#i threw some hibiscus on a table i emptied to just fill it but i may make a 5th annual table out front instead

[gardenhotspot]

laying in bed like augghhhh no work :-(

[knightofthecourt]

Love Bites - Chapter 5

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

The morning after he’d taken her home, Randall appeared at her door with coffee, bagels and a tube of anti-inflammatory gel, which he’d instructed her to apply three times a day to her legs alongside pain killers and bed rest. Bela didn’t need to be told twice - she happily spent the next 24 hours in bed, only moving to visit the bathroom and fetch snacks.

Though she’d slept well in Hamish’s room, she could barely keep her eyes open once she got home.

She still couldn’t remember what had happened, but Randall had assured her that this was a totally normal side-effect of some sedatives, and she’d feel better after sleep.

And he was right. On Sunday morning Bela had woken with a clear head and a spring - well, maybe a hop - in her step. While the rest, cold compresses and pain relief had considerably lessened her discomfort, the bruises had yet to fade. 

With a renewed sense of purpose she took a shower, pulled on her comfiest leggings and fired off a quick text to Randall before heading to the laundry room.   

- - - - - 

 As Bela climbed the stairs to the penthouse hallway she looked around, trying to distract herself from the dull throbbing in her legs. There was no denying that the building was beautiful; lovingly restored exposed brick clad the walls of the stairwell, accented by a highly polished brass bannister, industrial light fittings and a buffed hardwood floor that looked suspiciously like an original feature.

An apartment here must cost more than what Hamish made in a year. Bela was beginning to suspect that the tall blonde had more disposable income than most of the other TAs she knew at Belgrave. 

The only thing that the deluxe block was missing, she thought, was an elevator.

She huffed in relief as she finally came face-to-face with the slick, black penthouse door. She took a moment to catch her breath and then rapped twice. 

After a few minutes a sleepy figure dressed in a casual navy button-down, appeared from behind the door. 

“Bela?” Hamish’s eyebrows arched in surprise as he looked at the woman on his doorstep. “I thought you were resting?… I mean… Hello.” His eyes crinkled slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. 

The corner of Bela’s mouth lifted in a small smile as she raised her eyes to catch his. “I’m fine, promise. Sorry if I woke you, I messaged Randall for your address - I hope that’s ok? I just wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow these.” She held out a stack of freshly-washed clothes towards him. “And for everything else - you know, you kind of saved me”. 

Hamish flushed slightly. “I don’t know about that” he shrugged, “I’m sure you would have done the same for a friend.”

He reached out to grab the bundle, brushing his warm fingers against Bela’s wrist.  

“Ah - right.” Bela pulled her arm back abruptly. She suddenly felt self-conscious. Friend. Of course Hamish was just being polite, as always. Their date plans had been ruined twice now and after the situation the other night he was probably starting to regret asking her out in the first place.

Hamish frowned as a small crease appeared between her brows. 

“Yeah,” she began, “of course. Thanks anyway though, I really appreciate it.” She produced a clear bottle from her bag and thrust it towards him. “Just, as a thank you - taking care of someone isn’t much fun on a night out. Let me know if I can do anything, I owe you a favour now!” 

Hamish barely had time to drop the clothes and grab the vodka before she turned away from the door and bolted down the hallway. He stood frozen for a moment before he rushed after her. By the time he reached Bela she had already travelled down one set of stairs - a surprising distance for someone who was still visibly struggling to move comfortably. 

“Wait! Bels - wait a minute.”

She didn’t stop until his hand closed around her elbow. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how angry and guilty he was that she had been threatened because of him and how glad he was that she was ok - more than glad, but when she spun around her expression caught him off-guard. She lifted her head defiantly, cheeks burning.

His words died under her steady gaze. 

Instead, Hamish raised the bottle. “You can’t expect me to drink this on my own?”

- - - - -

“Liquid Lust” Bela declared with a flourish, handing him a sunset-hued beverage. 

Hamish took a sip and sighed in appreciation “It’s fruity.” He took a second sip, “...and strong”.

Bela grinned. “That’s the tequila. I can’t believe you had hibiscus tea and syrup in your bar, what are the chances?”. 

“A well-stocked bar, is one of life’s essentials.” Hamish smiled back at her from over the rim of his glass. Hours had passed since Bela had turned up at his door. Comfortable conversation over an afternoon drink had morphed gradually into a cocktail-making competition, though Hamish couldn’t say when exactly they’d moved from one to the other, or who was winning.

They’d started with a Cupid’s Arrow, which led to a round of blackberry Potion d’Amours, then on to a pink-tinted Queen of Hearts and finally, the rather interestingly-named, Between the Sheets. Things were starting to get a little blurry around the edges.

Now they were both sprawled across Hamish’s large leather sofa, Bela’s legs outstretched, her feet resting in his lap.

“Your turn.” Bela prompted, waving her empty glass. 

Hamish reluctantly dislodged her and made his way to the open-shelved bar that took up a large portion of the wall in his loft space. He ducked behind the countertop and reappeared after a few minutes with two tall glasses.

“Sex on the Beach.” he said with a wry smile. 

Bela’s eyes widened slightly and then she burst out laughing. “Wait -” she said, setting the glass down on the nearby coffee table before walking to the bar. She emerged moments later with two smaller glasses. “We should drink these first then,” she said with a wink, “best not to rush things”. 

She handed him a smaller glass topped with whipped cream. “It’s a shot.” Hamish felt heat creep up his neck as he recognised the layers of amaretto, coffee liqueur and irish cream. “Yes… a Blow Job shot”. 

Bela snorted. “Take it you’ve had one before then?” 

The sound that came out of Hamish’s throat was something close to a growl. He threw the shot back and chased it with his cocktail. 

“Bottoms up,” he gestured to her to finish her drinks before heading back to the bar. 

Two can play at this game, he thought darkley.  

On some level Hamish acknowledged that his judgement was impaired. Logically he knew his reaction to Bela being in danger, the way he’d lost control, wasn’t normal, but when he was around her he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it. She made him feel good for the first time in longer than he cared to remember and he deserved to feel good, didn’t he? 

He set down a tumbler filled with clear liquid. 

“Don’t tell me we’re switching to water?” Bela looked a little disappointed. 

“No,” Hamish smirked “Vodka, rosemary syrup and lemon juice, also known as a Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down”. 

It was Bela’s turn to blush.

- - - - -

“Huh?” Hamish raised his head from the sofa to look over to the bar, where Bela’s head was just visible.

“I said, do you have cola?” she asked, looking through the various bottles, jars and garnishes in the bar’s mini fridge. 

Hamish pulled himself to his feet and went to retrieve a bottle from the kitchen. “Here.” He held it out to her as he joined her behind the bar. 

“Of course it was in your actual fridge, not your special cocktail fridge,” she said, nudging him in the side playfully. 

Hamish tried not to focus on the warm tingle that spread through his midriff when she made contact. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the vanilla and cinnamon scent from her shampoo as she leaned across him to add a generous splash of cola to the glasses in front of him.

Thanks to his heightened senses her smell was one of the first things he’d noticed about Bela when he met her - warm and rich like freshly-baked pastries. He almost wished she hadn’t washed his clothes before returning them. 

“Soulmate?” 

His eyes shot open. “Yes… uh.” He faltered, uncharacteristically. “Sorry, what?”  

She shot him a questioning look, “It’s a Soulmate.” She gestured to the glasses on the counter, “Rum, cherries, cola. Hey, are you ok Haim? Do you want water instead?”. 

Hamish shook his head, “No, I’m ok - I can handle my alcohol”. 

“Of course you can, Profess- ah!”. 

He caught her as she tripped, pulling her close to his chest to support her weight before she hit the floor. The heat of her body, pressed flush against his, soaked through the thin layers of cotton separating them and spread through him, an instant warmth that sparked what felt like a million minuscule explosions across every cell in his body.      

They both hesitated for a moment before Bela took a shallow breath and pulled herself off him. Through a cloud of embarrassment she dimly registered how Hamish’s hand lingered on the small of her back and how shaken he looked as he reluctantly stepped away.  

“There you go, saving me again.” She glanced up at him and then frowned, turning to the mess on the counter. “Our drinks weren’t so lucky”.

He recovered quickly, producing a stack of cocktail napkins from a nearby draw, which he used to dab the pools of liquid. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s fine, I’ll get us a refill - do you think you can make it to the sofa without injuring yourself?” 

Bela rolled her eyes, “I’m not always this clumsy you know, maybe i’m the one who can’t hold my drink.”

“Ok” Hamish nodded firmly, as he busied himself clearing up the mess and adding ingredients to a fresh set of glasses. “Well, this will be our last one then.”

Bela mentally kicked herself as she carefully picked her way back to the living area. The last thing she wanted right now was for the evening to end. She was enjoying seeing the normally buttoned-up Hamish let loose a little, but even in this state he was too much of a gentleman to let her drink too much. Still, flirty-tipsy Hamish might just be her new favourite drinking companion - and she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have his arms wrapped around her when he caught her. 

His thin shirt had done little to hide the broad, muscular outline of his shoulders when he pulled her to him, and even distracted by her own clumsiness, she found herself wanting to run her hands across those shoulders and down his back. 

Caught in her own thoughts, she barely noticed that she had been staring at him, watching the shape of his arms, shoulders and chest, until he cleared his throat, snapping her out of her haze, and handed over her final drink.    

She took it, and quickly swallowed a sip to hide her embarrassment. “Apple juice, gin and... lemon?” she guessed, swirling remnants of the sweet, sharp liquid around her mouth. 

“Impressive.” Hamish sat down and leaned towards her, his eyes deep pools. “I call it Dutch Courage.”

“Oh, really?” Bela placed her glass down. Her heart beat faster as she leaned towards Hamish, noting with interest when his cheeks flushed and he edged closer, as if he could hear the steady thrumming in her chest. His eyes flicked down as she licked a trace of lemony sweetness from her lips. “And what are we going to do with our Dutch Courage, Haim?” 

Hamish growled lightly under his breath. “To hell with it,” he whispered, before leaning forward suddenly, capturing her lips in a kiss. 

[readbookywooks]

There Is No One Left

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.

One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.

"Why did you come?" she said to the strange woman. "I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me."

The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.

There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.

"Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.

She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib--Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else--was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were "full of lace." They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer's face.

"Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?" Mary heard her say.

"Awfully," the young man answered in a trembling voice. "Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago."

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

"Oh, I know I ought!" she cried. "I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!"

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants' quarters that she clutched the young man's arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder. "What is it? What is it?" Mrs. Lennox gasped.

"Some one has died," answered the boy officer. "You did not say it had broken out among your servants."

"I did not know!" the Mem Sahib cried. "Come with me! Come with me!" and she turned and ran into the house.

After that, appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.

During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by everyone. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and tightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.

Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.

When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Everyone was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if everyone had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.

But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.

"How queer and quiet it is," she said. "It sounds as if there were no one in the bungalow but me and the snake."

Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men's footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms. "What desolation!" she heard one voice say. "That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her."

Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.

"Barney!" he cried out. "There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!"

"I am Mary Lennox," the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father's bungalow "A place like this!" "I fell asleep when everyone had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?"

"It is the child no one ever saw!" exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. "She has actually been forgotten!"

"Why was I forgotten?" Mary said, stamping her foot. "Why does nobody come?"

The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.

"Poor little kid!" he said. "There is nobody left to come."

It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also had left the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even remembering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little rustling snake.