#he’s got flower’s glove/blocker though

[yes-perwallstedt]

They dressed the Deweys up in goalie gear!?

[captain039]

PART 2 Taming the fire

Alpha!Kylo Ren x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, sexual, jealousy, smut, anger issues, swearing, emotional, dark themes, semi-public smut, inappropriate uses of the force. gonna make it really smutty hopefully xD

Kylo doesn’t understand romance or relationships. 😂

Previous part <-

you were struggling with control, the feeling of him was making you light headed. His scent made your knees weak too. You gave in eventually letting him kiss your neck and undress your partly. He was determined to get you off with his mouth again, you laid on the edge of the bed, legs over his shoulders and back arched as he ate you out. You kept an arm over your face, it was still daylight and you couldn’t handle the lust in his eyes. His fingers zoomed joined his mouth, slowly opening you up, gosh his fingers were big. You whined and huffed out air, mindful to keep quiet. It was hard when your alpha was giving you this much pleasure and attention. His thumb worked against your clit while he lapped and licked. You were close, stomach tightening before he brought you over the edge. You bit the back of your arm to stop the moans as he rode out your high and stopped. You panted harshly trying to gain your breath back as he stood and put his gloves back on. You frowned slightly and gathered your underwear and pants and pulled them up.

“I have to attend a meeting” he said and left swiftly so there was no argument. You sat baffled ready to slap him again, was he not turned on? Didn’t he want release? Was he not attracted to you in that way? you groaned in frustration and laid back down on the comfortable bed. You didn’t leave the room, not like you had a choice anyway, you spoke with your family and Leo, well mainly ranting angrily to Leo and saying you were on a nice trip to your family. Poor Leo, he probably didn’t want to know any of this, but he did, then again he probably enjoyed the drama of knowing the supreme leader alpha was horrible at communication and relationships. You were brought dinner and sat out on the balcony, the poor maid looked terrified for some reason and avoided conversation with you. Tucked tail and bolted out the door pretty much. Had news really gone around that you were the supreme leaders mate? A new empress. You sure as hell wasn’t a mate or empress, what rumours were floating around.

You left the room with a hood and very horrible disguise, but it’d have to do. You put on some scent blocker, you didn’t care what your so called mate said. You walked around the palace, it was beautiful, the gardens were even more beautiful. You got lost in there, enjoying the greens, the reds, blues any colour you could think of in the flowers. You hid from pass byers who ignored you for the most part, a frown your way, but they always continued on. Problem was, you got lost, you were going in circles and it was getting dark, maker how big was this damn garden.

‘Where are you?’ You jumped at the voice and turned around only to see no one.

“What?” You muttered making sure no one was truely around.

‘Omega, where are you?’ You recognised the voice as the supreme leaders.

“The garden?” You answered out loud questionably.

‘Stay there’ he answered in your head and you huffed, you were so in trouble now. When you saw him you contemplated running to avoid a scolding, but he didn’t look overly pissed. You grinned at him though and he faltered, the dark garden now lit up slightly by some lights. You ran down a path a laugh leaving your lips as you sought to find a hiding place. You hid in a small shed thing filled with some tools. You held a hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t make so much noise, a smile on your face.

“Why’re we playing this game?” You heard him call unamused and you snorted slightly.

“We’re not children” he added with a scold and you felt saddened a little that he wasn’t fully going along. You left your little shed quietly and wandered a bit trying to find a new spot. Something grabbed you though and pulled you back against a hard chest. You relaxed though knowing who it was and grinned. The alphas arm was around your waist, keeping you put while you chuckled.

“Not very good at hiding” he commented and you laughed shaking your head. You didn’t sense any annoyance or anger from him though and smiled as you glanced over your shoulder to him.

“There isn’t exactly any hiding spots” you said.

“I can’t hide in the garden i’d ruin it” you chuckled lightly hands on his arm and he hummed.

“Why’re you out here?” His voice turned serious and you felt slumped.

“I wanted to see the palace” you sighed pulling away from him and crossing your arms. You turned to face him seeing that same stern look.

“It’s not safe here” he said and you huffed.

“I have a disguise on! And scent blockers! Besides nobody knows who I really am, I’m just some random omega who showed up with you!” you didn’t mean to snap but, did anyway, hugging yourself slightly.

“You are not some random omega” he sneered.

“I’m certainly not yours!” You snapped back. He was quick to move, hand on your throat holding you in place while he looked down at you. You gasped body tensing and hands going to his wrist. He didn’t harm you though, just held.

“You are mine” he said lowly eyes swirling with emotions as he stared at you. You gulped slightly not answering and he let you go with a growl.

“We’re going back to the room and you’ll stay there” he said sternly and began to walk away and you followed with your head down.

[shadestoryofficial]

Chapter 5 - Class in Session

I was back in the flowery meadow again, the pitch-black sky still looming overhead. There seemed to be more flowers than before, each different than the last. Fire surrounded the clearing, but I wasn’t worried for some reason. It was calming now, like I was sitting next to a fireplace, drinking cocoa in the middle of a snowstorm.

I heard a voice, muffled as if she was speaking underwater. I tried to ask who she was, but no sound came from my throat. I heard a pensive hum as if the voice were deciding what to do.

Before anything more could happen, the flames began to die down and the flowers began to retreat into the ground. I was waking up. We were not able to speak this time, a calm voice echoed. But we will soon.

*     *     *     *     *

I woke up, stretched out on a soft couch, the light of dawn streaming directly into my eyes. In front of me were two boys. One was the blacksmith from earlier. He was in what looked like a kitchen, making a drink with his back to me. He had his jacket on, the fur lining almost up to his ears, and he had taken his gloves off. He turned around, his eyes revealed to me. His left eye was a flame-like scarlet, his right eye a steel-grey.

“Tea’s done,” he said, handing a mug to the other boy, who was lazily strewn sideways across a chair.

The other boy had quite an odd look to him. His pale skin was nearly transparent. He had shaggy, dark purple hair, a platinum-blond streak fully covering his right eye. His left eye, which was visible, was blood red and had deep bags beneath it. He didn’t look too old, maybe 19, but his eyes looked like they had seen the beginnings of days, the middles of dynasties, and the ends of lifetimes. The boy seemed rather lean and bony, like a flexible skeleton, and was shorter than both me and the blacksmith. He seemed vaguely familiar.

Balanced on the bridge of his nose was a pair of black, bottom-rimmed glasses, partially concealed beneath his hair. He wore a dark-green trench coat over a thin, cool-grey shirt. A glove that seemed to be made from the same material covered his right hand. Rust-colored sweat-pants stretched over his legs, and black leather shoes kicked idly. A mauve scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

He had been watching me with mild interest but turned his head to accept the cup from the blacksmith. As the blacksmith handed off the tea, I caught a glimpse of his left palm, a Token glowing faintly.

This Token was a common one, “fire”. Anyone with it could create bursts of flames, heat objects just by holding them, and even sometimes control fire into swirling shapes.

The boy took the cup, moved his scarf down to take a sip, then turned back to me. “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said. I wasn’t focused on his words, but his voice, his voice was tired, as if he didn’t have any energy left in his body. A slight, unrecognizable but old accent, tinged in his words. It had taken me until I had heard his voice to realize two things:

1: This was the boy who I had seen just before falling.

2: He was identical to Zack.

I remember watching cartoons as a kid. Every episode, the villains would show up in a wacky costume to fool the hero. The hero never saw through it until the end, but I would shout at my screen, seeing through the shoddy disguise. Surely, anyone watching me had been shouting much the same.

I hadn’t noticed until just now because most of his face was obscured. The voice was the same, though. He may have been missing the mischievous glee, and his voice was slightly deeper, but it was definitely the same as Zack’s. 

Was this some weird disguise? He had escaped due to an explosion. Was the blacksmith the one who had caused it? Why bring me here then, and have me wake up to them in disguise? Were they toying with me?

I shot up from the sofa and reached above my head to ready my HALO, but I only grasped air. Zack had repositioned himself in the chair to be sitting straight. He was watching me with interest in his eyes, and, from the way his cheek tugged slightly upwards, a smirk on his face.

“I’d recommend you calm down,” he said. “You might break something.”

I glanced around the room, looking for an exit. Through the kitchen was a door, but I would have to make it past the blacksmith. Zack was still calmly drinking his tea. I pushed off with my legs, sprinting towards the door. I ducked under the blacksmith’s arm, now ablaze, and thought I was out. Then, a frying pan knocked my legs out from under me.

“Sorry, man, but you gotta calm down,” the blacksmith was looking down at me on the floor. “We just need to talk.” He lifted me bridal-style and plopped me on the sofa. 

“Talk?” I was woozy from my head hitting the tiled kitchen floor. “What?”

Zack was still examining me from behind his asinine disguise. “Let’s start with introductions. I’m Xavier, but you can call me X. Who are you?”

I scoffed. “Xavier? Do you think I’m blind? I know that’s you, Zack.”

His eyes narrowed, his voice becoming more serious, “Zack is my twin brother, and despite our being identical twins, I assure you that we couldn’t be more different.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m the king of the lily pads.”

“You can check my upper back if you like. You won’t find the Beneluct no matter how hard you look,” He seemed mildly irritated, and I was skeptical, but I still got up to check his back. I had no clue what a “Beneluct” was, but I was sure that if I checked his back, I would find his Token.

He pulled his coat off from around his shoulders, revealing that his t-shirt was asymmetrical; the right sleeve longer than the left. I tugged the collar of his shirt down, examining his back just below his neck. No Token.

“You really are Zack’s twin brother?” I was bewildered. I went back to sit on the sofa as he nodded. “So what do you want with me?”

Xavier put his coat back on. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one who-”

“Hey! I didn’t get to introduce myself yet,” the blacksmith interrupted. I had already forgotten he was here. “I’m Blaise, Blaise Fierro, nice to meet you. And sorry again for hitting you with the frying pan,” He reached out to shake my hand, revealing the Token on his right palm.

It was another common Token, “metal”, but how did he have two? That isn’t possible. He shook my hand with a strong grip, shaking my arm up and down like cooked spaghetti.

“Ahem,” X cleared his throat. “As I was saying, what do you want with us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you followed me home after asking everyone in town about X,” Blaise sat in a beanbag chair to the right of me.

“Wait. You’re the Shadow?” I shot up again. “So you are working with Zack!”

“Sit down. No, I’m not,” Xavier waved his hand at me. “I would never work with my brother.”

“But, you worked with him in the Dirillian agency, and you were at the destruction of the embassy that reignited a war!”

“I did work with him before he betrayed me. As for participating in the cataclysm at the embassy, I tried to contain the blast from causing any damage to the surrounding cities,” he replied. Then, in a barely audible whisper, “It wasn’t enough, though…”

“Oh…” I was disappointed, this was the only lead I had on finding Zack. I had failed. I may find him eventually, but not before he caused more mayhem. But then, I realized something. “Wait. If you worked with him, then you might know where he’ll go!”

Blaise made a noise, a confused expression painted across his face. “What do you mean ‘where he’ll go’? He’s been locked up in Prism for centuries.”

X’s eyes widened. “No. He escaped? How?”

“I was there when it happened. One minute I was talking to him in his cell, the next there was a flash of light and I was knocked out.”

“That’s not possible, he had a Blocker! He shouldn’t have been able to use that much power at once!”

“He probably just overpowered it,” I responded.

Xavier looked at me disappointedly. “How much do you know about Tokens and Blockers?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, Tokens were created by ancients who intertwined their souls with the innate magic of the world. After millennia of evolution, the Tokens just kind of became a rare genetic trait. As for Blockers, they interrupt that connection between the Tokened and the world’s magic.”

“That’s an oversimplification,” Xavier said, shaking his head. “You got most of the stuff about Tokens right, but they aren’t wholly genetic. Sure, anyone with a Token can trace their lineage back to that first society of ancients, but the ancients didn’t harness the magic into their souls. It was already there. They just found a way to activate a gene that enables Tokens to be used.

“As for Blockers, they don’t interrupt the connection between a Tokened and magic because it doesn’t exist. Blockers were made to hinder the soul of a Tokened, and therefore any Blocker needs to be custom-made to the Tokened. That’s why Blockers are known to fail; most that are being used are mass-produced instead of being tailored to the Tokened.”

“So, Zack’s Blocker was tailor-made? Then how did he break through it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” X frowned, seemingly frustrated to have to say that. “He may have been able to emit some light on his own, but not enough to cause damage of any kind.”

“We can worry about how he escaped later!” Blaise shouted. “We should be focusing on finding him!”

“I agree, but speaking with you two has raised more questions than answers,” I said.

“Yes, I understand. ANGEL has gone downhill in the last century,” Xavier responded. “Very well, I’ll answer what I can. I’ll need as much help as I can get to recapture Zack, and it’s better that the questions be answered now than in the middle of a battle.”

Bewildered once again, I stared at him. “Uh, okay. Let’s start with how you know I’m from ANGEL.”

“I was there when it was founded,” He said simply.

“What does that mean? And how are you and your brother alive and young today, but were both involved in a war centuries ago?”

“Ah, our Tokens are responsible for that. Beneluct and Malescambre.”

“What do those mean? Can you please speak Common?”

Xavier sighed. “As I said, ANGEL has gone downhill education-wise the last century. I assume you know that each Token has a name? ‘Fire’, ‘Silence’, ‘Strength’, etcetera? Well, those are all translations, and simple ones at that. The symbols that Tokens manifest in were used as the written language of the ancients.”

He pointed to Blaise, who held out his hands and revealed both his Tokens. “Blaise’s Tokens are ‘fire’ and ‘metal’, but those are just the Common translations of the ancient language. In reality, they are ‘Fign’ and ‘Alfeucre’. Those two translate easily to Common, but others, such as mine and my brother’s, don’t.”

He pushed his hair up, revealing his right eye. It was pitch black, a void of emptiness with a purple symbol appearing to float in the middle.

He moved his hair back over his eye. “My Token, ‘Malescambre’, would likely be translated as ‘shadow’ by most. But in truth, it is a more complex word in ancient: ‘cursed’. Likewise, while most would translate Zack’s Token, ‘Beneluct’ as ‘light’, it is more literally translated to ‘blessed’.”

My head was spinning. I was so confused. “That doesn’t explain how you’ve been alive for so long.”

“Yes, it does. Just think for a moment.”

I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Whatever,” I said. “I’ve only got one question left. Why does he have two Tokens?” I pointed to Blaise, who shrugged.

“Family thing,” he replied. “I don’t pretend to know more than that.”

I looked at X, but he didn’t seem to want to answer. “If that’s all you have, then we should start working on finding Zack,” Xavier interjected. He stood up and began walking towards the other end of the house. Blaise got up and motioned for me to follow.

“How do you propose we do that?” I asked. “You were my last lead. We’d need a psychic to find him.”

X opened a door that led into a greenhouse. He picked up a pot with an odd-looking flower and turned to me and Blaise. “It’s a good thing we have four.”

[caddyxjellyby]

Alcott Readathon 2018: An Old-Fashioned Girl (1869)

Alcott’s third or fourth depending on how you count Good Wives novel, featuring cane-shaking, a menage a trois, and America’s favorite fighting Frenchman. Polly Arrives Fanny tells Tom to pick up Polly from the station. Tom says "She'll think you cared more about your frizzles than your friends, and she'll be about right, too." Fanny says "If I was the President, I'd make a law to shut up all boys till they were grown; for they certainly are the most provoking toads in the world." I wonder what Tom means by wearing a thingumbob? A veil maybe? The naughty boy tells Polly the hack-driver is tipsy so he won’t have to sit with her. It boggles my mind that a fourteen year old would refer to herself as a “little girl.” I suppose back them children didn’t have to bend over backwards to be taken seriously. That is, if you refer to yourself as a little girl people won’t take you seriously. But if they just do it as a given you don’t bend over backwards to earn it. Polly sings for Madam Shaw, the grandmother, and they talk about how they were brought up properly unlike the Shaw siblings. Madam Shaw doesn’t approve of children calling their father Papa. What the fuck. I bet “the old man” would make her spontaneously combust. The girls see a vulgar play; Polly doesn’t understand half the jokes, and the girls on stage are dressed as jockeys, which I think means wearing trousers. Scandalous. Madam Shaw praises her innocence.

New Fashions

Apparently eyeglasses were trendy in 1869. Polly follows Fanny to school, where the girls gossip about Carrie who ran away with an Italian music teacher.

Fanny: "I like to read about such things; but it's so inconvenient to have it happen right here, because it makes it harder for us. I wish you could have heard my papa go on. He threatened to send a maid to school with me every day, as they do in New York, to be sure I come all right. Did you ever?"

Belle: "That's because it came out that Carrie used to forge excuses in her mamma's name, and go promenading with her Oreste, when they thought her safe at school. Oh, wasn't she a sly minx?"

Trix: "I think a little fun is all right; and there's no need of making a talk, if, now and then, some one does run off like Carrie. Boys do as they like; and I don't see why girls need to be kept so dreadfully close. I'd like to see anybody watching and guarding me!" GO TRIX KEEPING GIRLS THE SLIGHTEST BIT “CLOSER’ THAN BOYS IS PSYCHOLOGICALLY HARMFUL AND DISRESPECTFUL. ...I have a lot of feels about gender and child-rearing, okay? Okay. The constant ads for the Blockers movie keep bringing it to mind. (Kathryn Newton, the most recent Amy March, is in it.) The Bostonians gush over some exciting novels; Polly doesn’t know them. Polly: "My mother says a real gentleman is as polite to a little girl as to a woman; so I like Mr. Sydney best, because he was kind to me." I want that embroidered. “Polly was not a model girl by any means” Sure, Louisa. The kids say ain’t a lot. Creosote sent my mind straight to Discworld. Polly’s Troubles Polly wished the children would be kinder to grandma; but it was not for her to tell them so, although it troubled her a good deal, and she could only try to make up for it by being as dutiful and affectionate as if their grandma was her own. Awww. The fact that they name their sleds is adorable. Me, I’ve never been a person to name inanimate objects, other than occasionally referring to something as the precious. Fan reads Lady Audley’s Secret. "I shouldn't think you'd make him laugh, when he's always making you cwy," observed Maud, who had just come in. Good one, Maud. Little Things Polly is a perfect child who can do no wrong, except spend some money on bronze boots instead of presents for her family. We learn that she has a dead brother named Jimmy. They studied Latin together so she helps Tom with his. Tom falls off his new velocipede and hits his head. Polly holds it while a doctor gives him stitches. Scrapes AFTER being unusually good, children are apt to turn short round and refresh themselves by acting like Sancho. For a week after Tom's mishap, the young folks were quite angelic, so much so that grandma said she was afraid "something was going to happen to them." I kind of loathe this line of thinking? If you want children to be good, don’t insult them by not trusting them. Polly, if you’ve never had to lie to your parents then you know you have good parents, and not everybody is like you. A boy sends Fanny flowers and that’s unacceptable. “I'll send you to school in a Canadian convent,” says Mr. Shaw. Oh boy. Tom dresses up in Fanny’s outfit, then they and Maud look at Polly’s journal, which is full of sketches of the family and friends, and Polly’s thoughts on Fan. If she would be as she was when I first knew her, I should love her just the same; but she isn't kind to me; and though she is always talking about politeness, I don't think it is polite to treat company as she does me. She thinks I am odd and countrified, and I dare say I am; but I shouldn't laugh at a girl's clothes because she was poor, or keep her out of the way because she didn't do just as other girls do here. I see her make fun of me, and I can't feel as I did; and I'd go home, only it would seem ungrateful to Mr. Shaw and grandma, and I do love them dearly." Grandma Tom was reposing on the sofa with his boots in the air, absorbed in one of those delightful books in which boys are cast away on desert islands, where every known fruit, vegetable and flower is in its prime all the year round; or, lost in boundless forests, where the young heroes have thrilling adventures, kill impossible beasts, and, when the author's invention gives out, suddenly find their way home, laden with tiger skins, tame buffaloes and other pleasing trophies of their prowess. The Shaw kids find Polly up in Grandma’s room, listening to her stories. They’re like you never told us that story and Grandma’s like you never asked. "At eight o'clock on the appointed evening, several of us professed great weariness, and went to our room, leaving the rest sewing virtuously with Miss Cotton, who read Hannah More's Sacred Dramas aloud, in a way that fitted the listeners for bed as well as a dose of opium would have done.”Surprisingly snarky Grandma. "Wait for your turn, Tommy. Now, Polly, dear, what will you have?" said grandma, looking, so lively and happy, that it was very evident "reminiscing" did her good. "Let mine come last, and tell one for Tom next," said Polly, looking round, and beckoning him nearer. Oh come on now Polly. Tom wants to shoot cats? Okay. Polly asks about a glove; Grandma tells the story of Lafayette kissing the glove with his picture on it and then kissing her on the cheek to avoid that. Grandma’s Aunt was married to John Hancock, just like Abigail Alcott’s grand-aunt was married to him in real life. Also she thinks leg o’mutton sleeves are beautiful and becoming. Let’s not hold it against her. Colonel May, that’s LMA’s grandfather. Next we go even further back in history - Grandma produces a letter “written by Anne Boleyn before her marriage to Henry VIII, and now in the possession of a celebrated antiquarian.” How she acquired this letter is not explained, and it does seem to be the original letter and not a copy. Good-by [sic] We get it, Louisa, you think fancy clothes are sinful. They hold a going-away party for Polly, inviting some girls to keep Maud out of the way and Tom’s school-friends, Rumple, Sherry, and Spider. Polly and Tom open the redowa; he’s bad at keeping time to the music, like me. She doesn’t know how to dance the German so she plays with the little girls in the library. Aww, they snuck presents for her family in Polly’s trunk. Six Years Afterward "WHAT do you think Polly is going to do this winter?" exclaimed Fanny, looking up from the letter she had been eagerly reading. She’s returning to Boston to teach music. Mr. Shaw respects her for being independent. Tom says she’s pretty in a moment of foreshadowing. Madam Shaw has died. "Where did you learn so much worldly wisdom, Polly?" asked Mr. Shaw, as his wife fell back in her chair, and took out her salts, as if this discovery had been too much for her. "I learnt it here, sir," answered Polly, laughing. "I used to think patronage and things of that sort very disagreeable and not worth having, but I've got wiser, and to a certain extent I'm glad to use whatever advantages I have in my power, if they can be honestly got." What is this, the Shaws doing something good for once? Holy hell! “You must come and see my pets, Maud, for my cat and bird live together as happily as brother and sister," said Polly, turning to Maud, who devoured every word she said. "That's not saying much for them," muttered Tom, feeling that Polly ought to address more of her conversation to him. Geez, Tom, entitled much? Tom is engaged to Trix. Polly keeps bees at her country home. It must be so nice to be able to clean without the paranoia that you’re going to get mocked for doing it wrong. All hail living alone! Lessons Polly finds her drudgery a bit harder than she expected but her pupils love her. She found Fanny enduring torment under the hands of the hair-dresser, who was doing his best to spoil her hair, and distort her head with a mass of curls, braids, frizzles, and puffs; for though I discreetly refrain from any particular description, still, judging from the present fashions, I think one may venture to predict that six years hence they would be something frightful. The problem with writing books set in the future. Polly comes home one day to find her landlady, Miss Mills, sewing a dress for Jane, who also lives in the boarding-house and tried to kill herself because she couldn’t find work that paid enough for the rent. Polly goes to visit Jane. Brothers and Sisters Polly’s brother Will visits her every Sunday and they’re BFFs. Tom hates being called Carrots; I want an Anne of Green Gables crossover. Maud informs him that Polly thinks he’s handsomer than Mr. Sydney. "Don't make such a noise, my head aches dreadfully," said Fanny, fretfully. "Girls' heads always do ache," answered Tom, subsiding from a roar into a chuckle. Um, fuck you Tom. He suspects Trix of wearing makeup because she won’t let him kiss her cheek, only “an unsatisfactory peck at her lips.” That’s less satisfying than the cheek? Whatever you say, Tom. Fanny confirms it. He doesn’t approve. Will arrives to take Maud to Polly’s; LMA gets a dig in: “They were very good friends, but led entirely different lives, Will being a "dig," and Tom a "bird," or, in plain English, one was a hard student, and the other a jolly young gentleman. Tom had rather patronized Will, who didn't like it, and showed that he didn't by refusing to borrow money of him, or accept any of his invitations to join the clubs and societies to which Tom belonged. So Shaw let Milton alone, and he got on very well in his own way, doggedly sticking to his books, and resisting all temptations but those of certain libraries, athletic games, and such inexpensive pleasures as were within his means; for this benighted youth had not yet discovered that college nowadays is a place in which to "sky-lark," not to study.” We'll see more of that when we get to Jo’s Boys. Polly talks better than other girls who are coquettes. Seriously. Jesus Christ. Maud has “a talent for betraying trifles which people preferred should not be mentioned in public” and “a queer way of going on with her own thoughts, and suddenly coming out with whatever lay uppermost, regardless of time, place, or company.” Huh. Needles and Tongues Fanny’s sewing circle meets at the Shaw house. Polly listens to them gossip. “Another divulged the awful fact that Carrie P.' s wedding presents were half of them hired for the occasion.” That’s pretty funny. Polly and Trix butt heads over giving charity. “[Trix] felt the same antagonism toward Polly, that Polly did toward her; and, being less generous, took satisfaction in plaguing her. Polly did not know that the secret of this was the fact that Tom often held her up as a model for his fiance to follow, which caused that young lady to dislike her more than ever.” I am not entirely unsympathetic to Trix. Polly tells them about Jane and they’re very moved and resolve to hire her for sewing. Forbidden Fruit Polly, Fanny, and Tom go to the opera. Polly buys new gloves for the occasion and their dog chews them up and she’s like serves me right for buying something I didn’t need. Her new bonnet survives, though, and Tom mentions how becoming it is. "Dress that girl up, and she'd be a raving, tearing beauty," he whispers to Maud, and Polly overhears. A bit of sarcastic fourth wall breaking: I deeply regret being obliged to shock the eyes and ears of such of my readers as have a prejudice in favor of pure English by expressions like the above, but, having rashly undertaken to write a little story about Young America, for Young America, I feel bound to depict my honored patrons as faithfully as my limited powers permit. Otherwise, I must expect the crushing criticism, "Well, I dare say it's all very prim and proper, but it isn't a bit like us," and never hope to arrive at the distinction of finding the covers of "An Old-Fashioned Girl" the dirtiest in the library. Polly wears her hair down, holy shit. Maud comments on what a lovely bride she would be, Tom refers to her as “Mrs. Sydney,” and Fan goes to the carriage “in an usually lofty manner.” Love triangle ahoy. And who should appear at the opera but Arthur Sydney? Polly, on her reaction to heartbreak: "That's not my way either," she said decidedly. "I'd try to outlive it, and if I could n't, I'd try to be the better for it. Disappointment needn't make a woman a fool." Sounds like Rosamund. We are reminded that French novels are evil, and Polly calls Tom a modern Beau Brummel. The Sunny Side Fanny and Tom discuss Polly/Sydney. Tom thinks being a fine lady wouldn’t suit her; Fanny disagrees. Tom realizes his sister likes Sydney and says nothing about it. Polly introduces Fanny to her friends Becky and Bess, two artists who live together. Becky is sculpting “the coming woman” and needs to put a symbol in her hands. Fanny suggests a queen’s sceptre, Polly a man’s helping hand, and Bess a child. Becky turns those down. Kate, an accidentally successful author, suggests a ballot-box. They have a lunch of sardines, oranges, crackers, and cheese, on mismatched plates which one 1860s reviewer found too unfeminine to be realistic. We learn that "Bess is to be married in the spring, and Becky is to live with her." Kate wants to put Polly in a book. Very funny.

Nipped in the Bud Polly inner monologues about how she can’t love Arthur Sydney as a wife should, so she ought to tell him before he proposes. Particularly since he and Fan would suit each other. She changes her route home so as to avoid meeting him, then he sees her coming home from Fanny’s one day and they talk. He says that Fanny hasn’t improved with her years and Polly defends her friend. “She puts on that dashing air before people to hide her real self. But I know her better; and I assure you that she does improve; she tries to mend her faults, though she won't own it, and will surprise you someday, by the amount of heart and sense and goodness she has got." Breakers Ahead Tom gets expelled for knocking down the Chapel watchmen. At least he didn’t need that degree for a job. And Mr. Shaw’s business has failed, and Tom has acquired a significant amount of debt. Oh no. Polly comforts him and then Fanny, who doesn’t actually need much comforting, being glad for the distraction from her unrequited love. Indian cake . . . is that cornbread? A Dress Parade The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. Maud enjoys herself learning to housewife. Polly gives Fanny advice on freshening her wardrobe, such as turning her grey suit. Fanny used to give Maud her old dresses for tableaux. Polly’s story is based on real life. From LMA’s ”Recollections of My Childhood”: People wondered at our frolics, but enjoyed them; and droll stories are still told of the adventures of those days. Mr. Emerson and Margaret Fuller were visiting my parents one afternoon; and the conversation having turned to the ever-interesting subject of education, Miss Fuller said,-- "Well, Mr. Alcott, you have been able to carry out your methods in your own family, and I should like to see your model children." She did in a few moments,--for as the guests stood on the doorsteps a wild uproar approached, and round the corner of the house came a wheelbarrow holding baby May arrayed as a queen; I was the horse, bitted and bridled, and driven by my elder sister Anna, while Lizzie played dog and barked as loud as her gentle voice permitted. All were shouting, and wild with fun, which, however, came to a sudden end as we espied the stately group before us, for my foot tripped, and down we all went in a laughing heap, while my mother put a climax to the joke by saying with a dramatic wave of the hand,-- "Here are the model children, Miss Fuller!" Playing Grandmother Tom has a harder time than his sisters. He’s too bad at business to help his father so he hangs out with Mrs. Shaw. "I'd cut away to Australia if it wasn't for mother; anything, anywhere to get out of the way of people who know me. I never can right myself here, with all the fellows watching, and laying wagers whether I sink or swim. Hang Greek and Latin! wish I'd learned a trade, and had something to fall back upon. Haven't a blessed thing now, but decent French and my fists.” Oh my gosh I think Tom’s a millennial. Polly teaches Maud how to make raisin cake for Tom’s birthday. He receives two letters: one from Trix dumping him, and one from Arthur Sydney saying that’s he’s paid Tom’s debts. Tom, unwilling to owe him, decides to go West, young man, like Polly’s brother Ned. The Woman Who Did Not Dare POLLY wrote enthusiastically, Ned answered satisfactorily, and after much corresponding, talking, and planning, it was decided that Tom should go West. Never mind what the business was; it suffices to say that it was a good beginning for a young man like Tom, who, having been born and bred in the most conservative class of the most conceited city in New England, needed just the healthy, hearty, social influences of the West to widen his views and make a man of him. Polly goes home for the summer, Maud to the shore with Belle, and Fan stays home. I’m pretty sure Polly lives in Concord. Does she know the Marches? She returns to Boston in the fall and Fanny says have you been sick? No, it’s love. Polly gives vague answers and Fan replies that she thinks Sydney is starting to like her. She shows Polly a photo Tom sent and Polly’s face makes her go Aha. Winter passes, and in May Fan and Sydney get engaged. Tom’s Success "Come, Philander, let us be a marching, Every one his true love a searching," would be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because, intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to pair off everybody I can lay my hands on. Tom comes home and tells Polly he loves her. "Now, Tom, how could I know you loved me when you went away and never said a word?" she began, in a tenderly reproachful tone, thinking of the hard year she had spent. "And how could I have the courage to say a word, when I had nothing on the face of the earth to offer you but my worthless self?" answered Tom, warmly. "That was all I wanted!" whispered Polly, in a tone which caused him to feel that the race of angels was not entirely extinct. I suppose if I liked Tom more the romance might work for me but I don’t and it doesn’t. Neither pairing seems to happen naturally, the narrative forces them together. Will marries Jane and Maud remains a spinster, “[keeping] house for her father in the most delightful manner.” The End and I’m glad of it! Next is Little Men.