summary: You've just bought yourself a new dress on the Once-ler's dime—the least you can do is model it for him. // A quiet snow day is a day spent with your lover, devoting yourself to him and treasuring each second you get to have him all to yourself, just like a good little wife should.
word count: 1,420
warnings: traditional gender roles and suggestive content.
author's note: I've been tinkering with some original character development for the Once-ler for about a year or so, because the canon version of him in the Lorax film just wasn't doing it for me. I think I've managed to capture him in a light that I prefer and developed his character, writing him much differently than as depicted in the popular 2012 film. I believe my interpretation stays a little truer to the 1972 version, with my own personal spin, and contains multiple aspects of this earlier depiction.
That being said, If you are looking to read a fic about the 2012 canon-compliant Once-ler, you won't find that here. This is my version and an entirely different interpretation of the character; I hope you enjoy.
The Once-ler reclined in his favorite armchair, the rich, supple leather creaking comfortingly as he sank into its familiar embrace with a hand on his stomach, full from the delicious dinner you prepared and had waiting for him when he had returned from work for the day.
His imposing frame filled the seat; at well over six feet tall and nearly 300 pounds, he was a mountain of a man.
The living room was bathed in a warm, amber glow from the crackling fire in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Outside, the snowstorm howled with unrelenting fury, the wind rattling the frosted windowpanes and obscuring the night in a swirling veil of white.
Inside, all was tranquil and serene.
The Once-ler reached for his whiskey, the cut crystal tumbler glinting in the firelight. The ice cubes clinked gently as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a savoring sip, relishing the smooth burn as the aged liquor rolled across his tongue and warmed him from within. Tendrils of fragrant cigar smoke curled lazily overhead, the heady aroma mingling with the scent of aged hardwood and old books.
Soft jazz music played on the vintage record player, the soulful notes of the saxophone a perfect complement to the soothing crackle of the fire and the muffled din of the blizzard outside.
He gazed out at the whiteout conditions, watching the snowflakes swirl and dance on the wind, and felt a deep sense of peace wash over him.
When you came into the room, he gazed adoringly, drinking in the sight of you, a vision of loveliness, and it was clear that you had dressed up just for him, since there was no hope of going out anywhere in such conditions.
The dress you wore was exquisite - a short, form-fitting number in a delicate cream color that hugged your curves in all the right places.
The hem barely grazed your mid-thigh, showcasing your long, shapely legs. A flirty ruffle of lace trimmed the low-cut neckline, drawing the eye to the graceful curve of your neck and collarbone. The fabric of the dress was strewn with tiny red hearts, a playful nod to the upcoming Valentine's Day holiday, but it was still almost a month away.
The festive print made you look sweet and flirtatious, the perfect combination to make his pulse race.
He couldn't take his eyes off you as you twirled lightly, the skirt of the dress flaring out to give him an enticing glimpse of more bare skin.
His heart swelled with love and desire, overcome with the need to take you in his arms and show her just how irresistible you were to him.
He produced a thick cigar from his breast pocket and with a deft flick of his antique silver lighter, he set the end aglow and took a long, indulgent drag, pungent blue-gray smoke billowing from his nostrils.
His deep-set, obsidian eyes followed the petite figure of his woman as you flitted around the room with exaggerated, coquettish movements, putting on a show just for him. The fabric of the angelic dress molded to your every dainty curve and contour, the flouncy skirt swishing around your thighs with every coy twirl and spin.
Playful giggles bubbled from her glossy lips as she basked in the heat of his intense, smoldering gaze, clearly relishing the effect her titillating performance was having on him.
The Once-ler took another long, slow drag from his cigar, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, thoroughly enjoying the tantalizing performance of his sweet little plaything.
“So, what do you think?” you asked, hands placed delicately on your hips as you posed the question to him, “was it a wise purchase?”
The Once-ler considered his answer carefully, the hint of a pleased smile still apparent on his ruddy face as his dark eyes raked over you, “Of all the things you’ve spent my money on, darling, this is one of my favorites.”
Another bout of bubbly laughter erupted from you as you crossed the room to him, stopping to cup one of his large hands between the two of yours, little fingers tenderly caressing his knuckles, “I will consider that a win. You know I like dressing nicely for you.”
The Once-ler hummed thoughtfully at that, “I know you do, little darling,” his gruff voice was indicative of the many years he’d spent as a smoker, “and might I say…you look gorgeous in that dress.”
Knowing you had pleased him filled you with an overwhelming sense of relief.
This type of attire was not one you were very familiar or comfortable with, but his approval boosted your confidence and roused a certain sense of safety within you, reassuring you that you’d made the proper choice.
He lifted his hand from your grasp and laid his palm against your cheek, thumb stroking the curve of your flesh and the creases of your smile, “then again, you always look gorgeous for me, sweetheart.”
A soft, pink blush appeared on your cheeks as he complimented you and you had to pull away out of concern for your ability to mask your emotion in front of him if he continued to utter sweet words of affirmation and appreciation to you.
His thick fingers on your face made you tingle and you couldn’t help but long to compare your littler hand to his, knowing how satisfying it would be to see the startling difference between your two sizes.
“Thank you,” you muttered, attempting to remain grateful as you moved towards the mantle where you retrieved a candle and brought it to him and, using his lighter, he lit it for you and you carried it back to set it down safely out of the way of anything flammable.
“Of course,” He admired you appreciatively from afar as you put the candle down, “though you may want to put on something warmer now, dear. There’s a bit more of a chill in the air than even I am comfortable with.”
Your eyes widened slightly, “oh, shall I turn up the heat?”
The Once-ler let out a rumbled chuckle and shook his head, raising one hand to stop you, “No need, darling. Go and make yourself comfortable, then come sit with me. Your body next to mine would be more than sufficient.”
You did as you were told and went to your shared bedroom, where you extracted yourself from the form-fitting dress you’d donned just to receive his approval and slipped into a silk nightgown he had picked out and surprised you with for Christmas.
Several quiet moments passed before you re-entered the living room and the Once-ler exhaled, a sigh of relief escaping him as you made your way to him, crossing the room to stand at his side while he adjusted his position before beckoning you onto his lap as he typically did at the end of every day.
You settled onto his thigh, careful not to crowd him, as he put one arm around your midsection and held you to him.
You could feel his heart beating, every breath he took pressing his chest more firmly against my back.
It was comforting being held in his arms, safe and warm in the glow of the fire while you and he watched the snow fall.
“Comfortable?”
His gentle questioning prompted an answer from you and you nodded lazily, head tilting back to connect with his shoulder as you cuddled into his warmth, “of course,” you whispered, “thank you.”
You reached down and took his hand, pulling his arm from around your waist to make it easier to hold onto him.
His cigar, hanging loosely between the fingers of his free hand, was lifted to his lips and he inhaled, holding his breath in for several seconds before letting out a plume of smoke past your shoulder.
As the two of you sat in silence, your petite frame perched on his thigh, his mind wandered back to the little slip of a dress you’d bought and tried on for the first time in front of him. You had looked like a perfect little jewel, his own polished, scarlet ruby which was more valuable to him than all the money in his billfold, his bank account and this year’s projected sales and income.
Money was something everyone needed, but him?
The only thing that the Once-ler needed more than cash was this lovely darling, right here on his lap.
Summary: Inspired by the lyric “now he sits on his throne in his palace of bones, praying to his greed // he’s got my past frozen behind glass, but I’ve got me.” Once-ler and reader reminisce about the past; you are not fond of the man he has become.
Word count: 1,651
Warnings: angst
A/N: I love writing angst, so I had a blast with this one. I don’t know if I’ll continue to write for this fandom, but we’ll see.
this fic is unedited.
How bad could it possibly be that your lover was in denial over the severity of his actions?
How quickly things change, even when you savor each moment, you’re tormented once they’re over because there is no return to better days unless you learn from where you’ve come. You were dragged here, forcibly, by the skin of your heels and plunged into the ice-cold depths of an empire you did not fully understand.
What matter was it of yours, then, if you weren’t at the helm, driving this ship into the black night further and further away from port. This vessel ran on cold hard cash, gasoline, manual labor and exploited the ecosystem that was never meant to support it but now there was no other way. A capitalist society ran on greed and your dearly beloved made no exception; he would drive these poor helpless creatures to extinction all while continuing to defraud and cut corners for the sake of his own greed.
You were sick to think that it had come to this. In the beginning, you’d tried to stop him, or at least slow him down. When you found sickly Bar-ba-loots scrounging for pieces of fruit to eat, you fed them their fill of what you were lucky enough to find. You cleaned off the oil and slop that clung to the poor humming-fish and washed the feathers of Swomme-swans that were ruffled and black with tar and suet that the smokestacks from the factory belched into the air.
Were there no rules? No regulations? No justice for malicious intent?
You were so overwhelmed by the consequences that you could not keep up with how many animals needed your help. You were powerless to stop this on your own, nor could you cease your efforts in good conscience. Your hands were tied, but you still had one more hand left to play.
You stormed into the Once-ler’s office and the double doors groaned from the effort with which they fought to remain on their hinges and not smack straight into the walls. You could not remember a time in which you had been this angry, but destroying company property was a lot more gratifying than taking away so many creatures’ habitats with no recourse.
He reclined in the great chair behind his desk, busying himself with the next big project to be underway. You hated the way he sat, stretched back like a king on his throne, praying to his greed as he built his kingdom brick by brick, bone by bone, life by life on the backs of anyone he could exploit to get the job done with the least amount of impact on cash flow.
He hadn’t built the economy; he was the economy.
This was never going to stop until it was too late.
“Once-ler, we need to talk.”
You stood before his desk, prepared to hold him accountable and this time you wouldn’t back down. If there was even the indication that the man you loved still existed somewhere within him, you were intent on bringing him back to you. Money had turned him into someone you no longer knew; how far were you willing to go to get him back?
“Yes, we do,” he agreed and his response shocked you, “we’re going to need to increase production again and I think the only reasonable way to do that is-”
“Reasonable?” you scoffed, “when have you been reasonable about any of the things you’re doing?”
He seemed surprised even though the way you had entered the room more than expressed your displeasure, “this, again?” He sighed exasperatedly and drummed his gloved fingers on the gold gilt chair arm.
Even his posture was unrecognizable from the man you knew before all of this.
“I told you,” he began, “there is nothing wrong with what I’m doing. If you don’t like it, I can’t force you to be here, but the decision is mine to make. I built this company and I take care of us. I take care of you. This is a good thing that we’re doing and we’re doing it together. Can’t you see that?”
If only you were as blind to it as he was.
“There has to be another way…”
“You used to tell me that you didn’t care what we did, as long as we were together.”
He was trying a different approach, determined to have his own hide and steer the conversation down a path that was within his control. In his obsession, he had become manipulative. Anyone could see how hard he had fought to get to the top. With perseverance and dedication, he had done the impossible but that would never be enough to satiate him. He had created a monster whose hunger knew no satisfaction and with that his days were numbered. Even if he couldn’t see the writing on the walls, you had always known that nothing good comes from sacrificing what is right for the sake of something so insignificant as money.
You’d do best not to start that argument again.
“Within reason,” you corrected him, “always within reason.”
His constant pursuit of wealth and power-hungry ethics clashed dramatically with your own principles and you were beginning to bear the full weight of grief over the man you had lost. The Lorax had warned him to be careful which way he leaned and when he fell, he would hit the ground harder than the trees because there would be no one to pick him back up.
It wasn’t wishful thinking to hope that he might change his mind or his ways. It was foolish to think that this was still the same man whom you had fallen in love with so many years ago.
Once-ler smirked at you from behind his desk, long legs spread as he regarded you with a glint of want in his eyes. The suggestive look made an uneasy shudder unfurl down your spine; he never ceased to look for what more he might have…or take.
“I always give you what you want, don’t I?” he asked and waited for an answer that never came.
His eyes had you mesmerized, spellbound and completely at his mercy.
‘Don’t tease me,’ you thought and your eyes filled with tears, “don’t tempt me with the promise that things will be different.”
“I buy you nice things. I provide for you. I give you all my love.”
He got to his feet and glided around the length of his desk. An air of confidence wreathed around him like the smog that hung over what was left of Truffula valley. His shoes snapped harshly against the cold floor and he stopped mere inches from you. Gloved fingers gently grasped your chin and tilted your head to look at him, “we’re better off now than we ever were before.”
You’d have begged him until your knees bled if you thought it might make a difference.
You needed him to hear what you were not saying. He could read between the lines and make his own annotations, but the dialogue stayed the same. He could not rewrite the past, but he was the writer, the editor and the publisher of his and your futures. If you could not convince him to change, how could you remain indifferent to his transgressions?
The perception of you he kept frozen in his mind held nothing on who you were now.
“I don’t want to do this anymore, Oncie,” the words tasted bitter on your tongue.
How long had it been since you’d used that nickname? You were already starting to forget; convenient, you noted, to the man who seemed to have taken over and wiped away your precious, ambitious inventor who had done his best in the beginning to keep the promises that he made.
He released your chin to pull you against him, held fast in his embrace as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. You clutched desperately at the lapels of his tailcoat and muffled your sobs against the fabric, “I miss you.”
He had to strain to hear those three words, but they were not lost on him. If it were enough to break through the façade, he’d have burnt the place to the ground, destroyed all his hard work as we knew it and began anew, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for a man who wanted so much that he wasn’t willing to compromise. He couldn’t lose you or the factory, his wealth, his status, his power.
He could and would have it all.
He was better than this though and in the most self-centered recesses of your tired heart, you wished he’d never sold that stupid invention. His success had come at a price, but he was too busy digging his own grave to notice.
Once-ler’s hold on you tightened and his hand soothingly rubbed at your back as he let you cry into his clothing. He’d have it cleaned later; he could offer you this much without a fuss. A few tears won’t hurt, he reasoned, lest you forget how much he had sacrificed and how hard he had worked to maintain this level of wealth.
If you were afraid he had forgotten who he had been, then the least he could do was remind you he was still the man you loved. With all that you had now, the love was there, even if that did not change the outcome.
He was not too busy for you, even though you saw less and less of him as the days dragged on.
Reminiscing wasn’t such a bad thing. Not when one was so fond of the memories.
Neither of you had much in the beginning, but at least you had each other and for you, that had always been enough.
You suffered knowing that he had never felt the same.
Summary: Onceler and reader decide to bake a pie with Truffula fruit.
Word count: 2,600
Warnings: none
A/N: This is my very first Onceler fic! I never thought I’d be writing for him, but inspiration strikes at the strangest times. If you like this story, please consider leaving a like, comment or reblog. Perhaps drop a request in my ask box. Thanks!
this fic is unedited.
The sight of him laughing beneath the sharp, midday sun, his back to the unrelenting brightness that still made him squint to shield his sensitive blue eyes made you believe, for even just one second, in the impossible. As much as you loathed that burning rock in the sky whose heat steadily rose throughout the dog days of summer, a new warmth was provided by another source and for that reason were you instead honored to stand underneath the sun’s rays until your eyes ached, your skin aflame, still hopeful for that promise of the perfect summer, one with one thousand Julys.
Your mind wandered and beautiful words came to you, all because of him. You were tentatively returning home, taking that first last step through the threshold of consciousness as you arrived wholly into yourself. It would take time to feel confident again. There was a certain uncertainty in the way that you moved, as if you were putting on a brand-new pair of shoes in need of breaking in. It wouldn’t happen overnight; it would be a while before you could run and jump around freely without any friction or phantom pain of things passed. It was a constant reminder that you were not quite yourself yet, but just the same as blisters would heal, so would your soul and you could count on him to make the journey as painless as possible, with plenty of laughs to be shared and a shoulder to lean on should life become too burdensome for you alone.
You and Onceler had chosen today to visit the densest part of Truffula valley, intending to pick enough ripe fruit for a pie. You started out strong, working as a team to fill a basket before the intense heat drove you both indoors, however, both of you had soon grown tired of plucking fruit off the heavily laden branches and began to frolic through the valley and climb trees just for the fun of it.
As the late afternoon sun blazed high above, you both attempted to escape the oppressive heat by hiding beneath the shade of a great Truffula tree. It was perhaps one of the biggest that had grown around here, and you marveled at its regal beauty.
The basket you brought with you to collect the fruit had become too heavy for you to lug around by yourself and so Onceler carried it for you, setting it at the base of the next tree you wanted to pick from.
While you focused your attention on picking some more fruit off several shorter trees, Onceler sprawled out in the shade, crossed one leg over his knee and admired you from afar.
You gently pulled a bright red fruit and inspected it for any imperfections that might render it inedible.
“What are you doing?”
Onceler’s smooth voice carried on the faint breeze as he peered at you with a little twinkle in his eyes. The smallest smile tugged at the corners of his lips; he clearly had been watching you follow this routine for a while.
Instead of answering him, you halted, placed your hands on your hips and looked down at him, “well, you would know if you were helping.”
Even with the distance between you, you sensed his initial unease. He swallowed thickly and waited with bated breath until you smiled at him and his shoulders slumped a little in relief.
“Here,” you watched him as he got to his feet, reached out and pulled a ripe fruit off a branch you could not reach and placed it in the basket, “I got one for you.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” a hint of good-natured sarcasm lined your voice as you laughed softly and took the fruit from him and placed it inside your basket. You had almost picked enough, you thought, and instead were you more inclined to watch your lover playfully search for ways to make you laugh or smile.
He started the day by tossing perfectly good fruit into the air and trying to catch them in the basket before they hit the ground, but you quickly put a stop to that; the fruit would bruise if it hit too hard and Onceler had not thought of that. He had then resorted to climbing and when that lost its novelty, he soon found other means of keeping himself and you entertained.
“I think we have enough, don’t you? We need to haul this fruit back so we can start on the pie.”
“I know,” he nodded in agreement. He bent down and grabbed one fruit out of the basket and at first you thought he was going to take a big bite out of it, but he looked up at you expectantly as he asked, “have you ever shined a Truffula fruit before?”
You looked at him for perhaps a beat too long, but he maintained eye contact with you until you answered with a shake of the head, “no.”
“Here,” he grasped a corner of his shirt and used it to gently rub the surface of the fruit, taking proper care to not miss a spot. When he was finished, he held it out to you and the bold red piece of fruit now had a shine to it that had not been there before. You marveled at the subtle difference in appearance as you took the proffered fruit into your cupped hands and examined it up close.
A smile took hold of your lips and you looked up at him, “how did you know how to do that?”
“Well,” he shrugged sheepishly, “I picked one once for a snack and when I went to wipe off some of the juice, I found out that buffing them a little makes them shine like that.”
“That’s incredible,” you whispered in awe, “this is perhaps the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen…and I’m lucky to be able to share the view with you.”
There was recognition in his expressive blue eyes: he had found himself in this brand-new world with the only one he wished to share it with. If beauty were in the eye of the beholder, then he preferred you to any tree, river, mountain or valley, but he wouldn’t yet have to voice that and something told him you already knew.
“It is beautiful,” he agreed with a fond smile, “very, very beautiful.”
***
While Onceler did his best to locate what ingredients he needed for the pie, you washed and sliced the fruit. It was typical for him to do most of the cooking and meal prep, which was fine with you, but this was a special activity that you wanted to do together and so you busied yourself in the makeshift kitchen alongside him, trying not to step on each other’s toes and laughing together every time you bumped into one another.
You were in it for the long haul. Making pie crust from scratch wasn’t the easiest task, but Onceler knew how to make just about anything; you often thought of him as a magician in the kitchen. The pie would get made, the fruit was ready and waiting, he would work his magic and all would be as it should. For now, you admired him while you waited for him to explain the next step as he made the dough.
***
"I'm trying!"
"Aww, darling!" he cooed with a touch of laughter in his voice, “you’ve got flour in your hair…and not the kind you should have.”
You blushed as pink as the Truffula tufts while he brushed the flour out of your hair, “I guess I got a little carried away, huh?”
“Maybe a little,” he agreed and booped you on the nose, only to leave a spot of flour on the tip of your nose and he burst into a fit of laughter at the sight, “whoops!”
“Not cool!” you laughed with him and wiped the flour off your nose, “why don’t you just make the crust and I’ll help with the next part.”
“Oh, you want to do the easy part?” he chuckled and shook his head with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He had a fond expression on his face; joking with you was the best part of his day.
“You make it all look easy,” you were admittedly a bit jealous of his cooking skills.
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” he shrugged and turned to continue his work preparing the dough.
Time moved slowly in his presence because you savored every bit of it, down to the very last second. While he kneaded the dough, you gently embraced him from behind and felt him falter slightly, his lithe body tensing then swiftly relaxing beneath your touch. Your existence soothed him in every way, cosmically touched by the universe at your fingertips that awakened a second sense of what is good and right and just in him.
He sniffed and broke out into a satisfied smile as you held onto him in the little kitchen. He couldn’t do much with you clinging to him like this but that wasn’t the point; he needed you just the same as the Truffula trees needed someone to speak for them and it all finally, finally made sense.
You are who this is all for. Yes, he wanted to prove his family wrong. He could make something of himself. He would. But what was the point if there was no one to share that success with? The only person who had believed in him from the very beginning was you. You steered him in the right direction, gave him good advice and did right by all beings, big and small. Your heart was in the right place and his would be too if he played his cards right. You both would be alright. He planned to provide for you both with his invention once he got the initial prototype off the ground and made it a success. It was a rough business, but that was what made it business. One foot in front of the other, a step, then another step, it would all work out…
Onceler took a deep breath as he continued to knead the dough and sink into your warm embrace. He was itching to complete this process so that he could scoop you up and carry you to his bed, where he planned to hold you and show you just how much he loved and appreciated all that you were.
***
The pie had made it into the oven some time ago and was almost ready to be taken out to cool. You and Onceler had retired to your shared bed while the pie was baking and as the two of you spooned, you tenderly held his hand in yours against your chest where he could feel your gentle heartbeat against his fingertips. The thudding inside your chest lulled him and his eyelids drooped. He felt no inclination to get out of bed and take the pie out of the oven once it was done, but what choice did he have?
He pressed a plump, love-stuffed kiss to your cheek and you cooed happily, snuggling against him even more if it were possible for you to get any closer.
“I have to get up for a second, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
You didn’t want to let him go, even though he was only going several paces to take the pie out of the oven. You needed the touch of his hands and the warm press of his body against yours to soothe your aching mind. You were exhausted from picking fruit all day. You hoped this pie would taste good and was worth all the trouble, because you couldn’t say for certain how Truffula fruit would taste baked into a pie, but anything new was worth a try at least once.
You smiled to yourself as you watched your lover bend down and take the pie out of the oven.
Your Onceler.
You only needed to fall in love with him once, but you would have done it again, as many times as you could because your once-in-a-lifetime experience had become your everything and even that wasn’t enough for you yet.
You watched Onceler place the pie on the table to cool and then he padded back to bed, sidling up behind you in taking up his previous position. Your sleep-heavy eyes closed and you finally felt yourself succumbing to your exhaustion, but before you could drift off, you felt a hand drape across your body.
“Hey there,” he whispered to you, “looks like someone needs a nap. I’ll be right here when you wake up, sweetheart.”
You gave a little moan of acknowledgement and sighed contentedly as he spooned you once again. You fit well within his arms and you could feel his fingers gently rubbing against your side, soothing you towards sleep.
***
The entire room smelled of warm pie. You were roused you from your pleasant slumber by the soft swish of fabric and muted humming coming from somewhere in your periphery. You squinted, giving your eyes a chance to adjust to the light before you opened them completely.
You gave a big stretch and yawned.
Where was Onceler?
As if he had heard your silent inquiry, his thin frame appeared in your line of vision and you heard him chuckle faintly as he leaned over you and kissed your forehead, “so happy you’ve decided to join me,” he joked, which acquired a slight smile from you, “I just cut two slices of pie and I was hoping I’d have someone to share it with.”
“You could’ve woken me,” you mumbled as you sat up and rubbed at your eyes.
“Why would I do that?” he winked at you, “you know that sleeping is the body’s way of telling other people to go away.”
“I’d never tell you to go away. Even when I’m asleep. Don’t even try.”
“I know.”
He produced a plate seemingly out of nowhere and proffered it to you. On it sat a perfectly cut slice of pie with Truffula fruit and ooey-gooey jellied jam oozing from the flakey crust. Your eyes lit up instantly as you took the plate he was offering and you looked up at him gratefully, “thanks for baking the pie. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”
Onceler’s cheeks were dusted pink with blush and he sank down on the bed with his own plate in hand, “you’re welcome. I just hope it tastes as good as it looks.”
You dug in with your fork and took your first bite together. As you chewed, you couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face. As the juice touched your tongue, you moaned happily, “Oh! It’s amazing!”
“It is!” Onceler’s gleeful laugh made your smile grow wider, “sure, it was a lot of work, but…this is amazing!”
“You know what made it worth the work?” you asked.
“What’s that?”
“We made it together.”
Your words were full of more sap than all the trees in Truffula valley, but it made no difference. The sweetness explosion was cataclysmic and the colors bursting behind your eyes seeped into the cracks of your heart and cemented your love for each other.
Sitting in silence broken only by the occasional laugh or giggle, you shared in reaping the rewards of a hard day’s work and the plentiful bounty nature had to offer.
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