#blue paisley armchairs

[simsforevermore]

Studio Home Office DC Metro Mid-sized transitional freestanding desk with green walls in a carpeted home studio

[los-angeles-county-limousine]

Beach Style Bedroom - Bedroom

[inkednotebook]

Thank you @kaylinalexanderbooks and @willtheweaver for the tags!

Rules: answer the prompts for an OC

Tagging @meerawrites, @illarian-rambling, @mjparkerwriting, @bardic-tales, and @peachesandghosts

From my WIP Icing Waved Off

Full name: Theodore Alexander Wilson

Age: 24

Gender: Cis male

Species: Human

Appearance: Pale skin with pink undertones, no birthmarks or freckles, really. Short, chocolate-brown hair, often swept back; faded shave around the ears and nape of the neck; longest pieces touch the top of his ear. Hazel-coloured, slightly downturned eyes. Angular features (nose, cheeks, and jaw). 6'1" or about 185cm. Broad shoulders, boxy-shaped torso. Strong, muscular legs (especially thighs).

Occupation: Pro/NHL hockey player

Family members: Isn't super close with them, in part because he lives relatively far away for his career. As such, I haven't fully developed these characters yet. His dad, Greg Wilson, is a cop. He was pretty hard on Teddy and his brother growing up, but it's because he wanted them to succeed and wanted them to work hard (though he could've done a better job at showing them love). He has some pretty traditional gender views (e.g., "man" of the house, heteronormative but not necessarily homophobic). Teddy's mom, Libby Wilson, is an elementary school librarian. She's much softer than Greg, but never really spoke up if/when Greg was being hard on the boys growing up. Teddy's brother Nicholas is a few years older and is doing his PhD in psychology and has a habit of psychoanalyzing people and situations rather than listening. He's engaged to his fiance Kylee.

Teddy's extended family is spread out across New Brunswick and eastern Ontario (Canada). On his dad's side, he has an aunt and uncle who live in Moncton, NB, and a "dickhead uncle" (as James calls him) who lives in Fredericton, NB with his grandparents. He has cousins in Ottawa, ON - his Moncton aunt and uncle's kids. On his mom's side, he has an aunt and uncle who live in Kingston, ON, and who have a couple kids a few years younger than him. He also has his grammie who lives in Kingston - she lives in a retirement community where she found "her new beau" (also according to James).

Best friends: James Parker

Pets: None. He never had any growing up because his brother's allergic to most animals and his parents didn't want any reptiles or anything. With his job being so hectic, he doesn't have the right lifestyle for a pet at the moment.

Describe their room: Mostly decorated by his fiance Eleanor. Large king-sized bed with pale blue sheets and teal, paisley-printed duvet. White bookcase near the window with novels, trinkets, and pictures. A small armchair next to the bookcase; black suede with a pale blue throw blanket and matching pillow. White dresser across from the end of the bed with jewellery boxes/displays atop. White bedside tables with books and magazines on top. A walk-in closet near the back corner, next to which is the entrance to the master bath.

Way of speaking: His voice is pretty even-toned most of the time. He uses a lot of sports slang in his speech. Hesitates and stumbles over words when anxious. Ontario accent.

Physical characteristics: Nothing I didn't already mention.

Items in their bag/purse: When they're on roadies, his carry-on usually has: a sleeping mask, a book, phone charger, his meds/vitamins, noise-cancelling headphones, a pack of playing cards, an extra sweater, a Sudoku book + pencil, lip balm, pack of gum, snacks (assorted nuts, granola bars, and maybe an apple or banana), and a water bottle.

Hobbies: Other than playing hockey, he enjoys reading (especially mystery novels), playing video games (not really open world/story-based ones, but ones like Mario Kart, Mario Party, NHL The Show, MLB The Show, and fun party/co-op games), watching Star Trek, watching baseball and sometimes football, and doing puzzles (both brain puzzles and physical puzzles).

Favourite sport: Hockey, duh.

Abilities/talents/powers: He's very athletic (again, duh). He's a great hockey player. He's a pretty fast reader. He's an okay cook. He's good at brain puzzles (like Sudoku).

Relationships: At the beginning of the book, he's engaged to his high school sweetheart Eleanor Montgomery. Their relationship is very much based on emotional co-dependency from when they were teens. They "...fell in love young" and "What do seventeen year olds know about love anyway?" (-El). Not a healthy relationship on either end. Teddy pushes down his feelings and hides parts of himself around her and he ignores his gut telling him something's wrong.

With his teammates, he's much more comfortable. He's open and free and goofy. He lets himself relax and even lets himself break down at times. He still pushes down his feelings when around others a lot, and he isn't good at vocalizing his feelings with certain people. He's closest with his teammates James, Marcus, and Mickey.

Fears: Failure. Disappointing loved ones. The unknown.

Faults: Oh boy, he has many. He's a flawed individual, especially at the beginning of the book. Kind of touched upon it, but he's not good with feelings. Or at least he has a habit of shoving down his actual feelings to please others. He can be selfish at times without realizing it. He sometimes turns to alcohol and cigarettes to cope with his thoughts.

Good points: He cares so deeply about people. He's a hard worker. He's a good listener. He's open-minded. He's witty/can make people laugh.

What they want more than anything else: To win the Stanley Cup. But also just be happy with who he is.

[nahalism]

What does your internal room look and feel like?

heyyy, my bad for taking so long to reply to this. this is such an interesting question, perhaps one of the deepest ive ever been asked whether u intended that or not lol

i feel like all things i experience externally are present within me internally, so i dont so much have an internal room, but more so a house with multiple rooms. some im in more than others. i can't detail everything or explain them all, but i guess i can describe the rooms i go into most often.

one is a sunroom with loads of plants, crystal bowls and vases filled with water, and these pale blue, pink and lilac lights shining over everything. it smells good, but the smell is light. i want to keep breathing deep so i can smell it more. there's soothing music playing and it feels very peaceful, harmonious and joy filled. im talking to the plants, and nurturing everything including my self, not necessarily bytending to things, but just by being present with them and myself. i can feel the wind and smell it too. there's this feeling of overwhelming love, unity, and the sense that "im right where im meant to be. i can take my time and be tender, there's nowhere to rush too or to be other than here". everything is speaking to me and i to it but we share the purest silence there is. it feels like the world is singing and the light is dancing over everything.

the second room is dustier. its dark too, there are no windows, but in the centre there's an paisley fabric armchair, a side table and one candle burning on the table. books are stacked from wall to wall, and even though the room is smokey, either with incense or ... the smell of dust and damp is overwhelming. the floor is wooden, the wood panels are splintering at the corners. the room feels like contemplative and im going back and forth between books, the armchair and or pacing/lighting incense. everything is an act of ritual. as i read, the candle either waxes or wanes, the same occurs as i contemplate what ive read. the candle usually dims or flickers, but when it grows, it maintains its growth, and starts to illuminate more of the room. as the light spreads, the rooms corners are illuminated. it seems the room is endless. new books are revealed, or new 'exercises' i can play/interact with are introduced to the space, however the more room is revealed the more piles of dust i uncover. i clean up the piles and continue the routine, but im never done cleaning. despite how much i enjoy the room, the room never feels uncomfortable. its difficult to be in. and while it might feel good when the light expands, it never expands for long. its always in short bursts. i love it there, yet nothing is mine, and the impermanence bothers me. there is so much to learn, so much to uncover, and i want to commit it to memory, learn it by heart. still the clock is always ticking, the room is always expanding, and regardless of what i do to keep it clean there is always more dust

[southernswampmamma]

Magic Man: Chapter 8

Original! Male Character x Original! Black Female Character

Chapter Warnings: Slow Burn, Age Gap,

Summary: Yolana Humphry spent her entire life stuck in Tapioca, Alabama, under the thumb of her controlling Aunt Freda. That is, until a stranger comes along and swoops her off her feet. A charming man, that everyone but herself seems to know; who easily bypasses her fragile walls and embeds himself in her heart. Escape, however, doesn’t seem to be the end of Yolana’s journey. With her newfound freedom, she now has the opportunity to pursue something she never thought she could obtain.

Chapter Summary: After the argument with Freda, an enraged Nathan produces a plan to save Yolana from her sheltered life in Tapioca, Alabama.

Please Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

A Knight Atop His Gray Steed.

Yolana should have been dehydrated with all the crying she had done the past two days. After her aunt returned from outside still yelling, she took a watery-faced Yolana to work. There, Yolana spent her entire day trying to keep it together. She ultimately crashed and spent her lunch crying on Candace’s shoulder. Her boss ordered her to do paperwork for the remainder of the day. It was the only work Yolana could do away from the patients while still earning her pay. She didn’t want to go home anyhow. She didn’t want to see Freda earlier than she needed to. Yolana wanted to see Nathan on his motorcycle, waiting for her to hop on. Also, like he had told her on Friday, it was just as nice a day as the day before. Sitting at her desk, filling in patient information, Yolana could practically feel the breeze on her face. Maybe it was the air conditioning from above fanning at her tears. She was truly miserable, not yet ready to accept her drab, uneventful life back.

On the other side of town, Elijah sat in an old plush armchair scattered in embroidered yellow, green, and brown leaves. The chair was indeed old and had the smell of many years. It wasn’t a horrible smell by any means, just something Elijah can only describe as comforting. He could smell every good year the old chair lived through. The chair sat near his painting area to help him think about things. Not anything to do with business or partnerships, but personal things. Familial things. Major Morish family decisions were made in that chair, life-changing decisions. Like the futures of himself and his daughter. At the moment he was sitting in it, it was to listen and help his grandson as the boy paced back and forth over the paisley rug.

Elijah hadn’t seen Nathan so riled up in a long time. Though the situation was serious, the elder couldn’t help but reminisce at a time that his grandson was doing the same thing so many years before, in toddler age. Grumpy face, with his arms crossed around his whole body, running his hands through his hair over and over. Blue eyes aflame like they could burn the entire world to ashes. Even as a five-year-old. His cheeks were reddened in the same way and he stomped the same too. He was such a cute little fire-head back then. Though, that day, in front of Elijah, Nathan looked more intimidating.

He huffed and cussed; he stomped, and he cussed some more. “That woman” was muttered many times. It was all Nathan could say without calling her a bitch. Nathan had told Elijah the full story. From the moment he left the house, to the time he came back. Over and over, Nathan told Elijah he was going to do something. He was going to help Yolana, but he was too riled up to even think. The argument with Freda continued to play on repeat throughout his mind. How was Yolana? Nathan didn’t get to see her, but he knew she could hear everything and that she was upset. He wished she would have looked out the window so she could see his face. So he could let her know that everything would be alright. But would it? He would do anything to help her, but Nathan didn’t have the slightest idea how. He eventually stopped moving. Running his hands through his hair one last time, Nathan’s shoulders sunk and he collapsed on a nearby chair. His considerable size making the wood creak under him.

“You should get some rest. Take some of those magic gummy bears you brought with you.”

Nathan peeked up at his grandfather through the fingers he was holding to his face.

“You’re right - about the rest - not the gummy bears.” Nathan said.

He’ll take the advice of Mrs. Henderson and his grandfather, but when he wakes, he’ll come up with a course of action.

Yolana sat at her desk, looking out the window. She was looking at nothing in particular, just looking. Her mind was running, but she couldn’t distinguish a single thought. It was a silent day and nothing was happening. The neighborhood was still, empty of people. Clouds were nowhere to be seen and there were no birds heard. The wind wasn’t even blowing. Yolana was as quiet as the world around her. Depression, as chaotic as it was, was always the most mute of monsters. It would be nice, the stillness, if it didn’t hurt so much. Her face was dry, so were her eyes, but sorrow was still present in them. Ready at any moment to drown her anew. She could feel it when she thought of him again. She could really feel it when she thought of her unfortunate future.

Yolana wondered if Nathan was still there in Tapioca, or maybe he had left already. Probably back to his normal life in Tennessee. It’s been a full day since she last saw him Friday morning. Without her phone, she couldn’t send him her well wishes before he left. Yolana thought to get him something or gift him something of hers. Something to remember her. It would have been silly, but Yolana couldn’t convince herself not to. She wanted him to remember her. She needed him to, for some unknown reason. Maybe to prove that she is worth remembering. At least for the enjoyable moments. Now, all Nathan’s going to remember is Freda, her horrid attitude, and her lonely niece.

Nathan was the first person to take Yolana places. Some of those places one wouldn’t presume remarkable, but they didn’t have to be. She was with him. That made a remarkable difference. Nathan wasn’t afraid of Freda. He cemented that fact Friday. Standing there, not allowing her aunt to undermine him or take over the argument. The only other person to talk back to Freda so strongly was Mrs. Henderson. Uncle Belvin barely did it. Yolana had only seen it once. Most of the time, Belvin did what Freda told him to. If Freda “asked” something of him, he was right there and ready to do it. Freda didn’t pay the bills in the house, Uncle Belvin did. Uncle Belvin paid the mortgage, lights, and water. He cut the grass and paid the note on the Nissan. Why? Because Freda “asked” him to. Yolana lived under Freda’s roof, and the woman didn’t even pay for it.

It was truly a miracle that it took that long for the two to get caught. Yolana and Nathan frolicked around town for two weeks straight without a single person noticing? Or maybe they didn’t care? Not likely for Tapioca. Not likely for the sheltered Yolana Humphry. In the end, they got caught by the Ring camera of an old lady that couldn’t mind her business. It was almost magic how it ended. Coincidences always felt like magic.

Yolana moved from her desk and crawled back into her bed. She was having such a lazy day. She huffed amusingly at that quip. There was nothing she could think of doing, but nothing. She made her bed that morning in an attempt to distract herself. She would have never done it if she knew she was going to pull the sheets back three hours later. Her life was a mess. She was in her mid-twenties, with nothing going on and no opportunities. Living with her aunt and no car, with no friends, and no lover. She didn’t even have a phone anymore, burner or otherwise. Freda took them both. Well, destroyed one. Yolana couldn’t walk outside, go down the street, or to visit Uncle Belvin. Currently, she couldn’t even stand right off the porch. It took four hours after Yolana got off Friday evening for Freda to purchase, unbox, and install her very own Ring camera. Well, it wasn’t a Ring camera, but a very nice knock off brand that could do virtually the same thing. Yolana watched as her aunt Freda fiddled with the thing and its settings on her phone. Freda, getting frustrated, asked Yolana to help her. Yolana couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Why would you ask the prisoner to fix the lock to their own cell?

Yolana was locked up and stuck in a life that mostly regressed, sometimes stood still, but never progressed. The only thing she was gaining from existing was self insecurity, naivety, and powerlessness. With a dash of social ineptitude.

Tears were starting to fall again. It didn’t help that right across from her, hanging heavily in her closet, was the leather riding jacket. Its patched arm staring right at her nearly lifeless body. She was supposed to wear it Friday, then return it to Nathan. Yolana’s face was instantly drenched with tears, along with the pillow underneath her. She had something of his, but Nathan had nothing of hers. Yolana would remain forgettable.

The door opened soon enough and Freda came barreling in unannounced. Yolana didn’t move an inch, but she took her eyes away from the leather jacket. Her last secret. Freda sauntered across the room, hands full with a plastic black tray. She walked over to Yolana’s side and sat the black tray on her nightstand, covering two art books that laid there. Yolana’s eyes moved over to the tray. It looked like it came from the local high school lunch ladies, but Yolana assumed it was one her grandmother used to use. Sitting on the tray were four finger sandwiches, a cup of fruit, and an orange soda poured into a paper cup. Her prison meal had arrived.

“You haven’t left your room all day.” Freda stated.

One might think that the food was an olive branch to persuade Yolana into a better mood, but Yolana knew better. She just had to wait for the woman to start talking.

“You can’t be in bed all day. I didn’t raise a lazy girl.” Freda said. It sounded familiar, and she said it so lightheartedly, but it was a dig. “You’ll see, though. That I was right. He was no good for you. Simply, no good.” Yolana’s face almost screwed sour before she mentally gave up and laid unmoved. Freda stood there, resting her hands on her hips. She looked out the window and breathed a sigh. “Things will be back to normal soon and you’ll forget all about Nathan Bard.”

Then she left.

Sunday morning, Yolana sat prettily at her desk. She wished she felt how she looked. Her braids were swept into an updo. It wasn’t neat by any means, but it was still pretty. Her hands were busy thumbing through her notebooks, looking at all her sketches. She smiled at a few of her more recent ones and how inspired she was when she drew them. Yolana absorbed so much from Nathan that she had a nearly completed rough draft right in front of her. Her colors were already picked and all. The Tennessee mountains were the backdrop to the adventure, with a road map like maze as the board. There was even a feature from Nathan as the park ranger, guiding you through the twists and turns of the puzzle and to provide helpful hints. Yolana focused on the little Nathan in the corner, smiling back at her and she sighed. The little guy was the most detailed part of the rough draft. Since Nathan was right in front of her when she decided to illustrate him, she completely achieved his likeness on paper. Yolana could count that as something else she had of him. He should be home by then and she should try forgetting about him. The mind doesn’t work like that, however, you can’t simply drive your thoughts away.

Downstairs, Yolana could hear talking. It was Freda, of course, and since there were no other voices heard, Yolana assumed she was on the phone.

“You can’t ask someone else?” Freda said from downstairs. The woman could sure talk loud. There was never a conversation Yolana missed from her aunt. “Alright, alright.” Then it was quiet once again, but soon Yolana heard the thumping of Freda’s church heels clumping up the stairs.

Yolana shut her notebook and dropped her head in her hands. Freda was making a beeline straight for her room and she knew it. Her door opened, and Freda, standing there with her purse hung in the crease of her arms, looked at Yolana. She did a quick up and down of the young woman before speaking.

“You look less mopey, good.” Freda started. She looked down at her watch. “It’s almost time for us to leave for church, but your hair isn’t done, and where are your shoes?”

Yolana simply shrugged her shoulders, not giving a damn. The more hours that passed since she last seen Nathan, the less she cared to pretend to be ok. Yolana made more steps that morning than she did all of Saturday, but she can’t, won’t pretend and perform a show for her aunt. Freda rolled her eyes, not wanting to respond to Yolana’s lack of response.

“I need to stop by the store and grab hot dog buns for this silly girl. I swear if I’m not in charge, nobody does anything right. I’ll be back in 20 to 30 minutes.” Freda moved to leave, then went back. “Please have your hair redone by the time I come back.”

As Freda’s heels clapped down the driveway, Mrs. Henderson made her appearance at her front door, bending down to pick her water hose from the ground. When she stood back up, holding her back, her eyes met with Freda’s, who just happened to look her way. Freda stood in the distance looking at the woman with a hard, jagged, pinched lipped frown on her face. Mrs. Henderson paid no mind. She simply threw her wrinkly hand to the sky and waved politely. Freda huffed.

“I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I do believe, soon enough, things will turn around for the better.”

Was the old woman high? Freda thought. She stood there by the orange Nissan, bewildered. When was the last time Juanita attended church? Who gets high on a Sunday? Juanita Henderson was way too cheery for a Sunday morning. And to speak to Freda at that?

“You have a blessed day!” Mrs. Henderson waved again, turning away from Freda and watering the flowered bushes along the front of her home.

Blasphemous! The old woman had to be on something that morning. Freda couldn’t remember if she ever heard Mrs. Henderson bless anyone’s day, and she could bet all her money that the woman didn’t mean it. Freda shook her head and yanked the door of the vehicle open. With the force of her descent onto the seat, the entire car shook. Mrs. Henderson laughed to herself as she heard the vehicle peel out of the driveway and through the neighborhood.

“What a rigid bitch.”

Yolana was still sitting at her desk, despite the fact. She was folding her hair every which way, non-committed to even fixing it to begin with. She shouldn’t have let it down and she wouldn’t have if she knew she wouldn’t have been able to put it back up. Yolana gave up, tired arms flopping over the arms of her chair. She blew a breath out before settling. She’ll be OK, right? Yolana had to be. What was the point of all the suffering if, at the end, she’s miserable? Isn’t her circumstance exactly what they preached at church? Hold on a little longer. The battle is not yours, it’s the Lord’s.

“No good thing does he withhold from those who walk is blameless.” Yolana knew she was no saint, but she was far from what Freda had deemed her. Why would she be withheld from her good things? From her blessings. There must be something for her. That’s what all the tears are for, and the hurt. Her salvation must be near. This can’t be all she deserves. Or maybe it was. Maybe Yolana was seeing exactly what she deserved. For not speaking her mind, Yolana was getting walked all over. For not being confident, Yolana wasn’t earning any respect. With following all of Freda’s rules, no matter what, Yolana was suffering from dependency. She wasn’t improving her life by being pleasant and quiet, she was making it worse. Yolana was making it easy for Freda to root her in the same spot, unmoving. This was all Yolana’s doing, and she deserved it.

So, since she was aware, was she going to do anything about it? Or was Yolana going to sit there, staring at the popcorn ceiling, humming to herself.

She hummed lowly. She didn’t know she was doing it while she was so deep in her thoughts, and she only noticed when another hum matched hers. It was so faint Yolana paid it no mind really, but for a second, both hums synced. Then the other hum got louder, and so did hers. It wasn’t until the other hum was nearly over powering her own, that Yolana realized, that the hum was no hum at all, but a roar. A roar of an engine.

Her body snapped upright. Her braids scattered around her shoulders. She looked towards her window, not seeing anything, but the roar slowed down to its previous hum, then to a purr. She looked down from her window and laid eyes on one of the prettiest blues she’d ever seen. They had a smile to them, like they always did, that matched the one only a nose away.

He looked beautiful, like a knight in shining armor atop his gray steed. Yolana was ecstatic, but she stood at the window, dumbfounded. Shouldn’t he be in Tennessee by then? Did he come to say goodbye? Yolana waved her hand. Nathan didn’t wave back. He simply dismounted his motorcycle and sat on one end, calmly. He pointedly looked in Yolana’s eyes, serious then. His smirk wiped from his features. Yolana put her hand down, puzzled. She cocked her head to the side, looking like a befuddled puppy. She mouthed a silent “What”. Nathan only looked from her to the seat right beside him and back to her. Yolana’s face scrunched even more before mouthing “Huh”. Trying to show an even clearer signal, Nathan reached across the bike towards the back. He was slow about it. He really wanted Yolana to see. Nathan unclasped one compartment, and it sprung open dramatically.

Yolana watched it, and it didn’t take too long for her to notice that the area was completely empty of luggage. To really make it stick, Nathan patted the seat next to him. Realizing what he was trying to say, Yolana’s eyes met Nathan’s. Shock, apprehension, uncertainty, and wonder laid within her eyes. Nothing but determination and confidence occupied his blue pools. It only took a second longer for Yolana to start moving into action. When Yolana disappeared from his sight, Nathan moved to rearrange a few things in his carry-on. He didn’t know what Yolana planned to bring, but he was determined to fit it all.

Yolana ran to her closet and dove to the carpet. In the back of it, she remembered there being a small black leather bag and a larger yellow one. Those were her travel bags. She’d only ever used them two times. Once at a slumber party at the church and once at a slumber party with one of the evangelist’s daughters. Both times she was 10 and the bags have been sitting in the back of the closet ever since. It was a dark closet, so it took some digging, but Yolana found them and began throwing anything she could fit inside the bags. She made sure she threw in plenty of shirts and pants. A few skirts were permitted to go, but not many, as most of them were for church and picked by Freda. She stood on the balls of her feet and tossed in some shoes from the shelf, then snatched the bags off the floor and ran to the bed.

Yolana moved on to her dresser, where she grabbed a random assortment of underwear, bras, and socks. Yolana didn’t care how many of each she was packing, just that she had some packed. When the chest of drawers were ran through, she hit her desk, not grabbing much at all, but her notebook, watercolors and watercolor paper. Lastly, she ran to her bathroom, dunking all her toiletries in a towel, and stood by the sink, wrapping it neatly. Her reflection caught her attention, and she took a minute to stare at it. There she was, standing in her bathroom breathless with tears running down her face. Yolana touched her cheeks. She didn’t know she was crying, let alone why. She must have been wiping her nose, because it was tinted red, her lips too, like she was biting them. There were too many emotions flowing through her. There was nervousness, but it couldn’t stand near the excitement that flowed through her. The rest of her many emotions were just as lively, the uncertainty and the wonder, but the excitement and relief she felt when Nathan showed up, felt more vibrant in her chest. Yolana looked towards her bedroom window. He stayed for her, came back for her.

Yolana sprung around the room again. She nearly had both bags filled to the brim and was worried they might not zip closed and they were getting heavy. She dropped them to the floor, struggled for 5 minutes to zip both bags, then flew down the stairs. Upon opening the door, there was Nathan, big and broad, with arms open to accept her bags. Yolana nearly threw herself at him, but reined herself in and handed Nathan her bags instead. He nearly loses his grip in the exchange, but she steadies the bags until he gets ahold of them. No words have yet been said between the two, but they never understood each other more. There were only a few more things that Yolana wanted to have from her room. She was going to retrieve them and meet Nathan down the stairs, then… she didn’t know what happens after that, but she was down for whatever.

No More than 10 minutes down the way, Freda stood in the bread aisle, putting too much energy worthwhile into two different brands of hot dog buns. Her choices were America’s Best Hot Dog Buns, or Lawry’s Premium Buns. America’s Best having the cheaper price and tougher buns, and Lawry’s being more expensive with softer buns. America’s Best had an attached coupon, but Lawry’s was guaranteed not to choke someone when ingested. Which one?

A vibration in her purse was causing havoc against her makeup case and lipstick. She didn’t know it was going off while she was contemplating the hot dog buns. When it wouldn’t stop, Freda begrudgingly took her phone out of her purse. Who could be calling her so persistently? It better not be that silly girl with something else she needs. Freda looked at the screen. It wasn’t the girl. It wasn’t even a phone call.

“There was movement detected at ‘front door’.” Freda read aloud.

She opened the notification, which opened her doorbell app. It was dim, not the best quality at all. Not like her neighbors. It was still clear, however, clear enough to see a hulking figure at her doorstep taking bags from her home. He nearly drops them, but a hand that wasn’t his own, helps stay them. A smaller hand, darker hand. Yolana’s hand.

A piercing, bone chilling scream sounded through the grocery store, followed by a hard clicking and clacking of heels. Furious and flushed, Freda thumbed through her phone. Smashing the phone to her face, Freda waited with smoke coming from her ears for the call to connect.

“Good Sunday morning to you, Freda.” A cheery voice spoke through the speaker.

“Belvin. Hurry and get up to my house. Right now!”

“Wh-what’s the matter?” Belvin asked, recovering from the mistake in the mood.

“Nathan is taking Yolana, and I need you to stop him.” Freda hissed. She was trying to keep quiet and show the urgency in her tone. It resulted in a hissing sound.

“Nathan is what? What are you talking about?”

“Nathan is at my house, this very second, kidnapping your niece. You need to go down there and stop him.”

Belvin stood in his home with the phone between his face and shoulder. He was tucking in his wife-beater, but paused at Freda’s words. Kidnapping? Nathan? Yolana? Would he even do such a thing? Not Nathan Bard, one of his boys.

“Freda, you got to be mistaken.”

“I saw him on the Zoom camera outside the door.”

“Zoom camera? When did you get one of those?” It would have been comical, if not for the situation, that neither Freda nor Belvin knew what Zoom was, and the fact that she did not own a “Zoom camera”, but a Ring camera. It would also have been hilarious that Belvin knew exactly what she was referring to, though both being completely wrong.

Freda explained she purchased it Friday as she stomped through the parking lot to her car.

“Well, have you called her?”

“I took her phone.”

“What you take her phone for?”

“Because I caught her talking to that boy”

“Who?”

“Nathan, Belvin!” Freda slammed herself inside her car.

“So what?” Belvin shrugged.

“That boy is a delinquent!”

“No, that man isn’t.”

“Belvin!” Freda yelled, taking a breath afterwards “It don’t matter who he is if he’s taking Yolana! Please go!”

“Alright. I’ll go! You’re probably overthinking things, anyway.”

Yolana hobbled downstairs with her pot of flowers in one arm and the leather jacket on the other. Nathan met her at the steps and took the pot from her. Yolana sprinted away towards the kitchen and took two trash bags from the cabinet to cover her flowers from the wind. When they got everything on the bike, safe and secure, Yolana put the jacket on while Nathan posed to help her with the helmet. They still haven’t uttered a single word to each other. However, with his face so close to hers, Nathan couldn’t help but speak.

“I couldn’t leave you here.” Though he knew to hurry, he took this moment to settle and regulate both their heartbeats. “You deserve better than this.”

Yolana, with face still drenched and lip still bitten, smiled. “I was thinking the same thing.” One last tear rolls down her face.

Nathan instantly held the parts of her cheek that he could reach with the open-faced helmet. He rubs at the damp skin for a moment, looking in her eyes. He looked like he had something else to say but didn’t know if he should say it. However, his mind landed on something. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Yolana didn’t know if he was referring to their personal relationship or their ride to Tennessee. She trusted him, though, all the same.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“Yes.”

And then they hopped on. Yolana behind Nathan, holding him tight as he revved the engine and sped off.

Chief Friday didn’t live far. He lived only 8 miles away on a half an acre plot of land across from two large squares of farmland. He inherited the land from his parents but didn’t imagine he would actually live on the property. There was even a mind to sell it, but he was glad he didn’t. It was convenient after his divorce.

His divorce was a shock to him that threw his life into a loop. A rock in front of a moving bicycle. However, what wasn’t a shock was his continued devotion to his former wife. As much heartache Freda brought Belvin, he would always answer her call. Even when she didn’t make any sense. That was why Belvin was driving after his niece, who was attached to the back of an old friend.

He saw the two as they merged onto the highway not far from Freda’s home. He approached their rear, but when he honked his horn to get their attention, he was met with a quick glance and a spurring engine. Why did they speed up? Belvin sped up behind them. Maybe they didn’t recognize who he was. He approached and honked again when he was close enough to read Nathan’s license plate. Again the motorcycle sped up, but that time there was no glance. Like they knew who was behind them and wanted to avoid them. That put a frown on Belvin’s face. He grabbed at his cell phone and dialed Nathan’s number. I rung and rung, but the body in front of him didn’t move to answer it and it went to voicemail. So Belvin tossed his phone to the passenger seat.

Belvin decided that it would be harder to ignore him if he was directly in their line of sight. He increased his speed to approach Nathan’s left side. When he could see the man’s eyes, he rolled down his window and leaned his head out.

“Pull over!” Belvin yelled. He assumed he was loud enough, though the wind was trying to carry his voice elsewhere.

Yolana looked at him, startled. Her eyes were wide, like she didn’t expect him to still be there. Her eyes then moved to Nathan, who side-eyed Belvin and smirked, speeding ahead and cutting him off before turning off the road. Belvin followed them.

Yolana didn’t know, but that wasn’t the first time Nathan found himself running from Belvin. There were two more times before then that had Belvin hightailing it through the roads after Nathan. Nathan swore that last time would be the last time, but he was wrong. At the times he and Belvin had these little chases, Nathan was never caught, and he had no intentions of being caught this time either.

Nathan drove off the main highway, deciding it would be better and safer for them to continue on the back roads towards I-65. If Belvin really wanted to chase, Nathan would give him a good chase. But it will be away from other traffic. He didn’t want to scare Yolana, but he was sure she was up for anything at that point. She barely made any noise when he sped up or made the sharp turn off the highway. However, if he had to go off roading, he didn’t know how she would react.

The county road he was on was a route he ventured on plenty of times. It wasn’t a road hard for him to ride on, however, for a car, the speed limit was set to 20 miles per hour for a reason. County road 9 was filled with sharp turns and stop signs. Add that with potholes and sometimes uneven asphalt, it was best to drive slow and steady.

For two-wheeled vehicles, like say a motorcycle, going around such obstacles was a breeze. The road was sure to slow down Chief Friday, though, and gain him and Yolana more ground. Belvin knew what the boy was doing and knew to pay extra attention. It wasn’t his first rodeo with Nathan. He knew chasing him would prove difficult, but Belvin was going to stay on his tail. Even if it meant he would knock his car out of alignment.

With every twist and every turn, Nathan took it in stride. Although, to his surprise and amusement, so did Belvin. Had the old man gotten better? He avoided almost every obstacle in his way, though the dead deer, after one of the many sharp turns, almost got him. He missed all the potholes and Nathan was betting all his coins on the old man hitting one. They both were speeding; easily going 50 over the speed limit. It was too fast for the type of road. Yolana was holding tight, and Nathan was sure her eyes were screwed close. If her death grip on his body was any indication.

They were nearing the end of the county road, and Nathan was surprised that he had to lean on Plan B to get rid of the fire chief. For a moment, he wondered who the old man had been chasing after all this time while he was gone. There had to be someone throughout those 15 years. Another juvenile delinquent with a heart aflame with passion. They only had a little way to go and Belvin would be back on a simple road and gain ground on the two young-ins. Belvin didn’t know what he would do past the point of making it onto the interstate. Would he follow them all the way to Tennessee? Well, he didn’t have enough gas for that. He would definitely have to stop, then he would lose them. So, it was important at that moment to get in front and cut them off. He could do it; he knew he could. Then he could get some answers. One more turn, one last turn and Belvin could pull them over and ask what’s gotten into them. Especially Yolana. This wasn’t like her, Nathan he could see, especially former Nathan. Maybe not kidnapping, if that’s what was happening, which Belvin still doesn’t believe. When he pulls them over, he will get his answers.

Right at the crest of the last bend, when Belvin was fixing his steering wheel to take the turn in stride, Nathan kept straight off the road and into the woods. “What in God’s name?” Belvin uttered. Except for staying on the road, he’s gone through the woods? Now Belvin had never seen that before. Upon his approach to the same spot, the fire chief noticed a small separation of trees. A man-made trail. It wasn’t anything odd. It could be for the people who live near to avoid the long way home, or for some folks who like to exercise and hike. It could also be a path for law enforcement to get to the interstate discreetly, so oncoming traffic wouldn’t notice them. If Belvin knew Nathan and his talent for getting into trouble, it was most likely the third option.

Was he crazy? Belvin, that is. Was Belvin crazy? The path was made for a car, so there was no doubt he could fit his old Ford through, but it was still the woods. He couldn’t go fast. He was losing ground, thinking so hard on the decision. So Belvin went on, not slowing down at all to catch up with the two.

Yolana heard laughter come from the man she had a death grip on. He said something to himself, then laughed again. Yolana had an idea why and dared herself to disconnect her head from Nathan’s back to turn around and look. Just as she thought. Her Uncle Belvin, her sweet, sensible Uncle Belvin, dared to come through the woods with that old beat-up car. She quickly spun back around and tucked her head back into Nathan’s shoulder blades. That part of the journey was proving to be very nauseating. She thought the turns from the road were sickening, but apparently it could get worse. Nathan, though running from her uncle, was still doing his best to make sure she was comfortable. He warned Yolana before he made his descent into the trees. She was happy that he did. There was a large height difference between the asphalt and the dirt road. If she didn’t brace herself, Yolana could have hopped right off the bike and onto the ground. Nathan said that the wooded path was a shortcut to I-65, and they should be able to lose her uncle there, if not at the break from the road. They barely slowed down, and Yolana was getting worried. Not for herself and Nathan, but for her Uncle Belvin. The path was easy for a car going 10 miles per hour, but 50 or 60? She didn’t want him to get hurt chasing after them. She sent a quick prayer to the Lord above that it all ended quickly and safely.

The old path must not have been used as much in the past few years. Overgrowth was starting to cover the road and vines were reaching across to the other side. There were some limbs here and there of various sizes. Even though Nathan was going pretty fast, he could still tell that some have mossed over from the damp earth beneath them. That let him know that they’ve been there a while. It made the ride a little more difficult, but only really for Belvin, and Nathan was grateful for that. His motorcycle wasn’t made for those types of trips. Fast and ever-changing terrain was for something smaller and less bulky. However, Nathan was working the bike quite well through the terrain, even with both his and Yolana’s luggage.

Belvin, however, wasn’t doing so good. The creak of metal from his car was loud enough for Yolana to hear it from atop the motorcycle. Bangs coming from her rear every few seconds let her know he didn’t avoid the limbs or rocks that were in his path. It was all ending soon, though. Yolana could see the opening onto the interstate. There was a feeling of excitement and gloom that mixed in her body. “Thank god this ride is almost over” and “Holy shit, those cars are going way too fast”, buzzed around in her thoughts. For them to simply merge onto the highway; Yolana couldn’t see it. Though it seemed impossible, Yolana squeezed Nathan even harder. Nathan felt it but couldn’t reassure her that time. He was too busy focusing on the rather large branch that sat in-between them and freedom. It must have fallen recently. It still had its green. There was a soft spot in the middle from what he could see. It was a rotting spot, one of two, the other being at the break of the tree. If he was lucky, they could speed right through the middle and onto the road. It was perfect, as if it was by design.

One more peak and Yolana saw the branch ahead of them. Nathan knew what he was doing, right? What about her uncle? What could happen to the old car if he was to hit that thing? That would total it for sure. He wouldn’t be able to afford a new car while maintaining Freda’s bills. Yolana sent a prayer up to heaven. “God, please,” was all she could utter.

As they came upon the limb, Yolana slammed her head down and away from the scene. Either they make it or they don’t. Nathan’s gorilla grip on his handles had nothing on the titanium hold Yolana had around his abdomen. He sped up, lowered his head, and braced for impact. Straight down the middle he drove, breaking through the branch of half mush, half thick bark. The motorcycle jumped and jerked, but it ran through with only a millisecond of a hangup. Nathan and Yolana could feel each other’s release of breath once they were clear of the hurdle. Next, it was Belvin’s turn.

As the two raced towards the roadway, Yolana couldn’t help but turn around. She had to see about her uncle. They made eye contact. Belvin’s worried expression matching her own. Yolana worried about his safety and Belvin worried about hers. What will happen if he runs over that limb? What will happen if they successfully get away? Yolana, not sure if he could really see her, looked deep into his eyes. As deep as she could, being so far away. He was approaching the limb as quickly as they were approaching the road. Yolana shook her head, hoping he could see it. He did, and it confused him, but she did it again, shaking her head more vigorously. The face he made brought water to Yolana’s eyes. He looked so hurt and concerned. He shook his head back to her, determined. Yolana let one hand go away from Nathan’s waist to place it on her chest above her heart. She shook her head again, that time pleading that he stopped, though he could not hear her words. He could read her lips and he could see the desperation in her eyes.

Belvin Friday spent all of Yolana’s life looking after her. Teaching her how to walk, potty training her and hearing her first words. He was there on all her first and last days of school, graduation, and her first job. He celebrated every life steppingstone and grieved when she failed. It always saddened Belvin that he held her more times when she was crying than when she was laughing. Even with living with Freda, Yolana had become an exceptional young woman. Very beautiful and intelligent. Still able to hold herself up after everything. No matter how many times Freda pulled her back further away from people, she still got up every day and pushed through. Belvin always knew that she would go on and find her way, but he didn’t imagine like that. And there he was, stopping her from doing what he hoped she would do. She was going off finding her own way. He never had any children, but he raised Yolana like she was his own. Every parent must watch their child move on in life, and now it was his turn.

Belvin slammed on the brakes. The old car creaking to an abrupt stop right at the large limb. It lurched him forward into the steering wheel with how fast he stopped. At least those new brakes worked. Yolana watched as he stopped, smiling and thanking him through the air. He just stared at her with teary eyes, praying to the God he served that Nathan would keep his niece safe.

[skullofjoy]

Karen Offutt - Seated figure

[hometoursandotherstuff]

When interior designer Nina Litchfield first encountered this unusual apartment in south-west London, it was neglected & dreary, but it couldn't be further from that now.

Looking from the dining room to the library.

The library's walls and ceiling are lined in a navy blue and trimmed with rope piping. ‘Plain Stripe Ruby’ fabric lines the back wall.

Outside the apartment, the terrace railings are painted in a bottle green.

It’s hard to see, but the blinds are done in a wide grey herringbone edged in purple trim. The armchairs are covered in a paisley fabric.

The hallway of the flat is lined in the same fabric as the living space.

The kitchen is painted in “Refectory Red." The mosaic floor is in ‘Chequers Court’ tiles, and the ceiling lights are by Ralph Lauren.

At the end of the corridor is the main bathroom.

The tiny guest bedroom is lined in ‘Carnival’ cloth. The headboard is upholstered in  cashmere.

In the main bedroom, the walls are covered in ‘Vintage Stripe’ fabric, trimmed in a navy blue braid. The headboard is upholstered in ‘Arabella’ fabric, trimmed in a blue and white piping.

In the en suite bathroom black & white marble provides glamour. 

https://www.houseandgarden.co.uk/gallery/nina-litchfield-flat#

[scuttling]

Signals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Word Count: 2,063 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Overstimulation, Multiple orgasms, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Unprotected sex, Rough sex, Daddy kink, Dom/sub, Praise kink, Biting, Hickies, Choking, Sex toys, Subspace, Aftercare Summary: Buying a present for Aaron starts a new (very smutty) tradition. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. Link to A03 or read below! It all starts with a trip to the mall with Prentiss and Garcia.

Prentiss is looking for a new set of luggage, Garcia is looking for a few new dresses, and Sophie’s just along for the ride, but when she spots the tie, she immediately knows she wants to buy it for Aaron.

It’s a deep, dark navy blue, silk, with a paisley print—Armani, so something he would never buy for himself—and she just knows how good it would look on him with a black suit, crisp white shirt, silver watch. Her mouth practically waters, and Prentiss shoots her a knowing smile when she glances over her shoulder and sees her holding it.

“Present for your special someone?” she asks, and Sophie glances back, smiles softly.

“Yep. He’ll probably just tell me I shouldn’t have wasted the money on him, but I was really drawn to it. I’m gonna get it.”

When she gives it to him after dinner that night, his face is serious, his eyes almost amber colored in the yellow light of the kitchen, and he pulls her onto his lap, kisses her warm and deep. His hands slide up her body, holding her at the waist, and she sighs, lets herself be kissed and held up by his hands for so long that she’s foggy with pleasure when he pulls back.

“I take it you like the tie?” she murmurs, and he sets her carefully on her feet, pushes his dinner dishes aside, and lays her back on the table; it leaves her breathless, and she just looks up at him, panting, sitting up on her elbows, while he takes off her jeans and panties.

He pulls her close to the edge of the table, one of his feet on the ground and his other knee up on his chair, and he makes a fucking meal out of her, brings her off twice with his tongue; her second orgasm hits her so hard that her eyes water, and he makes sure she’s alright before pushing two fingers inside her and fucking her to a third, praising her for being sweet and thoughtful as he presses deep.

“I like the tie,” he says when she is throbbing around his fingers afterward, her face flushed and wet, and all she can do is babble in response; he kisses her cheeks softly, takes her in his arms, cuddles her close, and carries her to bed. The first time he wears it, she catches a glimpse of him putting it on in the mirror, and heat floods her body. She freezes where she stands, breathing hard, and he turns, curious; his eyes sweep over her, taking in the signs of her obvious arousal, and he looks down at the tie, back up at her face.

“Oh. You remember the night you gave me this, don’t you, sweet girl? You were so thoughtful, buying a present for your daddy,” he says, taking a step toward her. She swallows hard, licks her lips, and nods. “I rewarded your kindness the best way I know how.”

“Yes, daddy. You made me feel... very good.” She can almost feel his hands on her, his tongue, and she shivers.

“Yes, I did. It was my pleasure, and I’m happy to do it again tonight, if you like.”

“The same thing, or something different?” she asks softly, and he puts his hands on her hips, presses his lips to hers.

“Anything you like, baby. You can think about it, let me know later?” She looks up at his face, so soft and loving, knows instantly what she’d like—but she’ll let him wait it out for a little while. There’s no reason she should be the only one desperately day dreaming of tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know,” she answers, breathless again, and he smooths one palm over her ass, squeezes softly, and lets her finish getting ready.

She contemplates putting on fresh panties again, but decides that there’s really no point.

“Does that feel good, baby? Is this what you wanted?” Aaron purrs in her ear as he fucks her from behind, her hands squeezing the couch cushion while he pounds into her pussy. She’s got a throw pillow under her hips to tilt them up for him, and he’s so deep, so delicious.

“Yes, oh, god, yes,” she pants, and she moves one hand to cover his where he’s supporting himself on the edge of the sofa. “You feel so good.” Her tits are smashed against the seat of the couch, her ass jiggling each time he slams against it, her clit rubbing roughly on the throw pillow, and it’s everything she imagined and more.

“Perfect, gorgeous girl. So good for me.” One of his hands moves to her hair, and he pulls it all to one side, over her shoulder, so he can see her face better, probably. “You love to be fucked hard by daddy. You love the feel of me against your ass.”

“Yes, I love it. I love you.” She spreads her legs a little, one of her feet pressing against the rug for leverage, and he gets rougher, thrusts quicker. She whines, drops her cheek to the cushion, and just lets herself be fucked, her body moving only because of his deep, relentless thrusts.

“I love you, Sophie. You’re so perfect, wanting me to use you like this. When you ask for my cock, it’s almost impossible to deny you—but you know that, honey, don’t you? You know all I want is to make your tight little pussy quiver around me.” She moans into the couch, nods weakly, and when he leans in again to bite her shoulder, she comes. “Yes, that’s it. We’re not done yet, though.”

“Aaron,” she whimpers, her clit sensitive, and he mouths at the bite, kisses her arm.

“You’re fine, baby. You’re okay.” The hand not covered by hers moves to her ass, and he squeezes as he pumps inside. “You’re okay. You can take me, can’t you, good girl?”

“Hmm, yes,” she mutters, and she’s overstimulated, but she wants to be good for him, doesn’t want him to stop.

She gets too tired to do anything with her hands, just brings them up to rest by her face, and he moves his to her hips, holds her tight, and hammers her soft, pliant body until he comes; she feels him fill her, feels some slide out when he withdraws, and she exhales deeply, spent.

“No, no,” he says when she sags against the couch. “I want one more orgasm from you, baby girl.” He lifts her hips, tucks the pillow more firmly beneath her pussy, and it’s wetter now, from both of their come. “Hump this for me, okay?”

She’s tired, and satisfied, fuzzy, but she works her hips as best as she can. Aaron’s broad palms come to rest on her ass, and he spreads her open a little, watches her grind against the pillow. It makes her cheeks heat, being inspected so closely by her daddy, and she comes, neck outstretched, moans weak and broken.

He kisses her lips, her shoulder, and rubs his hand soothingly up and down her back; they get cleaned up in the shower, and he feeds her a snack in the kitchen—cheese and pickles, her favorite. Then, he wraps her in a blanket and tucks her into the armchair while he strips the couch cushions of their covers, throws them in the washer; she watches him with a sleepy, happy smile. The tie becomes an unofficial signal: when Aaron wears it to work, Sophie knows she is going to be taken apart thoroughly when they get home, will end the night with her body aching and her brain empty, and Aaron knows she knows.

This time, he left home wearing a red tie, she’s absolutely certain of that, but when they gather for their morning meeting, he’s wearing the blue one; she literally stops mid-stride when she sees it, and Prentiss crashes right into her back, almost causing a domino effect in the doorway. “Are you okay?” she asks, clearly concerned, but Sophie just swallows hard and nods, takes her seat without a word. Aaron turns to hide a smirk, the evil, rotten, bastard.

The evening begins agonizingly slow, with Aaron stripping her of her shirt and pants, laying her back on the bed, panties pushed aside, and fingering her with only one finger for a good twenty minutes. He has her whimpering, shaking, because it feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s only when he leans in to slide his tongue through the wetness pooling around his finger that she comes, squeezing her legs together; he forces them open with his free hand, making her mumble and shiver.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. You’re so gorgeous when you get like this: needy and desperate for daddy.” She wants to reply, can’t, just nods her head.

When she’s calmed down a little, he pulls her panties off, but her bra stays on. She doesn’t understand why, at first, until strong hands push up her thighs, and he inserts himself inside her, wraps his fingers around the fabric between the cups of her bra. It pulls down, exposing her chest, for the most part, and he uses that to hold her steady while he fucks her into oblivion.

Her tits bounce with each thrust, and her hands do absolutely nothing, because she’s forgotten how to use them; all she can do is whimper, murmur daddy, and clench around his dick, so that’s what she does.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Are you fuzzy already? Was one little finger enough to make you brainless?” She nods, pants, and he squeezes his eyes shut, something he does when he’s trying not to come. “You’re my perfect girl, Sophie. You’re the best girl. I love you so much.” She whines high in her chest, licks her bottom lip a couple of times, and he reaches his other hand up to wrap around her throat.

“Mmm, daddy,” she sighs, and when he spills inside her she hums, pleased, and manages to bring her hand up to hold his wrist at her throat. He keeps it there for a moment, then lets go, takes off her bra and comes up to kiss the angry, red marks it left behind.

He slips two fingers inside her, and she’s so messy, she can feel it, groans when the thrust of his hand makes her feel squishy inside. “It’s only me, baby, it’s daddy’s come. I’ll push it deeper inside and make you shiver for me, sweet girl.” His hand moves quickly, his mouth still gentle on her breasts, and when he carefully bites down on her nipple, she does climax, trembling and breathing hard until he guides his fingers out.

He holds her, soothes her, and when she’s able to speak, it’s a flood of words like thank you and love you and so good to me and wow. “You’ve worn that tie twice this week,” Spencer mentions to Aaron in the briefing room one day. He looks down, slides his hand over it, and glances back up at him.

“I like it. Sophie bought it for me,” he explains, and Spencer nods, smiles at her.

“It’s nice. Pretty color.”

“Thanks.” She flushes and looks back down at the interoffice memo they’re supposed to be reading; she still has hickies and bite marks on her ass and thighs from the last time he wore the tie, on Monday, and her mind has been racing, thinking of what kind of reward it will earn her today.

“So, so pretty, baby,” he coos as she gasps through her fourth orgasm of the night. There is a vibrator in her pussy, a smaller one in her ass, and she droops against him where he holds her up, his back against the headboard of their bed. “You sound so pretty when you come for me, my good girl.”

He makes love to her after that, pumping slowly, gently, into her worn out body, and she musters up enough energy to kiss him, sigh Aaron, and clutch at his hair until he comes.

She calls off sick the next day, literally too well-fucked to be of any use to her team. When Aaron gets home from work, all she’s wearing is the tie.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 5)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  3,000

Section Warnings: fluff, angst, some R-rated language, Dean flirting/arousing/eating/breathing - the man needs his own warning label

~~~~~

Julie had done some reconnaissance before heading out her front door. She stared at Wes and Samuel’s backyard for some minutes prior. There was no sign of them. Samuel’s SUV wasn’t in the driveway. She figured she had a few minutes to take the walk around and past their corner house in safety. They wouldn’t assault her with questions about where she was off to, taking a stroll she never took in her neighborhood. And they wouldn’t ask what she had in that box she was holding so carefully.

This can’t end well, can it? Her thoughts of Dean were confused and irrational. She was going by pure feeling. And that hadn’t always proved the best course of action.

He’s too fucking gorgeous and too much of a flirt. Guys like that will usually sleep with anyone that tug at the bait. Her father had been that way. Handsome. Could have had his pick of any woman he wanted. And even though he’d one hell of a wife in her mother, he insisted on rutting with anything that came sniffing. Mom had finally had enough twenty years ago and divorced him. She would have taken him for everything she could, if he’d anything worth taking.

And, here she was, having just gone through an eerily similar situation with her now ex-husband… walking up the incline to Dean Winchester’s front door.

Maybe it’s genetic? I could blame this very bad idea on that. Tonight, that’s what I’ll do. She glanced around the side of the house she never saw up close. The cream-colored siding could use a power washing, but the front lawn was neat and tidy. Just like his backyard. There was no landscaping to speak of and the concrete driveway had seen better days. 

His Impala, seated on her throne yards away from the door, demanded the spotlight. The slick black paint shone more than usual. Julie wondered if he’d taken her through a car wash that day. Or maybe he’d washed her himself. Then, she thought about Dean wet and soapy, rubbing his body all over that car, hosing her down. Hose me down, Jesus. Her brain short circuited for a second.

I could turn around and head back. It’s not too late. I could just leave it on the step and text him when I get back home. The sky was turning a dusty pink with purple ribbons. 

No doorbell. The berry red front door teased and tested the outreached fingers of one hand as she balanced the dessert in the other.

She pulled her hand back. Eyes closed. Head tilted. There was a split second where she’d decided to leave. An immediate flash in her thoughts of Dean’s smiling face, those green eyes, those lips, overpowered her senses. She opened her eyes to the sound of her betraying knuckles as they rapped on the door.

You are not desperate. You are going after something you want.

She waited. Some time went by. An awkward amount of time.

Maybe it wasn’t loud enough. Maybe he’s in the shower. Maybe he’s sleeping. Maybe this really was a bad idea. Oh God, what if he has a woman over?

She turned and darted down the small landing and got halfway across the walkway when she heard him. “Julie?”

She pressed her lids together in embarrassment, took a quick breath, and prepared to face the music that was Dean Winchester.

Damn. He was even more tempting than the last time she’d seen him. Surprise overtook his exquisite features. A blank expression gazed at her, open and waiting. His lips parted. Grey sweatpants and a cadet blue Henley draped over his frame. But fabric still hugged taut muscles and beautiful curves. She tried to regain her focus and stared at the ground by his... Shit, and he’s barefoot. Even his feet are fucking perfect. His toes wiggled on the concrete. Just take me now, Dean. She sighed and, realizing no part of him would be unattractive or neutral territory, returned his inspection.

“Is everything okay?” He looked past her onto the street and did a quick survey of the area around him. She nodded. His brow furrowed and then his gaze landed on the box in her hands.

“I made a cake.” Her arms outstretched. It was the only motion she could think to make at the time. “Thought you might want a piece.”

“Oh.” A small smile danced over his mouth in a wave.

She retracted the box back to her chest. “I should have called first. Sorry.”

“No. It’s more than fine. I just…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t deserve such special treatment.”

Have you looked at yourself? “Kind of selfishness on my part.”

He gave her that quizzical look again.

“Want to see how much you enjoy my dessert, up close and personal.” She quipped.

He licked his lips on instinct. “You’re giving me lots of opportunities to not behave myself with this mouth o’ mine.”

Jesus. “Is that a preemptive apology, or a promise?” She couldn’t help it. He brought out the flirt in her, full on. Her reaction was like a runaway train with no conductor at the controls.

His laugh was deep, sexy. “Come on in. I won’t apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” He nudged the front door open with a bare foot and stuffed his hands into hidden pockets. A step back cleared the threshold.

She walked towards him. When she got closer to his figure, she had to look up to meet his gaze. Almost a foot taller, his presence made her feel small and vulnerable. The grin didn’t help to calm the sensations. He uses Irish Spring soap. She wiggled her nose at the clean, fresh out of the shower scent his skin exuded.

The house wasn’t much on the inside in terms of construction. But it possessed a style somewhere between mountain man and perpetual bachelor. All Dean. Dark paneled wood confirmed a 70s architectural build that had never been updated. The open living room and kitchen area felt smaller than it was because of the dim lighting. She squinted through her glasses. A floor lamp was on and near a muted, flat screen television atop a console table. Something was blowing up on the screen, flashing and illuminating the lived-in space. She stepped in farther. Her flats skimmed off a small area rug to tap onto wood laminate. Stale beer and spicy alcohol permeated the stagnant air in the room. She wondered again how much he drank on a regular basis. The front door click froze her in place.

He appeared at her side. “Let me.” His eager open hands waited. The box dropped into them. “Whoa. Heavy. What’d you make?” He strolled over to the breakfast bar along the edge of the kitchen. The broad shoulders got her all swoony. Bowlegs weren’t as obvious in the baggy sweatpants. The curvy ass, however, was quite prominent. He waited for an answer with an expectant look after placing the dessert on the counter.

“Oh. Just a white cake with chocolate frosting. Um, have you ever had a Tastykake Chocolate Junior?”

“More than likely.” He shrugged. “Convenience store grub was sustenance for many, many years.”

She filed that bit of information away for future dissection. “It’s a pretty spot on flavor recreation. They were my favorite growing up.”

“Should I slice it up then? See if it jogs my memory?”

She smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to the living room. “Move whatever you need to.”

Even the couch is covered in plaid. An open bag of chips occupied a spot where she guessed he’d been sitting. A couple beer bottles were on the coffee table. Again.

She debated on whether to sit on the armchair or the tiny lumberjack couch. There were some books and papers on the chair. She plopped on the empty side of the two-seater. The chips were placed on the table after a careful bag fold over. 

Her body shifted, ancy and excited. Should she do the relaxed, one leg folded under the other? How far of a tilt in his general direction? Had she dressed up too much? She tugged at the low-neck paisley peasant top she’d thrown on with her dark jeans. A finger wiped at the corner of her mouth, reminding her of the shiny gloss applied before she left the house. A faint cherry flavor hit the tip of her tongue.

Her gaze wandered back to him while she continued her inner debate on the best position. He’d gotten out plates and rested a rather long knife on the counter. His fingers lifted the box lid. “Oh, man,” he mumbled to himself. He reached in and pulled out the cake, his focus never leaving the treat. Her eyes widened when he grabbed the knife and flipped it in his hands like a skilled warrior. The blade slid into the cake without hesitation. He repeated the action three more times and then served the slices. His brow lifted and he looked over to Julie. “A cake like this deserves milk, but I’m fresh out. Water do? Beer?”

“Um, water’s good.” She was still getting over the display he’d put on.

He nodded, grabbing two bottles from the fridge and wedging them between his arm and side. He strolled over with a plate in each hand and offered one to Julie. The waters dropped on the table.

“Wow. You don’t play around.” She laughed at the enormous pieces he’d doled out.

“I do not… at least when it comes to dessert.” He settled into the seat beside her, thighs splayed out, encroaching into her territory. He pointed at Julie with the tines of his fork. “And, if you can’t finish yours, I will.” He leaned back and brought the plate to perch at his midsection.

She scooted back, deciding a cross legged approach would have to do to avoid brushing against him. The cake plate rested on her lap. Her gaze traced his body from his very close knee all the way back to his face. “You don’t even know if you’ll like it yet.”

He scoffed. “Please.” His grin turned playful. Yes, I could definitely stare at this man for an indefinite amount of time. “Ready?” He inquired with a side glance.

Her cheeks rose along with the wide smile she returned him. “Ready.”

He cleared his throat in deference to the upcoming act. Julie pursed her lips together. His fork sank into the dessert. “I’ve got to get a decent amount of both cake and frosting for this to be a fair sample to judge.” He nodded and tilted the forkful in inspection. His jaw dropped like a nutcracker. He shoveled the mound of cake into his mouth and chewed. Eyes shut as the chews continued. There were no audible cues expressing enjoyment this time, compared to the meal they shared on the patio. The silence was gut wrenching, but Dean’s physical actions were making Julie’s mouth water. She wanted to dive on top of him and latch lips onto that pout. The man was legit dampening her panties. She squirmed in her cross-legged position.

His eyes bolted open and he swallowed. Dean cocked his head at her. “That… is… amazing.”

She stifled a giggle rising in her throat. “Yeah? Not just saying that cause I’m right here?”

His brow dipped down, looking a bit pained in his expression. “I’m a straight shooter.”

I bet.

He attacked the cake again. Julie tried it for herself to see if he was right. She nodded at her handiwork when the smooth chocolate frosting melted in her mouth. It hadn’t gotten grainy from over whipping.

“Thanks.” Dean came up for air after a single piece remained on his plate.

“Welcome.”

“So, is this your interrogation tactic? Getting me into a sugary-stupor so I answer all your burning questions?” He grinned at her.

She stopped in mid-chew and swallowed.

“Cause it’s a pretty good play.” His eyelids looked heavy as he finished the last piece. He tossed the plate onto the table and grabbed one of the beer bottles. He went with the one leg folded under the other position this time and shifted at her, full tilt.

She cleared her throat, feeling the heat of his gaze. A long swig of beer and smack of his lips warmed her cheeks. “I was just being neighborly.” She lifted a shoulder.

“Hm.” White light from the television danced over his face. His stare seemed chiseled out of marble in the strobing spotlight. “Coming over unannounced. And, considering you didn’t want me in your house… why’d you think I’d invite you in?” His jaw clenched after the question.

Shit. “I had cake.” It was half statement, half question.

“Secret weapon aside,” he mumbled, “chocolate frosting wouldn’t protect you from… well, you don’t know anything about me.” His eyes drew her in further, danger and searing intensity illuminated with each flash. 

“I’d like to know you,” she whispered back without thinking, inwardly cursing at the admission.

He gave her a small smile. “Might not like what you find. I’m much better if you take me in small doses.” His hand lifted. A flat palm, dangling the bottleneck between two fingers, slid in the air. “Deal with what’s on the surface. Digging deeper is usually a disappointment.” He drank again, then thumbed the bottle opening.

She sighed. “Well, I guess we just do the good neighbor thing and keep things civil, distant.”

He nodded. “Would be for the best.”

She dropped the plate onto the table. “Should I go then?”

He shook his head. “I like your company. Almost as sweet as that cake.”

“That’s all surface stuff.” She tested.

“Is it now?” He leaned in a little closer. His arm draped over the seat back. “Just proving my point.” A grin.

Julie held his gaze and inhaled. “Spill with some surface stuff, then. To appease my curiosity.”

“Okay.” The word dripped out of his mouth, slow, like honey. “I’m 43.” He waited.

Julie smiled. “Are you expecting me to tell you how old I am?”

“I’m not stupid enough to guess.”

Her hand wiggled a finger in the air. “Point for you.” But she chose not to answer.

The triumphant, pleased with himself smile returned. “Moved here a couple years back. Used to work with my brother. Now, I take care of business solo.”

She nodded. “I won’t ask what kind of business.”

“Thanks. That wouldn’t be a simple explanation.” Another sip of beer. “Uh,” he cleared his throat in thought, “I listen to classic rock… nothing else is real music, anyway.” He caught the rise of her eyebrow. “In my opinion, of course. Been all over the country. Driven through almost every state, even Alaska. I hate flying. Oh, and I love my Baby.”

“Your baby?” Her heart stopped.

“My car.” He clarified. A hint of nostalgia passed over his face. “Been to hell and back in her. She belonged to my Dad.”

“She’s a beauty. You take good care of her.” Julie didn’t push for more, marveling at the little chips in his exterior.

“Family’s important to you?” Dean asked.

It made her pause. “The ones that matter are. The ones that don’t give up on you, even when it would be easier to. Those people are important to me. Those are the ones I’m loyal to.”

The smile he produced held an air of… it took her a few seconds to identify it. Respect. 

“Thing is,” Dean whispered, “I think you’re a decent woman. And I consider myself a good judge of character.” His eyes peeked down to her chest for a brief instant. “And, if I do what I want to right now… well, that might make the whole neighbor thing awkward. I can be an ass,” he licked his lips, “after.”

“After what?” Nervous energy caused her fingers to fiddle with her eyeglasses.

His knees brushed against her thigh. Warm fingers skimmed up her forearm. Her breath hitched. His hand traveled up over her shoulder and swept the ends of her brown hair to rest on her back. A thumb dipped into the hollow past her clavicle. He skirted under the collar of her shirt, not asking permission. Not needing to. The thick pads of his fingers massaged the skin. His eyes never left her face. “After.” He repeated.  

Charges of electricity pulsed and awakened the cells in her body. Thighs squeezed together while her mouth opened, struggling to make heads or tails of what would be the best course of action. “Being an ass would mean no more dessert.”

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “It would.” His fingers retreated from her skin. “Shouldn’t risk it, then.”

They sat in silence for a minute, the moment gone and the space now awkward. Once she felt her heart rate return to a normal beat, she clapped her hands softly on her knees. “Well, I’m going to go. Keep the cake.” She rose. “Figure out how much you want to keep.” She stared down at the confused look on his face. “And bring me the rest tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“When you come by to mow my lawn.”

He smiled. “Still want me to?”

“Of course.”

“Okay then.” Even though she hurried, expecting to beat him to the door, he managed to get there first again. “Still wanna get to know me?”

She nodded. “I’ve got lots of time.”

He sighed. “I might not be that patient.”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy. For either of us.” She let herself out and stepped into the dusk.

“Julie.” He called out. She turned to take in that perfect figure in the doorway. “Let me walk you back.”

“I’m just around the corner.”

“Just let me.” He raised a finger, dashing away for a few seconds, and returned wearing slippers. A quick lock of the door and he slid down the walk to join her.

She shook her head in protest. “You really don’t have to.”

“Too late.” He slowed his pace and strolled with her in the night. The neighborhood only had a few streetlights scattered throughout. They were flickering in that fickle in between before true night enveloped the area. Their short walk was in the shadows of trees and Wes and Samuel’s house.

“Who’s going to walk you back?” she quipped.

“I’ll be fine.” She couldn’t see his face well but sensed a smirk. His slippers shuffled on the asphalt.

When they rounded the corner and her house was in sight, she raised a hand. “There. You can watch me from here.”

“Uh-uh. To the door.” He trudged up the hill.

“You’re quite chivalrous for an apparent ass.”

He chuckled. “I do try sometimes.”

The rest of the walk was in silence, side by side, until Julie took the lead up the narrow concrete path. She bounced up the two steps to the square slab that was her tiny porchway and turned back. It was quick enough to catch that he’d been admiring her ass as he stood on the path by the bottom step.

She was thankful he couldn’t see the blush she felt creeping up on her cheeks. “Well, good deed done.”

His hands plunged into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded. And waited.

She sighed and pulled out the key to unlock her door. “Are you worried I’m going to get attacked by a monster hiding in the bushes?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

The door acquiesced and Julie stepped inside. “Satisfied.”

“I will be when you lock the door behind you.”

She shook her head and whispered through the narrowing gap. “Night, Dean.”

“Good Night, Julie.”

Part 6

Series Page

[pilotofmysoul]

do you have any sources of people thinking john was attractive?

LMAO anon.. this request is so funny thanks

here r some:

Descriptions by former lovers:

Elton John- “I’d known him before in London and I thought he was very attractive.”

David Evans- “[…]as I said, he was not un-endowed. His major, inadmissable talent was that he was gay and pretty with fabulous big, long-lashed blue eyes […] Many whose names are far too numerous to list and many whose names I cannot even remember, nor never knew, fell swains to Reid’s charm offensive. He really does bowl you over when he meets you and knocks you flat, like a spare skittle in the alley, when he’s had enough.”

Barbara Windsor- “I met a diminutive but good-looking young record plugger just down from Paisley […] we soon fell madly in love.”

Descriptions by biographers:

David Buckley- “John Reid, a small and striking man[…]”

Philip Norman- “John was easily the brighter and better-looking of the two [brothers], slight and dark with large liquid eyes and a face whose pointed alertness seemed more Latin than Celt. […] He was popular with the opposite sex and had several girlfriends, though not one particular steady one.”

Descriptions by journalists (who are interviewing him):

Norma McLain Stoop- After Dark (1975)- “[…]slender, attractive John Reid, whose unbelievably busy schedule leaves him little time for such frivolities as eating or sleeping, slouches deep in an overstuffed armchair[…]”

Ray Fox Cumming- Record Mirror (1976)- “His appearance isn’t at all what you’d expect of a rock manager[…] he has a set of eyelashes that would be the envy of any girl.”

[bettercallsabs]

A/N: yeah, I’m still around, surprise. Lol. I know I said part 11 would be the end of this series, however, when writing book two, I realized, completely the last 7 parts worked far better in this book. So alas, here is part 12! The story is getting darker, and the drama is building up to a shocking twist. Be prepared.

Mob boss Steve Rogers x Reader x Monster Bucky Barnes

Warnings: it’s a mob fic, so...

Series Masterlist// Thee Masterlist

The wind howled fiercely as it tore relentlessly through the the foliage. You watched through a rain distorted window, as the roaring sound of thunder crashed overhead. Yough sighed heavily, turning your back to the large bay window, sinking slowly into the depth of the paisley patterned armchair. You gazed down at your little, swollen belly, your hand circling it in conform. It had been days since you’d heard from Steve. He hadn’t phoned, even when promised you he would. And you couldn’t help but fear the worst…

It was just over 3 months ago that you and Steve had been married, and what a magical night that was, what a magical time it had been- Steve and you had grown closer than you ever thought possible over the last couple of months, up until 4 weeks ago, when Bucky went missing.

Steve passed the length of his study, glasses sitting on low on his nose, face contorted with thought. His hand ran through his disheveled hair in frustration. You softly knocked at the partially open door, watching has his head rose to meet yours. “Might I come in?”

you asked in a hushed tone.  He said nothing, only nodded and with a swift gesture of his had he beckoned you into the room. You wasted no time welcoming yourself into the room, waltzing your way towards him as your arms found their way around his waist. Your hands folded over his the center of his chest, the flesh of your cheek resting against the jaggedness of his shoulder blade. His hands fell over yours, the heat of his palm brought a comfort to you, his thumb running the length fingers.

The air lie thick with silence, neither of you speaking for what seemed like an eternity.

You had no idea what troubled him so, you just knew it couldn’t be good. Something in your gut told you it was related to Bucky.  And by Steve’s demeanor and erratic behavior you knew it couldn’t have been good.

For a while, Bucky had been doing some “undercover” work for Steve. His opposition was to gather intel on rival gangs- after the fiasco that had landed you in the hospital with a lovely broken bone. They were inherent on finding those responsible, amongst other things. Bucky had gotten in deep, after falling out with Steve, he had become more involved with Steve’s rivals, they began to trust him, thus giving him more information that he could relay onto Steve, until he decided to make an appearance at the wedding…

“Steve?” You kept your voice low, smooth and sweetg, no more than a hum in his ear as you spoke. You moved around him, your face mere inches from his now, as you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs grazing over is scruffy cheeks. You brought your lips to his, in a soft kiss-expressing the words you couldn’t seem to say. He kissed you back, but it was hesitant at first, as if his mind was elsewhere, as you knew it was- before it became urgent, hungry. His hands crept into your free fallin hair, as he pulled you deeper into the kiss. You kissed him back, savorying every lic k of his tongue, every caress of his hand.

In these trying weeks, Steve had been distant, he rarely slept, or ate, or paid you much attention, and in your sensitive state, you savoured his attention. You wanted nothing more than to be in his presence, you craved it. But a feeling was telling you to give him the space he needed.

“I’m going to brew some coffee, care for a cup?”

Steve’s eyes met yours, the endless pools of blue glistened with vulnerability and aching. Your thumb traced over his cheekbone, following the line of his jaw in a gentle caress, before hovering over his soft lips.

God he was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful, and seeing him this way made your heart sink.

Steve brushed straggling strands of hair from your face, tucking them neatly behind your ear as he cupped your cheek in his hand. You leaned into him, relishing his touch.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Steve lightly kissed your forehead, running his hand over the length of your shoulder, falling to your hand, which his gave a faint squeeze.

“Coffee sounds great. I’ll be out in a moment.”

With a quaint smile, you nodded, giving his hand a kiss before making your way out of the study.

The rich smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the large kitchen. You clutched your mug tightly, your hip resting against the counter as you gazed out of the misty, rain covered window.

The sound of banging at the front doors echoed throughout the house, drawing you back to reality from distant thoughts. Peering out into the foyer, Marcus was nowhere insight. He must be on the other side of the manor, and given your curious nature, you decided to open the door and investigate.

Heaving open the heavy door, a cool mist whipped against your nose. The petrichor smell of the falling rain sent shivers of up your spine. You loved the comforting smell.    

Locking out though sheets of rain, leaving ripples in the puddles that collected along the walkway, was barren. You leaned out of the threshold, holding tight as you starched on your tippy toes still nothing. No one is sight. Stepping back in, you stumbled a bit. You looked around, making sure there was nobody around to catch a glimpse of your clumsiness.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a large blue box in your peripheral. You walked out onto the front porch, droplets of rain just grazing your shoulder, as you reached down to pick up the box.

It looked like a flower box, a tad bit heavier than flowers, but it smelled of flowers, sort of, but an overpowering sour stench leached from its edges. You held out the box, stretching your arms as far from you s you could, your stomach becoming unsettled as the awful smell wafted into your nose. You rushed into the kitchen, nearly throwing the box into the table with a loud thud.

“What’s that?”

Steve’s voice startled you, causing your heart to jump in your chest. You hadn’t seen him standing in the kitchen, propped against the counter stirring cream into his coffee.

“I think pregnancy has made you more jumpy. Never thought that was possible...” Steve chuckled lightly, utter music to your ears. It’d been far too long since you’d heard that magical sound. “So what’s with the box?”

Steve asked, pushing himself from his propped position against the counter.

“I’m not sure. I just found it on the front porch. Looks like flowers or something.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he took a sip of his coffee.

“I wasn’t expecting anything, but might as well open it.”

With the go ahead from Steve you couldn’t deny the slight of excitement to figure out what was in the box, despite the smell.

Nothing could have prepared you for the trepidation that wait beneath the cover.

A blood curdling scream slipped from your lips as you stared in horror. Severed arm with detached fingers had been put on display, draped over a dozen white roses caked in dry crusted blood. Maggots adorned the decomposing flesh, the reaked to high heavens.

Your hands clasped over your mouth as a stream of tears flowed freely from your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was shock, the sight of a severed arm or a combination of the two, but you couldn’t stop the sickening creeping up from your stomach. -at this stage in your pregnancy, you know there was no point in fighting it. Holding back would only bring suffering in the end….

Steve’s hands rubbed at your back, soothing you the best he could. You looked up at him, eyes red and  puffy from tears. Without hesitation, his strong hands clutched at your shoulders, pulling you back from the traumatizing site.

“Marcus!” Steve shouted, his booming tone echoing of the walls of the large house.

He pulled you into him, holding your head against his broad chest, comforting-even though his body was stiff and shaky- you as he brushed at your hair sweetly.

The patter of Marcus footsteps grew louder as he grew closer. You could tell by the sound of is encroaching steps that he was sprinting, his footfalls were short and sporadic, very unusual for Marcus.

“You called sir?”

“Take her to our room please, and watch her.”

You head jerked up, eyes searching Steve’s. His icy blue eyes were dark and brooding. His jawline was rigid, teeth clenched.

“Steve-“

“Please, just go with Marcus, I don’t have time to argue right now.”

“Just tell me what’s going on, what is this?” You wanted answers, needed answers. There was a severed arm in a box on your kitchen table, surely Steve didn’t expect you to go on your merry way, no questions asked?

“Now is not the time y/n. Please, just do as you are told!”

Steve snapped. His voice was low and angered as he turned his head away from you.

“Come now Mrs.Rogers.” Marcus voice was soft, as he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, coxing you towards the hall. Reluctantly, you allowed Marcus to lead you away, glancing back over your shoulder at Steve, you could see sadness in his eyes, as his posture slouched, palms resting on the wooden table top.

“God dammit Bucky...”

You strained your ears to hear him, his voice was but a whisper as he spoke.

Your breath caught in your throat as everything became clear. That arm... that arm in the box, it belonged to Bucky...

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FFC TAGS:

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[burkedecorshop]

Ideas For Beautiful Wallpaper Designs In Your Living Room

Wallpaper is a great way to modify the aesthetic of your living room, with anything from sunset views to florals, geometric designs to paisley prints. While the perfect wallpaper design may transform an average space into something timeless, doing it wrong can turn your decor into something unspeakably terrible!

Choosing the ideal wallpaper is difficult. Keep the following suggestions in mind:

· The ambiance of a space is determined by color. Warm colors like reds and yellows offer energy and warmth, while cool colors like blue and grey create a quiet, tranquil atmosphere.

· If your wall is uneven or damaged, choose textured wallpaper to cover the defects.

· Horizontal lines make the space look bigger, while vertical stripes make the ceiling appear taller.

· Try wallpapering only a portion of a wall, such as the center, rather than the entire wall. You may paint the remainder of the wall a solid color and put borders around the wallpaper.

· Avoid mixing and matching too many patterns in space since the impact might be overpowering.

· Choose from non-woven, acrylic, vinyl, fabric-backed, or fabric-backed wallpaper.

· Material that can be washed is more durable and cleaned with a gentle cloth.

· Without hurting the wall behind it, peel and stick material may be readily removed anytime you weary of the look.

· You may use downlights to highlight the wall and heighten the dramatic impact, especially if you're using textured wallpaper.

Patterns to Play With

Traditional prints are making a comeback. Oversized classic Bohemian elements create a bold statement with black, grey, and beige seats.

Classic Brick

The sleek, all-white living room is given a sophisticated gloss by brick-patterned wallpaper. Brick outlines, which are neat and properly proportioned, have weathered the test of time and will never go out of style.

Fancy Floral

Bold blooms are energizing and striking. The wallpaper is utilized just in the top panel of the wall, which is surrounded by deep grey wall paneling. The flower motifs are repeated on the cushions, albeit in a smaller size.

Forest Grove

The tiny bedsit, washable wallpaper with a Forest motif runs throughout the living and kitchen spaces. Geometrics and patterns in off-white and gray are explored in the area, with the use of color unifying the overall look. The kitchen space is easy to maintain since the wallpaper can be wiped clean.

Old-world charm

The vintage wallpaper screams retro, and it's an aesthetic that's making a comeback. Combine it with old armchairs and natural wood flooring for a feel-good look full of nostalgia and warmth.

Delicate prints

Metallic wallpapers with a high sheen, such as this delicate silver design, provide a luxurious, glamorous touch to your living area. Use bold, solid colors to create contrast, such as this deep blue recliner with vibrant red cushions.

Chevron Stripes

The futuristic motif of the chic loft is complemented with a bold green chevron wallpaper. The custom-designed table with distinctive legs and the brightly colored pillows on the sleek monochrome sofa are to be noted.

The bottom line

The correct wallpaper design catches the eye and produces a gorgeous background against which the rest of your décor items may quickly blend in.

Burke Decor Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BurkeDecor/ Burke Decor Pinterest Page: https://www.pinterest.com/burkedecor/ Burke Decor Instagram Page: https://www.instagram.com/burkedecor/ Burke Decor Twitter Page: https://twitter.com/burkedecor Check out our reviews at: https://bit.ly/3uE4OiY

[interests7]

Interior Design Themes on Trend

Our homes are our most prized possessions. They are just like our modern-day castles. We live with our family, dine, sleep and entertain our friends and acquaintances. We love to beautify our homes. Interior design helps us do that. Let us look at some interior design themes that are trending this year. Use them as per your tastes and preferences to get a new and attractive makeover for your home this year.

1. Vintage Themes

It’s all about embracing the old to get the new look. Old fashioned charm and nostalgia with emphasis on repurposed items are in now. Antique and retro pieces, salvaged items of yesteryear like old rocking chairs, grandfather clocks, and vintage cutlery are popular in this scheme. Embroidery, handmade craft pieces, and paisley prints are heartily embraced. Add rich fabrics and statement lightening to create an interesting contrast and modern note to this theme.

2. Tropical Themes

Another popular interior design theme this year is inspired by tropical island havens and breezy green getaways. Maybe this is due to the added stress of being cooped inside during the pandemic. People yearned to go out that has resulted in the popularity of this theme. This theme includes green and brown palettes similar to the greenery and foliage. These also include painting the walls with murals of plants, forests, and animal life. Those having space and sufficient funds can also choose interior courtyards while those with limited space can go for vibrant vertical gardens.

3. Deep Blue Sea

The yearning to go outside and live life to the fullest seeped into other interior designing themes this year. Ocean blue and nautical themes are trending this year. This translates into a range of blue colour palettes that include soft aqua, Aegean teal, and deep inky blue shades. Combine this with sailing and boating motifs and rustic furnishings and you have created a calm and peaceful interior with a touch of adventure and seafaring. The only thing missing now is a boat and a captain’s hat.

4. Color Me Deep

Continuing on the above theme, colours are back in a big way this year. Maybe the frustration of working from home for months played a role in this, but we are not complaining. Make plenty of use of warm colours that give a vibrant and bright vibe. These make your place cosy for those drab winter months and also add depth to the space. Dash of peacock blue, sunny yellow, bright red, burnt orange and emerald green make your surroundings a fun and welcoming place.

5. Rustic Chic

Rustic chic is the interior design theme that is finding a whole lot of admirers this time. It provides character and soul to modern-day interiors. Give your old cabinets a makeover. Use reclaimed wood to create panelled walled and floorboards. Emphasis is on the workability and usefulness of the household items, coupled with comfort instead of the polished and finished unused pieces. Create a mixture of old and new with perfect harmony and calm and a lived-in ambience with this theme.

6. Home Office as a Center Point

Work from home is a reality now and so is a home office. Design your home office with crisp and clear lines. It should provide you with a comfortable and welcoming workspace that motivates and inspires your creativity. Install desk lights and get a chair as per your comfort. You can go for ergonomic swivel chairs, leather armchairs, or even chairs with velvet upholstery. Use patterned wallpaper and hang modern artwork for completing the look.

7. Maximalism

Maximalism is being yourself. You are not constrained and follow any specific design guidelines. Elements are mismatched, memorabilia are displayed, contrast patterns and personal touches are introduced. This leads to a fulfilling interior designer journey and helps you own your space and make a personal statement.

Conclusion

So, these are some of the interior design themes that are trending now and will be in vogue next year. Apply these themes while adding your personal preferences to redecorate your home this year. For the best experience, contact Urbun Drreams, the best interior designer in Mumbai.

[jeffreymthompsonjr]

THE OWLS

by

Jeffrey M. Thompson Jr.

“You know, it wasn’t always like this, Clarice.”

“Who’s Clarice?” she asked delicately. “And how is it different now, Seth?”

“Well, it used to be— used to be a lot quieter.” Seth turned his head and stared through her face. “Remember? Before the owls, Clarice.”

She smiled. “Seth, I’ve told you. My name’s not Clarice, it’s Susan Chandler and I’m a certified counselor with suicide prevention. You called our hotline and said you wanted help. Do you remember making that phone call?”

His grey eyes stayed fixed, staring into the empty fireplace. His hands rested firm and stiff on the arms of the blue paisley armchair that didn’t match the rest of the room. He chuckled without a smile or smirk then turned his head again toward her.

“Why do you always say that?” His voice was thick and grumbly and flat. “That your name isn’t Clarice? You’ve said that before. But I’m not going to fall for it. No, not this time.”

[hannahs-words]

Trevor Trundle and the Teabags

Trevor Trundle and the Teabags

Trevor Trundle and his wife, Trudy, watched the butterflies flicker over their garden, which was somewhat unusual for November. Trevor and Trudy sat in identical winged armchairs, drinking from identical floral teacups. On the television, some newsreaders prattled on about global warming and how some rather important glaciers were melting, something Trevor didn’t really understand and Trudy didn’t care about. He continued to watch the butterflies, ignoring the faint tinkling of shattering glass coming from somewhere not too far away.

“Well, that’s that then, Trudy,” Trevor said, his knuckles resting on his chin.

“That’s what?” Trudy replied.

“It’s supposedly the end of the world. June from next door said all these big storms we’ve been having are to do with this global warming stuff. She says we haven’t heard from some other countries in days,” Trevor said.

“Nonsense,” Trudy exclaimed abruptly, in a tone which implied she’d very much like Trevor to shut up about this topic.

Apparently not getting the hint, Trevor continued, “Well, let’s just suppose it is the end of everything. What would you want to do?”

There was a pause. Trudy adjusted her glasses and stared at the paisley-patterned carpet.

“I think I’d quite like a cup of tea,” she said eventually.

Trevor glanced down at his wife’s empty teacup.

“Oh. All right,” he said.

He rose from the armchair with his joints popping and snapping. He scooped up the teacup and hobbled into the cornflower-blue kitchen, which was a mess of baking tools, unwashed pans, and biscuit tins. Trevor reached the cupboard where he knew the teabags lived. He tentatively opened the door and saw an assortment of cream crackers, jams and chocolate biscuits. He was looking for Tippington’s Teabags, he and Trudy’s favourite kind. They wouldn’t use anything else. But then Trevor’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t see any teabags. He rummaged through the cupboard frantically, but soon accepted what was. The teabags were gone.

His palms clammy, Trevor called, “Trudy…there aren’t any teabags left!”

“Oh, crumbs. Well, would you mind popping out and getting us some more?” Trudy replied.

Trevor thought back to the news report and the butterflies in the garden.

“I’m not sure how simple it will be, Trudy,” he began, but Trudy interrupted him, saying, “I would go and get them, but my back’s been playing up all day and it looks like it’s going to rain!”

Trevor glanced out of the kitchen window. The sky had the purplish-blue colour of a bruise. He t he could see little forks of lightning dancing around among the clouds.

“Oh, all right,” he said, wandering down the hallway and pulling on his wax jacket, “I’ll pop to the shop and get some. See you in a bit, Trudy.”

Trevor grabbed his walking stick and hobbled out of the front door. He glanced back through the living room window and saw Trudy sitting in her chair, staring out at the garden. Trevor wondered whether it was truly the end of the world, and found that the thought didn’t trouble him much. He’d lived a long life and, frankly, was sick of arthritis. He carried on down the garden path until he reached the street, narrowly dodging a wheelie bin that was on fire. Trevor hoped it didn’t belong to him, though he supposed it didn’t matter anyway.

After twenty minutes of slow hobbling, Trevor reached the corner shop. A gang of hooded youths stood around the doorway like spotty grim reapers. Trevor grumbled. He didn’t want to have to turn back because of some louts that were not even a quarter of his age.

One of the youths, a gangly boy, shouted, “Oi, mate! You don’t wanna come in here!”

“I can go where I bloody well please,” Trevor shouted back.

“No, I mean, you really don’t wanna come in here! It’s been looted!” the boy called.

“And it’s on fire! Like literally in flames!” the boy’s stocky friend added.

Trevor leaned on his walking stick and sighed. There were, in fact, coils of smoke rising from the shop.

“Is there anything you needed? We got together and saved what we could,” the tall boy said.

The teenagers stepped aside to reveal crates full of assorted, if somewhat damaged, foodstuffs.

“Do you have any Tippington’s?” Trevor called.

“The teabags? Think you’re out of luck there, mate,” the tall boy replied.

“Oh, crumbs,” Trevor muttered.

Trevor decided to try elsewhere. He hobbled off down the street, which was lined with terraced houses. The street was vibrant with colour and life. Cars had been parked haphazardly in the middle of the road. Music blasted from the speakers of one of the cars. A group of small children were drawing with chalk on the pavement. The family next door to them were pouring ladles of curry into bowls for people. Everything felt unseasonably warm. Trevor approached the family with the curry.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Do you know where I can find some Tippington’s tea?”

The woman of the family, who had her hair in a chunky, black plait, replied, “Sorry, I don’t know. Would you like some homemade curry? It’s free!”

Trevor politely declined and trudged onwards. Suddenly, a rat-faced teenager jumped out of an alleyway, right in front of Trevor.

“Did I hear you say you want some teabags?” the teenager asked, his eyes darting to and fro.

“Yes, that’s right. Tippington’s teabags,” Trevor replied.

“I can get you some.”

“Oh, excellent! I’d happily give you the money for them…”

“Money don’t matter no more, mate. Just come with me and I’ll get you the tea.”

Trevor felt wary, but he thought back to the nice boys from before and was comforted. He followed the teenager down the alleyway. The teenager stopped in front of a slightly buckled, silver garage door and knocked. The door clanged open, and Trevor and the teenager entered. Trevor gasped. Though the garage was pitch black, illuminated only by candles, Trevor could see swarms of people and he could just about make out the shapes of small tables, laden with objects.

“It’s a,” Trevor began, and the teenager finished, “Black market!”

“This is ridiculous! I have to get my Tippington’s from the black market?!” Trevor exclaimed.

“Well, you’ll struggle to get it anywhere else, that’s for sure. What do you want? We’ve got regular, Earl grey, green...”

“Hold on just a minute. If you’re not accepting money, then what are you gaining from all of this?” Trevor asked, scratching his bald head.

“Anything we can use in the post-apocalyptic wasteland would be nice. That jacket of yours would look pretty sweet with a few adjustments. I’d be like the overlord of the apocalypse,” the teenager said wistfully, his eyes glazed.

“’Post-apocalyptic wasteland’?” Trevor said, perplexed, “What on earth do you mean?”

“Ain’t you heard, mate? Massive tsunami coming our way, caused by all that melting ice,” the teenager replied.

“Nah,” a teenage girl with red hair interjected, “It’s a massive storm! Gonna take down all the electricity and stuff!”

“I’ve heard it’s gonna end with the sun melting everyone,” another voice added.

A small girl, half of Trevor’s height, popped up from behind a table and said, “I’ve heard it’s all three!”

“Oh, crumbs. I suppose I had better get the tea from here, then,” said Trevor, “I’ll give you my jacket for it. It’s too warm for it anyway. Regular tea, please.”

“Cheers, mate. I’ll just get it,” the rat-faced teenager said.

He disappeared and returned with a small, cuboid box. It read ‘Tippington’s Tea’ and had a picture of some fresh tea leaves on the box.

“Here you are, mate. The jacket, please,” said the teenager.

Trevor pulled off his wax jacket and the boy handed the box to him.

“Wait a minute. This box feels a bit heavy,” Trevor said, but the boy had scurried off and disappeared into the darkness of the black market.

Trevor exited the garage into the sweltering daylight and opened the box.  Inside was a large, smooth pebble…but no teabags. Trevor swore loudly. He looked to the sky, which was still bruise-coloured, only now it seemed heavier and closer to the ground somehow. Trevor pressed on, determined to find the teabags before all hell broke loose. The problem was he didn’t really know where to begin. He didn’t fancy trading any more of his valuables for empty boxes. So, feeling slightly bewildered, he wandered up the street, ending up at the village green, where some sort of party was going on. There was a fresh-faced band playing acoustic music. Some little girls made daisy chains and handed out flowers to people.  Two policeman were sitting on a bench getting fairly drunk with the village idiot. Trevor marvelled at the scene, but tried not to get distracted. He made his way around the green, dodging drunk revellers and dirty children. The sky above him seemed closer than ever, pregnant with an angry storm. Trevor tried to shove his way through the gathered crowd, determined to escape the weather, but found himself blocked at every turn. He was stuck behind a tall, fat and shirtless man when there was a deafening crack as the sky broke apart. Globules of rain and hail the size of baby’s fists fell on people’s heads. Forks of lightning threatened to scorch the ground. Trevor wished he hadn’t given the rat-faced teenager his jacket and cowered behind the giant man in front of him. He was surprised to notice nobody was running from the rain. They splashed in muddy puddles and hooted and hollered. Trevor supposed that, since they knew the world was ending, people didn’t mind getting a bit wet. He thought it was vastly inconsiderate of them. All he wanted was some teabags, and instead he was caught in the middle of some hippy lovefest. His walking stick was starting to sink through the soil.

“Excuse me,” he growled, emerging from behind the giant man and pushing aside a group of old ladies.  

Suddenly, he had a bit of an epiphany. One of the few places he could think of where the supply of Tippington’s was almost limitless was his sister, Hilda’s. Hilda lived in a little cottage directly adjacent to the village green, where she could keep an eye on everything and everyone in the village. Hilda was bright and cheerful on the outside, but the secrets of many villagers festered inside her. Trevor set off, rain starting to trickle down his neck. It didn’t take him long to arrive at Hilda’s cottage, the front garden of which was adorned with several somewhat menacing garden gnomes. He knocked on the door. He heard Hilda unlock numerous medieval locking devices before the door popped open, and there she stood. She strongly resembled Trevor, with an angular jawline and fearsome eyebrows, except she liked to wear bright pink lipstick.

“Trevor!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, “Come in, it’s been too long!”

Trevor smiled and followed her through a dark, brown hallway which Trevor knew hadn’t changed since the seventies. Pictures of Hilda’s late husband and countless children and grandchildren lined the walls. Trevor felt a pang of jealousy, but he brushed it aside.

“I’ll be quick, Hilda,” he said after he seated himself in a floral armchair, “I’m looking for some Tippington’s. I can’t find it anywhere, but it’s important to Trudy.”

“You’re just in luck, I was just about to settle down with my final cup. The kettle’s boiling as we speak. How is Trudy? I heard from June that she’s not been well. June says she seems to be getting worse,” Hilda blathered.

“June should mind her own business,” Trevor grumbled, “So, you say you have Tippington’s?”

“Yes, yes, patience is a virtue. Did you know our Daniel has a job now? He’s seventeen now, they grow up so fast, too fast, in fact,” Hilda babbled, referring to her grandson.

Trevor sighed, leaning on his walking stick. He looked at the kitschy decorative plates hanging off Hilda’s garish wallpaper and busied himself by counting the number of flowers on the plates. The rain drummed against the windows and the thunder rumbled irritably. After what seemed like an eon, Hilda arrived, carrying a tea-tray and three steaming cups of tea.

“Here you are, three cups of Tippington’s. Did you hear about the world ending? It’s terrifying. I don’t fancy it one bit. Doreen, from next door, said they were giving away free cruises. Wish I’d gone on one. Sounds like good fun. I suppose that party outside must be to sort of celebrate, but I don’t fancy that, it all seems a bit macabre, doesn’t it? I-“

“Hilda, I was really just hoping for the teabags,” Trevor interrupted his sister’s babbling, “I don’t see how I can get a full cup of Tippington’s to Trudy, especially in the rain.”

“Well, she’s just outside. Bring her in, I don’t bite,” Hilda replied.

“What? How could she be here?”

“I don’t know, but she is, I saw her earlier. In fact,” Hilda squinted, “She’s just outside, by that big tree.”

Trevor looked out through the sheets of rain, spotting his wife sheltering under a tree. He staggered to his feet, and walked as quickly as his old bones would allow. He burst through the front door.

“Trudy!” he hollered.

His wife turned slowly. Her hair was dripping and her floral dress was lined with dirt. Trevor finally reached her.

“What are you doing here, Trudy?” he asked, hugging her.

“Isn’t this fantastic? All this music and life? Whatever is this party for?” Trudy smiled.

Trevor’s heart lurched. His wife had forgotten it was the end of the world. He looked around at all the people. It seemed just like any other party. He looked at his wife’s face, wrinkled but still somehow youthful, thought about how she didn’t deserve to die, and sighed.

“I-it’s your birthday party, Trudy. Didn’t you know? Happy birthday, darling,” Trevor decided to lie.

“My birthday? How old am I?” Trudy asked.

“You’re as old as you want to be, love,” Trevor said, “Since it’s your birthday, what would you want to do?”

“All I’d really like is a cup of tea,” Trudy replied.

“All right. Hilda’s got Tippington’s. Our favourite,” he smiled.

“Oh, good. I could do with a cup of tea,” Trudy repeated, frowning slightly.

The pair entered Hilda’s cottage. Hilda was caressing the cup of tea in her hands.

“You’re back. Hello, Trudy,” she called jubilantly, “have some tea!”

Trudy said nothing, like a shy child. Trevor thought he saw Hilda shake her head. Trudy and Trevor sat down in adjacent floral armchairs.

“Well. This is it. The final cup of tea. I do wonder if there’s tea in the afterlife. I should hope so. I suppose if there isn’t I’ll know I’m in hell. What a laugh! I hope I don’t end up in hell. I’ll give Hitler a what-for if I do. Is it wrong to be scared to die? I am nearly eighty, so I suppose it is. Living is for the young. God, how frightening this ‘end of the world’ business is,” Hilda waffled.

There was something in Hilda’s voice which made Trevor hesitate. Hilda drank the tea as if she’d just exited the desert, chugging the whole lot like a shot.

“I’m frightened,” Hilda croaked.

Suddenly, she started to convulse. Her mouth frothed. Trevor leapt up, shouting his sister’s name, but it was too late. She sank to the carpet, the teacup rolling from her shaking hands. Trevor saw some blue powder at the bottom of the cup and jumped towards Trudy, knocking the teacup from her hands and simultaneously kicking his cup over. It shattered on impact.

“Hey!” Trudy shouted indignantly.

“I’m sorry, love. Hold on.”

Trevor hobbled into the kitchen, where the Tippington’s box lay. Inside was a singular teabag.

“I’ll make you a new cup!” Trevor called to his wife.

With shaking hands, Trevor made the tea, then bought it to Trudy.

“Only one? What about you?” Trudy asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“We could share mine, if you like.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“You’ve been very nice to me today,” Trudy said. Her next words cut Trevor like a knife, “What’s your name again?”

“It’s Trevor.”

“Have we met before?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell. Trudy looked out of the window.

“What’s happening out there?” she asked.

“It’s your birthday party,” Trevor said with a sigh.

“Everyone’s acting very strange,” Trudy continued.

Trevor looked out of the window. The rain had stopped. Everyone was pointing at the sky.

“Come on. Let’s go and see what’s happening. Bring the tea,” he said.

The pair left the cottage together, Trudy clutching the cup of tea. Trevor looked to the sky. It seemed almost tangible, burning orange and warm. It looked like a sunset, though by Trevor’s watch it was only lunchtime.

“Do you want to watch the sunset?” he asked Trudy.

“I’d like that,” Trudy smiled.

The couple sat down on a wooden bench underneath Hilda’s living room window. Everything seemed to be bathed in a blinding white light. Trudy sipped the tea.

“I can’t believe we’re going to die with you not knowing who I am. I wish you could remember. I loved you with every inch of my heart and you don’t know who I am,” Trevor said tearfully, his heart sinking.

Trudy passed the tea to Trevor and he took a long sip. The whiteness was engulfing the people on the green. Trevor sipped the tea. The whiteness was creeping towards them, almost at their toes.

Trevor’s heart swelled as he said, “The tea’s gone now, but it was very nice. I enjoyed it.” He paused, “A little like life, I suppose.”

Trudy looked to the empty teacup. She looked deeply into Trevor’s eyes and chuckled, “I may not remember you. But I know that I love you.”

THE END

[shsummertimefest-blog]

More Precious Than Gold (The Lightwood-Banes)

Enjoy, @alecsplushpillow!

Hello Sam, it’s the Oracle, at last!  I really hope you enjoy your gift and that it makes you smile! It has been fun to get to know you through your blog, I’m sure we’d get along famously!!  Your enthusiasm for my messages proved a great motivator and I want to thank you for your wonderful Ask replies! Enjoy your surprise! Love & Hugs! ;-)) XXXX

[Read on AO3]

More Precious Than Gold

(The Lightwood-Banes)

Exiting the penthouse lift, Alec dragged his weary feet to their front door, ready to drop onto the couch and sleep for a week. He pushed it open, pausing as his ears were met with childish shrieks of ‘Take that!’ and ‘Fire the cannons!’ followed by realistic sound effects  and suddenly all traces of fatigue fell away.  

The door closing heralded his return and two young pirates, complete with costumes and perfect make-up, jumped into his path before launching themselves at his legs, with delighted squeals of ‘Dad!’  Ruffling their hair, being careful not to dislodge their elaborately-fashioned bandanas, Alec returned their beautiful smiles before asking in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Where’s Papa?’  

Five year old Max tugged at his impossibly large hand, cupping little fingers to his cherubic mouth as their new recruit knelt down dutifully to listen.  ‘He’s not Papa, he’s Captain Cat Eyes and he wants our gold!’  Blue eyes shone with glee as hazel ones looked suitably afraid. ‘What should we do?’ he asked fearfully, as Rafe threw his arms around them both to form a huddle. With authority belying his tender age of seven, his eldest replied, ‘We have to take him prisoner!’ looking over his shoulder at what used to be the living room.

Curious, Alec grasped their hands as he stood up, edging further into the room and gasping as his eyes took in the change.  His peaceful haven had been transformed into a tropical utopia, walls filled with plants and flowers of every colour imaginable, the floor covered in golden sand with weathered planks forming pathways in different directions around the furniture.  Balcony doors had been thrown open to showcase what was now the bow of a ship, complete with steering wheel and flagpole, flying the obligatory skull and crossbones which bore the gold-green eyes of a cat. Oh boy, his indulgent husband had really pushed the pirate boat out this time. They would never sleep tonight.

With surround sound speakers providing the perfect soundtrack of creaking wood, noisy seagulls and rolling waves, there was only one detail missing from the scene - the all-important treasure.  Expecting to see a bejewelled chest sitting atop of the big black ‘X’ in the middle of the room, Alec’s heart melted instead at the sight of a glitter-covered shoebox dotted with shiny gemstone stickers, a big black lock drawn in Rafe’s hand on it’s lid, with Max’s scribble of ‘tHe gOld’ either side of it. He could imagine the fun they’d had making it, let alone the mess it had caused, and wished he’d been home to share in it.

A polite cough came from the general direction of the balcony, drawing their attention, followed by a gravelly voice calling, ‘Parley!’ the desired impact ruined by the accompanying giggle. ‘I be willing to allow ye a ten minute truce to prepare….,’ a short pause, ‘Pretty Boy Pirate for battle!’  Alec chuckled at the nickname, it’s effect on him the same now as it had been the first time.  Magnus’ normal voice restored, he added, ‘Everything’s ready in the bedroom! Better be quick!’ Resuming his role with a lusty ‘AARRGGHH!’ as he stomped his feet, the sound had the kids running for their daddies’ room, Alec in tow. Only just managing to slide the door closed before a thud from the other side had them all jumping with nervous delight, they laughed as they taunted their enemy who was having difficulty not joining in.  ‘Clock’s ticking, Blueberry Beard! And tell Racketeer Rafe that I owe him for those cannon shots!’ As the boys quickly dispersed to gather up make-up and jewellery from Papa’s vanity table, Alec took the opportunity to finally say hello to his beloved.

Pressing his forehead to the door, he whispered, ‘Evening, beautiful! I gather this was your idea?’  He could picture Magnus’ guilty grin as he flattened himself against the wood on the other side.  ‘Good evening, darling! And I admit the thought of you pouring yourself into the black leather trousers I’ve laid out for you, did expedite my willingness to participate.’  Alec looked back at his costume warily.  The trousers and navy blue ruffled shirt seemed suspiciously small to him, grimacing as he noted there were very few buttons with which to fasten it. Typical.

‘Hey! No talking!’ Rafe scolded, pulling his father away from the door by his jacket, ‘You’re not even dressed yet!’

Stumbling backwards, Alec held his hands up in apology. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. Gimme two minutes.’  Seeing the panic on their faces, he scooped up the clothing off the bed and quickly headed for the en-suite, calling out ‘One minute!’ through the door.  Toeing off his boots, he shed his jacket and t-shirt before hopping out of his jeans, kicking them to one side as he hastily donned the snug-fitting shirt and the indecent leathers. ‘Magnus, you’re in so much trouble for this,’ he promised, as his reflection rolled its eyes at him, cursing the amount of chest hair on show.  Alec only hoped Captain Cat Eyes was similarly attired as he knotted the matching paisley bandana behind his head, and flung open the door.

‘What do you think?’ he asked proudly as Max bounded over, his hands full of goodies from the trinket bowl.  ‘You look really handsome, just like Papa always says,’ came the heartwarming reply as Alec lifted him onto his hip so he could place the silver necklaces over his head, revelling in his son’s laughter as he planted kisses on his soft cheeks.

‘Five minutes!’

‘Dad, quick! You need a beard!’ Rafe urged as he tapped the stool, brown eyes pleading with him to hurry.  Placing Max on his knee as he sat down, Alec allowed him to add rings and a bracelet to his hands while Rafe set about dotting his jawline with the kohl pencil, tickling them both as they did so.

‘Two minutes and counting!’ Magnus insisted, ‘Tick tock, tick tock…’

‘No way!’ Alec countered, as he placed Max back on his feet and checked his appearance in the mirror, feeling proud of his son’s efforts. ‘You are cheating!’

‘Pirate!’ came the smug reply, ‘And you three are having far too much fun without me, by the sounds of it!’ The bedroom door slowly began to slide open and the boys flew to close it, their shared laughter the best sound Alec had ever heard, the reason his heart had trebled in size over the last few years. Blinking back the unexpected tears of happiness, he assumed his ‘Head of the NY Institute’ voice and strode toward them, with a warning of ‘One minute! So you’d better run!’  A creditable yelp was the response as they listened to Magnus fleeing back to the ‘island’ and Rafe began the countdown, but Max’s impatience to resume battle prompted him to push aside the door and go charging after the Captain, leaving them little choice but to follow suit.

With enthusiastic battle cries, they ran into the room, only for Alec to come skidding to a halt at the sight that greeted him. His husband in pirate garb was something he never knew he needed until now, and the effect on him was immediate. He’s a little uncomfortable in tight trousers.  Vaguely aware of their sons’ attempts to start a fight, their eyes found each other as they always did, and Alec thanked the Angel that the boys were too distracted to witness their blatant appraisal of each other’s appearance. As much as Alec thrilled to the slow examination he was being subjected to, it was Magnus’ body and soul that made him react this way.  Every time. Knowing the man within that amazing body was even more beautiful on the inside was what drew him to Magnus, what kept him there and why he’d never leave.

Nodding his head and giving an approving wink, Magnus recovered quicker, pretending to fend off both of his adversaries with deft movements and exaggerated growls, giving Alec time to take him in.  A vision in black, from the knee-high buckled boots and velvet fitted trousers, to the matching sleeveless lace-up that was begging to be untied, he looked dangerous. Silver and onyx jewellery adorned his ears, throat and hands, whilst the violet streaks in his soft bouncy hair were matched by the rakishly tied sash at his hips and the glittery make-up.  Was it their bed time yet?

‘You cheated!’ yelled Captain Cat Eyes as he jumped behind the ship’s wheel to protect himself from another attack.  ‘Pirates!’ Pretty Boy replied, feeling a ridiculous amount of pleasure at being able to say it back, as the Captain rolled his eyes. Suddenly, Blueberry Beard shouted, ‘Attack!’ and the brothers waved imaginary cutlasses as they ran at him, only for the would-be prisoner to leapfrog the wheel and escape to the island, where Pretty Boy was guarding the priceless chest. The boxed one, not his husband’s.

‘I can’t wait to get my hands on that thing!’ Magnus promised, spanking him on the way past, leaving Alec groaning as he self-consciously tugged down his shirt while the kids gave chase.  ‘Dad, keep it safe!’ was the order thrown over the shoulder of Racketeer Rafe, and Alec promptly stood astride it, doing his bidding.  When Magnus looped back around and saw him, he couldn’t resist a cheeky follow-up.  ‘’X’ does indeed mark the spot for all things coveted,’ he quipped a little breathlessly, sidestepping Alec’s attempt at catching him, before ducking behind the brick pillar.  

As his fellow pirates rounded the armchairs, Alec stopped them with a finger to his lips, as he pointed at their target’s hiding place.  Max crossed his hands over his mouth to stifle a giggle as Rafe nodded his understanding.  Signalling for Max to stay with the treasure, he let the older boy take the lead, tiptoeing over to where Magnus had last been seen before splitting up to ambush him.  ‘Gotcha!’ they both cried as they jumped out from behind the pillar, only to be met with thin air.  Hearing loud shrieks and laughter, they turned to see Captain Cat Eyes standing over the ‘X’  with the golden prize in one hand and Max flung over the other shoulder, wriggling as tried to free himself from the enemy.

‘The treasure is mine, you rascally pirates, and there’s nowt you can do to stop me!’ came the triumphant boast, as the Captain tightened his grip on his troublesome hostage.  Pretty Boy stepped in front of Racketeer Rafe, gesturing behind his back for him to go left, as he sought to distract the villainous Cat Eyes.  Alec rubbed at the back of his neck before stretching his arms high above his head, feigning tiredness, as he nodded for Rafe to block the escape to the ship, knowing Magnus would be pursing his lips at the amount of skin on show.  Hungry eyes confirmed his plan had worked. Shipmate in position, he stepped forward, heel-to-toe, a flirty lop-sided smile on his face as he backed the Captain up toward the balcony doors. ‘We can capture you and keep you with us, for always!’ Alec promised, pinning him with an unwavering look that was warmly returned.  

‘You’re ours!’ Rafe shouted, claiming his prisoner with a hug from behind, as Max mumbled a tired, ‘Ours!’ while Magnus lowered him to his hip.  Closing the remaining distance with outstretched arms, Alec sandwiched them both as he reached around to hold onto Rafe, his voice husky with emotion as he avowed, ‘Ours!’  Tilting his chin up to meet his nephilim’s kiss, Magnus ‘surrendered’ with an unequivocal, ‘Yours!’

With a bone-deep sense of contentment, Alec enjoys a few precious moments of having his family close, before relieving Magnus of one drowsy little boy, getting a hug in return.  Kneeling down to wrap an arm around the younger dark-haired angel, Magnus holds up the shoebox with mock solemnity, bidding Alec to bring Max nearer.  ‘This treasure can only be claimed by reciting a secret enchantment. One that can be found in the Book of Spanish Lullabies’ in your bedroom.’  Snapping his fingers, he produced a golden burst of light that filled his palm, before it morphed into a sand-filled hourglass which the boys found mesmerising. ‘If you find the right one and perform it before this timer runs out, the gold is yours!’

Rejuvenated by their excitement, the pair made haste to find the key needed to unlock the chest, as Captain Cat Eyes and Pretty Boy Pirate took the opportunity to, rather desperately, seal their deal. With their lips. Unfortunately, no sooner had they negotiated mutually agreeable positions, their little princes had returned, clutching a well-worn volume of rhymes that Alec found vaguely familiar for some reason.

As the grains filtered down, Magnus placed the box on the floor.  ‘Rafe, honey, you sing the rhyme and Max, you keep your hand palm-down over the lock, ok?  Concentrate, Blueberry, just for a minute.’ Magnus stood behind him in case he needed help as Max scrunched up his nose, trying to make the tiny sparks from his hand form a stronger pulse of energy. ‘That’s it. I’m just going to top you up,’ he encouraged, placing his hand over his son’s, steadying him as the lid of the shoebox began to shake.  Giving Rafe’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Alec spoke confidently, ‘You’ve got this.’  Clearing his throat, Rafe began the lullaby.

‘Cierra ya tus ojitos  

(Close your eyes)

Duermete sin temor

(And sleep without fear)

Suena con angelitos parecidos a ti’

(Dream of angels that look like you)

All of a sudden, Alec felt a flicker of recognition at the tune being sung, the words making him somehow nostalgic…. He knew this!

‘Y te agarrare tu mano

(I’ll hold your hand)

Duermete sin temor

(Sleep without fear)

Cuando tu despiertes yo estare aqui’

(When you wake I’ll be here)

On the last note, Magnus flicked his wrist downwards, sending a wave of electric blue light out through Max’s tiny fingers. ‘Now, Max!’ he urged, watching proudly as his son curled his fingers before flinging up his arm, sending the lid flying up to the ceiling to happy cheers. Magnus used the distraction to wave discreet fingers over the open chest, filling it with beakers of warm milk topped with gold flakes and two giant rainbow cookies. Remembering to examine their cleverly-gotten-gains, they bounced with happiness at their mouth-watering reward,  ‘Don’t gulp, you two,’ Alec warned as the boys dropped to the floor, knowing full well it wouldn’t touch the sides.

Whilst Magnus began restoring the loft to its former state with a swirl of his magnificent arms, Alec retrieved the book of lullabies, leafing through the pages as he tried to recall where he might have seen it before.  It must have been years ago, for it to be so distant but from where?  ‘Alexander, what is it?’ Magnus enquired as he ducked under his arm, forcing himself between the book and Alec, shamelessly demanding attention. Dismissing his concerns with a shake of the head, Alec grinned as he happily switched focus, planting several little kisses all over his upturned face, as Magnus held him, eyes closed. ‘Mmmmm…missed you today,’ he whispered as Alec nuzzled the sensitive spot just below his ear.  ‘You miss me every day,’ he breathed across his skin, feeling Magnus smile against his cheek as he murmured his agreement. A loud yawn from Max brought them back to awareness, prompting Alec to get them ready for bed, after a quick peck to the tip of his husband’s nose.

Their routine was quicker than usual, the effort of defending a pirate island proving too much, even for their energetic boys. After a quick bath where they re-enacted their fun-filled adventure using some newly conjured bath toys, courtesy of you-know-who, and their teeth were brushed clean, both were carried to their beds, limp with fatigue. Almost asleep before they’d said their goodnights, faces softened with the promise of dreams, they never looked more beautiful to their proud parents. And their life together never felt more content.

Finally able to realise his earlier plan of crashing out on the couch, Alec was still puzzling over the book he held in his hands when Magnus joined him, kindly allowing him to rest his long legs across his lap. ‘Magnus, how come I’ve heard that rhyme before? And why does this seem somehow familiar?’ Frowning in concentration and chewing his bottom lip, he knew it had something to do with his childhood, but what?  ‘Well, it’s a much-used, well-loved favourite of mine that I’ve had since my teens.  I came across it at a bookstore in Madrid, when Ragnor needed to find some obscure biography of an artist that no-one else had heard of.’ Brown eyes softened at the cherished memory, returning the squeeze of Alec’s hand as he sympathised.

‘Then how would I have seen it? Even the scribbles inside the cover remind me of……’  Alec trailed off as a flash of insight, as vivid as photograph, came into his head.  He was very young, no more than four or five, and he was curled up on one of the chairs outside the infirmary, but he wasn’t sure why.  A book lay on the seat next to him….was it this one? ‘Have you ever brought it to the Institute? I’ve got a feeling I saw it there, outside the infirmary?’  Now it was Magnus’ turn to use his powers of recall, sifting through all the times his services had been needed to heal anyone there.  There hadn’t been that many times, it was usually Catarina’s domain. He had usually been summoned for help in tracking or setting up wards.  But there was that one time….

‘I seem to recollect being asked to do what I could for a young Shadowhunter whose injuries from a rogue werewolf attack proved too severe.  A small boy, with bright red hair and a birthmark on his cheek…’ Alec lifted himself up onto his elbows, open mouthed at his words.  ‘Gabriel.  I called him Gabe. We attended pre-training together, then he was gone. I worried about him but never found out what happened.’ Unable to sharpen the focus of images blurred by time, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing a connection with Magnus, however tenuous, from so young an age.  ‘I sang him that lullaby to try and get him to settle, I’m sure…sorry, sweetheart,’ Magnus added, ‘Is that how you heard it, from outside the door?’  Alec could think of no other reason, ‘Must’ve been.’  

Despite the number of years that had passed since, he was still able to feel regret for his young friend, an innocent generous soul who’d been taken far too soon.  Maybe the fact that he was the father of a boy the same age was what made it hurt, irrelevant of the passage of time.  Lying back down he felt Magnus lace their fingers together and tried to take comfort from finally knowing the truth. ‘I love you, you know that?’ he said softly, knowing Magnus would have been deeply hurt by his inability to save Gabe.  ‘And thank you so much for trying to help him. He was the sweetest kid.’ ��A heartfelt sigh escaped Magnus as he thought of the people he’d been unable to save, knowing it made him more grateful for what he had. ‘I love you too, Alexander.’

Not wanting to let the sad memories spoil their magical evening, Alec was still glad to know that one of his earliest memories was of Magnus. Together, they would continue to create memories and he would treasure every one.  Sitting up, he enveloped Magnus in a comforting hug, kissing his cheek noisily to coax a smile.  It worked. ‘I wish I’d known you when you were young, I bet you were adorable,’ Alec thought aloud as a baby-faced Magnus made him chuckle.  ‘I’ll have you know I have indeed always been this beautiful, and you should consider yourself lucky to have snared me, Shadowhunter.’ Thumbing the outline of those ‘beautiful’ features, Alec’s eyes crinkled with a smile.  ‘Oh, I do. But you should consider yourself luckier to have hooked someone as pretty as me.’ Magnus’ eyes rounded in mock surprise.  ‘Oh, I do. Let me show you…’

With slow, deliberate movements they released all thoughts of pain, choosing to pour their emotions into something positive, something pleasurable. As their breaths became shorter, they both tried to get closer, letting their hands reacquaint themselves with their soulmate’s body, after all, it had been hours since they’d last made love. The intensity of  their feelings never dimmed, it only burned brighter with time. They would never be over this need to be close.  Magnus broke contact reluctantly. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he suggested, receiving a heavy-lidded smile in response.

Alec stood, placing the book on the coffee table before pulling Magnus up with both hands, leading him backwards toward their bedroom, sharing a look of promise that, even now, left them breathless with anticipation.  Dilated pupils raked each other’s bodies as they neared the doorway. ‘Tell me Captain, how wicked does a pirate have to be to earn your punishment?’ Alec wondered, still susceptible to blushing, except now his gaze no longer averted and his hands never faltered.  Reaching the foot of the bed, Magnus clenched his jaw as some rather delicious ideas came to mind. ‘Only the most sinful, scandalous and downright indecent acts shall receive the most glorious retribution,’ he replied, dropping his glamour.  With a guttural moan of pure need, Alec began untying the velvet laces, as Magnus reached for the buttoned fly on his leathers, each release increasing the tension.  

‘Then prepare to be boarded, Captain,’ Alec warned, only half-joking, as he used the sash to pull him flush against his body, ghosting his lips along his lover’s throat.

Dextrous fingers began unknotting his bandana, as an evil laugh escaped past Magnus’ lips. ‘Then, Pretty Boy, prepare to be fucked!