#american cherry wood flooring

[iseestarsnation]

Beach Style Dining Room in New York Kitchen/dining room combo - small coastal medium tone wood floor kitchen/dining room combo idea

[happy-orphanage]

Dining Room Kitchen Dining Kitchen/dining room combo - small coastal medium tone wood floor kitchen/dining room combo idea

[loveyubrides]

Bedroom Master Medium-sized master bedroom with medium-tone wood floors in a beach-style design

[uhhleeese]

San Francisco Kids

[bradshawssugarbaby]

All-American Girl - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's every part the doting dad to your daughter Tatum, but after talking to some of the other wives on base in your mom's group, you're worried he may be hiding his true feelings about fatherhood.

A/N: not me procrastinating and adding to my country music series instead of literally anything else on my list. here's sickeningly sweet bradley as a girl dad fluff based off All-American Girl by Carrie Underwood.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x wife!reader

content/warnings: sickeningly sweet fluff, Bradley as a girl dad, mentions of sexism.

word count: 1.4k

Now he's wrapped around her finger, she's the center of his whole world And his heart belongs to that sweet little beautiful, wonderful, perfect all-American girl

Bradley groaned as he jogged up the front steps, his boots heavy against the brick as he walked up the veranda to the front door. An American flag flapped in the breeze, the pole nestled in the stand attached to the pillar on the front of the house, the mid-afternoon sun striking the front yard, basking over the dozens of plants and greenery that were planted there. Bradley kicked his boots off the moment he crossed the entryway, stacking them neatly by the door. He started unzipping his flight suit, his tanned skin slicked with sweat from the training exercises he’d completed earlier that day. He thought about the list of things he wanted to do before he settled in for the night with you - a shower was the first priority at this point. 

Peeling the olive green suit off his skin, he discarded it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. His white t-shirt and boxers followed suit, along with the thick, military issued socks. He’d plan on washing those tonight after dinner. He padded along the hallway to the bathroom, his balls of his feet sticking to the cherry wood flooring. The cool water flowing from the shower head was a refreshing comfort compared to how warm he was earlier, he contemplated asking for a transfer to somewhere colder after today - the hot Pacific coast sun was brutal, and despite having lived in California for a few years now, Bradley hadn’t adjusted. Not that Virginia Beach had been much cooler - at least, not in the summer, but it wasn’t as consistently warm as it was on the west coast. 

As Bradley stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a plush, lavender coloured towel around his waist. Shaking his caramel coloured curls dry, he approached the vanity, reaching for the pomade - the same brand he’d been using to tame his hair since he was 14. His mom had taught him that trick - using a styling pomade to keep his curls intact, but less wild than they would be left to their own devices. Part of him wondered if he just never changed brands because it was the one she’d suggested for him, one of the last happy memories of his mother that he had clung to for the last 26 years. 

“Bradley? I’m home!” you called out from the bottom of the stairs, having seen Bradley’s vintage Ford Bronco parked in the driveway. 

“Upstairs, honey!” He yelled back, his deep voice echoing throughout the empty house. 

He quickly pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a fresh, white t-shirt, grabbing his favourite floral print button-down on his way down the stairs. He beamed at you, leaning in to give you a loving peck on the cheek. He knelt down in front of the car seat you’d placed on the floor, smiling softly at his infant daughter as she stretched and yawned, waking up from the nap she’d taken on the car ride home. 

“Good mornin’ sunshine! How’s my girl?”

Bradley held his index finger out to baby Tatum, smiling as she gripped it tightly in her hand. He began unbuckling her harness with his free hand as he spoke to her.

“Did you have a fun day with Mama? What did you do, princess? You and your mama go shopping for some new clothes, baby girl?” 

Tatum let out a happy sigh as Bradley scooped her up in his arms, holding her close to his chest. He leaned his head down to kiss her forehead, his hand moving up and down her back in soft, slow, gentle strokes as he cuddled his baby. He took a seat on the couch, leaning back slightly so Tatum could recline on his chest. He smiled up at you, waiting patiently for you to start showing off the different outfits you’d purchased for Tatum. He’d always sworn that he’d never be the type of father who’d dismiss things he wasn’t interested in - whether it was baby clothes, or ballet, baby and me classes or going for walks around the neighborhood with her - he’d always try his best to be into it. It’s how his mom described his father - always interested in anything to do with Bradley when he was little. 

You delicately sifted through the array of dresses and outfits, each garment infused with your hopes and dreams for little Tatum. With tender affection, you recounted where and when you had acquired each piece, your voice tinged with a blend of excitement and maternal pride. Tatum slumbered peacefully, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm against Bradley's shoulder, while you poured your heart into sharing your plans for her future attire.

As the last dress found its place, you sank onto the couch beside Bradley, seeking solace in his comforting presence. Nestling into his side, you felt the warmth of his embrace envelop you, his arm offering both physical and emotional support.

“Are you happy?” you murmured softly, a trace of uncertainty lacing your words as you chewed anxiously at your bottom lip. 

A flicker of confusion danced across Bradley's features before he met your gaze with unwavering reassurance.

“Of course I’m happy, why would you ask that?”

“It’s silly,” you sighed, a moment of vulnerability surfacing before you continued, meeting Bradley’s brown-eyed gaze as you spoke, “It’s just that…you know how I took Tatum to that mommy and me group?”

"Mhmm, every Wednesday," Bradley affirmed, his attention fully focused on you.

“Right! That one. Well…one of the moms was saying how she was so thankful her baby was a boy, because her husband wanted a boy really badly and she didn’t want him to be upset if he didn’t get what he wanted…”

Bradley's brow furrowed with concern as he gently kissed Tatum's forehead, a protective gesture that spoke volumes.

“Babe, he sounds like a dick,” Bradley interjected, shaking his head as he gently kissed Tatum’s forehead again. 

“I’m not finished yet!” You said as you held your hand up. “So anyways, she said that, and a lot of the other moms started talking and saying how their husbands were disappointed when they had girls or relieved when they had sons, and then they said how lucky I was that you were happy with a girl. The one of them said her husband pretended to be, but then he was totally different and genuinely happy when they had a boy next.” 

“And you think I’m doing that?” Bradley queried as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you. 

“Well, no, but…would you tell me if you’d wanted a son instead?”

The corner of Bradley's mouth lifted in a soft smile, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "No," he replied emphatically, shaking his head. “Because I’ve never wanted a son instead of Tatum. Not once.”

“You haven’t?” You said as relief washed over you, Bradley's words washing away any lingering doubts.

“Not for a second. I’ve wanted Tatum from the minute you told me you were pregnant - I never really gave a shit whether she was a boy or a girl. She’s mine and that’s all I care about. It just happened to turn out that she’s the second Bradshaw girl around here to steal my heart, after her mama.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm, you know that song, the one where she says about how her daddy was praying for a boy, but got a girl instead and she was wrapped around his finger? Then she grows up and  asks her husband one day what he wants, and he says he just wants a sweet, beautiful All-American girl like his wife?”

“Yeah, I know it,” You laugh softly as Bradley begins to hum the tune of the song, singing it softly as he looks down at Tatum.

“That’s exactly how I felt when you told me you were having a girl. I just wanted a beautiful little baby who looked just like you, and that’s exactly what I got. Now I have two beautiful girls who love me more than anything, and I would move mountains for the pair of you. We could have twelve girls for all I care - I’d love every single one of them just as much as I love you.”

[soracities]

what are your suggestions for starter poetry for people who dont have strong reading/analysis backgrounds

I've answered this a few times so I'm going to compile and expand them all into one post here.

I think if you haven't read much poetry before or aren't sure of your own tastes yet, then poetry anthologies are a great place to start: many of them will have a unifying theme so you can hone in based on a subject that interests you, or pick your way through something more general. I haven't read all of the ones below, but I have read most of them; the rest I came across in my own readings and added to my list either because I like the concept or am familiar with the editor(s) / their work:

Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times (ed. Nick Astley) & Being Alive: The Sequel to Staying Alive (there's two more books in this series, but I'm recommending these two just because it's where I started)

The Rattlebag (ed. Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes)

The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (ed. Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris)

The Essential Haiku, Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa (ed. Robert Hass)

A Book of Luminous Things (ed. Czesław Miłosz )

Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass (this may be a good place to start if you're also looking for commentary on the poems themselves)

Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World(ed. Pádraig Ó'Tuama)

African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle and Song (ed. Kevin Young)

The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing (ed. Kevin Young)

Lifelines: Letters from Famous People about their Favourite Poems

The following lists are authors I love in one regard or another and is a small mix of different styles / time periods which I think are still fairly accessible regardless of what your reading background is! It's be no means exhaustice but hopefully it gives you even just a small glimpse of the range that's available so you can branch off and explore for yourself if any particular work speaks to you.

But in any case, for individual collections, I would try:

anything by Sara Teasdale

Devotions / Wild Geese / Felicity by Mary Oliver

Selected Poems and Prose by Christina Rossetti

Collected Poems by Langston Hughes

Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein

Morning Haiku by Sonia Sanchez

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr

Rose: Poems by Li-Young Lee

A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor / Barefoot Souls by Maram al-Masri

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

Tell Me: Poems / What is This Thing Called Love? by Kim Addonizio

The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins (Billy Collins is THE go-to for accessible / beginner poetry in my view so I think any of his collections would probably do)

Crush by Richard Siken

Rapture / The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy

The War Works Hard by Dunya Mikhail

Selected Poems by Walt Whitman

View with a Grain of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska

Collected Poems by Vasko Popa

Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas (this is a play, but Thomas is a poet and the language & structure is definitely poetic to me)

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire,

Nostalgia, My Enemy: Selected Poems by Saadi Youssef

As for individual poems:

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

[Dear The Vatican] erasure poem by Pádraig Ó'Tuama // "The Pedagogy of Conflict"

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

"The Author Writes the First Draft of His Weddings Vows (An erasure of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard)" by Hanif Abdurraqib

"I Can Tell You a Story" by Chuck Carlise

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"One Last Poem for Richard" by Sandra Cisneros

"We Lived Happily During the War" by Ilya Kaminsky

“I’m Explaining a Few Things”by Pablo Neruda

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" //"Nothing Gold Can Stay"//"Out, Out--" by Robert Frost

"Tablets: I // II // III"by Dunya Mikhail

"What Were They Like?" by Denise Levertov

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden,

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

“I, too” // "The Negro Speaks of Rivers” // "Harlem” // “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

“The Mower” // "The Trees" // "High Windows" by Philip Larkin

“The Leash” // “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” // "Downhearted" by Ada Limón

“The Flea” by John Donne

"The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore

"Beauty" // "Please don't" // "How it Adds Up" by Tony Hoagland

“My Friend Yeshi” by Alice Walker

"De Humanis Corporis Fabrica"byJohn Burnside

“What Do Women Want?” // “For Desire” // "Stolen Moments" // "The Numbers" by Kim Addonizio

“Hummingbird” // "For Tess" by Raymond Carver

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin

“Bleecker Street, Summer” by Derek Walcott

“Dirge Without Music” // "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Digging” // “Mid-Term Break” // “The Rain Stick” // "Blackberry Picking" // "Twice Shy" by Seamus Heaney

“Dulce Et Decorum Est”by Wilfred Owen

“Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition”by Wislawa Szymborska

"Hour" //"Medusa" byCarol Ann Duffy

“The More Loving One” // “Musée des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

“Small Kindnesses” // "Feeding the Worms" by Danusha Laméris

"Down by the Salley Gardens” // “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass

"The Last Love Letter from an Entymologist" by Jared Singer

"[i like my body when it is with your]" by e.e. cummings

"Try to Praise the Mutilated World" by Adam Zagajewski

"The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje

"Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself" by Paige Lewis

"A Dream Within a Dream" // "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe (highly recommend reading the last one out loud or listening to it recited)

"Ars Poetica?" // "Encounter" // "A Song on the End of the World"by Czeslaw Milosz

"Wandering Around an Albequerque Airport Terminal” // "Two Countries” // "Kindness” by Naoimi Shihab Nye

"Slow Dance” by Matthew Dickman

"The Archipelago of Kisses" // "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel

"Mimesis" by Fady Joudah

"The Great Fires" // "The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart" // "Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert

"The Mermaid" // "Virtuosi" by Lisel Mueller

"Macrophobia (Fear of Waiting)" by Jamaal May

"Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" by Ocean Vuong

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would also recommend spending some times with essays, interviews, or other non-fiction, creative or otherwise (especially by other poets) if you want to broaden and improve how you read poetry; they can help give you a wider idea of the landscape behind and beyond the actual poems themselves, or even just let you acquaint yourself with how particular writers see and describe things in the world around them. The following are some of my favourites:

Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver

"Theory and Play of the Duende" by Federico García Lorca

"The White Bird" and "Some Notes on Song" by John Berger

In That Great River: A Notebook by Anna Kamienska

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

"Of Strangeness That Wakes Us" and "Still Dancing: An Interview with Ilya Kaminsky" by Ilya Kaminsky

"The Sentence is a Lonely Place" by Garielle Lutz

Still Life with Oysters and Lemon by Mark Doty

Paris, When It's Naked by Etel Adnan

[sikoi]

— oc deep dive questionnaire (tag)

a set of 20 questions to get to know your oc!

juda sintra

what uncommon/common fear do they have? loud noise

do they have any pet peeves? chewing gum, bright lighting

what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? dim lamps, rose vases, cherry wood vanity

what do they notice first in a person? their scent

from a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? 8.5

do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? flight

do they come from a big family/are they a family person? juda has a broad family but family isn't all for her, she was raised mainly from her grandmother

what animal represents them best? crows

what is a smell that they dislike? orange

have they broken any bones? if so, how? juda has broken a few of her fingers from climbing trees and clawing at wood doors/floors

how would a stranger likely describe them? once expressive and a listener now quiet and avoidant

are they a night owl or a morning bird? juda naturally is a night owl, but she does like to watch the sunrise

what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? juda is not fond of sweet sweets, she prefers tart flavors like cranberry, dark chocolate and dark coffee

do they have any hobbies? juda does taxidermy from roadkill, wanting every animal to be remembered

boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises? shy but appreciative

do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece? juda loves accessories, her favorites are heartlock necklaces and bracelets, you'll probably hear her coming before you even see her bcus the rattling of her bracelets lol

do they have neat or messy handwriting? neat, juda loves writing in journals

what are two emotions they feel the most? sadness, love

do they have a favorite fabric? lace and silk

what kind of accent do they have? mid-atlantic american

tagging @rollingsim @gleamer @tricoufamily @raiiny-bay @madfeary @yuauaua @rolangf @wldestluv-rs @missatan @lucidicer @machinegrl @blackskorpi0n @kazuaru @elderwisp @pralinesims @o0corruptedghoul0o @itsmariejanel @stinkrascal @phasebun @cinamun @ophernelia @dejasenti99 @salemssimblr if yoou want! :)

[brenayla]

I really enjoyed your Midnight piece! Can I request more of Julie’s perspective, especially as mulder and Scully’s relationship evolves into romantic, a baby, etc.? Idk how far you’d be willing to follow them, but I really enjoyed it and would definitely tune in to see this perspective all the way thru post-revival even

hi! thanks for tuning in. sorry this took a bit.

---

Little Amber Lynn’s mama will only speak to Mulder.

In the second floor bedroom, Julie watches him take her statement from a distance, hyper-aware that Scully is lurking somewhere beneath their feet.

To say that he inspires trust would not be completely accurate. He wraps a silk hand around your neck, looks at you with his black hole eyes, and compels information from the back of your throat.

They inspire admiration, even from those that try to cover it up with silly nicknames.

They inspire a dread like anaphylaxis settling in.

Even Skinner seems to feel it today, having apparently done something to piss off Scully. As everyone mills around outside the house, preparing to head out, she snaps with staticky irritability.

Now, Julie is no gossip but she finds herself eavesdropping on them, pretending to review her notes as she waits for her carpool. She has always held a curiosity for Skinner.

“Did you get the keys?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Skinner offers her two sets, each dangling with the evergreen motel tag that’s looped onto Julie's own room keys.

In Julie’s peripheral vision, Scully stares down their boss and swipes one set of keys from his hand. She turns and crisply walks to her car in a swarm of black ice shards, dripping liquid mercury.

That is one mystery solved; a drop in the ocean.

Quietly, Skinner slips the leftover set into his pocket.

Mulder turns up in the Oregonian woods, smack dab in the middle of a crater that didn’t used to be there. At least that’s what Skinner tells Julie when he calls.

It all sounds like something that is not her problem but she’s smarter than to word it like that. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she tries instead, “but has a crime been committed?”

“It’s violent, Agent,” he snaps. “Get your ass on a plane.”

Julie does.

With white gloved fingers, she collects the burnt tatters of Mulder’s old clothes into evidence bags. When she goes to see him in the hospital, he is bright and freezer cold. There is not a scratch on his incandescent skin.

She is here, too. Suited up, thousand-watt Scully. She runs her crystalline talons through Mulder’s hair under the guise of checking for injuries and Julie has to turn away for air.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Julie asks him, Scully looming in the doorway and picking at Julie’s training to scan for an alternative exit.

“You mean before I woke up in the woods in my birthday suit?” Mulder asks.

“Yes,” Julie says, her hindbrain blaring at her to turn around, there’s something behind you. “Before that.”

“Aside from the ship and damn near getting abducted, not much. Skinner can confirm that, he was there.”

Julie relents and glances to the doorway, but it’s just Scully. Arms crossed, masked up.

“Scully,” Mulder says, and she reluctantly steps out into the hallway, halving the clamor of Julie’s fight-or-flight.

It has been years since she interacted with one of them without the other; she’d almost forgotten that they are more palatable alone.

“Sorry about that.” Mulder gives a playful smile, showing off iridescent teeth. For a flash, his fangs drip with ripe cherry blood. Julie blinks. “She’s a little on edge,” he explains.

She wants to lean in; she wants to run away.

“Agent Mulder. How did that crater get there?”

Mulder lies to her. “I don’t know.”

It’s been an exhausting fall and Julie has already attended far too many of these obligatory charity events. American flag pins abound; teary late night talk show hosts. There is a curdling thirst for vengeance in Congress and a frenetic unease in the public.

She and Kramer camp out near the snack table, gorging themselves on free candy to make up for skipping lunch.

“Am I going to Hell if I say I’m getting tired of these?” Kramer asks, setting his carefully folded KitKat wrapper down. It springs back into its old form.

“If you do, I’ll be down there with you.” She watches him reach for a Snickers.

He continues quietly, tearing off a neat slice of flag-colored foil. “I just– There’s only so many times I can listen to these speakers. I get that it’s…”

Over his shoulder, she spots Skinner and – yes, it is him; they are easier to tell apart once they start speaking – Mulder in a black dress shirt, a baby strapped to his chest.

“…but it’s fucking depressing, and–”

“Hey,” Julie whispers. “Your favorite former coworker is here.”

Mouth sticky with caramel and nougat, Kramer asks, “Huh?”

She tilts her head towards Mulder; she cannot look at him for too long, having gone soft from lack of exposure to them. He’s giving her blue and purple echoes, like she’s been staring at the sun.

“Oh yeah, I saw Scully earlier with the…,” Kramer says, gesturing to his torso where a BabyBjorn would sit.

Ah but are you sure it was Scully?

Quickly moving on, Kramer says, “I didn’t think he was so progressive.”

“What did you think then? Scully, barefoot and pregnant?”

He nods thoughtfully, conceding. “I guess you got a point there.”

Julie digs into the sweets bowl until she finds a rare leftover KitKat. “Did you see their kid?”

“Yeah,” Kramer says, popping the rest of his Snickers into his mouth. “Little boy.”

She holds back her real question. They still dance around this, like verbalizing it would make it Real.

But did you see his face?

[plasticfangtastic]

American Royalty. Ch. 4

A Homelander X F! Reader and Dadlander fanfic.

A/N: if ya like to be taglisted plz leave a comment to be notified on the next release. got the writers block and too many wips so here is an early chapter. hope y'all like it. plz check my pin post for prev. chapters.

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Four

Seeing Stars

You had him agree to you working three days as his personal chef, and he couldn’t have you Sundays no matter how much he asked.

Within the week you had gotten a letter from your bank telling you that the pending investigation on your account had been closed and now you could access it, it had even accrue significant interest after being untouched for seven years it was better than an early christmas miracle as you sobbed in your bedroom with the letter in hand, you cried in the kitchen after calling a realtor to see an apartment, by the time you seen a couple of apartments you had come home to find an enveloped taped to your door. Inside paperwork and some keys– seeing red for a moment, but as Helena tugged at your shirt, your anger tucked itself away, you held her crying into her shoulder as you finished reading the letter.

Before the month ended, you had moved into a large, renovated and well located 2 bedroom, 1 office, 2 bathrooms apartment in the ground floor of a duplex, it had to be at least eighteen to twenty thousand dollars in rent but he had simply purchase it– writing in his letter that he wouldn’t allow you to continue raising his daughter in the projects or some refurbished new york closet, he had even collected information on local schools in your new neighborhood for you consider, informing you that he would take care of tuition cost.

As you settled in a space so big you had nothing to fill it with, as you watched your daughter actually behave like a seven year old for once, you laid on the floor by the open concept kitchen, feeling the rich wood underneath your skin, staring at the black granite benches and hardwood cabinetry– the floor was even heated! You heard a landing in one of the two thin yards, you knew your daughter was exploring the bathroom, so it felt safe to do this now.

“I’ll have my interior designer come by this week to help you select furniture and stuff.” He said upon entering, distubed by how barren it was, all your belonings in a a dozen boxes total, tucked in a corner of the living room.

“You are a bastard making me indebted to you.” You grumbled.

“I can’t have her live in a broom closet infested with rats. Kids need yards and space.” He looked at the cherry wood panels lining the outdoors, the vines and trees growing in a decent sized yard, extra big by New York standards– you could get her a puppy, a kitten or…?”

“She likes fish.”

“I could have a pond installed.” he said with a smirk crainign his back as he tried to look less imposing as you refused to lift your head from the heated hardwoods– you should be okay with utility bills, I left them on credit for your convenience. Have you had a chance to look at schools?”

“What are you actually planning, John.” You sat back up, switching names had taken him off-guard wondering what angle you were going at him from– haven’t even started work with you and now you are showering me with presents? This is beyond just wanting to see your kid is not like you actually seen her.”

“You said to take things slow.” He didn’t try hiding that devious grin– Ryan… needs a story.”

“Jesus Christ you are sick.” you now had to stand up for real– you want me to play mom to your kid? I don’t even look like him.”

“Genetics are weird. Helena looks like you and Ryan looks like me, like those dogs from ‘Beauty and the Tramp’."He touched your cheek with a bare hand– Can’t wait to see you next Thursday, mom.”

“Oh god…” You chuckle, losing your mind as his hand hurts without a scratch– How are you going to tell this to Helena?”

“Is in early development but the team will take care of it. I need Ryan to attend the same school as Helena so please hurry up.”

He left not before telling you to take Helena to MOMA this saturday at 2 pm, it wasn’t a suggestion or invitation, it was an order

You did as you were told that evening, one of the best schools in the city was under a half hour walk from this cell, knowing Helena had to be enrolled soon didn’t help, and your commute to Lucci had increased but now you could pay for gas and not cry. Sending him a texts about schools to the number he had given you in his many many notes seemed anticlimactic but that was it.

Helana had grown suspicious, but she played dumb and you knew it too, so you both played stupid when you headed to MOMA that weekend.

You just casually came the same day and the same time as Homelander and Ryan were about to have the whole museum closed off as they received a private tour,  but he asked you to join them not giving any real explanation for why but nobody questioned, neither kid spoke to each other much if any, Helena simply enjoying the silence, she looked at you as she asked about the pieces but it was Homelander who had the most to say about the works, leaving you left out but happy, you knew that face of his so well, to see it on your daughter’s face made your day.

He had taken the opportunity to discuss your employment not your relationship, giving you list of things Ryan should eat, would not eat, wanted to try and things he wanted to try himself, then your hours and some odd request about handling Ryan’s school lunches being instagram worthy, handing you socials to research for such task.

You started work that following week, the Vought kitchens were top of the line, your job was to meet all of his requirements, some of the chefs that recognized you looked at you with relief and curiosity, wanting to know what had happened to you but you were unwilling to share. That first breakfast was returned with clean plates, even the waiter was shocked when he saw empty plates come out of his penthouse.

It had been so long since you could play with such new equipment, this was it, this was the place you belong in, him or not involved this was your happy place now.

Two weeks had passed.

 As you headed for the staff elevator you met Homelander, who had honestly just been waiting for you.

“I got the paperwork sorted… you just have to sign and fill stuff. Nice school! Great stem program not that Helena will find it hard.” he said politely, his posture extra stiff.

“Did you do a background check on her?” you looked around for witnesses.

“Hard not to. Our kid is the captain of the math club… her school team has won most of the math competitions in the last four years. Not to mention the piano recitals, and science competitions”  He looked so proud– her grades are perfect. She might be the smartest little girl in the city.”

“She’s the smartest little girl in the world.”

“And her new school would let the whole world know just that.” He said matching your smug.

You watched him carefully waiting for him to spit out what he wanted to say, either about her schooling or something else.

Helena was allowed to continue attending her old school until you were ready for transfer, he had only briefly talked to you for school discussions, and with great disinterest on what made each school good or not, if anything you found yourself doing this for his son as well, thinking of what this school would do for his well being, and if it was the best choice for a homeschooled kid, and how would this new school commute affect Helena’s after school routine. 

On the days you didn’t work in Vought’s towers she was still babysat or stayed at Lucci’s, she was too young to be left at home, even if you knew she was perfectly safe, but no matter what she was still little. 

During the days you worked in the tower she was kept in the company daycare in the 20th floor, most of the kids there were normal but there was at least one other super-abled child her age, it made you happy to see her interact with a similar kid even if said kid abilities involved phasing thru objects all willy-nilly and make objects phase thru other objects, making you worry of what would happen if he lost focus and Helena got caught inside a wall.

“By the way our kid escaped the daycare.” He held the elevator open for you as he entered, before you could panic he shot you a charming smile– is okay she’s at the gym…”

Your eyes had welled up regardless, you jumped into the metal box pressing the bottom frantically.

“She’s perfectly safe… A-Train is there and so it's that… Noir… her and the only little Supe kid decided to do some mischief, but I kept my ears on her all day.”

Forcing yourself to take deep breaths as the elevator smoothly traveled to the lower floors.

“Is it not her that I am worried for.” you said firmly.

You followed him as he guided you through an unfamiliar floor, inside the large colosseum gym that had been fitted to test somebody’s athletic skills you found your daughter floating in her wavy bubble, but all you saw was your kid swaying in the air.

“Helena get down here immediately!!!” You ran after her reaching for the kid as her bored expression was replaced with embarrassment as she descended into your arms– you cannot run away from daycare!”

“I don’t want to be surrounded by babies.”

“Helena you are a baby!” you squeezed her against yourself, just glad she was still in one piece, you noticed the other small kid in the room– jesus…”

Carrying your kid you reached for the other one, taking his hand.

“Hey sweetie… let me take you back to daycare before your mommy or daddy gets worried.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked meekly.

“No, but Helena is so grounded.”

“Mom!”

“Don’t mom me! You have any idea how dangerous that was!”

“Oh don’t get mad at the kid, she was just acting like a kid. Don’t be such a buzzkill” he mocked you.

“I don’t want or need your opinion– now you got two seconds to explain yourself!”

You began to gently drag yourself and your kid’s victim out of the gym, A-Train absolutely shocked to see anybody talk to Homelander like that.

“Look I had A-Train and Noir come check them out, they were safe!” He chased after you.

“Oh that was your doing.” Helena said–  "I really wanted to meet A-Train” she waved innocently at the Supe, who returned the gesture as a true professional– and... Mom… I wanted to see the building, that’s all… sorry I used Elmo to escape… but his powers were just too useful”

“You cannot use people like that.” you said in shock.

“People like being used.” Her words were just cold as she wriggled herself out of your arms, falling without touching the ground, she took Elmo’s hand taking the small kid towards the exit– some people are born serfs.” She mumbled to herself.

Homelander's heart beat violently– oh his daughter was a brat and had a questionable attitude, he hadn’t even interacted much with her, but he was proud. His whole body went light and his smile couldn’t be contained as he saw the small girl with true love in his eyes, this was the moment he saw her as truly his own.

Ryan was still reluctant to accept his father’s philosophy, but this little one understood that she was born better from the start on her own.

She turned around to face you again, little Elmo sucked on his thumb as her eyes glowed pale blue.

“Is it alright if I come to the training gym if I ask permission first?” 

“I…”

“Of course all Supe’s should know to keep their powers top notch. You are more than welcome to use the facilities.” Homelander had cut you off, petting the little girl’s head as he approached the duo– Just ask your mother so she doesn’t have a heart attack. Then again this is one of the safest places in all of New York and little Helena over here is perfectly safe, after all I am here.” He said while staring at you.

His voice was sweet, you were defeated as Helena tried to contain that cheshire grin of hers while staring at you– he was your boss , and the Homelander so could you really go against him so publicly?

“You had a terrorist attack in this building… but I guess…” She ignored him again then looked straight at you– I learned something new today.” 

A-Train and Noir exchanged concerned looks taking a few step backs, Homelander seemed intrigued to watch your reaction, you gave way, unable to speak, just frustrated as your ex looked just as smug as his kid.

Little Elmo scoot behind her– in the round gymnasium a cement boulder hanged in chains, her eyes glowed the brightest you’ve ever seen, lifting her hand with one quick swipe the boulder broke in half, the dust showing the invisible blade bending light, it gain a blue color as it was touched before fading, she looked so proud of herself, you stared at Homelander and now you understood why nobody had informed you that your daughter was missing. It didn’t sit well with you.

“you’re still grounded for a whole week.”

“But Mom!!”

You had walked into a trap, one you did so willingly, jailed in a nice house, any hope of Homelander being driven away or losing interest in her was gone as he looked at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

You got used to it… this prison was lovely, it was nice to come back to a spacious cell. Homelander had indeed brought his decorator to your house but you didn’t want designer furniture and high end stuff, you kept it simple and cheap, most of your stuff second hand and from Ikea, only relenting to agree with the poor designer over the kitchen, his budget was absurd for the task, only taking advantage to purchase all the appliances of your dreams, you indeed needed a air fryer that matched your splashback.

Helena was happy to have a room that felt like a bedroom, large bookcases that could be filled with her own books, a small courtyard facing her doors, where she now could sit down and read with the breeze in her hair. She seemed happy, euphoric when she began her new school, making you forget what was happening in the background at times.

Homelander would come from time to time to speak to you about mundane stuff and work, his patience saintly as he allowed you to get used to his company once more, just so you could be okay with him entering her life, but then again he was your jailer.

He himself had begun forcing himself into her life when you weren’t around, it was all a matter of timing and perception.

Homelander watched the daycare center, from afar, a much needed service, it occupied a whole floor, the tower employed thousands of people in its 99th floor so there had to be help for those mothers and fathers who needed to work but had children with no babysitters, it was one of the many appealing things about being employed by Vought, and the center offered a variety of activities for all age groups.

Helena saw it as a jungle, all these children just a bunch of savages, keeping Elmo around not because she liked his company but because he was the only other Supe child in her age group, he was a sweet kid, afraid of bugs and that liked to talk about cartoons, frankly it was a challenge to figure out what to do with him. Homelander watched as she taught the kid to play chess, taking hours to explain the basics as the seven year old had very little clue what was happening, but in its own way it was nice to talk to another kid like himself.

Homelander even bothered to do a background check on the child– both of his dad’s both worked at Vought one in hero management and the other in marketing, both very busy bees it seems… he had done the same with all of Ryan’s new classmates, he knew their entire families before his kid even stepped foot and said hello to any of them, all done before he started school the same week as Helena– there was the big issue of her being on the 10th grade while her older brother just began the 6th grade, so he couldn’t enjoy seeing the both of them interacting, it was hard to witness for he wanted both kids to become closer so desperately.

Hence why he was standing on the foyer of the daycare center, a young lady that looked too cheerful for her own good, welcomed Homelander.

“Hi! How can I help you today, Homelander? Are you looking to enroll little Ryan?” She swayed side to side trying to see if the kid was behind him by any chance.

“Actually… am here to speak to one of the kids… hmm… Helena L/N.” He said with a firm tone– I believe her mother left a message.”

Homelander texted you an hour before cominf down, not even asking you that he was going to take her for training, you were stuck in the kitchen helping with some work function taking place tonite, a thousand canapes had to be made and you were stuck with the pistachio and lemon layer cakes.

You had no time to argue, taking your precious break time to make phone calls and try not to use your knife on the nearest asshole who pissed you off afterwards.

She hopped on the desk seeking for any notes, and he was indeed correct.

Now he had her all for himself, you prayed he wasn’t going to drop the news on her, but you couldn’t leave and abandoned your team, she was safe, you had to believe she was safe, she was smart, she was so smart and she could escape him, you just had to trust her.

“Can I bring Elmo?” Helena looked up at Homelander, a slight ache building on her neck as she looked up at the man– he might get lonely.”

“He’s not a dog.” He didn’t even try putting on a soft babied voice with her– and I wanted to talk to you.”

“But he’s always ‘The Dog’ when we play house.” She faked the most innocent voice she could muster, turning around to look at the glass doors  dividing the friends– … He will probably sneak out to the gym if he gets lonely, they got his favorite snacks today… he told me liked five times and I think they’re playing Bluey on the tv.”

“Oh! and you play mommy?” He grimaces so hard his eyebrows touch.

“No, the robber.”

He led the way and she was more than happy to explore the building as they headed downstairs.

“What do you think of them?”

“Elaborate.”

“Those without powers.” she wished she could see his expression– and be honest. None of this ‘Wednesday Addams’ crap.”

He looked around at the sea of smart casual fits and stress on the floors above, the world moving so fast paced, nothing but monkeys hurling shiny rocks while playing dress-up.

“They can be useful, if they are not… then they don’t matter to me.”

He smiled, his heart fluttering and his stomach filled with butterflies as he heard her speak– why did Ryan struggle so much to understand this? He thought.

“When you are born with such gifts–

“I might be a kid but I am very familiar with your Compound V, I already had this talk with my mother. Fascinating stuff… I am still trying to understand the whole dosage thing… How does your company decide which kid to give more versus others? Did they just look at who could provide the best backstory before deciding between 10 mils versus the whole vial.” 

She stared at the glass walls where the kids were housed, the tone of her voice still flat.

“Why you say that?”

“I’m a poor kid from the projects, with a single mom, formerly homeless and now with enough powers to make Athena envious. Not to mention how 92% of supes are white but the percentage below middle class to poor is almost the same as with the 6% blacks, while the percentage of upper class white supes is closer to the same percentage of 2% asians and latino supes… if anything a good chunk of latino and asian supes are upper class… something-something model minority yadah-yadah.” she pressed the elevator door– I’d make a good story. Shame that I can’t be a Supe.”

Homelander stared at her, placing his hand on the back of her head.

“You can be anything you want, Helena. You have been blessed beyond belief with powers… if you want to be Supe then you are ready for major leagues.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Only the 1% of superheroes ever make it to the major leagues, most supes never achieve anything beside D-list status and everybody is fighting for the crumbs left behind by your posse of clowns– is not a fiscally responsible decision. A career that can only exist on extreme gambling is not one that can make money. Not to mention am not cute or tall." She took the first step into the elevator– I never want my mother to worry about money. I want to buy her a mansion on top of a cliff staring at the ocean, have a dozen maids care for the house and she can just spend the rest of her life in luxury”

She turns to see him crossing her arms with a serious look on her tiny face.

“My goal is to take your job.”

“The Seven?” He grinned.

“Vought.”

“I can wait to see you try.” he grinned.

“It won’t be that hard… At least when I am in charge security will be tighter.”

Bottles of V dropped from above Homelander’s head, he caught most of them but a few were lost, those were hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drops staining his pants and shoes, Helena caught one bottle, sliding it between nimble fingers back and forth.

“Don’t look so surprised, it seems this is a common occurence… Here's an unwanted tip: use biometrics and only allow lab techs to enter the 67th floor, not just rely on good will, clown.” sections of her body and clothes flicked back and forth between visible and invisible, taunting him about how easy it had been to steal them using her superpowers.

As his eyes took an extra tinge of red, he saw a brief flash of pale blue encasing her, he followed her to the entrance of the Gym, where she expected to be left alone with Homelander not to find another kid.

“The prodigal son.” she mumbles.

Ryan sat on top of some raised stepping stones in the recently established obstacle course, Helena imagined she needed to know parkour in lieu of flying abilities, which seemed redundant for the kid who could fly.

“Thought you two could practice together.” He shouted while placing the V on the nearest bench.

“Guess there are ways to successfully murder a child and get away with it.” She raised an eyebrow– and here I thought you wouldn’t be irked by the words of a little girl… like I said you’re a maladjusted person.”

“I don’t hurt children. I have no idea…” he said calmly while a little bit angry, as he returned to her side.

“I dunno– it would look really bad if the press found out that you’re a deadbeat.”

His expression dropped as the little girl's eyes glowed.

“Smartest little girl in the world… or...?” She said dryly, as she headed towards Ryan to save him the walk– my bubble refracts light, easy to spot if you notice images are wavering without the heat.”

The little boy ran cheerfully after his father, who for the first time ignored him, his eyes transfixed on the little girl, who had been playing stupid all along.

taglist-- @fromforeigntofamiliarity , @demodemo909 and @immyowndefender

here's the house:

[decadesfloorings]

Exotic Hardwood Flooring Makes Your Feet Look Good

In reality, it's impossible to top the timeless elegance of antique wood flooring, or even cork flooring provide. The kind of wood used is an individual choice and largely depends on the lifestyle you choose. The flooring you choose for your new home will be fashionable and appealing and is a great match to any style of design. In addition to the standard oak Flooring store, which is commonly found in new houses exotic wood flooring can be an amazing and stunning alternative.

Hardwood flooring is long-lasting and can last all of your life if you take proper treatment. Exotic wood flooring is available in a wide range of species, stains patterns and finishes to choose. Additionally, it is hypoallergenic it is also eco green. It increases the appeal and value of your house. Flooring is now an affordable option that is worth every cent. If you're thinking about expensive hardwood flooring, then you must consider, " Am I choosing the most appropriate hardwood flooring that I can afford for the practical reason or is it simply something to be considered as a luxury?

There are a variety of exotic woods, such as bamboo flooring Australian cork, tiger-eye flooring antique wood flooring The list could go on. Maintenance is one of the factors to consider when picking an excellent hardwood flooring. Woods with exotic characteristics like Brazilian teak Brazilian walnut Tiete rosewood and Santos mahogany need less attention due to their excellent Janka Hardness rating.

According to tests conducted by the US Forestry Lab, certain kinds of exotic woods have a higher degree of durability than other types. They employ an official system of hardness ratings known as"the Janka rating. It's based upon the pounds of pressure required to encase an 0.444-inch in diameter steel ball that is of a half size in the wood. It's fascinating to draw some comparisons. When you look at white pine for an example, it needs the pressure of 380 pounds, Douglas Fir, 665 pounds in addition to American cherry flooring at about 950 pounds.

Many of the exotic hardwoods can be found in the hundreds of thousands. Brazilian teak wood flooring is an Janka Rating of 3,540. It's a great choice for families with pets of a large size that require less upkeep and repairs because of wear and wear and tear. If you're planning to see an abundance of heavy usage and pedestrian traffic, Brazilian cherry has a rating of 2800 and could be more durable than Australian tough Cyprus. Brazilian cherry might not have the variety of brown and cream tones dotted with dark knots like Cyprus has, but it comes with a hefty hardness rating that is nearly double. Additionally, the flooring is lower per square feet as compared to Cyprus for similar planks. Cost savings could be as high as $1.65 or greater! The greater the degree of hardness more necessary precautions you'll need to take to protect your flooring from damage due to the fact that it's more robust. Bamboo flooring, for instance, is extremely durable and a perfect flooring for use by families.

Families with no children or frequent foot traffic could require lower ratings for hardness and do not have to pay the high expenses associated with the installation of exotic hardwood flooring. Hardwood flooring is still an excellent option and good investment for the majority of households. It is not necessary to purchase flooring from the other side of the globe to have a stunning and long-lasting hardwood flooring. Numerous domestic and local manufacturers provide American hardwood flooring with exceptional durability and long-lasting, which requires little maintenance and upkeep for hardwood floors. The main thing to consider is the wood's grade. Grades that are clear and have warm, inviting tones and exquisite wood grain are ideal. It is important to choose grades that showcase naturally-occurring character marks. Antique hardwood flooring is an outstanding character grade as well as one that has rustic appeal that's particularly appealing when paired with certain styles of home designs and interior decor.

Take into consideration the time saving benefits of refurbishing hardwood flooring. It can reduce the total cost of hardwood flooring including installation by contractors. The process of sanding and finishing is not required and hardwood floor planks that have been refinished are able to move in a way that is independent of changes in humidity. Changes in temperature and humidity are less stressful on flooring, and the floor's separations will become less noticeable with time. A sought-after, high-end hardwood flooring is hand-scraped distressed and reclaimed flooring that was previously used and has a the classic appearance. The floor is attractive and adds value to the home owner because of its character flaws.

Distressed wood flooring Decades Flooring Store looks amazing when paired with classic stylish decor, giving it an authentic look. It's a lovely mix of shabby chic and chic that is hard to duplicate. Choosing the right contractor complete your installation will safeguard your investment and ensure the success of your project. Consider posting your project on the internet then relax and sit back and wait for contractors to show up. There are many flooring contractors who are on standby waiting to offer competitive bids for your project and are ready to provide top service at a reasonable cost. Be aware of the contractor's references, portfolio, and business profile. Make sure to reach out to their references to confirm that you receive top-quality service. Be aware that there is absolutely no obligation to hire any contractor and ensure there aren't any hidden costs. Do your research and make your masterpiece now!

Contractor in San Fernando Valley

[ultra-maha-us]

How Custom Furniture and Room Space Planning Go Hand In Hand

Custom furniture and room space planning often go hand in hand: many floor plans are best followed using non-standard furniture dimensions, and often the traffic space and the furniture design itself are dictated by personal needs and preferences.

For example, wheelchair access throughout the living space might be necessary, and the standard 18 inch access width used for minor routes through a room might be insufficient. Furniture width and length might have to be customized to suit. Individuals may prefer higher or lower tables than standard, while others might prefer enhancements that can be added at the manufacturing stage but not after.

Using custom furniture is not new - in fact the early settlers all used bespoke furniture initially because they made their own. They had little enough room in their covered wagons without taking the furniture along! First they built the cabins, and then the houses, and with them they built the furniture to go in them. Room space planning was foreign to them, although they unknowingly had the concept in mind when they built their furniture.

There are American carpenters and cabinet makers that keep the old carpentry traditions alive, such as American Craftsman and The Custom Shoppe, although there are many more than these that can offer you traditional American furniture made in America. However, custom furniture is not so easy to find, but is well worth the search when you do find it.

Nobody wants to purchase an item of furniture, no matter the price, and then find it looks out of place. Nor should you rush your choice of home furniture, because you Columbus sculpture artists are going to be living with it for a very long time. You need help to make sure that your choice of furniture is ideal for your living space, even if that means using custom furniture manufactured specifically for your home.

What type of furniture customization is generally possible, and what can you have done if you are willing to pay for more? Here are some examples of how custom furniture and room space planning can be adapted to your specific needs.

Custom Furniture: Choice of Woods and Finishes

The most universal type of furniture customization is in the wood and the finish. Natural American options include cherry, maple and oak, including the beautiful straighter-grained quarter-sawn oak. However, cherry and maple have smoother grains than most other woods, and some people paint items made from this wood because of the smooth grain. Painted furniture does not generally go well with any but the most contemporary decorative styles, though it also suitable for a kitchen or child's bedroom.

Most woods can be stained to produce a number of optional shades, and good custom furniture firms can match just about any sample of wood you give them. Other customizations include the finish, which can range from natural through matt and satin to full gloss. The ultimate in a gloss mirror finish for wood is full French polishing.

Hardware Customization

You have a wide choice of hardware when you buy from custom stores. You can select from a large range of handles and knobs for doors and drawers, including choice of metal, wood or plastic. The same is true of locks and other embellishments. One online firm offers over 45 optional handles or knobs.

Room Space Planning: Dimensional Customization

Room space planning is generally very specific about dimensions. However, while most online home design services will use the furniture they supply as models, you may also have to customize some elements to make the overall plan work. If you use a good custom furniture store, most dimensions can be tailored to suit your needs. Chests and dressers for your bedroom, for example, are customizable in terms of width, length and height. Many pieces can be adapted to suit the available space, and if you have an alcove to fill, furniture can be customized to do this.

Some online suppliers can construct bespoke furniture exactly to your specifications. You can choose the wood, the finish, and all three dimensions. The number and style of drawers can be customized, as can the style and dimensions of the panels, doors, backs and moldings. In fact, give some the dimensions of your room and they will manufacture furniture to fill it!

Individual Customizations

Individual pieces can be customized to your needs. Examples of such custom furniture include TV armoires, bedroom furniture designed to hold your clothes and also a TV. The height of the TV can be set to your personal preference, as can the width of the armoire. The lay-out of the shelves is adaptable, and the doors can be fitted with full-length mirrors if required.

Custom furniture is the ideal way to enable you to convert your room space planning into a reality. By collaborating with an online home design service that also supplies standard and bespoke furniture, between you it should be possible to meet all your needs with a combination of regular and custom furniture.

[stair-warehouse]

Maximizing Space with a Modern Wall Handrail: Ideas for Small and Large Spaces

A modern wall handrail is a sleek and stylish alternative to traditional handrails that are mounted on staircases or balconies. As the name suggests, modern wall handrails are mounted directly onto the wall, creating a clean and unobtrusive look that blends in seamlessly with the surrounding decor.

Because they are mounted directly onto the wall, modern wall handrails take up minimal space, making them ideal for smaller homes or apartments. Modern wall handrails provide the same safety benefits as traditional handrails, including support and stability when climbing stairs or standing on a balcony.

Modern wall handrails are available in a variety of wood species, including White Oak, Hickory and American Cherry.  They are also customizable to fit any space and design aesthetic.

Maximizing space is always a priority when it comes to home design, and a modern wall handrail can be a great way to achieve this. Here are some ideas for using a modern wall handrail to maximize space in both small and large spaces:

Small spaces:

Slim profile wall handrail: Choosing a slim profile wall handrail will take up minimal space while still providing safety and support.

Minimalist design: Opt for a minimalist design that blends in seamlessly with the wall to create the illusion of more space.

Wall-mounted handrails: Wall-mounted handrails take up minimal space and can be installed in areas with limited floor space.

Large spaces:

Multiple handrails: Install multiple handrails in a large space to break up the area and create designated zones.

Handrails as room dividers: Use a modern wall handrail to create a divider between different areas of a large room.

Handrails with curves: Incorporating curves into your handrail design can add visual interest and help break up a large, open space.

Handrails with lighting: Install handrails with integrated lighting to create a focal point and add depth to a large space.

Handrails with color: Choose a handrail with a bold or contrasting color to create a sense of depth and add interest to a large space.

Overall, a modern wall handrail can be a great way to maximize space in any size area, whether you're looking to create more storage, divide a room, or simply make the area feel more open and inviting.

[alex123456moralas]

Missouri’s Best Restaurants, The Ultimate Foodie’s Guide

From bistros and brewpubs to kitschy ice cream shops and fare from farm to table, the state-wide dining scene offers something for every eater. We explore the state to provide you with the best dining options in Missouri.

This travel guide to Missouri can help you plan a fun and affordable trip without breaking the bank!  Every year more than 2 million international tourists book cheap flights to Missouri to explore Missouri’s iconic sights and neighborhoods.

Stone Public House

44 Stone Public House is a gastropub that is a specialist in high-end pub food, paired with high-end whiskies and ales that are aiding in putting Columbia and Mid-Missouri in the spotlight as culinary hot spots. The menu is modeled after the casual and cozy pubs of The British Isles, 44 Stone's menu is influenced by the food common to England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales and is paired with a modern American style to create meals like imperial stout-marinated ribeye steak, wild-caught north Atlantic haddock served with hand-cut chips along with an extensive selection of American craft beers and whiskeys.

Bogart's Smokehouse

regularly ranked among the top barbecue joints frequently rated among the best barbecue joints St Louis (and for a smoker-obsessed state such as Missouri it's definitely an honor) Bogart's Smokehouse first opened its doors in the year 2011 and since then, the succulent meats slow-cooked over cherry and apple wood has achieved legendary status. Chef Skip Steele is a veteran pit master who perfected his techniques while as a child in Memphis cooking all Bogart's meats on the smoker in the backyard of the restaurant over a period of up to 24hrs. The customers rave about dishes like succulent pulled pork, apricot-brauleed prime ribs and succulent pastrami, served alongside side dishes such as deviled egg sweet potato salad, pit-smoked baked beans and pit-smoked potatoes.

*You can book your cheap flights from Orlando to Periera with the Lowest Flight fares and enjoy a trip.

The Fountain on Locust

For unique dining that has an eccentric personality Look no further than the Fountain on Locust, an award-winning ice-cream parlor and food truck voted The Best Restaurant to Impress Out-of-Towners in the St. Louis Post-dispatch's Readers Choice Awards. The interior is a slick art deco style, hand-painted by proprietor Joy Christensen (think retro tiled flooring and vintage counter-seats with bright murals) invites customers to sample their signature cones of ice-cream or sundaes, as well as floating floats with flavors such as butter pecan and coconut almond joy. And even though the well-loved place may seem to target children, "adult" fans of ice cream will surely be delighted by the fountain's adult-flavored floats that are liquor-infused and cocktails made of ice cream.

Flat Branch Pub & Brewing

Downtown Columbia tradition since the time it began its operation more than 20 years in the past (the first brewery to open in the city, since the year 1841.) Flat Branch Pub & Brewing is an intimate, elegant pub and has been awarded several awards including Columbia magazine's Top Overall Restaurant several times. It is located in a 1927-built brick building, which includes Columbia's largest bar as well as a large patio. Flat Branch specializes in handmade classic pub dishes that are given an American flavor, like deep-fried catfish, chips and tartar sauce that is tart and tangy, as well as tender shredded pork that is braised in a spicy adobo flavor and served in taco shells fried with the southwestern slaw and pico de gallo. All of which is, of course, ideal to pair with Flat Branch's homemade, in-house beer.

Lambert's Cafe

The place that is known as the birthplace of the first "throw rolls", Lambert's Cafe is an iconic Missouri eating tradition that dates into the 1940s. The restaurant is known for its large servings of typical American dishes and cozy diner ambience. In the present, Lambert's Cafe boasts two locations in Missouri and another branch located in Alabama however its Sikeston restaurant (the location of the first restaurant that was opened in 1942 by the owners Earl Lambert and Agnes Lambert) is where the story began. Relax with your family and guests in one of the wooden booths and enjoy items like the Bar-B-Q pulled pork sandwich served on Texas toast Fried catfish served with hushpuppies and cornbread and chicken livers served with the gravy of mushrooms.

Gram & Dun

An elegant, modern approach to the neighborhood restaurant Gram and Dun blends sophisticated, chef-driven American meals with well-paired drinks in a welcoming space that is a magnet for all kinds of people from craft beer enthusiasts and wine lovers and foodies with discerning tastes. The restaurant is located in Kansas City's trendy riverside area, The Plaza, Gram and Dun's restaurant is gorgeous. Dramatic slanted wood-beamed ceilings that overlook luxurious leather banquettes. A patio (voted as one of the best in the city by local publications such as KC Magazine and The Pitch) is ideal for outdoor dining. The most memorable dishes are the jumbo scallops served with blackened cauliflower, Swiss Chard, and Bourbon cherry butter. Also, the hangar steak accompanied by bacon-infused fingerling potatoes.

The Block

Inspired by the golden age of the past when butchers were the mainstay of communities in the area, The Block is a unique restaurant in Webster Groves that offers customers seasonal, local-inspired American dishes with an in-store, fully-serviced meat counter. A chic, intimate space, that is dominated by wood and industrial chic elements, guests are reminded of the fact that The Block can be described as a modern neighborhood eatery, and its menu is packed with delicious American classics harks back classic items like smoked brisket sandwiches made with Swiss cheese and pickled red onions and horseradish cream, or grass-fed butcher's cut beef, garlic fries, and the signature steak sauce.

Did you know that Culture Trip now does bookable small-group tours? Choose from authentic, engaging Epic Trips Compact and action-packed Mini Trips and sparkling, sprawling sailing Trips.

[vancouverkitchenrenovation]

The Benefits of a Wood Kitchen

A wood kitchen is a beautiful addition to any home. The warmth and character of a natural wood kitchen is hard to beat. White American Oak is a traditional choice, but you can also use Maple, Birch, and other types of wood. Here are some of the benefits of a wood kitchen. Once you’ve installed a wood kitchen, you can easily refinish it whenever you want. But before you do so, you should consider some considerations.

White American Oak

One of the most popular materials for kitchen cabinets, hardwood flooring, and accent mouldings is the timeless, white American oak. While manufacturers have been using oak for generations, design trends have allowed them to move beyond solid oak. However, substitute materials have come a long way since then. Today, you can choose from white oak, walnut, maple, or cherry. All three species have distinctive looks and a long history of use.

In North America, white oaks are widely distributed, from southern Quebec to eastern Minnesota and Iowa. They grow from 15 to 30 metres in height, with a clear cylindrical bole that can be up to 15m in diameter. However, they are not particularly tolerant of cold climates, such as the tundra. In its native climate, white oaks grow best in the Northern Appalachian Mountains, which have four distinct seasons.

One of the most popular varieties of white oak is Appalachian white oak. This species is known for its durability, and its consistency, strength, and subtle beauty makes it a popular choice for wood kitchens. A white oak kitchen is also a great alternative to the traditional red oak kitchens of yesteryear, which can seem too overpowering. However, a white oak kitchen can still benefit from a little contrast in color and character.

Maple

A Maple wood kitchen is one of the most popular choices for any home. The natural beauty of maple is unsurpassed, thanks to its distinct grain, pitch flecks and mineral deposits. Besides its beauty, maple is also incredibly easy to work with because the wood has a high density. That means that it can be finished with a variety of finishes and still look beautiful. In addition, maple is a durable choice, requiring less maintenance than other woods.

If you choose to install maple wood cabinets, you need to be aware that they are not immune to damage from regular use. A regular wipe-down with a damp cloth should be sufficient to keep the wood looking great. You may also want to install under cabinet lighting to create an ambient glow in the space. It will not only provide a beautiful look to your kitchen, but also give you additional storage space. Maple kitchen cabinets are also quite affordable, making them a great option for any home.

If you are looking to save money and upgrade your kitchen cabinets, maple may be a great option. Maple is much more affordable than other hardwoods and can last for thirty years or more with little upkeep. Maple is also very durable, and it won’t warp or crack over time. If you’re unsure of which wood to purchase for your new kitchen, consider using maple wood. If you’re worried about the maintenance and upkeep of other woods, you might want to consider cherry or oak.

Birch

When it comes to choosing wood for your kitchen, birch is one of the most popular options. Birch’s natural light color and uniform grain make it a great choice for both modern and farmhouse settings. Its fine grain and smooth texture make it easy to work with. Since birch doesn’t warp easily, this wood is a good choice for kitchens that feature a modern design. However, birch is not as resistant to decay or insects as other woods, which may make it unsuitable for outdoor use. In addition, this wood is expensive, which can put a damper on your budget.

If you’re considering a birch for wood kitchen, you may be interested in its long history in the United States. Native Americans used the bark of birch trees for canoe frames and as the shaft for arrows. The trees are also some of the most popular ornamental trees in America, and some are even planted in the White House to honor the mothers of various presidents. Additionally, birch floors are common in historic New England homes. They’re durable, so it’s not surprising that birch wood is a popular choice for kitchen flooring.

When it comes to installing birch wood kitchen cabinets, you can save money by doing it yourself. This type of wood accepts paint well and will hold up well over time. For the best finish, however, you should consider using an interior enamel finish. If you’re unsure of your skills, you can also hire a professional to complete the installation for you. However, this is not a DIY project for the faint of heart.

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Your kitchen is more than just a place to cook; it’s a space that brings people together, connects them, and helps them feel relaxed and comfortable. It’s a space that makes you proud to invite guests over, and it’s a space that lets you show off your personality and style. That’s why Vancouver Kitchen Renovation wants to help you create the perfect kitchen for yourself and your family. Whether you’re interested in updating your existing kitchen or starting from scratch, we can help you turn your dream kitchen into reality. We believe kitchens aren’t just functional spaces; they bring families together, connect them, inspire creativity, and allow them to express themselves. So we strive to create designs that reflect these values, and we’re excited to share them with you.

We understand that to be successful is to stay ahead of the curve. That means staying current with the latest technology and design trends. We always want to improve our products or services without breaking the bank. That’s why we stay connected to the latest technologies of NKBA, National Kitchen and Bath Association. In addition, at Vancouver Kitchen renovation, our primary focus is providing sustainable kitchen design and renovation packages, and we believe in sustainable living. Sustainable living is a way of life in harmony with nature. It is a lifestyle which focuses on the preservation of our environment. Sustainable living is a philosophy emphasizing respect for the environment and concern for its well-being. This means we should take care of the planet and treat it as if it were our home. We should try to preserve what we have and protect it from destruction. If we do this, we will enjoy the benefits of the earth’s resources for many generations. Whether you’re planning a major remodel or adding finishing touches to your current kitchen, we’d love to discuss your project. Book your showroom consultation online.

Main Areas of Service in British Columbia:

Vancouver

North Vancouver

West Vancouver

Burnaby

Coquitlam

Squamish

Whistler

Frequently Asked Questions

Where should a fridge go in the kitchen?

The refrigerator goes between the sink and stove. It should be placed close to your cupboards so that you can get what you need quickly.

***

Is planning permission required for a new kitchen?

You will need permits to change the locations of electrical and plumbing. If you need to make structural modifications to your walls to accommodate these changes, you might also require a building permit.

If you’re unsure whether or not you need planning permission, it’s always best to check with your local authority before proceeding with any work.

What countertops go best with white kitchen cabinets?

If you choose a white kitchen, your countertop can be bold. Quartz countertops have become the standard in kitchen design. Our top recommendations for quartz countertops that would look great in white kitchens are:

Different shades of concrete gray

Bold Granite-like patterns

Veiny marble-like designs

Bright and striking colours, such as sunflower yellow or ocean-blue, are ideal

What are the characteristics of an ideal kitchen?

A well-designed kitchen should have ample storage space. It should also be big enough to cook, clean, entertain, and so on. A well-designed and designed kitchen will allow for easy access to natural light, ventilation, and other benefits.

What should the duration of a kitchen remodel take?

The work should take about three weeks once the cabinets are made. However, the design and/or custom cabinet manufacturing can take months. This means that the whole process from start-to-finish can take several weeks.

What is a timeless and beautiful kitchen backsplash?

A subway tile backsplash will always be timeless. We recommend a full backsplash in your kitchen. This would be the countertop being used as a backsplash that extends to the bottom of the upper cabinets. This gives the illusion of a much larger kitchen.

What should I do first when remodeling a kitchen?

There is no right or wrong answer as everyone’s priorities will vary. However, some things to consider include the room’s layout, the type of appliances you want, the style of cabinets and countertops you prefer, and any storage needs you have.

Once you’ve decided on your must-haves, you can look at different kitchen designs to see what options are available. You might be able to spend less on appliances and cabinets if you are working on a budget. Then, add in the smaller details such as paint colors and light fixtures.

Taking things one step at a time ensures your kitchen remodel precisely what you want it to be.

Statistics

“We decided to strip and refinish our kitchen cabinets during a heat wave with 90-plus-degree temperatures and 90 percent humidity in a house with no air conditioning. (familyhandyman.com)

According to Burgin, some hinges have this feature built-in, but it’s an add-on cost for other models of about $5 retail, adding up to $350 to $500 for an entire kitchen, depending on size. (hgtv.com)

Keep 10 to 25 percent of List 2, depending on the budget. (familyhandyman.com)

Experts also recommend setting aside 20 percent of your budget for surprises, including unpleasant demolition discoveries. One is water damage, the electricity that is not up to code, or other budget-spiking gotchas. (hgtv.com)

Followed by cabinet cost, labour, and appliance costs consume 20 percent each of your budget. (hgtv.com)

External Links

forbes.com

Amazing Kitchen Remodel Ideas to Refresh Your Home

homeadvisor.com

Learn how much it costs to Remodel a Kitchen – Compose: SEO.

How much does a kitchen remodeling project increase the home’s market value? – HomeAdvisor

familyhandyman.com

Do’s and Don’ts of a First DIY Subway Tile Backsplash

Create an Open, Craftsman-Style Kitchen (DIY)

remodeling.hw.net

2021: Cost vs. Value

Cost vs. Value Project: Minor Kitchen Remodel

How To

How to design a kitchen layout

Although there’s no perfect layout for a kitchen, some layouts work well in certain spaces. Here are some ways to create a kitchen layout that suits your space.

Start with the essentials. The first step in determining what you have in your kitchen is to decide what can be sacrificed. For example, you may not need a large stove or oven if you don’t cook much.

Consider the traffic flow. The second step is to think about how you and your family use your kitchen, and how traffic flows through it. You need enough space for your family to move around without bumping into each others.

Maximize storage. The third step in optimizing storage is to maximize your kitchen layout. This includes both food storage and cookware storage. It is important to make sure everything is in its right place and easily accessible.

Incorporate your style. The fourth step is to incorporate your style into the kitchen layout. This includes everything including countertops and cabinets, flooring, and appliances. Select materials and finishes that best reflect your taste.

A professional is recommended. The fifth and final step is to work with a professional kitchen designer. They will help you to create a layout that fits all of your needs.

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[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 86: American Dreaming

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: sexuality (not smut, but sexy lol), mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 6k

❧ In This Chapter: You finally come face-to-face with the governor's son, who doesn't impress you much, and an offer from Carol to watch the kids for the night gives you and Daryl an opportunity to have a real first date in the Commonwealth.

❧ A/N: Okay, this WAS going to be a smut chapter, but I got a little too caught up in the fluff so the smut will be continued in the next chapter! For now, there's just a tad bit of teasing in this chapter. Reader also meets Sebastian for the first time which was fun because she doesn't take his shit and I love that for her.

The Commonwealth Library was… different from any library you ever worked at. Maybe because it was public, and you always worked at university libraries, or maybe because it had everything a normal library from back in the day would have had, and you had all but forgotten that such amenities even existed.

Though the internet that existed at the Commonwealth was not like it was before, it was enough to facilitate the ease of information through computers, of which there were many at the library.

Computers, printers, xerox machines, microfilm and microfiche readers… It was overwhelming for you, and knowing that one day you’d return home, where such technology was much more limited due to the more modest power grid.

Three weeks of working in a very official library, however, was, you had to admit, a breath of fresh air, and the collection was impressive. Whoever had curated this library had clearly raided various historical and governmental sites in Washington D.C., considering important historical documents like the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were on full display in hermetically-sealed glass boxes, with constant security guards (stormtroopers in Commonwealth Army uniforms, of course) standing by to defend the once precious artifacts of human civilization.

Even beyond that, the library was impressive.

The building was intricate, and certainly had once been in a library before the world fell. It was built in the style of Georgian architecture with clear Greco-Roman influences, and the dark wood paneling with intricate details was a cherry on top in terms of sophistication.

The place was huge, with tall, open ceilings stretching up to the third floor, and high, regal paned windows that you only knew must’ve been a pain to clean. They overlooked a lush, green courtyard around which the rest of the building wrapped, and in the center of that courtyard was a grand fountain with none other than a statue of the great Miss Pamela Milton’s father as the centerpiece amidst delicate streams of crystal clear water.

For all its grandeur, it was first and foremost a place of learning, you thought. Though your responsibilities were much more menial than they once had been, you supposed your job was much less stressful than what it was in the old world, and at least you had the pleasure of getting to know the other citizens of the Commonwealth.

“After Many a Summer Dies the Swan,” you said, scanning the barcode on the back of the old book you recognized quite well. The patron nodded, a young man in his late teens, you surmised, bespectacled and reminiscent of what you might’ve called back in the day a “nerd.”

“I read this in college,” you said. “It’s about…” You looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember the plot. “This crazy scientist trying to figure out how to stop the aging process or something, right?”

“Yeah,” said the young man, eagerly grinning at the book in your hands. “I’ve actually read it before. I love Huxley’s work, ever since I read Brave New World last year. Can’t get it out of my head.”

“Mmm,” you hummed in reminiscence of the familiar novel. “I guess the world was getting kind of close to that before it all ended.”

“I wouldn’t remember,” the young man shrugged. “I was pretty small. But I know a lot of people high up want to see it become just like it was. Kind of wild to think about, if the world was so messed up.”

You nodded in agreement, and closed the dusty book before sliding it across the counter into the man’s hands. “The world’s always going to be messed up in one way or another, I guess. Just a different kind of messed up.”

From behind the young man came an impatient throat clearing, bringing to your attention that someone was in line behind the man.

“It’s due on November fifteenth,” you said with a genuine smile, happy to have had even the smallest conversation with someone new. “Enjoy rereading it.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” said the young man, who seemed eager to scurry off when he realized who was behind him.

You didn’t know him, on account of never seeing him before, but he had an air of entitlement around him that seemed to intrigue the other patrons sitting at their desks and browsing through the stacks nearby. Some bickered quietly amongst each other, and others tried to avoid eye contact with the man, who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties.

“Hi,” he said, smiling with the misplaced confidence that probably would have been better suited to a man with a less punchable looking face. “I’m having trouble finding a book.”

Ah, yes, one of your favorite tasks. You loved the challenge of tracking down books for those who couldn’t navigate the call number system themselves, or just had no idea where to look when it appeared the book in question was missing. It could’ve been a multitude of places, perhaps on a refile shelf or on a book truck just waiting to be reshelved and returned to the appropriate destination.

“Okay,” you said. “Do you have the call number?”

He pulled a small sheet of paper from his coat pocket and slid the note towards you.

“JC 329… Did you look in the stacks?”

He scoffed and raised an eyebrow, obviously annoyed and impatient with your questioning. “Of course I did, it wasn’t there. Jesus, this is a library, how are we supposed to read shit if the books aren’t where they’re supposed to be?”

You swallowed hard, taken aback by the sudden aggression in his voice. Perhaps you hadn’t dealt with disgruntled patrons in years, but it still felt inordinately uncomfortable.

“Okay, I’ll be right back, I’m just going to check the back, see if it’s in processing.”

You searched high and low on the prep shelves and the prep trucks for the call number, double checking and checking again to make sure it really wasn’t there.

Upon returning to the front desk, the man was clearly disappointed that you were still empty handed. “New plan,” you said, “I’ll check the database, see where the book is according to that, okay?”

He rolled his eyes and held his chin upon the desk as he blew a deep breath. “Go on,” he said. “But hurry up, I’ve got things to do today.”

Asshole, you thought. So do I. I’ve got better things to do than waiting on little pricks like you, and I certainly don’t get paid enough for it.

You flashed a fake smile, reminiscent of the lifeless, painted-on grins on Barbie dolls. “No problem,” you said, typing quickly on the chunky keyboard.

“Oh, that’s why we couldn’t find it,” you said, still trying to hang onto your carefully crafted, ultra-feminine and sickly sweet customer service voice. “Someone’s already checked it out. That’s not super common but it happens. There’s nothing we can do right now but I can put the book on hold for you when it returns, and call you in to pick it up. Does that sound all right?”

He shook his head and scoffed with that annoying little smile of his that you were frankly getting tired of looking at. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, immediately sending you into bitchy librarian mode, “I need you to expedite that book for me, call the asshole who’s got it and tell ‘em a very important patron needs it. Can you do that for me?”

You scoffed and almost burst out into disbelieving laughter, but instead you just looked at him in awe. No one had ever asked such a thing in all your years of dealing with patrons, even the particularly rude ones.

“No,” you said simply. “I can’t do that. You’ll just have to wait until it’s returned. It’d be one thing if it were past its due date, but it’s not.”

His face tightened and he leaned forward, causing you to lean back and away from his rather weasel-like face. “Do you have any idea who I am, lady?” he asked. “My mother can put your ass on the streets for looking at me the wrong way, so I really don’t have the patience for this kind of attitude.”

You did laugh this time, letting out a snort and covering your mouth when you realized he wasn’t joking. “Oh,” you said, composing yourself again. “Momma’s boy, huh? Okay, well, I’ll get right on that. I’ll phone the patron and let him know there’s a little boy here throwing a tantrum over a public library book. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

He snarled and straightened to his full height, which wasn’t any taller than you. “You’re gonna regret that,” he said. “No one talks to me like that.”

You shrugged. “I just did. Unless you have some other business here, there’s not much else I can help you with. Goodbye.”

Tired of dealing with the petulant man, you placed a BE BACK SOON sign upon the desk and retreated to the back, ignoring whatever words he had to say to you as you turned your back to him.

Immediately upon entering the access services department, one of your co-workers, Ginger, walked up to you, frantically wringing her hands and looking wide-eyed at you. “Do you have any idea who that was?” she whispered shakily.

You furrowed your brow and laughed. “Um, yeah, some guy who pissed me off. Why?”

She shook her head and pulled you close by the arm, looking around as if to make sure no one heard. “That’s Sebastian Milton,” she said. “You know, Pamela Milton’s son?”

“Ohhh,” you said, nodding your head in realization. That was the same little shit who’d been teasing Daryl lately, giving him condescending little orders and generally being an ass. “Guess I ruined my chances of getting invited to the masquerade ball, huh?”

Ginger shook her head again, clearly much more serious about this than you were. “You can’t talk to the Miltons like that, or anyone on their level like that.”

“Well, he was being rude,” you defended. “I went half of my life letting people like that walk all over me, Ginger. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, I don’t care whose kid he is. Besides, no harm done.”

Ginger looks aghast. “You really don’t get it, do you? Sebastian can do anything he wants around here. He’s done it for years. Even just a little thing like that can put you on his shitlist, and you don’t want to be on his shitlist.”

You scoffed, and waved your hand, dismissing Ginger’s concerns. “What, he’s going to put a hit on me or something?”

In fact, he probably did have the ability to do such a thing, but you weren’t scared of him. You’d been hunted by worse things and worse people to be scared of a sniveling prep school kid.

“Just be careful,” she said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Back in the dingy dorm room you called home, you were helping Judith with her science homework while Robin and RJ read their short story assigned to them from class that day. Dog chewed on a bone in the corner, gnawing on the marrow and whimpering every once in a while when he felt he wasn’t getting the attention he deserved.

“Mommy?” asked Robin, looking up from her book. “Can we take Dog for a walk? I think he needs enrichment.”

You rolled your eyes in amusement at the child’s use of the new word she’d learned from her advanced vocabulary workbook. “I’m helping Judith with her homework right now, sweetie.”

“RJ and me can go,” said Robin, intent on being independent for once.

Perhaps if you were still in Alexandria, surrounded by people you knew well and trusted, but the Commonwealth was so much bigger, and two six-year-olds out on their own in a world they didn’t know very well seemed like a recipe for disaster, and the idea of anything happening to them sent your heart rate through the roof. “After we’re done with Judith’s homework, okay?”

“Okay,” pouted Robin, returning to her reading as you helped Judith understand the basics of the water cycle.

Minutes later, a knock came at the door, and Robin eagerly jumped up to answer it (with your permission, of course).

“Oh, hi Aunt Carol,” Robin said, projecting her tiny, lilted voice in an attempt to seem more mature.

“Well, hello there, Miss Dixon,” said Carol, who seemed to be holding a box of cookies from Elodie’s in her hands.

“Are those cookies?” asked RJ with a gasp, letting his book fall to the floor before running over to Carol.

Judith raised an eyebrow at you. “Guess reading time’s over, huh?”

“Mhm,” you said, rising to your feet to greet Carol, who was now handing out one pumpkin-shaped sugar cookie to each six-year-old. “Exactly what they need—sugar,” you said with a laugh. “What do you say, children?”

Robin chewed her cookie before speaking, as she knew it was impolite to speak with her mouth open. “Thank you, Aunt Carol,” the two children sang out, not quite insync with each other.

“I was going to say it, Momma, I swear,” insisted Robin.

You gently tugged on her messy braid, done in a hurry by a very stressed out Daryl before he left for work that morning. “I know, honey.”

“You’re welcome,” Carol chuckled. “Hey, I’m gonna steal your mom for a second. (Y/N), come out to the hallway with me?”

You sat the box of cookies Carol handed to you on the small bedside table Daryl had fished out of the trash a while back, then turned to the younger children, knowing Judith had enough self-control and a good sense of delayed gratification.

“No more until I get back, cookie monsters.” You turned back to Judith, sitting cross-legged on her sleeping pad as she continued her work. “Hold down the fort?”

“Mhm,” hummed Judith.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” you said, gently closing the door and keeping a watchful eye on the children as long as you could until they couldn’t be seen anymore. Maybe you were a little overprotective at times, but especially in this dilapidated tenement building, you hated to leave them alone, even just for a few minutes. “What’s up?”

Carol folded her arms over her chest and let out a chuckle. “Well, mother goose, just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Fine,” you said. “I mean, given the circumstances.” You gestured to the surrounding hallway, grimy and shaking with the heavy footsteps of the tenants upstairs. “Daryl says we might get that apartment in a few weeks. His training’s going pretty well.”

Everyone else from your group had gotten new apartments since arriving, except for your household and Rosita’s, probably because she and Daryl were still in basic training.

“It comes with furniture and all that,” you said. “It has a bathroom and a kitchen… Three bedrooms.”

You practically sighed in pleasure at the idea of having a room to yourself, somewhere away from the children for just a while.

“Getting tired of the one room thing, huh?”

“Well, it’s good for keeping an eye on the kids, but I don’t think Daryl and I have spent more than twenty minutes alone together since we got here. I miss our private time, you know?”

Carol seemed to have an idea forming as she developed that intrigued look upon her face.

“How about I take the kids tonight?” she said. “I’ll take ‘em back to my place and we can bake and watch movies or something.”

You blinked in disbelief. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. I’m their favorite aunt, after all.”

“Oh, but what about school tomorrow?” you asked frantically, suddenly trying to arrange the children’s schedule in your head. “Do you want to take them to school? You don’t have to, I can pick them up and take them, or Daryl can, or—”

“(Y/N),” she laughed, holding your shoulders firmly in her hands. “I will take them to school. Why don’t you just have a nice night with Daryl, huh? Maybe go out to eat or something, like a real date.”

Oh, that sounds nice, you thought.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I mean, thank you, but—”

Carol rolled her eyes and gently pushed past you, opening the door and calling out to the kids. “Come on, you guys. Grab your backpacks. Sleepover at Aunt Carol’s tonight.”

Robin looked curiously at you behind Carol, as if to ask your permission.

“Go on,” you sighed. “Pack some jammies and a fresh change of clothes. Oh, and your toothbrushes and your floss.”

RJ wasted no time in jumping up from his bean bag chair and slinging the other children their bags.

“Why are we staying at Aunt Carol’s?” asked Robin, always so curious.

“Well,” you began to say, but Carol beat you to it.

“It’s date night,” said Carol. “You remember date night, right?”

Robin blushed and giggled as she shoved her favorite denim overalls into her bag. “Oh,” she said. “Alone time for Mommy and Daddy, so they can kiss and stuff.”

“Ew!” exclaimed RJ, grimacing at the idea of his aunt and uncle kissing. “That’s disgusting.”

You scoffed at the children, slightly blushing now yourself.

“Can we bring Dog?” asked Robin, causing Dog’s ears to perk up at the mention of his name. “He wants to go for a walk.”

“Just take his food and water bowls. And keep him on his leash until you get to Aunt Carol’s,” you said, and with a kiss upon each of their heads (including Dog’s), you sent them off with their aunt, though not before you spoke to her one last time.

“Easy on the sugar,” you whispered. “RJ will be bouncing off the walls and Robin will start talking a mile a minute.”

Carol laughed. “I’d love to see that,” she said.

“And make sure they’re all in bed by nine,” you said. Carol had never taken care of the kids by herself before, so it seemed only natural to give her the rundown. “Robin can only sleep with a nightlight so if you have something like that it would be great. Oh, and sometimes she gets these little night terrors, and she’s been sleepwalking a lot more lately. Just make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. If she can’t get to sleep we usually give her a warm glass of milk and that knocks her out. Um, I think that’s it…”

Carol laughed and shook her head. “Stop worrying,” she said. “They’re going to be just fine. Enjoy your alone time with Daryl. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of kissing and stuff to do.”

Indeed, you spent the remainder of time before Daryl came home beautifying yourself as best you could, draping yourself in the blush pink wrap dress you brought from Alexandria and dolling yourself up with the minimal bits of makeup you made room in your bag for.

Not that Daryl ever cared about that kind of thing, of course. He’d find you just as beautiful even if you were covered in walker blood or caked in mud, but you always felt the most beautiful in pretty, delicate dresses, with the soft tickles of fabric upon your bare legs, and the feeling of confidence that measly piece of fabric could give you.

Plus, Daryl loved seeing you in your dresses, knowing just how happy they made you.

When he came through the door, his eyes immediately darted around the room, looking in every direction for his little ones (and his dog).

“Where are the kids?” he asked, a slight sense of urgency in his voice, though he knew if you were here, they were probably all right wherever they were.

You stood up from your sleeping pad where you sat updating your journal and crossed over to him with a skip in your step and a sweet smile on your face.

“Spending the night at Aunt Carol’s,” you said, bringing your hands up to knead his tense shoulders. “It’s just us tonight… All night.”

Your hands trailed up the curve of his neck and cupped his cheeks to bring his lips to yours, chapped and worn from exposure, but still so soft and welcoming as always.

His lips parted for you shortly, taking in your tongue and letting it soak up his with your sweet saliva. His strong hands fit like a puzzle piece above your hips, pulling you closer to his body until you sunk your entire body weight into him, sending him stumbling backwards a few steps until he caught himself with a laugh.

“Jesus, woman,” he mumbled, now holding your face and caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “Gimme a second to breathe, huh, angel? Had a bad day.”

Your shoulders slumped in sadness. If anyone deserved a good day, it was him, and those seemed in short supply lately.

“What happened?” you asked, guiding him over to your sleeping pad and pushing his shoulders down until he sat cross-legged upon the firm mat. You quickly sat yourself next to him and maneuvered his head until it rested upon your breast, while your arms snaked around his back and held him against you. “Mercer again?”

“Mmm,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and embracing your warmth around him, and that sweet smell of rose and lilac with a hint of gentle citrus that always lingered about you. “Tellin’ ya, he’s got it out for me.”

You laughed and kissed his hair. “No he doesn’t, baby. Apparently he’s like that with everyone. Harsh. I know it’s hard to deal with, especially since you’ve been so spoiled by your sweet, compassionate, loving wife for so long.”

He grimaced and grunted somewhere between agreement and playfulness. “Yeah… They take Dog with ‘em, too?”

You rolled your eyes and lifted his head up to face you. “Yes, Daryl. Everyone’s fine. What, you want me to go pick them up?”

“Nah,” he said rather quickly. “Nah, just… She know about the sleepwalkin’? And how she needs ‘er nightlight? Milk for when she can’t sleep?”

“Yes!” you laughed. “She knows, I told her. She’s taking them to school tomorrow, too. Is that okay with you, muffin?”

He rolled his eyes at the pet name. “S’fine… So, uh… we gonna do somethin’?”

His fingertip trailed absentmindedly up your bare arm, and played with the sleeve of your dress when he reached your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hummed at his playful touch. “What do you wanna do, cutie pie?”

He shrugged and quirked his lip. “I’m hungry,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow and leaned forward to lick his lips, rubbing his chest over his filthy black thermal shirt all the while. “Oh, really?” you whispered against his mouth. “I’ve got something you can eat.”

You took his hand and reached it down to cup your mound, but when he broke out into a chuckle, you looked at him in utter confusion. “What?” you asked with a smile.

“I mean I’m really hungry, woman,” he said. “Could use a burger or somethin’.”

You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back your wide smile. “Let’s go on a date,” you said. “That little diner downtown…” Your smile faltered when Daryl began shaking his head. “Oh, pleeease, baby?”

“Too much money,” he said. “Money we don’t got.”

You frowned and pouted as you slowly reached your hand out to scratch his chin, which he had no choice but to let happen, since he loved the feeling so much.

“Please, Daryl?” you asked sweetly. “Only way you’re getting a burger is if we go to that diner. Besides, it’s not that expensive, and we’ve got enough money on our spending cards. I’ll pay for it, I just want to have a real date. Please?”

He closed his eyes and groaned, somewhere between reluctant acceptance and pleasure. Opening one eye to look at you, his nose scrunched up in adorable faux annoyance at your pouty, doe-eyed face, though he could never really be annoyed at you.

“Fine,” he finally said, causing you to gasp and throw your arms around him, nearly knocking him back.

“Oh, thank you,” you laughed, and pulled away to kiss his lips firmly. Looking up and down his body, you realized he was in desperate need of a wardrobe change if you were going to go out. “Why don’t you take a shower and change, hm?”

He bit his lip as he looked you over, himself realizing how much effort you’d put into your appearance for him. It was always so cute back at home when things were stable enough for you and him to have your little “date nights,” with you dragging out the iron and ironing board to smooth out the wrinkles in your favorite dress at the moment, then meticulously doing your hair until you found it suitable for Daryl’s approval, even though he wouldn’t care if your head was shaved.

Yes, he knew he needed to try to look half as put-together as you did.

“Okay,” he said. “Be right back.”

He emerged from the bathroom with his hair blown dry, looking much fluffier and less greasy than it had in a long time, and his face fresh and clear from the cleansing heat of the shower. His wardrobe, though, stunned you.

He’d finally put on that light blue linen button-up with quarter-length sleeves you’d gotten him, and it fit him so well. Well, it might’ve been a little small around his chest and shoulders, where most shirts tended to hug his broad upper frame, but to you, the conforming of the fabric to his body only reminded you once again of just how much you wanted him, especially with your hormones running wild from the presence of a little human growing in your belly.

Of course, he wore his dark blue jeans and his brown boots, but it wouldn't have been your Daryl if he wore anything else.

“Aw,” you cooed, holding your hands on either side of your face and shaking your head at how great he looked. “You look so good!”

You skipped over to him and twirled him around, much to his embarrassment as he huffed and puffed with each little giggle you made. Of course, you did take the opportunity to admire his ass while you were modeling him.

“You done lookin’ at my ass, girl?” he asked over his shoulder

You smirked and turned him back around, eager to look at his face once again. As you expected, his eyes shone like two brilliant, electric sapphires, and the cool toned highlights in his deep brown hair that seemed to darken with age were more prominent, complimenting his light olive skin tone.

“I told you the blue would bring out your eyes,” you said, playing with the lapels of his shirt. “You’re so handsome. You know, you should let me buy you clothes more often. I have great taste.”

He shrugged his shoulders and circled his arms in an attempt to loosen the shirt around his chest. “It’s tight,” he said.

You frowned and stepped back to see if he looked too constrained in his shirt. “Is it uncomfortable? I can take it back, get a bigger size.” Of course, you rather liked how tight it was on him, but his comfort was more important to you than the pleasure you got from looking at his bulky build.

“Nah,” he said, realizing how much it meant to you that he liked his shirt. He smiled and gazed at you with a softness in his eyes that immediately soothed you. “It’s perfect.”

You got lost in his eyes for a moment, then realized he needed one more thing to complete the look. “Oh, your vest,” you said, turning to the coat hanger on the wall to pluck the leather garment from its hanger. “Can’t forget the vest.”

You smoothed out the familiar piece of outerwear, each crease of the worn black fabric reminding you that this old vest had been with Daryl since the very beginning, and it had seen everything you had seen. Daryl without his vest was still Daryl, but you did love his vest, and how uniquely him it was.

Not to mention Robin’s wing she’d painted on some months back, which only increased the value of the vintage vest Daryl had picked up at a pawn shop in the middle of nowhere, Georgia.

“Thanks,” he said, and his sentence was punctuated by the roar of his stomach.

“Was that your stomach?” you laughed. “Oh, poor baby. You really are hungry.”

He scoffed and began pulling you towards the door. “I could eat a horse,” he said, and the two of you were off to the diner, walking hand-in-hand, per your request.

It felt strange sitting across from Daryl in a restaurant, ordering food and drinking from a strawberry milkshake for two (though Daryl ordered a beer, too).

You watched in amusement as Daryl took a bite out of his burger, which tasted different from anything he’d tried to barbecue at Robin’s birthday parties.

“Good?” you asked, but you knew by his grunts and little groans of pleasure that it must’ve been pretty good.

“Mhm,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “Yours good?”

You looked down at your grilled cheese sandwich and side of fries, the only vegetarian option on the menu that wasn’t a house salad.

“It’s very good…” You furrowed your brow and reached forward to wipe the globs of ketchup and mustard out of the sparse beard hairs around his mouth as he licked his fingers of the grease from his burger. “Messy, huh?”

Daryl shook his head and picked up his napkin to get the excess out of his beard. “(Y/N),” he said, still sloppily chewing his food and eliciting a great deal of amusement from you, “it ain’t a real burger unless you got half of it on your face ‘fore you’ve even finished it.”

“Sure,” you laughed. “Hey, this is a real date, like in the old world.”

He chewed another bite of his burger and looked at you with a curious glance, this time finishing his bite before speaking. “Yeah,” he said. “‘Cept a woman like you’d never look my way in the old world.”

You chewed the last bite of one half of your sandwich and threw a playful shove at his shoulder. “Stop,” you said. “You know that’s not true. If I saw you walking down the street before all this, I’d say, ‘hey, who’s that cute, slightly scruffy-looking, guy with the amazing arms and—’”

He tilted his head and gave you that famous mock glare he often gave when you were about to go on and on about how attractive he was.

“My point is,” you continued, “I’d watch you stuff your face with a burger even if the world never ended. Besides, none of that matters now, anyway.”

Daryl’s eyes drifted across the crowded diner, watching the much more adapted citizens of the Commonwealth chowing down on their burgers and various other American diner fare. He spotted in particular a disgruntled customer arguing with the waitress about the check, demanding to receive a discounted price on a less than satisfactory meal.

“It matters here,” he said. “World’s just like how it used to be.”

You followed his gaze and watched the customer fork over his spending card with a few curses directed towards the waitress, and a promise that he’d never return to this establishment again, and that his hard-earned cash was better spent elsewhere.

“Why do ya think they wanna have money again?” Daryl asked. “Our group was doin’ just fine without it. Think it causes more problems than anything else.”

You turned back to face him with a shrug. “Maybe just to feel like things are normal,” you said. “Money, government, social hierarchy… American dream. Reminds us we’re human, different from the dead. I mean, I don’t agree with it, but maybe it’s just what keeps them going here.”

“They’re tryin’ to make it like the old world,” he said. “Don’t get why they ain’t just tryin’ to make a new one. That’s the only way… Learn from the past, build a better future, different from before. Better than before.”

You broke out into a little laugh, taking a dainty sip of your shared milkshake.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just love it when you’re like this.”

He narrowed his eyes with a hint of playfulness behind his slight suspicion. “Like what?”

“Optimistic,” you said, returning your lips to the straw.

“Pfft,” he scoffed, leaning forward and taking his straw in his mouth, causing you to laugh at the corniness of your position—sitting across from each other, drinking from straws in the same pink milkshake in an Americana-themed diner from the fifties. He nudged his nose against yours, making you snort and accidentally blow through your straw, sending a splash of the milkshake up into his face.

“Agh!”

“Oh,” you said, turning serious as you started wiping your face with your napkin and pulling a few more from the dispenser to wipe his face, too. “Sorry, sweetie.” You threw way too many napkins at his face, standing up in your chair to clean him up as you broke out into an unstoppable laughter.

He shook his head, himself graced with a face-splitting smile that formed into a gradual laughter. “Ain’t funny,” he laughed, the sound of which was so pure and boyish and perhaps unlike any laughter you’d heard from him before. “Got milkshake in my eyes, woman.”

“Sorry,” you laughed. “I didn’t mean it.”

He let out a snort of his own as he continued wiping his face, still chuckling under his breath until the laughter died down. “Guess our first date ain’t goin’ so good, huh?”

You sat back down in your chair and straightened out your dress, and suddenly, at the sight of him licking the milkshake from his lips, you felt a little too turned on to keep your hands, or feet, away from him.

“Oh, I think it’s going great,” you said, biting your lip as you watched him lick his. “And it’s only just started.”

You slipped your right foot from your heel and ventured to lift the edge of his jeans with your toes, rubbing his calf as you bent forward a little to (hopefully) show off your cleavage. Though you held his eye contact for a moment, he seemed entranced by your chest, letting his gaze sink down to the tight line formed by your plump, slightly engorged breasts pressed together underneath your dress. If there was one thing he couldn’t resist, especially when you were pregnant, it was those two perfect, soft globes that always fit so wonderfully in his hands.

He couldn’t even feel your foot rubbing his knee now, but he certainly felt the tightness in his pants, and a strain just begging to be satiated. You knew the redness in his face meant he was holding something back, so you relieved him for a moment by pulling your foot from his jeans and dragging it to his crotch for just a light rub of his hard-on.

Daryl’s eyes widened as he looked around the diner in a frantic motion, still trying to keep his cool but quite clearly losing it.

“H-hey,” he drawled rather loudly to the waitress passing by. “C-can we get the check? Now? Soon as possible, please.”

The waitress looked terrified of Daryl, his face now beginning to drip with sweat and his hair rustled from his own nervous actions, all while you still delicately teased his crotch with your bare foot over his jeans.

You reluctantly removed your foot and cleared your throat, calling the waitress’s attention to you, the slightly more put-together of the two at the moment. “At your earliest convenience,” you said politely to the young woman.

As soon as she left, you smirked and shook your head in amusement at Daryl’s impatience. “Should we go back to my place?” you asked.

He scoffed and wiped his brow of the sweat that had accumulated there. “Thought ya never sleep with a guy on the first date, not even if he’s cute.”

Daryl’s ability to quote you from ten years ago never failed to impress you. “Mmm,” you hummed in agreement. “Well, I just have a good feeling about you, Daryl Dixon.”

~

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[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave. 

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love. 

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.  

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one. 

Massive thank you to @augustholland​ who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries. 

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway.  Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual. 

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire. 

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well. 

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where  everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark. 

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets. 

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round. 

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered. 

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to  imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden. 

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and  they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked. 

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school. 

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence. 

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

 “Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question. 

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig. 

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer. 

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge. 

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left. 

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word. 

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs. 

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years. 

“You took me by storm,” he admits. 

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others. 

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him. 

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school. 

“Well,  I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”. 

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in. 

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest. 

This is a line you’ve never crossed before. 

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body. 

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more. 

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan. 

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine. 

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs. 

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh. 

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then - 

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two. 

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips. 

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation. 

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire. 

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair. 

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly. 

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer. 

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more. 

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you. 

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body. 

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you. 

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream. 

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you. 

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering. 

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room. 

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one.