid is disassembled with apparent care, lying in a neat pile at the top of the boarding ramp. The word sorry is scrawled across its forehead in very poor handwriting using what you suspect to be lipstick. From the loving way the droid was taken apart, you guess the message isn’t for you.

There is no apology scrawled on the floor where one of your speeders used to be.

You follow your speeder--a simple task with all of your skills and your crew and your resources--to a valley below the crashsite, where the plains of pristine snow are pocked with scorched-black escape pods. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them, their hatches all hanging open. A path of brown mud and green grass marks the slow march of their inhabitants out of the valley.

There is another ship at the other end of the path. A freighter, small enough you aren’t sure it can even carry the hundreds of people slowly shuffling aboard. They are aliens, all of them, and clad in identical grey jumpsuits. You catch the gleam of metal around some of their wrists and ankles.

The scavver watches you from the ground beside the boarding ramp. Maybe you already guessed and maybe you didn’t, but you see now that she’s not what she seemed. The shabby cloaks and scarves have been thrown off, leaving her in a Jedi-brown combat suit she wears like a second skin, a lightsaber at each hip, standing tall and sure. The Force swirls around her in a storm of certainty and power and even if you can’t feel that sort of thing, there’s something about the way she holds herself that tells you it’s there all the same.

This is your objective. This is Nirea Velaran.

She tosses you a careless grin as the freighter’s aftermarket guns spin round to face you. You could perhaps kill her before they get you, but you wouldn’t survive to enjoy the rewards of a job well done. She tells you this doesn’t have to be stupid and you don’t have much choice but to talk. To let her explain.

What she tells you is an indictment of the Republic’s system of law, a story of a prison that’s little more than a slave mill for aliens, of Senators that blithely profit from the gaps deliberately written in their own laws. A story of the Jedi Master who knew about it and did nothing, who sent her to prop up something broken, who cared more about law than justice. It’s the story of a Jedi Knight who murdered a Senator in cold blood and will die before apologizing for it.

She’s cavalier about what she’s done, but passionate about her reasons for doing it. Whatever the price of this liberation turns out to be, she’s clearly prepared to pay it. Clearly prepared to ensure its success no matter what it does to her.

The boarding ramp begins to rise as the last of the prisoners scrambles aboard. You don’t know if she planned for the ship to leave without her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The guns remain fixed on your position.

You consider your options as your target considers you. Her attention slices through you like a laser, hot and sharp and precise. Looking for something specific, you think, and you can’t tell from her inscrutable expression whether she found it.

When she’s seen what she needs to, she offers you some flattery and a gratuitous wink. Maybe you appreciate it; maybe you don’t. She asks for a ride off this shit planet. Promises to put your droid back together and put a little life into your drab little ship. Mentions how it’s generally better to have someone with a talent for destruction and mayhem working for you than than against you. And maybe she hints that she’s got talents beyond wanton chaos. Maybe she offers to show you what they are.

Accepting her offer will have consequences. This Jedi is the sort of person who wears trouble like a signature fragrance. You are familiar enough with trouble by now to know you can’t stand that close to its storm without being swept up yourself. But maybe you can make that storm work for you. Maybe it’s your kind of storm.

Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe you have enough trouble of your own. Maybe you aren’t interested in the kind of trouble a willful, bleeding-heart Jedi carries with her.

She watches you with a look that’s shameless and hungry and not entirely trustworthy. There’s a kind of calculation to the fire behind her eyes and a tension in her body that tells you time is short. You ask yourself: is Nirea Velaran a risk worth taking?

#swtor #memery for ts #nirea velaran #seriously i don't know what's wrong with me #but ask and you shall receive i guess #meonlyred

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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Nope, nope, nope. I will stick to my impure experiences if it means never tasting that nasty piece of gross ever again, thank you very much. Now that your judgment has been called into question, I'll give you the opportunity to somewhat fix this (because I am certain you'd just lose sleep over what a moderately awesome stranger on the internet thinks). Is your pizza of choice from a chain or a mom and pops kind of place? Or are you one of those magical people that prefers to make their own?

When I have the money, time, and location to make my own (my parents have a really nice stone that’s perfect for pizza, and their oven’s old but miraculously lacks major hot spots and cold spots unlike mine), I prefer making my own. Getting the dough right is…it’s weird, but I just feel it out, and usually my gut’s right. This way, making my own, not only ensures I get exactly the kind of pizza I want taste-wise, but it eliminates any chance of error or allergic reaction. And the pineapple? Fresh pineapple, and not the canned stuff that leaves a metallic taste that kind of filters into the sauce and cheese? It’s glorious. For cheese, I’m not rich so I won’t buy, like, artisan shit. Saputo pizza mozzarella is about the best you can get at the grocery for a half decent price here, and it was good enough to be used at the pizzeria I used to work at, so it’s my go-to. I like high moisture cheese, it browns really well and has a great texture. I’d mix it with a little bit of higher fat mozzarella if I could afford to buy two separate kinda of pizza cheese, but it’d generally be a waste, since I’ll only use like a quarter of that block at most, and my parents doing really eat it, and I wouldn’t use it on anything on its own, so I usually just stick to Saputo. On sale, it’s about as cheap as the shit-tier kraft/cracker barrel/black diamond/no-name bullshit that’s horrible to use on pizza.

In cases where I can’t do that (make my own), and have the money to go out and splurge, I try to go for a non-chain pizza place. It’s an expensive thing, though, because each city has its own patterns, and so you generally have to check a place out, or hope that there’s a lot of pictures taken of their specific pizzas, to get an idea of what they’re putting out.

When I’m back visiting my parents, I’ll sometimes grab some of the local pizzeria’s stuff because I grew up on it (worked there) and know it’s A+. Some don’t like how ‘soggy’ it can be in the center of, say, a meat lover’s, and don’t approve of ‘toppings’ being positioned under the cheese, but there’s a way to do it well, and they do (though when some folks don’t do it properly, it can be pretty bad).

Ottawa is a little odd in that there’s a heavy difference in sauce (more oregano and tiny/minced red pepper flakes, likely brown sugar instead of white, definitely some cinnamon in there). I’m not sure exactly where the influence from, I’ve been told it’s Lebanese but I can’t confirm it, but it raises a tricky situation in that (A) the sauce is kind of magical and amazing, and (B) many pizza places go heavy on the onion in making that sauce. And I’m allergic to onion, so that means it’s a heavy investment tossing coin down for a mystery pizza when you don’t know if you’ll be able to eat it. So I’d travel around and get single slices when i can, but that’s pricey and time-consuming in itself, if places even offer it (sometimes I have to order a small and just bite the bullet).

I had one place. Miraculously, it was really close by, great owners, fantastic pizza. Dough was a little too thick, but otherwise kinda perfect. But then a year ago or so they changed their sauce to onion-heavy, and I can’t eat theirs anymore. I found another place, and theirs was great…not as good, but they fit the style without being an allergy hazard for me. But then they inexplicably stopped delivering, and they’re over an hour bus trip away, so unless they change that it’s probably going to be maybe a once a year thing for me.

I’m searching for a new quality place. Haven’t fond one yet, but there’s a lot of pizza places here, I’ll find one eventually.

Until then, if I have to sate my pizza cravings, Dominos will do. It’s not great, but they have deals on tuesdays where it’s essentially 2 for 1, and my roommates generally have gaming nights (fighting games or D&D) those nights, so it’s usually an easy sell in splitting costs. We use my account to rack up the free pizza points, and we’ve got two in need of cashing in, so I figure I’ll pop by and grab one tomorrow on my way back from work. It’s not great pizza, or sometimes even good pizza, but it’s the best chain here in Ottawa that’s not in a higher price bracket like Pizza Hut (which I wouldn’t necessarily say is better, but pan pizza is an interesting experience, and Dominos does not do it well). PH is strangely expensive and don’t deliver in my area despite one being right around the corner, so Dominos it is.

PS: If any Canadian ever tells you that Pizza Pizza is the best chain around, they’re filthy liars and probably pranking you. Even if you can grab 2 XL pepperoni pizzas for $20 (which would generally be a bargain for that amount of pizza), the pizzas are easily worse quality than Delissio rising crust frozen pizzas…like, the dough is worse than some frozen pizzas somehow…so you’re better off just stacking up four of those since they’re $5 each every other week not including coupons or store point offers. Pizza Pizza is so fucking miserable I swear, they’re even worse than the shitty little 241 chain that uses the worst ingredients, if only because 241′s crust is at least edible and made halfway decently most places. For american friends out there, Pizza Pizza way worse than Little Caesars, worse than what Dominos used to be. Like, way, way worse, and often way more expensive unless you’re grabbing the XL pepperoni deals (their toppings are kinda miserable quality, too). /rant because I hate Pizza Pizza. People who prefer that junk are not to be trusted.

#food #food tw #pizza #ottawa pizza #pizza discourse

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thank-god-and-you · 7 years

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A/N: This is kind of a hot mess of lameness, but I’ve finished it now, so here we go. It’s over the word count (obviously...), and the prompt doesn’t come in until the end, but I hope it’s enjoyable anyway.

-- --

Every factor indicated to John Bates that today was going to be a very bad day.

It had started in the early hours of the morning, with Jack’s ear-splitting wails. Both he and Anna had dragged themselves wearily from bed, trying with increasing desperation to get him to quieten, but nothing seemed to work. Not sucking at his mother’s breast, not being rocked in his father’s arms, not being changed or read to. His first teeth had started to cut through his gums only a few days before, and they were being punished for it now. All he and Anna had been able to do was sit up helplessly with him, trying to see out the worst of it.

Peace had, at last, fallen near dawn, when Jack had clearly screamed with such ferocity that he had run out of energy and had slipped under into an exhausted, uneasy slumber. That was when Anna’s own symptoms had started. He’d caught her shivering in the night, but she’d waved away his concern, adamant that she would not leave their son’s side when he was in so much discomfort. It had been to her detriment. Her cotton nightgown and threadbare shawl had done nothing to combat the surprisingly cold June night, and as Jack had succumbed to sleep, so Anna had succumbed to whatever ailment that had crept up on her. Her temperature was up, and her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep. She’d been to the bathroom twice to throw up in quick succession. Now she was pushing weakly at the bed sheets.

“You’re not getting up,” he said sternly as she made to follow him out of bed. She fixed a glare on him, its impact lessened by the uncharacteristic dullness of her blue eyes.

“I am perfectly capable, thank you, Mr. Bates,” she said.

“You are not,” he shot back. “I know you don’t like to concede defeat, but I’ve not seen you looking like this in a long time.” Not since the trauma she had gone through, when she’d been gaunt and lifeless, a silent ghost amongst them.

“There’s Jack to look after. He’s a baby, he can’t do it himself.”

“No, he can’t. I can look after him, though.”

She looked at him with watery eyes. “You?”

John didn’t know whether he should be offended or amused that she didn’t seem to have much faith in him. “I’m his daddy. He should know that I’ll be there for him no matter what he might need.”

“But how will you be able to manage everything? It’s difficult enough trying to do the work round the hotel without a little baby needing your attention every minute of the day…”

He could see she was fretting, so he said firmly, “I can manage.”

“But there are the nappy changes, to mention nothing of the feeding. You know he has a healthy appetite.”

“Anna, you know very well that I have no problems changing a nappy. Well, not anymore. And you said yourself, now he’s teething you’re going to wean him off. We’ve got condensed milk in the cupboards. I can make him a bottle quite easily. I’m not running the hotel completely alone, you know. Mrs. Aldred dotes on him, and Josie is a bright young girl. I can trust her to take charge just for the length of time it takes to see to our son.”

He could see that Anna wanted to argue further, but she had no ammunition left. Her scowl of defeat was all the more pleasing for its rarity. Cheered despite his own bone-tiredness, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than he needed to just to savour the feel of her beneath him. He drifted down to catch her mouth, too, but she jerked her head away. He was momentarily afraid that she was cross with him.

“I don’t want you to catch what I have,” she said. “We can’t have you ill as well. Oh, God, what about Jack? What if I’ve passed something on to him? He’s just a baby.”

“The doctor says that babies are surprisingly resilient,” John reassured her. “And look how well he nurses. He’s a stout chap. It’ll take a lot to take him down, I think. It’s just the tooth pain that’s been keeping him up all night, nothing more. And speaking of the doctor, I’ll send Josie out for him as soon as it’s acceptable. He can come and make sure that there’s nothing he can give you to make you feel better quicker. I don’t like the idea of leaving you on your own all morning, but…”

“You don’t have a choice,” Anna said firmly. “I wouldn’t expect you to put me before the business.”

“There’s no contest,” John said immediately. “I could lose all of that quite happily tomorrow, as long as I knew I’d still have you and Jack. You’re all I need.”

“Which is very sweet, but it’s not keeping a roof over our heads. Go, I’ll be all right. It’s just a cold. I’m not at death’s door.”

They’d all thought that Miss Swire wasn’t at death’s door when the Spanish Flu had hit, but that had turned out to be a catastrophic miscalculation.

“I’ll keep sending someone over to pop their head in on you, at least until the doctor arrives,” he promised.

“Nothing is going to get done if you carry on like that,” said Anna, the smile evident in her voice. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Just…don’t be home too late tonight. You’ll be absolutely exhausted. I don’t want you burning yourself out.”

He mock-saluted at her. “Yes, ma’am. Now, I’d better go and get ready. I’ll leave Jack here while he’s sleeping. Just try and sleep, my darling.”

She nodded, reluctantly snuggling back down amongst the sheets. He gathered his things together and moved out of the room, not quite ready to see the start of this day himself, but without any other choice.

-- --

After readying himself in the bathroom, somehow managing to scrape together something edible in the kitchen, and making a cup of tea to take to the bedroom for Anna in case she wasn’t quite asleep, John made his way back upstairs, balancing his tray carefully. He wasn’t sure if Anna would be hungry even if she was awake, so he had just prepared a couple of slices of hot buttered toast for her, something plain that would hopefully sit all right with her stomach. And if she was asleep, well, a couple of slices of toast were no great loss. In these early few months, they were trying to be as careful as possible to preserve the money they had. The majority of their savings had been eaten up by this move to Scarborough, and Anna was prudently making savings wherever she could in order to ensure that they made it through the slower winter months.

When he pushed open the bedroom door a crack to gauge whether Anna was indeed awake, she stirred and rolled over. Her eyes were hazy, as if she had been dozing, but she managed a smile for him. John pushed the door open further, padding into the room and setting the tray down on the bedside cabinet.

“I’ve brought you something,” he said softly. “If you don’t feel like you can stomach it, that’s all right. Just leave it there and I’ll move it when I come home. Don’t even think about doing it yourself, do you hear me?”

“It’s just a tray, John,” she said. “I’m quite capable of moving it.”

“And I’d feel much better if you just stayed in bed, at least until the doctor comes to see you. You ought to relish the chance of a lie-in.” He tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling. “Besides, haven’t you always wanted the chance to wake up natural? Well, now’s your opportunity. No alarm, no responsibilities. Make the most of it, my darling. Jack and I will be just fine. We’ll muddle along together quite well. It’ll be nice to have some quality father-son time.”

“Have you got everything he needs, though?”

“I have. I’ve packed the baby bag. It’s sitting by the front door.”

“Are you sure you’ve got everything? Changing things? Milk? His favourite blanket? Mr. Tatty Teddy?”

“Stop fussing. Yes, I’ve got everything he needs. He’ll be the most doted on baby in the whole of Scarborough today. Now, just try and relax.”

She gave him a small smile. “I’ll try. I can’t promise I’ll be any good. Idle hands and all that. I’ve never been much good on the sickbed.”

“You’re very beautiful on it, though.” He bent in to press another kiss to her mouth before she could protest, then straightened. “Right, little man, it’s just you and me today.”

Jack didn’t even stir, and John chuckled.

“See? I might even have an easy ride of it. All that wailing all night long is bound to have worn him out. We’ll do just fine.”

He bent down and picked their son up gently, cradling him in his arms. He really was a big chap now, heavy and stout, round-faced and thick-limbed. There was no doubt in John’s mind that he was following the trend of Bates men being big and burly. It filled him with pride, made his heart swell and spill over with love for this child he had helped to make with love.

Anna was peering at them with warmth in her eyes. He could not stop his smile at the sight.

“We’re out to make the money that will keep our family afloat,” he said. “Goodbye, my darling.”

“Bye,” Anna echoed, and he closed the door behind him as he made his way onto the landing. Despite the small space, they kept the pram in the hall so they weren’t constantly fighting with it every time they wanted to get it out, and John was grateful for that now as he tucked Jack up nice and snug. Stowing the bag of supplies over the bar, John navigated the front door, jostled the pram outside, and made his way to work.

A minor bump in the road, he hoped, with Jack’s disturbed night and Anna’ sudden illness. He was usually pessimistic, but surely things were bound to improve? What could possibly go wrong?

The answer was, unfortunately, several things, which John only discovered as the day went on.

-- --

Mr. Locke, the man who kept a watch over the hotel at night, eyed him dubiously as he struggled through the door with the pram.

“What’s that?” he asked, as if he’d never seen a baby before. John suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s my son, Mr. Locke,” he said, pausing a moment to catch his breath.

“Well, yes…but what’s he doing here? Doesn’t he usually come along with Mrs. Bates?”

John bit his tongue to keep in any scathing comment about how Jack’s earlier than scheduled arrival could be such a problem. Would he cause the forces in the universe to shift? Would he bring the place down on their heads?

“Mrs. Bates isn’t very well today,” he said. “I said that I’d take Jack so that she could have some respite and focus on getting herself better.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Locke. His tone of voice indicated that he thought it was a weakness that a woman should fall ill when she had a child to take care of—presumably that was why he had never married at the age of forty-five.

“Anything to report?” he said, firmly steering the conversation in another direction before he lost his patience with someone making suggestions about his precious Anna.

Mr. Locke shook his head. “No, everything went smoothly last night. No dramas to report.”

The last one had been a couple who had tried to sneak out without paying the bill. Before that, they’d had one man who had tried to creep down into the kitchen to steal some of their produce. John couldn’t understand what on earth drove some people to be so dishonest, trying to undermine the means he had to provide for his family. If they had plenty of money to spare, he wouldn’t mind it quite as much. As it was, when they were already in such a precarious situation, they could hardly afford to be robbed. They had only had their business for a few months, and while it was going better than he’d thought it might, they were hardly stalwarts with plenty of recurring customers. Hiring a night manager had been a stroke of genius on his wife’s behalf, even if Mr. Locke grated on his nerves at times.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Thank you for another good night. I’ll see you later?”

“You will,” Mr. Locke confirmed, pushing himself to his feet. “Have a good day, Mr. Bates.” He glanced doubtfully down at the pram.

“I’m sure I will,” said John, straightening to his full height.

He waited until the other man was out of the door before sighing, rubbing at his temples. It would be all right. It would. Jack had settled down now, and he had enough experience to care for him. He could change soiled nappies almost as efficiently as Anna could, and while Anna did most of the feeding at her breast, he had made a couple of bottles before. He could do this.

“You’ll be a good lad for your old dad, won’t you, son?” he murmured, looking down into that round, angelic face. “You’ll take pity on me because you know I’m not quite as competent as your wonderful mummy is. And we can have a grand old time, just the two of us. You’ll be running this place in no time at all.”

He stroked his index finger just barely down his little cheek, and then paused to think. Anna’s usual morning routine meant going down to the kitchen to check in on Mrs. Aldred and see how she was getting along with the breakfast preparations while he popped along to the office to make sure everything was in order. They met back up in the dining room to greet the guests and to ensure that they had everything they needed. Anna usually helped with the serving while he made a swift exit, always the more awkward of the two in social situations, but he was certainly not afraid of pitching in with the more manual tasks when he was needed. And without Anna’s presence, it would certainly be needed this morning. No guest of theirs would leave thinking that they hadn’t been properly attended to. He’d have to leave Jack sleeping in the corner of the room and hope that nothing disturbed him, but their son was quite the main attraction at the hotel, so he would hardly be a disruption.

But first: to see Mrs. Aldred.

When they had been scouting the place out, the estate agent had informed them that the property had been built a long time ago by a wealthy middle class businessman, who had had it built over three floors to emulate the style of a great house. Rather than building it up into an inn for the upper classes, however, he had lost most of his money to gambling, and the place had been sold off to the highest bidder. Which, as it turned out, hadn’t been that high at all. It had been passed down three generations in the new family, but they had had no children to leave it to, and in their old age wanted to be able to enjoy their retirement. And so it had passed into their care, and hopefully into the Bates family for many generations to come. Anna in particular had been enamoured with the layout, a reminder of Downton in miniature form, and John had been caught up in her enthusiasm. He knew they’d made the right choice. Scarborough was a beautiful area, and not too far away from Downton, so they could still keep in touch with their old friends. Jack would still be able to grow up knowing the places that his parents had loved the most, while still making their own happy memories away from it. It was perfect.

Manoeuvring the pram into the office, John set about lifting his son up. He would not leave him here on his own. He’d enjoy a trip to the kitchen. He didn’t intend on staying long, so hopefully the noise wouldn’t disturb him.

“Right, here we go,” he murmured into Jack’s ear as he lifted him high into the crook of his neck, his hand spanning his tiny back and keeping him close. Jack snuffled. His breath was warm against his neck. Perfection. Together, they made their way down the short flight of stairs to the basement area. The echoing clangs informed him that Mrs. Aldred was hard at work.

He found her standing over the oven. She’d only been at work for an hour, but already her hair was frazzled and her cheeks were bright red. He cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Aldred,” he said. “I just thought I’d pop my head in to see how you were doing.”

Much to his dismay, rather than turn around with a smile, the complete opposite happened.

Something much worse happened.

Mrs. Aldred shrieked, and a flailing elbow caught the pan of freshly fried bacon, knocking it all over the floor.

“Christ!” John yelped, taking a hasty step backwards while the cooked screamed and flapped about again.

“What are you doing down here!?” she scolded, whirling round to face him.

How had that been his fault? “I was just coming down to see how you are,” he said defensively. “Mrs. Bates does that every morning.”

“Mrs. Bates also doesn’t sneak up on me like some kind of thief,” the cook responded furiously.

“Here, let me help you clean up,” said John.

“You’ll do no such thing! Men shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen. They only ever get underfoot. And you’ve got the bairn in your arms. Where are you going to put him while you clean, hmm?”

“I can put him down,” John said tentatively.

“And where will you do that? The table? Oh, yes, very clever idea, Mr. Bates! No, stand there and don’t move. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

That was hardly fair, John thought. He hadn’t deliberately gone out to make a mess for her to clean up. How had she not heard him approaching? His cane was hardly soundless against the flagstones.

“How much of breakfast has gone?” he asked, eyeing the mess. That was all he needed to start the day, no breakfast to serve the guests.

“Most of it!” she shrieked. And she started again, on her tirade against men in the kitchen. John bit his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that there were many great male chefs. Their own Alfred had gone off to the Ritz. That wasn’t something to be scoffed at.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to mention it when Mrs. Aldred had so many sharp implements to hand. And, he though mournfully, she was right about one thing: this probably wouldn’t have happened if Anna was here, for his wife was the very picture of grace and poise.

“We’ll just have to send up whatever we can,” he decided. “Fruit and the like. It’s not what we usually do, but we’ve no choice in the matter. I have faith that you can conjure something up.”

Mrs. Aldred glared at him, continuing to mutter something about the incompetence of men under her breath. He thought it was best to leave her while he still had his body intact.

“I’ll just take Jack back upstairs,” he said. “I can send Josie down.”

“You’ll do no such thing! I’m quite capable of running my own domain, thank you very much!”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t,” John said wearily. It was times like this that made him wonder why they had hired her in the first place. She was a wonderful cook, but she was even more cantankerous than Mrs. Patmore. “But it would take half the time with two.”

“Josie isn’t a cook. She doesn’t know the first thing about the kitchen. She’s no use to me here. Leave her be.”

“Very well. Do you think you can rustle something up?”

“What do you take me for? Of course I can. Just delay it ten minutes. Offer them a cup of tea, or keep them talking. I’ll ring when I’m ready for Josie to fetch.”

“All right. I am sorry for startling you.”

“That’s all right.” She paused, as if she something was just dawning on her for the first time. “Wait, where is Mrs. Bates?”

“That’s what I tried to tell you. She’s sick. That’s why I’ve got young Jack here with me. I thought she might feel better if she had some peace for a while.”

“Well, I hope she isn’t ill for long. This place couldn’t run without her.”

At least they could agree on that. “She’s always been resilient. I’m sure she’ll be back on her feet in no time.” God, he hoped so. This place was already falling apart without her at the helm. “I’ll leave you to get on.”

Mrs. Aldred grunted, and with that he turned on his heel, hitching Jack further up against his shoulder. His son snuffled and drooled, not even moving a muscle. Typical. He had kept them up all night, but was sleeping through the Second World War.

Well, John thought fondly, he was his mother’s son.

-- --

Thankfully, despite the hysteria surrounding it, breakfast was a success. The cold breakfast, whilst different to what they were usually used to, seemed to go down a storm. Josie handed everything with her steadfast reliability, and John would wager that Jack had something to do with the smiles on everyone’s faces, too. His son had the kind of face that could melt away any kind of bad mood. He got that from Anna, too.

It boosted his confidence. Surely the worst had passed now? The rest of the day could continue smoothly, and he would return to Anan triumphant with his day of work, and relay it all like a boy needing the praise from his mother.

Unfortunately, his hope was short-lived.

-- --

When all of the guests had gone about their own business, John deemed that it was the right time to slip away. He took Jack into the office and closed the door behind him, heaving a sigh. Blessed silence.

“Come on, son,” he said, gently lowering him into the bassinet they kept in the corner of the office. “Let’s leave you here while Daddy takes a look at the mail we’ve got. Hopefully there will be a few more bookings in this lot. We could do with it to get us through the summer.”

Jack did not respond. John shook his head at his silly chatter and pulled the pile towards him. There were indeed several requests for reservations, as well as more bills. He set those aside to look over with Anna, dragged the diary towards him to check their availability, and set about composing replies.

He was halfway through that when Josie interrupted him. She popped her head around the door shyly.

“Is now a bad time, Mr. Bates?” she asked. John liked her. She was a good girl. Hardworking, quiet, friendly with Anna and good with their son. He put his pen down.

“Not at all,” he said with an encouraging smile. “What is it, Josie?”

“Well, the Lewises have just told me that they thought they heard something squeaking in their room.

“What!?” John exclaimed, standing at once. “That can’t be right! Not with the way you clean, and Anna is dogged about these things. It’s impossible.”

Josie shrugged helplessly. “I’m just passing on what I heard, Mr. Bates.”

He caught himself. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Where are they now?”

“They’ve gone out,” the young woman supplied. “They said that they would give you some space to sort it out and they don’t want to hear it when they come back.”

John huffed. “Of course. Well, we’ll go up there and take a look.”

Josie nodded solemnly. He admired that about her. She would tackle any problem head on, much like his own dear Anna. “What shall we do about Jack?”

“He’ll have to come with us. We can put him on the bed.”

“And if we find anything?”

“We won’t,” John said stubbornly. “Come on, let’s go.”

Josie nodded, and disappeared. John scrubbed his hand down his face, moving over to the crib. Jack’s lips twitched in his sleep.

“I’m sorry for having to move you again,” John whispered as he bent down to retrieve his little body into his arms. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d left Jack at home with Anna. They could both have been having some much needed rest.

But it was pointless to think like that. Anna would scold him if she knew the direction that his thoughts had taken. She was his biggest supporter, the person who had made him believe that he could be a good father despite everything in his life that had previously told him that he would be terrible at it. Jack would be all right.

Hitching him further up against his shoulder, John limped out of the room and followed Josie up to the Lewises’ room. Together, they moved in and closed the door. Instant silence. That was good. This way, they would hopefully hear those phantom squeaks.

Or not. Because those squeaks didn’t exist.

Josie stayed by the door as John roamed further into the room, settling himself on the edge of the bed while he deposited Jack in the middle. He’d be safe there. The only sound that could be heard was their breathing, and Jack’s little sleep snuffles. There was no scuttling feet, no squeaking, nothing to suggest that there was another presence sharing the room with them.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Josie in a stage whisper. “How long should we wait?”

“We’ll give it twenty minutes or so,” he decided.

“But what if they still insist they can hear something when they get back?”

“Well, we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. They’re not with us for much longer. Hopefully we can avoid any disasters.”

Josie nodded, moving over to the chair in the corner of the room. She settled herself onto it, and together they waited.

John closed his eyes as he concentrated on the silence. What bliss it was. No sound at all. No crying Jack. It was something he could quite get used to—

“Mr. Bates?”

He jerked his head up to find Josie staring at him curiously. He cleared his throat and tried to put on his best managerial voice. “Yes?”

“Were you sleeping just now?” the girl said.

“Of course not!” he said, puffing out his chest. “Closing my eyes helps me concentrate better.”

“All right,” said Josie, though she sounded less than convinced. He had just opened his mouth to bluster further when he paused. No, it couldn’t have been.

Could it?

“Mr. Bates?”

“Keep quiet,” he said lowly. “I thought I heard something.”

“Heard something!?” Josie squeaked, sounding a lot less sure of herself now that she was faced with the reality of it. She sat ramrod straight on the chair, bringing her legs up off the floor as if she feared the mouse would use them as a climbing pole. Ignoring her, John strained his ears, trying to pick up on the faint noise he had heard before.

There.

Good God, there really was something in this room. That was unacceptable.

“I hear it too,” Josie breathed. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’re going to have to search for it. It can’t escape, at least.” At her look of horror, he amended, “I’ll look for it. You just watch Jack while you keep your eye out for it creeping anywhere. All right?”

She looked much calmer at that. With a groan, John pushed himself to his feet. He scanned the perimeters of the room, but there was nothing lurking in the corners. That meant it had to be somewhere else. Probably hiding under the bed, or perhaps under the cabinet. He’d have to get on the floor and have a look. It was not a prospect he relished. With a groan, he lowered himself to the floor, trying to keep his weight off his knee, tilting his head so he could see under the bed. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.

He swore when they did, scrambling back ungracefully. His knee twinged.

“Mr. Bates?” said Josie urgently, her voice high-pitched. “Mr. Bates, what is it? There’s something under there, isn’t there?”

Yes, there was. Something with huge glowing eyes. Something out of a nightmare. It was bigger than a mouse. It had to be a rat.

The biggest rat he had ever seen.

It squeaked again.

John swore again, trying to calm his heart. He couldn’t let on to Josie that it had unsettled him.

“Right,” he said, “I’m going to make a grab for it.”

“But what if it gets away!?”

“It’s still got nowhere to go.” With the size of it, he doubted it would fit into any hole in the wall. The idea of killing it with his bare hands made him feel queasy, but there was little else he could do. He just hoped that it didn’t have a nest somewhere…

Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head back to the floor. Those same eerie eyes glowered at him. Now or never.

He reached under the bed, making a mad grab in the direction of those eyes. It screeched.

And leapt for him.

John didn’t even have a chance to move before his face was full of something furry and wriggly. He muffled a yelp. Christ, that thing had claws, claws that were digging into his skin. He reached up in a blind panic to try and tear the thing off.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Bates, I’ve got it! Hold on!”

It happened in a blur. One moment he couldn’t see because of that mass of thick fur, the next…

The next all he had time to register was a heavy tome flying towards his face.

It slammed against his nose with a giant thump. His nose cracked and exploded. Swearing, he rolled over, moving his hand up instinctively. It came away covered in blood. Josie squeaked again.

“Mr. Bates! Mr. Bates, are you all right?”

“Fine,” he managed to gasp, trying not to swallow the blood that trickled down over his lips. Jesus Christ, that hurt.

“I swear I tried to get the rat!” the girl said miserably. “But it jumped away.”

“It wasn’t a rat,” he said grimly. His mouth felt oddly numb, and he wiped the blood away with his fingers again. “It was a cat.”

Josie blinked. “A cat!?”

John gestured in the direction of the corner, where the little ball of fur now was. The little pointed ears and the tail was unmistakable. A kitten more than a cat, really, no more than a few months old, little and scrawny. It clearly had no place to go.

Josie dropped the book she had been wielding back onto the bed. “Oh.”

John struggled back into a sitting position, his head aching. Christ, that hurt like the devil. It was probably going to leave a mark. If Lord Grantham had seen it, he would want to recruit Josie for the house cricket team.

The little grey kitten was still backed up in the corner, its little teeth bared, a low growling sound issuing from its mouth. Undeterred, he struggled back to his feet and limped over to it, bending down and grabbing it by the scruff of its neck. It yowled, and tiny front paws with razors for claws flailed out, looking for something to grab hold of and rip to shreds. It might have been small, but it was a feisty thing.

Josie stepped closer, cautious. “Where do you think it came from, Mr. Bates?”

“Hard to say. It must have crept in through the back door and snuck up here without anyone noticing. There’s nothing as wily as a cat. It’s a relief. A cat isn’t nearly as bad as a rat.”

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.

It wasn’t something he’d given any thought to. He could put it back out on the streets, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t find its way back inside. Drowning kittens, while common practice, was far beyond his tastes. He’d taken enough innocent lives in his time without resorting to it in helpless animals.

Still, what else was there to do?

The idea niggled at the back of his mind, not quite fully formed. If Anna was here, he was quite sure he knew what she would say…

But no. It was impossible. They could not have a stray cat around the place. Times were hard enough as it was without adding another scrawny mouth to the family.

And yet…

And yet he knew that that wouldn’t deter his wife. All of God’s creatures faced their hardships, she would say, and this little thing was facing them now. She would fix him with that look, that look he couldn’t resist, and she would say…

“I’ll take it home,” he murmured. “Give it somewhere warm and dry to stay.”

Josie beamed at him. “That’s a great idea, Mr. Bates!” She hesitated. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

John checked. “Definitely a boy.” Which at least made it easier. He wasn’t going to come home round with kittens.

“What are you going to name it?”

“I think Mrs. Bates will decide that.” She’d had her own way with Jack, after all. No doubt he would have to go along with whatever she chose for this four legged new addition. “Find me a box to put him in. Make sure you put a few air holes in it.”

Josie eyed him doubtfully. “Will you be all right if I leave you alone?”

He forced his lips to stretch into a painful smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just go and clean up in the bathroom.”

“And Jack?”

John checked his son. Still sleeping. Bloody typical. “I’ll only be in the bathroom.”

“All right, then.” Josie cast him one last uncertain look before disappearing. He waited until the door had closed behind him before dropping the kitten back to the floor. It—he—scurried back to his hiding place under the bed. Well, that was all right. He’d just have to ferret him out again.

For now, he had to get a good look at his face. It stung like the devil.

Pushing open the door, he took a deep breath and faced the mirror. And groaned aloud.

Good God, between them, Josie and the kitten had certainly done a number on him. Blood still trickled from his nose, and his cheekbone was starting to darken, where the corner of the book had struck him. Thin red lines scoured down his cheeks from the kitten’s tiny claws. It was almost as if he had gone back in time to his stupid youth, where drunken fights had been as natural as breathing.

Tentatively, he dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief, running it under the tap and watching the water swirl red. He managed to staunch the flow, though there was nothing he could do about his nose’s redness, nor to mask the dark bruise or those cuts.

Josie returned shortly, and together they managed to get the kitten into the box. It yowled and wailed from within, but John ignored it.

“Go down to the kitchen,” he said, “and see if there’s anything Mrs. Aldred can spare to feed it. It’s not looking too bad, but it can’t have eaten for at least a day or two. It’ll be all right in the office until I have time to pop across home to see Anna.”

He checked his pocket watch; hopefully he’d have time for that soon. If all was going well, the doctor would be going round to see her. With any luck, he’d be able to give her something to help. And once John could get over there, he would make sure that she told him everything the doctor had told her, and that he carried out her every whim.

Unfortunately for him, that moment was to be a little further away than he had initially anticipated.

-- --

Back down in his office, John sighed. The kitten was stored safely under the desk, probably making its way through the mounds of chicken that Mrs. Aldred had reluctantly spared for this latest acquisition. Jack was back in his bassinet, still snuffing and twitching, at peace with his little world. Finally, he could get down to some of the work he had been intending to start right at the beginning of the day.

He was just reviewing the inventories when there was yet another knock on the door.

“Yes?” he called, just barely masking the irritable edge to his tone. It opened, to reveal Mr. Sanders, the headmaster of the local school and a highly influential member of the community. John stood at once.

“Mr. Sanders!” he said. “What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.” They knew the man, but not very well.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all. Please, come in.”

Mr. Sanders did so, then stopped short. With a tired resignation, John realised that he was staring at his face.

“Mr. Bates,” he said tentatively. “What happened…?” He gestured upwards.

“It’s a very long story,” he said. “One that involves me being very careless. I know, I know, it looks like I’ve been in a young man’s brawl. I can assure you, I have not.”

The other man nodded uncertainly, but it made John suppress a groan. God, this meant that every person who came across him in the next couple of weeks would look at him with the same distrust. He hoped that it wouldn’t have an effect on the business. Don’t stop at the Bateses’, he imagined people saying in his head. That Mr. Bates is a rough old thing. Heard he was in the army back in the day.

“How can I help?” he asked wearily, to deflect Mr. Sanders from staring any longer.

He shook himself into action. “Right, yes. I’ve come to ask a favour of you.”

Please, take a seat.”

The other man did so. “Thank you. I apologise for dropping in unexpected.”

“Not at all,” said John. “Would you care for some refreshments?”

“Tea would be appreciated,” said Mr. Sanders. “Thank you.”

“What brings you here?” said John as he stood to make tea at the little table in the corner of the room. That had been Anna’s idea; she claimed that she was unable to work if she didn’t have a strong, sweet cup of tea near at hand at all times.

“Well, as you know, the yearly Yorkshire Roots event is coming up,” he replied, watching John move to hook the kettle over the fire. “The organisers met in Barnsley to go over the final details. We’ve been trying to go round and gather together some prizes for the charity event, and we were hoping that you might be able to donate something. We were hoping to have some enticing prize for the most money donated. We thought that there might be something you could offer as an incentive.”

John continued to frown, mulling over their options. “The only thing I can think of that might fit the bill is a stay in the hotel. Would that be a big enough incentive?”

The headmaster clapped his hands in glee. “That would fit perfectly. The celebration is open to all the county, so it will give plenty of people outside Scarborough the opportunity to stay here themselves and see what a wonderful place it is to visit. You and Mrs. Bates have the makings of a very fine business on your hands, and I’m sure it would do you both the world of good to have the name advertised everywhere in this corner of God’s green earth.”

That was a good point. As it stood, he and Anna were still establishing their little business, operating in a small area by word of mouth. Many of the others back at Downton had promised to spread the word of their new venture, but the opportunity to have their business delivered on an even greater scale was simply too tempting to pass up. Advertising all over the county was more than they could ever have hoped to achieve on their own.

“Mrs. Bates and I would be more than happy to donate that,” he said. “And there’s no one better at hosting than my wife.”

Mr. Sanders gave a fond smile, no doubt thinking of the many biscuits and cups of tea Anna plied him with whenever he dropped in. “You’re right there. And your son never fails to make people smile. Where is the little tyke now? With Mrs. Bates, I presume?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Bates is feeling under the weather today,” he said. “He’s over in the basket.”

Mr. Sanders stood. “Is he, indeed?” He moved across the room to said basket, peering inside. “Ah, there he is. Like father like son, eh, Bates? Strapping little thing, isn’t he?”

“He is,” said John, unable to mask his sense of pride. He was pleased that Jack looked more like Anna, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a real sense of achievement when people said that he took after him, too. That was probably silly masculine conceit, but he simply couldn’t help it. He limped over to Mr. Sanders’ side, unable to resist the chance to look upon his son once more.

Unfortunately, at that precise moment, Jack’s little eyes blinked open. He latched onto John at once, and then his gaze slid across to Mr. Sanders. He stared up at them for a moment, wide-eyed. His gaze darted back to John, as if he recognised his daddy, but there was a definite chin wobble as his gaze moved back to Mr. Sanders. John frowned, suppressing an amused quirk of the lips. It was almost as if Jack was trying to work out why Mummy had changed so dramatically since the last time he had seen her standing next to Daddy over the crib.

The image wasn’t funny for long.

Because Jack opened his mouth and began to scream.

Mr. Sanders shrank back at once, clamping his hands over his ears.

“That’s a healthy pair of lungs!” he half-shouted.

John reached into the crib, picking him up at once, cradling him against his shoulder.

“Son, it’s all right,” he tried to murmur into his ear, but Jack gave no indication of understanding. He only screamed louder.

“I’ll, um, leave you to it,” said Mr. Sanders, backing away rapidly. He seemed to be the kind of man who liked babies as long as they were quiet. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bates.”

John could only nod distractedly, the wails beginning to make his ears ring.

“Look, son, it’s all right now,” he said frantically. “He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s not going to hurt you. Daddy’s here.”

Jack’s sobbing indicated that he didn’t believe him.

-- --

It carried on. And on. And on. Déjà vu all over again.

John tried everything he could to get his son to settle. Rocking him in his arms, trying to feed him from the bottle he had brought with him, even going as far as trying to sing him a lullaby, pushing his humiliation to one side. Nothing seemed to work. Jack grew progressively redder in the face, his little lungs screaming, hiccoughing and gasping as his features scrunched. Nothing seemed to placate him. Mrs. Aldred tried to take over with no-nonsense firmness, and Josie tried cooing at him, but it was all in vain. Jack just carried on. He was aware, too, that he hadn’t yet managed to get back home to check in on Anna, something that greatly unsettled him. And, with his son squealing the way that he was, now seemed as good a time as any.

Feeling the first stirrings of a headache behind his eyes, John said wearily, “Will you please watch him, just for a few more minutes? I need to take the cat across the road and to check in on how my wife is doing.”

“Yes, of course,” said Josie, but it wasn’t without a dubious look at Jack’s scarlet face.

With that, John picked up the box—the kitten had started its own bloody yowling—and carried it out into the blessed quiet of the outside world. He paused for a moment, enjoying the cool air on his face, before starting his trudge down the little field to his home. Now that it was away from that awful noise, the kitten seemed to have settled once more.

He unlocked the front door when he arrived and set the box down on the table in the hallway. He listened for a moment, but he could hear no movement. Perhaps that meant that Anna was still abed.

Not wanting to risk waking her if she was asleep, he crept upstairs. The bedroom door was ajar. He tried to peer through the crack. She wasn’t in bed.

More confident now, he pushed open the door to find her sitting at her vanity, absent-mindedly running her brush through her long, silky hair.

“Hello,” he said.

Rather than greet him with enthusiasm, she almost jumped a foot in the air, turning around and holding the brush up like a weapon.

“Good lord, John Bates,” she scolded, her other hand over her heart, “what on earth!? Why didn’t you shout and let me know you were back!? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep,” he protested.

“So you thought killing me was a better option!?”

“Sorry,” he said, suitably chastened.

Her eyes widened then, as if she was finally taking note of his appearance. She stood quickly, her chair clattering to the floor. “John! What’s happened!?”

She looked frightened, and he hastened to smooth her fears over. “It’s nothing, I promise. I had a bit of an accident at the hotel. No one hit me. At least not intentionally.”

“Not intentionally!? So someone did hit you!?”

“I’ll explain everything in a moment. It’s not pressing. I’m here for a more important reason.”

She was still eyeing him as if she thought he might collapse at any moment. “What’s that, then?”

“I came to check up on you, of course.” He moved further into the room, wondering if she would permit him near enough to hold her. “Has the doctor been yet?”

“Oh,” she said, a funny, faraway look misting her eyes. “Yes, he has.”

“And?”

“And nothing to report. I’ll give you all the details later, but there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

John sighed, relaxing at last; he hadn’t realised just how tense he’d been until that moment. “That’s fantastic news, my darling.”

“I was thinking I might come along to the hotel now and give you a hand.”

“What? No, absolutely not.”

“But I’m as fit as a fiddle. I have it on good authority.”

“I still think you’d benefit from a day of resting.”

“I couldn’t sleep again now, not after today.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked in confusion, but she simply shook her head.

“Never mind,” she said. “Where’s Jack?”

“I left him with Josie,” he said, resolute that he wouldn’t mention that their son was currently screaming his little lungs fit to burst. “There’s something else I have to show you.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m intrigued. What is it?”

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll fetch it.”

He returned downstairs, hefted the box under his arm, and took it upstairs. Anna’s expression morphed into one of confusion.

“A box?” she said.

“It’s what’s inside the box.” Carefully, John placed it on the bed and popped off the lid. Anna gasped as she peered at the wriggling ball of fluff.

“Oh, John, where did you get it?” she said as she moved in to stroke it.

“In the hotel, funnily enough,” he said. “The Lewises were complaining that they could hear something squeaking. They thought it was a mouse. When Josie and I went up to investigate, we found this little tyke under the bed. Which is, incidentally, why my face looks the way it does. The cat scratched me, and Josie smacked me with a book.”

Anna’s lips twitched as if she very much wanted to laugh. “How did it get in?”

“I don’t know, but it’s obviously a stray. I wasn’t really sure what to do with it, so I thought I’d bring it here.”

“You did the right thing,” said Anna at once, stroking a finger down one tiny ear. “Do we know the sex?”

“A boy,” he supplied.

“I’m going to think of a name for him,” she decided, then cast him a concerned look. “Do you think we can afford to keep him?”

He frowned. “I don’t see why not.”

“It’s just—” she started, then caught herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

John eyed her curiously, but decided not to press. Not yet, at least. He stood back. “Can I leave him in your care while I get back to our son?”

“You can,” she said. “I’ll get him something to eat and set him up a bed in the kitchen. I’m sure we’ve got some old blankets somewhere that can be of use.”

“Don’t overexert yourself,” he advised. “I’m sure the doctor counselled you to rest, whatever you might not be saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. He bent in and kissed her before she could grumble.

“I’d better head back,” he said. “I’ll see you for dinner. If you need anything at all, call me. I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll see you later. Have a good afternoon.”

“I will,” he said; at least, he hoped he would.

His hope wouldn’t quite hold out.

-- --

He could hear Jack’s ear-splitting shrieks from the lobby.

Hurrying back towards the office, he flung open the door to find Josie in almost the same state as his son.

“He won’t stop, Mr. Bates!” she wailed. “How do you cope!?”

With grim determination, he thought, but reached for his little boy. “You get back to your duties, Josie. I’ll take over from here.”

The young woman had never looked so relieved to be told to get back to work. She handed the squalling baby over and raced out of the room as if she feared he might change his mind.

John limped over to his desk and settled himself down. He pulled Jack away from his shoulder and held him in the cradle of his arms, peering down into his face. Were his teeth bothering him again? He could try some of the remedies they had been recommended by the doctor again, even if they hadn’t worked the first time around.

“Please, darling,” he murmured to the disgruntled bundle in his arms, “please, tell Daddy what’s wrong. Tell Daddy what he can do to fix it.”

But it seemed that there was nothing that could be done. Jack’s screams reached a level that John thought that only dogs would be able to listen to comfortably.

There was one second of golden peace.

And then Jack vomited over his father’s freshly pressed suit.

For a moment, all John could do was blink, astounded. And then he swore loudly, stumbling over to the crib and planting Jack down on his bottom. He swore again, looking around frantically for something that he could use to mop the disgusting deposit from his front. Of course, just when he needed it, there was nothing available.

And, lord, did it stink. It wasn’t the first time that Jack had been sick down him, and he doubted that it would be the last, either, but it was frustrating that it had happened on his best suit, on a day that had already been going to so poorly for him. The last thing he needed was for his guests to see him in such a state. It was no good. He was going to have to go home to get changed.

Pacing to the door, he pulled it open and called for Josie. She popped her head cautiously out from where she was setting up the dining room for the evening meal, and her eyes widened when she saw him.

“What happened!?” she asked, bounding over.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Jack happened. I think he cried so much he made himself sick.”

It was a reluctant offer, but it was made nevertheless. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

He sighed. He hated to concede defeat, but he could see no other way. “Would you mind if you took him home for me? I’ll have to follow shortly to change before anyone else sees me, but I’m wondering if being back in his mother’s arms might do the trick. Anna has always had the touch when it comes to him. He’s his father’s son when it comes to bending to her will.”

Josie smiled slightly. “Give him here, then. And don’t worry, I’ll be able to hold the fort while you’re gone. I’ll let you know when I’m back so you can follow.”

John nodded gratefully. He whiled away the time by locking his papers away in his desk and making sure everything was left in an orderly fashion. If there was one thing he hated, it was mess.

It took Josie a little while longer than he’d expected, but eventually she reappeared, flushed, eyes sparkling. John frowned at her.

“What is it?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said breathlessly, belied by her grin. “Go home, Mr. Bates, and stay home. I’m sure Mrs. Aldred and I can handle everything between us, and it’ll be time for Mr. Locke to return soon enough.”

John stared. “Why would I do that? I’m not ill. It’s just a change of clothes that I need. It’s hardly fair to leave you with all of the work. You do far more than you need to as it is.”

She waved it away. “I like working here. It’s nice. And I just think that you deserve a few hours with Mrs. Bates.”

“Well, it’s not as if I won’t see Mrs. Bates later…” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend the time with Anna. Christ, there was nothing he enjoyed more. But nor did he want to feel like he was shirking his responsibilities to his hotel and to the people who worked with him. It was hardly fair if he went swanning off home when the others had to remain.

But Josie was surprisingly stern. “Go, Mr. Bates. It won’t hurt just this once. I know Mrs. Aldred will agree with me.”

“Fine,” he said, more irritated than he’d intended. “But if you need me for anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Now, go.”

And so he did, tracing the well-worn path back to the cottage.

-- --

Wearily, John trudged through the door, stinking of sick, his face still throbbing from Josie’s unintended assault, his head pounding with the most ferocious headache he had ever felt. Now that it had been sanctioned, there was nothing he wanted more than to bathe, crawl into bed, and forget this nightmare day had ever happened. Kicking off his shoes, he leaned his cane against the wall, closed the door behind him, and took a step forward into the hall…

…And immediately let out a yelp, almost stumbling over as he quickly recoiled from the source of the sharp pain. He swore with colourful language he hadn’t used since his army days, leaning back against the wall as he gingerly leaned down a little to rub at his stockinged foot. Bloody hell, how had Jack’s blocks got out? He was hardly at an age when he could make too much of a mess himself, so that must mean that Anna had left it there. But why would she? She abhorred mess, the housemaid in her needing to straighten out every last crease and sweep away every single speck of dust. So why would she willingly leave a mess out in the hall? To what purpose, when he had hardly been in the mood for playing when Josie had taken him home? Perhaps that was how Anna had calmed him (for he could hear no screaming now)? Frowning, John picked up the offending block. It was emblazoned with the letter P. They’d thought that buying blocks with the letters on would help Jack, in time, with his alphabet and his spelling. They’d agreed that it would be a good idea for him to know as much as possible before it was time to go to school. Jack already seemed to enjoy the soothing lull of a read book; John hoped that he would enjoy reading for the pleasure of it in the same way that he and Anna did. Anna was certain that no Bates child could be anything less than a voracious consumer of the written word.

Not even the thought of that could improve John’s mood. He stomped into the sitting room, almost standing on another brick that lurked in the threshold. Christ. What was going on? That boldly painted R seemed to taunt him. The E was by the small jumble, and he tossed them all together. So, Anna was definitely not in the vicinity. God knew what she’d needed the bricks for, then. At least she’d managed to settle their son. The silence was like a miracle to soothe his pounding head.

“John? Is that you?”

Anna’s voice was muffled. He limped back to the doorway. Should he shout, and dare risk disturbing Jack and the fragile peace?

“John?”

Anna didn’t seem in the mood to come to the top of the stairs to greet him. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he called as loud as he dared, “Yes, darling, it’s me.”

“You’re early.”

“Didn’t Josie tell you that your son threw up all over me? I’m going to have to do something about that before the stain sets in. And then I want a good, long soak in the tub.”

“Before you do that, can you come up here a minute?”

“Can it not wait ten minutes while I sort myself out?”

“No, it can’t.”

John huffed, taking a breath to compose himself. None of the misfortunes of today were Anna’s fault. He should be flying up those stairs to take care of her every need after how poorly she’d seemed that morning, even if she had seemed so much brighter when he’d brought Jack back across. It was just…well, was ten minutes to himself too much to ask for? It wasn’t even if he was using them for selfish purposes. He just wanted to get rid of this bloody sick.

But he knew to deny Anna would be madness, so he dragged himself back along the hall to the stairs. Like a man headed for the gallows, he heaved himself upstairs, coming to a pause when he realised that there was yet another bloody cube halfway up. What on earth was this all about? He swiped it up, barely giving it a second glance: G.

There was another at the top of the stairs. John paused again, frowning. All right, this had to be some kind of mad game. It was the only thing he could think of. Like a trail. He felt very much like Hansel and Gretel, following the breadcrumbs to the witch’s door. For the first time since this morning, he felt the needle of anxiety prick. Was there something wrong? What voiceless scheme was at work here? Was Anna trying to tell him something?

He crept forward, the anxiety growing and roaring. All thoughts of the sick stain and the awful day he’d had were forgotten in the face of Anna’s strange behaviour. The stray A cube was nestled by the bathroom door.

Another N lay before their closed bedroom door. Swallowing, John bent to retrieve it, and took a deep breath, half-afraid of what he would find on the other side of the wood.

He pushed it open.

Anna stood in the middle of the room, still clad in her nightgown, her hair in a messy braid, looking so small in just her bare feet.

In her hands was one final block: T.

Standing there, the cogs in John’s head slowly began to turn, putting the pieces together.

P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T-

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.

He took a step forward on legs that were decidedly wobbly. For a wild moment, he wondered if his right leg would hold him, he was shaking so badly, like he had come down with the fever that he and Anna had been so sure had struck her just this morning. He tried to get his mouth to form words.

“Are you—is this—when did it—” he said, stumbling over the words, then shook his head, giving a thick, rasping laugh. “Say it, Anna. For the love of God, say it.”

The smile that crawled across her face was slow and wholly joyful. There was no other description for it: she simply lit up with unfettered wonder. She was beautiful.

Her voice wavered as she spoke. “It’s true, John. I’m pregnant.”

Pregnant.

Somehow, hearing that word spoken aloud made them seem even more surreal. Another baby. God, he had hoped that they could be so lucky again, but he hadn’t pinned all of his dreams on it. He would have been more than content with just their darling Jack, but they had always longed for a bigger family…

It seemed almost too good to be true.

“When—how—?” he stuttered, laughing.

“John Bates, if you don’t know how by now then I must be doing something seriously wrong,” she laughed in reply, the wide beam on her face almost threatening to split it in two. There were unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She switched the block into her left hand, her right moving down to cradle the tiny, tiny swell of her stomach. “And the when…well, the doctor says I’m a couple of months gone. I…I told him about the trouble we’d had conceiving our Jack, and he suggested that I make an appointment for the cerclage as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

She ducked her head, looking at him from under her lashes. “I know it’s not the most ideal time.”

“How do you make that one out?”

“Well, it’s been a hectic seven months as it is, what with Jack and then the move here just a few months ago. Now we’ve got the little kitten. I’ve named him Earl Grey, by the way.”

John stared, momentarily derailed as he stared at the tiny bundle of fur that was currently curled up on the end of their bed. “What?”

“Earl Grey,” she repeated, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Like the tea. And we worked for an earl for a very long time. I think it’s perfect.”

Her tone of voice just dared him to argue, but John blanched at the idea of having to shout Earl Grey for everyone to hear.

“Isn’t he a bit little for that name?” he asked desperately. “What’s wrong with Smoky?”

“Every grey cat from here to London is probably called Smoky,” came Anna’s prim reply. “Besides, he’ll grow into the name. He’ll be a majestic, regal earl by adulthood.”

The kitten rolled on the bed, squeaking. John couldn’t quite see that happening.

Anyway,” said Anna, turning their discussion swiftly away, “the point I was trying to make is this: we’re still trying to find our feet, and we haven’t got that much money left over. We’ve been trying to save every penny we can in case we need it on a rainy day, but now this completely changes everything.”

“What does it change?” he demanded. “It doesn’t change anything from where I stand, unless you count making life even more wonderful.”

“But the money,” she said hesitantly. “I’m absolutely overjoyed by this, please don’t mistake me, but—”

He crossed the room towards her in two strides. Before he could wrap her up, however, she kept him at arm’s length.

“Take the jacket off first,” she pleaded. “I don’t fancy being covered in baby sick.”

The knowledge had gone clean out of his mind. Chuckling, he shrugged it off, letting it pool on the floor. She seemed satisfied that he was now sick free, and nothing could stop him from wrapping her up in a fierce hug. She melted against him, her own arms coming up to squeeze him tight.

“Please, don’t worry,” he begged her. “We’ll make it work. We’ve always managed before, haven’t we? We’ll manage this too.”

“I thought we’d have longer to prepare for this,” she confessed. “Jack is only seven months old. We waited and tried for years before he came along, and now we’re pregnant again in such a short space of time?”

“Perhaps it really is true when they say worrying about having a child isn’t productive to having one,” he mused. “We’ve both been a lot happier in the last year. Maybe that’s all we needed. A true chance to enjoy being happy and content.”

“Silly beggar,” she admonished, her cheeks pinking, no doubt reflecting on some of those very happy times they had shared, the latest just the night before last. He leaned in, catching her mouth in a sweet kiss.

“Anytime we’re welcoming another member to our tribe is the right time for it to happen,” he said. “It’ll be nice for them, being so close in age. And Jack will be a wonderful big brother. He has your sweet temperament, after all.”

Anna’s eyes shimmered bright blue through the veil of tears. Before he could speak again, she pulled him to her, meshing her mouth against his in a firmer and more enthusiastic display of how much his words clearly meant to her. He let his hands drift to her hips, pulling her tighter to him and holding her there while her fingers threaded through his hair. After a few moments he pulled away, determined to tease her. After all, she managed to find some way to tease him almost every day.

“This morning you didn’t want me to catch what you had,” he said in amusement, though certainly not enjoying her change of heart any less than enthusiastically.

“I don’t think you can catch what I have, Mr. Bates,” she said tartly, and he chuckled. She had him there.

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But I can still be the proudest man around for everything that you’ve given me. I am so blessed to have you, and little Jack, and our new baby too. It’s beyond my wildest imaginings. Thank you so much, Anna.”

“I could hardly have done it alone,” she said, “but you’re welcome. I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“I couldn’t be more so,” he said. “How do you think Jack will take the news?”

“He’s far too young to understand any of it. He’ll only remember always having a sibling. I suppose it’s good in that way: he’ll never be jealous if he’s never known any different.”

“I still can’t wait to tell him. A big brother already. He’ll fill the role admirably.”

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Does Josie know?”

Anna dipped her head. “Yes, actually. I wanted you to be the first to know, but when she explained that she’d brought Jack and you were coming over just for a few minutes, I had to tell her in case you were delayed here a little longer than she expected. She was the one who suggested that you stay at home. She was over the moon, bless her.”

“She’s a good girl,” John mused. “And I will go back in a little while. But she’s right. I do want to spend a little time with my family.”

There was a cry from along the hall. Ten minutes ago, the sound might have made him wince, not because he didn’t love everything about his boy with his whole heart, but because he had wanted just a snatched moment to himself. Now, he wanted nothing more than to go to him, to reunite the family properly. All four of them together.

“Let’s go,” he murmured. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Despite what the doctor keeps telling us,” Anna teased, but she offered no resistance, instead slipping her hand into his and leading him away.

Jack was sitting up in his crib when they arrived. Thankfully, he was not crying. A small mercy indeed. John bent down to him, lifting him high into his arms. Anna’s hand came up to caress their son’s back, and John wrapped his spare arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side, keeping them all so close to him. His perfect, perfect family.

“Right then, young man,” he began, “we have some very important news for you.” He glanced one more time at Anna’s beaming face before sliding back to his son’s, who was smiling himself for the first time in a while. “You see, Mummy and I have just found out that you’re going to be a big brother…”

Jack gurgled, as if excited by the prospect, and suddenly every factor which had indicated that it would be a very bad day for John Bates was transformed.

He could hardly remember having a better one.

#John Bates #Anna Bates #Anna x Bates #Banna #Downton Abbey #my fanfiction #AnnaxBates #Anna/Bates #Team Bates #OTP: thank God and you

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josephkitchen0 · 6 years

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9 Common Homesteading Supplies and Hacks

Nifty gadgets have their place on the homestead but sometimes you just can’t go down that often-pricey path. Don’t get me wrong — I’m a hopeless fan of wonky inventions (think egg flashlights and nut wizards), but even if you have the cash, you might not feel like cramming yet another single-purpose item into your barn or basement. Enter common homesteading supplies and the hack. A time-honored tradition!

Inexpensive and creative solutions to everyday problems might be the most important tools in a backyard farmer’s toolbox. Here are a few of my favorites gleaned from several years raising vegetables, fruits, and animals on our suburban farm.

1. Zip Ties: Worth Their Weight in Gold

On our property, plastic cable ties are homesteading supplies that have been put into service in countless ways and, despite their low cost, typically last several years, even after very hot summers and sub-zero winters. From building cages to thwarting squirrels and all the many tasks in between, the lowly zip tie steps up to a starring role in various homesteading productions. They come in several lengths, colors, and styles but my go-to model is the 8-inch commercial electrical model — heavy-duty and rated to operate in temperatures ranging from -40 to 85 degrees Celsius, well within our Northeastern United States parameters.

How many will you need? Probably more than you think.

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Zip ties are strong but can also be employed for short-term uses. For example, if you don’t tighten them all the way, you can easily cut them off when they’re no longer needed. Or you can turn them around and use the non-tightening side for loose closures where you want to get in and out, for example, a door flap. Be careful, though. Zip ties are not toys, keep them out of reach of children! They can be very difficult to remove once fully closed.

Sample uses:

Create quick fences and covers – Attach poultry wire, netting, hardware cloth or any material you can stick a tie through to sticks, poles or pipes. I use a hole-punch to create openings when necessary.

Hang objects – Leave a gap in the zip to make a loop. You can make chains of zip ties to add length.

Attach objects – Signs, varmint deterrent lights, etc.

2. Cardboard Box: A Farmer’s Best Friend

All sizes can be handy but whenever a really large cardboard box comes my way, I stash it in the garage with my homesteading supplies for guaranteed future use. I prefer to employ the basic brown, made in the United States version and try to remove all plastic tape when feasible.

Cardboard can be called on for all kinds of quick and lightweight duties.

Temporary walls – Along the lines of cheap fencing ideas, cardboard is really useful to separate or corral poultry when evading capture. (The ducks take one look and know it’s pen-up time!)

Instant weed/lawn suppressor – You could dig it up but wouldn’t you rather get a head start by covering that pesky vegetation with sun-blocking cardboard first?

Animal carrier – With bedding in the bottom and holes for air, a sturdy cardboard box makes a great lightweight container for moving small animals. Whenever we have an injured duck, it’s easier for her to be transported in a box than to have to navigate the openings of a typical pet cage.

3. Sticks: Not Just for Poking

Over the years, I’ve collected scores of sticks in various lengths, widths and wood types. As a newbie, I figured that all sticks were equally durable but a few harsh summers and winters destroyed that fantasy. I still use the faded, split and splintered pieces of hardwood that I first bought for bean teepees and tomato stakes but this spring I graduated to long-lasting locust for what I hope will be the last veggie poles I ever need to purchase. Those locust stakes are now screwed into the sides of our cedar planters where they support our homemade poultry wire cage attached with (what else?!) hundreds of zip ties!

You can also use homesteading supplies like sticks for temporary fencing, trellising, keeping doors ajar for ventilation, digging holes and excavating hard-to-reach coop muck, securing string for edging, flagging objects underneath the heavy snow, hanging covers or shade cloth and many other uses I have yet to discover. Keep a range of weights from bamboo light to locust hefty and lengths up to the famed 10-foot pole. You can always trim to size as well as repurpose broken pieces for many years of service. Your farm dog will thank you for keeping an extra stick around the place, too!

4. The Never-Ending Straw Bale

Many articles, blog posts, and even a book have been written with straw bale gardening instructions extolling the virtues of the ordinary straw bale for small-scale vegetable gardening. I’m here to tell you about its special advantage for poultry owners as well. Every autumn before most folks have even finished their back-to-school shopping, I start scoping out the local farm stands, hoping to be the first to score as many straw bales as possible. Why? Straw (not hay, different item altogether) makes a fabulous slow-release fertilizer that when gathered into a bale (or pieces of a bale) forms the perfect container for next spring’s edible plants.

But that’s not all! My main reason for buying so many bales in the fall is to place them around the edges of the poultry pen for instant winter protection for the ducks. As the straw decays, the bales heat up. They get warm enough that you can feel it when sitting on them in the middle of a snowy yard. That means that not only do they block the sharp wind but they also add a little extra cozy to your coop.

In the spring, the bales will then resume their slow organic breakdown, inviting tasty worms, fungi, and other organisms to join the party. My ducks love to forage in between the bales, especially when the ground is still a bit hard for digging. Then, once the first brassica seedlings are ready to go, I either move the bales in one piece or, much easier, move them in slices to where I want to grow my vegetables that season. It takes all summer for most of the bale to feed the crops and if there’s any left, it goes on top of the harvested plots to protect the soil for next year’s planting.

5. Poultry Fencing

Whether you’re talking hexagonal opening (AKA poultry) or square (commonly known as hardware cloth), netting materials from heavy-duty metal to the lightweight fabric are common homesteading supplies that are enormously useful on any sub(urban) farm. Just like the sticks I can’t do without, I keep a wide selection of everything from raccoon resistant heavyweight wire with tiny 1/4 inch openings to plastic poultry netting, mostly useful to keep out ducks, not rodents. Here are some styles and uses.

Plastic hexagonal – Use this for temporary fencing or veggie cages for anything squirrels don’t like. (Rodents can chew holes in plastic.) It’s lightweight, inexpensive and easy to work with.

Metal hexagonal – Use this for veggie cages, temporary dome covers, aprons for cages where large varmints are a problem. It’s lightweight, inexpensive, and can usually be cut with scissors.

Plastic hardware cloth: Use this for all the same uses as hexagonal but it has smaller openings so it can be used as shade cloth. It’s easy to cut, but rodents can chew through.

Metal hardware cloth: Buy the one-inch and one-quarter-inch squares. Smaller opening hardware cloth for chicken coops is useful to protect sides of pens from raccoons. The larger openings in heavy gauge can be used for overnight accommodations when thoroughly secured and with at least an 18 inches of apron rim around the edge. The interior floor can be dug out and hardware cloth run underneath it as well. Wire-cutters are needed.

6. No-till Composting

Okay, so I realize this is heresy and it all depends on what you use and how you use it but I’ve stopped getting compost from a composter. What?! Yeah, it’s true. Partially it’s because I’m lazy, partially it’s because I never get enough compost from those fancy rotating set-ups to feed my huge vegetable habit. So, two years ago, I began directly tossing kitchen plant scraps (not meat, eggs, oil or cooked foods) into a new garden bed I had been trying to quick-start. In the fall, I then added some very weathered straw bale material and the next year, voila, super successful Brassica, and later that autumn out-of-control squash.

Last winter, I took it to the next level by choosing two off-the-ground planters and trying the same thing. Before the snow set in, I tossed a thin layer of veggie scraps onto the top of the soil and in the spring, gently turned them under, adding a little more potting soil to supplement what got lost in the previous season.

Take a look at the photos. The plants grown in the two no-till beds are going gangbusters. The compost-less beds, not so much. Are there other reasons? Sure. Each soil system is different but I think I can reasonably say that using a little veggie scrap without waiting for it to break down completely into crumbly compost is not a terrible way to get rid of your dinner trimmings. Do not go overboard, mind! You don’t want to create an anaerobic environment; you just want to protect the soil in the winter and add a little nutrient with very little work.

7. Incredible, Bendable Wire

You would think I’d have learned from my experience with zip ties but no. I started with a couple of crop covers and eventually realized my farmer ambitions outstripped the coverage supply. I sought out an agriculturally rated material and serendipitously discovered handy heavy gauge wire that’s sold along with it. Johnny’s Seeds offers varying amounts, weights, and lengths so of course, I bought the largest box of the longest length (100 pieces may, in fact, be a lifetime supply for a quarter-acre property but contact me in a few decades and I’ll let you know!)

Like the practical wooden stick and other homesteading supplies, a bendable wire can be useful for building lightweight structures such as cages or domes to fit odd-shaped plants (think bush variety pumpkins) or for hanging objects, crafting doors or flaps, flagging items under snow, and, of course, holding crop covers, shade cloth and the like. Best of all, they are made of seriously long-lasting, reusable galvanized steel. Super easy to store, I tie them into bundles and stack in the garage. Who knew a common homesteading supply like a skinny piece of wire could be so useful?

8. Strange Uses for Your 1990s Pantyhose

I’ll confess here that although I’m rather a fanatic about not using synthetic pesticides or fertilizers in my home or garden, my tomatoes do get some help from a store-bought friend. That said, there’s very little I won’t do to produce a bumper crop of pizza and pasta sauces. Among the weirder strategies I employ is a tip I gleaned from the classic reference tome, Carrots Love Tomatoes: Secrets of Companion Planting for Successful Gardening by Louise Riotte. In that book, Riotte talks about how lightning adds nitrogen to the soil when it strikes the ground. This is not to say that I think you should go all Ben Franklin in your tomato patch. Riotte’s suggestion is a much milder and safer method of harnessing electricity by using pantyhose tied both to the plant’s stalk and also to a supporting structure, such as a tomato cage. The static electricity generated by this connection is said to promote a bumper crop. Your neighbors may look at you funny but I’ve blogged about this and used this method for several years and have raised many delicious fruits to show for it.

9. More Purposes for the All-Purpose Rubber Bowl

You know ’em, you see ’em everywhere, you probably own a few of these plentiful homesteading supplies; the ubiquitous rubber pans that come in sizes from two quarts to fifteen gallons. These durable workhorses are indispensable for anyone raising small livestock. Great for food, water, bathing and carrying everything from eggs to straw and beyond.

My favorite rubber bowl hack, however, is the Instant Staircase. I guess you could really call it a coop hack since there are very few duck-specialized houses on the market. This means that to get a duck into a chicken coop you usually have to pick it up and place it inside because those cute little entry ladders are not well suited to waterfowl feet. I considered a wider, longer board but that would be heavy and unwieldy with no guarantee that the girls would want to “walk the plank.”

One cold day in February, I decided to use a couple of large rubber bowls instead. I picked each duck up and placed her on the secure surface then shooed her inside. It took no more than two nights for the ducks to get the drill. Now I leave the coop door open each afternoon so the girls can go inside when they’re ready. Thank goodness for no-slip rubber!

Quick & Easy Tips Using Common Homesteading Supplies

Your store-bought crop covers seen better days? Tear off the material and reuse the hoops underneath with row cover cloth.

Don’t have room to store another trellis or bean cage? Make a teepee out of sticks and burlap string. At the end of the season, pull it apart for other uses.

Need an entry flap for a veggie cage? Cut a flap slightly larger than the opening and attach one side with zip ties. Reverse a few zip ties (the non-binding direction) and use those to close the flap. This will not keep out super-wily rodents but may slow them down a bit!

Tomatoes grow better fruit when they’re buzz-pollinated. Grow lots of bumblebee-friendly flowering plants near your tomato patch and get ready for the most delicious “love apples” ever.

What are some of your favorite hacks using common homesteading supplies?

9 Common Homesteading Supplies and Hacks was originally posted by All About Chickens

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