#last time I fell face first into a hobby; I ended up with a linen closet full of fabric

[dearcraziness]

Chapter 68.

The meal was held in a cozy atmosphere. Raindrops dripping down the glass filled the room with indescribable comfort, carefree sounds of drizzle played on the doors, as if on drums, expressively tapping the rhythm. The guys wanted to take a walk, stepping through puddles, catching fresh drops coming off the dull sky with their faces. First, they were going to complete the obligatory routine: wipe the dust on the shelves, hang the washed snow-white bed linen, make sure the hands on all the clocks are racing without delay. The musician collected the dirty dishes, put them in the sink and took up the sponge - suddenly he was stopped by Alice, who returned to the kitchen.

"Bendy, let me wash for you... Your leg is definitely tired from excessive stress..."

"Are you talking about the leg which I have preserved or about the stump that needs to grow?..."

"No, no, I meant the whole leg - it's not easy to stand on it alone, adjusting the balance..."

"It doesn't bring me much trouble... Have you already completed your tasks?..."

"Yes, there were only few... And I want to help you, please don't mind..."

"Okay, okay... I'll wipe clean dishes..."

"Only sitting..."

"Alice, I don't need..."

"Otherwise I'll tell Lara..."

"A curious threat... Well, I'm convinced... I don't want to disturb Larry unnecessarily..."

"You sometimes behave too stubbornly... Of course, I'm very sorry for you, but you'd better listen to our advice..."

"I'm not arguing, you're right... I just feel like I'm pretty far from the limit of my abilities..."

"Don't overestimate yourself... Now you should especially accept our support..."

"I don't reject it at all, on the contrary, I feel joy from your rays of kindness and responsiveness... Well done, you are successfully coping with housework..."

"Thank you... The last few weeks have made me wonder if it's difficult for you to control the state of the studio yourself..." the girl said, smoothly running a sponge over a wet plate.

"Nevermind, I enthusiastically look after the house, take care of the garden... In the meantime, you will have to for your favorite hobbies..."

"You will recover sooner than you can imagine... Hmm, strange..."

"Did you see a stain on the locker?..."

"On the contrary, a funny element... I almost forgot: a list of kitchen duties is attached near the refrigerator - it says: "Wednesday is Alice's turn." And what day of the week we have today?..."

"Exact the day you named... An unexpected coincidence..." the demon smiled, taking the cups and wiping off the accumulated moisture with a towel.

"That's right, I'm surprised... I remember we chose one day a week, and you got two days - Monday and Sunday..."

"In general, I didn't want to burden you, your morning - and the plan with the schedule failed... No one follows the order of duties written on a piece of paper..." the young man noted good-naturedly.

Alice giggled.

"As a result, you are in charge of the kitchen, seven times a week, all year round... Take at least a weekend until the end of the month..."

"Everyone insists on my break... I suppose resistance is useless..." the imp said jokingly.

"It will not be possible to evade a well-deserved rest..." the angel continued.

"We washed the dishes quickly... Let's put the set - and we are free..."

In the garden, the colours thickened overhead, the first leaves turned red on the maple, the last petals fell from the geranium buds, renewal and rebirth breathed from the moist soil. Friends were wandering around the withered flower beds - the only Bendy was sitting on a bench, spreading a battered terry towel. His pals joined him, Boris adjusted his fellow's crutches, which were set back on the bench, and craned his neck, watching the cool liquid descending like the others.

A downpour overtook the inseparable company, it was time to return to the studio. At home, in cloudy weather, the guys definitely and unanimously reading. Everyone chose a charming book for themselves, and epic plots momentarily captured the imagination, beautiful font words caressed the eye, the heroes of the stories politely led their dear guests to the land of wonderful literature.

In the evening, after dinner, the family arranged a sleepover in Bendy's room: Boris brought mattresses for himself and Alice, the imp took out board games from under a stack of folders and notebooks, handed out counters and throwed the dice first.

"Well, here we are again starting with the 'Dungeons'..." Boris drawled. "Bendy, except for you, no one likes the game related to the excavation of gems..."

"How so?..." the imp responded. "Lara really likes it, right, sunshine?..."

"Exactly, and the most fascinating stones are depicted on the task cards..." said the little devil.

"Bor, let's start with the game which Bendy wants, he, after all, must have privileges because of his health..." Alice intervened.

"Of course, of course... Buddy, today you have to choose the types of desktop entertainment..." the mechanic turned to the musician.

"I'll find leisure suitable for all of us..." the young man smiled. "For example, 'A trip around the world' , 'Difficulties of solutions', 'Tell or do' will suit you?..."

"Absolutely..." Boris agreed.

The others nodded approvingly.

"Fine, I'll get the boxes for now..." said the demon.

In the 'Dungeons', almost everyone unearthed the stones specified in the tasks, at one time, except for Boris, whose character was stuck searching for cymophanes, and didn't have time to discover tourmalines and demantoids.

'Difficulties of solutions' has long been liked by friends for its intriguing plot, forks of uncontrollable episodes. The point was that the heroes faced risky cases, the decision they made depended on whether their fate was in danger or they were free to make a further move. Only the figure of Bendy the lion and Lara the fish reached the end; Boris's silver dog got bogged down in the swamp, and Alice's emerald frog got lost in the chestnuts of the dense forest. Devils often applied their knowledge of probable plots, ways of developing the situation - as a result of the accumulated experience, they had more chances to win.

However, in 'Tell or do' it was important not to put a chip on the 'Finish' cell first, but to act according to what was written on the golden cardboard. If the task was difficult to implement, the participant read a question on the back, usually concerning the personal and intimate, but less points were given for the answer than for the original task.

As a result, Bendy became the winner everywhere during the evening, who received a huge number of points and bonuses for additional achievements. Moreover, others weren't offended or upset - the guys were happy for their friend and clearly enjoyed the game, laughing heartily and having fun.

"I missed our carefree sunny moments..." Bendy admitted dreamily. "In the Valley of the Abyss, even at night, tension and anxiety were felt: the fluttering of flying half-rats and half-pigs near the cave, the brisk running of fanged animals in the thicket of the forest brought fear and dismay..."

"You did a huge feat just because you could survive, Bendy..." Boris noted, a smile slipped off his face. "To endure terrible conditions, face the traps of nature and achieve phenomenal success is by no means an easy task, but you succeeded, now you have the right to be considered our guide to unknown lands: however, you have found a way out of difficult circumstances before..."

"Thank you, but we will not wander through dubious places... Soothing, inspiring landscapes are hidden in different dimensions... We will certainly visit them... In general, let's not be separated anymore - at least for a long time..."

"We won't let you go alone anymore..." Boris confirmed. "From now on we'll face the unknown shoulder to shoulder..."

"Don't scare us like that again..." Alice turned to the demon.

"I just wanted to get some rare gems for you..."

"And you have fulfilled your great mission, dear..." said Lara. "Remember, you were a hero for us before..."

"Your words are very touching, starlight... Bendy blushed." I'm grateful to everyone for your work, your efforts; I only wish to faciliate the restoration of order in the studio for you..."

"You've been working tirelessly around the house for us, now it's time for us to respond in kind, and you'll just relax, fix your health, and the troubles won't affect you..." Boris replied.

"And I'm not tired of them at all..." Bendy confessed.

"Bendy, rest for the next few weeks..." the demoness insisted.

"Agreed, Laurie..." Bendy smiled. "I think you will feel calmer without my impulses to take up a broom or put books on the shelves..."

"Certainly..." Boris responded. "By the way, Alice and I haven't seen the precious stones you brought, could you show us?..."

"No problem, I've already unpacked them, Lara and I were admiring them... They are called 'Stones of drops of love and ghostly dreams'..."

The imp took out the rocks found at the foot of the volcano's mouth from the casket. The mechanic and the angel held the crimson gems; the minerals showed their cherished dreams - they were similar to the desires of the devils. After the measured surges of amazement, delight, exultation, the guys wished good night and went to bed, immersed in charming, caressing dreams...

The glorious time of amber October reigned: a red blanket covered rowan trees, aspens, bird cherry trees; the soil, which hadn't dried out after the rains, absorbed the drops of the thundering downpour; the sultry air smelled of the aroma of pine nuts with fir cones - homemade sweet, tart brown jam immediately appeared in the imagination; leaves covered the dormant grass with a mosaic, were lulling it for winter torpor; woodpeckers were sitting on the dark branches, hollowing out dry bark overgrown with moss. Nature was listening to the cloudy weather - gloomy and thoughtful, but sensitive and attentive to the curious creatures sitting outside the window...

Bendy's situation improved noticeably - the wounds healed, the leg completely grew back, and before the others had time to blink an eye, the imp resumed his cooking, repair, cleaning duties. That day his tasks were of extremely special: the little devil rode along the railing of the spiral staircase, finding himself on the Observation Deck; he carefully wiped the metal shields behind which the mechanisms regulating the operation of the Ink Machine were functioning; the imp opened a small door at the baseboard and crawled along the Ventilation compartment. The road branched into three paths: Bendy turned left; at the end there was a bunch of wires, a fan was spinning behind the grille; the demon typed a code on the sensor window hanging on the next wall - the grid opened. The young man pressed the button on the foot at the bottom of the propeller - the device stopped. The devil unscrewed the components, removed the protective grilles, folded the blades, separated the fuse, disassembled the housing, control panel, motor shaft, replaced the inlet pipe, confuser, impeller, made sure of the suitability of the valves, engine, cleaned the aerodynamic impeller, air flow rectifiers, timer. The hardworking young man coped with his work not quickly - scrupulousness, thoroughness and caution were required. Bendy turned back and climbed out of the low, cramped passage, rushing into the Reading Room, closer to his family.

After a week of rains and storms, the rays of the sun were peeking through the clouds, illuminating the wet brown earth. The leaves have long since fallen, giving the trees a chance to rest and spreading a mosaic blanket near them. The trunks stood motionless, caressed by the south wind, which wasn't typical for autumn weather. Nature listened to the sounds of silence.

Friends took the opportunity and waved to the 'Rainbow Land' - an amusement park located in the heart of the City of Black and white creatures, next to the 'Fun Fair'. However, first it was necessary to have breakfast, something light, because the guys were going to ride on the 'Colour Slides'. Bendy came in to Boris, loudly announcing, "Breakfast is ready, buddy! Come to the kitchen!"

The noise of the working hair dryer drowned out the imp's words, the wolf didn't hear him. The wizard approached and saw a strange picture - Boris was drying his shirt on the desk.

"Buddy, breakfast is ready, everyone is already in the kitchen, let's go." repeated the young man.

"What? Say it louder."

"I say, breakfast is ready! Let's go, otherwise it will cool down."

"Eh? I don't know whether the result will be successful from drying!..."

"For the sake of... Please turn off your hair dryer for a minute!..."

"Wait, I'll turn off the hair dryer now... So, were you going to help me? I don't mind, but I promised Alice this time to clean my room myself..."

"Actually, I called you to the kitchen..."

"Oh, breakfast is ready... And I'm drying my things..."

"Why?... They dry perfectly in the Ironing Room..."

"I found an accelerated way - I'd rather hang them in the closet, then I'll cope with household chores faster... Well, I thought things would level out, but they remained crumpled..."

"Without an iron, it won't be possible to level them. You'd better iron on a special table."

"In the room assigned to this activity, I understand. There will be no rest for me, eh..."

"First, eat while it's hot..."

"And I'll recharge with energy, gain strength. Let's go."

The pancakes with strawberries, fragrant ginger tea left a nice honey aftertaste, and friends were ready to go. The young men gathered their backpacks and, together with Lara and Alice, set off on their way.

Friends were surrounded by figures of huge cupcakes, cookies, standing at the golden gate. A path of multicoloured pebbles branched off, leading to a kiosk with ice cream of multi-tiered fillings, with popcorn, cotton candy and other goodies; to the shadow theater and puppet theater; to the laughter room; to the Ferris Wheel, shaped like a castle with pointed towers. The guys looked around the City from it, observing previously unknown areas, ancient structures, amazing fortresses, glass windows and balconies of skyscrapers, seashores and sandy beaches. In a matter of minutes, Bendy, Lara, Alice and Boris clearly cheered up and with an enthusiastic look rushed to the second attraction - 'Madness Is Near' - a tall roller coaster with spiral turns and sharp jumps. After sitting in the fire-coloured chairs and strapping themselves in, the guys went up, from the orange scaly metal tail to the top of the giant dragon. The frenzied speed, the stormy breeze, penetrating thoroughly and diligently, the cries of desperate daredevils who decided to take a ride, the crowns of trees almost under their feet covered the heart with fright, anxiety, interest, adrenaline raging in their blood, excited the imagination. After riding, their heads were a little dizzy, inspired by moths of joy and enthusiasm - a sense of balance slowly returned. Bendy gently took Lara by the waist, she leaned on him in order to reach the undulating bench faster, to rest near the artfully planted palm trees. Pals were sharing their emotions, chose the next place in the entertainment world. Nearby there was a low house made like a gingerbread one - friends opened the door decorated with artificial pretzels, lollipops, marshmallows and entered the 'Room of Crooked Mirrors'.

Undoubtedly, most Ink Creatures were able to change their shape by themselves, by their magic, but sometimes they were curious to see funny variations of their appearance without using spells. For many, the view remained only funny; however, Bendy was looking attentively at the distorted self, trying to remember the details in order to come home, reincarnate and draw himself in an unusual, intricate form.

In the Tunnel of Secrets, because of the low light, friends barely could see statues of magicians in lace robes, books flying overhead, massive chests dug into the ground, abstract paintings on the walls of the cave, iridescent smooth stones lying right by the rails; even the outlines of the trolley, in which pals were riding, weren't clearly visible - only smooth lines, decorated with stars and small ripples could be seen. Nevertheless, the trip to the dungeon was remembered by visitors, especially the story of an unknown bass voice about the life of the townspeople before the construction of the amusement park - there were sources of open continuous energy in its place, which was later hidden for safekeeping in five fortresses located in different parts of the city and beyond: the Temples of Light, Silence, Peace, Wisdom, Patience.

After leaving the tunnel, friends came out on a path of light yellow cobblestones, surrounded on both sides by a fresh lawn and bright flower beds of petunias, begonias, cornflowers, dahlias. Striped tents were flaunted near, the voices of absolutely small guests rang, kind invitations were heard - a sign with a bouncing font and a sweeping inscription was flashing at the top: 'Fun Fair'. Since there has been no monetary system in the City since time immemorial (and the issue of the gratuitous purchase of things was resolved), goods were allowed to be taken just like that from the raspberry counters, however, the employees behind them enthusiastically described the presented figurines, accessories, miniature watches, ceramic dishes, knitted pads made with their own hands or found in other magnificent dimensions. Bendy took a frog figurine, a clay sugar bowl for himself and a set of cups and saucers of pale blue color with blue edging, horizontal streaks for Lara; Boris put in his backpack a wooden box with drawings of gears and nuts carved on it - his find, and hairpins in the shape of hearts, elastic bands with daisies - at the request of Alice. The rest of goods friends were just watching, blossoming into a smile, sometimes exclaiming with admiration, surprise, expressing their observations, revealing their own preferences.

About an hour passed, and the line didn't end. Boris couldn't stand it and said, "Let's go sit down for a while, but it's better to have a snack. And then the breakfast was so light."

"That's right, because I proceeded from taking into account our visit to the park and riding the roller coaster." Bendy explained.

"I know, I'm not complaining at all. I would like to meet an open-air cafe..."

"There are so many of them, take a look: we are approaching the 'Delicious Corner'!..."

"Great, so we won't stay hungry..."

"In the meantime, let's remember the wonderful features of today's hike and reflect on possible places we would visit next."

As soon as the imp uttered the phrase, the edges of his mouth dropped lower - he became sad, accidentally finding a dark-haired boy sitting at a distance with his back to the others on a chestnut bench. The young man felt uneasy, confusion burst into his soul: he looked at the young man with pity and sympathy, turned to the guys, saying, "I'll first make sure everything is fine with one guest of the park - what if he got lost and tired of looking for a way out of here..."

[anjuschiffer]

The Fabric Roll Of Fate

So this has been sitting in my WIPs since October of last year... Finally had the time to finish it up! More like I couldn’t sleep so I finally worked on it

Hope you enjoy it!

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Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo (welcome to the permanent taglist!)

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It was one of those random family outings, one of those moments that Damian was reluctantly dragged to

He just wanted to stay home and train for the upcoming fencing tournament in his school, one of the few things that Damian looked forward to in the school year

Yet here he was, being held captive and listening to Garyson talk for the umpteenth time about his daughter’s latest adventure

Finding an opening, Damian slips off, walking through alleyways to escape his family, eventually arriving to the fashion district of Gotham

He decides to enter the first store he sees, seeing as his hands were starting to get cold

He hated Gotham’s chilly and cold seasons. Spring was his favorite season.

As he ventures inside the store, he starts to look at the fabric inside, now wondering why fashion designers were so picky with their fabrics

It was when he saw two identical rolls of fabric that he decided to investigate for his answer

As he runs his hands across two white fabrics (linen and velvet), he notices the slight differences, not noticing that he was starting to mumble his observations

It was then that his hand bumps into someone else’s Damian turning to see a girl his age.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you!” She quickly apologizes. “You were probably in your zone and-”

“I was simply looking at them. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

Damian watches as the girl relaxes and smiles at him.

“I see. Well, if you need any help, I’d be happy to help! Is there a certain reason you’re-”

“I was thinking of hiring someone to make me a suit for an upcoming event-” Damian attempted to lie (although he technically didn’t as his family was looking for one...not like he was going to tell them about the one he just found), taken aback when the girl looked at him with twinkling eyes. What was going on

“A suit? So I’m guessing a tux, but if you want something to make you standout- but I think you don’t want that, huh?” She begins to look him up and down, quickly mumbling some numbers to herself. “Black or any dark color would suit you, but having emerald accents-no! Gold accents would suit you better.” Damian remains silent as she circles him, not once placing a hand on him. “Shawl collars, traditional or modern could work. Definitely single breast, maybe tail-oh god no. No tails.” Damian watched as her eyes filled with happiness. “A cumberbund would definitely suit you. That’s where I can place the gold!”

Damian kept listening as the girl kept listing ideas to herself, watching with awe as she kept the ideas coming, eventually snapping out of his trance when she presented him a card.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to make that suit. Of course! The decision is yours if you’d allow me to make it.” He watches as the girl points to a phone number and email address in rose gold. “Give me a call, text or email if you decide to accept my offer. See ya!”

Damian is left dumbfounded as he watches her go and pick some fabric rolls, purchase them and then leave.

“What just happened?”

Damian looks at the all black card in his hand. On one side was the phone number and email. On the other, the letters M D C were on the card, a single line going through the three letters. Simple, yet elegant.

Damian ends up accepting the offer, setting to meet the girl that Friday afternoon after his classes.

When his family attempts to tag along, he tells them no, setting on going alone.

“Welcome to my humble home.” She greets him after picking him up (she insisted despite Damian saying he had his own mode of transport) at the rendezvous and then to her flat. He was faced with one of Gotham’s most expensive penthouses, Damian wondering who exactly was this girl who can afford one of his father’s expensive hotels.

“Do you...live by yourself?”

“Yup! Although my uncle- oh! How can I forget?” The girl says, closing the door behind her. “Sorry for the late introduction! My name’s Marinette. The one behind the upcoming brand MDC. I’m currently here for a commission. Although, by the looks of it, I might end up staying here in Gotham.”

He’s heard of her, the decade’s youngest designer in the fashion world, or so he’s heard.

“Now, let’s start with getting your measurements, shall we?”

One visit became two, to then various

And they were mainly never about his suit that she was making him.

He didn’t know why he found him attracted to her place...to her

But simply felt at home with her

He quickly learns everything about her. Her old school life, her friends, her ex, her parents, hobbies, and old commissions. 

At first he thought she graduated early from highschool because of her bully, but it turns out that it was because she already had all her requirements done and seeing that there was no other reason to stay, she left. Also, having more time is what she needed if she wanted to succeed in the fashion world. So when her uncle (who he learns is Jagged Stone) offered her a hand, she took it and came to Gotham.

But Damian didn’t just listen, he also talked about himself

About Titus, his family, his fencing tournament. His opinions on Selina. His mixed feelings about his mother.

His family kept trying to follow him, but they have yet to figure out where he would go every other afternoon and evening.

Months pass, the suit already done and ready to be worn, but it still wasn’t the day of the Gala yet. But even then, Damian still stopped by, often times letting Marinette use him as a mannequin and dress form

Sometimes they would continue to talk about their mundane lives or things from the past that still ate at them, anything for Damian to simply listen to her voice because while he didn’t fully accept it, he knew he had feelings for her.

A scene that happens:

“And the worst part was that Alya knew she was lying. Lila was definitely not there because Alya was there. She was the one who saw Ladybug capture the akuma not Lila. Lila wasn’t anywhere near Paris when it even happened!” Marinette huffed as she tippy toed to make sure she was measuring the correct portion of Damian’s back. 

Damian felt her presence ever so close to him, causing him to panic. Yes, he only allowed her to invade his personal space, but this was too much for his heart. 

The aroma of baked goods always radiated from her and being this close only made Damian want to become obsessed with the smell even more. 

“So even with that in mind, this Alya decided to take the other girl’s stance?” Marinette let out a sigh, walking in front of Damian and throwing the tape measure around his neck, causing him to tense up. 

“Yeah, and I guess that’s what really made me snap to reality when it came to Alya.” Mari frowned at that, tightening the tape closer to each other to get a collar measure. 

Lord, did she have no idea how much restraint Damian had to put himself under for just wanting to kiss her right now, but he knew better than than. 

He took her hands away from the tape, noticing her eyes lacking that shine they usually carry when she’s in the crafting zone. He looked at her hands, covered in calluses and a few sewing mishaps. Even when they were covered in painful memories, Marinette hands were still gentle. “What’s gentle?” 

Damian’s breath hitched, realizing that he said that last part out loud. 

“You are.” Damian said, bringing her hands to his lips to kiss. Damian couldn’t help but feel victorious at the sight of Marinette glowing pink. “You’re a gentle and kind person. She doesn’t deserve your kindness if she was willing to quickly push you aside like that.”

Marinette looked straight at Damian before throwing herself into his chest, almost causing him to tip back. “Thank you, Damian.”

A few days were left until the gala, and it just had to be that time when his stupid brothers found out about his meetings with Marinette (and him coning to terms that he absolutely loves her)

“A girl, huh?” Jason would tease while Dick tried to gathering more information about Damian’s “friend”

“She’s simply designing my suit for-”

“The gala. Sure Lil’ D.” Grayson would say before wanting to pry more information from him. 

“Why don’t you invite her to the gala?” Bruce proposes, Damian no thinking about it

“Maybe I will.” He regrets saying

And Marinette ends up saying yes, now panicking about what to wear

“What about that dress?” Damian points to her almost completed black dress.

A high collared black dress with long sleeves was what Damian was referring to. With an open back and skirt that fell to the ground, it’s golden accents by the collar that ran across the chest...it would match his own all black suit with golden accents at the shoulders and cumberbund. 

“That.. that could actually work.”

Time skip to the gala, where when the two arrive, they steal the spotlight because not only did Damian arrive with a date, but she was stunning. Despite being three inches taller than him, Marinette was perfect by his side

“So Damian, what’s her name and how’d you meet this girl?” Jason asked first, but to Dick’s annoyance.

“Her name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one behind both of our attires.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Bruce manages to say despite being surprised by Damian’s new development.

“So how-” Tim attempted to ask, but marinette cut him off.

“We met at a fabric store. A fabric roll brought us together.”

The night goes on, with it ending by Marinette asking Damian to be her boyfriend. (Damian then also reveals that he was also going to ask her to be his girlfriend)

“Of course.” He says, having to stretch to kiss her, glad to have gone into that fabric store that day.

Sure, it was weird, but Damian was glad to day that a single fabric roll decided their fate of meeting each other.

[writingsbychlo]

below the surface | sam taylor

word count; 9022

summary; sam admires your fire, the two of you are good friends, and he just wants to help free you live to your fullest potential.

notes: there is some slightly odd themes here, but it was the norm for those times, so you’re just going to have to accept them, it really makes the story, so go with it.

warnings: smut, some misogynistic themes, verbal abuse.

Sam Taylor liked the 1920’s, far more than he ever liked the prospect of the 2020’s. He liked the simplicity of his life, he liked the friendly atmosphere, he liked watching history unfold, but most of all, he liked the woman he had first become acquainted with two years ago.

It had taken him a little while to settle down, to find a home and build a business for himself, and the ‘roaring twenties’ that he was oh-so-fond of were definitely picking up their speed. It all felt very Gatsby-esque to him, and a year after his arrival in the time, he’d returned to the speakeasy he’d once visited with Evelyn. It had taken time for that wound to heal, and he felt that being able to return to the place he once treasured with her might be the final step for him to be able to close that chapter of his life, and move onto another one.

The speakeasy itself wasn’t actually where he had met you. Actually, it had been a few roads over, when he’d been drawn to the sounds of shouting and laughter, and he’d found you shouting at a group of younger men, who couldn't have possibly been more than their late teens, who were leering at you and trying to grab onto you. He hadn't even had to do anything, he had arrived to help but you had taken care of it yourself, shaking your head and mumbling about stain removing when the blood of a now broken nose stained your white glove, the group looking shocked, and then appalled, before running off with their bleeding friend and spitting insults at you.

“Well, go on then!” You had spun to face him, eyebrows raised and one gloved hand, one bare hand, sitting on your waist as you waited for him to speak, and he merely raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell me how unladylike I am, how I shouldn’t be out alone, or how I’ll never find a husband with an attitude like mine? I’d bet you a half dollar that you couldn’t tell me anything that I haven’t heard before.”

“I was going to say I think that was rather impressive, actually.” You had stared at him, eyes narrowed for half a second, before you’d been opening the clutch purse in your hand, shoving both gloves inside of it and producing a small silver coin, held out to him in the palm of your hand. “Nobody has ever told you how impressive it is that you can stand up for yourself before?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, sir, but women are supposed to be seen and not heard.” You spat out the words distastefully, and he let out a small laugh, ducking his head and taking you hand in his, curling your fingers back around the coin in refusal to take it, but he could already see another argument building back up within you at the rejection of the token.

“Well, if I hadn't have heard you, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, and I’m rather glad I did.” He held out his hand, introducing himself formally and waiting as you studied him once again, before offering your name in return. “How about you use that bet to buy me a drink, hm? I know this great little spot below the surface.”

“You’d let a woman buy you a drink?”

“I’d let you buy me several, but I do believe in equality, so if you’d let me keep your company for longer, I will be insisting that we take turns on the purchases.” That had earned him a genuine smile, and he took your hand in his and placed it into the crook of his elbow, guiding you down the streets towards the only little store with the lights still turned on.

“I suppose you’ll know somewhere that sells a real drink, do you, Mr Taylor?”

He flashed you a cheeky grin in response, insisting that you call him Sam, even with all the formalities of the time, because clearly you didn’t play by your own eras rules, and he liked that a lot. Holding open the door to the shop, you stepped in ahead of him, the owner looking up at both of you cautiously, a brow raised as he paused in his movements for wiping down the counter.

“We’re closed, what are you looking for?”

He cleared his throat, sparing you a glance before he was stepping forwards. “Cabbage.” Some dead silence hung in the air, and a slight warmth rose to his cheeks form the very moment the ridiculous codeword had left his mouth.

“I’m sorry, you’re looking for what?”

“Y’know, cabbage?” He nodded his head towards the door he remembered from last time, and the shop assistant looked between him, back to you, before him once again, and you sighed, your hand landing once again on his upper arm as you came up to stand behind the counter by his side.

“Do you have any red linens?”

The man seemed to catch on, his lips flicking up at the sides, and Sam’s cheeks only grew darker in colour as the two of you were guided away toward the stairwell hidden in the back of the store, the speakeasy concealed below. Once the door was closed behind you, your forehead had pressed to his arm, a series of small giggles leaving you and he let out a playful huff as you did.

“That’s an old phrase, it’s changed every six months to keep it from spreading too quickly.” You confided, and he hummed, pushing the coding to the back of his mind to be remembered until it was changed once again.

“You’ve been here before, then?”

“I can be found at this bar every Thursday, my father likes to spread the word about having a daughter of age with a dowry to boot, ready to be married off.” Your words had turned bitter at the end, and Sam had sighed, shaking his head and offering you a frown, but he wanted to keep the mood lighter, as he was enjoying your company.

“So, if I happened to be here on a Thursday evening, I might find you here, too?”

“You just might, Sam. Now, how about that drink?”

Meeting you at the bar on Thursday nights had rather rapidly become a constant in Sam’s life, he counted down the days and hours until he could see you again, to listen to you excitedly talk about your week as you sipped on gin at the bar and let you ramble about the book you had been reading, or the story you’d heard from your friends, or simply the new and fleeting hobby you had picked up and dropped in the last few days.

You were wild, and interesting, and you made the transition from the 21st Century to the beginning of the 20th so easy for him that he barely noticed anything different when he was with you. You were like a little drop of home in his week, and he couldn't help the easy flow he’d taken from friendship to something a little flirtier with you, and he liked the way you joked back, cheeks rising with red and jaw dropping when he whispered in your ear and held you in a way that was just a little risky for the time period he had found himself in.

He liked it when you’d dance with him to the music playing, and he liked it when you’d hum along to the songs being sung. He absolutely loved it when you rested your head on his shoulder and let out little sighs of tiredness when they night moved on and you let him hold you a little tighter to keep you on your feet as you waited for your brother or father to be ready to escort you home when they were finished posturing and proving themselves to the other men in the club.

Spring had bled into Summer, into Winter, and your friendship had only become stronger. He had met your father, and your brother, and he was never approving of the scowls they wore when you let out loud and obvious huffs of indignation when you were called over to meet a possible new suitor, or when you were shown off by them as some kind of prize to be won, only to mouth off and prove that you were far more than a pretty face.

You were stubborn, and strong-willed, and you didn’t conform to the stereotypes that your time had laid out. He saw you during the feminist rallies in the town, holding handmade signs high and shouting for equal rights at the top of your lungs, with absolutely no idea that your movement would be something that children would be learning about in their history lessons a century from now, taught by a female teacher with independence and equality, and he watched on proudly each time.

He had met your mother on the days he had been fetching his groceries from the farmer’s markets, rolling your eyes at the older woman as she tried to tell you recipes to remember and tips to make you an agreeable wife that you had downright refused to commit to memory.

Two years passed, and he watched as the new decade was ushered in, everything from the 10’s being swept away as old news as the 20’s came barrelling in, and style from the notorious New York City had taken over. You had a wardrobe full of tasselled dresses that fell around your knees and rode up when you crossed your legs to reveal the softer skin of your thighs, and you had pearl necklaces that fell down into lower necklines, and lips painted red with curled hair, and fuck, Sam really did love the twenties.

He loved going home and finding the print of your red lipstick printed on his cheeks from where you had bid him goodnight each Thursday in the early hours, and he liked the tint your cheeks got as your slightly tipsy form wobbled when you tried to pretend you hadn't been drinking, acting the good girl in the streets to follow the laws of the oncoming prohibition.

Two years in had brought a lot of changes since the night Sam had met you. The prohibition had made the speakeasy an even more lucrative spot to be included within, poker tables and cigars with whiskey glasses clinking below the streets, passers-by completely unknowing as to the activities that were taking place below. It had brought a wealthier crowd, elites and upper-class, only those who could afford to pay for the right to know the password at the door, and your father had only put more pressure on you to find a husband.

You were two years older, moving towards your mid-twenties, and of a prime age to bear a child for whichever man your father chose to give you away to. He was happy with the crowd that the speakeasy brought around, gambling from men with a lot of coin to throw down onto the table and options that would undoubtedly bring a high price for your hand in marriage.

In turn, you were acting out more and more, causing every option your father had found for you to end up turning their nose up and sneering as they muttered about finding a girl who could make them a home and raise a child, never bothering to look at what was underneath, never bother to get to know the incredible person below the surface of a woman to be given away.

You were seen less and less, from every Thursday to one Thursday a month, your father choosing to leave you at home in favour of talking you up in order to confirm a deal before you had a chance to ruin it, and yet Sam attended faithfully every Thursday, just in the hopes of seeing you. Your flame was being dulled, the rallies were quieter without your voice shouting out with the rest, his shopping trips were duller when he couldn't catch sight of your playful faces and rolled eyes as he moved between the stalls near you, and his days were empty without ever getting to catch glances of you, or talk to you late at night after your family had gone to bed and you called him on the telephone attached to his kitchen walls.

Your smile wasn’t as bright, your shoulders were slumped and your fashion sense had reverted back to that of the dresses he knew of mother’s to wear, but he never missed the longing looks you gave to the girls who would flounce about in tassels and pearls and sequins, dancing and singing and having fun, and he hated that you no longer told him excitedly about your day, instead forced to stay by your father or brother’s side as the night progressed on. Each time you were questioned by another man, he got to see a brief glimpse of your slowly drowning personality, his lips flicking up at the sies when he heard your sarcastic and snippy retorts, soon quieted by your father’s growling voice over the top of your own.

That was how Sam had found himself peeking at you from his seat at the table, watching you subtly as you stood off to the edge of the bar with you brother, picking at the uncomfortable edges of your corset dress as you pulled it out each time you wanted to take a deep breath, your eyebrows pinched as a fake smile sat on your cheeks and your hands formed fists as your kept them held in front of you like a lady always should.

Your father was angry, he was talking about the latest tantrum you’d had, having caused such damage to your car by driving when you weren’t permitted to and had no idea how to, that he had to fork out to have it prepared, almost as much as the car had cost him in the first place when he’d won it on an auction, new parts having to be brought in to fix it, and he was fuming, even as he laid down yet another stack of notes onto the table for betting with.

He felt your arrival before he saw you, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the dragging of your almost floor-length dress between the chairs sounded and your arm brushing his shoulder oh so lightly, the kind of friendly greeting you gave him now, as he was certain your family had forbidden you from being seen with him in fear it would drive away other men. He risked a glance up, your back to hi as you approached your father, but you offered him a fleeting smile when you turned, your eyes meeting his for barely a second before you were facing your father once again, gaze flicking over the lusting gazes of the other men around the table, before clearing your throat.

All you had asked for was another money to buy another drink, but your father having just lost yet another hand and more money, seemed to reach the end of his tether.

“You would ask me for even more money, as though you haven’t already drained me of enough simply by being born into the godforsaken world?” His glare was fixed on you, cold and icy, and your jaw dropped, eyes narrowing on him as you prepared to fight back, but he was already pushing on with such rage that your mouth had snapped shut and your eyes had widened as you swallowed thickly, and Sam felt his own free hand clench into a fist as the cards in his other bent a little from the force at which he was gripping them. “You disappoint me, time and time again by refusing to act like a woman, by failing to find yourself a suitable husband, and now you want to take even more from me?”

“I just wanted a dri-”

“You just want everything, you selfish brat! Be quiet, stand still, and look pretty and let’s just hope that you can do something right for once, and find yourself a husband soon, so that you are no longer my responsibility to care for!” His nostrils were flaring and cheeks heated, face so red he resembled a tomato, and his shouting only came to an end due to being shushed by the owner in fears that he was actually so loud that people above in the streets may hear the commotion.

The room had been deathly silent for almost a minute after, all eye son the little table Sam found himself sitting at, and your head was ducked down from embarrassment, your fingers anxiously tapping at your leg, before the gazes seemed to move on and the band continued with their singing once again, the room taking it’s chatter back up and returning to normal after witnessing such an outburst.

“Your daughter is out of control.”

It was the first word spoken, and Sam’s own angry glare shifted to that of the man two seats down form him, yours and your father’s following, and Sam swore when he turned to look at you, he could see the last bit of yourself breaking within you s you were worn down further and further by the oppressive nature of the men surrounding you.

Floodgates had been opened, and before he knew it, Sam was sitting at a table full of jokes about your chances of never settling down, men picking fun at you and continuing to leer at you, stuck somewhere misogynistic comments about your body being all you were good for, and he felt sick as he watched your father chuckle and comment how he wished one of them would take her off of his hands even if that was all they wanted, and anger swelled within him as each and every one continued to deny that they would ever risk marrying you, fear of your boldness making them reject you, and he couldn't take it anymore, your father’s ramblings about never finding someone to take your hand being the final straw.

You may not have been the picture-perfect wife for any of these men, but you were absolutely perfect in his own. You were loud, and opinionated, and not afraid to argue with your own knowledge and facts when the two of you had debates. You were educated, and well-read, and had a sense of humour to match his own. You liked to adventure, and take risks, and you weren’t afraid to get angry when you needed to be. Your soul wasn’t one that was supposed to be dampened, but should instead be allowed to flourish. You were his best friend, his only real friend, and you were everything that mattered to him in this world, everything he had here with him.

You reminded him of his family and friends that he had lost when choosing to stay, you reminded him of everything he had once dreamed of in a woman, and he refused to let you be lost to the mainstream of dull women who were more like possessions than people, because he would be damned if he let one more comment about how you would never have a truly happy marriage or fulfilled life fly by, just because they were unable to appreciate how truly brilliant you were.

It was derogatory and rude, and borderline verbal abuse as he watched you curl in on yourself more and more with each comment, and he just couldn't take it anymore. Not the unhappy look on your face or the frown on your lips, or the way your eyes were cast downwards because even though you acted strong, he was certain you were breaking a little more with each unkind comment thrown your way.

He slumped a little in his chair, letting out a deep sigh and swirling the glass in his hand a little. “I would marry your daughter in a heartbeat.”

The table fell into a dead silence around him, and he raised the glass up to his lips, holding his face neutral and steady as he looked at his cards, enjoying the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat as he finished off the glass and placed it on the table.

“Can you repeat yourself there, son?”

“I said-” He didn’t intend for his words to come out growled and as menacing as they did, but he couldn't help it, and some of the other men around the table even had the good graciousness to look a little startled at his response. “I would marry your daughter. I think any man would be lucky to call her his wife, so I repeat to you, that when you made a claim that no man would marry your daughter, you were wrong, because I would marry her without hesitation.”

He shuffled the cards in his hands, arranging them better to suit him as he looked at the game, and the man looked positively taken aback, somewhere between horrified and ecstatic, before clearing his throat in a scrabbling attempt to seem dignified. “She has no dowry, and she would not make an agreeable wife.”

His tone read clearly that he was desperate to hand her off to the first bachelor to offer even a shred of willing, and yet with all the other eyes of the gentleman at the table around him, he was trying to hold his respect, unknowing that Sam had absolutely none for him at all, but he liked the pressure your father was now feeling to try and gain the bargain, as though you were a possession to be exchanged.

He took a long moment, finally moving his gaze up to you, his lips flicking up at edges in a hint of a smile to ease your nerves. Your eyes were wide and lips pressed into a thin line, your expression seemingly unreadable, but those creases of worry between your eyebrows were gone and the pinched expression from trying your best to keep your thoughts to yourself had slipped away, despite offering him no reading of how you felt about it all. He could see the way your posture had slumped a little as you relaxed, your palms smoothed out against your sides instead of clenched in fists, and your shoulders were rising and falling in steady rhythms instead of jerky breaths.

“She doesn’t need a dowry, she has more than enough to offer on her own. I don’t need to be bought to want to know her.”

It was another few minutes of rigid and tense silence, whispered comments going around the table between the older men as though they were teenage girls on a schoolyard, before loud and jovial laughter was released from your keeper, his palms slamming down on the surface so forcefully that the table wobbled and poker chips clinked and tumbled from their stacks, but he continued to sit unfazed, staring forwards, as you now looked between himself and your father in shock.

“All me to buy you a drink, and to thank you, despite not knowing why you would take on such an unruly woman.” Your father fished into the leather of his wallet to hand over a few coins to you. “I’ll buy you one final drink, and you can fetch one of the man who is taking responsibility for you.”

You stood stock still for a moment, before setting yourself into jerky movements, stepping away from your father and offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ before making your way to Sam’s side, normally warm and kind eyes peering down at him cautiously and calculating, and he rolled his head back to look at you, trying to give you the most reassuring look you possibly could as he spoke his preference to you, nodding as you stepped away from him and towards the bar, but not before reaching for the empty glass on the table in front of him and taking it with you.

You were quiet the when you returned, barely responding to the thanks he had offered you when you hold your drink out to him, choosing instead to quietly sip at your own gin and stan behind him, one hand rested delicately on his shoulder as you studio behind him, shielding yourself from your father and watching on wordlessly as the men gambled and played cards for a further few hours into the night.

Sam was on a winning streak, a lot of chips sitting before him, stacks of notes and coins sitting in the centre of the table that he had such a large hand out of that he would barely be able to count it, more in one night than he would earn from his little company in over three months, the kind of money that made his gut twist and his head spin, and the game was being called to an end while he was still sitting wealthy, before the inevitable pride of having so many chips got to his head and he lost them all.

As he gathered up the money being split out to him, ignoring the drunken complaints of the men around him and taking his winnings, he knew it would be a while before he was invited back to the tables, and a while before their bruised egos healed over losing such sums to someone so young. He’d been playing since he was about twelve, and he was incredibly good at the game, what could he say?

You were still suspiciously quiet, even when everybody was milling out of the small shop for the night and standing in the cold night air, breath billowing around them in the cold air, and his fingers found your wrist carefully, pulling you aside, your lips still sealed shut as he watched you imploringly shuffle from one foot to another, itching uncomfortably in your corset.

“Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly content! I am to be married, to a respectable man, and I am just grateful that it is someone I know, I am just dandy.” You offered him a forced smile, that to anyone that didn’t know you as well as he did may believe it to be real, but that was the problem. He did know you, and those weren’t your words, or your attitude, and that certainly wasn’t a genuinely happy smile on your behalf. He was prepared to question you on it, to ensure you that it was okay, but your eyes were flicking fearfully over his shoulder, before moving back to his, a slight glisten in them as they narrowed, and he turned his own head to look.

A sigh left his lips, and his jaw snapped shut out of irritation, your father standing only feet away, clearly listening in to the conversation, and Sam let an arm snake around your waist like he had done so many times before, this time trying to shield you from the drunken elder that was looming over the pair of you. “I see you and my daughter are already growing acquainted.”

His eye dropped down in a wink that made Sam’s stomach twist with nausea, and you moved slightly further into his side, a thought that made him preen a little internally, knowing that at least you trusted him, to keep you safe and to try and do right by you.

“She may go home with you, she should know the house she will be living in and maintaining. Tomorrow at noon, we will meet to discuss the details of your wedlock, but I’ll be going home now.” He waved a hand to silence of the pair of you before either of you had even spoken, leaving you to back away from Sam and tremble on your own, both of you watching slack-jawed as he walked away, leaving you both alone in the street.

“Sam..”

He was only torn from his staring of the man’s retreating figure when your voice, lighter and shakier than usual, drifted to his ears and pulled his focus to you. Your face was scrunched up in a scared expression, something he never wanted or see again on your face, and he swallowed thickly before nodding, and setting a hand on your lower back, trying not to startle you as you began to process everything that had happened or you in the last few hours.

The walk was quiet, your feet scuffing the floor, and he spared the occasional glance over at you as he allowed you time to take in all that had occurred. Your face flicked between shocked, to sad, to angry, and back to neutral, keeping every single one of your thoughts locked inside yourself, keeping everything quiet.

The only noises were the occasional brush of your feet beside his on the floor, the drag of you shoes on the stones as you made your way up along the long and winding path to the renovated house he was proud to call his home, and the jingling of the bundle of keys that he pulled from his pocket, your foot tapping anxiously on the ground as he undid the several locks on his front door, before holding the heavy wood out to him.

You had never seen the inside of his home before, it had never been appropriate for him to invite you inside, and now, it was where you were going to live. Maybe he hadn't quite thought this through, but he didn’t have a chance to follow that thought across before the door was closing behind him, our hands clenched by your sides as you watched him bolt them back up for the night, and finally, you snapped.

“What gives you the right, Sam Taylor? To step into my life and decide to take charge, hm?” You barely missed a beat, his brows raising at you, and while he knew all of this anger was entirely directed at him, he was willing to let you get all you pent up rage out of your system, even if it did involve you screaming at him. “I will not be your property, and you should have known me well enough to understand that! I don’t want to be a housewife who cowers in submission! This is the 20th Century and women should have rights, I don’t want to be a chattel for you to use as you please!”

He had to bite his cheek at your phrasing, hearing a girl shout ‘this is the 20th Century’ while talking of rights was something he may never get used to, but he waited until you were huffing out a breath and crossing your arms over your chest, cheeks red and eyes filled with a raging fire. It was a fire he had missed seeing in you, one he wanted to let roar instead of extinguishing, and when he was certain that you had finished, he let out the breath he was holding.

“I don’t want to own you, or force you to be something that you aren’t. You can be whoever you want to be with me. You don’t have to wear these ridiculous corsets that clearly make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to bite your tongue when you want to speak, and you certainly don’t need to be anything less than a proud and strong woman of the 20th Century.”

His lips flicked up at the edges as he said the words, a very slight smirk on his face, and your entire body seemed to sag out of relief when you looked at him, checking him to see if he was really telling you the truth, and finding that he was.

“I want you to have your freedom, and you always have with me.” You were quiet, but nodding slowly and taking slow and deep breaths, before averting your gaze from his, picking at your nails as you suddenly seemed to find the wooden floors much more interesting than him. Instead, he busied himself with kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, taking out the stacks of money from his pockets, sifting through it all to count how much he had actually claimed. “How much was your dowry?”

He’d hear you following behind him, neatly taking off your heels and placing them tidily on the shoe rack beside his front door, hanging your thin coat up beside his, but you didn’t speak to him again until he had asked you the question, your throat clearing and voice stumbling over your words in stuttered and broken sounds when you spoke. It was in mumbles, an amount he barely caught before processing the noise you had made and he thought it through. It was almost as much as his winnings, and he made a proud and sure noise in the back of his throat as he pushed the collection of papers and coins across the counter towards where you were idling, your eyes following the pile but you never once moved.

“This is approximately that much, and it’s yours. I don’t want you to feel like you need to rely on me, you can go where you want and do what you please, I’ll just be here if you need me.” He took a tentative step toward you, smiling to himself when you didn't step away from him, before he ducked his head and brushed his lips to your cheek in a soft kiss, bumping the tip of his nose against your temple as he pulled away. “There are two guest rooms, you can choose either that you like, and you can wake me if you need anything. Goodnight, darling.”

It was at least a half-hour before Sam heard the soft knock at his door, and he had been pulling back the several layers of blankets sitting on his bed, the robe he’d been wearing already hung back up, only a pair of pyjama pants were clad on him now, a single candle lantern flickering on either side of the bed.

He had to resist the urge to tell you just how modern you looked when you stepped into the room, smiling at him gently around the door, your feet now bare on the cool wood slats and your legs exposed, all the way up the soft and flimsy shorts he owned, almost swamped by one of the off-white undershirts he often wore for warmth, the sleeves covering your palms.

He offered a smile, taking a seat amongst his pillow and tucking his sheets around himself as you stepped further into the bedroom, the door falling shut behind you with a soft click, and he took a moment to take you in. Your hair was taken out of its up-do from earlier in the day, sitting around your shoulders in loose waves and tangles, marks in the hair form all the pins that had been used to hold it up, and your skin was cleaned of eyeliner and red lipstick, looking far more domestic than he’d ever had the privilege of seeing you in before.

“You know, you are just terrible at doing your washing. I think this shirt and this pair of shorts may have been the only clean items in that basket that were also dry.” Your joke was immediately enough to break the tension, and he huffed out a laugh, settling back a little further and slumping down into his pillows.

“I’ve never been any good at my washing, I just accept it however it turns out.” You made your way across the room to him, standing by the side of his bed and avoiding his eye as you instead took a few moments to take in the simple detailing of his bedroom. There was nothing judgemental about your look, instead, you were simply observing, committing it to memory, before your gaze was flicking to the patch on his top blanket that he picked at anxiously, loose threads hanging from it.

“You don’t know how to sew, either?”

“I always poke my fingers with the needles, and it always turns out a mess. When it gets bad enough, I will just buy a new one.” That answer made you frown, and you took a seat on the edge of the bed beside his legs, dropping your hands down into your lap and staring at you bundled fists intently.

“I may not be as much a lady as men would like, but I do know how to do stitch, and wash clothes. I can also cook and clean.” Your shoulders sagged a little, but the smile you offered him may have been small, but it was at least genuine, he could tell from the honest way you met his eyes as you did, exposing your soul to him easily. “I’ll try my hardest to be a good wife for you, Sam.”

He slipped his hand across the sheet, resting a large hand over your smaller one, and squeezing reassuringly, causing you to look up from your lap and hold his gaze. “I don’t want you to be what you think everyone else wants, I want you to be you. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook. I’m good at that, I make a very good meal out of very little, my mother taught me.”

“But, it’s my job t-”

“It’s not your job to do anything that you don’t want to. We can split the jobs between us.”

You stared at him, for a good few minutes, and he almost felt himself shrinking under your stare, before you were getting to your feet and smoothing out the creases on the bed sheets where you had been sitting. He thought you would leave, that you would be moving away from him and back out into the corridor, but instead, you were rounding the bed and lifting the sheets carefully, settling yourself beside him and moving away from the edge of the bed, closer to the warmth his body provided. “Is this okay?”

“This is okay.” He nodded at you dumbly, watching as you fluffed your pillows and blew out the lantern on your side of the bedroom, the smell of wet candle wax and smoke filling the air as only the one flickering candle kept he room alight, a soft glow that left only this section of the room illuminated, almost everything else cast into darkness.

“I like to make clothes, so I don’t mind doing your sewing too, you don’t have to buy new garments each time they tear. I also like gardening, I noticed that your front garden didn’t have many flowers, and it was rather untidy.”

“You can do anything you want with the gardens, I think anything would be an improvement.”

“Can I plant flowers?” You were looking up at him through your lashes, anticipation clear on your features, and he grinned, lifting a hand to tuck some hair back behind your ear and cup your jaw, running his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

“You can do anything you want with the gardens.” You were happy now, he could feel it in the way you leaned into his touch a little, before you were moving onto your side to face him, and he simply rested both of his hands on his stomach, linking his fingers together and waiting for more of your questions.

“Do I have to wear corsets?”

“No.”

“Do I have to clean for you?”

“No, we’ll share the cleaning.”

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?”

He paused, looking at you and swallowing the lump in his throat, before nodding at you and trying to relax from the way his body had stiffened. “If you’d like to.”

“I would.”

You shuffled a little closer, taking one of his hands in yours and moving it away, before linking your own fingers with his instead, resting your body down beside him on the mattress and pressing your head against his pillow, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as your body pressed up to his side, and your heartbeat began to match his as it thumped against your chest, pressed or his ribs.

He liked it, and he could get used to the feeling of having your body pressed up beside his in the bed, keeping him warm in the winter, and giving him the company he had missed for so long. You were his best friend, one of the best friends he’d ever had - in either era - and the thought of getting to have you by his side in any way, was more than enough to make him happy.

He didn’t care what became of your relationships, he had done what he did in order to liberate you from the oppressive nature of your father, to help you find freedom and live the life you wanted while being happy.

If he got to leave his family to gain the life he wanted and live happily, then you deserved the same, and he would do anything to make it happen.

He was just reaching for the little cup to extinguish the candle when your hand caught his wrist, pausing his actions and bringing his hand back toward you, your body sitting up once again, and he waited, your jaw opening and closing as you tried to find your words. You faced him more fully, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away, shuffling toward him until your knees were brushing his leg, and he sat himself up a little further, confusion beginning to seep into him as he took in the nervous expression on your face.

“May I ask you to do something for me?” He offered a silent form of his affirmation, and you moved a little closer, shaking hands coming up to hold onto his cheeks. “Nobody has ever kissed me before, and if we’re going to be married, you will be the only person who ever has. I would like to know what that feels like.”

“You want me to kiss you?” This time, it was your turn to give a silent form of understanding, nodding you consent to him and his lips tilted up at the corners. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Sam, I’ve always found you attractive, but tonight you sacrificed everything just to make me happy, and you are like no man I have ever met. I would very much like for you to kiss me.” You were nervous, colour crawling up your cheeks, and he licked over his lips, feeling his own skin heat up as he watched you. Your eyes were wide, lips a little parted and face flushed a charming colour, and in this minute you looked so pretty that Sam swore you may be the angelic woman he’d ever seen.

Placing a hand on the bed beside you, he leaned over, lowering himself down until he could drag the tip of his nose across yours, your breath washing over his lips with each small and shallow breath you let out, your eyes fluttering closed and lashes brushing his skin as he copied the motion. Your forehead was pressed to his, so close now that he could taste the gin still lingering on your lips, and with that, he closed the distance between you both.

Softly at first, his mouth pressed to your own, lips sealed in a sweet peck, and he felt the intake of breath you took in a gasp through your nose, before he was dragging his lips with your own in delicate patterns, feeling you press back with hesitation, unsure in your movements but eager to learn, and your hands fell away, one slipping into his hair as the other came down to press to his chest, and you were kneeling up into him.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, or when. He had been intending to keep the kiss brief and chaste, never wanting to push you on anything, but it wasn’t until his back met the bed again and his head was pressing into the pillows that he realised you were now kneeling over him, a leg on either side of his lap and his hands on your waist.

You were letting out little whimpers into his mouth each time the kiss grew a little messier, his lips parting a little further and his tongue flicking out a little more frequently to tease at the seam of your lips, but then your tongue was daring to peek out to play with his own, and he couldn't hold back the deep groan he let out as your tongue dragged across his. The grip he held on your hips only tightened, and your body fell down to press further into his, you nails scraping against his scalp.

“Sam, thank you.” You pressed your lips back to his own, frantic and needy and each time you came back in it was making the heat in the room rise, his palms slipping down to grip at your thighs before he knew what he was doing, but then your hips were rolling down into his, and he was bucking up to press against you, anything to draw out the squeaky little moans and sighs of pleasure you let out into his mouth every time your clit dragged over the growing bulge in his pants. “You saved me, thank you, so much.”

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

You hummed against his lips, rocking down into his hips particularly harshly, both you and him letting out drawn out sounds of pleasure at the feeling, and he had to bite down on his own lip when you pulled back just to stop himself from flipping you over and pressing you down into the mattress. “I am happy with you. You make me happy.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Your hands were pressing to his chest, your hips rocking down into his, and his eyes fluttered shut as you rode up and down over his cock, even through the layers of clothing, and he let out a weak and breathless laugh when a thought about the situation crossed his hazy mind. “You know, this isn’t very gentlemanly of me. We've only been engaged for a couple of hours. What would people say?”

“I don’t care what people say, it feels good.” You whimpered, pushing down firmly and he cursed under his breath, jutting his hips up into you and smirking at the face you made, your jaw dropping down and forming an ‘o’ as silent pleasure left you. He watched you bounce above him, hair framing away behind you as your head tipped back, and he took the chance of your distraction to flip you over, pressing you back oot your side of the bed and caging you in with a hand on either side of your head. “I want to feel good, Sam.”

“I can make you feel good.”

You nodded fervently, and he dragged a hand down over the bare skin of your midriff from where the shirt of his that you were had ridden up, and he dipped his head down to press his lips to your own, catching you in a sweet kiss that made you hum happily at the affections, pressing back just as lovingly.

The tips of his fingers dipped underneath the loose waistband of the shorts you wore, finding that there was no buried the further down he travelled, and he let out a ragged sound against your mouth upon realising that you had discarded of your one underwear when changing into his clothes. The idea of your dripping cunt brushing straight up against his clothes, the idea of you wearing only his belongings to clever yourself, the image of you walking around with him on a lazy Sunday morning and wearing just one of his tops, it was all everything that he wanted with you.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit, your hips jerking up into his hand as you cried out at the simple pressure, and he took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth to play with your own, a finger swirled through the wetness that had built between your folds, and he growled into your mouth, nipping on your lower lip until you let out a whine, before sucking at it and licking over the patch to soothe the low sting, distracting you as he pushed a single finger into your dripping core, and your eyes shot open, body going stiff at the intrusion.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“It feels weird, but good, I’m not really sure.” He nodded, peppering your cheeks with kisses and he moved the finger within you slowly, twisting and stretching you out as carefully as he could, and soon your slick was coating that digit and flowing form you each time he pulled out, your juices covering your skin and making it easy for him to slip another finger into you. It was a stretch, and he felt you tense up once again as your eyes screwed shut, but he worked you through it, slow and steady, kissing along you jaw and mumbling reassurances into your ear.

He felt you loosen up, your legs widening for him to settle between and your lips found his again as you let out a happy sigh. A loud and unashamed cry of his name left you, and it may have been the sweetest sound Sam had ever had the pleasure of hearing, you walls clenching around his fingers and hips bucking up, before a sharper and louder sound fell from you. It was almost a scream, and he smirked into your mouth, his whisperings turning to praises as he tried to find that spot again, only a few strokes and he had located the spot, rubbing it surely each time he thrust his finger back into your wet core.

“That’s so good, what is that?”

“Mh, that’s your g-spot, sweetheart, and now that I know where it is, I know exactly how to make you feel good.” He pushed down on the spot roughly, your body trembling as your eyes rolled back and your fingers twisted in the sheets. The material of the shorts was rubbing uncomfortably against his wrist, and he wished he could see his soaked fingers sipping in and out of you greedy hole each time, but for now, this was enough, just watching you reach heights of pleasure you’d never been to before and knowing he was the one taking you there was making his heart race and head spin. “You’re so good for me, honey, so good.”

He was cooing down at you, mouthing at your jaw and neck and licking over your skin in ways that made you squirm and moan, your walls tight around his fingers as you neared your peak. He felt it coming, and slipped his thumb up to toy idly with you neglected clit as an unspoken encouragement to cum, that it was okay for you to let go, and so you did.

Your back arched up, something that almost sounded like a sob leaving you as you core clamped down around the two digits, so tights he could barely get his fingers in and out of you anymore, and he settled for wiggling them and twisting them as he prolonged your peak, choosing to drag it out as long as he could for you. You were panting, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat from the exertion and your chest rose and fell with every gasping breath you took.

He lifted his fingers up to his lips, sitting back on his heels and sucking them into his mouth to clean them, letting out an approving sound as your taste washed over his tongue, addictive and sweet, something he knew he would be craving more of soon, and he just hoped you’d let him.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t even know. That was amazing.” He beamed, feeling full and prideful as he listened to you talk, and he settled your shorts and top back into the correct place, laying over you and propping himself up on his arms as not to crush you, brushing hair from your face and pecking your nose. “Do you need me to..”

Your gaze left his eyes, moving down to his hips, before coming back up, and you were nibbling on your lower lip, prompting him to duck his head and chuckle, kissing along the clothed shoulder that was within his reach. “No, I don’t. This was about you, there will be a whole lifetime for that.”

“Yes. Yes, there will be.” Your words were spoken with nothing but joy, and he rolled off of you, blowing out the candle and sending the room into darkness, before wiggling himself back under the blankets and making sure you were tucked in securely. He felt you shuffle up, pressing against his side and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling your nose nuzzle into the crook of his neck, his cheek brushing the top of your head when he twisted his body further toward you. “Why are you like no man I have ever met, Sam Taylor?”

A laugh bubbled in his chest, despite the yawn he let out only seconds later, and he rubbed a large hand up and down your back, his eyes sliding shut in tiredness. “You won’t believe the story I’ll tell you over breakfast in the morning.”

“M’kay.” The response was muffled as it was mumbled into his neck, and he barely caught it, choosing instead to soothe himself with the tangle of your legs with his and the steady thumb of your heart in time with his own, the two of you drifting off with only positive thoughts of the future you would soon be sharing to still linger on your mind.

[kateemmerson]

#LocationFree - How are global nomads coping with their wanderlust lifestyle?

No one has been left unscathed, have we? We have all had to adjust, re-jig, process life, handle loss, and take stock …every single one of us? Same storm, different ship, right?

Amidst all the “stuff” going on globally, I recently listened to my heart and launched my 5th book, titled “10 Lessons for Living #LocationFree.” Originally planning to launch it much earlier, I waited until the time felt right and until I had the right energy to tackle it. I honestly feel that now, more than ever, we need to keep our dreams, ideals and possibilities ALIVE and top of mind.

Even if we are a bit stuck now, our thinking and feeling do NOT have to be stuck.

In the process of writing this book, I wanted to offer readers some varied perspectives and thus set about interviewing 16 awesome folks to get their views on living this lifestyle. When the book was released just 2 weeks ago, I really wanted to check back in and get their updates on living “LocationFree.” We are all between 40 and 60 years old, living our own version of this lifestyle all around the world. Essentially I wanted to see how the year had shaped up for them since our initial interview –  to see if they were more hellbent on continuing this vagabond lifestyle, to understand if something fundamental had shifted for them, or if perhaps world events have made them reconsider lifestyle choices related to all things #LocationFree?

#LocationFree is my preferred term, but it is often referred to as Global Nomad, Digital Nomad, Location Independent, Portable Pro, etc. The name is less important than what we live day-to-day.

I wanted to update myself, too. I have honestly had a profoundly ‘interesting’ year. I’m definitely NOT saying it was easy and straightforward, but that I dug deep and found ways to try and accept and lean into what was going on rather than resist it all. The latter option felt futile and counter-productive in every form. I contracted and tested positive for the covid lurgy back in March 2020 after hurriedly exit-ing South Africa. I was out there to launch my 4th book, “Write your Book in 100 Days,” with my business partner. We had multiple book launches and events, live interviews from some major PR rolling out. It was our chance to inspire and reconnect with all the wonderful South African writers in our community. Plus, all my annual medical appointments were booked for what might have been my last regular visit to South Africa.

As I tuned in and reacted to what was unfolding, I knew I needed to get on a plane fast, to the UK. I was due to travel via Dubai to visit a friend stationed there but decided to hotfoot it directly to the UK, just a couple of days before lockdown kicked in. After all, South Africa was officially no longer any form of “base” for me after the break up with my partner, so I didn’t fancy getting “stuck” there.

I knew I wanted to get to my mum in time for the first proposed lockdown so she wouldn’t be on her own. Well, for sanity, company, and a bit of TLC more than needing to “look after” her – she’s a super strong woman! But before being able to get to her, after testing positive for covid (I only ever experienced mild symptoms, thank goodness), I had to isolate myself for a month before it was deemed safe for me to stay with mum in her presidential home. We then ‘enjoyed’ three months of strict lockdown together. Lucky we had too much TV, laughter, wine, great food, daily walks, and I also celebrated my birthday with her. Zoom Style with friends around the world.

One of the hardest business challenges was letting go of our international Writing Retreats that were booked. It often takes folk at least a  year to decide, book, and pay for one of our retreats. Writers from all over the world were joining Sarah and me in Greece, Italy, and Spain for a total of four retreats and residencies. We had to face cancellations, field the uncertainty with massive deposits we had paid across to secure hotels, and handle the non-refundable deposit challenge. We initially postponed and shuffled dates later in 2020 in the eternal hope that we could still host them later in the year, and had clients ready to hop on planes… and then finally releasing them all in favour of 2021 dates. We “lost” some clients who couldn’t move to the new dates, and have not yet been able to start filling those spaces for 2021. That was my main income revenue down the sink. I know the entire world understands all the drastic financial challenges of the year and I am not alone in that. 

The moment it was “safe” enough to travel, and the world eased open a bit in the UK, I travelled to a wee Scottish island, Iona, for an overdue, personal and significant retreat. I had been wanting to reconnect with Iona to organise a writing retreat, so I was fulfilling two objectives. It is a very sacred isle that offers deep healing and was just what I needed. Mum was happy  (and I guess sad) to finally wave goodbye after three intense months together. The year has allowed me to live what I call a “revised version” of living location free – with restrictions and other things factored in, like everyone. I was planning on spending 2020 starting to look for my next Northern bases, so that has obviously been postponed. My heart is being pulled by the idea of setting up some version of flexible homes in both Scotland and the Mediterranean – but that will need to wait until I can travel abroad to explore that option more fully.

I am just not a ONE HOME type of gal. Any future partner I have in life needs to know that a deep love for travel and adventure is wired into my cells. But I am starting to consider a couple of bases to move between, with loads of side- travel too!

So I relished a much quieter work year. I was already planning on taking time off from running regular online writing mentorships as I needed a break from that intense type of work, and then all our summer writing retreats retreated into the distance. So I took most of the year off to be in the GAP. I stayed in quieter retreat –type mode with myself.

I embarked on an intense, personal retreat process on Iona to recalibrate again. I went offline for 3 weeks and 80% offline for a further 5 weeks. The poor wifi signal helped that switching off process. But this was not about covid. To be honest, it was more related to where I am in my life and business cycle. I needed to do a mammoth, triple-angled closing out process. One was the ending of my relationship after five years, and another was leaving South Africa, and the third closing out a few aspects of what used to make up my business. But all that was happening despite covid’s impact. You can read more about that journey here.

On Iona I also fell headlong into a fantastic new heart-based hobby with the actual “making” of books, learning the art and skill of “Book Binding” or BookArt. I am smitten and have a bag of tools, paper, ink, and waxed linen thread to lug around now. If ever you come on a retreat with me, you will be sure to make your own book from now on!

Uhmmm, yes, the irony is that my motto is #LIVELIGHTELIVELARGE, so excess clothes can get turfed out of the suitcase but my new bookmaking tools will have to stay put for this #LocationFree gal.

I am still 100% pursuing my own version of living #LocationFree, just with the added goal of looking for a couple of places to call a “base” in 2021. Love Kate x

***Here is what some OTHER global Nomads say about how this year impacted their gallivanting lifestyle around the world. All of these amazing folk below have contributed to my latest book to offer their take on being #LocationFree.

* My global nomadship is NOT over yet! Dee Before COVID-19 stopped us all in our tracks, I had been already considering my global footprint and thinking about how I could still travel and work as a nomad, but with more and more respect for the environment by reducing my use of fossil fuels.

Since being “stuck” at my daughter’s house since March 1st, I have had more time to contemplate my next move, and I think I will be much more mindful about the “gigs” I say yes to in terms of length. Instead of jumping from plane to plane and delivering multiple workshops or events in one week, I will spaciously alter my availability and only offer one city a week for short jobs. In addition, I’m considering “putting myself out to hire” to communities for 3-6 month, longer-term projects.

As for this crazy year, I have still felt like a “nomad” because most of my international work has continued online, but I’ve been receiving some “snail mail” at my daughter’s address where I’m staying, and I don’t like it. My daughter and friends tease me, saying, “ooh, look, you have mail!” which I vehemently deny! Haha!

I did join a gym in my daughter’s town but, I made sure it was one of the franchise-type ones that proliferate Australia so that when I’m back on the road, I can still make use of the membership.

I still live out of my suitcase. It’s on a shelf, in the cupboard, in my daughter’s spare room, and I have deliberately done very little extra shopping this year and still buy my suitcase-sized “top-ups.” All my purchases have still been with the thought that I will eventually be back on the road.

As of December 2020, bookings for work in early 2021 have started rolling in, and I’m feeling the pullback towards the actual road (not flights) that will most likely be my future for at least the next 12 months until our international borders and flights are safe again. My global nomadship is not over yet!Yours in Community, Dee

Dee Brooks is a mum of four adults and is a passionate community development practitioner and trainer with over 20 years of experience. She has been an Intentional Nomad since 2015 and has travelled and worked in over 20 countries, creating impact through capacity building and knowledge sharing. http://jeder.com.au

*What is COVID offering US in terms of new perspectives? Martin When Covid struck, all my jobs and activities came to quite an abrupt halt. But organically, other things suddenly needed to be done. My life in a nutshell… Go with the flow, take things as they come, and run with it as best you can.

Pre-Covid, I was housesitting, hiking, travel guiding, and occasionally giving sushi workshops. When all that stopped, for my dad, who lives alone, all his support and social engagements/contacts were terminated as well. So I kind of organically transitioned into being his only daily visitor and part-time caregiver. A foundation I occasionally volunteer at was seeing a huge dip in the (mostly 55+ aged) volunteer availability, so my “whenever I can, I’ll let you know” volunteering turned into a fixed few days a week. With the rest of the time, I worked on my campervan conversion, which I was not really getting around to before Covid. So you could say that just as in life, Covid took but replaced other things in its place for me to make a difference… And no less important, it also gave me space to remember what I was passionate about and the time to work on it as well.

Looking forward, my future perspective has not changed much with Covid. I will keep living as a nomad, primarily housesitting going from place to place, alternated with some hiking travel guiding and volunteering here and there, and being a self-supporting van-lifer the rest of the time. What Covid did do, however, is make me realize how positive and stable this self-supportive lifestyle made me, as when mass-hysteria struck, I accepted it as it came and just took it in my stride.

To me, the best way to approach the whole Covid-situation is to look at what it is offering in terms of new perspectives, rethinking priorities and time away from work, commuting, and stress in favor of me-time. It is pretty much nailed on the head by this little quote by Karen Salmansohn:

You gotta look for the good in the bad, the happy in the sad, the gain in your pain, what makes you grateful, not hateful. And if there is no good in the bad, or happy in the sad, then you are put in that spot right there, right then, to help create it for yourself and the people around you… May you be happy and well, Martin Martin Van Den Berg is a full-time professional housesitter, capable with all animals but specialising in big or “difficult” dogs and packs. Willing to travel. dutch.mountainman@gmail.com       https://www.facebook.com/martinvdberg73


* Will we resume nomadic life? Nancy It was sheer coincidence that we moved into a long-term rental the day that Spain went into lockdown! A day later and we would have needed approval from the police to move, to drive elsewhere other than to the supermarket for essential supplies. My unexpected pulmonary embolism in April 2019 had stopped our travels and, due to ongoing medical treatment, necessitated us staying in Oliva for a while. As we liked it here, at the end of that year, totally unrelated to the pandemic, we decided to stay in the area longer and, in January 2020, found a new home near the sea.

Even if we had booked another Air B&B, ready to travel again, it’s unlikely we’d have been able to. As a new tenant hadn’t been secured for the townhouse we’d been renting, we would have had to stay there longer. This would have been so frustrating! I was always excited when moving-on and to have no choice but to stay would have been very hard. Instead, we could look forward to our new home close to the beach!

My online work continued despite the pandemic, and my weekdays didn’t really alter as I sat at the computer in my home-office as usual. The virus situation has definitely changed our nomadic mindset, though, and now I’m not even sure if we’ll resume our journey!

The pandemic in Europe and ever-changing border restrictions make it difficult to travel, so for now, we’ve accepted it’s necessary to stay-put. Instead of looking forward to exploring new places, we appreciate the opportunity and extra time available to visit our own area, which is very varied and beautiful. We’ve also made some friends here and, in a time when we cannot easily see family in the UK, these relationships are all the more important.

As we’ve not had to pack-up the car to move-on in a single journey, we’ve also gradually acquired more possessions and are making our current rental a ‘home.’ The more we become settled, putting down roots, it’s so much harder to consider moving away. Maybe one day we’ll revise our wanderlust, maybe not. Perhaps we’ll take holidays again instead. We’re just not dwelling on that.

Although we’ve always had a flexible attitude, this year has taught-us that absolutely anything unexpected can happen! We’re OK, and we have each other, our health, an income, and a home, so do appreciate this as never before. Kind regards, Nancy Nancy Benn is a versatile virtual assistant with more than ten years’ experience providing efficient support to clients. Working remotely from her home office, Nancy helps entrepreneurs achieve more time and headspace to develop their business by supporting and encouraging their endeavours by providing outstanding, skilled admin and secretarial support. www.directpaservices.co.uk         
www.nancybenn.com


*Coincidence doesn’t exist. I always believed that! Jan What happened to this digital nomad during the Covid pandemic? I guess the same as with all the others: being stuck in one place and not moving anymore. In my case, I’m stuck in Budapest in Hungary. Coincidentally, as a Dutch citizen, I already had a house in Hungary, and I am a resident in this country. Something that, after the fact, turns out to be a good thing. I will explain, and this explanation shows once more, that coincidence doesn’t exist. It was for a reason that I got stuck here.

In February 2019, I left the Netherlands and started my digital nomad existence. South America, Spain, and South Africa. In April 2020, I ended up in a very strict lockdown in South Africa, and after three tough weeks, I was finally able to return to the Netherlands on a repatriation flight. From The Netherlands, I flew immediately to my home in eastern Hungary. It was a safe haven in these bizarre times. It was also far removed from covid, with only 2 cases known out of the 3 000 inhabitants in the village.

After a few weeks of being in Hungary, a letter fell on the mat from the Dutch authorities. They stated that with retroactive effect to February 2019 (!) I was no longer officially living in the Netherlands, that I was not allowed to continue my business there and that I was no longer insured for medical expenses.

Pay attention! With more than one year retroactive effect!

Panic! What’s next? At that time, there was only one option: I would have to live 100% as a resident in Hungary and build a new company structure with two limited companies: one in the Netherlands containing all the customers and one in Hungary where I am an employee. Subsequently, I was accepted into the Hungarian health insurance system (which is cheap, but not the world’s best) and a perfect private health insurance top-up that will enable me to be anywhere in the world and still have good insurance!

All of this turned out to be a golden solution for me as a nomad. The taxes in Hungary are the lowest in Europe, and even after my retirement in some years, the 0% income tax is Europe’s best! I am currently renting an apartment in the heart of downtown Budapest, and at the weekends I visit my house in the countryside to relax. This is truly the ideal “snob-life’ of all the Budapest-inhabitants!

Coincidence doesn’t exist. I never believed in that. But all these puzzle pieces came together so precisely into one nice new picture. So with all that happened to me, I have to admit: coincidences might just exist!

While I am stuck in Hungary for now, I spend ALL my time preparing for the future! Jan

Jan Van Kuijk has been living partly in the Netherlands and partly in Hungary for more than 10 years. The two countries finally became too small for him, and in 2018, after 15 years of preparation, he decided to travel the world as a Digital Nomad. With his work on WordPress and Joomla websites, he is generating sufficient income to live his dream. https://digitalnomadlifestyle.nl      https://janvankuijk.nl


*Cruising (or not) with Covid – Debbie Well, it’s been an interesting couple of months – thank you, 2020!

From being aboard ‘that ship’ which was disallowed docking in Chile, Peru, Ecuador, Panama, Costa Rica, and Mexico, to finally disembarking our guests in San Diego, after 29 days onboard! Our guests got an additional 15 days cruising on the house, and of course, courtesy of corona!

Then, many of us got ill and had to deal with “isolationship,” which in itself added a new dimension to both cruise life, as well and levels of sanity and productivity! Getting the South African crew repatriated back to our own country was another covid challenge, but we finally made it to home soil in June, three months after the break-out onboard our floating home. At this stage, a total of 60 days of “isolationship” had been achieved, and it is no small feat to spending that amount of time on your own in a room that is hard to pace 10 steps without having to stop dead!

Since then, the waiting to return to what we love has taken its toll in various forms, forcing many to find alternative employment sources. I have kept myself busy by doing some ‘self-reflection and tweaking,’ a vital step to recalibrating and accessing what makes it out of the covid crisis with you and what needs to be resolved and rested!

I have decided to study a diploma in HR to be better equipped in my line of work and where I see myself adding relevance; making memories with my family, and building a legacy in my gorgeous granddaughter’s life while watching the world continue to be crazed about vaccines and searching for new normals!

Living life #LocationFree post-covid will have its own set of challenges, but I am hopeful that we will be traveling and impacting more lives in the near future! Remember at this time, to be kind – to those who don’t understand or think the way you do, and it’s OK to be different – after all, that’s what it takes to live #LocationFree. Love Debbie

Debbie Botha courageously leapt at the chance to travel and showcase her training development, coaching, negotiation, and change- management skills within the world of cruising. She now wears officer stripes on her shoulders and a smile on her face as she explores international waters is studying HR, dabbles in Bitcoin, and revels in being a nurturing Nana. linkedin.com/in/debbiebothaglobal        Instagram: @debbiebothaofficial


*Life Has Shifted A Little – Chris and Jillian We had moved places in Morocco a few times. We had decided that we needed our own space after two and a half months in the hostel we were painting in, and we moved into an apartment in Tinghir. Shortly after we moved into our new place, the lockdown was lifted. And even though we were some of the only foreigners around, we weren’t being hassled too much to come and buy things.

We moved out to Rissani after two weeks, which was located at the edge of the Sahara. The roads were now just starting to open up for people to move between towns and cities. After a few weeks there, we read a news headline saying that all foreigners had to leave Morocco by August 10th. We then decided that we wanted to spend some time on the coast, so off we went to Essaouira.

We ended up renting an Airbnb for a really good discounted price inside the medina. There were still very few tourists around, and we were getting hassled by more people to come and buy things. We had booked a flight to leave on the 8th, and a few days before the day, the flight was canceled. We then read more information about needing to leave and found out that it was fake news and didn’t need to go.

We rented the place for two more months, and it was nice to have our own space and work on our own projects. The owner of the Airbnb had upgraded the wifi to accommodate our needs, and we accomplished a lot of much needed online work. The locals’ mood had dropped, and eventually, we had started to see drunk people in the day fist fighting at random times. This was not normal, so we felt that it was time to go.

We booked a direct flight to Turkey, and we travelled to Casablanca to exit the country. There were not many people in the airport, which made the experience one of the easiest times we’ve had travelling. We were told that we would expect to get tested for Covid when we arrived at the airport, this didn’t happen. We were also told that we would expect to get tested when we arrived in Turkey, this didn’t happen either. Turkey was open, and everything was business as usual. In the last two weeks here, the Turkish government has started implementing some restrictions. Restaurants are closed except for takeout, a weeknight curfew of 8:00, and everything except grocery stores are closed over the weekends.

We have no doubt in our minds that this is the only way we can live our lives. Travel has probably changed forever due to Covid, but we will deal with it. We won’t be returning to conventional life, and we find too much happiness in this way of life

Chris de Cap I’ve been an artist my whole life, more than half of which as a tattoo artist. I spent the bulk of my adult life being nomadic, however, mostly in Canada. Now I’ve taken my nomadic habits out into the world. http://www.artisticvoyages.com/        www.instagram.com/artisticvoyages

*Clearing the decks and learning what it means to be resilient I feel like 2020 is the year that we were all forced to stop, take a deep breath, and look at how we are living. The word that kept coming up for me this year was resilience.

Here in Spain, we experienced one of the strictest lockdowns in Europe and in a city like Malaga where we are used to being active and social life quickly started to feel a little surreal. I remember saying to friends that it felt like I was living in a Netflix movie. Deserted streets, no noise or energy.

There is a thriving community of entrepreneurs and freelancers in the city and I organise a co-working meet-up. I remember our last in-person event just before the lockdown happened. I don’t think anyone realised just what was coming! After that, we took the meet-ups online like many events and it proved a great way to stay connected and motivated when we weren’t able to meet up in person. I launched my first retreat in October at an amazing venue called Vega House. This was one of my big goals for 2020 and after nearly a year of putting things on hold, I was determined to make it happen.

I have experienced lots of personal and professional shifts this year and it feels like it has been a bit of a baptism of fire. I know I have learned to be more present in how I live. I have become much more conscious of time and not wasting it this year. This has affected my relationships, friendships and priorities as a whole.

I had planned to do more international travel this year and instead found that there was so much more on my doorstep than I had realised to explore and appreciate. Slowing down and living with restrictions has helped me and I am sure others to find joy in unexpected places. I think I am going into 2021 with a renewed sense of optimism around what is possible for me. I am focusing on staying grounded and appreciating the here and now.

Victoria Jane Watson is a business and media mentor working with female entrepreneurs leading the way in the health and wellness industry. She gets to the heart of what makes her clients unique, showing them how to leverage their story and expertise effectively so they can build a personal brand that supports their business goals. www.victoriajanewatson.com   Instagram: @victoriajanewatson

“10 Lessons for Living #LocationFree” is available on all Amazon stores

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  #LocationFree – How are global nomads coping with their wanderlust lifestyle? was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

[azvolrien]

Thunder

Hello children, it’s time for some plotless fluff

~~~

           The storm had blown in from the sea at some point in the night. Rain and hail hammered against the roof and the windows rattled in their frames from the force of the wind, but despite the din, Fayn only awoke with a start at the first crash of thunder.

           Struggling to steady her breathing, she took stock of her surroundings. The attic bedroom in 26 Full Moon Crescent, not quite familiar yet after only a week of living there. The linen curtains over the dormer window, not muffling the storm in the slightest and doing precious little to block the streetlights either. The wide, soft double bed, piled with blankets and shoved right into the corner of the attic so that it was overhung by the slope of the roof, close enough to touch if she reached up with one arm. And, of course, Wygar.

           Fayn propped herself up on one elbow to look down at him. A life-long native of Stormhaven, it clearly took more than a bit of the wild weather that named the city to disturb him; he was still fast asleep, one arm over the quilt as he lay on his side, his long hair loose from its waking ponytail and trailing over the pillow, and a faint smile on his bony face.

           The thin curtains lit up a brilliant white; not even a second later, thunder roared overhead again. Fayn swallowed, screwing her eyes shut until the echoes faded, then carefully folded down her side of the blankets, crawled to the foot of the bed, and placed one foot then the other on the floor, wary of any creak in the boards. Silently, she padded over to the window and brushed the curtains aside.

           The rain had coated the old, wavy glass so thoroughly that the water barely added any extra distortion to the view. The storm drain in the street had overflowed, leaving a huge puddle that covered half of the road, its surface almost spiky with the relentless downpour. As Fayn watched, another bolt struck the lightning conductor atop the Clock Tower up at the College, illuminating the skyline for a heartbeat. The thunder that followed completely drowned out the footsteps behind her, so that only her rein on her instincts stopped her from lashing out when a hand touched her shoulder.

           It was, naturally, only Wygar. When Fayn didn’t pull away, he wound both arms loosely around her and hugged her gently back against his chest, resting his chin on her head as they both gazed out at the storm. Fayn sighed and folded her arms over his, relaxing a little against his warmth on her back.

           “I can raise a sound ward, if you’d like,” Wygar murmured, only just loud enough to hear over the rain. “So you don’t have to hear the thunder.”

           Fayn shook her head. “I think not hearing anything might be worse.”

           “If you say so.”

           They watched the storm in silence for a while longer. Again, lightning struck the Clock Tower. Wygar held her a little tighter through the inevitable rumble.

           “Come on,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “It’s too cold tonight to be standing around. Come back to bed.”

           “I was trying not to wake you up,” said Fayn, tucking her head under his chin as they settled back down under the blankets.

           “You didn’t, as it happens,” said Wygar, winding one arm around her back and brushing the fingers of the other through her hair. “I almost always wake up around this time for a little while. It’s just that usually I go straight back to sleep.” He chuckled as Fayn shifted slightly in his hold to drape one arm over his chest and one leg over both of his.

           “What?”

           “It’s just funny,” he said. “We went through all that bother getting the double bed up into the attic, and we only ever seem to use half of it.”

           Fayn let out a quick huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but was getting there. “What can I say? I’m surprisingly cuddly once you get to know me.” She fell silent at another clap of thunder, flinching closer to Wygar. “Thunder,” she muttered once her heart had slowed again. “What’s there to be scared of? Just a lot of noise. Stupid to be scared.”

           “Well, that’s easy,” said Wygar, stifling a yawn. “It’s because you’re not really afraid of thunder, per se.”

           “Um. What?”

           “Your first storm here in the city, you told me there had been a storm on the night of… of the attack on your village, yes?”

           “Yes…”

           “So – I don’t think it’s the noise that scares you, not in and of itself. It scares you because it’s a reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to you.”

           “I suppose I’d never really thought of it that way,” admitted Fayn after a few considering seconds. “Is it the same with you and flying?”

           Wygar hummed in thought. “Not really, no. Falling off the Clock Tower certainly didn’t help, but it scared me even before that.”

           “Does it still?”

           “Does flying scare me, you mean?” He nodded firmly. “I have it under control, more or less – I can do it if I have to – but I don’t think it’s something that will ever not scare me.”

           Fayn frowned. “Why did you take up a hobby of climbing around on rooftops, then?”

           “Well, there’s the thing. I actually like heights – the challenge of getting up there, the reward of the view from the top. But that feeling of not having anything solid to hold on to? Brr.” He shook his head.

           “Maybe that’s another reason you never learned to swim, too.”

           “Huh! Could be, cariad. Could be. I’d never thought of that that way.”

           “What exactly happened, when you fell off the Clock Tower?” asked Fayn.

           “Didn’t Calburn share that story back at Aldwyn’s Crossing?”

           “Calburn shared Calburn’s version, yes.”

           Wygar laughed and ran his hand over her hair again. “Yes, that’s true. He wasn’t there to actually watch, you see; he was in the library and only saw the aftermath. He doesn’t mean anything by the teasing, by the way – it’s just what he does to keep at bay how terrified he was. He loves me really.” He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments. “So, the Clock Tower story. The tower’s always been popular with climbers – people sometimes hold races to see how fast they can get up there, not that they’re supposed to – but there are several different ascents you can use to climb up to the base of the spire. A couple of them are almost like climbing a ladder, they’re that easy, but the rest are much harder. When I was… Gods, how old was I? Still an apprentice. About eighteen, I think.”

           He sighed and arched his back where he lay, stretching out the muscles of his chest. “Anyway, when I was about eighteen and all puffed up with my success elsewhere on the College building, I decided to try my hand at one of those difficult routes. It goes up one of the corners of the tower, then you have to climb past this overhang just below the clock face and grab onto one of the gargoyles to pull yourself up to the next ledge. That… was where I had trouble. See, usually the more experienced climbers maintain the routes, marking out any handholds that have become unsafe, but they must have missed that one on their last round. It had been raining recently, you see, and the gargoyle was all wet with this green sludge that had accumulated in the water spout. It didn’t feel so bad at first, but the second I committed my weight to it…” He held up one hand and flicked the fingers out as if releasing something from his grip. “The stone slipped right through my grasp, and I fell about a hundred feet straight down to land flat on my back on the roof of the library.”

           Fayn twitched in response and held on to him a little tighter, but said nothing.

           “Indeed. I broke a bunch of the roofing slates, as well as half my ribs, one leg and both arms to different degrees, and was lucky not to crack my skull open along with them; even so, I was out cold in the infirmary for about a week afterwards.”

           “And that didn’t put you off climbing?”

           He shook his head. “Not in the long run, no. You can still feel some of the marks, actually – not just the scars on the surface but in the bone as well. Here, put your hand on my side.”

           Fayn pressed her hand flat against his ribs, running her fingers along one of the gentle ridges beneath the skin. Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the slight imperfection where the bone had healed. “It must have hurt,” she said quietly.

           “I imagine it did,” said Wygar, “but I genuinely don’t remember very much between losing my grip on the gargoyle and waking up in the infirmary. That’s why Calburn tends to take over the story. I think he was more shaken up by the whole thing than I was.”

           “Why do all of your apprenticeship stories seem to end with you getting horribly injured somehow?” asked Fayn. She closed one hand around his wrist and waved his arm, indicating the burn scarring that covered it from elbow to knuckle to show what she meant.

           “Because overconfidence and inexperience are a very bad combination, and as an apprentice I had plenty of both!” He stretched again, working a kink out of his shoulders. “I calmed down eventually. Oh!” He kicked the blankets off and sat up, jolting a startled squeak out of Fayn as she was dislodged from her comfortable spot. “That reminds me,” he said, swinging both legs out of bed to kneel on the floor beside it. “I have something for you.”

           “Something that can’t wait until morning?” asked Fayn, rolling over into the space he had left and peering down over the edge of the bed at him.

           “It probably could have, but I’m already up now,” he said as he rummaged under the bed.

           “What’s the occasion?”

           “Well, I was originally going to save it for your birthday,” he said, pulling out a large, squashy bundle wrapped in linen and tied with string, “but you never did decide on a date for that. So the occasion is that I’m your husband and I love you.”

           Fayn placed one hand on top of his head and ruffled his hair before he straightened up out of reach.

           “See,” he continued, untying the string from the bundle and removing the linen, “I know you like to have a bit of weight on top of you in bed – stop grinning – but it sometimes just gets too hot here in summer for a heavy quilt. So-” he let the bundle unroll and held it up, “-I got you a weighted blanket.”

           “They make those?”

           “They do!” He knelt on the edge of the mattress and draped the blanket over Fayn. “You remember my friend Heddwyn? She usually keeps to herself – very quiet woman, quite shy – but she came to the wedding along with the rest of my yearmates. Anyway, she had one that always seemed to help her, so I wrote to her up on her weather station to ask where she got it. Turns out there’s a shop up in the Barracks that sells them. What do you think? I do still have the receipt…”

           Fayn pulled the blanket around herself and curled up in a ball. “This is really nice,” she said in a tone of faint awe.

           “So we don’t need the receipt?”

           “We do not need the receipt.” She freed one arm from beneath the blanket and reached out to him. “Get back in here, you.”

           Wygar grinned and lay back down beside her, pulling the rest of the blankets back up over them both. Lightning flashed outside again, but this time, a couple of seconds passed before the accompanying thunder, giving Fayn time to press the blanket over her ears.

           “It’s moving away,” said Wygar once the echoes had faded. “It’ll have gone before too long.” He yawned widely and draped an arm over her. “C’mere. Snuggle back up, Cuddles.”

           Fayn wrapped both arms around his chest and nestled her head under his chin again. “You smell different,” she commented. “Just a little. Bit of a lavender scent.”

           “I’ve been trying out a new aftershave.”

           “I thought you didn’t need to shave?” teased Fayn, running one thumb over his smooth jaw.

           “A common misconception – I do, just not very often.” He yawned again and closed his eyes, nuzzling her hair in an absent, sleepy fashion. “Try to get some sleep.”

           Fayn gave a small, contented sigh. “Wygar?” she said, smiling to herself.

           “Hmm?”

           “Don’t ever call me ‘Cuddles’ again.”

 ~~~

Fayn doesn’t know when her birthday is, other than ‘Winter, I think’; the Falkari tradition was to celebrate the date of the naming ceremony rather than the actual birth, and it’s been established in a couple of earlier stories that she wasn’t given one.

I know it, however. It’s the 15th of Fantasy January. Wygar’s is the 16th of Fantasy September.

[rosebudmendes]

After Everything (Shawn Mendes Blurb)

A/N: this took me so long to get posted, but I hope you enjoy! Feel free to send in any blurb requests you have!

Description: Shawn had recenty confessed his feeling for best friend y/n but they didn’t feel the same. 

Warnings: Rejection, mention of fainting, not much esle

Word count: 1,417

Masterlist | read with me! 

It had been three months since Shawn confessed his true feelings for you. Which subconsciously forced you to avoid him as much as possible. Shawn was sweet and all, but you knew that once your relationship wasn’t platonic he would have more gumption to leave you. When you and Shawn were in middle school, and experiencing insane body changes, a promise was made that no matter what happened, you two would remain friends. Platonic friends. Now both of you are seniors in high school and have clearly defined your roles as students, friends, and siblings. There was no room for romance. Admittedly, there was some inconsistency within your relationship. All you wanted was the tension to fizzle out.  It was your senior year and you wanted to spend every second with your best friend, before it was too late. Throughout your high school career you realized how important giving back was in all sizes. You were the cofounder of the volunteer club and often spent time reading to mentally troubled students. It was a rewarding hobby, for you and whoever you were helping. Shawn has come to a few events in the past. He always wanted to show support in everything you do. This afternoon you were holding a blood drive for the local health clinic. The school had agreed to let the volunteer club run it, and you were absolutely thrilled. Giving blood was one of your favorite ways to be charitable. It could literally save a life, and knowing it was going to a good cause fueled your purpose. It was now lunch period and you headed to his usual table to try and check up on him. When you walked out of the photography room, three of your fellow club members stopped you. “Hey guys, what’s up?” The tone of your voice was perky and upbeat. Even if you felt uneasy from Shawn’s distance, you didn’t want them to know. “We need help preparing the posters for the blood drive. Freddie over here deleted the draft we had prepared.” Alice was her typical intellectual self, speaking with grimace in the back of her mouth. You simply nodded and agreed to forfeit your lunch for this afternoons event. By the end of the day you had handled countless mishaps that ranged from volunteers dropping out to machine malfunctions. You had to overcome this bump between your friendship. You missed Shawn. You missed the way he protected you from the mean things that people whispered, or how he knew your little anxious ticks. Shawn knew you better than anybody did and all you could think about was the way he smelt liked fresh linen on a cold winter day. Secretly, you weren’t really mad about the entire situation. It was sweet of him to be honest with you. It was endearing how much he cared about you. You knew in that moment, that you were not in the same place as Shawn. Shawn had agreed to help out during the blood drive, but this was before everything. Since you hadn’t seen him all day, you assumed he changed his mind. So, to keep yourself busy, you hustled right into getting everything set in place. You had managed to scrounge up a dozen of volunteers by bribes of free tutoring, and community service hours. The gymnasium was practically finished set up, and people were starting to line up outside the double doors. “Everyone ready?” The volunteers all nodded their heads, and you pulled open the doors to see around 30 people ready to donate. Seeing the turn out filled your heart with happiness. Although, part of you wanted to see Shawn standing there ready to put your differences aside for the moment. But, you were glad to have an opportunity like this regardless. For the first two hours everything was running smoothly. People were getting their paperwork entered correctly, nurses had no issues with the medical procedure, and you even managed to get the school photographers to document this process. There was around 10 patients left and still no sign of Shawn. Years prior, you both had give blood as a symbol of the everlasting friendship you guys’ possessed. It represented the pain and the loss that comes with being in a devoted, platonic, relationship. This year you planned on being the last two to donate, as a way to show that even when things end you have each other to lean on. It definitely hurt that he didn’t show up. Even after everything, you still loved him. You both promised to stay best friends, no matter what. Nevertheless, you where here to make a difference. So, you climbed into the chair and prepared yourself mentally for this process. You knew you reacted to needles in a negative way, you always have. But today, you didn’t warn the nurse. There was nothing in you that was able to voice anything related to weakness. You were able to put this entire event together with minimal problems, you were not about to lose it because of some friend drama. It was stupid of you to not tell the nurse you were a high risk fainter. But, you didn’t want to be treated as the weakling you felt like. So, you powered through and tried to stay stable. Of course, you fainted almost immediately after the needle was inserted. The memory was a little fuzzy, and you woke up already in your bed at home. How did I get here? You thought. You noticed a cup of water and a granola bar on your night stand. You were too weak to grab the water, even though your throat ached immensely. A note fell  onto your bed when you moved your comforter, creating a breeze. “Text me when you wake up. -Shawn” Something inside of you told you to ignore it, to let him figure out for himself that he should have been there for you. That no matter his feelings, he shouldn’t have given up that quickly. You were never one to have strong will power, though. So in a matter of 5 minutes, Shawn was in your room helping you sit up and forcing you to drink water. “I was just walking into the gym, you know.” Shawn’s voice was deep and empty. Like a ghost was hiding out in his throat. “I didn’t forget about our promise, y/n.” This statement stirred that same emotion that you had when you saw him in the hallway. Shawn had weaseled his way behind you, and had your back resting against his torso, legs on each side of your body. It was so nice being this close to him. This was a normal position for the both of you, and it just hit you that you weren’t totally put off by the idea of kissing him right now. “Shawn?” You felt like you were yelling but it was more of a whisper in reality. You managed to gather enough energy to turn yourself to face him. “I do love you.” His face turned white and his eyes began buzzing between your eyes and lips. He wanted to kiss you, and for the first time ever, you wanted to kiss him to. Both of you tried to ignore these urges. He awkwardly coughed, sighed, even messed with his hair all in attempt to shake the tension. What was between you guys was too big to ignore, though. Slowly, you started to lean into him. Inch by inch you moved your lips to hover on top of his. You could feel his breath on your saliva coated lips. He acted like he was going to pull away, but before he had any chance of giving up you planted your lips on his. It wasn’t a feeling of fireworks, or time stopping like movies demonstrate. It was something even better than that. In that split second of first contact you saw all of your dreams coming true. Dreams you didn’t even know you had, you felt them. After separating for air, and repositioning yourself the second contact made you tingle like a delicious piece of chocolate cake does. As weird as it was to be kissing your best friend, you didn’t regret it. Shawn always felt like home to you. He desperately cared for you, and was always there to pick you up when you fell, literally. And now you were falling right into him, and here he was holding you up all the while. 

Taglist: @tearsofstainedglass  @stockholmshawn @bluerroses@yellowmendes@itrocksmysocks @accioarmenian (let me know if you want added or taken off!)

[mysterious-dark-shadow]

Got a spirograph kit, and been drawing a lot with it. Now I’m researching professional quality kits because I want to do bigger and better drawings... Is this what people call a “hobby”?