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strawberrystepmom · 1 year ago

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pairing: vampire!natsuo todoroki x f!reader

word count: 3.5k

about: natsuo is handsome, well dressed, charming, and everything you’ve ever wanted but something tells you there’s more to him than meets the eye - given you can only see him after the sun sets.

contents: sfw, no smut here but suggestive behavior in the final scene. modern au, the todoroki family are vampires, natsuo is mid twenties and so is reader, a scene containing touya, fuyumi, and shoto, meet cute, reader struggles to sleep at night, mentions of blood. i will be further elaborating on this dynamic/au in the future!

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! welcome to week three! this is just good ol fashioned halloween romcom nonsense you'd come to expect from me. natsuo was the pinkprint and deserves his time in the sun so this is the first of TWO stories about him. the next will have smut, pinkie swear, but in the meantime hopefully this is something everyone can enjoy! thank you for reading ♡

Natsuo Todoroki, at his core, is a morning person.

How is one a vampire and a morning person? The two ideas seem contradictory but it’s just who he is, unable to be changed no matter how much time passes.

As a child, he would solemnly park himself at window sills and wrap himself up in the complicated and lacy curtains his mother dressed them in to keep light from getting inside. Waking with the sweet song of the birds outside his own heavy curtained windows, he’d watch the orange ball rise higher and higher into the sea of blue that it would come to rest in, only to be pulled away by his older siblings or his mother tutting at him for messing with the curtains again.

He wondered what it would be like to be the sun. Bright and blazing, warming everyone around him without effort. It’s just what the sun naturally does.

Now, as an adult, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his scrubs after his shift in the emergency department ends and wonders what it must be like to be the sun as he wanders out onto the streets, zipping his jacket up over his chest and sinking into the warmth. It’s cold and wet in a way that is typical of an October night, the sliver of the moon sinking lower and lower as the sun begins to make her ascent to start the day.

He works his overnight shift for obvious reasons.

Dr. Todoroki’s reputation as affable and easy to work with is something the entire shift celebrates when he’s scheduled. He is well liked but nobody bothers to ask him to stick around once the shift is over because he’ll turn down the offers anyway.

There’s nothing more that he enjoys than his walks before dawn. It’s the only time he can even get this close to daylight, to feel the world heat up while he remains cold.

Tonight, though, he isn’t alone on his walk and he’s all too acutely aware of where you walk several feet away from him on the adjacent sidewalk. He smells you long before he sees you, one of his fangs that keeps retracted at all times jutting out of his jaw and slicing his lip, and after verifying he isn’t bleeding he decides to keep a respectable distance despite his concern for your well being.

Why in the world are you out walking the city sidewalks by yourself at 3:58 AM?

You notice him, tall and broad and wearing green scrubs that obviously indicate he just got done working at the hospital, but you keep your distance. Walking the city is a choice you make well aware of the danger that could befall you but you also live by the “don’t start any and there won’t be any” mantra when it comes to trouble. So far it has served you well but it isn’t like you’ve ventured far from where you live, only around 6 blocks away from your tiny interior apartment.

You struggle to sleep at night, trying every remedy under the sun but it never comes, so you walk until you can’t think any longer. You pace until you stumble into your home after the sun rises, almost too exhausted to move and then finally you are tired enough to sleep.

Looking around the sidewalk, you splash in a puddle and hear a chuckle from the sidewalk across from you. Natsuo stands, hands still buried in his pocket, glancing at you from the corner of his eye and curiosity gets the better of you so you turn in his direction with your arms folded across your chest.

“What’s so funny?” Your tone is light hearted and he catches onto it immediately, gray eyes casting you more than a sidelong glance. The distance between the two of you keeps him from getting too good of a look at you but he likes what he can see.

Natsuo finds you undeniably attractive, there’s something sweet about you besides your scent, and it makes him even more anxious to know you’re pacing all alone. The area around the hospital tends to be pretty safe but he worries what would happen if you went further down the road, where the amount of street lights grows fewer the further you go into the residential areas. So he bites, simply in an effort to make sure that you’re alright and will be okay after he departs.

“You, I guess.”

You laugh and he feels a thousand sunrises in his chest. Whatever he witnessed through curtains, whatever he has seen rising above the horizon like a beautiful balloon in the sky will never compare to this. He isn’t sure how to act so he slaps his hands against his thighs, shrugging and offering his signature Dr. Todoroki grin, toothsome and bright.

“I’ll be here all week.”

There’s an undeniable pull between you and this man but you stop just short of walking across the street. He seems safe and trustworthy, a good haircut and a killer smile but all of those traits were also attributed to Ted Bundy at one point or another so you decide to play it safe and stay in your place across from him, arms folded over your chest to ward off the chill in the air.

He watches your body language change and tries to match it the best that he can, keeping his hands buried in his pockets and his chin tucked into the collar of his jacket. Making you anxious is the last thing he wants and he won’t prod if you aren’t interested but his gut tells him to take a chance, to break the silence and see where it gets him.

So he does.

“Seriously though, why are you out here at this time of night?”

Shrugging, you squeeze yourself where your arms are wrapped over your torso. It’s a soothing action, the equivalent of a hug. You feel better after it.

“Do you want the long story or the short one?”

“Whichever you’re most comfortable sharing.”

He chuckles again and you focus on his face, deep dimples visible even from several feet away and your heart beats hard against your chest. He’s handsome, he’s funny, he’s obviously employed…you shake your head to loosen this line of thinking, still holding yourself tightly when he takes the steps toward you to close the gap. You hop back from the edge of the sidewalk slightly, keeping a bit of distance between the two of you, and Natsuo feels that ache in his upper jaw that indicates his teeth are going to descend.

He takes ten steps to the side of you, leaving ample room between your bodies, and the ache stops enough that he can focus on what you’re about to say. You appreciate how respectful he is of your space although you have no idea his reasons aren’t wholly altruistic and it softens you toward the man further.

“I have never really slept well at night,” you start and he hums empathetically. He understands more than you could begin to know. “Even when I was a kid, it’s like sleep terrified me. Closing my eyes and not thinking and just being for a while. What could be more terrifying than not overthinking all night?”

“I get it. I have the same problem, that’s why I’m on overnights.”

You nod, smiling at him.

"Good to know there's someone else that doesn't have good luck with melatonin gummies."

A kindred spirit. Perhaps that's why you still feel so drawn to him despite the ten big steps between your bodies and you relax for the first time since he laughed at you, taking the time to really look at him now that he's so close.

He's just as handsome as you imagined when your mind was filling in blanks from across the street, hair as white as snow, tanned complexion, gray eyes. It's intimidating to see a man who looks like he belongs in the pages of a magazine face to face, much less one who is obviously flirting with you and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

Noticing your discomfort, he decides to introduce himself.

"I'm Natsuo. I'm a doctor." He cringes at himself upon realizing what he just said but you smile, arms still folded but posture slackening. "I don't know why I felt the need to tell you that."

You introduce yourself and he takes the time to memorize your name, repeating it and savoring the feeling of it across his tongue. A name as pretty as the person carrying it.

"It's okay, at least I know that you aren't some creep that stole a pair of scrubs off of the dude you just beat down for them. Unless..."

Natsuo laughs and heat rushes to your cheeks.

"Nah, I'm more of a lover than a fighter. My fatal flaw some might say."

You laugh and that same feeling blooms within him, rivaling the sun that is steadily beginning to rise over the buildings in the distance. He sighs when he sees it, removing his hand from his pocket and rubbing it over his face.

"I don't want to be weird or anything but I do this every night and..." he trails off, uncertain of what he wants to ask you, but you seem to get the message.

"I do, too. Same place and same time?"

Smiling, he nods and begins to walk in the direction opposite you toward where his car is parked at the hospital. He has to get home before the sun rises and he'll be cutting it close if he continues to slow play his departure but it's worth it for another second spent around you.

"Thanks for tonight. I needed it," you admit aloud and his ears turn red in response, bright and vivid through the snowy white hair barely covering them.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

“Where do you think you’re off to lookin’ so pretty?”

Natsuo rolls his eyes as he readjusts the buttons of the long sleeved shirt he donned just for the occasion of the evening while his brother reaches up and attempts to ruffle his meticulously spiked hair. It isn’t hard work for him to dodge his shorter brother but he shoves him with his shoulder anyway, frowning.

“Stop it, Touya. I’m not going anywhere you need to know about.”

The thing about saying those words in reference to you, feeling them leave his lips in shapes he would rather not experience, is that they make his stomach flip. Anxiety turns the organ inside out, the man sighing through an army of uneasy butterflies in his stomach. He knows he can’t tell anyone about you, least of all his family. They have their own secrets but they’ve always strictly forbidden the taboo romance between a vampire and a human knowing it only ends in pain.

He’ll risk the trouble for you, though.

You - sweet, easy going, beautiful. Glowing with life beneath the dimly lit booths you snuggle in to press your knees against his long after the sun has set. Grinning as you grab his hand beneath the surface of the bar four blocks away from your apartment and two away from the hospital, the floors sticky with substances neither of you have cared to imagine.

It has been months since that fateful first dawn walk, the two of you making a habit out of striding side by side. Natsuo ignores the ache in his jaw, you ignore the way he hasn't asked you for anything physical yet beyond holding hands, assuming he's just a little old fashioned.

“I’m starting to think you have a secret, little brother.”

He's keeping secrets from more than just Touya; the guilt gnaws at him if he thinks about it too long so he doesn't.

Natsuo shakes his head and raises his brows, a smirk playing across his lips. He happens to know where his own brother goes after the sun sets, eagerly bringing books and paintings to the home of the vampire that has been alleged to have started their family curse by biting Enji, their father; a woman perpetually 26 despite the many many centuries that have passed since her turn.

“No worse than the one you’re keeping, I can assure you that.”

With that, Touya clears his throat and takes his space, fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants rather than making eye contact with his brother. Caught red handed and he knows it, he chooses to play offense rather than explain himself.

“You know about that?”

His younger brother smiles and claps him on the back with a nod.

“Keep mine and I’ll keep yours?”

“Obviously, dumbass.”

Taking a deep breath, Natsuo rolls his shoulders and lifts his hands to his hair, fingers running through it to calm him down. He yanks at the strands for a moment, thick fingers twining between the white strands, and Touya wonders what has him so uncertain.

It’s not like he’s dating a human.

“I’m seeing someone and we have a date tonight.”

Oh, he’s dating a human.

“Jesus, Natsu,” Touya’s brows pinch together in the middle and he wraps an arm around his brothers’ shoulder, pulling him to his side. “You’re such a simp.”

Scoffing, the taller of the two looks down at his brother and frowns. He’s never truly astounded by Touya’s audacity but it does catch him off guard considering the only bigger rule you can break than consorting with a human in the Todoroki household is the one he’s currently attempting to bend.

“Who taught you that word? Your thousand year old girlfriend?” Touya returns his scoff, shoving him with the arm that isn’t wrapped around his shoulder and raising his voice. “She isn’t a thousand fuckin-”

Before he can finish the sentence, Fuyumi peaks around the corner and arches her brow wordlessly. Neither of the men can hide anything from their older sister so they don't bother, scooting over to let her into Natsuo's walk in closet just like they used to do as children when they were discussing the events of the world.

"So you're both breaking the big two?"

Natsuo sighs and nods sadly but Touya chuckles, clapping his sister on the shoulder just as he did his brother. That's one thing the siblings have always appreciated about one another - everyone is equal. Equal to give shit to, equal to protect, even Shouto who they all go to pains to take care of even more than the older siblings do one another.

"Please don't tell dad," Natsuo isn't above begging if it means he gets to keep you. He looks up at his sister through his lashes and she smiles back at him. "Of course, Natsu. We're all breaking some rule at the end of the day."

Both of her brothers raise their eyebrows and she shrugs, zipping her lips dramatically while the youngest of the four peeks around the corner with a deadpan glance.

"What are you guys doing in here?"

They look at his mismatched eyes and bunch together, making enough room for the fourth of them to squeeze inside.

"Natsuo's dating a human."

Fuyumi and Natsuo open their mouth to gasp and Shouto shakes his head. How his elder siblings haven't noticed at this point is beyond him, given Natsuo narrowly stumbles in the door as the sun rises every single morning, but the youngest has always been the most astute of the bunch.

"Yeah, obviously. He reeks of her every time he comes home."

Despite the terror of being caught, Natsuo belly laughs. There's nobody else he could be shoved in a closet with, admitting to lying to their parents and breaking the codes of honor the entire family have taken seriously as long as they've existed.

They all have secrets, Fuyumi was right. He is relieved and he feels full of love, group hugging his siblings and squeezing them as tightly as he can until all three start to groan and slap at his biceps.

"Okay well now that the cat is out of the bag can you guys leave me alone? I'm already running late."

Fuyumi and Shouto are the easy sells, wishing him luck and leaving to go gossip across the house but Touya sticks around, looking at his little brother that has become a full grown man with his own life and career and apparently, love.

He's proud but he'll never say it out loud instead choosing to further antagonize.

"Does she know?"

Natsuo shakes his head and Touya hisses through his teeth, clapping his brother on the shoulder and walking out of the closet.

"Good luck with that."

He knows that he'll need it.

"Do you want to come inside?"

This is the first time you've offered the option to Natsuo, his discomfort with any physical affection keeping you from broaching the subject this far, but the time feels right. The two of you spent the evening at an outdoor art show, admiring pottery and painting with your hands joined.

You are undeniably attracted to this man and you hope that you aren't misreading his affection toward you as more than simple friendliness, your evenings spent with him some of the best you've had since you can remember. Your hands remain linked, fingers twined and dangling in the small space between your bodies where you both lean against the frame of your front door.

Natsuo smiles down at you and it feels like the world disappears, walls and floors and atmosphere melting into something that doesn't matter when he looks at you. You've known it for awhile but there's no denying it - you're in love with him and asking him to spend the night, or morning rather, feels like the most logical next step.

His hesitation makes you doubt yourself, though.

"You don't have to, Natsuo. I know you're busy an-" he cuts you off by grasping your cheek with his free hand, thumb running along the soft skin beneath it. He has never been this close to you before, his teeth aching despite his self restraint, and he knows that tonight he must decide to be honest or leave you behind.

The thought of leaving you behind breaks his heart. You are the sun that he has so badly craved his entire life and there's no way he can continue without you, even if it means telling the truth and putting you both in the way of trouble in the process.

"I want to."

Smiling, you reach for the door and unlock it, keying in the code that you know he watches. You hope he has it memorized, if not you'll remind him again later. The lock unlatches, a mechanical whirring in the door, and as soon as the door opens he has you pulled against his body.

Pressed against the door, he finally kisses you. It's hungry, something raw and fiery beneath his exterior coming to the surface and you know that you'd let him have every bit of you right here on the floor if he wanted it. The scent of his cologne and the feel of his hands across your sweater clad body make you moan into his mouth and you yelp when something pokes your lip, assuming he nipped you a little harder than intended.

Mortified, Natsuo backs away from you with wide eyes and you see his tooth poking out of his top lip. The tip of it is dotted with blood from your lip and he backs away from you unable to hide his horror.

"I'm so sorry, I..." he mumbles a string of apologies and you put your hands on his chest to stop him, close enough to him that his body reacts naturally and his second fang descends through his jaw and peeks out of his top lip to join the first.

Your wide eyes gaze at him but hold no fear and he marvels at you. You are so trusting, so brave, so kind despite now knowing he's a...

"Vampire."

It takes all of you to contain the smile on your face from becoming too big when the word leaves your lips. You had an inkling something was different about him but you never assumed it would be this.

Dr. Natsuo Todoroki, your walking buddy, your companion, is a vampire.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Using the grip you have on his chest, you pull him down until he's face level with you. The same smile dances across your face and you waste no time kissing him for real this time, paying no mind to the way he whimpers when his tongue laves over the small puncture wounds his teeth have left on your bottom lip. You let him lick over the spots until he gets his fill, head swimming and heart full.

"Yeah, me too, because I would have done all of this months ago."

Natsuo laughs, kissing you again. His brows knit together when he laps at another pinprick of blood on your lips, another sweet groan leaving him.

You taste as good as you smell and his instincts tell him that you've just given him a tiny taste of all you're willing to offer.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #todoroki natsuo x reader #kendall writes #thot-o-ween 2023

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zephtheduck · 6 months ago

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Stuff I've heard at school: Part 16

P1: "As long as it doesn't bother the people with OCD then it's okay"

P2: "And who cares if your shirt comes undone"

My imaginary friend is Jeremy, what's yours? ADOLF HITLER!

P1: "Double it and give it to the next person"

P2: "Double your GAY and give it to the next person??"

P1: "Yeahhhh"

You're autistic AND gay! You're a nightmare to interior design!

I love Hozier! That funky little bog man has my soul in a chokehold

I fucking hate that felt-faced freak (about a French puppet pineapple)

My baseball playing dad snooped through my yarn

When two chairs love each other very much…

I don't wanna read French I have a headache. I don't wanna HEAR French, I have a HEADACHE!

*Teacher walks in wearing a Boston Bruins jersey, immediate sounds of booing*

P1: When I say skin color I mean my skin color (brown)

P2: can't really argue with that

P1: "I'm not going to give you the context, I'm only going to say one thing, FUCK women"

P2: "That's probably the right thing to say to the lesbian"

Ciel hasn't even entered the chat yet and we're using his name in vain

Pass the gauntlet or get cancer

Oh yeah, sorry I killed you, at least you're alive now

Yeah, you have to be a good classmate, and donate your liver

P1: "You should eat, oranges! Orange slices"

P2: "How is that going to help?"

P1: "The power of- the power of-"

P2: "The power of vitamins?"

P1: "The power of Asians"

First word, happening to be a bad one. Very first word of the day.

Bro got leukemia and dipped, like I never met him, my dad never met him

P1: "Give him a hot chocolate"

P2: "He'll die if he has a warm drink-"

P1: "Then give him cold chocolate??"

P2: "You mean chocolate milk?"

What is the up guys *arms crossed, peace signs*

P1, very aggressively: What does you law teacher tell you guys every day?!

P2: Have a good day, stay in school, don't do drugs

P1: And what did you do?

P1: I'm having a bad day, I've been skipping school, and I'm on drugs

P1: "hey white people"

looks of confusion at the one brown member

P2: I'm not white?

P1: Oh. well you're an honorary white. a half-white

P2: Half-white! I have partial rights now.

somebody in this hallway smells like tomato soup

give him a room temperature lemonade

nobody's gonna mug me for my glasses, they're from Walmart!

Art kid (derogatory)

If grandma is racist can grandma be racist on facebook

No it was music sent from GOD when I found the scorpion. It was telling me I was going to die

*Calmly listens to msub whimper audios in the middle of class, locked in on math sheets*

Singing Gaston in perfect key, loudly in the hallway

Maybe Saladfingers's autistic son

Hashtag free your mom

P1, a lot louder than he should have been: "The robot! saw the kid jacking off!"

P2, in a tired sort of quiet: "Yeah, that sounds about right"

P1: "My donuts dead"

P2: "What"

P1: "My milkshake is dead."

Donuts make me nut

If you do that one more time, I'm going to turn you into a pickle jar

Cross breeding turnips

P1: "I don't like how that's shaped. It's shaped a little too suggestivly"

P2: "It's a fucking radish"

Is vibrainium used to create vibrators? That's why it's called vibrainium

pp is irrelevant

I wanna eat your phone screen

I can change my gayness flavor

Dumbo, affectionately

P1: "What's up straights, gays and Asians

P2: That's crazy, what's up jew

You're out of your 'normal' pills (adhd meds)

*exasperated, after getting objected every other sentence during a mock trial * Can you just let me cook??

#high school #fun times #dialogue prompt #i was told my school is the ohio of high schools #writers block #use these as you wish #prompt list #quotes #funny #hozier #teenagers

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archaicanathema · 9 months ago

Note

Pumpkins have a thick skin, by that i mean literally. It is aboht 0.5in in thickness, which is way thicjer than any fruit normally, minus very few exceptions. (Such as watermelon)

They do not have a protective interior. Such as an orange or the smaller variant, clementine. This i forget. Quite often. Oranges and pumpkins are similar in a lot of ways. Thick skin, orange colored and bright , both fruits, and are usually "standing" so to speak qhen harvested, et cetera.

Hence my problem; oranges are MADE to be cut into slices. Such as an apple. And this works well for oranges. Similar, considering i often forget these fruits dont have thinner "membranes" so to speak, i think it would be reasonable to cut them similar ways. After all, they have grooves in them. Where, in my opinion, they should be sliced.

But where are they cut, dear archiac?

From the top. They are cut around the portion where it was cut from its plant.

In a circle shape.

Why are they not cut into SLICES? It infuriates me.

Why do they have these "ridges" if they do not have organized insides? Why is it, esswntially, a jumbled mess inside? It doesnt make sense to my brain.

All other fruits havw organized insides. They make since. You peel the skin off an apple? It reveals its nicely organized deliciousness.

A pumpkin is very complex, confusing, and has no order.

Therefore, as a fruit in of itself, I do not like pumpkins.

Thanks

Do me a favor and look up "sliced pumpkin" and look at the images.

#archaic conversations #river kisser of the wind god

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letmewanderinyourgarden2022 · 2 years ago

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The night sky, visible through the small window, was other-worldly and spectacular for the red-eye flight from Atlanta to London. The long hours were thankfully uneventful which I took as a very good omen. I managed a first-class booking – sleeping pod and all - so I was as comfortable as I could possibly be. Drifting off, images of the day to follow flickered through my slumber-ready thoughts – the flat, the paperwork, and of course, Jimmy – where, when and how will we meet?

So much is still in the dark.

Sighing, I surrendered to Morpheus. He hadn’t been my friend of late, but on the flight to the unimaginable rendezvous, he returned to me. When I awoke from the brief but deep sleep, a succession of vivid images from my dreaming flashed in my head, and I bolted upright from the reclined seat.

Damn! I remember!

Amazed, I slipped back, eyes closed, replaying the visions.

I was walking to the flat in Kensington. Ahead, a flock of birds milled about. Pigeons! Of course. As I got closer, they took flight en masse. Watching them gracefully arc above me, I corrected myself. “No, they’re doves.” The only words I spoke. I looked down to find the sidewalk replaced by the front entrance of the flat. I cautiously opened the black varnished door, finding a grand, hall-like room crisscrossed with large brown timbers imbedded in sand-colored walls – unmistakably medieval. Baffled, I stepped outside to re-examine the exterior. Right, that’s definitely Georgian. Reentering the flat, the same timber and plaster interior surrounded me. I giggled at the oddity. Following distant voices, I was drawn to a large, dusky room containing a round table that looked as if it were sliced from the trunk of a massive tree. In the dimness, multi-colored squares of light dotted the luster of its highly polished surface. I surveyed the room to identify the source of the mesmerizing patterns. A man leaned cross-armed against the wall in a far corner gazing outward through stained-glass windows that rose from floor to ceiling – the source of the kaleidoscope. The hazy sunlight created a golden sheen on a sliver of his dark attire, the rest in shadow. There were others - two men seated at the table in deep discussion. I couldn’t see any of their faces or hear the conversation – no matter how hard I tried. Maybe they didn’t have faces – the absurd thought seemed entirely reasonable. The faceless man from the opening scenes of The Song Remains The Same sprang into my mind. It struck me as incredibly funny. While I laughed, the room and the men disappeared, replaced by a field of tall grass in early evening. The soft shoots caressed my arms and legs as I lay in the expanse. Clouds, bottoms tinged with orange and purple from the reflection of the setting sun, traveled across the fading sky as it slowly transformed into a night with a sparkling canopy of stars. From the grasses in the distance, shimmering green lights twinkled then rose, as one – like an aurora borealis – to hang low at the horizon. I watched in amazement. I sensed someone there with me. I didn’t see her or him but could feel their wonder as well, whoever it was.

Every detail was repeated just as I had dreamed.

Damn, that was trippy. . . I think I remember the whole thing! Well. . .maybe a breakthrough?

I savored the feeling. My introspection was interrupted by the steward’s arrival to undo the sleeping pod. Oblivious to the movement next to me, I stood absorbed in the realness of the dream – the sounds, the scents, the visions – so crystal clear. Reseated, I paused another moment relishing the details then took out my laptop to record the impressions. Lawyer-mode returned and I thought it best to also review the notes I had made about itinerary and such: nine tomorrow morning – meeting with Jimmy’s representative at his manager’s office to sign the NDA and other paperwork, as well as to finalize the logistics of the much-anticipated meeting; contacts for Perry and the flat’s landlord; possible day trips; the pilgrimage; and where to meet the driver at the airport.

Meeting Jimmy! Fuck, this is actually happening. . .not yet, my girl. Don’t jinx it!

Upset at myself for doubting, I slapped the laptop closed and shoved it back under the seat. I jerked open the book brought along for the flight, needing a diversion from negative thoughts. The first volume of the Outlander series was suggested to me by a friend who noted the series of books had a fascinating plot line. The story captivated me, and seemingly only minutes later, the pilot announced the approach to the airport.

Wow. That was a quick two hours! So well written. I may need to pick up the next book while I’m here.

I took stock of my belongings, sliding the book into my laptop bag, and prepared to land. On the jetway, I checked my watch. It was 9:30 a.m. local time. I was to meet, I assumed, Jimmy’s driver at noon in the baggage area.

Customs must be a bitch!

At 12:30, I finally arrived to collect my bags, having survived the customs nightmare. As I searched the crowd around the baggage claim, I spied a tall guy with shaggy blond hair holding a “Jane M” sign.

Okay, that’s him. Is that? . . .Oh my god, I think it is.”

As I approached him, I beamed with glee. “Well, if it isn’t ‘The Scanner’! Perry!” I held out my hand. “So happy to meet you. I recognized you from the photo.”

“Ha, yeah. Great to meet you too,” he said, heartily shaking my hand.

“I was expecting a driver or something. It’s very nice of you to pick me up in person.”

“I am that, on occasion, but today, we have a driver.” As he spoke, he guided me toward the carousel that was delivering the long-awaited luggage at a snail’s pace to the gaggle of passengers. “The car is just outside so let’s get your bags and we’ll be on our way to your flat. We can have a chat en route.”

The journey from Heathrow to South Kensington went by quickly and we were soon in front of my temporary residence.

I stepped out of the car, admiring the row of stately, terraced residences, sparkling white in the afternoon sun. “Very, very cool. Much better in person.”

Perry joined me on the sidewalk. “This is a fantastic neighborhood – great architecture.” He glanced back to the driver wrestling the luggage from the boot to the curb. “We need the key.”

“Right, need to get it from the owner. I’ll be just a second.”

I bounded up the stairs and rang the bell. A young blonde woman opened the door.

I tried to regain my breath. “Uh. . .Hi. . . Good day. I’m Jane Mott – renting the downstairs.”

“Oh, yes. Good to meet you, Jane. Emily Putnam. My husband, Rob, and I own the place. Please, come in.”

“Emily. . .is it possible. . .umm. . .I have some guys waiting to bring in my bags. Could I get the key and I’ll come back once they’re done?”

“Of course.” She reached to a table behind the door. “Here it is and the door is just there.” She nodded to the wrought-iron railing of the stairway to the flat below. “Once you’re settled, come up the stairs from the back patio. I’ll be in the kitchen – right at the top of the stairs. We’ll have tea and go over the particulars.”

“Great. Thanks, Emily. So nice to meet you. See you in a bit.”

The men trundled my unwieldy bags across the black and white checkerboard tiles of the front terrace and down the stairs to the flat. Once inside, I was pleasantly surprised.

Thank the gods – no timbers.

“Wow. This is very modern. The photos really didn’t do justice.”

“This will be quite comfortable, I’m sure. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

“How could I not, Perry?” I chuckled. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Mr. Page’s driver will collect you promptly at half eight for the drive to the office. Is that still a good time for you or should I make it later – you know, jet lag and such?”

“No, that will be fine.”

“Jane, a pleasure. I’ll be on my way then.” He nodded his goodbye.

“Thanks again for everything. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I dragged my two huge suitcases and assorted other bags down the hall to the spacious master bedroom. Unpacking, I took special care with hanging the vintage items in the walk-in closet. The room was graced with a king-size bed and a huge bathroom. Particularly interesting was the shower sporting a water jet system in the walls.

Just what I need. Definitely on the agenda for this evening.

I wandered through the rooms discovering other features. The state-of-the-art kitchen was fully stocked with items I requested to be delivered, right down to the liquor. The living room was complete with a flat screen TV, internet connections, and what looked to be a wi-fi set up. It opened onto a cozy, walled patio with a fire pit.

This is incredibly upscale. I’m going to absolutely love it here.

Remembering my check-in with Emily, I climbed the patio stairs to spend the hour sipping delicious creamy tea, finalizing the arrangements, and learning about the area. I almost choked, mid-swallow, when Emily mentioned Jimmy Page lived in the neighborhood, noting that she and Rob were avid Zep fans.

“We see him frequently when he’s in town, you know – out and about in the shops”

Regaining my composure, I leaned in. “Really? So, he’s just like a normal guy?”

“Yes, he seems so, but then, there are often fans hanging about, so maybe no. He’s generally very gracious.”

“Maybe I’ll have a sighting while I’m here.” I inwardly smirked, nonchalantly lifting the cup to my lips.

Returning to the flat, I set up my laptop in the living room, connecting the various wires and plugs. I switched on my YouTube playlist, thrilled to hear Zep from all corners of the room.

Perfect! Surround sound! Gotta get out of these clothes and this f’ing bra. Maybe time for that shower.

Making my way back to the bedroom, the strains of The Rover floated through unseen speakers in the walls of each room I entered. Debating a long luxurious bath or the shower with the awesome jets, the shower won out. The effect of the water massage combined with the melodies of Physical Graffiti was heavenly. All the travel tension had melted away. That, along with the inevitable jet lag, made it apparent that it would be an early night.

I slipped into a comfortable long dress, my favorite for lounging, and searched the kitchen for a glass, ice, and the bottle of Jack. Dancing my way to the bedroom, I took a swig, depositing the tumbler on the nightstand. As I sprawled across the bed, the events of the past week – the trip preparation, the brief misgivings about what I had gotten into, and the excitement at the possibility of meeting Jimmy were front of mind. Then, I remembered my first interaction with Perry.

Oh my god, that call in January! I’m so happy he has a sense of humor.

The aroma of cherry and oak permeated the air from the flames gently licking the logs in the living room fireplace. I curled up on the sofa with a stack of contracts on my lap. The firm had taken on several new band clients at the end of the year, a few of them exceptionally talented. As a result, I anticipated spending the entire weekend reviewing tour agreements and management services contracts to ensure everything was fair and equitable. With the Saturday morning ticking into afternoon, I took a break to refresh my coffee and settled back onto the sofa. Amid a particularly confusing section, my cell phone rang. Focused on my reading, I answered without looking at the screen, putting the caller on speaker.

“Hello.”

“Uh. . .yes, hello. . .Is this Jane Mott?” The caller was unmistakably British.

“Perhaps. . . And this is?

“My name is Perry Hudson calling on behalf of Jimmy Page.”

“Right. . . okay. Look-”

The voice interrupted, “Ms. Mott, I know this may be unexpected since a rather extended time has passed since you posted the correspondence to Mr. Page, but. . .”

This is probably some asshole who found “the correspondence” in a trash bin. . .For fuck’s sake, it’s been forever.

“LOOK! I don’t know who you are, how you got my number, or what ‘correspondence' you're referring to” I barked at the phone, “but I’m very busy and in no mood to be pranked, so. . . fuck off!”

His words squawked rapidly from the phone’s tiny speaker. “No, no, Ms. Mott, don’t hang up! My name is Perry Hudson. I am truly calling you from London regarding the letter you sent to Mr. Page. . I’M THE SCANNER!! PLEASE, don’t hang up.”

“Wait. . . what?”

“I got your package at the Flames of Albion offices and passed it on to Mr. Page, personally.”

“You did? Really?” I said weakly as my stomach flipped-flopped. At that moment, I noticed the number on the screen proved an international call. A million scenarios raced through my head – he could be anyone. . .some schmuck in a mailroom somewhere having a go at me. “Sorry, Mr. Hudson, is it? I’m not convinced.”

“Well, that’s totally understandable, Ms. Mott. Let me just say, this is. . . I must admit. . .this is a first for me, as well.”

I heard something like truth in his voice but was still skeptical. “Do tell, please.”

“Mr. Page has had an impossibly hectic schedule, which I’m sure you can understand. When he had the time to give your letter proper attention, the months had slipped away.”

Giving in to my penchant for pacing when angry or unsure of myself – and I was a bit of both - I sprang from the couch, scattering the papers from my lap across the floor. “Fuck,” I muttered.

“Eh. . .what? . . .Please forgive me if this is not a good time to speak.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Mr. Hudson. Perhaps we should start over?” I took the phone off speaker, grabbed the cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table, and barged out the front door, oblivious to the freezing air. I crisscrossed the porch as I smoked. “What exactly do you want and how do I know you are who you say you are?”

“Starting over. . .yes. . .thank you, but I’m not sure how I can prove who I am over the phone. . .At any rate, Mr. Page found the entirety of your letter. . .fascinating. . .is the word he used. He’s tasked me with arranging a meeting, possibly in the fall, after the proper vetting. . . .since your letter implied a trip to London was in your future plans. He would be delighted to meet you if that works out.”

I sunk onto the swing, pulling another cigarette from the pack. “Umm. . .wow. . .yeah, that’s possible.” Thoughts racing, I grabbed one. “Please forgive my apprehension, but I need to know that you are genuine before we go any further. I do need some sort of proof.”

“What can I do to provide that to your satisfaction?”

After a deep breath, I forged ahead. “I would need to see evidence, tangible evidence, that you even know Jimmy, for one." Being a total smart-ass, I continued in my best drama-class high British accent, “I’m sure you’re quite aware, Mr. Hudson, that anyone can pretend they are something they are not.”

“Not bad, Ms. Mott,” he snickered.

“Well, you get my point, right?” Emboldened, since I was still unsure of the veracity of the call, I pushed further to test. “I think a call with Jimmy to confirm would work. . .maybe a video call with you both would suffice. Is that doable?”

There was silence.

I continued. “I mean, I’ve already offered a non-disclosure, so we can start that right now, verbally, if that makes it easier.”

“I don’t think Mr. Page would agree to a call of that sort,” he said hesitantly.

“Alright, I can understand that. Okay, then. . . .uh. . .how about a photo of both of you together, with a date and time stamp - as a compromise? If Mr. Page is amenable, after you take the photo, please send it to me right away. I’ll give you the email address for my Blackberry; it's very secure. You can send the image there."

“I think. . .that. . .may be. . .possible. Obviously, I need to consult with Mr. Page.”

I rattled off the address and after assuring me I’d hear from him in the next few days, we ended the call.

I remained on the swing in the freezing air, puffing on my fourth cigarette, comfortably numb yet shivering. I returned inside and warmed myself by the fire, staring into the flames.

What the hell just happened?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89

#jimmy page fan fiction 2022 #jimmy page #zoso #jimmy page fanfiction #silver fox jimmy #old man jimmy #led zeppelin fanfic #let me wander in your garden-chapter four #lmwing 22 #let me wander in your garden 2022

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zealouscanonindeer · 2 years ago

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4. The Clever Cabby

Series Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes:

After assuring myself of Emily's willingness to join me on this case, I headed for home, stopping briefly on the way to send a telegram to Lestrade requesting all information related to the case be sent to me at once.

"You will doubtless be relieved to learn," I said to Watson when I returned home, "that your presence will not be required in this case. I know your leg has been bothering you, and I have accordingly made alternate arrangements."

"So, she agreed?" Watson said as I unwound my muffler and hung it on the coat rack.

"If you must know," I sniffed, "she did agree to lend her unique brand of aid to the case, though I'm not at all certain she appreciates the possible risks involved."

"Just remember Michael," he suggested. The lad in question had got on the wrong side of Emily during her debutante and left the scene with a dislocated knee and a rather specific stab wound from a hatpin.

I reflected on the role I had asked her to play. "I would rather not recall Michael right now. I have to make some final arrangements before the case commences in earnest."

"Well, if you need my help at all-"

"If I need your help, I shall ask. You have nothing to worry about, I'm certain."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

As it was by then late in the evening, I ate a brief repast and retired to bed to gather my energies for the case.

I arose early the following morning, as was my custom during the commencement of a new case, and had broken my fast by the time the courier arrived at seven with a discouragingly slim bundle of case notes regarding the Ghost. I scanned them briefly, and then tossed the bundle into a valise in preparation to pack for the journey.

I decided that I should send Emily an early telegram letting her know when I planned to collect her, so she would have plenty of time to pack by the following afternoon

Emily Cartwright:

Twenty-four hours to pack!

It was apparent that Holmes had only the vaguest grasp of the complexity or delicacy of feminine costume - else he might have given me more notice. It was one of my pet peeves about proper ladyhood, of course, and made me long for the trousers and loose shirts I was allowed to wear in my girlhood, or at least clothing I could move around in without fear of catching my heel on a petticoat.

Of course, trousers would not fit at all into this case (however much I would have liked them to), so I recruited my room-mate and my landlady to help me carefully man-handle the crepes, chiffons, silks and such that I would probably need for two days (which comes to an amazing volume of clothes for a young lady) into more portable forms so that they would not be ruined by journey's end. When at last we had secured the valises so they would not feel inclined to explode under the strain, I had dodged forty-seven separate probes about my "family friend" (for so I had described Holmes to explain why I was going away for two days with him on twenty-four hours' notice), it was late the following morning, and I was in a foul mood, mainly because I had not yet had a chance to properly break my fast and partially because I had cut my finger on the exposed end of one of the whalebone stays in the spare corset I'd planned to pack.

I was just about to feast on a slice of marmalade toast and a glass of orange juice when Mrs Croft advised me that a hansom had just pulled up.

"I'll tell him you aren't quite ready," she added in response to the look I offered her.

"Thank you, Mrs Croft," I said, and tore into the toast.

My mood was not helped by the fact that when I finally went out to meet the cab, having securely bundled myself against the foul weather, the interior was empty but for those items of my luggage that wouldn't fit on the roof-rack.

"He didn't even have the common decency to come get me himself," I murmured, mainly to myself but partially to the cabby holding open the door to the vehicle, "He sent an empty cab. Of all the..."

"'E prob'ly dint think both o you'd fit in th' cab, wot with all the luggage y'got," the cabby drawled.

I turned sharply to chastise the cabby for his insolence, but before I could say a word Holmes winked at me from the shadow between the brim of his cap and the top edge of his muffler. He was flushed from the cold wind, and I could tell that he was smiling rather cheekily, despite the fact that the muffler was pulled up nearly to his nose.

"'Elp you oop, marm?" he offered, holding out his hand.

Apparently he'd decided he was going to be Mr Clever today.

I sighed in amused annoyance as I let him help me into the cab. Before he shut the door I leaned back out and grabbed the tail of his worn muffler and dragged him back.

"You're going to pay dearly for this, Holmes," I assured him good-naturedly.

"Oh, Oi've no doubt o' that, marm," he replied, then abruptly dropped the cockney accent and lowered his voice, "I believe I told you to pack for only two days."

"This is two days' worth of clothing for a woman."

He looked at me askance.

"Ask any woman," I added, and shut the door..

Sherlock Holmes:

Personally, I thought masquerading as a cabby was a rather clever diversion. However, when I saw the mood Emily was in when she finally emerged from the boarding-house, I reflected that being clever might well get me injured. I was certain that a day would be more than sufficient time for her to get packed – after all I had gathered all the things I estimated I would need on the trip in an afternoon, with room left over for my violin, in three valises. I was certain Emily had grossly over-packed, despite her assurance that this was average for a young woman.

During a brief stop back at Baker Street – during which interval I added my own belongings to the hansom with the help of the genuine (and rather bemused) cabby – Emily was kind enough to educate me otherwise.

Watson had at least the good grace to keep out of the middle of it, though at one point he gave me an amused look that, in hindsight, ought to have invited further discussion of the planned masquerade at the bed and breakfast. As it was, I was more concerned with the upcoming investigation, and it never once occurred to me.

Once the hansom was fully laden, Emily and I set off for Victoria Station, where we would catch the 12.05 to Sussex.

"We should have a fair journey ahead of us," I said as the cab started moving, "Which gives us plenty of time to discuss my plan. Now – first of all, we check into the bed and breakfast under the name of Baker – John and Mary, recently married, and looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country. According to the notes Lestrade sent to me, the bedroom in question is on the ground floor, with an adjoining study of sorts, which will of course include a number of possible entry points for the attacker, but it should otherwise suit our purposes perfectly. Now, we'll start by—" I stopped short, noticing a slightly dangerous silence coming from her half of the cab. I looked up from the packet of notes I'd been consulting. "Is something wrong?" I asked, after a tactful pause. Though I was not as adept at reading the female mood as Watson was, the look Emily was shooting at me across the cab from just under the brim of her hat and some distance above her folded arms translated quite clearly.

"I don't suppose it occurred to you that I might want some say in any of this," she said, rather sharply.

It hadn't, of course. Watson had never asked (let alone demanded) any input on the details of such setups, but of course I'd momentarily forgotten with whom I was currently dealing. "Consider me reprimanded," I said flatly, unenthusiastic about the idea of accepting outside input on what I felt was a perfectly good plan, "Now, what is it you would like to contribute?"

"I want to be Clarissa Baker, for a start."

"Ah yes. After your beloved aunt, I presume?"

"Of course. I never liked the name Mary in any case."

"I think it's a perfectly reasonable name," I replied, a bit defensively, "After all, it's commonplace enough not to draw undue attention because of novelty."

"I like Clarissa better."

"Fine," I sighed, "John and *Clarissa* Baker, newly married, looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country—"

"So we'll be from London, then?"

I looked back up from my notes, my patience starting to wear thin.

"Yes," I said, "We'll be from London."

"That makes sense," she replied casually, "I don't think country folk would go elsewhere in the country to find someplace special for their honeymoon."

"No," I said, "They wouldn't. May I continue?"

"Go ahead."

I returned my attention to my notes. "As I said, the bedroom is on the ground floor – apparently it's a refurbished spare room of some sort, with an adjoining study—"

"Are you expecting us both to sleep there?"

The question was a valid one, to which I had given much consideration. "If you mean will we be sharing the bed, the answer, of course, is no. You needn't be concerned about that. You will be sleeping in the bed, and I will arrange or improvise other accommodations for myself." I glanced up at her. "I trust that will be amenable."

"Of course." A look of amusement crept across her face.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said blithely, "You're probably just a bit flushed from the cold."

Aha. She apparently thought the question of sleeping arrangements had embarrassed me. It would take much more than that, if such was her goal.

"Yes," I said simply, "I had to return the muffler to the cabby, after all."

Emily Cartwright:

He was blushing, despite anything he said to the contrary – I knew cold-chapping and I knew blushing, growing up the way I did – but of course if I corrected him he would only dig in his heels. Of course my enquiry about the sleeping arrangements was perfectly valid – I preferred to know ahead of time how far he wished to take the masquerade and whether I had to make any personal adjustments (mine or his – I had grown fond of him and I really didn't want to have to dislocate anything on suspicion of impropriety).

Once we'd arrived at the train station, I had a fair idea of the direction in which he planned to take the investigation. John Baker, a banker, and his new bride Clarissa Baker would check in to the bed and breakfast for their honeymoon, and working under that ruse Holmes and I would take stock of the dramatis personae to be found living and working there, comparing notes whenever possible.

"Remember your role," he concluded, "it is important that the culprit does not suspect either of us to be other than we seem to be: a newly wedded husband and wife visiting the countryside."

I sighed. "I know how to act demure and ladylike."

"Then you would do well to act the part," he said with a slight smile that supplied an otherwise unspoken for once.

I smirked and promptly immersed myself in the lessons Mrs Weaver had so studiously attempted to instill in me, timing my opening scene to the instant he opened the cab door.

"Oh, John, darling, isn't this exciting?" I gushed, hands clasped in front of my bosom, "I've never been to the country before – I heard the scenery is simply lovely this time of year!"

I was gratified to see Holmes stop short with one leg outside the cab, staring hard at me in what might have been shock or simple lack of equilibrium. It took him two full seconds to recover and adapt.

"I would offer nothing less to my beloved bride," he replied, achieving the character of proud husband within three words. He took my hand and helped me down from the cab, motioning to the porter as he did so. While our respective luggage was being transferred to the waiting train, he added sotto voce, "Tell me you're not going to act like that the whole time we're there."

"Don't you remember whose idea this was?" I returned sweetly, also sotto voce.

"Please," he said, with the tiniest note of pleading in his voice (not that he would ever stoop to begging).

"Oh, all right," I conceded, "I think I'd get sick to my stomach if I had to act like that all weekend in any case."

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somemydayy · 2 years ago

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Hello, Stranger!

The weather was a mix of late autumn fall, and of mid October chill. The air had turned crisp, cool feel to it. Birds could be heard chirping from up high in their nests. The leaves of the nearby trees fell as they turned a mixture of red, orange and yellow. Rays of light shined across the glass window. Light flooded the space and filled it with warmth. A bell rang out, as the door opened. He unplugged his earphones. The song’s melody soon forgotten as he took in the pleasant aroma that filled his senses. It was smoky, an earthy smell filled the air and soon it felt like he was embodied in its warmth.

His eyes scanned the surroundings. The cafe held a comfortable— intimate atmosphere. The interior was simple, but stylish. Polaroids decorated the white walls. Pendant lights hanged from the ceiling. Black and white checkered tiles. White rectangular tables, paired with slick white chairs sat along the window frames. A lavender colored sofa rested against a rectangular oak coffee table, a vase a flowers sat on top.

As he was looking around, in the effort to spot the cafe’s menu, his sight landed upon her. He never completely believed in love at first sight. To him it just seemed like a foreign concept. Something that only happened in movies, or the in countless soap operas his mother watched religiously every weekday afternoon. Something like strangers accidentally meeting, and falling in love with each other wasn’t something he thought he would ever see much less experience. Well that was until he saw her.

For once in his life he could say he experienced such phenomena. Love at first sight. There she was, standing oposite of him. Splendid and lovely. Strands of beautiful hues, slipped through her fingers with ease. Her laughter was filled with glee and warmth. An alluring smile graced her plush lips, and her cheeks flushed a light hue. Her eyes held a bright shine to them. She was radiant. She was lovely. She was beautiful.

He stood there stunned in the overwhelming sensation that filled his body. Warmth filled his chest. A dark hue casted across his features. The tips of his ears flushed a bright scarlet, a slight curve stretched across his lips. His hands nervously clammed at the bottom of his shirt. And as she approached, the only thing he could do was gulp down the budding nerves residing within him. To say he was nervous would be quiet the understatement.

“Welcome! Hello, Stranger what can I get you?”

“I don’t know, umm I’ll probably just go with a decaf like I always do, but what do you suggest I get?”

“Just between you, and me. *leans in closer* a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, topped off with a drizzle of caramel syrup is definitely the best. *thumbs up*

“Okay, I’ll definitely give that hot chocolate a try then. Thank you, miss”

“Great. One hot chocolate topped with extra whipped cream, and caramel syrup coming, right up.”

He stares mesmerized as she walks away to the counter and washes her hands and begins to assemble the beverage of choice. She only takes a moment, and when she returns she has a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of cake in toll.

“I didn’t order a slide of cake?” he said more so to himself than to her, because he wondered if he had ordered said item in his blundering

“Ooh I know, it’s something that’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, plus I’m trying to get you to be a loyal regular customer from now on.” she said with a soft chuckle, and a wink.

And just like that he was undeniably shook to his core, he who always always said something like love at first sight was a rarity, an anomaly. But here he was undeniably mesmorized by her, a total stranger. And all it takes is a moment, a glance, a simple hello, a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of cake.

———————————————————————

#drabble #image #scenario #stray kids x reader #coffe au #barista x stranger #cafe au x reader #coffee #cafe #coffee shop image #coffee shop drable

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swampgallows · 1 year ago

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dreamed about the old life last night. wearing stacks of kandi and piling into cars and getting big group pictures on the train. i even saw the flyer in my dream, and the headliner was beats international of dub be good to me fame. it was circular, blue text, on the background of an orange slice. it felt like a true summer rave.

daygo had all of these individual cakes he was going to deliver to some school kids, each one with their name on it, and it filled the trunk of a hatchback car he was driving. at the school i saw my old favorite teacher (in my old house's office) who had kept a piece of kandi id made him with little bat heads beads and round purple ones with yellow silhouettes of camels, and big black wedge beads with red sparkles. i don't have any of these beads irl of course but even in the dream i told him "wow, these are some pretty rare beads! glad you held on to that". i had been asking him about getting a job working for him, and it was a kind of "I'll see if anything comes up" vibe, then we piled in the car and headed toward a big park where lots of ravers were heading out before sunset. i was scrambling to put all of my beads into one backpack (in my old house's dining room), getting new baggies to put them all in. i was then sitting in the backseat with all of my backpacks and bags and thinking to myself, "I'm going to do it tonight". i was going to go raving again. i saw nate get into the front seat to drive and before i saw his face or heard his voice it changed to the photo on the train, open like disney railroad.

as we were pulling into the "station" there were a bunch of groups of people gathered at the park for different funerals, and they shushed us all to be quiet (most of us were). a woman dressed in a hawaiian looking outfit appeared to be singing in hawaiian during the funeral, then walked onto the train the moment she finished and sat down with us. then there was the group picture. right when it was going to be taken a tall, slender, pale but pretty woman sauntered in front of me wearing a giant black sun hat and a sheer billowing black dress. a few other people on the train complained about her blocking them in the picture so we agreed to retake it. i saw myself in the mirror frame of a panel on the trains interior, ornately decorated like a carousel, and went to fix my hair. right before the camera flash, i woke up.

#blathering #dreams #i think that woman was ms rona lmao

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abookishdreamer · 1 year ago

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Character Intro: Sophia (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Soso by her brother & girlfriend

Age- 33 (immortal)

Location- Little Athens, New Olympus

Personality- She's intelligent, analytical, confident, & ambitious. She loves actively pursuing knowledge. She's a lesbian and is currently dating.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of thought her other powers/abilities include telepathy, thought projection, mental manipulation (manipulating the minds of others by force or will), having an eidetic memory, and intelligence reduction.

Sophia's abode is a stylish brownstone in the Little Athens neighborhood of New Olympus. The interior design strikes the perfect balance between historic charm & modern elegance. There's a rooftop terrace with a small garden, dark oak flooring, and two ornate fireplaces. The color scheme is cream, royal blue, oxblood, & chocolate brown with wood countertops in the kitchen as well as lots of linen and leather furniture. Everything is immaculately organized.

She has a single pet, her animal companion being a she-dragon named Azurine. Most of her scales and wings are a dark cobalt while her claws, crest, & belly scales are bright copper. Azurine is Sophia's primary mode of transportation.

A go-to drink for her is tumeric tea which she brews herself. She likes to add a bit of honey and lemon juice to it. She also likes cranberry juice, hibiscus tea, homemade kale smoothies, mint infused water, champagne, martinis, & pinot grigio. Her usuals from The Roasted Bean is a medium iced green tea and an olympian sized mango orange splash.

Sophia always starts off her mornings with a session of acupuncture then a session with her masseuse.

Her immediate family includes her older brother Favian (god of philosophy). They have a close relationship with her bringing him meals she cooks. She secretly looks forward to their passionate conversations spanning many topics.

For breakfast her go-to is the whole wheat breakfast burrito from The Bread Box added with sliced avacado, extra spinach, and black olives. At home she'll settle for a bowl of rizogalo, a couple of lightly toasted & buttered onion bagels, or a big bowl of Earthly Harvest raisin crunch cereal.

The most notable feature of Sophia is her long, thick, curly, & glossy raven hair. She attributes the health of her hair to a homemade hair mask she makes (that she puts on her hair for an hour every month) made with tumeric, sweet potato, olive oil, manuka honey, mango pulp, and a few drops of the Glory's Crown healthy hair oil blend. Her other go-to product is the Hairology 2-in-1 eucalyptus & mint shampoo/conditioner.

A guilty pleasure for her the lamb gyros from Olympic Chef. She sometimes orders three or four at once!

She also loves the mandarin orange green salad (drizzled in poppy seed dressing) from The Bread Box.

Sophia' main source of income comes from being Headmistress at Polus Preparatory- a school for youngsters started by Coeus (Titan god of foresight, intellect, & knowledge). The school is in the state of Delphi, a nearly two hour ride on dragonback. She expects nothing short of excellence from her students and faculty. For other means of income she endorses/models for Threads of Wisdom (is a fan of the slingbacks and crossbody bags), Olive Visibly, & White Lily Gallery. She's also a contributing writer for O Dianooumenos.

Her favorite frozen treat is the red velvet cake ice cream waffle cone sundae from The Frozen Spoon.

Sophia's been dating her girlfriend Eikono (goddess of iconography & literature) for a few months and she really enjoys spending time with her. Their first date was an early evening stroll and picnic at Eaglepoint Park where she won Eikono over with her homemade macaroni salad. Whenever their schedules permit, they're always together. A moment of sheer bliss for Sophia is them laying in bed on a quiet lazy morning reading the paper & drinking tea.

Her mentor was Mnemosyne (Titaness of memory & language).

In the pantheon Sophia's friends with Iaso (goddess of cures & remedies), Neicus (god of debate & appeal), his sister Dimósia (goddess of debate), Mesembria (Bria) (goddess of the afternoon); despite the breakup with Favian, Sophrosyne (goddess of moderation, temperance, & restraint), Hesychia (goddess of quiet, stillness, rest, & silence), Pistis (goddess of trust, reliability, & good faith), Nomos (god of laws), Amphictyonis (Amy) (goddess of diplomacy), and Aletheia (goddess of truth). Sophia also admires all the accomplishments of Athena (goddess of wisdom). She also respects her girlfriend's father Logos (god of stories).

As an induction gift, she recieved a pair of designer heels which had a lined paper print design (along with a pencil themed strap) from Kéfi (goddess of mirth).

Sophia prefers wearing cologne than perfume, her favorite being REIGN, the most recent one from Zeus.

Her favorite dessert is the portokalopita from Hollyhock's Bakery.

In her free time Sophia enjoys reading, writing, poker, chess, yoga, doing crossword puzzles, football (soccer), cricket, tennis, going to museums, going to the opera, and visiting art galleries.

Her favorite meal is white rice with butter chicken.

"A being is but the product of their thoughts. What one thinks, one becomes."

#my oc #oc character #my character #my oc character #oc intro #character intro #oc introduction #character introduction #modern greek mythology #modern greek gods #greek myth retellings #greek goddess #greek goddesses #greek mythology #greek pantheon #greek myths

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bizzna-pop · 2 months ago

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The Fry Factor: Exploring the Extensive Range of French Fries Available for Distribution

French fries are a universal favorite, loved for their crispy texture, savory flavor, and ability to pair with countless meals. As a staple offering from French fry distributors, the options available today go far beyond the standard cut. With such a wide variety, businesses like cafes, restaurants, and theaters can elevate their menus and cater to a broader range of customer preferences. In this blog, we’ll explore the different types of French fries available from distributors and how they can enhance your menu.

1. Classic Cut Fries: The Everlasting Favorite

Classic cut fries are the gold standard of French fries. Made from russet potatoes, they are sliced into long, thin strips and fried until golden brown, creating a crispy exterior and soft, fluffy interior. Whether served as a side or a standalone snack, these fries are a go-to option for customers craving a traditional experience. Versatile and popular, classic cut fries should be a staple in any distributor's offering.

2. Crinkle-Cut Fries: A Crispier Alternative

Crinkle-cut fries, distinguished by their ridged, wavy shape, offer a visual and textural twist on the classic fry. The ridges increase the surface area, giving them extra crispiness, while also allowing sauces and dips to cling better. These fries are a perfect choice for eateries looking to offer something a little different, adding a bit of fun and extra crunch to their fry selection.

3. Steak Fries: Thick-Cut for a Hearty Bite

Steak fries are the thick-cut, robust counterpart to traditional French fries. With a greater surface area, they offer a satisfying crunch on the outside while maintaining a soft, pillowy center. Their substantial size makes them ideal for pairing with rich, hearty sauces or serving alongside premium dishes like steak or gourmet burgers. Distributors often stock steak fries for establishments looking to add a more indulgent and filling side option to their menu.

4. Sweet Potato Fries: A Health-Conscious Twist

Sweet potato fries have become a popular alternative to traditional fries, offering a unique blend of natural sweetness and a crispy texture. These fries not only appeal to those looking for a healthier option but also stand out visually thanks to their vibrant orange hue. Paired with complementary dips like aioli or spicy sauces, sweet potato fries offer a distinct flavor profile that is becoming a must-have for health-conscious consumers. Distributors are increasingly providing sweet potato fries to meet this rising demand.

5. Loaded Fries: A Gourmet Experience

Loaded fries elevate the standard fry with layers of indulgent toppings like melted cheese, bacon, sour cream, and jalapeños. They transform a simple side dish into a shareable snack or even a main course. For restaurants looking to offer a crowd-pleasing, Instagram-worthy item, loaded fries are a great addition to the menu. Many distributors now offer pre-assembled loaded fries, making it easy for businesses to add this gourmet option to their lineup with minimal prep.

6. Curly Fries: Spirals of Fun and Flavor

Curly fries are instantly recognizable for their spiral shape and bold seasoning. These fries are typically coated with a spiced batter that adds an extra kick of flavor, making them a hit with both children and adults. Their playful appearance and crispy texture make curly fries a popular choice for casual dining venues and fast-food restaurants. Distributors often stock curly fries to help businesses cater to customers seeking a flavorful, fun alternative to the traditional fry.

7. Shoestring Fries: Light and Crispy

Shoestring fries are the thin and crispy alternative for customers who prefer a lighter fry. Their delicate size ensures a quick cook time, and their extra crispiness makes them perfect for snacking. Shoestring fries are less filling than thicker options, making them an excellent choice for customers looking to enjoy fries without overindulging. Many distributors offer shoestring fries to meet the needs of establishments that want to cater to health-conscious or lighter appetites.

Finding the Right French Fries Distributor

Choosing the right French fries distributor is key to ensuring your business can provide a diverse and high-quality selection. Distributors like Bizznapop specialize in offering a wide range of French fry options, from the classic to the innovative. Working with a reliable distributor ensures you have access to a variety of products that can help differentiate your menu and satisfy a wide range of customer preferences.

Conclusion

French fries are more than just a side dish—they’re a versatile, beloved snack that can take many forms. From the classic cut to gourmet loaded fries, the variety of options available through distributors allows you to cater to different tastes and dietary preferences. By partnering with a reputable distributor, you can keep your menu fresh, exciting, and suited to a broad customer base. Explore the diverse world of French fries today and see how they can help your business grow!

#French fries distributor #Frozen food distributor #frozen food distributors near me

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thefreshdirect · 8 months ago

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Unveiling the Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin

Move over, orange sweet potato! There's a new vibrant player in town, and it boasts not only stunning looks but also a delightful array of health benefits. We're talking about the Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin, a unique variety that's quickly gaining popularity for its delicious taste and impressive nutritional profile.

A Feast for the Eyes and the Palate

Forget the standard orange flesh. The Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin offers a dazzling surprise when you cut into it. Its vibrant purple interior adds a burst of color to any dish, turning your everyday meals into an artistic experience. But beauty isn't everything! This unique sweet potato packs a flavorful punch. Its taste leans slightly sweeter than its orange counterpart, with a hint of nuttiness. The texture is another delightful aspect – more crumbly and drier than starchy potatoes, but still offering a satisfying bite.

A Nutritional Powerhouse

Beyond its captivating looks and delicious flavor, the Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin is a nutritional powerhouse. Here's what makes it a healthy addition to your diet:

Rich in Antioxidants: The vibrant purple color comes from anthocyanins, a type of antioxidant linked to several health benefits, including reduced inflammation and improved heart health.

Packed with Vitamins and Minerals: These purple gems are loaded with essential vitamins like A, B, and C, and minerals like potassium.

Fiber Powerhouse: Like all sweet potatoes, the Purple variety with White Skin provides a good amount of dietary fiber, promoting gut health and keeping you feeling fuller for longer.

Culinary Versatility Awaits

The beauty of the Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin lies in its versatility. Just like regular sweet potatoes, you can enjoy it in a variety of ways:

Roasting: Roasting brings out its natural sweetness and caramelized notes, making it a perfect side dish.

Mashing: Whip up a vibrant and nutritious mashed potato alternative that's both delicious and visually stunning.

Noodles: Spiralize the sweet potato for colorful and healthy sweet potato noodles.

Fries: Who says fries can't be healthy and colorful? Bake or air-fry sweet potato slices for a satisfying and nutritious snack.

Desserts: The natural sweetness makes it a perfect ingredient for muffins, breads, or even pies with a beautiful purple twist.

Tips for Growing and Enjoying Your Purple Sweet Potatoes

While most sweet potatoes are grown from seeds, the Purple variety with White Skin is often started from slips, which are mature stems sprouted from tubers. You can find these slips at nurseries or online retailers. Here are some additional tips:

Planting: These sweet potatoes thrive in loose, well-drained soil. Ensure they have plenty of space to grow their tubers.

Storage: Store unwashed sweet potatoes in a cool, dark place and consume them within two weeks for optimal freshness.

Preparation: Similar to regular sweet potatoes, simply wash them thoroughly before cooking. The skin is edible, so you can choose to keep it on or peel it off before cooking.

Embrace the Purple Revolution

So, ditch the ordinary and embrace the purple revolution! The Purple Sweet Potato with White Skin offers a unique combination of vibrant color, delightful texture, and a wealth of health benefits. Explore its culinary potential and elevate your meals with this exciting new ingredient. Let your creativity flow and discover your favorite ways to enjoy this hidden gem.

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ephemeralleviathan · 2 years ago

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Cicadas

A fantasy-horror short story. Feel free to critique and comment; I would love some new ideas!

Character list: First person narrator, mentions of veterinarians (animal doctors), Melon the Labrador

TW list: bugs/insects, dogs/aggressive dogs, stalker/potential stalker, first-person perspective, hurt/injured dog, anxiety/paranoia, burning, body horror, body transformation, fear, nausea, blood, descriptions of pain

Horror below the break! Read at your own discretion.

Melon loved going on walks, especially when the day’s sun wasn’t gone and it wasn’t swelteringly hot or freezing cold. Today I let her off the leash because I knew if I called her she wouldn’t leave me behind. She bounded through the bushes around the path I was on, sometimes I could see her short gold fur peak out through the leaves. The shade from the trees kept the sun off my back, and without that the heat would’ve been unbearable. The sound of the cicadas had reached its peak in the past few days; it was nostalgic and reminded me of when I used to play outside in my childhood. I used to pretend all the butterflies were fairies and chase them around the yard, trying to be a fairy too and make them tell me all the fairy secrets.

I was ripped from my thoughts when I tripped and smashed into the ground. I stood up, brushing the dirt off my jeans and looking for whatever I tripped on, but I didn’t see anything in the path besides a little line of mushrooms, but they didn’t look damaged. I must’ve just tripped over my own feet. I shook my head and kept walking. I looked around me, realizing I couldn’t see Melon anymore.

“Melon!” I called, listening for the rustling of her running back to me. I heard the leaves moving around behind me, so I turned to look, but my little Labrador wasn’t there. There was nothing there, in fact, not even the cicadas were singing anymore. I heard a muffled bark behind me, so I turned back to were I was heading originally. There was Melon, wagging her tail and now running circles around me. I knelt down to her and pet her, but she didn’t try to lick my face like she normally did.

“What’s in your mouth?”

She turned her head away from me and tried to walk away, but I gently took her head and made her face me. I could hear the scream of a cicada in her mouth. Must be the only one in this part of the woods.

“Drop it! Melon, drop the bug!”

She tried to shake me off, so I had to pry open her jaws open. The brown body dropped to the dirt, soaked from the inside of Melon’s mouth. It wasn’t what I expected, though.

While it did have the black scale-like body, orange wings, and striking red eyes just like most cicadas did, this was no cicada. It had a humanoid body, built just like a tiny girl except she had four arms and two holes in her chest where ribs should be. The interiors of the holes looked like they were structured like ribs, but only on the edges of the whole, but there was just nothing through and through the dime-sized holes in her chest. She wasn’t moving, and I was afraid melon had killed what I had to assume was a fairy.

Melon tried to get close to her snack, but I held her back from the little thing. She suddenly jumped up and tried to fly, but one of her wings was torn, so she could hardly take off. She looked around at Melon and I and started screaming. She didn’t open her mouth when she started the cry; the holes in her chest seemed to vibrate like speakers and screamed the cicada’s cry. It was so much louder than a single cicada could ever hope to be.

Melon backed away and snapped her jaws at the little fairy; she’d never been aggressive before this point. I pulled Melon’s leash out of my pocket and snapped it on her collar, then I moved us both back and away from the screaming fairy. I slid my bag off my shoulder an dug through it, pushing past my sketchbook and pens to my sandwich bag full of apple slices. I pulled a slice out and gently tossed it toward the little woman.

She stopped her cry and squinted at the apple. She darted at the slice, hefting it into her arms and trying to fly away again. She bobbed and hovered, but didn’t fall back to the ground like she did the first time, though she didn’t get very high. Melon and I watched her disappear into the undergrowth, Melon growling after the fairy the whole time. I had to almost drag Melon out out the woods, she kept snapping at the leaves along the edge of the path and zig-zagging behind me as we walked. If I had let her, she would’ve dragged me back through the woods. We walked back to my rental house in the earie silence of the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke to Melon snarling and barking. I dragged the covers off of me and trudged over to Melon. Her hackles were up as far as they’d go, and she put her body between me and the door. I could hear the singing of the cicadas through the door, but no birds sang despite the newly risen sun. I moved to the window besides the door and pushed back the spotted curtains just enough to see whoever was out there. I could see the motion light outside the door was on, but I didn’t see anyone out there. Sometimes the lights were triggered by frogs or birds, but I didn’t see any of those either. I pushed the curtains back a little further, and Melon rammed into my legs, knocking me to the ground.

I instinctively grabbed to closest thing to me to keep up, which happened to be the curtains. The curtain rod broke under me weight and the curtain came tumbling down onto me and Melon. Melon shook the curtains off and resumed snarling, but now at the window. I grabbed Melon’s collar maybe harder than I should have and pulled her away from the window to face me.

“What is wrong with you!? Why did you do that?”

She frantically pulled away from me, but I kept a firm handle on her collar and kept her still by me.

“Melon! What is up with you? I’d put you outside if I wasn’t afraid of some random stranger being in my backyard. You gotta calm down, hun.”

She glanced back at the window, then sat down in front of me sadly. She looked at the floor, not making eye contact. I let go of her collar and pet her gently.

“Hey, it’s okay Melon; I’m sorry I had to do that. Are you okay? I’m sorry sugar.”

I looked out the now-bare window, but there was still nothing outside. I pet Melon and made sure she was okay.

“I’m gonna go back to sleep now, okay Melon? Do you wanna come with me? Would that make you feel better?”

I led Melon back to my room and shut the door behind us. I made sure the windows in the room were locked, just in case. Melon’s outburst had made me nervous, but I knew it was probably just a cicada bumping against the door that agitated her. I tucked us both in and tossed and turned until I fell back asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I dropped the apple I was eating and scooped Melon up into my arms, running around the side of my house and to my car. I had let her outside as soon as I woke up, but only a few minutes after I closed the door I heard her yelping and crying. I opened the driver’s side door and hopped in, slamming the door shut and putting Melon in the passenger seat. I sped off to the nearest animal hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The vets said she was lucky to have made it. They also asked if she fell out of a second or third story window, but I know she hadn’t. Melon had been outside, and it’s not like there was anything for her to climb on. After I made her comfortable, I put out some puppy pads in a pan. I wasn’t about to let her outside again.

I walked outside to my backyard, baseball bat in hand. If they were still here, whoever hurt my dog wasn’t going to do it again. I walked past the picnic table on the back porch to survey the edges of my yard where it met the edge of the woods. All I could hear was the scream of the cicadas, so listening for someone out in the brush wasn’t going to work. After looking around the back yard until I felt confident that no one was there, I walked back to the porch and collapsed on to the picnic bench, exhausted from the ordeal.

That was when I noticed the apple on the table. It must’ve been the apple I dropped when I rescued Melon, but it definitely wasn’t the same as I left it, and this is definitely not where I dropped it. It still had the bite mark I left in it, but it was hollow, save for the core that held it upright. I don’t know how they left just the skin of the apple whole, and when I leaned in to get a better look, something crunched under my elbow that had been propped un on the table. I felt instantly anxious as I moved my elbow to find the empty shell of a cicada, now crushed, but with one torn wing.

The cacophony of the cicadas’ screams became earsplitting. I put my hands over my ears, but it just seemed to make the sounds louder. I rushed into my house, slamming and locking the door behind me. Something was very wrong.

My skin burned like I had touched a hot stovetop, but everywhere, all at once. I stumbled to my bathroom and turned the shower to cold, stepping into the freezing water fully clothed. The water rolled off me, I couldn’t feel it at all as I stared up to the shower head. All I could feel was the cold, nothing else, but I started feeling like I could barely move. I felt nauseous, like I was going to throw up, so I lunged out of my shower and over to the toilet, but my legs gave out from under me and I just fell to the floor. I tried to heave myself up, but my limbs were too weak. I collapsed to the floor, just staring helplessly.

My arms started to turn black like soot. Something was burning me and the water didn’t get it off. My vision was blurring from the pain. I tried to feel the skin of one of my arms, but it felt like my chest was being cut to pieces. I rolled slowly to my stomach and stretched my arms in front of me.

I screamed when something ripped from my back. I could hear Melon scratching at my room door, where I left her, but I had no strength to get up. I dragged myself to the door, leaving a crimson-tar trail behind me as I went. I used the doorknob on the bathroom door to heave myself to standing. The door seemed so tall, much taller than it should be. I could still hear the cicadas. I could barely hear anything else. I leaned against the wall heavily, trying to make it to Melon, trying to get to my phone that I had left in the same room as her, just trying to get any help I could.

I knew my steps were wobbly, but the ground seemed to grow ever closer as I stumbled to the door, the pain never ceasing and only growing worse. The black on my skin looked like scales in my blurry vision, but I assumed it was my skin peeling up. That’s all it could be. My vision wasn’t just blurry anymore. I must’ve gotten blood in my eye, because everything was red and blurry and burned.

By the time I got to the door, I could barely reach the knob. I struggled to to open because my hands just seemed to slip off the metal. I threw open the door, but Melon wasn’t happy to see me. she was backed against my bed, growling and snarling, hackles raised and fear in her eyes. I collapsed in the doorway. Before I slipped into unconsciousness, I saw someone in the mirror in front of me. It was the little fairy, from the forest, but she was wearing my shirt. And her wings, totally whole, were covered in tar-like liquid and blood.

#horror #horror story #fantasy #fantasy horror #short story #fairy #fairy story

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years ago

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Memory Lane is a Desolate Place (The Ashes of Yourself Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: generational trauma, abandonment, neglect, mentions of the following: death, war, plague, famine, genocide

Word count: 2,536

(A/N): Wowza, a Philza-centric chapter! Ik this is a lot shorter than what I usually write for this series, but I’m just trying to ease myself back into this story. I have a lot planned for this, so stay tuned : )

Philza walked through the tundra towards his old household. For the past few weeks, he had slowly been cleaning up the outside area and the interior for the upcoming family reunion. The house, due to nobody living in it, had slowly become overgrown with various weeds and wildlife. He had previously been looking forward to the reunion, ecstatic to see his entire family in one place again, but now he wasn’t so certain that his previous excitement was still there.

Over his many centuries of life on this world, he had seen some truly disturbing things; including genocides that left many children without families, wars that ended in mutually assured destruction, famine that reduced many to skin and bones, great nations once prosperous and grand becoming mere ashes beneath his feet in the matter of days, and plague that ravaged entire populations.

He had learned to ignore them as they passed, as they never affected him. Hardship was always present; time was akin to an arrow slicing through the air at mach speed, never stopping for anybody. To him, it was better to ignore than to be roped into something you couldn’t fix even if you tried. Those memories were shoved into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind only resurfacing against his will in the form of horrific, detailed nightmares.

However, those memories were different. Those were never personal.

The entire time he was walking, the sight of his youngest child’s charred body sinking into the deepest depths of the ocean plagued his mind. The memory was rooted into his mind, being seen in every waking second against his will. His feet led him inside on their own, his mind blank and his body feeling numb; it felt like he was dreaming with how much his subconscious was taking over.

By the time he fully came to his senses, he was standing in front of (y/n)’s closed door. Just like his children’s other doors, their door was labeled with ‘(y/n)’ written in a child’s sloppy handwriting and splotched with random colors of paint. He could remember sitting with them when he first brought them home and telling them to choose their room and holding them up so that they could reach the door.

“Alright, you get to choose your own room!”

The young blaze hybrid paused for a moment in concentration, trying to decipher what he had told them. They hadn’t spoken much English at the time, blaze being the only language they could speak. Luckily, Philza had experience with children not knowing much English; Technoblade had been the same way. After some simpler phrases and a small game of charades, they finally understood what he was telling them. Their eyes lit up and they bounced on the balls of their feet excitedly, making him chuckle.

In an instant, they zoomed down the hallway looking at the decorated doors as they passed. The names on the doors were indecipherable to them, merely chicken scratch compared to the calligraphy that they were used to seeing etched into nether brick. Not that they could read that either, the language was far too complex for a seven year old to understand.

Finally, after Philza caught up to them and showed them the rooms that were open, they had chosen an empty room without a second thought.

“Good choice, kiddo,” Philza beamed, his hand going to ruffle their hair. He hesitated, feeling the unnatural heat resonating from their flaming head before slowly coming to a rest on top of their head. Surprisingly, the flames merely tickled his hand as they flickered about. The heat was pleasantly comfortable, warming up his cold hand in an instant. A strange, weak magical energy made his entire arm tingle almost to an uncomfortable amount. It felt as if he had just touched something packed with static electricity.

They looked up at him with innocent eyes, silently pointing to another door in question. Philza followed their finger and saw that the door belonged to Wilbur, his name being painted in slightly messy spaced out lettering with small music notes surrounding it. Philza’s eyes furrowed before he came to the realization that they wanted to paint their door as well.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape before he leaned down to grab their hand and lead them to the kitchen where he had written out the name ‘(y/n)’. It was the name that was shakily etched onto a slightly burnt paper and given to him by the kid themselves when he was walking through a nether fortress earlier that day. Strangely, they were the only inhabitant of the fortress, not even a wither skeleton roamed the twisting halls. The anonymous note, albeit a little difficult to understand (as if the writer themselves hardly spoke any English), begged whomever came across the child to take them in. So Philza, being the type to never leave a child in need, took them in.

He sat next to them at the table and handed them a pencil. On his own piece of paper, he wrote out his own name, said it aloud, and pointed to himself multiple times. The child understood and shakily wrote out their name slowly, mimicking what Philza had written on their paper. This slightly shocked the winged man, he wasn’t expecting them to catch on this quickly. Not even Technoblade had caught on that quickly.

“You’re… a really fast learner, kiddo.” He breathed out with a proud smile on his face. The child, not understanding exactly what he had said, saw his smile and matched it with their own bright one, their face lighting up in a brilliant orange. He felt his heart melt at the sight.

He gathered some paint and paint brushes and led them back up to their chosen room. (Y/n) trailed after him closely, almost bumping into him when he suddenly stopped in front of their room. He lifted them up with one hand and held the palette with the other. The small child in his arm grabbed a paint brush and looked up at him hesitantly.

He gave them an encouraging smile and nodded at the door, telling them to write their name and demonstrating by stroking a clean brush against the door. They understood, gently swiping their brush against the wood with their tongue poked out of the corner of their mouth and their brows furrowed in deep concentration. Soon enough, their name was sprawled out in dripping, brightly colored paint. They looked up at Philza for approval, and upon seeing his large smile and warm eyes, they looked back at their creation with pride. Their eyes flicked between Wilbur’s door and theirs, something was missing.

Their eyes lit up in realization before they suddenly stuck their hand into the paints on the palette. A startled gasp left Philza’s mouth as his grip tightened on both the child and the paints. Before he could stop them, they had smacked their paint covered hand onto the door underneath their name. Paint splattered everywhere, splashing onto their body and his arms and face. He felt them jolt in surprise and felt the slight vibration of a blaze-like grunt rumble their chest.

Despite the mess that it left and the fact that he’d have to clean it up, small chuckles left him before he broke out into full blown laughter. This had been the hardest he had laughed in years, the feeling being almost foreign to him. (Y/n) joined him in his laughter, the sound of their joyed, high pitched giggles being music to his ears.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon decorating the door with small splatters and handprints. By the time they had stopped, Philza had drying paint splotches on almost every part of his exposed skin, hair, and feathers and (y/n)’s small hands were layered with colors and paint was similarly splattered on their body.

Philza pressed his hand against the much smaller handprint on the door and sighed at the memory, his face stretched into a small smile. They had been so innocent back then, their eyes full of hope and naivety, their face not having a single mark on it.

His hand dropped and the smile was wiped clean from his face as he remembered why his clothes were wet and his skin reddened with the unforgiving temperature of the tundra. He shook his head from side to side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of (y/n) laying scorched on the sandy beach struggling to gasp for the oxygen they were deprived of.

He opened his eyes and forced himself away from the door, instead walking towards the bathroom and running hot water to warm up his shivering body.

The shower was usually a place where he could sort out his thoughts and fully relax, however he was tense the entire time and his thoughts stung him like he was haphazardly tossed into a nettle bush. Once clean and warmed up, he stepped out and put on a dry set of clothes. To get his mind off from things, he quickly busied himself with housework.

That, however, did nothing to distract him from today’s events and the scalding argument that he and (y/n) had. Their words had initially angered him, had he not given them everything they needed to survive? Why couldn’t they understand that he had a constant craving for freedom and adventure that was impossible to ignore?

A mix of emotions poked and prodded at his brain as he contemplated the end of their argument. Their angry voice echoed in his head:

“You don’t know jackshit about me.”

His mind flashed back to the shock and panic he had felt when they nonchalantly stuck their hand into the crackling fire. He had forgotten that they could heal themselves with fire; hell, he had forgotten that they were basically fireproof. He quickly came to the realization that he couldn’t remember a lot of things about them.

“Do you have any idea how much you were gone from my life when I needed you the most?”

He wasn’t stupid, he knew he had missed a lot of their life. Every time he had gotten back from a journey, something about each of his children had always changed and significant milestones had long since passed. He had missed a lot of each of their lives, there was a lot that he didn’t know about them. “I’ll be there next time,” he had wove off a peeved Wilbur when the boy had confronted him about missing Tommy’s second birthday with the family. It wasn’t like he was lying to the older boy, no he fully intended to be there for each and every single milestone his children experienced. However, something always came up and he missed each and every single one. It was easy to make promises, yet it was increasingly difficult to uphold them.

“Wilbur was the one that raised Tommy and I while you were so focused on Techno and your stupid fucking adventures.”

Oh, Wilbur. His only biological child. The boy that had looked at both Tommy and (y/n) with such awe when they first were adopted. The boy that would defend and protect his family with his life. The boy that had once idolized him. The boy that he had left alone with his two youngest. The boy that dreamt of his own nation ambitiously. The boy that begged to die at the hands of his own father. The boy that he had plunged his sword through.

He had never thanked him or even recognized him for the hard work that came with raising two preteens on his own starting at the ripe age of sixteen. His stomach lurched at the memory of his son falling limp in his arms.

Technoblade had been his first son. Adopted or not, he loved him as if he were his own. The second he had allowed the piglin hybrid into his lonely household, it was like the curtains had been ripped open and light immediately spilled into the darkness that had shrouded his heart and mind. Once he was old enough, he had made an excellent sparring and adventuring partner.

He supposed that Technoblade had been placed on a pedestal, but in his opinion, he deserved all the praise he had been given. He had learned to ignore the multitude of voices that danced around his mind deafeningly. He had learned and became completely fluent in another language within the span of two years.

Philza paused as he realized just what he was thinking. Maybe (y/n) was right, maybe he did focus a little too much on Technoblade while they were growing up.

But on the other hand, Technoblade was a gifted child in the art of battle.

However, his other children were important as well.

His thoughts constantly contradict themselves and come full circle repeatedly, being swirled around and bouncing off the sides of his skull. Oh, he despised how much of a whirlpool his thoughts were.

“You were a shitty father.”

Was he a shitty father? His mind strained back hundreds of years to his own father and the last words he had left him with. The memories of his parents were incredibly fuzzy, he couldn’t even remember their faces or voices even if he tried with all his might. He could only remember specific details about them. His father was always absent and exploring the globe while his mother stayed at home raising him.

He could remember how terrified he was when everyone around him aged and he stayed the same. His mother (bless her soul) had passed leaving him home alone distraught on what he should do and angry at the fact that his father wasn’t there. Months had passed since her funeral and Philza hadn’t even heard from him, filling the immortal with blinding rage. When his father had finally come home with the strong scent of sweat and body odor, he had finally let loose what had been brewing in his mind.

“You’re a shitty fucking father and an even shittier husband,” he remembered saying, “she died and you weren’t fucking there.”

It was after that he had left the old man and his childhood home behind in favor of exploring the world. He wanted to see what was so alluring that his father was compelled to miss a majority of his life. After a while of aimlessly wandering and uncovering many treasures, mysteries, and friendships, he had quickly become hooked. It had become a coping mechanism of sorts; a distraction from the death’s shadow following his friends but never him.

He felt as if he plunged through ice and into the freezing inky abyss below as he came to a horrifying realization: he was the person that he hated the most, the person he swore he’d never become when he first laid eyes upon Technoblade. He was exactly like his father.

Memory lane is a desolate place that he’s neglected for good reason, and now it was overgrown with unpleasant memories that forced him to realize who he’s become.

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#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: generational trauma #tw: neglect #tw: abandonment

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pregnant-piggy · 3 years ago

Text

Reminds me of home

Jesper Fahey x reader

words: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of food and animals, reader’s mother is dead, no pronouns used for the reader

A/N: this is my first time writing Jesper, so I struggled with his character and don’t think this is totally right, but I loved writing this too much not to share it with you :) please let me know what you think, thank you!

The sun was setting slowly in the sky, painting orange strikes on a gradually darkening canvas, when Jesper checked the note in his hand one final time, before stepping onto the driveway of the old farmhouse. Around the farmhouse lay a yellow-green grass lawn, with on the left side of the house a little garden with flower beds in full bloom. Behind the house stood the stables and sounds of breezing horses and bleating goats filled the air, along with the lingering scent of drying grass.

The front of the house was covering in shadow, the red bricks and woodwork a tone darker than they would be in the sunlight. Above the front door hung a single lamp, and the flickering of the fire inside of it wasn’t enough to compete with the light of the setting sun.

Jesper groaned as he walked over the driveway to the front door. He wondered what the odds were that he had pulled the farm out of the stack with hideouts.

A week ago, Kaz had come with his plans for a new job. This time the victim was a rich merchant, who had a large estate in the country lands outside of Ketterdam. The merchant’s name was Klaas Rover and he was well-known in wealthy circles.

Just recently, Rover had bought a very pricey DeKappel painting and Kaz had found out that he was moving the painting to his country-estate at the beginning of that week. The basics of the plan had been easy. As long as Rover wasn’t at the house and the painting was, it would be impossible to get it with all the security. But, according to Kaz, there would be one moment of weakness in the security. From the morning Rover would step foot into his mansion to the night he’d fall asleep there, the merchant would want to showcase his painting to everyone who’d want to see it. That night had been the night to strike.

And so had Kaz done. He had set out with a small team; Inej and Jesper had been at his side, followed by two other Dregs, Pieter and Roos. The whole operation had gone according to plan and the painting had come off the wall and outside without a hitch.

That was why it had come as a surprise when Kaz had pulled out three pieces of paper with the notion that they had to hide for a couple of days. Inej had gone with Kaz, Pieter and Roos were together, and Jesper was alone.

‘Remember, you are Thomas van Dijk now,’ Kaz had said before they had parted ways. ‘You are a student and stranded alone after a trip with your fellow students. I know the people there and they will take you in.’

Kaz had disappeared before Jesper could say anything and he had seen no other option than to follow Kaz’s orders.

So now he was standing in front of a farmhouse, silently cursing his friend before knocking on the door.

A broadly built man opened the door and eyed Jesper suspiciously. This one tried to keep his easy posture and smile, but he felt himself grow slightly uncomfortable under the gaze of the man.

‘What do you want?’ he asked brusquely.

Jesper swallowed and his hands automatically reached for his hips, finding nothing but air there as he had hid his revolvers in his bag, figuring it wouldn’t be too great of an entrance. He scratched the back of his head and let out a nervous chuckle.

‘I’m Thomas van Dijk,’ he started, wondering if the man would ever believe him. ‘I uhh… I was out with friends—a break from studying, you see? And this morning when I woke up they were gone and they took all transport… so I was wondering if I could perhaps stay here until they pick me up again?’

The man glanced at Jesper for a while. ‘D’you know farm stuff?’ he then asked.

‘Sure,’ Jesper shrugged, figuring that it couldn’t be all too hard.

‘Alright, then,’ the man nodded and stepped aside to let Jesper in, ‘you can stay here for a few days.’

Jesper sighed relieved and walked into the farmhouse, only realising inside that he had had no plan if this hadn’t worked out.

The interior of the house reminded Jesper of his home in Novyi Zem. The walls were painted in a warm colour green and an old rug lay on the stone floor. On the wall in the little hall hung a portrait of a beautiful woman standing in a field of wildflowers. She had long hair framing her face, falling down in curls around her shoulders. The woman looked like she was in her late thirties, but she had a smile that was ageless.

Jesper followed the man into the next room, which was the living and dining area. There was an open door that led to the kitchen, from where Jesper could smell whatever the man was cooking. Another door probably led to a staircase, Jesper figured by the shape of the little space behind it.

The main room was an extension of the hall. The same green coloured the walls here and more paintings hung on the walls. Jesper recognised the woman in more pictures on the wall, and sometimes she was accompanied by a child.

Jesper looked around, wondering where the rest of the household was. Kaz had spoken about more than one person, but so far Jesper had only seen one; and that one was standing right in front of him.

‘You can sit there,’ the man said and pointed at the chairs around the table. ‘You want dinner?’

‘I’d really appreciate that, sir,’ Jesper said and the man nodded before he disappeared into the kitchen.

-=-=-=-=-

The sky was dark and the last rays of the sun were setting behind the horizon when you heard the bell from the kitchen, telling you that dinner was ready.

You always spent so much time outside that your father had given up on trying to find you for dinner. Instead he had installed the bell to let you know when you had to come home, and when you cooked you used it to get your father back home.

You got up from your spot on the ground next to Klara. She was the oldest cow you had at the little farm and she had been your mother’s favourite. However, two nights back Klara had suddenly fallen ill and so far she hadn’t improved yet. You had spent the last two days neglecting your duties at the farm to take care of her. Klara was the one thing that was closest to your mother and you refused to say goodbye to her too.

Silently you slipped from the stables and walked back to the house. There was light burning behind the windows and you saw the silhouette of your father inside, sitting at the dinner table. In a flash you thought you saw your mother there too, but as you blinked the image fell away.

Stepping through the backdoor in the kitchen, you kicked off your boots and shrugged off your coat. Quickly you washed your hands and face and arranged your hair, before you walked into the living area, knowing that your father liked you to not be messy at dinner.

‘Klara’s not any better,’ you said as you walked into the room. ‘She’s just lying still and—’

You stopped talking as your eyes found the stranger at the dining table. He was sitting opposite of your father, looking at you with a smile. The boy could be not much older than you were, but by the way he was clumsily sitting in the chair, you saw that he was a lot taller than you. His dark-skinned body was clothed by a dark green suit with flashy, golden buttons, lined with a silky lime-green fabric. Below his dark eyebrows two eyes glittered merrily and his smile got a little more confident as you sat down at the table.

‘What’s going on?’ you asked your father.

‘This is Thomas,’ your father answered, nodding towards the strange boy. ‘His friends ditched him and he needed a place to stay for a few days. With the situation around Klara, I figured a little help at the farm wouldn’t hurt.’

You stared at your father for a moment and then turned to Thomas. ‘Are you from the city?’

The boy nodded. ‘Yes, I go to the university in Ketterdam.’

‘What happened?’

‘We had a few days off and decided to go on a trip here. But when I woke up this morning my friends had left. I have no transport home and after searching for a place to stay all day, I got here.’

‘Nice friends you have,’ you mumbled and something in the boy’s face turned bitter.

‘Don’t get me started,’ Thomas said and then he smiled at you.

-=-=-=-=-

Jesper was woken early by a heavy, pounding headache. The sky outside was pink from the sunrise and with the figures of the trees and houses it looked like a painting to Jesper—one that was far more beautiful than the one he stole from Rover.

As he rolled over in his bed and reached for his temples, it didn’t take long for Jesper to realise that it wasn’t his head that was pounding—there was someone at the door of the room. Groaning Jesper sat up in his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the sleeve of the shirt that he had borrowed to sleep in.

‘Coming, coming,’ Jesper groaned when the knocking kept going.

He opened the door and was met with your eager face, painted with a big smile. You chuckled at Jesper and shook your head. ‘Come on, Thomas! Work doesn’t wait!’

Just for a split second Jesper was confused as to why you called him Thomas, but then he realised that the whole show he was putting up here was nothing more than that; a show. You didn’t know who he really was and, if he was honest, Jesper did feel a little guilty about it. You were so kind to him and he hadn’t even given you his real name.

This was not the time for morale questions, however, and Jesper shook the guilt off him. ‘Right,’ he said slowly and then glanced into his room, finding the bag he had dumped on the floor. He had not brought anything other than his guns, the clothes he had been wearing and a little money. ‘Do you perhaps have some clothes I can borrow?’

Half an hour later, Jesper was standing in the stables next to the house with a buttered slice of bread in his hand. He was wearing a linen blouse and trousers of rough material that you had given him. He felt naked without his guns resting on his hips, but taking them with him had been out of the question. Now he felt like the Jesper he had been before he had gone to Ketterdam—poor, weak and unskilled.

You came back with a large sack in your arms, that you dumped into Jesper’s arms. He stumbled under the sudden weight, but managed to keep his balance.

‘My dad’s out on the fields today, so we have to take care of the stables,’ you said. ‘If you feed the chickens, I’ll do the goats and then we’ll get together again, okay? Don’t forget the eggs!’

You turned around and walked off and Jesper was left baffled. Unsure, he turned and walked to the chicken coop, finding a bunch of chickens there. A fat, white one looked up when Jesper stood over the coop and cooed softly. The chicken kept staring at him as he walked around the fence and Jesper slowly began to freak a little.

He put his hand in the bag with food and grabbed a handful of seeds that he threw as far away from him in the chicken coop as possible. All the chickens rushed to the food—including the fat, white one—and Jesper quickly stepped over the fence and lowered to his knees so he could reach into the henhouse. He was met with the angry eyes of another chicken that was still sitting inside the house. She pecked at Jesper’s hand while he tried to find the eggs that you wanted.

When he finally pulled back, he had found six eggs. His hand was throbbing and even bleeding at some places. As fast as he could he walked away from the chicken coop back to the stables, where he dropped the sack with food on the ground and sat down next to it, examining his hand.

After a few minutes you came back from the goats and the smile on your face changed to worry when you saw Jesper sitting defeated on the ground.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked.

Jesper quickly jumped up and nodded, hiding his hand behind his back. He forced a smile on his face and tried to look excited at you. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’

You squeezed your eyes at him but dropped the subject. ‘Okay, if you say so,’ you mumbled and then nodded your head to the back of the stables. ‘We have to check on Klara again before we go on.’

‘Klara?’ Jesper asked.

You walked off to the back and Jesper followed you, ending up at a dark stable where a big cow was lying on the ground, breathing deeply. She had her eyes closed and Jesper thought she was asleep, but when you stepped into the space, the cow opened her eyes and looked up at you.

‘This is Klara,’ you unnecessarily explained. ‘She is our oldest cow, but it’s not looking so good for her now.’

You lowered to your knees and rested your hand on top of Klara’s head. The cow closed her eyes at the feeling and let out a deep breath. You closed your eyes momentarily and as a troubled shadow crossed your face Jesper realised that Klara wasn’t just another animal at the farm to you.

‘Will she be alright again?’ Jesper asked, standing awkwardly at the entrance of the stable.

‘I really don’t know,’ you sighed and you looked up at Jesper with sad eyes. ‘She��s not worse than yesterday, but also not any better.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jesper said and he tried to give you a reassuring smile.

You got up from the ground and gave Jesper a little smile back. ‘Thank you.’

-=-=-=-=-

Later that afternoon Jesper was sitting with you in the shadows of the house, looking out over the fields that surrounded the farm. Somewhere far in the distance he could see the figure of your father, as a little black silhouette against the bright light of the sun.

Jesper was exhausted. Although he considered himself in good shape, the work on the farm was completely different from what he usually did in Ketterdam. Normally he would crouch, run and hide, but today he had had to use brute force and the running had only applied when one of the goats had gone after him.

‘And,’ you said as you handed Jesper a glass of water, ‘how do you like it here?’

‘I’m so tired,’ he whined dramatically and you laughed, throwing your head back. ‘But it looks beautiful here. I like it—reminds me of home.’

‘Where’s home?’

Jesper hesitated for a moment, considering where his actual home was.

‘I grew up in Novyi Zem, on a jurda farm,’ he told you, while staring out at the fields. ‘My dad still lives there, works on the farm now that I… am going to the university in Ketterdam…’

Carefully Jesper looked aside after his slip-up, but you hadn’t caught it. With your legs tucked to your chest and your arms wrapped around them, you were sitting in the chair, taking in the sunlight with your eyes closed. There was a soft golden glow on your face from the sun and the point of your nose glistened.

‘...I guess that’s my home now,’ Jesper continued. ‘Ketterdam.’

‘Hmm,’ you hummed softly before you opened your eyes and looked at Jesper. ‘What’s it like? To live there?’

‘You’ve never been to Ketterdam?’

‘I have, but never for a long time,’ you said, giving Jesper an innocent smile.

‘It’s… busy, noisy, crowded. There’s people everywhere, at all times of the day. When it’s hot the canals stink and when it rains the entire city turns grey. The rich people are mean and the poor are gross. It’s never safe and there’s a lot of crime.’ Jesper stopped talking to take a breath and noticed you were watching him with a raised eyebrow. Then he smirked. ‘It’s amazing.’

You leaned back in your chair and huffed. ‘I think I prefer the silence of the country.’

‘I get that. On my first day in Ketterdam I wondered how I could ever live there. I was sick with longing for home and the farm.’

‘What happened?’

Jesper grimaced. ‘I got a taste of real life.’

You waited for Jesper to continue, but he said nothing. He couldn’t really, not if he wanted to obey Kaz’s orders. Again he felt bad for you, for lying to you. You were so kind to him and all he did was lie about who he was; you didn’t even know his real name.

-=-=-=-=-

You stepped out of your room while the sun wasn’t even up yet. The house was silent and dark, but you could easily find your way to the room you were headed for. This was the house you grew up in and you knew every secret hidden in every dark corner.

‘Time to wake up!’ you said through the door and you knocked shortly.

Yesterday, Thomas hadn’t been of great use with your animals, but you hoped that today he would. He had told you that he had grown up on a jurda farm so you figured fieldwork wouldn’t be as hard on him as the goats.

There was a grunt from inside the room and you had to stifle a laugh. Once again you knocked—a little harder this time—and the grunt from inside came back louder. Yet there was little movement in the room and you rolled your eyes and grumbled something about lazy rich boys from stupid universities, before you threw the door open.

‘What—hey!’ Thomas cried out. ‘I said I was coming!’

‘Sounded a lot more like you’d just roll over again,’ you said, leaning against the doorpost with your arms crossed.

Thomas murmured something incomprehensible and he threw the blankets off of him. ‘If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked, you know?’ he smirked as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms over his head.

‘Hmm, if only I wanted,’ you shot back, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from gazing at his chest anyway. It was dark, but your eyes had gotten used to the darkness enough to be able to see the lines and shapes of Thomas’ bare body. There was no denying his fitness, but what caught your attention more were the scars littered over his torso. From small, almost innocent lines to light-coloured circles and dents. For the simple student he claimed to be, he had an awfully damaged body.

You averted your eyes from his chest and shook your head. How this boy’s body looked was none of your business, so there was no point of dwelling on it. Yet, as you turned around to leave the room, you found yourself fighting the urge to get closer and feel his body under your hands.

‘You like waffles?’ you asked over your shoulder, seeing a big smile break on the half-naked boy’s face.

-=-=-=-=-

Your father had worked on the fields yesterday, and most work had been done already. All there was left for you and Thomas to do was harvest the potatoes on the last piece of land and then sort them with the rest. It was heavy, dull work and you were glad there was someone to help you.

Thomas and you were bent over the crops, working opposite of each other on a row of potatoes. The sun was shining on your back fiercely and you felt it burning on your neck. It was long too late to prevent the sweat from breaking out and you felt hot and sticky.

Opposite of you, Thomas wasn’t doing much better. Little droplets of sweat were rolling down his temples and the shirt he was wearing was soaked with his sweat. Yet there seemed to be some sort of glow around him, like he was energetic still—even after the hours of labour.

It was late in the afternoon when you pulled out the last of the potatoes. You and Thomas dropped down on the grass on the edge of the field, both sighing with relief that the hard work was over.

‘Only sorting left,’ Thomas said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘How long will that take?’

You squeezed your eyes against the afternoon sun as you looked at the boy next to you and shrugged. ‘About two hours, I guess.’

‘Two hours in this heat is an eternity,’ Thomas stated.

‘We could do it tonight,’ you suggested. ‘After dinner, when it has cooled a bit.’

‘And what do we do until then?’

You shot Thomas a cheeky smile and got up from the ground. ‘I have an idea.’

You led Thomas through the sunny fields and over the meadows around the farm, ignoring the sunshine in your face. Eventually you slowed at large bushes and a few trees and you smiled at the boy before you pushed aside some branches and stepped out into an open spot with a small lake.

Thomas burst out in laughter and turned to you with a big smile on his face.

‘Last one in the water has to get the other drinks!’ he shouted as he threw off his shirt.

You followed after him, stepping out of your shoes and trousers. As you ran towards the water you took off your shirt, throwing it somewhere behind you on the grass. You pushed off on the side and wrapped your arms around your legs as you jumped into the water next to Thomas with a cheer.

The cold water engulfed your entire body and you happily welcomed it after the whole day of sun. Gasping for air when your head reached above the water again, you turned to Thomas.

‘You were last!’ he exclaimed.

‘Only because you were already in the water when you said it!’ you defended yourself and splashed water towards Thomas.

‘Still counts!’

He pushed water back and you closed your eyes against the waves. Water dripped down your hair and face, getting stuck in your eyelashes. You blinked the drops away and swam a little closer to Thomas.

Planning to create a huge wave, you lowered your hands in the water, when you felt something slimy slither past your foot. You squealed and leaped into Thomas’ arms, almost drowning him with the sudden weight. Terrified you scanned the water around you, looking for the thing you had felt.

‘What’s wrong?’ Thomas asked, trying to keep you in his arms while staying above the water.

‘I felt something!’ you squeaked, still looking around you.

‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of fish,’ Thomas laughed.

‘I am not! I just freaked because I—’ you started but stopped when you quit looking and found yourself very close to Thomas.

That same deep urge as this morning crawled inside your mind before you could stop it. Despite yourself you admired the simple beauty of the face so close to yours. This boy had something enchanting, and it was more than just his jokes and smirks. Something about him made you want to cling onto him and not let go.

You did let go, however, and quickly swam back to the side in silence. Thomas followed you and climbed on the grass, offering you a hand so you could get out of the water yourself.

As you got dressed—with some difficulty because you were both still wet—far in the distance you heard the sound of a bell, telling you that dinner was ready.

‘Finally,’ Thomas said, as he pulled his shirt over his head. ‘I was beginning to worry we wouldn’t eat at all.’

-=-=-=-=-

Jesper was sitting alone at the back of the house with two large baskets of potatoes in front of him. Luckily it had cooled down and it was now pleasant to sit outside.

You stepped out of the house with a tray in your arms. Two glasses of lemonade and a plate of biscuits stood on the tray that you put down on the ground between Jesper and you, before you sat down yourself.

‘How generous of you,’ Jesper started, as he took the glass. ‘Almost like you didn’t lose the race.’

You shook your eyes as you took a biscuit, which you used to point at Jesper. ‘That race wasn’t fair, and you know it.’

‘Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.’

You rolled your eyes but there was a smile on your face nevertheless. Then you nodded towards the baskets.

‘Two piles,’ you said. ‘One with small potatoes and one with normal and large.’

You took out a few potatoes and showed Jesper how to determine the size. He got on quickly and you were already starting on the second basket when your father called you away.

Jesper continued on his own while admiring the sunset he always missed in Ketterdam. He loved living in the city and wouldn’t want it any other way, but in moments like these he did miss his old home. He missed the simplicity of life back then, of knowing exactly what was going to happen in your day. Living in the city, living with the Dregs, had taken that certainty from Jesper.

The sun had almost completely set when you came back and the last rays of sunshine reflected in the tears on your face. You sat down with a sigh next to Jesper and before he could ask you what was wrong, you burst into sobs.

Before thinking, Jesper dropped the potato in his hand and crawled to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to his chest. He didn’t know where the action came from or why he did it, but seeing you so heartbroken hurt Jesper’s own heart.

You buried your face in Jesper’s neck and he wrapped his arms a little tighter around you. He could feel your quivering breaths on his skin and your tears soaked his shirt but he didn’t care.

‘It’s okay,’ he whispered and pressed a kiss on the top of your head without a second thought. ‘Let it out. It’s alright.’

After a while your tears stopped and your quivering breath changed for hiccoughs. You lifted your head from Jesper’s shoulder and looked at him with an apologetic look, that he discarded immediately.

‘Don’t even dare to apologise,’ he said and you laughed softly. Jesper wiped the tears from your face and cradled your head in his hands. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Klara,’ you said as Jesper dropped his hands from your face to your hands. ‘My dad went looking at her and she’s doing even worse than before. I know she’s just a cow and everything, but she’s the strongest connection I have to my mother and I just…’

You looked up at Jesper and smiled sadly. ‘I don’t know, it probably sounds weird.’

Jesper shook his head and gave your hand a little squeeze.

‘It doesn’t sound weird,’ he said, thinking of how he had clung to the littlest thing of his mother after she had passed.

You sniffed and smiled at Jesper. ‘Thanks.’

‘Of course,’ he said, as he sat back next to you, taking a new potato in his hand.

You followed his example and for a while you worked in silence, until Jesper took the last potato from the basket and threw it on the pile left of him. He turned to you and found you staring at the dark sky.

‘What was your mother like?’ he asked finally, giving in to his curiosity.

‘She was perfect,’ you said and you smiled faintly ahead of you. ‘She was caring, kind and smart. She kept things going around here. There is not much to do, but she always made sure I was never bored.’

You laughed shortly and turned to Jesper. ‘Perhaps I’m a little biased; she was my mother after all.’

‘Maybe,’ Jesper said and he gave you a smile. ‘But you’re allowed. Who better than kids to judge a parent?’

‘She was beautiful too,’ you added. ‘Did you see the paintings? My dad used to paint a lot, but since my mother passed away he hasn’t picked up a brush. It’s a shame, I think he’s really talented.’

Jesper nodded. He had wondered why the paintings had only been of the woman young, but she hadn’t aged anymore after that.

Now that the sun had set, the warm air slowly turned cold. Jesper fought the urge to wrap his arms around his own body. He looked at you and noticed the goose bumps on your arms too. He got up and offered you his hand.

‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing out here.’

You took Jesper’s hand and followed him to the backdoor of the house. When you walked past the path that led to the stables, you slowed and pulled lightly on Jesper’s hand.

‘Can we…?’ you asked and before you had finished your sentence Jesper nodded.

‘Of course.’

The stables were warmer than outside and though Jesper still hadn’t gotten used to the smell he much rather be there than outside. He much rather be there with you than alone in his bed.

Klara lay in the back and you let go of Jesper’s hand to rush over to her. You dropped to your knees next to the cow and wrapped your arms around her. Big tears rolled down your cheeks and the soft sound of your crying filled the barn.

Jesper sat down in a pile of dried hay and stared at his hands as he listened. After a while your crying stopped and only the heavy breaths of Klara could be heard. Feet shuffled and when Jesper looked up you weren’t sitting next to the sick animal anymore but next to him.

Your cheeks were still wet from the tears, but you managed to give Jesper a little smile. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. Slowly he leaned back in the hay until his back found support and he was almost lying down.

Without needing more words, you pulled your legs on the hay and settled against Jesper’s body. With one hand to your own chest and the other rising and falling with the motion of Jepser’s chest, you quickly fell asleep.

Jesper glanced down at you and almost got unwell by the sense of comfort that washed over him. The longer he looked at you the more that little bubble of guilt in his stomach grew, but before he could do anything about it the hard work of the day took its toll on him and he dozed off.

-=-=-=-=-

You woke up in a pile of hay by something that was nudging your leg. Slowly and grumbling against the bright morning light you opened your eyes to find a cow standing in front of you.

‘Klara!’ you cried out and the happiness that filled you at seeing she had recovered during the night drowned out all the sleep left in your system.

You jumped up and stumbled to the cow, throwing your arms around her neck. A few tears of happiness escaped your eyes and they dropped down on Klara. After last night you really didn’t think she would recover anymore, let alone be standing on her own feet.

As you hugged Klara, you suddenly remembered that you hadn’t been alone last night. You let go of the cow and returned to the hay you had woken up in. Instead of the boy you had fallen asleep against last night now lay a little note.

Good morning sleepyhead,

My friends finally picked me up early this morning and you looked too peaceful to be disturbed. I want to thank you and your father for letting me stay at your humble farm. It did me good to be out of the city for a while. I want to thank you as well for your company and honesty. I really hope Klara gets better—she seems quite cool.

I know you don’t like the city, but if you ever accidentally find yourself there and you miss my sparkling presence, go to The Crow Club and ask the bartender for Jesper Fahey. They’ll know who to find.

Take care,

Thomas

- - - - - - - -

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