#feel like i’m stuck in a sludge bucket the last few days

[rhabakoli]

Idiots

I’m so great at titles, I can’t believe it.  Just a sweet lil thing bc my actual WIPs are evading being worked on. 

Tagged: @dreamwritesimagines @riviawitch3r @this-is-whump-dammit

**

„It has to be a curse. I can’t explain it otherwise.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier, who has been whining for the last three days. It’s been raining for equally long, and it’s been a bit of a struggle.

Always clammy, always wet and cold; even Geralt had enough of it. But he knew this was just a built-up. There was a storm coming, a really fucking big one. And he’d prefer to be back home before it hit.

“Geralt, do something.”

“What am I supposed to do about the fucking weather?”

“I don’t know, growl at it! Glare at the clouds with those killer eyes of yours!” The wet sound of mud swallowing boot gave Geralt a sense of childish satisfaction. Jaskier was flailing, then cursing, before he quieted and merely grumbled under his breath as he tried to unlodge his boot.

Just a few paces later, Geralt stopped and turned to watch him. It was hopeless. He huffed and stalked over to grab him, lift him over his shoulder and set him on Roach, who snorted unhappily at that. The mare was coloured brownish grey from her hooves to her belly, her tail hung in thick tangles and she was wet down to her skin. She was not yet cold to the touch, but it wouldn’t take much longer.

Jaskier had let out a shriek and now sat astride the horse and looked glumly down at his naked toes. “Geralt.”

He wriggled them.

“My boot.”

Geralt grunted, shook his head. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

Affronted, the bard gasped. “But I like this pair!”

“They are holey anyways.” Geralt made to grab the reins, but Jaskier was faster.

“Geralt!”

“Jaskier!”

“Please!”

At that, he stopped. He was so tired. “Fine.” So he went back, careful not to get stuck himself, and pulled the stupid, rank boot out of the sludge. “Here.”

He threw it to the bard, then wiped his hand on his thigh and clicked his tongue to pull Roach along.

“Thank you.”

**

Night had come faster than anticipated, and they had to take shelter in a farmer’s stable. It was dry, it was warm, it was a nice change of pace.

Their clothes were hanging on ropes strung up in the beams, and with a bit of luck they’d be less soaked tomorrow. Maybe even just ‘damp’. Jaskier was sitting on a stool, a woollen blanket wrapped around his form, as he scrubbed his mud-coated boots, while he muttered on and on about Geralts attempt to leave his footwear behind. “Get me new ones, I can’t believe it.”

Other than that, the stable was filled with sounds of Roach and the sheep munching on hay and the occasional snort from the dog sleeping in a corner.

Geralt was busy cleaning up Roach, determined to get the worst of the dirt off. It would be easier to wait for it to dry, but they’d be on their way by that time and he’d have no time to brush it out. So he was positioned behind his mare, her tail in his hands and a bucket of water between his feet.

Jaskiers incessant nagging was constantly penetrating the peaceful atmosphere and Geralt slowly but surely had enough. He dropped the tail, pushed the bucket aside and snapped at his bard.

“What is you problem, Jaskier. It’s just boots!”

“It’s not just boots, okay. The have emotional value!”

He was still scrubbing, his knuckles white around the brush and his hair falling into his eyes. He wasn’t looking up at Geralt, but the witcher was too irked by the words to notice anyway.

Emotional- what?

“What the fuck?”

“They are important to me, you big lug of a man. You can’t seem to understand that concept, but please let the people who have feelings live them out, alright?”

Hot anger built inside his chest, just for a moment. Then it was replaced by cold, slimy disappointment. So he thought it too. How quaint.

“Pray tell, what is their value then? What have they done to be so important to you?”, he sneered. Jaskier raised his head, defiance written onto his face. “They have stood by me wherever I went for these last years, they have brought me back to you when I thought I had lost you.” 

He stood up, the stool toppling over as he went, and threw them at Geralt.  “They are the first gift you made me, you fucking idiot!”

Oh.

Oh.

Roach snorted and ducked her head deeper into the hay. Idiots.

Jaskier didn’t take notice of Geralt’s frozen figure, he just ranted on. “I am sorry that I have built an attachment to the dead animal covering my feet, but it’s served me well and carried me wherever I had to go, and I won’t have you abandoning them like worthless pieces of rotten leather.”

Geralt was still just standing there, staring.

Suddenly Jaskier felt very stupid and pathetic.

All his fight left him, and he rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I just- forget it, I’m talking mad, I-“

“You- you kept them all this time because I’ve bought them for you?”

Geralt wasn’t sure he’d understood, he had to ask, had to make sure.

Jaskier laughed bitterly, lowered his eyes to the floor. “I get if you rather have me go my own way tomorrow. I shall not bother you anymore. “

He startled when boots intruded his line of view, and literally jumped when a hand came to cup his chin and raise his head.

“Don’t you dare leave after yelling at me, Julian.”

“What?”

Geralt was smiling. The bastard was smiling, and now the bard knew why he tended not to. It would be devastating to anyone in his vicinity. They’d die.

It was bright and soft and adoring and sweet. None of those were words he’d ever associated with Geralt, but wow.

He was still busy staring at him, when the Witcher bent down, pulled him in and kissed him. Jaskier flailed, fell against Geralt’s broad chest and let out the most manly squeak to ever be heard.

“Shut up.”

He couldn’t supress a shiver at the rumbled words and went lax in Geralts arms as the kisses migrated from his lips to his neck.

“What are you doing?”

“Being grateful for your big mouth, Jask.”

Fingers were digging into his side, trailing down to his ass, driving Jaskier wild. He groaned and pressed closer, his body having a mind of it own. Fortunately, because his actual mind was blown away, empty, like a cave abandoned by all living beings.

“I’m so very grateful that you chose to tell me this. Because it means you won’t attack me for longing for you, Jask.”

Geralt took a deep breath, nuzzled the underside of Jaskiers jaw. “You have no idea how hard it is, to stay sane with your scent constantly in my nose.”

It was less overwhelming than the kissing, but it still melted Jaskiers insides. His brain started to piece together actual sentences, however.

“I was always questioning your sanity, Geralt.”

“Hm.” , he grunted, then pressed a chaste kiss to Jasks collarbone and straightened. He didn’t take his arm from around the bard though, and instead tried to spread out the blanket with one hand.

“You could just let me go, you know.”

Jaskier wasn’t gonna protest much, because- in Geralts arms? Safe, warm and loved? Hell yeah.

“Never. They will have to pry you out of my cold, stiff arms.”

“Creepy.”

“Shut up.”

Geralt laid his bard out, spread eagle on the blanket, softened by the hay below, and settled between his thighs. Jaskier reached for him, curled his arms around his shoulders. “So, you’ve been pining for me?”

“I don’t pine.”

His eyes were betraying his words though, as did the soft smirk on his lips.

“Sure you don’t.”

Geralt ducked, went for a kiss that Jaskier was almost too happy to reciprocate.

A very loud, very close howl interrupted them, and Jask tensed. That sounded way to close for his comfort. Or the sheep’s, for that matter. They grew restless, and the dog had awoken and now growled at the barn door. 

“Was that a wolf?”

Another howl, quieter, lower, answered.

Geralt looked down at his bard and snickered. “What, you wanna tell me you’re afraid?”

Jaskier looked up at him and shook his head. “Why would I be afraid of some wolves when I’m in the arms of the biggest and baddest wolf to have ever walked this earth?”

#Geraskier #Geralt x Jaskier #The Witcher

[yamithediaperdork]

wheel of diapers (wheel of time)

Rand was in the middle of working on a speech, meant to rally the troops together for his latest battle against the dark one.. when he heard a evil giggle. Knowing that nothing good ever followed THAT giggle he put his pencil down and slid his chair back looking around the room. "OK Mat.. where are you and what are you doing?" he called out into the room he shared with his best friend/Boyfriend/Little baby butt.

It was the last one that had him worried as lately Mat had been acting more and more like a little boy going though his terrible two's.which meant Rand was the one suffering, and he'd of put a stop to all the diaper stuff, if it wasn't for one little fact. He'd been the one to ask the little brat to start wearing to humor his daddy dom fetish and hadn't expected mat to go as all in as he had with it.

Hiding under the bed, Mat giggled again, he was in just a light grey t-shirt and thick cloth diapers that had barley made it under the bed and had to keep covering his mouth. He'd found some candys that some old people used to make poopies and he'd scarfed down 4 of them, and could feel them working. He loved being babied, and he loved the cuddles, but for Mat..the best thing about being a little diaper boy was the look on daddies face when he made poopies. And with four of these poop candies he was going to be super dee duper poopie! "Mat, I mean it, you better come out now unless you DON'T want pudding for desert tonight." Called daddy. The smirk dropped from the babies face and he scrambled to get out from under the bed, but having wet his diaper a few times while under it it had swelled..and he was stuck! "A-Ah! Daddy! I'm under the bed! but I'm stuck! HELP!" the helpless big toddler called out squirming and thrashing around.

Hearing Mat's panicked cry Rand signed and for a split second thought about leaving the dork to reap what he had sowed, but in the end he walked over to the bed and lifted up the corner of it and Mat who was still trying to get free practically poped out and barley stopped himself from bashing his head on a dresser. As the big toddler got up Rand groaned, he had JUST given the dork a bath this morning and he was filthy from head to toe now from dust and the like that had been under the bed. "I'd ask why you were hiding under the bed but I don't have the energy to spank you silly and give you a bath." Rand said and started towards the big toddler. "W-wait! I already HAD a bath t'day! And and I'm gonna go poopie soon!" mat whined and put his hands out. "..while it's true that you DID have a bath today, your dirty again..and How do you know your gonna be poopie soon?" Rand asked. The silly big toddler had actually begged and whined till rand in a moment of weakness had used his magic to remove the big toddlers potty training, something he regretted to this day. "O-Oh Um.. well see.." mat suddenly was giving his 'I'm so cute' smile and eyes and squirming, which.. never meant anything good. "Mat, I'm giving you to the count of three to fess up what you did or else when I spank you, I'll use the paddle." Rand said with a smirk. Rand INSTANTLY regretted the threat as mat yelped and the back of his diapers started to droop, with a horrible stench filling the room.

The sudden hot rush of poopies caught even mat by surprise and as he went to explain to daddy what he'd done a painful cramp hit him and he found himself hunching over, holding his tummy as wave after wave of poopies loaded his diapers. tears started to leak down his cheeks as he looked over his should, dropping to his knees, and saw that his fat diapered butt was quickly racing for his knee caps. it was a lord torrent of farts too and Mat, usually immune to his own stink found himself gagging at the rotten smell. "Mat!" Daddy cried out, and then raced over to hug the poor big toddler (while making several faces that normally Mat would of found VERY funny) "D-Daddy it hurts!" the big toddler whined. He'd of said more but at that instant the back of the diaper could take no more and the hot lava (because no want this was his poopies with how hot and smelly it was!) surged into the front of his diapers and the big toddler yowled as the sludge filled the front of it. "OH GOD WHY WON'T IT STOP!?" He cried out. "Shhh shhh..it's gonna be OK.. " rand said and stoked mat's hair and just hugged the poor boy as he FINALLY finished up.

the final damage was the diaper was barley staying around Mat's hips, and had ballooned out to a ridiculous size. even with all the layers of diapers the whole thing was stained a deep deep brown and the smell.. well even opening windows wasn't helping. thankfully Rand had gotten a stroller, normally used for punishment/to keep rand where he could keep a eye on him, it just made for safer transport from their hotel room to head outside. On the way out of the room of course they had the owner of the hotel giving them a death glare while he dealt with complaints about the smell and rand foresaw himself doing a LOT of extra work around the hotel to make up for this. Kid's who were playing outside turned to start and giggle and tease poor mat but once the smell hit them most ran away (with one little girl crying for her mommy) Getting the now dazed and out of it Mat out of the stroller, rand wondered for a brief second if the poor guy was just high off of his own fumes. before he could even THINK about changing the diaper, Rand would need to get Mat clean and to that extent he'd brought the big baby over to the wash tub that the cleaning staff used (and if you were willing to fork over extra coin, you could use it for a bath yourself) mat was whimpering and babbling in baby talk.. just total nonsense coming out and drool and spit bubbles came down his chin and rand knew this meant his usual big toddler was just in total baby mode. which meant finding out what had cased such a epic diaper filling wasn't going to happen for awhile. Still, there was work to be done and with slow deliberate movements Rand was able to get the smelly stinky diapers off of the poor guy. (though was it his imagination or was the local plant life swelling in response to the amount of 'fertilizer' in the air?) wiping him down as best he could, Rand left Mat with a rattle that the baby shook and coo'ed and gurgled. Rand smirked at that, normally Mat hated playing with baby toys. making his way over to the well he drew out a few buckets and filled the old wooden wash tub up (it took a few trips to get it to were he wanted and he of course kept a eye on his little stinker,who was just gurgling and kicking his legs in the air.) Finally with the tub filled enough, he used a minor heat spell to warm the water and came back over to the big baby. "who's ready for a tubby?" He asked in a sing song voice. the happy tone was all that mat recognized, or so rand assume by the silly grin the stinker gave and clapped his hands. Scooping him up and getting him in the tub, Rand quickly got the little guy washed up with some soap weed and then leaving him with some rubber duckies to play with picked up the soiled and ruined diaper and tossed them into the hotels latrine pit. there was just NO way rand could see them getting clean again, though this meant he'd be stuck with less diapers for mat till he could find anther seamstress to make more. which meant that Rand would be washing diapers more often till they found one. He still wanted to know just WHAT the little dork had done to make himself mess like that but that was a worry for anther day, as today he just enjoyed a more innocent side of mat who giggled and clapped and called out 'daddy!' as he came back. Yeah, having a boyfriend who was nothing but a total diaper baby was a labor, but it was Rand's labor and despite all the smells and tantrums, he wouldn't give it up for a instant.

The end

[huffleporg]

Chapter 4 - Everything in the Kitchen Sink | T | Ao3 from the beginning 

Down in the Beverage District, a work of investigative journalism into the rivalry between two coffee shops leads to four calls to the City Health Inspector's office from J.S., three detentions, two fires, and one broken sugar bowl.

Characters: Isadora Quagmire, Olivia Caliban, Duncan Quagmire, Jacques Snicket, Count Olaf, Kit Snicket, Violet Baudelaire, Lemony Snicket, Beatrice Baudelaire, Quigley Quagmire, Dewey Denouement, Jacquelyn Scieszka, Larry Your-Waiter, Klaus Baudelaire, Fiona, Bertrand Baudelaire

"at”s for those who have expressed interest in the past since the tags on Tumblr have been weird: @badasouefanficideas, @bxxkish-sister, @pretentiouslisp, @veryfierceduchess, @myqueenoliviacaliban, @abbie0007, @catatonicallyeuphonic, @whattheactualfuckuniverse, @citatious, @esme-squalor-is-bae, @catlovermeow11, @alerin-layent, @itsteddylupxn

And without further ado, the chapter:

The jeans weren’t even hers. After a quick assessment of her closet the night before, Isadora had realized that her wardrobe was woefully lacking in clothes that looked like they would suit or even could survive an afternoon working amongst the dirt and grime that was The Firebrand. Duncan had readily supplied her with a pair of his jeans, and Isadora had decided that the oversized Lachrymose Leech tee-shirt she had gotten as a joke last summer could be sacrificed for the sake of Duncan’s project.

Quigley had looked much more excited than Isadora knew she had looked when they had parted ways to head to work. With each step closer to The Firebrand, Isadora could feel her muscles tensen more, bracing for whatever was in store for her and Duncan on their first day of work. She wondered if it was normal to feel such apprehension before going into work on a first day anywhere or whether the anxious quickening of her heart was exclusive to approaching The Firebrand.

At least she had Duncan to enter the dismal cafe with.

“You’re late,” came an accented voice from a darkened corner. There was sound of a chair being scraped across the floor, and then their new boss emerged from the shadows, tucking something into his apron pocket.

“You never told us what time to come,” said Duncan defensively. He glanced over at Isadora as if to confirm, and when she offered him a nod, he continued, “We can’t be late if you didn’t give us a time to be here by.”

Using the same accent that he had the other day, Count Olaf continued, “The Prufrock Prep dismissal bell is at 2:05. The trolley ride takes 35 minutes. It’s five past three. You’re late.”

Confused, Isadora frowned, wondering how and why this man would know exactly what time school let out. “We had to change, like you told us to do,” said Isadora. “That meant that we missed the trolley and had to wait for the next one.”

The man gave the triplets an evaluative glance. “You should have changed faster.” He took a few steps closer to the twins. “I’ve done more complicated costume changes in less than a minute. Five minutes is more than enough time to get out of those uniforms and walk to the trolley stop. It’s less than a five minute walk from the academic building. Don’t miss the 2:15 trolley next time.”

The way he spoke to them, Isadora was tempted to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and storm out, but she held her tongue.

Ever the journalist, Duncan seemed to have other matters on his mind. “Did you go to Prufrock?” Duncan asked.

Count Olaf blinked. “What?” He seemed to be just as surprised Isadora was by Duncan’s question.

“Just, you seem to know an awful lot about Prufrock. Stuff that only students would know like the time it takes to get to the trolley stop from class,” Duncan explained. “So, it would follow that you went there.”

A grin quirked on Isadora’s face. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t put it together, but her brother was right.

“I don’t see why my educational past is any of your concern,” sneered Count Olaf.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. “Only curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Isadora said finishing the adage.

With an exhausted huff, the man fixed the two with a cold stare. “No, last I checked, the cat is dead and buried, but there are still posters the owners put up thinking puss will come home,” he said, his voice low.

As if a cold wind had blown through the shop, Isadora shuddered.

“Now you have wasted enough of my time,” Count Olaf continued. “So let’s begin your training.” And like a switch had been flicked, a genial smile bloomed on the man’s unshaven face. From the glint in his eyes, though, it seemed impossible for the expression to be anything but a mask. “Shall we begin your grand tour?”

The triplets knew that it wasn’t really a question, but still they both nodded.

Count Olaf spread his hands out and gestured around the empty cafe. “This is the shop.” He walked to the counter, the Quagmires following behind him. “It’s where we serve the stuff that is brewed. Coffee. Tea. Various foamy drinks. What you would expect.” He led them behind the counter, onto a mat caked and stained with sawdust and coffee. “Cash register. Not for you to touch.” He gestured to the space below the counter to where several mugs and plates were stored. “Some fine china for those who decide they want to dine in.”

Duncan bent down to pick up one of the greyed and chipped ceramic mugs. As he pulled it away, dust and strands of cobwebs came up.

“People very rarely want to dine in,” said Count Olaf, as if that excused the state. “That’s why we are fully stocked with paper and styrofoam cups.”

Duncan set the mug down on the rough wood counter and brushed the dust off onto his shirt.

“We’ve got the coffee maker, filters, beans, coffee grinder, pots…” He glanced around at the numerous instruments on the shelf against the wall. “Filters, decaf pot that no one ever orders from.” He grabbed the orange handled pot and turned it upside down over the sink. Rather than spill out, the coffee - or rather the sludge - oozed out. Too impatient to wait for the molasses-like mess to dribble into the sink, Count Olaf set the pot down. “We leave anything that’s dirty in the sink.”

Both triplets craned their necks to see into the stained and crowded sink. Mugs with crusts and discolored pots waited amongst the detris of so many cups of coffee and mugs of tea. Isadora wrinkled her nose reflexively.

“I will show you the back now.” Count Olaf strode to the dingy sheet acting as a curtain and pulled it back. Leaning forward, he called out, “Ladies. You’re needed.”

Isadora heard the sound of footsteps, and then two short women emerged from the back. The women both had identical hunches and both wore thick cat eyed glasses. For a triplet, identical twins wearing matching glasses and very similar clothing was hardly remarkable. What made Isadora almost stare at the women - before she realized what she was doing and then pretended to be fascinated with the display of tea boxes and tins - was the white makeup on their face. Isadora had seen pictures of geishas and paintings of women from the 18th century with a similar cosmetic aesthetic, but never before had she seen it on a real person, much less two.

“Twins, meet twins,” Count Olaf said.

The women stuck out their hands at the same time.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said the one on the right as the one on the left nodded.

“We’re actually not--” started Isadora, but as Duncan gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, she fell silent.

“Not what, dear?” asked the one on the left.

“Not going to shake our hands?” the one on the right said.

“That’s rude,” concluded the left one.

“No, um…” Isadora reached out to shake the closest woman’s hand. “I misspoke. Sorry. It’s very nice to meet you both.” She then shook the next woman’s hand, Duncan quickly following suit and offering his own greeting.

Count Olaf cleared his throat, “Old twins, I’m going to need you to watch the front while I show the new twins around.”

The glances exchanged between the four employees conveyed a distinctly unanimous opinion that absolutely no one needed to watch the cafe.

“Doug and Isabelle-”

“Duncan and Isadora,” Isadora corrected her boss sharply.

The man froze and did a double take. “Seriously? Your parents named you after the dancer?”

“Your parents named you ‘Count,’” retorted Isadora.

Not at all phased, Count Olaf said smoothly, “Nobody questioned Duke Ellington’s parents when they named him Duke. Or Earl Grey’s-”

“I don’t think Earl Grey was his actual name,” interjected Duncan. “And I don’t think he had anything to do with the tea.”

The man stood silently, considering. His pause made Isadora’s stomach begin to twist into a nervous knot, but finally Count Olaf said, “I no interest in or use for history. It’s caused enough trouble already, and I’m not paying you to discuss it. You’re here to clean. Now, let me show you the rest of The Firebrand.” His voice was soft, still in the flat, nasal accent that he had been using the day before. “Any objections.” His voice didn’t rise at the end, as it was not really a question.

“Lead the way,” said Duncan calmly.

Count Olaf lifted up the stained sheet, revealing a very narrow corridor with dark wood panels. A door stood just ajar enough for Isadora to see a cramped bathroom with a yellowed porcelain bowl and the green tank mounted high up on the wall with a chain dangling down. As her brother and her were ushered into the cramped hallway past the smelly “curtain”, she saw that there was another door.

“What’s in there?” asked Isadora.

Wordlessly, Count Olaf turned around and leaned forward to reach for the glass doorknob, and Isadora found herself holding her breath to prevent the stench of stale cigarettes radiating from her boss from overpowering her. The moment was brief, luckily. As Count Olaf drew back, Isadora could see the shadowy outline of a broom, a mop, a few buckets, a sink, and several cleaning products. Without the light in the closet on, she couldn’t be sure, but she was fairly confident that several items had spiderwebs and dust attached to them.

“You’ll find a lot of your supplies there,” Count Olaf said, boredly. He shut the door with a click.

The trio proceeded down the hallway, and with each step, the air seemed to grow hotter and stickier.

“This is the kitchen,” Count Olaf went on as they emerged into a steamy room. “It’s Friday, so the ladies are boiling the bagels they made yesterday and baking them.” He gestured around, though it was hard to see just what he was trying to indicate in the mist. “Once they’re done, you’ll clean the pots and tools, and whatever else those two tell you to clean.”

Isadora took a couple of hesitant steps forward. Squinting, she could make out the shape of an oven with a large vat on top of it. Several trays were on the counter, and even more had been piled up in the sink. Another couple of steps, and Isadora was able to make out the shape of sweaty, anemic bagels waiting to be boiled and baked sitting in trays on the countertop. With disgust, she took in the rest of the counter space in the kitchen that was occupied by at least a week’s worth of dirty mixing bowls, measuring cups, baking sheets, coffee cups, plates, and more, all stacked up so so precariously that Isadora wondered if her breath would send the whole messy pyramid crashing down to the floor. Or else one of the numerous flies that were buzzing around the sink would upset the whole balance.

“That’s a lot of bagels,” said Duncan, only a couple steps behind Isadora. “Do you really sell that many in a day?” The incredulity in Duncan’s voice was painfully obvious, but as they had never seen a customer here, it was impossible to avoid.

Count Olaf let out a sound that was halfway between a snort and scoff. “Of course not. People don’t come to The Firebrand for the bagels. They come for the coffee. No, we make batches of whatever type we’re running low on and then freeze them. Every night we leave a couple to defrost, and then the next morning you’ve got them ready for the four or five people who decide to order one. We do the same with the muffins. A batch of onion bagels can last us almost two weeks.”

Isadora frowned. “They can’t be particularly good.”

“No one comes here for the baked goods,” repeated Count Olaf. He motioned them to follow him further, and the steam began to clear, allowing the triplets to see a grey door. Rust trailed from each nail and facet, and something dark had been splattered across the front. Years of greasy handprints seemed to be smeared across the handle. “This is the refrigerator. You go in it to get to the freezer.”

“Where you keep the bagels and muffins,” said Duncan, as if he was still having trouble accepting the fact that everything baked fresh here wound up frozen.

“Oh, and scones,” remembered Count Olaf. “The twins made some scones a few weeks ago and we still haven’t sold all of them… we’ll have to defrost some for tomorrow.”

Duncan and Isadora exchanged looks of disgust at the thought of eating a weeks old scone.

The tour, unfortunately, continued as Count Olaf showed them a store room further down the hall. It was so packed with fragrant bags of coffee, boxes of tea, and the materials that were needed to make and serve them that the three of them had had to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder. As Count Olaf had gone on about his wares that people actually came for, Isadora had been aching to escape the cramped claustrophobic space. As soon as Count Olaf opened the door to the alleyway from the corridor Isadora wished that she were back in the aromatic cupboard.

Instinctively, Isadora held her nose. “What the-- what is that smell?” she asked, her stomach turning. She didn’t need to look too hard to find the source - a grimy and overflowing dumpster.

“Spoilt milk,” said Count Olaf lightly. “I would recommend holding your breath while you take the trash out, especially as the weather begins to warm up.” He stepped back inside the shop, and the triplets were all too eager to join him and shut the door behind them with a loud bang.

As the three of them went deeper into the back of The Firebrand, Count Olaf kicked along a cracked and stained ant trap, as if it were a stone and he were a young boy walking home from school. He even put his hands in his pockets as he spoke, “When you come in after school, business will be slow, but tomorrow morning when you come in, you will see what it’s really like here.”

With the safety of Count Olaf’s back to the two of them, Isadora and Duncan looked at each other.

‘Tomorrow?’ mouthed Isadora.

‘Sorry,’ said Duncan.

‘You owe me a Saturday morning.’

‘I know.’

Only Isadora didn’t catch what her brother was mouthing. Instead, she had stopped, staring at the wall past her brother. There had been many doors off of the hallway that ran the length of the coffee shop, and all of them bore scars and peeling paint that any old and not well kept building would have. This door, however, seemed to have been attacked. Splinters of unpolished wood stuck out from long, scraped out channels, as if a monster had dragged its claws down the top panel.

Duncan stopped beside her.

Before she could ask Duncan just what he thought had happened, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Isadora jumped and turned around to see Count Olaf glowering down at the two of them, his eyes shining even in the shadows of the hallway. “I think,” he said in a dangerously low voice that was almost like a rumble of thunder, “that it’s time you began your duties as employees.” He began to steer the triplets back towards the front of the coffee shop.

Knowing better than to protest, Isadora walked back the way they had came, dreading just what sort of task was waiting for them.

#Asoue #asoue fanfic #a series of unfortunate events #isadora quagmire #count olaf #my fic #the coffeeshop fire

[aegyotrashcan]

Changing Seasons At The Army Base

Character: Sooyoung (SNSD) Word count: 2023 Summary: While volunteering for the army, Sooyoung finds herself drawn to a lonely soldier | #fluff

a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for! And I chose Sooyoung since there’s not enough Sooyoung around :/

Though the winter had been long, the first signs of the season changing began to bloom, the days getting longer, air less bitter, flowers beginning to sprout. Spring was coming. And this was a Spring unlike any other that Sooyoung had experienced, as it was the season when Sooyoung met you.

She hadn't noticed you at first, keeping to yourself and sticking to the shadows. Her and the other Girls Generation girls had volunteered for the Army, not only for publicity purposes, but to also help those protecting their country. It was something that Sooyoung aimed to do with pride, head held high no matter what her job was. Fetch water? Sure. Make coffee? No problem. Her jobs were mainly assistance type, due to her lack of training. But she didn't care. Even just quenching the thirst of hard working soldiers was enough for her.

"This is boring," Hyoyeon sighs, stacking boxes on top of one another. She had to transport them to another room, at the other end of the building, but why? What did it matter? They would still be boxes, just in a different room. "We've done nothing but unimportant things. It's boring."

"Don't think like that," Sooyoung says. The two had been paired together to move the boxes, the other girls tasked with cleaning up the kitchen. "These people are keeping us safe. You should be grateful to be around them." She was very respectful to those that worked hard and to her seniors. No matter how famous she got, Sooyoung's head remained normal sized. Respecting those above you was how she had been raised and she didn't plan on ever forgetting that.

With a sigh, Hyoyeon followed after Sooyoung as they both marched to the other storage room. They passed by a lonesome soldier, sipping coffee in the hallway, just outside the eating quarters. By the time they dropped the boxes off and were making their way back, that soldier was gone.

"I wonder how the girls are doing," Sooyoung wonders. Her and Hyoyeon paused at the kitchen entrance, immediately spotting Taeyeon who was smiling politely in the midst of a group of male soldiers, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Next to this group was the same soldier who had been alone, you, and you were still alone. The table looked so much bigger when only one person was sat at it.

While laughing at Taeyeon's pain, both women hurried back to their task. As they passed once again with arms full of boxes, Sooyoung peaked in but didn't have the time to spot you. It was only when they came back, that she could look in properly. You were still sitting by yourself.

"Do you want to take a break?" Sooyoung asks and before she had finished the sentence, Hyoyeon is nodding and dragging her into the semi-busy canteen.

A few of the male soldiers perk up, whistling and waving at the famous beauties. One soldier even started to chant the lyrics to "Gee." Hyoyeon plays along, doing the dance and earning herself a round of applause. But Sooyoung carries on, eyes lingering on you as you stirred a spoon through another cup of coffee.

"Hey!" Tiffany greets, hunched over as she wiped a table clean. "Are you guys done?"

"No, just taking a break! Where are the others?"

"Ah, they were given another job. So it's just me and Seohyun left."

"Oh."

"Do you want something? There's still some leftovers in the kitchen and tea or coffee can be got there, by the water fountain."

"I see them now, thank you, I'm just going to get some tea." But Sooyoung quickly finds out that her favourite tea was sold out and instead settles for coffee, the cheap kind that made her heart race, but it was better than nothing. Without a second thought, she sits at your table.

You look up in shock.

An idol had just sat across from you. And not just any idol, but a member of Girls Generation, pioneers for following girl groups, queens of performing and variety shows. But more than that, it was your bias. The camera's did no justice to her beauty, you thought, but it was just as well. Seeing someone so beautiful made your stomach do flips, so maybe it was good that camera's couldn't convey that. Otherwise, audiences would be unable to handle her beauty.

"Hey," Sooyoung greets casually, crossing her legs. "What's your name?" She doesn't bother to introduce herself. If your awe struck look is anything to go by, you already know who she is.

"Y/N."

"Why are you all alone?"

Your brows draw together, hand motioning to your mouth. "Not good," you hesitate, "Bad Korean." You struggled to connect with soldiers, unable to express yourself or even understand their jokes. This left you feeling isolated, no one to talk to after hours of training.

Sooyoung's face lights up in understanding. "Oh, so that's why you're alone! Would you like some help with your Korean?" She was no teacher by any means but she could try, for a soldier and for a person who looked so lonely.

"Really? You sure?"

"Sure! I'm sure Hyoyeon won't mind covering for me anyway."

Hyoyeon, on her third performance and currently showing off the choreo of "Run Devil Run" to impressed soldiers, stopped.

"What?"

A day was not enough to become fluent in a language but at least you better understood the difference between formal and informal language, something necessary in general but especially in the army. Speaking informally to the wrong superior may just leave you in hot water.

"Thank you," you say formally. "I really appreciate your help today."

"There's no need for formalities," Sooyoung says, pushing the many empty cups aside to pat your hand in a friendly manner. "We're friends now, right? So you can use informal language with me."

The canteen was entirely empty, everyone having left at some point or another during Sooyoung's impromptu lesson. So when the door slammed open, you and her flinched.

"Yah, there you are!" Sunny stomped in, wiping sweat off her brow. "We searched everywhere for you, c'mon, we're going now!"

Sooyoung says her goodbye to you and follows after her unnie, leaving you to watch her retreating figure in awe. What a beautiful woman, both inside and out.

Spring transitioned to Autumn in what felt like the blink of an eye. Leaves turned orange and yellow and fell to the floor, on top of dying flowers and puddles. Rain came frequently this Autumn, starting off mild but growing more frigid as time passed. Winter now felt just around the corner.

The rain peppered down onto the army base, turned the mud into sludge as you crawled through it, head ducked to avoid the net above you. Your fellow soldiers were on either side of you, in the same position as you. Commands were being yelled and for once, you understood them.

"Seunghyun, duck down more!"

"Y/N, use your legs to push yourself forward, not just arms, you'll move faster!"

"Changyun, pick up the pace!"

By the time the drill had ended, mud had caked on your clothes and a mixture of sweat and rain ensured your hair was stuck to you in the most uncomfortable manner. None of that bothered you as much as Sooyoung seeing you like this but you didn't know why. No, that was a lie, you did know. You thought she was the greatest miracle to walk the Earth. However, you were a soldier, you looked this horrible quite often. Sooyoung knew this. So why did your appearance matter so much then?

Once again, you knew the answer.

You tried to rush past the soldiers you had trained with, to get into the shower first and meet up with Sooyoung before she finished for the day, while looking clean. They shouted after you, playfully cursing and whipping their towels at you. A half hour later, you were squeaky clean and walking the halls of the barracks, hoping to catch sight of Sooyoung or at least her friends.

But they saw you before you saw them.

"Ah, Y/N!"

You jumped in surprise, turning on your heel.

Yoona was propping a mop and bucket against the wall, to be able to talk to you properly. "Are you looking for Sooyoung?"

For some reason, her question made you blush. "Y - yes."

"She said she's waiting for you where you both met. She said you would know where that was." You thanked her and rushed off, unaware of her growing smile as you leave. "Aish, so cute," she mumbles to herself.

In the canteen, Sooyoung sat at the table she had first spoken to you. A group of soldiers sat on either side of her, one of the female soldiers trying to engage her in conversation. "Noona, do you want to sit with us?"

"No, thank you, I'm waiting for someone." You hear her reply, before she catches sight of you coming closer. "Ah, here they are!"

You sat across from her, painfully aware of the soldiers that watched in envy at you sitting so casually with her. Many soldiers had tried to pry information out of you, like her phone number or if you had been intimate. It seemed like your friendship was the talk of the base.

"I got you some green tea, since it's healthier than the coal-like coffee you always drink. But," she looks into the cup dejectedly, sliding it across the table to you, "it's ice cold now."

"It's fine, I'll drink it deliciously regardless. Thank you."

"Your Korean is getting better!"

"Thank you. A soldier I'm bunked with is also helping me so my Korean has come a long way."

She wasn't sure why, but that upset her. She was your teacher, the one who had made an effort to befriend you when you were all alone. Who did that soldier think they were? But pushing that aside, she instead smiles.

"How was training?"

Small talk is exchanged, time passing by quicker than either of you would like. Once again, you're both the last two in the canteen. And it's almost time for her to leave.

"You know, I'm almost done volunteering," she tells you.

"Oh?" Your heart sunk.

"Yeah. We've got a new comeback in a few weeks so we have to focus on that now. I really enjoyed volunteering here though. And getting to know you. But just because I'm leaving soon, doesn't mean that we can never talk again."

Your shoulders had slumped at her news but now they picked up, back straightening to attention. "We can still be friends?"

"No. I don't want to be friends anymore. Check the bottom of your cup."

You lift the Styrofoam cup and spot a phone number scrawled on the bottom.

"Call me sometime. But only if it's for a date. I'm going to hang up if you want me to come back here and just sweep floors. And a word of advice: I like Italian food."

The door slammed open again, another one of her members marching in. "Sooyoung unnie, our shift is over! Are you coming?" Patiently, Seohyun waits by the door as Sooyoung gets to her feet, shooting you a quick wink before following after her.

You stare once more at her phone number, wondering how everything had led to this. A year ago, you would never have imagined that something like this would happen. Yet here you were, staring at the number of Sooyoung, no doubt the most amazing woman you've ever met.

The door slammed open again.

"There you are! You said you would come by at five, remember? You need to improve your pronunciation!" Your bunk mate was tapping his foot, waving his wrist in the air that his watch was strapped to. "Do you know what time it is now, do you? Wait," he looks around, "you were just sitting here? All alone? Is something up?"

"No, no, everything's fine," you say, standing up, "Everything's great actually. Hey, do you know any good Italian restaurants nearby?"

#girls generation #snsd #girls generation scenarios #snsd scenarios #sooyoung #choi sooyoung #sooyoung scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios #snsd fluff #kpop fluff scenarios #kpop fluff