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jloves-pp · 9 months

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the Story of Merida and Hiccup-chapter 11

chapter 11-the white dragon

The princess was taken aback as she stepped into the huge hall. Made of wood and stone the hall had tapestries of dragons and Vikings on the walls. It was filled with wooden chairs and benches, above a big fire pit hung a gold dragon statue. Merida have never seen anything so amazing.

"Well, it's not that fancy of a hall" Hiccup said seeing her looking around.

"Are you kidding me, it's beautiful" Merida said grinning.

"Well...er…thank you" Hiccup said. They were soon joined by the others with food.

"So, what's Scotland like? Fishlegs asked "I've heard that Scotsmen dine on the blood of their enemies and throw them into a pit filled with wolves"

Merida couldn't help but find this funny

"No, we don't that. We only eat meat, veg and fine wine" she said taking a chicken leg.

"Oh, that's what my dad told me" Fishlegs said.

"Me too" Astrid added "My parents told me they fought blood thirsty creatures covered in fur".

"You mean Bears" Merida replied. She noticed the confusion looks on their heads. "Bears are animals who roam the forest, we used to hurt them but we stop since…"

"Oh, it sounds like something happened there" Astrid said.

"You have no idea" Hiccup murmured knowing that they would need to tell Merida's story. They chatted and ate, he was surprised at Merida who was gobbling down her food, without a care in the world.

The days she spent in Berk were paradise for Merida. Hiccup showed her around the village, the Viking men and women were kind and friendly to her which reminded her of home. She'd seen so many dragons breeds, met her new friends dragons and learned about their different abilities. One time, Merida and Hiccup found a group of Terrible Terrors. Hiccup handed some pieces of fish to Merida and she happily fed them. One of the Terrors placed its head on her lap, Merida gently stroked the small dragon's head. Enjoying being with these wonderful creatures.

Merida loved to explored the island whether it be on foot or in the air. Hiccup showed Merida the cove that he and Toothless had first become friends.

"Ok, just hold it right here" Hiccup said holding his princess's hand as they walked towards the entrance. Merida covered her eyes from the sunlight but soon she could see she took in a breathtaking sight. Surrounded by rock walls, there was a peaceful lake with a waterfall that glistened in the sunlight. Giant trees towered over them their roots snaking down the rocks below.

"It's beautiful" Merida manage to say. Hiccup smiled at her, happy to share this special place. Without warning, Merida quickly climbed down the rock. Hiccup and Toothless quickly join her "It's so peaceful here, it's a perfect hiding place".

"Well, it wasn't by choice. Toothless fell into it and of course he couldn't fly out until I made his fin" Hiccup said. The dragon rushed over to the lake, to find fish. Merida sat on a nearby rock, watching the Night Fury. She was reminded of her mum as a bear, trying to fish. Hiccup sat next to her and started drawing.

"Want to go swimming together" Merida suddenly asked. She saw Hiccup stopped and turning red.

"Ur… Mer…we can't. We shouldn't…..I…I…" he said flustered.

"Hiccup, I'm joking, don't worry. I don't know if" Merida replied before rubbing her arm. Now regretting what she'd said. Hiccup could see Merida was also nervous about having an intimate moment like swimming together but mostly, seeing each other's bodies.

"Hey, hey. It's ok. Let's take our time with things" He reassured his princess, taking her hand and softly rubbing her knuckles. "Maybe one day we can and anyway you're beautiful".

"Thank you" Merida and gently kissed his cheek. Just as she pulled away, Hiccup turned and kissed her on the lips. She was stunned but instantly kissed him back. They were enjoying this moment of passion when the sound of flapping wings put a stop to their magic moment.

"Hey lovebirds" shouted Tuffnut.

"Are you two coming?" called Snotlout.

"We're heading for the cliffs, come on" Astrid said before they flew off. Hiccup and Merida smiled to each other and got up and raced to Toothless. Soon they we're flying across the sky with their friends.

When the dragons landed, the riders relaxed on the stones while their dragons played.

"So there no dragons in DunBroch?" asked Fishlegs.

"No, most people don't believe they exist" Merida said holding Hiccup's hand while his arm rested around her shoulders.

"So, what's in DunBroch?" Astrid said.

"Well, we have sheep, cows, hawks, horses oh and bears" Merida said, counting them on her fingers.

"My mum saw a horse once, she said it had four legs, one big eye with a upper human body and no flesh" Tuffnut said. Everyone, including the dragon looked on in confusion. Even though most of them never seen a horse they could tell that wasn't right.

"No, that's nothing like a horse" Merida finally said.

"Oh, still she dreams about it. Always goes white" Ruffnut said.

"Speaking of things aren't as their seem." Snotlout said "Are you sure you're a princess?"

"Aye. Why?" Merida asked.

"Because you don't act like a princess"

"Oh, and what, pray tell. Should a princess act like" Merida asked crossing her arms.

"Well, something like this" Snotlout announced as he stood up and said in a high pitch voice "Oh look at me, I'm a pretty princess. I love wearing fancy dresses and singing about love" as he pranced around.

"Oh, I can only talk to animals and wait for a man to save me" Tuffnut said as he twirled around. The two boys were laughing with the other teen.

"No, I'm not like that at all" Merida answered.

"Definitely not" Hiccup added as he hugged Merida close. Just then, they heard the dragons growling. The teens looked over to see them watching something out at sea. "What is it bud?" Hiccup asked Toothless as he and the others joined them. The Night Fury pointed his head in the of the direction of the disturbance and Hiccup pulled out his telescope to see. "oh"

"What is it?" Merida asked.

"See for yourself" Hiccup said and handed the telescope to her. Merida put it up to her eye, it took a moment but she could see a large boat.

"It's a ship," cried Merida.

"A dragon hunter ship to be exact" Hiccup answered. Merida knew what he meant. Hiccup told her there were Vikings who still hunted dragons. "Ready for a dragon rescue" Merida heard Hiccup asked. Merida didn't need to answer, she was ready.

They didn't waste any time, they all got on their dragons and flew off.

"Should we take Merida back to Berk" Fishlegs asked.

"I'm perfectly fine coming along" Merida said crossly as she held on to Hiccup.

"She's more than capable to join in" Hiccup mentioned before they flew higher. Merida knew that the best way to do this was to use the element of surprise. "Ok Fishlegs, Snotlout, you distract them on the left. Ruff, Tuff, you take the right. Me, Mer and Astrid will jump aboard to save the dragons".

"Ok" "On it" the others called as they flew into position. With Hiccup on Toothless and Astrid riding Stormfly they hovered just near the ship. Merida took out her bow and pressed the button to release it to its full size, as she fasten the string, she saw in time the first dragon fire at the boat. They heard cries and shouts before the twins on Barf and Belch had sprayed gas and then lit the gas to cause a fire.

"Ok let's go" Hiccup said, and the teens shot down on their dragons, making the Viking men on the deck scatter in fear, Toothless and Stormfly landed. The girls jumped off with their weapons in hand followed by Hiccup, who was walking up to a unconscious man to retrieve the keys. "Ok, got some but we need more".

"We'll look for more!" Merida said, as the girls ran off while Hiccup and Toothless began to open the cages. Merida and Astrid were battling the Viking men, as one released the dragons, the other would fight to defend and search for the remaining keys.

"Nothing here" Astrid told Merida before pushed an unconscious Viking out of their way. Merida had unlocked a cage containing a Monstrous Nightmare and its babies, they quickly flew out of the ship like the rest of the captured dragons.

"We need to keep looking" Merida quickly said, when they suddenly heard something roaring beneath them. "Did you hear that? There are more dragons below" Merida said looking at Astrid.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go" Astrid replied, the girls soon found the trap door leading to the deck below, Astrid easily opened it with her axe. Merida climbed down and Astrid was about to jump….

"Don't you dare" shouted a huge man who'd suddenly appeared before them. He lunged his enormous axe at Astrid. The blonde haired girl had let go of the trap door to defend herself.

The hatch slammed shut, Merida could only look up as she was suddenly in the dark, as her eyes got accustomed to her surroundings the rays of light were visible around the edges of the hatch. It seemed like nothing was down here, Merida readied her bow, just in case when a loud bang came from behind her. Stealthily, Merida walked towards the sound. She realised there was a cage built into the back, she looked through the bars and found nothing but darkness. She wasn't sure where the sound had come from but she knew whatever made the sound was definitely here.

Merida turned for a second when she felt someone or something was watching her. She turned back to find two huge bright blue eyes looking straight at her.

The princess backed off as the eyes followed her from side to side, to Merida's surprise, white scales appeared around the eyes to reveal it was a white dragon. At first glance, the dragon looked like Toothless except being white and it's fins and body were different she thought it looked like a female dragon.

Suddenly the white dragon lunged at Merida but failed. Merida noticed that it was chained to the wall and muzzled. The redhead couldn't help but feel sympathy for the white dragon. Seeing her locked up and tied down, she knew she needed to free her. As the White dragon pulled and struggled to be free from her chains, Merida quickly broke the lock with an arrow. The lock fell to the floor which caught the attention of the white dragon. Growling, the dragon watched as Merida slowly walked in toward the dragon.

"I'm not going to hurt you" Merida reassured "I'm going to release you" but the response she got was a loud roar from the dragon. The Redhead wasn't sure how to calm this dragon down, watching the dragon as it pulled on its chains, it gave Merida a warning look, although she couldn't help but feel that there was something familiar about her. "I know it's the worst thing in life, being cage up, treated like an prop, use by others to they own desires and longing to be free" Merida softly said. The white dragon slowly tilted her head, showing that she was listening. Merida went closer before sitting a few feet away. "You know, I wonder what its like to fly. It's wasn't too long ago that I flew, and it's the most incredible feeling. You love the feeling of flying, don't you?"

The white dragon nodded which made Merida smile. She took a few more steps closer till she was next to the dragon. The dragon looked directly at her. The princess saw the dragons face now up close, it began to make a sound, to Merida's surprise it was a purr, the dragon was purring softly. At that moment, both of them stared into one another's eyes. Merida could see in the dragon's blue eyes an untameable fire and reckless wonder that she had. It was like looking in a mirror, seeing herself in this dragon, she could tell that the creature was thinking the same thing. Merida remembered Hiccup telling her when he met Toothless he too saw himself in the Night Fury.

Suddenly there was a loud bang, they both looked up to find one of Vikings coming through the hatch.

"Let's get out of here" Merida quickly said. She removed the dragons restraints. Luckily Hiccup had given her some lockpicks before they had boarded. She unlocked the chain from the wall when one of the men appeared. Merida and the white dragon hid against the wall as the Viking walked over to the cage.

"I know you're in here girl!" the huge man called out. Merida heard heavy footsteps coming closer. She quickly pulled out an arrow and place it her bow. The white dragon looked over and watched as Merida crept in the dark. "You must have a death wish" he growled. Merida readied herself as the Viking opened the cage door and walked in. "You should be scared; this monster is the deadliest thing on this earth".

"Ha, the only monster here is you!" Merida said bravely as she entered into the light, her bow ready.

"Oh, what pretty little thing, you are. Shame to spoiled that pretty little face of yours" the man sneered although he looked a bit surprised to see a young girl here.

"I would say the same thing but I can't" Merida replied which made the white dragon smirk. Merida kept a straight face, not wanting to show any weakness.

"I surprised you're not dead" the Viking said "Maybe I should get" he stroked his sword gently with evil grin, but before he could come close, Merida shot him in the shoulder. He screamed while Merida fastened another arrow. "Why you little.." the mad man grabbed Merida and caught her around the neck. Merida tried the break free but it was too difficult he squeezed tighter.

She may have passed out if it wasn't for her new friend. The white dragon roared and dived at Merida's attacker. The princess tried to get her breath back as the dragon held the man down. After coughing, Merida grabbed her bow and got to her feet.

"We need to go. He's not worth it" Merida said to the dragon. The white dragon gave one last roar at the frightened man before both girls walked out and locked the cage. Ignoring the shout of the Viking, Merida heard the commotion above them. She looked over to the dragon who was showing her back as if saying "Come on, hop on".

Merida climbed on, holding on as the dragon blasted through the door and flew out. It was hard to hang on with no saddle but the redhead just managed it. They were right above the ship, now the deck had fires dotted around, all of the cages were empty and she could see the dragon riders in the air. Merida tried to see Hiccup, Astrid and Toothless anywhere, then she finally spotted Astrid, reaching to her dragon, but just behind the blonde Viking was a other Viking man. Quickly, Merida place an arrow in her bow. As the white dragon hovered, Merida aim and fired it. The arrow flew and pinned the man's hand against the wall. Astrid turned and punched him in the head.

"Astrid where's Merida?" Hiccup asked looking around worried.

"I think she's fine, come one" Astrid reassured him before they jumped on their dragons. She didn't know how but when she saw the arrow, she had a feeling she knew who'd fired it.

Merida and the white dragon watched the others fly back to land and they followed. They reached the foggy cliffside and landed, Merida slid off the white dragon with ease. They landed the other side of the cliff the others so didn't see them.

"I think it makes us even, thank you" Merida said, her new friend purred then both heard the freed dragons roaring in the distance. Merida could tell the white dragon needed to go. "You need to help, don't you" Merida asked. The white dragon growled as if to say "yes" but the princess could see she was torn. "You're a free spirit, the last thing I want to do is to tie you down" the dragon seemed to physically relax hearing those words. Merida wanted a dragon since meeting Hiccup and Toothless but this dragon was much like her that she couldn't take her. The dragon noticed the sad look on Merida's face. The dragon came closer and licked the girl's cheek, making Merida laugh. "Thanks, we'll meet again one day. That's a promise".

Suddenly a thought came to Merida, she remembered Hiccup's story when he placed his hand on Toothless's head. She also remembered the feeling when she'd done it. Without thinking Merida reached out her hand. The dragon flinched making the princess stop, seeing this, Merida closed her eyes and reached out again. At first, the dragon was unsure what the human was doing but something was drawing her. She slowly pressed her head against Merida's hand. The redhead opened her eyes at the touch. She could feel what she had with Toothless but it was ten times stronger. Both knew they had a bond. An unbreakable bond.

The dragon pulled away and smiled, Merida couldn't stop smiling either. She never thought she'd have a dragon as a friend.

"Merida!" They heard Hiccup shouting. Instantly the white dragon took to the skies. Merida watched as she turned invisible, as if disappearing into thin air.

"Merida" The princess turned to see Hiccup running up to her with the Night Fury behind him. He ran up to her and kiss her. Merida felt his relief and worry in it, she kissed him back to reassure him. "Oh Mer, I was so worried…"

"I'm fine Hic" Merida said rubbing his cheek to calm him. "I managed to escape on one of dragons and landed here".

"Oh, and the dragon?" Hiccup asked and Toothless purred curiously.

"Oh, it flew off" Merida replied which was true.

"I'm just so glad you're ok" Hiccup said before holding on to his princess.

They then heard footsteps and the others joined them.

"Merida, thank the gods you made it" Astrid said.

"Aye, I'm glad as well" Merida answered.

"Well, we better get back home, it's getting late" Hiccup said. They got on their dragons and set off into the evening sky. Later that night, the teens sat around the fire, enjoying meat and telling each other about their rescue.

"You should have seen me firing fireballs at those suckers" Snotlout said proudly.

"Yeah, before you fell off Hookfang before they shot at you" Tuffnut said and Ruffnut chuckled. Snotlout look on sulkily.

"I noticed a few new species of dragons. We definitely need to study them" Fishlegs said to Hiccup.

Merida couldn't help but think of the white dragon when she heard that. She thought about telling them but after meeting her, she knew she wanted to stay hidden. She also knew Hiccup would drop everything and go off to search for her. She didn't want to keep this from him, but even if she wanted to she did not know where to start.

"Merida, what's wrong?" Hiccup asked. She saw Hiccup and Astrid looking concerned.

"Oh nothing, just tired. Too much excitement" Merida reassured them. She felt Hiccup's arm around her, she smiled at him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Mer, were you the one who shot that arrow that stopped my attacker" Astrid asked Merida.

"Aye"

"I knew it, thanks. I'm impressed. From that distance, you definitely need to show me your skills tomorrow" Astrid commented.

"You're on" Merida replied. Both girls grinned.

"See, I knew you'd get along" Hiccup said giving a sheepish grin which made both Merida and Astrid giggle.

He was right, Merida was having a wonderful time here and had made great friends. At that moment, Merida noticed an outline in the sky. She recognised it instantly as the white dragon, the dragon flew across the moon before it disappeared again. The princess hoped one day they would meet again.

"Good night, Light Fury".

#mericcup #merida #brave #hiccup #how to train your dragon #fanfic

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junglevalley · 2 years

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regencyslxt · 3 years

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Blessing

1465 words.

Imagine giving birth to Anthony's child.

this can be read as a part 2 of New Life or on its own.

It was three weeks until your due date. Everything was set and ready to go. The nursery was decorated, the new crib was in your and Anthony’s room for the time being.

Anthony.

He had hardly taken a moment to breathe. He was so busy sorting the finance side of this pregnancy and making sure you had everything you needed for the little one’s arrival. Either that or he was smothering you with his complete love and affection. It was a lot, but you couldn’t fault him for it after all he has had to listen to you complain about the back aches, the feet aches, the constant exhaustion and all the other lovely parts of pregnancy for the past 8 months.

Speaking of aches, you had been woken up by a sharp pain in your stomach this morning. It had come and gone fairly sharpish so you weren’t worried. The doctor had already explained that ‘practice’ contractions might occur, so that’s all you thought it was. You had been having them once or twice every hour or so, there really wasn’t anything to worry about.

You were currently on your way to the kitchen, as fast as your body would let you go, which wasn’t fast at all. You had woken up with the biggest appetite but your breakfast hadn’t quite filled you up so you were going to make some toast and jam, the perfect mix of sweet and savoury. You were salivating at the thought of it. Unfortunately, your stealth was non-existent and when Anthony had heard the shuffling of your feet along the corridor, he was quick out of his office to meet you.

“Y/N what are you doing!? It won’t be long before the little rascal is here, you should be resting. I’ll get someone to bring whatever it is you want to the bedroom, come on.”

He began ushering you back towards the stairs you had successfully gotten down a little earlier.

“Anthony, sweetie, I hardly think the baby is going to pop out of me in the time it takes to get from our bedroom to the kitchen. Calm down, my love.” You held his hand and moved his arm so you could take it for a bit of support. You both continued towards the kitchen, the smell of tonight’s dinner filling the air as you got closer. Anthony was mumbling incoherently.

“Dear, whatever are you mumbling about?” you chuckled.

He looked at you the same way he looks at you when you stand up too quickly or when you exit the carriage on your own. Eyes filled with anxiety.

“You should be resting love, I don’t want you to tire yourself. It’s not good for you nor the little one,” he places a gentle hand on your belly. The baby was clearly glad to feel him as a kick was felt moments after. You let out a laugh,

“I think the baby is quite alright, don’t you?”

“It appears so… “

He had given up his mission to get you back to bed, but he wasn’t leaving your side until you were at least seated somewhere. You entered the kitchen and asked one of the cooks if you could have toast and raspberry jam. Whilst they were making it for you, you found a seat at the island where some of the veg for tonight was being washed and prepared. You ogled at all the colours. You could feel Anthony by your side, so you leant into him.

As you were waiting another ‘contraction’ disrupted the peace you felt. You rubbed the underneath of your stomach to try and ease the discomfort. Although soon after another was felt, this one being more painful than the last. From here it was sudden. The wet feeling that made its way down your legs, the immense pain that it seemed to trigger, and the looks exchanged between everyone in the room. The dinner was long forgotten as all the focus was now on you. You were rushed into the nearest bedroom, your bedroom being too far away to even consider it an option. The maids worked quickly to remove your dress until you were left in your shift. You lay down on the bed, squeezing Anthony’s hand as another contraction occurred. Everything was a blur really. You can’t really remember when the doctor had come in. Maybe it was whilst you were screaming, or maybe it was when Anthony was crying. He did tell you to never mention that to anybody though. It was a long 6 hours, a fairly short labour in comparison to the other women in the ton but long enough for you. It was agony and by far the most tiring thing you have ever experienced. How can people say this is a blessing?

Everyone was urging you to push, so you did. You pushed. Again, and again, and again until the room fell quiet. The sound of a baby’s cries filled the silence and you met Anthony in the softest kiss you could muster. His eyes met yours and you could see just how happy he was. You spotted the doctor move from the corner of your eye and turned back to him. Your baby was now in the nurse’s arms, she made her way towards you both at the head of the bed and gave you her congratulations.

“Congratulations, my lord. It is a girl.”

Anthony beamed at her words and took his new-born daughter in his arms. You sat up as best you could without disrupting the care you were being given, trying to catch a glimpse of your little girl. He moved closer to you, positioning the bundle higher as to make sure you could see her. Her eyes were closed and her lips were pursed. You reached out to caress her cheeks.

“Hello my sweet girl,” you gushed.

Anthony peered down at you, admiring how even after hours of labour you still managed to appear ethereal to him. He placed a kiss on your head and turned his attention back to the baby in his arms.

“We should get her cleaned up, no?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, yes of course.”

Anthony handed her off to the nurse again and watched her leave.

“You can go with her my lord, I’m sure your wife would like to rest after all the excitement.”

“No, I can’t leave her, I shall stay here.”

“Anthony go look after her, I will be here when you come back. I am rather tired anyway,” you admit.

Anthony kisses you urgently and makes his way to the room his daughter was taken to previously. Your eyelids grew heavy and within a few minutes you were asleep.

…

Your eyes fluttered open a few hours later. A tiny giggle could be heard from across the room. You look over and witness what could quite literally be the best moment of your life…Your husband stands over your child’s dressing table trying his best to wrap her in a swaddle.

“We’re going to tuck this arm in here aren’t we my little angel…” he speaks as he wraps her arms amongst the soft material.

“Aren’t you just the prettiest little bundle of joy,” she lets out a squeal as Anthony pecks her rosy cheeks over and over again.

He notices you’re awake and makes his way over to you. He sits beside you, leaning his back against the headboard and hands your daughter to you for the first time.

You glance at her and take in her features. Her large eyes stare up at you and a gummy smile appears on her face.

“Well hello there...”

“You have done so well sweetheart,” Anthony tells you.

“I could never have done it without you.”

You look back at your daughter,

“She looks like you, you know. I’d recognise those big brown eyes anywhere.”

He smiles at your revelation.

“What shall we call her?” you ask quietly noticing her eyes closing.

“I’m not sure, what do you think?”

“How about Edele? We can call her Ed for short, after your father?”

At your suggestion, Anthony can’t seem to hold back his tears. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and pulls you both into a warm hug.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only every day Anthony,” you laugh.

“Miss Edele Bridgerton…” he tests.

“The perfect name for the most perfect little girl.”

As you found yourself in his arms, looking down at the life you created together. You realised that people were right, all the pain, all the mood swings, all the hurt was worth it. She truly was a little blessing and you couldn’t have asked for a better husband to share her with.

#imagine #x reader #regencyslxt #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Happiness [Maxwell Lorenzano x f!Reader]

Author’s note: Please heed warnings before you read. This is angst. There’s a little fluff and a few spicy moments, but at its core, this is a pretty angsty read. It’s a different interpretation of Maxwell, post WW84. Reblogs are so appreciated. I worked really hard on this and it’s not showing up in tags so if you could reblog it... it would literally mean the world to me :( <3

Summary: After the dreamstone debacle, Maxwell Lord loses custody of his son, his home, his job and all his wealth. He has nothing, and what was once the simple task of ‘living’, is suddenly proving to be extremely difficult. Until a beacon of light enters his life. He can only hope that you don’t find out who he really is.

Word count: 4000+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: depression/suicidal thoughts, PSTD/trauma implications, poverty, starvation, binge eating, allusions to sex, male masturbation, food and drink mention.

Masterlist

Max is usually pretty good at keeping himself to himself, but when he hears the commotion from outside his small shanty apartment, he cautiously stalks towards the front door and leans into the wood, gazing out the peephole. He spots you, struggling to unlock the door located on the far side of the hall. Your arms are filled with brown paper bags and an abundance of cardboard boxes circle around your feet. He hears you curse as you drop one of the paper bags. It rips, and groceries spill onto the floor with a clatter. He swallows thickly, feeling his tummy grumble at the sight of fresh fruit and colourful veg. Max hadn’t eaten a single meal this week.

He spends a few more seconds watching you struggle, before the guilt swarms over him and he feels like a creep. He does wonder if he should leave his apartment and help you out though, but eventually he decides on turning his heel and walks back to the torn leather sofa. He just knows he’ll be some kind of intrusion on you. If Max has learned one thing, it’s that he needs to stay away from other people. Otherwise, he’d just hurt them. Even if hurting them was the last thing he intended to do.

Still, he finds himself marvelling over you. He wants to go over and introduce himself. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen a woman (other than his ex-wife) in just short of a year, or maybe it’s something more genuine -- like the way you wear your hair or that glimmer in your eye. Once upon a time, Maxwell would’ve strolled on over to your apartment with the utmost confidence and charm, with the sole intention of winning you over and taking you back to his place. He wouldn’t dare do that now.

He stares at the wall clock, and watches as the minute leg ticks. It’s painfully slow. It’s 5:52pm, and Maxwell is just waiting until 6pm, because he knows at 6pm he can call his son, Alistair. If he tries calling a second earlier though, he is certain his ex-wife will throw a rage, claiming that he’s breaking court order. Maxwell had never been one to follow rules, but now, he didn’t have much of a choice. As he waits for the leg to strike 6, all he can really do is think about you. Truth be told, he hates that he’s thinking about you this much. He doesn't even know you.

But you’re so pretty. Your features are soft and delicate. Your clothes fit you perfectly and hug your body in all the right places. He can’t help but think what you sound like. He wonders if you’re from around here. He wonders why you moved into this particular neighbourhood, out of all the other neighbourhoods in rural D.C. He should go over and say hello at least. It would be the polite thing to do. He considers bringing over a bottle of wine to make a peace offering, but then he remembers all he has in his refrigerator is a stick of butter and a bottle of milk that has grown old and fermented. He assumes that you probably wouldn’t care for such housewarming gifts.

Maxwell calls Alistair as soon as the clock turns six. As always, Alistair is more than excited to speak to his dad, beaming brightly down the line. Alistair tells Maxwell about his step-father, and how he’d built a pool in their back garden for Ali and his mom. Max’s lips curl into a frown when he realises that his ex’s new husband is giving Alistair everything Max couldn’t. And once again, Maxwell feels like he has failed as a father.

For a short while, Alistair babbles about his day at school and how he got full marks on a pop quiz. Maxwell is as proud as punch. He has no doubt that success will one day find Alistair, he just hopes Alistair has an easier time handling it. Max can hear a faint yelling in the background of the phone call and eventually Alistair is interrupted.

“Oh-- mommy is calling me to eat dinner.” Alistair says softly, his voice suddenly growing oddly timid. Max’s stomach grumbles again at the mention of dinner.

“But we still have ten minutes left of our phone call.” Max replies matter-of-factly. He hopes Alistair can’t hear the disappointment in his voice. This isn’t his fault. He hears his ex yell again and Max can’t help but feel his face harden with disdain.

“I know, I’m sorry daddy, but I have to go.” The croak in Alistair’s voice is enough to break Maxwell’s heart. He wishes this could’ve been different. It should’ve been different.

Max knows he can’t argue though. It’s only futile. So he accepts the fact that Alistair has to leave the phone call early -- at least he was getting something to eat. Maxwell remembers when he was Alistair’s age. His mom always struggled to put food on the table because his dad would spend all the money on drinks at the local bar. Maxwell is just grateful his son isn’t starving.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Maxwell reassures before taking a shaky exhale. “I love y--”

But then, the line went dead. Max assumes that Alistair’s mom has ripped the phone from his hand and hung up. Sighing, Maxwell forces himself to stand up and walk on over to his bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are several piles of dirty laundry all over the floor. He jams open the sticky window and climbs onto the balcony, inhaling the cool evening air and lighting a cigarette. Smoking was a habit he’d gotten himself into when he was much younger, but he’d grown out of it when he’d hit limelight. Now though, it was growing back in to be a shameful addiction that he just couldn’t shake. It helped him stop feeling hunger, though.

As he flicks the orange lit ash over the edge of the balcony, his eyes catch on you again. You are standing on the street, talking to some guy. You’re laughing, and it looks like this mystery man’s hand is caressing your arm. It’s probably your boyfriend; Maxwell assumes, and the pang of jealousy in his chest turns into unadulterated sadness as he realises he was probably never going to find love again. He peers over the edge of the balcony once more as he takes a final drag of the cigarette, and he wonders if the jump would kill him.

Maxwell’s eyes begin to sting, and he climbs back into his bedroom, knocking his head on the window pane in the process.

He can’t sleep that night, and he tosses and turns in his three quarter sized bed. He could feel every spring in his mattress. What he would give to just sleep one more night in the soft, plush king sized bed he used to take for granted. He switched on his amber tinged bedside lamp and swatted away a moth that flew towards it. Maxwell stared at the ceiling and wondered if the damp had gotten worse. Even if it had, it wasn’t like Max had the courage to bring it up with the landlord.

He finds himself thinking about you again. He lived to see the way you smiled when you spoke to that guy, or the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Max wraps his hand around his semi-hard cock and begins to jerk himself off. To nobody’s surprise though, he doesn’t finish -- the overwhelming feeling of revolt consuming him. He thinks he’s disgusting, and that nobody would ever want to touch him. He can’t even stand touching himself.

He falls asleep not long after that.

Max once had a pretty decent sleep schedule, going to bed at 10 and waking up at 6. But now he was up until the early hours of the morning, overthinking and hating himself. He wakes up three or four times a night from the same recurring nightmare. It’s a replay from the clear night of July ‘84, when he took over everyone’s TV screens. His doctor prescribed him therapy for it, which would probably help, but Maxwell just can’t afford it.

He wakes up to the sound of a bang on his front door. Max scrambles to his feet in a panic, checking the time on his alarm clock. It’s 2pm. And the person at the door could easily be his landlord, finally having enough and kicking him out. Max’s rent is two months overdue.

But it’s not his unforgiving landlord. It’s you. And you’re holding a fruit basket.

“Hey neighbour!” you smile pleasantly before introducing yourself to him. “I just moved in across the hall. I wasn’t sure what you’d like… but I figured everyone likes fruit!”

Maxwell stays quiet, standing there in complete disbelief. No one has shown him this amount of kindness in so long…

The prolonged silence makes you feel a little strange. He still hasn’t accepted the fruit basket, nor had he said anything. He was just… staring at you. It wasn’t a slimy gawk. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what his dark eyes were trying to tell you.

“—I’m sorry,” you continue eventually when he doesn’t speak, dropping the fruit basket by your side and turning away. “I uh— would you like me to get you something else?”

Maxwell’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he exclaims, opening his front door wider and taking the fruit basket from you. “I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I uh— I love fruit.”

You smile at his fluster, and you swear you notice a rosy pink blush cross his cheeks. It’s adorable.

“Oh okay, that’s good then.”

Maxwell prays you can’t hear his stomach grumble at the sight of the fresh fruit. He’s so excited to eat it all. “How can I repay you?”

You raise your eyebrows at his proposition and chuckle awkwardly. “Repay me? No no,” you laugh. “It’s just a fruit basket,”

It wasn’t just a fruit basket though. It was the only food Max had.

“I mean, you could tell me your name.”

Maxwell curses, realising he hasn’t even introduced himself. Gods— he wonders when exactly he’d lost his charm.

“Right, I’m sorry. I’m Max.” He extends his arm and offers you a handshake. You giggle, but accept.

He feels a bolt of electricity run up his arm when your fingers interlink with his, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Very formal Max,” you acknowledge with a smile.

Maxwell genuinely hasn’t communicated with anyone since July 1984. It’s probably about time he ditches the businessman persona, although he doesn’t realise he still uses it from time to time. Old habits die hard.

“I must say, I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

“No. You don’t.” Maxwell quickly snaps back and you’re afraid you struck a nerve.

There’s a longer silence and you find yourself wondering about your neighbour. He’s right in front of you and yet you can’t help but feel as though he’s some kind of enigma. Maybe it’s the crinkles in the corner of his eyes or his wry smile.

“Um…” you mumble, your gaze trailing behind him as you try and peer into his apartment. You can’t see much though. From where you stand it looks very empty… and brown. “If you weren’t busy tonight maybe you could come over and we could get to know each other. I uh-- don’t have many friends yet.” you explain shyly, nervously biting your lip.

You didn’t usually get nervous talking to new people, but there was just something about Maxwell that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His presence made butterflies flutter in your tummy and your hands feel clammy with excitement… or maybe anticipation. He stares at you blankly before clearing his throat.

“I uh-- yeah I mean-- maybe,” Maxwell shrugs cooly. “If I’m not busy.”

Pft, busy. Max hasn’t been busy since the dreamstone debacle.

“Of course,” you nod your head and smile. “Well, you’re welcome to come on over anytime.”

And then, without thinking, Maxwell replies. “And you’re welcome to come over here anytime too.”

You feel your smile grow into a grin and you reach out, placing your hand on Max’s arm. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.” you bite your lip.

Max’s heart stops when you touch him, and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away. You’re holding his bicep and… he likes it. It’s not sending him into a spur of anxiety, in fact, he feels better just for finally plucking the courage to talk to you. And now you’re touching him. You’re not repulsed or disgusted… in fact, you’re smiling. You look happy, and maybe Max is happy too. Maybe. Max doesn’t even realise the small smile that’s crept upon his lips.

“Nice meeting you too.” He swallows and you wave goodbye.

He watches you walk back into your apartment, drinking in your appearance. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today. It was casual… but he liked it.

Even when he finally gets back into his apartment and slumps against his front door, he’s still smiling. This feeling is so unfamiliar.

Maxwell finds himself pondering whether or not he should visit you tonight. He so desperately wanted to see you again-- see your pretty face and sparkling eyes and that perfect smile. Maybe Max could have a friend. That would be nice.

But he quickly gets scared again. He knows immediately that you’re too good for him, and that he’ll only end up hurting you. And then he’ll be left alone again. Max doesn’t know if he can survive another heartbreak.

Once again, he lights a cigarette and sits on the balcony, and wonders if the jump will kill him.

Then he realises he suddenly doesn’t want to die. At least, not yet. He wants to see you again first.

Max doesn’t even bother finishing the cigarette. He taps away the ash and climbs back inside, stripping himself of his clothes and turning on the shower. If he was going to see you tonight, he’d at least make the effort.

The soap he uses is from Dollar Tree, and it doesn’t really have a scent. It made a change from his favourite Jo Malone pomegranate fragranced soap, that’s for sure. He gets annoyed trying to squirt out the very little remenints of his shampoo bottle. Although he doesn’t have much, he’s satisfied when he comes out of the shower. He feels clean and fresh.

Maxwell rakes through his tiny collapsing wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that will make him appear somewhat presentable. He’s probably overthinking this whole thing -- after all, it isn’t exactly a date. But he still feels the strong inclination to impress you. He so desperately wants to be liked by you.

Most of his everyday wear is stained or ripped or very aged. But then he spots the small duffel bag at the bottom of his closet and he remembers he packed some of his old business wear when he moved out of his manor and into this apartment. He hadn’t looked in the duffel bag once since moving though, afraid that seeing the clothes would unleash some kind of trauma on him.

Max crosses his legs and hesitantly unzips the black bag. Inside, he finds a few fitted shirts, a few tailored pants, and one suit jacket. He even spots a belt and two patterned ties. He’s a little upset though when he can’t find the suspenders he used to wear. They were always his favourite part of his outfit.

Maxwell can’t bring himself to dress in the whole get up, but he does pick out a white button down shirt and grey pants. He tucks the shirt in, and wraps the belt through the loops in his pants, clicking it into place. Opting to look slightly more casual, Max leaves the first two buttons of his shirt undone and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.

And for the first time in a long time, Max likes the way he looks. He wishes he had some cologne to spray, and he could definitely do with a haircut, but this is good enough.

He doesn’t want to seem desperate, so he does wait (albeit impatiently) until 8:30pm to see you. In the meantime, he eats over half of the fruit basket. He tells himself he’ll stop after an apple and an orange, but strangely enough. He can’t. He can’t stop. It just tastes so good and he’s so hungry -- so he eats until he feels sick. He wants to lie down because he really doesn’t feel too good at all, but he’s not going to pass up this opportunity to see you for anything. He feels a little cold, so he throws on his suit jacket which is grey in colour and matches the tailored pants. Max chokes down a glass of water, straightens up his posture, and knocks on your door.

He’s not waiting for long, and he’s delighted when he sees you answer the door. Your lips are painted a ruby red colour and you’re wearing your hair differently. Not only that, but you’d changed out of your sweater and jeans, and now you’re doting a knee length flowy dress. Your feet are slipped into some fuzzy looking slippers though, and Max admires the small diamond stud earrings that you don. They really bring out the colour of your eyes.

“I was hoping you’d come.” you reveal nervously, opening the door wider and looking your neighbour up and down. He looks so incredibly handsome in his change of outfit. Max feels himself blush under your gaze and he smiles.

“I just couldn’t pass this up.” he laughs nervously.

You move out the way and gesture for him to enter your apartment. Max notes that it’s roughly the same size as his, but it’s already filled with more furniture. Judging from the plentiful cardboard boxes in every corner, you hadn’t finished unpacking either. You find yourself watching Max as he takes in your front room. You take his jacket and hang it on your coat peg which stands by your front door. You definitely do recognise him from somewhere, especially seeing him in that shirt and those pants…

You shrug off your curiosity temporarily though, and take his hand, pulling him into your kitchen. Max loves the way your hand fits so perfectly into his. He doesn’t want you to pull away. And you don’t, until you reach the refrigerator.

“I have cranberry juice, tea, coffee-- no milk though, uh…” you trail off and check the cupboards. You beam when you see the bottle of champagne that your friend had gifted you. It was to celebrate moving out. You present him with it and grin. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”

Max remembers the distinct taste of the bubbles on his lips and he nods in agreement. You don’t have any fancy glasses, let alone flutes, so you pour the pale yellow liquid into two plastic tumblers. You hand one to Max and cradle your own in both of your hands.

“You should propose a toast.” you laugh jokingly.

Luckily, Maxwell has always been able to handle being put on the spot. He only takes a few seconds to come up with something.

“To new friends.” he announces with a charming smile, and clinks his cup against yours.

Max hasn’t had a drink in a long time, so it doesn’t take long for it to reside in his system and he begins to feel a bit tipsy. It’s not bad though. Maxwell is relaxed, and he’s comfortable. You bounce off each other and make each other laugh right up until the early hours of the morning. You bring out Monopoly and you’re surprised at how good he is at it. He gives you advice on buying properties and investments and it truly sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. You wonder what he does for a living.

“I didn’t say this earlier,” Max says as you pour out the last of the champagne. The alcohol has him buzzing with confidence. “But you look breathtaking, really. That dress and those earrings and your lips…”

And you don’t know what it is, but Max just makes you feel so good. “My lips?” you repeat breathlessly, gazing into his honeyed brown eyes.

Max nods wordlessly when you climb into his lap and straddle his hips. You place the palms of your hands flat against his chest and nudge your nose against his, giggling playfully. Max feels scared -- he’d never been this close to anyone in so long, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself.

Gods, he’s so handsome too. A small piece of his hair has fallen out of place and it crosses his forehead. You’re quick to brush it out of his face with your finger, and one of your hands cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of your touch, humming in contentment. When he opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably shades darker.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low like it had dropped a few octaves.

You nod desperately and your lips crash against his.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline but he’s an amazing kisser -- perhaps the best you’ve ever had. You roll your hips over his lap and he moans, but doesn’t break the kiss once. His large hands roam around your back and squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs. The Monopoly game has been long discarded now, leaving only you and Max revelling in each other’s touch.

You want more. You want him. You dip your hand in between your bodies and find his belt, trying your best to undo the buckle so you can get him out of his pants. You’re certain you can feel his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you’d be right in thinking he wants this too.

But what he wants the most, is to not ruin things between you both, and Max feels like that maybe this is all happening a bit too fast. He doesn’t want to reject you, and he’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of you getting so close to him -- that you find out who he truly is, and the things he does. He doesn’t want to lose you because you make him feel so happy. For the first time in potentially years, Maxwell feels genuine happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up, not when he’s been doing so well.

So he pulls away from you breathlessly and moves your hands away from him. He holds them though, brushing his thumbs in comforting circles against your soft skin.

“I really like you,” he smiles. “And tonight has been… great. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed myself. But I-- I really want to see you again. And do this again. And have a good time with you. I just don’t think we should-- you know--” Maxwell tries to explain. He feels bad for rejecting you. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because trust me,” he sighs, closing his brown eyes. “I really really do. But--”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you smile, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I understand, and honestly, I think you’re probably right. I’ve had a good time too though.”

Maxwell can’t help but beam knowing that there’s no hard feelings between you both.

“So we can do this again?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes.” you reply, pressing a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips.

You wiggle off his lap and Maxwell stands up. “I should head back home then,” he says. “It’s late. But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I’d like that a lot.” you agree.

Max gives you one final kiss and part of you wants to ask him if he’d be willing to stay the night. You shake away the temptation and tell yourself there’d be plenty more opportunities for him to stay over. Before he leaves, you see him abruptly spin around on his heel and point his index finger towards you.

And your heart drops.

You freeze.

You think you can feel your blood run cold and the colour drain out of your face.

Because in that moment, when he points his finger at you, you recognise him.

You remember him.

You know who he is.

“I almost forgot my jacket.” Max laughs, sliding past you.

You feel like you can’t move though.

This was the man who single handedly almost destroyed the entire planet.

But how -- how could it be Maxwell Lord? He was so sweet and kind and funny. How could the man you just made out with, the man you shared a bottle of champagne with -- your own neighbour…

How could it be Maxwell Lord?

How hadn’t you noticed sooner. Hell, his name was literally Max Lorenzano.

“Goodnight.” Max tells you.

You try and force yourself to say it back but no words come out. Your throat feels dry and you’re panicking.

Max doesn’t even notice though. He’s too busy beaming with happiness when he leaves.

You aren’t sure if you’re going to see him again.

When Maxwell gets back home, he can’t rid himself of the grin that’s plastered across his lips. He sits out on the balcony and lights a cigarette, but this time, when he looks at the ground beneath you, he doesn’t wonder if the jump will kill him.

His eyebrows furrow together when he notices the florist across the road, and he wonders how much a bouquet of flowers will cost him. He wants to get you something; as a thank you for giving him a good time.

He simply can’t wait to see you again.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ww84

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beenjen · 2 years

Text

Mom sent us all advent calendars of candy for the kids and hubs, tea for me 🤗

We’ve started the festivities with some art -

And I’m back on the drink water and eat your veg train -

Mom started her clinical trials. It’s exhausting. It’s of course a new medicine that not much is known about, in regards to side effects, etc, though the promise of it is strong. It’s daily tests and reports and procedures… a lot.

And shit you not, dads PSA is starting to creep again - from previous prostate cancer - and he’s having to start hormone therapy. Yeah.

All I can say, for my loves in the universe, please choose to limit processed foods, high fat content diet, red meat. Those are keys to my upbringing that I’ve stepped away from in adulthood and with my own family, that my parents haven’t, and while some things are genetic, life choices play a factor as well. Food for though - no pun intended.

The beauty of Thanksgiving, which I shared, has warmed my heart through a stressful return to the usual. The usual here at this time of year, holiday programs for the kids that require last minute outfits that 9 times out of 10 you don’t have ready to go, the Christmas party festivities, work/school/family, job, house, relationships, and it’s all steady and solid, just much.

Hubs was offered a position at his current university, with a hefty pay and benefits increase. A boon and boost for him, a stress relief, a blessing for our family for him not to be out a job at the New Year. Also, another option at a competing university, that would have its own unique benefits… praise hands folks, that really takes a load off.

Today I was at my home campus for work. With the employee survey, that is a yearly thing, multiple departments labeled the home Office as ‘toxic’ - anyone surprised please raise your hands - so we have to complete civility training. Which is a great 3 hour course we have to attend multiple times, in addition to ‘other duties as assigned.’ It wasn’t awful. Everyone involved was passionate, engaging, and very much invested in the program with thought and content. It was not, a sit down with concerned parties, to hammer shit out. Am I old school? Do people not talk anymore?

The first 30 min, before they could get the slide show started, we chatted with the staff and it was the most productive time we’ve had pre-Covid frankly. If we could have an hour, or two of that a week, things would settle folks. Communication cannot be overrated, overlooked, ignored. Why this alludes people, I’ll never know. You may be annoyed with TMI, in a work setting that communication is key however, you’ll rapidly get over that and advance to using that info.

Basic human function continues to allude the populous - duly noted.

In other news, I SLEPT FOR 7 SOLID HOURS THIS WEEK FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OVER 3 YEARS. I woke up feeling drugged. Sleep deprivation is real loves and, you do adjust to not resting, and can operate, you do however lose something. The perspective of a rested mind is powerful. Holy moly.

Some of my backdrop and love fest for this evening, brought to you by Sir Ellington -

Playlist -

youtube

I’m excited to have 2 weeks off prior to Christmas, starting after this coming week. If some recharge could happen? Some rest? Some chillax? Please and amen.

Peace and prosperity xx

#cats of tumblr #real life #pimpin ain’t easy #Youtube

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 134

Since I am queueing this chapter the same that I queued the last one, I just want to say:

If you have found my story in the last week, and liked it, thank you. It makes me smile when that happens.

If you shared my story with others, and they liked it, or even found a little bit of themselves in it, I’m very glad. Thank you for sharing something with your friends that they enjoyed.

As always, thank you to @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being my ports in all storms and the family everyone deserves to have.

Annnd the podcast. Don’t miss the podcast! I don’t profit from it in any way, shape, or form, but the idea of a version of this story that is more accessible for people who would struggle to read it is something that should always be supported!

A week later, I was wincing and out of breath when I reached my office for the day. Tyche had enthusiastically agreed with Arthur’s suggestion, and after some tests from Maverick showed that I could apparently kick hard enough to break a grown man’s pelvis - although not without also breaking my foot - I had been expected to be in the gym for nearly two hours every day. My legs hurt and my feet looked worse than the time I tried to learn ballet en pointe. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I was also apparently very slow in reacting with my legs as a result of years learning to fight with, you know, my hands. Like a normal person. This meant I was also wearing five pound weights on each ankle, all day, including when sparring.

So far, the only thing I had noticed was a demonstrably shorter patience and a reduction in how much I bounced my legs. Or sat comfortably.

I was so absorbed in my bad mood and how badly my legs hurt that I had already gotten coffee, greeted my mentees, and sat at my desk before I noticed something out of place. As usual, Parvati and Hannah were across from each other at the table they typically sat at, but Parvati was standing and demonstrating something.

While using the table emitter, which they only ever used for my benefit.

Tilting my head in what probably looked like what Sparkle’s expression when she was denied a treat, I watched as Parvati picked up a vaguely pen-shaped object - it really looked more like a sonic screwdriver than a writing implement - and started making neon pink lines of various widths, swirls to test the slant it would make, and using it at various speeds before closely considering the color of each line.

“What in the world is that?”

“Paint testers,” Hannah explained. “Charly dropped them off with Vati last night, along with the programming to simulate how they work so we could test them with an emitter and not a wall.”

“Paint?”

“For the Festival. Charly designed these for us to use instead of trying to get permission to use actual spray paint. The fumes of spray paint are apparently very caustic to Noah.”

I shuddered. “Yeah, no spray paint, clearly.”

Apparently satisfied with the pink, Parvati keyed her datapad to clear the emitter and picked up a different pen. This one was a beautiful lapis blue. “She’s quite brilliant,” she murmured as she tested the pen. “The pens work like an airbrush, but she took some inspiration from something Arthur Farro gifted her several years ago and ensured the pigment will only last three Ark-days. It also only appears under certain lighting.”

“And it’s non-toxic, of course,” Hannah added with a smile. “Because, you know… Charly.”

I hesitated before asking the next question. “How non-toxic are we talking?”

To my utter horror, rather than respond, Parvati opened her mouth and used a different button on the pen to paint her entire tongue blue. “They’re edible.” She closed her mouth with a smile before her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! That one is pomegranate!”

Hannah furiously made notations on her datapad before looking back up at me. “Vati already tested them on canvas in her quarters, but we also wanted to make sure the simulation software works so that we don’t waste pigment trying to figure out the design elements.”

“We’re also rather curious about what flavor each one is,” Parvati admitted before swapping to a toxic-looking green. “This one is peach, I do remember that. The pink was popcorn.”

I shook my head. “Do you want people licking the walls? Because this is how you get people to lick the walls.” I walked over as I was speaking and idly picked up one that was labelled as Titan Black.

Hannah snatched it away quickly. “That one is scotch bonnet flavor. I found that out the hard way.”

“I get making them non-toxic, but why are they flavored?” Hannah arched an eyebrow at me and I held my hands up defensively. “Other than the obvious application. Why design flavored paint pens for the Food Festival murals?”

Parvati blanked the emitter again and swapped pens. “That is going to be part of the design and experience,” she started to explain. “We originally wanted them non-toxic in case of the non-zero event that Else tries to eat the paint off the walls.” I nodded since ‘non-zero’ was putting it lightly. “Then I had the idea to include the possibility of Else eating the mural into its design. Rather than worry that Else will eat it, I am planning on it: I am going to create a piece that changes as the various colors are devoured.”

“Annnnnd how do you plan on controlling what order Else eats everything in?”

She waved to the row of pens on the table. “These are each in a flavor that we know Else likes. I am currently testing in my quarters what the order of preference is.”

As my mind started to catch up, I started nodding. “Your test swatches last night.”

“Precisely. I have them laying out in a grid, easily accessible to Else, and they are being monitored. We will take the recording and determine what the order of preference is from there.”

I shook my head with a huge grin. “That’s one hell of a performance art piece.”

Hannah straightened her posture in an imitation of Pravati’s normal ramrod-straight demeanor. “There is nothing more fitting for a celebration of how humanity persists in surviving, despite how transient and brief life can be, along with a clear showing of how we intend to welcome and embrace the differences between ourselves and those most different from us - even those who once nearly destroyed us but wished to make peace.”

“That’s frighteningly good,” Parvati praised nonchalantly as she squirted a fluorescent yellow into her mouth. “It makes no sense for that one to taste of something spicy.”

I took the pen and forced myself to spray it in my mouth. I perked up when it was actually very familiar and delicious. “It’s gochujang…” They both looked at me skeptically. “Apparently Else likes spicy food?”

“I’m starting to think this is how she flavors her popcorn,” Hannah murmured.

My head shook on that one. “No, all her popcorn is decidedly popcorn-flavored. The coloring is added while it is being made, along with the flavoring. Same thing with her ice-cream, and with the candy bars.”

“I agree,” Parvati added. “This pigment is quite wet, it would never work on something like popcorn.” Pausing in her testing, she turned to me. “She has made popcorn in your quarters before, did you notice how she colored it?”

I thought back to the movie night, fighting through how nostalgic and relaxing it made me feel. “It has to be a high-saturation powder. Other than the actual oil she used to pop it, everything she put in was powdered.”

“But it was toffee popcorn,” Parvati argued. “I remember because it was such a lovely shade of purple.”

Hannah and I both glanced at each other before turning concerned looks to Parvati. I was the one who eventually spoke. “You make toffee popcorn by adding sugar and salt while it’s being popped, Vati. Both are powders.”

“And how am I supposed to know that?” she demanded with a scowl before picking up a pen.

I looked back at Hannah, who was as baffled as I was. “Vati? Do you cook?”

She scoffed. “Of course not. Xiomara is a brilliant cook, why would I give that up?”

“But you know how, right?” I prodded. “We always have cooking classes going on here.”

She decidedly ignored us. I gaped at Hannah, who eventually crowed with laughter. “Oh my god! We found something Vati doesn’t know how to do!”

“Xio does make a wicked roti with veg curry,” I tried to defend her. If she was deflecting, Parvati clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

“And I can cook,” Parvati argued. “I can roast meat, and forage edible plants, and clean them both.”

“Works for me!” I chirped, trying to defuse the situation before Parvati actually got upset. “If you can cook enough to feed yourself in an apocalypse, I consider that a solid fundamental basis.”

Hannah finally took the hint. “Well, if you ever want to learn more, gods know you have plenty of friends who can teach you. Hell, Sophia taught Maverick to cook, and when they first met he had a very iffy relationship with the concept of food in general.”

That got me a look. “He had been through a lot, okay? You spend thirty years with everyone blaming your sensory issues with food on just ‘being picky’,” I used air quotes for emphasis, “and yeah, you start living on the three foods you like and a lot of vitamins and protein drinks.”

Parvati stopped in her tracks and slowly turned her head toward me before taking a seat. “How did someone who doesn’t even eat to live end up with two people who live to eat?”

I felt my face heat up, but managed to limit my reaction to a shrug. “If he said he didn’t like something, I took that at face value and didn’t make him eat it. If he never had it, I thought really hard about how similar it was to things he did or didn’t like, and offered it to him - or didn’t - based on that. I never took it as a challenge I needed to make him overcome, just as a challenge I needed to rise to.”

She considered this for a moment, glancing to Hannah who nodded in confirmation, before speaking. “This is why you cook.” It wasn’t a question. Parvati stated it as a fact.

And I confirmed it was, indeed, a fact. “One of the few things Huynh and I agree on is hospitality. I don’t want anyone to come to my table and feel they can’t eat. It’s how I was raised. There will be food they like, and plenty of it.”

I heard a popping noise from Hannah’s direction, and turned only to realize that it was her neck popping when she turned from Parvati to me. Eyes wide, she was barely audible when she whispered, “That’s why the Food Festival is so important to you…”

It took several attempts and a lot of nodding to swallow the lump in my throat. “We were all scared, and all strangers in this insane reality that we weren’t even sure was actually real. I thought - knew - it would ground us, and even start uniting us. If we could all see that arroz con pollo, paella, chicken biriyani, chicken etouffee weren’t all that different? What’s more familiar than chicken and rice, or fried puffs of dough, or pancakes?” I shook my head. “I remember my first day on the Ark. I was in a mess hall, and even with my sister and cat, I knew I was luckier than most but so lost. I just - “ I gulped and fought back tears. “I wanted shepherd’s pie so bad it hurt my soul. And I tried and tried to get it from the food consoles, and it was never the right thing. I must’ve tried eight times. It was so frustrating!” I didn’t catch myself in time to keep from slamming my fist a couple times on the table. “I felt even more lost. Someone came up to me and asked what I was doing.”

I took a deep breath to banish the concept of Arantxa from my head. “And dragged me to Conor because she realized that what I was saying and what she was hearing weren’t the same thing. That’s how I actually met him. And, bless his face, he knew exactly what I was asking for and got it for me if I promised to help him get French toast, of all things.” The memory made me smile. “Believe it or not, that moment mattered more to me than even waking up on the Ark when I should have been dead. Just… the idea that this person who knew nothing about me except what I wanted for dinner, was able to fix that lost feeling. I want everyone to have that.”

Parvati was staring at me like she was watching the most romantic story in the world, but at least Hannah nodded seriously. “Steak and ale pie. I always want that when I’m stressed.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly. And multiply that by every type of steak and ale pie anyone can possibly make on the Ark? I know I don’t have to convince you two to keep the Festival anymore, but yeah. That’s why it matters so much to me.”

I turned to Parvati, who was drumming her fingers and looking down somewhat sheepishly. “Most cultures have a kind of curry, so I never really thought about it,” she admitted. “But it makes sense, from that perspective. I never thought about it.”

Reaching out to pat her hand, I gave her a serious look. “That doesn’t mean you have to learn to cook anything more than what you already know,” I assured her. “It’s my motivation. No one else’s. If you ever want to learn to make something you don’t know how to, I’ll be happy to teach you. If you never want to learn how to make anything you don’t know how to, I will be happy to cook for you. Just… don’t ask me to bake? That’s a Tyche thing.”

She groaned. “Those mini black forest donuts….”

“Exactly. Don’t ask me to make them, I’ll ruin them ten times out of ten,” I laughed.

“She should make donuts for the Festival,” Hannah suggested wistfully. “Do you think we could talk her into it?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not asking her to do it, so have fun.”

“But you’re her sister.”

“How the hell do you think I know not to ask?” I gave them both a flat stare that set them giggling. “Donuts for the family? Fine. Donuts for the whole entire Ark? Not touching it.”

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#the miys #found family #charly #food festival #humans are weird #aliens #apocalypse #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #earth is space australia #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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stainandscribble · 3 years

Text

fleurs blanches au moulin rouge

White Flowers by the Red Mill

Pairing: Kim Jongin (Kai)/ Reader(female)

Genre: Moulin Rouge; dancer!Jongin; 1920′s!Jongin; fluff; slightly domestic au

Summary: You had one love since you were young: dance. it was your path out of poverty and your ascent to freedom. For years, you entertained the patrons of the Moulin Rouge, climbing in popularity until you were the main act. In the shiny golden lights of the spotlight, you were not alone. Jongin had accompanied you every step of the way, from the golden lights to the bruising dance practices in back rooms. You shared everything, your hearts, souls and bed.

Word Count: 4054

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Moulin Rouge attracted many visitors, both rich and poor and those seeking a glimpse of freedom and liberty in the changing world. It’s garish red exterior and bright lights the Bastion of pleasures attracted a crowd and the dancers performing on its stage had become infamous for their daring choreographies and bold costumes. The spotlight of Moulin Rouge was a desire for most dancers, and you were the one lucky enough to occupy it. Living on the wooden boards of the stage had its fair share of hardships, but you were glad you didn’t face them alone.

Moulin Rouge at the bottom of Montmartre was where Kim Jongin first tasted freedom, and it was where you first found out what a hundred pairs of watchful eyes, focused on your every move, felt like, and for you that had been a kind of freedom too.

You started as two youngsters, dancing ballet in a small academy before the Moulin Rouge found you and brought you onto its wooden stage. Over the years you learned what it was like to have hundreds of eyes on you, and what the warm silky light of the stage felt like against your skin. In the golden glow, covered in sweat, with all eyes on you, you and Jongin fell in love.

Love had happened slowly, walked towards you in small steps. Slowly, leading eyes that followed you during rehearsals turned into lingering touches. The more you danced, the more his hands wondered, the closer your bodies pressed and the more your forms moulded to accommodate the other. Late-night practices meant late-night talks, and with adolescence came stolen kisses and holding hands in secret from the older girls.

With adulthood, the stolen kisses and wandering hands at practice became a burning romance that left both of you warm and passionate. Youth had seen you blossom, and now you were a flower, dancing with the sun in human form, for the fact that Jongin was golden.

In the backrooms of the establishment surrounded by candlelight, you dance your heart out to the music coming out the gramophone in the corner of the room. Your feet were sore from practising in your heels, and Jongin wipes sweat from his forehead. The summer had been particularly hot this year, and even dancing without a shirt had Jongin covered in sweat.

In the candlelight, his skin had assumed an even more decadent shade of gold and his dark hair stuck to his forehead in black streaks.

“It’s late, the sun will rise before we get home if we don’t leave now. I’m sure we can practice more in the morning.” You pleaded with him as he walked over to the gramophone, ready to put the record back at the start.

“Are you tired?” He asked, his velvety voice floated through the room, accompanied by the fragrant summer air.

“Is it not obvious?” You asked, smiling lightly when he looked at you, his deep brown eyes finding your own, and their intensity held you in place, waiting for whatever he would do next.

“I suppose, we can go home.” He allowed, letting you pick up his discarded shirt off the floor and dress him with tired hands.

Your home was just beyond Montmartre, at the edge of the next neighbourhood. You lived on the top floor of a three-storey building with two rooms, but it was yours, and it was enough.

You walked through Montmartre in the dark, your hand clasped in Jongin’s much larger one, as he pressed you closer to his side. The walk home was silent and peaceful as the both of you walked on tired feet, watching the night with blurry eyes. Jongin would have sworn he could still hear the echoes of the gramophone in his ears, playing the familiar melodies of foxtrot and Charleston that would entertain the patrons of Moulin Rouge for the next two weeks.

Once you were home, you had fallen into bed without a care in the world. The sheets were soft against your skin, and the night air cooled the room as it breezed through the open window, sending the white lace curtains dancing to imaginary music.

Soon Jongin had joined you, slipping under the covers in his pyjama bottoms. He pulled you closer to him, letting you rest your head against his chest. His thumb traced soft patterns against your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath fanning your hair as he settled into the night.

“Sleep well, mon chérie.” You muttered, letting your eyes fall closed. My love, you call him, because he is.

“Good night, ma jolie fleur.” He responded, his deep voice vibrating in your ears like a soft purr. My lovely flower, he calls you, and he wonders is you know just how much those words mean to him. In the grips of sleep, right between dream and reality, you could have sworn he pressed a kiss to your forehead before falling asleep, sending your heart fluttering. You slept like that, warm in each other’s embrace.

-------------

Loving you was easy. It came to him as naturally as breathing. It had become second nature to his body, just as dancing had. Loving you was easy, and Jongin liked it that way. He never understood why anyone makes their life harder by loving someone difficult to be with. Maybe it was the chase after the forbidden fruit, the sweetness of fruit one assumed to be beyond ones reach. Maybe it was fate, and he never really had any say in who his heart loved. All those things seemed plausible. But all of them made life more complicated, made love more complicated, and Jongin didn’t need it to be complicated.

The sun shone through your bedroom windows, warming your back, and you felt the weight of Jongin’s arm draped over your waist. The morning had come too soon, and you wished it was still dark outside so that you could sleep a little longer in his embrace.

You turned in his arms to face him, your fingers stroking through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his face as he breathed slowly, still fast asleep.

His love was easy; he loved you.

There was nothing more to that. You shared everything, lived your lives beside each other and loved simply.

Your ministrations woke him up, and when you retracted your hands to stop stroking his hair he groaned in protest, pulling you closer to him.

“Five more minutes.” His deep voice vibrated against your ears, and you laughed, returning to combing your fingers through his thick hair.

Sometimes he wondered whether what you had was not simple at all, but he had made it simple because yours was the only love he ever knew, and the only love he ever needed. Maybe that was what made it easy. Perhaps, somehow, love was never easy. Perhaps it was the hardest thing he has ever done.

Jongin wouldn’t know. You loved him, and that was easy enough.

He found no reason to torture himself with what-ifs and possibilities that never happened.

Finally, when he had enough he let you go, allowing both of you to begin the usual morning routine. Breakfast consisted of tea and baguette with butter and jam. He had eaten his breakfast in silence, sipping on the hot earl grey tea as the grogginess of the morning left him. This early in the day, his dark large eyes were puffy with sleep, and despite being combed, dark brown locks fell in front of his eyes.

“We need to stop by the market today.” He commented, watching as you sipped on your tea in silence. You hummed your approval, taking a bite out of your piece of bread. Jongin smiled, watching you as the sun fell on your face, giving your features a newfound softness.

-------------

Today, Jongin had been told you couldn’t use the practice rooms since the other dancers have put themselves on the schedule before you. Instead of waiting about for them to be done, you wondered off with him to the market.

Your shopping list was long, and you doubted if you could carry all of it today.

The stalls selling vegetables were your first target. On the bust street, you and Jongin blended in with the crowd as you strolled casually among the buyers and sellers crowding both sides of the alley.

You walked up to a large stall, covered completely in wooden crates of fresh produce, eyes scanning the rainbow of seasonal fruit and vegetables.

“What can I get you, mademoiselle?” The man running the stall asked he looked to be about your age. You watched as his eyes trailed after you before he averted his gaze. You felt Jongin’s hand wrap around the curve of your hip.

“May I get half a kilo of white transparent apples, three leeks and three courgettes?” You asked, unfazed by the slight scowl he sent Jongin’s way.

“Certainly.” He nodded, before picking up the vegetables and handing them to you to put in your basket.

“Jongin, do you want anything?” You turned to ask, craning your neck to see him. Bright sunlight gleamed off of his soft honeyed skin, and his dark eyes looked straight at the man selling you veg.

“Five red onions.” He said, smiling politely, although you noticed it never reached his eyes. There was no creasing at the corners.

“Here.” He handed you a bundle, tied together with string, before requesting the due amount.

“Are we having just soups?” Jongin asked, looking over at the ingredients in the basket. You could make soupe à l’oignon and pistou, and that would do for the next six days. Apart from the oats and apricot compote for breakfast, you would have to do with light lunches of quiche Lorraine and salad.

“What else would you like?” You asked, walking through the market, looking over the various stalls. Some sold cheese, others honey and even more sold vegetables and even bread.

“A chicken?” He asked, his eyes focused at the street at the end of the market, where the shops were. The butchers looked rather busy, with people queuing outside, and you had decided that you could afford it. Moulin Rouge would give you this month’s salary by the end of the week, after your next performance, and because it was summer, your salary had increased along with the amount of attending patrons.

“I’ll go to the butchers, hold these.” You stated, handing him the wicker basket filled with vegetables and fruit.

“Get potatoes and carrots.” You asked, pointing over at the stall beside you, manned by an older woman with greying hair, who even in the summer, was currently wearing a shawl to shield herself from the chill that came with age.

“Anything else?” He asked, one arm still wrapped around your hip.

“Can you carry anything else?” You laughed, waiting for a response that never came. A laugh bubbled out of your chest when you saw the dejected expression marring his sharp features. His brows were furrowed, and his plush lips were now pulled into a small pout, and you knew he didn’t want to part from you.

“I’ll wait for you outside the butchers.” He told you, finally letting you go, handing you silver coins from his pocket.

-------------

Loving Jongin was easy. Love came as naturally as breathing, as effortless as dancing to the tunes of the gramophone in stuffy backrooms of Moulin Rouge.

It was the only love you had ever known.

Now, you stood with him, hands clasped together in the dim light of the backstage as you waited your turn on the wooden floor, waiting for the cancan girls to finish their main act, their black and white dresses flying into the air, the ruffled providing them with incredible volume.

Your dress was simpler, a jade green, straight cut ensemble with beading around the neckline and down to the bottom. It reminded you of peacock feathers, and as the dress reached below your lip line, it split into three layers, the second layer was a light sage green, and the third was the same jade shade as the rest. The embroidery on the hems was beautiful and delicate, and you could tell it was Manon’s handiwork. The seamstress had made all of your outfits since she became Monsieur Baekhyun’s lover. Jongin’s suit was an identical green shade, with white lining on the inner edges and lining the pockets. His hair was parted to the side and swept-back, a few loose strands curled over his forehead. He looked breath-taking.

Cheers rang through the establishment, and the cancan dancers gave their last bow, before disappearing through the opposite end of the stage.

It was your time.

Bathed in the silky spotlight, you entered in step with Jongin, smiling brightly, before he pulled your hand, twirling you towards him, and as your body pressed into his, the music began playing, and the crowd erupted in polite clapping.

You spun around the stage, pulling each other every which way, dancing to the tune of the Charleston. Your legs performed the complicated step routine without having to think, muscle memory acting on its own. The whole time you stared into Jongin’s eyes. His gaze, which had been soft and affectionate backstage was now smouldering, setting you on fire where he touched you. When the melody changed from Charleston to foxtrot, it was with natural grace and practised finesse that you assumed your new positions. Not a single breath out of time. That was the level of skill Jongin had always expected of himself, as his partner, of you as well.

It was easy to love him when he looked only at you under the golden light, his gaze flickering every once in a while to the audience to send a practised smile their way. It was a privilege to love him, when he spun you around, pressed you close to his body so that you could feel the pumping of blood rushing through his heart.

When the melody ended, and the hall fell into silence, the only sound you could hear was your heavy breath, and your blood rushing through your ears.

The split second of ringing silence was Jongin’s own paradise. It was heaven where only you existed, only you and the stage upon which he could dance, spin you around, and be spun. It was a small piece of heaven, bathed in golden light and tasting like sweat and effort. Heaven belonged to him.

And then, it was over and the polite cheers brought him back to reality and off the stage.

“You have to change.”

“Your second set is waltz and tango in about fifteen minutes, Hurry.” One of the seamstress girls watching over the costumes ushered you both into an empty practice room before her friend handed you your next costumes.

This time your dress was white, the delicate lace layers covered the skirt, with white faux pearls stitched into the cream embroidery around the neckline. Jongin was handed a pair of black dress pants and a white shirt with ribbon ties at the cuffs.

“Don’t button it all the way. Leave a few undone.” One of the younger seamstresses giggled, before walking out of the room.

You laughed once she was gone and proceeded to take your jade green dress off, draping the beautiful garment over a chair.

You watched from the corner of your eye as Jongin did the same, taking off his green trousers, putting on the black slacks and suspenders.

Once you were done, you watched as Jongin buttoned his white shirt completely.

“Leave a few undone.” You chastised, walking over to pull a few buttons free.

Without warning, Jongin swooped down, his warm lips pressing into yours, and you could feel his hands coming to grip your hips, as his mouth moved in sync with yours.

“Do you have your red lipstick?” He asked, breaking away from you, his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Yes, why?” Your brows furrowed, and you looked up to search his face, shadows dancing over his sharp features as gas lamps burned in the corners of the room. His brown eyes reflected the yellow light, turning bronze when he looked down at you.

“I was thinking, we could tease them a little.” He whispered, leaning towards you to drag his plump lips across your hairline; his touch so gentle it tickled.

“How so?” you whispered, your hands still holding onto his waist. He pressed his lips against yours again.

“A few red stains never hurt anyone.” He smiled, and you laughed at his suggestion. He wanted you to kiss him, leave kiss stains over his body.

“And where would you like them?” You smiled, pulling away to reach for your bag, draped over a chair along with your and Jongin’s clothes. The little black tube was quickly taken from you, and Jongin took it upon himself to glide the red pigment over your lips.

“How about here, and here?” He pulled his shirt away, revealing the smooth golden skin of his collar bones.

“I can do that.” You smiled, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. With a relieved sigh and a small smile blooming on his lips, he pulled you closer to him.

“Thank you.” He whispered once your soft lips pressed against his soft skin, firm against the hard bone beneath it.

“My pleasure.” You whispered, pulling away, letting him kiss your forehead one last time before you left, hand in hand to your next set.

This time as you waited for the dancers in black and white dresses to leave the stage there was no silence lingering between you. The seamstress girls who had been giggling all night and battering their eyelashes in Jongin’s direction were murmuring among themselves, sending angry looks your way. Jongin’s hand was firm against the swell of your hips, his nimble fingers playing with the lace details as he whispered sweet nothing into your ear. You ignored them in favour of listening to the quiet deep timbre of Jongin’s voice,

“I like this dress on you.” He whispered, lips brushing against your ear. He could feel you tense against him, your neck craning to take a look at him.

“Why?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“How about I get you your own white dress?” He ignored your question, eyes focusing on the dancers twirling on the stage in the glow of the spotlight.

“And a veil?” He continued, fingers moving to play with the hem of your neckline, gliding over the uneven surface, occasionally falling onto the little faux pearls decorating the dress.

“A veil?” you asked, his other hand wrapping around your abdomen to pull you a little closer to his body as Jongin stood behind you.

“Mhhm.” He hummed.

You could feel the vibration against you, his chest purring like that of a cat as you both watched the performance on stage. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking.

-------------

Loving you was easy. Jongin had always known that. He had felt reassured in his decision when he caught Byun Baekhyun’s eyes in the audience in the middle of the tango. The older man was smiling, his hands clasped over his lover’s. His love was not easy, with social standing and family in the way, bringing Manon and showing her off in public was risky, but it was a risk he was willing to take when attending Moulin Rouge. The Bastion of Pleasures had one fascinating quality. Its scarlet exterior and bustling interior always felt like freedom. Whether it was Jongin dancing on the stage under the golden stage lights or it was you, with hundreds of eyes following your every move, or even Baekhyun, who could bring his love out among free-spirited Parisians. Moulin Rouge felt like liberation, and that had always made him brave. Looking at Monsieur Byun that night, happy in the seamstress’ arms, made him want to reassure the man. That was why he had smiled, and to his surprise Baekhyun had smiled back, raising his champagne flute in silent thanks. For a moment, he understood the older man, their situations were similar enough; they were both in love with someone society disapproved of.

Now, with the show finished, he was holding your hand again. The summer breeze blowing in the night carried the scent of flowers and the memories of summer nights spent in your arms, and he wanted to live in this moment forever. Warm, fed and in love.

“Did you know Byun Baekhyun is planning on running away with the seamstress?” He asked you, making you turn your attention to him with the sudden question. It has been a running joke they would finally elope, but you had not thought they would do it. Byun Baekhyun was a Joseon man, but unlike Jongin he had parents and an inheritance. His path was set, and you didn’t think he would stray from it.

“And where did you hear that?” You asked, pulling him along towards your home. In the dark, illuminated only by few dim streetlamps, he looked ethereal, and you thanked whoever decided you could love him, for the fact that you would not have to run away just to lay in his arms.

“Kyungsoo works as his accountant, he told me they bought tickets for a ship sailing to French Indochina.” Jongin looked over at you, eyes scanning your features, softened by the dim light of the streetlamps as you walked home, your shoes clicking against the cobbled stones beneath your feet.

“I’m happy for them. If they succeed and get married, I wish them all the best.” You answered, genuinely happy that they found a solution. You could not imagine what leaving Jongin would be like. It was a possibility too painful to consider.

“What if,” Jongin began, but he cut himself off, not sure if he should ask the question running through his mind. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. His dark eyes, now black like the night, fell onto the cobblestones and his straight brown brows furrowed, creasing his smooth forehead.

“What?” You inquired, linking your arm through his to match his step. For a few paces, he stayed silent, basking in the warmth of your body beside him, scared of rejection. You watched from the corner of your eye as he chewed on his lips turning them red.

“What if we get married? Nothing is stopping us. We don’t have parents deciding our future, and everyone already knows we are lovers.” He asked finally, his feel stopping, making you halt alongside him. You turned to face him, catching his nervous gaze, and holding it as silence rang through your ears.

“We could get married.” You took his hand, threading your fingers through his.

You loved him. You had always loved him, and you were sure you would always love him because despite life being hard, despite the world making living difficult, loving him was easy.

“I would like that.” You told him. A smile graced your red-painted lips and you could hear your pulse in your ears as your heart beat against the rungs of your ribcage as the bones held it hostage.

“Really?” He asked, disbelief at how easy it was painting his face. His features softened when he looked at you as he let go of your hand, choosing instead to cradle your face.

“Of course. I love you, mon chérie.” You whispered, your lips brushing against his, sending a familiar tickle down his spine.

“I love you too, ma jolie fleur.” He whispered back, his lips pressing against yours firmly. You moved in sync in the darkness, the fragrant summer air filled your lungs, and you kissed the way you danced, passionately until there was no more air in your lungs and you didn’t know where one ended and the other begun.

Loving was as easy as breathing, an effortless dance you had practised over and over until your bones ached.

Loving him was easy, and you would be forever thankful for the wooden boards of the stage at the heart of Moulin Rouge where your young hearts first learned what love was.

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monstersandmaw · 3 years

Note

Evening to ya, Ghosti✌️😆

Sorry if the wording sounds silly, but I wanted to ask if you know any rituals I could do for the New Years. 🤣 Christmas hasn't been exactly an easy time for me for various reasons and I tend to get the holiday blues pretty bad, and for a long old while New Years has felt very similar. I'm doing my best to feel hopeful and to have some faith for the new year, but it's turning out to be trickier than I anticipated. So I wanted to ask for suggestions as to do anything that could help feeling more hopeful, I dunno. :3

Though feel free to ignore this if you don't have the energy for it. I hope you had delightful holiday however you celebrated!!! 😊💖💖💖💖

Hey anon! (it’s now afternoon here in the UK, and it was morning when I started this! I got a bit carried away). I don’t know that I’m necessarily the right person to ask about this, but here are some ideas of things I’ve found helpful/centring/calming anyway which you could draw from. Other folks, please feel free to chime in with your favourite ways to put the old year to bed and welcome in the new one!

(first of all, I’m sending you lots of virtual ghostli hugs to help drive away those holiday blues. That sucks, and I’m so sorry it’s been so tough for you.)

Here’s a rundown of what’s below, and I’ll put in a ‘keep reading’ so that it’s not an incredibly long post! Some of it is more on the ‘spiritutal’ side of things, and others are just mundane and practical things.

Congratulate yourself on making it through the clusterfuck that was 2020

Make some tea and meditate on what’s been and what you wish for

Go outside, be still, and breathe deeply

Let go of negative events and thoughts by writing them down, then safely burning the paper

Disconnect from social media for a few days (or however long you’re comfortable with)

Start a bullet journal

Write lists of goals for 2021 and then refine/distill them down to 3 manageable objectives

Commit 100% to 6 months of positive change

Pick three dates/months in the year when good things will happen, and make them happen (including growing veg/fruit)

Light a candle on the full moon or New Year

Ok, so, first of all, you’ve made it through this year!! That’s no small accomplishment, given the sheer volume of absolute shite that has been flung at us from all angles, no matter where in the world you live. Celebrate that. Seriously, I’m not being flippant. Take a moment of stillness wherever you are, be ‘present’, and just think about the fact that you’re here, right now, reading this post. Not everyone is here any more for one reason or another, but you did it. Congratulate yourself and celebrate that. Treat yourself to a slice of cake (or something you really enjoy) specifically to celebrate making it through 2020.

Make a cup of tea (try a new blend or recipe perhaps, or stick with your absolute favourite), or make a comforting drink of your choice. As you pour the water into the cup, breathe in the steam and enjoy the scent of it. Try and imbue all the positive things - memories, achievements, moments etc. - that you encountered this year into the tea/drink, and think about them growing in strength as the tea steeps, and envisage them continuing on to next year too. When you drink the tea, you take the positive thoughts into yourself and they become a part of you. You could try it in the morning with a caffeinated drink (if you enjoy those) and let it fuel you for the day, or you could try a herbal tea at night to let the good vibes steep overnight while you rest. Make it part of your daily routine; a private meditation.

Go outside and find a quiet spot somewhere and either stand or sit and just soak up the atmosphere. If there’s a tree nearby, think about the way its roots are planted in the earth, its trunk stands tall, and its branches reach towards the sky. Feel that space inside you. Breathe deeply in and out, visualising your lungs filling to the deepest parts, starting at the bottom. Count to four for each inhale, and six out (or whatever you’re comfortable with, so long as the exhale is longer than the inhale). This will help to still you and calm you.

If you have something fireproof (can just be a ceramic bowl), take a piece of paper and make a moment to write down all the negative things about this year, using a pen that you’re comfortable with. If you’re not one for words, draw pictures. You can make it really beautiful or just scribble it all down - it doesn’t matter. Get that shit out. Look at it for a while and read it through, mentally letting go of each thing as your eyes pass over it, then light one corner (carefully!!!) and let it burn somewhere with good ventilation (a cooker hood is good for that, but outside is better). Visualise all that negativity being swallowed by the universe and let it go. My favourite line from the Seamus Heaney translation of Beowulf comes at Beowulf’s funeral when a Geat woman is singing her grief at his passing to the sky, and there’s the simple sentence: “Heaven swallowed the smoke.” How beautiful is that? The sky swallowed up her grief as she poured it out to the universe. The negativity might take some time to vanish from your life (it’s not going to disappear at the same time as the paper, sadly!), but watching it go can be the first stage of letting things go. I did this last year, and I’m only just letting go of the last things on that list, but it was a start, and it made me feel more at peace.

Disconnect from social media. I know that with so much more happening online this year out of necessity, we’ve become even more dependant on our phones and computers, and it’s wonderful that we have this chance to connect with people when we can’t see them face to face, but social media can also act as a crucible for negative feelings. People usually post the best or the worst aspects of what’s going on for them or what they care about, so it leads to a skewed view of both the world and of what’s going on amongst our connections. It’s easy to start feeling insignificant next to someone else because of their achievements or their looks etc. and it’s also easy to start to get a bleak outlook when the news is full of terrible stories and people are reacting to it in a volatile and often knee-jerk way. Take some time off - uninstall the apps, or put the limiter setting on, or just step back - for a day, two days, a week, whatever you’re comfortable with. It doesn’t have to be forever. If you use those platforms to talk to people, tell them what you’re doing, and give them another way to reach you if they need. No need to isolate yourself completely!! Think about how you felt before you started it (write it down?) and do the same afterwards, and compare. If it didn’t work for you, then that’s fine too.

Start a bullet journal! Now is the perfect time to start bullet journaling. I first started this year when I felt like time was slipping through my fingers and my life was out of my control, and it’s really helped me to get a sense of order back. It’s not the magic cure-all for procrastinators and time wasters, trust me, but it can help to organise your mind as well as your day, and keep track of your habits etc. It can be literally whatever tool you need it to be. There’s a trend on social media - particularly Instagram and YouTube - that shows off these gorgeous journals that are basically works of art in themselves, and while it’s absolutely fine to aspire to that if you want to, the essential point of the bullet journal is to be a tool. You can buy print-outs from Etsy if you don’t fancy doing your own spreads. But don’t get completely hung up on pretty spreads and layouts because you won’t use it fully then. If you’ve got ‘new book fear’, like I did, make your own! I literally started my journaling by folding a few pieces of paper over, slapping a few stickers on them to cheer them up, and writing some lists. I didn’t buy a ‘proper’ journal until July 2020 when I’d got the hang of what I wanted out of the tool, and how to use it. I adapted one or two things, and I’ll be changing one or two things for next year, but it was a good way to start.

Here are two ‘minimalist’ journals and styles that I found helpful when setting mine up. They focus on usefulness and practicality, rather than overwhelming, artistic spreads and cutesy designs. I’m about to do a ‘plan with me 2021’ journal video for YouTube, so I’ll put that up when I’ve finished it, in case that’s helpful.

Elsa Rhae

Pick Up Limes

Write down the things you want to achieve for 2021. These can be more abstract concepts like ‘more organised’ ‘healthier’ ‘start a business’ etc. Then, when you’ve got as many things as you’d ideally love to achieve/accomplish/manifest (don’t hold back at that stage), take another piece of paper and choose a maximum of six from that first lot to focus on, and below that, choose just three absolutely essential things to focus on. Make those your things for 2021.

Now, this one is a personal one for me, so it may not be applicable at all to you/others, but I’ll share it anyway. For me, I need to make some significant lifestyle changes for my physical and mental health. So, I’ve decided to commit to 6 months of really hard work to bring about those changes. Time is going to pass anyway, from January to June. Six months will come and go anyway. Where will I be in six months’ time? I could be physically and mentally exactly where I am today. That thought is super depressing to me. Or, I could devote 200% focus, commitment, and energy, and bring about those changes, and be the ‘me’ I want to be in six months’ time.

It’s like the adage of ‘given a week to write a speech, it will take you a week, but given a day to write the same speech, it will take you a day’ - your brain will tell you it takes the amount of time that you have at hand to accomplish the task, and that’s simply how long it then takes. Use those three things from the 2021 list above, and commit to making those three things happen.

As an aside, tell someone (whose opinions you value) that you’re going to do this. By telling someone, you’re helping to cement the idea in reality, and you’ve got a support to turn to if it gets rocky, someone to cheer you on, and someone to celebrate with who knew what a struggle and commitment this was to you in the first place.

Pick three points in the year where good things will happen. Book yourself something nice, save up for something and have it delivered then, or tell yourself that you will have achieved [x] by May, or September, or December. For me, it’s a working draft of my novel, and certain health goals by October, but make it yours, and keep those points fixed in your mind. It will help 2021 not to be one amorphous mass of time, and will give it structure and form. You could also choose to grow something in a pot - lots of vegetables can be grown cheaply from seed in a pot on a windowsill, and you’ll have something tasty to eat at the end of it!!

Here’s a slightly gentler idea to finish with:

On New Year’s Eve take a moment to yourself, go outside if it’s not raining or too cold etc., light a candle, hold it (safely) in your hands, and be still. It doesn’t have to be exactly at midnight, but it will help your focus if it’s dark. Otherwise, go to a quiet part of the house and turn the lights down so that the candle flame is your focus. As before, think about what you’ve achieved this year, and be honest, not just negative! It’s very easy to say ‘oh I didn’t achieve anything, it all sucks, it was all awful’, when there will be tiny victories tucked away in there, I promise you, even if it was the toughest year of your life. Then think about where you are at the moment, mentally and physically. Acknowledge that state of being. Look at it with honest eyes. This moment is not for anyone else, so you don’t need to colour it one way or another. It’s for you. If you’re finding it hard not to be negative, be neutral. Let those thoughts come and go, and then turn your mind to the future. Mentally feed those negative thoughts into the flame in front of you, one at a time. Say it out loud if that helps, but do what makes you comfortable. Let the light from the flame fill your mind and your heart, and think about your intentions for the new year.

Tonight (30th Dec) is a full moon, so if that is significant for you, you may wish to do this tonight instead of tomorrow.

I hope that some of that gives you some inspiration, and I hope that people will chime in with their own new year’s rituals and habits. Be honest with yourself but not harsh, and be positive but not unrealistic. This year has been one hell of a ride, and we’re not done yet... Here in the UK, we’ve got the highest numbers of Covid that we’ve ever had, we’re in the harshest lock down (Tier 4) and can’t visit anyone, and we’re also going through Brexit (which is proving a nightmare for everyone, especially small businesses...).

Control the things you can control, and learn and employ systems to ride out the things that are beyond your influence. And take heart - you have a family of folks on here, all across the world!

#new year ritual #new year #resolutions #new year resolutions #rituals #ritual

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Text

Shielded. Chapter Three

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

Trojan horse.

Week 1(War and Peace)i:

Monday came around quickly. The amount of sleep she had managed to achieve felt like something of an accomplishment considering what little else there was for her to do.

Feeling brave she gathered herself up and began an exploration of her new home. She recalled the features that Jamie had detailed to her on the Saturday morning before she’d fallen into a light coma for the next 30 odd hours. First, she started with the basement. Recalling the moment in Home Alone where Kevin had been forced to face his own below-ground nemesis, she took the steps carefully, the popular scene repeating over and over in her head until she actually came face to face with a harmless looking space.

As described, there was a washing machine and a dryer -the funnel used to expel the warm air from the back leading up and out of a tiny window near the ceiling- as well as several boxes stacked high in the corner. With not much else to view, she noted the cupboard which contained all the powders and conditioners she’d need and returned to the kitchen.

She’d never really been into cooking before, but despite this she thought the massive aga with its shiny maroon front looked extremely professional. It was, however, so clean she didn’t think it had been used much before. With Jamie working odd and long hours, she presumed it was more likely that he lived on cold snacks and microwave meals.

Looking in the large American-style fridge, she found an assortment of basic produce. What looked like a bottle of unpasteurised milk (most likely bought in himself) and some homemade butter lay in the door alongside a batch of freshly laid eggs. It all seemed fairly self-replacing and she smiled at the idea that one could live completely unaided in the middle of the Highlands if you knew how (or lived with someone else who did).

The freezer, as she expected from inspecting the contents of the fridge, contained a whole host of bagged and sealed meats - enough protein to keep a whole family afloat for months.

Closing the door, she pulled a stack of post-it notes from her pocket and penned a reminder. Seeing all the produce he’d got neatly tucked away reminded her of her teenage years.

Having lost her parents young, she had grown up travelling the world with her uncle and along the way she had gathered herself some producing and growing skills, mainly vegetables and greens, but useful nonetheless. Aiming to reinvigorate her knowledge of horticulture, she wrote:

“Ask about potential vegetable patch/greenhouse…CB”

Placing it on the front of the fridge, she admired the initials she’d signed off with. It hadn’t clicked until she’d come to the end that she could no longer refer to herself with her maiden name and she had hovered over the ‘C’ for longer than normal before sighing and signing with her new pseudonym instead.

Mentally exhausted from overthinking two small letters, she poured herself a glass of water from the tap and continued through into the lounge where she’d sat only hours before with her initial guardians.

It seemed larger and brighter now she actually had the time and a little more energy to view it.

The fireplace was extensive and contained a series of photographs in expressive frames. They must, she thought, have been set up there by someone else.

The first was of a group of young children. Ashamed, she felt badly that she couldn’t pick her host out of the line up. His face and features were still hazy, the only signifier she could recall was the mop of bright red hair that sat atop his head and possibly blue eyes...though she could have been mistaken.

Looking harder, she tried to squint, hoping that might clue her in as to which of the children was Jamie. Giving up, she carried on along the line, smiling as the young girl turned into a young woman. It must be his sister, she pondered, touching the tip of the frame as she looked over the wedding photos. The dress was stunning, the groom looking favourably over at his new bride whilst the crew in the background threw confetti in the air above them.

Picking out Jamie, she noticed his tight smile and high cheekbones. She felt relieved, having not been able to determine who he was in the earlier line-up had made her instantly abashed but at least somewhere in the back of her mind she’d had the forethought to note his defining features in her tired haze.

Towards the back of the ground floor she found a small sitting room. It contained the TV and some rather large overfilled bookcases and looked out over the small garden to the rear. Although she knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the house, she enjoyed -for a moment- sitting on the arm of the chair and looking out across the fields. The sun was still low in the sky and the wind was blowing the long grass gently whilst clouds occasionally masked the sun from view.

The space was enclosed with a waist high stonewall along the top which ran from an outhouse building, to a gate and then on to a covered open-shed arrangement. To the right and behind the shed was a row of rather tall trees. These captured her attention for several minutes as she watched the branches sway and the birds flit in and out of the woodland area. She could almost smell the scent of the spring day and taste the pollen on her tongue as she leaned closer to the window.

It was there she sat for several hours before her stomach growled angrily, reminding her of how little she’d eaten over the weekend.

Making herself a quick sandwich, she wrote out a ‘thank you’ post-it before returning back to her room. She knew Jamie probably wouldn’t be home for a while but the chime of the clock as she’d cleaned up her plate had made her suddenly nervous, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to make idle conversation yet, and she’d escaped just in case he came home out of the blue to check she was alright.

As it stood, though, he hadn’t and didn’t arrive home until well into the evening. The sun had already begun to set as she put down her kindle at the sound of the door opening and closing.

She knew it was dinner time and the afternoon had passed so quickly that she had barely looked up since she’d returned to her room. Glancing out of the window, she watched the birds fly across the inky blue sky, the orange hue slowly fading as late afternoon turned into evening. Warring with herself, she argued over going down, her mind compromised by her unwillingness to seek out company. She would, after all, have to succumb at some point - it would be rude not to.

Having some form of sixth sense on the matter, Jamie appeared to understand her a little more than she did herself, and for the next few days he allowed her time to adjust and settle.

He would come home at a normal time and, instead of crowding her, he prepared supper, placed hers in the microwave, and then placed himself in the study until bedtime. By the middle of the week she had become accustomed to this routine and would often wait for him to close himself in his own quarters before sneaking back downstairs to eat herself.

As this progressed, her post-it notes become more frequent and she would often add small doodles with large smiley-face stickman on them. Jamie found these endearing, it had been a long time since he’d had anyone else living in the family home and it was a nice surprise to find that he enjoyed it - even if it was only the small noises of Claire moving about that clued him in as to her presence. Stashing the notes in the back of his jeans pocket, he began to collect them, placing them on the pin-board in his small office as he did so.

By the end of the day on Friday he had managed to arrange them into ‘thank you’ notes and ‘question’ notes and had created a set of his own which he aimed to place on the fridge for the following morning. All of these were answers to her queries. Intrigued by her idea for a vegetable patch in the yard, he had returned that specific ask with a list of items he’d ordered from locals and friends which he aimed to have ready for the weekend - this was the one he was most proud of.

“Wire and mesh for coverings, 4 X wooden planks for a raised surround, fertile soil, seeds, glass sheeting to be cut in prep for greenhouse, assorted spring veg selection...JF”

That had been left on Wednesday and he was chuffed to return home in the evening to find a rather large spaghetti bolognaise aside his newest ‘thank you’ note.

Having made the bolognaise she had shyly returned to her room, the message hidden away in her pocket as she’d sat at the desk for the evening to research plant and vegetable growth extensively. There hadn’t been many evenings in her old life where she’d had the time to process alone, and so even though she knew her hobiting away time was coming to an end, she was grateful to have been allowed the week to relax.

Through the use of notes, she had built herself a mental picture of Jamie and his personality. He, at the beginning of the week, had left her meals and then absconded so that she could eat alone, but by the end of Friday their roles had been reversed as she felt he shouldn’t have to take care of her when he’d been out at work all day. She didn’t have a large cooking repertoire, but there were plenty of cookery books hidden in one of the cupboards and she’d taken to reading them to pick out the easier looking recipes to trial.

There had been some mistakes. Some burned pasta (which she hadn’t known to be a possibility until she’d achieved it) but overall it hadn’t been too traumatic.

Peeling open her book, she pulled the post-it -which had now lost most of its stickiness- and ran her fingers over the text. She couldn’t deny how excited she was over the prospect of a garden of her own. The overwhelming thoughtfulness of it was helping to coax her out of her bedroom and she resolved to use the weekend to thank him in person.

As much as she was revelling in their silent, written communications, there was little chance she was (or should be) able to avoid total human interaction for the next 11 weeks. He was going above and beyond for her, changing his own habits whilst she reassessed her life -something few others, she thought, would do for a complete stranger.

With her decision made, resolved to be more social in the morning, she curled up under her duvet with her newest book. Before she knew it, the words were bleeding together, her eyes struggling to remain open as she fell into a dreamless sleep.

#;anonymous #;mod mbd #shielded #Jamie X Claire #ficlet

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someguynamedstevewrites · 4 years

Text

“My Roommate is an Apparition” Christmas Special

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

—————————————————————

“It was a dark and cloudy evening on the twenty-ninth of November.

The end of a Black Friday the likes few would remember.

In an art supply store that can be found somewhere.

A person named Lily almost pulled out their hair.

With sale after sale, and all the price drops,

Poor Lily was tired. She wanted it to stop.

She dragged her feet one after another, with muscles so sore.

It felt like she walked a thousand miles to fall down at her door.

But now it was over, and at last she was free.

To veg out on her couch, and watch shows on TV.

But before she could indulge in being a couch potato,

There was still the matter of her roommate who...

...

Who...”

Lily tapped the pen against her chin as she tried to come up with a good word that rhymed with potato. Her head rested on a cushion against the arm rest of her couch as she slouched back; crossing one leg over the other. One of her spiral notebooks rested in her lap as she turned her head to look at her roommate.

The ghostly apparition stood motionless with a gaunt expression. Their eyes were wide with tiny pupils that somehow weren’t necessarily bloodshot, but at the same time, also bloodshot... but without the blood part. Their unkempt long hair fell down over their nearly non-existent shoulders and down their back, if you could call it that. Anyone who saw them standing next to them would likely jump out of their skin. If they could see them.

They were watching Spongebob Squarepants on Nickelodeon.

It was a rerun of the first episode, and the falsetto voice of Tiny Tim began to fill the apartment.

“Things that bother you Never bother me!

I feel happy and fine!

Living in the sunlight!

Loving in the moonlight!”

“Hav...ing... a... wonder... ful... time...”

Lily could tell the apparition was trying to sing along with its raspy voice. It sounded more like muttering under their breath, but it was clear what they were doing. It had to be difficult for it since they didn’t necessarily have lungs, vocal chords, or any other body parts usually involved with singing (as far as Lily knew). But despite that, it was still happy, bobbing their head slowly from side to side as they tried to keep up with the song.

Lily couldn’t help but think it was adorable; like a Pre-Schooler trying to sing along with their favorite cartoon.

It was the apparition’s scheduled cartoon time, and Lily had just come home after a very long morning, day, and night at work. As exhausting as working on Black Friday was, Lily was thankful to have a nice place to return to where she could unwind and relax. She was also thankful that the rent was surprisingly cheap too; what with the apartment being haunted and all.

She remembered the look on her landlord’s face when she signed the lease. It was a mixture of horror, surprise, and joy in response to finally finding someone willing to rent the apartment. Previous tenants would often report of strange things happening when they lived there. Their TV’s would turn on by themselves at random times. Sometimes the channels would change on their own, and whenever the tenant tried changing it back, they could hear an ethereal whisper demanding that they change the channel.

But Lily weren’t afraid of no ghosts, and took one of her first steps to independent living with dirt cheap rent.

A spooky chuckle came from her roommate as they watched Spongebob completely ruin Squidward’s day ...again. If not for the fact that Lily could see the pale, see-through entity that made that noise, she probably would have found the laughter rather creepy. But she didn’t, and in the spirit of the season, Lily mentally noted how she was thankful that she could see her specter of a roommate.

This train of thought led Lily back to one of the questions she had been asking herself for the past couple months: Why could she see the apparition when nobody else could?

Several possible answers ran through her head. Maybe she had secret powers that she wasn’t aware of? Maybe she was the “chosen” one, selected by the mysterious wraith to be the only person that could see them? Or maybe there was something about them that made them kindred spirits in a way? And if so, what tied them together?

Lily’s train of thought was derailed by the sudden commercial break on the TV, signaling that Spongebob had ended, and Lily knew what that meant. It was finally her turn to have the TV!

“Okay, show’s over. Now it’s my turn to watch something.”

Lily’s roommate gave a disappointed sigh as Lily snatched up the remote and changed the channel to CBS. It was prime time and time for some Hawaii Five-O. Sure it wasn’t the most mentally stimulating television program out there and one could argue it had the same level of intellect as Spongebob, but it was what Lily wanted to watch and watch it she would!

Or at least that would have been the case if not for a tiny spanner in the works. What greeted Lily after changing the channel was not Hawaii Five-O, but a familiar sight that Lily had not seen for a long, long time. Bongos could be heard as the word “Special” spun around colorfully on the screen before resting in place and showing “A CBS Special Presentation”.

A bright blue background with images of snowflakes falling appeared on the TV screen, accompanied by a calming, familiar, song.

“Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays

Welcome Christmas, bring your light

Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays

Welcome in the cold of night.”

“No kidding...” Lily said to herself in amazement. She hadn’t seen How The Grinch Stole Christmas in years. And it wasn’t the live action remake with Jim Carrey or the newer animated movie with Benedict Cumberbatch either. It was the genuine, original, Chuck Jones animated TV special with Boris Karloff narrating.

Lily remembered watching this on TV with her parents when she was little. It was one of the many Christmas specials that would air instead of the usual TV programming at night, and was just the thing for a 8-year old to enjoy before being tucked into bed for a 9 PM bedtime. Fond memories of the Christmas Tree in the living room, glowing with lights, and a stack of presents underneath it came flooding back to her in a wave of nostalgia.

It wasn’t Hawaii Five-O, but Lily wasn’t about to complain. In fact, she thought it was the perfect way to usher in the holiday season after the shopping turmoil of Black Friday. But as she kicked back to relax, she took a look at her roommate and couldn’t believe her eyes and ears.

“Every Who... down in Whoville... liked Christmas a lot.

But the Grinch... who lived just North of Whoville... did not!” said the apparition.

Its face was practically glowing with a warm smile that stretched almost from ear to non-existent ear on her face. Normally, Lily’s roommate was literally quite clear. Its transparent body made it easy to see right through them. But as it gazed at the Christmas Classic playing on the TV, Lily could have sworn that she saw a faint light beginning to emanate from her roommate.

The apparition’s pale, translucent skin looked like it was becoming opaque. A soft, warm glow radiated from its body as though it had just swallowed a night light. And all the while, the apparition spoke along with Boris Karloff’s narration word for word.

“The Grinch... hated Christmas!

The whole Christmas... season!

Now... please don't ask... why.

No one... quite knows the... reason,” the apparition quoted as it did its best to keep up with Boris Karloff’s pace.

“Wow! You’ve got the whole thing memorized, don’t yah?” Lily said with a smile.

The apparition turned around and smiled back at Lily, but this smile was different from before. Their smiles were usually filled with sharp, pointy teeth with an almost maniacal look to them. This smile, however, didn’t stretch across the whole of their face. Furthermore, while their teeth were still pointy, they looked somewhat smaller; almost human, even. It was a soft, warm, friendly smile.

It turned back around and continued to watch the TV classic, and as it did, Lily sat upright and scooted over to one side of the couch.

“Hey,” Lily called out, “care to join me?” She said while patting the seat next to her on the couch. Without taking its eyes off the television, the apparition walked backwards, somehow, onto the couch and then proceeded to sit next to Lily. “C’mere you,” Lily said as she took a throw blanket resting on the back of the couch and draped it around herself and her roommate.

Despite her roommate’s lack of substance, Lily felt warm and comfortable under the blanket. She could feel the faintest touch as the apparition’s head limped to the side and came to rest on her shoulder. It still quoted and sang along with the Christmas classic, but quietly so as not to disturb the viewing experience of their corporeal roommate.

It was peaceful, calm, and comforting. As they watched, Lily looked at her notebook that was now sitting on the floor. The movement of inviting her roommate to the couch had knocked it off. Looking at it, Lily figured out what to put down to finish her little post-Black Friday stress relief poem.

“... But before she could indulge in being a couch potato,

There was still the matter of her roommate who would not let go.

But as mysterious and weird as her roommate might be,

There was something about it that brought a warm smile to Lily.

And so the two sat on the couch in front of the TV,

Enjoying their time together as it was meant to be.”

Lily made a mental note to write that down once the show was over...

...but unfortunately forgot.

#reddpenn #my roommate is an apparition

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