#having an upstairs neighbour is apparently doing wonders for my madness

[echthr0s]

fr I think dawnposting is my version of nightblogging bc only during the sunrise hours do I start doin shit like comparing Stephen King to Yaldabaoth

[angelmavmurdock]

The Boy Next Door

WARNINGS: SMUT, ORAL (fem+mal), DIRTY TALK, PRAISE, CHOKING, THIGH RIDING, MENTIONS OF DRUGS.

inexperienced!reader x stoner!tom

(inspired by Ginny and Georgia)

The new house was a lot bigger than our last house. But of course that's due to my mother marrying a man 30 years older than her who owns some workout company. She's a gold digger is what I'm trying to say. Ever since I can remember, whatever guy she was dating dictated where we would live, where my brother and I would go to school, what I'd wear, how I'd act and even what friends I had. Or, lack there of. Always being the 'new girl' was beginning to get exhausting so I never really had friends. If I gained any friends then I knew that we'd get close then I'd move and we'd stay in touch for about a month before they move on and forget about me.

y/n. Always the new girl.

"y/n would you help us, please?" Mum asked in an annoyed tone, brushing past me with a box in her hands.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, walking to the car and beginning to lift stuff out and into the house. It was a huge driveway - unnecessarily large - and everyone on the street was the same. Everyone in the town was the same. It was a rich, suburban area. No place I hadn't seen before but we definitely didn't belong. My Mum just shapeshifted into whoever she thought Greg would want. Greg being my 'step-dad'. He's 63. My Mum is 33. How is that even allowed.

We unloaded everything from the cars and waited on the trucks arriving with everything else. Cameron and I scuffed our shoes as we strolled through the huge house, taking in everything and familiarising ourselves with our new home.

"I'm so glad I'm not at school anymore because being in a class with snobby assholes like these people would be shit." Cameron said, crossing his arms as he gestured to the family across the road.

I walked over to him and watched too. A family of 5 - two girls, one boy, Mum and a Dad - were dressed rather nicely in dresses and suits. They came out of their house and waltzed to their Tesla nonchalantly with their noses in the air. The eldest girl looked around my age. She would probably be in some of my classes.

"I'm not looking forward to Monday." I groaned.

We stood in comfortable silence, watching the Tesla inquisitively as it drove off with the family inside.

"Trucks arrived!" Mum called from the front door.

We both shared our sibling look with one another then walked back out with reluctance. Mum was standing in the middle of the driveway with her hands on her hips, watching as Greg approached the van and signed some forms off. Cameron and I walked down and stood either side of her. She grinned and wrapped her arms around us, rubbing both our backs simultaneously.

"I've got a good feeling about this, guys." She took a deep breath.

"At least someone does." I remarked.

She ignored the comment and we watched Greg do practically nothing. I mean he was basically an ancient artefact.

"I've heard your new school is wonderful. The pass grade levels are insanely good and there's a lot of people there to befriend." Mum spoke positively.

"My last 6 schools also had a lot of people to befriend but of course, I always lose them because we move so bloody much." I clenched my jaw.

"Well...this time it's different."

I scoffed, "You always say that."

"I swear this time!"

"And that!"

"y/n I don't know what you want me to do. Greg is a great guy who is supporting us fully! I mean, look at this place! Surely you can't be mad we're living here." Mum shook her head, removing her arm from my waist.

"I'd rather live in a box with just you two than live in a huge house with some random guy in a town I hate." I argued then stormed away dramatically up the driveway.

I got into the house and slammed the door, grabbing the banister and stomping up the flight of stairs. There was one flight then a landing then another flight. This house was too bloody big.

I finally found what was meant to be my new room and slammed that door shut. Just for good measure. I huffed and sighed as I leaned my back against the white, wooden door.

The room was stark white and empty, only a bay window to give some character. I might hate Greg and my mother and this whole situation but I loved this bay window. I snaked in between the boxes and suitcases and sat on the wooden ledge. I kicked my shoes off before sitting my feet up and watching outside. My room faced the front of the house so I could see the movers offloading furniture and boxes off while Greg stood helplessly.

I groaned and leaned my head back, closing my eyes, just wanting to crawl into a shell and hide.

A slam of a car door forced my eyelids open and I jumped slightly.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

I heard a woman's voice from outside. I looked outside curiously, scanning the street with my eyes to find where the noise was coming from. It finally caught my eye and I had to sit up and switch sides of the window to look properly.

A red-headed woman and a curly headed boy were standing in the driveway.

Our next door neighbours apparently.

The boy was around my age, maybe a little older. He stumbled a little as he walked up the drive, his mother - I think - watching from behind her car door.

"I'm going to bed!" He shouted back.

"Not now you're not, you have to talk to me, Thomas!" She shouted, slamming her own car door.

Thomas.

He hung his head on his shoulders, "I need to sleep, mum."

"Well I just had to bail you out of jail for marijuana possession and use so you better talk to me."

Oof, I thought. He was a stoner. A criminal basically. But he was attractive from what you could see. Dark brown curly hair, tall enough, a sharp jawline, a good body from where I was sitting and a good style too - a hoodie with a denim jacket and jeans. But he was my neighbour. And a stoner.

"Mum can we just talk later?" He pleaded, running a hand through his hair.

"Tom we will talk about this right now." She said sternly.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning his back to her and walking away. I watched him with a slight smile. He really was attractive.

"Thomas Holland you get back here right now!" His mother shouted.

"When I'm not on drugs, I'll talk." He stated.

His mother stuttered then just grunted in annoyance, allowing him to go inside.

I kept my eyes on him, my smile still on my face as he started to walk into his house. He suddenly turned his head with a confused expression then looked up. Straight at me through my window.

I froze in shock, eyes widening, mouth parting. He slowly smirked and nodded his head at me before going inside.

I sunk off the window ledge in humiliation, snaking to the floor and mumbling how stupid I was and how embarrassing that was.

"y/n! Come meet your neighbour!" Mum shouted up.

My ears perked up then I leaped up to look out the bay window. The boy next door's mum was standing outside, chatting to my mum.

-

I hardly learned anything talking to his mum. Her name was Nikki Holland, she had a husband named Dominic who was a comedian and a writer. She was a photographer. Along with Tom - the oldest - she had three other sons: twins named Harry and Sam and then Paddy who was a good bit younger. I can't remember the exact age. My mum had nosily asked her about Tom and that was the only part I listened to.

"He's 18,"

"Dropped out of school last year,"

"Says he wants to be an actor,"

"Oh today? He got in trouble from the police about...you know what, that isn't important."

"You look so young to be a mother to a teenager. How old are you?"

"And you're 18, too?" "Still in school?" "What do you want to do?" "Ah, smart girl."

The conversation was brief and slightly awkward. She was clearly stressed about Tom and his situation so I slid out of the engagement pretty fast and escaped up to my room.

During the entirety of the weird conversation, the movers had put my bed, mattress and desk into my room. It felt a lot more homier.

-

It was the next night and I had finished dinner and immediately gone upstairs. I was not participating in any sort of 'family time'. I sat down on my bed and scrolled through my phone aimlessly.

A thump outside drew my attention away and I looked to my right at the regular window which faced our neighbours house.

I sat up and squinted to see out into the dark. It was Tom. He was halfway out his window.

I didn't even realise our windows faced each other. And here he was, one leg out the window and his other following on. He had thrown a backpack down which caused the dull thump on the grass - which I only assume contains weed - and now he was escaping his house.

I got out of bed and walked to the glass, peeking out to see what he was doing.

He climbed impressively down the wall and jumped the last few metres, landing in a Spider-Man like pose. Admirable, I thought as he picked up his back pack and slid a skateboard out from a bush. He brushed it off then slotted it under his armpit.

He was sporting a black t-shirt with a dog-tag necklace and some distressed deep blue jeans with a denim jacket over top and a baseball cap placed on backwards that sat on top of his curly head of hair.

He looked around in case he was going to get caught then looked up. Directly at me. Again.

This time I didn't shy away. I just made a gesture and mouthed 'what the fuck?' then he laughed to himself and looked back up at me.

'Don't be so nosy, neighbour', he mouthed.

I squinted and shook my head in disapproval. He just smirked boyishly then walked to his driveway where he flipped his skateboard and skated off into the night.

I gulped and sat back on my bed, feeling my heart rate slow back down.

But curiosity filled my brain.

Where was he going?

-

Just as Sunday night came around, I had finished decorating my room. My pictures and paintings hung on the wall, along with some mirrors to fill the blank space of the white walls. My bed was cosy and was filled with throw blankets, fluffy sheets and way too many pillows. My desk was organised and my laptop sat atop the white surface, making it look a lot more professional than I had anticipated.

I had turned my bay window into a reading nook. A few blankets lay on the ledge and a couple pillows too, along with my current read.

I had seen Tom sneak out a few nights ago but I tried to stay away from the regular window, only ever sitting on the bay one because I couldn't see Toms room from there.

However, it didn't shield me from him completely.

I would see him outside in their front garden playing games with his brothers and sometimes I'd watch them from just over the top of my book. The way he played with their dog was cute. I had gathered her name was Tessa and I knew she was a staffy because we used to have one. He'd throw balls or sticks for her and sometimes she'd clamber on top of him with excitement. He'd dodge her licks but still clap her because she was excited after all.

Every once in a while he'd catch me looking down at him or I'd catch him looking up at me. Whenever it happened, it seemed as if everyone and everything disappeared. Like it was just us. Tunnel view. But then one of us would look away or stick the middle finger up or mouth 'fuck off'. Our unusual and silent rivalry was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in years.

But now, Mum, Greg and Cameron were going out to a nice dinner to celebrate the first week of living here. I thought it was an incredibly stupid idea so I decided to stay home alone and eat pizza.

They all left and Cameron immediately texted me.

Cammando: I hate you for leaving me

y/n: your fault not mine :)

I didn't really know what to do. I walked around the house and asked Alexa to play some songs but I couldn't be bothered dancing. I wasn't really in a dancing mood.

I just gave up and went back upstairs into my room. My windows were still open so before I got changed I went to close them and put down the blinds. I closed the bay window and then I went to the next one.

I looked straight ahead into Toms room and my jaw dropped.

He was hopping and hyping himself up in front of a punch bag...shirtless with gloves on. I watched as he punched the bag skilfully, moving his feet as if it was a choreographed routine. His damp curly hair hung onto his forehead and I could see glimpses of airpods in his ears. His back muscles tightened and flexed as he threw punches.

He moved around the bag and now I could see the front of him. He had a very visible six pack. I definitely didn't expect that from the stoner boy next door. If I thought he was attractive before...now I don't even know what I would call him.

Otherworldly, perhaps?

He suddenly looked up and I gasped, turning and slamming my back against the wall next to the window, wincing at the pain. Hopefully he didn't see me...

It was creepy to be staring at him. I shouldn't have done it.

I peeked back and he was back to beating the poor punch bag.

God, he was so hot.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and ears, burning with lust. I gulped and looked away, closing the blind to stop myself from looking anymore.

I got changed into shorts and a burgundy Cambridge University jumper that used to belong to my Dad. He gave it to me the first time he properly left for a while and I still have it even though I see him more often.

I hopped downstairs and played some music while I sorted the pizza and chips out to eat.

I sat and ate while listening to music. Once I was finished, I cleaned everything up then went back upstairs into my room, shutting the door behind me and jumping onto my bed.

I scrolled through tiktok aimlessly, just filling the time before it was an acceptable hour to go to bed as a teenager.

I switched apps to Instagram when I lay on my side, my back facing my windows. I scrolled through for a while but a certain picture caught my eye.

I had to blink a few times to really look.

It was my so called 'best friend' who I hadn't talked to since I moved twice after befriending her and my ex-boyfriend. My ex. My only boyfriend I've ever had. My first kiss, my first date...my first time. My only time. We only had sex twice. Three if you count foreplay but I faked it. Actually I faked it all of the times. He was never good at it and I had no idea how to go about telling him because to be honest, I had no idea what to do either.

But my ex-best friend and my ex-boyfriend? She didn't even tell me. She didn't even think to ask me.

They were dressed nicely and holding each other's waists. It looked a little awkward but most of those pictures are because they are being taken by parents.

I looked through the comments.

OMG! Hot couple alert! You two are the cutest just marry already yall are too happy it's been the best year of my life baby

"WHAT?!" I exclaimed, sitting up sharply.

They had been together for a YEAR.

"Ugh!" I groaned and threw my phone across my room, hearing it basically break against the wooden floor.

"Rough night?" A voice spoke from my window.

I screamed, jumping with fear and successfully landing my ass on the floor.

I panicked and grabbed the first thing I could use as a weapon. A glass of water. It would have to do.

I quickly flung the water at the intruder, "WHAT THE FUCK, GET OUT!" I screamed, my eyes closed tightly in fear.

I heard the water splash over them but they still came in. I just threw the glass at them. It thumped against them dully and then crashed onto the floor.

"Ouch."

I slowly opened one eye and looked up at the figure who had just entered my room.

It was Tom.

He was in a grey t-shirt and black basketball shorts with a baseball cap placed on backwards, a backpack thrown over his shoulder.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING CLIMBING INTO MY ROOM?!" I shouted, standing up.

He was taller than me by a few inches but we were basically at eye level.

"I was clearly looking for some company but you then threw water over me and then a literal glass." He spoke calmly, wiping a hand over his wet face.

"How the hell are you being so calm about this?! You just intruded into my home!" I exclaimed.

"Well, darling, I have a thing called weed. It's great for calming you down. You clearly need some." He slung his bag around and went to open it.

"W-what? No, I'm not smoking weed!"

He sighed and slung his bag back, "Well, why are you being so uptight about this I just wanted to say hello." He smiled boyishly.

I licked my teeth in annoyance. He was so fucking attractive but he was so fucking annoying and I didn't even know him.

"You need to get out. I didn't invite you in here so you are not welcome." I stated, crossing my arms.

"Okay, yes. But also- my mother nearly just caught me sneaking out so it's a cover if she comes round here."

"Why would she come here?" I asked.

"Because she's a mad woman who hates me having a life apparently."

"You're an 18 year old who sneaks out of the house to smoke weed. I wouldn't call that a life." I remarked.

He smirked, "You know what, I like you."

He sat his bag down then started to walk slowly around my room, inspecting my pictures and decorations intricately.

I stuttered, not knowing how to react to this whole situation.

"I'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, brows furrowed.

"You're quite an interesting person, I must say."

I sighed and shook my head at the ceiling.

"Ah, this makes sense." He picked up one of my camera's.

I scoffed, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sat it down and picked up the next one, shrugging with a smug smirk.

"You like looking at things."

I gulped, red rushing to my cheeks.

"Clearly very beautiful things." He said, referring to my pictures on the walls.

"I'm just honoured I'm one of them."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "You wish you were."

"Oh but I am, aren't I?" He challenged, sitting my camera down.

I licked my back teeth and watched with heavy breath as he paced towards me slowly.

"I've never taken a picture of you before." I said matter-of-factly.

"You might not have but you definitely love a good stare, don't you?" He asked, his left eyebrow quirked cockily.

I noticed the unusualness of it and then looked into his dark, dilated eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I said quietly.

He laughed lowly, "So you weren't staring at me earlier when I was working out?"

I stuttered as we came face to face.

"You're stubborn but I feel like I know you," He placed his fingers under my chin, tracing up my jaw and to my ear where he tucked some of my hair behind.

"Because I've been looking at you, too." He whispered.

I practically melted and a whimper left my mouth, eyes rolling back.

He chuckled, "Already needy for me I see."

I looked up at him as his thumb swiped over my lips.

This whole situation was insane. I didn't even know how we got here. I didn't know how to feel, either. I had never been turned on like this before.

He slowly pushed his thumb into my mouth and I moaned around it, tasting his skin.

"Good girl." He praised, taking his thumb out and replacing it with his tongue.

I moaned again, feeling his lips on mine. His hands gripped my waist and I tangled my fingers into his hair.

He tasted of weed but I didn't mind it at all. He pushed me backwards until I hit the wall next to my bed. He gripped my hips tightly and I kept my hands in his hair. He must have gone for a shower since his workout because he smelled fresh and clean and his hair was damp.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was kissing a stranger. Who climbed into my room.

"Wait-" He pulled away briefly.

"Is your family home?" He asked.

"No, they're out all night." I answered breathlessly.

He smirked, "Good."

He suddenly lifted me up and I squealed, automatically wrapping my legs around his taut torso.

His tongue slipped between my lips again and I welcomed it. He lay me down on my bed and started to kiss down to my jaw and my neck.

I gasped and tugged his hair when he started kissing a certain spot on my skin. He got the message that I liked it and started licking and sucking on it. I arched my back slightly, moaning as he worked his tongue and lips on my skin.

He left the spot on my neck but kissed over my skin as he started to lift my jumper up. Panic and nerves suddenly settled in and I grabbed his hands, stopping his movements.

"You alright?" He asked breathlessly.

I swallowed, "I uh...I've never-"

His eyes widened, "You're a virgin?"

"No, no. I've had sex it just...it just wasn't that great." I bit my lip nervously.

He encased my lips in his and I relaxed to his touch.

"Do you want to?" He asked against my lips.

"Yes, fuck yes." I practically moaned into his mouth.

"I just need you to guide me through it." I said in between kisses.

He pulled away, "I can do that." He smiled.

He started to lift my jumper off and this time I let him. I sat up and he removed it, throwing it off the bed. He admired the pink bralette I was wearing and immediately pressed his lips and tongue to the valley of my breasts. He nipped and sucked on my skin and I moaned as he palmed one of my boobs while leaving marks on the other.

He came back up and kissed me again but flipped us over so I was now on top. He sat up and shuffled back against my headboard and pulled me onto his lap.

He brushed my hair off my shoulders and cupped my chin, taking me in.

"D'you wanna try riding my thigh?" He asked lowly.

I gulped, "S-sure."

He smirked and I straddled his left thigh, holding his shoulders.

"Just rock your hips back and forwa-"

"Fuck," I moaned, the rubbing of the different materials causing my core to clench.

"Does that feel good?" He asked, his breath fanning over my face.

His hands rested on my hips and he helped my movements.

"Feels so good." I moaned.

"Yeah? You like riding my thigh?" He prompted, his hands making me speed up.

I fisted the material of his shirt in my hands as my mouth fell agape with pleasure.

"Riding my thigh like such a good girl." He praised.

"Fuck!" I hung my head back, his words going straight to my core.

He chuckled cockily, "D'you like when I call you that? Huh?"

I nodded, too flustered with these new senses of pleasure to speak.

His hand travelled up into my hair and tugged on it by my roots. A louder moan than I would have liked escaped my lips.

"I asked you a question, answer me." He said sternly.

"Fuck! Yes, I love it when you call me that." I answered pathetically.

"Good girl." He praised, letting go of my hair and rocking my hips on him.

I felt an immense amount of pleasure build up and it felt as if something was going to snap in me.

"Oh shit, I- fuck!" I furrowed my brows in concentration and confusion.

"R'you gonna cum, darling?" He asked, almost shocked.

"I don't- fuck - know!" I moaned, feeling the knot inside my stomach about to snap.

But before that could even happen I was being flipped back onto my back and Tom was ripping off my shorts and panties, diving in between my legs with lust.

His hands held my thighs and brought me closer to him. His lips attached to my clit and sucked, giving me a whole new feeling.

"Oh, fuck! Yes! Yes!" I moaned shamelessly, tugging his hair and fisting the bedsheets.

"Go on, darling. Cum in my mouth for me. Taste so good. Please, love."

The mixture between his words and his nicknames for me and the fact his mouth was working wonders on my core completely sent me over the edge: an experience I had never had before.

"Holy shit! Tom! Yes!" I subconsciously tightened my thighs around his head and my hands practically pushed him completely onto me.

He continued riding me through my high until I unclenched my thigh and he pulled away slowly.

I lay breathless and in a state of shock and euphoria at the same time.

"You okay?" He asked soothingly, rubbing his hand over my bare thigh as he came up to kiss me.

"Yeah I've...I've never-"

"You've never came before?" Tom asked, baffled by me.

"Nope..."

He kept his eyes on me but slipped a hand down to my core again. I bucked my hips against his hand with a gasp as he moved his fingers in circles over my core.

"You've never even touched yourself?" He asked lowly.

I bit my lip and shook my head.

"You're so wet for me, darling, fuck." He cursed.

He suddenly dipped a finger into my core and I moaned. He curled it up and I gripped his arm tightly.

"What d'you want?" He asked.

"I want you, Tom, please." I bit my lip.

He smiled and sat back, his hand coming away from my clit, leaving me feeling empty. He shed his shirt and I finally got to look at his chiselled torso up close. He then slid his shorts and boxers off and my jaw dropped at the sight of him.

He was semi-hard but he was already bigger than my ex. A lot bigger.

He pumped his member in his hand, "You sure about this?"

I stuttered, completely distracted by his actions than his words.

"What? You like the look of it? Hmm? Wanna suck me off?" He asked, his hand cupping my chin and sliding his thumb into my mouth again.

I moaned at his words and nodded.

"You want to suck me off, darling? You sure?" He asked, removing his thumb.

"Yes, fuck Tom, I wanna suck you off." I moaned.

"Good girl." He praised.

We switched positions so he was sitting against the headboard and now I was in between his legs.

"I don't know how to..." I said shakily.

"You're okay," He gathered my hair up in his hands.

"Do whatever feels natural and I'll tell you if it's good, yeah?"

I nodded and gulped, moving my mouth closer to his member. I pumped him in my hand a few times and I could almost feel him harden right there. I had done this part before, at least.

I lowered my mouth onto him, swirling my tongue around his lip. He hissed slightly and gripped my hair tighter. I slowly let my mouth down on him and came back up.

"That's it, good girl." He praised.

I moaned and continued bobbing my head slowly on him, finding a rhythm. I held his thigh for support as I got faster, easing into it.

"Fuck, darling, feels so good." He groaned.

The taste of him in my mouth was amazing, pre cum already escaping onto my tongue.

I slackened my jaw and took as much of him as I could then pumped the rest in my hand.

"Holy shit! Fuck!" He held my head there and thrusted up.

His member hit the back of my throat but I didn't mind it at all. He made sure I was okay then did it again. And again. And again. Until he was continuously throat fucking me. I enjoyed it, surprisingly. The obscene sounds my mouth was making was not only making Tom more aroused, but also me.

I felt some drool drip down from my mouth onto my chin and even onto his lower stomach but I didn't care.

"Fuck, love those pretty little sounds coming from your throat, baby." He groaned.

I moaned, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Such a good girl."

But then he pulled me off of him. I looked at him in confusion but he flipped me onto my back sooner than I could say anything.

"Need to be in you before I cum, princess." He said, kissing me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth.

"Ready?" He asked.

I felt his tip brush up and down my folds. I gripped his arms and nodded, closing my eyes to concentrate.

"Hey, look at me." He said.

I looked up into his gorgeous chocolate eyes.

"Breathe in," He instructed.

I did as he said.

"And out."

As I breathed out, he pushed into me slowly.

I moaned and arched my back at the feeling of him inside of me. His technique worked.

"You okay?" He asked caringly.

I nodded, biting my lip.

"You can move."

He started thrusting slowly in and out of me, my arousal making it a lot easier for him to move.

"So fuckin' tight, darling." He cursed.

I wrapped my thighs around his waist and he bottomed me out.

"Yes!" I moaned, my back arching so our chests were touching.

"Does that feel good?" He asked.

I hummed, "Faster, please."

He smirked, "As you wish."

His thrusts got gradually faster and my mouth hung open in a silent moan. He brushed past my g-spot with every movement and I scraped his back with my finger nails.

"So fucking good," I gasped.

He sped his thrusts completely and his head fell into the crook of my neck, leaving sloppy kisses on my skin.

"So big! Yes!" I moaned pornographically as he perfectly met my g-spot.

He reached a hand down and started rubbing my clit in skilful circles. I screamed out in overwhelming pleasure as I felt the now familiar feeling come back in my stomach.

"So good for me, darling. Been such a good girl. You gonna cum?" Tom whispered his praises into my ear.

"So close! Oh my god!" I curled my toes and dug my fingernails into his back.

"Come on darling. Feel so good around my cock. Feel so fucking good. You're a fucking angel, y/n. Fuck." He moaned.

I rolled my eyes back at his words. God his words.

"I'm gonna cum!" I squealed, eyes squeezing shut.

"Look at me when you cum, love."

I could hardly hear his voice anymore as I felt my second high approaching.

"I said-"

I gasped as I felt his hand around my throat, pressing the sides of my neck, activating some unknown pleasure button.

"Look at me when you cum all over my fucking cock." He grunted, his dark, dilated eyes staring into mine.

I kept my eyes on him as my high began to wash over me. His thrusts kept the same pace but his fingers moved faster, spurring my orgasm along.

"Yes! Fuck, feels so- yes!" I moaned.

I was extremely loud, I'm surprised the police hadn't come knocking asking about it.

My high seemed to be everlasting. Tom began to pull out but I kept my legs wrapped around him.

"Want you to cum in me, Tom. Please." I begged.

"You sure?" He asked, holding his orgasm back.

"Yes! Please! Need your cum in me." I moaned seductively against his lips.

"Fuck- so good for me- yes!"

I felt as he stilled in me, and as his cum painted my walls. His face contorted in levels of pleasure as he finished and I was finally coming down from my own high.

He pulled out after a second and collapsed next to me.

We both lay together, not saying a word, just listening to each other's breathing calm.

After a minute or two, he turned to face me.

"That- was so fucking good." He laughed.

"It was." I smiled back.

He reached a hand over to my face and brushed my hair behind my ear. I softened into his touch and hummed.

But that bliss was broken quickly.

"Hello?! We're home!"

I gasped, shooting up on my bed.

"Is that your mum?!" Tom whisper shouted.

"Yes! You need to go like now!" I whispered back.

He scurried off the bed and into his boxers and clothes, shakily putting on his shirt and attempting to put his shoes on quickly but leaving them untied.

I grabbed his backpack and handed it to him.

"Thank you," He smiled, taking it from me and heading for the window again.

He swung a leg out but then hesitated.

"Oh and uh-"

He held his hand out.

"I'm Tom, by the way." He grinned.

I smiled, shaking his hand.

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you, neighbour."

"Nice to meet you, too." He winked, before climbing out the window, down the wall and back into his own house.

Nice to meet you indeed.

-

A/N: this is written for my amazing friend Caitlin and it's her birthday today! and she gave me all the details for this piece so i hope you guys enjoyed!

[sussex-nature-lover]

Sunday 8th August 2021

Touching Base

The 8th of the 8th, that was our ‘son’s’ birthdate. Our son being Charlie, the first pet that Crow and I had together. A gorgeous looking liver and white English Springer Spaniel, who was an absolute mad cap until he turned two and calmed down. Very intelligent and obedient when he decided he would be and very loving. He was a huge character and a massive joy in our lives - just like our actual, human children are.

It hurt so much when we lost him that we never had another dog.

our son in Mexican mode

The girls had rabbits when they were young and there was the famous occasion when Ms NW tY smuggled mice into the house despite knowing my total aversion to them. Dennis ended up with us for a long, long time, and a succession of various foster cats along the way...despite not being ‘cat people’ AT ALL, but from here-on-in, we really don’t want to be responsible for a bonefide full time pet, so we stick to the outdoor wildlife and put our energies into them. Speaking of them, latest news is that I saw a Wood Pigeon fly in to the Wisteria a couple of days ago, so I must go and check and yesterday we discovered that Pritchard likes radishes. Crow’s just told me that he’s also had some left over ratatouille. So there you go. If we ever opened a bistro (we won’t) I think we’d call it Pritchard’s!

The Lord High Admiral, Sir Dennis Horatio Amazing Wonder Cat of Bradshaw following his ‘drive-by knighting’ when HM Queen was enroute to a visit to Newhaven Port, 31 October 2013 - which by sheer coincidence happened to be his allocated birthday. How fortuitous! **no pictures please**

At this juncture I have to clarify that the above visit was factual, however, our home is not actually enroute. The story I have told is accurate as I recall from the information given to me by Crow, who may (possibly) be prone to occasional flights of fantasy - not least the Bradshaw part of his nibs’ title, which is in homage to the Bradshaw Railway Guides. A modern copy of this book has pride of place on our bookcase in memorium - not to George Bradshaw obviously, but to our own Head of Transport and (Non) Communications. Miss him too.

As per usual I have digressed, so speaking of Ms NW tY, as I was, we saw her on Friday - twice in two weeks hey?  She commented that we’re being enveloped in greenery and so I had to explain about the Pigeon nest and about not disturbing the hedges and trees and shrubs that need hacking back until we’re sure nesting is over.

As I write (from upstairs) a new juvenile Robin has just flown on to the roof. I know it’s new because the ones I’ve seen around the last few days all have the start of their red breasts and this one doesn’t at all. 

I got a few photos of birds in the rain. This Robin was enjoying seed from the dish of the bullrush fat ball feeder. Because we’ve had it wrecked so many times by either Starlings, Jackdaws or the Squirrels, every now and then we take it away and just leave a bit of seed on top. The Robins find it easier to perch on there.

We’ve got some more fledglings

We’d been watching babies being fed and wandering around the decking looking a bit lost. I’d assumed they were Sparrows, but looking at these, are they Dunnocks I wonder? That would be nice and we do have a healthy population of adults here.

UPDATE: My Nature Guru confirms that they are House Sparrows. So I’m no wiser about what the Dunnocks have been up to (or not)

The chirping from the side nest box is getting stronger and stronger. We can hear the nestlings through double glazed windows and over the noise of the TV. I have no idea how long they’ve been so vocal and when they may fledge.

I’ve got to admit I’ve really lost track of time. Friday was a complete haze and there was a reason for Ms NW’s presence. Everything was going ok and then Crow had another medical episode and we had to call an ambulance again. I’ve had more men in my bedroom this past 17 weeks than the rest of my life added together! Better news in that he was discharged after another raft of tests, but he’s still awaiting a face to face consultation from the first problem back in March. Apparently he’s a mystery as his MRI didn’t offer any answers. A medical mystery and not for the first time either. Family and neighbours rallied around and we’re both really grateful for all their love and support.

I’m going to be wrapping him in bubble wrap for the foreseeable.

Wet! Wet! Wet! The weather has been pretty appalling. Pritchard finds shelter under the Hazel.

I’m keeping my eyes peeled for this little one above. I’ve not seen growths like that in such a position before. Early stage Avian Pox?

The Olympics Tokyo ends today. This is the medal table this morning, whatever few results are still due in, the top ten aren’t going to be affected apparently. If they are, I can update the graphic.

There you are, a bit of a mixed bag, but you can see why I’m otherwise engaged lately. Forgive any errors, I’m not much in the mood for proof reading and if I were to read back, I’d be deleting half of this at least. That would be a shame as if nothing else, it serves as a good diary for me, because time’s running away with me and I’ll never have a fair picture of what’s happened this past 18 months if I don’t have something tangible to look back on.

Signing off now to head for the kitchen and more gloomy news about rain and no cricket. Take care.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Breathe fire into me

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio might have a little crush on the cute barista from the boba shop he visited recently.

Only there’s a catch: there’s much more to Galo Thymos than what he seems.

Note: role reversal AU, boba barista Galo, archer main Lio

Also on AO3

[Chapter 1]

[Chapter 2]

Lio, to his own disappointment, did not find the peach tea particularly special.  

It was fragrant, at the very least. And the caffeine has just the right kick. It's just...a little on the sweet side? Okay, maybe a lot on the sweet side. Lucia definitely loved her drink. The bitterness from Aina’s matcha helped balance out its overall taste. The rest had some wide eyes and raised eyebrows upon their first sips.  

Still, it’s not bad enough for Lio to want to avoid the place the rest of his life. Maybe he can try for an order with less sugar the next time? Not that he thinks he’ll have the chance to do so soon and—

“Lio, you’re about to miss your mug by about a mile.”

Lio’s snapped out of his daze by a sharp clap on his shoulder from Remi, and he only registers what he means when he sees that he’s this close to pouring his coffee directly onto the countertop. He quickly fixes his aim, frowning hard at his mug like it’s its fault that he almost made an embarrassing mess.  

“You can always talk to us if something’s bothering you,” Remi offers, sounding genuinely concerned that Lio seems to be unusually out of it.  

“No, it’s not a big deal, really,” Lio assures because it shouldn’t be. It ridiculous that he’s even getting distracted over something so insignificant when there are more important things to direct his time and energy towards—especially now knowing Mad Burnish has once again gained a new leader. They’ll have to start tracking him down soon, start paying more attention to potential target locations for arson. They must not be allowed to mobilize.  

“If you say so.” Remi doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he doesn’t pry. “The offer still stands, though.”

“Thanks.” Lio then slightly jiggles the jug he’s holding. “Coffee? There should be just enough left for another mug.”

Remi shrugs, accepting his offer. The two spend a silent moment in the pantry simply huffing into their mugs, trying to cool their drinks down enough to take careful sips. The wall fan in the lounge buzzes extra loudly whenever it turns a specific direction and sends the weighed-down papers on the desks flapping in place. It's quiet enough that they can faintly hear Lucia’s muffled laughter from the nap room upstairs as she indulges in whatever random online content she’s managed to stumble across this time.

This is the sort of tranquility of night shifts that Lio really enjoys.  

He heads to the rooftop once he’s finished his coffee and cleaned up, leaving with a casual reminder from Remi to not fall asleep there again. Lio climbs the stairs and reaches the top, pushing heavy doors open to be greeted by a sea of black.  

The stars aren’t visible tonight—though it’s not like they’re normally all that easy to see either thanks to the ever-present city lights. It’s the moon that Lio’s spotted earlier when he happened to glance out a window; a bright, pale yellow orb seemingly hanging low enough in the sky for him to simply reach out and touch at the height he’s at.  

He takes a breath, savoring the air from the breeze blowing towards him as he casts his gaze afar. Even in this time of the night, the city doesn’t seem to sleep. Music echoes from somewhere in the distance, some stray cats are having a fight in some alley. There's a short revving of bikes. Even along the streets within the station’s proximity, where most—if not every—shop should be closed by midnight, Lio spots people walking about, heading somewhere yet seemingly nowhere.

He pulls his jacket just a little tighter around himself and sighs, relishing the moment.  

And he nearly jumps when the sirens suddenly blare to life.  

Lio’s bolting downstairs in an almost conditioned response, mentally taking note of all the information recited through the speakers by a computerized voice, sent directly from the site of fire via compulsory built-in detectors as part of Promepolis’ centralized fire alert system. A residential house at the south district, approximately three kilometers from base. No particularly flammable substances reported. Cause of fire: Burnish flares.

Lio would not be able to participate directly in the extinguishing part of the mission, with his Gear still awaiting repairs. They have a spare one in store but Lio, to his frustration, can’t seem to pilot it half as smoothly as he can with his own—to the point where Ignis agrees that he would be of more effective help without it.  

A residential fire isn’t usually a particularly difficult job, fortunately. Only Remi, Lucia and Lio himself are dispatched, with Remi in charge of the brunt of the work while Lio and Lucia deal with support in whatever way they can.  

Lucia sends out a drone the moment they’re close enough to the scene, promptly processing whatever information she can glean and giving out instructions to guide the others. The flames seem to have originated from the first floor and have spread downstairs, but fortunately not yet to adjacent houses. Most neighbours seemed to have evacuated from their homes nonetheless, just as according to standard safety procedures taught to them during periodic neighbourhood fire drills.  

Things look under control—until Lucia’s drone detects the presence of two people within the fire.  

Lio and Remi are leaping out of the Rescue Mobile before it’s even come to a proper stop; Remi diving right into the blaze in his Gear while Lio prepares to deliver first aid and handle crowd control.  

It's not difficult to discern who had been inside the house when the fire started and who are merely bystanders. Lio hurriedly approaches the group of three covered in soot and huddled together, obviously still shell-shocked at whatever had just transpired. They’re a pair of parents with a child around ten to twelve years old. Lio tries to assure them that they’re safe, that the FDPP is here to help. Asks if they’re hurt anywhere, carefully scans over their limbs to make sure they really are fine when they respond negative.  

“But our daughter,” the mother manages to stammer, voice choked with barely restrained panic. “She’s still inside!”

“My teammate’s getting her out of there,” Lio assures, noting the sporadic crystalline bursts from Remi’s ice bullets behind him as he tamed the fire. He knows he’s holding back; he has to be extra mindful about preserving the building’s integrity while there are still people inside, lest everything collapses around them. “Just give him a moment m—”

“No, you don’t understand!” The lady clutches Lio’s arms, increasingly frantic as she digs her fingers into his jacket sleeves. “There’s this young man, he just—”

She doesn’t manage to finish her sentence, cut off by the sudden roar of serpents erupting from the blaze. The hairs on Lio’s neck instantly stand on their ends, and on instinct, he turns around.  

And he feels his stomach sink as Lucia manages to intercept the fire just in time, freezing it in place barely a foot away from him. Lio swallows thickly, hearing multiple screams around him. It seems that he’s not the only one suddenly attacked by the flares—but what happened? It wasn’t this aggressive before, did something—

“Someone’s leaving the house!” Lucia’s voice fizzles through his earpiece, nearly drowned out by the shattering of ice all around them. Lio grits his teeth, willing his body to move and look towards the house’s front door, peering through the flames to see two figures indeed shuffling their way out into the open.  

Why aren’t they with Remi? Lio doesn’t have time to wonder. He gets on his feet and rushes over, expecting either of them to collapse any moment from the heat and smoke and having to bodily carry them to safety.  

Except they don’t.  

The pair are engulfed in flames that look different from the usual Burnish flares, a shade of teal instead of the bright blues, pinks and yellows. It looks completely harmless on them—almost looking protective, even, shielding them from the raging fire of the house. The young man has a hand on the girl’s shoulder as he walks her out.

It finally clicks: these two are Burnish. The girl must’ve either just awakened as one, or lost control.  

Lio watches the flames flicker and dance, subconsciously mesmerized, before they abruptly retreat back into the young man’s body like it’s where they belong.  

Lio could've sworn he hears the faintest sound of giddy, child-like laughter as it happens.  

“Hey, you’re...”

Lio glances up, and, in a moment of what feels to him like pure absurdity, finds himself face to face with the staff from the bubble tea place.  

xXx

Burnish are actually people who’ve undergone a sudden, unexplained mutation, many a result of extreme stress.

The girl was a university student, apparently just about overwhelmed with exams and papers to write and under a lot of pressure to perform well to maintain her scholarship. There could’ve been more factors building up to her awakening; Lio did not and was not obliged to pry. There are more than enough similar cases, people driven to the limits of what they can emotionally and mentally bear by their circumstances and randomly bursting into flames.  

The girl sustained no injuries from the event, but she was still sent to the hospital to get checked just in case, and later on she’d be introduced to a mental help program to hopefully provide her the support she needs. Once all that’s settled, she’d be registered for classes to teach her how to keep her fire under control so there hopefully wouldn’t be more unfortunate accidents. Her family will be staying in a shelter in the meantime while they settle matters concerning their house.

The young man, on the other hand, had been in the area by sheer coincidence on his way back home when he’d seen the explosion of fire in the house. The madman had then barged right in, evacuated the rest of the family, and stayed with the girl until he could convince her that the fires wouldn’t hurt her and that the rest of her family is safe. It's after she’d managed to calm down that they’d then left the house, and the remaining flames allowed themselves to be put out.  

He’d insisted he’s completely fine when asked and had slipped off soon after handing over the girl to Lio’s care.  

Lio can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever consider joining the FDPP—that sort of courage and resistance to fire is exactly what they need—but he digresses.

They manage to wrap things up within the next hour, and thankfully there’s no other incident until Lio clocks off the next morning. He heads home just as dawn breaks and the rising sun colors the sky with a gradient of yellows and blues. Lio barely notices this, though, dead set on simply making it to his bathroom to take a shower and then pass out for the rest of his long-awaited day off.  

He wakes up starving some time in the afternoon, and even then he’s trying to convince himself that a human being can last a solid number of days without food just so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. He does eventually manage to drag himself up, though, only when the hunger and dehydration begins gnawing at him. Lio groans as he shuffles his way to the pantry to put together some cereal and milk.  

He lets out a huge yawn before scooping a spoonful into his mouth, staring absently at his fridge as he crunches on the lightly sugared bits. He’ll have to do some grocery shopping later; the remaining ingredients he has wouldn’t last him until his next break day. Lio ponders over what he should get while he slurps up the last of the milk in his bowl, then later briefly cleaning it up and heading back to bed with his phone in hand.

He spends the next hour or so mindlessly scrolling through his social media feed and watching whatever’s on his recommended list on Y*utube. Lio used to be bothered by how he seems to only be able to laze his way through days when he’s off duty, but he’s proud to say that he's mostly gotten over it. Although being part of Burning Rescue does not necessarily mean there’s always an emergency to tend to, they must always be ready to drop everything and rush out when need be. Carrying out rescue missions and dealing with Mad Burnish when they pop up are one thing, but the constant anticipation for alerts wears them down almost just as much. Lio doesn’t always have the chance to simply let his guard down like this, and he’s gradually learnt to appreciate the quiet, insignificant moments he has when he can just pass the hours idly in his apartment.

It’s almost six in the evening by the time he works up the motivation to prepare going out. He changes out of his jammies, nearly forgets to brush his teeth, and bunches his hair into a hair tie because he can’t really be bothered to untangle it at the moment. He then pockets his phone and wallet, scoops up his keys and a couple of reusable bags from the little basket on his shoe rack, and with a final sweep of his gaze across his room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important, he heads out.  

To be clear, Lio still hasn’t figured out what he’d like to eat for the next week. Then again, it wouldn’t be much different from the usual meals he could whip up either within thirty minutes or cook in a large batch so he can just store them in the fridge and have whenever he needed. He’ll just have to get some meat, fruits, some fresh cartons of milk. He's run out of bread too, he remembers. He could get some canned tuna to make some quick snacks while he’s at it.  

The supermarket is close enough to Lio’s apartment for him to walk there and back. Plus it’s the best option since rush hour is still ongoing at this point. Crowds of people gather at bus stops, the roads almost packed with slow-moving traffic. Lio spots students in uniforms chattering loudly in groups, adults in various types of work attire carrying their own bags of groceries. In the distance, a train rattles by.  

Lio spends a moment to bask in the mundanity of it all.  

He's greeted by a familiar playlist and a blast of air conditioning the moment he enters the supermarket. Lio eyes the growing queues at the check-out counters as he makes his way to the aisles, and decides not to dawdle too much before the crowds get bigger. He briskly heads to the usual sections and fills his basket, grabbing himself some bags of chips in the last minute when he spots the discount labels on the racks. He'd planned to look around and see what else could be on sale, but guess he’d just have to save that for the next time.  

Lio walks out about forty minutes later, heavy bags in hand, and pauses in his tracks.  

And finds himself going a different direction than that leading home, a slight, subconscious spring in his steps as he moves closer towards the city center. It takes maybe fifteen minutes and one wrong turning before he finally reaches a street that’s still just vaguely familiar. It'd been midafternoon the last time he was properly here and not just passing by, the sun almost too bright in his eyes and blinding when reflected off the many white-washed walls. Now it’s pleasantly buzzing with activity, the incoming night illuminated with bright lights and loud music.  

Lio doesn’t plan to properly go into the shop. He’ll just have a look while walking past, just to make sure the guy’s doing okay after that fire. Just be natural, Fotia. Don’t stare, don’t try too hard. At least it’s probably a busy time now and he won’t have the time to notice every passerby and—

The shop is quiet, with the staff crouching behind the counter scrolling through their phones. By sheer dumb luck, Lio’s eyes somehow almost immediately meet with those belonging to the one with spiky blue hair.  

Sees an excited grin bloom across his face.  

“Mr Firefighter!”

Lio hates the way his heart does a little flip at the address.  

“Oh, hey,” Lio manages to respond casually enough (god at least he hopes so), stopping to watch the guy maneuver his way over from his workstation. He's suddenly very aware of the fact that he hasn’t combed his hair. “You doing okay after everything?”  

“Yeah, it wasn’t anything serious, really,” Boba boy assures with a scratch of his cheek. He then spots Lio’s groceries. “Went shopping today?”  

Lio hums his affirmation, trying not to grow overly conscious of the crinkling of his bags of chips next. “Won’t be off until sometime next week after this.”

“That’s a shame. Thought I’d treat you to a cup, but guess it’s not exactly the most convenient for you at the moment, huh?”

Lio raises his eyebrows at the sudden mention of a treat. “There’s really no need, though?”

“Please, just take it as a token of appreciation. For taking care of a fellow Burnish sister yesterday.” Boba boy then frowns. “Or maybe you’re the type who considers that sort of hour ‘this morning’.”

Lio, the absolute fool he is, finds himself charmed from that statement alone. “I’ll drop by some other time, then? I’ll see if I’ll be free to visit after work tomorrow.”

“Cool, cool! I’ll keep an eye out for you!”

“Thanks,” Lio says, then realization belatedly dawns him. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name?”  

“Oh, right.” Boba boy lets out a sheepish laugh as though it hadn’t occurred to him as well. He slips his hands into his pockets, leans his weight back slightly. Relaxed, casual. “It’s Galo. Galo Thymos.”

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 94

Chapter Summary -   The Skull Island tour has been long and tedious, taking a lot out of Tom. When he returns home, it is too much and his body tells him he needs to rest, which leads to him needing care, thankfully, his ex-paramedic girlfriend comes home to assist.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom fell onto the bed and groaned. He could tell he was on the verge of being ill, his stomach felt odd and his head felt fuzzy. He had not drunk very much at the awards, but he suspected that the little he did drink after all the tiring travelling over the last two weeks and the now suspect stomach upset was not helping. Looking at his phone for a moment to see what the beep noise he had heard in the car back to the house was. He did not tend to check his phone in cars, he left it in a car one night and it cost him a good opportunity at a role in the time it took to get it back. He had to squint to see the words on screen.

Danielle - Delighted for you, you deserved it. The food is so weird here, I am scared to try some. I cannot wait to be home with you tomorrow, I love you and I am so proud of you. Xxx

He grinned on realising that Danielle had taken the time to text. Over the past few weeks, they did not talk often, mostly by text, but he ensured to contact her every day as he got ready for whatever the day held and before bed, she did the same, but usually added another text on days he was on tv shows or the red carpet to give him encouragement and her thoughts. It made him excited to check his phone after such events. To watch the Jimmy Kimmel show, she had to get out of bed after a day of work and with more work the next day, as well as spending her evening's correspondence with the Lucas man she was working with in America, but she did it willingly. Her words and the smiley face or x’s at the end of her texts and the ‘I love you’ at the end of her day made him smile goofily without fail any time he received one. It made the tiring days and the lonely nights in hotel rooms so much easier. They spoke twice, but time zones and workloads made it difficult. Danielle’s week of work was one of intensity and insane hours, especially with her other work too. He knew she would be reluctant to speak too because he would scold her for overdoing it. The only grace he had was because it was in Suffolk and she was next to his mother, he had Diana keep an eye on her.

Feeling drowsy and unwell, Tom kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, not even taking off his pants and fell asleep lying across the bed, his head on Danielle’s pillow, inhaling her scent as he drifted off.

*

Danielle tried Tom’s phone again, but it was still turned off. Thinking he was driving, she sat in the airport café and waited a little while longer. Her flight had been fifteen minutes early, though she suspected that that was because it gave itself a little longer flight time to declare itself ahead of time on a lot of services, and it was a time of day where traffic in London could be a tad mad, so she knew there was a high probability that Tom was delayed. She had texted when she got to Orlando on the stopover for her flight, and again at Schiphol, but Tom never replied to her texts, so she could only assume that even if there was an issue with his phone, he would still come at the time they had arranged. But as it came to an hour after that time and he was still not there, she began to wonder what to do. She rang him one last time, but as soon as she heard the automated answering machine, she hung up. Part of her thought to get a cab, but considering she was only in the US for two days and only brought a small backpack, she decided the Tube was far more cost-effective.

It took a little over an hour to get back to Belsize from Heathrow, and the entire way, Danielle thought over the time that Tom had been on the press tour. It was doable, or so she thought anyway. Not fun, not ideal, but very doable. She had spent time with Emma, feeling as though it was as good as before the whole Christmas debacle and they arranged to go out another time soon. Herself and Nacelle had a great time at her house, even if she had to hide her clothes in Diana’s, much to her neighbour’s utter bewilderment when she answered the front door to see Danielle standing there with clothes in her arms, not even packed in suitcases, asking her to mind them for a few days. Nacelle met Diana, who apparently knew her mother from her days in theatre and the trio had dinner any time that Nacelle and Danielle returned to the house at a normal hour. The nights they did not, there was food waiting for them in the fridge.

Luke had informed her halfway through the first week that Tom was away that the photos of her on the internet had caused little reaction. Most assuming her to be Tom’s dog walker, but one or two tried to link her to being the girl Tom was seen with for dinner with his mother, but her makeup and hair had thrown most into rubbishing it. But the small few were adamant it was the same person and were declaring their love or hate for it accordingly. He also warned her that there were a few that were certain that he was still seeing Taylor, and nothing would waive them. Danielle was not in any way bothered by such accusations, if anything, it meant she and Tom were less likely to be on people’s radar for the time being, which suited her.

When she walked to the house from the Tube station, she frowned at seeing Tom’s Jaguar and her car both in the driveway. She opened the door and walked into the house. “Hello?” She noted Tom’s keys and suitcase. “Tom?” looking around, she realised Tom had done nothing of note since he came home. His laptop bag and his wallet were in the kitchen, as were his two new Empire Awards. “Tom?” She called out again, but again, there was no answer. She walked up the stairs and towards the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and to be honest, the irrational part of her brain began to think of more and more outlandish worst-case scenarios, but she dismissed it and walked in slowly.

The room was in darkness and there was clearly someone in the bed. As soon as she entered, she got her reason for why he had not come to the airport. Looking at the figure in the bed, she felt herself feeling pity for him. There was a strong smell of sweat and vomit. Her years as a paramedic meant that though others would recoil, she only noticed because it was so strong. The first thing she did was went to the window and opened it slightly before then going to the bathroom to assess the damage. She cleaned everything that was required there and then put a fresh spray of air freshener inside. When that was done she left the room again and went downstairs. She put on a wash, knowing they would need to get the laundry sorted before going to the kitchen and making a rehydration drink for Tom, as well as bringing a few headache tablets. When she went back upstairs, she noticed Tom had not even stirred. Sitting on the side of the bed, she placed the drink and drugs on the beside locker before trying to wake him.

Her hand went to his sweat covered hair and brushed it off his forehead. “Tom, hey…” Tom groaned. “Hey, handsome.”

“Elle?”

“Hey.”

“What…what are you doing here? You’re not home until tomorrow night.”

“It is tomorrow night; my flight came in this evening as it was supposed to. Have you been sick since yesterday?”

“I came home from the awards, I felt like shit, then I…” He rushed off the bed and back to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet violently. Danielle followed him. “No. Out.” He ordered as he spat into the cleaned bowl.

“Not a chance, I am trained and desensitised to this,” She pointed out, getting a face cloth and dampening it before putting it to his forehead. “You’re run down.”

“You’re one to talk, you look like you could sleep for a week.”

“Running across one of the largest airports in the world for a connecting flight was not fun, but overall I am fine, I miss my bed.”

“I ruined it.”

“The bed?” He nodded sheepishly, “I’ll get clean sheets, you sit here for a moment,” She put down the toilet seat. Tom silently did as instructed.

It took only a few moments to change the bed, she also opened the window slightly so that the room would get some fresh air. It was raining, but not overly cold so it would not require her to put the heating on for longer. When she was done she brought the sheets down and placed them beside the washing machine before heading back upstairs, making sure the lights were off and the doors were locked as she did. It was only eight at night, but she was tired and Tom was sick, no one was going to get up again soon, she thought.

In the bedroom, Tom was almost like a zombie as he made his way back from the bathroom to the bed. “Come on,” She led him back. “No, stay standing for a second, I need to get these off you.”

“You just want me for my body,” He joked as she pulled off his pants.

Danielle couldn’t help but laugh, “We both knew that from the start.” She jibbed. “Drink this.” Tom did as instructed and though he hated the taste. She then helped him with his shirt and lifted the duvet up for him. “Are you tired?”

“Yes.” Tom groaned again as he fell into the bed.

“If you’re still ill in the morning, we’ll get you to the doctor, until then, we’ll catch up on sleep.” She smiled, getting into the bed next to him. Tom pulled her to him, even though he was still warm from his bug, Danielle curled into him. “I missed you.” She kissed his hand that was around her.

“I missed you too,” Tom kissed her shoulder.

“Get some rest, Tom.” Danielle was falling asleep as she spoke.

*

When Tom woke the next morning, he was relieved to feel better. Beside him on the nightstand was another one of Danielle’s toxic but effective rehydration drinks. He sat up and downed the mixture so that he would get rid of the last of whatever he was enduring. Turning slightly at the peculiar noise next to him, he looked to see Danielle asleep, her hair covering her face. Chuckling, he pulled it back and bit his lips together as he watched her snort in her sleep, he could not call it snoring, as that had a rhythm to it, but occasionally, whatever way she was breathing with her mouth open, she snorted. He looked at her guiltily, wondering how long she had waited for him at the airport. Had she rung his sister to collect her, gotten a cab or taken the Tube, he felt terrible for not even thinking to contact her. He noted she seemed to be a tad pale, he wondered if he had passed his illness to her. He could not recall if she had looked like that on her return the night before; only that she had tended to him, selflessly and lovingly. She would have been exhausted, but she made the bed with fresh sheets, smiling at him to not worry as she went to do so. Part of him wanted to wake her and thank her, to tell her he loved her for what she was and what she had done, but he knew she was tired, so he left her sleep, instead choosing to get a shower, knowing that he needed one desperately. When he was done, he was slightly shocked to see that Danielle had not even moved in the bed, instead she seemed to be snoring slightly now. Tom realised before that she usually did that when she was at her most exhausted. He went downstairs and looked around. He was startled to see there was no sign of Mac, then cursed for not remembering to collect the dog in his illness. He found his phone, which was dead, and put it on charge. Thinking for a moment, he went to put on the kettle but then thought against it, instead he decided that given the past few days, both he and Danielle deserved a treat, so he ran to the café down the street and got them both their favourite drinks and pastries before heading back to the house. He groaned as a photographer caught sight of him and for some reason thought him getting coffees was something of considerable note and proceeded to take loads of pictures.

When he arrived back, he went straight to the kitchen to see if his phone had enough charge to turn it on. “Hey.”

“Good morning, you look a lot better.” Danielle was standing at the kettle, waiting for it to boil, and loving smile on her face. He walked over and gave her a passionate kiss. “A very good morning then?”

“The best.” He held up the items he bought. “A gift, as my apology.”

“Apology for what?” She asked, taking the caramel latte from the cup holder.

“Not collecting you.” He stated meekly.

“What? Tom, you were sick, you don’t need to apologise for that.” She laughed. “I won’t say no to my favourite coffee and an apple Danish though, no matter what the excuse or reason.” Tom pulled out the two pastries and handed her one. “Thank you. So how are you now?”

“Hungry, what about you?”

“Same, I didn’t eat too much in New Orleans, the food was all gumbo’s and stuff and I just was suspicious of everything.”

“I was down South for I Saw the Light, the food is something you have to be careful with, it can have a huge kick to it and not have any sign of it.” Danielle smiled and nodded, Tom’s face fell. “The interview?” Danielle shook her head. “Elle, I…I’m so sorry, did they give you any feedback?”

“The assistant director is Lena Dunham.” Tom’s face filled with recognition. “She said no, so that was it.”

“Elle, it’s my fault…”

“No, it’s not. You held decorum and class after everything, if her friends or even she wants to get petty, then that is not our doing. I was talking to Lucas, he was asked to do a war film here, Normandy and in Ireland. He’s too busy but he told them about me, no interview or anything, it’s mine if I want it.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Well gunfire, tanks, explosions and filth is the general gist of war stuff, so loads of headaches regarding safety, but it is being done with the help of a good friend of yours.” Tom looked at her. “Branagh.”

“He is an amazing man, honestly, one of the most incredible directors I’ve worked with.”

“I know. He wants to talk to me one on one to see if I can work with his idea. Apparently sometimes when a door closes, the sidewall of the house comes off. Branagh has a lot of influence, Lucas is his usual go-to man, but this redoing this safety thing is his only project this year, so he recommended me. If I can work this…” She smiled, “Jesus if I can actually get Branagh on my resume if I do this right…”

Tom pulled her to him, “You will, you are meticulous and intelligent, I know you will fly through this, wait and see.”

“He is in London next week.”

“Great.”

“I said I would meet him, but also that if possible could I bring my partner with me.” Tom looked at her blankly. “It was his wife I was talking to, when she asked who said partner was and relayed the message, he was elated apparently. So, fancy coming to lunch with me and Kenneth Branagh next week?”

Tom pulled her to him. “I will gladly accompany my beautiful girlfriend to her work meeting with the world-famous director next week.” He beamed. “Look at you Elle, less than a year in and you are getting all this done.”

“Visualisation. I thought it and look what’s happening; you, Mac, who we will collect after our coffees, my exams, my promotions, so to speak, it has to be deemed a promotion when you are a consultant for a huge studio,” Tom nodded in agreement. “Getting to work on Game of Thrones and now, having a business lunch with Kenneth fucking Branagh.”

“You are driven.” He kissed her again.

“I’m swinging with the big dicks now.” Tom looked at her in shock. “It’s an expression.”

“Irish people are nuts.”

[reylo-solo]

Reylo neighbors

I had way too much fun writing this and I DEFINITELY got carried away, lol. Thanks for the prompt!

Read it on AO3.

➳ Say It With Roses

               The house at 515 ParkwoodCrescent was built in the early 1950’s. It had a beautiful widow’s walk and anenclosed porch, picture windows, a cobblestone walkway, and a lovely fenced-inbackyard, perfect for parties. It had also been vacant for two and a half years.

               Every morning when Ben Solo wokeup, he would take his cup of coffee and drag his feet over to his living room,where he would gaze sternly out the bay window and his eyes would always roamover the weathered ‘For Sale’ sign next door to his house. He would think tohimself, For Christ’s sake, is the placehaunted or something? He had seen any number of people get a tour inside bythe realtor over the last two and a half years, and not a single one had madean offer on it. They always left smiling, but it never amounted to a damnedthing.

Thecompany that oversaw the management of the lot consistently forgot to mow thelawn, and Ben consistently had to phone and complain to remind them. It drovehim insane. The picketed half-fence his property shared with that house waspristine on his end, but was peeling and hideous on the other side.

BenSolo was a perfectionist. He liked things to be just as he wanted them to be,no more, no less. He liked things to be kept tidy. 515 Parkwood Crescent hadnot been tidy in almost three years. So obviously, this was a big point ofcontention for him.

Untilone fateful morning when Ben’s alarm roused him from his deep slumber at 7:30.He all but fell out of bed, stretched, and put his comfortable sheepskin suede slipperson to walk downstairs to the kitchen. This time when he looked out his window,something was different. The ‘For Sale’ sign had changed. Now, it boldlyproclaimed ‘SOLD’.

“Holyshit,” Ben cursed under his breath, “it’s finally happening.”

Nowcame the anxious wait. Who had bought it? Was it a family? A single person,like himself? Would they be lazy, or proactive? Would they keep their lawn niceand orderly? Would they have children? God forbid they had a dog, whoever it was. Dogs always chewedup gardens, and Ben had a lovely row of prize roses along his side of the fencethat he would sure like to keep planted in the soil.

Therest of May went by quickly, with no signs of life next door. But Ben knew howthis worked. They would get possession on the 1st of June, and afterthat he would know who his new neighbour(s) would be.

Hehad grown oddly used to having no one living on that side of his house. Forinstance, he had enjoyed walking about naked with the blinds on that side open,because no one could see him, especially when he was upstairs in his room withits window that faced the vacant house. It would suck not to be able to do thatanymore, but if it meant the fence would get painted he supposed he should begrateful.

June1st came and went. There were no moving trucks that day, but Ben didspot an old Volkswagen car parked out front and some lights on inside thehouse. He wondered if he shouldn’t go over and say hello, but then heremembered that Mrs. Graham, who lived on the other side of his house, had donethat when he had first moved in, and he still kind-of resented her for it. No, he thought. I’d better give them a few days to get situated first.

By June 2nd, the moving trucks werethere. He saw them in the morning when he was going to work, and spotted some movingcompany workers laboriously hauling a heavy-looking leather loveseat into thehouse. But still no sign of the occupant(s).

Hedidn’t have to wait much longer, however. When he came home from work at 6:00on the dot, grabbed his briefcase from the backseat, and began heading up hiswalkway, he was surprised to hear excitable yipping getting closer and closerto him. When he looked down he saw a small blur of white and brown.

“You’vegot to be kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “A fucking dog.”

Indeed,the rambunctious little pup, with the brown spot on its rump and the streaks ofrust colour in its ears, was jumping up at Ben’s legs, stubby little tailwagging in pure euphoria. Ben looked down at the dog with unbridled distaste.

“Bo! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Ben’shead snapped up at the sound of a human – female – voice. A petite brunette waslaunching herself off the porch of 515 Parkwood Crescent, rushing down thecobblestone walkway, crossing over into Ben’s yard, and scooping the pup upinto her arms. Ben was stunned into paralyzed silence.

Shewas young, not far into her 20’s, with lively eyes and a sun-kissed, bronzecomplexion. Wherever she had come from, it had been warm there. Freckles weresplashed across the bridge of her nose, a few dabbled along her cheekbones. Hersmile was 10,000-watt; so bright and intoxicating in nature. She had her hairpulled up in a bun and she wore a ragged old tank-top and camo cut-offs. Shehad a touch of periwinkle paint smeared across her left shoulder and dirt underher fingernails. She extended a hand to Ben.

“Hi,I’m your new neighbour, Rey.”

Benswallowed, surprised at just how dry his throat felt. He shook her hand firmly.

“Myname’s Ben. Nice to meet you, and your, uh, dog.” He said the last word with justthe right amount of sour inflection.

Reyblushed lightly. Ben could feel his own face warming significantly.

“Yeah,again, I’m sorry. He slipped out right when I opened the door. He really likesmeeting new people.”

“Howcute.” Ben muttered.

Thetwo spoke for a short while. Rey told Ben all the minor details he couldpossibly want to know. She had grown up in London as an orphan, and had justfinished travelling the world with a photography scholarship. Apparently shewas world-renowned, but Ben had never heard of her. She was doing a lot ofrenovation work to the house and couldn’t wait to “put down roots here”. Benhad been as cordial as he possibly could be. In truth he didn’t mind listeningto her speak. Her accented voice was intoxicating. But eventually her spellbroke when little Bo took to barking at a biker riding down the street,squirming in his owner’s toned arms.

“Ah,you’ll have to excuse me. I need to get him back inside before his little heartjust can’t take the excitement anymore. It was really lovely to meet you,though. I hope we can talk again soon over the fence someday!”

Bensmiled stiffly, eyeing Bo with a healthy amount of wariness. “I’m sure wewill.”

Thetwo parted ways. After that their contact was minimal for a couple of weeks.Ben was busy with work and was out of the house six days out of the week (onthe seventh he stayed in his man cave watching terrible movies on Netflix inhis pyjamas, smoking one premium joint at around 5 p.m. – his special secrettradition to thank himself for getting through the week without killinganyone). Rey, on the other hand, clearly remained busy on her renovations. Benwould see lights on in the house into the wee hours of the morning, and if hewent outside on his deck and listened closely, he could hear muted hammeringnoises and soft, echoing music playing from somewhere inside the house. Hecan’t say he wasn’t curious about what she was doing in there. The interior ofthe house was beautiful wood and tile, with a stone fireplace, and crown moulding. It was a mid-centuryantique-lover’s dream. Surely shewasn’t making the mistake of trying to modernizeit?

Theymet once more in the evening on a Tuesday, when Ben was on his knees along thefence line, pruning his roses. Rey walked by with a heavy-looking camera bagslung over her shoulder and a binder full of papers in her arm. She gave himthat dazzling smile of hers, which made his heart actually skip a beat, on herway by.

“Evening!”she chirped. “Your roses are absolutely lovely. I’d love to have a garden likeyours someday!”

Hesmiled back, somewhat awkwardly. Ben’s smile was usually quite crooked innature; kind-of goofy-looking but in a charming way, like when a dog ‘smiles’.

“Thanks…”he replied belatedly.

Shewas clearly in a hurry. She unloaded her burdens into the backseat of her carand drove off somewhere. Ben went back to work, the look of her smiling faceburned in his brain for the rest of the night.

Reyhad barely been living next-door for a month when The Incident happened. Oh, it was a doozy, in more ways than one.

Benwoke up that morning and sauntered to the kitchen in his slippers and plaidflannel pyjama pants. His hair was a chaotic mess – he had tossed and turned alot in the night; June was turning out to be a hot month, and the fan in hisbedroom couldn’t keep up with the heat. He was just barely awake. He nearly forgotto put a fresh K-cup of breakfast blend into his Keurig. That would have beendisgusting.

Crisisavoided and with a fresh, aromatic mug of hot coffee in his hand, he wanderedover to his window. The sun had just come up, and the morning sky was streakedwith pink and yellow. A rose gold palette of natural beauty. Speaking ofroses…what was wrong with his roses?!

Heblinked and rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to wake up completely. Rich, darkdirt was scattered across his freshly-trimmed lawn, interlaced with shreddedrose petals, leaves, and a couple whole stems, dug out from their home in thesoil. And there, in the midst of it all, was a little white dog butt with abrown spot along the back.

“Areyou fucking shitting me right now?!”Ben bellowed. His coffee was instantly set down and forgotten about.

Bo,having heard Ben’s outburst from the garden, lifted his dirt-stained face up,floppy puppy ears perked towards the noise. When Ben emerged shortly after,still bare-chested in his slippers and PJ pants, with a look of dark fury onhis face, Bo froze in terror, completely unsure of what to do or where to go.

WhenBen got close, Bo suddenly rolled onto his belly, short little tail tucked inshame as much as it could be. Ben bent down and picked the dog up by the scruffof its neck. Bo couldn’t even meet Ben’s eyes.

“Whatthe hell, dog?” Ben snarled. “I can’tfucking believe this shit. It is 7:30 in the goddamn morning, and you’re goingto hurl this crap in my face? I don’t fucking think so…”

Heswiftly moved down his walkway and over into Rey’s yard, carrying the dog allthe way, tucked at his side. His slippers didn’t really make a veryintimidating sound effect as he stomped up the stairs and across the porch toher front door – which she had painted bright red for some fucking reason. Bright red. Fuck. How original. Ben’sknuckles rapped hard on the painted door.

Noanswer. The lights were off inside, but her car was most certainly parked outfront. Nope. No. He was going to get mad at somebody, goddamn it. The dogdidn’t count.

Hepressed the doorbell repeatedly and kicked at the door until finally, finally, she emerged, one eye shut tothe brightness of the morning, hair falling out of its messy bun, wrapped in anold threadbare robe that was much too big on her.

“Whatis going on…?” she mumbled, slowly registering the very angry half-naked manwith a very nice chest she was now facing. “Bo?”

“Yourfucking dog tore up my roses,” Ben growled, holding the dog up so she could seehis face, smeared with the evidence of his crime. “And I have to beg thequestion: what the hell was he doing in my yard at 7:30 in the morning?”

Reyblinked, colour quickly fading from her face. There it is, Ben thought poisonously. There’s that ‘oh, shit’ look I wanted to see.

“I-Iswear I don’t know…there’s a doggy-door out to the backyard. He must havegotten through the fence somehow, I—”

“Well.That fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” Ben spat. “Meanwhile my garden is destroyedbecause you think it’s fine to let him go out without a leash any damn time hewants!”

Rey’sexpression instantly soured. Her eyes narrowed and her chin stuck out.

“Ican assure you he won’t do it again,” she chewed out bitterly.

“Oh,you’re damned right he won’t,” Ben argued. “Because he’s not going to be letout without a leash until he gets his little digging habit under control,right?”

“Howdare you tell me how to take care of my dog?” Rey snarled, taking Bo roughlyfrom Ben’s arms and setting him down at her feet. Bo whined, blatantlyuncomfortable with the situation he had created.

“Wellclearly someone has to!”

“Whydon’t you piss off? Why do you even grow roses? What kind of soft-side bullshitis that?!”

“Whatare you fucking talking about? I’m not allowed to grow fucking roses in my own damn yard?”

“I’mnot allowed to let my dog go outsidein my own damn yard?!”

“Listen,I’ve been here a lot longer than you—”

“Oh,yeah? It shows!” Rey gestured to her facial area, even tugging down on onecheek, clearly suggesting dark circles and eye wrinkles.

“Ohdoes it?!” Ben yelled.

“Yeah,it does!”

Theirbanter was ended by the sound of Mr. Johnson shouting from a couple housesdown, reminding them both of the lovely, peaceful neighbourhood they calledhome:

“Shut the fuck up!”

Theyboth stopped, chests heaving, angry eyes never leaving the other’s face. It wasat this point Ben realized that, oh – Rey sleeps naked.

Thethreadbare robe she had so thoughtfully put on before answering the door washardly cinched at her waist, creating a very deep-V neckline that showed Ben alot more than he had been expecting to see. It only made it more eye-catchingwhen she crossed her arms like that.

Hecouldn’t help the sudden flush in his face. He was the first to break theirstaring contest, and he wasn’t proud of it. Rey had only a second to appreciateher victory before she too realized why she’d won. With a soft gasp she hastilytugged the collar of her robe closed. Now she was vibrantly blushing too, andshe also looked like she wanted to slap him, which in all actuality she hadevery right to do. But she didn’t, and in the moment she couldn’t quiteunderstand why.

“Keepyour dog on your side of the fence,” Ben grumbled. Most of his fire had diedout by now. He jabbed an accusatory hand at her side of the fence in questionas he descended the porch steps. “And for fuck’s sake, would it kill you topaint it?”

Thetwo carefully avoided one another for the next week, always checking out thewindow before daring to go outside. Ben watered his garden in the morning, Reymowed her lawn in the evening. Bo didn’t escape again. He didn’t even bark. Bensaw Rey out painting her side of the fence one day, but he didn’t dare go outand say anything about it. And it went on like this for a whole, painfully longweek. Until the first fault in the ice cracked to life.

Itwas a Saturday morning. Rey was always gone on a run on Saturday mornings, andBen left for work at 9:00. This morning though, when he opened his door at8:57, he had to pause in the threshold. For there, right outside his door andawfully close to the toe of his shoe, was a small potted rose bush,freshly-grown and healthy, with one small, deep-red bloom on top.

Mystified,Ben picked it up. Amidst the leaves and (this was no doubt done on purpose)thorns, there was a small piece of folded-up paper. Fine stationary, made ofsoft natural paper, and written on the outside of the fold in fine, flowyscript, was his name.

Muchto the (likely) chagrin of the sender, he only received one particularly nastyprick on his ring finger when he reached in to grab it. He sucked on this as hebrought the plant inside and set it down, before opening the letter addressedto him.

I’m sorry my dog toreup your roses, and I’m sorry I didn’t apologize in the moment. I should have.You were right to be angry. Bo feels really, really bad, and so do I. Just soyou know. I bought this at the Farmer’s Market and I thought you could maybeplant it and start fresh. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I understand yourroses were “one of a kind”. I hope you’ll keep this little guy alive, anyway,even if you don’t forgive us. – Rey & Bo (your apologetic neighbours)

Benwould be lying if he said the note didn’t make him smile a little bit. He setit fold-down atop his piano, and admired the little rose bush. Its leaves werea vibrant, lush green, and it was covered in buds. He flicked a leaf andwatched it tremble. He grinned. It would do just fine in his garden.

Hekept coming back to that little rose bush all day long. At work he’d catchhimself doodling, something he rarely did anymore, little sketches of roses inthe margins and bright, dimpled smiles. The plant was a sign of surrender;asking for a truce. Would he give in? Well, yes, he would. It hadn’t taken himlong to come to that conclusion. In all honesty, over the duration of the weekhis anger had faded. Once he had cleaned up his garden he noticed that thedamage wasn’t as extensive as he thought. He could forgive it, he supposed.

Buthow could he let her know it? It just didn’t feel right to him to go over toher house and offer her a plate of store-bought cookies, because lord knows hecouldn’t bake them himself. It felt fake, derivative, and cheesy. “Hey, it’sall water off a duck’s back! Here’s some Pillsbury crap on a plate!”

Itwas 3:36 in the afternoon when the idea struck him. The Grand Gesture. The wayhe was going to let Rey know all was forgiven. He had been inspired bysomething she had said the other day; her words floated back to him as though comingout of the ether of a dream. And suddenly he couldn’t wait to get home. Ofcourse, he’d have to make a couple stops along the way, pick up some suppliesand the like. He planned it out to the last detail, effectively wasting thelast hour and a half of work. And when it was finally time to leave, his deskchair had barely stopped spinning before he had left the building.

Heknew that starting at 5:00, he had only two hours before Rey would be home forthe night after she stopped at the gym (in the short time she had been livingnext door, he had quickly taken note of her daily activities). He could pullthis off in an hour and a half, if he was quick and had no interruptions. Hehauled everything over to Rey’s front lawn and set to work.

Thankfully,the universe was smiling upon him for once and everything went smoothly. He hadsuccessfully started a garden for Rey, in front of her large picture window inthe front yard. He had carefully transplanted a shoot of his own prize roses,right in the centre, with a colourful array of flora and grasses all around. Tohim it looked magnificent, but a nagging voice in the back of his head keptasking ‘Would she even notice it?’

               When all was said and done, hiswatch told him it was 6:51. She would be home soon. He took this opportunity toplant his new rose bush in the spot where Bo had dug up the last one. He wasjust packing the dirt around the base of the plant when he heard her car pullup. He held his breath.

               Her car door shut. He heard herunlatch the front gate and re-latch it behind her. Then came the soft shufflingsound of her shoes walking up the cobblestone pathway…and then all soundsstopped with a sudden, loud gasp.

               Ben peeked precariously over thetop of the fence. She was standing halfway up the walk with her jaw slack, staringwide-eyed at the beautiful arrangement that had seemingly appeared in front of her house. She slowly walked up to it and bentdown to examine the flowers closer. Ben couldn’t see, but when she saw theroses, she grinned because she recognized them instantly.

               At this point, Ben realized heprobably looked like a total jackass, crouched and watching her from across thefence. So he stood up, brushed the dirt from the worn-out knees of his jeans,and cleared his throat.

               “You’re forgiven, in case itwasn’t clear,” he said. “Bo, too.”

               She stood up straight and turnedto look at him, that one-of-a-kind smile glowing like the moon in the sky.

               “You did this?” she askedquietly, her voice laden with emotion.

               Ben nodded. “I didn’t know howelse to say it…and I remembered you telling me you wanted a garden like mine,so I figured I’d help get you started.”

               “I love it,” she confessed. “It’sbeautiful, and it smells amazing.”

               “Well, good. I’m glad.”

               Rey sighed, shifting her weightto her left foot. She gave him an apologetic look.

               “I guess we’ve been lousyneighbours, huh?” she asked.

               “Uh, when the guy down thestreet has to tell us to shut the fuck up, I’m going to say yes, we have been,”Ben answered.

               Rey chuckled. “Woops.”

               “Woops.” Ben agreed with acrooked smile.

               Rey smiled back at him somewhatbashfully, fiddling with the wire of her headphones.

               “Would you like to come inside?”she asked quietly. “I think we could both use a drink, maybe. And…I’d like toget to know you better, if that’s okay.”

               Ben’s eyes widened. He had beenexpecting a hearty thank-you, maybe some joyful tears, but not an invitationinside – into her life. Before hisbrain could even formulate an answer, he was nodding his head yes and hoppingover the fence.

               “Careful,” Rey cautionedplayfully, “I just painted that.”

               Ben smirked. “I know, it looksgood.”

               “Thanks.”

               As he climbed the steps of herporch for the second time in his life, he found himself in a very apologeticmood. Heat burned high in his face, turning the tips of his ears a deep pink.

               “Oh, um…I also want to apologizefor, uh…well, the night of The Incident,I…I promise I wasn’t staring,” he mumbled, “at you.”

               Rey smiled warmly, and Ben didn’tmiss the way her eyes jumped down his body and back up again in one quick,scanning motion.

               “That’s okay,” she confessed asa sly grin spread across her face. “I just hope you don’t mind that I was.”

               Ben didn’t know what to say tothat, so he just grinned like an idiot and followed her inside without a secondthought. She had freshly-baked cookies on her countertop and no Pillsburycontainer in sight.

[jhalya]

Like I am literally game for anything. That scene in your head that is making you :3 :3 :3, just give it to me! :D

The aftermath - Obi and Shirayuki get separated at the hotel

Obi gets hurt, Zen’s been poisoned and Mitsuhide is injail. Kiki puts on her Basic Instinctdress to bail ‘that idiot out’, Izanatakes one good look at his brother and pronounces him fit to return to work,and Shirayuki has a shitload of paperwork to go through and no Obi. She’dactually marched up to Izana - bloody dress and missing one shoe - to ask wherethey’d whisked Obi away, but he’d just told her - in passing - that he’s somewhere safe.

Safe!

He could be on the moon for all she knows.

‘Have you even gone home? You know, like, get somerest?’ Yuzuri asks from her perch on Shirayuki’s desk.

‘No.’ She’d showered and put on her spare suit and gotto work because she needed something to do with her hands and apparentlystrangling Izana with his Salvatore Ferragamo blue pattern tie was not anoption.

Men kill with guns andknives, Miss.Women poison their victims. General rule.

‘So your plan is to assassinate Izana by burying himunder a mountain of paperwork, is that it?’

Shirayuki grins: ‘These need to be signed off. Intriplicate.’

Yuzuri scrunches her nose at her and crosses her legs.‘You know, you sound just like Obi sometimes. Where is he by the way? I worethis sexy skirt just for him.’

‘You wore that for Suzu.’

‘Suzu doesn’t catcall.’

‘Well, neither does Obi.’

‘Noo, he goes straight for the kill.’

Shirayuki is not about to enlighten Yuzuri that Obidoesn’t really do that either. He teases and he pushes but she has to meet himhalfway. And she can’t do that if she doesn’t know where he is.

Yuzuri does a little shimmy on her desk.

‘Listen. I really think you should  go home, get some rest. Izana is a dick, buthe’s got our back. ’

Home. Not a seedy little motel on the edge of thehighway of the day, with beds Obi mocks, not the uncomfortable seats ofwhatever rental they managed to get their hands on or the tents on that onetrip none of them care to repeat.

None of that - just her own little suburban house andher plants and her picture perfect bedroom with the best posturepedic mattressan Agency salary can buy.

Jesus, Miss, no wonderyou’ve got such good posture. This thing is a dream.

 He’d probably fall asleep the second he’d hit the bed,but a girl can hope - of waking him up, of loving him like he loved her in thebathroom of stupid Touka’s stupid hotel. And then, she’d finally - finally - get him where she wants himmost. Inside. Part of her, as he should always be.

Shirayuki backtracks a little bit at that - Obiis…well, definitely into her, but she doesn’t want to be thinking of anythingmore permanent before…

They’d really should’ve talked this through.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to …?

Because he just thought he’d take pity on her and…what was it he said? Take the edge off? She wasn’t a - what was it Yuzuricalled it? A pity fuck? Was she?!

‘Whoaa, whooa there, Snow White! I’ve no idea whatyou’re thinking and I already know it’s bull. You’re tired, you’re not thinkingstraight. Seriously, go home.’

‘No’, Shirayuki regroups and churns out anotherparagraph on unreliable informantsand cross-departmental communication.‘I’m fine.’

‘Yeah. No. Chief?’ Yuzuri hollers. ‘Shirayuki’srefusing to go home.’

You can’t really see Garrack at her cubicle - which isexactly how she likes it, thank you very much - but you can hear her prettywell. ‘I’ll have Ryuu log her out of her workstation.’

Shirayuki’s screen promptly goes black.

‘Wait, no, I didn’t save that!!!’

Somebody flings a phone across the bullpen and Yuzuriexpertly catches it. Before Shirayuki has a chance to find a way back in thesystem, Yuzuri hops off and slides her the phone.

‘Just. Go home. This thing’s been vibrating like crazyfor the past two days.’

Shirayuki stares dumbly at her Agency issuedBlackberry - Our glorious leader isnostalgic, Miss -  and waits for itto power on to an obscene amount of texts.

…

Miss? MISSSSSSSSSSS?

Do you have a cat?

No, really.

Why is there a cat inyour kitchen?

SERIOUSLY, you shouldnot leave pets UNATTENDED.

Have I taught younothing?

 Update on the cat:false alarm. Neighbour’s cat.

Liked  her though.

The cat, not theneighbour.

You know you’re theonly woman in my heart xxxxx

 BTW, you’re welcome.

Linda the yuuka is nowfly free.

It was the compost,you see.

I’m bored, when areyou coming home?

Are you hungry? Haveyou eaten?

What could possiblytake you so long.

…

It’s beendaysssssssss, where are you?

…

Fine, I’m movingupstairs, just so you know.

No more sleeping onthe couch

like the absolutegentleman that I am.

…

How do you not have asingle set of silk sheets?

What kind of barn wereyou raised in, Miss?

Just so you know, Ihave FOUND THEM.

(not the sheets. Stillshocked about that)

you didn’t hide themvery well, though

Honestly, Miss, theold book jacket trick?

You are such a SandraBrown fan, that’s so cute.

….

MY GOD, this mattressis AMAZING.

Almost makes up forthe scratchy cotton sheets.

We’ll need to work onthat

:3 :3 :3

…

Seriously though, whathave I done to deserve such agony?

Look, I’m sorry Icouldn’t save your pretty dress

you can’t still be madat that.

…

Hope you come homesoon.

I’m bored.

…

Your spice cabinet isa disgrace.

I’m taking youshopping just as soon as I stop bleeding

(you might need newtowels as well, just fyi)

Re: towels, highthread count, Miss.

You so thrifty.

…

Desperate time, Miss.

I’m breaking out yourLe Creuset set.

And just so you know

I’m not big on washingdishes

…

Shirayuki makes it home in record time.

She barely remembers to kill the engine before she’sout of the car, house keys at the ready.

It takes her three tries before she makes the key fitand when she’s finally in, it’s like she’s never left home at all.

The house is warm and Shirayuki dares not contemplatethe heating bill for the month.

The radio is on and she can hear Obi singing alongwith Cardi B from the kitchen.

Now I like dollars, Ilike diamonds

I like stunting, Ilike shining

I like million dollardeals

Where’s my pen? BitchI’m signin’

I like thoseBalenciagas, the ones that look like socks

I like going to thejeweler, I put rocks all in my watch

 His moves are far more enthusiastic than they shouldbe for a person with a gash in his side you could fit a fist in but he seemshappy enough surrounded by all her good pots and pans, all the cupboard doorsopen like a scene from Poltergeist as he’s inspecting her subpar pantrychoices.

Food smells good though and her rumbling stomach givesher position away.

Obi turns his bright eyes to her and smiles - hiscomplexion is still a bit ashen  and hishair is sticking out all over the place, a clear sign he hasn’t been sleepingright - but his excitement is genuine.

‘Miss! Where’ve you been? Dinner is almost ready.’

Shirayuki is too tired to keep her professional wallsup - she’s just so… glad, so relieved he’s fine, she tears up a bit. The factthat he’s standing in her kitchen, in her home, the last corner of her life hehadn’t cozied himself up to, makes her happier than she’s ever been since hergrandparents’ death.

‘Obi, I’m home.’

The look he gives her makes her think that she’s beenmissing out on half of the conversation, that she’s been so close all along toeverything she’s ever wanted, really, and yet, so blind.

‘Welcome home, Miss.’

He barks out a laugh, like he can’t help himself andin two long strides, he’s picking her up and twirling her around.

‘Up you go, Miss, ow, ow, ow.’

‘Obi, put me down, put me down!’

With her shoes on, she almost reaches his chin, buthe’s here and he’s safe and sound and she can even put up with the inane jokesshe can see lurking behind his smile. Shirayuki runs her hands through his hair,trying to smooth it down and succeeding only in making a mess, because, damn,the whole texture of him feels good.

‘Hi.’

‘Hello, Miss.’

‘What are you making me?’

‘Chilli shrimp linguini.’

‘Spicy?’

‘Extra…’, Obi kisses the tip of her nose, ‘…spicy’,and then kisses her lips.

It’s wet andwonderful because Obi has no shame and she’s just as hard up for him, for them,for all of this.

‘I thought I owed youdinner.’

Obi grins and tightens the hands on her waist. ‘Oh,honey. You’re providing dessert.’

‘Now. Let’s have dessert now!’

‘Ah, ah, ah - no sex on an empty stomach.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Build up your stamina!’

‘I don’t - ’

‘Enjoy the orgasmic culinary experience!’

‘I’d rather - ’

‘Plus, didn’t I tell you? You’re doing the dishes.’

‘Obiii…’

[dearhongjoong]

26 steps

Warning: This is extremely unedited

Genre: Neighbour AU (maybe with a twist in future parts)

Pairing: Chanyeol x reader

[inspired by a reply from admin T @noona-clock. As soon as I saw neighbour au I couldn’t stop writing 🙈 thank you so much! 🧡]

Glancing up at what seemed to be a never ending staircase. You felt your lower lip drop into a pout. 26 steps. You could probably do it in 13 if you took larger strides. You could have been up there already if you hadn’t gone shopping on an empty stomach. Which alas resulted in your current predicament.

Your arms were full of groceries and they (your arms) were on fire. Your knuckles were starting to turn white in distress , and the plastic bags were slowly starting to cut off circulation to your precious appendages. Time was ticking by, you knew that if you didn’t get up there soon something was going to slip.

“Come on y/n you can do this. You’re almost home, just 26 steps up this ridiculously steep man made mountain” you murmured under your breathe before taking a step forward.

“Um I’m sorry but are you ever going to start moving again?” A gruff voice called over your shoulder.

You spun around in shock, the weight of the bags throwing your center of gravity off and you found your backend quickly meeting the ground with a loud yelp.

Well there went the worry of dropping something you thought to yourself as you surveyed your surroundings.

Eggs laying open hopelessly cracked across the floor, peaches rolling away left and right, your lone bag of potato chips popped open to spill near his feet.

“Oh wow, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you! Let me help you!” He chuckled and offered an out stretched hand -which you not so gladly accepted-. “I’m fine, my dinner not so much.” You groaned out as you dusted off your leggings. “I am really sorry about that, how about I help you get the rest of this upstairs?” He said before bending over to quickly collect a peach that had rolled astray.

It didn’t take much time to pack everything back into their plastic bags and not long after you both came to stand in front of your door. “Well this is me, I don’t know if I should thank you for helping me or be mad that I fell in the first place?” You laughed. He scratched the back of his neck and scrunched up his nose. “I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t even realize you hadn’t noticed I was standing behind you.”

You felt a heat rise up to your cheeks, you hadn’t noticed him before but you were noticing him now. And he was just as unbelievably handsome as he was tall.

Was he new to the building? He couldn’t have lived here too long, sure enough you would of noticed such a sight? Right?

“Y/n did you hear me?” Your head snapped up in an instant, eyes focusing on him in shock once again. “You know my name?”

“Of course I do, we have lived next to each other for 3 years? My grandmother owns the building. My name is Chanyeol.”

“Chanyeol” you spoke in almost a whisper. His grandmother owns the building... his grandmother... Mrs. Park the women you spend every Saturday morning doing laundry with in the basement.. was his grandmother. Mrs. Park the women who has been trying to set you up with her grandson for 3 years was his grandmother. “Oh my god” you gasp “You’re Chanyeol!” He smiled so brightly it almost hurt your eyes to look.

You felt nothing but panic in that moment. The man standing in front of you was the man from the stories his grandmother had told about him. You had heard countless stories about him every Saturday for the last three years. The kind of stories where the reader couldn’t help but fall in love with the protagonist. And that is just what you had done. Fallen helplessly in love with the idea of Park Chanyeol. The man that currently stood in front of you. Not a character in a story, but a man. And apparently he was your neighbor this entire time.

“I... I need to go” you blurted out as you quickly pulled open the door and slammed it shut. Groceries forgotten completely.

Chanyeol watched as you disappeared. A small smile tugging at his lips as he whispered “I wonder if she’s anything like her stories.”

[hamletstudy]

[3/100] // 7.20.19 // haute mess couture

it’s way too hot to think. im literally melting. im drinking the water faster than it has a chance to cool down it’s kind of insane how hot the summers get even with the thick knot of greenery outside of my window

especially because looking out at the other cluster of yards its just our weird intersection that has lots of trees and it is an insane mix of biodiversity out there, i wonder why? our next door neighbour does in fact exist, i saw him washing the dishes the other day, but his yard is so overrun you can’t actually hang out in the yard, its been overtaken by the wilderness and makes up most of the large green knoll

toby as a little kid is kind of adorable? especially his interactions with archie, its kind of fun playing odd but quirkycute kids and his pet butterfly named zipper. its also been neat being given the chance to develop his NPC parents from the apocalypse verse

i have bites on my TOES too this is borderline ridiculous. and in my EAR

ate some chicken salad Caesar wraps and almost cried about how good they are. vomited shortly afterwards, but just an insipid little spit of a mouthful of puke, i think it was because i saw a single piece was a bit well. pink looking, still ate it anyways, still delicious. also because for once i was eating at a somewhat normal time with an actual FOOD ITEM

showered and it was a pain in the ass avoiding the tenderness of the foot that’s been mangled, its a persistent sharp stinging pain from the flayed off skin and its more of a shallow, large wound, not excessive blood but a lot of sharp, persistent pain, especially when trying to move around because of where it is on my ankle mostly 

i hate the bedroom door. it gets swollen stuck inside of its frame and its impossible to open from the inside, you need someone pushing from the outside and the inside to get it to pop open

had a weird moment of self appreciation today. it was nice. took a selfie underneath the light of the window and it lit my hair up white, and for once i didnt really want to slap a filter on it and call it a day

watching the tenderness of that man leaning in to bump against the others shoulder casually, or lean his head against him was kind of cute. painfully cute

i need to watch more of the notebook, i hazily recall a fragment of it upstairs

might add more to this, unsure. mostly been lying in a painful, limp puddle on the black pull out futon couch thing ive been living on. almost suffocated when the sheets collapsed and tangled me up in all of their silkiness, but i had a great period of reading unresolved mysteries in bed upstairs even if it was sweltering hot, being alone is such a delicious, much needed feeling to retain my sanity

nature and aloneness. thats what i need

i just want to do some digital collage and mentally veg out. i think i’m going to do that.

WE ARE LITERALLY ON A HEAT ALERT FML

i learned last night that they have amber alerts (and read into the case of why, 8 minutes is all the difference) and like elder alerts, covering 17 and 65+, but 18-64 is a no man’s land, apparently

proud of myself for being able to share the 3rds method (what you feel, reasons, what to do next) and the lenses (yellow driving glasses on blue sky, green is green, but the sky is blue) with someone who really benefited from it and being able to put myself into their shoes and empathize

that poetry is in everything, everywhere- that we are a part of nature, that writing is how i discover myself, how i verbalize and conceptualize what lurks in my subconsciousnes... 

cherubophobia 

i’m so afraid of not leaving a mark, but im so young! i’m only eighteen! that’s a tiny fraction of life! i’m so little! and i leave behind the words, if nothing else, i leave behind this

(( we’ve been playing ‘elle’s softcore version of dnd, which really just makes use of the roll mechanic’ set in a new spin on superheroes in toronto: this time moving away from the ingram mafia and delving into the world of MONARCH, which was an arg i never did get around to doing much with, and its mostly fresh faces with some old ones re: bowman, archie, toby. heres a fun list of things that have happened thus far

i accidentally remade alpha val. joel ryder is a thotty bartender who is instagram model hot, volunteers at sunday school and his former elementary school in honour of his dead mother, is a huge proponent of safe driving, and knows an UNGODLY amount of scripture and chicken lore. also he’s 6′4

isaac in attempting to lunge up to help joel close the vents leaking carbon monoxide, rolled so badly he concussed himself and passed the fuck out. he literally tripped over NOTHING

joel keeled over like a wuss after performing inpromptu “chicken” surgery and isaac had to slap him silly around the face THREE different times before waking him up

isaac calls the bible the BIBBLE and makes a mortal enemy of joel

joel attempts to introduce himself to schuyler who is profoundly deaf and doesnt realize hes trying to speak to his fucking side. he makes an embarrassment out of himself

joel drinks neon pink teenage girl nightmare drank from starbucks after fangirling over archie

archie pats joel on the shoulder only to realize with adamant horror that hes shirtless, having used his tanktop to bind together a DIY stretcher for isaac, and hurriedly hides him in their fleece jacket. joel almost cries

isaac cannot identify a single bird species. all is bird

bowman, super secret informant and contentious ??? nemesis ??? frenemy ??? to archie shows up solely to say F TO PAY RESPECTS

toby checks his little cellphone for cat notif games and DISGUSTEDLY saves all of their lives after a cryptic message. hes so mad its not neko atsume games

after joel breaking a wall into bits using his metal manipulation but disguising it as super strength by hitting it, isaac has the following realization:

[newssplashy]

Out of sight may be out of mind for some people, however, this saying wasn’t applicable to Femi and Shade.

This couple were head over heels in love with each other. Hence, the reason they beat the odds.

Coping with long-distance

Femi and Shade’s love could neither be obstructed by distance nor time apart. Though it tarried physically, but the strong bond between them weathered every storm.

They grew each day, so fond of each other. And as their love bloomed, time appeared patient with them. Some nights they’d stay up chatting over the phone, and other days they’d exchange love letters. Shade couldn’t wait to be done with school; she just couldn’t imagine her life without Femi in it.

Shade’s graduation

And just as she’d longed for the end of her tertiary education; the time finally came. She was overjoyed and couldn’t hold the news to herself. She invited both old and new friends to her graduation party. And of course! Femi was very much present.

Aftermath of the party took place in a private lodge outside campus, and it was mad fun for the lovebirds and their friends. A few ticks after midnight saw an end to the party and everyone was retired to their resting places. Shade and Femi had a luxurious room waiting upstairs for them; courtesy of Femi.

The amazing night

They made love like lovers on their honeymoon. It was a passionate night, the intensity was explosive; it was as though “they’ve been led out of Egypt” like the Israelites. Then again, this particular night was a Top-Up to their very first night. However, another beautiful memory was again created. Though the night tarried, but not slow enough to have prevented dawn from being birthed.

Read Also: I conquered my fears and finally hired myself

The morning sun peeped through the curtain blind, as its light rays brightened up the once dark room where Femi and Shade laid in. They awoke finally! Femi had just a few hours left to spare; so every single minute was to be spent beside his precious Jewel.

Yet another departure

Their departure this time is going to be for one straight year, because they’re both travelling to different locations for important reasons. Femi is going abroad for training, while Shade will be dispatched to a different part of the country for her NYSC. Soon, it was the set hour, a driver was ready downstairs to take Femi to the airport.

Needless to say, it was an intense moment filled with mixed feelings for the lovebirds. But life has to happen, like it does; always! And so, Femi departed for the airport and Shade decided to journey home to be with family.

NYSC time

In a couple of weeks, Shade received her call-up letter for the NYSC orientation program. It was a new level of experience for her and she shared most of it with Femi. With lots of pictures to remember some key moments by, and some short clips saved up in her archives; she saved them all.

Orientation Camp was tough for Shade, it’s no news that every bad thing is made worse in Nigeria. According to default way of thinking in Nigeria, we deserve the tough love because it is the only way we can truly learn what others went through. In this case, I disagree!

Long journey from home

Whatever happened, had to happen! And Shade was later dispatched to a small town; few kilometres away from Femi’s hometown. She wasn’t very thrilled about this new development, even though she’d earlier thought about serving in Lagos or its environs. But she had no choice, it was already decided upon on her behalf; after all!

A few months got her settled in, she got a big apartment away from the heart of the town. Her new apartment was spacious. Shade had rejected the room offered to her, because she didn’t want to live in the “Corpers’ Lodge” with a bunch of strangers. Bit by bit, day by day, time drifted as it should.

Read Also: Sex and the city [Episode ii]

 Shade enjoying NYSC

Six months down the line saw Shade into the celebrity stage, she now feels connected. She’s made some friends in town, and the people adored her; especially for her incredible sense of humour. She was living and loving every minute of it---until one fateful evening. One of the girls from the neighbourhood came by to visit Shade, they’d had plans to watch a trending movie together. And just before then, Shade’s phone rang with a photo of Femi displaying on the screen.

The young girl recognised the face, it was the face of her brother-in-law! How is this possible? Didn’t they say Femi is in America? How is it possible for these two to know each other; she thought to herself. A few minutes later, shade got back into the room and asked the girl if it had been her phone ringing! Yes Shade! Your phone did ring! She passed the phone over, and Shade scrolled through to check who it was. Oh! It’s Femi, she exclaimed! I have to return his call, she said.

The awful gist about Femi

The girl (Abike) spoke up to halt Shade. Please, don’t call yet. That Femi is from Oshogbo, right!? Yes, shade replied with a surprised countenance. Do you know him, Shade asked Abike! Yes, I recognised him from the image on your phone……..he is somewhat my in-law. His older brother was once married to my cousin. They are exceptionally nice people, until you marry them. Abike told Shade everything she knew about Femi and his family---and as they spoke, Shade wept.

She’d been told that the love of her life is from a family of “wife beaters” and sexually promiscuous people. She couldn’t believe her ears after being told of the emotional trauma Abike’s cousin went through in the hands of Femi’s brother. She imagined if this same fate would befall her once she marries into Femi’s same family!

The decision

The imaginations of what would become of her once she becomes Femi’s wife drove her crazy. The scary thoughts made Shade very weary, and for the first time; the distance between her and Femi became visible. However, she wanted to tell Femi about it, but then she wondered what the outcome would be…..would he just convince me that he’s different from his brother? How could he be from such a family? She pondered over it continuously, and so, she kept them to herself and never spoke of it to anyone.

Femi was not just a lover boy! He was also intelligent, he figured something had gone wrong with Shade; and so he rounded off his programs beforehand. He flew down to Lagos and headed straight to Avbiosi, Shade’s hometown. It was almost 4 years into their relationship, and the set time for the Age-Group ceremony which brought them together in the first place. He decided to visit her hometown because he knew, there was no way Shade was going to miss the Age-Group ceremony.

The surprise trip

Femi found a nice hotel to lodge-in at Uzebba, a neighbouring town to Avbiosi, in Edo State. After waiting a few days, the evening came upon which the maidens dance-off was to take place. Femi manned up and headed straight to the venue where the dance-off was taking place. Unfortunately, Shade was nowhere present. He was sad to know that Shade was indeed unhappy, because it is unlikely for her to miss this ceremony. He thought and thought as he waited patiently for Shade, and as the clock kept ticking, so did time drifted afar into the night.

Read Also: Your affirmations confirms your miracles

 The rejection

And as Femi proceeded out of the arena, he met with Shade. Apparently, she’d been sitting by the corner watching other girls dance. They hugged, it’s obvious that they’ve missed each other, and regardless of the new findings about Femi; they were still in love. Femi watched Shade closely as they spoke, she was avoiding eye contact. But he waited patiently for her to finish talking before he’d reassure her that he’s not going to betray their love.

I know what you want to ask me Femi, and the answer is no! I can’t marry you! I heard heart-breaking stories about your family, and guess what; you supported your brother when he was being accused by his wife. I can’t deal with a broken marriage, I’d rather deal with a broken engagement than deal with infidelity and emotional trauma at home. I love you Femi, but the “apple rarely falls far from the tree” Goodbye! Femi, my love!!

Disclaimer!

This story is based on a true life circumstance. And it was extracted and put together in order to educate people on “placing judgement” on people based on their family history.

Femi loved Shade, and their love could have been different from what his brother had. Every individual has a different future, and rejecting people based on stories you’ve had about them is probably not the best way to go---give love a chance.

If we marry the ones with flawless family records, who’d marry the rest? Undermining the fact that our own children could go astray at some point, and in the end; we may be very bitter if other parents rejects them for their previous errs.

Hence my quote “if we technically didn’t know so much, perhaps we wouldn’t have too many self-inflicted deprivations”.

All quotes and article written by Joyous Akhivbareme.

Story inspired by the Iuleha people of Edo State

Thank you for reading…..

via Latest Nigerian News Online-Nigerian News,World Newspaper

[freepib]

‘My lovely dad tried to kill me’

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Robyn Hollingworth was just 25 when she left her job in London to help care for her dad who had early-onset Alzheimer’s. Here she reveals the challenges and heartbreak of parenting a parent.

I’m hiding behind the sofa in the living room, sweating profusely and fumbling with my phone.

“Where are you, you little thief?” my dad yells as he comes down the stairs.

“I’m going to kill you, you hear me?”

He comes into the room and I can see he’s holding a carving knife.

But suddenly someone knocks at the front door and he goes to answer it. It’s the next-door neighbour.

“Hi there! You all right?” she asks nervously.

“Hello there, love!” My dad’s voice is all soft and fatherly, not mad and murderous. “How can I help you today?”

“We, uh, heard some noise and wondered if you were OK. Why, why do you have a carving knife in your hand?”

“Well funnily enough, I’ve just found a burglar in my house, so right now I’m trying to smoke the little ferret out,” Dad declares, rather proudly – though he used a stronger word than “ferret”.

I can tell my neighbour is scared but is trying to keep him talking. I crawl to the back door, sprint down the garden and hurl myself over the fence.

I walk across town to my friend Kate’s house.

She opens the door to my tear-stained face and my frozen, bare feet.

Image captionRobyn moved back to her parents house when she was 25

My dad, David Coles, was a charmingly intelligent self-made man. He was a civil engineer and built power stations all over the world. He had a beard and moustache combo that had seen him through the decades, gently fading from mouse-brown to pale grey. I idolised him.

Dad retired in his late 50s, while my mum Marjorie continued working for a local charity. They lived in Pontypool in South Wales. I had moved to London to study at Royal Holloway University and stayed there to work as a fashion buyer. But when I was 24, Mum revealed that Dad had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. A year later I was back at home to help Mum shoulder the care.

One of the first obvious signs, apart from repeating stories, was that Dad’s language changed. The F-word began making frequent appearances.

“Dad, you’ve got your jumper on back to front,” I told him one day after returning with Mum from Tesco’s.

“Ah, get lost,” he replied, except he used the F-word instead of “get lost”.

“Don’t speak to your daughter like that!” Mum snapped.

“You can get lost, too,” he added for good measure.

Sometimes it felt pointless talking to Dad because he was easily insulted. He was often aggressive or defensive with me and Mum, though funnily enough he was very obliging with my older brother, Gareth.

My dad had always spun a good yarn, but as his memory faded he would make things up to fill in the blanks. These untruths could vary from “Yes, I’ve taken my medicine,” to “Ooh, I’ve had fish for tea.” And his behaviour became more unpredictable too.

Once he offered to make Mum a cup of coffee, and came back with a soup bowl of coffee made in the microwave, giving it to her with a tea towel and a spoon.

Another day he called my mum while she was out shopping to ask where his passport was. “Are you planning on going anywhere dear?” she joked. He hung up in response. When Mum got home she found the house had been ransacked. Paper littered the living room, kitchen drawers were hanging out. The drawers in the bedrooms had been pulled out and the contents strewn on the floor. She found my dad, shaking and sobbing in their bed. Later on he mended the drawers and forgot about the incident, but Mum didn’t.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom. Once I remember spotting Mum out shopping wearing her big fluffy purple cardigan. It had sparkly bits and was embossed with flowers. I raced to catch up with her only to realise it was Dad. He had teamed it with green cords and hiking boots. He greeted everyone brazenly in the Post Office, without a care in the world.

However, a lot of the time I found caring for Dad sad and embarrassing and then I’d feel guilty and disgusted with myself. I had to keep reminding myself he couldn’t help being ill. Despite everything, I didn’t begrudge caring for him for a second and I never thought of leaving.

Image captionDavid was a keen runner and club rugby fan

A week after the passport incident Dad went out for a walk and didn’t come back. After searching the local pubs we called the police. They found him in the hospital – he had been found in the gutter by the side of the road with a large cut on his head. Mum went to collect him and he seemed vaguer than ever.

I was more and more aware how hard it must be for my mum. Physically her husband was the same but his mind had gone.

“Of course, I still love him, in a way,” she told me then, during an unusually frank conversation.

“But that is not the person I fell in love with – that’s not the man I married.”

Five ways to spot if someone has Alzheimer’s

Then, just two months after I moved home, Mum was diagnosed with aggressive skin cancer. It was made more difficult because Dad didn’t really understand that Mum was ill.

On the day of her operation he joked in the Post Office that she was getting a boob job. I wanted to hit him with a newspaper. But when we went to see her in hospital I think reality dawned on him, as he didn’t want to leave her.

“Come back to me, my love, please come back soon,” he whimpered as she stroked his hand.

Image captionRobyn’s parents met in the late 1960s

When we got back to the house he asked me where Mum was.

“Why isn’t she back from work yet? Has she gone away?” he asked.

I explained she was ill in hospital with cancer.

“Well that’s a shame, I wanted to take her for a walk in the park,” he responded.

Despite chemotherapy, Mum’s tumours spread and two months after her diagnosis we found out the cancer was terminal. Dad struggled to understand. He would repeat on a loop that he and Mum had had a good innings, with two children and a nice life. At other times he thought she had a stomach bug or was at work, when she was actually resting upstairs.

Mum died at home. The family had gathered to say goodbye to her. She told my brother and me to take care of each other and that she was sorry she was leaving us alone to care for Dad. Despite the awfulness of it, I wanted that moment to last forever. I went downstairs to discover Dad had peeled two whole 2.5kg (5lb 8oz) bags of potatoes. We’d be eating mash for months.

Image captionGareth and Robyn were always close despite the five-year age gap

At the funeral we arranged for a bagpipe player to play Mum into the church. We played Out of Africa at the end, to mark Mum and Dad’s travels abroad. I kept a nervous eye on Dad all day, but he was mostly quiet and compliant. At the wake, though, he lost the meaning of what the day was for, and thought it was to celebrate his retirement. When I was outside on the phone he tried to get people to do a conga. When I found out I laughed so hard I cried.

After Mum’s death, Dad went downhill rapidly. Apparently changes in routine and security can hugely accelerate an Alzheimer’s sufferer’s decline. He became disorientated, with little appetite. It was 10 days after the funeral that he confused me for an intruder and chased me with a carving knife.

After I escaped, it was judged too dangerous for me to return, and caring for Dad fell solely on my brother. A fortnight later we decided he needed to go into care. I would visit him with my brother, as I was too nervous to go on my own. Some days he didn’t say much and lashed out if I tried to hug him, on others he smiled and seemed happy but didn’t speak. My brother was livid one week after a carer shaved off Dad’s facial hair in a well-meaning attempt to smarten him up.

Dad caught pneumonia after a few months in care and became gaunt. I will always be haunted by the distressing image of him moaning, without his teeth in, and unable to eat or walk without help. My lovely dad had become a zombie, his wonderful brain was hollow and still. All I could do was sit with him and hold his hand and tell him I loved him. He died just five months after my Mum.

I’m sad Mum and Dad never got to see their son find a partner and have a son of his own, or their daughter get married (my brother walked me down the aisle). It wasn’t easy after they died but in my dreams I remember them when they were well and happy and in their prime.

We sold the house shortly after my dad died and on a beautiful summer’s day we drove up into the mountains overlooking town. Walking to the highest point we both took an urn and whirling around we spun our parents’ ashes into the sky. We watched as they soared from something into nothing – into the ether and everywhere.

Robyn Hollingworth is the author of My Mad Dad: The Diary of an Unravelling Mind

As told to Claire Bates. Claire is on Twitter @batesybates

from WordPress https://ikpepib.wordpress.com/2018/05/17/my-lovely-dad-tried-to-kill-me/

[an-escapism-blog]

SALVATION

“Where are you?! Stop hiding!” He said out loud. I was in a cabinet hiding as silently as possible. My heart was racing and I was having a hard time catching my breath. I didn’t know how it ended up like this. I didn’t expect to be so caught up in this. I just wanted some money. Sigh, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this mess, so here is my story.

My name is Finn. I am a poor 24 year-old house painter. I guess I’m not really satisfied with my job. Anyway, I was hired yesterday to paint this old gigantic house near the street. This house was owned by some rich woman who wanted her house to look more modern and all that since it looked old and crappy. To be honest, it looked really hideous from the outside. Anyway, I should probably stop judging her house since she’s paying me a lot. So, I stopped by and she greeted me. She was nice, I think. She got all the materials and the paint and then asked me to first paint the left side which by the way, faced her neighbour’s house very immensely. She then continued to tell me that she was going out quickly to buy food for dinner. So she locked all the doors, let some house painter she didn’t knew outside her house, and left.

I climbed the ladder, and then started to paint. While I was painting, I could see through the neighbour’s window and I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was a man filled with blood on his clothes. His face wasn’t visible and he just wasn’t moving anymore. I felt sick to my stomach and it was the first time I saw this much death in a room. It was terrifying so I quickly went down the ladder and got my phone. I immediately called the police and waited for about 10-15 minutes. While waiting, I quickly climbed up the ladder and checked if the corpse was still there, but the curtains were closed!

The police arrived, knocked on the door, and then someone faced us. It was a tall man with a beard and it was pretty noticeable that he was puzzled by the presence of the police. He told us that his name was Luke. The officer told him that he was going to search the whole place to find a corpse and the man was surprised as to what he has heard. I told him that I saw a dead body while I was painting right beside his house, specifically in the living room. Luke was becoming a bit angry so he told the officer that he couldn’t care less if they search the whole house. He also told them that his brother would be coming soon so they should just talk to his brother instead of him. He was frustrated so he told us not to disturb him since he was going to relax and listen to music. And just like that he went upstairs to his room.

There were six rooms in the house in general. The police searched every room from corner to furniture. Every part of this house was inspected and even I joined in searching where the dead body could have been hidden. Night time was arriving and unfortunately we could not find it anywhere. The police were doubting my accusations at this point but something within me tells that beneath these walls lies a dark mystery.

The other brother finally arrived and he introduced himself as Brooke. I was immediately amazed at how much they resembled each other. Maybe they were twins, I don’t know, I really should focus on the situation here. He told us that there were only two people living in this house which was him and his brother, Luke. The police asked Brooke if they could search the room upstairs which was the last room to be inspected. We went to the room and began to look. Luke was silently lying in bed with his eyes closed listening to an unknown artist. I guess this is what he meant when he said he was going to “relax.”

I could tell that he really was unbothered while we were searching. The officer looked at the window of this room only to find out that there was a large tree in the back of this house. The officer ordered the police to try and climb down to this tree while carrying another person to see if it was possible. The police then tried one by one to see if it was possible but apparently, it wasn’t.

While the Officer was still interrogating, Brooke told his brother to turn the music off since it was too loud. The music stopped while he was still lying silently and still in his position. At this point, everything at the house was already searched through. The police have concluded that my story was clearly false. We went back downstairs and apologized to Brooke, and despite my unwillingness, I also apologized.

I was back in my small apartment since they asked me to go home. The woman also told me to just start painting tomorrow. Anyway, I was still thinking about where the corpse was hidden. How did the corpse disappear when there were literally no way out? Was this all really a product of my imagination? I was perplexed. When suddenly without a doubt, I went outside of my apartment and ran all the way back to that house. I ran as fast as I could. It was the most absurd thing I could think of, but nothing could stop me from finding out what really was beneath those walls.

The next thing I knew, I was already trespassing and I thought that if I climb their large tree, I would be able to enter the house and searched through more. So I climbed silently until I reached the part near the upper room’s window. I noticed that Luke was still in the same position as when we left him. I observed a little longer when suddenly something made sense. I entered the room quietly and walked carefully. I searched through the room and found Luke’s phone beside him. Luckily, it had no passcode so I turned it on and found out that the music was put into timer! I went closer to Luke who was lying peacefully and then I did it. I checked his pulse and in that moment, I confirmed that he was dead all along. The corpse was Luke! What we have been searching for was here in plain sight. I immediately went inside of the nearest closet and called the police one more time. The officer answered and I asked him to come back to the house. He immediately declined so I told him that I finally found the corpse, when unexpectedly the sound of footsteps entered the door. I stayed silent, hoping that the person would leave, but my phone released a noise. It was the voice of the officer, and then someone shouted, “Where are you?! Stop hiding!” and I found out that it was Brooke who was yelling.

So enough of the flashback, here I am panicking and paranoid. But I thought that this would be my chance to know what really happened. Is he the killer? If he is, then why would he murder his own brother? I was so curious in finding out the truth so I spoke to the phone and said “Officer, listen carefully and quickly come here right now!”

I went outside the wardrobe and asked, “Why did you kill your brother?” I told him that his brother was the corpse we’ve been looking for hours. I then pushed his brother which was unresponsive, confirming that it was dead all along. He became furious. I told him “This was a great plan of yours I suppose, but it did not go well. Right after you saw me discover the body, you immediately washed the blood away, dressed him and made him lie on this bed. Then, you came to disguise as your dead brother and meet us and the police.” He screamed at me and told me to stop, but I didn’t have any plan on stopping. I then explained more and said “You are twins if I’m not mistaken, it would be easy for you to fool strangers since your faces are identical. To make your alibi better, you said that you were going to listen to music so we should not disturb you. After you went upstairs you put the music on timer and you used the tree to climb down and then you re-entered the front door of your house as yourself! Isn’t that right?” I said.

He stopped for a moment and after a long pause he shouted “I am the killer! I killed him! Do you know what I’ve been through?” As he was uttering these words to me he put out a knife. I believe he has gone insane at this point. I quickly ran through the house and locked myself in a room so he couldn’t get me. It was traumatizing and suddenly I heard his footsteps once again. While he was walking slowly, I checked if the phone was still on and the police was still listening. I was just hoping that they were on the way since this madman could potentially end my life. Brooke uttered, “I have no money anymore! He was constantly blackmailing me! I was living in hell because of him. I was tired and I couldn’t bear it anymore!”

I had no idea what he was saying. All I could do was wait for the police to arrive and save me from this madness. I could hear Brooke’s footsteps become louder. It was like death fetching me instead of the police. I suddenly heard him again saying, “I was drunk driving, I thought I could trust him! You would never understand how much I struggled. So now that I killed him, I can finally live my life!” he said. I then saw a lot of newspapers which contained all the same hit-and-run case. It says here that a man died because of it. As I was reading the case, Brooke’s story made sense now. He ran over the man in the newspaper and he told Luke about it so Luke abused him and constantly asked Brooke for money or else he would send Brooke to jail! Brooke is now barging at the door repeatedly. I am panicking, but luckily I now hear the Cops siren. I then uttered, “Salvation.”

Few weeks passed and Finn was enlightened. He finally realized his potentials and decided to use his skills and pursue his dream which is to become a detective.

//

About the author:

Timothy Caballa is an aspiring web designer. He believes in the saying “Fake it till you make it” and he also likes to talk to his dog sometimes.

[readbookywooks]

An Unexpected Party

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained-well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end. The mother of our particular hobbit... what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people, about half our height, and smaller than the bearded Dwarves. Hobbits have no beards. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be at in the stomach; they dress in bright colours (chiefly green and yellow); wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick warm brown hair like the stuff on their heads (which is curly); have long clever brown fingers, good-natured faces, and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when they can get it). Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this hobbit - of Bilbo Baggins, that is - was the fabulous Belladonna Took, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Took, head of the hobbits who lived across The Water, the small river that ran at the foot of The Hill. It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbit-like about them, - and once in a while members of the Took-clan would go and have adventures. They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Tooks were not as respectable as the Bagginses, though they were undoubtedly richer. Not that Belladonna Took ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Bungo Baggins. Bungo, that was Bilbo's father, built the most luxurious hobbit-hole for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found either under The Hill or over The Hill or across The Water, and there they remained to the end of their days. Still it is probable that Bilbo, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in his makeup from the Took side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Bilbo Baggins was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by his father, which I have just described for you, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably. By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes (neatly brushed) - Gandalf came by. Gandalf! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort I of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Took died, in fact, and the hobbits had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over The Hill and across The Water on business of his own since they were all small hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls. All that the unsuspecting Bilbo saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which a white beard hung down below his waist, and immense black boots. "Good morning!" said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. "What do you mean?" be said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?" "All of them at once," said Bilbo. "And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There's no hurry, we have all the day before us!" Then Bilbo sat down on a seat by his door, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill. "Very pretty!" said Gandalf. "But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone." I should think so - in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them, said our Mr. Baggins, and stuck one thumb behind his braces, and blew out another even bigger smoke-ring. Then he took out his morning letters, and begin to read, pretending to take no more notice of the old man. He had decided that he was not quite his sort, and wanted him to go away. But the old man did not move. He stood leaning on his stick and gazing at the hobbit without saying anything, till Bilbo got quite uncomfortable and even a little cross. "Good morning!" he said at last. "We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water." By this he meant that the conversation was at an end. "What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" said Gandalf. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off." "Not at all, not at all, my dear sir! Let me see, I don't think I know your name?" "Yes, yes, my dear sir - and I do know your name, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!" "Gandalf, Gandalf! Good gracious me! Not the wandering wizard that gave Old Took a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered? Not the fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows' sons? Not the man that used to make such particularly excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!" You will notice already that Mr. Baggins was not quite so prosy as he liked to believe, also that he was very fond of flowers. "Dear me!" she went on. "Not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures. Anything from climbing trees to visiting Elves - or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter - I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business." "Where else should I be?" said the wizard. "All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to remember my fireworks kindly, at any rate, land that is not without hope. Indeed for your old grand-father Took's sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for." "I beg your pardon, I haven't asked for anything!" "Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it." "Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning! But please come to tea - any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow! Good-bye!" With that the hobbit turned and scuttled inside his round green door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, not to seen rude. Wizards after all are wizards. "What on earth did I ask him to tea for!" he said to him-self, as he went to the pantry. He had only just had break fast, but he thought a cake or two and a drink of something would do him good after his fright. Gandalf in the meantime was still standing outside the door, and laughing long but quietly. After a while he stepped up, and with the spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front-door. Then he strode away, just about the time when Bilbo was finishing his second cake and beginning to think that he had escape adventures very well. The next day he had almost forgotten about Gandalf. He did not remember things very well, unless he put them down on his Engagement Tablet: like this: Gandalf 'a Wednesday. Yesterday he had been too flustered to do anything of the kind. Just before tea-time there came a tremendous ring on the front-door bell, and then he remembered! He rushed and put on the kettle, and put out another cup and saucer and an extra cake or two, and ran to the door. "I am so sorry to keep you waiting!" he was going to say, when he saw that it was not Gandalf at all. It was a dwarf with a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eyes under his dark-green hood. As soon a the door was opened, he pushed inside, just as if he had been expected. He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg, and "Dwalin at your service!" he said with a low bow. "Bilbo Baggins at yours!" said the hobbit, too surprised to ask any questions for the moment. When the silence that followed had become uncomfortable, he added: "I am just about to take tea; pray come and have some with me." A little stiff perhaps, but he meant it kindly. And what would you do, if an uninvited dwarf came and hung his things up in your hall without a word of explanation? They had not been at table long, in fact they had hardly reached the third cake, when there came another even louder ring at the bell. "Excuse me!" said the hobbit, and off he went to the door. "So you have got here at last!" was what he was going to say to Gandalf this time. But it was not Gandalf. Instead there was a very old-looking dwarf on the step with a white beard and a scarlet hood; and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited. "I see they have begun to arrive already," he said when he caught sight of Dwalin's green hood hanging up. He hung his red one next to it, and "Balin at your service!" he said with his hand on his breast. "Thank you!" said Bilbo with a gasp. It was not the correct thing to say, but they have begun to arrive had flustered him badly. He liked visitors, but he liked to know them before they arrived, and he preferred to ask them himself. He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he-as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful-he might have to go without. "Come along in, and have some tea!" he managed to say after taking a deep breath. "A little beer would suit me better, if it is all the same to you, my good sir," said Balin with the white beard. "But I don't mind some cake-seed-cake, if you have any." "Lots!" Bilbo found himself answering, to his own surprise; and he found himself scuttling off, too, to the cellar to fill a pint beer-mug, and to the pantry to fetch two beautiful round seed-cakes which he had baked that afternoon for his after-supper morsel. When he got back Balin and Dwalin were talking at the table like old friends (as a matter of fact they were brothers). Bilbo plumped down the beer and the cake in front of them, when loud came a ring at the bell again, and then another ring. "Gandalf for certain this time," he thought as he puffed along the passage. But it was not. It was two more dwarves, both with blue hoods, silver belts, and yellow beards; and each of them carried a bag of tools and a spade. In they hopped, as soon as the door began to open-Bilbo was hardly surprised at all. "What can I do for you, my dwarves?" he said. "Kili at your service!" said the one. "And Fili!" added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed. "At yours and your family's!" replied Bilbo, remembering his manners this time. "Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili. "Let us join the throng!" "Throng!" thought Mr. Baggins. "I don't like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute and collect my wits, and have a drink." He had only just had a sip-in the corner, while the four dwarves sat around the table, and talked about mines and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which he did not understand, and did not want to, for they sounded much too adventurous-when, ding-dong-a-ling-' dang, his bell rang again, as if some naughty little hobbit-boy was trying to pull the handle off. "Someone at the door!" he said, blinking. "Some four, I should say by the sound," said Fili. "Be-sides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance." The poor little hobbit sat down in the hall and put his head in his hands, and wondered what had happened, and what was going to happen, and whether they would all stay to supper. Then the bell rang again louder than ever, and he had to run to the door. It was not four after all, it was FIVE. Another dwarf had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly turned the knob, be-x)re they were all inside, bowing and saying "at your service" one after another. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were their names; and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their gold and silver belts to join the others. Already it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for coffee, and all of them for cakes; so the hobbit was kept very busy for a while. A big jug of coffee bad just been set in the hearth, the seed-cakes were gone, and the dwarves were starting on a round of buttered scones, when there came-a loud knock. Not a ring, but a hard rat-tat on the hobbit's beautiful green door. Somebody was banging with a stick! Bilbo rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered-this was the most awkward Wednesday he ever remembered. He pulled open the door with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More dwarves, four more! And there was Gandalf behind, leaning on his staff and laughing. He had made quite a dent on the beautiful door; he had also, by the way, knocked out the secret mark that he had put there the morning before. "Carefully! Carefully!" he said. "It is not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun! Let me introduce Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!" "At your service!" said Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one; and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Thorin, an enormously important dwarf, in fact no other than the great Thorin Oakenshield himself, who was not at all pleased at falling flat on Bilbo's mat with Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur on top of him. For one thing Bombur was immensely fat and heavy. Thorin indeed was very haughty, and said nothing about service; but poor Mr. Baggins said he was sorry so many times, that at last he grunted "pray don't mention it," and stopped frowning. "Now we are all here!" said Gandalf, looking at the row of thirteen hoods-the best detachable party hoods-and his own hat hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think, for me." "And for me," said Thorin. "And raspberry jam and apple-tart," said Bifur. "And mince-pies and cheese," said Bofur. "And pork-pie and salad," said Bombur. "And more cakes-and ale-and coffee, if you don't mind," called the other dwarves through the door. "Put on a few eggs, there's a good fellow!" Gandalf called after him, as the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. "And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!" "Seems to know as much about the inside of my larders as I do myself!" thought Mr. Baggins, who was feeling positively flummoxed, and was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into his house. By the time he had got all the bottles and dishes and knives and forks and glasses and plates and spoons and things piled up on big trays, he was getting very hot, and red in the face, and annoyed. "Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!" he said aloud. "Why don't they come and lend a hand?" Lo and behold! there stood Balin and Dwalin at the door of the kitchen, and Fili and Kili behind them, and before he could say knife they had whisked the trays and a couple of small tables into the parlour and set out everything afresh. Gandalf sat at the head of the party with the thirteen, dwarves all round: and Bilbo sat on a stool at the fireside, nibbling at a biscuit (his appetite was quite taken away), and trying to look as if this was all perfectly ordinary and. not in the least an adventure. The dwarves ate and ate, and talked and talked, and time got on. At last they pushed their chairs back, and Bilbo made a move to collect the plates and glasses. "I suppose you will all stay to supper?" he said in his politest unpressing tones. "Of course!" said Thorin. "And after. We shan't get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!" Thereupon the twelve dwarves-not Thorin, he was too important, and stayed talking to Gandalf-jumped to their feet and made tall piles of all the things. Off they went, not waiting for trays, balancing columns of plates, each with a bottle on the top, with one hand, while the hobbit ran after them almost squeaking with fright: "please be careful!" and "please, don't trouble! I can manage." But the dwarves only started to sing: "Chip the glasses and crack the plates! Blunt the knives and bend the forks! That's what Bilbo Baggins hates- Smash the bottles and burn the corks! Cut the cloth and tread on the fat! Pour the milk on the pantry floor! Leave the bones on the bedroom mat! Splash the wine on every door! Dump the crocks in a boiling bawl; Pound them up with a thumping pole; And when you've finished, if any are whole, Send them down the hall to roll ! That's what Bilbo Baggins hates! So, carefully! carefully with the plates!" And of course they did none of these dreadful things, and everything was cleaned and put away safe as quick as lightning, while the hobbit was turning round and round in the middle of the kitchen trying to see what they were doing. Then they went back, and found Thorin with his feet on the fender smoking a pipe. He was blowing the most enormous smoke-rings, and wherever he told one to go, it went-up the chimney, or behind the clock on the man-telpiece, or under the table, or round and round the ceiling; but wherever it went it was not quick enough to escape Gandalf. Pop! he sent a smaller smoke-ring from his short clay-pipe straight through each one of Thorin's. The Gandalf's smoke-ring would go green and come back to hover over the wizard's head. He had quite a cloud of them about him already, and in the dim light it made him look strange and sorcerous. Bilbo stood still and watched-he loved smoke-rings-and then be blushed to think how proud he had been yesterday morning of the smoke-rings he had sent up the wind over The Hill. "Now for some music!" said Thorin. "Bring out the instruments!" Kili and Fili rushed for their bags and brought back little fiddles; Dori, Nori, and Ori brought out flutes from somewhere inside their coats; Bombur produced a drum from the hall; Bifur and Bofur went out too, and came back with clarinets that they had left among the walking-sticks Dwalin and Balin said: "Excuse me, I left mine in the porch!" "Just bring mine in with you," said Thorin. They came back with viols as big as themselves, and with Thorin's harp wrapped in a green cloth. It was a beautiful gold-en harp, and when Thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet that Bilbo forgot everything else, and was swept away into dark lands under strange moons, far over The Water and very far from his hobbit-hole under The Hill. The dark came into the room from the little window that opened in the side of The Hill; the firelight flickered-it was April-and still they played on, while the shadow of Gandalf's beard wagged against the wall. The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and still they played on. And suddenly first one and then another began to sing as they played, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their song without their music. "Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek the pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. For ancient king and elvish lord There many a gloaming golden hoard They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword. On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun. Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To claim our long-forgotten gold. Goblets they carved there for themselves And harps of gold; where no man delves There lay they long, and many a song Was sung unheard by men or elves. The pines were roaring on the height, The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; The trees like torches biased with light, The bells were ringing in the dale And men looked up with faces pale; The dragon's ire more fierce than fire Laid low their towers and houses frail. The mountain smoked beneath the moon; The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying -fall Beneath his feet, beneath the moon. Far over the misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim We must away, ere break of day, To win our harps and gold from him!" As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up - probably somebody lighting a wood-fire-and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again. He got up trembling. He had less than half a mind to fetch the lamp, and more than half a mind to pretend to, and go and hide behind the beer barrels in the cellar, and not come out again until all the dwarves had gone away. Suddenly he found that the music and the singing had stopped, and they were all looking at him with eyes shining in the dark. "Where are you going?" said Thorin, in a tone that seemed to show that he guessed both halves of the hobbit's mind. "What about a little light?" said Bilbo apologetically. "We like the dark," said the dwarves. "Dark for dark business! There are many hours before dawn." "Of course!" said Bilbo, and sat down in a hurry. He missed the stool and sat in the fender, knocking over the poker and shovel with a crash. "Hush!" said Gandalf. "Let Thorin speak!" And this is bow Thorin began. "Gandalf, dwarves and Mr. Baggins! We are not together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit-may the hair on his toes never fall out! all praise to his wine and ale!-" He paused for breath and for a polite remark from the hob-bit, but the compliments were quite lost on-poor Bilbo Baggins, who was wagging his mouth in protest at being called audacious and worst of all fellow conspirator, though no noise came out, he was so flummoxed. So Thorin went on: "We are met to discuss our plans, our ways, means, policy and devices. We shall soon before the break of day start on our long journey, a journey from which some of us, or perhaps all of us (except our friend and counsellor, the ingenious wizard Gandalf) may never return. It is a solemn moment. Our object is, I take it, well known to us all. To the estimable Mr. Baggins, and perhaps to one or two of the younger dwarves (I think I should be right in naming Kili and Fili, for instance), the exact situation at the moment may require a little brief explanation-" This was Thorin's style. He was an important dwarf. If he had been allowed, he would probably have gone on like this until he was out of breath, without telling any one there 'anything that was not known already. But he was rudely interrupted. Poor Bilbo couldn't bear it any longer. At may never return he began to feel a shriek coming up inside, and very soon it burst out like the whistle of an engine coming out of a tunnel. All the dwarves sprang Bp knocking over the table. Gandalf struck a blue light on the end of his magic staff, and in its firework glare the poor little hobbit could be seen kneeling on the hearth-rug, shaking like a jelly that was melting. Then he fell flat on the floor, and kept on calling out "struck by lightning, struck by lightning!" over and over again; and that was all they could get out of him for a long time. So they took him and laid him out of the way on the drawing-room sofa with a drink at his elbow, and they went back to their dark business. "Excitable little fellow," said Gandalf, as they sat down again. "Gets funny queer fits, but he is one of the best, one of the best-as fierce as a dragon in a pinch." If you have ever seen a dragon in a pinch, you will realise that this was only poetical exaggeration applied to any hobbit, even to Old Took's great- granduncle Bullroarer, who was so huge (for a hobbit) that he could ride a horse. He charged the ranks of the goblins of Mount Gram in the Battle of the Green Fields, and knocked their king Gol-firnbul's head clean off with a wooden club. It sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole, and in this way the battle was won and the game of Golf invented at the same moment. In the meanwhile, however, Bullroarer's gentler descendant was reviving in the drawing-room. After a while and a drink he crept nervously to the door of the parlour. This is what he heard, Gloin speaking: "Humph!" (or some snort more or less like that). "Will he do, do you think? It is all very well for Gandalf to talk about this hobbit being fierce, but one shriek like that in a moment of excitement would be enough to wake the dragon and all his relatives, and kill the lot of us. I think it sounded more like fright than excitement! In fact, if it bad not been for the sign on the door, I should have been sure we had come to the wrong house. As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing on the mat, I had my doubts. He looks more like a grocer-than a burglar!" Then Mr. Baggins turned the handle and went in. The Took side had won. He suddenly felt he would go without bed and breakfast to be thought fierce. As for little fellow bobbing on the mat it almost made him really fierce. Many a time afterwards the Baggins part regretted what he did now, and he said to himself: "Bilbo, you were a fool; you walked right in and put your foot in it." "Pardon me," he said, "if I have overheard words that you were saying. I don't pretend to understand what you are talking about, or your reference to burglars, but I think I am right in believing" (this is what he called being on his dignity) "that you think I am no good. I will show you. I have no signs on my door-it was painted a week ago-, and I am quite sure you have come to the wrong house. As soon as I saw your funny faces on the door-step, I had my doubts. But treat it as the right one. Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert. I bad a great-great-great-granduncle once, Bullroarer Took, and -" "Yes, yes, but that was long ago," said Gloin. "I was talking about you. And I assure you there is a mark on this door-the usual one in the trade, or used to be. Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward, that's how it is usually read. You ^an say Expert Treasure-hunter instead of Burglar if you like. Some of them do. It's all the same to us. Gandalf told us that there was a man of the sort in these parts looking for a Job at once, and that he had arranged for a meeting here this Wednesday tea-time." "Of course there is a mark," said Gandalf. "I put it there myself. For very good reasons. You asked me to find the fourteenth man for your expedition, and I chose Mr. Baggins. Just let any one say I chose the wrong man or the wrong house, and you can stop at thirteen and have all the bad luck you like, or go back to digging coal." He scowled so angrily at Gloin that the dwarf huddled back in his chair; and when Bilbo tried to open his mouth to ask a question, he turned and frowned at him and stuck oat his bushy eyebrows, till Bilbo shut his mouth tight with a snap. "That's right," said Gandalf. "Let's have no more argument. I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to !6te enough for all of you. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet. Now Bilbo, my boy, fetch the lamp, and let's have little light on this!" On the table in the light of a big lamp with a red shad he spread a piece of parchment rather like a map. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin, he said in answer to the dwarves' excited questions. "It is a plan of the Mountain." "I don't see that this will help us much," said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. "I remember the Mountain well enough and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred." "There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain, said Balin, "but it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there." "There is one point that you haven't noticed," said the wizard, "and that is the secret entrance. You see that rune on the West side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls. "It may have been secret once," said Thorin, "but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug had lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves." "He may-but he can't have used it for years and years. "Why?" "Because it is too small. 'Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, but Smaug could not creep into a hole that size, not even when he was a young dragon, certainly not after devouring so many of the dwarves and men of Dale." "It seems a great big hole to me," squeaked Bilbo (who had no experience of dragons and only of hobbit-holes) He was getting excited and interested again, so that he forgot to keep his mouth shut. He loved maps, and in his hall there hung a large one of the Country Round with all his favourite walks marked on it in red ink. "How could such a large door be kept secret from everybody outside, apart from the dragon?" he asked. He was only a little hobbit you must remember. "In lots of ways," said Gandalf. "But in what way this one has been hidden we don't know without going to see. From what it says on the map I should guess there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. That is the usual dwarves' method -  I think that is right, isn't it?" "Quite right," said Thorin. "Also," went on Gandalf, "I forgot to mention that with the map went a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" he said, and handed to Thorin a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, made of silver. "Keep it safe!" "Indeed I will," said Thorin, and he fastened it upon a fine chain that hung about his neck and under his jacket. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for-the better. So far we have had no clear idea what to do. We thought of going East, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake. After that the trouble would begin." "A long time before that, if I know anything about the loads East," interrupted Gandalf. "We might go from there up along the River Running," went on Thorin taking no notice, "and so to the ruins of Dale-the old town in the valley there, under the shadow of the Mountain. But we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the South of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too-far too often, unless he has changed." "That would be no good," said the wizard, "not without a mighty Warrior, even a Hero. I tried to find one; but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood heroes are scarce, or simply lot to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, and axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; and dragons are comfortably far-off (and therefore legendary). That is why I settled on burglary-especially when I remembered the existence of a Side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans." "Very well then," said Thorin, "supposing the burglar-expert gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned with mock-politeness to Bilbo. "First I should like to know a bit more about things," said he, feeling all confused and a bit shaky inside, but so far still lookishly determined to go on with things. "I mean about the gold and the dragon, and all that, and how it got there, and who it belongs to, and so on and further." "Bless me!" said Thorin, "haven't you got a map? and didn't you hear our song? and haven't we been talking about all this for hours?" "All the same, I should like it all plain and clear," said he obstinately, putting on his business manner (usually reserved for people who tried to borrow money off him), and doing his best to appear wise and prudent and professional and live up to Gandalf's recommendation. "Also I should like to know about risks, out-of-pocket expenses, time required and remuneration, and so forth"-by which he meant: "What am I going to get out of it? and am I going to come back alive?" "O very well," said Thorin. "Long ago in my grandfather Thror's time our family was driven out of the far North, and came back with all their wealth and their tools to this Mountain on the map. It had been discovered by my far ancestor, Thrain the Old, but now they mined and they tunnelled and they made huger halls and greater workshops -and in addition I believe they found a good deal of gold and a great many jewels too. Anyway they grew immensely rich and famous, and my grandfather was King under the Mountain again and treated with great reverence by the mortal men, who lived to the South, and were gradually spreading up the Running River as far as the valley overshadowed by the Mountain. They built the merry town of Dale there in those days. Kings used to send for our smiths, and reward even the least skilful most richly. Fathers would beg us to take their sons as apprentices, and pay us handsomely, especially in food-supplies, which we never bothered to grow or find for ourselves. Altogether those were good days for us, and the poorest of us had money to spend and to lend, and leisure to make beautiful things just for the. fun of it, not to speak of the most marvellous and magical toys, the like of which is not to be found in the world now-a-days. So my grandfather's halls became full of armour and jewels and carvings and cups, and the toy-market of Dale was the wonder of the North. "Undoubtedly that was what brought the dragon. Dragons steal gold and jewels, you know, from men and elves and dwarves, wherever they can find them; and they guard their plunder as long as they live (which is practically forever, unless they are killed), and never enjoy a brass ring of it. Indeed they hardly know a good bit of work from a bad, though they usually have a good notion of the current market value; and they can't make a thing for themselves, not even mend a little loose scale of their armour. There were lots of dragons in the North in those days, and gold was probably getting scarce up there, with the dwarves flying south or getting killed, and all the general waste and destruction that dragons make going from bad to worse. There was a most specially greedy, strong and wicked worm called Smaug. One day he flew up into the air and came south. The first we heard of it was a noise like a hurricane coming from the North, and the pine-trees on the Mountain creaking and cracking in the wind. Some of the dwarves who happened to be outside (I was one luckily -a fine adventurous lad in those days, always wandering about, and it saved my life that day)-well, from a good way off we saw the dragon settle on our mountain in a spout of flame. Then he came down the slopes and when he reached the woods they all went up in fire. By that time all the bells were ringing in Dale and the warriors were arming. The dwarves rushed out of their great gate; but there was the dragon waiting for them. None escaped that way. The river rushed up in steam and a fog fell on Dale, and in the fog the dragon came on them and destroyed most of the warriors-the usual unhappy story, it was only too common in those days. Then he went back and crept in through the Front Gate and routed out all the halls, and lanes, and tunnels, alleys, cellars, mansions and passages. After that there were no dwarves left alive inside, and he took all their wealth for himself. Probably, for that is the dragons' way, he has piled it all up in a great heap far inside, and sleeps on it for a bed. Later he used to crawl out of the great gate and come by night to Dale, and carry away people, especially maidens, to eat, until Dale was ruined, and all the people dead or gone. What goes on there now I don't know for certain, but I don't suppose anyone lives nearer to the Mountain than the far edge of the Long Lake now-a-days. "The few of us that were well outside sat and wept in hiding, and cursed Smaug; and there we were unexpectedly joined by my father and my grandfather with singed beards. They looked very grim but they said very little. When I asked how they had got away, they told me to hold my tongue, and said that one day in the proper time I should know. After that we went away, and we have had to earn our livings as best we could up and down the lands, often enough sinking as low as blacksmith-work or even coalmining. But we have never forgotten our stolen treasure. And even now, when I will allow we have a good bit laid by and are not so badly off"-here Thorin stroked the gold chain round his neck-"we still mean to get it back, and to bring our curses home to Smaug-if we can. "I have often wondered about my father's and my grandfather's escape. I see now they must have had a private Side-door which only they knew about. But apparently they made a map, and I should like to know how Gandalf got hold of it, and why it did not come down to me, the rightful heir." "I did not 'get hold of it,' I was given it," said the wizard. "Your grandfather Thror was killed, you remember, in the mines of Moria by Azog the Goblin -" "Curse his name, yes," said Thorin. "And Thrain your father went away on the twenty-first of April, a hundred years ago last Thursday, and has never been seen by you since-" "True, true," said Thorin. "Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if I have chosen my own time and way of handing it over, you can hardly blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked. Here it is," said he handing the map to Thorin. "I don't understand," said Thorin, and Bilbo felt he would have liked to say the same. The explanation did not seem to explain. "Your grandfather," said the wizard slowly and grimly, "gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of Moria. Your father went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don't know, but I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer." "Whatever were you doing there?" asked Thorin with a shudder, and all the dwarves shivered. "Never you mind. I was finding things out, as usual; and a nasty dangerous business it was. Even I, Gandalf, only just escaped. I tried to save your father, but it was too late. He was witless and wandering, and had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key." "We have long ago paid the goblins of Moria," said Thorin; "we must give a thought to the Necromancer." "Don't be absurd! He is an enemy quite beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world. The one thing your father wished was for his son to read the map and use the key. The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!" "Hear, hear!" said Bilbo, and accidentally said it aloud, "Hear what?" they all said turning suddenly towards him, and he was so flustered that he answered "Hear what I have got to say!" "What's that?" they asked. "Well, I should say that you ought to go East and have a look round. After all there is the Side-door, and dragons must sleep sometimes, I suppose. If you sit on the doorstep long enough, I daresay you will think of something. And well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I will give you a good breakfast before you go." "Before we go, I suppose you mean," said Thorin. "Aren't you the burglar? And isn't sitting on the door-step your job, not to speak of getting inside the door? But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like eggs with my ham, when starting on a journey: fried not poached, and mind you don't break 'em." After all the others had ordered their breakfasts without so much as a please (which annoyed Bilbo very much), they all got up. The hobbit had to find room for them all, and filled all his spare-rooms and made beds on chairs and sofas, before he got them all stowed and went to his own little bed very tired and not altogether happy. One thing he did make his mind up about was not to bother to get up very early and cook everybody else's wretched breakfast. The Tookishness was wearing off, and he was not now quite so sure that he was going on any journey in the morning. As he lay in bed he could hear Thorin still humming to himself in the best bedroom next to him: "Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To find our long-forgotten gold." Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day, when he woke up.