#body-positive anne hastings

[hardlyinteresting]

Personal

Aaron Hotchner x reader

A case hits a little too close to home for the reader. Hotch makes sure she knows she not alone even as they struggle to decide if they're colleagues, friends, or something more.

Warnings: female reader, (I've given her the nickname Sweets), No physical description of reader, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, cannon-compliant themes of violence, themes of past domestic violence, mild hurt/comfort, I am not a profiler so there are likely mistakes in the profile (please let me know if there are any warnings you'd like me to add. Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

Word count: 3.2K

"Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain" Ann-Marie MacDonald

The case comes in early in the morning. Aaron has hardly managed a sip of his coffee when the phone rings with a call from a local P.D. in Aberdeen, Virginia. It's urgent. It always is. He cannot begrudge the haste with which his job forces him to chug down the scalding liquid in his mug as he calls upon Garcia to prep the relevant files for the case. It's not the first time, and it certainly won't be the last. Sufficiently caffeinated (albeit with a burnt tongue), and briefed on the case, Hotch calls the team to meet him in the conference room. 

His colleagues seem to be in good spirits today. With a passing glance around the room Hotch silently completes a behavioural checklist for each of them in his mind. No one on the team seems over-exhausted, overtly anxious, or withdrawn. They chat amongst themselves, teasing and joking like siblings as they wait for him to settle into the remaining seat at the table. He nods at Penelope, “Garcia, let's get started”. With a quick “yes, sir,” she presses a button on the remote to begin the briefing. 

This morning the police in Aberdeen discovered the body of a woman left propped up against the wall outside a local medical clinic. Abigail Lawson. 27 years old. She had been badly beaten. A single stab wound. No sign of sexual assault. 

“Cause of death?” Prentiss asks. 

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Garcia supplies the response. 

“And she's the first?” Morgan follows up. 

“Two weeks ago Stella Amos, twenty-five,  was admitted to hospital with similar injuries. She passed away two hours later. A punctured lung”. 

The photographs of the injuries are disturbing. After years on the job, the images never seem to get less brutal. A chill travels down his spine as he looks over the extent of the wounds on both of the women. A hush falls over the room as everyone else takes a moment to swallow down their own shock and compartmentalize their feelings of disgust. They train themselves, scanning the photographs and notes for the facts they can work with in hopes of saving anyone else from meeting the same fate. 

“No stab wound. Are we sure these cases are connected?” Reid surveys the provided facts one more time.

“Similar age, hair colour. They were from the same neighbourhood. Steady jobs,” Rossi lists, “there's a pattern in victimology to be sure”.

“They could be unconnected acts of domestic violence,” Morgan posits before continuing, “but leaving these women at medical centres is unique. Could be remorse”.

“A man who beats women within an inch of their lives before dropping them off for medical attention. It's a big risk. Knowing they might survive to identify him”.

Hotch nods at the assessment. He had followed the same thought process himself when he got the call. 

“Maybe he's banking on them being too afraid to talk if they do pull through,” another voice in the room speaks up for the first time this morning. Sweets, the team calls her. An affectionate nickname that’s stuck since her first week on the team. “the stabbing is an escalation and these are high-risk victims. This UNSUB isn't worried about getting caught. These attacks are personal to him somehow”. It's an important assertion, and something they'll need to consider as they build and expand their working profile. 

He's glad to hear Sweets adding to the conversation. She's never been shy when contributing to the team's brainstorms, and he had begun to worry when it had taken her so long to speak up. He doesn't miss the wobble in her tone, or the way she now avoids eye contact. She’s a valuable team member, and despite being the most recent addition she’s settled herself flawlessly over the last year. Aaron is well aware of the poor retention rate for new team members in the BAU and has continued to be impressed by her ability to hang on to her brand of optimism and take their most difficult cases in stride. She’s worked hard to see the best in people, and unsurprisingly endeared herself to those around her; himself included. 

At first, Hotch had been grateful for her unique perspective from her experience working for victim services. Then, he grew to appreciate her attention to detail, and the way his piles of paperwork seemed smaller and smaller at the end of each week. She quickly became a friend and a confidant after long nights in the office, and the field. Now, their relationship lies in limbo somewhere between friends and something more. 

Lately, the tugging at his heartstrings has grown nearly painful. All the old cliches leave his heart racing and he feels like a teenager whenever her hand brushes against his own. A night out with the team had ended with her curled up in his bed the next morning, and he’s been a goner ever since. It's been weeks, she hasn’t mentioned it, so neither has he. The guise of professionalism makes it easy to shove down his insecurities, and recurring fears; his age; his scars, physical and metaphorical; the weight of his career; he pushes them to the back of his mind. He does not dare to hope. He does not allow himself to consider the reasons why she might want to keep him at arm's length. It hurts less that way. “Whatever the case we've got a week before he strikes again,” Hotch confirms, his mind focused on the case, “we should head out”.

It’s August, and the sun is nearly blinding; the heat and humidity are intolerable, but nobody complains as they split up between the most recent crime scene, the morgue, and the precinct. Hotch would never admit it, but he’s glad when the woman who occupies half his thoughts volunteers to head to the station with JJ. Not for his peace of mind, but hers. Driving into the town he had seen her hands fidgeting in the back seat of the Suburban. Something about this case is already weighing on her, and he doubts the discomfort of the summer calefaction will be much help. He tries not to think about it any more than that. 

The crime scene doesn’t tell them much more than they already knew. There’s no security footage to help them identify the UNSUB. But, the way he leans the victims to sit against the way rather than just dumping them shows some kind of warped sense of concern for their well-being. The women are likely substitutes for someone else. He was likely raised in a violent home. He can only hope that the rest of the team has managed to learn more. 

Sweets is glad that the station had the forethought to move a coffee maker into the room they’ve set up for the BAU team to work out of. In her short time on the team, she’s learned how essential caffeine is to the function of herself and her teammates. Not enjoying coffee is not an option. Cream and sugar make it tolerable to those who despise the bitter taste. As she preps her second cup of the day she watches Spencer dump 4 packets of sugar into his mug. Whatever gets you through the case. She reminds herself. 

“Defensive wounds on her arms, but her manicure wasn't chipped. There was no blood or skin under her fingernails. No bruising on her knuckles,” Morgan shares what he and Rossi learned at the morgue, “She held her arms up to protect herself, but she didn't fight back. She didn't scratch, claw, or punch her assailant”. 

“She probably knew him then,” Prentiss says, “He’s not sneaking up on these women. But, he has the advantage and control required to attack them head-on”. 

The profile continues to build and Sweets pulls further in on herself. The personal nature of the attacks leaves her nauseous. Flickers of memories she’s fought hard to forget flash behind her eyes, but she forces herself to stay in the room. Reign it in, she wills herself. Without looking across the room she knows Aaron’s eyes are on her. Her cheeks warm though she can’t be sure if it’s his gaze or her anxiety to blame. She tries not to read into it, not wanting to feel too self-important. It’s his job to watch everyone on the team, she knows that. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminds herself the same way she has since she woke up next to him all those weeks ago. She doesn't want attention because she slept with him, and she'd be silly to think it meant anything to him anyway. It's easier to ignore it. He hasn't mentioned it, so she hasn't either.

Despite her best efforts, she does like him. More than she should. Normally, the attention would leave her with butterflies fluttering in her chest, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But today, she feels too seen, too exposed. she focuses her attention on controlling the unwanted emotions this case continues to dredge up. Aaron has seen her undressed, he’s seen her let down her walls and crack jokes. He knows her better than the rest of the team, but this is not a side of her he needs to see. 

 Under the table she plants her feet, pressing the soles of her boots hard against the linoleum. She reminds herself who she’s with and why she’s here. When she’s able to breathe without gagging she speaks up, “If it looks like domestic violence maybe that’s exactly what it is”.  Hotch’s head tilts up, his eyes moving off of the files he’s been pretending to read for the hundredth time, “What do you mean?”

“This morning Morgan said these murders looked like cases of DV. Maybe that’s exactly what this is. We know he had some kind of relationship with the victims-- maybe they were dating him,” Sweets holds her breath waiting for a response.

“It would help to explain the gaps in our profile-- Prentiss, call Garcia and have her look into any recent purchases by the victims. New clothes, new shoes, restaurants, anything that might suggest they’ve been dating,” Hotch instructs, “Sweets, you and JJ should speak to their friends and family; ask if they’ve mentioned anyone new in their lives”. 

Like with any case, she hopes her insight helps, that her perspective and thinking might get them one step closer to finding the UNSUB before anyone else gets hurt; and that they might be able to bring closure to the families of the victims. 

She's learned that personal experience can help as much as it can hinder. Seeing things from an angle that no one else can is certainly an advantage, but it doesn't make it easy to live with either. But, her stomach churns. His face. His touch. The bruises he left behind. She tries to remember she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has nothing to hide. It's no secret everyone on the team struggles with different types of cases, JJ has always found it difficult working cases involving children, and Hotch becomes snappier when they're searching for family annihilators. 

She can feel Aaron's eyes on her again. She prays the twisting in her gut and the scratching in her mind are worth it. 

The next morning begins with news of a third victim. A Jane Doe was found outside the fire station. Aged between 22 and 25. Beaten beyond any kind of recognition. The M.E. will have to try to use dental records to ID her. 

The crime scene photographs are a gruesome addition to the already horrific crime board in the conference room. “It would take an incredible amount of rage and power to beat someone to death like this,” Rossi points out. 

Hotch’s fingers buzz. His usual ground method of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together isn't working. He clenches and unclenches his fist willing the memory of bone cracking, and blood splattering beneath his knuckles away. He hates that even years after his death George Foyet continues to find new ways to sink his teeth in; the mere memory of him is enough to leave bile rising in the back of Aaron's throat. 

Their profile is ready. A white male, mid 20s to early 30s. Traditionally attractive. He's well-groomed and takes pride in his appearance. He more than likely works in an office setting. At work, his desk is neat and well-organized. He does everything by the book. He aspires to a role above his own and will talk about it often. In his eyes, he's overworked and under-appreciated; but, in reality, it's his quick temper and outward frustration that have kept him in his menial role. He may be flirtatious towards the women around him but likely won't pay them any attention when it comes to business matters. As a child he would have grown up in a working-class household, and more than likely faced abuse at the hands of his father. As a teenager, he learned to place blame on his mother for this abuse and began looking down on her the same way his father did. But no amount of hatred could ever win him his father's attention. This made him hate his mother more and allowed his misogynistic views to solidify in adulthood. He will have a history of violence throughout school and early adulthood, and more than likely charges for battery or assault. 

A call from Garcia confirms that the first and second victims both had paid for dinners at restaurants within the same two-block stretch despite living and working on opposite sides of town. Their cards had been used at the restaurants only 25 minutes before their attacks. 

“And he didn’t pay for their dinners either. Chivalry really is dead,” Prentiss dismisses. Predictably, their collective disdain for the UNSUB continues to grow as they learn more about him. Penelope manages to rustle up security footage from one of the restaurants, she's unable to get a facial ID on the man leaving with the first victim but promises to search for other footage from the area and call back when she has a new lead. One step closer, Hotch reminds himself. 

Twenty minutes later word from the M.E. Office arrives. A positive ID on Jane Doe. Grace McKinney, 24. Aaron watches as Sweets pins a photograph of Grace to the victims' board. Her hands shake as she takes a step back, and then she's rushing out of the room before he can ask if she's alright. 

His body feels lead-heavy, his limbs so hebetudinous that he’d swear he was melting into the floor if it weren’t for his feet carrying him out of the room without instruction. Sweets is doubled over in the alleyway behind the station, remnants of her breakfast splashed across the ground. She has nothing left to bring up, but still she dry heaves as if trying to expel more than the contents of her stomach. He knows the feeling. 

“Sweets?” his voice starles her, and Hotch is quick to hold his hands out in a surrendering motion as he approaches, “Are you alright?” He knows the real answer, and he knows that she’ll look right at him and lie; but he asks anyway. “Are you asking as my boss, or as my friend?” She asks. “Would it make a difference?” it’s his turn to wonder. Finally close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her back. It’s impossible to miss the shiver that runs up her spine. Sweets hides her face, angling herself away from her, shrinking in on herself. She tries to hide from him, as unwilling as ever to show any kind of weakness real or perceived. “I’m asking as someone who cares,” Hotch tries again, snuffing out the burning sensation that seems to grow in his chest; his fear of vulnerability fighting hard to shut him down. He won’t let it. “It’s me,” she tells him as if it’s obvious. “Yes”. He's confused. Of course, it's her, he can see her standing right in front of him. “It's me. I'm the Jane Doe; Grace. Abigail. Stella”. His heart stops. She continues, looking at him for the first time, her eyes tearing up, “Not literally-- I just mean…”

“The victimogy. I understand. Same age, hair colour, similar backgrounds--”

“Yes,” She admits, “but we see cases with women who look like me all the time”. 

Aaron nods, taking her openness as an opportunity to guide her out of the alleyway, waiting patiently for her to continue in her own time. “I had a boyfriend a few years ago…I just-- I need some time to collect myself”. 

Again, Aaron nods, understanding, “Would you like me to leave?” 

She shakes her head, her hand shooting up to hold to his arm. She’s shaking less now than she was before. More than ever he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t want to overstep; and during a case, there are lines he cannot cross as her boss. It’s the crux of the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Their personal lives and feelings bleeding and blending to create this strait. Deep down, he’s sure that a line of open communication between them would ease this impasse, but he’s far too shy to suggest it. For now, he settles for being glad her breathing has slowed, and her tears have stopped. “Thank you,” Sweets breathes out. Her hand slips down to squeeze his before she lets go and steps away from him.  “Anytime,” he swears. He means it. 

They find their UNSUB three hours later. Garcia’s scanning of security footage gives them a few license plates from cars within a two-block radius of the restaurants the victims went to. Only one owner fits their profile. He’s at work when they find him. Sweets takes great pleasure in cuffing the man. Hotch has no complaints. 

When they arrive back in Quantico it’s nearing midnight. The team takes their leaving swearing they’ll finish their paperwork tomorrow morning. Sweets takes advantage of the rare silence in the bullpen to complete her reports. She’s not ready to go home. Not yet. At work, she has a shield, a carefully crafted persona; as cracked as it may be at the moment, it holds back the onslaught of personal fallout she’s sure waits for her at home. Sure her apartment is warmer and cozier than the office ever is. Her bed is far more comfortable than any desk chair. But, at home, she has nothing to distract her. At home, she has no obligation to maintain a facade sewn up by professional self-preservation. At home, she’ll be alone without the steady presence of Aaron Hotchner working away in his office. 

The room is bathed in warm lamplight, a comfortable difference from the overhead fluorescents down in the bullpen. Something like a moth, she’s drawn to it by an instinct stronger than her willpower. She knocks on the door frame before leaning into the room. “I finished my report,” she tells him when he looks up. “You didn’t have to finish that tonight,” he tells her with furrowed brows. He sets down his pen and shuts the file he was working on to give her his attention. She steps into the room, setting her report on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to go home yet”. She explains though she gets the feeling that he understands. If there’s anyone she knows with a mutual streak of using workplace responsibility to avoid personal turmoil, it’s Hotch. Still, he nods, validating her most simply. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Are you asking as my boss or something more?” she wonders. 

“Would it make a difference?” He asks. “Yes,” She responds. Sweets watches as he swallows, his brows knitting together as he considers his answer carefully, “I’m asking as someone who cares about you very much, in whatever capacity you need me to right now”. It’s a diplomatic response. Gentle and inviting without being outright hopeful. Quintessentially Aaron Hotchner. 

“Will you come home with me,” Sweets allows herself to be bold enough to ask. 

“Yes,” he tells her simply. 

In the morning he slips away only to return with two cups of coffee and a box of breakfast pastries. They don’t need to be in the office until 10:00 and he plans on taking advantage of the time they have together until then. Sweets accepts the cup he holds out to her with an eager smile, and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

[pascaloverx]

Rewrite The Stars

Summary: One photo changes your whole life, when you accidentally bump into a celebrity and the world starts to believe that you are a couple.

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PREVIEW

Work to achieve your dreams, they say. But what they don't tell you is that even if you work hard, some dreams won't come true. But for tonight, you will believe that your dreams will come true.

"Table six has been ordering the dish for half an hour. You know how these rich people are. If you don't want to lose your job, learn to walk faster." Your supervisor speaks almost shouting at you. It even seems like you're the only one who is a waitress in this restaurant. Five stars, my ass. Obviously at the moment, you can't respond back saying that the service is terrible because half the staff is busy waiting for the big celebrity who is coming to dinner here tonight.

"Yes, chef. I'll walk faster." You rush back with the last two orders you were in charge of taking. You were supposed to be dismissed almost two hours ago but we can't leave until the big star of the night comes. Pedro Pascal.

The man of the moment. Probably the face you've seen the most all year. They're coming to dinner at the restaurant where you work that night, they made a reservation for four. Everyone is speculating that he will bring some romantic interest.

Your manager has simply spent the last three hours warning you that any mistakes today will be resolved with a dismissal. You just can't imagine a worse time.

You almost trip when you're finishing serving the couple who ordered duck in white sauce. The restaurant is in chaos and thanks to that, your manager didn't fire you. You then decide to go outside to get some air, which might help you stay on your feet for the next few hours.

You're breathing chaotically, without any rhythm. You want to escape from this almost claustrophobic restaurant. In your haste, you don't see anything in front of you. You just feel that you bumped into another person's body. Your body was almost thrown to the ground with the impact. And when you looked up, you saw him.

"Mr. Pascal, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." You say it as soon as you realize what you did. An interesting fact is that Mr. Pascal held you tight with his arms so that you don't fall to the ground. If anyone saw from a distance they would think you were hugging each other. You immediately walk away, thinking that if your boss sees this, you're fucked up.

"Are you well? Your forehead is bleeding." He asks, touching his forehead lightly as if he were more worried about that than hiding. I bet he came through the back to avoid commotion.

"That was nothing, Mr. Pascal. You can follow me and I'll take you to your table calmly." You say, ignoring the burning in your head. What's a hurt next to losing this opportunity.

"Are you sure?" Pedro Pascal himself talks to you almost as if you were an alien because you don't allow your pain to show.

"Yes, sir. You don't need to worry about that, worse things have happened to me." You try to improve your expression so that Mr. Pascal can finally enter the restaurant. That's when you notice that you are being watched, by noises from what you imagine are paparazzi. You then take an unprofessional action. You push Mr. Pascal into the restaurant using his body as a shield so that the paparazzi cannot identify him.

"Is this how you treat your customers?" Pascal speaks as you lock the back door. Embarrassed, you turn to face Mr. Pascal after pushing him.

"Mr. Pascal, I'm terribly sorry. But I suspect there are photographers out there. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience." You say almost as if asking for mercy.

"Alright, miss. If you'll take me to my table, I promise to forget about this pushing." Mr. Pascal speaks as he watches you. You feel awkward, but you nod your head positively and lead him to his table.

[jomiddlemarch]

Climbing on rainbows

“Your care package has Tanqueray? Lemon curd and Marmite?�� Mary exclaimed as Anne fanned out the contents of her parcel. “Is that a tea-cozy? We get it, you’re British.”

“That’s not a tea-cozy,” Emma said, holding the item up in a delicate pincer-grasp at arm’s length. And wished her arms were longer. “It’s a crocheted thong with the Union Jack on it.”

“It’s a bikini, luv,” Anne said comfortably. “You must know I’m body-positive by now.”

“Oh, we know,” Mary said, rifling through her own package and pulling out a chunky paperback. “Thank god, something to while away the dead afternoons in the health lodge.”

“Moby Dick?” Emma asked. It wouldn’t have been her first choice or her fiftieth, but Mary was basically the Hermione Granger of Green Wood and their library was one shelf of mildewed Hardy Boys books and one random copy of Marjorie Morningstar Mary had polished off the first week. And the health lodge hadn’t been terribly busy, which was good from a camp perspective but less so from a Mary-and-Jed sexual tension one as they were solidly in the sniping stage unless he was playing his guitar at the campfire.

“Plenty of dick around here without resorting to that,” Anne remarked.

“Anne!” Mary cried out. Emma, who ordinarily would have been the one crying out, got to enjoy the show; Mary blushed bright red and it was too bad Jed Foster had no reason to suddenly poke his nose into the women’s staff cabin and see how pretty she was when she was imaging him minus his cargo shorts.

“Sorry. Cock? Prick? What’s the problem, you’re pre-med, aren’t you?” Anne said airily.

“I just wanted something to read. That would take a while,” Mary replied, ducking her head down to peer into her care package. It seemed like she was trying to dive in.

“What’s the deal?” Charlotte said, walking in and settling herself on her bunk. “Oh, it’s care package day! Sweet. My auntie said she’d sent some real hot sauce and a big-ass jar of Nivea. Why’s Mary hiding?”

“She got Moby Dick--” Emma said.

“That’s not the dick she needs,” Charlotte interrupted.

“She’s shy,” Anne said. “Doesn’t bode well for her career aspirations. Let alone her love life.”

“I’m right here,” Mary said, emerging from the depths of her package with a jar of Coop’s hot fudge and Cards Against Humanity. “You keep it up, I’m not sharing either of these.”

“Well, you’re not playing Cards Against Humanity by yourself, so that’s an empty threat,” Charlotte said.

“Fine. See how you like it when everyone starts teasing you about Sam,” Mary said.

“I’d like it fine. I like everything about Sam,” Charlotte said. “Emma, girlfriend, what’d you get?”

“I don’t get care packages since my family runs the place,” she said. Even if she did, they’d be filled with only random camp swag her mother had found in the storage room or some kind of cream to help protect her complexion as if she were a Southern deb during the Civil War.

“Oh, that’s sad. Here, let’s all pick something out to give Emma her own,” Mary declared. In a manner of minutes, Emma had a jumbo family pack of Twizzlers, battery-operated headlamp on a tapestry headband and assortment of airplane liquor bottles in her lap.

“Thanks, you guys are the best. I promise I’ll share the candy,” Emma said.

“I wonder what the guys are getting,” Mary said, as if they didn’t all know she was wondering about Jed Foster and whether his ex had sent a letter. Emma wondered what Henry had gotten and who was sending it.

“I don’t wonder. Byron’s getting condoms,” Anne announced, articulating the syllables in the word condoms very precisely, like they might not otherwise understand English.

“Anne!”

“What? I didn’t send them. I just said they were non-negotiable and there’re not a lot left in the health lodge basket,” Anne said. “It really needs to be restocked, Mary.”

“There were like fifty condoms in that basket!” Mary exclaimed. Anne shrugged.

“Not all of us are prudes,” Anne replied. Mary muttered something that included sense of decorum not a prude have to work together and Emma smiled at Charlotte who winked back. Charlotte had made sure to tell Jed how much Mary liked classic 70s rock and Bread and especially “Make It With You” and Emma had planned out the seating at the next campfire like her mother organizing a dinner for the Executive Board, minus place-cards.

It was shaping up to be a very exciting Friday night.

For @broadwaybaggins​ who wanted more summer camp AU and got... this. Sorry? You’re welcome? I’m not sure what really suits this best!

[ironmanfridgemagnet]

Sitting on the Shelf - Marcus White x Reader

Part 25 - Valentine’s Day

SOTS Masterlist

"Attention shoppers. It's Valentine's Day, and love is in the air, along with dust, pet dander, and toxic mold spores, so pick up a SuperCloud air purifier and convince yourself it's making a difference, which it's not, 'cause it's just a fan."

Swinging your legs over the edge of the countertop, you sat facing the store, head turned as you engaged Garrett in small talk about any Valentine's Day plans you had. Though you'd denied having any plans to your friends face, you couldn't wait for your shift to end, knowing at the other side of it was a date night with Marcus; in the warmth of your apartment with some romcom and a whole bunch of Chinese food.

"Excuse me, everyone." Miles, one of your co-workers who you rarely saw, your shift patterns never lining up, snatched the microphone from Garrett's hands, buzzing it to life.

"Dude." Garrett cried, his hands thrown up in the air at the sudden lack of intercom in his hands. "You know what? I don't care."

"Two Aprils ago, I was new here, and someone special came over to help me on register. And, Lisa, you didn't just bag groceries. You bagged my heart."

"Ooh, this is a bad idea." Garrett cooed, his head leaning into his hand as he perched on the edge of his seat, anxious to see what was about to go forward.

"Lisa Beth-Ann Donatella Lopez-Fitzgerald, if you'll make me the luckiest man in St. Louis, I'll show you the time of your life."

Miles ripped off his cloud 9 vest, throwing it to the floor before springing away from the customer service counter. A dozen other regularly dressed customers suddenly ripped their clothes off, a sea of baby pink dresses and leather jackets flooding the store.

"This makes me genuinely sad." Jonah huffed, leaning against the side of the deli counter across from you, arms folded across his chest as he stared at the flash mob that was currently happening.

"I don't know." You pondered, approaching the group that had stopped to watch the performance in the café, all with judgmental looks. "I think it's kind of cute. I'd personally throw up if it happened to me though."

"Flash mob proposals are so lame." Amy huffed, quickly straightening up and turning to Cheyenne with a sweet smile. "Except for the one that Bo did for you. That was unique and very cool."

"Literally the cutest thing ever." You added, watching as a dancing Miles's eyes filtered across the crowd for a hopefully happy Lisa - though she seemed nowhere to be found.

"Yeah. Yeah, but flash mobs stopped being cool, like, a year ago." You laughed at Cheyenne's words, not surprised that the coolness of flash mobs worked in her favour.

Jonah was on the same train of thought, a short laugh bubbling past his lips as he shared a look with you. "Yeah, they were cool one year ago."

The flash mob was well in its midst now, Miles looking around frantically with every step he took in search of Lisa and her reaction to his proposal; though it never came.

"Where's Lisa? We need Lisa." Glenn ran past you, eyes scanning the crowd of customers and employees alike in search of Miles's blonde-headed sweetheart.

"She's in the bathroom." Dina shouted over the sound of "(I've had) The time of my life" that was blasting over the intercom and throughout the store, the flash mob stumbling to a stop at the confirmation Lisa hadn't seen anything yet.

Garrett's voice buzzed to life over the intercom, the song briefly fading into the background as he spoke. "Is it a quick bathroom break or more of a hunker-down-watch-YouTube-videos situation?"

"Hard to say. Her body language going in oh, wait, here..."

A very confused Lisa walked into the centre aisle, her hands coming out from her pockets as she meekly waved as a star stuck Miles, his eyes wide and frightened. With sudden haste, Miles ushered the members of the flash mob away, back to their previous position and began to run back towards the customer service desk. "Go back. Go back. Places, places."

"Oh, God. Not again." Amy sighed, receiving three grunts of agreement as you, Jonah and Cheyenne as the proposal began all over again; this time without the zest of surprise to aid the awful decision.

————————————————————————

"You guys, look what Jeff just sent me." Sandra announced herself to the group of you huddled around the gift wrapping counter, a large box-bouquet of red roses in her hands. "My precious treasure, words cannot express my love for you. And I love seeing you naked, because it's really good. Love, Mr. Man."

"Oh, Sandra! Those are so beautiful." You fussed, walking over to her and teasing at the Valentine's Day themed gift paper they came wrapped in.

Cheyenne, however, didn't seem to share the same sentiment, forcing a weary smile. "Wow, Jeff sent you those."

"That's, like, a hundred-dollar bouquet." Garrett gasped, eyeing you the expensive flower arrangement with suspicion, that you could understand. Sure, Jeff might want to spend all the money in the world on Sandra, but I'm a cloud 9 salary? It was a little suspicious.

"Yeah, or like, 140."

"Seems so weird he'd send you a gift at work when your relationship is supposed to be secret." Mateo snapped, Cheyenne immediately shooting him a look you couldn't quite read or understand.

"I guess he really loves me, huh?" Sandra admired the bouquet once more, her fingers toying with the petals of the red roses, vibrant and filled with life, which only seemed to fuel Mateo's anger more. "Hey Heather! Look what Jeff just sent me."

As Sandra walked away, a lovesick grin on her face and with an armful of beautiful flowers, Mateo bore a tight-lipped, tense expression. His hands gripped onto the tissue paper he'd been holding, tearing it right down the middle in a violent pull. "Oh, we need more tissue paper."

"What on earth is going on with Mateo today?" The shorter man was storming away from the three of you towards the warehouse in search of more tissue paper, his feet hitting the floor with heavy, angry thuds. "I'm not the only one seeing this, right?"

"What's wrong with him? Well, it's because of a reason that I, I can't tell you." Cheyenne blubbered, her words tailing off into what sounded like her loud, over the top nervous laughter. She had a secret.

"Hmm, I actually don't care, so..." Garrett hadn't asked, you had, but you highly doubted that he didn't want to know now that it was obvious something was going on.

"Mateo's the one dating Jeff, okay?" Cheyenne spat out, her words rushed and brash. You let out an audible gasp, hand smacking over your mouth as you held yourself back from saying anything while Cheyenne listed off the truth to you. "And Sandra is just making it up to get attention."

"So Sandra has a fake boyfriend." Garrett confirmed, a reassuring nod from Cheyenne egging the pair of you on.

"She sent herself flowers." You gasped once  more, wide eyed expression flicking between Garrett and Cheyenne as you came to terms with what was really going on.

Only recently, in your drunken stupor had you found out Dina and Garrett were doing it - which Garrett still hadn't admitted to you himself - and now Mateo and Jeff? You'd ask if there was anyone in the store who wasn't with another co-worker, but you and Marcus were together, sorta, kinda, and Amy and Jonah had some kind of tension between them.

"And Mateo is dating Jeff?" At another nod of agreement from Cheyenne, a bemused smile dimpling his cheeks and raising his eyebrows. "This a quality Tuesday."

————————————————————————

As you continued your search for Amy, hoping to update her on the stuff you'd finished stocking - and the drama surrounding Jeff, Sandra and Mateo - you found her at the front of the store, staring intently at Arthur as he welcome a little girl into the store.

"Ames, what are you-" You were quickly silenced, Amy's finger pressing to your lips with a reprimand to 'shush' as she continued to watched the sweet interaction.

Arthur's attention quickly turned to Myrtle as she walked past, stumbling over a simple hello when trying to talk to her. Amy quickly pushed away from you, approaching the older man as she stared at a leaving Myrtle.

"Hey, Arthur, I might be totally off base here, but do you have a crush on Myrtle?"

"Oh, no. I well, maybe just a little crush." Arthur shyly admitted, looking longing after the older woman, her grey-haired top knot bouncing as she walked about.

"Oh, that is just the sweetest thing." You cooed, standing beside Amy and a blushing Arthur.

"I like to imagine the two of us together someday, feeding the ducks." Arthur got more confident in his words the more he spoke, his gaze still following Myrtle as she spoke so lovingly of her. Even though romance could sometimes gross you out, seeing this was actually quite sweet. "Watching the ducks. It doesn't have to be ducks."

"No. It can be ducks." Amy assured, quickly grabbing you and pulling you away from the front of the store with a wicked grin; scheming something from the small scene that had just played out before the two of you.

————————————————————————

Amy had dragged you towards soft lines, pretending to take stock as she watched Myrtle with a keen eye. Reaching out to touch Amy's hair, you twirled a curl around your finger, stretching it out then letting it bounce back into its original place.

"I love your hair, Ames." The blonde highlights had been another big change on top of the ear-length hair cut, but it suited Amy incredibly well. Amy either didn't hear you or ignored your words, fully focused on the interaction between Cheyenne and Myrtle.

"And Bo's parents are out of town, so everyone's just gonna get waa-sted. What about you? Any hot Valentine's Day plans?"

"No, probably sit in the park, feed the ducks." Myrtle shrugged with a meek smile, immediately going back to folding the clothes she had to stock after answering. You and Amy shared a look; you had a way in. Arthur had said he loved ducks - and he'd love to feed them with Myrtle - it was almost like fate was trying to tell you something.

"Ohh, that's so old person. You can come if you want, but it's bring your own nitrous."

"Hey, Myrtle, do you date anymore?" Amy asked, stepping away from the shelf the two of you had supposedly been stock checking, clipboard completely disregarded.

"No, but if you know someone nice, set me up. He doesn't even have to be white." Amy's hands drummed excitedly against your arm, a bright smile quickly forming on her face as her plan fell perfectly into place. What had she dragged you in to?

————————————————————————

Amy had dragged you back and forth around the store, having lead you with her to swap Cheyenne and Arthur's places between soft lines and greeting and now she was pulling you into the security office, staring intently as the blinking images of Arthur and Myrtle.

Sitting in Dina's office chair, you crossed your feet on the seat, pushing yourself into a slow spin off of the side of the countertop, eyes skimming over the live feed with each loop of the chair. "Come on, you two. Talk to each other. It's not like either one of you have that much time left."

"Hey. Oh, what is Arthur doing in Women's Wear? He's confused again. I'll go fix it." Glenn was already walking out of the security room within an instant of walking in, his hand there long enough to still the spinning of your chair and chastise Arthur.

"No, no. No, Glenn, I put him there." Amy's chin met her chest, awkwardly avoiding Glenn's eye-line as she comity to stare down the security camera footage.

"Why?"

"You know, just to mix things up, give people an opportunity to work with other people and..." Amy shrugged her shoulders incessantly  as she spoke, an awful attempt at a cover story that was seeming to win Glenn over.

"She's trying to set them up." You revealed, looking up at Glenn over your shoulder, his hand still gripping the back of the spinny chair. "To like, date."

"Oh, I see." Glenn chastised, his lips puckering together as he raised his eyebrows at Amy. "It's wrong when I try to do matchmaking, but you get to whip out the fangs-"

"Huh? What fangs?"

"Cupid's fangs." Glenn clarified blankly, oblivious to the stark looks of surprise you and Amy were giving him.

"Glenn, again, an arrow. Never mind. Look, this is different. They're really perfect for each other." Amy assured, defending her own actions whilst chastising Glenn's.

Though you didn't agree with the idea of forcibly matchmaking your co-workers, you had to admit, it was sweet; the idea of the two older employees feeding the ducks together, in a park somewhere.

"Why can't I matchmake someone? Like..." Glenn looked around the small security room, his eyes scanning across the screens before landing on you. "Y/n! I could matchmake, y/n."

"Oh, that's really not necessary, Glenn."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I was thinking you'd look pretty good with Marcus; there's something there but I don't know what it is yet." Glenn's hand came to rest against his chin, squeezing at the skin as he swelled on what exactly it was what that made him picture you and Marcus together. "Or maybe Jonah. Is he still dating that girl from the cheese stall?"

"Anyway." You coughed out, trying not to focus on the fact that Glenn felt there was something between you and Marcus, and the smirk that Amy was boring into the side of your head. "They are kinda perfect for each other. They're both old."

"Yeah, and there's, like, this whole duck thing, but mostly they're old." Amy agreed, the smirk falling from her face as she refocused on the scene that played out on the live feed from the security camera.

"Why aren't they talking to each other?" Glenn asked, walking across the length of the security closet to stand beside Amy, pushing your chair into a spin as he walked away.

"I don't know. He's really shy. It's like they need a bigger push."

"Yeah." Glenn agreed, pointing a finger hard into the video screen onto a silent image of Jonah. "Oh, hey, you see that guy? You think that's Jonah, right? It's not."

Scooting over to sit beside Glenn and Amy at the screen, you clicked onto the image, scrolling and zooming in closer to view the image in as good detail as you could. "That's not Jonah? You sure?"

With a nod of confirmation from Glenn, you hummed in acknowledgement, pushing away from the desk and rolling around in your chair once more. With a shrug, you met Glenn's eyes.

"Could've fooled me."

————————————————————————

Amy and Glenn had left you as they sped off in search of duck themed items around the store, ordering you to find some kind of card and potentially a gift bag or wrapping paper - which had led you right back to where you'd been earlier that morning. The gift-wrapping counter.

"This is so embarrassing. I always tell him, "Jeff, you're gift enough for me," but he won't listen." A person dressed in a heart shaped outfit stood behind Sandra, holding an armful of gifts and Valentine's Day themed balloons. It was a big display of affection - too big for the likes of Jeff, who wasn't even dating Sandra in the first place - but either way she seemed smitten with the proclamation.

"I'm not much of a romantic, but this is special stuff." Garrett teased, eyeing up Mateo as anger seethed out of him, each word out of Garrett another spark to the flame.

"Whatever." Mateo scoffed, pulling out his phone and typing furiously against the screen. "Do you know how many babies choke on balloons and die every year? I don't know, but it seems like a few would."

"I'm just happy for Sandra." You shrugged, looking longingly at the blissful smile that rested on her face. Even though her relationship might not have been real, the joy it seemed to bring her was something you wouldn't want her to lose.

"I mean, can you imagine what it's like to have what she has? I mean, just to have a connection like that with someone." Garrett stared longingly at the display, and if you didn't know him better, you'd say he was imagining himself in Sandra's shoes right now.

You loved Garrett. That was no question. And he loved you too; just not like that. The two of you had been on cute little dinner dates, he'd bought you'd flowers, you'd bought him flowers and you had weekly movie nights that were very rarely skipped. But you weren't a couple. Maybe, you thought, Garrett needed someone in his life who would do the couple stuff for him.

Maybe, that someone could be Dina, if he ever manned up and told you about them.

"I bet Jeff just loves it." You confirmed, a smirk curling onto your lips as you looked on at Sandra and her heart-shaped gift-a-gram fondly.

"30. 30 babies die." Mateo spat, stuffing his phone into his pocket and rushing away from the counter in a fit of rage.

Reaching your hand out towards Garrett, he slammed his hand down onto your own in a high five, the two of you having set off Mateo's fuse in what appeared to be record time.

"You got any duck themed Valentine's Day cards back there?" You asked, turning around, leaning against the counter to talk to Garret.

"No." Letting out a laugh at Garrett's blunt response, you threw your head back, before peering back down at him. "Best I can do you is a heart-shaped card and some pink tissue paper."

"Call it a done deal." Leaning over the countertop, legs dangling slightly off the ground, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to Garrett's cheek, taking the card and paper from his hands as you did. "Thank you. You're a saint."

"No worries, doll." Garrett blew you a kiss as you back away from the counter, a skip in your step as you headed back in the direction of the break room, supplies in hand and plan ready for action. "I'll see you around."

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Sitting round a table with Amy and Glenn, you stabbed your fork into your lunch, piling food onto your fork and then brining it to you mouth. Knees up to your chest, you had your phone balanced against them, skim reading through any emails you hadn't caught up on yet.

"She's late, like..." Glenn checked his watch, eyes flickering between the door and the magazine in front of him in an effort to act like he wasn't waiting for her.

Amy suddenly sprung up in her seat, hitting Glenn on the arm to silence him. "There she is."

"Hey, Myrtle. Break time already, huh?" Magazine were long forgotten the second Myrtle entered the break room, thrown against the table and ignored - if it had been anyone else, the set up would've been obvious.

"I love break time, great time to kick back and see what's in the old locker, huh?" So, Glenn wasn't really working on the who subtle aspect of the plan, but Myrtle didn't seem to notice, instead opening her locker to find it filled with gifts galore.

Leaning out of your seat a little, you peered into the locker - you hadn't had the chance yet to see the gifts Amy and Glenn had gathered for her - to find a sweet pink jumper and a duck stuffie. "What you got there?"

"I don't think this is my locker." Myrtle muttered pulling the duck stuffie out and fiddling with its soft fur in what appeared to be abject horror.

"Yeah, it is." Glenn far too quickly confirmed, sinking back into his seat with a thud as he tried to play it off nonchalantly. "It just looks like someone left you some flowers and chocolates and a duck."

"Wow. Who's it from?" Amy asked, edging Myrtle on to look through the surplus of gifts that was hidden away in her locker.

"Guys, I'm starting to think this was a bad idea." Amy scrunched her face at you, clearly not seeing the same reaction you saw in Myrtle, instead nudging Glenn and getting him to provoke Myrtle's reaction even more.

"Well, look. Look for a card. Just look around. Look look under that sweater. No, not your sweater. He's not a magician."

A frown settled on Myrtle's face as she clutched the heart-shaped card in shaking hands. "It's from Arthur."

"Ohh. That's so sweet of him." Amy cooed, looking on at the scene fondly despite the way Myrtles face seemed to be contorting between upset and fear.

"That's so nice." Myrtle began crying then, Amy and Glenn fawning more over the scene as the influx of sudden emotion whilst you sprung from your chair and crossed the length of the room. Wrapping an arm around the older woman, you took the card gently from her and placed it back inside of her locker, out of sight.

"He won't leave me alone. Why won't he leave me alone?"

Amy's eyes went wide, surprised by the change in mood and your instant accompaniment of Myrtle. With an apologetic grimace, you mouthed a sorry at the pair of matchmakers, rubbing your hand across Myrtle's shoulder as she cried into her hands.

————————————————————————

"So, Myrtle has filed sexual harassment complaints against Arthur as well as the two of you."

Though Myrtle had asked you, well, Amy, to set her up, you can see how it was so easily interrupted in other ways. Especially when Arthur had been harassing Myrtle, unbeknownst to all of you.

"That's crazy. We didn't harass her." Amy insisted, throwing her arms about in distress as she shouted at the phone.

You'd somehow escaped the situation Scott-free, despite having found and written the card 'from Arthur,' but had been called to Glenn's office before you knew only the two of them had been given the brunt of the blame. Though you weren't exactly sure what you'd done that was worthy of Myrtle not filing a complaint against you, you weren't exactly complaining.

"She's alleging that you used your positions of authority to force her to work with an employee in hopes of engaging in a physical relationship with him. And she also claims you broke into her locker. Now, what's your side of the story?"

"Um, factually similar." Amy stumbled through an admission, looking between you and Glenn for help in covering up the factual truth of the situation, though no help came to her.

"Yeah, but you can prove anything with facts. I mean, Darwin..." Glenn couldn't get the words out, the corporate rep cutting him off with another insistence about what he and Amy had done.

"She goes on to say that he made lewd and profane comments."

"Arthur?" Amy gasped, a hand resting over her heart as her mouth hung agape over the phone. "He's so sweet."

"Maybe he's not as sweet as we thought?" You offered, one hand raised to your mouth as you bit at the tips of your nails, it resting on top of the other which was folded across your chest.

"Well, we had no idea what he was saying to her. The security cameras don't have sound." Glenn defended, voice seeming to raise an octave as he fought against the corporate personal on the other end of the line with desperation.

"I'm sorry, are you saying that you were spying on them as well?"

"No, spying makes it sound like we were trying to get information." Glenn cried, eyebrows tensed and arms firm on his hips. "We were just watching them for our own pleasure."

"Stop talking, Glenn."

————————————————————————

"Sexual harassment. At what point is it inappropriate? Harassment is always wrong."

Amy had ushered herself out of Glenn's valentine-ified office in search of a deeply upset Myrtle - leaving you and Glenn to go back to the break room to empty out Myrtles locker and finish your lunch - and apparently started an altercation which ended with her telling Myrtle she was 'asking for it.'

"If it starts in the Break Room, it shouldn't end in the bedroom."

"He's totally thinking about boning Sandra right now." Garrett whispered to you, loud enough for Mateo to hear, over the hum of the old break room television and training tape.

Mateo, who had heard the small comment, replied with a sharp, 'No, he's not.' writhing in his seat at the thought alone. Jeff had, unsurprisingly, been called out to deal with the issue, and instead of dealing with it, had put on an at least 2 decade old training tape.

"And fewer lawsuits equals more revenue for Cloud 9, which benefits all of us."

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, Michelle." The cloud 9 mascot, 'Mc Cool Cloud' has sexually harassed someone this time, which was a weird enough concept on its own. But the way everyone just accepted that he was a cloud - a talking, breathing cloud - didn't sit right with you.

"Doesn't Mc Cool Cloud give you the creeps? Or is it just me?" You leaned back slightly in your chair, asking Garrett in a hushed whisper as to not disturb the obedient silence that filled the room.

"No, there's definitely something off about that cloud." Garrett agreed, Mateo straightening up in your peripheral vision at the thought you were making more comments about Jeff and Sandra.

"Oh, MC Cool Cloud, you are all right."

Jeff finally turned off the video with a click, the tv screen fading to black as Mc Cool Cloud finally, and thankfully, left your sights. "Does anybody have any questions?"

"No, I think we're all set here." Amy insisted with a tight lipped smile, tapping her hands against the table she sat at in nervous wait.

"Actually, I do. How does Mc Cool Cloud hold the chain up? What's it connected to?" Though Jeff seemed to be actually pondering the logistics of your question, Glenn began to speak.

"You can't take love out of the workplace." Glenn whined, a frown forming on his face at the thought of it alone. As long as you'd known him, Glenn had been a man of love - especially when it came to his employees - so the idea of that love being taken away must've worried him deeply.

"Oh, God, kill me now." Amy's head fell heavily against her hand, groaning into the flesh as Glenn continued his rant about love.

"What about Miles and Lisa? If it was up to you, they never would have gotten together. And then the children they're gonna have would never have been born."

Lisa's face scrunched in confusion, her eyebrows pinching in confusion, a frown settling on her face. "Oh, we're we're not having kids." It appeared to be news to Miles, who gasped out a 'what?' turning to Lisa with a look of confusion and hurt.

"No one is saying you can't ever date somebody you work with. Just be careful not to make unwanted advances." Though Jeff was trying his hardest to explain what was right and what was not acceptable, it still managed to confuse the break room.

"So you can't ask someone out unless you know they like you? But then you don't know if someone likes you unless you ask them out." Cheyenne asked between licks of her heart-shaped, red and white swirled lollipop, the candied treat fitting the themed streamers and banners that covered the break room. "So that's, like, a Catch-22."

"Whoa, well done." Jonah gasped, turning in his seat to stare at a smiling Cheyenne. If it weren't for the weirdly tense atmosphere that filled the break room, you'd have been as shocked as Jonah - or you'd have laughed at the utterly surprised look on his face.

"Oh, I've been studying for the SATs. It's been a very extrapolatory experience."

"Okay, what we need is a database. Everybody write down all the employees you're attracted to. Totally confidential." Dina quickly began handing out blank sheets of paper from her clipboard, giving them to those nearest to her first. "I will compile a spreadsheet of any matches and post it above the microwave."

"Nope, we're not doing that. Let's just say that if you ask somebody out, and they say no, move on." Jeff, ever the man of hand gestures, motioned out the words he was saying, trying to work out a middle ground that would appease everyone.

Marcus stayed slouched in his seat, arm raised lazily pressed against his chest, eyes briefly meeting your own, before Jeff nodded at him to go ahead. "What if she just says no because she has plans that night? Can you ask her out again for a different night?"

"Umm. I guess. I mean, it depends. Does she really have plans, or is she politely telling you she's not interested?"

Marcus's hand hit against the table, snapping with his middle finger and thumb then pointing a finger gun at you. "Which one is it, y/n?"

Marcus looked good sat across the room from you, his grey T-shirt clung to his slouched form, the three-quarter shirt sleeves really accentuating the more muscled parts of his arms. His arms folded across his chest as he waited for your response, arms flexing as he did, and a grin was bit back between his teeth - which as you looked at him, you decided it was the most attractive thing you'd ever seen.

"I did really have plans..." You began, eyes trailing across Marcus's face, a wicked grin curling onto your lips. "But the second one."

"Whatever." Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes at your teasing tone; you had plans tonight, he knew you weren't being serious. "I was just asking as a joke anyway."

"Sometimes people do change their minds. I mean, I met Jerusha when we were both working at my father's hardware store. I asked her out every day for a year, and then she said yes." Glenn explained, eliciting a chorus of 'Awww's' across the break room.

"Okay, actually, that's called a systemic pattern of hostility. It's, like, the number one thing you can't do." Jeff emphasised, Glenn's face paling at the idea that had forced Jerusha into a relationship against her will.

"I got a question." Garrett raised his hand, not waiting for Jeff to answer him before he began to ask his question. "The actress in the video, does she get paid per video, or is it more of a flat rate for the whole day kind of thing?"

"My guess is flat rate."

"I've got another one." Raising your own hand, you waited for Jeff to nod at you, grabbing the attention of the break room. "If your dating someone and your best friend doesn't know can that be considered neglect?"

"No, I don't think so." Jeff looked at you as though you'd lost your mind, but before he had the opportunity to ask about the meaning behind your question, Mateo had raised his hand.

"Can ignoring someone you're dating be considered harassment?" At Jeff's, again, dismissal of the odd question, Mateo scoffed, folding his arms defensively across his chest. "Of course you don't."

"I'm, I'm just not explaining it right. I wasn't harassing her. She agreed to go out with me because my father threatened to fire her if she didn't." Gasps echoed around the break room this time at Glenn's admission, the meet-cute getting uglier with each addition to it.

Arthur turned to Myrtle with a pleading look, the attention of the break room change with each breath of new conversation. Innocence seemed apparent on his face and you could imagine Amy fawning at the sight behind you as you turned in your chair. "Myrtle, I'm so sorry. It was wrong to harass you, and if you want, I will quit right now."

As Amy and Myrtle argued over whether Arthur was a good guy or not, you met Marcus's eyes from across the room. He winked at you, biting back a grin as your eyes met, his arms tucked across his chest and under his arms as he stay slouched in his seat. It felt like the image was going to be burned into the back of your skull. Shifting in your seat, you smoothed down the front of your jeans, tuning back into the conversation, though slightly more flustered then a moment before.

"Arthur is a lovely guy. He was just trying to compliment you." Amy emphasised for what felt like the millionth time today; at this point you weren't entirely sure if she was doing it out of earnest or to prove her point that Arthur wasn't a creep.

"That's all it is! I like your sweater, and I think you're pretty." The break room was once again encapsulated by the sweets words that slipped from Arthur's lips, his gaze endearingly on Myrtle who seemed to squirm under it. "And I love how your sweater cleaves tight against your breasts."

What the fuck.

"Gross, dude." Marcus scoffed, turning his head but assuming his relaxed position. "She's, like, 100."

"Okay, this is actually making things worse." Jeff attempted to calm the situation, though the break room and its population had already descended into chaos, a cacophony of voices shouting over each other.

"It's not always harassment. I mean, Jerusha and I got married."

"Oh, so it's not harassment if you marry them?" Cheyenne refuted, Glenn's face contorting into one of pure horror as he looked back at her.

"Oh, God, what have I done?"

"They're like two little robin's eggs all bundled up in a bird's nest." Arthur continued his 'compliments' - this time just blatantly harassing Myrtle in front of all of their coworkers, plain for everyone to see.

"Found her on IMDB." Garrett interrupted, holding up his phone. When you turned your head to look, you smacked into the front of the screen, coming away and rubbing your nose as you read it. "She was on "NCIS." She played "Lady in Pool." Acting life is tough."

————————————————————————

Thankfully, your shift was long over now, the day having finally come to a close so that you could go and pick up some Chinese food before Marcus would come and meet you at your apartment, his shift not over for another hour or so yet.

You'd picked up a handful of items from through-out the trip through the store towards the exit, lazily swinging the basket they sat in back and forth as you walked.

"Did Jeff get Sandra puppies?" You asked, stopping beside Garrett, who had a basket of 'go-backs' nestled on his lap, and Mateo, who for the first time today seemed sort of relaxed. "Now, that is a commitment."

"I'm not a big Valentine's Day guy, but Jeff and Sandra are..." Garrett began his tormenting, staring fondly at the couple before him in hope of eliciting a reaction out of Mateo, though was swiftly cut off by his simple coo.

"Jandra. We should call them Jandra." Mateo quickly walked over to the group surrounding Sandra and her adorable little balls of sunshine, a wide smile of his face for the first time today.

"Why does everybody want to fuck Jeff?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Gare. I'm not sure at all." It was a crazed situation, but when wasn't it at cloud 9? Bidding your goodbye and a fun evening to Garrett, you headed in the direction of the checkouts to buy your good and make your way home for the evening.

————————————————————————

A bagful of goodies to take back to your apartment, and a pair of car keys that weren't yours, you were heading back into the store before you'd even left, finding Amy amidst the Valentine's Day aisle.

"Oh, hey, if you've got plans tonight, you can head out. I'm fine to finish this up." Amy didn't look up from her sweeping the destroyed display, only glancing up at the silence when you didn't respond.

Twirling her car keys in your hand, you tossed them out to her, tucking your hand back into the pocket of Marcus's jacket, the other gripping onto the bag filled with snacks and drinks.

"Actually, my shift is already over. And I also do happen to have plans tonight."

"You have plans tonight?" Jonah asked, suddenly appearing beside you, a half frown on his face at the discovery. "Like Valentine's Day plans? Or plans plans?"

"Valentine's Day plans." You confirmed, nodding hesitantly at Jonah, grip tightening on your bag. "And not that it has anything to do with you, J, but it's with a very strapping young fellow."

"Why'd you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that?"

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I've got to get going. Have a lovely Valentine's Day guys." Turning away from the pair, you began to walk back in the direction of the stores exit, in the direction of your apartment, of warm Chinese food and of Marcus.

At the last moment, you turned back and blew them a kiss, an unusual pep in your step as you began your journey out of the store and back to your apartment.

"Y/n's got plans?" Jonah pondered aloud, hands on his hips and jaw hung agape as he stared at your retreating figure, unmoving even after you'd left his sights. "With who? Do you know them? Why didn't they tell me?"

"I don't know, Jonah." Amy was lying through her teeth, biting back a smile at the fact she was in the know for once. It was easy to hide as she continued to sweep things off of the floor, avoiding Jonah's eyes as his bore into her, desperate for any inkling of information he could grasp too. "You want to help me clean this up? Or have you got plans tonight too?"

"No. No, I've not." Jonah grabbed the broom stick from Amy, beginning to sweep up the broken ribbons and banners as she picked up the larger pieces of rubbish. "Did they tell you they had plans, or-"

"I don't know, Jonah. Let it go."

Jonah wouldn't let it go. As long as he was unaware of whoever it was that had you smitten enough for Valentine's Day plans, he would not rest easy. They must have been special to you - and he was special to you - and the fact that you didn't tell him had a million thoughts running through his head.

Not a single one was the idea it was Marcus.

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Hey guys!! I hope you enjoyed this part, I sure did!

Sub-Part Sunday will be out later this week detailing the valentines day plans with Marcus 😏😏

As always, have a lovely week <3333!!

[tenderstarved]

The flower sellers had been absolutely abuzz with activity that morning, a veritable hornet’s nest of gentlemen rushing from stall to stall, to the point where Kate almost reconsidered her plans for the day. Almost. It seemed like the fact that the Season was already past halfway through had finally occurred to the men of London, and they were all desperate to prove their affections to their intendeds. Frankly, it was a miracle Kate was able to navigate the crowds and emerge with her own bouquet, a miracle she credited mostly to the fact that she was small enough to slip in between people, rather than worrying about shouldering her way through. Still, it took enough time that she was very nearly late to her visit, and by the time she arrived on the Hastings’ doorstep, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with exertion, and her hat wasn’t sitting quite as tidily upon her head as it had that morning. Her mother, who had agreed (rather too quickly, Kate thought) to be her chaperone for the day, was trying to pin the damn thing back into place as Kate attempted to swat her away, hissing that she was fine as she reached up to knock on the door. Reluctantly, and with one last careful pat, Mary Ann stepped slightly back, letting Kate take a breath. Immediately, she wished she had not pushed her mother away; the lack of attention on her hair left her with little to think about other than her own nerves, and she cast an anxious look down at the flowers in her hands, wondering what the Lady Hastings would say. 

Windflowers, violets, lavender, agrimony, bluebells, and lemon blossoms were nearly overflowing in her hands –– symbols of devotion, of fidelity, faithfulness, loyalty, humility, constancy. For a moment, she began to worry she’d overdone it, but there was nothing to do for it now. She shot a quick glance back at her mother, looking for –– reassurance, she thought, but didn’t have enough time. The door opened to the sound of a happy set of barks, a valet on the other side of the threshold and the sound of Orion’s nails skittering across the hallways somewhere within, undoubtedly racing towards the sounds and smells of new people. “Miss Lockhart?” The valet asked, and she nodded, heading inside quickly, her eyes moving quickly in anticipation of either Will, Orion, or both. Unfortunately, the valet was incredibly efficient, and before she knew it, they’d been shown to the sitting room, where Mary Ann took a seat and Kate began to pace.

She made only one rotation before her mother’s hand shot out and yanked her down onto the settee next to her, and she smiled sheepishly at her, biting down on her lip as she did. “Sorry,” she murmured, twisting her wrist out of her mother’s grip and clutching at her hand for a quick moment, squeezing once before releasing her. “I just want her to like me,” she whispered half a second later, her voice small and vulnerable, her body abuzz with nervous energy. So much nervous energy, in fact, that she jumped into a standing position when the door opened, only to visibly relax upon seeing William walk in. Just as they had in her own home, they met in the middle, her free hand already reaching out for his before she even realized she was moving. “Hi,” she gasped, feeling, suddenly, like she hadn’t been able to take a full breath since crossing the threshold until this very moment. “It’s good to see you.” / @baronwillliam​

[annelim]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Anne Margaret Lim MEANING:  Anne - “Favor, Grace” / Margaret - “Pearl” REASONING: Her maternal grandmother was named Anne, and also her mom just thought it was neat. NICKNAME(S): Annie PREFERRED NAME(S): Annie BIRTH DATE: September 8th, 1993 AGE: 28

ZODIAC: Virgo GENDER: Cisgender Female PRONOUNS: She/Her/Hers ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual NATIONALITY: American ETHNICITY: Chinese-Italian CURRENT LOCATION: Eureka, CA LIVING CONDITIONS: Currently slumming it with Benji Hastings TITLE(S): N/A

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: San Francisco, CA HOMETOWN: San Francisco, CA SOCIAL CLASS: Upper-Middle Class EDUCATION LEVEL: Currently pursuing her MFA FATHER: Theodore Lim MOTHER: Melinda Lim née Clark (deceased) SIBLING(S): None BIRTH ORDER: Only child CHILDREN: None PET(S): Kevin Hastings (Benji’s), Balthazar Hastings-Lim OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: N/A PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: Ivy Muñoz, college ex boyfriend ARRESTS?: None PRISON TIME?: N/A

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Graphic Designer SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Freelancing TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: N/A APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: $75,000 CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: Annie’s pursuing her MFA to further her career opportunities, but overall loves what she does. PAST JOB(S): Babysitter-turned-nanny, dog walker, barista, waitress SPENDING HABITS: Modest -- she’s by no means stingy, but is practical about the money she can spend on miscellaneous things. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: Photo albums

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: Average OFFENSE: Black Belt in Taekwondo DEFENSE: (...see above) SPEED: Average INTELLIGENCE: Average ACCURACY: Average AGILITY: Above average STAMINA: Above average TEAMWORK: Average TALENTS: Art SHORTCOMINGS: Recognizing/validating her own emotions LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, poor Chinese DRIVE?: Yes. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: No. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: No. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes. SWIM?: Yes. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Piano, cello, guitar. PLAY CHESS?: Yes. BRAID HAIR?: Yes. TIE A TIE?: Yes. PICK A LOCK?: No.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Na/tasha Li/u Bo/rdizzo EYE COLOR: Brown HAIR COLOR: Black HAIR TYPE/STYLE: Type 1a; generally pulled up in a lazy bun or falling over her shoulders carelessly GLASSES/CONTACTS?: Both -- usually contacts. DOMINANT HAND: Right. HEIGHT: 5′5″ WEIGHT: 114lbs BUILD: Slim EXERCISE HABITS: Does Pilates, runs a few times a week. SKIN TONE: Pale TATTOOS: ( x. ) - the flower of her mom’s birth month, the rose. PIERCINGS: Ears MARKS/SCARS: Scars on her knees from falling as a kid, small scar from cutting her thumb with a knife while trying to slice a bagel NOTABLE FEATURES: None USUAL EXPRESSION: Smiling CLOTHING STYLE: ( x. ) ( x. ) ( x. ) JEWELRY: A watch, her engagement ring ALLERGIES: None BODY TEMPERATURE: Normal DIET: Vegetarian PHYSICAL AILMENTS: None

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ESFP JUNG SUBTYPE: Assertive ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 7 MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic ELEMENT: Earth PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Intrapersonal APPROXIMATE IQ: 112 MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: None SOCIABILITY: Extremely gregarious and social EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Stable/happy OBSESSION(S): None COMPULSION(S): None PHOBIA(S): Sharks ADDICTION(S): None DRUG USE: Social, rarely ALCOHOL USE: Social PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Not at all

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: Gentle, measured, relaxed ACCENT: None QUIRKS: None HOBBIES: Painting, baking, swimming, reading HABITS: Twirling pens NERVOUS TICKS: Humming, leg shaking, cuticle biting DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: Keeping her loved ones safe/happy FEARS: Loss, sharks POSITIVE TRAITS: Sensitive, easy-going, gregarious NEGATIVE TRAITS: Workaholic, meddlesome, martyr SENSE OF HUMOR: Understated, witty DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: Regularly, but not excessively CATCHPHRASE(S): N/A

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Reading ANIMAL: Otters BEVERAGE: Water, chai lattes BOOK: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel CELEBRITY: John Mulaney COLOR: Yellow DESIGNER: Madewell FOOD: Mexican FLOWER: Orchids GEM: Emerald HOLIDAY: Halloween MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: 2013 Toyota Camry MOVIE:  Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain MUSICAL ARTIST: Fleet Foxes QUOTE/SAYING: “Let everything happen to you - beauty and terror.” -- Rainer Maria Rilke SCENERY: The ocean SCENT: Jasmine SPORT: Baseball SPORTS TEAM: Los Angeles Dodgers TELEVISION SHOW: Bob’s Burgers WEATHER: 70 degrees and sunny VACATION DESTINATION: Europe

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: To helm an international ad campaign. GREATEST FEAR: Losing a loved one. MOST AT EASE WHEN: At home, reading. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: In open water. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Losing her family. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Undertaking her master’s. BIGGEST REGRET: Losing Addie. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: Any myriad of falls/tumbles/spills. BIGGEST SECRET: Deeply resents her mom for leaving her behind. TOP PRIORITIES: Her dad, Benji/the Hastings-Birch-Mabry clan, Tabitha, work, school.

[arthurmorganthings]

Happy Birthday

Pairing: Dutch x Anna

Summary: Anna surprises Dutch on a very special day.

Arthur’s Note: Happy belated to my favorite man with a plan :’).

Explicit +18

“Darlin’ you know I hate surprises.” He speaks in spite of following through with Anna’s idea. Eyes sealed shut through a tight, velvety cloth as he followed the push of her dainty fingers on the small of his back to guide him to their destination.

Though Dutch couldn’t see her physically, he could’n t begin to imagine how amusing it was to see her lover be placed in such a compromising position. Dutch was usually the man that asserts dominance whenever he walked into a room, he lets his presence be known—the Alpha, one would call him.

“C’mon now, it ain’t much farther.” She replies in obvious irritation at his onslaught of questioning. “My god Dutch, you know if I ain’t know no better, I’d assume you had life given to you from a silver spoon.”

He frowns. “Well excuse me princess, but did you forget the price on my head? I don’t have time to step away from my duties for even a second—.”

“You don’t think I know that? Just, trust me..” His gentle shoves comes to a cease. Anna’s chest came to close proximity to Dutch’s back; wrapping her arms around his body in a warm embrace. “All I ask of you is a few hours of your time—please.”

Goosebumps dare mark the surface of his skin in betrayal to his lovers eloquence. As if he wouldn’t fly through the gates of heaven to assure that she was happy—he’d be a fibber. A sigh escapes his mouth before placing his hands on his hips. “Fine. Just a few hours.”

There he goes, the same tone used to heed warning, was the same used to place his own rules. Dutch was in control, and as long as Anna allowed him that fantasy, she’d be taken cared of.

She pushes him past the abundance of orchards near the fields of West Elizabeth. A few steps later, she stops. “Okay.”

Soft hands grazed past his temple to remove the cloth from his face. Ashtonished, his glance ventures to the neatly decorated tent alongside an assortment of candles, flowers, and dimly lit campfire. Additionally, Anna did the honors of having his favorite whiskey be displayed next to his gift.

Dutch was speechless.

“How?” His voice, dropping a few octaves. “How did you know?”

“Hosea was never fond of keepin’ secrets.” Her smile causing his heart to swell as her palms gently combed through his soft locks. Dutch found himself lost for words as he took in her appearance. “Happy birthday, my beloved.”

He hadn’t even noticed her application of red lipstick, and smokey eyeshadow. Her scent was riveting, a play on warm rose with an undertone of jasmine musk was enough to imply her secret rendezvous at a bathhouse near camp.

“Anne, you—you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t right?” She teased, playfully pulling at the hem of his vest, suggestively. “But considering you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, what—with runnin’ a gang, I think this is just what you, need.”

“Oh?” Dutch quirks an eyebrow while his hands crept to the small of her back, going lower. “And what is it that I exactly need, sweetheart?”

His cock hardened when she places herself in front of his slacks, looking up at him with those doe-eyes as the silhouette of both lovers illuminates off of the camp-fire.

Dutch wanted to grab her by her coils and fuck her senseless, it was his birthday after all—but the night was still young, and would not wish to rush things. Anna thoughtfully made this happen so that he would enjoy another year. Her hard work is to be rewarded.

She teases him, slowly unbuttoning the seams before making work of his zipper. “You need to shut up, and let me hone my skills.”

One thing about Anna was that she always wanted the last laugh. In accordance to Dutch, their personalities clashed every time when faced with conducting future plans of their inevitable future. For lack of better words, Anna was that of an intelligent sort.

But Dutch wasn’t here to analyze his lover so his paitience wore painfully thin. He grabbed his girth from his trousers, his free-hand cupping her face as he forced her glance to into his brown ones. “I understand this little game of cat and mouse seems amusing to you.” His voice husked as her mouth grew full from the protrusion. “But I’m getting too old to entertain you. Then again, this is my gift.”

She gags instantly, the friction of his cock hitting the back of her throat made work of her eyes. Warm pools of her essence soak her union suit as she rubs her thighs together to get a bit of relief. Her eyes never left his facial expressions while getting fucked in the face. Eyes shut, jaw slacked, head titled backwards—all at the expense of her mouth.

“God,” he whispers, grabbing at her hair in encouragement to continue. “You feel so good around me darlin.’”

Anna’d be lying is she didn’t think seeing a man with so much power be minimized to mere putty wasn’t a ego booster to her—she notes to tease him about it later. When he forces her to pull away, trails of spit attached from his cock to her mouth as she exhales raggedly. Her eyeshadow on the brim of coming off altogether as he motions her to lay on her back near the bedrolls she took the time to make.

He makes haste with her lips, the taste of wine flooding his mouth while his free-hand aid in removing Anna’s skirt before unbuttoning her union suit. His fingers toyed with her wet mound in return of a long sigh. Dissatisfied with her response, he pistons two fingers into her wet cunt, the only sounds evident were the squelching of Anna’s pussy, and the cackling fire that barely masked her cries out in the wilderness.

“Haaah yes, that’s it daddy.” Dutch couldn’t help but groan at the petname he grew fond of behind silken sheets. He continues his ministrations but with the help of his tongue, flicking at the clit as his fingers curled in a ‘come-hither’ motion.

Anna’s entire body tenses, her eyes sees white before rolling back into her skull as her mouth opens in a silent gasp. She screams his name like prayer before marking his bedroll with her slick cum. He removes his hands from her overstimulated cunt, chuckling.

“I’m willing to give you what you need.” Dutch states with hooded eyes, stroking himself with his freehand, while the other gently grabs at Anna’s hips. “So, what is it that you need, Anna?”

Dutch was a man that valued communication during the act of coitus. Nevermind the embarrassing vabrado in Anna’s voice whenever he put her over the edge into bliss, he’d rather here her talk about his unadulterated cum to the mouth, or any part of the body for that matter. He was a man of acquired lust, even it that left a sleazy taste in Anna’s mouth.

“Well?” He asks, impatiently as he lines himself into her entrance, causing her to shiver.

“I want you.”

“And what is it, that you want me to do?”

Grabbing him by his cheek, Anna stares into his eyes, rage-filled nearly. “It’s your goddamn birthday Dutch. I want you to fill me up with you. I want all of the bandits that straggle tonight to know who’s fucking me so good. I want you to break me, Dutch.”

That was enough to set a switch off in Dutch’s head as he shoved most of his length deep into her womanhood as Anna throws her head back in pleasure. The sounds omitted from her body were embarrassingly loud as Dutch’s well-endowed shaft protruds at her walls, she couldn't even think straight as she clawed at his vest.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She repeats, staring up at him with her brows furrowed. Dutch had to count times in betwixt intervals of when he could look at Anna to prevent premature ejaculation. “Oh.”

"There you go, darlin,’ on your back.” Dutch replies. His entire being was enough for her to go crazy, now imagine how it felt after a round of this and some crudeness on the side. “Taking my cock so well like the little whore you are.”

"Don't stop.” Anna swore, eyes growing heavy at the fullness in her belly. Her moans prolonging his roughness as his left hand wraps around her neck gingerly. “Fuck, daddy.”

“How good is daddy making you feel?”

“So good, please.” Anna pleads biting at her lip while his cock pistons in and out of her.

Within seconds Anna’s body weight shifts so that her stomach kissed the soft bedroll on top of the ground while Dutch adjusts himself inside of her. His size didn't take her all the way as he goes in at slow pace into her wet cunt. She was so wet Dutch had to evade thoughts of fucking her roughly despite wanting to so desperately but opt for allowing Anna a bit of rest—for a little while.

Once she'd taken most of his size, he picked up the pace. Skin slapping against each other was the only sound that could be heard around said lovers, basking in the noise of beautiful pain, nothing could feel more euphoric than this. Anna wasn't the type of girl to overstimulate either, but the way Dutch was deep inside of her causing a slew of curse words to rise out of her mouth, she’d be surprised if she wasn’t sore tomorrow morning .

She could tell he was near his peak of coming, the way his hands tightened around her neck, his gritted teeth, and primal growl was enough indication for her to provoke him. Anna’s cheek still grazing the bedroll as she so happened to catch Dutch grinding his pelvis into her cunt. “Are you close daddy? Do you want to finish deep inside?”

A groan dare escape his lips as a glint of mischief appears onto her taut face as she whimpered, her legs curled at his change of pace. “Ohhhhh, Dutch.” eyes rolling back again.

“You love it when daddy treats you like his little harlot? Fucking you with your legs wide open for strangers to see?” He husked now forward so that his lips whispered sleazy nothings into Anna’s ears.

"Mhm.” She responds , her whimpers drowning out the open space while her eyes flutter closed; Shit, she loved Dutch, she loved fucking him even more. "Please," she begged, indicating that she wanted to release badly, and merely on the precipice telling by how her voice grew higher in pitch.

“I’m coming, hah—“ Anne squeals as Dutch releases a loud grunt as he empties his seed into her. Anna falls limb onto his bedroll, was trails of cum slick from her cunt, still shaken by the aftershocks of an intense session of love making.

While Dutch catches his breath he watches Anne’s eyes grow heavy, not before inquiring about Dutch.

After placing himself back into his trousers, he goes underneath the the quilt before hovering over Anna. He wraps his arms around her soft skin before burying his lips into her neck.

“Thank you.” He finally says. “For the best birthday an old man can ever ask for.”

Anna chuckles softly. “You were always the romantic sort, Mr. Van Der Linde.”

“Please ma’dam, you are to address me as such in public.” He whispers his next word. “But in private, daddy is the only name you’ll ever give the privilege of calling me.”

“Okay. Daddy.”

He growls, “You’re playing a dangerous game, woman.”

Anna smiles wholesomely before replacing it with a yawn, sleep beginning to take its toll as she wishes her lover one last happy birthday.

His response. “Thank you, Mrs. Van Der Linde.”

-

KSKSKD TAGGING @songofproserpine @jungle AND ALL OF MY FELLOW DUTCH HOES YA FEEL 😆😆😩💦💯

[loudsuitlover]

MI 14. The Only Thing

A/N: Omg guys! I can’t believe this is over! You seriously don’t know how happy and grateful I am for every single person who took the time to read it, and give  me a comment on my story. I love you all, thank you very much! I hope there are many more to come and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!

Also, I just want to specially thank my lovely friend @whereismymind-exe​ because she’s a sweetheart and I love her!

The surgery was long enough for Harry to find himself trying to think of ways to clear up the mess they were in. They had to tell Sean. They had to tell Sean and then they had to tell everyone. He had to talk to you too. He had to make sure you knew he wasn’t fooling around, he wasn’t going to ask you to marry him, gosh, no, but he was going to make sure you knew there was nothing in this world he wanted more than to stay with you. He had to tell Sean.

His dad sat on the far corner, two rows away from them, and Harry hadn’t said a word to him. His dad had said hi and he had nodded and grunted and walked away. He didn’t even want to look at him for too long because then he might start feeling sorry for him, not because he deserved it but because he couldn’t help but have those feelings. He wondered if it happened to everyone- how hard it was to reject someone from your own family, however bad it was what they had done.

Behind the door of the operating room, you stood right next to Gemma’s body watching Joe and Matty work as they chatted nonchalantly. Matty had put Gemma to sleep and then he had inserted three different catheters to her hand, arm and chest and now she almost looked like the back of some appliances. Her head was opened in half.

Anne was about to faint. She felt as if she had been about to faint for three days straight and she wondered whether she would ever actually faint or if she was just about to fall asleep on her son’s shoulder. He looked so tense, she could tell he hadn’t slept the night before, and she wanted to reach for his hand, or maybe shuffled his hair a bit to annoy him just the slightest bit so she could get a reaction other than that frown and those pursed lips but instead she just looked ahead and from the corner of her eye she could see him- Des, the man she had married when she was just a girl. She had been seventeen years old when she had gotten pregnant the first time and twenty two the other and then... Then everything went down the hill. She wondered how she could tell Harry that she had cheated on him.

You could tell uncle Joe was in surgeon mode. Sometimes it was like there was a click on the back of his neck that he could press when he wanted to do this and then he would stop thinking about the things uncle Joe normally did- he would stop thinking about his house, he would stop thinking about his pet, he would stop thinking that this girl right here was only 28 years old and how important this was for little Y/N; and instead he pictured the mass as an asphalt stain floating on the surface of the sea and he thought of himself as the ocean keeper and he started removing it, slowly so he wouldn’t hurt the rest of it and precisely so there was no asphalt left. He stopped thinking about that one- and only thankfully- patient that had died on his hands all those years ago but deep down he knew, this surgery- and all the rest- were for him. They were always for him.

Des didn’t know where to rest his hands. He had placed them on top of his thigs and then he had trapped them between the back of his thighs and the chair but his fingers kept tapping against the blue plastic and his feet tapped the floor. He couldn’t believe Harry was that man. It was silly, really, but it was as if somehow he expected Harry to look just like he did before he left, as if his son had stayed trapped in time forever for him to be able to pick up their father and son relationship any time and young Harry will still have seven years old and they could go fishing and nothing would change. But that fantasy was now collapsing on the floor, harsh parts of it falling on his feet as he tried his best not to cry. I had so many things to tell you, son... But then he had said hi and his son had just grunt and he hadn’t even looked at him. Some things just can’t be forgiven.

After Anne had fallen asleep, Harry had turned his head to look at Sean. He had finally tell Hastings to fuck off in the morning after the producer had insisted in how important it was for him to attend that breakfast thing on the radio so Sean had said there’s nothing more important than this so just let it go. Harry gave him a small smile, earning one back.

“Are you nervous?” He whispered.

Harry nodded, his green eyes never leaving his friend’s before he gave him a small smile.

“But there’s something I need you to know.” Harry sighed. “I... I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“You don’t need to be very smart to know when your best friends are in love with each other, Styles.” He chuckled. “Plus your mum kind of told me.”

Harry’s eyes were about to go out of their bony sockets. He felt a lump in his throat, he felt knots on his belly and he never wanted to feel like that again. He was a terrible liar, he always had been, and his mum could always tell when he was bluffing, but he didn’t think Sean would have caught up with that.

“It’s okay.” Sean shrugged. “I mean... It hurt, uh, when I found out, I guess because after she said it I just couldn’t not see it, you know? In everything you did, in the way she looked at you... It was everywhere. And then... You know, I went on this trip, back home with my parents” Harry nodded, remembering that weekend “and I saw them, you know, the way they interact and the way they take care of one another and how they... You know after all these years they still love each other.” He shrugged. “I guess that just fucked me up a little.” He smiled. “You know when I thought about Y/N, all I could see was that- a white house with a happy wife baking apple pie. But... She’s not that, is it?”

Harry grinned as he shook his head. Y/N would probably set the house on fire if she was ever going to bake an apple pie and she didn’t even like cream, so she would probably rather bake a brownie or just buy strawberry ice cream and put it on a bowl and then tell everybody she was useless in the kitchen. He smiled at that. She wouldn’t want to live in a white house either, she would probably like to buy a small property on a cliff and then rebuild the house in wood so they could live there together and she would save all the money so she could travel the world in the summer and buy weird souvernirs to give everyone for Christmas.

“I think I had fallen in love with the idea of her more than I had fallen in love with the person she is.” He shrugged. “She’s just so kind. I think- I thought if I am going to share my life with someone, I want them to be as good as she is.”

“So... You’re not mad?”

Sean shook his head.

“It sucks.” Sean chuckled. “And it hurts to think... I will never have her but, uh, I’m going on tour with Camila Cabello in a month.” He smiled. “And I’m positive I’ll get over it during the summer.”

Harry nodded, grinning.

“You are one hell of a good friend.”

Sean shrugged.

“Actually I’ve been a jackass to both of you. You both were there for me when no one else was. I mean you came by Green Pine every fucking afternoon, mate.” He laughed. “And she was an angel and then her father gets worse and your sister is about to die and I’m what? Going to radio shows and meeting producers?” He shook his head, as if by doing that he would be less disgusted with himself. “I can never be mad at you for this because I literally owe you both the fact that I am alive today so... Just like, give me a couple months before you get married so I can prepare for that because-”

Harry swatted his arm playfully cutting him short before they both started laughing and then the operating room door opened.

You walked towards them trying to look professional for the first two seconds but then you couldn’t help but hop towards them like a happy bunny with the biggest grin you had ever worn on your face. Harry grinned back at you, happy tears already rolling down his cheeks because he knew what you were going to say.

“She’s up.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around Harry’s neck as you pressed your body to his. “And it’s all gone.”

And now it had been almost a week. Des hadn’t yet left but Harry had made it clear that he didn’t want to know anything about him and so far he had respected that. Des was his dad and, of course he wanted to talk to his son after all those years just like he could talk to his daughter now, but he thought if he had waited seventeen years he could wait another so he just stood there on Gemma’s room as the young girl told him about her life and her brother.

Gemma woke up and didn’t feel different in the slightest. She had a mild neck pain, as if she had slept in poor posture but other than that, she didn’t feel anything else. She couldn’t stop crying when she heard the news though and she cried until she fell asleep again.

Matty had just broken up with his fiancé, she had left him two months before the wedding and even though some part of him was hurt and disappointed, the bigger part of him just felt an immense relief- he almost felt guilty about it. He couldn’t marry her anyway. He had cheated on her every summer since he was 20 years old with no other than the lovely girl who just saved a life. He couldn’t believe how grown up you were, how confident, how different- in the best way possible- since last time he saw you. He almost damned himself- he was sure he had never seen anyone as beautiful as you looked that day with that oversized surgeon outfit- but then Gemma had woken up and she had said My neck feels like I just travelled all around Russia by train and he had cracked a smile and figured maybe things were just about to change.

And about Harry and you... You hadn’t been apart for longer than ten minutes in the last few days. After the surgery, you had spent the next two days checking on Gemma and just laughing for every stupid thing on Earth because you were so happy everything seemed funny and then, when the whole thing had settled down and Harry really wrapped his head around the fact that the whole nightmare was over, you had made your way inside the apartment, kissing as if he was a soldier just back from war, and you had made love every hour of the day.

“Wake up, doll.” He whispered in his morning cracked and raspy voice as he gently swiped his hand above the curve of your ass.

You had already woken up half an hour ago and you had shared kisses and morning cuddles as you told him you had dreamt with pancakes, but then you had fallen right back asleep on his chest. He wasn’t sure whether he had fallen back asleep too, he might as well because for the past two days the only thing on his mind had been you so he didn’t quite know when he was dreaming and when he was awake now. You grunted and rolled from his chest to the side of the bed giving him your back but he only smiled and hovered you, pressing innoncent kisses on your bare skin.

You whined and turned your head to look at him. Your naked body is half tangled on the baby blue shits and your hair is a messy maze around your sleepy face but even like that, he couldn’t believe his luck. God is a woman.

“Oh, come on, love.” You pouted and his heart beated more strongly at the way you called him. “Why don’t we just stay in bed all day?”

“Like yesterday?” He smiled devilishly, memories of you naked and moaning and sweaty playing on his mind.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his chest as if you could see what he was thinking of too.

“Well maybe with a little more cuddling so my crotch doesn’t burst into flames.”

He threw his head back and laughed, his fingertips still caressing the skin on your bare shoulder.

“I love cuddling you,” he pecked your cheek tenderly “but you see you always fall asleep on me when I do that.” He chuckled.

“I fall asleep on you after you fuck me senseless.” You smirked playfully as he laughed. “It has little to do with the cuddles.”

“Oh, is that so? So you’re saying you don’t like my cuddles? Or... What you’re saying is you don’t want me to fuck you senseless?” He licked his lips, smirking mischieviously.

“I didn’t say any of that crap.” You frowned, making him laugh. “I want to do everything with you.” You smiled.

“Oh, someone’s getting cheesy now.” He teased, raising his eyebrows before you rolled your eyes and pushed him away from you, hiding your face on the fluffly pillow again. “Oh, you’re going back to sleep.” He noted. You hid your childish smile in your hair. “Alright, I just thought you mentioned something about wanting pancakes? Must have dreamt it...”

He laughed out loud the moment you pushed your hair away from your face so he could see your excited grin. He kissed the tip of your nose, because he just couldn’t stop himself, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He knew his smile was so wide he probably looked like the Cheshire cat but he didn’t even care. He had never been happier. He didn’t even know it was possible to be that happy and you just looked at him and smiled sweetly, with that innocent spark in your eyes that was going to be the death of him.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me around though...”

“No problem.” He grinned. “But are you really that tired? I’m sorry if I am not letting you get enough sleep I just... I can’t believe I get to be with you like this.”

“It’s not that.” You smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “I just don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk.”

Once your words made sense in his mind, he gave you a naughty smirk as you stood up from the bed. Your face scrunched in a grimace of discomfort before you got it back together and gave him a shy smile.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry.” And he was sorry, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

“I don’t want this to get into your head and God forbid that it boosts your ego, Lord knows you don’t need me for that” you smiled too “but I just had never been fucked like this.”

He threw his head back and placed his hands on his belly, laughing hard at your words.

“The things that come out of that pretty little mouth of yours...”

“Well, it’s your fault!” You smiled as you put on your undies and his t-shirt. “You are the one who made me into a foul-mouthed perv addicted to sex! And if that wasn’t enough now I walk like a cowboy.”

Still laughing, he got out of bed and picked you up bridal style and you gave him a smile as he tried to supress his chuckles.

“I’m sorry, baby” he pecked your lips “but I’d say you already were a perv when I met you and about the foul-mouthed thing... It was already there, I just got it out.” He shrugged. “I have no comments about the addicted to sex bit, I mean” he smirked “I’m not complaining if you want sex all the time.”

“Well, actually I think my pussy can take a recess.”

“Alright.” He smiled, leaning down to peck your lips. “But I still can kiss you, right?”

“Yes” his lips muffled your words “you can kiss me all you want.”

“Good.” He smiled in the kiss before he slipped his tongue past your parted lips. “So today, Y/N Y/L/N, I’m going to pamper you.” He declared. “And I’m going to start by making you pancakes.”

“With Nutella?” You inquired with eyes wide opened.

“Yes, with Nutella.” He smiled.

After carefully placing you on the counter where he could see you, he turned around and got the flour and the eggs and everything he needed to make his girl some pancakes as you smiled at him.

“Oi, we’re all out of food.” He said.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when the housekeeper doesn’t go shopping.” You teased and he smiled.

“Yeah, well, he’s been busy you know... Giving his woman some lovin’.”

“Oh, what a lucky lady.” You smiled. “I’ve always thought the housekeeper was rather hot.”

“Right.” He nodded playfully. “You behave yourself, young lady.”

“Or what?”

With that Harry just placed his body between your legs and pressed your body closer to his, smashing his lips against yours in a kiss that soon became a heated make out session.

“Fuck.”

The pancakes were burning.

After breakfast he was getting ready to pop to the stores and get some food whilst you just stood next to him, completely naked by laughing at something on your phone. He smiled and looked your way.

“God, babe, you just don’t want me to leave, do you?” He joked, slapping your naked ass once so you looked at him.

“As a matter of fact I don’t.” You smiled, getting your leg over his knee so you were standing with his thigh between your legs. “Why don’t you get on the bathtub with me?”

“Because you’re sore” He pressed an innocent kiss to your centre “and we need food. You can’t bang on an empty stomach, m’love.”

“You sound so reasonable... I don’t know why it still doesn’t sound good...”

He smiled.

“You will miss me.”

“I certainly will.” You smiled. “But when will you be back?”

“Are you controlling me, Y/L/N?” He joked.

“No, you dork.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just... Maggie texted me to see if I wanted to grab a coffee with them. I haven’t seen them in so long and... I don’t know, I was wondering... If maybe you’d like to come? You haven’t properly met them and they are so nice.”

“Is Paul going?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrugged, smiling. “He’s part of the group.”

Harry frowned as he stood up and you rolled your eyes again when you realized he was still frowning as he claspped his watch around his wrist.

“Baby, we are friends.”

“Yeah, but have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like it.” He frowned.

“Love, don’t be ridiculous. We are just friends.”

“Yeah, well, you and I used to be just friends too and look at us now.”

“Paul’s got nothing on you, love.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and he smirked, placing his hands on your naked waist. “He doesn’t make me feel anything like you do.”

“Mmhm, and what do I make you feel?” He smiled.

“Oh, you make me feel as if the world is a good place and that’s saying a lot.” You smiled.

“Well, let’s just hope he knows that too.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and walked away. “And now get your perfect breasts out of my sight and get in the tub, you tease.” He smiled at the door of the bathroom as you moaned when your feet touched the hot water. “I’ll be back soon. I want to go with you.”

“Thank you.”

After he had bought the groceries, he had put them away whilst he listened to the Fleetwood songs you were playing upstairs while you got ready and going over and over how lucky he actually was. In the store, right before what had been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, for the first time in a really long time he had allowed himself to think about the future. What to do now?

He could go back to Uni, he could talk to you about his book and even send it to some publisher or the two of you could really take a year and just travel before starting over a new life in a shared apartment with lots of kisses. He could also go back to singing, maybe go over to Mani’s bar and ask him to let him play a couple nights a week and he could take you along and look at you and wink and send you smiles as he sang.

As you got ready, you were singing to Leather and Lace, your hips almost involuntarinly swaying as you let the familiar song embrace you only to stop and mute yourself when you saw Harry’s figure leaning against the bathroom door with a big smile on his face. You blushed until you looked like you were going to burst into flames.

“For being so sore, you sure know how to move your hips.” He joked, his dimples deepening on his cheeks as he walked towards you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind as you tried to distract yourself from the embarrassing thought of your performance with looking for your lipstick.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be so sneaky.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky” he kissed your neck “I was just enjoying you. You have a beautiful voice, you know.”

“I don’t.” You rolled your eyes before you put the light lipstick on your lips, his green eyes never leaving them.

“Really, baby, I like it.”

“Well, thank you love but I think you might be a little biased.”

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek before you walked to the products he had left on the bathroom counter. Besides food, he had also gotten shampoo and shaving cream and... No way.

“No, baby, I’m serious. In fact, maybe some day we could sing together in a bar I used to sing when-”

“What’s this?” You frowned showing him the small purple box that read Vagisil on the front.

“It’s...” He seemed terribly embarrassed “it’s... you know... a lotion for your... Private parts.”

He pointed at your crotch with his head as his cheeks tinged red and you frowned amusedly as you tried not to laugh while you read the information on the box. Instant long-lasting relief from intense inch... Odour Protection....

“Do you think I smell?” You blushed, looking at him with horrified eyes.

“What?” His expression matched yours. “No, not at all! I just thought maybe it’ll help with the sting... You know because you’re sore and...”

You had never seen him so embarrassed but this was the cutest, sweetest thing you had ever witnessed and to think you were one of the parts in it almost made your heart stop. You started laughing at how red he had turned.

“Hey, don’t laugh, I’ve had enough with standing on that aisle reading the information in the boxes being a man.” He tilted his head. “I read it reduced the pain and irritation in that part so I took it.”

You left the box on the counter and walked to him with a foolish smile on your lips. He had sat down on the edge of the tub and was still blushing when you pecked his lips.

“Well, I don’t know if it relieves the soreness from...” you smirked “excessive friction but your thoughtfulness is what matters.”

You straddled him and leaned in to kiss him and he wrapped his arms around your waist, smiling on the kiss and pulling you to him.

“I hate thinking that I caused you any pain.” He confessed.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you kissed him again.

“Do you even know how many times you made me cum last night?” You smirked against his mouth. “Love, don’t ever be sorry for that.”

He smiled before he kissed you again, his big hands slowly tracing down your back until he grabbed your bum and pulled you impossibly closer before he kissed the sweet spot on your neck and stood up, still holding you, as he made his way inside the bedroom.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” He confessed as he placed you on the bed. “Sean texted me while I was shopping. He’s all set on the tour bus.” He smiled.

“That’s great.” You smiled. “I love you very much.”

Both your hearts were beating faster than usual as you stared into each other’s eyes. He smiled before he turned around and changed his clothes. He put on a brown button down shirt and black jeans, his brown Chelsea boots on his feet.

“You’re all I can think about.” You confessed as he put on his boots and he turned his head to throw you a smile. “I’m so in love with you.”

Still smiling, he rested a hand on the duvet behind your bottom as he leaned in so he could press a kiss to your lips.

“Are you really that in love with me?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You chuckled, your fingertips caressing the angles of his face. “It’s like... I feel like I could do anything now because you’ll be here and... That’s enough for me.”

“That’s enough for me too.” He grabbed your thighs and sat you on him before his arms wrapped around your hips. “You know” he started “you changed my life, baby, and... Even though sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve for you to love me like that I... I’ll spend everyday making that up to you.”

Before you coul answer him, your phone started sizzling on the bed and you saw Maggie’s name flashing on the screen. He nodded as if telling you to answer and you smiled as you talked to your friend, your boyfriend looking at you with a dreamy spark on his green eyes. You were going to meet on the trendy café so you were sure everybody would be there.

“Do you really want me to go?” Harry asked timidly. “It’s okay if you want to spend some time with your friends, I understand.”

“Are you kidding me?” You smiled. “I’m dying to show you off!”

He pretended to be offended as he walked towards the car.

“I didn’t know you only liked me because of my looks but I guess you’re just as bad as them...”

“Yeah, right, stop acting as if you didn’t love it.”

“Well, maybe a little.” He smirked. “But only when you say it.”

“Dork.”

He started driving to town with his hand on your thigh and you intertwined your fingers and looked at him with a foolish smile. You couldn’t believe you had just admitted you were in love with him to his face but the fact that he had sat you on his lap instead of freaking out still had your heart flattering.

“So who are we meeting, m’love?”

“Uh, well surely Maggie, Dorian and Paul and... Maybe Hailey will be there too. Careful with her though, she’ll surely jump your bones.” You warned making him laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry about her.” He laughed. “I’ll also have to be careful with Paul, if he tries any funny business with you...”

“He won’t.” You smiled and when he pulled over in front of the café, you cupped his face with both your hands and gave him a kiss. “You have no reason to be jealous. There’s no one in this world like you, love.”

“I’ll never get enough of you.”

“You promise?”

He laughed as he walked inside the café, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and your fingers intertwined. He pressed a kiss to your temple right when the doors opened, never, he whispered and in walked the two of you.

Your friends were all sitting on a table as Maggie unsucesfully tried to get everyone’s attention but her story cut short as soon as she saw you.

“Oh, there you are! And you brought Harry along! That’s just great!”

“Yeah.” You laughed.

“Hey, mate.” Paul smiled and you raised your eyebrows at Harry as he gave you a playful smirk.

“Hey.”

“Come over here!” Maggie scooted over to Dorian making room for the two of you.

Harry wrapped his arm around your shoulders as soon as you sat down next to him and you enjoyed the way he seemed to get along with everybody. Maggie kept bugging him with questions but he seemed to deal with them gracefully until Dorian mentioned something about music and you knew he was done for. You kept smiling and glancing at him when you knew he wasn’t looking until you turned to talk to Paul. He smiled.

“I’m happy for you.” He whispered.

“Thank you.”

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s good.” You smiled. “He got back to work. His psychiatrist thought it’d be good for him and... so far he’s been right. He’s a lot better.”

“Oh, God, you don’t know how happy hearing that makes me.” He said honestly.

“Yeah, it’s great. You know we just have to keep an eye on him in case he, you know, stops taking his medication or something but things look good.” You smiled.

“That’s good to know.”

“Yeah.”

“And... Have you decided what you’re gonna do? About, you know, Uni and stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be a doctor.” You nodded. “You know, when I was there in that operating room I just... What they did- that was beautiful. I want to do that too.”

“You’ll be a great doctor.” Paul smiled. “I know that because you’re a wonderful person and that’s what a doctor should be, first of all. You already care and I reckon that’s half of it.”

“Well, you, Paul Willis, are going to be a wonderful doctor as well.”

After both of you chuckled and looked away from one another, Harry turned to you and gave you a smile before he leaned down to peck your lips sweetly.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered.

“Liar.”

“Gorgeous.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours when you lifted your hand to caress the back of his as it hung from your shoulder and he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. He kissed your cheek and then buried his face on the crook of your neck.

“How do you always smell so good?” He whispered against the skin of your neck and you giggled.

“It’s my shower gel. It’s vanilla scented.”

“No, it’s you. You smell bloody delicious all the time, it’s heady but it drives me crazy.”

“And what are you gonna do about that?” You smiled.

You were both talking in soft whispers so none of your friends would hear you but the way his voice sounded when he whispered was having a different effect on you and judging by the way he smirked, he could tell.

“About you driving me crazy?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m used to it now and I like it. Plus, I’ll have you all to myself later...”

His eyes darkened and you swallowed at his promise, thinking about later when he’d have you all to himself. For the rest of the evening you couldn’t stop thinking about it and he knew, you knew he knew, because he kept chuckling as he caressed your skin and nibbled on your neck when nobody was looking.

You held his hand as he drove home, moving his head to the rhythm to Baby I’m Yours by Breakbot and making you smile. He kept glancing your way and gifting you happy grins every few seconds and you felt as if all the happiness in the world was trapped inside that car. He had ran out of words to tell you how happy he was but as Peach Pit started filling his cars, he turned the volume down a bit so he could talk to you.

“Baby, I’ve been thinking” he started “about... What to do now that Gemma’s okay.”

“And?” You smiled.

“And what do you want to do?”

“Well, I... I want to be with you, I don’t care where.” You quoted him and he laughed, nodding.

“Well I have to get back on my feet financilly speaking after... You know.” He smiled sadly. “But after that, uh, maybe even when you graduate” your heart skipped a beat because he seemed so certain, talking about so far along in the future- you still had three years ahead of you before you graduated “what do you we travel the world?” He smiled.

“How do you mean?” You grinned.

“I mean just pack a bag and... I don’t know get on a flight to Europe and just... See where life takes us. We could start with England and I could show you where I grew up.” He smiled. “And then we can visit Paris.”

“And Rome!”

“And Rome.” He laughed. “And Barcelona.”

“And Berlin.”

“And then Moscow.”

“And we can visit my mum in Indonesia!”

“Yeah, we can visit your mum.” He laughed. “And then... New Zealand.”

“I love you.” You agreed and he laughed.

“That’s good. I love you too, doll.”

As he kept driving, the both of you were smiling and looking outside as you imagined travelling the world together, with just a few outfits that you’d repeat every week and a camera around your neck and sunglasses and a hat. You imagined him, ordering drinks in different languages and giving you cheeky smiles when he got them right and then walking around different cities holding hands. Now you couldn’t wait. You simply couldn’t wait.

And then when you got home, he picked you up bridal style as he had done in the morning and carried you upstaris until he gently placed your body on the bed before hovering you and leaving soft pecks in every inch of your skin. He smiled, leaning down and capturing your lips with his before he got up from the bed and played some music on his laptop. Sufjan Stevens serenaded you as your eyes smiled at his green ones and he hovered over you, just looking at you as if trying to memorize every inch of your skin now so he could think about this moment when he was doing the same thing but you were fifty years old and he could think I’ve seen it all with this woman.

You smiled at him before he licked his lips, staring down at yours before he looked back into your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. His fingertip traced the skin of your face, from your cheekbone to the bridge of your nose until it rested on your lips and combing your fingers through his hair, you rested your hand behind his neck and pulled him to you, catching his bottom lip between yours. You bit on his skin gently and his lip slipped from your grasped as he smiled, enjoying your care. His fingertips kept caressing your skin as he cupped your jaw and his tongue dipped and caressed the insides of your mouth. You sighed on his mouth, earning a smile as you mimicked the movements of his tongue. You felt his excitement against your thigh as his hand stopped its movement along the side of your body. He pulled apart and let out a deep breath that hit your lips as he rested his forehead on yours and his thumb caressed your cheek.

“It’s so hard.”

You giggled at the double meaning and he did too before smiling sheepishly at you.

“No, I mean... That too” he giggled adorably “but it’s so hard not to make love to you right now. I’m so crazy about you, Y/N.”

“I want you too but it’s still sore.” You smiled apologetically and blushed.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He pecked your cheek. “I wouldn’t do it even if you asked, I really don’t want to hurt you” he pecked your temple “in any way. I still feel guilty for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Don’t.” You frowned, now your fingertips traced his skin as he let you explore him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

You licked your lips, resting your intertwined hands on the back of his neck as he held his own weight on his forearms in both sides of your head.

“When... When you didn’t want to be with me... Was it just because of Sean and your sister or there was something else... Something about me that set you back?”

Your eyes filled with concern as you bored them into his and he frowned, lifting his body a little more so he could have a proper look at your face.

“No.” He declared sincerely. “Doll, there’s absolutely nothing about you that sets me back? Why are you asking me this?”

He frowned as he removed his body from yours and lied next to you on the mattress, resting his head on his hand as he propped himself on his elbow so he could look at you. You shrugged, sucking your lips into your mouth before you spoke again, your eyes set on the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I just... You’ve always been very... Hesitant when it came about us so...”

“Hesitant?” He repeated surprised. “Am I hesitant when I kiss you? Or when I make love to you? Or when I tell you I love you?”

“No, I guess you aren’t.”

“Y/N, I was hesitant at the beginning because I thought it wasn’t a good idea for us to be together.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and turned your head to look at him. He was still hard and the fact that you looked so beautiful wasn’t helping him one bit but if you were feeling anything other than loved to death then he wasn’t going to let it go. His green eyes looked ferocious as he looked at you. He seemed calmed. He wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore, his inked skin exposed to the yellow light.

“But you think it’s a good idea now, right?”

He stretched the arm that wasn’t propping his head and holds your hand.

“Of course I think it’s a good idea now, doll. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.” He pulled from your hand as he lied on his back, pulling you on top of him so you switched positions. “I just... You know when I met you I thought you were way too good for me and that it was better if we were just friends because then... I guess we couldn’t hurt each other as badly as we can now. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do with my life in general, let alone in the romance department.” He chuckled. “But doll, you weren’t sure of anything either.”

Touché. You lied down on your back next to him and nodded. He was right, you could understand that. He sighed before he hovered over you again, his muscular arms holding his weight on either side of your head.

“I’m glad Sean couldn’t drive you to Uni.” He smiled and then he leaned down and kissed you.

You cupped his face and pulled him down to kiss him again.

“And I’m glad you’re so kind you’d drive me yourself.”

He grinned before he captured your lips with his again. He kissed you hungrily, moaning in your mouth when you dipped your tongue inside his and pulled from his hair. His tongue tangled with yours as his hands caressed your skin while he took off your clothes and then his lips left a trail of kisses from your jaw to your stomach. He pressed kisses on a neat line on the lowest part of your belly before he circled your navel with the tip of his tongue and, letting your desperate moans fill his ears, he slipped his fingers under the hem of your underwear.

“I don’t think I can...” You whimpered, almost about to cry.

He licked the invisible line he had kissed before and he kissed your fingertips when you caressed his face before your fingers tangled on his hair.

“No sex” he whispered “and I promise I’ll be gentle with my tongue.”

His fingers curled on the hem of your underwear as his green eyes looked at yours, waiting for you to say something. He knew you wanted him, he could feel- and smell- how wet you were and he figured gently licking your skin could relieve some of the pain. You lifted your hips from the mattress, letting him know he could take them off and his dimples popped out as he caressed the soft skin of your thighs. He kissed your inner thigh, and then the other one.

“I’ll keep my tongue wet so it doesn’t sting at all.” He whispered, his green eyes worshipping you as if you were some sort of delicate goddess.

He kissed your inner thighs again, getting closer and closer to your heat. You gasped when his fingers touched you with utter gentleness to separate your wet lips.

“Fuck, baby, you’re all swollen.” He bemoaned, his voice full with regret and sorrow.

You gasped because it stinged a little but you wanted him so bad... You felt his warm breath against your groin and you needed some relief so, even though he was hesitant, he didn’t move his head from your centre when he saw your pleading Bambi eyes.

“I’ll be very careful.” He whispered.

Your breath hitched on your throat when his tongue, soaked and warm, licked up your swollen clit slowly and gently as his fingers kept you opened without pressing down. You moaned, your back arching in absolute pleasure as he kept licking you carefully, his timid tongue moving softly but rapidly against your needy bundle of nerves.

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Not at all.” You gasped. “Keep going, baby, please.”

You could swear your body was melting over the sheets as he kept licking you, his wet tongue tracing your lips over and over with the exact amount of pressure so there’s no pain, no sting, just a feeling of pure earthy ecstasy that contorted the lower part of your belly until you felt yourself letting go on his tongue. He moaned, licking you clean as his hand still held yours next to your naked hip.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” He whispered as he made his way with kisses from your navel to your chin. “We’ll drive all the way to LA, yeah? Just you and me, doll.”

You nodded, your eyelids falling over your eyes as you grinned in pure bliss at him. I would go to hell with him.

[baddasshistoricalmadams]

Elizabeth Blackwell

Medicine woman.

Birth: February 3, 1821                      Death: May 31, 1910

Women have been a longstanding part of healthcare in history. From wise women who offered remedies in the home made from herbs and salves to women who delivered babies in the home. Despite the services they offered, women were not allowed to enter universities or guilds to take formal education to be recognised medical practitioners. Wise women would see themselves be labelled as witches, those who delivered babies would find men gradually replacing them in their craft and soon only those with recognised medical certification were able to practise medicine. New medical journals written would soon begin to dismiss the old herbal remedies and traditional folklore medicine as old wives tales thus removing any legitimacy that it may have had.

In nursing is where women found a inlet into medicine. In the late 1700′s, reform began to emerge from various other civil areas that saw change. Institutions for training nurses began to emerge, the Deaconess Institute at Kaiserworth in Germany (1836) would inspire Florence Nightingale who would go on to reform army hospital standards during the Crimean war and Mary Seacole would set up her own nursing home on the front line. Nursing began to be seen as a respectable course of career for a young woman though for some it might have been seen as still closed to young women of colour or of the lower classes. Nursing was seen as a natural extension of a women’s attribute, a caring and nurturing role that women easily slotted into but the idea of women becoming trained physicians was not an open subject. Not to say that women did not try, Margeret Ann Buckley enjoyed a successful medical career as James Barry and their secret was only discovered when they died from dysentery. 

Elizabeth Blackwell was born in Bristol, England to a large and prosperous family, her father, Samuel Blackwell would move them to America in 1832 to take up residency in New York where he would become involved in the abolitionist movement. Elizabeth benefitted from private tutelage from an early age but her family would fall from wealth as her fathers business practises did not do well in the states and ultimately he would pass away in Cincinatti, Ohio. His daughters, Elizabeth, her mother and her sisters would go on to open a private school to make ends meet and would go on to teach in Kentucky and later in North and South Carolina. Elizabeth’s family were very progressive for the times, her brother Henry was a well known abolitionist and suffragist, her sister Emily would follow her into medicine and her sister in law became an ordained female minister. 

it was during the latter years of her teaching career that Blackwell would began reading medical journals. She would claim that her interest came at the experience of a terminally ill, close friend who stated that had her physician been female: it is likely her fate would have been much different. Elizabeth would apply to multiple medical colleges but ultimately was denied by all but one. Her application to Geneva eventually would be accepted. The board did not think that the all male student body would approve of the admittance of a woman into their ranks and thus put it to a vote. If one member of the student body voted no; Elizabeth Blackwell would be denied a place at the university. Unanimously the vote was a yes and Elizabeth was admitted. By what virtue did all 150 members vote in her favour?

Allegedly they thought it was a joke or an exercise.

Nevertheless the board wrote to Blackwell upon her acceptance;

“A quorum of the faculty assembled last evening for the first time during the session, and it was thought important to submit your proposal to the class (of students), who have had a meeting this day, and acted entirely on their own behalf, without any interference on the part of the faculty. I send you the result of their deliberations, and need only add that there are no fears but that you can, by judicious management, not only disarm criticism but elevate yourself without detracting in the least from the dignity of the profession.”

Despite a resolution that no conduct of the University would be detrimental to Blackwell's career, she nevertheless encountered resistance and difficulty upon her admittance. When discovered that her application was indeed serious, she was met with horror from the public and was even restricted from attending medical demonstrations. She was asked to leave operating theatres, advised to avoid a lecture on medical anatomy and many patients reacted poorly to her presence. She recounted in her biography that wives of doctors would not speak to her and often other ladies would stare at her with curiosity. However some noted that fellow students became quite friendly after a time and even some of the more uncouth students appeared to tighten their bootstraps and become more studious.

Elizabeth would graduate first in her class in 1849 with an MD; writing her doctoral thesis on Typhus fever. She would return to Europe and work for some time in the maternity sector and sadly would contract an illness that would leave her blind in one eye. Because of this, she gave up on the idea of becoming a surgeon. Nevertheless she eventually returned to practise in New York and faced further prejudice in her attempts to open up a practise. Hospitals and dispensaries ultimately refused her associated. Landlords would refuse to rent practise space to her so eventually she bought a house and set up a practise where she would see mainly women and children. During this period she would also go onto write and publish lectures on health including The Laws of Life; with Special Reference to the Physical Education of Girls. 

In 1853, she would open a dispensary in the slums alongside her newly qualified sister and Dr Marie Zakrewska, a polish doctor whom Blackwell had encouraged to continue her studies. Emily Blackwell, her younger sister became the third women to qualify in America. Leading medical practitioners would go onto to aid the practise as well. In her personal life, it was during this time that Elizabeth chose to adopt a child as she had chosen to never marry. Katherine ‘Kitty’  Barry and Elizabeth remained close friends into Blackwell’s old age. Eventually the dispensary would be incorporated into the New York Women’s and children infirmary by the sisters and Dr Zakreska who would later leave to continue her career in Boston. Towards the end of the 1850′s, Elizabeth would go on to tour Britain lecturing on medicine, many women would go onto be inspired by Elizabeth’s pursuit of a medical career and Elizabeth would be the first woman to have her name on the British Medical register. During the civil war they would aid in the organisation of Womens central organisation of relief which selected and trained nurses  for service in war.

Elizabeth would also meet Florence Nightingale, with her sister Emily as well; they would open the Women’s medical college at the infirmary which Elizabeth would be the Chair of Hygiene for a number of years but would directly guide the college herself. In 1875, Elizabeth was appointed the professor of gynaecology at the London School of Medicine for Women which had been founded by a fellow female doctor, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson. She would retain this position until she retired in 1907 due to a bad fall she had sustained and later in 1910, she would pass away in her home in Hastings. Elizabeth Blackwell is generally labelled as the first female doctor in America and certainly was a visionary in medicine and helped lead the charge of women entering the profession. Certainly after two world wars, more opened up to the idea of women entering the medical profession as the need for more medical staff arose. The influence of the first wave of female doctors is certainly felt, in 1881 there were 25 female doctors but by 1925; there were approximately 425. Elizabeth fought for her career and certainly earned the respect - albeit sometimes begrudging- respecting of her male peers and the acceptance of women in the profession.

Stuff:

http://broughttolife.sciencemuseum.org.uk/broughttolife/themes/practisingmedicine/women

https://www.medicaldaily.com/most-influential-women-medicine-past-present-270560

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/elizabeth-blackwell

http://time.com/5131961/elizabeth-blackwell-facts/

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Elizabeth-Blackwell

https://cfmedicine.nlm.nih.gov/physicians/biography_35.html

https://www.thoughtco.com/elizabeth-blackwell-biography-3528555

https://www.biography.com/people/elizabeth-blackwell-9214198

http://www.bristol.ac.uk/blackwell/about/elizabeth-blackwell/elizabeth-blackwell-biography/

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – Blessed Adrian Fortescue (1476-1539) Martyr

After a remarkable life, Bl. Adrian Fortescue died a martyr at the strike of an executioner’s blade at Tower Hill in 1539.   A husband and father, a Justice of the Peace, a Knight of the Realm, a Knight of Malta and a Dominican Tertiary (Lay Dominican),he was at once a loyal servant of the Crown so far as he could be but still more, he was a man of unshakeable faith.

The House of Fortescue into which Adrian was born is said to date from the Battle of Hastings where Richard le Fort saved William the Conqueror’s Life by the shelter of his “strong shield” and, thereafter, was called “Fort – Escu”.   His family had a history of service to the Crown although this was later complicated by the dynastic battles of The Wars of the Roses.   Vicissitudes notwithstanding, his great uncle, Sir John Fortescue (d.1479) became Chief Justice of the King’s Bench (1442-61).   Sir John’s writings on the law and politics of England were arguably the most significant contribution of the fifteenth century and are still studied by lawyers and political theorists today.   Adrian’s father, also named Sir John, fought for the victorious Lancastrians at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 when Adrian was but a young boy.   And later in his life, Adrian’s first cousin, Anne Boleyn, became King Henry VIII’s second wife (before her eventual beheading in 1536).   We can say with some justification then that the Fortescues occupied a privileged position at the Rroyal court.

The first mention of Adrian Fortescue is in 1499, by which time, aged about 23, he was already married to Anne Stonor.   He lived at his wife’s family seat at Stonor Park in Oxfordshire.   This estate would later become the subject of an acrimonious legal dispute between him and his relative.   In 1503, on Prince Henry becoming Prince of Wales (after Prince Arthur’s death) Adrian was made a Knight of the Order of Bath.   Sir Adrian took the motto Loyalle Pensée;  his loyalty was indeed to be tested.

Like his forebears, Adrian served King Henry VIII in his ambitious military campaigns. He helped to rout the French the Battle of Spurs in 1513, and fought again in 1523.   King Henry rewarded his support and in 1520 invited him to the splendorous Field of the Cloth of Gold where Henry famously wrestled with the King of France.   Closer to home, Sir Adrian was made a Justice of the Peace of the county of Oxfordshire.   In this period of history, royal favour could also take more peculiar forms.   Sir Adrian had the dubious honour of being made a Gentleman of the King’s Privy Chamber, forerunner to the august body now known as the Privy Council.

In addition to being an assiduous servant of the Crown, Sir Adrian was evidently also a man of strong religious conviction and charity.   His accounts reveal a number of benefactions to clergy and religious foundations.   In 1532, he became a Knight of Devotion in the Order of Malta.   The following year in July of 1533, he was admitted as a Dominican Tertiary at Blackfriars, Oxford, which he would visit from Stonor.   But he also had a strong association with the Dominican Priory in London.   His lodgings in the capital were in the precincts of the Blackfriars, close to the present eponymous tube station.

Not long after becoming a Lay Dominican, began what Adrian called his “trobilles”.   At the start of Summer 1533, he assisted in the Coronation of his cousin, Anne Boleyn – then six months pregnant – as Queen of England.   He must have realised that the marriage was not valid but perhaps thought, at that stage at least, that in the words of Sir Thomas More, it was not his business “to murmur at it or dispute upon it”.   This narrow compromise was to prove short-lived.

The King’s infidelity and presumption were rebuked when the Pope refused to grant an annulment declaring Henry’s marriage to Catherine as valid on 23rd March 1534.   The following month on 13th April, Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More refused to take the Oath of Succession.   Sir Adrian was similarly arrested that same year but he was released without explanation, probably in the Spring of 1535.   Fisher and More were afforded no such clemency and the two Saints were executed in Summer 1535.

The Act of Supremacy was also passed in 1535, making Henry supreme Head of the Church “immediately under God”.   As a matter of law, Henry expressly denied the Pope’s authority.   A writ affirming this and dated the following year can be found in Sir Adrian’s extant Missal.   Tellingly, perhaps, it has with a line struck through it:  apparent evidence of his disapproval.   The die, it seems, was cast.

In February 1539, Sir Adrian was again arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London. In the sitting of Parliament that Spring, a number of laws were passed in what has been described as the most servile Parliamentary session in history.   Among the draconian laws enacted was a novel provision whereby a sentence of death might be passed without any trial of the accused.   Under this procedure, no evidence was needed, neither could a defence be heard.   Ironically, the architect of the law, Thomas Cromwell (then Lord Chancellor) was himself condemned by the same measure a year later leading to his own execution.   This device was put to use on 11th May 1535 when a Bill of Attainder was passed condemning fifty people of High Treason who opposed Henry’s ecclesiastical policies.   The names included Sir Adrian, Reginald Cardinal Pole, and the Countess of Salisbury.

Sir Adrian’s Book of Hours contains a Rule of Life written in his own hand and giving an insight into the interior life of a man who exemplified holiness and virtue in his conduct. He led a life of asceticism and honour, trying to follow God’s will in all things and daily seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit.   His pursuit of God’s truth brought him to a martyr’s death on 8th July 1539 (but possibly 9th or 10th) when he was beheaded at Tower Hill.   His servants were also killed for treason on the same day but were hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn.   As one later account neatly puts it, “Sir Adrian Fortescue died for his faith in Him whose acts Parliament was not competent to repeal”.

Pope Leo XII declared Adrian Fortescue blessed on 13th May 1895 and as a layman, he ranks among the great Dominicans as an outstanding example to all Christians. … By Br Samuel Burke O.P.

(via Saint of the Day - Blessed Adrian Fortescue (1476-1539) Martyr)

[spotifypremiumapks]

Who is Patty Quillin? Wiki, Biography, Age, Spouse, Net Worth, Fast Facts

Patty Quillin Wiki - Patty Quillin Biography

Netflix CEO Reed Hastings and his better half are consistently among individuals who engage in beneficent exercises. The tycoon couple regularly stands out as truly newsworthy with their liberality and happy character. Behind the spotlight, Patty Quillin has contributed a great deal to the achievement of the tycoon, Hastings. The Netflix CEO is one of the most persuasive individuals on the planet right now with his organization affecting people the whole way across the world.  Patty Quillin is an American donor who is most popular for being the spouse of the Netflix co-CEO, Reed Hastings.

Patty Quillin Family - Career

tarting at 2021, Quillin is 56 years old. She was born in 1965. Lamentably, we don’t have any subtleties on her birthday and star sign until further notice. Netflix CEO and Quillin tied the conjugal bunch in 1991. They are effectively into the twentieth year of their marriage. Also, Quillin doesn’t unveil numerous appearances. She likes to get things done in the background. Despite the fact that she isn’t effectively involved on Netflix, the 56-year-old’s work is one reason behind the achievement of the streaming stage. Sadly, Patty Quillin doesn’t have her very own Wikipedia bio. However, her notices are a lot on her better half’s wiki and furthermore on a few different destinations across the web.  Patty Quillin and her significant other have a total assets of more than $6 billion, starting at 2021, as per Forbes. Additionally, the couple is a lot of dynamic in gifts and good cause programs. Reed Hastings, Netflix’s co-founder, and his wife, Patty Quillin, donated $120 million to the United Negro College Fund, Spelman College and Morehouse College. It was the largest-ever individual gift for scholarships at historically black U.S. colleges. https://t.co/uvzFWTjNhA — The New York Times (@nytimes) June 17, 2020 In 2018, they chose to give half of their property to good cause. In the background, Patty Quillin is associated with governmental issues also. She made gifts worth $3 million in the 2020 decisions too. She is a Democrat and was involved a considerable amount in the nearby legislative issues in California.  Patty Quillin has two kids with Reed Hastings. Be that as it may, a few has effectively kept their youngsters out of the pointless spotlight. They are guardians to a child and a girl. An attendant of a position of safety, Patricia Ann Quillin doesn’t have any friendly presence up to this point. She isn’t on Instagram or Twitter.

Quick Facts

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Father Update Soon Mother Update Soon Sister Update Soon Brother Update Soon Marital Status Update Soon Husband (Spouse) Update Soon Boyfriend Update Soon Children Update Soon Hobbies Update Soon Smoking & Drinking Update Soon Father’s name is Not Available. We have no more Information about his Father; we will try to collect information and update soon. The mother’s name is Not Available. We have no more Information about his Father; we will try to collect information and update soon. Also, we have no idea about his brother and sister, and we don’t know their names either. But we are trying hard to collect all the information about him and will update you soon. his Girlfriend/boyfriend’s name is Not Available. They are in relation from previous few years of a strong relationship. We have no information about his girlfriend/boyfriend. But we are sure that it is not available and his spouse’s name is not available. Now, his relationship is perfect. We have no more information about his spouse. Also, we have no information about his son and daughter. We can’t say their name. If you know some information, please comment below.

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The Estimated Net worth is $80K – USD $85k. Monthly Income/Salary (approx.) $80K – $85k USD Net Worth (approx.) $4 million- $6 million USD   Read the full article

[jomiddlemarch]

When good Americans die, they go to Paris, part III

Alice, in September, Mary had said and lying awake in the spill of moonlight beside his wife, Jed marveled again at how perfectly Mary the remark had been, the exquisite economy of words married to an unexpected loveliness, a reflection of her graceful, incisive mind and unfortunately for Henry Hopkins, the incontrovertible truth.

Jed often found himself thus, his mind still restless, too alert to drift off as easily as Mary did, even more so with her pregnancy. When it had been Eliza next to him, her bright hair like a silver plait between them, he had stewed and fretted, finding consolation only in the stratagem of various complex surgeries, more often rising bleary-eyed and resentful; he did not feel guilty for it now but he accepted he had been wrong to hold her slumber against her, wrong to assume it was either peaceful or dreamless. As Mary slept, he was able to let his mind roam without any underlying vitriol poisoning him. Memories came to him in equal measure with innovation and if Mary woke to find him still thinking, her hands caressing his face were often enough to bring him Morpheus’s welcome—or Aphrodite’s delights. Tonight, his thoughts turned to his old friend Henry, who, for want of either, had fled to Paris. In the dim light of the waning moon, Jed remembered that late summer. That early, terrible fall.

They’d been busy enough, even though it was nothing compared to Chickamauga. General Meade spent the month in battles that were half skirmish, half debacle, but there wasn’t a full-on annihilation and if the rates of dysentery remained steady, so did their supply of rice, sorghum, meal and lye, which went a fair way to keeping the hospital tolerable. They’d been happy enough, more than Jed felt he personally deserved—Mary had made a sanctuary of the house he leased on Prince Street, without any of the elaborate draperies and bric-a-brac that Eliza had favored, placing her few ornaments to advantage and making sure there were fresh flowers and books in equal profusion. Anne Hastings was as close as she could come to contentedness, having finally achieved the Head Nurse position and so had become almost kindly to Mrs. Foster when she visited the wards to write letters and sit beside the boys her husband had stitched together.

The efficient running of the hospital meant Major McBurney had ample time to devote to his own esoteric devices and studies. He was rarely seen on the wards but only required endless pots of whatever passed for coffee to be delivered to his office on a tray; there had been no sequelae to the peach tart fiasco. Henry Hopkins and Emma Green, though both attentive to their vocations, were growing closer in a way too sweetly innocent and shy for anyone to remark upon; not even Byron Hale could find it within himself to comment on the roses in Emma’s cheeks or the way the minister’s voice rang out when he sang hymns of an evening. Perhaps he was yet another example of hubris, but Jed freely admitted he could not have imagined that by month’s end, he’d be standing up for Major Clayton McBurney at his wedding to ashen-faced Emma Green, officiated by Henry Hopkins in a frayed and mended frock coat, his voice even, each word as final as the clods of earth thrown in an open grave.

If only it had not rained so much—then perhaps the body of the murdered Union officer would not have been so readily revealed in Mrs. Green’s dahlia bed. If only his feckless killers had gone through his pockets, finding the slim leather folio in its oilskin wrappings, the letters and notes incriminating Alice Green as a Confederate spy and member of the Golden Crescent only slightly wilted by their time underground.

If only Frank Stringfellow had been involved in the commission of the crime and the disposition of the corpse—his past actions promised that he would have minimized any remaining evidence, even if it meant setting off a bomb, there would have been nothing left of the officer but his brass buttons melted into a solitary ingot. If only Alice had not come to her sister, frantic, unkempt, attracting every eye with her blonde curls plastered wet with rain (or tears) against flaming cheeks, the sly coquette far removed from the young girl who finally saw what the future held for her: prison and then the noose.

If only there had been any other member of her family she could turn to in a crisis, but the Green family pride could not conceal their many weaknesses. If only their morals had not been concentrated in one single soul, the one they’d virtually cast out.

If only…

“It doesn’t do to underestimate incompetence, Jedediah,” Mary had said when he’d paused for breath. They sat nursing cold cups of chamomile tea at the dining room table the night of the wedding, the lamplight gold on Mary’s chestnut hair. “It doesn’t do any good to anybody.”

“And that’s what Emma Green, excuse me, Emma McBurney has done?” he asked.

“She did all the good she was able. Alice is her sister. What else could she do?” Mary asked. She hadn’t sounded so weary in months and he searched her face, her beautiful dark eyes, the way she held the belly of the china cup in her hand very gently, but as if she might yet find some warmth in it.

“Was this your doing?” he asked. “I don’t mean to sit in judgment, just to understand—”

“No, she didn’t come to me. I didn’t help, I could never have planned this. She went to Matron, to someone who wouldn’t shirk from doing something like this. Who understands better than any of us how and when to sacrifice the queen.”

What Emma McBurney, née Green, had done was practical: she had gotten herself engaged to the senior ranking Union officer in Alexandria, a well-connected, well-bred man with Southern sympathies, if his time at Princeton was anything to go by, a man of wealth and power. A man who could send his wife and sister to stay with relatives in the North, at the family estate or a more secluded cottage on the seashore where his wife and her sister might regain their health from the fevers that had laid them low in Virginia. A man who, with a wave of his hand, could summarily dismiss any rumors about conspiracies or treason before they became allegations. A man broken by the War yet with his sense of honor still intact, a man who would marry a young woman he’d compromised. A man who could be compromised, if a young woman was willing to risk everything, to lay her hand on a scarred cheek and murmur about only wanting to help, a young woman who made sure that Matron opened the door wide at just that moment, to create a tableau that could not be unseen by Sister Isabella and Dr. Hale, Emma Green in the arms of Major Clayton McBurney, Emma Green in love.

What Emma had done was sacrifice herself for her sister’s life and honor. She’d kept her plan a secret and she hadn’t spoken a word to Henry Hopkins since Major McBurney announced their brief engagement. She’d been determined to be a good wife and she’d agreed with everything her betrothed said, only asking that her sister might come to stay with her, away from the battle-front. Emma had worn one of her mother’s silk dresses cut down and retrimmed to the wedding—it was a deep blue, the color of the Union, much darker than her eyes. She’d trusted that Henry would understand what she’d done and that she never expected to see him again.  

Within a week, Mrs. McBurney and her sister had boarded a train bound for Saratoga Springs, bid adieu by Mary Foster and James Green; Major McBurney had been most extremely correct, kissing his wife’s gloved hand as she stood at the threshold of the hospital, then returned to his study, shaking his head. Within a week, Mary became ill, taking nearly all of Jed’s attention until she was able to rise from her bed and keep down more than dry toast, until they determined her illness would be of fixed duration and promised a joyous, fruitful end. Within a week, Henry Hopkins had lost his faith and his heart and any fear for his safety.

Within a week, it was October.

[all-da-fandoms]

Thomas’ Home For Magical Children Chapter 1: Meeting the Fam....ily.

Next Chapter

Tag List:  @tree4life25, @didsomeonesayprince, @fandomsandanythingelse, @sunshinelollip0ps, @fallingamor

Warnings: Mention of Physical abuse

Word Count: 886

A/N: Hope you enjoy, sunshinelollip0ps and fallingamor both did a beta for me so send them some love for this, hope you enjoy.

The rain tapped at the window as a quiet boy stared out the glass on the drive back home.  Years ago, his parents had been arrested after beating him to the point of unconsciousness. They’d hated what he could do. They were afraid of him, to put it simply. Did he miss them? No, not really. He missed that he could never have a normal childhood, though. He never wanted to see them again. And, if he got his way, he never would. The boy sighed as the pair of people driving him parked, and turned to him.

"Hey...you okay, kid?"

The boy nodded distractedly, practically falling out of the car in his haste to escape the horrible smell that was always in other peoples cars, and basked in the rain for a second, despite the fact he was only wearing a thin t-shirt and jeans. He stumbled to the door, knocking on the window with such force he was half convinced his knuckles would be bruised.

The door swung open to reveal a man, several inches taller than the boy, who appeared to be almost thirty. Twenty seven, if he were to put an exact figure on it... He flashed the boy a grin as he inspected him with his golden brown eyes. "Hey, I'm Thomas. You must be Christopher."

The boy fixed his glasses and gave a tight lipped smile. "Were you expecting someone else...Thomas?"

Thomas sighed. "Welp...Welcome to The Home For Magical Children...now, you gonna come inside or what?"

Christopher hesitated for a moment before walking inside, arms crossed.

Thomas grinned. “Want me to introduce you to your new erm... well... siblings, I guess you could say?” Thomas asked, eyes glistening with child-like anticipation.

Christopher felt a smile tug for a second but it dropped almost immediately. “Sure...why not?”

Thomas smiled brightly. “Alright, we don’t have many yet; there are only about four other kids.”

He looked upstairs and cleared his throat before calling for them. “Logan! Patton! Virgil! Roman! Come down here!”

An invisible body covered in a black hoodie and black jeans materialised from an unseen corner.

Thomas sighed. “Virgil please. This is a new member of our family.”

Virgil groaned, pulling his hood down. He was a tall and lanky fellow, with black, painted nails. His skin was pale and he had dark circles around his eyes and eyeliner around said eyes. He had a classic emo fringe, the tips dyed a surprisingly vibrant purple.

Next a second boy sped down at the speed of light and ran around poor, startled Christopher.

“OH MY GOODNESS ARE YOU NEW?” He called, inspecting the boy from every direction.

When he finally stood still, he saw light blue frames with an elastic band attached to the handles, wrapping around the boy’s head, Christopher was able to get a good look at him.

He was around Christopher’s height who was 5’ 5”,while the quick boy was a few inches taller. The boy was a bit on the chubby side, surprisingly enough. It caused him to have a childlike look. He had freckles peppered over his face and big, amber eyes with golden brown wavy hair falling to his shoulders.

Not too soon after that, a third boy floated down the stairs in a sitting position reading a book. He had a pair of black frames, not far different from Christopher’s own glasses, and deep blue eyes. He looked the most mature with his 5 o’clock shadow and his longish hair being slicked back.

Finally a huge guy at 6’ 3”  walked down, grinning, helookedlikeamodelholyshit. He was the only one wearing makeup, sunrise eyeshadow and blood lipstick with long lashes. His eyebrows seemed to be dyed wine through to sunflower,and his hair was a rainbow?

The large model like figure grinned. “Hello! I’m Roman. You must be the new kid.”

Christopher, who was totally not drooling, wiped at his mouth and smiled shyly. “Uh y-yeah. I’m---”

“Christopher!” Thomas interrupted, noticing the sun was peeking out of the clouds. “Christopher, let me introduce you. This is Virgil Ann Douglas. He can teleport and turn invisible.”

Virgil huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He turned away, hiding his face once more.

Patton perked up when Thomas said, “this is Patton Caleb Morris, he can create force fields and has super speed.”

Patton giggled, running to the kitchen and reappeared with some cookies. Roman grinned, looking over at Thomas, then huffed when he said. “This is Logan Sharp. And he is-”

Logan glared as Thomas and Patton grinned at each other. “Very sharp.” Thomas continued, earning giggles from everyone except Christopher and Logan. Logan sighed.

“I am a super genius and I have telekinesis and therefore levitation myself, that is Roman Rockshire, he can lift pretty much anything, and you are..?”

Christopher sighed, looking down. “Christopher Andrews. I can change the weather through my emotions,and I can sense how other people are feeling, and manipulate it too.” Chris admitted, the sun hiding again.

He ignored Logan’s mutter of “atmokinesis”, the others were quiet. He looked to see how the others were feeling, and mentally rattled off a list:

Patton was excited,, Roman was excited, Logan was curious, Virgil was scared and Thomas was calm. This was gonna be fun.

[eternaleve]

I was away in Northumberland so this episode was also delayed. I’ll try to be more diligent in the future, but each of these posts does take a fair few hours of my time. Stupid garbage series.

‘Message to the Emperor’ William Compton dies of the “sweating sickness” at Compton Wynates, his house in Warwickshire. As King Henry VIII receives positive news of his war against Emperor Charles, the sickness spreads like a wildfire. Henry flees the palace and London, and starts having doubts about the future and his ability to rule the country. Both Anne Boleyn and Cardinal Wolsey are stricken with the disease, but recover. Wolsey sends agents to the exiled Pope asking for him to make a favorable decision on Henry’s ‘Great Matter’ but Clement instead sends his legate, Cardinal Campeggio, to make a final decision in England.

Sickness! Everyone is scared and dying! Plague imagery!

Straight Out of Warwickshire

This episode is focusing mainly on the 1528 outbreak of the Sweating Sickness. This is an unusual illness in that it occurred mainly in England from 1485 to 1551 and then vanished. No one is quite sure what it was (although there are researchers who think that it may be an unknown species of hantavirus) but it was pretty serious as sufferers did not gain immunity – you could catch it again and again until you sweated yourself to death. It was not a pleasant illness.

Anyway, William Compton is being punished for the GAY by being the first to catch the disease. In the middle of rural Warwickshire. Even though epicentres for outbreaks for the Sweat were in busy city centres.

Yeah, disease works that way.

The doctor cuts open William Compton’s back in a display of ‘Wow, medicine was so backwards and disgusting five hundred years ago! It was so stupid and people were so stupid because they believed in the theory of the four humours!’. Well, to that I say, you’re stupid actually. Medicine and doctors did not aim to cure sickness in the sixteenth century. That’s a modern perspective. A doctor is there to make a patient feel better – but the ultimate cure is dependant on the will of God. A Tudor doctor will make you feel better and comfortable, but if you’re trying to get him to prepare an actual cure to combat disease, you’re not asking the right guy.

Not surprisingly, seeing as he died in real life, Compton cops it. This random woman is his ‘common-law wife’ Mary Hastings.

That would actually be his second wife, Elizabeth Stonor, who was pregnant at the time of Compton’s death. He had been married before to Werburga Bereton and had three children. I guess they’re cutting out Peter Compton – his son – out of this to avoid pissing off the real Compton family.

William Compton’s family does still exist, by the way. They’re the Marquesses of Northampton, and they still live in the same home used by William Compton.

But Thomas Tallis has come to see what has happened to his lover. He passes by this ALREADY EXISTING MASS GRAVE BECAUSE LOOK IT’S ALREADY FULL OF SKELETONS –

And William’s body has just been thrown into a quick grave. Even though it wasn’t, and he was buried in the chapel. Which you can still go see.

Our romantic subplot never went anywhere yet the audience needs some kind of emotion…

ROCKE ANYDE ROLLE

Thomas is sad for about ten seconds while he writes a sad song for this lost beloved. Then he sleeps with one of the Fucking Sisters.

So much for the gay agenda, I suppose.

But she dies, so I guess that this epidemic is purely spread by Thomas Tallis sleeping with people. Either way, this whole subplot was meant to have some sort of emotional resonance but it merely annoys me for being needlessly designed to promote controversy and ‘naughtiness’.

I’m Henry VIII and I’m Mortally Terrified of Death

Henry doesn’t take news of this epidemic very well. That’s very much based on real life, as the real Henners was terrified of disease and illness. His brother had died young, and with Henry having no real male heirs, there was a high chance that the Tudor dynasty would come to a complete end or would result in another highly devastating English civil war.

A lot of Henry’s actions make much more sense when you realise he was on a constant knife edge of fear pretty much all the time.

Do you guys wanna buy some drugs?

Henry did really create and mix his own herbal remedies for conditions and to ward off illness. I have no idea whether they were effective or not (I’m saying probably not) but he didn’t die of the Sweat, so kudos.

Henry and Anne decide to frolic in the countryside with the new French ambassador, only to come back to London to find a rampaging zombie mob of sick people. Henry leaves Anne to the mob (what a guy) to make her own way home, orders Katherine to travel to Wales, and that he will stay in Whitehall by himself for… reasons.

In actuality, Henry left London. Like he did every summer, because he wasn’t stupid and knew that disease spreads in city centres and that it was most prevalent in the summer months. He may not have known about viruses and bacterium but IRL Henry knew enough to realise that staying in London in the middle of a really serious disease outbreak is just the worst thing you could do.

The pain on Maria Doyle Kennedy’s face as Henry says he still loves her enough to save her and offers her a kiss is both beautiful and heart-breaking. Stop searching for emotional moments with ridiculous subplots, writers. This should be the emotional heart of the show.

Anne’s maid, however, catches and dies of the Sweat within a day and Anne catches the disease while nursing her. It’s said that’s how she actually got the Sweat, and it would make sense. The modern world’s view of the employer/servant dynamic is very much shaped by the Victorian ideals, with master being far, far, far above the lowly servant. It was different in the sixteenth century, with the boundaries being far more blurred and not as distant. Your servant was a reflection and part of you, in a way, and not subject to the whole ‘must be invisible and never seen around the house’. Servants were an integral part of the household, and in a society that did not hold individualisation as the philosophical ideal, it was pretty likely you’d be close with your personal servants. Most would even sleep in the same room as you, on a trunkle bed from beneath your own. They would be there to serve you and your body for nearly all of the day, and so, it makes sense why Anne should care so much for someone who should matter not at all to her personally.

There’s a lot of changes to our society that the Enlightenment made and we presume that they apply to all of history. How we treat those in service is one.

Henry sits down and eats a whole plate of salmon to himself, because he’s a big fat pig who can’t control himself. Or some other such clever observation. But it turns out that being on your own in a palace full of sick people is scary…

If… only I’d had time… to be more evil…

Even Cardinal Wolsey is sick so Henry must escape!

Are you in Northumberland? How the fuck did you get there?

Oh my god, I’m an orc!

Henry freaks out because he’s convinced he’s going to die, but he’s fine.

Anne gets better (although her brother-in-law, Mary’s husband, died in the outbreak, as well as countless others, including the wife and daughters of Thomas Cromwell), so it’s all fine.

Squishy, reunited true love.

This Isn’t a Great Matter, It’s Merely an Okay One

Despite all of this, Henry’s quest for an annulment continues on. England and France are now allied against the Emperor, all that war stuff behind them.

Henry’s annoyed that the Emperor hasn’t impregnated his underage daughter, but Wolsey is sending lawyers to the Pope that will smooth all this matter over shortly. After all, why should the Pope, a virtual prisoner to the Emperor, support the Emperor?

I have no idea.

Wolsey is a FUGLY BIATCH.

Katherine, meanwhile, has been communicating secretly with the Emperor and is assured that he won’t let the annulment happen.

In all honesty, the only real reason (in my opinion) why the annulment couldn’t happen is that of the influence of the Emperor Charles. There have been other kings who have received annulments in far worse circumstances – for instance, Louis XII of France annulled his marriage to his wife Joan in far seamier circumstances, alleging that her body was deformed and it was impossible to have sex with her. The timing of Henry’s annulment just sucked. If only he’d tried earlier, I’m fairly sure that the Pope would have granted it.

The Pope (Clement VII, to be clear, as his name is never actually said in show thus far) is not particularly warm to Henry’s case. He doesn’t think that Henry’s drive to marry Anne is a particularly good reason – and he’s not exactly in a position to piss off the Holy Roman Emperor. So he’s sending a Cardinal to hold a court with Wolsey to decide on the marriage.

I kind of low-key love Cardinal Campeggio. He is the definition of ‘over it’. He doesn’t want to go to England, he doesn’t want to be involved, he wants none of it. It’s going to go well, you can tell.

You Simply Must – Oh Holy God, Thomas

Thomas More gets pretty creepy in this episode. Firstly, he starts to act like an apocalypse cult leader towards his family when the Sweat is rampaging around London.

He then starts talking about the real disease that’s killing people. Do you know what the real disease is, family? Protestantism.

Thomas, people are dying.

  Thomas is against violence, but the only way to cure a disease is to kill all those with criticisms of the Catholic Church by burning them alive.

Thomas, you’ve got some issues.

Walk, Walk, Passion, Baby, Work It, Move that Bitch Crazy

Ugh.

That’s Da Vinci’s La Belle Ferronière. It’s from the 1490s. I am fed up of these shitty cheap pseduo-medieval gowns that have nothing to do with the 1520s but look like continental gowns from thirty years before. It shouldn’t be difficult to get it right! It would surely take more effort to get these specifically continental designs of medieval outfit than just asking for Tudor gowns from costumiers!

This! This is what your ladies need to be wearing! There’s such a huge difference and it makes me very angry and frustrated. The shapes, styles, fabrics, weights, and flow of fabric are so completely different!

And the characters don’t wear enough jewellery. There should be more jewellery.

Is that… is that an over-gown with padded shoulders? In the heraldic Tudor colours? I’m shocked. It’s almost great, apart from the long trousers.

Thomas More wants to burn people alive because you’re all dressed so badly.

This is actually Thomas More with his family. Who are dressed correctly and not in a cheap approximation of ‘YE OLDE ENGLANDE’.

An eighteenth century shawl on a cheap Primark medieval wench dress. Poor.

Okay, for a start, this lady is wearing a corset on the outside. Uh uh. But you know what I want to wear when I’m someone who spends my time cleaning and picking up after people? Flimsy, transparent, white sleeves that will instantly get dirty, damaged, and ruined when I do the slightest amount of work.

YAS Thomas Boleyn, YAS. Good outfit! And something halfway decent for Anne, for once.

No one cares about your cleavage, Henners, And don’t wear your leather jacket to the table.

Monogrammed royal boxer shorts. Uh, nope. Put on a nightshirt, love, no one wants to see that.

And that’s the end of the sweating sickness. Do you feel good that you survived? Come back next time for more bad history, questionable writing, and terrible clothes.

Unpicking the Tudors; S1 E7 I was away in Northumberland so this episode was also delayed. I'll try to be more diligent in the future, but each of these posts does take a fair few hours of my time.

[janeaustentextposts]

I get why Mr. Elton married his wife. She's rich. She comes from a wealthy family. Which begs the question, why did she marry him? She did she give all that up to become the wife of a country vicar? Was there seriously no one else that would take her?

Oh, I am so glad you asked. Essentially, it comes down to the fine distinctions and interactions between money (which Augusta Elton, nee Hawkins, has plenty of,) and class/breeding (which she has not.)To start with, let’s examine what various people throughout the novel have to say of Mr. Elton, a handsome vicar of 26 or 27.He is often described in the most glowing terms, even by those who are not Harriet and Emma while they (or at least Emma) are actively scheming for him on Harriet’s behalf–Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley are not alone in praising Mr. Elton’s virtues.“…pretty, well-liked, gentle manners more than Knightley or Weston…”“…good humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle.”“…quite the gentleman himself, without any low connections…” with a “comfortable home,” and a “very sufficient income.”“…good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable…” with useful knowledge of the world and a good understanding.“…a very pleasing young man, a young man whom an woman not fastidious might like…”“Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness.”“…reckoned very handsome…”“Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match.”“He knows he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes…”“…the handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to…his company so sought after that he need not eat a single meal by himself…”“…Never saw a man more intent on being agreeable. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please every feature works.”“Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind.” [Emma herself says this last bit of praise to Jane Fairfax after the news of Mr. Elton’s engagement to Miss Hawkins. Granted it is prior to his sneering treatment of Harriet and Emma at the ball and Box Hill picnic, but he’s already given away his own pompousness and truly resentful nature by small hints…but there is yet a powerful public image of Mr. Elton in society which Emma’s privately growing dislike cannot hope to counteract. Again, in the interests of being neighbourly in such a small community, Emma is forced to tell polite fibs when it comes to somebody she cannot stand.]While the vicarage is not so pretty nor grand as Hartfield or Donwell Abbey, it is nonetheless acknowledged to be a comfortable property–it would have been the home of Mrs. and Miss Bates, before the death of Mr. Bates, and so it is certainly a genteel home. In addition to this, it is noted that Mr. Elton also possesses some other independent property, and while it’s not specified what addition this is to his income, it is an added measure of security, and further cementing his place as a part of the landed gentry. His mother and sisters, moreover, are hinted to reside in London at least part of the time, and in no shabby fashion.He’s young, widely acknowledge to be handsome, and his manners extremely pleasing, especially as he exerts himself to the utmost to please around ladies. While it is surprising to some that he should be able to secure an engagement to a young lady within four weeks, he must have been putting the pedal to the metal in Bath to woo the lady of his choice, and as Augusta Hawkins was apparently “easily impressed” and “ready to have him”, it must have been pretty easy to get her…but then she has her own particular reasons for wanting such a match as Mr. Elton, beyond his personal charms–chiefly, his position as a gentleman of property and a respectably genteel profession.Now let us consider Miss Hawkins, who is to become Mrs. Elton–while Mr. Elton has first set his sights on Emma and her 30 000 pound dowry, he has also spoken of a large party of ladies in Bath, intimate friends of his own sisters, who each have 20 000 pounds apiece. It is also noted that if he has no success with Emma and her 30 000, he’d move on to a lady with 20 000, then 10…and so on.As his match is made within four weeks of his departure from Highbury for Bath, he evidently skips the 20 000 pound option (or finds it impossible to secure quickly, if haste must be his object, as a clergyman cannot neglect his parish for very long holidays to go chasing after a wife, and his prime object then is to find a rich and admirable bride to flaunt in Highbury as soon as possible to prove his own consequence, rather than dwell in the shame of his rejection by Emma. Miss Hawkins is NOT one of these ladies who are friends of his sisters, as we later find out–she has ‘only’ 10 000 pounds to her dowry, though that is no paltry sum, certainly. Money, however, is not all there is to her. We know plenty of other facts about Augusta Hawkins, or can fill in with safe assumptions what is left vague:She is initially rumoured to be “handsome, elegant, highly accomplished, and perfectly amiable”–now, as this is all before anybody in Highbury has met her, it’s meant to be taken with a grain of salt, and as her arrival rather proves that she is not elegant, nor all that accomplished, nor anything like perfectly amiable, though some other characters refer to her as being good-looking, there is certainly nothing like any glowing praise of looks which may be offered to other young ladies, like Jane Fairfax or even Harriet Smith, and it may simply be politeness making the most of average charms. I doubt Mr. Elton would have married an ugly woman, but in being damned by faint praise, I think we can safely assume Augusta Hawkins is nothing especially spectacular in her looks.She is the “youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol – merchant…” whose parents are both now dead, and who is kept by an uncle “in the law line”, and not evidently at all distinguished. I’ve written before on the differences a man’s career might make to his apparent class-level, and a man “in the law line” without the distinguishing factor of being a well-to-do barrister, is not of the gentry. All of Augusta Hawkins’ money is very new, and entirely from trade–there is nothing to connect their family to the gentry except, now, the marriages of these two daughters. The elder, Selina, apparently made the more glorious match with Mr. Suckling, a man of leisure and property at Maple Grove. (Also, look at the given names of Selina and Augusta–both very fashionable Greco-Roman names, compared to the old English names of the other women in the novel–Emma, Harriet, Anne, Jane…even in their Christian names, the Hawkins girls are set apart to seem flashier, and 'newer’, with a greater push for seeming grandiose.) Augusta’s endless talk of her high connections, her contradictory statements to attempt to hastily ingratiate herself with whatever genteel person (usually a gentleman) happens to be talking, her affected use of the bad Italian ’caro sposo’ to affectionately refer to her husband…all these things point to Augusta being desperate to make herself a place among the quieter, genteel folk of Highbury, having first seen her sister married into a barely-genteel-though-rich establishment, and now herself accepting a place as a wife to a man with a less impressive income, but a much more impressive pedigree and undeniable respectability.We cannot be deceived by how much Augusta talks up Maple Grove and the Sucklings and her connection to them. Later on, she lets slip that Maple Grove was only purchased 11 years earlier, (she thinks just prior to old Mr. Suckling’s death, making the estate only technically In the Family for two generations, at a stretch,) while she is berating another family–the Tupmans, who come from Birmingham and have probably made their own fortune by trade or some other undistinguished but honest line of work, who bought West Hall near Maple Grove and now presume to address themselves to the Sucklings as equal neighbours–for being upstarts. The Tupmans are precisely what the Sucklings were only ten years previously, yet Mrs. Elton loves to talk of her sister’s people as though they are landed gentry of long standing. She talks of Maple Grove as a 'seat’, when it is simply a country house, no more, no less. Mr. Suckling has no title, nor does he own any other property. (If he did have any town-houses or other second-homes, I have no doubt we would hear no fucking end of it from Mrs. E.) But Mrs. Elton jumps at the chance to compare Hartfield to Maple Grove, to talk very generally of what the landed gentry are like, with their extensive grounds, etc.., though Emma, very much OF the landed gentry, privately disagrees with her presumptions. Augusta often hints at her intimacy with the Sucklings and such people as if it is to her credit, as well as talking a great deal of their TWO fashionable carriages–going so far as to mention the barouche-landau so frequently that it comes up three times in a single block of (presumably breathless) dialogue.Augusta also sniffs at Mr. Weston’s story of how Mrs. Churchill was 'barely a gentleman’s daughter’ before marriage, only to now have swelled to even greater pride than was already in the Churchill family she married into–without seeming to realize that she herself stands a fair chance of doing exactly the same thing in the years to come–and worse, for nobody would argue that Miss Hawkins, for all her money and finery and put-on airs of breeding, was a gentleman’s daughter. No, her father was in trade–and while that is not in itself a mark against her, it highlights her own hypocrisy and clumsy, social-climbing ways. (Jane Austen’s father’s family were themselves descended from wool merchants, and only by his own education and his marriage to Cassandra Leigh, a comparatively-poor daughter of a more ancient line of genteel people, was his family admitted among the minor gentry. Jane would have been well-aware of the criss-crossing of social class lines and how 'good breeding’ could oftentimes be at odds with material wealth.) Augusta, digging for compliments and declaring she has 'a horror of upstarts’, cannot begin to fathom how she is hurting her own cause by her hypocrisy.We know that Selina Hawkins married Mr. Suckling (himself scarcely a gentleman,) which was supposed to be a very grand match, for her. Augusta’s age is never specified that I can recall, but she seems very eager not to be left behind, though her sister has married, and apparently her connections to Maple Grove have not yet helped her to find another Mr. Suckling, there. In an effort to be wittily pert, she leaps at the chance to contradict Mr. Weston’s attempt to compliment the strength of ladies in general, and ends up giving a spirited defense to the notion that women are squeamish and weak creatures, and inadvertently disavowing that her sister is a fine lady–the precise opposite of what she wished to do, but she spoke so quickly that she cannot immediately think of a way to counteract it without sounding completely stupid, even to herself. Rather than listening and actually saying something sensible, Augusta rushes out to behave as she might have read or imagined a spirited, educated woman ought to do, and only succeeds in putting her foot in her mouth. (She’s a less-clever Miss Bingley who imagines herself a Lizzie Bennet.)

Augusta, before her marriage, still lives with her low-connection uncle in Bristol (despite her insistence that she’s spent months staying at Maple Grove, though Selina and Mr. Suckling have likely only been married less than two years by this point–the barouche-landau having been acquired only 18 months previous…possibly at the insistence of the new Mrs. Suckling?) Despite her principal residence being in Bristol, Augusta spends her winters in Bath with her friend Mrs. Partridge, whose acquaintance she offers to further with Emma in a broad hint that it would help Emma meet and catch a husband. Emma is, naturally, affronted at this suggestion, surmising that Mrs. Partridge is “probably some vulgar, dashing widow” who takes in boarders to help pad out her meager income. Though Bath was a spa town, and, given its southern location, probably had a fair amount of society throughout the winter months, the social season itself was more largely confined to the spring–the winter would be a cheaper and quieter season to spend in such a city, with many of its visiting residents there for their health, rather than strictly pleasure. That Augusta is regularly in Bath for the cheaper, less-social time of the year, even with a healthy dowry and adequate prettiness, is perhaps telling as to why she jumps at her chance to marry a handsome and well-set-up young gentleman! It may be that she appears to her best advantage when she is NOT surrounded in society by many gentleman’s daughters with greater assets than even she has got. Money, as she is well aware, isn’t everything–but it’s about all she’s got.So much of Emma is an examination of how we let those around us affect our own views and behaviour. Compare Augusta to Harriet, who is certainly of lower origins, but whose sweet temper, obliging ways, and humble acceptance of who she is ultimately lead her to respectability and happiness when united with Robert Martin–only when Emma tries to drag her upwards in the world by marriage do things begin to go wrong for Harriet. Emma Woodhouse is certainly a snob, but I think the ultimate take-away from the cautionary tales of the novel is not 'know your place and never stray from it’, but to make certain that your aspirations are in keeping with what will do the truest good for you and those around you. In the end, it’s acknowledged that Harriet would have been a far better match for Elton than Augusta, as her personal virtues far outweigh the lapse of her birth and indifferent education, whereas Augusta’s riches and trying-too-hard ways endear her to absolutely nobody except perhaps the vain and pompous Mr. Elton–but their ardour is that of newlyweds, and those who wish to show off their marital success as a gloating snub to others, rather than anything like true affection.

[mercurygray]

Thy Dazzling Half Op’d Eye: A Mercy Street Fanfic

Now in thy dazzling half-oped eye,

Thy curled nose and lip awry,

Uphoisted arms and noddling head,

And little chin with crystal spread,

Poor helpless thing! what do I see,

That I should sing of thee?

-Joanna Baille, A Mother To Her Waking Infant

For @broadwaybaggins, who needed more Henry with babies.

Emma Green had received a summons.

She had to confess she was excited by the prospect; during all her time with the Confederate soldiers she’d had few visitors to escort onto the ward, and fewer still family members to comfort or console. It was a hard job, and one that she’d watched Mary Phinney and Anne Hastings at with keen interest. She’d learned the general pattern for such matters and was anxious to try it; nothing too terrible at first, and news of impending deaths - if they did not know already - broken only after the family had been given a chance to see their son, or husband, or brother. Rooms offered, if they did not have accommodation already, and bags stored.

And today, it seemed, was finally the day when she might practice! 

“A family, Danielson?” she asked the orderly, just to make sure she hadn’t misheard him.

“For a Private Fletcher, ma’am. Down from Rhode Island.”

Emma nodded and made her way downstairs, where the matron was already greeting the arrival in the front hall. Not a family, but rather a single person, waiting awkwardly in the hall. Pretty, and young, too, holding a wrapped package to her chest in an strange position, as though she were protecting it from something. She’s not much older than me, Emma realized, observing the pale face peeking out from the plain bonnet.

“First time away from home, dearie?” Brannan was asking, trying to be polite as she busied herself in the hospital register. The awestruck woman started a little at being spoken to, but she remembered herself enough to nod, still clutching at her bundle. “Ah, Miss Green, there you are,” the Matron said with a smile, clearly relieved to have done with the woman. “Private Fletcher’s wife’s come down from Rhode Island. Perhaps you can apprise her while we walk.”

Emma nodded, smoothing her skirts and trying to arrange her face into a more professional mien.  “He’s just this way, if you’d care to…”

A thin, weary wail split the air, and all heads in the hall turned as one, the sound unmistakable and yet, so foreign. There was hardly a cry of pain that was now unheard inside these walls, but this one was new.

A baby was an unknown commodity at Mansion House.

Mrs. Fletcher fumbled a little bit with the bundle she’d been holding awkwardly to her chest, the plaid of the shawl wrapping peeling back to reveal a little moon of a face, waking up from a sound sleep and none too happy for it. She looked around, her smile apologetic. “Four months,” She said, by way of explanation, as the Matron and Emma gaped. “Of course I couldn’t leave him at home, when Jimmy might…”

“Of course, Mrs. Fletcher,” Matron agreed quickly, her eyes softened by the familiar sound. “He’ll be wanting his breakfast, I expect. There’s a room upstairs, if you -”

“He can wait,” she said, rocking the child back and forth with little bouncing steps. “He’ll see his father first.”

Brannan exchanged a look with Emma, but they went along, waiting until the infant’s cries had quieted before taking Mrs. Fletcher upstairs to the ward in which her husband was lying. Heads turned in the hallways as they walked past, men sitting up in their beds as the group went by, as solemn as if the color was being trooped - their ears had not deceived them! A baby, truly! Here! What a sight for homesick eyes was a little face resting on a shoulder, a pair of curious, wide eyes gazing out into the gloom. Men watched, amazed, many no doubt, thinking of their own children at home, the babies they had left growing bigger, the infants they had only read of and never met. Their lingering, longing gazes haunted Emma.

Private Fletcher’s bedside was already occupied, the man deep in conversation with Chaplain Hopkins over a tattered testament that very much exemplified the expression ‘been through the war.’ (One sleeve of his shirt was empty, cuffed to the elbow, the private’s remaining hand resting on the little book. His wife would have been told already - perhaps that was the reason for her fear?) Fletcher looked up as his wife came in, his face wreathed in smiles that could not have gotten any broader until he saw the figure of the baby in her arms. Hopkins, seeing what was behind him, rose and moved silently away, happy to give up his place.

“It’s Daddy, don’t you see?” Mrs. Fletcher said softly the baby, moving so she might take a seat at her husband’s side. “It’s your pa.” She offered the baby’s tiny face to her husband, the two of them both struggling not to cry.

“Hey there, little stranger,” his father said with a smile, bringing his remaining arm up to awkwardly try to stroke the child’s face. “You weren’t more than the size of a melon before I left, and look at you now. And causing your ma trouble already, I expect. Just like your pa.” He looked disappointed in himself.

“Oh, Jimmy.” Her eyes slid to his empty sleeve.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Soph,” Fletcher reassured her. “Honest.”

Mrs. Fletcher was struggling, clearly wanting to offer a hand to her husband - but with her arms full she could do little.

Hopkins saw the flitter of pain across her face and intervened. “May I, ma’am?” Surprised stares from the assembled women -- Mrs. Fletcher’s most of all. “My sister has four,” he offered with a smile. “I expect your arms are tired.”

Mrs. Fletcher hesitated a minute, torn between her ministrations to her husband and her child, but the desire for physical comfort was too strong. “Hold his --”

“Head, yes,” Hopkins said with a smile, taking the infant with practiced hands. “There, there, little man. Give your mother a rest a minute, won’t we?” He smiled placidly at the little face, who stared back in wide-eyed bewilderment, wondering who this new stranger with the blue eyes was. And, easily bouncing on his feet, he wove back and forth at the foot of the bed while the rest of the ward watched in slack-jawed amazement, finally remembering their manners and returning to books and letters and the observation of the ceiling so that Private Fletcher and his wife might have a moment to speak, their heads pressed together in close communion.

Emma was used to watching these reunions carefully - despite even the best of warnings, it was always a shock, seeing the man one loved armless or legless, or worse. She’d seen plenty of wives take one look and refuse to go further, turning away in horror at a beloved face scarred irreparably, a well-known body half-gone, refusing to believe that this was still the man they’d married. But her attention was not on Private Fletcher and his wife, but rather Hopkins, cradling the baby with surprising ease. She pressed a hand to her corset, as if she could remind her stomach not to flutter.

“You’d think he’d one of his own at home,” the Matron said with a sage smile, watching with Emma from the doorway of the ward as Hopkins gently handed the baby back, helping to nestle him into the Private’s remaining arm so his proud father could beam down at him. “It looks well on him.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, her voice distracted, still staring. Hopkins looked up at her and smiled, and all the stern warnings in the world couldn’t stop her from another rush of feeling. And wouldn’t it look well with a nice shock of dark hair like yours, Miss Green, and those blue eyes of his?