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binniesthighs · 3 years

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➵ chan, son of dionysus ➵

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x bang chan

Genre: fluff n’ smut

Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofdionysus!chan, softdom!chan, lil bit of magic and enchantment, mentions of wine, outdoor sex, unprotected sex (stay safe lovelies!), creampie, praising, usage of pet names, lil bit of teasing, oral (r receiving), light bondage (ribbons), all kinds of sensory stuff

Word count: 1.7k

demigod!skz mini-masterlist coming soon

{swear on the river styx?}

Madness. This was where your love and disdain for Chan began and ended. He had caught you in his spell, and now, there was no going back. He was always good at getting what he wanted.

You were his all the way from the grass tickling your fingers on the edge of the picnic blanket to your bare toes kissed with the warmth of the summer sun.

Being alone with Chan was like being in a haze, a purple haze, more specifically--one that felt like an illusion, like he had you locked up in some kind of mirage. All that you could see and feel was him: his fingers slipped down the sides of your body, singing spells with his kisses into your collarbones and fluttering on your lips.

Chan was soothing like waves upon an ocean shore in the way that he would roll his body weight over you, pressing himself into you as if he was trying to consume you and make you one being. You wouldn’t have minded.

Madness was in his deep violet eyes that would make you feel dizzied. In the light of the afternoon, they sparkled and dripped in vice like the wine that he would bring to your lips. It was his elixir, somehow it would taste different every time. Chan would suck the bitterness of the grapes off your skin, but he always tasted sweeter.

Other times, he would lay simply with you, hidden in the grape leaves, tracing little designs into your arm with his fingertip. Chan recited poems for you, and monologues from plays in languages that you couldn’t understand, but they sounded beautiful coming from his mouth.

Your madness for him grew when he would weave little sprigs of lilac into your hair, humming a little tune for you until you would feel your eyes grow heavy with the allure of sleep; mauve under your eyelids which he too would kiss.

“Forever you’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours.”

Songbirds tittered in that vast vineyard, dotting the cloudless cerulean sky which would turn into a blur on those afternoons. His touch was softer than the breeze, and tickled at you too.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?”

Chan tucks up the corners of your shirt then greedily works at the buttons and holes that let in the summer heat. He bites into your neck lightly, and the scent of lilac fastens to his naturally earthy scent: it’s almost like the smell of an electric atmosphere following the downpouring of rain.

He tucks his thigh between the pooling heat of your legs and bows over you like the willows nearest to the edge of forest guarding his father’s vineyard. He sweeps you into his arms, tangling his limbs and yours.

“There’s nothing more beautiful than you.”

He sweeps up your face in his hands, thumbing over your cheeks and giving you every bit of this sweetness: like cherries, like honey and nectarines. Chan’s kisses are like some kind of enchantment and the way that his tongue carefully passes yours is almost lyrical.

Chan weaves vines down your body of kisses, never breaking those violet eyes with you. The picnic blanket crinkles a little as he helps you shimmy out of your bottoms. He hovers his mouth over your dripping arousal. He then uses his hands to spread your legs farther, but he doesn’t need to do too much. His golden hair is like the soft threads of barely in your fingertips, and he hums into your twitching excitement. Your hips buckle into his praise,

“That’s it angel.”

Using both his hand and his mouth, Chan wets you further with his tongue. He spreads out his tongue flat to tease at you slowly, and with each return of his muscle, he brings you closer and closer to your brink. By now, your tossing body has strewn the blanket enough that the grass has become your pillow, and it tickles at the tips of your ears.

You’re drunk on him when he finally lets you feel him wholly, and he rubs harder, faster. Your body quivers at the way that his pink tongue looks pleasuring you like this, it’s just about enough to make you release into his mouth, just of him.

Cicadas hiss, and your incessant whimpers become one in the same with them.

Golden trellises string his determined and hooded eyes when he steals away all sensation from you to nibble gently at your inner thighs.

“Not yet my love, I’ll make you mine soon enough.”

Your gasping body is an utter mess under him, and you rock your hips into his body for some kind of feeling. Under his silken shirt, the breeze whips into the contours of his muscles, and you claw into his body, tracing over every one of the curves you can find.

“Please...”

It’s likely through pure insanity that your body keens for him, and thirsts to be evermore under his touch and attention.

“Angel, I can give you everything that you want and more...just be patient.”

To his side, he detangles the satin gold ribbon from the bundle of wildflowers that he had brought for you.

Your neglected sex pivots up towards his body when he prowls over to your wrists to tie together both of your hands with the ribbon. He doesn’t tie it tight, merely trusting it for decoration, and you don’t dare to break free.

Chan frees himself from his own bottoms, choosing to linger over your bare body: a mixture of body heat and anticipation. His hardened member throbs on your stomach and you whine out carelessly just to feel him inside.

“No-no more, want you--want you so, so bad.”

‘What is it that you want my love?” He aligns himself with your entrance. “Say it.”

“I-I want you, and no one else. Can you please...deep...I-I can take it.”

Chan devours the way that your wrists flick in that golden ribbon that shines under the sun’s rays. You’re completely vulnerable to him, but you’ve never felt safer. There was something about his presence that was massively calming--like him simply existing there with you in that moment was all you would ever need.

His lips are connected to yours once more as he coaxes his dick in slowly. Just the simple action fills you with euphoria, and you’ve lost all sense of composure. His girth swells inside you, washing you over with a complete sense of intimacy with him that you know is irreplaceable. He bottoms out within you with a low groan, eyebrows helplessly twisted as he feels your walls tighten.

He begins his thrusts and each return is met with both of your shaking breaths in the air. Your hands trace over the shoulder blades flexing on his back, then you dig your nails into the gorgeous skin. Chan is quick in digging his hips as deeply as he can into you to hear you let out more and more rushed moans past your lips.

“Get up this way baby.”

Chan pulls your hips up, then flips you over on your knees to bring himself back to you. He guides your face into the fabric of the blanket, hands then quickly moving to grasp at your waist. The gold ribbon juxtaposes the green grass in your hands like some celestial combination.

From this angle, he hikes up your waist into the air and near to his member, now thrilled and pink as well. He enters you at last, and you’ve almost forgotten how full you had felt before--now, it’s even greater.

“S-so pretty for me my darling. You-you look so pretty like this.” Chan grunts the words out best he can. In your madness for him, he’s driven himself over the edge as well.

Skin on skin pats lightly and he digs into your ass with one hand, and returns back to your sex with the other, permitting it those last fleeting touches.

He barely had to touch you more before your body shook violently with your orgasm that left you light headed, much like the others. While the heat sears through all of your limbs, Chan chuckles at his feat, grinding down his hips even harder while he chases your overstimulation.

You’re delirious by the time that he manages one more orgasm out of you; the second one makes you much louder and less demure than you had been before.

“Want-want you inside, c-cum for me?”

“I just wanted you to have some of the fun first.”

“I said that I wanted you. I said I can take it.”

The purple flames in Chan’s eyes spark, and he’s renewed his pace, pumping in and out you slowly, up until he’s spewing more little praises into the summer air.

“Aren’t you so tight for me? Gods, you feel so--” He trails tiny grunts in the back of his throat, “--so good for me.”

“Chan--mm--just a little more...”

Chan melts into a pool of his orgasm and your pleading voice, grunting out unintelligible moans of sheer happiness and relief. Together, you linger there, staying the exact same, and relishing in the beauty of feeling one with another person--the one person that you wanted and loved most in the world.

After he removes himself from your entrance still in aftershocks, Chan watches his white seed glisten and drip out just slightly.

You swipe away those golden strands to kiss his sweating forehead. The summer wind blows coolly on your perspiration and you take his face into your hands to laugh slightly together. It’s those violet eyes that take care of you, and love you, and glisten like the way the cottonwoods mimic the ocean’s waves.

You were mad. Completely and utterly mad for him, an infatuation so deep, it was the kind that some would say would last for ages.

Chan held your hand as you both came down from your orgasms, and looked up at the clouds with you from that little corner riddled with vines of weeds and juicy purple grapes.

The purple haze consumes you, and for a moment, you can’t even distinguish the real from the mirage.

“Chan?”

“Mmhm?”

“I don’t ever want to leave here with you.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids oneshots #stray kids drabbles #stray kids timestamps #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #demigod au #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #chan x reader #chan x you #chan x y/n #i apologize if I have ruined anyone's childhoods with this au HA

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 19

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 19

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4274

Summary: Life settles into routine as summer comes in Wisconsin.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing, some smut

You’d never been so aware of the date after that, somehow feeling like you’d reset your circadian rhythm to know precisely how long two weeks was. Mercifully on the part of the universe, Dean had been right about the lack of reset function as long as you stayed within the same mind; once, just to try, you had entered Sam’s dream and found that Sam Barbie and Sam Mike hadn’t met Dean yet.

At Dean’s request Sam put a huge amount of effort toward ‘being normal,’ integrating into the community in a more purposeful way. You became friendly with a couple cheerful hairdressers from the salon in the next town over when they started coming to the bar for after work drinks and Sam began getting invited to the poker games Steve hosted. One of your favorite of these new habits was going to the farmer’s market dutifully every week. It reminded you every time of how simple this new life was, where you had spare mental capacity to think about whether you wanted nectarines or peaches because there was no terror dangling just overhead. It also helped distract you from all-consuming thoughts of seeing Dean on alternate Sunday nights, the way your body felt like it vibrated with anticipation for the few days before.

The two of you had been going for months by the first market in July, long enough to know all the first names of the regular vendors and greet them as you went. You were feeling somehow even more acutely anxious-excited at the upcoming Sunday, Dean having told you both last time that he had a surprise planned. It encouraged you to give more of a concerted effort to linger at every single booth, extend every single moment of killed time you could get from the outing. Sam let you lead the way, ring and pinky finger loosely linked into yours as you walked up and down the aisles of tents and tables in the overgrown gravel parking lot. He had a canvas bag half-filled with beets, green beans, some local honey, and a small carton of apricots. You paused to lean into his chest, waiting for Sam to bend down and kiss you in front of a table of essential oils decorated with macrame. The next one caught your eye, some hand-hewn jewelry, and you pulled him gently along.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding up some earrings clearly too gaudy to match your style with an exaggeratedly fashionable face.

“I think those really capture your essence, yeah,” Sam smiled.

“Or maybe this?” You slipped your hand into a heavy bangle absolutely covered in turquoise that felt like wearing an ankle weight.

He hitched the bag up on his shoulder and watched the show you put on for him, sweeping some hair back from your neck to let you see a set of earrings in the tiny mirror on the table. His gaze flicked over the wares and he gingerly picked up a small gold band from a tray. It was probably the most understated piece on the table, and definitely the one most likely to fit with the no-nonsense jewelry you tended to wear—the things you were drawn to being more sentimental reminders than ostentatious presentation, intended to be put on once and never taken off.

“I think this one looks the most like you,” Sam hummed, offering it up for you to try on. The band was medium-thick with rounded comfort edges and when you slipped it on it fit perfectly, just barely tight enough to feel exactly secure on your finger. He was right; it looked good on your hand like you had re-found an old piece that you’d lost, and you considered it for a second before you realized Sam was talking to the woman behind the table as she finished a transaction with a trio of teenaged girls getting matching woven bracelets.

“That one’s part of a set,” she cooed over to him, her hands resting in a homemade apron covered in embroidered flowers. “They should really go to the same home.”

You were impressed at Sam’s ability to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that kind of faux sentimental bullshit, but she had already turned her back to you, rifling in another box under the plastic table. She turned around with a larger copy of the ring and darted out, grabbing Sam’s hand quickly enough that he almost stumbled forward as she started to slip it onto his finger.

“Oh, I don’t really wear jewelr—” he started helplessly.

“See? Meant to be, it fits perfectly.” She clasped her hands in front of her chin excitedly, beaming over the table at you and Sam. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face as he tried inconspicuously to get the ring off.

“Um—wow, that’s really on there—how much for that one?” Sam asked, awkwardly pointing to the ring on your finger with his pinky as he kept working to try to get his off.

“$50 for the both of them.”

“Even the one has gotta be more than that,” he insisted, based on the displayed prices of the gaudy jewelry you’d played around with.

“I’d feel better knowing they were being appreciated together than I would with the money.”

You looked up at Sam with the kind of melting cotton candy look you felt like had been plastered to your face for weeks, soft and gooey and something you would’ve made fun of a stranger for. He abandoned trying to get the ring off and tongued a molar before pulling out his wallet and dropping 5 $20 bills on the table, pushing them across with the customer service smile he used at the bar. “Thank you, they’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

She only unclasped her hands to stuff the bills in the apron, mouthing a “thank you” at the extra money and winking at Sam as the two of you walked away from the booth.

“Should we get you a big chain? Or I could pierce your ears with an ice cube and an apple back at the cabin,” you teased, getting used to the way the ring felt on your hand.

Sam couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes over a smirk. “I really can’t get it off.”

“I think maybe you just wanted to match me.”

He stopped walking and you spun around to face him, gazing up into his hazel eyes. “Matching you isn’t so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” You watched as a slow smirk spread across his face and he looked down at his feet between you. “Thank you, by the way. I really love it.”

“Just think you, um, deserve nice things.” A little color rose in his cheeks, and there was something so unbelievably sweet about it, being shy with you of all people. You had to press up to your tiptoes and pull Sam’s neck down to kiss him, but it was perfect, the light northern chill that sometimes drifted through the air even in July reminding you of your first kiss on that sledding hill except now it was your hand on Sam’s neck, blood seeping warm and loose through every capillary rather than the cold throb of anxiety you’d had then. With his lips on yours, delicate metal on your finger, and the earthy smell of the fresh produce in the air, you tried to commit to memory how unequivocally good the moment was, how completely outside the realm of possibility this would’ve seemed a year ago. Sam’s hand slipped to your lower back and pressed you to him. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmured into your ear, and it was all you could do not to jump him right there as you wound your fingers in his and wove through the booths to get back to the Impala.

“Baby—you’ve gotta—fuck, I’m driving,” Sam laugh-moaned, shifting his hips just a little up into the hand you danced along the fly of his jeans.

You leaned across the bench seat and licked the faintest trail up his jugular vein. “Then pull over.”

His eyes closed deeply for a beat and hard swallow as he took a deep breath and took a right turn into what was likely a private driveway. It was a calculated move; probably not visible from the rural highway but if the people living here—the place sure to be occupied on a July weekend even if it wasn’t year-round—decided to leave they’d catch an eyeful of graphic roadblock. Knowing he was willing to take the risk made your heart race even faster, and Sam had barely thrown the car into park before he was on top of you, hand in your hair and tugging back roughly to bite-suck at your neck so hard and delicious you gasped before even realizing.

He grinned into your skin as he kissed you. “Gonna—tease me—like—that? After looking so good—being so sweet—all morning?” You slid your hands in his hair and pulled back, crashing into his mouth and tasting the honey he’d sampled with you at the farmer’s market. You hooked your leg around his hips and rolled up into him, almost salivating at the firm length of him against you and the friction of the denim. He pressed you flat to the bench seat and started working the buttons of your shirt, so lightning-fast he ripped one of the last ones clean off, sending it skittering across the dashboard as it flew. “Sorry,” he smiled as you bit his lip, not looking very sorry at all.

When your top was finally open Sam tugged at your bra, bypassing the clasp altogether in favor of exposing your nipples above it, somehow grazing his teeth and breathing cool air over them at once to send goosebumps flushing all over your body. You tried to undo the buttons of his shirt somewhat unsuccessfully for a moment before Sam leaned back and yanked at the back of his collar, tossing it in the backseat without looking as you flicked open his belt buckle and jeans. You grabbed either side of the open belt and tugged, making Sam’s chest press against yours and giggling into his lips at his tiny “oof,” when he fell forward onto the seat, throwing his arm out to avoid landing on you with his full weight.

With his torso against yours, he kissed you like he was gorging himself on candy; hungry and playful as you pushed and pulled against each other until you guided his cock out of his boxers and circled the tip with your thumb. Sam whimpered softly, just once and softly enough you might’ve thought it was a sharp inhale, but the broken concentration was enough for you to catch him off guard and shove him back on the seat across from you. He stretched back against the leather and door, pleasantly surprised behind widened pupils as you quickly got out of your shirt/bra tangle and kicked off your boots. It could’ve been some kind of pseudo-pornographic ad, Sam with tousled hair and undone jeans up against the door of the Impala, taut skin and muscles of his abs on full display as his arms spanned an impossible amount of the windowsill and seatback. If you’d had the self-restraint, you might’ve taken an extra second to soak it in, but as it was you pounced on him the moment the fabric of your clothes left your hands, slipping your fingers under his waistband enough to expose his cock and immediately sliding it into your mouth, hands still working to get him further out of his jeans.

Anyone else making the sound he did would never have had the same effect, but the gravelly moan your tongue forced out of him dissolved you into jello and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. Rhythmically working the spit-slick between your mouth and hands, you dragged your head up to look Sam in the eyes, heavy tip of him weighing down your bottom lip as you spoke. “Hold my hair?”

Sam’s eyes went fuzzy and dark as his eyebrows raised into a dazed smile, gathering your hair in a huge palm and making that amazing noise again as you slid all the way down him, nose grazing the dark hair on Sam’s abdomen. After a few minutes his hips bucked a little under you, Sam beginning to writhe on the leather. “Fuck, that feels so goo—hold on, wait,” Sam stammered with sex-frayed vocal cords, using your hair to tug you to his mouth and suck your tongue. The sensation stunned you for a moment but you could’ve stayed there forever, held up in his palm and flayed open for Sam to take.

He trailed down your jaw and pulled firm when you tried to turn into his kiss. “Out of your jeans. Now.” You could feel the smirk against you and immediately started shimmying them off, loving this new edge to Sam, able to fully appreciate the grit knowing how soft he would be if you showed even the slightest hesitation. When you’d gotten the denim about halfway down your thighs he put a strong hand on your hip and flipped you over in the seat, your cheek flush against the glass of the window where he draped over your back like a predator. “Don’t. Move.”

The shudder was involuntary but it was covered by Sam practically ripping the jeans the rest of the way off your legs and subsequent hoisting your hips into the air as he shifted your knees up to the leather, your chest pressed against the door of the Impala as you looked back at him. You didn’t have any warning when Sam slipped his tongue inside you, shooting your arm out to grab for anything to stabilize yourself and ending up with a handful of seatbelt. Your calf curled up as he worked those sensitive nerves, swirling a thumb into your clit as he went. Sam locked the freed ankle with an iron grip. “I said don’t move.”

You whimpered and whispered dirty nothings you wouldn’t have been able to remember with a gun to your head until he smacked your ass hard enough you knew there’d be a red facsimile of his hand on you, and then you completely fell apart, shuddering and melting into the door. Sam crawled up behind you, chest flush to your back, and bit your earlobe. “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” You could hear the playful challenge in it and that made you even more crazy for him, wiggling under his weight a little involuntarily. He didn’t make you wait too long, pushing into you until his thighs pressed to yours, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm forward.

“Holy shit, Sam,” you breathed. You could feel your muscles flex and relax experimentally around him.

His tongue flicked around your ear as he pounded into you. “You’re so fucking hot, baby—can’t believe you’re my girl. Are you my girl?”

The sounds you made were vaguely affirmative but to be honest, Sam’s rocking into you was pretty effectively scrubbing your mind clean of coherent thought.

“Tell me. Say my name,” Sam murmured, voice low with sin against your spine.

“I’m your girl, Sam—your girl, I’m your girl Sam, I—holy shit—” you moaned as he picked up the pace and circled a sucked-wet finger around your clit and then you hit that sweet, sticky spasm, hand splaying out wide on the window. Sam covered it with his, interlacing long fingers into yours and something about the way the metal of the two new rings clinked against each other was so tender even as you were being rammed into the door. A couple moments later he drew back with a tense groan, dressing your lower back with hot spurts of himself while his breath started to return with ragged shudders.

“Jesus,” he sighed as he eased off of you, suddenly gentle again. “Oh—uh, here, sorry.” Sam extended a veined arm over the front seat to snatch his shirt from where it had landed and gently wiped off your back. You let the cool glass settle your racing heartbeat for a beat before sliding back to the seat and the small pile of clothes Sam had retrieved for you. It made you smirk a little to watch Sam’s internal struggle over what to do with the dirty shirt, deciding to toss it on the floor before refastening his belt shirtless like he was in some Country Hotties calendar—Mr. July indeed.

You opted not to tie your boots as you’d only be walking from the car to the door and looked over at Sam once your feet were inside the loose laces. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t come up with any words, smoothing his hair nervously back into place and chuckling against a bitten lip.

“Yeah, I agree,” you giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before lacing your fingers together. “Do you want anything specific for dinner? We have a bunch of chickpeas, I thought maybe we could try making our own falafel.”

He gazed back at you for a reverent second before turning the key in the Impala’s ignition. “I love you,” he smiled, throwing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse out of the woods.

Tracing the angles of his face in the sunlight as he drove, you picked your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you too.”

After a few minutes of endorphin-filled silence, Sam turned to you. “So do you know what this surprise is Dean has planned for tomorrow night? I figured he’d have to tell you what it was going to be if you’re the one whose head it’ll be in.”

“No clue. I thought at first maybe it was like, the Grand Canyon or something but ran into the same issue. Unless Cas’s taught him some new trick, he’s only ever been able to pull up places or things I already know—pick my brain for it, or whatever.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The air in the car held the content pensiveness for a few minutes of sunny road. There was no real heat behind it, just like there was no real heat in choosing between different rattan baskets of produce at the farmer’s market, and that same appreciation of the serenity itself washed over you. A surprise was just a surprise, not a potential threat, a date with Dean was just a date with Dean, no longer a finite, losable resource that had to be clawed at and fought for. You didn’t miss the heat. There was more than enough warmth in the sun streaming through the windows and Sam’s palm in yours.

As it did frequently, Dean’s face in your driveway flashed in your mind, the memory somehow simultaneously old-picture washed out yet vibrant—could dreams even be memories? aren’t all memories dreams, in a way?—collar of his jacket flicked up against the cold as he said “you have to get good with this,” the flit of tongue you could see as he shaped ‘th’ enough to shape a painting class around, send a dozen art students into psychosis for inability to capture it. It had been so hard to figure out how the fuck he expected you to, how cruel it felt for him to ask it, and the only way you’d gotten your head around it was that same Dean Winchester Denial & Self Sacrifice Special and accepted it at face value. When he’d died you hadn’t felt like so many movies and books about tragic loss, where the strong but sensitive woman you’re supposed to relate to spent a few months in poetic sadness growing waifish and crying picturesque tears in solitude until she realized she could carry on.

You couldn’t carry on.

You couldn’t carry anything—were dragging yourself along in the most generous of descriptions, some half-dead, half-smashed zombie version of yourself clinging to any will to live like a barnacle out of devotion and need for Sam. Getting Dean back felt like life raft thrown into the water. You really had wanted to spend the rest of your life asleep and were more than content to ingest as much dream root as it would take to decompose into the cabin’s mattress next to Sam, let your landlord find your skeletonized bodies after a few months of unpaid rent. Fuck him, kind as he’d been to two strangers who’d needed help, and fuck hunters’ funerals for you and Sam if it meant you didn’t have to keep drowning. Fuck Dean’s wishes especially, let him bend to someone else’s will for once.

At first, maybe the first month after the dream root, only logistical reasons kept you from following through. What you wanted—needed, would’ve ruined the world for—was Sam and Dean together, and you couldn’t find a way to get Sam to agree no matter how obliquely or obviously you asked. He was unbelievably patient with you during this period of near-psychosis, and you suspected that a lot of the new habits he constructed, maybe including your beloved farmer’s market, were designed to keep you away from the greenhouse for as many hours a day as possible. You knew what he was doing, but the bright glare of panic in his eyes whenever you ‘joked’ about growing bigger patches of those little white flowers slowed down your singular focus enough to humor him, telling yourself it was just stalling until you could make your move.

But damn if it hadn’t worked. Not that it stopped that tick-tick-tick in your brain counting down to Dean, but it made the days bearable. Just bearable, at first, the newness of your surroundings and the newness of Sam, all the things you hadn’t known about him after years of sitting inches away from each other in the Impala. And then it stopped being so much about fuck you Dean fuck getting good with you being gone and a little more about getting good with the way Sam’s hair dried if he went to bed right after showering, floppy, glossy loops and easy curls at the base of his neck; getting good with racing him down the rickety pier on the cabin’s shoreline, knowing he was letting you win and squealing all the way down anyway, jumping into the lake at dusk on Memorial Day with all your clothes on together as Sam cannonballed in behind you. Getting good with Sam’s arms around you as you both shuddered in the water, shrieking with laughter and a smile on his face of genuine, unbridled joy. Getting good with waiting for every other Sunday, because sometimes waiting was Sam bringing you a root beer float in your favorite mug while you read, and sometimes it was feeling him fall asleep against you while you scratched his back.

Then getting good with the way it became less taboo to talk about him, being able to casually repeat old jokes of Dean’s without feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest or being terrified of sending Sam into a spiral. Getting good with memories of your old life together, your old friends, truly able to appreciate them. Because Dean was right, you had been ‘upset because you wanted something that didn’t exist.’ You could stay upset about it, stay so fucking mad about the unfairness of it all, that after all Dean had done—for you, for the world—that he was fucking gone, didn’t get to live in a cabin or have a couple daughters to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair—God, Dean saying that had haunted you maybe more than anything—and let it necrotize you from the inside out. Or you could let the ways he had permeated your very being serve as more commemoration than most people ever dream of, appreciate that the Impala still felt like an extension of him, see glimmers of the way he and Sam were still connected every day.

And, of course, visit him at night to take the edge off, love him and kiss him and scream until you laughed. Annoying as it was to admit it, all that getting good slowly let you see what he’d been trying to open your eyes to in that driveway. You had so much more than anyone in the world. How stupid, how greedy, to have all of that and cut yourself off from anything else because it wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to be. Looking back at it felt like watching a home video of yourself as a kid throwing a tantrum, but for ages, and you almost couldn’t believe Sam had stuck right by your side through it all, guided you gently and patiently even through his own battle. Sweet, beautiful, loyal Sam.

As if on cue, he looked over at you. The sun poured through the windshield and shone off his hair like a halo, sparkled like glitter in his eyes. Someone who’d had a normal life would’ve said he looked angelic. But you had so much more than that, got to see both that golden hour was giving you a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor and that Sam was not only more than angelic, he was the whole world. He was the life raft all along, Dean’s Herculean return to you the lighthouse that let you see what had been there from the start, what had never left. His fingers tightened around yours a fraction. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

The smile splitting your face felt like the first delicious stretch after sleeping in on a rainy morning. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 20

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Text

Shoreless Sea snippet

She waved a plate of peaches at him, knowing one eye was cracked open. Helion took it, balancing the ancient porcelain without an ounce of shame atop his stomach. “I miss Sorcha,” He sighed, gravitas purposeful, the feeling no less real, “She’d feed these to me.” Nesta threw a piece of nectarine at his head, mistake evident before he caught it in his mouth. “You know,” Helion purred, in a voice know the world over for loving, seduction, a most glorious ruination, “Tarquin would do the same for you. He likes taking care of you, doesn’t he?” He would- he had- fruit and pastry, magic and sun- before the word courting had ever passed Tarquin’s lips, he’d been trying to care for Nesta in a way High Fae seemed to universally understand as loving. She didn’t need the cultural implications to feel adoration; but the more Nesta learnt, burning surety, this was how immortals found partners- this way how marriages started- “Do we have to do this?” “Yes,” Helion laughed, tapping rings against the table in warning before he carefully took her hand and squeezed. “You were brave as nightmare two months fae, staring down Beron. Unimaginable by the time you got yourself out, landed here.” “I was a mess”- “You were hurt,” Helion interrupted, ironclad affection so unbearable Nesta had to do something- settling for tangling her hand in the necklace, chain wrapped painful. “That doesn’t have a timeline.” “And what,” Nesta breathed, “If I am ready- and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?” Her words were a song, a spell, wind picked up from nowhere, sea air dancing through Nesta’s unbound hair. With a fanged grin that grew, Helion watched the not quite natural sweep, mist that had no way to reach them wreathing Nesta like a lover. With a huff, flush on her cheeks she had no plans to acknowledge, Nesta swapped her coffee for water, reaching for the glass balanced precarious between baskets of raspberries. And spit it out like she’d been slapped. Saltwater. It hadn’t been when she poured it- it wasn’t, in Helion’s glass, she could smell the difference now that she was looking for it. “What the hell?” Helion roared. “Remember”- He managed unevenly, guffawing through the word, “What I told you about Summer?” Tarquin, who wanted her scent on his skin, nuzzling her face in the middle of the city. The dire way Cresseida looked at her, Nesta less a threat and more a doom already arrived. “Loud,” Nesta yelled, “Loud does not mean- Helion.” He didn’t stop laughing, he laughed harder, flushed. “Can you cry? Seven tears and you won’t need to miss him.” “Helion.” He squeezed her hand, not an exact apology, but something like it. “You don’t need to do anything, if you don’t want. But you cannot pretend what’s already happening doesn’t exist.” Nesta flopped back into dappled sunshine, chain pulling tight, pearl like a flawed sunrise heavy in her hand. “I thought it was just a story.”

#fun one before I disappear for a while #Helion: why yes I will bully Nesta into talking about her feelings #with bribery #and surprise! there's the ocean #cups hand over mouth: THE WATERS OF THE WORLD KNOW NESTA WAS NOT A METAPHOR #Tarquin at this exact moment #using his only real freetime to lay in the surf and talk to death gods #here I'll tell you about Nesta's latest letter #do you think she liked the necklace"?#are pearls...too much now?#God i miss her #anyway she did this incredible thing-#Nesta: am I creature that can be loved?#like #am I even capable of being loved?#Helion staring dead into the camera: already are bitch #but damn is more coming #Cresseida bitching to Varian: HE WON'T STOP TALKING ABOUT HER #DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID? do you know varian?#Varian: no #Cress: HE SKIPPED A COUNCIL MEETING #TO HELP WITH THE PEARL HARVEST #because he wanted to give Nesta Archeron #only a pearl he found with his own hands! Varian!#Varian: we have...a treasury full of pearls....#I just really like the idea that Prythian is so inherently magical #that love has like...ripple effects?#literally the ocean: babygirl no you GOT THIS

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awhilesince · 3 years

Text

Monday, 2 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 25/..

11 1/4

ready in 3 /4 hour – saw them all off at 6 20/.. – then went to the barracks near an hour there 88 in 1 stable 28 young in another – fed every 2 hours – ordinary allowance per day 8 lbs. [pounds] avoine 12 fourrage 15 straw (paille) besides sonde (mashes)? at noon – 1 very strong large norman (gray) 3000/. others 1500/. to 2000/. price – all stalons – some as colts bought at 400/. from 15 to 50 mares allowed them per annum – several crosses between this Country breed and barbes – some English horses – the man said they got thicker in the neck by the climate 8 of the horses aux caux – some sent every year – one a very fine gray sent because he coughed a little and they were afraid of his wind – some Turkish horses some de Limoges and some Norman, and some pure breed of the Pyrennees Gray or dark bay pretty little clean legged animals 1 man to 4 horses – all apparently very gentle all done by kindness – the manège not so fine as I expected –

drizzling rain from 6 25/.. – thick no view – back at 7 1/2 wished to be off in an hour – no horses till 2 – breakfast – went to my banker – all business at a stand – choice whether to take 25/. or not – yes! for £50 circular –

appalling news from Paris paid the bill here for us all – always give 6/. to the servants find Jean gives 2/50 more for the servants – so it seems we give altogether 8/50.! Sat writing journal and to my aunt till 2 –

off at 2 6/.. – Tarbes really a nice little town – 3 churches – the cathedral a small poorish concern, nor much of transepts near side aisles at all – the church I was in this morning (St. Anne’s) a poor little place, but almost as good as the cathedral – the steeple that seems to have belonged to a tolerably good church is merely part of what is left and now filled with forage for the cavallery – neat barracks (saw them this morning) built for them very lately – I have been more comfortable at Tarbes than anywhere – have nowhere had so good a room –

drizzling rain Till from 6 25/.. to after 12 – then began to clear a little and on leaving Tarbes fair and streets dry and atmosphere clear enough to leave the mountains pretty distinct – quite a farce to compare them with the alps – Tarbes seems placed at the foot of a wide Extended circular gently rising rich fertile plain stretching out obliquely on the right into a sort of isthmus or neck

the high pyrennees sweeping about 1/5 of the circle left Towards the front – and below them a low range of hill extending all round to the neck closed in by a low range quite in the distance the low range in front covered with wood – the other parts yellow with corn stubble (harvest everywhere since before Bordeaux got in) or ploughed land; or wooded or green under vine cultivation – the lands here seem no where more than 4 feet English at most – look like filons, threads – great deal of bled de Turquie – just out of Tarbes pass thro’ orchards of peach trees oppressed with vines –

Fahrenheit 74° at 2 40/.. and quite cool and pleasant – the dust just agreeably laid – the church of Ibos high squary mass (left) a fine object – 1 small tower – the houses of the town not seen till one mounts the hill – and seems a large one had been taken down as low as the roof of the nave –

at 2 began to feel a little indigestion pain and now at 2 3/4 feel it more was it the mutton last night – I never by any chance touch meat without feeling it, and have it not when I stick to my vegetables! –

as we reach the wooded range of hill 3 traverses up it, get out – walk to the top of the hill and 1/2 way over the ridge in 20 minutes and got a good heating in spite of the fine cool hair for the man urged his horses up as fast as he could without stopping and it was hardish work to get much before him –

mountain side wooded chesnuts – near the top heather – top brackens which completely subdue the heather and merely a bit here and there to be seen thro’ it – a few black sheep (hill and heather always make good mutton) and a few horses, i.e. mares and foals – a little scattered generally straw thatched? village – small enclosures – hedges full of thorn and sloe and wild roses hedge row trees – chiefly oak – a few chesnuts gravelled road – fine oaks each side the road and straw thatched and some blue slated neat farm houses here and there vines, a few peaches and much maize –

picturesque straw thatched cottages – women with their red capulets bound with black spinning with a distaff under their arm and the bobbin Twirling against their aprons – beautifully green pastures – fine chesnut Timber as well as oak, hiding the picturesque cottages –

how I enjoy this – I might be – could fancy myself in England save for the capulets, and odd little low narrow waggons and bells and clumsy gear of my 3 abreast carriage horses –

another village – fête here too and dancing to a fiddle and clarionet – peaches and nectarines in the hedges – have no where seen hedge cut and laid – always or buckheaded rather short or clipped – great many pollard oaks, particularly in hedge rows – these pollard oaks form capital hedges for shelter – wherever not cultivated the top of this ridge covered with bracken, and right look up pretty little valley – mountain-top valley evidently small green enclosures by hedges –

road mended with pretty well broken boulder of mountain (primitive?) limestone – dark coloured, veined with quartz? have only seen one patch of oats – standing and another in swathe nothing but maize and a few potatoes –

at 3 55/.. neat white washed hotel des voyageurs a few little accacias and platannes round it and shearing (a man and woman) a good plot of oats – a man and woman courting by the roadside he putting his hand into her right pocket hole and another pair walk amorously set me wrong between three and four which ended in incurring cross about four

about 1/4 hour on the top of the hill and at 1 1/4 very fine view descend into the beautifully wooded rich charming vale of Pau? sprinkled in all directions with towns villages and pretty thatched white washed cottages and farms – water would make it lovely quite – ‘route bordée et ombragée de bois touffus (pollard oaks) – de chênes and châtaigniers all along – the at 1st thro’ a forest and very beautiful Itineraire Midi page 70 says ‘ou est Toujours dans les riches et fertiles plaines de Tarbes’ – these ‘bois touffus’ pollard oaks are really beautifully and thickly umbrageous – should not have dreamt they could look so well – pollard from a thick trunk perhaps 10 feet high from the ground – small enclosures – pretty low hedges – small dun cows picturesque straw thatched or blue slated white washed cottages – charming (very small dun oxen dragged the little waggons and carts on the Top, the plateaus of the hill – pigs lying and feeding under the oaks –

at 4 29/.. good post house in the very picturesque scattered one long street (trees and gardens between the neat houses) village of Les Bordes-d’Expoey red-dun cows with bells and regular dun mare with one young mule and a brown mare with ditto – green champs Elysée of oaks at this end of the village under which herds pigs lying and feeding – Lombardy poplars – Charming the women here with white bound with black capulets and black aprons and spinning as they walk – lock under the left arm and spinning with left hand and twirling the spindle with right hand – said George 10 sols de payé – oui – said the postillion ce quelque chosée pagata –

off in 8 minutes – all the walling done with boulder stones in a cement chiefly blue slated cottages – vines creeping high in the trees – wood côteau – low line of hills right – higher range wooded at bottom heather at top (right) – groves, as it were of pollard oaks – why pollard? postillion from here whip slung round his shoulder with a large worsted tassel as the german postillions sling their bugle horn – the men wear Ayrshire caps – white with red tassel at the top – or one postillion as have observed before wellington blue without tassel –

I enjoy today’s drive exceedingly –

Long straight road before me from Bordes d’Expoey the hedge row trees generally pollard oaks forming sort of avenue all along – all the women spinning but have only once seen some women heckling short line – woman astride white black bound capulet and white handkerchief and blue coarse linen? small white spotted gown with her long petticoats covering even her toes – I think she had her knees much stuck forming a hump on each side not ungraceful under the petticoat and certainly not looking masculine –

so many people afloat on the road near all the villages must be a general fête? – quite in the basses Pyrenées now – left the high pyrennees on descending the hill into the beautiful valley of Bordes d’Expouey or does mist hide everything (left)? at a little distance (right) a low nicely wooded fertile range which wheels round towards the front of me but soon wears itself out –

a great many of the country waggons on the road – most of them drawn by 2 little dun oxen and 2 little horses wrapped up in linen sheets white first the leaders – the road all along quite gay and in places thronged with waggons and people –

the women that ride have their petticoat slit open fore and aft I see and thus it so covers gracefully will covers the whole leg and foot – get prints of all this and the waggons at Pau – pass malle poste at 5 3/4 – strange to find common sense only among the Pyrennees – where else do the women ride astride! where else do they not torture their horses and themselves by a position equally dangerous to the one leg unnatural and uncomfortable to both? –

at 5 3/4 a little drizzling rain begins – Fahrenheit still 73° – all alive in Pau a fair or fête or what? a fair? enter by long small boulder stone paved street (paved or boulder-stoned as at Tarbes) – desperate to walk on in thin shoes – a sort of gateway (2 posts) spacious street – of splashed dirty white good 3 story houses – full of people carts and business –

at Hotel de France Pau at 6 – heard all the news from Lady Stuart – dinner wrote to my aunt not directed at 7 1/2 – came to my room at 10 20/.. – Fahrenheit 74° at 11

left margin:

Fahrenheit 73° at 4 1/4 p.m.

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0027 - 0031

#annelistercodebreaker #annelister #traveljournals #pyrenees #august1830

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

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Starting Over Chapter 31 ~The Unravelling~

A phone rang sometime in the early hours of the morning. Claire knew it wasn't hers, and she remembered Jamie had turned his off. Thinking he must have a second phone she didn't know of, she didn't stir, too bone-tired after they'd made love twice more during the night. She felt Jamie get up, heard his footsteps as he switched it off, then he returned to bed, his hand slipping around her waist to pull her in. His chest against her back was warm and soothing, as Jamie softly kissed the nape of her neck. She smiled and snuggled closer, sleep pulling her back under once more.

When she woke, his arm was hot and heavy around her, and a hand possessively cupped her breast. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and she squinted at the bedside clock, to see the time. It was eight-fifteen, and in their books, they'd slept late. She carefully slipped out from underneath Jamie's hold and walked into the bathroom.

After a quick shower and pulling on Jamie's shirt, she made her way to the kitchen, retrieving the ingredients for pancakes and hiding the pizza boxes left by Rabbie. She remembered Geillis' love for deep-fried leftover pizzas and shook her head in disgust. Her friend had told her once it was the ultimate Scottish hangover and booze food. Ugh! No thank you, she muttered to herself, thinking of the high-fat content, not to mention the calories.

She was about to scoop some flour when Jamie hollered her name from the bedroom.

"What?" she shouted.

"Come back to bed!"

"No! I'm making breakfast!" she yelled out, tipping the flour into the sieve.

He bellowed something incoherent, but she ignored him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. A few minutes later, his feet hit the floor, and she heard him trudge out of the bedroom. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice still laced with sleep.

Holding a knife on the one hand, and an egg on the other, she turned around to face him. Her eyes did a full sweep of his body, and she grinned. He stood there naked, his right hand absentmindedly cupping his balls. Seeing Jamie with no clothes on and after the memorable encounter with Rabbie last night, Claire mused it must be a Fraser trait to walk bare around the house. Hair tousled and face all soft in the morning light, Jamie looked charmingly boyish, relaxed and free of the worries he'd harboured last night. "Morning sleepy head!"

"What are ye doing? I thought we were going to talk," he recalled, yawning loudly and clasping his hands behind his back to stretch.

She winced when his joints began to pop and crack. God, I hate that sound! "Breakfast first and then we talk," she replied, her eyes purposely averting his impressive display of taut muscles and hard planes, and refocusing on the task at hand.

"Can't we do that in bed?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

As tempting as he and the suggestion were and so adorable looking he was right now, she steeled her resolve. "Nope," she answered, cracking an egg into the sifted flour.

He grunted in response as he brushed past her to grab a pair of cups and saucers from the cupboard and switch on the coffee machine.

She turned to look at him and pointed a wooden spoon in his direction. "Oh no, you don't, Fraser! You can't have breakfast if you don't put some clothes on."

Holding her gaze, a slow mischievous smile spread across his face as he wandered over to her spot and planted a kiss on the side of her neck. "Why is that?" he asked, his hands going under the shirt.

"It's bloody distracting," Claire mumbled, ignoring the hot breath on her skin and concentrating on pouring the milk and melted butter onto the flour.

"Mission accomplished then," he murmured, his hands sliding down and slipping under the waistband of her panties.

"Jamie, I'm serious!" she huffed, putting down the whisk and closing her eyes. She started this day vowing not to be sidetracked by their sexual chemistry since neither of them understood the definition of a quickie. Even though their lovemaking was their way of finding themselves back to each other and reconnecting, they still needed to talk to clear the air and get things off their chest. Well, at least that was the case with her. Addressing the elephant in the room was the way forward, and she needed to see this through. The few times they'd been together, Jamie had looked drawn, tired and maybe troubled and she'd put it down to her obvious disappointment whenever work got in-between them. They had enough distractions in their lives without putting her doubts into the melee, and she didn't know when they would have a chance to have a morning to themselves again, especially with the development of Jamie's rugby academy in full swing. It was imperative to keep Jamie at arm's length for now if she was to achieve her plan.

His chest rumbled against her back as he let out a chuckle and squeezed her hips. "Fine, I'll put some clothes on if that will make ye happy," he conceded, slapping her buttocks before backing away. "And meanwhile put that loaded sexy bum away. It's bloody distracting too."

Unbelievable! She let out a sigh of relief and waited until his footfalls faded before continuing to make their breakfast. Setting the crêpe pan on medium heat, she allowed her thoughts to twist around themselves, and when the most pessimistic outcomes surfaced, she immediately dismissed them. She'd always reminded herself that she's a fiercely independent person, but when loving someone as much as she loved Jamie, a certain amount of doubt came with the territory. She'd never adequately dealt with her insecurities, and thoughts of her lacking kept prodding at old wounds, making them hurt.

After she'd stacked the pancakes and prepared the coconut yoghurt, granola and nectarine for toppings, she prepped the breakfast bar and quickly got dressed. She was just pouring some orange juice into their glasses when Jame came out of the bedroom freshly showered, shaven and dressed in a black long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans.

"Mmmm, my kind of breakfast," he smiled, plonking down on the stool and helping himself to the pancakes.

She'd made enough portions to feed the whole street knowing Jamie had a beyond healthy appetite. And even before she sat down to eat, he already downed two glasses of orange juice and drank two-thirds of his coffee.

Minutes later, Jamie pushed his plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He ended up eating everything whereas she settled for one pancake, a granola and coconut yoghurt. If she'd eaten as much as him, she knew for sure she wouldn't be able to move for a week. As it was, she barely made it through her portion of granola before she raised the white flag.

Jamie pointed to what's left on her plate. "Are ye done with that, Sassenach?"

She rolled her eyes and handed her plate to him, and then rolled them again when he finished it in one mouthful.

"Where the hell do you put all those calories?" she asked, incredulous. "Looking at you, I'd say you only have two per cent body fat."

He grinned. "I've got hollowed legs."

She crossed her arms and frowned. "I probably did too at one point, but now they're filled out, and I have a suspicious feeling they're still expanding."

"Dinnae do that, Sassenach. Ye're perfect."

She saluted him with her cup of coffee. "I'm not really fussed with my body. It's just that you're a walking, breathing wonder, that's all. Seriously, you have a metabolism of a hyperactive horse."

He laughed out loud. "Speaking of horses," he said, "One day I'll take ye horse riding and trekking through parts of the Highlands, and then we can stay a few nights in some remote bed and breakfast cottage. There are incredible views and locations near Tomich I ken ye'll love."

As he piled their plates and got up, she went to refill their coffee. "But that's not going to happen anytime soon, is it?" She placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of him as he loaded the dishwasher.

"I could disagree with ye, but it would be a lie. I ken we haven't been spending as much time together as I'd liked to. But that's all going to change very soon." He cleared his throat. "I just need a few weeks, Sassenach and then I can fully concentrate on the academy and on us. No more traipsing across the country." He paused for a bit and stared into space. "It's good Willie is in construction, and he's the one designing and refurbishing the complex, so it's been a great help he's overlooking things for me while I'm away."

She cleared the breakfast bar and wiped the top. "I didn't mean to sound like I'm complaining, Jamie. But I have to admit it's been hard not seeing you for long periods." Then she leaned back against the counter and watched him work, sipping her coffee. "I understand that us ...our relationship is new territory for you and I'm still grappling with the idea that you're idolised by a lot of women. Throw in long separation that sometimes lasts a week at a time, we have a recipe for disaster." She took a deep breath and put down her cup. "What I'm trying to say is, we need to find some semblance of balance. The last few times I've seen you, you look withdrawn, beat as if you're chasing something unattainable and I worry what it's doing to us."

He placed a detergent tablet in the dishwasher dispenser and loaded the cutleries into the cutlery rack, and when he's done, he shook his head. "I ken all that, and it's no' what I hoped for us either. I've been so focused trying to tie loose ends so that I could concentrate on the academy and us, but something pulls me the other way, and I get lost for a moment, and I forget everything. It's like I'm needed everywhere, and I'm running around in circles doing my bit to finish off something but never quite accomplishing anything."

Her heart sank. "Jamie, I'm sorry for pressuring you to take this morning off when you could be ..."

"No, Sassenach. No." He walked over to her and braced her face in his hands. "We both need this. And you're more important than any of the things happening right now, but there are things I need to do ...obligations if ye will. But I need you to trust me."

A thought started to niggle at her. "Jamie ...is it the funds for the complex that's bothering you? Have you taken on something more than you can handle?"

Jamie's face fell. "Christ, Sassenach ...no, not at all. It's just that I need time to sort things out ...endorsements that I have already signed a contract for and then that's it. Three weeks tops. And then we can put the celebrity world behind us." When he looked away for a brief second, she could tell he was holding something from her back.

She searched his face, wondering if she was missing something. "You know you can trust me too, don't you?" she asked gently, not wanting to push too hard.

He took both of her hands in his. "I trust ye with all of me. Ye're my world, and I ken it's hard, but I'm doing everything I can so we can be together. I've taken ye for granted, thinking everything will be fine while I focused on things that I thought are important. And then somehow yesterday I had some sort of epiphany that ye're slipping away." He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "That scared the shit out of me. I was arrogant, thinking I could have it all and that ye'll always be there. But I realised all I've worked for would mean nothing if ye're not by my side. Sometimes I feel like leaving everything behind and giving up on my dreams of the academy and taking ye somewhere where we can start all over again ..."

Claire shook her head. "No Jamie ...if you give up on your dreams, you'll only end up losing a part of yourself that makes you who you are. And I don't want you to do that. But I don't want you to lose yourself banging your head on a door that won't open. What I mean is you can't do everything and still come out whole. It's like you are spending so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, how much you have always loved to swim. You're starting an academy, and I understand all these self-promotions on the media is giving your project the much-needed exposure. But sometimes I can't help but wonder if ..." She glanced away for a few seconds before looking him straight in the eyes. "...if the celebrity status and the mass adulation is important to you too. I know you've already said you want to leave that part of your life for good but ..."

"No, God, no ...Sassenach. All that pap walk and media presence don't mean a thing. Sure, I'm grateful to all my fans. Without them, I'm just yer regular rugby bloke. But there are things I need to fix, and I've already agreed to do a few commercial shots and photocalls for men's magazine. All I'm asking for is three weeks, Sassenach. I promise after that we'll have more time for each other."

She tried to pull her hands away from his hold, but he did not let go. Instead, she unseeingly stared past his shoulder, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. "It's difficult for me to say this, but I can't shake the fear that you'll break this promise. You've broken a total of five these last few weeks." She bowed her head feeling like an utter fool for sounding whiny, but she pressed on, this time looking at him squarely in the eyes. "I understand it's all very hectic at the moment, and the last thing you need is a girlfriend putting more pressure on you on top of all the work you're doing, but I need to understand what's going on. It's not your absence that was bothering me ...well, maybe a little. What's bothering me is, I feel like I can't see the whole picture and I feel left out. Perhaps it has to do with us not communicating, and I was left to wonder when I'll see you again."

Jamie glanced down at their intertwined hands, his expression conflicted. His jaw was tensed, and when he looked like he's about to say something, he stopped himself.

She let out a humourless laugh. "God, I must sound pathetic."

He took a few cleansing deep breaths and looked at her. "No, ye're not! I've been so wrapped up with this project, having ye in my life, and the other obligations that come with it …I didn't even stop to think to ask ye what ye felt about the whole thing. Fuck I didn't think at all, period. I'm such a prick."

She was about to disagree when he stopped her, placing a finger against her lips. "Sassenach, whatever is happening right now ...this is on me. Not ye. I dinnae want ye to feel like ye're a burden. If anything, you are my rock, and you're the one that's keeping me together when there are days I feel like I'd disintegrate into pieces. My life has been one big mess ..." He shook his head like he's angry at himself and then her phone rang.

Ah, damn ...bad timing! She hesitated for a bit and then stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. "I'm so sorry, but I have to take that. It's probably my uncle." When he nodded, she ran to the hallway to get her phone.

It was an unknown number; nevertheless, she answered it. "Hello?"

"Claire, dear? It's me, Ellen, Jamie's mother. I'm so sorry to bother ye, but I've been trying to call Jamie all morning, but I keep getting the unavailable voice message. Willie has given me yer phone number. I think Jamie turned off his phone. I ken he's a very busy lad but do ye ken by any chance where I could reach him? It sort of important."

"Oh!" Suddenly she felt guilty for being the reason Jamie had turned off his phone. Oh, dear, God! "Hang on a minute, Ellen. He's right here." She quickly rushed back to the kitchen and handed her phone to Jamie, mouthing it was his mother to him.

Jamie took the phone and walked over to the window. She watched from the corner of her eye the way he ran a hand through his hair, his back muscles bunching as if he was bracing for something.

He glanced over to her. "It's alright ma, I will sort it out."

Claire looked away and focused on putting things back in the cupboard and rewiping the countertops.

"Aye, dinnnae fash, I have everything under control," he said quietly as he arched his head back and stared at the ceiling. He kept his voice low, but she could hear the strain in his tone. "I love ye too, ma. Aye, I will do."

He hung up and allowed his head to drop before walking towards her.

She took a breath and summoned a smile. "Is everything alright?" she asked as Jamie handed back the phone to her.

"Aye," he sighed, taking her in his arms and planting a kiss on her forehead. When he drew away, his shoulders loosened up a bit but kept his hands on her hips. "My ma needs me to run a few errands for her. But I would like to continue this ...our talk. There are things I should have told ye, but I don't have time to get into it now. Want to sleep here tonight? Or if ye wish, I can come over at yer place."

"I have a late shift, remember?" she reminded him.

"Oh, aye that's right." He pressed a finger and thumb to his eye sockets. "How about I make ye breakfast tomorrow when ye're done with work? And then we'll talk some more."

She nodded and forced a smile. Something was troubling Jamie, and she wished they had more time. Tomorrow would have to do. "I'll come here tomorrow morning, right after my shift. It's nearer from the hospital, and your bed is snugglier than mine," she joshed, trying to lighten the mood.

He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. "Ah fuck, I have to go." He took her face in both hands and kissed her like he didn't want to let her go. And when he finally released her, he ran his thumb over her lower lip. "See you tomorrow morning?"

She sighed. "I'll be here."

"Good." He smiled before grabbing his keys and wallet and heading out.

As soon as the door closed, her phone rang. Geillis! A breath of fresh sarcasm!

Making her way to the bedroom, she shook off the tension on her shoulders and answered the call. "Hey, you!"

"Hiya chick!" Geillis greeted breathlessly. "First things first ...I ken ye dinnnae like fuss on yer birthday, but Lamby wants to break yer wee family tradition and proposed a surprise party. I ken that would do yer head in if ye were caught off guard; hence I'm giving ye a heads-up."

Claire stopped in her tracks and groaned. It was true she never celebrated her birthday ever since she found out, at the age of ten, her parents died on her fifth birthday. It never felt right to celebrate on her parents' death anniversary. "Good God, what is uncle Lamb thinking? He never liked parties or any form of celebration. What the hell, he doesn't even buy me a birthday or a Christmas card. Has he gone mad?"

"I ken. Lamby took me by surprise, too, when he called me up, trying to hook me into making yer surprise party. Maybe his wee jaunt at the hospital scared the hell out of him, and he thinks life is short and la-di-dah."

"Still, very odd and so unlike him to do that. Perhaps you're right. The trip to the hospital must have really frightened him."

"And ye ken what's odder still?"

"Spill."

"I just saw his neighbour, Mrs Crook at Tesco. Ye ken how she rabbits on about other people's business in Lamby's building ..."

"Yeah, she does like to gossip. I don't really take much notice of her. She's kind though to my uncle, always dropping off food at his apartment."

"Weel, she told me yer Jamie has visited Lamby a couple of times these past few weeks."

"Wot?" Claire's mind started to race in circles, going over through her memory bank, looking for an explanation as to why Jamie had spent time with her uncle despite his hectic schedule. Not that she had anything against it. In fact, she liked the idea of them bonding together. But how many times had Jamie said he missed her, but couldn't come over to spend a little time with her, citing the amount of work he was buried in?

"Apparently while ye've been hankering for some Jamie-love, yer boyfriend was busy having coffee and brandy with yer uncle."

"Coffee and brandy?"

"That's what Mrs Crook said. She walked in one day to drop off a Sheperd's pie and there they were in the kitchen having coffee and brandy. She thought it was sweet of yer boyfriend to come visiting when Frank had never stepped into Lamby's apartment when ye were together. And Mrs Crook told me it happened at least twice. What do ye suppose does that all mean?"

Claire could only shake her head, flabbergasted and at a loss for words.

"Chick, ye still there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm still here," she breathed. "I don't know what to think. Jamie never told me."

"I didnae think so." Geillis was silent for a long while before she spoke again. "I dinnae think it's a bad thing yer Jamie visiting yer uncle. Maybe they're colluding with one another about yer birthday."

"Oh for the love of God!"

"Dinnae fash, hen. I'm sure Jamie has something up his sleeves, and it's supposed to be a surprise. And I ken how much ye hate birthday parties. So when he does surprise ye, please look shocked!"

Claire laughed. "At the rate with all the things happening right now, I think I'll manage to look surprised on the day. Thanks for telling me."

"Weel, as I said dinnae fash. I'm quite sure it's all very innocent even if it seems like they're up to nae good. Anyway, I have to run. I'll see ye when I see ye.

After they signed off, she threw herself into chores around Jamie's apartment to keep her mind from over-thinking. She stripped off the bedsheets and loaded them into the washing machine, and while she was at it, she did the same for the guest bedroom. Even though she had a night shift coming up, she knew it was useless to attempt to take a nap. Her brain would simply go into over-drive thinking about her conversation with Jamie and Geillis. If she were going to have any chance of keeping herself sane, she would have to make sure she and Jamie continued their talk tomorrow morning.

Looking for fresh linens for the beds, she went through Jamie's wardrobe until she found what she was looking for. Everything was neat and tidy, and she wondered if Jamie did the laundry himself or if he hired someone to do it. She grabbed a pile of bedsheets, and as she drew it out, she managed to extract a heavy leather document envelope. Before she could catch it, it fell on the floor, spilling the contents everywhere.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

She hunkered down to gather all the papers that had fallen out, carefully peeling them off the floor so as not to crease them. Before putting them back into the leather encasing, she checked first if they were supposed to be in a particular order. Seeing they were only random photocopies of documents and bank statements, she began to neatly stack them before putting them back where they belonged. As she gathered the last of the papers, she noticed one had Forbes' name scrawled with Jamie's handwriting. Intrigued, she took a closer look. It was a bank statement of money transferred to Forbes' bank account from Jamie, and it was a considerable amount. She checked the date and was surprised the payment was made three days ago. What the hell? Piqued, she examined the other papers, and there were two other payments conducted in the last few weeks.

When she was done looking over the statements, she just sat there on the floor, dazed and confused, trying to force her brains to make sense of what she had discovered.

She went several times more through the documents that had Forbes' name, and still, she couldn't come up with an explanation as to why Jamie was paying him money. The evil bastard was in jail, and if anything, it should be Forbes compensating Jamie.

She got up to grab her phone from the bedside table, hesitated for a few heartbeats, slapped her forehead a couple of times before she tapped the screen and called up the hospital. When she got through, she informed the person on the other line that she wasn't feeling well enough to come to work. It wasn't really a lie because all of a sudden she was feeling queasy and out of sorts.

..........

Claire padded over to the window and looked down at the street below. At the end of the road, partially hidden in the shadows of a huge oak tree was Jamie's car. He must have just parked as his headlights were still on.

She walked back to the living area and sat down on the recliner, her gaze dropping onto the bank statements on the coffee table. It had been a warm day for Autumn, but now that it was early evening, it was much colder. She hadn't bothered turning on the heating, too deep in her thoughts to notice the cold.

Moments later, she heard the door unlock, open and close. She stilled her heart, waiting for Jamie to come into the room. When he finally walked in and saw her, his posture immediately tensed, but worry immediately replaced the surprise on his expression.

"Sassenach, ye're not working!" When his eyes landed on the papers on the coffee table, he stared at it for a few seconds. Then he walked over to where she was sitting and tried to reach for her, but she remained immobile.

"Please sit Jamie. We're going to talk."

With a large intake of breath, he nodded in understanding and took a seat opposite her, his hands rubbing his face, looking exhausted and worn.

"I wasn't snooping into your things," she explained as if it mattered how she found the bank statements. "It fell out of your wardrobe as I was getting some fresh bedsheets."

"I was going to tell ye about it, I swear," he said, dropping his head. "We've had so little time and so many things going on."

He looked so beaten, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and forget about those damn bank papers. Instead, she stayed put, the need to resolve the situation paramount. "What's happening, Jamie? Why are you paying Forbes such a substantial amount of money?"

He puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. "I've imagined having this conversation with ye a million times in my head, and whichever way I chose to word it, there didn't seem to be an easy way of telling ye. But I didn't anticipate I'd feel like throwing up." He ran a hand at the back of his neck and took deep breaths. "Everything I've ever told ye, about my past and what I feel for ye are all true. It was never my intention to lie, but I did. A lie is a lie even if it's by omission." He opened his hands as if by looking at it, he'd find the words he was looking for. "Those bank statements ye found, it is what it looks like. I am paying back every penny I owe Forbes."

She swallowed hard, keeping her emotions in check. "I've gathered that much."

"Christ, where do I start?"

"How about from the beginning?"

He stared at her, his eyes clouding as if he was going back in time to relive the past. And then he sighed. "When Forbes first approached me," he began, "I was a young lad, very naive in so many ways. I got caught up with fans' adulation and all the sensationalism after being awarded rookie of the year. My uncle Dougal, who's a former player himself, told me to grab my newfound fame by the balls and enjoy it. I felt like a fucking superstar, and I believed every hype that was written about me. Forbes took advantage of my youth and lack of experience and approached me and told me he could make me even bigger and better. He invited me to his office for a meeting, and with his promise in my head, I accepted."

She nodded as the memories of seeing him play rugby for the first time as a professional flooded her mind. Like all the supporters that had watched the game that day, she had been impressed with his performance. And when she'd seen his close-up photo in the social media, she'd fallen in love with the idea of him.

"So I went to his office where he had all sorts of cameras setup. He'd explained it was for my portfolio. They took a few headshots and plenty of body shots, making me pose in all sort of ways. And then he told me to take my shirt off." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I was confused as to why that was necessary, but nevertheless, I complied. When I couldnae execute the poses instructed by the cameraman, Forbes would come to me and show me how to angle my body, his hand often touching me in places where he shouldnae. And then he told me to undo my jeans' button. When I hesitated for a bit, he reassured me the pants werenae coming off, and that they just needed a shot with my boxer shorts on display to highlight my abs. I did what I was told as I've seen such poses for Calvin Klein campaigns. But when the cameraman requested to lower the zipper, Forbes was immediately there doing it for me. And that was when he fondled me down there."

Her heart faltered. "Oh, Jamie, he didn't..."

He shook his head and continued. "After that, nothing more happened. Even though I wanted to punch Forbes on the face and hated the way he touched me, I blocked the thoughts and presumed it was some sort of test. I went home and thought nothing more it, and five days later I had a call from an Irn Bru rep asking me to do a TV advert for them. I was so excited I immediately agreed, signed the contract with Forbes as my agent and before I knew it, I had a lump sum of a hundred grand, sitting in my bank account. It was easy money, and the shoot didn't last for more than a day."

Without warning, Jamie got up, walked to drinks' cabinet and poured them a whisky. Her eyes followed his every move and nuance in his expression. She could tell, he was trying to keep it together. When he handed her the drink, he returned to his seat.

"Over the next few months, more endorsements came. As Forbes had promised, I became even more well-known and a household name representing all sorts of consumer brands. Money started pouring in, which became quite handy as our family's distillery was still suffering from the brunt of the recession. The family business was heavily indebted then, so I poured my cash into it to save it from bankruptcy, but it wasn't enough. When Forbes found out about our family problem, he offered to help. I refused his offer at first because I still remembered the way he'd inappropriately touched me, and something told me, he would want something in return. As if he knew what I was thinking, he told me straight that his offer for help came with no hidden agenda." Jamie shrugged. "Forbes was a smooth talker ye ken, and I didnae have much experience with people like him. So I agreed to accept his help, and our distillery was saved in the nick of time."

Claire remembered reading about the Frasers' distillery's financial troubles, and the bidding war between Laphroaig and Lagavulin distillery to take over. But she never had a chance to find out what happened next as the story was buried not long after.

"I realised there, and then, I didnae want to be indebted to Forbes because I've always felt there was something dodgy about him even though he'd taken a shine to me. He didnae make any more moves after that fondling incident, but there were hints he wanted to get into my pants. He was careful though and wasn't overtly obvious about it, perhaps he was worried about sexual harassment lawsuits. So I started taking on more PR stunts for brands that returned bigger money so I could clear the loan quicker. It paid off, and little by little, I worked to pay Forbes back. With my parents' help, I made some wise investments on the side, and they kept me grounded for the most part, unfazed by the attention I was getting. I guess Forbes hadnae seen that coming. He thought I'd be out partying after my newfound fame and throwing my money left and right. But I didnae do that. I concentrated on being the best as I could in rugby, and after I became the youngest player to captain a team for Scotland, I received a pay rise. And that helped a lot in going towards what I owed."

Claire smiled at the thought of a younger Jamie, pouring everything into perfecting his craft. She'd always known of his dedication to the sports he loved so much, and over time he became well known for his work ethics, the one thing that stood out whenever she read articles of people talking fondly about him.

Jamie downed his whisky before he continued, unintentionally slamming the glass on the coffee table. "I had a feeling Forbes was pissed off with me for not being more dependent on him and that I had my life all figured out. He apparently thought if I was reliant on his help, I'd be more receptive to his subtle seductions. Then one day, Forbes held a party in his mansion and invited all his talents and clients. I wasnae interested in going, but I went anyway ...maybe partly because I was grateful for the things he'd done for me despite his indiscretions. It ended up being a great party, and I met a lot of interesting people. I began to relax, and before I knew it, I was drunk as a skunk." He got up to get the bottle of whisky and refilled himself and her glass a healthy measure. When he sat back down, he leaned back on the sofa and squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed like that for a long while.

"Jamie, are you alright?" she asked quietly, watching his throat work.

"Sorry. Just tired." He straightened up and braced his elbows on his knees, his hands clutching the whisky tumbler. This time he stared into his drink as if he could see the memories unfolding there, the muscles on his shoulders and biceps more pronounced, unveiling a pent up tension waiting to unsnap. "I woke up the following morning, and I was in one of his guest bedrooms. I didnae have my clothes on, and I had nae idea how I became that way. Forbes walked in as I woke up, and had a bloody smug smile on him. My first thought immediately I'd been buggered."

Claire stifled a gasp, and her heart floundered. She was about to go to him, but he shook his head, his eyes telling her he needed to see this through on his own.

"I've heard a lot of stories about buggery in the men's locker room and one of the things I learned about it, yer arse would be sore, and ye wouldnae be able to sit on it for days if that happened. That wasnae the case in my state, but still, I wasnae too sure, and I was too angry and troubled to feel anything. Anway, Forbes sat by my bedside and showed me a printed photo, and in it, I was naked and lying on my stomach, and I had an arm across a naked man's body, but the identity of the man was not visible, but mine was. I had a strong feeling it had been staged. And if there's anything I've learned about Forbes beside his obsession for me, he was obsessed with money. I asked him what that was all about. He said it was just a little something to keep his investments in line, referring to me. I knew then if that photo ever got out to the media, I was done. And my sponsors and the brands I represented would drop me like a hot coal, disabling me to earn money to pay back Forbes, meaning I'd be more susceptible to his advances. I dinnae care about my reputation, but I was more worried about dragging my family's name through the mud. They would think I've hoored myself to save the distillery. That would have devasted my ma and da."

"Oh, God, Jamie ..."

"I was frightened, but I tried my best to keep my wits about me. So I did the first thing that came to my mind. I offered to buy the photo, and after a while, we agreed on a price. So I paid."

Claire descended into silence, feeling like they were a high-wired duo who'd just come plummeting down to earth. But she still had questions.

"Did you try to get help? Have you told anyone?"

Jamie shook his head. "After I left Forbes' house, I went to see Ned. I told him about my concern that I might have been taken advantage of without telling him where I'd been and about the bribe. I trusted Ned, but he's been a family friend for so long, and he's like a father to me, so I didnae mentioned Forbes' name knowing what he might do. I was already ashamed and embarrassed, having to tell him the predicament I was in and I didnae want him thinking I've sold my soul to Forbes. Ned knew the hospital was a no-go as there were that possibility stories would leak out. So he accompanied me to a discreet private clinic he knew of. I didnae care about the money, but the thought of Forbes doing things to me made my stomach turn inside out. As it turned out, I was untouched except for traces of semen on my back. Forbes probably wanked himself, while watching me knocked out cold. I guess he was smart enough not to touch me because of my family's connection to the best legal team in Scotland. And I dinnae think he would have jeopardised his name and his business for that as he'd often said enough I was too much of a loose cannon. Even though nothing really happened, I still felt violated, so later on that day, in the middle of the winter, I purged myself by jumping into a freezing loch."

Claire winced, thinking he could have suffered hypothermia with no one around to help him and died. "But why did you stay with him after all these years?"

"I was so young and naive back then. I stayed because I thought Forbes was my only means of a way out. I kept him sweet with all the commissions he was getting from me. He had connections to big brand names that would guarantee me lucrative bookings. All that time, my family and the distillery was at the forefront of my mind, and I still had a long way to go before I've paid off every penny I owed."

"He's in jail now, Jamie. You don't need to keep paying him," she reminded him. "Besides, you had those properties in London that could have easily wiped out the loan. Why didn't you use them?"

He let out a humourless laugh. "He doesnae ken about my investments. Only ye, my family and a handful of trusted friends know. If I'd paid him in all in one go, he would have gone snooping into my affairs, and that wasn't any of his business. It'll be a cold day in hell before he found out anything about my financial situation. I've already paid him for getting rid of the photo, but there is still a small amount I need to pay for the distillery's loan. The loan he gave to our family was no secret. A few days ago, I cleared the distillery's debt, that's why mother called earlier wondering if there was some mistake. So the only obligation left is my debt to Forbes. I will not have the rugby academy tainted with his money, that's why I'm returning the money he loaned me, and that's why I'd been taking on other works."

Staring out into space, he took a breather before he continued. "After I was forced to early retirement, I was devastated, not only because I wouldn't be able to play rugby anymore, but Forbes has been piling on bookings I wasnae interested in. It's not because of the money, but they were just any shite endorsements to keep the cash flowing. Thinking I'm nothing more than a cash cow for him, I fell into heavy depression and started drinking. Christ, there were days I wanted to end it all because I couldn't see any way out ..."

"Jamie ..."

"...and then ye came along. You were this light shining in every corner of my darkness." He gazed at her, his beautiful blue eyes filled with such sadness and sincerity, she had to swallow the lump forming in her throat. "And when ye offered yersel' to be my pretend girlfriend to change my image and get the network job, it was like the universe was giving me a second chance to redeem myself. I wanted to keep ye a secret from Forbes for as long as I could, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I could tell he saw ye as a threat when he began to see I was coming out of the hole I've dug myself into. "

Claire crossed over to his seat and knelt in front of him. She took his hands in hers and kissed his fingers. "Forbes got away with so many things, and God knows what those things were." She shuddered at the thought. "I still think Ned could have helped you if you've told him everything that happened."

"Aye. I thought that too. So I told Ned everything that happened all those years ago after Forbes was sent to jail," he admitted, brushing his lips across her cheek. "I ken Forbes could be vindictive, and I was afraid he might do something, knowing he's got loyal cronies working for him." He lifted her in one swift move and settled her on his lap, urging her to lay her head on his shoulder. "That's why I was so mad at ye for going after him. And so mad at myself for not telling ye everything that went on with Forbes. I did try many times, I swear to God, but I was too embarrassed because it would look like I didn't have the spine and courage to leave Forbes' clutches."

She slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him gently in. There's a twinge inside of her pushing against her rib cage - it was a mixture of sadness for the boy he once was and pride for the man he turned out to be. But there's also that spark of hope and promise that's been stifled by problems, trials and doubts, slowly stirring back to life as the picture began to form and make sense. "Jamie ...all these years you've carried all that burden on your own. You saved your family's business and still managed to come out on top of your game. Even after all of Forbes' attempt to break you, you remained steadfast and true to yourself. There is no shame in that, Jamie. I think you've done good and you are truly amazing. It's just a shame your parents will never know what you had to go through, but I'm quite sure they are very proud of you."

He turned her around on his lap, so she was straddling him. "I'm so sorry for not telling ye everything sooner," he whispered, his hands stroking her back and thighs. "With so many things happening, it was hard to think straight at times."

Putting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned down and kissed him, a small, gentle kiss. "And I'm so sorry for doubting you. I may not have voiced it loud, but it must have been quite apparent."

"I instilled those doubts, Sassenach. It was my fault. I promise I won't keep anything from ye ever again. I ken I'm piss-poor at being a boyfriend sometimes, but I'll work hard at being better at it. Just promise me ye willnae leave me," he said earnestly, his hands travelling up beneath her shirt.

She stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time and falling for him all over again. How could she not love a man who would work hard at being better at everything?

"What? Why are ye looking at me like that for?" he asked, his hands moving everywhere, making it hard for her to concentrate on their conversation.

She laughed out loud. "Like what?"

He stilled his movements and just stared. "Like I just climbed Mount Everest when ye should be angry at me."

She was having a little trouble holding his gaze. "Maybe because you do look like you just climbed Mount Everest and there's no reason for me to be angry at you. You've been through a lot, and I'm glad you told me everything. Because if I don't know what's going on, how am I supposed to help you?"

He moved her closer, his lips coasting along the hollow of her neck. "So ye'll keep me then? Geillis told me ye told her I'm quite a catch."

"Is that so? The little traitor!"

"Never mind the wee traitor. Ye havenae answered my question."

"What question?" With his lips creating havoc in her addled brain, she honestly forgot what he'd asked her

"I asked if ye'll keep me."

"Yes ...yes ...I guess you'll do!" she said in mock exasperation.

"Good, I can live with that," he murmured. "Now, enough talk and let's make up."

Before she could say anything, he kissed her hard and deep, like his life depended on it, standing up with his arms wrapped around her, he carried her to the bedroom in long, determined strides and kicked the door shut.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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thenectarinediaries · 4 years

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13.08 Variations on a wine glass

Nectarines eaten: 2

Remaining: 14 (12 in fridge, 2 in fruit bowl)

[John Ashbery, “Voyage Into the Blue”, 1975.]

After a night of too much thinking and not enough sleeping, I felt like obliterating a nectarine this morning.

one nectarine - a small banana - a plain yoghurt - a splash of milk

Buzz buzz, I shouldn’t have to tell you how to make a smoothie. Apparently my blender runs at a very sexy 22 000 RPM, making short work of the bastard fruit. I chose to drink it out of my largest wine glass which was not very practical but did lend some panache to the experience - as did the tiny mint leaves. Some bad vibes had dissipated once the nectarine had been blitzed and consumed.

Smoothies here will forever be associated with our brunch three days after we trucked my stuff to Morteau. A soothing smoothing memory of friends, gathered around a table in morning light, making the space bearable. I miss them in a happy way - like, it’s nice to have people to miss.

[01.08.2020]

[you write and you walk and you knit and stitch and knead and clean and watch the stupid tv show you don’t even like and you make a big deal out of getting dressed and choosing jewelry and you try and take pleasure in folding the laundry and you walk some more, a bit faster this time, but everything seems so small now even the big things like mountains because who cares, you write, you draw, you clean some more, brush your teeth a little too hard for a little too long, you read but it doesn’t matter because it won’t stick, the only things that stick are the accumulated habits of the last four years so you keep dusting and sweep on, you air the sheets according to the same timetable and you draw and dance and keep moving, you make all of this stuff, you keep vomiting it all out of your self, you arrange the flowers oh-so-prettily, you wipe a speck off a window pane with or without satisfaction, maybe if you go through the motions of giving a shit for long enough then a greater scheme of meaning will manifest itself and you won’t just be walking and waiting and mindlessly making until you die]

It’s called processing, I guess.

Miserable rainy day. Every time I reread Ashbery it cuts closer to the bone. State of disarray: avocado toast standing up in the kitchen, it’s great with the leftover chutney but you feel like a bit of a fool when you notice halfway through that you forgot to actually toast the bread.

one nectarine - two glasses of red wine - two tsp of sugar (muscovado baby) - star anise (1) - stick o’ cinnamon (1) - cloves (3) - cream - optional but recommended toasty almonds

Quarter the nectarine and pack it into an oven dish. Pour over one glass of wine. The nectarine should be covered but not totally, like it’s chilling in a hot tub. Add the spices and the sugar and put it in the oven at 160°C fan. Light a candle, put on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours and pour yourself the other glass of wine. Watch the rainclouds disperse. When the rain washes you clean When you get to end of Rumours the nectarine will be done; dish it up and add some cream [why does everything last so long when you live alone? this pot of cream is bottomless] and some toasted almonds (yes, again, always and forever). Go ahead and enjoy a merry little winter dessert in the middle of August.

[hohoho slap my ass and call me Karen]

#food #fruit #nectarines #breakfast #dinner #using fleetwood mac as an oven timer

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mythicalsecretsanta · 4 years

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35mm Memories (T)

This gift is for: Jody (AKA @nectarine-migraine) Jody, I hope I succeed in making you cry! This was a real challenge for me to write, fluff peddler that I am, but I really enjoyed it and am glad I got a chance to dip a toe outside of my comfort zone. From your Secret Santa, Archie (AKA @archionblu)

Link to AO3, or read below:

He doesn’t know why he still has the stupid thing, really.

Rhett’s had so many opportunities to throw it out: every time he’s moved, every time he’s gone digging through mementos to find something specific, whenever he’d gotten in one of those Link-like moods where he just had to get his clean on.

He has a ritual with it now. Whenever he found it, he’d pick it up, run his thumb along the underside of the worn edge of the cap, unseating it slightly. Then he’d slide his index finger over the top of the grey plastic, the ridges of his fingerprints catching on the tiny dot of imperfect plastic hidden in the center divot as he pushes it back down, sealing it again without ever actually opening it. He thinks about how he should really toss this, but he always comes up with an excuse not to.

Aren’t you supposed to recycle these things nowadays? Not that he knows how to do that, it probably has to go to some special facility. It’s not like it’s taking up that much room anyway. He’s held onto it for so long, it feels almost sacrilegious to toss it out. He’s not ready to let go.

This time, he rolls it around in his palm a little, musing about how something so tiny can feel so big. This single canister of 35mm film holds some of his happiest memories…and one of his greatest regrets. How can this thumb-sized lump of plastic – ‘cause that’s what film was made of, he’d looked it up once – contain such a multitude?

He snorts a little at how cheesy that sounds, even in his head, closing his fingers around it. He goes to stick it in his pocket but then has the paranoid thought: could his body heat somehow damage the film inside? So he keeps it in his hand, even though his sweaty-ass hands are probably warmer than his pocket anyway. He’s keeping it in his hand instead of putting it back because, after twenty-six years of sitting in that canister, he’s finally going to try and develop the film inside. He’d even found a place that still did that and everything.

See, it was true that when they were sixteen, he and Link thought it’d be great to do an art shoot with a bright yellow plastic flower and the remaining photos on one of Link’s disposable cameras. They’d already shown those pictures to the Beasts, way back in season one of their show, before they’d even broken a hundred episodes.

They’d made a big joke out of it, spent an entire ten freaking minutes cringing over their sixteen-year-old selves’ attempt at art. They had made a particularly big deal out of two shirtless photos, ‘no homo’ing so hard he was surprised looking back that they hadn’t felt the need to bring up their marriages. To women. Two separate women.

What they hadn’t revealed to the Beasts, and what Link refused to even acknowledge, was that there was a second roll of film.

The one clutched in Rhett’s hand right now.

It makes steering a little awkward, but he’s unwilling to let it go as he drives himself to the CVS – not the one closest to his house or the studio, but one a little farther away from both. A CVS he doesn’t frequent. There’s always a risk of him being recognized in LA, but he could at least make sure that it was more likely to be a stranger who wouldn’t ask questions about why he was getting decades-old film developed.

The thing was that when they had gotten to the end of Link’s camera, they’d been on a roll (hah.), still brimming with ideas for the perfect artistic shot. So they’d gone back to Rhett’s house and gotten his mom’s camera, spent actual money to buy a roll of film, and kept going. But the photos ended up not being the kind you could laugh at and make a mocking over-dramatized slideshow out of.

A car behind him honks and Rhett shakes himself free of Buies Creek,1994, to focus on L.A., 2019 traffic. He can get lost down memory lane when he’s back home, with the developed photos in hand.

-----

Rhett’s usually a pretty steady man, but his hands shake a little as he carefully unsticks the temporary adhesive of the envelope that holds his developed photographs. He’s scared, he can admit that. Real, physical evidence makes it real, makes it into something that actually happened that he can’t sweep back under the rug or ignore anymore.

The first few photos in the stack aren’t that incriminating. They’re shirtless, yes, but the scenes aren’t any worse than the two from Link’s disposable camera. Rhett, standing in the spot they’d found those dirty magazines, the flower laying flat in his hand. Link, holding the flower in his teeth, looking broodily off into the distance.

They’d had a lot of botched, blurry shots as well, obviously unfamiliar with the more complicated settings on his mom’s fancy camera compared to the simple point-and-shoots that seemed to spawn in Link’s house. There’s about ten shitty photographs of them just attempting to get a shot of Rhett on his bicycle, riding down the empty road, flower tucked in his back pocket.

Every single one of them is too blurry for anyone who hadn’t been there when they were taken to be able to discern what they were supposed to depict. They’d tried to do it with Link following behind Rhett on his own bike, but Link had never been the most coordinated of people, and they’d been worried about breaking Diane’s camera. They never did get the clear shot they wanted of that.

The photographs that follow those are the ones that make his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. These are the photos he doesn’t dare show his wife, let alone the public.

Link, standing in the river, the waistband of his underwear just visible above the waterline, slung low on his hips. They’d discovered that the plastic flower could float, so they’d left Link’s jeans on the shore and set up the shot with Link reaching out towards but not quite able to reach the bright yellow petals on top of the water. How Link had managed to convey so much yearning despite not looking at the camera, Rhett still doesn’t know. He’d have thought that level of acting to be beyond sixteen-year-old Link. You couldn’t even tell that he’d complained for a whole ten minutes before that about how freaking cold the water was.

Rhett knows what’s coming next, and he almost doesn’t want to continue, thinks about stuffing the rest of the stack back in its little envelope and being done with this. But he’s come this far and he feels like he has to finish this, so he shuffles the top photo to the bottom of the stack revealing the next image.

There was no denying the intimacy of this pair of photos, or the implications behind the poses they’d chosen. He can’t remember what their teenage selves had been thinking, if they had still been striving to create art or if they’d moved on to just being silly. As Rhett stares down into Link’s earnest blue eyes, looking right at the camera, it doesn’t feel silly.

It feels very, very real, to see Link in wet boxers and his sneakers, down on one knee, holding the flower up to the camera like an offering. As real as the sense memory that overtakes Rhett with the next photo, the sensation of cloth petals brushing against his nose and cheeks as he holds the flower to his face, as if taking in the aroma of the gift the Link of the previous shot had given him. His eyes are closed in the picture, and unlike the photos before this, there’s a smile on his face, turning up the corners of his mouth.

The next photo is blurry, but that doesn’t stop it from being the most arresting photograph so far. Rhett had tucked the flower behind his ear and had been trying to arrange an artsy three-quarter angle shot of his face, and just as the shutter was clicking open and closed, there had suddenly been lips pressing against his own. Link had ended up a blurry streak in the photo, but the memory of that moment is still very clear to Rhett.

When he’d felt those lips against his, he’d taken a sharp breath in through his nose and almost stepped back, startled, but Link’s hands had found their way to his shoulders and kept him in place. Rhett’s hands had moved almost against his will, curling around the warm skin of his best friend’s waist and coming to rest on his hip and the small of his back, the camera hanging forgotten by its strap on his wrist. Link’s lips had been slightly dry, and Rhett had licked his own lips without thinking about it, causing Link to gasp and open his mouth, inviting Rhett’s tongue inside.

Rhett had french-kissed girls before, but it’d been so unlike all those times that it might as well have been the first time. Even now, staring at the photo in his hands, Rhett feels the echo of what had felt like grabbing an electrified cow fence, when his tongue and Link’s had met in the middle, shy and exploring.

He wishes he could remember what Link tasted like.

-----

It was clear that a lot of time had passed between that blurry photo and the next one, as it was almost too dark to show up, grainy and grey. This was the last photo on the roll – he knows without even checking the rest of the stack, because he’d taken it on their way back home, twilight falling around them.

It was an action shot, spur-of-the-moment rather than carefully posed like most of the others had been. Link, waist deep in the river again, his clothes and shoes bundled up in his arms as they waded back to the other side. The flower, somehow still obnoxiously bright in the fading light, was tucked behind his ear like an afterthought.

The photograph did a really lackluster job of capturing the smile on Link’s face, at least compared to Rhett’s memory of it. It had been so wide it had practically split his face, and it’d shone brighter than the fading sun, or the stupid flower behind his ear. The joy and laughter lit up his whole face when he’d looked back at Rhett over his shoulder, the secret of what happened during those unrecorded hours caught in the crinkles around his eyes, present even at that age after years of laughing together.

Rhett doesn’t remember where they’d been, what they were wearing, anything specific about the setting of the next memory, but it honestly didn’t matter. All that really matters is the way the words rang in his ears as if Link had screamed them rather than muttering them quietly whilst not looking at him.

It had probably been a few days after they’d done that photo shoot, and he knows for sure that he’d asked Link when he wanted to go get their film developed. He doesn’t remember actually asking, but he knows he did, because he’s pretty sure that Link wouldn’t have even acknowledged it if he hadn’t brought it up. But because he had, Link had forced out a gruff “Don’t bother.”

“What?”

“You should throw it out. The roll from your mom’s camera.”

“Why? I spent like a whole four dollars on–”

“Because it was stupid. Those photos were stupid, they ain’t worth developing. It’d be a waste of money.”

“Oh.” Rhett had paused, trying to swallow around the sudden knot in his throat. “…Okay.”

He still remembers how small his voice had been, when he’d agreed after that painful silence, trying to catch Link’s eyes even though his friend refused to look at him. He remembers it feeling like someone sticking a pin in a balloon inside his chest, all the joy trapped there leaking out until all that was left was limp latex. He doesn’t remember if he cried later that night, but he knows he��d definitely wanted to, back

Because one of the best days of his life up to that point was apparently not worth the five dollars it’d take to remember it. Not to Link. And the implication was that if it didn’t matter to Link, well, it shouldn’t matter to Rhett, either.

Whether or not he’d let those tears fall back in 1994, they’re flowing freely now, and he puts the stack of photos carefully to the side, not wanting to ruin them by accidentally crying on them. Despite it being nearly thirty years ago, he still remembers how much it hurt. He wonders if Link knew at the time just how badly he’d hurt Rhett. If Link remembered how quickly Rhett had gone out and got a girlfriend after that; needing an excuse to not spend time with Link for a while, needing someone to remind him of what he was supposed to want.

Like all things, the hurt and the memories had faded with time. But he hadn’t thrown the roll out. He’d shoved it into the backs of junk drawers, closets, and cardboard boxes, but he’d never been able to toss it away, disown it the way Link obviously had. It followed him from place to place for twenty-six years, until Rhett had found the courage to face it head on.

Vision still a bit blurry, Rhett takes his phone out of his pocket and types up a quick message.

“Hey, can we talk?”

He sits and waits, watching the ellipses that appear a few minutes later as Link types his reply.

Because Link had been wrong. It had been worth it. Those memories were absolutely worth keeping, and whatever it meant for them afterward, Rhett needed Link to know that.

It had been worth everything.

#mythical secret santa 2019 #type: fic #rating: T #gift swap #rhink #submission

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gingerbreton · 5 years

Text

oc profile

Tagged by @aeducanka and @bitchesofostwick Thank you for another opportunity to ramble on about Freya!

tagging @daydreamingdragonage @dickeybbqpit @free-the-mages @laurelsofhighever @allisondraste and anybody who wants to. Honestly, tag me because i would love to see more about your OCs and give them the attention they deserve

Freya Trevelyan

Physical

Name: Freya Bridget Trevelyan

Nickname: She used to get called “freckles” at school. Varric calls her “mouse” - she’s quiet and unassuming, pretty ordinary really, except somehow she manages to scare the crap out of huge things like the Chantry and an Ancient Magister.

Age: 30 at the Conclave

Species: Human

Morality: Chaotic good - Freya is always willing to help people and do the right thing, but she follows her own moral compass. She has a disregard for laws and very much believes that freedom is the only way for people to be happy (hence her very strong mage freedom views!).

Personal

Religion: She is atheist and strongly anti-Chantry (she is fully willing to blame an entire religion for locking her sister away in a Circle). Being called the Herald of Andraste is her nightmare, especially since she’s basically getting bullied into the title and strongly discouraged from voicing her opinions on such matters - it does nothing positive for her relationship with organised religion.

Sins: greed/gluttony/sloth/lust/pride/envy/wrath

None of these particularly fit her well, but it could be argued that choosing a life of illegal occupation that brings in a reasonable amount of coin, instead of getting a labouring job or being someone’s wife, could be classed as greedy. Any envy tends to arise when she feels trapped in a situation - when growing up she envied people’s ability to choose how to live their lives, and their happy families, and especially their freedom while her sister was locked away. During the inquisition she is more likely to envy people’s lack of responsibility, their ability to walk away from an issue if they so choose, but again she would envy that they have some kind of choice in their actions and lives.

Virtues: chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

Everything she has been through has taught her the importance of kindness and what a difference it can make in a situation, and growing up under the tempers of her guardians, she has learnt to be patient with people, not to make rash decisions that could affect other people. In fact her only really rash and angry decision during Inquisition is one that she will always regret.

Known languages: She speaks common tongue, Orlesian, Antivan, Neverran and Tevene - that education was good for something after all - but she is very careful to not let people know that she speaks other languages. It comes in useful when other smugglers/clients you’re dealing with are discussing screwing you over and have no clue you can understand them.

Build: scrawny/bony/slender/fit/athletic/herculean/pudgy/plus size/average

Height: 5’7

Scars/Birthmarks: Her earliest scars are a few old faded once across the small of her back, earnt by slouching in her lessons. She came through her smuggling career fairly unscathed save for the phoenix bite mark on her wrist (she chose to do very little in the way of moving ‘exotic pets’ after that). Her most visible scars are the ones she got at the conclave during the blast; one cuts through her left brow and down her cheek (a couple of centimetres deeper and she’d have likely lost her eye), again on the left, a fairly deep scar tracks its way along her jawline. On the right a prominent scar mirrors the line of her cheekbone, and another lightly sweeps through her right brow. During her time with the inquisition, other than a few minor weapon (and bear claw) scars, the only major scar she got was a through and through puncture wound from landing on broken wood, falling into the caverns under Haven when the avalanche hit.

Abilities/Powers

Riding: She is excellent at riding - one of the few things she actually enjoyed at school. She actually becomes accomplished in mounted combat more quickly than ordinary combat. From very early on in the Inquisition she is found around the stables tending to the horses and chatting with Master Dennett about his mounts.

Lock picking: The one rogue talent she seems to be a natural at, and yet another she learned at boarding school - not from lessons but as yet another means of escape when she felt she’d been cooped up for too long.

Negotiating: This is less of a diplomatic skill - thankfully they have the wonderful Josephine for this - but Freya can negotiate a good deal surprisingly well, she’s also good at whittling information out of people the same way.

Dancing: She is a very accomplished dancer. It was expected that all young ladies at her school should be. Compared to how she usually is (a somewhat withdrawn and nervous posture and a habit of fidgeting), it was near jaw-dropping to her companions and advisors how much grace she can move with when she has to put on that noble facade that was beaten into her growing up. You could probably balance books on the girl’s head.

Climbing: Yet another unintentional boarding school acquired skill. Even in a dress and heels (small ones to be fair), Freya can climb four floors of creeper covered walls - much to the surprise of her companions! And who would have thought it would come in handy at the Winter Palace.

Restrictions:

Insecurities: Freya is wracked with self-doubt. She has had her confidence chipped (and hacked) away at growing up, and despite growing into herself in the intervening years between leaving home and the Conclave, she still struggles to believe in herself and her choices - especially if she is under a great deal of scrutiny. She has a tough time finding her feet in the Inquisition.

She is timid to begin with, making it extremely difficult for her to stand up for her beliefs in the face of Inquisition pressure what they expected of her as a symbol for their cause. It’s a hangover from her upbringing that leaves her susceptible to bullying and controlling behaviours.

She is withdrawn and struggles to truly trust, expecting that most people only want something from her.

She isn’t a natural when it comes to combat: she is very much a novice at the start of the Inquisition, having only really carried knives because they were smaller and easier to conceal for self-defense while she was doing her smuggling work. It takes her quite a while (and a lot of injuries) to get into the flow of actually fighting with them.

Her previously known life in smuggling can make dealing with certain noble families more difficult - like she warned Josie early on “my name might close more doors than it opens”.

Favourites:

Food: Chocolate (she seriously adores chocolate), strawberries, nectarines

Pizza topping: Ham and pineapple

Colour: Pale blue

Music genre: Usually something acoustic and chilled (and probably sad)

Movie genre: Dramas, historical dramas and maybe romances

Curse words: Bollocks (variations thereof), shit, maybe a combination of the two if she’s particularly startled.

Scents: Apple blossom, honeysuckle, mock orange, mint, that cold crisp scent that come before fresh snowfall.

Fun Stuff:

Bottom or top: I’d say she could go either way, but let’s be honest - she gives off a pretty big bottom energy. Maybe a bit of a bossy bottom.

Sings in the shower: Definitely sings very loudly in the shower. Will even sing (far more quietly) while getting ready while they are out on the road.

Likes puns: Freya ‘don’t call me Harold’ Trevelyan… yeah, she likes a good pun. Or a bad one.

#oc profile meme #freya trevelyan #my oc #inquisitor trevelyan #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age #dai

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 5 years

Text

Finding Goddess (Chapter 16)

Carol hummed a cheerful tune as she mopped up the floor. Since coming home, she had spent the last couple hours cleaning the apartment and erasing all evidence of her and Katy's illicit activities, and like everything else she had done at home for the past week, she did it nude. It was such an interesting change of pace doing housework like this. Her breasts jiggled back and forth as she swept up the floorboards, air rushed in between her spreading butt cheeks each time she bent down to pick something up, and the sound of her footsteps changed as her bare soles slapped against linoleum tiles that started off dry and dirty and ended pleasantly damp and clean. It was almost like taking a reverse bath, where instead cleaning her naked body, her naked body was cleaning the world.

"It's been a long time since I did this," she mused. Back when Robert was still alive, she would do everything in whatever home they shared in the buff. She slept in the buff, ate in the buff, read in the buff, watched TV in the buff, and yes, even did domestic chores in the buff. Even back then, she had learned doing something as mundane as sweeping the floor could be turned into a fun activity if it was done without any clothing on. Carol chuckled at the memory of how she used sway her hips playfully and seductively with the broom. Her poor husband couldn't get anything done whenever she got busy.

Carol sighed. She missed those days. They just seemed so liberated and carefree.

In any case, the apartment was clean now, and with a little potpourri or some incense, it would smell good as new. Nobody would have to know what wicked things Carol had done in the meanwhile. Besides Katy of course. And Henrietta. And...whoever else Carol decided to be open about her sex life to. But never Mindy and Erin! They didn't need to know. For their own good.

Thinking about her daughters caused Carol's eyes to stray over to their bedroom door. Was it really as clean as she remembered it being? There didn't seem to be any sign of any lewdness last time she checked, but she couldn't be sure. She had only looked in for a moment.

"Eh, wouldn't hurt to check again."

The room looked just as untouched now as it did this morning. The beds were immaculately made without a single wrinkle to be found in the sheets, the chairs were still upright, and all the various papers, books, writing utensils, and other things the girls kept on their desks were still in place. Mindy's was a little messier, but that was to be expected. If any sexual shenanigans had occurred in here, Carol couldn't see them.

I do wonder though, if they ever got into any sexual shenanigans themselves?

That was one thing Carol was certain she would never know for obvious reasons, but being a mother, she couldn't help but at least be a little concerned about it. Erin had one boyfriend that she was aware of, though Carol hadn't met him yet, and as far as she could tell, Mindy was single. However, it was possible both of them had some secret paramours in the past she never found out about.

Carol wasn't too worried about them getting any unwanted pregnancies. She told them all there was to know about having sex safely and responsibly. She just...hoped that if they were having sex, it was with good people, and that they were ready for it, and that they didn't feel any pressure, and...and...

...And I hope maybe they're willing to experiment with girls.

Ah, girls. If there was one thing Carol regretted more than giving up her nudist lifestyle, it was taking as long as she had to discover, or perhaps just admit to, her attraction to the fairer sex. Because ever since she got her first taste of feminine flesh, rubbed her face between her first pair of breasts, ground herself on her first womanly flower, she couldn't get enough of it. She liked lesbian sex. She loved it. Maybe even more than straight sex. And she wanted her daughters to discover and experience all the wonders of lesbianism earlier than she had because...because...

"...Because it is what the Goddess made us for!" she said clasping her hands to her chest and squeezing her breasts sumptuously.

Carol stopped her ministrations. "What did I just say? No, scratch that, what am I doing? I can't do this in my daughters' room!" Hastily, she scurried out and shut the door behind her, her whole body red as a beet.

"Damn it. I've been putting this off long enough," she said, marching straight to her purse where the Scripture awaited her. "It's time to confront this issue of mine head on and straight from the source!"

She needed to speak to the Zenrists themselves, hear from them just what was going on with her. Carol figured she could easily find a website via a search engine, and from there find a number she could call, but it would save time if she just checked the book for the URL outright.

It turned out the Scripture saved her a few more steps than she thought it would. For while the book's title page did indeed include a URL leading to what she assumed was the Zenrists' home page, it also had a phone number written in pink-colored ink and big loopy characters along with a message saying "Call me! XOXOXO!" The exclamation points were even dotted with hearts.

"Don't tell me this is Celeste's number," she murmured. The woman just seemed so regal and dignified; Carol couldn't even begin to picture her doing something so girlishly corny. "Well, might as well get on with it."

She dialed the number, listened to the rings, and started bracing herself. She needed answers, and if she had to pry teeth out of that woman to get them, so be it. Nothing was going to get by Carol, she was ready to play hardball, and there was no way in hell she'd let herself get swayed by a pretty face—

"I'm here, my love," said the sweet, soothing voice of Celeste on the other line. "Tell me what you need of me."

"Eh heh, heh, heh!"

The sound of the priestess' voice was enough to turn Carol into a puddle of goo on the spot.

"Caroline Connors," said Celeste. Carol stiffened as the woman uttered her name. She could almost hear the Zenrist priestess curve her lips into a gentle and motherly smile.

"How...how did you know it was me?" said Carol who suddenly felt herself tremble all over.

"I recognized your voice," answered the priestess. "I remember every little nectarine sound that dripped from your lips. Every moan you poured into my ear, every passionate cry you gifted to me as I gifted you, every murmur I drank from your throat when we kissed. And what I remember the most, childe...is the way you laughed. Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm!"

Carol could almost feel the whole world around her shake with Celeste's subtle little laugh on the other end of the line. So gentle and comforting...like something she could rock herself to sleep to.

She gulped. "Celeste, I...I...I need help, and I...I don't know where else to turn."

"Then tell me what ails you, childe," said the priestess. "Tell me what is troubling your mind, and I will offer you my guidance."

Carol shivered. For reasons she couldn't explain, she swore she could feel Celeste's arms wrapping around her in a tight, maternal hug. She could feel the priestess rubbing her cheek against Carol's own like an affectionate cat. She could feel the priestess's lips on her ear as she whispered her sweet-sounding words to her. But such a thing wasn't possible; Carol was at home, in her kitchen, a hundred miles away from the brilliant redhead living in the ornate Temple.

"It...it's hard to explain, but the thing is," Carol stammered, having no idea where to even begin. She intended to go into this hard, to demand just what kind of trick the priestess played on her, to treat this whole thing like it was an interrogation. But now that she was here, listening to Celeste's voice, feeling like she was actually in her presence...she couldn't find it in herself to feel angry or accusatory at all. "I think I'm losing control of myself."

So Carol told Celeste all the strange things that had happened to her. All the times she stripped naked without realizing it, all the times she nearly forgot to put her clothes back on, all the times she felt the urge to tear the horrible, hateful things off her body, all the times she felt her lust overtake her or nearly overtake her. She told Celeste everything until she could tell her no more, and only when she finished did Carol realize she was beginning to tear up like a guilt-ridden child.

"There's something wrong with me!" she wept. "Please, Celeste! Tell me what I should do! Because if this keeps up, I think...I think I'll do something I'll regret!"

"My childe," cooed Celeste as her phantom arms tightened around Carol and pulled her ever closer to the priestess. "My poor, sweet childe. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all."

"But...but it hurts me to wear clothes!" said Carol. "What if I can't wear them again? And what if I...what if I get caught somewhere I really shouldn't be naked in? What if I assault some poor girl? What if..."

"There is nothing wrong with you," Celeste repeated much more firmly, firm enough to clam Carol up on the spot. "What you are experiencing, childe, is what every woman experiences as she undergoes her metamorphosis."

"I don't...understand."

"In every person's life, there are periods where they must undergo swift and rapid change within. From wombling to newborn. From newborn to child. From child to adolescent. From adolescent to adult. Every one of these periods of transition are marked by moments of confusion and emotional instability, all brought about from the pain of the body and soul growing so violently and forcefully. Bone pushing and piercing through muscle, humours pumping through the veins, needles clawing out of the skin...to say nothing of your first bleeding and all that comes with it. They are not pleasant experiences, as you no doubt can recall.

"But women like you and I can experience another such change. A change unique to us and no other creature on Earth. A change that elevates us to something greater, to something higher, to something...holy. It is the realization of our own divinity. Have you been studying the Scripture, childe?"

"I...yes, yes I have been," said Carol.

"Then you understand. Woman was created by Zenriah. She bears Her shape, she bears Her form...Woman is in essence the physical manifestation of Zenriah. All that She is, all that She desires. She put much of Herself into our ancestresses when She molded them from the earth countless millennia ago, and we have borne that heavenly spark inside us ever since. You are a part of the Goddess, childe, and She is a part of you. She always has been, since the day you were born.

"The spark is faint in you. It is faint in all of us at first, little more than an ember flickering in the shadows of our minds. But it is there, childe, and it's waiting. Waiting for just the right gust of air to set it aflame once more.

"Unfortunately, most women never experience that gust. They live their whole lives never knowing their true origin, their true potential, their true purpose. They flicker. They fade. They die. And then they are lost forever." For the first time in her speech, Celeste paused, and Carol had the distinct impression that she was wiping a tear from her eye. "But for some, a very select few, they feel that gust. Sometimes it is through a vision. Sometimes it is through a dream. Sometimes, it is through our sacred text. And sometimes...it is because they have spoken and heard the divine language of the Goddess that is an intrinsic part of that flame."

"Divine language?" said Carol.

Celeste continued. "Yes, the divine language. When you and I made love in the grotto, I spoke it to you. I spoke it and you listened. You may not have realized it, but you definitely listened to it. And when you did, I felt it ignite within you, that spark of holy fire! I have a feeling it was always brighter within you, Caroline, more than it is in most women. Which may in part be why you are already so predisposed to our way of life."

"But what does this have to do with my condition?" said Carol, who was feeling awfully dizzy now. None of Celeste's words were making sense to her logically, hell, none of them seemed like they were really answering her concerns, but she still felt compelled to listen to them.

"It is just like that first time you bled," said Celeste. "You felt pain. You felt illness. You felt confusion and maybe fear and maybe anger. You lashed out at yourself, you lashed out at others, you committed reckless deeds you would have never considered before. I need not name the specifics, for it is what we all go through when we enter that tumultuous stage known as puberty.

"What you are experiencing now, childe, is yet another kind of puberty, stoked not by the growth in your body, but by the ignition of that flame in your soul. It burns in you childe, more brightly than you realize, and like every flame, it hungers. It hungers for physical bliss. It hungers for spiritual purity. It hungers for sweet woman flesh. And it hungers for that one thing, that one holy link that it cannot have just yet in your current state. And I have a feeling you've been feeding it quite eagerly. You have been foregoing clothing, yes?"

"I have been. Every chance I get."

"Have you been pleasuring yourself?"

"I...yes. Yes I have."

"Have you been engaging in sapphic pleasure? Desiring its taste again and again and again?"

"Y-yes. Everyday. With Henrietta...and another girl, Katy. And...with others I guess."

"Yes. And of course, you have been reading our Scripture." Celeste laughed again. It was just as comforting as the last chortle, but it also carried with it an almost mischievous tone. "Yes, I see now. No woman would ever be the same under those circumstances. Especially no woman as sensitive as you."

"But...but what do I do?" said Carol. "How do I...stop this?"

"You will learn soon enough, childe," said Celeste. "But not from me. If anyone will help you, it will be those close to you. I recommend you heed the words of your lovers, Henrietta and Katherine, who I believe will be seeing you very soon."

"Seeing me soon?" blinked Carol. "How do you know they'll—"

"I have told you all there is to say," said the priestess. "You will figure out the rest. I promise."

"Wait...Celeste!" It was too late. The phone clicked off, and Carol was once again left to stew in silence.

#carol #finding goddess

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lakesregionbeerreview · 5 years

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Tropical Haze sailed across the pond to find its Scandinavian cousin, Norwegian Haze. Pineapple and stone fruit dominate the nose in this beer. It is a bright, light straw color with an active white lacy foam. It’s bitter upfront that quickly changes to a pineapple and nectarine finish. The dry aftertaste completely sweeps the plate clean. A fun an exciting take on a crowd favorite. • Norwegian Haze Great Rhythm Brewing Company Portsmouth, NH • • • • • --------------------------------------------------------- #reviewswithoutboobs #beer #nh #603 #beerofinstagram #delightful #603girl #beerlover #craftnotcrap #craftbeer #drinklocal #nhbeertrail #shoplocal #hopsmash #nhmade #brewnh #beerhunting #like4like #beerme #life #mood #doublepost #ipa #hazy #neipa @greatrhythmbrewing @visitnh @beers.brews.food @nhbeertrail @brewnh (at Great Rhythm Brewing Company) https://www.instagram.com/p/ByD_R5KF_jC/?igshid=n8qghiej0knr

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imagine-that-one-thing · 6 years

Text

Styles. || 7.

Hopeless Wanderer

April 21st, 2015.

When Elise asked if I’d like to join her family for a family lunch, I didn’t expect myself to say yes, in fact, I had expected to hesitate a lot more than I had. Family lunches or gatherings for that matter have never been my thing. Family, in general, has never been my thing. My family gatherings tended to end in heartache and some sort of wrenching pain, whether physical or emotional. I don’t think I remember the last family gathering where things went smoothly.

I swallow hard as I follow the phone GPS that is taking me to a neighbourhood that probably costs more than I can even imagine. When Elise told me her parents’ house was just twenty-five minutes from my apartment, I didn’t expect to be driving through Courtenay Avenue, Highgate. If the fact that Avenue is protected by a guard operated security gates and CCTV isn’t enough, my mouth gapes open when I find myself remaining in the driveway of a house that costs more than my tuition and the cost of my apartment together.

The house I grew up in is nothing close to a home like this, my childhood home doesn’t have a deep sweeping carriage driveway or security gates. My mother’s house also doesn’t have, one, two, three floors to it. My heart subsides into my chest as I come to the realisation that maybe, just maybe, Elise and I live two completely different lives. Behind the Doric-columned entrance, her parents’ and she are presumably waiting for me and part of me wants to bail.

When I agreed to this lunch, I thought I was agreeing to something small and pleasing. What I didn’t think it would be was a realisation of not being good enough.

I swallow my concerns and pull myself out of my car before making the walk to the front door with a bottle of wine in one hand and two bouquets of flowers in the other. I don’t think my wine or my flowers measure up to anything they have in the house, but it is all I had. If I could have brought the most expensive wine imported from Italy, I would, but for now, this will have to do.

I nervously knock on the door and bounce my weight from foot to foot as I wait for someone to answer. For a moment, I expect a butler to come to the door and greet me and take my coat, but I am relieved when I see Elise in front of me with her cherubic smile and her restoration curls of cinnamon-brown hair garland her face. She’s easy on the eyes and a grace of fresh air.

“Hi,” I smile, “I was passing through the neighbourhood and was trying to find this beautiful woman who hasn’t ceased to amaze me,” I greet her, trying to combat my nerves. With the sound of her soft giggle, my nerves begin to dwindle.

“I was just searching for a handsome man,” her nectarine voice announces with a subtle wink.

“Mhm,” I hum, “these are for you,” I hand Elise the flowers and she takes them graciously, “this is for your parents, I’m not sure they’ll like it but it is the best I could find.”

“I am sure they will love it.” … “And is the other bouquet for your other lover down the street?” Elise jokes and I shake my head.

“They’re for your Mum, she likes flowers, right?”

Elise nods, “That is sweet of you. Come in, don’t be shy, promise I don’t bite,” Elise chuckles as she benevolently draws me in before I affectionately kiss her sugar plum, sweet and silky soft lips.

I hold my breath for a moment as I glance around the foyer of the house, quite amazed by how Elise failed to mention that her family was well off, then again, I should have figured that out when I found out her uncle is who I intern under. I still find it a bit awkward to intern under him, I don’t want to feel as though I am receiving special treatment by any means just because I am dating his niece and I can’t help but I am now seen differently. I have somehow overstepped the boundaries, well, in my eyes I have.

I glance around the foyer that is more like a grand double height reception hall, that I am sure would be exceptional for social events, and my eyes observe the imposing staircase.

“You seem nervous, don’t be.” Elise breaks the silence and my gaze as she gently nudges me.

I give her a small smile, “bit hard, love. Anything I need to know?” I softly challenge, unsure of whether I need to make a mental list of all the things I need to avoid when talking to her parents.

I never thought I would say this, but I hope they like me. I don’t want to leave a bad impression of any sort.

Elise shakes her head, “nope, you will be fine,” she chuckles, leading me down a hallway.

There’s something about walking through the house that feels gracious, something I can’t help but feel as though I wish I felt when entering my mother’s house, perhaps it is just the memories that haven’t faded that continue to dampen the mood. The walls’ of Elise’s home are adorned with family portraits, up until now, I didn’t know Elise had siblings. Maybe I am not the only one who has some family secrets. Why wouldn’t she mention her siblings?

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” I point out.

“You never asked. But yes, I have a brother and a sister,” Elise gestures towards the photo frames on display as we pass a decorative table before we enter a kitchen that smells of fresh foods. Before I can ask about her siblings, I am thrown into what I have been dreading all morning— meeting the parents.

“Harry, this is my Mum, Cathleen,” Elise gleefully announces as Cathleen steps inside from previously being outside. “Mum, this is Harry,” Elise introduces us as I step forward closer to Cathleen.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you, these are for you,” I hand Cathleen the flowers I picked out for her.

“What lovely flowers, thank you. It is nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a bit about you.” Cathleen looks up at me with alluring, galaxy-blue eyes that hold the identical endearing look Elise’s possesses.

“All good, I hope,” I nervously chuckle, theoretically kicking myself for using such a cliche line.

Really, Harry, really? Was that the best you could come up with?

“So far it has all been good. Would you like a drink or do you plan to drink the wine instead?” Cathleen pleasantly challenges with a bit of a chuckle in her voice. I can see where Elise gets her teasing side from.

“No, Mrs Cartier, I bought this for you and your husband, I wasn’t quite sure what to bring… and Elise told me not to bring any food… I tried to bring dessert.” I sort of babble, my nerves getting the better of me. Shit.

Cathleen gives me cherubic smile, “it is okay, I will put this in the fridge and get a vase for these. Elise put the boy out of his misery and assure him I am joking.”

I’m not much for jokes right now, please spare me any ridicules.

Elise rolls her eyes and hands her mother the flowers I gave her in the hallway, “come on, my Dad is outside pretending to look busy,” Elise chimes as she takes my hand and drags me away from the kitchen.

I let out a breath of relief, one parent down, another to go. I can do this— I think.

Elise and I step outside onto the raised terrace that overlooks the beautiful garden that I swear looks like it was designed to resemble the botanical gardens. How do they have such a sublime garden that looks as if it is straight from a magazine? My mother spends hours in her garden and it still doesn’t look this excellent.

My eyes pry from the garden and divert to the table that is set up for six people but I overlook the extra two placements for a moment and take a breath. “Dad, this is Harry. Harry, this is my Dad, Conrad,” Elise introduces us as the man removes his hand away from the centrepiece in the middle of the table; I can only assume Conrad was attempting to look busy. He strikes me as the man that prefers to grill on the BBQ than to be in the kitchen.

“Nice to meet you,” I am the first to offer my hand. For a brief moment, I have this feeling that he isn’t going to accept my handshake, or me in general, but he does.

“Pleased to meet you, Harry,” Conrad greets with a voice like bottled thunder, a measure of his vitality. I don’t know if I should be intimidated or not, but I fucking am the moment he narrows his eyes at me and shakes my hand, tightly. He has the handshake of a strong businessman and the look in his eyes confirms that. Elise never mentioned that her father was in the business world, I only assumed it when she told me her father was pushing her to major in business instead of journalism.

“Dad, why don’t you show Harry the new grill Mum wouldn’t let you fire up today?” Elise suggests as she observes the awkward silence lingering.

I don’t think her father is fond of me and it has only been a minute. I wouldn’t be fond of me either.

“Oh, yes,” … “my wife wouldn’t let me use the new grill, she insisted that today’s lunch was not an occasion for a BBQ. What do you think?”

I can’t help but chuckle, “I don’t see what’s wrong with grilling today,” I respond, part of me grinning at the fact that maybe one day, it’ll be me and Elise debating on whether it is acceptable to use the grill when company are coming over.

Is that too far-fetched? Oh well. I’m not dating Elise to pass time, I am dating her to hopefully fall in love and bicker over if it is appropriate to throw some streak on the bbq.

“I’ll leave you two to it, I’m going to help Mum,” Elise smiles as Conrad is already walking towards the BBQ area.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, not too fond of being left to defend myself on my own with Elise’s Dad.

“You’ll be fine,” she responds, leaning up and kissing my lip before her fingers part ways with mine.

I step off the terrace and walk towards the BBQ area where Conrad is already ready to show off his latest pride and joy by the looks of things. “I don’t think it is too late to fire this baby up, do you think the wife will get upset?”

“Perhaps, sir,” I nod, “it is a nice grill you have,” I compliment the stainless-steel grill, unsure of what the hell I am meant to say. As you can tell, I don’t meet the parents’ very often.

“It’s a hybrid fire grill, Three powerful, lead-free cast-brass burners, Chain-driven rotisserie and so much more, I can’t believe I haven’t gotten to use her.” Conrad seems over the moon over his grill, I don’t quite understand it, but I am going to go with hit. “Enough about that, so you’re in Uni? What are you studying?”

“I graduate with a B.S. in Business Administration in two months and then I am going for my MBA in Economics.”

Conrad nods his head, seeming somewhat impressed but I am not fully convinced he is, “good choices, I got did a Dual Master’s Degree in Political Science and Business Administration.”

“Why did you choose political science?” I question, just to keep small talk.

“I wanted to understand international studies, government and law in order to expand my visions of branching into the business world. I knew it would help with international policies, as well as global trends and I wanted the upper hand.”

“That is understandable, very smart on your behalf; political science offers a wide range of options when it comes to career opportunities.”

“Why did you not choose political science? It would have been wise decisions.”

I nod, agreeing with Conrad. “I’m not looking at being in politics what so ever, Political campaign manager doesn’t fancy my interest. International business specialist and PR specialist aren’t in my field of interest. If I desire to take my business international, I can do so with my knowledge and degree if I do a 3 hour International Elective, which is what I am going to do.”

“Hmm, so you have a plan?”

“Somewhat,” I nod, having absolutely no desires to tell him my extensive plans when it comes to what I aspire for within the business world. If I told him my methods, I would overthrow my own empire before it rises.

Does an assassin tell someone who their next victim is going to be? No. Horrible analogy, I know, but you get my point.

“I am going to take a wild guess and say you’re discussing business,” Elise’s voice distracts us and I flick my head to the side to see her walking towards us. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she smiles before standing beside her father.

“Just business majors.” Conrad responds.

Elise rolls her eyes playfully, “can’t you be normal and discuss something more fun? Perhaps fishing or whatever normal men discuss?”

Conrad chuckles, “we are normal.”

“Mhm, lunch is ready and Mum needs your help in the kitchen.” Elise gestures towards the house and her Dad nods and takes off towards the house instantly. “You surviving?”

I nod, “yeah, what exactly does your Dad do?”

“CEO of a global business, can we try and avoid business conversations, please?” Elise requests and I nod, obeying her wish despite the fact I have so many damn questions right now.

Is everyone in her family apart of big companies?

“Okay, are your siblings coming to lunch? There are six places at the table.”

Elise shakes her head, “Dad has his business partner and his wife coming.”

Elise intertwines her fingers with mine under the table as she leans back comfortably in her chair with a glass of wine in her other hand, "Harry, tell us about yourself, you’ve been quiet, do you have siblings?” Cathleen questions.

“I have a sister named Gemma,” I answer, making a mental reminder that I need to call her and touch base with her too, make sure she is doing okay and that she and Mum have everything paid for at the moment.

“Is she at Uni?”

Why do I feel like I am getting the third degree?

“No, she graduated in 2013 and she is a writer.”

“What about your parents?” Conrad challenges curiously.

“My Mum is a school teacher and in her spare time, she is trying to become a promoter of charities.”

“Ah, and your father?” Conrad asks and every nerve in my body stops and begins to ache.

Does everything always have to come back to him?

I clear my throat, “he’s not in my life,” I respond in a tone that infers to drop the conversation. I am proud of myself for not lying and telling them he’s dead. It wouldn’t be an entire fabrication, to me he is dead. Nothing but a deadbeat father who causes devastation on people’s lives.

✿✿✿

Despite the occasional third degree over lunch, the afternoon seems to have gone well. I have a bit of a genuine understanding of Cathleen and Conrad. Cathleen, like her daughter, is a lovely woman who is lively and continuously smiling and easing any tension that happens arise. She has this grace to her, one that is similar to Elise’s where she can bring light to discussions.

While Conrad and his business partner are in the living room, I take it upon myself to assist the ladies with cleaning, not just because it is polite to help clean up but also because I want to stay around Elise where I feel a little more at peace.

The moment I overhear glass shivering against the flooring, my body tenses, my heart races and my throat feels as though it’s closing on me. I wince as I feel the emotional turmoil that will eternally be associated with glass fragmenting to a million pieces.

Fuck.

When my eyes flash open from shutting themselves for a brief moment, my gaze catches Elise’s and she steps forward. She touches her tender hand to my arm, “you okay?” Her voice is sweet sounding, something that is unfamiliar with what I generally correlate with damaged glass.

I nod my head, “I need some air, excuse me.” I clear my throat, attempting to avoid eye contact with her. I don’t want her to see through me. I don’t want her to inspect the destroyed boy through my eyes.

“I need air too,” Elise comments, “let’s go out back,” she gestures towards the glass doors that open out to the back porch of her parents’ house.

I follow Elise as she leads the way. I look out at the extensive landscaped rear garden, staged around a raised terrace, and I take in a few deep breaths.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I agree, knowing very well and good that I don’t want to answer any questions at the moment. I know where this is leading and I don’t want to go down that path.

“This is the second time I’ve seen you flinch at glass breaking. Can I ask why?”

I grow silent for a moment, hoping that I’ll be saved by the bell or by something at least. But I’m not. Nothing protects me, not her parents abruptly joining us or even a phone ringing. Damnit.

I take another deep breath, buying a few extra moments before I feel her hand press to my back, “if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

How do I tell a girl that it isn’t that I don’t want to tell her, it’s that I’m scared telling her will only cause her to run away? How do I tell my girlfriend that broken glass is a souvenir of my drunken father?

For a minute, I contemplate telling her a lie. But deep down inside me, I know I can’t lie. It isn’t ample to have a relationship based on dishonesty, even if it is to save myself and to save her.

“It happened when I was younger, about nine.” I begin, already sensing my heart in my chest rupturing and making it laborious to breathe.

I don’t want to tell her, I don’t want her to think differently of me; I don’t want her to know my fucked up history.

✿✿✿ ✿✿✿

It was a bitter winter night, the snow had already begun to collapse and blanket the surroundings with a soft white tone, the heat was on but everything was still stone cold inside. The house was warm but there was this uncanny sensation and coldness to it that assigned shivers spiralling down all parts of my body. Mum wasn’t home, there’s no telling where she was, presumably working or crying at a friends house while attempting to figure out how to save herself from the loveless marriage she was in.

My father was resting in his recliner chair, rocking back and forth with a half-pint of scotch in his hand, just enough to keep him warm and satisfied. It wasn’t his first glass, I’d say it was plausibly his fourth, perhaps fifth, but either way, it didn’t make the night any easier. He rocked back and forth for a few hours, his nomad-blue eyes focused on the wall. For anyone that may have been an outsider looking in, it would have resembled as though he was psychotic with how he rocked with a specific motion and didn’t manage to spill an inch of his drink— god forbid a drop goes to waste.

I walked into the living room for no real reason, I generally tried to avoid the living room when my father was in it, but that night, I didn’t. The moment his ominous eyes pried themselves away from the white wall, I swear I felt as though I was gazing down a barrel that had no salutary end. He had this appearance in his eye, it wasn’t a glimmer of hope or love, it was revulsion and contempt. His eyes were red and it wasn’t just from being bloodshot from the alcohol, no. I’m convinced it was the sinister in him coming out to strike.

In the moment his eyes locked with mine, it almost felt as though my heart ceased and my own life flashed before my eyes. He pounced like a lion belatedly deciding to seize its prey. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed ahold of me by my shirt. I wanted to fight, I wanted to react, but I was arrested between the grips of his hands and the frozen contempt of his darkening eyes.

I wanted to yell, I wanted to push him away, but it wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t even if I had tried. I was too far gone, too young. Not to mention. I thought I deserved whatever was to happen next. My father was and still is, the kind of man that is like a snake— if you poke it, it’s going to fucking strike— but that night, that night I didn’t poke; I didn’t prod, I didn’t awaken a beast that was destined to strike. No. He was already awake and ready; I was just the next victim of the venomous attack.

His fingers gouging into my shirt released themselves from my grip and he shoved me away. He didn’t leave me with an array of repugnant words to express how bitterly disappointed in me he was, or how I ruined his life, nor did he bother to inflict any physical pain. Instead, my father drank the last of his beverage before casting the glass across the room, allowing it to hit the wall and shatter to pieces before plunging to the raw, hard floor.

✿✿✿ ✿✿✿

I remember the moment as clear as day, and after that night, things never got better, the vibration of glass shattering became engraved into my subconsciousness. No matter how much I tried to disregard the sound, it always crawled back.

I stare at Elise, still contemplating whether to tell her the story or not. “Glass shattering is like nails on a chalkboard for me; maybe one day I will tell you the story behind it, but today, today I just want to have a pleasant day with you and your family,” I offer her the greatest and most faked smile I possibly can in an attempt to conceal the misfortune inside of me.

Elise nods and doesn’t push me, instead, she gives me a petite smile that seems to shine a bit of light into my darkened thoughts, “okay, I can understand that, you don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.“ Elise assures me and I nod. The only problem is, I don’t think I will ever be ready. I don’t share my past with anybody, I am closed off to that segment of my life for a reason. “I’m going to go inside, join me when you’re ready? No rush, I’m just going to give you some space, okay?”

“I’ll be back inside in a minute, love,” I assure Elise, just needing a moment to breathe in the warm air and compose myself. It seems as though my Dad isn’t going to let me go about my day without the constant reminders that he isn’t dead but, in fact, very much alive.

After a few minutes outside with just the rattling thoughts in my head, I wander inside and bypass the kitchen and stroll down the hallway that is adorned with the family portraits; I take the moment to observe one particular photo of all five family members. I cock my head to the side and notice how Elise and her sister never seem to be together, there is always someone between them, whether it be the parents or the brother. Strange.

I stop observing the photographs and go to round the corner, but I stop when I overhear Conrad speaking.

“Are you sure he is good for you? Darling, can he provide for you? I don’t want to have to offer him a job at my office because he isn’t capable of being successful in the business world.” Elise’s father questions with a typical fatherly tone of voice.

I don’t really blame him for asking such a question but I thought he would have at least a little bit of faith in me. At least I am trying. For fuck’s sake— I am going for my masters—- that is a good sign, is it not? I can’t exactly be a millionaire at twenty-one.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Elise’s dulcimer sweet voice responds and my heart moderately flatters at her somewhat sticking up for me.

“Elise, how do you know he isn’t using you so he can get ahead of everyone else and get opportunities? He has nothing to offer you.”

“He doesn’t need a step up, Dad. He interns under Jamie.”

“Exactly, and suddenly he is dating you while interning under your uncle. What a coincidence.” Conrad points out, making a decent case against me. I can’t exactly explain how the coincidences are just coincidences. I don’t give a damn about who her family is, I want her, not a step-up in the world of business.

I’m not like my father, I don’t use people for my own advantages.

“You’re jumping the gun… He didn’t know I was Jamie’s niece until the Valentines Day benefit. Just like he didn’t know you were in the business world until you told him.” … “Can’t you accept that he is with me for me and not for what he can gain?”

There is silence between them and I think about making my presence known, but I don’t round the corner when I overhear Conrad begin to speak again. “I don’t know, Elise. He seems closed off.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Dad. Maybe he has a story he doesn’t want to tell yet.”

And with that comment from Elise, I take the moment to enter the living room with a fake smile, “I’m going to help Cathleen with tea and cake, I’ll be right back,” Conrad politely excuses himself and leaves Elise and me.

I can feel the tension in the air despite the fact her Dad has fled the room. I wish I could overlook the fact that her father doesn’t deem me good enough for his daughter, but truth be told, I can’t.

I’m not good enough for Elise, I don’t have the highlife like she does, I don’t come from a family where we have wealth and a picture-perfect family. My father is an alcoholic piece of shit, the complete opposite of Conrad. My mother constantly works but she still can’t make ends meet financially, not to mention, she has yet to forgive me for getting away from Chesire and attempting to escape the things she doesn’t understand.

I don’t have the financial stability to offer Elise, and I know it is ridiculous and absurd that at twenty-one I should have everything together, but by the looks of things, this is what is expected. The expectation of Conrad are expectations I cannot satisfy at the moment.

"Hey, love. I think I am going to head to my apartment, I have a ton of work to do for my classes and-”

Her lips purse like she’d been chewing a lemon rind before Elise cuts me off before I can continue my excuses for leaving, “you’re lying.”

“Excuse me?” I am taken back by her bluntness.

“You’re lying to me.” … “You’re biting your lip and not in a sexual way and your eyes are avoiding me.”

I inhale a sharp breath. “Observant,” I murmur.

I was right about her when I deemed she was good at reading people back when we were sitting in the coffee shop that one night after leading her away from the party.

-Despite my cocky ego, I am wholly positive she would be able to destroy me in every way possible if she was my business opponent and not because I find her to be attractive in every damn way, but because I know she is the kind of person who sits back and observes. Elise can probably read straight through my eyes as we speak. She is the type who would presumably sit back, watch and strike at the most unexpected time when her rival is at their weakest. Just by the way she holds herself and speaks I know she isn’t dimwitted.-

When I thought she could read straight through my eyes, I didn’t think she would do it so soon within our relationship and call me out on it.

“Elise, I don’t think I should be here. I think I should just go.”

“You heard, didn’t you?”

I nod, not wanting to lie to her. I heard what her father said and I know he is right with his intentions and his concerns. I would probably feel the same way if I had a daughter. “I did. Your Dad is right, I’m not good enough for you Elise. I don’t fit in here and I don’t think I am wanted here at the moment.”

“I want you here, he doesn’t mean any harm by it.”

“I know he doesn’t mean harm by his comments, he’s right though.”

Elise shakes her head, adamant that her father isn’t correct. “No, he isn’t.”

“He is, you just don’t see it. I’m going to go home. I work all day tomorrow so I will see you Monday, okay?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Her voice is a bit softer now, but it isn’t enough to persuade me.

“Love, I don’t think me staying is much of a good idea.”

“Please? I don’t care whether my Dad thinks your good enough for me, you’re a twenty-one-year-old that is doing better than half the people I know. You’re being hard on yourself… Please stay? For me?” She bats her eyes at me and uses this unforeseen pull on me that tugs at me to give in.

This woman is going to have me wrapped around her finger, I can feel it. Fuck.

“He’s just being protective. Just stay for dessert and then you can leave.”

“Elise, I can’t.”

“Or you just don’t want to?”

“You don’t get it,” I sigh, beginning to feel frustrated with myself and with her. “Elise, look around, you have everything I don’t. I can barely afford to take you out to dinner let alone all of this,” I throw my hands around, gesturing towards the extravagant house.

“None of that means anything to me.” … "Please, just tea and cake and then we can talk about this later when it is just me and you.“ Elise sighs as she runs her fingers through her hair.

To my surprise, I give in. I think I can survive tea and cake with her parents’. It isn’t like things can get much worse, they already don’t think I meet their high expectations to date their daughter, what’s next? Are they going to deem me the worst boyfriend? They’d probably be correct. I’m not much of a good boyfriend, I don’t get to take Elise out a lot, I am constantly working, studying or doing my internship; I don’t have much time to sleep let alone going on dates that last more than a few hours.

✿✿✿

I survived the tea and cake, I managed to leave Elise’s house without losing my mind completely. Elise told me she would come over to my apartment once she finished up a few things her house.

I rest on my couch, pondering over the day and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about what her father said and if he had other things to say to Elise after I left. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that her family are significant in the business industry, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am not with Elise for what her family is. I don’t want a step up in the world or any sort of help. I am fine with doing it on my own, I don’t require anybody’s help, I do not rely on anyone, I know better than that. I don’t want someone to give me a free ride or to make my life easier when it comes to my future and my career.

"Are you going to talk to me?” Elise distracts me as she wanders in front of me, pacing a little bit.

I glance up at her, unsure of what I am meant to say. To be quite honest, I am exhausted, today wasn’t meant to be so arduous. Between the shattered glass and recollections of my father and Conrad telling Elise I am not good enough, I am absolutely tired.

“Is this what our first fight is going to be about?” Elise sighs, her hands crossing over her chest. She isn’t pleased and I understand that.

“No, it can be a discussion. The truth is, I’m not good enough for you, Elise,“ I inform her of what feels like the hundredth time.

Elise rolls her eyes, and despite the fact I find it to be incredibly sexy the way she rolls her eyes, it also frustrates me. She is stubborn.

"You realise that is just a stupid excuse, right?”

“Elise, your father thinks I want to use you guys for my own advantage, everyone else is going to think the same. I can’t live up to your parents’ expectations, I can’t provide for you, I am just twenty-one. We have two different lives.”

“I know you aren’t wanting advantages.”

“And yet, somehow I already have been given an advantage. Can you explain how I was offered a permanent position at your Uncle’s business before I have managed to graduate?”

Elise grows withdrawn for a moment, processing what I just said. “Wait, what? That is great news, Harry.”

“Yeah, like you didn’t know about it or get me the chance.”

There is no way I managed to earn a position at this company just by interning under him. My experience and knowledge aren’t enough to work with such a high profile company.

“Harry, I swear I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know.” … “Harry, Jamie doesn’t give out free rides, he doesn’t just offer positions unless they are deserved. I am sorry, but you don’t give yourself any credit, that is the problem here, not me.”

“You didn’t ask him to give the position to me?”

“No,” Elise shakes her head, “I don’t meddle with that stuff, Harry. It isn’t my business to get into. I know you’re not the type of guy to want free chances, it doesn’t take a genius to know you like to do things on your own even if it is hard, you’re bloody stubborn.” … “Hense why we are bloody arguing over nothing because you are so stubborn and hard on yourself.”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, she might be right, but that doesn’t make anything any easier. “You’re a runner,” Elise sighs, sitting down in the recliner.

“What?” I raise a brow, unsure of what she is referring to.

“You run. When things get hard, you run, you listen to the bad things about yourself, you use them against you, and then you run.”

I don’t run, well, I don’t run from everything. The only thing I have tried to escape from are the monsters of my memories and my father, and as you can see, that has gotten me far. A hopeless wanderer, perhaps suits me better, but a runner, no. “I don’t run.”

“Really? then prove it to me.” Elise stands back to her feet and comes to stand in front of me.

“Prove it to you?” I ask.

“Prove to me that you don’t run when things get hard, prove to me that I am wrong.”

I don’t want to run, I don’t want to destroy whatever is going on between Elise and me. I don’t want to seem like the coward that runs just because her father doesn’t think highly of me at the moment. I stand to my feet and cup my hands around her face, “you want me to prove that I don’t run?” I whisper, holding her face between the palms of my hands.

“Yes,” Elise nods and I take the opportunity to prove to her that I am not a runner, that I don’t run when things get tough.

I lean closer and graze my lips against hers, “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper before I kiss her sherbet sweet lips that are pillow soft. Then she is kissing me. At first, our kiss is delicate and sweet, just enough to keep us wanting more as we smile between kisses. Our disagreement becomes nothing but something of the past the moment her tongue skims my lips and I feel my hands twitch as she wraps her arms around my neck and presses our bodies closer together. I welcome the bold caress of her tongue, gentle but demanding, and I move my hands from cupping her face to resting on the small of her back. She’s beckoning me like a siren’s song; I can’t get enough of her.

I attempt to ignore her body being so close to mine, I strive to ignore the fact that she’s inches away from rubbing up against me. I benevolently move us to the couch as she enables me to taste what I didn’t know I had been craving. We kiss, and for a long time.

My nerves palpitate and my heart feels as though it is milliseconds away from exploding. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi and this isn’t a dream, this is real, and every inch of me feels like lightning in a bottle- powerful and elusive. I have never wanted anyone like this before; I want her. I want her so damn bad.

Elise gently pulls away from our kiss, “I don’t want to ruin the mood,” she breathes, “but I want to wait.”

I know what she means and I respect that, “of course, may I still kiss you?” I ask carefully, not wanting to overstep any lines, I will go at her speed and only do what she wishes.

Elise smiles at me, “how could I ever say no to that?” She giggles, tenderly pulling me down to kiss her sweetly. “Guess we’re done disagreeing?” She mumbles against my lips.

So-fucking-done-with-arguing.

I hum, “showin’ you I don’t run,” I respond, not giving her a chance to respond as I kiss her deeply and she kisses me back with her sumptuous, sensuous and velour soft mouth.

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