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rabbitcruiser · 1 year ago

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National Cookie Day

Bake some sugary, buttery and perfectly rounded snacks, indulge in classics like chocolate chip or experiment with unusual flavors like lavender or cheese.

Cookies are sweet and full of all sorts of delicious goodness, from nuts to fruit to chocolate. They can be either delightfully crumbly or sinfully chewy. Not to mention that they keep forever if they are stored properly…well, this may not actually be true but, honestly, they will probably never last long enough to find out!

There’s no doubt about it: cookies more than deserve their own day, and that’s why National Cookie Day is celebrated around the world in order to pay tribute to these delicious little treats. So grab some flour, butter, and sugar, and let’s get to celebrating, shall we?

The History of National Cookie Day

Cookies, themselves, can be traced back much further than most people would imagine. It is estimated that in the 7th century AD, Persians were some of the first to grow and harvest sugar cane, which would have eventually been turned into baked goods. The movement of people for trade and war led the glory of sugar to be brought into Europe and, by the 14th century, cookies had come there as well.

Then, when Europeans migrated over to the Americas, they brought with them their sugar as well as their cookie recipes. Americans eventually began developing their own types of cookies, the Chocolate Chip Cookie being one of the most famous of all.

In 1987 Matt Nader of the San Francisco-based Blue Chip Cookie Company created National Cookie Day, saying: “It’s just like having National Secretaries Day… It will just be a fun thing to do.” This fun and sweet holiday have also been championed by The Cookie Monster from Sesame Street, obviously a supporter of all things that are cookie-related.

Although the day did not originate with him, some details about National Cookie Day can be found in Random House’s The Sesame Street Dictionary, which was published back in the 1980s. Since then, the word got around the globe that there was much tasty fun to be had on December 4th, and people from various countries all around the world began to celebrate National Cookie Day.

In fact, a number of variations on National Cookie Day are also celebrated around the world, such as Oatmeal National Cookie Day and Bake Cookies Day. This is likely due to one of the greatest things about cookies: they come in hundreds of shapes and sizes and are relatively simple to make.

So get ready to celebrate everything that has to do with cookies–baking them and eating them!

National Cookie Day Timeline

1st Century AD

Scottish oatcakes

While some might argue this started out as a version of bread, what they turned into is something that is certainly very close to resembling a cookie! They were often used by traveling clansmen as a staple of their diet.

7th Century AD

Mini cakes are used to test ovens

When testing to see if the temperatures were right, ancient Persians (some of the first to grow and harvest sugar cane) may have used tiny “cakes” to check their ovens. These little cakes may be the ancient ancestors to today’s cookies.

11th Century

Lady Fingers emerge

These delicate little spongy cakes actually resemble something like cookies and were first made in France. The first recipe hails from the House of Savoy.

14th Century

Cookies become commonplace

With the growth of access to sugar, many residents of European cities find small treats such as cookies are fairly accessible. In fact, most of the earliest baking cookbooks from this time contained recipes for cookies. Of course, in England, they may have taken on the name “biscuit”.

1792

First published American cookbook includes cookie recipes

Just 20 years after the independence of the country, the first American cookbook is published. It contains recipes for regular butter cookies as well as a “Christmas Cookey”.

1902

Nabisco makes Barnum Animal Crackers

Although they are named “crackers”, everyone knows they taste sweet like cookies! These, produced by American company, Nabisco, are in the shapes of animals and named after the famous circus showman, P.T. Barnum.

1937

Chocolate chip cookies are invented

In what began as a happy ‘accident’, Ruth Wakefield of Massachusetts, USA, was baking butter cookies and wanted to make them into chocolate cookies. She thought if she put tiny chocolate pieces into the dough, they would melt and turn into chocolate cookies. Wakefield ran the Tollhouse Restaurant, which she named the cookie after.

1984

Cookie Dough ice cream is invented

When an anonymous fan suggested they add piles of unbaked cookie dough to their vanilla ice cream, Ben & Jerry were just crazy enough to try it!

1997

Chocolate chip cookie represents Massachusetts

Following a bill proposed by a class of third graders from Somerset, Massachusetts adopts the chocolate chip cookie as the official cookie of the commonwealth. This gives a nod to the invention of this cookie at the Tollhouse Restaurant in Whitman, Massachusetts.[9]

How to Celebrate National Cookie Day

So simple and easy, celebrating cookie day means enjoying a cookie–and perhaps sharing one with a friend. Try out these other ideas to make National Cookie Day special:

Enjoy Eating Cookies

While some people might consider cookies to be something to pack in a child’s lunchbox, they’re certainly delicious for adults to enjoy too! Small or big, cookies are inherently perfect for sharing. They’re the ideal treat for a family gathering or a kid’s soccer game. Stop by a bakery on the way to work and grab a few cookies to share at the office. Or bake some at home and pass them around to neighbors.

Whatever is happening on this day (or any day, for that matter) will obviously be much better if it happens with a cookie in hand!

Try a Unique Cookie Flavor

Make National Cookie Day memorable by stepping off the beaten path a bit and trying a cookie flavor that you normally wouldn’t have. Go beyond that typical chocolate chip or peanut butter cookie recipe. All sorts of unique and adventurous cookie flavors are out there just waiting to be tasted, and here just a few:

Peanut Butter Chocolate Bacon Cookies. They say that everything is better with bacon. Why not try adding it to some delicious cookies? The blend of sweet and savory is absolutely to die for.

Fruity Pebbles Cookies. Just for fun, these treats use a basic cookie recipe and add in a couple of cups of colorful, crispy Fruity Pebbles cereal.

Savory Herb Shortbread Cookies. Almost like crackers, these cookies work nicely as an appetizer. Made with parmesan and freshly minced rosemary, these cookies pair well with a glass of red wine. And they can be just as tasty when made with asiago cheese and freshly cut thyme.

Salted White Chocolate Lavender Cookies. Keep to the herb garden with the delicate edible lavender combined with white chocolate.

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skiplo-wave · 2 months ago

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Happy Halloween Skip!^^

It's amazing how Halloween has evolved over the past 2,000+ years.

Although history tells us, originally it was a pagan holiday. New discoveries might change that claim. What we call Halloween is possibly older between 4,000-5,000 years ago.

The name Halloween in Scottish, Hallow-Een means "holy evening" or sometimes called "Saints Evening."

Let's go back 2,000 years ago.

Samhain

A ancient festival celebrated by the Celtics around 2,000 years ago to mark the end of harvest and the beginning of winter. The Celts believed that the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest during this time. And because of this belief, they would carve out faces turnips (looks like shrunken heads) and place them on the window pane to keep the bad spirits away from their homes. On hallows night they would wear masks and costumes to disguise themselves as harmful spirits. Altars were built to honor ancestors. A feast was prepared and served. A place was set at the table for each spirit. Barmbrack bread was popular for Samhain. The feast was often eaten in silence. Games/customs often involved apples and nuts from harvest. Candles were lit everywhere. A bonfire was built and lit. And the bones of slaughtered animals were thrown into it. The Celts would also take a burning branch from the fire home to light their own hearths (fireplaces).

Samhain, Holidays Mash, Stolen

The origins are of Halloween can be traced back to multiple ancient festivals. Or what some would call "stolen" holiday. Christianity spread from Ethiopia and up toward Europe. When that happened, Paganism began to die. The feud between Christianity and Samhain was that it was against law to sacrifice animals. Christians later on started All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day. This was the beginning of the end for Samhain. Eventually Samhain would be lost and not often celebrated like it was 2,000 years.

Hallowtide || Allhallowtide || Hallowmas

Catholicism began to rise which was one of the first "white man" form of religion branched off from Christianity that originated in Ethiopia. Catholics took a turn at stealing what was left of Samhain from Christians calling it Hallowtide (plus a few other forms). Britain, Flanders, parts of Germany and Austria, people would practice "Souling" which took place from October 31 to November 2. They would visit houses and ask for soulcakes, either as representatives of the dead or in return for praying for their souls.

1800s

Irish (Last of the Celtics) and the Scottish took the remnants of Samhain to America in the mid-1800s. They would dress up costumes, often in ball gowns, ask neighbors for food and money. Play pranks and carve pumpkins instead of turnips. By the late 1800s, the upper class people would hold mask ball dances on Halloween.

1920s

The term "trick-or-treat" first appeared in the early 1920s. This paralleled what the Catholics use to do for Hallowtide. Going to peoples houses and asking for soulcakes. In the 1920s, parents would make their children homemade costumes. Kids used pillow cases and potato bags for their loot of sweets. Often they would get homemade treats. Fudge, peanut brittles, taffy, peppermint, licorice and apples.

1930s

The practice of "trick-or-treat" became more widespread in the 1930s. However, the 1930s brought in more mischief on Halloween. Vandalism, physical assaults, and violence. When there was a slight relief from the Great Depression, schools and churches would hold barn dances for young adults.

1940s

World War 2 brought a strain on Halloween as sugar became rationed and candy companies was hit hard. However, it did not stop people from getting creative. Around this era, kids received great depression era cake slices, apple sauce candy, sweet crackers, apples and oranges. But by the late 1940s, the sugar rationing was over and candy companies began to blossom again. People also started throwing Halloween parties.

1950s

By the 1950s, Halloween became what we know as today. Passing out store brought candy became popular. If there was a homemade treat, it was usually cookies and cupcakes. Bobbing for apples and Halloween games. Pranks made a return as well. Soaping windows, toilet papering peoples houses, and of course the famous burning bag of dog poop left on the doorstep.

Happy Halloween anon ��

#asks

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phlistopher · 7 months ago

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Ocean's Blues Brothers

Here’s a silly sketch I’m pretty proud of. Mash up of Ocean’s Eleven and music.

INT. DINER - DAY

DANNY Blues sits in a diner booth oozing charm, whipping French fries into his mouth. He is joined by JOHNNY Brothers, a nervous man who constantly fiddles with crap.

JOHNNY

Alright, I'm here, Danny. Against my better judgement, I might add.

DANNY

You're a saint, Johnny.

JOHNNY

You've got until I finish my coffee to tell me what this is all about.

Johnny takes a bit sip of coffee.

DANNY

I'm getting the band back together.

Johnny spits his coffee everywhere.

JOHNNY

Are you nuts? It'll never work, not after what you pulled.

DANNY

You didn't let me finish. I'm getting the band back together for one last heist.

JOHNNY

What?

Johnny takes another big gulp of coffee.

DANNY

We're robbing the Bellagio.

Johnny sprays his coffee everywhere, choking.

JOHNNY

Are you out of your mind? That really will never work. I'll be honest with you, with the first band back together thing, I was ready to be convinced. But us robbing hotels? That. Will. Never. Work.

DANNY

Give me one good reason.

JOHNNY

We're musicians!

DANNY

It's just one last time.

JOHNNY

It's the first time!

DANNY

We'll improvise.

JOHNNY

How?

DANNY

Jazz.

JOHNNY

That's music! We know transposing notes, variation, modulation, riffing on a theme, but like I said, that's music! That's nothing like stealing from a hospitality institution! I mean, that's like, three major felonies.

Johnny takes yet another drink of coffee.

DANNY

Three majors, a major third, what's the difference?

Johnny spews his coffee everywhere.

JOHNNY

A lot! Do you even have a plan?

DANNY

It's airtight.

CUT TO:

INT. CLUB - NIGHT

A man laying down a nasty bass groove in a smoky club, really feeling the music.

DANNY (V.O.)

First, we get our old friend and jazz bass virtuoso Stanley Clarke. Has some of the most interesting yet soulful grooves of any bass player out there. A real student of the form.

Danny walks on stage, whispers in Stanley's ear. Stanley's eyes, which had been closed, pop open in terror as he listens to Danny.

DANNY (V.O.)

He's our getaway driver.

CUT TO:

INT. CAR - DAY

Stanley is behind the wheel of a moving car. He still has his bass on. He frantically tries to drive but just plays bass instead. The car careens off the road and into a ditch.

Long bass note.

DANNY (V.O.)

Next we have Steve Lukather, ace session guitarist.

CUT TO:

INT. STUDIO - DAY

Steve tracks guitar in the studio, big headphones over his ears.

DANNY (V.O.)

He's played on half the hits of the last 40 years.

Danny pulls up one side of Steve's headphones and whispers in his ear. Steve's eyes pop, and he whips his head around.

DANNY (V.O.)

He's our safe cracker.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE ROOM - DAY

Steve's turn transitions to him in front of a safe. He stares at it for a moment, then half-heartedly spins the dial. He looks around for help.

JOHNNY (V.O.)

I'm about to have a heart attack.

We see a shot of each thing as Johnny lists them.

JOHNNY (V.O.)

The Bellagio is swarming with security guards, has cameras everywhere, fingerprint scanner checkpoints, silent alarms, you name it. How are you even going to get in?

DANNY (V.O.)

That's where drumming legend Bernard Purdie comes in.

CUT TO:

EXT. AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Bernard Purdie drumming intensely.

DANNY (V.O.)

This guy is so influential he's got a shuffle named after him. His triplets are second to none. He's our distraction.

CUT TO:

INT. CASINO - NIGHT

Bernard in the middle of the casino floor, scared, the center of security guards attention. He slowly slips behind a slot machine.

JOHNNY (V.O.)

And what happens when something inevitably goes wrong?

DANNY (V.O.)

Not a problem, because we have master saxophonist Wayne Shorter as our lookout.

CUT TO:

INT. CLUB - NIGHT

Wayne blasting a sweaty sax solo, eyes squished shut. Danny whispers in his ear and his eyes bug out, blasting more sax.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE BELLAGIO - DAY

Wayne, in the exact same position, in front of the Bellagio, clearly terrified. A crush of cops rush past him into the hotel. As he watches his sax blowing and eyes get bigger until he finally throws his sax and runs the opposite way.

BACK TO:

INT. DINER - DAY

JOHNNY

Time's up, I'm out of coffee.

He turns his coffee cup upside down.

DANNY

Almost there. Finally, we have Rita Jackson, a tambourine player I met at Richmond fifth baptist.

Johnny spits coffee everywhere.

JOHNNY

That was so surprising I spontaneously generated coffee just to spit it! Since when do you go to church?

DANNY

I figured with a big endeavour like this I better get right with God before hand.

JOHNNY

And what job does Rita Jackson have?

CUT TO:

INT. CHURCH - DAY

Rita Jackson, an elderly woman, sitting in a pew. Danny leans over, whispers in her ear. She is utterly scandalized, and whacks him with her tambourine.

BACK TO:

INT. DINER - DAY

DANNY

Rita's out.

JOHNNY

That doesn't that seem like a sign, spiritually.

DANNY

Nothing's perfect.

CUT TO:

INT. CHURCH - DAY

Rita Jackson is totally kicking the crap out of Danny with her tambourine.

BACK TO:

INT. DINER - DAY

DANNY

With your five octave range, and a group of killers like us, all you need to do is walk out with the money.

JOHNNY

We're studio killers, not actual killers.

DANNY

I don't discriminate like that.

JOHNNY

And where are you in all of this?

DANNY

I'm the manager, so I just take 10% off the top.

JOHNNY

Unbelievable.

DANNY

So, what do you say?

JOHNNY

Alright, I'm in.

Danny spits coffee everywhere.

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newmusicradionetwork · 1 year ago

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Whey Jennings And Country Music Pals Wes Shipp, Jesse Keith Whitley, Creed Fisher & John Paycheck Find Catchy Traditional Hook On “Old Country Song”

Outlaw country singer-songwriter Whey Jennings is rolling out his next new song and video for “Old Country Song” in exclusive premiere today by Taste of Country . The song, available everywhere digitally on July 14, is a collaboration between Whey’s country music pals and the song’s co-writer Wes Shipp, with Jesse Keith Whitley, Creed Fisher and John Paycheck. The music video, which features cameos by all, will premiere on Whey’s YouTube channel on Friday at 12pm ET, and on CMT.com. “I have been friends with Creed Fisher for the better part of a decade and we are label mates,” Whey said. “John Paycheck happened to be in town and Jesse Keith Whitley and I have been friends for 5 or 6 years. We have worked together and we just happened to be in one place at one time. Call it dumb luck or call it a blessing but whatever it was, but I’m glad it happened.” “Old Country Song” is one of six new songs, and the second single release in 2023 from his forthcoming new EP Just Before The Dawn, due out in September by Dirt Rock Empire. Whey has been making a monumental comeback throughout 2022 and into 2023. Not only with his next level new music and songwriting abilities – but personally – as the grandson of Outlaw country pioneers Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter has learned to find a new path in life through sobriety. Several of the songs on the forthcoming Just Before The Dawn EP continue to musically tell his story of redemption. With his newfound lifestyle at-hand, Whey is already beginning to establish his own musical legacy within his iconic Jennings family tree. “People like us, traditional country music fans, are a dying breed, and by us I don’t mean just artists,” Whey explained. “There’s a large cult following for old country music loving men and women and we are all like-minded individuals, that when old country songs are played, it brings us all together. With me and fans, I ain’t never gone wrong with an old country song so you can plan on me to keep the tradition alive for as long as I can.” Single name: “Old Country Song” Songwriters: Whey Jennings, Wes Shipp Record Label: Dirt Rock Empire Audio release date: July 14, 2023 Video release date: July 14, 2023 Audio producers: Gary Carter at Danny’s Place Long Hollow Studio and GC Studio Video Director/producer: Giovanne Gotay, Melissa Gotay Pre-Save/Buy/Stream: cmdshft.ffm.to/OldCountrySong Upcoming Tour Dates: JUL 14 – Deale Maryland Elks Lodge / Deale, Md. JUL 15 – Pike 40 Fest / Belmont, Ohio AUG 11 – Tioga County Fair / Wellsboro, Pa. AUG 12 – Spectrum Cup @ Rainbow Farms / Vandalia, Mich. AUG 19 – Big Delta Brewing Company / Delta Junction, Alaska AUG 22 – West End Fair / Gilbert, Pa. AUG 25 – Buffalo Jam / Jamestown, N.D. **For Whey’s complete tour schedule follow on BandsInTown or visit WheyJennings.com/tour About Whey Jennings: Whey Jennings grew up in a family full of country music royalty. His grandfather, the legendary Waylon Jennings and grandmother Jessi Colter both had major success in the major music charts for decades. Jennings is a “rough around the edges, unpolished singer” with a voice as big as Texas. He couldn’t go pop with a mouth full of crackers! Jennings is the oldest son of his mother Katherine and father Terry Jennings. Whey has always had a deep love for music since the first time he stepped foot on stage. Whey was just a boy when, at one of his grandfather’s shows, Jessi Colter left a microphone on a chair backstage after performing “Storms Never Last”. Young Whey picked up the microphone and pranced out onto the stage and began singing “Mamma’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.” Whey’s grandpa Waylon shouted out: “Hey hold up there Hoss…wait for me!” Waylon went to pickin’ and when the song was finished, the crowd went nuts. It was on that day that Whey fell in love with music and as they say… the rest is history. # # # Read the full article

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badest-writing · 1 month ago

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The school day ended as usual. I had English with Ms. Richards last, then chess club in her room for another 45 minutes. She was nice and let me charge the laptop I’d borrowed from the school library during class time. That way I’d be able to do most of my homework and message people from class online because I didn’t have a phone.

Like everyone else, I didn’t let Ms. Richards know about my situation. She seemed to know something was off regardless though. She always held me back for a couple minutes after chess club before I left school for the weekend to give me a couple granola bars or bags of nuts she’d “found while cleaning out her desk.” I didn’t buy it after the first couple times but it was free food and I would have been stupid to decline. She gave me sunflower seeds a couple times which I tried and really didn’t like but Harvey enjoyed them so I kept them for him.

Today seemed to be no different of a Friday, with Ms. Richards asking me to stay back a few minutes under the guise of essay corrections. This time however, once everyone left the room she asked me to come sit with her at the private table in the back of the room. Every nerve in my body ignited and I was so scared I was found out or in trouble in a way they’d need a parent to actually come in for instead of just sending “home” a paper I could forge a signature on.

Ms. Richards seemed to sense my tension. “It’s okay Ethan, I just wanted to make you some tea. It’s starting to get colder out and I noticed you’re still in summer clothes.” She was right. I hadn’t had a chance to pick up any warmer clothes yet and it certainly didn’t help that I’d been getting a bit taller.

“Oh. Thank you Ms. Richards.” I sat down a bit gingerly, already being consumed by thoughts. If she noticed that, what else has she noticed? I try so hard to blend in, I must be doing well enough, I have to be. I suddenly jolted out of my thoughts as I felt her hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her kind smile then to the orange cinnamon tea and a pack of Animal Crackers she’d put in front of me, my favorite. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem bud.” Ms. Richards called all her students by child pet names when they were upset. She knew bud was okay with me but to not call me kiddo. She sat across from me at the table. She didn’t have tea in front of her but looked at me expectantly so I took a sip. It felt nice and cozy and felt so good I almost started crying.

Ms. Richards was kind enough to pretend not to notice and pulled some papers in front of her and worked on grading. I drank very slowly to prolong my time in the heated room as outside began getting chillier and chillier. By the time I finished the tea and crackers, she’d just about finished that stack. “Thanks Ms. Richards.”

She looked up with the kindest smile. “Of course Ethan. If you ever need anything at all, let me know, okay? I’ll do everything I can to help you if you’ll let me.”

I looked down at the empty mug, too nervous I’d spill everything if I met her eyes. “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course dear.”

I grabbed my backpack and walked across the classroom to the door. I opened it and felt the cold air hit my face. I was going to be dark soon. I still had to find a place to sleep tonight…..

Tears welled up in my eyes as I turned back around to see Ms. Richards observing from by her desk. “I– I can’t. I just– I can’t do this anymore. I’m s-so exhausted.” The tears started streaming down my face and, dropping my backpack, I let myself fall in a controlled way into the corner by the door, my back protected from any possibility of danger. I curled in on myself as much as I could as I cried into my knees, sobs ripping through me.

I heard Ms. Richards pull up a chair a few feet from me and sit in it. I knew she’d wait for me to start talking when I was ready.

This story is written by me, @badest-writing (aka @dead-immortal). The following is all my intellectual property and may not be used by anyone for any reason without permission except for review purposes. This is a fictitious work; any similarities this has to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

(trigger warnings: homeless child/teen, big emotions, doctor, panic attack, needle mention (for immunizations), social services, passing mentions of the fears caused by systemic racism, probably more tbh)

the story of MY life (by Ethan Daniel Roberts)

The gull stared me down, a murderous look in its eyes. It slowly took a step towards me as if I wouldn’t notice its approach after it had pinned me against the wall. It took another step forward. Then another. Then— BAM! The gull lunged at my hand with its sharp beak. I moved out of the way at the last possible second and only narrowly avoided losing my finger. My timing had been perfect; the gull SLAMMED into the wall it had cornered me against!

“Not today man, I’ve got a math test today and I can’t have everyone hear my stomach growling.” I slung my backpack off one shoulder and tucked the bag of chips I’d risked my life for into the big pocket.

#part 5 of 15

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starlitheaven · 2 years ago

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: ̗̀➛ MEET ME AT OUR SPOT — CHOSO

tags. royalty au, knight!choso, consort!reader, food play, tw mentions of naoya, smut, infidelity (sort of)

note. for @laudthingcat for the 1k follower event, hope you like it! this got away from me honestly. based on meet me at our spot by the anxiety ft. willow. *the lone wolf is based on a 70s manga/movie series that i personally think toji would love and relate to.

wc. 2.2k

As a royal consort to the prince and heir of the throne, your purpose inside of this palace is to provide companionship, attention, and to dedicate every single day to Naoya. To refine your skills — playing musical instruments, dancing, reading, poetry, sex — in order to remain worthy of your position. To be worthy of him. You’d be executed instantly for merely entertaining any man who isn’t Naoya Zenin, let alone allowing one into your bedroom.

And yet there you were, in that very bedroom given to you by the palace, entangled in another man.

Your spacious bedroom often smelled of the jasmine oils you were fond of, but right now only his scent invaded your senses. He smelled like the sun. Bright and fresh, like clothes hanging to dry under the warm afternoon sun. All of the expensive perfumes and oils that the servants placed on you for Naoya couldn’t compare — you’d choose this every single time. This warrior who smells of sunshine.

There was no one else in your heart besides him. No one else has gently carved a place for themselves in your heart like he has. His large hands, roughened from lifelong labor, suddenly grab your waist and pull you into his lap, flush against his broad chest. He takes advantage of your surprised gasp and meets your lips with his. He’s clumsy in his excitement, but it only makes you laugh into the kiss. Choso kisses you like it’s the last kiss you’ll share, all desperation and heated passion. His hands roam down your backside and settle over the back of your thighs, giving them a rough squeeze. The dig of his nails over the soft flesh makes you moan and he swallows them hungrily.

Most of his life has been dedicated to others – whether it was raising his younger brothers or serving a royal family that he despises – Choso deserves to be selfish and greedy.

He tastes like ale and fresh grapes from the silver platter on the ground beside him (he prefers cold ale over the customary sweet canary wine). The servants pick fresh fruit every single day for the royal consorts in order to prepare platters and spreads for them, giving extra attention to those who will spend the night with Naoya. Apple slices, grapes, cheeses, whipped cream, honey, olives, nuts, crackers and jam. You’ve learned that everything about being a royal consort involves serving; you’re meant to hand-feed this all to the Zenin heir.

The thought of doing so makes you physically ill, makes your fingers curl into the wool of Choso’s shirt. It’s so rare to see him out of his armor, to see him dressed as himself, not the Captain. The fabric is softened from overuse, but still sturdy. Comfortable. Warm. Just like Choso. You pull away from the kiss slowly, and there’s a thin line of spit connecting your lips. The sight of Choso, so dazed from a mere kiss, pushes all thoughts of Naoya from your mind.

The thing is that you were deliberately placed to be a royal consort for Naoya – it’s all part of the plan. Your lord pulled several strings and called upon questionable favors to turn you into the intel against Naoya. Like Choso, you were raised to be a warrior. You’ve trained most of your life to become a respected fighter, all in the hopes of taking down this disgusting and terrible family, starting with the current king and his heir. But Naoya has a type–and you’re exactly it. That, and the Zenin family only allows men to fight for their name. Again, disgusting.

Falling in love with Choso was most obviously not part of the plan—he had merely been your comrade when you first arrived to the palace and met under that wisteria tree to discuss your role. Lord Gojo and Maki had told you of him – they told you to be nice – and the rest was history. Choso Kamo was a gentleman if you’d ever met one. He had boldly stated to you that he takes care of his own, you included, and you remember waving his words off. But he’s risked his life and the entire plan just for you several times. This man would die for you. He had more honor on one thick finger than the entirety of the Zenins.

If anyone deserved to be pampered and hand-fed, it’s him. So you do just that, guiding him to remove his white wool shirt and remaining snug on his wide lap as you begin to slowly feed him from the spread. But the sight of his exposed chest is too tempting.

The wide expanse of sun kissed skin, the hard muscles he hides underneath big shirts and armor. It calls to you—makes your mouth water. So you gather honey with your fingers, to his surprise, and place them over his bare chest.

Choso groans as you delicately spread warm honey over his nipples; the dusky buds hardening under your touch. He’s surprised at the turn of events, but freezes as you lean down. “Mmm,” you hum, lapping up the sweet flavor before taking his nipple into your mouth, giving it a hard suck. He lets out a breathy whine that sounds like your name.

He’s hot on your tongue, and the honey would overwhelm you with its sweetness if it wasn’t for the salt on his flushed skin. You continue to lap it up, making sure to be as noisy as possible about it. Choso goes crazy when you act a little filthy. When you finally pull back, you hold in a laugh at the look on his face. A mixture of shock and arousal.

It isn’t difficult to keep his attention on you, and his focus increased tenfold as you grasp the opening of your robe.

Slowly, enough to make him impatient, you unravel your silk robe. You feel pride bloom at how intently he watches the fabric slide over your skin and revealing your bare chest to him. Intimate moments like this, away from prying eyes, are few and far between. Most times you meet Choso is in the afternoons under the wisteria tree for daily “meetings”. Here alone, it’s different. You can act on the tension that builds in your time apart— the heat in his eyes as he stares at the delicate curve of your neck, the sound of your voice murmuring his name in greeting, the alluring scent of jasmine on your wrist as you remove fallen leaves from his hair, and your playful smile as you do so.

He’s woken up hard from dreams of taking you beneath that tree. Laying you down on the soft grass and taking you apart for anyone (Naoya) to see. He’s tripped up during military meetings from imagining what you’d look like with the lilac petals of that tree littering your naked skin.

You draw Choso away from his thoughts as you dip two fingers into the honey, gathering some and raising them over Choso’s lips with a gentle nudge. It’s sticky on his pink lips. You hum in encouragement, keeping your eyes locked with his dark ones as his tongue darts out, licking the thick sauce from your skin. His dark eyes lower in arousal as his hot mouth begins sucking on your fingers, reveling in the sight of your lips parting with a silent gasp.

Mesmerized, you begin sliding your digits in and out of his mouth. He looks good like this, you think. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?” you hum, taking your fingers out. His grip is tight over your hips now. “Try some more…”

Choso nods obediently, looking at you like the gods that warriors pray to before they fall. He looks raw like this; dark almond hair loose over his shoulders, cheeks flushed a deep red, lips wet with spit, sleepy eyes glazed with lust. Grasping his thick wrist behind you, you gently guide him to gather whipped cream on his fingers and place it over the valley of your breasts. His hand is shaking slightly as the rough pads of his fingers sensually run down your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel the flat of his tongue drag over your skin. Choso licks up your chest and mutters more before grabbing an apple slice and dipping heavy into the honey. He lets the fruit hover over your chest, waiting as the thick honey slowly dribbles over your breasts, painting them in sweetness. He wastes no time in cupping your breasts and begins suckling the honey off of them, dragging his tongue over your pert nipple and leaving little nips. Heat pools in your groin, heady and unbearable.

“Ahh,” you whimper, tethering yourself by tangling your fingers into his brown hair. Opening your eyes, you find that Choso is looking up at you, breathing out through his nose as he continues sucking on your tit. You don’t even notice that you’re rolling your hips over his groin.

It surprises you to see just how much he enjoys nursing from you like this, and the thought only makes you wetter. His lips part with a pop as he peppers kisses along your chest towards the other breast, glossing his lips with the splattered honey. You’re panting now, sticky and wet as you continue to grind on him with growing need. Choso bucks his hips up, and your responding moan tells him you felt his growing cock.

The heat in his eyes forces you to keep your eyes locked with his. “Look what you do to me.” he rasps, bucking up again. His eyes are wild with lust now. “Feel that?”

Yes, you do. The fabric of your robe is so so so thin that you feel the outline of his hot cock right over your backside. You lick your lips absently at the thought of it.

“Do you want it?” he asks through gritted teeth, giving your ass a hard squeeze. You nod again, leveraging your arms over his shoulders. The rough slap over your ass is unexpected and makes you gasp. “Say it. Tell me that you want it. Speak, starlight.”

The words spill clumsy out of your mouth. “I want it, I want your cock,” you simper, feeling your mind fog up in submission. You’re rutting against him now. “I want you, please. Please.”

Like always, Choso takes care of you. He takes you apart with ardor, unraveling you until you’re laid bare before him. Those honeyed lips messily kiss your clit as he works your tight cunt open with his calloused fingers, moaning into the heat of you. You’re too out of it to notice the way he humps the soft rug as he eats your pussy, drunker on the taste of you than the ale from earlier. You taste yourself on his lips as he finally slides inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars. And at the last moment, Choso slips out of you and finishes himself off over your chest, painting your tits in his come the way he did the honey.

Afterwards, he gently cleans you up and settles you against his chest. You trace the scar on his collarbone as he absently hums a lullaby in a language you don’t understand. There’s still so much to learn about each other and you can only hope to be able to someday.

“I should go soon,” Choso sighs, chuckling when you whine at this. He doesn’t remove you from his hold either, though. This man has made you soft and pliant with his love, and you don’t hate it. He places a tender kiss over your sweaty temple, always ready to be the voice of reason. “What if Naoya comes by? I’ve heard he’s been sleeping here more lately. That he’s favoring you now.”

Your lips raise in a teasing grin. “Aw, are you jealous, Choso?”

“No.” he frowns, looking more petulant than anything else. Perhaps it’s his puppy dog eyes, all droopy and dark. “Well, sometimes I am. But I’m more worried than anything else. It’s dangerous to have the attention of someone like him. He can be unbelievably cruel to things he likes. We can’t get caught and risk the plan. He needs to die.”

These are words that can only be spoken in whispers from the comfort of your own room. Anyone caught speaking ill of the prince – the heir – would be punished. Not only that, but Choso is a knight—the Commander who should be the embodiment of loyalty to the Zenin crown and the one to strike down anyone who challenges it. But the truth was that Choso abhorred the Zenin rule, and Naoya most of all. There’s already talks of what a wicked king he’ll become. Choso thinks he’s nothing but a disgusting worm.

Choso’s brows are drawn together, so you reach up and gently run your fingers through his brown hair. “Naoya has been coming to my bedroom, but he doesn’t stay the night. That’s exactly why he’s been favoring me.”

“What?”

“He uses me as a way to leave the palace, because the king makes it difficult for him to do so in his own quarters. So he comes here and sneaks out to go into town. He never returns until morning.”

Choso looks perplexed. “What for?” There’s really only one reason a man would sneak into town at night, but Choso clearly has no idea. It’s cute how innocent he can be with things like this while also being brutal in battle.

“Brothels. He visits them pretty often.” you say, laughing at your lover's scandalized reaction. It’s understandable, as the Zenin family is very traditional. Even a prince like Naoya isn’t exempt from judgment; his father could easily strip him of his title and shun him for being tainted. Yet he’s allowed to have over ten consorts. These people don’t make sense. “Don’t worry, it seems like the plan will finally begin soon. I found Megumi’s father.”

And this was the true intention of Choso visiting you tonight; to update him on the advancements of the resistance’ plan to overthrow the Zenin. There’s a man who was once exiled from the palace long ago—a man who was kept hidden from everyone except the royal family and was treated like an animal, despite having Zenin blood in his veins and being the king’s nephew. Not only did you find Megumi’s father, but he’s someone that the entire region knows of.

“The Lone Wolf?”

Who would’ve thought that the mysterious mercenary turned warlord would be the man you’ve all spent years looking for?

“Mhm, he’s on his way to town to meet Megumi. Lord Gojo said he’ll rush back as well, but I reckon he’ll be late as usual.”

When Megumi meets his father, he’ll tell him of the plans, and once the Lone Wolf discovers that it was the Zenin’s who killed his wife and Megumi, who was also thought to be dead…

Overthrowing the Zenin family was no longer a far fetched idea. The possibility of it was right there on the horizon.

#winter i'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted fjskdf #this really got away from me #and i'm sorry i can't write smut :(#choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso x female reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso smut #choso #choso kamo

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yelenasdiary · 2 years ago

Note

Advent spot for a Florence x fem reader where they don’t know if they should get their baby Christmas gifts because their kid is too young to open presents. Last minute, they decide to shop for the kid and have a fun time getting in the holiday spirit! Just a pure fluff request!

☃️ First Christmas ☃️

Pairing: Florence Pugh x Reader

Summary: Florence and you decide on what to get your shared son for his first Christmas.

Fluff | 0.6K | Florence & Reader share a child | Mentions of childbirth |

AC: I actually used a wheel to decide the gender of the baby like I do with all my fics that involve a baby without a mentioned gender. I hope you enjoy this!

Day 21 | Advent Calendar Masterlist 🎄

8 weeks ago, your son entered the world bringing you and Florence a love and joy that nothing could ever top, at 8 weeks he's smiling and giggling but still way to young to understand anything about what is going on around him. He already has everything that he needs from clothing to stuffed animals to mountains of nappies so when Florence brought up the Christmas shopping list, the two of you weren't sure if it really was worth buying gifts for the little baby and playing Santa.

"We could just wait until next year, he'll be a year old and interacting with things more" you suggested as you and Florence sat together on the sofa after putting the little man to bed for the night, "Plus, what do we give him if we did do the whole Santa thing this year?" you added. "I already know mum and dad and the others will shower him with gifts so I'm not sure, maybe it is worth waiting until next year. We can just pick up some teething toys for now" Florence replied with a slight pout for her train of thought.

After a few moments of silence as you both faded off into your own thoughts, it made you both look at each other and smile softly. "He'd look adorable in a little Santa outfit" Florence spoke, breaking the silence. "He really would, even a little grinch outfit!" you added with excitement, "and we could get him some of those baby-proof indestructible books for when he's a few months older" Flo suggested as the ideas kept entering her mind. "What are we thinking? Of course, we have to give him his first Christmas this year!" Your wide smile did nothing more but convince Florence this would is indeed a baby's very first Christmas.

With only a week until Christmas and the shopping done for family and friends, you and Florence could now focus on buying 'Santa' gifts for the baby boy with piercing green eyes he shared with his mother. Joining the Christmas tree and table ornaments, Florence decked the house out with wall decorations and brought out her early Christmas kitchenware while you decked the front of the house out with plenty of Christmas lights, inflatable reindeers, nut crackers and of course, Santa himself.

The gifts under the tree soon start to spill over the living room floor with gifts for your son. Each night Florence and you would read him a Christmas related story even though he couldn't understand or even knew what Christmas was, it didn't matter. You both enjoyed sharing this special holiday with your newfound love, a new chapter of life for you and Florence to soak up. The three of you would be wearing matching pjs and you even brought him a musical Rudolph that had his name on the belly, it made him giggle whenever he watched it sway side to side while singing.

On Christmas morning, you and Florence couldn't be more excited to put your son in his new Christmas rocker while you both opened his gifts up one by one and showing them off to him, again, not that he understood anything but the smile on his tiny little face was more than enough for you and Florence to be glad that you decided to give him a Christmas you both will never forget.

"He looks so adorable" you whispered to Florence as you both looked over at the baby as he slept peacefully in his rocker, "he takes after you, I see" Florence replied in a whisper. "Oh no baby, that's all you! Look at his adorable little nose" you gently bobbed his little nose not waking him from his afternoon nap, "he actually reminds me so much of you, even this young" Flo turned to you, "he's just so full of life and it's impossible not to love him" she smiled before gently cupping your face, "and I know for a fact it's impossible not to love you" she whispered before kissing you gently.

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #fanfiction #Christmas

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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

Note

can i request some headcanons for, kalim, azul, silver and malleus catching their crush (reader) attempting to discreetly leave a gift or an love letter at their locker or something? if thats okay! :)

I’m going to alter this prompt slightly, since I don’t think we have any indication that NRC has lockers (just from a quick look at NRC campus backgrounds). So...! It’s going to be the reader being caught leaving a gift at the respective character’s dorm for them.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Kalim has no sense of subtlety at all. As soon as he spots you, his eyes light up with excitement and he rushes over to say hello. You’re so shocked by his sudden appearance that you fumble to hide the present behind your back (but it goes unnoticed by Kalim, who’s far too distracted with greeting you).

He starts happily chatting you up, asking how your day has been and why you’re all the way in Scarabia (not that he minds, of course--he just gets really excitable when he has the chance to talk to his crush)!

The conversation actually starts hopping from subject to subject, and Kalim ends up inviting you inside for snacks! Though you protest, he insists that you would make do with some food and drink to perk back up from the scorching heat. Plus, he wants to show you how hospitable and sweet he can be!

Kalim gives you some coconut water and platters laden with fine cheeses, crackers, nuts, and fruits. He’ll even feed you himself, casually pressing bits of fruit and slices of cheese to your lips. Your present for him is left on the edge of a table and forgotten in lieu of a fun and festive afternoon, the two of your hearts growing closer together.

Azul is quick to sweep over to you with a polite smile to ask about your reasons for “snooping around” Octavinelle. As thrilled as he is to see you come to his dormitory, he knows that he has a public image to uphold as a deal maker, and he won’t let his true emotions be worn on his sleeve.

When you try to hide your present, Azul only chuckles and plucks it right out of your hands. He nonchalantly glances at the recipient name (his) and, with a smirk, (ironically) advises that you be more honest and direct with your intentions.

As soon as the transaction is made, Azul announces that you no longer have any business with Octavinelle and personally shows you to the mirror portal out. He has a hand on your lower back while he escorts you, the perfect spot to indicate some level of familiarity without being too openly aggressive or flirtatious.

Once you are gone, Azul hurries to his office and slams the door behind him. Alone, he allows himself to sink against the wall and hug his present to his chest. A delayed reaction kicks in, and his whole face turns bright pink, just like steamed octopus. He buries his head in the present and lets out a small, muffled squeal, hoping that, some day, he, too, can be honest with you.

When he first hears your footsteps, Silver thinks that there’s an intruder afoot in Diasomnia. He instinctively tenses and prepares himself for a potential battle. It’s a pleasant surprise for him to run into you, his crush, instead!

Rather than take advantage of the change to talk to you, Silver’s attention immediately hones in on the gift in your hands. He insists that you hand over the suspicious package, suspecting that it is intended for Malleus. As fairy royalty and a powerful magician, Malleus has a number of rivals that would love to topple him from his throne--and it’s Silver’s duty to prevent that, at all costs.

You reluctantly hand over the present, and Silver opens it right in front of you to inspect--and he sees his name clearly scrawled on letter taped to the inside of the box, along with a small amulet. A faint blush sets in on his cheeks as realization dawns on him.

You both stand there awkwardly in Diasomnia’s foyer, just... staring at your own feet. At last, Silver clears his throat, apologizes for ruining your surprise, and shyly thanks you for the thoughtful gift, swearing to cherish it with all his heart.

He’s very much surprised to see you lingering in Diasomnia. Not many have the bravery to venture into his dormitory, much less have the gall to bring offerings to him. The fact that it’s you, too... it brings a small smile to his lips, and it gives him hope that you will accept him for who he is.

Malleus appears before you in a flash of his signature green fairy lights, causing you to stagger back a bit in shock. Luckily for you, his reflexes are quick, and he’s able to catch you before you fall, easily righting you once more.

He smoothly takes the present from your hands and informs you that there is no need to keep secrets--after all, you already had the courage to enter a dragon’s lair, so what harm can there possibly be in confronting the dragon himself? The fae makes a motion to undo the ribbon and open the box right then and there, but you convince him to save the unwrapping for when you’re away. (He has a light chuckle at your embarrassment, finding the blush on your face to be endearing.)

Malleus thanks you for remembering him with a firm pat on the head and invites you to visit again. He vanishes in another flash of light, leaving you blinking up at them in wonder. Malleus has, unknowingly, managed to enchant you in more ways than one.

#twst #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst x reader #Kalim Al-Asim #Kalim Al-Asim x Reader #Silver #Silver x Reader #curiouser and curiouser #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #Reader #self insert

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rabbitcruiser · 24 days ago

Text

National Cookie Day

Bake some sugary, buttery and perfectly rounded snacks, indulge in classics like chocolate chip or experiment with unusual flavors like lavender or cheese.

The History of National Cookie Day

So get ready to celebrate everything that has to do with cookies–baking them and eating them!

National Cookie Day Timeline

1st Century AD

Scottish oatcakes

7th Century AD

Mini cakes are used to test ovens

11th Century

Lady Fingers emerge

These delicate little spongy cakes actually resemble something like cookies and were first made in France. The first recipe hails from the House of Savoy.

14th Century

Cookies become commonplace

1792

First published American cookbook includes cookie recipes

Just 20 years after the independence of the country, the first American cookbook is published. It contains recipes for regular butter cookies as well as a “Christmas Cookey”.

1902

Nabisco makes Barnum Animal Crackers

1937

Chocolate chip cookies are invented

1984

Cookie Dough ice cream is invented

When an anonymous fan suggested they add piles of unbaked cookie dough to their vanilla ice cream, Ben & Jerry were just crazy enough to try it!

1997

Chocolate chip cookie represents Massachusetts

How to Celebrate National Cookie Day

So simple and easy, celebrating cookie day means enjoying a cookie–and perhaps sharing one with a friend. Try out these other ideas to make National Cookie Day special:

Enjoy Eating Cookies

Whatever is happening on this day (or any day, for that matter) will obviously be much better if it happens with a cookie in hand!

Try a Unique Cookie Flavor

Peanut Butter Chocolate Bacon Cookies. They say that everything is better with bacon. Why not try adding it to some delicious cookies? The blend of sweet and savory is absolutely to die for.

Fruity Pebbles Cookies. Just for fun, these treats use a basic cookie recipe and add in a couple of cups of colorful, crispy Fruity Pebbles cereal.

Salted White Chocolate Lavender Cookies. Keep to the herb garden with the delicate edible lavender combined with white chocolate.

Source

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

Text

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!

Percy's POV

My name is Percy Jackson.

I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.

On this trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.

Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.

He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"

It comes out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"

My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.

"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover mutters.

"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.

"About the Titans?"

'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."

Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"

I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.

"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.

I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan.

I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery is empty.

Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.

I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shakes the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she's talking about.

All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demands.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hisses.

Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.

With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.

She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.

Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.

The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.

I'm alone.

There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.

My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I walk back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I answer, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.

She just rolls her eyes and turns away.

I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."

Thunder booms overhead.

I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I go over to him.

He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stares blankly at me, "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Word Count: 3159 words

So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.

Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.

Love y'all! Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#percy jackson x sister reader #sally jackson x daugther reader #demigod reader #fem reader #reader insert #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the lightning thief reader insert #percy jackson and the battle of the labyrinth #percy jackson and the titans curse #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson and the greek gods #percy jackson and the sea of monsters #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert

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imaginethatneathuh · 4 years ago

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The Hermit: Technical Boy - American Gods

Technical Boy x child!reader, father-child

Technical Boy needs to get away from the Drugs gods for a bit and comes across a kid.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop.

TW/CW: Blood, skull-cracking, hospitals, swearing, near-death experience (and making light of it), drugs, sex, starvation, adoption, fostering.

Word count: 3.6+ K

•

Sometimes, Technical Boy just needed some air. Everybody does, but with him, it was more of a necessity so he wouldn’t blow up at someone.

Sex (the druggie) had been teasing him a lot more than usual and he hated it. Sure, Weed and Coke tried to get her to stop, but she started doing it behind their backs, and if Technical Boy told Weed about it, he’d be a snitch. He did not want to be known as a snitch bitch amongst the drug gods. That would be a nightmare.

He could have asked for Weed to help him calm down, but he didn’t feel like calming down that way. He wanted some peace, not to get high.

So, here he was, walking down some random street in some random city because he didn’t want to be anywhere near the druggies.

Yes, they’re his best, and only, friends, but he doesn’t always want to get high. Being around them, usually meant getting high off them. Sometimes, it’s nice. Sometimes, it’s not.

Technical Boy, in a dice hoodie with the hood up and black sweatpants with fire at the bottom, stared at his phone, scrolling through the news.

It was a lot of shitty stuff.

He wasn’t surprised by that. The others, “family” of the druggies, were at it again. Those of that sort, those with the brown hair and eyes, it’s like they were born to create chaos and discord in the world.

Technical Boy rolled his eyes, scoffing. He slipped his phone away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The god turnt to the sky, eyes closed.

As he walked, passing by an alley, Technical Boy heard quiet sniffling.

Instead of stopping, he kept walking.

There were plenty of homeless people in the world. Not everyone is lucky enough to be born into wealth or lucky enough to be able to keep their homes. Some people get shitty deals.

Nothing he could do about it. Nothing World would allow anyway.

Still, the god noticed that the sniffing was much higher pitched than normal, adult sniffling. He had an entire database of sounds at his fingertips, and as a part of him and his domain. It sounded like the sniffles of a child crying.

He stopped and hung his head.

‘This had better not be a kid,’ he thought to himself.

He didn’t like children, in theory. He’d never actually met one but from movies and shows, they seemed insane. It’s likely, upon meeting one, he wouldn’t know what to do.

Technical Boy wasn't good with regular adults. Dealing with a child would be impossible.

So, instead of assuming he was right and the sniffling was coming from a child, he decided he was wrong and approached the alley’s mouth as if an adult was in there.

“Hey, man, you okay?” He asked.

The god peered in, trying to make out anyone.

Something small shifted around. It was far too small to be an adult like he’d hoped. The small thing poke its head out from underneath a small, makeshift cave of junk. It quickly hid after seeing the god.

Technical Boy looked around and sighed, shutting his eyes.

‘It takes, in total, from 0-18-years-old, $284,570 to raise a kid, and a good chunk of a parent’s day to take care of a kid,’ he thought. ‘I have the money, but I don’t have the time.’ He opened his eyes and looked at the makeshift shelter. ‘Why the fuck is my first thought taking care of the kid? I could drop them off at a home or something. That’d be easier.’ He walked closer, trying not to scare them. ‘But the foster system here is fucked. The kid could get hurt, be abused, or die.’ As he approached, he noticed the kid watching him. ‘But there are tons of good families who foster and adopt, too. They’re not all bad. 1.5 million kids have been adopted and roughly 140,000 kids are every year. So, there’s a good chance the kid will become a part of a family.’

The kid pushed themself away from the opening and into their shelter.

“Hey,” he said. “Hi, are you okay?”

Technical Boy knelt down and watched for the kid.

“Leave me alone. I’m fine. Go away,” they said.

There was a silence. The god did not leave.

“Please, go away?”

‘The kid sounds weak. Like they haven’t eaten in days. When was the last time they showered or took a bath, too? I can smell ‘em even from over here.’ Despite the disgusting alley floor, Technical Boy seated himself.

“Nope. Can’t. Brain won’t let me.”

An old, rusted out can came from the shelter, flying straight at Technical Boy. He easily dodged it.

“Wow, you’re a dick,” he joked.

He heard a small huff.

Slipping his hands into his pant pockets, he found candy, probably chocolate, that he’d forgotten about.

‘This is so not healthy for a kid,’ he thought, playing with the wrapper in his pocket. ‘But, it’s better than nothing.’ He took the candy out, finding a Snickers. ‘Called it.’

“Hey, you like chocolate?” He asked them.

More shuffling from the shelter. “No. Especially not from a stranger.”

“Here.” He tossed the Snickers into the mouth of the shelter. “Have a Snickers. It has nuts.”

A thin hand reached out and snatched the candy quick as a whip.

The tech god raised an eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t like chocolate.”

Another can came from the darkness and he dodged it again.

The kid unwrapped the bar and used the wrapper to fill a gap in their home. Hungry, they scarfed the candy down.

‘So small. The kid must be starving.’ Technical Boy continued to watch the mouth of the shelter, his concern for the kid growing.

“You always around here?” He asked.

A small piece of glass was thrown at him but it didn’t get very far, falling an inch or so away from him.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Technical Boy stood up and brushed himself off. “I’ll see you later.”

He knew it would be impossible to convince the kid to come out of their hole and come with him on the first meeting, but he hoped to convince them to go into foster care sooner rather than later. If he tried to tell the authorities, the kid could get hurt or worse.

He left the alley and the kid watched him do so.

•

Technical Boy, in the druggies’ kitchen, placed an apple and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a bag.

Weed walked in, smiling. “Whatcha doin’?”

He looked over, a water bottle in his hand. “Nothing,” he said, turning back to the bag. “Just making a bag of food.” He cracked open the bottle and closed it again.

“Who’s it for,” they asked.

The tech god shrugged, putting a small stack of crackers and a container of cut cheese in the bag.

Weed wrapped their arms around his waist and rested their head on his back.

After closing the bag, he placed a hand on Weed’s, chuckling. “I’ve got to go, Weed.”

“First, tell me who the bag is for,” they mumbled.

He shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he said before he turnt around to face them. “But, as soon as I learn what their name is, I’ll tell you.” He booped their nose with a smile. “Promise.”

Weed giggled, sleepiness in their eyes.

Coke rushed in and grabbed an apple off the table, one from Weed’s garden. He stopped before he left and turnt around. “Are you two having cute times without me?” He asked, with a goofy smile.

“No,” Technical Boy said as Weed rested on his chest. “I was trying to leave, but Weed is sleepy.”

Coke bit the apple and walked over before picking Weed up. They wrapped their arms around him, nuzzling into him.

“Thank you, C,” the tech god said, earning a nod from Coke who practically ran out of the room with the apple in his mouth and Weed in his arms. “Don’t fall!” He shouted after them. Technical Boy picked up the bag and left for the alley.

•

The kid shoved a few cans into place on their mountain of junk. Technical Boy watched them work for a little, not wanting to interrupt until they were done. When they finished and started to head into their home, he approached.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Brought you something.”

The kid, at the mouth, stared at him like a deer in headlights before rushing into their cave.

Technical Boy sighed and walked to it. “Ya know, I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.” He dropped off the bag of food at the mouth of the cave before sitting down farther away.

They snatched it up as soon as they thought he was far enough away.

Technical Boy sat, crossed-legged, and watched for any signs of anger..

“You trying to poison me?” They asked.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Cap’s been opened.” The water bottle rolled to his feet.

He rolled it back. “Nope. I opened it for you. Those fucker’s are annoying and the ridges hurt.”

The bottle slipped into the darkness.

The kid, inside, sipped on it. “Tastes gross,” they said, pulling a face.

“It’s bottled water. It never tastes right.”

The two sat in relative silence as cars drove past and the kid ate. The occasional pedestrian peeked into the alley, giving Technical Boy odd looks, but he didn’t particularly care. He was used to it.

As the kid finished, they asked, “Why’d you come back?”

“Felt like it.”

“Why’d you bring me food?”

“Felt like it.”

“Are you a rapist?”

“No. You?”

They laughed a little. “No. Are you a peadophile?”

“No. That’s gross.”

“Are you going to tell the police where I am?”

Technical Boy sighed. “If I wanted to do that, I would have done it yesterday.”

“You gonna kidnap me and sell my organs on the blackmarket?”

“Sounds like too much work,” he said, stretching. “I’d rather hire someone to do that for me instead.”

Crunching came from the dark hole. It wasn’t cracker crunching. More like, a horse mowing down on a carrot or apple.

“This tastes good.”

“Yeah, a friend of mine grows their own food. Doesn’t like the food from stores. I’m pretty sure they want to start raising livestock, but, I don’t know.”

“Mhmm,” they said before tossing the core over his head into a nearby dumpster. “Do you think you could bring more?”

Technical Boy nodded. “Definitely. If my other friends don’t eat them all first. But, harvest was good, so I doubt they’ll all be gone.” Technical Boy pulled out his phone and texted Weed. “I’ll text them to hide some of the apples from the others just in case though.”

Carefully, the kid peered out, staring at his phone.

“There. Done,” he said, putting his phone away. “They’ll hide some for ya.”

A can came at him but he ducked.

“You told them?” They growled.

Technical Boy put his hands up in surrender.. “Woah, hold your horses there, kid. I haven’t said shite to anyone. I just asked them to put some of the apples away, that’s all.”

Inside the hole, they looked him up and down. “Can I have my can back?”

“No, it’s mine now.” The god pulled the can behind him protectively.

The kid giggled.

A text popped up on his phone. Technical Boy looked down at it and rolled his eyes.

“What?” The kid asked.

“Nothing, just my boss being a dick.”

The container Technical Boy had filled with cheese rolled out on it’s side.

He opened it to find a few crackers and some cheese. “I made the bag for you, kid. Not for me.”

“I know. I just don’t want you to be hungry.”

“Thanks.” He smiled softly and ate the cheese and crackers even if he didn’t really want to.

“My name’s not kid, ya know,” they said. “It’s Y/N.”

“Technical Boy.”

“That’s a weird fucking name.”

The god shrugged. “Should a kid your age be swearing like that?”

They shrew a can at him. Instead of dodging, he caught it and put it behind him with the other can. “Mine,” he said.

“Nuh-uh!” They said. “Gimme my can back!”

Technical Boy shook his head. “Nope. You threw it away meaning anyone can claim it. So, I did.”

Y/N huffed. “Dick.”

•

Weeks passed and every single day, without fail, Technical Boy came to Y/N’s little home with food and conversation. Once or twice, he brought clothes and blankets. He very well couldn’t let the kid freeze. What kind of person would he be if he did? Even though both Media and World didn’t like his disappearing acts and he got repeatedly scolded and punished for it, he didn’t care. For some reason, he found he had grown rather fond of the rude kid. He liked to believe they had begun to like him, too. Even if it was just a little, itty-bitty bit. The god no longer wanted to let them go into the foster system, rather, he wished to take care of them himself. But he knew Y/N wouldn’t agree, no matter how much they liked him. They were much too independent for that.

Since he’d started coming, little Y/N had grown in both width and height. No longer skin and bones, they moved around more and even left the confines of their home for more than building.

“I’m stronger now, so I can kick you better if you try anything,” they had claimed.

Technical Boy chose to see this as them trusting him more.

•

Technical Boy dropped off a bag of food at the mouth of Y/N’s home and sat farther away.

Y/N came out, sitting in front of the mouth in the light. They opened up the bag and smiled.

“Apples,” they mumbled.

Technical Boy smiled as they rifled through the bag. “Yeah, that’s the last of ‘em, though. Won’t be more until the next harvest.”

“Thanks.” Y/N looked up and gave him a pained smile before looking back down.

He shrugged and played with one of his confiscated cans. “It’s whatever, kiddo.”

Y/N tossed him a fruit snack baggie. He caught it but dropped his can.

“Ya gotta stop doing this, N/N,” he said, opening the baggie. “You need to eat more than I do.”

They flipped him off.

As he ate the gummies, he watched Y/N scarf down everything. At least that hadn’t changed.

“How are you feelin’? You think you’ll be okay here during the colder months? They are getting closer,” he said.

They looked up, some jelly on their mouth. Y/N wiped it away. “I’ll probably be fine. More fat means more insulation. Plus the blankets you gave me.” They picked at the sandwich. “Are you still going to come, even when it snows?”

“Of course, kiddo. Come rain or shine, hail or snow, I’ll be here until you don’t want me to be.”

Y/N stared at him for a while before crawling into their home. Inside, they rummaged through their things, pulling out bits of scrap and pushing away blankets. After a while, they found what they had been searching for and returned to the outside world.

Outside, they stood up and walked over to Technical Boy. They presented him a beaten up and squashed Snickers bar and refused to look at him while doing so.

Gently, the god took it from them. A Snickers bar, just like the one he’d given them when they first met. A strange, warm feeling spread throughout his chest and he smiled.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Instead of going back to the cave, they plopped down next to him and wrapped their arms around one of his. They nuzzled into his arm and held on tight.

It was a rather odd sight. A much larger, muscled man with an odd style choice and a clean visage being clung onto by a small, dirty child no older than 10, no younger than 5.

Looking down at the kid, Technical Boy knew he had to protect them, no matter what. This was his kid now. They had been for some time.

•

Another day, another bag for Y/N.

Technical Boy did as he always did, placed the bag at the mouth of the makeshift shelter and sat down opposite of it.

But, Y/N did not come out.

The god waited for a few minutes. When they still had not come out, he called for them. Still, there was no response. Technical Boy stood and walked over.

Placing a hand on the top of the mouth, he looked inside. “Y/N, hey, are you okay?”

Y/N lay limp in the makeshift nest.

“Y/N?” He nudged their legs with one of his hands.

Still, they didn’t respond.

Crawling a little into the small space as best he could, Technical Boy shook Y/N’s shoulders. “Y/N, wake up. Kid, please. This isn’t funny.”

Nothing.

At this point, the god had gone from fine to freaking.

Wrapping an arm around them, he pulled them out of their shelter.

A giant, bloody gash spread around their eye and eyebrow. He could feel blood on the opposing side like they’d been hit with something and cracked their head on concrete. They were cold, freezing really.

‘Please, be okay,’ he thought.

Their back pressed up against his chest, Technical Boy, through his tears, gently smack their cheek.

No response.

He calmed his breathing, shutting his eyes tight. ‘They can’t be gone. Not yet.’

Hoping beyond hope, Technical Boy checked their pulse, pressing his fingers to their neck over one of the carotid arteries.

After a few minutes of silence, he could feel a faint heartbeat.

They were alive.

The god let out the breath he’d been holding, sighing in relief.

His kid was going to be okay.

He stood up. Picking them up bridal-style, he held them close.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to them. “You’re gonna be okay.”

•

Pacing in the waiting room, Technical Boy picked at his lip.

‘I should have asked them to come with me,’ he thought. ‘I should have made them come with me. This could have been avoided if I had just taken them. They’d be fine right now if I hadn’t wanted to respect their autonomy. The streets are no place for a kid.’

He sat down in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. His hands interlaced in prayer and he bowed his head. Though he trusted his technology to save them, he couldn’t help but pray they would be okay. Almost immediately, his heel started bouncing against the tile.

“Mr Brown?” Someone asked.

Technical Boy looked up and then stood. “Are they okay?”

The person smiled, probably a doctor, and nodded. “Their skull had been cracked open and they lost a lot of blood, but they’ll be okay,” they said.

“When can I see them?” He crossed his arms, watching the doctor for their reaction.

“You can go to the room, but they won’t be awake for some time.”

“That’s fine. I just- I need to see them.”

They nodded, smiling sympathetically, and gestured for him to follow them.

•

The doctor showed him to Y/N’s room and gestured for him to go in.

Technical Boy, as soon as he laid his eyes on them, sighed in relief.

The bandages surrounded their head and one covered the gash around their eye and eyebrow.

He walked to their side, his eyes never leaving them. As he got to their side, he gently cupped their cheek and rubbed it. He knelt down.

“I’m sorry, N/N. I should have given you some way to contact me or something,’ he whispered to them.

•

The first thing the kid felt when they woke up was something in their arm. It wasn’t painful, just weird. The second, and more enjoyable, feeling was someone holding their hand and the warmth coming from it. Y/N groaned slightly and opened their eyes, only to find Technical Boy gripping their hand, asleep, with his head resting on the bed.

The view looked strikingly similar to their dad when they were younger.

“Tech?” They asked, struggling to get the nickname out.

When he didn’t respond, they nudged him. He groaned a little. Struggling, Y/N got up, feeling a little lightheaded, and, still gripping Technical Boy’s hand, they tugged on him.

The god groaned again and rubbed his eye with his free hand. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, looking up at them. “How ya feelin’?”

They tugged on him again and mumbled something.

“What?”

“Hug.”

Technical Boy chuckled and leant forward, hugging them tight.

Y/N hugged back, nuzzling into his neck.

“You fucking scared me, kid,” he said. He rubbed their back gently as he broke away from them.

Y/N immediately took his hand back, not wanting to be seperate from him. “Feel like I got hit by a brick and cracked my skull open on the sidewalk before crawling back home,” they rightfully complained.

Technical Boy rubbed their cheek, concerned. He dropped his hand and took their other one into his. “I know you probably prefer being on your own, but I really care about what happens to you and I don’t want you to be on your own,” he said as he looked them in the eye.

“Whatcha sayin’?”

“If you want, my place is plenty big for two people and it’s always open to you.”

Y/N was quiet. So quiet, in fact, Technical Boy thought they might have shut down like they always did when he said something they didn’t like and didn’t have something to throw at him.

“Will it be safe?” They asked.

He nodded.

“Okay, but I’m not calling you dad.”

Technical Boy chuckled lightly. “I wouldn’t expect you to, kiddo.”

#american gods #american gods fanfiction #tarot troop #technical boy #technical boy x reader

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winebleeds · 4 years ago

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@bnjmin sent ❛ 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30. for all :) ❜

⤑ TAKE A PEAK

you’re really making me add this to a read more again, huh.

5. closet

raleigh: his button up shirts & nicer tee shirts on clothes racks with sweaters on the top shelf and shoes on the floor below. he doesn’t have too much room in it otherwise. liz: her closest is too complicated, fuck that. but, while the majority of it is white, the clothes are organized by shades based on the electromagnetic spectrum. surprisingly, most of her shirts are her nasa polos & the only consistent outfit within the closest. because she usually has less than 10 outfits at a time. she swaps out clothes during the seasons, and resales clothes after wearing them a couple times. her sweaters, her personal ones or stolen ones, are kept in drawers within the bedroom alongside jeans & workout attire. like clothes, she has a selected amount of shoes on a bottom shelf. while it won’t be as big as this closest, this has the general vibes. jamie: like raleigh, his button up shirts and any suits. maybe some of his track wear that shouldn’t wrinkle. nicer tee shirts his tennis shoes... and of course his horse gear hiding in the corner :3 maddie: her clothes are just swung on racks when in a hurry to actually clean. if it’s in order, it’s because liz cleaned maddie’s room. most of her shirts are band shirts and leather & jean jackets.

10. pantry

raleigh: box pasta (he loves bow ties because they look like bow ties), rice, cereals (mainly honey nut cheerios, and he’ll try all the flavors), chips (like pretzels, cheetos, popcorn), and kraft mac n’ cheese. then basic baking stuff like cake mixes, sugar, salt, like, typical foods that’s mixed around where he has to scan for a bit to find what he wants. only his teas are organized. and dog food on the bottom. liz: her apartment does not have a pantry. rip. but they way she has food organized is precise. jamie: his studio does not have a pantry. but it would have box stuff similar to raleigh... but vegan versions... alongside having the most spices out of everyone else and protein stuff. and his would be organized like liz’s. maddie: her apartment does not have a pantry. it would probably be empty besides her box of animal crackers if she did tho. thank goodness she lives with liz.

15. bookcase

raleigh: his bookcase holds some of his prized possessions and is one of the few thing he actually keeps organized in his place. and here’s how the bare bones would look like. those science fiction books from his piano instructor, a completed lego models of the millennium falcon and the enterprise as “bookends” with some of his preferred star wars & star trek books, though the models take up more space on that shelf. then everything else is just books with some other trinkets that are vague in my head for now. liz: so she has two bookshelves. the first one is in the living area that most to hold themed books and props to whatever theme caitlyn or liz arranged, though now it’s a combination of whatever maddie and liz want to share in that space. this is what that one would look like, though different items. within her bedroom, liz has a plain shelf with image of it here with several books ordered by the dewey system. she may swap out books when she fells it’s too full, but some of her prized book, like her little women book from her childhood or her engineering textbook from her first class with dr. kumar, will always remain. even if liz may read more on her phone (considering it’s cheaper with the library app), she likes to have physical copies of ones she does enjoy or preorder. oh, slightly off topic, but she’s definitely one of those that reads all the books in bill gates or obama’s book lists every year; she should really join a book club. once liz gets a house, you bet that her bookshelf will look like this one in her study. jamie: this dumbass doesn’t read. maddie: while she doesn’t have too many books for a bookshelf, she does have a vinyl rack. or well, something liz built for her that’s similar to this but maddie would paint lighting bolts on the sides because the sides reminded her of lighting bolts. but she has a simple vinyl rack to store her vinyl that will become canvas for her paintings. and, as for the living room bookshelf, she has one of her 70s cameras she found at an antique store that liz cleaned up for her alongside some of her favorite vinyls to show off or, well, not necessary favorite favorites but ones people will recognize & fit with liz, like fleetwood mac rumors. then, there’s a succulent that liz doesn’t touch that maddie keeps care for; his name is pumpkin because of the orange pot.

20. refrigerator

raleigh: leftovers from takeout, since normally one takeout plate lasts for two meals. then there’s ketchup, soy sauce, milk, eggs, butter, yoghurt (blueberry or oreo preferred), jelly & jam (mainly blueberry or apricot & there’s even blueberry orange marmalade because why not) some veggies, mainly bell peppers & mushrooms, cheeses, chicken, & hot dogs for his dogs. liz: since maddie & liz would share one, i’m listing things that mainly liz’s here. so she has the meal prep meals in containers throughout the work week. leftovers also last longer for her, about three meals. then there’s meats, mainly chicken & salmon (her favorite), basic things like eggs & milk etc, apple butter, jelly & jam (mainly blackberry & grape), worcestershire sauce, & ketchup. jamie: like, all the veggies you can think of. vegan cheeses, oat milk, cilantro, pickles, jam & jelly (mainly strawberry) leftovers. maddie: the avocadoes in the fridge is because of her. there’s also bbq sauce, sriracha, & leftovers. oh, the the mango habanero jam is hers too.

25. five most recent google search history

raleigh: 1. names for shades of yellow / 2. beekeeping in urban setting / 3. bee species in california / 4. the most common bee in the world / 5. bees in winter liz: her google search history has been cleared so i can’t share it :/ jamie: 1. football season updates / 2. how much irrnekg (accidental when holly laid on the keyboard / 3. how much is 8 m in feet / 4. inheritance issues / 5. manage a farm long distance maddie: 1. fairy wings reference / 2. fabric paint in local stores / 3. sour candy lyrics / 4. blinking guy meme / 5. keyboard sale

30. netflix watch history (or just clumping all the streaming services here)

raleigh: the mandalorian, david attenborough’s animal documentaries, x files, dr. oakley yukon vet and yes he cries at every episode don’t judge, indiana jones trilogy no fourth liz: downton abbey, fixer upper, pride & prejudice, the biggest little farm, i am greta, and i guess space documentaries... oh, and the lotr trilogy like, three times already :/ jamie: the office, gilmore girls, flashdance, like all of audrey hepburn’s movies but he tries to hide all of this with fast & furious and cobra kai and action stuff maddie: halloween, nightmare before christmas, the chilling adventures of sabrina, glow, the get down, sailor moon, wayne’s world, magica madoka, the breakfast club

#you can see me breaking apart #since i didn't do this in order #but took me two whole days #( v. answered )#( m. headcanon )#( r. headcanon )#( e. headcanon )#( j. headcanon )#bnjmin

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