#daisy beard BUT I am open to suggestions

[coachbeards]

Easy! Jane dumps Beard with the baby. Rebecca and Beard bond over missing Ted. Rebecca helps him go back to school. His daughter still has a huge found family.

EXACTLY REAL AND TRUE

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // onward, beside you.

as the world comes to an end, i'll be here to hold your hand.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @monalisastwin , @mads-weasley , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: Morning comes and Easy Company moves out — but Mourmelon will have to wait after all.

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: temporarily, SBT updates are going to be limited to just Sundays. This is mostly because I have a heavy workload this semester, so I'm giving myself more leeway and time to get things done with this story and my other projects. thank you for understanding!!

He’s pretty in the morning.

Sleep relaxes the muscles of his face in a way that makes him look way younger — the straight-laced accountant of nearly three years ago, untouched by war, no matter what the slowly growing beard and dark circles might suggest.

Light leaks in through the one window in the room — pale and white from the snow outside. It’s quiet too, and she can hear the gentle puffs of breath coming from him that she doesn’t want to disrupt at all, so she says nothing of it. What she does do is drink in the sight before her — the softer lines of him, his lashes and the upturn to his nose. Pretty.

“You’re staring.” His voice cuts through the quiet, thick and rough with sleep as he barely opens one eye.

“I can look away if you’re shy. Cover my eyes, maybe.” With his lips curling into a grin, his arm wrapping around her a little tighter, she hears the low rumble of a chuckle vibrate through his chest.

“Mm. Full of ideas, aren’t you?” He muses with a hefty sigh.

“What can I say? I’m pretty smart.” Opening his eyes further, the grin turns into a smirk of sorts.

“I just said ideas, not good ideas.” Daisy rolls her eyes at the remark, his fingers going to twirl one of the few strands of hair that isn’t a tangled mess around his fingers.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” She murmurs, and he raises a brow, curious. “Even if I didn’t see you run through the German line, it’s all the men have been talking about since Foy. I just didn’t blow my lid ‘cause I had a job to do at the time,” Ron nods, slowly, like he’s trying to recount what he did, like he doesn’t remember — she doesn’t push it further than that, propping herself up to kiss his nose. “The men are gonna be looking for you.”

Ron unwraps from around her, sitting up with a quiet heave.

“Sick of me already?” He goes to stroke her cheek and she smiles, rolling her eyes.

“If I was anymore selfish I’d keep you here all day and have you to myself,” She leans in, kissing him briefly and she watches him break out into another grin. “Unfortunately one of us has to be the sensible one, and I think the sister who sleeps here is going to want her bed back.”

She lets her fingers once again trail over the planes of his face, his lips, eyes falling on the bruises on his collarbone and her face flushes as she goes to button his shirt. There are probably similar spots on her hips that she just hasn’t seen yet. Still, Daisy doesn’t miss how his grin once again turns into a smirk, which is a bit more flustering the morning after. She opens her mouth to speak again when there’s a sharp knock at the door, and Daisy snaps her head to it.

“You up, Clarke?” It’s Lip’s muffled voice through the door. Daisy clears her throat, straightening up as though Lip could see through the door.

“I… I am now. Did you need something?” There’s nowhere for Ron to hide that would be out of view of the Sergeant, and so she’s entirely banking on Lipton’s respect for her privacy.

“No I was just… making sure. If you see Lieutenant Speirs on your way out, would you tell him Captain Winters is looking for him?” Daisy looks at Ron, who looks wholly entertained at their current predicament. She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah Lip, you got it,” She waits for the sound of retreating footsteps, before reaching back to promptly swat at him. “This is the part where I kick you out, Lieutenant.” Ron doesn’t do anything to mask his snickering as he stands up, pulling on his jacket and his scarf, snapping the webbing into its place.

Daisy rises shortly after that, makes her way to the door, and pokes her head out to ensure the hallway is clear before looking back to him. He pokes his head out quickly, then turns to her.

The kiss he gives her is long, but soft, tilting her chin to meet him. The kind that’s sure to leave her breathless and thoroughly flustered. He pulls away and looks her up and down once.

“See you in a minute.” He mutters.

“If you don’t get out of here I might actually keep you in that bed all day.” Ron grins at that, but pulls himself away, walking down the hall and leaving Daisy leaning against the doorway with flushed cheeks and a contained smile.

Hageneu is no Mourmelon.

Hageneu is… gray, doubly so with the men’s despondent morale and Lipton’s hacking still loud in her ears despite herself and Eugene branching off from the others to poke around the bombed out buildings. It’s still cold, the ground is wet from the melted snow, and just across the river there are Germans waiting patiently to strike at any time. As she and Eugene approach the bombed out ghost of an old storefront, they exchange bewildered looks.

As selfish as it might be, she really can’t wait to slink back into the slightly-warmer CP.

“Find anything over there, Gene?” she calls to the man searching behind the counter as she combs through the shelves. There are discarded cans and tins, some burst or otherwise open. Others are still shut, but she finds a blue container and while she doesn’t speak French, she recognizes the tea leaf design on the label and immediately snatches it, turning to show off her find. “Think First Sergeant Lipton could use this.”

Gene pokes his head up from the counter in a way that reminds her a little bit of a rabbit, before nodding his head.

“Got uh… couple’a bandages, they cleaned out here pretty quick.” Daisy looks at the spots where there are marks in the dust, freshly looted material, and she can’t help but roll her eyes, half-annoyed and half-fond.

“You’re all terrible.”

“I haven’t done anything.” Gene refutes as he rounds the counter.

“Really? So if I write Vera right now and ask if she’s gotten any new silver candleholders or forks and spoons she’s gonna call me crazy?” Eugene just smiles and shrugs, which is all the confirmation she needs. “Like I said, you’re all terrible.” They walk out of the store front.

“Gonna make a stop at OP three. I didn’t like how McClung’s cough was sounding.” Eugene informs and Daisy nods, watching him break off as she continues her hurried walk to Company CP.

She’d been lucky not to be on the business end of a sniper, or be blown up by a mortar, and she isn’t trying to test that luck.

The ride to Hageneu had been quick in comparison to the ride into Bastogne — although similar in that they were packed like sardines in that deuce-and-a-half. She would’ve felt a little bad, leaning on Lipton and dozing off, if he hadn’t all but passed out on the hours-long ride too.

Familiar and yet different, it made her heart ache.

Daisy steps into the CP, into a tentative sort of quiet, met with the back of a dark-haired man’s head, a boyish looking Lieutenant sitting on one of the couches, and most importantly, Sergeant Lipton half laid out on the couch with a blanket over him and a report in hand. Daisy huffs, and points an accusatory finger at him.

“You are impossible, y’know that?” She scolds, and the man with his back to her jumps before turning his head. Webster, from Holland — Rita complained about him a couple times and how he talked too much. “Y’know when three medics order you on bed rest that means rest. In a bed. Like the ones in the back with the actual sheets.”

Lipton opens his mouth to say something but it’s caught in another hefty cough. Daisy sighs, reaching down to pat his back for a moment until the fit passes.

“Lieutenant Clarke this is… Lieutenant Jones,” Lipton gestures and Daisy finally looks over to the one on the couch. “Lieutenant Jones, this is our combat nurse.” George doesn’t throw in one of his playful warnings, and Webster just stares at her. She gives Jones a curt nod, but little more than that, then looks back at Lipton. He looks less like a Sergeant and more like a kicked puppy, holding his canteen full of coffee between frigid fingers.

“You need to go lie down, in a spot where your legs actually fit—”

“Captain Speirs, sir, this is Lieutenant Jones,” she knows it’s half to stop her second reprimand and partially to do his job, but she hears Ron’s grunt behind her and knows he isn’t out of it yet.

“Listen, for Christ’s sake would you go in the back and sack out!? There’s beds back there with fresh sheets.” Daisy looks back at Ron, who’s got his fingers curled around a trophy. He catches her gaze and they stare at each other for a moment in acknowledgment before he reverts his attention. Lipton sighs, squinting, like it’s too bright out for his bleary eyes.

“I will, sir, just wanted to make myself useful, sir.”

“Listen up.” All the men in the room snap to attention, sans Lipton, as Dick and Nixon walk into the room next.

There’s a patrol tonight, fifteen men for Ron to pick and judging by his face the gears are slowly but certainly turning. He’s tired. They all are. It’s just rare to see it on his face as he nods and affirms Dick’s orders, making his way across the room while Lipton cranes his neck and sips his coffee. Dick, briefly, shifts his attention to her.

“Clarke, how are the medics on supplies?” She rises to her feet, dusting off her pants.

“We’re fine on bandages and… basic stuff. More couldn’t hurt. And penicillin would be useful, for Sergeant Lipton’s pneumonia. I think a flu might be going around. A few men in third platoon aren’t feeling too well and Roe’s looking over them.” Dick nods at that.

“We’ll get a jeep for you tomorrow and head to the field hospital further in town. That sound good?”

“Yes, sir.”

And she watches for a few, slightly embarrassing moments as Lieutenant Jones volunteers himself for the patrol, and Dick all but avoids his question, before excusing herself to get Lipton some hot water from the cookhouse. She doesn’t miss how Jones asks again moments later, as she’s leaving, and hears Ron’s gruff and firm denial.

Keeping herself busy isn’t especially hard — she returns when Lip’s finished his coffee and helps him to his feet, just to bring him to the back where he and Ron were bunked and make him lay down again while she takes the hot water and the scavenged tea, offering it to him with a gentler smile (accompanied by another threat of dragging him back to bed kicking and screaming, if she has to). He all but passes out as afternoon creeps in, and she takes that opportunity to snatch a room in this bombed out house for herself.

Inside is warmer than outside, even if the difference isn’t by a lot. Upstairs there’s a room closest to the stairwell that looks wholly unoccupied, with a bed with sheets too, which is always a nice commodity.

Daisy has such little on her person, but even shedding the fraying scarf and placing it on the bed gives her a sense of ownership she’s missed, in some respect.

She takes a look in the mirror — it’s cracked a little, spindly lines spiderwebbing across the surface but she can still make out her own slightly jagged reflection. Daisy shudders at the sight, her skin taking on a slightly-yellow hue from the cold, her face notably thinner and her hair a tangled mess. From her neck hangs the cross she’d been sent (which still didn’t feel right) and on top of it, Laura’s coin (which brought with it both an ache and an inexplicable comfort).

There’s a knock on the doorframe and she snaps her attention to it.

Ron leans against the doorway, looking her up and down for a moment.

“They’ve got showers. Waited for the men to clear out to tell you,” She nods, her gaze reverting back to her own reflection in the mirror, scrunching her nose at the sight. “You alright?” She makes a vague gesture to her tangled braid.

“I’ve gotta comb this out first. Probably gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“You need help?”

“You don’t have somewhere to be?” He walks in fully, and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it.

“Captain Nixon’s getting the boats, I’ve got a meeting in an hour with the patrol group and Captain Winters,” he makes his way over to her. “Plus I’m keeping an eye on the showers. Make sure no one tries anything.”

“Ah, guard duty then?” He exhales sharply through the noise, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly with the smile he’s trying to fight against.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll call it guard duty.” It probably wouldn’t be as necessary if the other nurses were with her, but given she’s the only one here — she can’t exactly blame them for the precaution.

She fishes through her bag for the comb (admittedly one of her own trinkets that she fished from Noville), and holds it out to him. He takes it and she goes to sit on the bed, with him on his knees behind her.

When they were children, she used to sit on the ottoman in their living room, her mother running a comb through her hair while Ron and James laid sprawled out on the floor playing with jacks and marbles and wrinkling their Sunday best, much to their mothers’ detriment every single Easter. They’d make her giggle with their competitiveness and in turn her mother would scold her from moving her head too much. The middle-part to her braids always ended up slightly eschew, and James always won marbles, because Mrs. Speirs would make Ron stand up so she could lint-roll his shirt one last time.

The thought makes her smile, even when the comb snags on knots and tangles that make her wince otherwise.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ron asks, and her smile immediately turns teasing, glancing up towards the shattered mirror to look him in the eye as best she can.

“You losing at scatter jacks.” He rolls his eyes, running the comb from the crown of her head to a bit past her shoulder blade.

“Keep being so nice to me and someone might think you have a thing for me.”

“Perish the thought, Ronald,” He responds with a very light tap to the side of her head with the comb, and she snickers in response as she takes it from him, standing up and staring at herself a moment longer. She could braid it later, after showering. “I’ll be with Lip tonight, see if his symptoms get any worse in the night. And you’ll be…” He rises, letting his fingers graze her neck for a moment.

“On the line, waiting for the patrol to get back.” She nods, reaching up to grab the hand ghosting over her neck and shoulder, bringing it towards her and pressing a kiss to the cracked knuckles. Ron’s eyebrows raise and she smiles a bit.

“Try to squeeze in some sleep, if you can. You look tired.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes, lacing their fingers for a moment to squeeze his hand.

“Whatever you say, Captain Speirs. Now come play guard so I can shower in peace.” Daisy doesn’t miss the way his lip seems to curl at the use of his title, but she lets go of his hand and makes her way out the door, suppressing her grin as she hears Ron’s slightly more quickened footsteps behind her.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 39)

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” Mila looks at Daryl, while pulling the knitted cardigan over her shoulders. “You gonna interrogate him? Tie him up in a chair and go good cop bad cop on him?”

Daryl meets her eyes from the other side of the bed. 

“What, ya’ don’t think he’s gonna have to answer some questions?” He asks, while searching the floor for his shirt. 

The morning sun shines in through the windows in the bedroom and it looks like it’s gonna be another fine day.

Mila dozed off as soon as she laid down in bed next to Juri the night before; after she had a quick but violent shower to get rid of dirty gas station toilet-cooties, and didn’t wake up to Daryl coming to bed or to Jesus strolling into the house in the middle of the night. Baffled to say the least, Mila was therefore greatly surprised when she came out of the bedroom this morning, fifteen minutes prior around eight, and met Jesus who came out of the upstairs toilet.

“Good morning!” He said happily and disappeared down the stairs.

Mila, unable to speak, just gaped and waved back at him lazily, whereupon she closed the bedroom door again and turned to Daryl, who was in the process of turning his sleeveless shirt inside out.  

“Am I still sleeping or did Jesus just walk out of the bathroom?”

“Prolly.” Daryl said with a shrug. 

“Is he just-” Mila paused to find the right words, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “You know, walking around-”

“He escaped.”

“Oh.”  

How he’d freed himself from the townhouse basement no one could figure out, and he didn’t tell them either; Mila was sure they’d captured a wizard.

“I don’t get why everything has to be so hostile.”

“Ya’ gonna teach me ‘bout hostile?” Daryl raises his eyebrows at her.

“Okay fine-” Mila sputters, knowing very well what he refers to. “But this guy isn’t like that- that weird wolf guy. This guy is Houdini-weird, not dangerous.”

“Are ya’ some sort of expert now?”  

“Gut feeling.” Mila replies.

Daryl shakes his head at her words. Mila realizes that it doesn’t sound that convincing, but she gives him a steadfast look; she’s sure about her gut feeling. She looks at Daryl while he buttons the shirt. He must’ve taken a shower too before he went to bed. The brown hair looks tousled, as if he went to bed with it still damp. Her gaze wanders down to the unbuttoned, washed out jeans; he wears boxers underneath for once, something he probably started to do for the first time ever when he realized that there would be a snoring three and a half-year old in the bed too. Mila bites her lip as she rests her gaze at the edge of the boxers, right above his pelvic bone. Her sudden rush of desire, or blunt frantic horniness, is obviously visible, because Daryl frowns at her.

“Ain’t doin’ it in front of the kid.” He nods down at the bed, where Juri still lies asleep, bundled up in the sheets.

“We can put him on the bath rug in the bathroom.” Mila suggests half hearted. “It’s really soft. He’ll just think he’d sleepwalked.”

“Jersey-” Daryl walks around the bed and stops in front of her; softly he lets his fingers run down her hair, playing with it while contemplating under silence. “Fine.”

“About the rug or that you gonna go gently on him?”

“The latter.” Daryl mutters. “Dunno why you care-” He rests his cupped hand at her chin. “I won’t knock him, unless he’s being a-”

“Ap-ap, language.” Mila pulls his hand big to her mouth and gives his fingertips a featherlight kiss. “Thank you.” She places another kiss on his fingers. “I like you when you’re all soft and diplomatic.”

The slightly erotic gesture of tenderness is enough to turn the big man in front of her into water between her fingers. His breath becomes heavier, he exhales through his nostrils and the eyes become soft and the gaze deeper, lingering even.  

“Uhu?”

“Mhm.” She leans in, places her head under his chin and kisses his collarbone, while fingering on the half buttoned shirt. “You know- I’m a good rider, like… really-”

A knock on the door drags them both back to reality.  

“Son of a- what?” Daryl turns and looks at the door that opens slightly and Rick peeks into the bedroom. “Don’t ya’ fucking know how a door works either?!” Daryl mutters huskily.

On the other side of Daryl, Mila chokes a grin. Rick looks questioning, but says nothing about Daryl’s, to him, odd remark; of course he knows how a door works?

“We need to talk.” He just says.

He doesn’t even tell them about what; they already know. Reluctant, Daryl sighs and looks at her.

“Duty calls.” He says, while, discreetly, correcting the crotch on his jeans. 

“Be gentle.” Mila winks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Daryl leaves the bedroom and follows Rick; to talk to him and Michonne about what to do about the ‘situation’ walking around freely in the house. Mila sighs; so much for that ‘ride’. Not even a quiet quickie in the bathroom. She turns, combs her fingers through her hair and looks at Juri, lying on the bed with his back against her. The blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest, the only thing missing is a couple of spotted round eggs. What a fun job I have in front of me to untangle that bundle of mess, she thinks to herself and kneels down on the bed. Softly she strokes the boy over the back; the pyjamas are so warm and soft and he smells cosy, a warm, sleepy scent mixed with fabric softener. 

“Prosypaysya, solnyshko.” She coos softly, tickles his warm neck. “Wake up, sunshine.”

Juri starts to move, softly pats his feet towards the covers and rolls over, to face her. He blinks, squints a little with his piercing blue eyes at her.

“It’s time to awake.” Mila says.

With the newly awakened boy in her arms, she then walks down to the kitchen, where she’s met by Jesus, sitting at the kitchen island.

“I’m not gonna ask how you got out.” Mila greets him and puts Juri down on the sofa, to awake at his own pace.

She doesn’t really believe in magic, but growing up in Russia, surrounded by ancient stories and with a grandmother who said she was a psychic and was convinced that she had seen both Baba Yaga and a vodnik, Mila’s quite versed in folklore; no sane Russian child disowned Baba Yaga. 

“Slept well?” Jesus replies with a polite, even hearty smile. 

Mila, still slightly bitter about the black eye and the cracked, aching lip he caused her, doesn’t answer at first; instead she puts a kettle with water on the stove and scoops up two abundant spoons of instant coffee in two mugs; the chances of her being in a better mood after she had some coffee is quite high. She needs that first sip of coffee to function. She throws a glance out of the window; where’s Carol? Her eyes are then drawn to a mint green tin can with a pattern of daisies around the brim. Smiling, Mila lifts the lid and peeks inside. Of course, Carol, she thinks with a smile. White chocolate chip cookies. She and Juri must have baked them the day before. She puts the lid back on and turns to the two cups with instant coffee. She awakes from her thoughts -mostly revolving around how unearthly tasty a really fucking strong, big salty caramel latte would be, instead of this sad, colored liquid that nowadays has to go under the name ‘coffee’- when she hears the water bubbling on the stove. 

“I think the water’s done.”

Mila peers at Jesus.

“Yeah I got ears-” She replies surly. “And eyes.”

“Not a morning person?” He asks. 

“I’m not super happy with you.” Mila peers at him as she pours the hot water into the cups and takes out two spoons from a drawer. “No offence, Houdini, but you gave me a black eye.” She hands him one of the cups and stirs around the coffee powder in the water. Not exactly a caramel latte with two extra shots, she thinks and sighs. 

“Sorry about that.” Jesus says. “You’ve ever thought about a career in wrestling?”

“I'm good at running, shooting and drinking-” Mila takes a sip of the blant coffee. “I haven’t got the muscles.”

“I’d say the opposite.” Jesus drinks and makes a grimace; there’s a pretty valid reason why everyone says no when she offers them coffee. According to everyone in Alexandria it’s like drinking tar. “At least you got the spirit.”

“Okay-” Mila sighs. “How did you get out?”

“Magic.” The man in front of her smiles. 

Over at the couch, Juri has finally awakened fully. He climbs down and hurries over to the kitchen and demands to be held; awake or not, he’s always in desperate need to be close by, just in case he needs a cuddle. Mila lifts him from the floor and puts him down on the counter.

“Ready for breakfast?” She asks and Juri nods eagerly. “Let me just finnish my coffee.” Mila looks at Jesus. “You can’t possibly be named Jesus.” She asks and raises her eyebrow at him. “I mean, I get why-” She nods towards his face, the beard and the long hair. “But-”

“Paul.” He smiles, a genuinely kind smile, and offers her his hand over the kitchen island. “Paul Rovia.” 

Mila looks at it, before taking it and giving it a firm shake; like a car dealer who’s just managed to sell a poor fellow an overpriced car. 

“Mila.” She replies and nods at Juri. “My son, Juri.”

With a bright smile Juri waves at Paul from where he sits on the kitchen counter in his pyjamas; Paul’s face bursts into a happy grin. Juri’s sunny demeanor usually has that effect on people.

“Any last name?” He then asks. “Just- you know. Formality.”

“Sergeyevna.” Mila says, takes the tin jar from the other counter, opens it and offers him a cookie; there, now they have put down the hatchet. “So, what should I call you? Sorry, but Jesus-” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Feels odd.”

“Paul’s fine.” He smiles as he takes a cookie and once again looks at Juri. “You’re a lil’ charmer, aren’t you?”

Juri nods and makes the ‘I know that’ sign with his hand, which makes Mila grin. Of course he knows he is, she thinks and takes out the big pack of Quaker oats from a cabinet. She pours the oats at random into a pot, covers them with water and puts the pot on the stove. It will be enough for both her and Juri. She looks up from the pot just in time to see Juri’s small hand being pulled away from the tin jar.

“No.” Mila says, takes the jar and puts it back on the other counter. “You get a cookie after you have breakfast.” 

Juri nods reluctantly, then gestures ‘okay’. 

“He’s mute?” She hears Paul ask behind her.

“He is.” Mila turns around in search of the salt. “Don’t need a voice to be the most charming rascal in the apocalypse though.” She smiles at Juri and winks.

“Is he the father?” Paul asks. “You know- the big guy?”

“Daryl?” Mila shakes her head as her eyes land on the pack of salt. “No, I don’t know who Juri’s father is.” She shrugs a little. “A happy accident.” She pauses and puts a pinch of salt into the pot. “Daryl’s-” 

Yeah, what exactly is Daryl? Mila doesn’t have to think for long. Juri tugs at Paul’s coat sleeve and places his thumb against his forehead, with his fingers outstretched. 

“Have you told Daryl?” Mila smiles at Juri while she opens a drawer and takes out a wooden spoon to stir the oats.

Before Paul can ask what Juri meant by his gesturing, the front door opens and Glenn, Maggie and Abraham enter. Mila greets them with a ‘morning’ and Juri waves frantically at everyone. From the stairs, Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Carl appear.

“Nice talking to you.” Paul winks at her, gets off the bar stool and walks over to the dining table, where they all sit down, looking at Paul.

Mila turns her attention back to her and Juri’s breakfast in the pot. Juri stirs the wooden spoon as she gets honey out of another cupboard and the home made oat milk from the fridge. She listens with half an ear to the conversation at the table while she portions the steaming oatmeal into bowls, puts a spoonful of creamy honey on top and then puts the oat milk over it. She places Juri at the counter next to the window, he likes to look out at the trees and the birds, and then starts to feed him; one spoon for Juri, then one spoon for her. He doesn’t need to hear the grown-up talk and Mila’s too tired to care, well, except for when Rick asks Paul how he got out.

“One guard can't cover two exits, or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked.” Paul replies. “Entropy comes from order, right?”

Mila grins to herself while taking another spoon; it hurts to chew. Apparently he trudged around a lot during the night, peeking at their arsenal, their storage. Juri eats with a big appetite and has soon finished his breakfast.

“Bravo.” Mila praises and scrapes the last of her oats from her bowl. “How about-” She puts the bowls into the sink and turns back to Juri. “You and I hang out today, all day? I need to repay you for not bringing back those marshmallows.”

Excited beyond measure, Juri starts to clap his small hands, which causes the group at the table to pause and turn to look at them. Mila puts her hands around Juri’s and hushes softly, resting her forehead against his. 

“It’s a date.” She whispers and gives Juri a kiss on the nose. “Now- hurry upstairs, pick some clothes and pour a bath, I’ll join you in a minute.”

Smiling brighter than a sky full of stars, Juri scurries over the hardwood floors and starts to climb up the stairs while the group around the table gets up. Glenn, Maggie and Abraham leave, Abe gives her a cheeky wink and a ‘lookin’ sharp, lady’, probably referring to her ravaged face. Daryl gives the big, red haired guy’s back a squinting, dark gaze as he disappears out the door. For some reason she feels flattered about the ‘Dixon jealousy’ today; maybe because she feels anything but appealing. A confidence boost. 

“So?” Mila asks. “What’s been said?”

“He says he’s part of a community.” Daryl replies, referring to Paul. “Raises livestock and crops.”

“Okay. And?” 

“His job’s to find other communities to trade with.”

“That’s it?” Mila asks, slightly disappointed; given his Ninja-skills she’d at least thought he was part of a special force or something. “Okay. What’d you say then? We don’t have anything to trade?”

He thinks we may be in a position to help each other. They got livestock. Grows things.” Daryl pauses. “We’re gonna go back with him. To his community. Hilltop. See if he’s tellin’ the truth. If he does, we’ll see what they’ve got to offer. He also said they’re trading with other groups.”

Mila raises her eyebrows.

“They have contact with other communities?”

“At least that’s what he claims.”

“You think he’s lying?”

Daryl shrugs; apparently he doesn’t know what he thinks about it. On one hand; another community is something they, he and Rick, have talked about for a while. There had to be more people like them out there, other communities with survivors, they knew it. They had expected, or hoped, to be the ones who discovered the other group, not the other way around. The tables have turned and now they’re vigilant. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Mila sees exactly what he’s thinking. The thought has struck her as well. What if Paul Rovia belongs to the group they saw looting the arms deal?

“Does ya’ gut feeling say something ‘bout that?” Daryl asks with a wryly, barely noticeable smile upon his lips - sometimes it seems like they really can read each other’s minds.

“Shut it.” Mila shoves him softly. “No. No, he might fit in at that Harry Potter-school though. How else did he get out of the basement than by magic? I’m not convinced what he said before was the truth.”

“Magic ain’t real, Jersey.”

“At this point, I’m ready to believe it is. Living dead walking around, magic-” Mila shivers throughout her body; it’s as if her dead grandmother was in the room, taunting her for not believing in her wacko stories about trolls and other foul creatures. “You leaving soon?”

“As soon as possible.” 

She nods. 

“Ya’ coming?”

“I’ll pass.” Mila replies. She’s had it with adventures that, more often recently, ends with her getting bruises for a few days. Besides, she wants to spend the day with Juri. “Carol and I hold the positions here.”

“Good.” Daryl lightly strokes her arm. “Where’s she by the way?”

“Out, I believe.” Mila smiles. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t.”

“Worried or cute?” She gets a light buff in reply to her cheeky question. “Carol’s fine on her own.” Mila ensures her big, worried archer. “Are you going to prepare for the trip?”

“Nah, I’m ready.”

Mila smiles faintly. Had she been Daryl, she would probably at least have changed her shirt to one with sleeves. He notices her smile, frowns a little.

“What?”

“I like that shirt.” 

“Ya’ flirting now?” 

“Yeah.” Mila nods. “Might be because of the concussion.”

“Ya’ didn’t have one last night.” Daryl says doubtfully.

“No, you’re right. But I am actually flirting with you.”

With an entertaining, barely visible, smile, Daryl takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger; a gesture that says more than he does verbally.

“Jersey-”

Mila sighs; she may well suppress the tingling in her body for a few more hours.

“Fine.” Mila pushes Daryl towards the door. “Off you go. Discover new civilizations, Dr. Dixon.” She proclaims theatrically.

In response, she gets a teasing middle finger over the broad shoulder, before Daryl disappears out the front door. Mila turns just as Rick scurries down from the upper floor, holding Judith in his arms. 

“You’re stayin’ behind?” He asks.

Mila holds out her arms; as if to show that her outfit says the most about the matter.

“Okay.” Rick nods. “Good.” He’s just about to say something, but Mila interrupts him:

“I’ll watch Carl too. Promise.”

“I think he’s sneakin’ out.” Rick says, while letting Judith chew on his finger. “He and Enid-”

“-Are teenagers.” Mila shrugs while putting the two coffee cups into the sink. “Be glad Carl’s not doing the shit I did when I was a teen.” She walks around the kitchen island and gives Rick an encouraging pat on the arm. “We’ll be alright.” She smiles overly excited at Judith. “Yes we aaare!”

As Rick closes the front door, Michonne comes down the stairs. As soon as their eyes meet, Mila grins broadly; her missing Jesus trotting into the house in the middle of the night was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt when she learned that he had stormed into Rick’s bedroom, only to discover that Rick and Michonne were lying naked in bed. Michonne raises a warning finger at her.

“Don’t-” She alerts. “Not a word.”

“Ohh I have a lot of words I want to say about it.” Mila chuckles. “How about; finally!”

Michonne says nothing, just smiles. As if Mila didn’t realize before that there was ‘something’ going on. They don’t have time to say anything else on the matter; they are interrupted by Paul, who emerges from the toilet.

“Ready?” Michonne asks him. 

“Yup.” Paul looks over at Mila. “Hey- I’m really sorry about the blackeye.” He looks sincerely sorry. “We friends?”

“Hm, fine.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “But I want my grumpy archer back. So no funny business while you’re gone. Then we’re friends.”

Paul nods gravely; hopefully, he doesn’t dare to pull any ugly tricks after yesterday’s haywire ride. In addition, Mila offered him both coffee and cake earlier, so he owes her. She follows them out of the house, still wearing her sleepwear; yoga pants, t-shirt and the knitted cardigan, to the motorhome. Maggie stands by and watches the motorhome. The young woman looks worried, deep into her own thoughts.

“See it as a honeymoon.” Mila suggests with a smile at Maggie as she approaches. “Minus the fancy hotel, the rose petals...” She continues jokingly, in an attempt to cheer her up.

Maggie smiles a little, but there’s obviously something on her mind.

 “Things don’t really go by the book ‘round here.” She replies. “I’m scared, Mila.” The green eyes look worried. “The crops, the baby, other people-” She sighs. Apparently she’s been pondering a lot lately.

“Hey-” Mila grabs Maggie by the hand. “Stop it. We all got days when everything feels like shit.” And those days you spend in bed getting jagged, Mila thinks to herself; that’s at least what she does. “But it’s gonna be alright.” She smiles. “We have made it this far. You’ve made it this far. See it as an- an adventure. And tomorrow is another day.”

Although Mila herself finds it difficult to absorb her own clichéd words, they seem to instill hope in Maggie; somehow Mila thinks that booze works better in her case. 

“Wow, where did the motivational speaker come from?” Maggie smiles, squeezes her hand warmly. “Thanks.” She looks down on her bump. “You know I’ll need all the help I can possibly get when this one pops out, right?”

“Yeah I know.” Mila replies. “But we’re not there yet, thankfully.” She winks. “I have to sober up until then. Well, off you go, adventurer.”

They part, Maggie walks over to Glenn and they get inside the motorhome. Daryl shuts the small hood and brushes off oil from his hands on his jeans. Mila wraps her cardigan tighter around her; she’s still in her tank top and yoga pants, standing bare feet on the hard asphalt.  

“Ya’ sure you’ll be alright?” Daryl asks.

“I’ll be fine.” Mila ensures. Honestly, she thinks, there’s not much that can go wrong when hanging out with a three and a half-year old. “Be careful.” She says and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t punch people.”

Daryl gruffs in reply.

“Let’s chew up some asphalt!” Abraham hollers behind him.

“See ya’.” Daryl places a quick kiss on her mouth, before getting into the motorhome and shutting the door.

Mila and Carl, holding Judith in his arms, watch as the engine of the motorhome starts and it rolls away along the road, before disappearing. 

“Do you think it's safe?” Carl looks at her. “This other place?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Mila replies, while letting Judith grab on to her fingers and play with them. “But I hope so.” She meets Carl’s eyes, smiles and caresses his thick, brown hair. “Come on, let’s get inside. Juri’s having a bath-” Mila smiles at the girl on Carl’s arm. “You wanna bath too?”

Happily, Judith giggles; no sane toddler says no to a bath with rubber duckies and lots of bubbles.  

It turns into a peaceful, playful morning. Juri and Judith bathe for probably an hour under Mila’s supervision; over and over she has to push the floating rubber ducks under the water, for them to jump out of the water again. Judith laughs to the point of her getting hiccups. With one toddler on each arm, drenched in bath water from head to toe, Mila carries them both downstairs.

“Ah, great!” She exclaims just as Carl and Enid walk into the house. “Keep an eye on these two as I get dressed, will you?”

Mila disappears up the stairs before she gets an answer. In the bedroom she removes her wet clothes and drops them on the bathroom floor. She quickly puts on a pair of jeans, glances at the long scar that runs along her stomach, before hiding it with a t-shirt. At least that’s easier to hide than the blackeye. She puts on a pair of socks, sticks her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and hurries back downstairs. Carl and Enid sit on the carpet in the living room with Judith, still wrapped up in a lilac towel with flowers, while Juri runs around, naked, wearing his towel as a cape.

“Come here you!” Mila sweeps the naked toddler from the floor. “What have I said about being naked Batman?”

Silently giggling, Juri tells her that she’s wrong; he’s not Batman, he’s Spiderman.

“Well, first of all, Spidey doesn’t have a cape-” Mila presses her mouth into his soft belly and makes a loud farting noise, while Juri cries with laughter, silently. “Secondly-” Mila says, while lifting her head. “We gotta find you some clothes.”

“There’s some folded stuff in the laundry room.” Carl gets up from the floor and takes Judith in his arms.

They help out to sort the folded laundry while finding clothes for the toddlers. Mila’s heart swells when she observes Carl with Judith; he’s so much more grown up, so wise and kind, than she ever would have been able to at that age. He dresses Judith, who sits still on top of the washer and calmly lets herself get dressed. Juri on the other hand is in a rowdy mood. Carol returns, stained with blood, in time to see Mila chasing a laughing Juri, dressed in underwear, socks and shirt, around the ground floor; she carries a bucket in her hand, filled with acorns. She catches Juri with her free arm, like a hook, and hands him over to Mila, who can finally put him in a pair of trousers. 

“Thanks.” Mila sighs and brushes her hair out of her face when she has closed the button in the small pair of jeans. “I hope he’s not this cheeky when he’s with you.” She looks at the acorns while Carol assures her that Juri’s usually very angelic when they hang out together; it’s probably just an extra exciting day. Mila nods towards the bucket. “What are the, the-” The english word seems to have disappeared from her vocabulary. “those for?”

Carol looks down at the bucket. 

“You’d be surprised what you could do with acorns.” She smiles, mysteriously. 

“And the blood?”

“An unpleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Mila nods understanding; a walker. “The others left a while ago.”

While Carol puts the bucket down in the kitchen, Mila tells her about Paul Rovia and the others, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie, leaving with him to go to Hilltop. Carol receives the news with calm, a trait Mila loves about her; by now not much seems to surprise her. As Carol disappears to take a shower and change clothes, Juri wonders what they should do first during their extra special fun-day. Mila suggests crafting; Juri loved crafting when he went to daycare and always brought home necklaces, drawings and scrapbooking cards to her. When she was looking for new sheets in the house that belonged to Jessie one day, she found a whole lot of craft materials in a cupboard; Jessie wouldn't need it anymore, so Mila took it. 

They spread the material over the dining table, Mila picks out Capri Sun as snacks and starts to make beaded necklaces and bracelets while Carol returns back after a while, and starts to bake more cookies with the acorns. Deeply concentrated, Juri methodically places pearl after pearl on the small wire, with his tongue between his teeth. He makes necklaces and bracelets for his ‘big brother’ Carl, ‘auntie Carol’, Mila gets a necklace and for Daryl Juri makes a bracelet and a little pendant to hang on his crossbow.

“That will be very nice.” Carol assures as Juri holds up the pendant for her to see, made with beads in all sorts of shapes and colors. “Daryl will be very happy.” She smiles. “I will wear my necklace every day from now on, sweetie.”

While the cookies are in the oven, Carol quickly sweeps up a vegetable soup for lunch. Just in time for lunch, Aaron pops in and joins Mila, Juri, Carol and Judith around the table to eat. Mila sits in-between Juri and Judith and has a full time job making sure Judith doesn't play with her food and tells Juri to stop making another bracelet, this time for Aaron.

“You can finish it after lunch.” Mila says, for the fourth time, before Juri listens, but by then he’s already done and stretches over the table to hand Aaron the bracelet.

“Thank you.” Aaron looks tenderly at the bracelet. “The nicest gift I’ve ever received.” His genuine expression of gratitude makes Juri blush behind his second package of Capri Sun. “I’d love to have kids on my own.” Aaron looks at Juri with glistening eyes. “They’re amazing.” He sighs. “But these times-” He shakes his head.

“You can borrow mine whenever you’d like.” Mila suggests while scooping up the soup in her spoon, pouring it down her still aching mouth. “Besides, you’re already uncle Aaron.”

Juri nods at Aaron at the other side of the table; he’s got a lot of uncles and aunts all of a sudden. But only one big brother, he assures them through his gestures.

“Yeah, there’s only one Carl.” Mila agrees.

Juri points at Judith.

“And only one Judith.” Mila nods. “And since you’re older than Judith, you get to show how to behave at the dining table. Like, you’re not supposed to make bracelets while eating.”

After lunch, Aaron thanks Carol for the lunch and heads off to the construction site, Carol clears the table from bowls and spoons and leaves to go and hand out the still steaming warm cookies to the Alexandria residents. Mila takes on the mission to put Judith to sleep, while Juri finishes off his second portion of vegetable soup at the table, now fully occupied with his walkman. It’s apparently completely impossible to sit and eat without amusement; on the one hand, Mila understands him. She herself likes to have a book or a newspaper with her at the dining table. Before the outbreak, when they lived in Brooklyn, she loved to eat in front of the TV when she was alone; channel surfing until she found a channel with a program about 'tanks in the first world war', 'ancient sharks eating ships' or 'grown men running around in the dark looking for ghosts'. 

Softly Mila sings the girl to sleep while stroking the soft, light brown hair. She sings a Russian lullaby from her childhood, the one her mother used to sing to her when she’d had a nightmare; a heartbreaking song about a dying child. In hindsight, Mila’s surprised she could even fall asleep at all after hearing that song, but the way her mother sang it as they lied next to each other in Mila’s bed, was like being swept in a blanket of protection, a safe embrace from the bad dreams. Then it didn’t matter that Vanya died and was buried the next day. Mila softly strokes the now sleeping girl over her cheek, smiles and leaves the room. 

“Wow, two whole rounds of soup!” Mila exclaims, as she returns to the dining room and Juri, proud beyond measures, shows her two short, tubby fingers. “Bozhe moy, I gotta find you new clothes soon, you’ll grow like a sprout-” She says as she helps him down from the chair. “So, nap or no nap?”

Juri shakes his head; no nap today. Instead he points at the kitchen island, where Carol’s left a couple of cookies on a plate. With the big cookie in a firm grip, Juri announces that he wants to have a dance party. He’s high on sugar from the Capri Sun and needs to let off some steam, pronto! Said and done, Mila runs upstairs, again, collects their dear collection of cassette tapes, runs downstairs and puts a cassette in the stereo in the living room. Having small children is a single gym workout; never a quiet moment. Juri wastes no time and starts to jump around to Van Halen’s “Dance the night away” with the cookie in his hand. Her heart overflows with love as Mila, smiling, watches as the little person moves around on the carpet, making his sporadic, spontaneous moves to the music. Sometimes he takes a bite out of the cookie.

Carl and Enid return just in time to see Juri make a pirouette to “Mr. Blue Sky”.

“Hey, great moves, dude!” Carl greets him. 

They sit down on the couch and watch Juri dance, while Mila sorts the crafting supplies; she has a feeling they’re done making bracelets by now. Activities shift quickly when you’re a child and as a mother, Mila is left to clean up. But when “Dance in the dark” comes on she can’t refrain from wanting to dance; yeez Louise, she loves this song. She lets herself be dragged out on the living room carpet by Juri and shakes her head, making her hair dance. 

“Dance with us Carl!” Mila pants mid air. “You too, Enid!”

Slightly frightened by the invitation, Enid shakes her head so the brown hair swings around her face. Carl on the other hand rises from the couch, widely smiling, and starts to dance with them. It’s fun, liberating; just dancing around, jumping, making silly moves, while singing their hearts out. 

“Come on!” Carl grabs Enid by the hands and pulls her up on the floor. “Don’t be such a bummer. Let loose!”

“I-” Enid looks anything but pumped.

“Live a little!” Mila encourages; she herself feels very much alive at least. Her heart is pounding and the pulse is at ‘moderately working’. It’s actually quite exhausting to dance. She’s a little impressed that she used to go to parties and dance almost every weekend back in university - in heels, moreover. She looks down at her socks and Birkenstocks. 

When the song fades out and the intro to KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Give it up” they hear a soft thud from the upper floor; Judith must’ve thrown her plushie on the floor.

“I’ll go get her.” Mila says. She lets Carl and Enid continue to dance with Juri, and runs up and gets the now awake, well rested little girl. With Judith locked on her hip she walks downstairs again. Judith points at Carl and starts to wiggle her arms, spits out the pacifier and starts to babble.

“You wanna dance too?” Mila asks, while bouncing Judith on her hip. “Come on, let’s dance.”

With a squealing Judith in her arms Mila sways to the music, hops around and swings the girl around the air. But Judith doesn’t get Mila’s full attention for long; Juri, unaccustomed to competition, soon wants her attention, he also wants to dance in her arms. With Judith on one arm and Juri on the other she moves over the carpet, while the two toddlers laugh excitedly by her, a grown up, acting incredibly funny.

Carol returns from her walk around the community in the middle of the chorus to [song], when Enid has returned to the couch and Carl makes an impressive attempt at a moonwalk.

“I disappear for a moment and poof; I come back to a disco.” She laughs.

“Gotta raise the roof around here.” Mila pants and twirls around with the two toddlers locked at her hips. “Right, malysh?” She gets support from Juri, who strikes a disco finger for Carol to marvel at. “But I would actually need a break now.”

The break is accompanied by “Twistin’ the night away” and more Capri Sun, taken on the couch. Carl playfully fans Judith with the wide-brimmed hat and Mila twists her hair in a sloppy ponytail and curses her poor cardio; it’s gotten pretty bad all of a sudden. That uncomfortable nausea she’s felt on and off the last week begins to creep in and she trembles at what Juri wants to do next. “Ya izmozhden.” Mila says when Juri tells her, with sugar rushed excitement, that he wants to dance more. “I’m exhausted. Mummy’s old.”

As if Juri was going to buy that excuse. He answers her firmly that she’s not old, but that they can go out and draw with the street crayons instead. Mila throws a glance out the window. It’s sunny, looks warm. “Fine.” She replies. “Let’s go, Picasso.”

While sitting on the hot asphalt, drawing with the chunky, chalky crayons Mila’s struck by a feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time; it all feels almost as before the virus. It’s been a very normal day. Just as when Mila had her day’s off from work. On those day’s Juri didn’t go to daycare; instead they did all sorts of fun stuff. They went to the park and occupied the swing sets until some irritated mother asked Mila if she would mind sharing with the other children. On the days Jim had a day off as well they went to coffee shops, had coffee and juice and tried different pastries and cookies. Other days they stayed at home playing, or Mila invited her friends (none of them had children of their own) over for lunch and to watch a day-movie with her and Juri. 

Soon Mila puts down her pastel blue crayon and lies down on the warm asphalt, while Juri continues with his masterpiece; this time a zoo with green tigers and yellow monkeys.

“Right now, life’s pretty nice, right?” She exhales and closes her eyes. In the distance she heard the light, barely noticeable, breeze sweeping through the nearby trees. A gentle, soothing sound that mixes up with the faint sound from the walkman, lying on the ground next to Juri. “Pretty, damn nice.”

[cheese-greater-official]

The Great Gatsby .. I think antibucci Summary: Literally just the great Gatsby. Nothing else here. Absolutely no changes. Definitely use this for class, or reference. The Great Gatsby is public domain now after all. Anyways here's the totally unaltered and complete book of the Great Gatsby. I swear nothing was changed, most definitely. Of course credit to F Scott Fitzgerald for writing this commentary on both his life and the world he was in. A lot of this can still relate today, so keep an open mind when reading. Notes: I'd like to preface this by saying... This is really I mean REALLY just the Great Gatsby. I swear. There is nothing going here that is out of the ordinary! Nothing at all! Chapter 1 Chapter Text Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!” - Thomas Parke D'Invilliers. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the

wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day. I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him — with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe — so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why — ye — es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two. The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog — at least I had him for a few days until he ran away — and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove. It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road. “How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly. I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood. And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all. It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size. I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented

rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month. Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago. Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that. Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game. And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch. He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts. "Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch. "I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly. Turning me around by one arm

he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore. "It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside." We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor. The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in. The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room. "I'm p-paralyzed with happiness." She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.) At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me. I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour. I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me. "Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically. "The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore." "How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby." "I'd like to." "She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?" "Never." "Well, you ought to see her. She's—" Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder. "What you doing, Nick

?" "I'm a bond man." "Who with?" I told him. "Never heard of them," he remarked decisively. This annoyed me. "You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East." "Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else." At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room. "I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember." "Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon." "No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training." Her host looked at her incredulously. "You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me." I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before. "You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there." "I don't know a single—" "You must know Gatsby." "Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?" Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square. Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind. "Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it." "We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed. "All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?" Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger. "Look!" she complained. "I hurt it." We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue. "You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—" "I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding." "Hulking," insisted Daisy. Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself. "You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?" I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way. "Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The

Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?" "Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone. "Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved." "Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—" "Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things." "We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun. "You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair. "This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?" There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me. "I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?" "That's why I came over tonight." "Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—" "Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker. "Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position." For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk. The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing. "I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?" This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house. Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether. "This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said. "Don't talk. I want to hear what happens." "Is something happening?" I inquired innocently. "You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew." "I don't." "Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York." "Got some woman?" I repeated blankly. Miss Baker nodded. "She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?" Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table. "It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety. She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked

outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?" "Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables." The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl. "We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding." "I wasn't back from the war." "That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything." Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter. "I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything." "Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?" "Very much." "It'll show you how I've gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool." "You see I think everything's terrible anyhow," she went on in a convinced way. "Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything." Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom's, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated—God, I'm sophisticated!" The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged. Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the "Saturday Evening Post"—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms. When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand. "To be continued," she said, tossing the magazine on the table,

"in our very next issue." Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up. "Ten o'clock," she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. "Time for this good girl to go to bed." "Jordan's going to play in the tournament tomorrow," explained Daisy, "over at Westchester." "Oh,—you're Jordan Baker." I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago. "Good night," she said softly. "Wake me at eight, won't you." "If you'll get up." "I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon." "Of course you will," confirmed Daisy. "In fact I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—" "Good night," called Miss Baker from the stairs. "I haven't heard a word." "She's a nice girl," said Tom after a moment. "They oughtn't to let her run around the country this way." "Who oughtn't to?" inquired Daisy coldly. "Her family." "Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick's going to look after her, aren't you, Nick? She's going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her." Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence. "Is she from New York?" I asked quickly. "From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white—" "Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?" demanded Tom suddenly. "Did I?" She looked at me. "I can't seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know—" "Don't believe everything you hear, Nick," he advised me. I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called "Wait! "I forgot to ask you something, and it's important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West." "That's right," corroborated Tom kindly. "We heard that you were engaged." "It's libel. I'm too poor." "But we heard it," insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. "We heard it from three people so it must be true." Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn't even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come east. You can't stop going with an old friend on account of rumors and on the other hand I had no intention of being rumored into marriage. Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he "had some woman in New York" was really less surprising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart. Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight and turning my head to watch it I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor's mansion and was standing with his hands in

his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens. I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn't call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness. Chapter 2 Summary: Just chapter 2 of the Great Gatsby Notes: (See the end of the chapter for notes.) Chapter Text About half way between West Egg and New York the motor-road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground. The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan's mistress. The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her I had no desire to meet her—but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and taking hold of my elbow literally forced me from the car. "We're getting off!" he insisted. "I want you to meet my girl." I think he'd tanked up a good deal at luncheon and his determination to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. I followed him over a low white-washed railroad fence and we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg's persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it and contiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage—Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars Bought and Sold—and I followed Tom inside. The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred

to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blonde, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes. "Hello, Wilson, old man," said Tom, slapping him jovially on the shoulder. "How's business?" "I can't complain," answered Wilson unconvincingly. "When are you going to sell me that car?" "Next week; I've got my man working on it now." "Works pretty slow, don't he?" "No, he doesn't," said Tom coldly. "And if you feel that way about it, maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else after all." "I don't mean that," explained Wilson quickly. "I just meant—" His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs and in a moment the thickish figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and walking through her husband as if he were a ghost shook hands with Tom, looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips and without turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice: "Get some chairs, why don't you, so somebody can sit down." "Oh, sure," agreed Wilson hurriedly and went toward the little office, mingling immediately with the cement color of the walls. A white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled everything in the vicinity—except his wife, who moved close to Tom. "I want to see you," said Tom intently. "Get on the next train." "All right." "I'll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level." She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door. We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and a grey, scrawny Italian child was setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track. "Terrible place, isn't it," said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor Eckleburg. "Awful." "It does her good to get away." "Doesn't her husband object?" "Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive." So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York—or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train. She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin which stretched tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in New York. At the news-stand she bought a copy of "Town Tattle" and a moving-picture magazine and, in the station drug store, some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Upstairs, in the solemn echoing drive she let four taxi cabs drive away before she selected a new one, lavender-colored with grey upholstery, and in this we slid out from the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she turned sharply from the window and leaning forward tapped on the front glass. "I want to get one of those dogs," she said earnestly. "I want to get one for the apartment. They're nice to have—a dog." We backed up to a grey old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John D. Rockefeller. In a basket, swung from his neck, cowered a dozen very recent puppies of an indeterminate breed. "What kind are they?" asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly as he came to the taxi-window. "All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?" "I'd like to get one of those police dogs; I don't suppose you got that kind?" The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck. "That's no police dog," said Tom. "No, it's not exactly a police dog,"

" said the man with disappointment in his voice. "It's more of an airedale." He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag of a back. "Look at that coat. Some coat. That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold." "I think it's cute," said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. "How much is it?" "That dog?" He looked at it admiringly. "That dog will cost you ten dollars." The airedale—undoubtedly there was an airedale concerned in it somewhere though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately. "That dog? That dog's a boy." "It's a bitch," said Tom decisively. "Here's your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it." We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner. "Hold on," I said, "I have to leave you here." "No, you don't," interposed Tom quickly. "Myrtle'll be hurt if you don't come up to the apartment. Won't you, Myrtle?" "Come on," she urged. "I'll telephone my sister Catherine. She's said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know." "Well, I'd like to, but—" We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases and went haughtily in. "I'm going to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in the elevator. "And of course I got to call up my sister, too." The apartment was on the top floor—a small living room, a small dining room, a small bedroom and a bath. The living room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance however the hen resolved itself into a bonnet and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of "Town Tattle" lay on the table together with a copy of "Simon Called Peter" and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large hard dog biscuits—one of which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door. I have been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon so everything that happened has a dim hazy cast over it although until after eight o'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes and I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner. When I came back they had disappeared so I sat down discreetly in the living room and read a chapter of "Simon Called Peter"—either it was terrible stuff or the whiskey distorted things because it didn't make any sense to me. Just as Tom and Myrtle—after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names—reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door. The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty with a solid sticky bob of red hair and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed i

Feel free to delete the first one. I would do anything for you if post this. The Great Gatsby in all it’s glory

im aware i was probably supposed to read the whole thing to find out if you changed anything and tnhen find out you hadnt and id wasted an hour of my life but i am way too lazy to do that

[dc41896]

Changes

Another quick idea! It’s probably gonna be super short, but I hope you guys like it😊!

Pairing: Florian MunteanuxBlack Reader

⚠️: Small bit of suggestive language, but other than that fluff💕

“Hi love, I hope you had a good day at work! I know you’re wondering why there’s a note on the door, but everything will make sense once you come inside. Love, Flo”

Slowly opening your door, you’re first met with rose petals covering your wooden floors and a glass vase filled with different, colorful flowers on your marble counter. Sniffing one of the lillies, you can’t contain the smile that forms across your face.

“Aww he’s so sweet! I wonder what this is for?,” you thought taking off your shoes and putting your bag away.

“Wait, it’s not our anniversary is it? No it can’t be that’s not until August. Oh no, did I miss another anniversary that he thinks I remember like the day we first met or our first date?!”

Now nervously tapping the vase with your nails as you search through your mind to figure out what today might be, you worry about the fact that you’ve come home empty handed for this special occasion and have potentially forgotten about said event. Lightly tapping the floor with his nails, your grey pitbull puppy scurries up to your leg nudging it with his small head.

“Hi Bubs!! What are you doing with this huh?”

Squatting down, you take the light pink daisy from his mouth giving his head a few scratches. The gleam from the setting sun bouncing off the oval cut diamond ring at the head of the flower instantly catching your eye, before you notice the note hanging from the stem, and making your heart race.

“I tried to come up with a cute poem to reveal your surprise but nothing sounded good lol. So I figured why not let Pluto help me do it?”

Before you could call his name, you see Florian walk towards you from your bedroom wearing his recently tailored deep purple suit with matching tie and his black dress shoes. Kneeling down on one knee, he takes your hand in his lightly kissing it.

“I don’t know if you remember, but you asked me when I got this part and the contract if I was ready for my life to change. I know you meant if I was ready for the extra attention and press since this is definitely the biggest part I’ve gotten yet, but that night I started thinking. While it may take some time to get used to what this is all gonna bring, I am ready for my life to change in that I want you to be there not as my girlfriend, but as my wife. I want to start a family with you and hope you feel the same.”

You wanted to yell “yes” but knowing as soon as you opened your mouth you’d be a sobbing mess, you excitedly nodded your head as tears streamed down your face.

Standing up, he slides the ring on your finger before picking you up to kiss your lips.

“I take it this is why you bought the new suit?,” you ask between sniffles, smiling with arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist as he holds onto the back of your thighs.

“You could say that,” he lightly chuckles. “I mean I could wear it to a premiere or out to dinner, which we have reservations for in about an hour, so you’re gonna want to get dressed too love.”

“Let me guess, you picked out an outfit for me too?”

“You’ll have to go in the room and find out,” he smiles kissing your salty cheek while letting you down to go in the room and see what other surprise he had for you.

Met with more rose petals scattered along the floor, you see a black, ankle length dress with spaghetti straps and a thigh high slit draped across the bed. Your open toed, black strappy heels resting on the floor in front of the dress waiting to join you on your special night.

“You like?,” Florian asks from behind you, wrapping his muscular arm around the front of your chest as he kisses the back of your head.

“I love, thank you! You didn’t have to buy me a new dress though, especially after the ring and the reservation,” you smile turning to face him.

“I know, but I wanted to spoil my girl.”

You start to walk towards the bathroom to get ready for your dinner, but stop midway with arms crossed in front of you watching Florian brush his beard in the mirror.

“You know, I’m actually not really hungry right now,” you speak, Florian looking at you slightly confused.

“Um ok...wait did you eat before you got home without me?!,” he asks hand over his heart and distraught look on his face making you laugh.

“No I didn’t eat without you. Let’s just say there’s something else I’d rather do,” you answer slowly walking towards him.

Lightly tugging on his tie, he leans down meeting you in a deep kiss and now understanding what you were referring to. “Well if you insist,” he smirks slightly squatting to pick you up again and placing you on the bed leaning over you with both arms on either side of your body.

“But wait is there a fee if we’re late for dinner? I don’t want you to have to pay even more.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?,” he chuckles, sitting up on his knees as he takes off his suit jacket and kicks away his shoes. “Let me worry about that ok?”

Leaning down, he kisses along your neck and collarbone making you giggle from the sensation of his beard scratching against your skin. “Ok, but if that happens I don’t want to hear ‘you’re the reason we’re late’.”

“Well if something does happen you’ll just have to make it up to me then huh?,” he smirks momentarily meeting your eyes in the midst of you playfully rolling them.

“Alright, deal. I think I have a few ideas on how to do that,” you smirk undoing his tie and throwing it across the room.

Taglist: @crushed-pink-petals @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @lovelymari4 @melinda-january @themyscxiras @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @itshinothey @wildfirecracker @nina-sj

If anyone else wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged and don’t see your name, only wants to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe Alternate Future chapter 10: Prickly Pair (originally posted on March 22, 2021)

AN: We're getting close to shit gettin' down here! As Steven tries out a new hobby, we learn pretty quickly he refuses to move on from anything while his hobby begins to turn on him. Wow, that's a sentence I never thought I would say.

Synopsis: Steven takes up gardening and grows a sentient cactus that repeats everything he says.

Cast:

Zach Callison as Steven, Cactus Steven

Estelle as Garnet

Michaela Dietz as Amethyst

Deedee Magno Hall as Pearl

Shelby Rabara as Peridot

--

One afternoon in Beach City, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were helping Steven carry large bags of dirt to his conservatory above the beach house. A few days had passed since the Little Homeschool graduation, and Steven had decided what he wanted to do next.

"We got your dirt, dude!" Amethyst exclaimed as she helped the other Gems with carrying the dirt to the conservatory.

"Thanks, guys," Steven replied gratefully while opening the door to the conservatory. "come on in."

Inside, the Gems discovered a beautiful garden of flowers awaiting them. "How many of these did your magic spit grow?" Amethyst asked.

"None." Steven answered with a chuckle. "I grew all these the old-fashioned way."

"So this is what you've been up to since leaving Little Homeschool." Garnet realized.

"Yeah, teaching was great and all, but I dunno if that was my calling in life." Steven said. "Besides, it was really bittersweet seeing the Off-Colors leave."

"Well, I think this is a wonderful way to spend some you time." Pearl praised Steven's new hobby.

"Me time? I'm hardly alone here." Steven snickered before he knelt and gazed at a bluebell flower. "I call this little smartie Connie." Then, he got back up to examine an onion. "And this onion I call, well, Onion." Next, Steven gestured to some perennials. "And these perennials will never leave!" He began to point to a few of them in particular. "That one's Sadie, and this is her band Daisy Clover and the Shrub-Spects." Finally, he walked over to a pink flower in a blue pot with a star on it. "I named this one Lars." Steven revealed before he started talking to it. "You're stuck in the ground, aren't you?" he said in baby-talk. "Not going to zip into space and leave everyone behind. No you won't, no you won't."

Garnet and Pearl just stared at Steven with concerned looks on their faces, but Amethyst was too busy snacking on dirt to look the same.

"Uh, Steven?" Amethyst said, chewing on some of the soil.

"This might not be the healthiest approach to your new hobby." Garnet admitted bluntly.

"Besides, Onion ain't ever leading anytime soon!" Amethyst added. "Unfortunately!" she coughed.

"I'm just having fun, that's all!" Steven fibbed. "You all should take it easy. They're just plants!"

"In that case, we'll leave you to it." Pearl declared while the three Gems left the conservatory.

"Have fun, dude!" Amethyst called while the door closed behind them. After a bit, the door reopened.

"You should probably keep an eye on your plants, though." Garnet warned, peeking her head through the door before leaving again.

As soon as the Gems departed, Steven turned to discover a lonely, decaying cactus sitting on a wooden table behind him. "Huh?" he muttered while walking over to check up on the prickly plant. "What am I doing?" Steven mused to himself. "Is this really my thing now, plants?"

Steven then picked up a knife and began using it to cut off the top of the cactus. "Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl aren't even impressed." He continued monologuing to himself. "I guess gardening just isn't as awesome as saving the universe."

Steven then moved the cactus cutting away from the cactus he cut it from while filling a new pot with dirt. "Okay, little guy, welcome to your new-OUCH!" he yelped in pain from pricking himself on the cactus top, before sticking his injured finger in his mouth. When Steven popped his finger out, the saliva gathered began to sparkle as he placed the cutting in the pot. "Probably should've worn gloves."

Just then, Steven's tummy began to rumble. "Whoa, guess it must be lunchtime." He said to himself before turning to the cactus. "I'll be back for you soon, little guy."

As Steven left the cactus in the conservatory, something about the succulent began to change slowly.

--

"Yo, you think something is up with Steven?" Amethyst asked Garnet and Pearl down at the beach house. "I mean, I'm sure we can all agree it's weird he's naming the plants after people who already parted ways with him."

"Yes, very strange indeed." Garnet agreed. "Perhaps we should talk to him about it."

"Or, maybe we could just leave him alone." Amethyst suggested. "I mean, I'm sure it's a very touchy subject for him."

"That reminds me." Pearl interjected, plucking her phone from her gem. "Childcare book author George Ikari is holding a signing in a week, and I plan on going." She showed Garnet and Pearl a picture of a bearded man with glasses ominously clasping his fingers together while on the cover of a book titled "What to Do When Your Child Feels Directionless."

"That cover doesn't look menacing at all." Amethyst declared sarcastically.

"I'm going to have to side with Pearl for this, Amethyst." Garnet stated. "Maybe this book could be helpful."

Just then, Steven came walking downstairs from the conservatory. "Hey guys, what are you talking about?"

"We were just discussing this author Pearl wants to see some time." Garnet said. "So, how are things going with your plants?"

"I just pricked my finger on a cactus, no big." Steven laughed nervously.

"Oh my, best get that looked at!" Pearl yelped. "Who knows how long till it gets infected?"

"Relax Pearl, I'm fine." Steven replied. "Nothing some healing spit can't fix."

--

The following day, Steven went back up to the conservatory with a watering can in hand to take care of his cactus when he made a startling discovery.

The cactus had grown! Not just bigger and healthier, but it had also grown a face, and was barking like a dog at him.

"Whoa!" Steven exclaimed as he threw the watering can away and raced to the now living cactus. "Oh my gosh, did I make my cactus come to life? I have got to tell the Gems about this!"

--

Downstairs, Amethyst was taking a group selfie with Garnet and Pearl when Steven came to them with his latest discovery.

"Hey guys, look what I made!" Steven proudly presented his plant, which continued barking. "Look at the little guy!"

"I thought you weren't using your spit on your plants?" Amethyst wondered while putting the phone away.

"No, I think I may have accidentally made it come alive with my spit." Steven replied. "I think it may have been after I pricked myself yesterday."

"A likely story!" Amethyst declared, squinting at Steven suspiciously.

"That cactus really bounced back." Garnet remarked, thinking back to how decayed it was yesterday.

"A real survivor, much like you." Pearl added proudly.

"Aww, and he's got a little lumpy head like you!" Amethyst cooed to the cactus. "Hey, why don't we call it Cactus Steven?"

"Cactus Steven, eh?" the real Steven asked. "Call me conceited, but I kinda like it."

Cactus Steven began cooing at the Gems, though in a way that made Pearl concerned. "Is he okay?"

"I think he just wants some sunlight." Steven realized, turning the pot so that his cactus lookalike faced him. "Maybe I could use some too."

--

Throughout the rest of the day, Steven took his little cactus around Beach City and Little Homeworld, showing him to all his friends and introducing the succulent to all the things he liked to do.

As the day rolled to a close, the two Stevens took this moment to just sit down on the beach and watch the sunset together.

"This beach, it just never changes." Steven mused to his new cactus friend. "I mean, a lot has changed. I'm trying to be cool about it, but everything just feels so weird now. Everybody's moving on with their lives, and I should be too. I gave up running the school, but I still don't know what comes next." He then turned to Cactus Steven. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

As a cactus that only came to life not too long ago, Cactus Steven turned to his Gem/human counterpart with an expression that one would make when saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It's probably better that I'm not running Little Homeschool anymore!" Steven continued, even though Cactus Steven probably isn't able to make a concrete reply. "But who am I to decide what's best for everyone anymore?" Steven then got up and began to walk away from Cactus Steven. "Those Gems are better off learning from Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, Lapis, Peridot, Bismuth, everyone!" He started getting more stressed with each word. "Why do I need to be needed?! Come on Steven, what's wrong with you?!"

Cactus Steven turned his little head sideways, or as sideways as he could in his pot, with a sad look Steven's way.

"Sorry I had to dump this all on you, Mini-Me." Steven chuckled apologetically to his plant.

"Eeee!" Cactus Steven squeaked in comfort.

"Okay, let's go home." Steven obliged in understanding, and the pair began making their way back to the temple.

--

Another day passed, and Steven was once again tending to his plants in the conservatory. "Good morning Ronaldo, good morning Nanafua!" he said to his flowers as he watered them. "And a very special good morning-" Steven suddenly tripped over in alarm as he discovered something about Cactus Steven has changed. "-to you. Wow, you really grew overnight!"

"Good morning to you!" croaked Cactus Steven, who now began taking the shape of Steven's head.

"Whoa, did you just speak?!" Steven cried in amazement.

"Whoa, did you just speak?!" Cactus Steven replied.

"This is too much!" Steven shouted. "I've got to tell the Gems about this!"

--

Amethyst was looking at a tablet while Pearl was drawing in a notepad and Garnet reviewed her art downstairs on the couch. "Oh, hello Steven." Pearl greeted Steven as he came downstairs with Cactus Steven in his hand. "Hello Cactus Steven."

"Hey Pearl, you have to see this." Steven said while presenting his cactus counterpart to the Gems.

"Hey Pearl." Cactus Steven mimicked to their amazement.

"That's so freakin' cute!" Amethyst cried.

"He's growing to become quite the talker." Garnet added.

"And he said my name too!" Pearl stated. "You think he might be copying you?"

"I think so." Steven agreed with a shrug.

"Hi Pearl!" Cactus Steven continued. At first it seemed cute, but then the little guy kept talking. "But who am I to decide what's best for everyone anymore?" he began parroting Steven's pensive moment from yesterday. "Everybody's moving on with their lives, and I should be too."

"Uh, this isn't what it sounds like, I swear." Steven said defensively.

"Is it me, or is your cactus real good at self-deprecating?" Amethyst remarked.

"Sorry I had to dump this all o-" Cactus Steven tried to continue before the regular Steven tried to make it shut up by covering his mouth, but that only resulted in more cactus spines on his hand. "Come on Steven, what's wrong with you?!"

"Is something the matter Steven?" Pearl inquired, tilting her head with concern.

Steven refused to answer and instead raced back upstairs while the cactus continued talking. "Why do I need to be needed?! Why do I need to be needed?!"

"See what I told you the other day?" Amethyst said to Garnet and Pearl. "Something's definitely up!"

"Seems like Steven's got some problems he doesn't want our help with." Garnet adjusted her glasses in contemplation. "I suggest we find a way to help him without getting him too wound up."

"Still, it seems like Steven's letting a lot of issues just bottle up inside him." Pearl began worrying. "This is definitely not healthy. I think George Ikari might've said that in one of his books."

--

Back at the conservatory, Steven sat Cactus Steven on the table to give him a firm talking-to. "What was all that for?!" he yelled angrily. "I wanted that stuff to be private, but here you go just spouting out words that'll make everyone freak out about me!"

"What was all that for?!" Cactus Steven copied his master.

"Because I thought you'd be nice to talk to!" Steven complained as he began pacing around the conservatory. "I can't tell Pearl how I feel, cause then she'd get super depressed and start blaming herself like she always does! Meanwhile, Garnet would probably give me advice while sounding all high and mighty, Amethyst would try to look mature, and no one else would understand me!"

"No one else would understand me!" Cactus Steven aped Steven's words.

"I know, right? I mean, get over yourself already." Steven scoffed. "Please don't tell anyone I said that."

"I thought you'd be nice to talk to!" Cactus Steven continued impersonating his fleshy counterpart before Steven covered him up with a box. "What was all that for?!"

"Oh you know what." Steven coldly declared as he exited the conservatory. "I can't let anyone find out about this." He sighed heavily just as he found Amethyst standing nearby.

"Find out about what?" Amethyst asked Steven.

"Oh oh oh, it's nothing Amethyst, honest!" Steven began fibbing while his pupils began shifting around. "I mean, why do you ask?"

"Just wanted to check up on you, brah." Amethyst replied with a comforting hand on Steven's arm. "Look, if you need help, just say the word, and we'll be there."

"Okay then." Steven moaned. "That reminds me, is Peridot doing anything at the moment?"

--

"So, you are saying this cactus has begun to imitate everything you say?" Peridot asked Steven as she examined Cactus Steven under a magnifying glass at her greenhouse.

"Yeah, and it's starting to freak me out a little too." Steven answered.

"Get over yourself already!" Cactus Steven yelled, his voice beginning to sound a little clearer to their pair's alarm.

"Is there anything you can do to stop this?" Steven asked Peridot hopefully.

"I must apologize, Steven, but I don't think I can be of any assistance." Peridot replied morosely.

"No one else would understand me!" Cactus Steven continued imitating, seemingly agreeing with Peridot.

"See what I mean?" the little green Gem remarked with a thumb to Cactus Steven. The Steven she knew just buried his face in his hands and tried his hardest not to yell in frustration.

Outside the greenhouse, a small, black spy camera watched the greenhouse as Steven left with Cactus Steven in hand. But the moment Peridot turned around, it suddenly activated a camouflage feature.

--

That night, Steven had decided to close the conservatory to watch Cactus Steven, posting a sign on the door saying that the little cactus needed rest.

"Now all the Gems are worried about me, and Peridot wasn't any help either." Steven moaned in defeat while sitting near Cactus Steven. Just then, he heard some muffled yelling coming from the box he hid the living succulent in. "Hm?"

Walking over to the box, Steven picked it up to discover that Cactus Steven had grown some more, and had even sprouted an arm from the soil.

"Oh my gosh! Cactus Steven, what's wrong with you?!" Steven began panicking.

"What's wrong with you?" Cactus Steven repeated, earning his bigger self's ire.

"What's wrong is that you keep making me look stupid and helpless in front of everyone!" Steven cried furiously as he picked up the pot.

"Stupid!" Cactus Steven mocked Steven and pointed his newly grown arm at him. "Helpless!"

"I wish you wouldn't talk!" Steven argued before he began to glow pink.

"I wish YOU wouldn't talk!" Cactus Steven replied just as angrily.

"STOP IT!" Steven fully glowed pink, but then abruptly stopped when he heard Pearl's voice.

"Steven, time for dinner!" Pearl called for him from downstairs.

"Coming Pearl, just give me a second!" Steven replied to Pearl, and then turned back to Cactus Steven with an angry glare. "Not. Another. Word."

As Steven left the conservatory, Cactus Steven once again began to grow. "Not. Another. Word."

--

Early the next morning, Steven was asleep in his bed when suddenly, he was awakened by the sound of breaking glass. He raced up to the conservatory, where it was in total disarray, and a large hole was made in the glass wall.

"Uh, Cactus Steven?" Steven called for the living cactus while following a trail of needles leading back to his room. "If you're mad about yesterday, I get it, but I'm just going through some things right now."

Steven looked around with nervousness and curiosity, while a massive lump revealed itself on his bed. Cactus Steven slowly rose from under the blanket, revealing that he was now around Steven's height with a foot still stuck in his pot. "STEEEEVEEEEEN!"

"Whoa!" Steven yelled in terror, causing him to fall down the stairs and onto the table. Cactus Steven tumbled after the boy and was prepared to crush him before Steven rolled out of the way. "Cactus Steven, you need to go back to your home!"

"Go back to your home!" Cactus Steven croaked in reply.

"This is my home!" Steven shrieked while trying to push the cactus beast away from him, only to be covered in cactus needles. "AGH!" he yelled in agony while trying to shake some of the needles off. Cactus Steven did the same, which made more needles fly around the room.

"Just cut it out!" Steven yelled.

"Just get out!" Cactus Steven yelled back, charging at his doppelganger like an angry predator.

"Don't come any closer!" Steven summoned his shield to protect himself from any more needles.

"STEEEEEVEEEEEN!" Cactus Steven roared, just as Steven thrust his shield into his succulent counterpart's torso.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Steven frantically apologized.

Cactus Steven, however, didn't feel any pain, except for a large gash created by the shield thrown into his shoulder. After dislodging the shield, Cactus Steven threw the weapon back at Steven. "This is my home!"

"He's gone berserk!" Steven yelled fearfully before he found three figures approaching the front door. "The Gems!"

"The Gems don't need me anymore!" Cactus Steven said.

"Those are my private thoughts, and you should know it!" Steven scolded the cactus. "I can't let them hear about this!"

"What an all-nighter, am I right?!" Amethyst quipped as she, Garnet and Pearl returned to the beach house.

"Those Gems did need to get some extra studying in." Garnet replied.

"Plus, there was that strange camera thing that kept following us around." Pearl added. "I could've sworn it's leading up to something bigger, but it shut down before I could question it."

Before Pearl could say anymore, Steven came barging out the front door. "Oh, hey guys!" he laughed nervously. "Uhh, everything's fine and totally normal, nothing to see here! Hey, you think maybe you could wait a couple of hours? I've got things to do, okay, BYE!"

The Gems turned to the window as Steven fought against Cactus Steven with his shield, cluing them in on what was going on.

"Man, someone's been hittin' the photosynthesis!" Amethyst quipped before the Crystal Gems summoned their weapons and headed inside.

"We're here to help Steven!" Pearl declared protectively.

"I can't tell Pearl how I feel, cause then she'd get super depressed and start blaming herself like she always does!" Cactus Steven said in response to Pearl, making her drop her guard.

"What?" Pearl muttered in shock.

"I have no idea what he's talking about!" Steven continued to fib.

"But it's not inaccurate!" Amethyst snarked.

"JUST, GET, OUT!" Cactus Steven bellowed as he charged at the Gems, but Garnet punched his arm off, and it was sent flying at the fridge. However, it soon quickly got back up and grew tendrils from its stump to stand on.

"Whoa, that's kicka-" Amethyst began before she was kicked in the face by Cactus Steven's foot, breaking the pot and making shards fly everywhere. As Cactus Steven started to get up, Garnet punched the rest of him towards the sink, breaking it and dousing him in water.

Meanwhile, the arm launched itself at Pearl and was impaled on her spear, but then it exploded in her face and covered her in needles. "Eugh-ga-hahahaha!" Pearl groaned from the needles covering her.

As for Cactus Steven, he began to absorb the water from the sink and grow even larger, sprouting more limbs along with more Steven faces all over his body, all of them repeating Steven's venting just like the main head.

"The Gems don't need me!" Cactus Steven's heads yelled in unison while causing the house to fall apart by stomping around. "I thought you'd be nice to talk to!"

"Okay, Pinoke, that's even being a puppet!" Amethyst declared while wrapping her whip around the cactus monster's leg. Cactus Steven grabbed onto a rafter to keep himself from falling, but it was no help, and the rafter was split in two.

"Cut it out!" the cactus creature yelled while wrapping Amethyst in his roots and slamming her into the ceiling before Garnet and Pearl tried to rescue her. Unfortunately, Pearl found her spear getting stuck in the monster's thick & fleshy skin.

"Why is this thing so durable?!" Pearl complained while Cactus Steven tried to get her off.

"The cactus is Earth's most durable plant!" Garnet declared before she gave the cactus's leg a strong punch, making more spines fly everywhere and once again pricking Pearl.

"Garnet!" Pearl stuttered for her de-facto leader before her spear was freed from the cactus's body, and she fell down.

"Give up; you can't win this fight, you giant succulent!" Garnet declared.

"Garnet would probably give me advice while sounding all high and mighty!" Cactus Steven complained, catching the fusion by surprise.

"I'm sorry, what?" Garnet asked as she was punched away. Amethyst scaled the ceiling with her whip in her mouth, and she dropped down onto Cactus Steven's back to attack.

"Sneak attack!" Amethyst cried.

"Amethyst would try to look mature!" Cactus Steven babbled, much to the defective Quartz's confusion.

"Why's he so oddly specific in complaining about us?" Amethyst asked before both halves of Cactus Steven clamped shut on her. She was dumped on the ground while covered in cactus spines, followed by all three Crystal Gems being pinned against the temple entrance wall.

"I think I got it!" Steven realized while the Gems screamed in terror. "He's repeating me, he's repeating all my private thoughts!" Then, he got an idea. "Wait, he can copy me! Girls, I got a plan!" Steven bravely marched up to his cactus with shield in hand, ready to put his plan into action. "Hey Cactus Steven, have some of this!"

But instead of attacking, Steven de-summoned his shield. "I'm sorry I mistreated you." Steven apologized to Cactus Steven. "I know you didn't want to hurt anyone, because you're copying the only role model you got: me."

While Steven apologized, Cactus Steven stopped attacking while the Crystal Gems popped out of the wall at last. "I should've given you the love and kindness you deserved." Steven declared, and then spread out his arms. "Now, you want a hug?"

"Huh?" Cactus Steven muttered quizzically as the real Steven began to hug his massive leg. In response to this act of kindness, one more change began to occur.

"Dudes, look!" Amethyst pointed out that pink flowers were now blooming all over Cactus Steven's body as he returned Steven's hug.

"I'm sorry." Cactus Steven apologized back.

"Okay, come on, big guy." Steven broke the hug, now covered in spikes himself. "Let's get you back to the dome."

"No!" Cactus Steven yelled before he began to walk away from the four he had been fighting moments ago.

"Wait, where are you going?!" Steven exclaimed as he raced after Cactus Steven. "I'll fix up the dome real nice, all for you!"

Cactus Steven gave no words. Instead, he plucked one of the flowers off his body and gave it to Steven before he broke through the front wall and began walking away.

"Uh, Steven?" Pearl called while picking spikes off her body.

"Anything you'd like to say to us?" Garnet asked the boy, who just stared down at the flower in his hands, and let out a heavy sigh.

"I think I've said enough." Steven said wearily.

--

Later that day, Cactus Steven continued its sojourn away from the Crystal Temple and eventually Beach City, now making his way into the woods nearby. And he kept mimicking Steven all the way.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone, so I copied the only role model I got." Cactus Steven muttered to himself. "But Steven still gave me the love and kindness I deser-"

Before Cactus Steven could finish, he felt something stabbing him straight through the torso. "WHAAAT?!" he yelled before he was cut to pieces by a sword with a black grip & guard bearing a white diamond symbol.

Once she had finished reducing Cactus Steven to chunks of cactus, Black Rutile gazed down at one of the flowers that once adorned her victim's body and heartlessly crushed it beneath her foot without a second thought. She then changed her tune into something more relaxed and less sadistic as she began to round up whatever pieces of Cactus Steven remained and collect them all in a bubble.

One of the Cactus Steven remains turned into a little Steven head that let out a tiny roar, prompting Black Rutile to smile and stroke her chin in deep contemplation.

--

Aw jeepers, it's Black Rutile again! What has she got planned for Cactus Steven? Just another question that'll be answered when this part is reaching it's end. But next time, we get to see Peridot take the stage again as we look into Steven's dreams! Keep an eye out folks.

[galaxierowls]

The Great Gatsby

by

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

—THOMAS PARKE D'INVILLIERS

Chapter 1

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father's office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, "Why—ye-es" with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came east, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby."

"I'd like to."

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well, you ought to see her. She's—"

Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"What you doing, Nick?"

"I'm a bond man."

"Who with?"

I told him.

"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.

This annoyed me.

"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."

"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."

Her host looked at her incredulously.

"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single—"

"You must know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."

"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."

We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—"

"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

"Hulking," insisted Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"

I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way.

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—"

"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things."

"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?"

There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That's why I came over tonight."

"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—"

"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position."

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.

"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?"

This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said.

"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."

"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.

"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."

"I don't."

"Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.

Miss Baker nodded.

"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?"

Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.

Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.

"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"I wasn't back from the war."

"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."

Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."

"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"

"Very much."

Thank you.

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin and the Gem Carver (Part 15)

Thorin thinks about Miranda and all she has done to show him how much she loved and wanted to please him and his family. He regretted not knowing it sooner and wished there was a way he could give her a legacy to be remembered by before she passes. He heads to the blue meeting hall and asks a guard to go and get Balin.

A few minutes later Balin is joining him in the meeting hall. “The guard said you wished to see me, Thorin?” he asks approaching the King. Thorin nods. Have a seat, Balin I need to pick your brain and I seek your wisdom.” He says.

Balin sits down and Thorin tells him everything. Balin’s eyes get huge. Thorin shows him the book Miranda had created for him and his One when she heard his father talking about finding him a wife before Smaug sacked Erebor. Balin’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Thorin, this is the most intricate gold and silver leafing I have ever seen! She is a master at this! It’s a shame she is so old now! Ori would’ve loved to learn her secrets and her trade!”

Thorin chuckles. “I thought so as well. I mentioned it to Mahal and he promised to give her enough time here still to teach Ori her trade and all her secrets she wishes to pass on to him to keep this knowledge from falling out of memory. Ori is to record it in as much detail as possible.” He says.

“Balin, I wish to give Miranda a legacy, so she is not forgotten. She never married and spent her entire life dedicated to creating the beautiful covers of our books in the royal library and in Erebor’s library. How can we show her our appreciation and ensure her, and her dedication and skills are never forgotten?” he asks.

Balin thinks for a few minutes, stroking his beard. “Well, what if we summon her and ask her if she is willing to teach others, including Ori, her trade and secrets so they are not lost. I’m sure there are a few who would want to learn how to create such beauty. When they are trained to her liking, we could offer to open a school so that they can continue to teach her trade to future generations. We could name the school after her and have a statue of her carved, so she is not forgotten. You could name her a Master Royal Bookbinder if you so wish, I can create her some Master Royal Bookbinder beads to be placed into her hair, to honor her for a lifetime’s dedication and service to the line of Durin.” He suggests.

Thorin nods, “Do it then. That brings up the second thing I wished to speak with you about.” He says. Then proceeds to tell Balin what all Mahal and Yavanna said about Jade and her healing and her title. He shows Balin the ring and the hair tubes that Yavanna gave him for Jade, as well as the note Mahal left for Jade inside the book, and Thorin told Balin about the decree that Mahal made regarding dwarrowdams who reach the level of a Master Gem carver.

Balin smiles. It is a more fitting title for them, and it gives them their own guild to nurture others without the males getting in the way.” Balin admits. But how does this relate to Miranda?” he asks.

What if we made it so that any dwarrowdam in any craft when they reach the level equal to a Master in that craft, that they be given the title of Mistress in the trade, so Miranda would be given the title of Mistress Royal Bookbinder.” He explains.

Balin thinks about it and nods. I agree, that would suit them much better! We’ll just have to educate the dwarves, Elves and Men about it though,  and drill it into their heads that Mistress and Master mean the same thing and only differentiate the gender of the artisan.” Balin states.

“We could do it when we announce Jade as the first in her trade with that title. Mahal wants you to draw up the edict indicating it for the Gem Carver Guild and he said he’d put his mark on it so no one can argue it. We could do one up for each guild and for Miranda, and if Mahal agrees, he will leave his mark on them as well, I believe. Once they are all signed and sealed, by me and/ or Mahal, I am to gather all the dwarves of my kingdom and make the announcement regarding Jade and present her with the hair beads and ring. We could invite the dwarves, elves and the men of Middle Earth and to those too far to come, we can send a copy of the edicts to them in their own languages so that they are made aware of the differentiation in language between male and females of that level in their chosen guild.” Thorin suggests

Balin thinks about it and then nods. “Aye, that we could do. We can ask any emissaries who come from the other races to spread the message so that all in Middle Earth are made aware of this change. That Master and Mistress equal the same level of workmanship, just differentiate which gender the artisan is and that the same level of respect is to be shown to them as equals in their field.

Thorin nods. They hear a knock on the door and Thorin says, “Enter.” A guard enters and tells them that Dinner is being served and everyone is waiting for them before beginning. Thorin sighs and tells the guard to inform them to go ahead and begin, that they will be there shortly. He nods, bows and leaves.

“Thorin, are you alright? You seem out of sorts today.” Balin says as they clean up and put things away. Thorin sighs. “I’m just worried about Jade. Mahal says she will have to spend a full week in bed and not be moving around. That if she does not do so, she will never walk again. She is already feeling caged in and struggles with depression. I am worried this could push her into a deeper bout of it.

Mahal said he gave her other skills, ones she has not sought out nor revealed. He said I was to help her discover what they are and that I am not to leave her side until she can walk on her own again. He said Fili is to take over running the kingdom temporarily.” Thorin explains as he picks up the book and the box.

“Ahh, I see.” Balin says. “Well, then, I guess Dis and Galadriel will get to play chaperone for you two. I suppose we’ll have to find a few others to trade off with, so the job doesn’t fall on the two of them to be with you two 24/7.” Balin teases. Thorin rolls his eyes. “I need to put these in my chambers before we go to eat. He says pausing at his room.

“Oh, Balin,” Thorin says, remembering Mahal’s reminder for his friend. “Yes, Thorin?” Balin asks. “Mahal said to remind you to make Jade’s adoption beads and to put them into her hair with your family’s braid just behind my courting braid and under the diamond pattern.” “Oh! I completely forgot about it with all this worry over Jade’s back!” Balin says a little embarrassed that he had to be reminded of it by not only his god, but his King as well. “I will get right on it after supper. I’ll do the beads for Miranda as well since I’ll be down there anyway.” Balin tells Thorin. Thorin nods.

Balin nods. “I will see you in the dining hall then.” Balin says, then leaves Thorin to put the gifts away safely.

Thorin does so, then steps out back into the hall. He asks the guard about you and the guard informs him that your Aunt and Dwalin chose to stay with you and had their suppers and yours brought there. Thorin sighs, nods and heads to the dining hall.

More Chapters to come.

Likes, comments and Reblogs always welcomed happily! Feel free to leave any of them, just please, give credit where it’s due.

All Gifs were borrowed from the GIF search thingy on Tumblr. Photos were from off the internet google search.

If you wish to be added or removed from the taglist, please send me a message to let me know. If there’s a line through your Pseudonym, Tumblr isn’t letting me tag you.

Tagging:

@lathalea​​  @midnight-reader-morning-sleeper​​  @fizzyxcustard @cavillryarchive​​ @reblog-witchery​​ @daisy-picking-lady​ @thetherianthropydaily​​  @criminaly-supernatural​​ @piggledyhiggledy @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone​ @xxbyimm​​ @scariusaquarius @thorinthehottotty​​  @blankdblank​​ @asraime​​ @dumbassunderthemountain​​ @ladybugg1235​ @crazytxgradstudent​​  @designerwriterchic​ @emrfangirl​​

[nickysurfer28]

Fierce Obsession

Disclaimer: the source of this pic is from Google/search movie pics and linked to Pinterest.I don’t know who the person is that enhance this lovely pic. From what I could tell it said’s _chrissevans.

Note: I haven’t seen this character written in any fic that I know of so I thought I give it a shot. If I made any mistakes sorry I’m not perfect. I’m trying. Give me a break.

Pairing:Bryce Langley x female reader (Y/N)

Warning ⚠️: 18+adult only,some nudity and some mention of sexual content.

Part 1:

You finally got the nursing job for the aging billionaire Ogden C. Osbourne. He asked you to moved into one of the guest houses for the summer on his country estate. You didn’t hesitate on the offer knowing that you really needed the money to pay some bills off.

Ogden had a private car to have you picked up at your apartment. You had everything packed and ready to go. The car was waiting for you downstairs. A nicely fancy old-fashioned car waiting along the sidewalk. The driver greeted you and helped put your bags in the trunk. You slide into the backseat and got comfortable for long drive to the country estate. The ride didn’t take long, it was a nice scenic route. All the beautiful green meadow grass stretching out as far as you can see. Soon enough you can see the guest house you were going to be living in for the summer. It was a cute cozy cottage style house, just enough space for you.

The driver stopped in the gravel driveway and helped with your bags into the house. Soon enough Ogden arrived greeting you at your home away from home.

“Welcome, Y/N, I hope this will suit your needs while you stay here for the summer.” Ogden replied.

You glance up at the aging sickly old man. “Oh hi, yes this will definitely have enough space for me here.”

Ogden smiled happily. “Good, good , well everything should be in order for tomorrow. I will leave you to get settled. Don’t forget bright and early tomorrow morning Miss Y/N”.

You smiled. “Thank you again, and yes sir bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Ogden nod and left you to get settled.

After you finally got everything unpacked. You were so exhausted. You figured might as well head to bed early. You got comfortable and out on your favorite crop top tank shirt and panties. You shut off the lights and got cozy in the enormous comfy bed. As you were finally about to doze off.

You noticed a shadow passing by your window. But maybe you were seeing shadows from the trees or possibly animal. You figured you’re out in the country what do you expect.

Again you noticed the tall dark figure in front of your window. Now the shadowy figure was just standing there like it was watching you. You quickly covered your face with the blanket and closed your eyes hoping that whatever this thing is will go away. You heard a noise.

The window creeped open, the tall dark figure eased it way towards your bed. You slowly peeked out from the blankets to see if you can make out whoever this shadow person was. You noticed from the moonlight his light, sandy brown hair and board shoulders. You can make out that he had a long sleeve shirt on and khaki pants.

You slowly move towards the lamp on the side table. You reach your hand out slowly from underneath the blankets to turn on the lamp. You quickly get hold of the little nob and twist it on. You see your intruder.

“Who are you and what are you doing in here?” The young good looking man looks up at you with a sinful smile. “Uh... hi..um.. I’m Bryce.. I mean I’m Bryce Langley.” He sticks his hand out for a hand shake.

“Who?...wait. aren’t you Ogden Osbourne’s grandson.” He had a big smirky smile on his face. “Why...I am ...and you are beautiful lady?”. You looked at him with slight disgust. “My name is Y/N, I’m your grandfather’s nurse for the summer.”

He smiled once again with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, really?..sounds interesting.” Bryce easily sat himself on your bed. He slowly eased his hands on top of your legs.

“Excuse me, but I just met you and this is a little awkward.” Bryce just looked at you smiling. “Why am I making you uncomfortable?”. You moved your legs away from his hands. “Yeah you kind of are .. Bryce.” He look displeased.

“Well, it’s late and maybe you should leave?”. Bryce didn’t like that answer at all. He leaned in on top of you smelling your fragrance of picnic summer daisies. “Hmm.. you smell so good.” Bryce inhaled your sweet scent once more. You started to tremble.

Bryce looking straight into your eyes. You noticing his perfect blue eyes. “Am I making you nervous?” He replied with a devilish smile.

“Uh...yes.Please Bryce ..can you please leave now?” He noticed he was making you uncomfortable.

He quickly apologized.

”I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you so comfortable and for intruding, I didn’t know anyone was actually staying here.” Bryce was obviously making that up.

He knew you were going to be here, but he didn’t care.

You pushed back more against the headboard. “Okay...well. goodnight Bryce.”

Bryce got the hint you wanted him to leave. He smiled graciously and got up headed back towards the window. He turned around.

“ I’m sorry again, next time I’ll use the front door.” He did a cute little wave gesture. “Goodnight , Y/N.” You didn’t say anything. Bryce hopped back out the window and shut it closed.

You couldn’t go back to sleep right away knowing that Osbourne’s grandson could still be out there creeping around. You slept with the lamp on just to make sure.

Next morning...

You were so groggy and didn’t really get a goodnight’s sleep from your encounter with Bryce. You kept thinking to yourself “what the hell was this guy thinking? What is his deal?”. You quickly brushed it off and got ready for the day.

Ogden suggested you didn’t have to wear nursing uniform while you were staying here and working for me. He stated just wear casual comfortable clothing while working here at his country estate. He figured it’s the summer so who cares. Plus he wanted you feel at home while you were working. You put on a floral Henley top with stretchy jeans and your fave white converses sneakers.

It was a nice summer morning for a walk to Osbourne’s estate. He made you little map so you wouldn’t get lost. It was easy to follow, along the way you noticed more guesthouse’s. You paused on a small one with vines growing up on the front and sides. The windows were slightly open like someone was staying in this one. You stood there for little bit admiring the old cottage charm.

You saw the large window in the front open up. There he was..Bryce..he didn’t have no shirt on and he looks like he just got out of bed. You noticed that he didn’t have anything on. This dude was completely naked.

He stood there in the window with a big smile on his face. Bryce knew you saw him. “Oh crap this guy again.” You mumbled under your breath.

Bryce waved good morning to you. “Hey sweetie, you’re up early this morning.” He had such a big grin on his face. “You like what you see beautiful?” Your cheeks were flushed with heat.

“Uh.. if you call that a penis?.. nope.” His smile quickly faded from his face. You weren’t going to tell him that he was well endowed.

“I think you’re lying to me.” You had a smirk on your face. “If you say so.” You started walking away. “Where ya going beautiful?”. You chuckled. “You know where.” Bryce leaned against the window panel. “ I sure do sweetness.” Bryce watched you as you kept walking away.

He noticed your curvy bottom in those tight jeans. He found himself growing erection and remembering your sweet scent from last night. He wanted you. He was going to have you and he was determined. He was smiling to himself, even though you far gone down the path in the woods. He had plan.. to have you.

Tags: @denisemarieangelina @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @star-spangled-beard-burn @daliaevans @pine-fresh-kirk @lovinevans @waywardodysseys @patzammit @thatgirly81 @katiew1973 @ohmy-captain @littlefiercequeen @jms358 @nomadevans82 @what-is-your-plan-today @iamwhoiamtmblr @imanuglywombat @et-lesailes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @megan-meg-chrisevanswifey @raveviolet @nbarnes @comebackandhauntme21 @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @softbeanevans @tanyam93 @until-theend-oftheline @fafulous @moonbatchx @nekoannie-chan @enigma2112 @amazonx @captainchrisstan @bit-of-a-timelord @shadowcatsworld @kelbabyblue @kailyndavillier @kellyn1604 @imma-new-soul @twittytelly @gothamlovr91 @thatsxamericasxass @denissjmaddox @xlanawriter @worksby-d @whiskey-cokenfanfic @bellaireland1981 @shreyaaaaaaaaaaaa @chris-butt @trottae17 @southerngracela

I try to tag everyone as much as possible. If I missed any tags sorry. If you like this fic let me know I’ll add you or you want off the tag list. Whichever it’s fine.

[avaria-revallier]

Chapter 6: Cooking dwarrows and poisoning trolls

The moment Bella sat down Dwalin was by her side. “Namad, here. Drink something. You must be exhausted. Have some of this too, you must eat properly. Bombur, how is that fire going?” The warrior fussed.

It had been adorable and sweet for the first week. The second week her mood dropped significantly. Now the third week had ended. The morning after her speech of home and family, after they had learned of how old she is, all hope was lost. They treated her like an invalid.

Dori snatched her pack as soon as they stopped for the night, preparing her bedroll next to Dwalin and Thorin.

This had become her spot now and Bella felt safe and secure yet a bit jumpy around their leader. She had to remind herself almost permanently that this is not ‘her’ Thorin. Despite the knowledge of this fact, her heart betrayed her and started to increase its beating from a steady thumping into a fluttering humming bird every time he was near or simply looked at her. Curse that traitorous heart.

Bombur wouldn’t even let her chop the vegetable, while Dwalin dragged her back to camp every time she attempted to sneak off to train. Fili and Kili avoided her completely, whispering behind her back and hastily shutting up when she strolled close. Oin came up every evening, determined to check for a possible injury. Bella wasn’t sure, how she would have managed to injure herself at all, with all those fussing dwarrows around but appreciated the thoughts. Nori took on her watch, grumbling something about her needing the sleep. She slumps down next to Ori. He was eagerly writing and sketching in his journal.

“Ori, would you be so kind and explain again the difference between those blue gem-types?” the young scribe beamed at her, closing the book.

He was the only one who didn’t treat her differently. Maybe because he knew all to well how it was to be the youngest. Dori fussed over him enough as it was. The pure thought of having to deal with ten of Doris kind… Ori shuddered.

“I would be delighted.” He started chatting away about mining and how the different gems where found in different depths and how the purity grade was determined.

Soon he noticed that the hobbit lass wasn’t really listening to him. She stared over to where the better part of the company was gathered. Following her line of sight, he spotted Thorin. The dwarven king was sitting on a fallen tree. He talked to Dwalin about something and frowned at his friend’s response.

Ori looked back at Bella. In her eyes gleams a sadness so deep Ori nearly flinched. A storm of sorrow, pain, fear and longing? raged in her green eyes, dying them nearly black. He had seen this before. In the eyes of the survivors of Moria. He reached out to her, gently touching her shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asks with worry in his voice.

Bella jumped, one hand reaching to her hip, as if she was to draw a sword. Oddly there was no sword on her and the dagger from Dwalin hang on the other side. Ori frowned confused. That might have been the reaction of a veteran warrior, but definitely not one of gentle folk.

“I … I am sorry. I think I… I need some time for myself. I won’t go far, I promise. I just need to think for a bit. Tell them… Tell them I won’t talk to them for at least a month if they come after me. I just – just can’t.” she choked, turning to hide her tears and slipped away.

This whole situation felt wrong. Bella couldn’t hold back the tears any more when she reached the forrest. The trees hummed comforting in the warm breeze. The company hadn’t cared for her before. She had been just dead weight to them. Another piece of luggage they had to look after. Dwalin hadn’t been that sweet and caring, Dori wouldn’t fuss and Bombur would hand her the odd jobs. Kili and Fili acted the same by now. It was familiar but hurt so much at the same time. Ori was her save haven as is Bifur.

The warrior wouldn’t fuss over her, just handing her a knife and a block of wood. Silently they would carve by the fire. Her sculptures were never really anywhere near identifiable, but he would just chuckle and let her try the next evening again. Thorin, well Thorin was another matter. He acted cold and distant. He would watch her with his indifferent expression but sometimes it seemed like he acted out of character. Neither the grumpy and brooding king nor the stoic and steeled warrior. He would be just Thorin, the blacksmith holding her heart.

The nightmares had returned. Every night when she closed her eyes the pictures of her bloodied dwarrows hunted her down. Empty eyes staring at her. Fili and Kili, Dwalin, Bofur and Bifur. Thorin. If she had been a little bit better at that time. A bit faster. Stronger. Even now they seemed to stare at her, reach out for her, calling.

‘It is your fault.’ They whispered accusingly.

Sobbing she sat down by a fallen tree. The earth under her bare feet pulsed slightly as if it wanted to tell her ‘do not worry, I am here’. The trees whispered stories of old. Small flowers tilting their heads towards the hobbit lass. The forest reached out to her, comforted her with its presence. The last rays of sunlight broke through the leaves, coating the lass and the flowers in gold.

Shaking she exhales. Crying had never solved any problems. Placing her palms on the grass she closed her eyes, focusing on the voice of the forrest. It told her stories of cold winters and the following spring as if it wanted to tell her all will be fine. After some time, she opens her eyes. A vast field of flowers surrounding her. Giggling she brushes away the tears. It would be fine. She would make sure everything would be fine.

Humming she picks some small blue flowers and a couple of daisies. Bella would put them into Dwalins beard once back at the camp. She would have to talk to them again. She is no invalid nor a child. She could carry her own pack, hold watch at night and most definitely chop the vegetables!

Happy with her choice of flowers, she had gathered some more for Ori to sketch, Bella decides to go back.

Loud, heavy footsteps, the distant splintering of wood and a painful scream of the forrest where the only warnings. In a matter of seconds Bella was swept off the ground. A surprised squeak sounded before the air was forcefully pressed from her lungs.

‘Snap’. The sharp pain followed immediately. At least one of her ribs was broken.

“Bert, Bert! Look what I found.” The trolls scraping voice rang in her ears.

“That’s not even a mouth full!” boomed the addressed.

“Is not for eating. I found it, so I keep it.” The first troll yanked her away from the reaching hands of Bert.

“And we feed it too? Don’t bother, better eating it now.” The third troll intervened.

“I, ah, I eat plants, so you won’t need to worry about feeding me.” Bella managed to say with a smile.

“See! No struggle at all.” The one holding her chimed.

Heavily he sat down, bringing Bella nearer to his face. He stank worse than she remembered. Something between rotten eggs and long forgotten fish. The stench stings in her eyes and nose. He poked her into the stomach, forcing the air from her lungs once more.

“Funny little thing. What are you?” he demands to know, poking her once more.

‘Smile. Ignore the pain and smile.’ Thousand thoughts are rushing through her mind. Bella couldn’t panic now. She simply refused to. ‘This is not right. Smile. They are early. We are not even at the farm. Gandalf, where is he. Thorin. It hurts.’

“I… I am a hobbit.” She managed to state.

‘Smile!’ With some effort the hobbit managed to force her lips into a polite smile, as she would gift Lobelia.

“I, well, I am a wandering cook. We hobbits are quite famous for our skills and our stew is to die for.”

“Bert look! I found us a cook!” the first chimed again, pleased with himself.

A large wooden spoon landed on his head. The troll flinched, tightening the grip around Bella. With another snapping sound a wave of pain flooded her body.

“Are you saying I can’t cook? A bit appreciation would be nice. ‘Thank you for the lovely stew, Bert. That was really tasty, Bert.’ But all you do is complaining, Bill.” He rumbled, swinging his spoon once again.

“Tom, say something!” Bill demanded, looking at the quiet troll.

“He’s right… everything tastes like mutton-“ he starts, ducking away as the spoon aims at his head.

“-except the mutton, which tastes like fish.” Finishes Bill.

“Shut your cakehole.” Bert grumbles, stirring furiously in the large cauldron. “We don’t have all night. I don’t fancy turning to stone.”

In her clouded mind an idea sparked. It might be crazy, but most likely better than the risk of breaking anything else. Bella shifted slightly in the grip of her captor.

“Excuse me master Bert? I can see you really did brew a very nice stew there. As I can tell, that you are an excellent cook. If I might suggest something that might be in your interest?” she smiled, clenching her shaking hands.

“What?” he boomed, not looking up from the stew.

“Well, I am really thankful for your hospitality and would love to repay you. My mother was rather famous for her gift. You see, she could brew a stew that held special effects.” Her heartbeat increased rapidly, waiting for his response.

“And what would that be?” he glanced at her, slightly interested.

“Ah, well… you see.”

“Yes? What is it?” Tom raised one eyebrow. She had the attention of the trio.

“This is a secret family recipe…” Bella watched them lean in to her.

“Spill it! Tell us about the secret thingy!” Bill demanded, shaking her impatiently.

“Yes, yes! The stew… the special stew makes you able to walk in the sunlight. You see, we hobbits just turn into trees when exposed to sunlight.” The lie easily slipped from her lips.

“Do you take is for fools, you little ferret? Trying to poison us, eh?” he booms, snatching her out of Bills hand and letting her dangle near the fire.

“N-no! Of course not. How could I ever be so impolite to my gracious hosts?” Bella forces herself to smile once again.

Her ribs felt like they where on fire and her feet where Bert held her began to turn numb. Small black dots invaded her sight, but she forced them back. She trapped her pain und unpleasantness inside a dark corner of her mind. It would be no help at all if she would faint now.

“Drop her!” now she even began to hallucinate. That couldn’t have been Kili, as he is safe and sound with the others.

“I said: Drop her!” the shouting was without a doubt Kili!

The next thing Bella remembers is being thrown through the air and landing on something oddly familiar. Kili had broken her fall, sadly Bella had broken something as well while colliding with his armor.

In a matter of moments, she was dragged behind a large tree and ordered to keep herself hidden. The battle didn’t rage for long. Once the trolls found out the dwarrows wouldn’t attack one of their own, they grabbed Ori by the arms and legs and threatened the company to lay down arms. Which they did. The trolls stripped them off their armor and clothes, stuffing them in sacks and piling them like presents under a Christmas tree.

“Where did you throw her? I quite liked that pet. She was funny.” Bill pouted and promptly earned a whack from Bert.

Creeping forward as silently as she could, Bella made her way towards a large boulder. Between the others she could spot Thorin, Kili and Fili. Dwalin was not far and Ori was still a bit green around the nose. Bombur lay on top of the pile.

“Don’t be like that, you can get another.” Tom patted Bills back, making him spill his drink.

An argument broke out and Bella took this chance to overcome the small distance between her and her dwarrows. Sheltering herself behind her brother she takes out her small dagger and starts to loosen the ropes.

“Listen, I know you will probably hate me for this plan, but you have to do exactly like I tell you. Understood?” she whispers hardly loud enough for them to hear.

She tried to sell them her plan as well as possible. They all looked at her as if she was insane when she moved on to Nori. Kili looked so betrayed while his brother eyed her as if she was insane. Thorin was no better. He glowered at her as if she had suggested for him to marry the troll.

“For Yavannas sake, Thorin! Put your damn pride away and consider your options! Do you want to end as a troll-snack before you even laid eyes upon your mountain? I don’t want to see them die again, so get your stubborn head out of your ass and do as I say.” Bella hissed under her breath while dragging Nori to the trees.

The argument of the trolls had ended with Bert hitting the other two on the head, demanding silence while he decided how to proceed with the dwarrows.

“How good can you imitate a troll?” Bella wanted to know from the thief.

Nori looked down at the small hobbit lass. She had courage and a whole lot of that!

She had called him Thorin and not master Oakenshield as she used to. And the worst part of it, he liked the sound of that. It had a nice ring to it, coming from her mouth that is.

‘You would even like it if she had insulted you.’ The voice inside his mind snorts.

Her plan was ridiculous and really humiliating, but she was right, he didn’t want to end as a snack for a troll. He had heard only half of her words, too taken by the fact of her calling his name. Did she really tell him to snap out of it?! There was something else in her words that made him frown. Something she said sounded odd.

A deep voice asked if they couldn’t make a pie out of the dwarrows. Another argument between the trolls broke loose and every time it seemed to die down, another bodyless voice intervened and fueled it again.

“Nothing wrong with a raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy!” Bill grabbed Bombur from their pile.

Voices got loud, insults were thrown at the ugly beings, but nothing seemed to help. They could only watch while Bombur was lowered to the open mouth of the troll.

“I wouldn’t risk it if I where you.” Thorin raised his voice over the others. “That one there is spoiled. He has parasites, as we do all.”

The troll halted in his motion, looking at the dwarven king.

“Parasites?” he asks.

“Aye, parasites. We were on our way to a healer, to get rid of our little ‘problem’.” He managed to say.

Every word burned like acid in his throat. The trolls all looked at him, doubtful but curious. Thorin clenches his hands into fists, opening and closing them a few times to release the tension. ‘This’ he decided ‘will never ever again be mentioned.’ Today would leave a blank page in their records.

He kicks his nephews in the back, as good as he can manage from his laying position. Kili joins in on their little act, as does Fili. They all first hesitate but choosing between swallowing once pride and being swallowed is not that hard a choice at all.

“I have huge parasites!” “Mine are the biggest parasites!” “They are as big as my arm!” to only mention a few.

Confusion grew in the faces of the trolls. Dwalin used that chance to get rid of his bonds and slipped the small dagger to Thorin. Quickly the dagger was handed around, while they yelled at the trolls and distracted them as much as possible.

“Enough!” Bert rumbled, snatching Bombur from Bill and throwing him back on the pile. “We will kill them now and cook them tomorrow.” He decided, taking a step towards the dwarrows.

They all were ready to jump up and fight their way out, if necessary. Thorin nodded at Dwalin, who returned the nod wit a grim expression on his face.

These things had hurt his sister! She might have tried to hide her discomfort, but he saw the pain in her eyes, the stiffness in every motion and how she preferred to lean on her left leg. They would burn for what they did. Before any of them could act, a familiar voice echoed over the clearing.

“The dawn will take you all!” Gandalf called out and sun flooded the valley.

The trolls tried to shield themselves from the sunlight but there was no help for them. They became stone once again. For a moment silent ruled the company. Then cheers and laughter filled the air. They still lived. Somehow, they had managed to survive.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed!” as soon as the blonde prince had his clothes, weapons and armor back on he twirls around to his younger brother, angrily staring at him.

“You would have done the same! You saw how they handled her!” Kili defends his action, anger rising in him.

“What would mother say if she saw you being reckless again?” Fili shoots back, checking him for injuries.

“Don’t treat me like a child! If I am old enough to go on this quest I am old enough to make my own decisions!” angrily Kili slaps away the fussing hands, taking a step back and crossing his arms.

“You are far too young to go on this quest!” Fili yelled at him, shoving him a bit.

Kili shoved back and a small fight broke loose. They poked and shoved, bickered and finally rolled around the ground, laughing to their hearts contend. Thorin shook his head at their childish behavior. In his eyes they both were probably far to young to come on this quest.

Suddenly it was quiet. He looked back where he last saw his nephews. They had vanished. His heart missed a beat as he searched the area with his eyes. Bombur and Bofur were helping their cousin into his pants, Balin sorted through the scattered belongings. Nori just came out of the forest and Dori was frantically checking over Ori. The scribe seemed fine, but his brother wouldn’t stop fussing. Dwalin was fastening his axes before stomping over to Nori.

“Uncle look what we found!” a relieved sight leaves Thorins lungs. He hadn’t even realized that he had held his breath.

“What?” he grunted, trying to cover the worry in his voice.

“We found a cave, uncle. It stinks, but there is a small hoard too.” Kilis head pokes out between the bushes.

He followed them, as did the better part of the company, leaving Dwalin and Nori behind. Thorin wasn’t sure why his friend detested his spymaster so much, but Dwalin had always had a high sense for what was right and wrong. He shifts his attention back to the cave before him. A barrel with swords catches his eyes.

‘This one is a bit small to be even called a sword, but maybe she could…’

“Where is she, thief?” Dwalin grabs Noris arm, forcefully yanking him back when he tried to follow the others.

“Lost her already, eh?” Nori sneers, breaking free of the painful grip.

Had he really lost her? Was this filthy thief right? Gritting his teeth Dwalin took another step towards Nori. Staring down on the one he had hunted so many times back in the blue mountains. This scum knew nothing about what was going on inside of him. The worry and the doubt of his own skills to protect his sister nearly drowned him. She had vanished on his watch. She could have been dead!

Nori watched the tall dwarf a few more moments, before he frees him from his misery. Somehow it had become a game to the thief to anger the warrior. He played pranks on Dwalin, angered him on purpose. Nori liked how crimson slowly crept over the tattooed face, the wild look in his eyes and by Mahal, the flexing of his muscles. This sight alone was worth all the trouble that came with it.

“She is fine. After she told me her crazy but brilliant plan she went back to camp. She said she would fetch the herbs, just to make sure. If her plan would have failed she would have poisoned them.” Shrugging he looks at Dwalin, daring to step a bit closer.

'Maybe if I kiss him he would explode?’ chuckling to himself Nori turns away. ‘No, just this is enough for now.’ Ignoring the aching in his chest he leaves.

Dwalin froze. There was a short moment between worry and anger where he felt peace. In the very second he heard the soft chuckle his world went white. Leaving only himself, his One and the smell of tea and sunny days.

“Oh…” he mouthed, watching the thief departing further from him.

If you want me to tag you as well, please just send me a message.

If you like what you have read consider reblogging my story for others to enjoy too.

I am always open for asks and requests for shorts of our favorite dwarrows!

Masterpost

@lathalea

[peeterparkr]

limits of desire⤳t.h.||6

chapter 6: mail your save the dates

story summary: you met Tom a night he was trying to sleep with you, it didn’t work and you became best of friends. Wedding bells might be ringing for when you both realize what you really feel.

summary: the one with the blue box and the big question

pairing: fuckboy!tom holland x best friend!reader

warnings: swearing,alcohol mention, didn’t proof read

word count: 6.2k (whoops sorry)

OOF IT’S HERE. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! 

previous chapter

next chapter

series masterlist

December 1st. 

Tom’s room was a mess, several shirts were placed on his bed, with pants and underwear flying through the room. It was a warzone. Tom was a bigger mess. He was walking bare chest and with his wet hair flying as he was placing the dress shirts above his chest, trying to decide which one looked better. Dress shirts, t-shirts. Hell, what the hell was he supposed to wear? 

Gosh, was he nervous. He was shaking, and his hands were sweating. He had walked around his room for about an hour now. He hadn’t slept the night before and he had drunk coffee, not tea, coffee. Three espressos. He had showered twice and shaved the almost non-existent beard. He had brushed his teeth, three times and then combed his hair. Tom was an emotional mess. 

He was finally going to see her. He was going to finally pick her up, today. After all that time. He was going to see her. He had arranged a dinner with her and her mother, and he was dying to see her. 

Tom walked to Haz’s room, holding a lot of shirts. “I need your help.” 

Haz was only watching him, laughing about it. “Man, you need to calm down,” he told him as he followed him ever. 

“I can’t, how can I calm down? Would you be calm? I wouldn’t, I can’t be calm, I love her man, I haven’t seen her, what if she doesn’t like me anymore?” He was rambling. “How am I even gonna tell her?” There was Tom, placing shirts over his chest to see which one he should wear

“Black one--” Harrison rolled his eyes as Tom kept placing shirts over his chest. “What’s the plan?” 

But… alright, I’ll pick her mother up, and then we’ll pick y/n up from the airport, then we will go out for dinner...And I wanted to be alone with her,” Tom admitted. “But I guess her mother missed her, too.” 

“You guess?” Haz rolled his eyes.  “Well, you can spend tomorrow with her, right? Before the party.” 

“Yes, yes, I cleared out all my schedule,” Tom gulped. “I’m still nervous.” 

“Are you telling her today?” Haz questioned. 

Tom gulped. “Maybe? If the time shows up, I just don’t wanna tell her in front of her mother, but I want her to see I’ve… changed, you know?” 

“But you know, why don’t you tell Anna?” Haz suggested. “That you want some alone time.” 

Tom bit his lip. “I sorta told her, I told her that I wanted to...talk to her daughter and I told her I was taking her to dinner to tell y/n something very important and then she just said: uh yeah I’ll go with you, ” he said. “But I guess Anna isn’t that fond of me, you know, I’ve slept with her niece and…” 

“But she knows her daughter loves you,” Haz said.  “But, I wouldn’t blame her if she’s trying to protect her daughter.”

“You think?” Tom gulped. 

“So you’ve got a long way home, Tom,” Haz admitted. “You’ve gotta prove them both you’ve changed.” 

“I have, I have…” Tom looked down at the dress shirts. 

“Right, are you giving that to her today? That might show you’ve changed” Haz asked, looking down at the blue box on his nightstand. “If I have a guess of what it is...”

Tom had to stop as he looked at the blue box. He bit his lip as he took it in his hands. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Haz raised his eyebrows. “You’re telling me that if I dare to open that box I won’t find an engagement ring?” 

Tom’s eyes widened. “No, no, of course not! Don’t be silly!” Tom gulped. “No, no.” he blushed. “No, it’s a necklace… a pendant, actually, a rose gold pendant with a small diamond,” Tom cleared his throat, he placed the box inside his drawer. “See? Do you...?” He cleared his throat. “Did you really believe it’s an engagement ring?” 

“Coming from you? Never,” Harrison laughed. 

Tom frowned. “Hey, shut up,” Tom ran a hand through his hair. 

“As if you would buy one,” Harrison laughed. 

“Maybe not now,” Tom cleared his throat and then shook his head. “What am I saying?” He laughed. “No, no, uh… I need...uh.”

“To get ready,” Haz reminded him. “It’s getting late.” 

Tom nodded as he rushed to spray cologne on himself. “Right, late, late, should I buy flowers? Yes, I’ll leave now...and,” he ran as he picked up his keys.  

Haz laughed following him. “Man, aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Tom had already walked out when he felt a cold breeze. “Ah, shit…” 

Haz gave him a black dress shirt since Tom had walked out shirtless, and his coat and he finally left.  He was going to see the woman he was in love with, so it was one big deal. He still had some time to spare, so he decided to buy the flowers. 

He went to a flower shop, and he struggled as he looked at the different flowers, roses, daisies, lavenders, tulips, gerberas, every single type of flower looked pretty. And he didn’t want to go to the cliché, he couldn’t. But red roses just had their special meaning, so he wanted to give it that a try. And of course, a bouquet of roses would right away yell at her he loved her. So it could be good. He remembered when they were talking back at the wedding. 

“I’d have sunflowers,” she started. “Yes, and daisies…Flowers are important.” 

Sure, roses had a big meaning. Red roses were the lovers roses, they meant passion, love. Everything that Tom was dying to tell her. Which had him very nervous, how was he supposed to tell her? 

He could make a reservation to have dinner at a fancy place, but he knew that it’d be too much. She didn’t like the conventional. Y/N wasn’t one to like that. He remembered how ti had gone with Andrew Jacobs when he took her to a big place. She didn’t like being in the spotlight. Not with Andrew, at least. 

y/n’s idea of romance, Tom knew, was simple. She didn’t need the big show or the rom-com like stunts. No, for her, it was the simple things. Like when that guy who had dated her and remembered she liked honey and lemon with her earl grey tea. 

Tom could be that. Tom could be that who remembered every small detail about her, like how she likes to curl up with that grey knit blanket while reading a book, or how she’ll always press her pen repeatedly when she’s nervous. How she likes to eat first all the red m&m’s, or how she hates when people walk slowly. How she ends up rewatching Friends whenever she’s feeling sad after hours of scrolling through the Netflix movies and shows. 

He knew her from head to toe. He knew her soul and he knew the way she would think. He realized it then, he was the one who guessed her thoughts before she could even think them. 

On his way he saw a flower shop he would visit quite often before, he didn’t remember why he had stopped going there. 

“Hello,” the florist said, as she grinned. “Oh my god, Tom Holland” 

Tom sketched her a smile, as he nervously approached her. He realized then, why he had stopped going to that flower shop. He had once slept with that florist who happened to be oh so in love with him. Tom turned red, as he gulped down every embarrassed sentiment he was getting. 

Tom chuckled nervously, as he turned around to catch his breath. Everything was paying off. He needed to be there, for y/n. He pumped up his chest and then turned back to her with a smile. It was weird now that he couldn’t go on flirting with someone. But the girl acted naturally.

“Eh, add some sunflowers, some daisies, and some… red roses,” he asked her. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting combination, daisies mean innocence and purity,” she said as she was setting the flowers up. “The sunflowers symbolize adoration, loyalty and longevity,” she looked up at him and smirked. “And the red roses, huh? They mean passion, you know?” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Those are my friend’s favourite flowers,” he defended himself. “Not any meaning.”  

The girl laughed as she finally gave him the flowers. It was perfect, perfectly balanced and arranged. Besides, it had roses, but not only roses so it was like a subtle way to declare his love. He paid for it and thanked her while leaving to pick up y/n’s mother. 

Anna, her mother, was staying at a hotel since she didn’t live in London and since y/n had been gone, she didn’t have a place yet. Tom wondered if it would be too inappropriate to offer his place to y/n, while she arranged everything. It would be nice, having her around, and starting off a relationship like that could be nice. They knew everything about each other, nothing could go wrong from that. 

“It’s weird not seeing you on your bike,” Anna said while she got into Tom’s car. She smiled looking at Tom but then bit her lip. She did look at the flowers and she stared at him, making Tom nervous. She had a sad look upon her face. 

“So, y/n’s finally back,” Tom tried to make conversation with her mother. 

“Yes, have you been speaking to her?” She asked Tom. “

“Barely lately,” Tom admitted. “We did text and everything, but I guess we have a lot to talk about, I’ve missed her so much,” Tom said. “Have you talked to her?”

“Yes, you need to talk… Has she told you about…?” She paused, Tom gulped. “I figure not,” Anna said, staring at the flowers, Tom scowled. 

“About what?” Tom bit his lip. 

“Ah, nothing, her...adventures,” Anna whispered. “And well, yes, she tried to facetime me every week,” her mother answered. 

“We tried doing that, but while filming, and with the different time zones…” Tom cleared his throat. “I just… can’t wait to see her.” 

Anna grinned. “I see you brought her flowers,” she pointed out. 

“Yeah, a nice way to welcome her, ” Tom admitted. “I know how much she loves flowers.” 

“She does, she says flowers make…” 

“Everything brighter,” Tom finished her line. “Yeah, yeah, they do, so I brought her sunflowers and daisies… and roses, I also brought her a coat, because I guess she won’t be used to the weather.” 

Oh gosh, if only he had told her about his feelings before, maybe he could’ve brought then only red roses, and he could’ve kissed her, and he could’ve brought something more. Maybe he would’ve visited her, maybe there would be more future. But maybe he would’ve still brought her sunflowers and daisies and roses. It would be just slightly different. 

 Time to time, from time to time. But he wasn’t going to wait, he was going to tell her right away. Of course, if he had time alone with her. It wouldn’t be as nice if he told her in front of her mother. He needed free time with her. 

Eventually, they arrived at the airport. His feet were shuffling as he was wearing a baseball cap.

“Are you alright?” Anna asked him. 

He gulped. “Yeah, yeah, just scared I won’t recognize her.” 

“You dressed up nicely,” Anna pointed out. “Too bad that cap brings down all the charm.” 

“Oh, right, right,” he took it off, scared that y/n wouldn’t like his appearance. 

“Tom?” Anna looked at him again.

Tom gulped. “Yeah?” 

“It’s late,” she sighed. 

Tom blinked. “Late? I thought we were on time,” Tom looked at his phone. 

Anna sighed. But the time arrived, Tom started to look out for her, his stomach jumping up and down and his heartbeat going fast and almost popping out of his chest. He felt like he had turned paled but at the same time, he felt like he was blushing. It made no sense. He had become dizzy as he tried to look out for her in the crowd. 

But then, he saw her, with her skin a bit tan, and her hair longer, she had a bright smile on her face, and even if she looked tired, she looked radiant, her hair was tied up in a bun and she had a hoodie. Tom felt like the whole world had stopped the moment she turned and locked eyes with him, her eyes and her hair, and her skin and her everything. Her smile widened and she didn’t care, she ran over to him. Tom opened up his arms to catch her as she jumped on him, he spun her around holding her tightly, admiring every single thing, taking her essence, and just letting her wrap herself around her. Time had stopped ticking. 

He whispered how much he had missed her on her ear and she just giggled. He kissed her cheek as he kept holding her, the hug lasted for more than expected because he just didn’t want to let her go. She tried to let him go, but he kept his arms around her, he stared down at her lips. He was crazy about her.  

“Hi,” she finally said as they were looking at each other. 

“Hey,” Tom sentenced as he was breathless, helpless, and hopeless. He just wanted to blurt out already. Hell, he could kiss her right away. 

“I missed you!” She squeaked. 

“I missed you too,” he leaned over to place a peck on her cheek, as he finally let her go, turning red and embarrassed. “Oh, sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay, I’m cold anyway,” she said, with a big smile. “Your hugs have always been warm.” 

“Right…This!” He placed the coat on her. “Uh,” he handed the flowers over as well. “These… these are for you.” 

“Thank you,” She blushed as she put the coat on. “Damn, it’s really cold.” 

“Aren’t you going to say hi to your mother?” Anna interrupted as y/n turned to her. 

“Mum!” She squealed as she hugged her mother. 

Tom couldn’t wait to tell her. 

They left to the hotel, y/n took a shower and changed to some warmer clothes and despite y/n being completely tired and hit with the jet lag, she accepted to go on dinner. The reservation was already made. 

They were laughing at her crazy stories. But all Tom could think was how he should be having his arms around her, and how his lips were supposed to be on hers or how they should be holding hands. 

She had her hand on her necklace, but Tom couldn’t see the charm it had on it. She kept hiding it. 

“I swear, in the beginning, I was really really confused by the language! But now I can say those Spanish classes paid off,” she answered. “And I learned a lot, even medicine stuff! I had a free day this day, and okay, I was with Miguel we were exploring, he helped me take some pictures.” 

Miguel, he didn’t like how that name sounded, but Tom smiled anyway, listening excitedly. He knew Miguel from her Instagram. He clenched his jaw. 

“Miguel… as in the guy in your Instagram?” Tom asked with the least poison. 

Y/N blushed as she took a sip of her drink. “Yeah, that guy, he’s a doctor,” she took a deep breath. 

Great, the guy saves lives. 

“So, they reached for us, a kid was ill, apparently he had eaten this plant…what was it? Well, I don’t know, but he was definitely not doing well, so we were in this town, if we can call it that way, in the middle of the jungle, trying to figure out what was the plant, but we spoke with some townspeople and we made this type of serum let’s call it that way, with the root of the plant, and we saved him! But can you imagine how difficult it was trying to figure out what to do without medicine? The poor kid, he was adorable!” 

“You’re a superhero,” Tom commented. 

“Yes, Spidey, I’m a superhero,” She winked at him. “Gosh, a lot of things happened, and I saw a lot of beautiful places.” 

“Indeed, you’re full of adventures, huh?”  Anna commented. “Have you told Tom about them all?” 

Y/N glanced at her mother. “Well, uh, not everything,”  but hey, that might be a good idea! What are you doing tomorrow, Tom? So we can fully catch up?” 

“Uh, I actually freed my day for you,” Tom grinned. “Because we truly need to talk.” 

“Well, that’s just….” Y/N stayed quiet as she turned to her mother. “But tomorrow,” she turned to her mother. “Would you… pick him up, tomorrow?” 

“Pick who up?” Asked Tom, y/n just side-eyed him, while Anna nodded. 

“Sure,” her mother agreed. 

“Pick who…?” 

“So, Tom! When did you come back from filming?” Y/N was sure to change the subject. “I mean, it’s been a few weeks right?” 

“Oh, er, yeah… yeah.” 

“Another Spider-Man movie, wow, remember when you were out of the MCU? Wow, that was such a hard time, huh? Good thing you’re back in!” y/n said condescendingly. 

“That’s something,” Tom added, looking down. “It’s time for a change.” 

“Yes, time for a change,” Y/N nodded, as she smiled at Tom, melting him with a single glance directed at him. He felt like all his shields were being tumbled down, he was weak around her. He had missed her, so so so much, and now that he had her, without taking her for granted, he realized how important she was in his life. And he couldn’t wait another day, he had to tell her. He wanted her to be his forever already, to hold her in his arms, to be able to kiss her hand, to be able to wake up beside her. 

But it had to wait until tomorrow, he needed to have a speech prepared. The night continued, Tom and Anna admitted they had had breakfast together a few months before because Tom was missing y/n that much so he had the closest thing to her. The conversation had a spectacular flow, listening to her adventures and her shenanigans in Mexico. Eventually, y/n’s eyes were struggling to stay open. 

Tom offered his place for both of them, but y/n was quick to resist it. So Tom was going to pick her up the next day. 

However, the next day early in the morning Harrison was laughing while Tom was cleaning up himself in front of the mirror. 

“What?” Asked Tom, glancing over at Haz. 

“Y/N texted me,” Haz answered. “You won’t have her for yourself.” 

“Huh?” Tom frowned. 

“She invited me over, said we should all hang out.” 

“Man, but I need to talk to her,” Tom bit his lip as he leaned against the wall. “Say no.” 

“I did, she said she’d drag my ass down if I didn’t,” Haz commented. “Look, you can invite her for dinner.” 

“I wanna tell her,” Tom whined. “I wanna just tell her.” 

“You can take her to that new pub you said you’ll go with her,” Haz insisted. “And well, she said she wanted to go shopping.” 

“Ugh, right, she mentioned she wanted to buy something to Lizzie, it’s her birthday in a few days,” Tom rubbed his face. “Alright, sure, we could spend it as we usually do, brunch,  shopping, uh… yeah, then, we can go to the bakery, I wanted to go for a walk in the park, that’s romantic, right?”

 “That’s so cheesy,” Haz teased. “But hey, anything to win her heart.” Haz continued. “So have you figured it out? How you’re gonna declare you love for her?” 

Tom grinned and then laughed. “Nope.” 

“Dude?” Harrison scowled. 

“I’m kidding, I kind of… have it figured it out,” Tom started. 

“But?” Harrison crossed his arms. 

“I need the right time,” Tom shrugged. “That’s why I needed the whole day, to figure out when.” 

“Tom, any time is the right time to tell someone you love,” Harrison insisted. 

“Fine, then I’ll tell her at the park, or at the pub, maybe I need some alcohol before telling her, at least a beer,” Tom felt nervous again, with his heart rushing and his blood flushing. “I’ll go, y/n, I'm crazy about you. I think about you all the time. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“And then you’ll be happily ever after,” Harrison joked laughing. “I’m happy for you.” 

Eventually, Tom and Harrison were waiting at the hotel lobby, and when she saw Harrison she rushed to hug him. “Oh my god, Watson, I missed you!” 

“Missed you too, Sherlock!” He said. 

Then she looked at Tom, who opened his arms for a hug. 

She chuckled and hugged him. “Hmm, you’re wearing cologne again?” She asked him. Tom blushed. 

“I always do.” Tom cleared his throat. 

“No, I know,you always smell good, but… this one is your… fancy event cologne, and I mean that sounds weird but I know you,” y/n said, glancing up at him. “And you’re all dressed up.”

Tom winked at her. “So, let’s go for brunch,” Tom cleared his throat. 

“You’ll be joining us all day, Haz?” Asked y/n. 

“Oh, no, no, I have something to do later,” Harrison lied with a nod. “You’ll be alone.” 

“Oh, okay, because I have something very important to tell you both, but it can wait.”

“Can’t you tell us at brunch?” Tom asked. 

She gulped. “I…” 

The day had gone spectacular, however, it had been exhausting. They had followed their old amazing routines to spend the best day together. They went to the usual restaurant where they usually hung out, and Harrison came along. They ordered mimosas and she was laughing too much. 

She seemed nervous, too. 

“So, what’s that you wanted to tell us?” Haz asked. 

She then grabbed her necklace again. “Um,” she looked down at her phone. “I uh...I uh, started… writing a book!” 

“A book?” Tom grinned. “That’s amazing!” 

“Yes, and I will… continue working for BBC, I’ll be an official reporter!” She grinned, nodding, her hand still on her necklace. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Tom said. 

They continued to eat. 

“You look so different, y/n,” Haz said. 

“Yeah,” y/n chuckled. “The hair, maybe, got a tan,” she admitted. 

“You look beautiful,” Tom said, looking into her eyes. 

She blushed and chuckled. “Thanks, Tommy.” 

Haz criticized them for always ordering the same damn thing from the menu, then they, as usual, ended up ordering two desserts so they could both enjoy both of the sweet pastries while eating from each other’s plate (of course, Haz didn’t suppress his critics because a. That was too cheesy, and b. Who orders dessert in breakfast?). They went to explore together all the mall searching for a gift for Lizzie. Tom had used the day to tell her all of his adventures, shenanigans, and misconceptions he had had along his trip in the last months, and his adventures while filming. She had kept quiet, listening intrigued all his stories. It was unusual, she was quiet, not sad but different. Her sight was lost. 

Oh, Tom could not stop watching her, the way her fingers walked through the dressers, or the ways her eyes were riveted on the different gifts, it was the most impressive sight Tom had seen. He was seeing her with different eyes, or maybe, after all this time, he finally realized the right way to watch her. He was not blind anymore. 

After all that, finally both of them were alone, y/n and Tom went to the bakery. He guessed what she wanted to have but she seemed so...off. She didn’t guess what he wanted to have. 

But he kept asking her about her trip and everything. 

Tom was anxious, he guessed it had to be due to the fact of the last incident they shared together. 

Tom took her to the park, place where he had finally decided to take her. 

“We’ve never been to the park before,” she commented. Her eyes were glued on her phone. 

Tom shrugged. “Thought it’d be nice,” he commented. “I’ve come here all the time you were away.” 

“You missed me that much?” She laughed. 

“I did,” Tom admitted. “I usually came here to see the old couples, they’re adorable.” 

“Really?” Y/N chuckled. 

“Yes, they made me believe in love…” Tom said, glancing at her. “Maybe it does exist, maybe it’s been right in front of me.” 

Y/N wasn’t aware she was looking at him, she kept watching the couples. 

 “I… y/n, I think we left on bad terms and…” 

“No, no, that’s alright, all of it, it’s forgotten.” She looked nervous, Tom watched her clumsy and fast movements. She was now texting on her phone, with an expression that Tom knew perfectly, it was the look that hid something. Tom had not taken noticed how much he had missed her, and because of his recent realization of his feelings for her, it was a little hard work not to get dizzy or stunned by her.

He knew that it probably was the right time to tell her everything he felt for her, yes, it was time. These six months without her, him working and her in Latin America, it was impossible to contact her, so even if they had been apart for a while he knew it could work out, after all, they were the best of friends. But they had so much to tell. Yet, it was time. He did not know how to tell her, though, going: 'hey, I decided to leave my playboy life for you, because I realized that all this was an act to cover the emptiness I have, and oh, I have always been in love with you.'

“So, now we’re finally alone,” y/n commented.

“Yes, I needed this,” Tom said, reaching over for her hand. “You’re cold.” 

“Well, I mean, I’m not used to this weather, spent 6 months in Mexico in Quintana Roo, quite a hot place, so I’m..” Y/N nodded. “It was good.” 

“You’re tanned,” Tom smiled, as he watched her. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, her eyes flickering and the way her smile was lopsided. She didn’t need the red dress or all the makeup, all she needed was that smile she had.

“Yes, and you’re pale,” she chuckled.

“I…” He wanted to tell her. “I...missed you so much,” he said.

“I know,” she laughed. “I missed you too… Hey, so at what time’s the party?” 

Tom blinked. “The…?” 

“It slipped from Haz,” she chuckled. “I mean I can still act surprised when we arrive,” she laughed. 

“You were not supposed to know,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s later…” 

“Yeah, and I mean, Haz not wanting to hang out? And you bringing me to the park?” She grinned. “That’s a nice way to stall around.” 

Tom gulped. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“What’s got you all nervous, Tom?” She pointed out. 

“I mean, all this time has given me a lot of time to think,” he gulped. “I… feel like we truly have been avoiding this and I don’t…”

Y/N gulped. “Tom, you’re my best friend,” she said. 

“Yeah, yeah, and you’re mine,” he said. 

She stepped right in front of him, she was tense. “I need to tell you something.” 

“You do?” Tom asked, squeezing her hand. Her phone started to ring. "Look, that’s that’s… a coincidence, y/n there is something ..." That was a start.

“Wait, I need to take this…” She took her phone and walked away. Tom sighed. 

Suddenly, a big smile was on her face. “Tom, we need to get back to the hotel!” 

“Back to the…?” He frowned. 

“Yes, you’ll understand,” she said as she dragged him back to the car. 

She spent the whole ride texting. Tom wasn’t concentrating while driving. His heart was going to bump out of his chest. The ride was rather quick. 

They went to the hotel bar. They both ordered a beer. 

“Y/N, I really need…”He gulped. “I… y/n, you’re my best friend in the world, and this 6 months,” he started out again. But she kept her eyes glued to her phone. 

“What?” She looked up. “Sorry, sorry, what were you saying?” Y/N gulped. 

“y/n can you explain--?” 

"He's here!" She shrieked excitedly, as she looked down at her phone again. She sketched a mischievous smile, Tom looked at her confused as she made her way to the entrance where Tom observed she hugged a stranger. He saw Anna there as well, smiling. What was happening?

The man was bold and handsome, they were holding hands when they arrived, causing Tom to want to pass out. He saw him. He saw him. The hazel-eyed handsome boy he had seen on her Instagram. The tan big boy on her Instagram.  The guy who had had his lips on y/n’s. Jealousy was a word that fell short for what he was feeling. Tom decided to order a whiskey.

"Tom ... I want to introduce you, to the love of my life," y/ n's voice was shrill. "Miguel."

“The…? What?” Tom felt that his stomach burn, and he knew that he was going to faint at any moment. Clearly, it was not the time to declare his love for her.

"Hello," said the boy offering him a hand, Tom shook it surprised. "I can not believe I'm meeting Spider-Man."

And Tom could not believe whatever that was happening was happening. It must be a nightmare. 

He looked at y/n’s mother who waved a sad goodbye at him. 

"Would you give me a moment?" Tom wanted to go to the bathroom to throw water to his face so he could wake up from this nightmare, but when he turned around, he made a waiter stumble over him throwing away his food. It was a complete disaster.

"Sorry, sorry," Tom apologized, as the waiter shook his head cleaning it. 

Tom sat back, ignoring the panorama. "What ... what...where were we?" Tom said as the couple took a seat and the waiter brought him his whiskey, which Tom drank before the waiter had even left. Tom ordered another whiskey.

"This is what you wanted to tell me?" Tom asked, nervously, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. 

“You haven’t told him?” Miguel grinned, wrapping an arm around her. 

"Something like that, well, well, I met Miguel in Mexico," Y/N explained, unable to take her eyes off the handsome young man. Tom listened interested. "It was so romantic."

"Oh, and why did I not know about this?" Tom asked with as little poison as possible.

"I wanted it to be a surprise, and I also did not have time to tell you, or no phone whatsoever," y/n continued. "Wait, I did tell you! It's the boy I met the day I got lost in the jungle ... It was raining, my truck broke down, remember? And I mean it’s not like you haven’t seen my instagram pictures."

"Ah, it's him." Tom gave her a fake smile.

"Yes, it's me," said Miguel with an accent that Tom guessed was making y/n sick or something, because she looked… flushed . He had intense green eyes that were accentuated by his tanned skin. "Well, I just helped her with her truck, and that’s it."

"You're the doctor then, huh?" Tom turned to Miguel.  “He is … he is the guy from your stories.” 

"Yes! But, alas, Miguel here likes to takes away the romantic part, he arrived like a prince to my rescue. "

"Princes do not normally ride motorcycles," Miguel teased sweetly. Tom wanted to vomit.

"You do," she said as he kissed her. Tom poured down his whiskey, and the waiter watched and caught the situation and quickly brought him another one. "Well, that day, I had a free day, I was gonna go out and explore the town, I borrowed this truck from this family, it wasn’t like a new one but I thought it would…” She laughed. “Well, it was very old, and it started to stop working, and I freaked out… It started pouring and suddenly, it was just me surrounded by mud and just no clue where to go. Of course, I’m in damn nowhere because we were filming in the...Selva Lacandona. There are no street signs anywhere and it's getting dark.” 

“I think she thought she was in some bad Indiana Jones movie!” Miguel laughed. 

Tom just smiled. He felt like he wanted to die right there. 

“So, anyway, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Miguel comes riding a motorcycle,  and asks me if I need any help! He came to my rescue because I was completely lost, and he took me with him to this hut in the village, this nearby indigenous town, where he bought me the best coffee I ever had, he took care of my cold, we started to hang out, and we realized that ... we were meant to be. We spent the whole time together.” 

Debatable, thought Tom .

“We didn’t like each other at the beginning,” Miguel admitted. “Well, she didn’t like me.” 

“Is that so?” Tom asked with a fake grin. 

Y/N nudged Miguel. “That’s not true, I was just stressed that he seemed to be making fun of me such a city girl,” she laughed. “But he managed to make me fall for him,” she kissed him again. “I mean, you can’t blame I was so stressed… But then when we arrived at the town and I saw how kind he was with everyone, I just…” She looked Miguel in the eyes and kissed him again.

Tom rolled his eyes as he looked away. 

“So what were you doing there?” Tom asked Miguel. “Why is a doctor in the middle of the jungle?”

“I uh, I decided to live in the jungle for a bit, they usually don’t have doctors there and I wanted to help the village out,”

“Isn’t he the best?” y/n chuckled. 

“Indeed,” Tom gulped. 

"But well, how couldn’t I fall for him?” She chuckled. 

“Of course, how couldn’t you,” Tom clenched his jaw. 

“Long story short…” 

"You fell in love," Tom finished her sentence, the waiter had already brought him another whiskey. He started to sip this one slowly. He was sweating. 

“And ...Then I realized that she was about to leave,” Miguel explained. “I realized we had so little time together.” 

 Y/N finally pulled out her necklace, without showing the charm. She took it off and hid the charm on her hand. Tom watched her carefully.

“So I just realized that I couldn’t let her leave,” Miguel said, looking her in the eyes. “Because I fell in love with her the first moment I saw her.” 

You and me both, Tom thought. 

Y/N smiled, not taking off his eyes from him. 

“So I did what any man with sense would’ve done,” he gulped. “I got down on one knee and…” 

“We’re engaged!” She finally showed the charm, which was an engagement ring. She placed in on her left hand. 

Tom almost spat out his drink.

"What? How?" Tom blinked repeatedly as he watched them.

"He proposed to me and I accepted!"

"Yeah, well, that's what ... What?" Tom was cold. This was an even worse nightmare. 

"We know it's soon but when I see her, I look at her and I know she's the only person I need in my life, she's the answer to all my questions," Miguel said before kissing her.

"Te amo," she told him and then turned back to Tom."Isn't he adorable?"

"Yes, yes he is ..."Tom gurgled. 

"Yeah, well, and I know it's soon ... But, thw wedding’s coming together very quickly actually, we’re gonna get married back in Mexico, small thing, we don’t expect a lot of people to book a flight overseas in a month…” 

“A month?” Tom frowned. “As in new years eve..?” 

“Yes! I thought it would be romantic, to start my new life with him,” Y/N said. 

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Miguel smirked. 

“Very,” Tom frowned. 

“And it’s in a very pretty place, near where we met, in Bacalar, Quintana Roo…”She continued. “But anyway, I was here to ask you ... I know you’ll never get married, but I thought, you're my best friend, the bestest friend in the world Tom, so ... "

Tom could not say anything.

"I won't ask you for anything else, so Tom, would you be my maid of honour?"

"You ..." Tom began to feign a laugh, as he stood up. "Your maid of honour?"

The waiter arrived with another whiskey, which Tom knocked down when he stopped.

"Man!" The waiter complained.

“Sorry, sorry, but… I…” Tom couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Your maid of honour?”

previous chapter

next chapter

series masterlist

wanna be tagged?

tag list   @clairesrainbow  @desirableprey @fairydustparker @newlove-neweverything @ymeradonnadx @underoosmarvel @tomhollandlovebot @its-the-unknownspidey @savethebabyseals @hermionedeservesbetterthanron @tomhaz @wronglanemendes  @itsvianny   @jake-and-amy-are-married @starlightfound @tiredfeels @thespiderdweeb  @kill-the-stereo @thequeensardine @originalpinkpowerranger @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81  @nedthegay @skylar-mendes  @emma-worthington @redwhitenbucky @cartiertom  @elefthavraam   @sentimentalquackson  @savannah0111 @vibhati123 @imagine-that-100 @lunagreenwood @hollandhearts @bluparis @badhollandfluff @myspideysensesrtingling @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf    @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn  @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @alwaysbenhardysgirl @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott.  @almostrosadiazz @tonystark-mcu @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl  @everythingbooknerd  @xapham @parkerswebhead @afilmbypeterparkr @xxtomxo @gioandreolli @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter   @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut    @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25   @cassindeansass  @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespidey @nathaliabakes @hollandslut @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @gioandreolli  @peterpandco @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @chubby-cheek-calum @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @clairesrainbow @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives  @snoopy3000@prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark 

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Begin Again (Mortician!Steve and Baker!Bucky Modern “Moving On” AU)

Epilogue:

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. It all went by so quickly that Steve felt like he hadn't even blinked the tears from his eyes. Only, the tears had dried up in the last eight months.

A lot had changed in the last eight months.

Babysitting his nephews and niece more. Hanging out with Sam. Spending some much needed quality time with Natasha. Chaperoning Eddie and Daisy at a concert to a band that Steve had never heard of and probably wouldn't be looking up on his own. Accepting a few phone numbers. Even going on some dates that led no further than a polite, "It was nice to meet you," at the end.

Twisting his longer hair into a small bun at the nape of his neck, Steve went about his morning routine. Brushing his teeth, grooming his beard. The boring stuff that Steve's tired mind could do on autopilot. Which was exactly the way he preferred it.

"Ready to run?" Steve asked Vinnie, leading the way into the kitchen and retrieving one of the homemade mint dog treats from the glass jar. They weren't Vinnie's favorite, but he still gobbled it up in two impressive bites. Leaving his breath just a little fresher.

Shaking his head, Steve zipped Vinnie's jacket-harness onto his large frame and gratefully accepted the slobbery kiss from the Weimaraner. Smiling, Steve scratched Vinnie between his ears before standing and grabbing his own lightweight jacket.

"Ready?" Steve asked, with the fleece item zipped all the way up and clipping the leash to Vinnie.

The dog's tail wagged, and Steve took that as a, "Yes!"

Making sure that his keys were in his black joggers, Steve led the way out of the complex. Instantly starting to run as soon as they reached the sidewalk. Although it was February, Steve was glad that most of the snow had melted and salt wasn't needed due to not enough ice slicking the cement. It was extremely helpful when he didn't have to worry about Vinnie's poor paws.

Running their usual track to the park, through the park, and on their way home. Only, today Steve changed up their routine. Deciding that it would be nice to swing by for something sweet. After all, he had made some progress. Instead of just liking each other's social media posts, Steve had started commenting on some of Bucky's posts. So, really, Steve deserved a cupcake.

Breathing heavily, Steve tied Vinnie's leash to the bench across from What's the Batter With You. Figuring that it was a good thing that his breathing was labored from the run since it drew the attention away from his shaking hands. Which was greatly appreciated.

Since Steve had been taking his morning runs later in the morning due to the winter bite, he entered the shop no later than ten minutes of it being open. Internally, Steve mocked himself for seeming so eager. Especially after all this time later.

"Hi there," a thin, young black woman greeted from behind the counter.

"Hi," Steve breathlessly replied, stepping closer so he could get a better look. Looking over the red, white, and pink cupcakes in the display, Steve couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Directing his attention to the menu board, he was pleasantly surprised to see that there were three new cupcakes added. Although it wasn't Valentine's Day just yet, there were themed cupcakes ready to go.

As he read over the new editions: Rocky Road to Your Heart, Your Kiss Is On My List, and Hoping It's Not Too Late, Steve's heart stuttered over the fourth one. For a moment, Steve couldn't breathe at all. Feeling as though all the air ever had been removed entirely as he read: I Should've Said, "I Love You, Too".

Eyes roaming over the spicy dark chocolate cake with cinnamon and cayenne cream cheese frosting, Steve wanted to believe that it was for him. And while half of him was floating on cloud nine at even the possibility, the other half was desperately clinging to the ground to remain levelheaded.

"Steve?" That familiar voice broke through his thoughts, causing his attention to snap over to the kitchen door. His steel-blue eyes wide as he looked over Steve like he was a ghost. And hell, maybe he was. He sure felt like one in that moment: numb and transparent. Running his hand through his newly cut hair -- short, more akin to the way it was in high school, Steve had thought when he saw the picture on facebook -- Bucky asked, "What are you doing here? Not that I don't want you here -- because I do, I'm just surprised is all. Considering how things… yeah… You look good."

"I, uh," Steve started, gesturing towards the front of the shop where Vinnie was tied up outside, "Was running."

"Right," Bucky nodded and offered, "Vinnie can come in. It's pretty chilly out there and I can't imagine he's happy being out there."

"Okay," Steve nodded, agreeing as he awkwardly crossed the shop to get the Weimaraner. Not quite understanding why he was so awkward. Bucky owned the cake shop, for crying out loud, of course, he was going to be there!

Still, Steve wasn't expecting to see him. Wasn't expecting his heart trying to escape his chest to Bucky either. It had been eight months, and really, Steve had expected to be over the attractive brunet by now. Or maybe, hoping, was a better term. After all, none of the dates had dissuaded his heart from beating for Bucky Barnes.

When Steve returned to the shop, he noted that the other employee wasn't there now. The part that wanted to be overjoyed in the moment wanted to believe that she had left to give them some alone time. However, Bucky explained, "Shuri is getting some fresh pupcakes."

"Oh, he'll love that," Steve deadpanned, petting Vinnie's head.

"So, um," Bucky started but stopped almost immediately. Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, he kept his gaze on the counter before asking, "Can I get you a cupcake?"

At the mention of cupcakes, Steve looked up at the menu again. Eyes lingering on that one specific cupcake that he hoped was his, in some way. In any way. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he approached the counter and looked over the display cupcakes. Bringing his gaze up to Bucky, he tried not to look away when their eyes locked and questioned, "What do you suggest?"

"Well," Bucky pressed his lips together as he thought and Steve briefly watched the movement. "Why don't I surprise you? You take a seat and I'll join you?"

"Okay," Steve readily agreed and headed over to one of the two seater tables. Hand still shaking as he pulled the chair out for himself.

Before Steve could even take his seat, Bucky was joining him. Setting one plate down in front of Steve and the other in front of himself, Bucky took his seat. Stealing glances of Steve as he did so.

"So, how've you been?" Bucky asked.

"Fine," Steve lamely answered. More interested in Bucky, "You?"

"Fine," Bucky repeated, fighting a smirk. Glancing down at the cupcake, Bucky confessed, "I broke up with Tony."

Steve wasn't sure what to say to that. He already knew that due to them being friends online. Not that Steve had been counting the days or anything. But it did take thirty-seven days after the night they kissed for Bucky to make a post updating everyone that the wedding was off and to change his relationship status to single.

"I know, I saw," Steve bashfully decided on, ears red as he focused on the cupcake in front of him. Chocolate cake with spicy cream cheese frosting.

"Yeah, I guess you would," Bucky good-naturedly scoffed at himself. Then, he chuckled and admitted, "I don't know why, but I kinda expected you to be more enthusiastic."

"Why's that?" Steve's brows furrowed as he studied the brunet in front of him.

Bucky ran his hand through his tousled hair while the grin grew on his face, "I mean, it should be obvious, shouldn't it?"

Steve's heart slammed against his ribs at that, and he softly pleaded, "Spell it out for me?"

"Starting over?" Eyes flickering around Steve's face, Bucky conceded, "You. Me. Mexican food. Maybe a movie. This Friday works for me."

"This Friday is Valentine's Day," Steve nearly gasped at the realization.

"I know," Bucky confirmed. Chewing on his lip, he confessed, "I don't want to miss my chance and mess this up."

Biting back his grin, Steve teased, "Bucky Barnes, are you asking me to be your Valentine?"

"Absolutely," Bucky readily answered, leaving Steve stunned just the slightest bit. "And I'm hoping since I made you your own cupcake, you'll agree."

"Which cupcake?" Steve wondered aloud, hoping that he was right.

It must have showed in his expression because Bucky threw a crumpled napkin as he confirmed, "You already know!"

"Wishful thinking?" Steve shrugged as he caught the napkin.

Playfully, Bucky rolled his eyes as he feigned exasperation, "What am I going to do with you?"

Grinning at the brunet, Steve placed his arm on the table with his palm up. Hoping that Bucky would accept it. Hoping that this was the start they both wanted. Both needed. Both deserved. After everything that they had been through, Steve really didn't feel like beginning again. He desperately hoped that this would be his last beginning when it came to his heart.

As Bucky placed his hand in Steve's and laced their fingers together, Steve knew that it was.

[ladymelissaduthe]

Challenge #1.75

Aka The Greenhouse RP with Jackson (Day Mode)

a/n: this is by far my fav fic so far JKDSNKDJK also I really just want this out because,,, reasons YEETHAW 

Thank you Bri @jackson-graham​ for this RP and Jackson, the sweetest bean around. (I love him, okay????) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as I’ve enjoyed writing this one. (3696 words) 

I really love plants, most especially flowers.

Plants always brightened up a room whenever you placed them by a windowsill.

All they ask is a little tender love and care, some water, and some sunlight.

Plants also didn’t typically weren’t around secret passageways in full blown dark mode.

It was safe to say that after getting trapped in that one secret hallway in the palace, I was going to avoid the library for a little while to make sure I didn’t end up in another precarious situation, only this time with no one to really help me.

That’s probably why I liked the palace’s greenhouse among all the places here, more than the palace gardens themselves.

It was bright, but not too hot. The surrounding greenery kept the greenhouse cool enough to lounge around in. It reminded me of my own garden back in Orleans, except it was probably twenty times larger. My favorite part about it was that no one else frequented it. I guess people preferred the palace air conditioning.

It was nice to walk around the greenhouse and be one with the greens, maybe soak in the sunlight just for a while and feel it warm my skin. Vegans have to photosynthesize somehow.

As usual the main entrance was open. The light hum of some watering system the palace filling the room. The west side of the greenhouse was full of vegetables and easy to grow fruits: tomatoes, eggplants, raspberries…

Sometimes I was tempted to pick some from their stems and sneak some of the flowering citrus plants here. Angeles was hot enough to grow those kinds of fruits, just like Orleans really.

The east side was mostly flowering plants aside from a bit of extra aesthetic weeds. I had a feeling that the gardeners here grew some of the flowers here before moving them to other spots in the main garden. There were occasionally patches of flowers that would be empty the next day, probably relocated to somewhere else on the grounds.

My eyes scan through the kinds of flowers. They kept a lot of flowers I was familiar with, actually. Floral arrangements were a regular aspect of my job back home, if not something I loved to do.

I got secondhand butterflies every time a bride asked me to help piece together her bouquet, or whenever I would go to my flower supplier and see the fields and varieties of flowers they have got. The options were always lovely, no matter the season.

A lot of flowers grew around these parts. Roses, veronicas, lavender, dahlias, daisies, hydrangeas. I wonder if the palace kept sunflowers.

Oh, a chunk of the gardenias were gone. I wonder where they were moved.

I could barely make it out, but there was some movement close to the dahlias.

Maybe it was a gardener who could help me figure out where the gardenias had moved.

I walk towards the dahlia section to investigate, stopping right in my tracks when I get a better view.

“Oh, well good afternoon.” I say before I feel my foot go behind mine in a quick dip.

The other person pops up from where they were half hidden by a couple of taller plants.

Dark hair, nice eyebrows, and a warm smile.

Jackson Graham…. with a couple of flowers in his gloved hand.

“Good afternoon, Missy.”

“Hello, Jackson.” I smile at him, still eyeing the flowers in his hand.

Dahlias. Lisianthus, and Roses. Boy’s got some good taste.

I gesture to the bunch.

“Pretty bunch of flowers you’ve got over there.” I lift an eyebrow. “Special Occasion? A date?”

A short laugh comes from Jackson.

“No. No, not a date.” He holds up the flowers in his gloved hands, “My mom’s birthday.”

Wow. You don’t typically see a boy making a bouquet from scratch. I feel a smile creeping on my lips.  

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” I look over the flowers in his hands, curling my lips in. They were all focal flowers. I hope he wasn’t going to pick another huge flower to add to it, that would be a shame. He needed some greenery, some lines, some verticals to fill in the gaps.

“If that’s the case, mind if I make a suggestion?” I ask, impulsively wanting to help piece a bouquet together. It was one of those little things I missed about my job back at home.

“Um,” he looks down at the flowers for a second before looking up. “Sure. Why not?”

GREAT. I saw some line flowers close to the lavenders. I put my hands behind my back, looking for some nice line flowers.

I couldn’t help it, a part of me was itching to do something I used to do back home; and well, it looked like planning a wedding wasn’t exactly on the list. Floral arrangements, well—that was something close enough.

“I’m not being too intrusive, am I?”  

He shakes his head. I really hope he didn’t mind me wanting to help.

“Not at all. I think if anyone knows about bouquets, it’s you.” A smile seems to grow on his face.

I laugh lightly, shaking my own head.

“Actually, most of the time, I don’t pick the bouquets.” I lift a shoulder up. “I just make… friendly suggestions.”

Friendly suggestions. Mama taught me to use that word when brides were two steps away from making some tacky choice. Thankfully, the clients I had usually asked me what I thought looked great or what was in style for the season. Friendly suggestions.

“Right, friendly suggestions.” Jackson chuckles softly before raising a brow, “I’m guessing they always take them.”

I consider it for a bit, bobbling my head still determined to find the perfect line flower.

“They do, but you’ll be surprised by the number of brides that still want their perfect Pinterest board weddings.” I muse before laughing ever so slightly at a few memories of how great a wedding they wanted on a specific budget.

“Happiest day of their lives is almost a paradox.” He says, and I catch him smiling to himself before he looks away.

“It’s my job to make them feel like they’re not stressed out,” I lift a shoulder, looking around the greenhouse before I catch the perfect addition by my feet.

“Aha! Found you.” I crouch down, making sure not to topple over in my platforms, inspecting the patch if they were fully grown. “Astilbe.”

False goat’s beard. Not the prettiest alternative name, but the flower was perfect to compliment the dahlias in Jackson’s hand. It also helped give some fullness to the bouquet.

I feel Jackson peek over my shoulder, “Looks nice.”

“They’re just filler flowers.” I look to him, holding a hand out for the scissors he was holding in his other hand. “You’ve picked out some real nice focal flowers though, just needs a little…” I wave a hand in the air, “jzhusing up to really make it pop.”

“Jzhushing?” I see the corner of his mouth tilt up as he offers me the scissors.

“Yes. Jzhushing. The difference of something that’s good and something that’s great.” I explain, giving him the explanation my Grammy used on me when I was a kid. That little something you add to make it extra special.

I snip at the stems, making sure not to destroy them, then standing up to hand it to Jackson to add to the bunch. “Jzhushing up.”

Jackson’s smile suddenly widens as I give him the stems. I hope he thought they were a good addition and smiling for the sake of just being nice.

“Any more suggestions on how to give my mom the best for her birthday?”

Well, he sounded genuine….

I place a hand on my chin, tapping it lightly. How else could I make this look even better?

“Dahlia, lisianthus, and roses are the focal, astilbe for the filler,” I blink, trying to figure the kind of flowers I could still help add. “You just need a line flower and some greenery, and you’re good to go.”

Jackson’s head turns slightly, giving me a half squinting side glance.

“Line flower.” He looks a bit amused. “You lost me.”

My smile tilts, right… it sounds kind of crazy without the explanations. “A tall flower, it’s meant to dictate the shape and height of the arrangement… or something like that.” My hand rises up slightly to make a gesture of height.

He seems to understand the term now. “The more extravagant for my mom, the better.” The amused look on his face doesn’t leave as he starts to arrange the Astilbes I gave him into the bunch.

“I’ll make sure that your mom’s bouquet turns out great.” I assure him, looking around the greenhouse for any line flowers and making my way around. I was determined to give him something pretty for his mom. I still thought that this was a sweet gesture. “Jumping off the effort you’re putting into this, I suppose you two are close?”

I hear his footsteps from behind me as he answers, “More or less. I still like to give her what I can regardless of that. What about you?”

“Me and my mother?” I bobble my head, my eyes still scanning the greenhouse. The answer way too easy. “She’s like my best friend.” I laugh. “It’s kind of weird for most people, but,” a giggle escapes me. “That’s what happens when you see her at work almost every single day.”

In all honesty, my mother didn’t feel like my mother. She had me when she was 17, and being pretty young… well… it felt like the two of us grew up around the same ages. At least Grammy was the mother figure we both needed.

“Family business.” There’s a half smile on his face. “Did it start with your mother?”

I shake my head at that. Knowing the humble beginnings of Duthé Debuts and Weddings. “Grandmother, actually. Grammy started it when my mom and dad got married.”  

Grammy loved the idea of planning my parent’s wedding, young as they were. “First wedding she ever planned was in her very own backyard.”

My parent’s wedding.

“Quite the origin.” His focus shifts to one of the flower stems, picking at a small dead leaf. “Did you always want to follow in their footsteps?”

The answer to this was easy.

“For as long as I could remember.” I laugh. “I mean it’s all I’ve ever really know, ya know? Baking’s fun and all but it’s more of my dad’s thing, and well—someone needed to take over the business eventually.”

Oh wow, that sounded like I didn’t have a choice into this. In all honesty, Grammy and Mama wouldn’t have minded if I didn’t join the family business. It just so happened that I loved it anyway. Who couldn’t say no to planning weddings without having to actually getting married?

“No complaints though, I love my job.” I glance back to him, clarifying how happy my job actually made me.

He looks back up to me, giving me a curious look. “What’s your favorite part of the job?”

Another easy question.

“When the groom sees the bride for the first time in her wedding dress, hands down, no question.” I raise both of my hands to make a point. There was no arguing about that one single moment. “That part makes me cry inside a little every time.” I laugh at the memories of me holding one of my fellow coordinator’s hands whenever that moment happens, again: secondhand butterflies.

“What about you?” I ask, blinking for a second. Oh gosh, I think I forgot what exactly Jackson did. “Uh, I’m sorry… I… forgot your job.” I think I just wanted to dive into a bunch of plants from the embarrassment, but I settled for covering part of my face instead. I know we talked about this before in the kitchen. I know it was happy… it had something to do with animals.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Okay he didn’t look offended, thank God.

“It’s alright.” He clears his throat. “I work at an animal shelter. I start veterinary school in the fall.”

“Oh right, the just as happy job choice!” I chuckle to myself, “Saving little critters and treating them. I’m sorry, it’s hard remembering everything about everyone I’ve met here so far.” Sometimes I felt overwhelmed by it all, but that was a welcomed problem. To be surrounded by so many interesting people.

I blink once, bringing myself back to my conversation with Jackson. “So are you taking up any specializations in vet school?”

“You know, I’m still undecided actually.” He hums for a bit. “You’re the first person who’s asked me that in a while.” A breathy chuckle escapes him before he looks down at the flowers again.

“Well, it’s something to always keep in mind.” I bobble my head. “You still have a lot of time to decide, no rush amirite?”

“Not at all.” Jackson looks back up at me. “How’s the first couple weeks been?”

My eyes still try to search the greenhouse for the right line flowers, when he asks that.

“I don’t really have the right words to describe it.” I turn to look to him. “Exciting but also nerve-wracking? Informative but also a bit of an overload?” I feel myself curl my lips in. “Comfortable but also not?”

To be honest, living in the palace as Selected… was a paradox. I did quite like being called Lady Melissa Duthé, had a nice ring to it.

But oh boy, the whole living in the public eye, just waiting for Prince Arin to take me out on a date… that didn’t feel… nice.

Only adds to the amount of people I needed to keep on impressing.

“I think you’ve perfectly encapsulated what it’s like to be a royal.” I laugh at that. He smiles briefly before taking a seat on a nearby ledge. “Not that I would know completely. Mostly observed.”

“Have you and Arin really been friends since you were kids?” I ask, multitasking as a particular patch of greens catch my eye, making myself crouch down to get a better look.

“Pretty much. Though it’s Safiya who I was always a bit closer to when she could be torn away from my sister.” He seems to speak fondly about them, before he blinks and stands up straighter than he was a while ago.

“Your sister and the princess seem… close too.” I reach up and tuck some of my hair behind my ear. The princess and Felicity seemed close indeed based on our etiquette lesson from day 1 here in the palace.

My eyes catch a patch of Veronicas and I shuffle over to the nearby patch, and look up to Jackson. “Do you think these would do? These are Veronicas if I’m not mistaken.”

He looks over to the patch and nods quickly. “Yes. They look nice.” He reaches up to rub his nape before glancing away.

Why… was he… acting like that? Was it because of Felicity?

“I can imagine it might be odd. What with… Felicity.” Jackson then adds quietly.

I shrug, “Oh please, engagements are broken all the time.”

I take the pair of scissors and start snipping at the Veronicas, my hand then moving over to a nearby patch of silver dollars.

Engagements are broken all the time? Great observation, Melissa.

“Better to break it off earlier than,” I continue with a snip of veronicas and silver dollars, “after you’ve married someone. Now that’s messy.” I snip again at the flowers. Divorce. That indeed was the messier circumstance.

“I suppose that line of thinking is… efficient.”

“Well, being in the wedding industry makes you realize certain things.” I lift a shoulder, thinking about it. “If I had a bride or groom express doubts about marriage, typical action is to make sure that they’re still committed.”

God forbid that I have to see another bride walk down the aisle and watch a groom leave her standing alone at the altar. Never again.

I stand and hand over the new bunch of greens and flowers to Jackson.

Jackson’s eyebrows raise, taking the flowers. “Does that happen often?”

“Not too often,” I meet his eyes, “it just happens and I’d rather help make sure that there isn’t much long term damage.”  If I were interested in the long term damage, I would have studied to become a Divorce lawyer. Now that would be ironic.

I click my tongue, the conversation topic digging a pit in my stomach. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore, or think about it.

“Most of the time, people reach the altar on my watch.” I point to the bouquet. “Does this look good enough for your mom?”

It just needed to be arranged a little more. Maybe I could convince him to let me just.. make… some adjustments.

Jackson lifts the bunch up, and higher to his nose to smell them. He flashes me one of those sincere smiles. “They’re beautiful. Thank you, it’s greatly appreciated.”

He glances around for a few moments, and walking over to a nearby bush of flowers, ones I didn’t quick recognize. I watch him as he bends to gently pluck one and walk back and hold it out to me.

“I know you gave me flowers, so here’s one for you. As a thanks.”

For a moment, I just stand there and look at the flower. It was definitely different from the ones he gave me. It was pretty.

I smile, taking the flower. “That’s mighty gentlemanly of you.” I laugh. “I just gave you a bunch of glorified decorative weeds.”

He laughs deeply, his eyes closing for a moment. “What my mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It was quite the adorable look on his face.

“Well,” I tilt my head and look away, not sure why I did before looking back to him and use the flower in my hand to point at the bouquet in his hand, I’ve outdone myself with this one. “at least it’s pretty. I hope she likes it.”

Jackson smiles before saying, “I’ll send you a thank you note if she does. If not, well, maybe you’ll get a weed.”

I shake my head at that, “No need to send me a thank you note, ooooor,” I lift a brow, “a weed.”

I look at it for a quick second before adding, “This was more your work than mine really. You might wanna wrap the bouquet in some paper and ribbon. Might help with the final presentation.” I give him a bright smile.

He nods his head once before starting to tug off his gloves and setting them on a table filled with other things. He then turns to me with knit brows.

“I think I forgot to ask why you came here.”

“I come here whenever I can.” I explain, my eyes scanning through the greenhouse. “I used to garden a lot back in Orleans and well, this greenhouse definitely is a lot better than what I had before back home. It’s a nice place to breathe and get out of that Women’s Room they usually ask us to stay in.”

“Do you actually garden here? Or is it more of sit and observe activity?” He asks, as I watch him take some string to tie all the stems together.

A part of me wishes I could garden in a place like this.

“Sit and observe, mostly. Can’t quite get my hands dirty over here, or well dresses like this.” I gesture to my dress, a light yellow number for today, before continuing. “Sometimes I’d find flowers that have fallen and press them into some old books. It’s a nice little routine.”

I don’t think I’ve told anyone that before.

“If you haven’t seen it already, I recommended a bench near the east corner.” Jackson gestures to the east side of the greenhouse. “Near the hydrangeas. Pretty secluded view of the gardens, especially near the sunset. I think you’ll enjoy it.” A small smile appears on his face, shifting to hold the bouquet with both of his hands.

“Thank you.” I look over to the east corner of the greenhouse, feeling myself smile while my hands fiddled with the flower Jackson gave me. I think I knew the spot he meant.

“I’ll take your word on that.” I add before my eyes fall back on Jackson and the bouquet, one of the pieces was sticking out and hanging dangerously. My hand reaches out to help fix it for him.

Jackson doesn’t look down immediately, looking slightly confused before a sheepish look ghosts his features. “I guess I should be more careful.”

“Wouldn’t want that to fall.” I can’t help but laugh before pulling my hand away. “It’d be a shame if it fell off while you were moving.” I put my hands behind my back, still fiddling with the flower Jackson gave me. I look around, the daylight having already started to fade.

It must be close to dinner time. I needed to retouch my make up, I needed to maybe change my dress. I must have gotten a bit of it slightly dirty.

“I guess it’s time for me to take my leave. I have to fix myself up for dinner.” I say before lifting up the flower, “Thank you again for this.”

“Sure.” A crooked smile forms on his face. “I um, I should be leaving for home. I have a delivery, thanks to you.”

“Be safe going home. It was nice talking to you again.” I remark, giving him a small wave with my free hand. I then take my leave towards the exit of the greenhouse, adding while I leave, “Give your mom my regards!”

“I will.” I hear Jackson say, catching him wave, a smile on his face from the corner of my eye.

As I walk back to my room, my eyes look down on the flower Jackson gave me.

I raise it up to my nose and smile.

I loved flowers.

[babypinkstyles94]

Up In The Sky

Up In The Sky

Duncan Shepherd x reader

word count: 1k (sorry it’s a little shorter than my other work)

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, daddy kink

Notes: I’ve had this requested for a hot minute and was really inspired to write it today. Thank you anon for requesting!! All the love and enjoy!

Since you had started dating Duncan Shepherd you had become accustom to the busy moving schedule he had for work. He was on a plane at least twice every two to three weeks going from state to state meeting with important business partners. He never asked you to come with him because he knew how boring it could be and he didn’t like the stares some of his employees gave you. This time though you had suggested coming along because he was going to be gone for longer than you wanted and he was going to California which was almost a second home for you guys.

His alarm went off at about five in the morning and he was showered, dressed, and putting the last of his things in his suitcase by the time you had finished getting ready. Duncan was dressed in his usual black slacks and black leather jacket, handsome as ever with his beard that was about two days old. You had gone with some simple black leggings, a big fuzzy sweater, and your classic vans. He gave you a smirk when you finally came down the steps with your black YSL bag on your arm.

“All set baby? We can grab some coffee on the way there; I know you’ll be a grump without it.” Duncan said and you smacked his arm but gave him a nod.  “You look really handsome babe even for just going on a jet.” Placing a kiss on his cheek, you grabbed your phone and the two of you headed out to the car waiting outside. It was about an hour drive to the airport where the private jet was waiting and you had fallen asleep against Duncan’s shoulder almost twenty minutes into the drive. To tell the truth you were still exhausted from the sex the two of you had had last night. Duncan had pushed you down into the mattress and hadn’t let up until you had cum at least three times.

You felt the car roll to a stop and Duncan press a kiss to your cheek before whispering, “Wake up love.” The Shepherd’s private jet was nice, I mean it’s not like you’ve been on any other private jets but the seats were soft and comfortable, the flight attendants were sweet (except for one girl whose eyes lingered to long on Duncan) and never budged with asking to many questions so you thought it was pretty good. The crew helped load all of the bags and Duncan grabbed everything you wanted with you. He let you go up the stairs first; a hand protectively on your waist and you took a seat by one of the windows.

Sipping on your coffee and scrolling through your phone, you waited for Duncan to come take his seat next to you. He usually liked to talk with the pilot before takeoff and grabbed some water so no one would bother him for a while. You looked up at his familiar footsteps and gasped a little bit at his appearance. The sun was just coming up and had cast a golden light on his face, his blue eyes absolutely electrifying. You could see the small dark bruise on his neck from your mouth and how his lips still looked fuller from kissing you so roughly last night. You could already feel the deep tinge in your core at how amazing he looked and the ghost feeling of his hands gripping onto your hips.

It was about an hour into the flight and Duncan was typing away on his laptop for who knows what. You had been looking up at him every few minutes and staring at him, at his long fingers typing away on the keys (the same fingers that had been pushed past your lips last night after he’d fingered you on the couch). Your panties had been ruined the moment he caught you staring, he’d paused his typing and said your name in a stern voice before giving you a wink.

“Mr. Shepherd can I get you anything?” The one flight attendant who you did not care for had walked up to Duncan, completely ignoring you. You hated the way she licked her lips at him and how her eyes lingered obviously at his crotch. “No thanks Daisy.” Duncan said with a short tone, not even looking up at her. “Are you sure, I can’t get you anything? Anything at all…” Her hand moved down to his bicep and in that moment you’d never been so jealous. “He said no so you can go back to cutting up fruit and pouring coffee.” You blurted out earning a scowl from Daisy and an eyebrow raise from Duncan.

“No need to be rude love, she’s harmless.” He said and you rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah I’m sure she is, I’m sure she wasn’t going to get on her knees right there and suck your dick if I hadn’t been sitting here. Actually she probably still would have.” You huffed and folded your arms, Duncan frowning at you and going back to typing. The flames you felt in your stomach were making you angry and you got up quickly, going back to the bathroom. Turning on the cold water, you splashed your face and tried to calm down a little bit because if you went back out there and saw her- her head would be ripped off.

There was a knock on the door and before you could say anything Duncan’s tall frame was coming in. “Um excuse me I didn’t say you could come in Duncan.” He rolled his eyes and stood with his back against the door. It was a pretty small room, bigger than most plane bathrooms but still not big enough for the two of you to have a lot of space. “Are you gonna stop acting like a brat y/n?” Duncan said and stared at you. “I am not acting like a brat! She touched you and was staring at your dick, what do you want me to do?!” You exclaimed.

He took a step closer to you, your back hitting the sink and looked at your mouth before speaking. “So you’re jealous and being a brat. Did daddy not teach you a lesson last night y/n?” His eyes met yours and that tinge in your stomach hit you full force. One of his hands reached out and cupped your cheek, pulling you forward a little bit. “Does it make you angry that she touched me that she was thinking about having my cock down her throat?” A whine left your throat and you reached out to grab at his waist. You roughly yanked at his loop in his pants, crashing his hips into yours.

“ ‘S mine…you’re mine Duncan. That bitch doesn’t touch what is mine.” You all but growled against his mouth before he crashed his lips onto yours. Your hands pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders and were already bunching up the black tshirt he wore. Nails scratching up his chest and grabbing onto his styled brown hair, he let out a groan and moved to sucking on the bruise he’d left on your collar bone the night before. Duncan hated to admit it but he would have cum right then at how possessive you were right now.

You ran your hands back down his body and palmed his cock through his pants before giving him a good few squeezes, his eyes screwing shut and his jaw clenching. Popping the button open and pushing his pants along with his underwear down, you started to stroke his cock. “That feel good baby? Having my hands on you, knowing exactly what you like. She doesn’t know how to make you cum like I do.” Duncan was losing it as groans flew from his mouth against your neck. “Fuck feels so good baby…you know what would feel even better though?” He said in your ear, his voice gaining that control back as he pulled you away from him and spun you around with your front pressing against the sink.

“My cock in your tight little pussy.” His hips thrust against your ass and you both moaned.

Duncan expertly pushed your leggings down and ran two fingers through your heat before pushing them inside of you. “So fucking wet baby, I’ll never get over how soaked you get for me.” Through the mirror in front of you, the two of you made eye contact and you felt the tip of Duncan’s cock rub against you. “Yes please.” You breathed out, eyes closing and then a loud moan leaving you as he thrust into you. His hands went to your hips, his grip never letting up as he pounded into you. You were trying to keep your whines and moans at bay but then you remembered that bitch and decided to be a little louder.

“Harder Duncan please! Oh fuck me! Yes just like that!!” You moaned out and Duncan picked up his pace, his hand yanking you back flush against him and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re so tight fuck! I just fucked you and you still grip my cock like the first time I ever took you baby.” His voice had gotten deeper and you grabbed his hand, pushing it against your core so he could rub at your clit. “Need daddy to help you out a little bit huh? Can tell you’re close baby.”

You were pretty sure everyone in the jet knew what was going on but that excited you more than made you feel embarrassed. Good, let everyone know Duncan belonged to you and only you. “Oh baby I’m so close please daddy…want you to cum inside of me.” You made sure to say it a little louder than everything else. You could feel Duncan’s thrust falter a little bit at your words, his true weakness for you coming out when those words were uttered.

“You want my cum baby? Oh fuck.” He felt you clench around his cock as an answer and that spurred him on to get you both to finish. His fingers worked harder at rubbing your clit, his other hand squeezing your breast from under your shirt. You could feel his cock hitting that deep spot inside of you over and over again perfectly. A blush had covered your whole chest and neck and as Duncan leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “Make daddy cum baby. Let her know I belong to you” you were letting out a small scream and cumming on his cock. Duncan’s own orgasm triggered as you took his hand that had been holding your breast and squeezed it, chanting “Mine…you’re mine Duncan” over and over until you felt his warm release inside of you.

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes just catching your breath and when Duncan’s eyes met yours through the mirror you both started to giggle a little. “You’re cute when you’re jealous babe.” He said helping you pull your leggings back up and then fixing his own pants. You turned around and before he could say anything you leaned into his neck, sucking a dark hickey in plain sight for anyone to see.

“Now everyone knows you are mine Duncan Shepherd.” 

Tagging: @coollangdon (thank you for helping me name this wifey)  @langdonsoceaneyes @langdonsdemon

(lmk if you ever want to be tagged!)

[burgers-and-french-fries]

Eggsy Unwin: Ho, Ho, Ho.

This is day 9 of the imagines for December. I know I’m a day behind but please ignore that fact.

This was requested by the wonderful @sarahegerton96. I really hope that you like this and I hope that it’s ok that I gave you a daughter. Please excuse all the mistakes in this.

Request: Eggsy smut!

Enjoy!

===

It had been more than a month since Eggsy left for a mission and with each day that passed where Sarah didn’t hear from him, her worry grew. She always tried to put on a brave face for her daughter and for those around her but the only one that could really see through it was Eggsy’s mother, Michelle. Of course Michelle was told that her son was simply on a business trip but Michelle knew the feeling of missing him all too well.

A few days before Christmas eve, Sarah woke up feeling really lonely and she wished that she could have woken up in her boyfriend’s strong arms and saw his sleepy but smiling face. He was her home and without him, it just wasn’t the same. Just as she turned over to go back to sleep, Annie started to cry. Sarah jumped out of bed and went to calm the two month old. “It’s ok little one. Mummy’s here.” Sarah said as she picked the little girl up. Annie decided to give her mother a rough day and wouldn’t stop crying no matter what Sarah tried. “Annie, please.” Sarah begged. Finally after two hours, Annie fell asleep but unfortunately Sarah’s phone rang and it woke the baby. Sarah grunted in annoyance and answered the call.

“Really Eggsy?” Sarah spoke. “Hello to you too.” He joked but cringed when he heard his daughter let a shrill cry. “Hold on.” Sarah said as she put the phone on speaker so she could try and feed the baby. “Ok. What do you want?” Sarah asked tiredly. “Long night?” Eggsy asked. “No. Annie hasn’t stopped crying. I barely got her to sleep and you called and woke her.” Sarah explained as the baby unlatched and started screaming again. “I don’t know what to do baby. I’m at the end of my rope.” Sarah said as her voice wavered. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes for a second.” Eggsy instructed. Sarah did and nothing worked. “It didn’t work.” Sarah responded with annoyance. Eggsy chuckled. “I have an idea. For this to work, hang up, go to our closet and pull out one of my shirts. Swaddle her in it and then text me when it’s done. I’ll facetime you and we will see if that works.” Eggsy explained. The couple hung up and Sarah set about doing what Eggsy said.

Even though she was now wrapped in her daddy’s shirt, still Annie screamed and cried “Please let this work.” Sarah muttered as she texted her boyfriend and waited for him to facetime her. When the call came through, Sarah was quick to answer. “Really babe? My jacket?” Eggsy whined slightly. Sarah glared at him. “Sorry. Ok, let me see our little girl.” Eggsy said and Sarah pointed the phone at the crying baby. Eggsy started talking to her and she stopped immediately. Sarah rolled her eyes. “ Of course this works. Trader.” Sarah mumbled to the now silent baby. Eggsy chuckled at Sarah’s remark. “Of course it worked, she’s my little girl.” Eggsy replied proudly. “And what am I? Chopped liver?” Sarah remarked. “Aww babe, she just loves her daddy. That’s all.” Eggsy spoke. “Did you painfully push her out of your ass? Did you have to cope with nine months of pure and utter torture? Do you have to deal with cracked nipples from nursing her? I don’t think so.” Sarah snapped. “I know my love and I’m sorry but I can’t help who she prefers.” Eggsy replied with sympathy. “While when you come home for Christmas, you can care for her and I’ll sleep and you can deal with everything.” Sarah suggested. That’s when Eggsy looked at her with regret. “You’re not coming home for Christmas are you?” Sarah questioned with sadness. “No. This is taking longer than what we would like. I promise that when I do come home, I’ll take of her and you can have some well deserved you time.” He said. They spoke for a while longer before Eggsy had to go. As soon as the call ended, Annie was crying again.

On Christmas eve, Annie’s crying still hadn’t stopped and Sarah just chalked it up to her missing her father. She did whatever she could to settle the infant but as usual, nothing worked. That is until Michelle came over with Daisy for Christmas dinner. Michelle walked through the door when Annie was having a melt down and saw her daughter-in-law trying to calm her granddaughter. “Here honey, let me take her. You go and get ready before your other guests arrive.” Michelle said as she took the baby and Daisy into the lounge room. Sarah hurried off and got herself ready. She had invited some other people over for Christmas as well and because she knew that the other families had kids, Sarah had asked her cousin Richard to play Santa. 

When Sarah walked back downstairs, Annie wasn’t crying. Sarah was shocked but then she heard Eggsy’s voice. She walked around the corner to see Annie and Daisy talking to the man. “Hi baby.” Eggsy called when he saw Sarah enter the room. “Hi.” Sarah smiled sarcastically. “I love you.” Eggsy said. “I love you too, meanie.” She replied with a sugary sweet smile. Eggsy laughed and Sarah went to check on the food. When Sarah was certain that the food was ready, Annie let out a loud cry again. Sarah knew that the call had ended. Daisy ran into the kitchen with her hands over her ears. Sarah picked up the small girl and kissed her cheek. “She’s loud isn’t she?” Sarah asked feigning a pout. Daisy nodded and took her small hands off her ears. “Why is crying?” she asked. “Well, I think she just misses your brother.” Sarah replied with a smile. “I miss him.” Daisy said as she laid her head on Sarah’s shoulder. Michelle walked into the kitchen and took in the sweet sight before speaking. “I’m going to change this one’s nappy. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Michelle spoke kindly. “Thank you so much for coming early. It means more to me than you will ever know.” Sarah replied. Michelle simply smiled and left with Annie.

About an hour later, everyone had arrived and Annie had thankfully stopped crying, allowing her mother some peace and quiet but when Someone played a video of Eggsy from years passed, the baby started up again. Annie just wouldn’t quite and she was growing annoyed. It was a miracle that Sarah hadn’t snapped already. Michelle noticed the utter frustration on Sarah’s face. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a breather. I’ll try and calm her.” The woman spoke. “If she doesn’t calm down, Eggsy’s scarf is in her room in the top drawer of her dresser.” Sarah explained but before she could leave, The front door opened and she saw a man dressed in red. This was her last hope. If Annie didn’t stop crying at this, she was going to ask Michelle to stay for the night so that she could sleep and not have to deal with the crying. Sarah walked to where Annie was and picked the infant up. “You going to stop crying for a minute so Richard can hold you?” Sarah whispered to her daughter but nope, the baby cried even more. 

Sarah walked over to where the kids were all standing around Santa and it didn’t register with her that it wasn’t Richard dressed as Santa. One by one, the kids all spoke with Santa and by the time Sarah passed Annie to Santa, the baby was now red faced with her tiny hands balled into fists. Sarah was hesitant to pass the baby to Santa but decided to let him hold her anyway. As soon as Annie was in Santa’s arms, the baby stopped crying. That’s when it clicked. Annie had only stopped crying when Eggsy was around. Sarah looked around and saw Richard sitting in his regular clothes. She looked at Santa again and he winked at her. Yup, it was most definitely Eggsy behind the costume. Sarah sighed with relief. Eggsy talked to his daughter and she looked at him intently. A few minutes later, Eggsy passed Annie back to his girlfriend so that he could ‘leave’. The kids all said goodbye to Santa as he left but really, Eggsy just went upstairs. Michelle and Richard smiled at the mother and nodded at her as if to let her know they could look after things down there. She smiled and walked to her bedroom where Eggsy was waiting for his two girls.

“You are amazing. you know that?” Sarah asked as she kissed him. Annie looked at her parents and when they broke apart, Annie was once again in her daddy’s arms. Sarah smiled genuinely. “Silence at last.” She joked and Eggsy kissed his daughter’s head. “God that makes me want another baby.” Sarah said. Eggsy snapped his gaze to her. “Really?” he asked with surprise. Sarah nodded. Eggsy swallowed harshly and his eyes went dark with lust. “Go put her to bed and I’ll go and say goodbye to everyone and then I can welcome you home properly big boy.” Sarah whispered in his ear before kissing just below his ear. Eggsy moaned and nodded.

Sarah said goodbye to everyone and thanked Richard and Michelle for not spoiling the surprise for her and Annie. “You’re welcome. Merry Christmas.” Richard said as he walked to his car. “Well missy, I do believe you have a gift to unwrap upstairs.” Michelle teased and Sarah laughed. “Please keep in mind that I’d like a grandson.” Michelle replied with a wink. Michelle hugged the young woman goodbye. “Merry Christmas.” Michelle teased as she and Daisy walked to their car and left. Sarah shut the front door and leaned against it with a cheesy smile on her face. She stayed there for a couple seconds before she made sure that the doors were locked, the lights were off and everything else was secured. When she was satisfied, she made her way to her boyfriend and daughter.

Sarah walked to Annie’s room to make sure she was sleeping and thankfully she was. Sarah then made her way to her and Eggsy’s room. “Well hello there Mr. Claus.” Sarah greeted seductively. Eggsy smiled at her. Sarah walked up to him and sat on his lap. Eggsy wrapped his arms around her waist and she removed the fake beard so that it hung around his neck loosely. “Fuck I missed you.” Sarah whispered as she kissed him slowly and passionately. She pulled away tugging on his lower lip. “I missed you too.” He muttered against her lips. She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. All of a sudden, a frown grew on her face. “When did you get home?” She asked with a brow raised. Eggsy smiled sheepishly at her. “I came home the day I called and woke Annie up.” He admitted. “Where the hell were you staying then?” She replied. “Roxy’s.” He said simply and Sarah laughed. “How did I not guess that? I’ve stayed in that fucking room.” She said through her laughter. Eggsy joined in. “Are you happy?” Eggsy asked when they had calmed down a little. “I’d be ecstatic if you’d fuck me already.” She responded. “That can be arranged but you need to strip for me and lay on the bed.” He instructed. Sarah jumped up and followed his instructions. “Good but you need to prop up against the headboard.” He said and she did.

Eggsy looked her and took the beard off and threw it on the floor. Sarah looked at him with lust. He then removed the hat and wig, tossing them on the ground as well. Sarah could now see the handsome man she fell in love with. What she didn’t know was that when she was downstairs, he removed the belly and the clothes he was wearing underneath. Her gaze on him made his cock throb with excitement. Eggsy’s fingers slowly undid the buttons and belt, removing them once they were loose. Sarah started to drool when she saw that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Soon, the boots and pants joined the pile on the ground. “Fuck.” Sarah said when her eyes traveled up and down his naked form. She licked her lips and Eggsy motioned for her to get on her knees in front of him. She happily wrapped her lips around his cock. She moaned at the feel of him in her mouth. Eggsy bit his lower lips in pleasure. When Sarah ran her tongue over his balls, he sucked in a breath. “Oh god babygirl, that’s it.” He praised. Sarah let a moan escape her throat as she sucked on his balls. The vibrations sending shivers down his spine. Sarah went back to sucking his cock. She sucked him a little harsher and Eggsy was putty in her hands. He could feel himself loosing control.

“On the bed now.” He commanded and Sarah did as she was told. He climbed over her and kissed her hungrily. He pulled away and looked at Sarah. She nodded her head and he pushed his way into her. Both of them moaning at the feeling of each other. Once he was sure he had enough control and wasn’t going to cum, he started to move, setting a fast and steady pace. Sarah could feel herself melting into his touch. “Fuck baby boy, faster.” She panted. Eggsy complied and moved to pound into her pussy faster. “Eggsy I’m close.” She cried out. Eggsy grunted as she clenched around him. “Me too.” He panted and moved his hips faster. Both of them cumming hard. When they came down from their high, Eggsy pulled out and moved down to her pussy. His tongue ran over her sensitive clit and she bucked her hips. “Fuck. Daddy that feels so good.” She whimpered as his tongue assaulted her clit. A few minutes later, she was cumming again. “Good girl.” Eggsy praised as he climbed over her again and captured her lips in a searing and bruising kiss.

Eggsy flopped next to her and she laid her head on his chest. “Goodnight Daddy.” Sarah said as she yawned. Eggsy smirked. “Goodnight my little Ho, Ho, Ho.” He replied and both of them burst out laughing. “Dork.” Sarah said through her giggles. “I’m your dork.” He replied and kissed her. Both of them falling asleep in each other’s arms finally.

Tag List: @rocknrollmadden @jobanan23 @superthiccthighssavelives @dogmom2014 @mairyleo @hauntedflamingo @softeggsy @eggsyobsessed