#Beaumont Ball

[z0mbiefrank]

Ray Toro at Beaumont Club, Kansas City 2003

[slowlystupendousdelusion]

That is an insane choice Lucy

[oculiaperticlausi]

closed — @brightstvrlights

"I'm an asshole," the man says as she opens her front door. Although it was kind of terrifying she had opened he door before he even had the chance to knock. His gaze drifts across her, realizing she's not in a ball gown. A part of him wishes he would have realized that she wasn't going to attend the event without a reason to go, maybe he could have taken him but he already found another person to go with. He clears his throat, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out the folded up piece of paper as he holds it out to her. "His last known pin is Trinity." His theory of the kid being the killer was crumbling as the days went on and not a single sighting, a single shred of evidence that even indicated he was on the island. He has a feeling if Atticus was the killer that urge would be too good not to slip up somewhere. "And if I do find anything else you know you'll be the first person I call, Beaumont."

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

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[cherrycola27]

A Favor Among Friends

Masterlist Next Part

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

...........................................

Part 1: The First Ball of the Season

Dearest Reader,

I am sure you, just like I am, are buzzing about the upcoming social season. This year's marriage mart is filled with the cream of the crop and overflowing with perfectly beautiful ladies and perfectly handsome gentlemen.

This narrator is excited to see what matches are made this year.

But before the first ball of the season, I hope you all place your bets as to which ladies will find success and which will be left broken hearted.

All eyes this year, seem to be on the house of Lord and Lady Beaumont. At the ripe age of six-and-twenty, their daughter, Miss Y/N Beaumont, enters her fourth social season without a husband. With het older sister being the Dutchess of Miramar, and her older brother set to inherent the family title, one can only wonder why Miss Beaumont has yet to secure a match, and what her family plans to do if she fails again this season.

However, it seems there will be some excitement that many young ladies, and their mamas can look foward too.

After an extended period away in the Americas, this narrator is thrilled to report that the Viscount Bradley Bradshaw has returned to London in hopes to take a wife this season. The only question is, who will be the lucky lady that will catch his eye?

...........................................

"Isn't it wonderful to be back in London?" Your mother chirped from the carriage. "Yes, quite wonderful." You responded, not taking your eyes away from the passing landscape. You sighed.

You dreaded being back in London. You already knew that people would be whispering about you in hushed corners. Girls would giggle and cover their smirks as you walked by, a buzz about that fact that you were old, and still unwed.

It's not that you didn't want to marry. You just didn't want to make the wrong choice. You wanted someone who was kind and valued you as more than a body to carry a child. You wanted someone who liked your wit and charm and appreciated the many talents you had.

"Darling." Your mother called, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed back as you turned to face her and your father.

"I asked if you enjoyed your time in Miramar with your sister and the Duke?" Your mother repeated. "Yes, Mama, it was absolutely splendid. William, Micheal, and Violet have grown so much since you've seen them last." You beamed as you talked about your niece and nephews.

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. But, your parents insisted you come home.

"Wonderful." Your mother smiled before her expression turned more serious. "Y/N, there is something your father and I must discuss with you."

"What?" You asked her. "We know that you have had some difficulties securing a match. It is very noble for you to hold out for love, but sometimes, one must forego love and find a sensible match." Your mother began.

"What do you mean?" You say. "What I mean is—" she sighs. "Your sister is a Dutchess. Your brother will inherit the estate, and you— you will have nothing. And I know Eddie would never let you go without, but darling, your father and I want to know you will be taken care of once we are gone." She tells you.

"Eddie and Clarissa would make sure I'm taken care of. So would Marianne and George." You say.

"We know they would." Your father speaks up finally. "But it is not their job. That is the job of a husband. Which is why your mother and I have decided that if you do not secure a match by the end of the season, we will find one for you." He states.

"What?" You shriek. "An arranged marriage? I will not agree to it." You huff. "You don't have a choice. We love you, but we will not let you tarnish the family name by becoming a spinster!" Your father declares.

You open your mouth to respond, but he shoots you a look that lets you know his mind is made up and that this conversation is over. You sulk into your carriage seat and refuse to look at either of your parents for the remainder of the ride.

............

Your first few days back in London are a flurry of trips to the market, the jeweler, and the modiste. Your mother insists that a new wardrobe will help in your quest to sequester a husband. You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. Even though some would say it's melancholy, you think it's just right. The thought of a dress in that color gives you the tinest bit of hope as you prepare for the season.

..........

Viscount Bradley Bradshaw was not thrilled to be back in London. He would much rather be in the countryside, but he had ignored his estate for too long, and it was now to the point that he could no longer manage on his own. He needed a wife. Someone else to share the burden with.

He didn't need, nor really want, a love match. But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend.

He'd heard much about the ladies that were available this season, and there seemed to be several promising options. He just hoped he could find someone quickly, have a short courtship, an even shorter engagement, and be married before the meddling mamas sicked their daughters on him.

He ran his hands over his face in the back of his carriage. There were so many things he needed go do this week before the first ball of the season.

He needed to collect a few payments, pay the staffs wages, and head to the tailor. Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. He couldn't risk being on the dance floor with a potential wife and have his seams bust.

He glanced outside his carriage and saw the parade of ladies and their mothers walking around and gossiping.

"One season, Bradley, you can do this for one season." He whispered to himself before grabbing his journal and writing.

...............

The first ball at the home of Lord and Lady Whittmore came faster than you imagined. It seemed you'd just unpacked your trunk when your ladies' maids came in to help you dress and prepare for the evening.

They tied your corsets and stays, fastened each tiny button, styled your hair into an elegant half up, half down hairstyle, and helped you adorn yourself with a few simple jewels that your mother insisted on.

Standing back from your mirror, you looked every bit the part of an eligible bachelorette. Your deep red dress accentuated your features. The sparkling stones sewn onto it caught the light beautifully.

Your silk gloves elongated your arms, and the garnet necklace and earrings you wore matched your dress perfectly.

Your father smiled warmly, and your mother gasped when you descended the stairs to the foyer where they were waiting for you along with your brother and his wife.

"Y/N! You look most marvelous. Surely you will be the crown jewel of the ball!" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, gushed as she hugged you.

"Thank you, Clarissa." You smiled at her warmly before your mother ushered everyone out to the carriages. You rode with Eddie and Clarissa to the Whittmore estate, thankful to have a reprieve from your parents talking your ear off about how important it was for you to find a match, and this ball would be your best chance.

The Whittmore estate was lovely when you arrived. Candles lit up the great rooms, lively string music played. There was delicious food and drinks at every corner. Lady Whittmore handed you your dance card, which you quickly secured around your wrist.

Your brother insisted on taking you on a turn about the room, which meant you stopped to talk to several noblemen and had several ask to place their name on your card.

You can't remember half of those you danced with. Just that they would step on your feet or only talk about themselves. Anytime they asked you a question, it was about how many children you wanted and if you knew how to run a house. They didn't care that you were well read, knew three languages, or that you could play the harp. Heirs, and lots of them. That's all they cared about.

After a quatrain with some Lord old enough to be your father, you stepped away from the dance floor in hopes of taking a break and catching your breath. You grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to find a quiet place to sit and have a moment to yourself. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. A large body collided with yours, causing you to trip and spill your drink, and there's all over yourself.

"Oh my goodness! This dress is new!" You shrieked as you frantically tried to dry it with your hankerchief.

"My apologies, Miss. I wasn't watching where I was going." The person who crashed into you said.

"Of course you weren't. You Lords waltz around here with your noses so high in the air that you forget to look down and pay attention." You shot back at them.

There was a moment of silence where you realized that you probably shouldn't have said that. Especially if you wanted to find a husband.

"I'm sor—" you began as you looked up. But once you saw who it was, your words died in your throat.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" You breathed not, not quite believing it was him standing before you. "Ducky? Ducky Beaumont? Is that you?" He asked with a smile.

"No one calls me Ducky anymore, not even Edmond." You say. "Well then, what do they call you?" Bradley asked you.

"Mine name, or Miss Beaumont." You reply. "Miss Beaumont?" Bradley asks you.

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you.

You're just about to correct him again when he suddenly grabs your hand and sweeps you out onto the floor for a waltz. "What was that all about, Lord Bradshaw?" You ask him using his formal title.

"Well, Ducky. There is a young lady who has been pestering me all evening, and I needed to get away from her." Bradley said as he directed your attention to a girl who looked rather annoyed with you.

"Ah, I see." You chuckle. "So, Ducky, tell me, how have you gone four seasons without a husband?" Bradley asks you as the two of you dance.

"It is Miss Beaumont, Lord Bradshaw. We are no longer children, and I am no longer chasing you and my brother around the countryside while our mothers play cards." You say to him. "But, I have simply not been able to find someone who appreciates me and is kind. Everyone only cares about how many children I want and what my dowery is. Not once today have I been asked if I read or if I know another language or if I can play an instrument!" You huff. Bradley chuckles.

"Well, do you read?" He asks you before giving you a spin. "Yes, I read all kinds of books." You reply. "Do you know any other languages?" He asks with a chuckle. "I know three! I speak Spanish, French, and Italian!" You exclaim. "And what about musical instruments? Can you play any?" He smiles at you. "I am most accomplished with the harp." You smile back at him.

"Well, you are very well rounded, Miss Beaumont, certainly interesting." Bradley tells you.

"And you are the only person in this room who knows that. Which is probably why I am on my way to be an old maid at the age of six-and-twenty." You sigh.

"That is not old. I am not much older than that myself. I went to school with your brother, and we are both barely two-and-thirty." Bradley says as the song ends.

"Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bradshaw." You say as you curtsey to him.

"No, thank you, Ducky." He smiles and winks at you before bowing and walking away.

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you.

You can remember the exact moment you realized your feelings for Bradley weren't platonic. It was when you were fourteen, and he and your brother had come home from their second year at university. The tall, lanky boy you'd spent summers with had filled out into a broad, brawny man.

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you.

Maybe that's why you'd never tried too hard to find a suitor because deep down, you were holding out for Bradley. And now, that he's back, you hope that this might be the year that you find a husband.

..............

The next day, you were giddy as calling hours approached. You prayed that if anyone came, it would be Bradley.

When a valet came and said there was a caller for you, you practically leaped from your seat on the sofa, only to be met with disappointment that it was Lord Artenson. He was followed by Lord Phillips, Lord Martin, and Lord Herrington, who was determined to have you as his third wife.

You sighed and resigned yourself to reading a book once Lord Herrington finally left. Calling hours were almost over, and you were silently disappointed that Bradley had not come. But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more.

You were just about to head upstairs to your room and your parents to their own when a valet came in the drawing room.

"Excuse me Lord and Lady Beaumont, it seems there is another visitor here for Miss Beaumont." He spoke.

"Really?" Your father asked. "Who is it?"

"The Viscount Bradshaw."

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @withahappyrefrain

[tessa-liam]

Life Goes On

Marabelle Series

Chapter 15 – Part 2

Choices – The Royal Romance, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?

Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F!OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC), Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson

Most characters belong to Choices/Pixelberry Studios

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence

Many thanks to @selina012 for pre-reading.

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement

Chapter Summary – Liam returns home to Cordonia to find Sophie and to address his nation about the university terror attack.

Music & Title Inspiration: Life Goes On, Ed Sheeran, Luke Combs; Run To You, Lucy Thomas

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

Aboard the Royal jet, Rashad peered outside the window and took in the white sands of Cordonia's shores passing by. Suddenly his ears popped, and the pilot spoke over the intercom, announcing the estimated arrival time was in 5 minutes. He felt nervous and helpless and could not help but repeat his fears in his mind: ‘There hasn't been any good news’.

Drake watched Liam walk away from his seat, his hand curled around a glass tumbler filled with an expensive scotch. He wondered if they would hear news before they landed. Remembering his best friend's emotional spiral downward after the past assassination attempt three years ago at the palace; this had the makings of that same pattern. This time though, Drake was not going to leave Liam alone.

The dire problem of not having any clues where Sophie was at the moment was suffocating.

As they waited to land, the minutes seemed to draw out. There was not much he or any of Liam's guards could do but wait and prepare to offer the crown prince their full support.

Liam finished off his scotch, the fiery liquid barely registering, and tried to review the notes for his upcoming address to his nation in his head while stepping into his private suite onboard.

There had still been no update on his beloved Sophie's whereabouts or circumstances.

He took a deep, long breath and turned to Bastien walking next to him with unmistakable determination. "Bastien, contact the security team back home immediately. I need all the current details on the scene and an update on the rescue operations."

Bastien sprang into action, calling the security team leader and putting him on speakerphone so that Liam could hear the conversation in real time. Captain Sean Wilson answered the call.

"Captain, this is Crown Prince Liam Rys, requesting an update on the incident at the University of Cordonia." Liam's voice came through the phone speaker, clear and strong.

"Your Highness, the situation at the scene is complicated and we have deployed additional rescue teams to help facilitate the speedy rescue and recovery process.”

The captain’s voice was tired but remained professional. "We have confirmation that multiple students have been injured in the shooting. We have increased security three-fold around the campus and are working diligently to track down the suspects."

Liam's fists clenched involuntarily, but he remained stoic as he continued. "I need a complete list of all the known casualties. I want to know about each and every one."

"Your Highness, we have established a comprehensive emergency response mechanism. At present, we are compiling the information and rescue teams are working at full ability. The list of casualties is being urgently collated, and I will send it to you via encrypted channels as soon as it is completed."

Liam nodded, and though he could not be seen, there was an unmistakable insistence in his tone: "I need this completed as soon as possible. In addition, please continue to strengthen the search and rescue efforts to ensure the safety of all students. At the same time, increase the manpower to hunt down the suspects and I demand that they be brought to justice in the shortest possible time."

Shortly after hanging up, the sound of an encrypted email rang on Liam's tablet, which he quickly clicked on; and displayed a list of known casualties on the screen as asked. There were fourteen people in the column of the dead, and dozens of names in the column of the injured. Liam took a deep breath and began to go through the list of names, one by one, each name like a sharp blade, stabbing at his heart. He searched carefully, afraid to miss any possible detail. But until the end, he did not find Sophie's name.

Liam clenched his fists, his eyes shining with unshakeable determination. "Bastien, as soon as the jet lands, we will go to the scene and assess the situation personally.”

Bastien, at once responded: "Yes, Your Highness. I will ensure that everything is in place."

Liam turned his head to stare out the window at the clouds; his heart was in turmoil. Although Sophie's name did not appear on the list of casualties, his fears did not diminish. He knew that the lack of news did not mean that Sophie was necessarily safe. That she might still be struggling, or that for some reason she might not be able to communicate with the outside world. He had to ensure that Sophie was safe personally.

Thinking of this, he took out his phone and touched Sophie’s number with trembling fingers. But all he heard on the other end of the line was a cold, robotic voice: 'Sorry, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable.'

Sending a text, he carefully tapped every letter, as he expressed his worries and thoughts.

'Love, please call me as soon as you get this message. I'm worried about you.'

___

'Where are you? Are you safe? Why can't I reach you?'

___

'I'm already on my way back to Cordonia. Please wait for me. Please.'

As the minutes ticked by, the 'unread' message on the screen was an ironic and cruel reminder of the futility of all his efforts.

Frustrated, he then tried to call Sophie's aunt and then sent a text message to Maxwell. 'Max, are you okay? Where are you? Have you heard from Sophie?'

Shortly after, his phone vibrated and Liam checked the text immediately .... only to see Maxwell reply,

"Liam, me and Daniel are at the Malic Hotel now, we're all right. But Sophie got separated in the confusion!!!!😢 I have been trying to reach her without success. I'm really worried about her.'

Receiving this update, Liam, although still anxious, was also relieved that Maxwell felt safe. He immediately replied: "Max, good to hear you're okay. Please keep in touch, I'll be back as soon as I can, and we'll find Sophie together."

Liam then picked up his phone again and sent a text message to Sophie's Aunt Bethany:

'Duchess Bethany, this is Liam. How are you? Have you heard from Sophie? I am very concerned for her safety.'

A few minutes later, Bethany replied to his message: 'Your Highness, I'm fine, but Sophie hasn't been heard from since the ceremony. I am also anxiously awaiting her contact. Please try to not worry, I'm sure she will be all right'

Liam's heart sank to rock bottom as he closed his eyes, silently praying that she would be found safe and unharmed. At the same time, he also felt a deep sorrow for all the innocent victims of the attack. He understood as crown prince, he had the responsibility and obligation, along with his father, to ensure the security of the country and its people. This attack was an acute test of his leadership.

University of Cordonia, Capital

As Sophie wandered aimlessly through the maze of people, her eyes welled up. The adrenaline of an earlier escape from the auditorium faded and she felt more sadness, fear and heartache than she had ever felt before. For a moment, she could not control her emotions and tears ran down her cheeks. How she wished it all had been a bad dream, that she would wake up and find that it had all been a false alarm.

An hour later, Sophie and other surviving students and guests were evacuated in an orderly manner to a hotel outside of the campus, the Malic Hotel. The hotel was temporarily requisitioned as an emergency shelter and was surrounded by police and security personnel to ensure internal safety and order. But even so, there was an indescribable tension and unease still in the air.

Sophie had been assigned to room 302. The moment she stepped into her hotel room; Sophie could finally catch her breath. She sat wearily on the edge of the bed, looking out of the window with empty eyes, but her mood could not be calmed. She was eager to know more about what happened at the graduation, especially the mysterious men in black masks, their identity, purpose and why they were there; all of these became lingering questions in her mind.

She instinctively wanted to turn on her phone, hoping to find some clue or news report that would at least give her a sense of what had happened. But reality threw icy water at her - her phone screen was broken and riddled with cracks. She quickly pressed the power button, but the screen only flickered a few times, and then no longer responded. Sophie's eyes flashed with despair, as her contact with the outside world was completely cut off.

Thoughts came like a flood. She missed her Aunt Bethany, who supported her no matter what she was going through, who gave her endless warmth and encouragement, and who always made her feel at home in Cordonia. At the same time, she missed her horse, Marabelle. Every time she mounted Marabelle's back and galloped across the wide fields of Ramsford, all her troubles seemed to go away with the wind. Marabelle's eyes were always full of trust and loyalty, and there was a tacit understanding between them without words. How she wished now that she could feel the freedom and joy of running with Marabelle again.

But most of all, she missed Liam. In this unknown and dangerous moment, how she wished he could be with her, give her support and comfort. Liam, the man she was in love with, who gave her strength. She had never been so impatient to see him, to feel safe in his arms.

Now, however, she could only face all this alone; tears in her eyes had slipped down once again. In addition to missing Liam, Sophie's mind was filled with anxiety about the attack. She did not know how many people had been injured or even killed in the attack; whether Candy and Tom would get better, or what was going on with Maxwell and Daniel. They were her friends and family, and their safety stuck with her. She prayed silently that they would be safe.

Amidst this anxiety, there was so many questions. Who were those men in black at the graduation? Why would they target innocent students? What is the purpose behind this attack?

What puzzled her even more was the emblem of the earth and the baby. What does it mean? What has it got to do with the attack?

Her mind was full of confusion and uneasiness, questions swirled with no answers in sight, leaving her breathless. She tried to piece together every detail of the night in her mind, hoping to remember a clue or an answer. But the images were fragmented, leaving her unable to grasp and put together any useful information.

"Liam ..." Sophia muttered under her breath. She recalled what Liam had said about what he had experienced as a young prince and the memories of an assassination attempt that had fear cutting through his heart like a sharp blade.

Exhaustion came flooding in, overwhelming all her thoughts and feelings. Sophie lay in bed, breathing smoothly and deeply, and her body relaxed, as if all her worries and pain had been temporarily released at that moment. She drifted off to sleep with all her doubts, uneasiness, sadness, and longing for Liam.

The Royal Palace, Cordonia

The press was relentless. Inside the throne room, King Constantine stood stoically, as members of the press core demanded answers about the campus attack. Constantine cleared his throat and addressed the press directly and with the assurance of his years of reign and released a statement:

“At this dark hour, I stand before you with profound grief and pain in my heart. Like many of you, I am mourning the lives lost today, and we pray for the wounded to make a full recovery.

While we grieve the senseless violence that struck our country, we are also furious with the loss and sorrow brought on by those responsible for this evil act. We cannot and will not tolerate the murder and harming of innocent lives simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Those who commit such unspeakable acts will be held accountable and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the crown.”

Stepping down from the dais, Constantine was at once escorted by his royal guard out of the throne room. He looked visibly shaken and gripped his cane, trying to stand straight and upright.

Constantine's face was pale, and his eyes were filled with deep sorrow, his elderly face looked worn. But he refused to shed tears, still maintaining his dignified manner, while in public.

Lawrence, his personal guard, moved quickly to his side, “Your Majesty, the Royal jet has just landed with your son.”

Malic Motor Hotel, temporary safe house, University of Cordonia

The second group of surviving students were transported to the Malic hotel in orderly batches by the police in the pre-dawn night. The bright lights in the lobby could not hide the tension and in these in the air. Police officers, security personnel and medical staff were busy shuttling through the hallways to ensure that every student was properly accommodated.

The noise of footsteps and a murmur of conversation broke the sounds of the night. Sophie woke up, opened her eyes slightly, and through a gap in the half-closed curtains. She saw several figures hurrying along the corridor, as if new survivors had been brought in. She got up and dressed. Soon the door was gently opened, and a figure slowly entered the room. It was a girl about Sophie's age, a little wobbly in her step, visibly shaken by the night's horror and still reeling from the shock.

"Hey, um ... excuse me. I was assigned to this room. Is it okay if I come in?" The girl's voice was small and trembling, and her eyes were slightly timid.

Sophie at once stood up and smiled back, "Hello, come on in." The girl came closer, and Sophie could see her face. She had an East Asian face, long deep brown hair, and large black eyes full of fear and confusion, as if she had just woken up from a nightmare.

The girl said softly, "thank you, my name is Hana. What happened tonight was terrible ..."

Sophie took Hana's hand and sat her down on the edge of the bed. "Hi Hana, my name is Sophie. I know we have been through the same horror. But it is all right now. We can talk together and maybe it will make you feel better." Sophie tried to sound calm and friendly, hoping to bring some comfort to the girl.

Hana gave Sophie a grateful look, and took a deep breath. She began with great determination to recount her own experience at the graduation.

"I was with friends and all of a sudden the lights went out and they were gunshots ... I tried to run away, but there were screams and chaos all around me. I really don't know how I got out. I was taken to the stadium with some people and stayed there almost overnight until we were brought here. But I never saw my friends again. I got separated from them, I do not know what became of them..." Hana wiped tears from her eyes.

Sophie listened quietly, with a surge of sympathy and understanding. She thought of her friends Candy and Tom, and her cousin Maxwell and Daniel, and a pang of worry filled her heart.

"Hana, I've had my own friends injured and go missing too. Candy's arm was hit by shrapnel, Tom was shot in the shoulder, and they are both in the hospital; and Maxwell and Daniel got separated from me when they escaped. I am really worried about them. But I'm sure they will be all right. Your friends must have gotten out safely, too. You must believe that."

Hana's eyes flashed with emotion and trust as she listened to Sophie's words. "Sophie, you are such a strong person. If only I could be as brave as you."

Sophie patted Hana's arm gently and smiled wryly.

"Hana, it's normal to be afraid in this situation. In fact, I am also afraid, and all the people who have been through this attack."

Then Sophie's tone became a little heavier, and she decided to tell Hana what she had seen. With that, Sophie picked up the paper and pen on the table in the room and drew the sign from memory. Hana's face turned pale when she saw Sophie's drawing; her eyes widened, and she repeated in disbelief, "you saw this sign?"

Sophie nodded, her words unmistakable, "Yes, I'm sure. It was a very strange sign. I saw it clearly. They acted quickly and in an orderly manner. They were not ordinary thugs."

Hana held Sophie's hand tightly, her voice shaking slightly. "This sign, I have seen on the news, but with what specific event, I can't remember. However, it is definitely unusual and must be the hallmark of an organisation or group."

Sophie's eyes sharpened, and she frowned in thought. "This is no coincidence. The men in black were clearly prepared, and their attack may well have been targeted. We must tell the police about this as soon as possible.”

Hana shuddered, her voice filled with fear and worry. "But... will that put us in danger? If they are really that powerful, will they retaliate?"

Sophie's heartrate quickened. Of course she was afraid. The scene of Candy and Tom being shot and wounded replayed again before her eyes. The blood staining their shirts, the pain and helplessness weaving in their desperate eyes. These were images that she could never forget.

Then, in her mind, the panic of people running away, their faces showing fear and helplessness. Screams, cries, and pleas for help made up the most tragic symphony of the night. Fires were burning, the smoke was billowing, and the whole evening was enveloped in despair and confusion.

But thinking of the students who had been victimized, of Maxwell and Daniel who were still missing, and of Candy and Tom who were still in the hospital ... Sophie took a deep breath and quieted her heart. She could not let her fear consume her. She knew that her friends needed her. ... 'If you do not step up, Sophie, this kind of tragedy will happen again.'

Sophie stiffened her resolve, her voice was soft, yet powerful: "No, Hana, we cannot stay quiet. Candy, Tom, and your friends are just some of the many people who were hurt tonight. If we stay silent because we are afraid, more people will be hurt in the future. We can't let this continue to happen."

Hana's fear was replaced by a kind of courage as she listened to Sophie's words. "You're right, Sophie. I won't back down," She nodded firmly.

"Sophie, I'm so happy to meet you." Hana looked sheepishly at Sophie, blushing.

"If it wasn't for you, I don't know what I would have done."

She touched Hana's arm and smiled, "I know you have determination, too, Hana." Sophie was genuinely happy ... happy to be friends with Hana.

Sophie hesitated for a moment, then whispered to Hana, "Hana,can you show me the news? My phone broke during the attack." She pulled out her cracked cell phone.

Hana nodded, and picked up her phone from the nightstand to open the news app. Together, they stared at the small screen, searching for news related to last night's university shooting.

On the screen, several shocking reports soon came into view. The mass shooting at the University of Cordonia had attracted widespread attention from the national and international community. The report detailed the chaos and bloodshed of the night, but also said that the police were fully investigating the incident and promised to bring the perpetrators to justice as soon as possible. As she read, she felt mixed feelings.

Sophie continued browsing. Suddenly, a marked headline hit her eyes and made her heart beat faster. --

"Crown Prince Liam Rys urgently ends his visit to Italy and returns home to respond to the shooting incident at Cordonia University."

She tapped eagerly; the live broadcast of the news began automatically.

On the screen, Liam stood in the doorway of the familiar white, shadowy auditorium, behind which the smoke had not fully cleared and live images of ambulances and police cars could be seen. Liam's figure stood unwavering behind press microphones.. He wore a black suit, his eyes were slightly solemn, but his face was more resolute and decided, that could not be ignored.

Sophie stared intently at the screen, every subtle expression of Liam tugging at her heartstrings. His voice came clearly over the phone, calm and strong.

Sophie's eyes were red and brimmed with tears. Her heart was racing, as she felt Liam's deep emotion coming through the screen. And then Liam's words turned to unquestioning determination:

Sophie stared at the screen, her tears spilling onto her cheeks. The moment she heard him say the words, 'Our Cordonian family', her heart swelling with indescribable excitement and pride; she wanted to run to his side and face all of this with him. However, this emotion was quickly overcome by reason, knowing that she could not expose her relationship with Liam, especially when there were other people around watching. She gently turned down the volume on the phone for fear that Hana would notice her emotional reactions. She clutched the phone tightly, as if she could feel Liam's presence and power in her hand.

"Sophie, what's wrong?"

Hana's voice sounded softly, interrupting her thoughts. Sophie suddenly came back to herself with a disguised smile, trying to sound natural. "Oh, nothing, I just didn't expect Prince Liam to be back so soon, it's only been a few hours since the shooting."

There was a subtle tremor in Sophie's words, afraid that her mind would be read by Hana and cause unnecessary trouble for Liam. She knew that at this particular moment she had to be careful not to reveal her relationship with Liam.

"Hana, could I possibly use your phone again? I want to send a text to my family and tell them about my situation."

Hana heard her words, a flicker of concern in her eyes. She seemed aware of Sophie's inner struggle and longing, but out of respect and trust, she did not ask any more questions, just smiled and nodded, "Of course, Sophie." You can use it whenever you need."

Sophie gave Hana a grateful look, and a warm wave came through her heart. She quickly opened the text messages on the phone, her fingers jumping over the keyboard, as she sent two messages. The first one to Aunt Bethany and the second one to Maxwell. In the text messages, Sophie told them that she was doing well and that they should not worry. She expressed concern for Maxwell and Daniel and hoped they were safe.

After sending the two texts, Sophie took a deep breath and began her text to Liam. She edited the text carefully ...

"Hi, Li, this is Sophie.

I'm all right. I am in Room 302 at the Malic Hotel at the university.

There was a shooting at the graduation, and I was lucky to escape. My phone is broken, and now I'm texting you on my roommate, Hana's phone.

I know you must be terribly busy and worried at the moment, but please believe me, I am fine and safe.

Don't worry about me. Just focus on what's needed right in front of you. I love you and look forward to seeing you soon."

The message didn't mention Liam's real name, and Sophie was confident that he would get her message. After pressing the send button, the words "Delivered" appeared on the screen. Suppressing her feelings, she quickly removed the text message, making sure it left no trace.

It didn’t take long for Sophie to hear back from Maxwell and Aunt Bethany.

Maxwell:

“Sophie, it’s so good to hear from you! Daniel and I are at the Malic Hotel too, and we are doing fine. We were looking for you, too. Just relieved to hear you are okay. We’ll talk more when we meet up.”

Aunt Bethany:

“Dear Sophie, I’m so happy to hear from you! Thank God you are okay. We are all so worried about you, but now we can relax. Be safe and we will see each other soon.”

After receiving notifications of incoming messages, the corners of her mouth cannot help but raise in a happy smile, a big stone in her heart finally fell to the ground. Sophie held the phone and re-read their loving words, feeling the warmth and support from her family.

A ray of sunlight penetrated a gap in the curtain and gently spilled into the hotel room, shining on Sophie's face. She gently closed her eyes, quietly feeling the warmth of the sun, the soft light made her very at ease, like a pair of warm hands, smoothing her fear and anxiety away. She was relieved that Maxwell and Daniel had escaped safely and that she could tell Aunt Bethany about herself.

And Liam will know that she's safe. Sophie found a trace of comfort and strength in reaching out to him.

"Thank you, Hana." Sophie smiled and handed the phone back to her new friend.

Hana took the phone and put it away, quietly watching it all, with a warm glow in her eyes. She may not know the story between Sophie and Liam, but she could sense that there was a deep emotion and connection with him in Sophie's heart. In this time of uncertainty, they were supporting each other and facing life's challenges together.

Cordonia International Airport

The Royal motorcade was situated on the tarmac in wait to take Liam and his men to the university.

Liam strode quickly and confidently to his SUV after his security detail had provided Liam with a report of all the victims and fatalities. Sophie's name was not listed, and Liam's heart remained uncertain, until he saw her with his own eyes.

His duty of keeping alert and informed for his country allowed Liam to control his fears of the possibility of seeing his beloved injured or worse. He fought against every fiber of his being to not burst through the chaos, with full disregard, to search for Sophie among the evacuated students. Liam, surrounded by his royal guard, Drake and Rashad, he walked onto the university grounds.

Drake, on the other hand, was not worried about propriety and cared for none of it. He rushed in and did not pay attention to anything but finding Sophie and Maxwell. He broke past some of the law enforcement and was met by a swarm of flashing cameras and press microphones.

"Back away!" He snapped, having to put his forearm up, and not relent. The flashing bulbs, whirring of camera lenses and questions being thrown at him was enough to drive any sane person mad.

"Don't you have decency? What type of scoundrels and fiends are you?"

An officer who recognized Drake, yelled, "settle down, everyone, he's an American friend of the prince's, stand down and don't crowd him."

On the campus of the University of Cordonia, even after several hours had passed, the chaos in the auditorium had not abated by a minute. Several police cars and ambulances, flashing their warning lights, stood by the side of the road at the ready. Police officers and ambulance workers were busy moving around the scene, serious and focused, although physically and mentally exhausted, but still stuck to their posts, to deal with the incident.

A police cordon has been placed around the scene to seal off the auditorium from the outside world. Liam saw the chaos and destruction ... and the despair of his people.

Liam took a deep breath, adjusted his emotions, and walked resolutely into the crowd and up onto the raised dais. The crowd grew quiet, and all eyes turned to the crown prince.

" Last night, our university campus has experienced an unprecedented trauma. On behalf of the royal family of Cordonia, I extend my sincere comfort and deepest condolences to all those who have been hurt and who have been affected by this tragedy. Your pain is the pain of all Cordonia. We will do everything possible to provide the necessary support and needed assistance to make sure everyone gets through this."

At this point, Liam's eyes flashed a subtle tenderness, that is his endless miss and love for Sophie.

But Liam took a deep breath and condensed his emotions and anger into a powerful determination.

"We will not sit idly by and let go of any of these terrorists. I promise that the Crown will use all resources in its power to track down the attackers and punish those responsible for this tragedy. We will bring justice to the victims, and to our people, to our Cordonian family."

***

The sky in the east gradually lightened as the night slowly faded; like the tide falling, as if in response to his words. A ray of dawn pierced the darkness, and the sun rose at last. The golden light slowly and gently spread over the campus, silently dispelling the darkness and cold; to bring a touch of warmth to the morning. There was renewed trust and hope in the eyes of the crowd. At this moment, they are silently praying, their hearts are full of deep hope: may such a tragedy never be repeated, so that the dead can rest in peace, and so that the living can find the strength to move forward; In the hope that the murderer will be punished, and there will be no hiding places of any crimes and evils.

As the Royal guard escorted Liam from the stage, Bastien approached with Liam’s mobile phone in hand.

“Sir, Lady Sophia has left you a message.”

Thanks for reading ❣️

@choicesficwriterscreations

@selina012

📌tags in the comments, please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[haitherecaringmonke]

NRC staffs meeting Lucille’s Pokemons

Dire Crowley - Klefki

“Miss Beaumont please tell your monster to give me back my keys !”

Moves: Astonish, Play Rough, Fairy Lock, Flash Cannon.

It can be said that Klefki is one of the strangest monsters that Crowley has ever encountered in his entire life.

While he expected monsters looking like animals, he never expected one to look like a key-chain.

Klefki, like many Fairy types, is rather mischievous. And like many of Lucille’s Pokemons, he greatly dislikes Crowley for all the bs the man had put his trainer through.

Since Crowley decks himself in keys, Klefki felt obligated to steal from him. And just pike any other Klefkis, this one will not let go of the keys he had stolen from the Headmaster.

One time while Lucile was out cold after a long day of doing Crowley’s tasks, Klefki stole one of her enclosure keys and unlocked the gate to a certain padlock.

Crowley’s screams can be heard all the way from RSA as he was being chased by Kleki, who is leading Tyrantrum right to the masked man.

Divus Crewel - Eevee

“What an adorable little pup, and to think you can become one in eight different forms when you grow up!”

Moves: Tackle, Swift, Baby-doll Eyes, Quick Attack

It’s no surprise that Crewel is a fashion icon with the most fabulous outfits, but at the end of the day, the man is still a designer, and a lot of times designers have art block.

This is not good for Crewel, so he went outside to get some fresh air, maybe drop by Ramshackle to see if he can came up with any ideas by seeing the Pokemons.

While the man is scrolling through Lucille’s PokeDex, Eevee came over to him and curiously sniffed his pant leg.

Crewel was quite curious of this little fox dog thingie, he had to admit that it was quite adorable. He was well behaved and let the older man pet him as he pleases.

It wasn’t until Lucille told him how Eevee can have 8 different evolutions did Crewel’s interest piqued.

Upon seeing the eight different Eeveelutions, his mind exploded with inspirations. He thanked Lucille, took her PokeDex and Eevee with him and left.

About a week later, Crewel (begrudgingly) returned a very pampered Eevee to Lucille. She did received some new outfits inspired by the Eeveelutions as well as outfits inspired by the Pokemons on her Main Team as compensation though.

Mozus Trein - Meowscarada (Puss)

“You know, you might be my favorite monster out of the bunch”

Moves: Flower Trick, Energy Ball, Fake Out, Dark Pulse

The first time Trein met Puss is when he wandered into the lecture hall on accident. The professor was about to leave when Lucius spotted the humanoid feline creature lurking behind the door.

Lucius, being somewhat territorial, attacked the poor Magician Pokemon, who could only dodge out of fear. Trein had to step in and intercept.

Despite the scuffle, Puss didn’t stop visiting Trein every chance he get to show off some of his magic tricks and the poor man doesn’t understand why.

It wasn’t until later on when he asked Lucille why Puss keeps visiting him, turns out Trein and Lucius reminds Puss of Lucille’s father and his old and aggressive Purrloin. Trein felt honored at the statement, as for Lucius, it might take a while for him to finally warm up to the Magician Pokemon…

Ashton Vargas - Aqua Breed Tauros (Fernando)

(There’s no gif of Aqua Breed Tauros so please have this gif of regular Tauros instead)

“Hahaha! You have raised quite a fantastic beast Beaumont!”

Moves: Horn Attack, Zen Headbutt, Raging Bull, Aqua Jet

It all started when Lucille asked Vargas if she could have some of her Pokemon out so they could let out some steam instead and the man happily agreed, claiming the more the merrier.

So Lucille let her Pokemon out, mostly the ones that are active and have lots of energy to burn, with Fernando being one of them.

Fernando, other than running with the other Pokemon, also had another mission being chase after some of the students that are slacking off when Vargas wasn’t paying attention.

It worked very well since nobody wanted to be ran over by a water bull.

Fernando received some hearty pets from Vargas while his trainer received a pat on her back (that almost toppled her over)

Sam - Runerigus

“What do you say fellow ghost? Would you like to help me out at the shop?”

Moves: Shadow Ball, Earthquake, Shadow Claw, Rock Slide

Sam first meet Runerigus when he wandered into Sam’s shop on accident because he was curious about the presences he felt coming from the shop.

Had it not been for his friends on the other side, Sam would have thought the Pokemon is a statue/mural of some kind and he might have accidentally sell him to someone.

Sam enjoys Runerigus’ company and vice versa. Runerigus is also very careful with navigating around Sam’s shop as to not damage anything (because Lucille can’t exactly afford to pay for the damages)

Runerigus offers Sam his help whenever the man lets him stay around his shop. As a few unfortunate students have discovered that Runerigus is very good at spotting thieves.

[animentality]

Concept: Gortash, being the face of the Absolute plan, has to go to fancy balls and parties that Durge, being the hide in the shadows assassin of the plan, cannot be seen at. Yet Gortash still needs to bring dates, because showing up alone is a social faux pas. But every time he invites someone out they die mysteriously afterwards.

Gortash: You HAVE to stop doing this to EVERYONE that accompanies me to a social function.

Durge: Stop what?

Gortash: Don’t play coy. Lord Beaumont falling to his death I would buy, but falling onto a spike fence and getting tangled in his own entrails as he tries to free himself? You did that, my dear. It’s clear as day.

Durge: I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if I DID I would say whoever that is should have kept their hands and eyes to themselves at last week’s soirée.

anon I'm dying.

the idea of the dark urge watching angrily from beneath the floor boards as Gortash flirts with nobles and imagining the intricate ways they will punish them for touching their Gort...

Hm.

scintillating potential. "you can flirt, you can kiss, you can even take them home with you."

"but that night you share together will be their last."

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 1 MATCH 51

Yuuma propaganda:

“he can be yuor everything <3

im not even kidding like he has taken on so many different roles he can be your dream man (horse?) whatever your type is

he has

-won a race for you

-gone skiing with you

-gone to the beach with you (he can surf)

-offered you his scarf when it was cold

-rescued you from trouble (multiple occasions)

-fought his rival for you (another horse with a handsome human face)

-fed you asparagus (homemade)

-gotten a job in construction

-become a rockstar (dedicated a song to you and let you live your wattpad fanfic life)

all this i listed off the top of my head. theres probably more he has done but i just cant remember

hes very talented and treats you right ✓ experience rapturous love today”

Maxwell propaganda:

“First of all he’s a silly goofy guy AND he’s extremely loyal and will always have your back. Within hours of meeting you, he decides his family will sponsor you in the competition to become the crown prince’s bride. He falls in love with you along the way, never expecting you’d choose him, the younger brother of a bankrupted duke, over the prince himself. Maxwell supports you through scandals and assassination attempts, eventually facing down his own father Barthelemy to protect you and your child from the former duke’s scheming. All this on top of the years he spent providing for his brother’s ex and her secret son, keeping them both safe and out of harm’s way simply because he cared. He’s always thinking of his friends, making them laugh and eagerly joining their crazy plans without ever expecting anything in return. His smile hides a sensitive side, a man who lost his mother at a young age and overcame body-image issues, yet still holds insecurities about his value to others. Maxwell is a sweetheart who always tries to do the right thing, and I still think about him years after playing The Royal Romance series.

Okay so it's a mobile gacha game, let's get that out of the way. BUT LISTEN. 

The premise of the story is that the MC is a regular waitress in New York, when a foreign prince and his friends come to her table as a way to have a bachelor party for the prince who will soon have to choose a woman to marry in a The Bachelor -type of contest. MC and the prince hit it off pretty well and one of his friends, Maxwell, decides to throw in his lot with the MC, since the house the future queen is from gets a lot of perks and his family is Broke. MC goes along bc her job sucks ass and she figures why not.

BUT THEN! As the competition progresses, the MC spends a lot of time with the prince and other nobles, yes, but also with Maxwell. And Maxwell is a clown-type comic relief character for most of the time, but also genuinely sweet and considerate, and very much on the same wavelength with the equal goofball MC. What for me personally changed the game was when MC and Maxwell dance at a ball together, and the MC can say that there's no one they'd rather dance with than Maxwell. I myself chose that in a completely platonic bestie way. But he gets a bit panicky and says to be careful not to let anyone hear things like that when MC is in the running for the hand of the prince so that no one gets any wrong ideas! And I went "....ideas? 👀"

“Unlike other romancable characters, Maxwell isn't romancable until book 2 (the previous scene is in book 1, each book ~20 chapters), and unlike other romance options, you really have to have your eyes set on him in order to unlock his route, and ohhh it's so worth it! The set-up of falling for the person who brought you there to marry someone else, to choose the jester when you were meant to have the king.... exquisite. 

The dynamic between MC and Maxwell is so fun and full of genuine affection, and while other characters can dismiss Maxwell as an unserious clown, MC is very much characterised by the dialogue as Getting him and loving to express joy in life the same way he does. When MC and Maxwell can finally marry, it feels like they're really choosing their best friend to spend their lives with and are so excited about it.

I know this wrestles in a league multiple times smaller than many of the other combatants, but the Maxwell romance in genuinely one of my favourites in any video game. Give him a chance!”

[luvu2themoonand2saturn]

the very first night

joe burrow x fem!reader | bridgerton!au

summary: at a bridgerton family ball, you meet mr. joseph burreaux for the first time

warnings: pure fluff, idiots in love (at first sight), my attempt at writing with the eloquence and beauty the regency era deserves

word count: 6.5k

notes about the au: reader's last name is sedgewick, i'm spelling joe's last name burreaux to be fancier, and this is set in 1812 (the year before the first bridgerton book)!

the long promised start of my bridgerton!au is finally here!! i hope you enjoy reading this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 this is the first part of a brief series (thinking maybe 4 parts? no promises about when the next one will be out lol) that will establish the basis of the reader/burreaux relationship. i would love to also write oneshots/blurbs in this au, so if you have any requests for that please send them in <3 happy reading!!

dividers by @firefly-graphics <3

The start of the season in London brings much excitement with it, as always. A close acquaintance of the much sought after Lord Bridgerton, Mr. Joseph Burreaux, has made a return from his travels on the Continent and is expected to appear at the Bridgerton ball later this week. The prospective diamond of the season, Charlotte Beaumont, is also expected to be in attendance. Gossips are already pinning these two as a promising, and very attractive, match, but whether or not Burreaux intends to marry this season is unconfirmed at present. Even if he has no intentions of marriage this year, if the diamond sets her sights on him, he will surely find himself locked down by the close of the season!

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers,

27 April 1812

The largest ball of the season in London thus far was to be held tonight, hosted by the well known Bridgerton family at their residence in town. Presumably, many eligible young women across London were feeling particularly stressed as they prepared for the occasion, all hoping to catch the eye of one of the charming Bridgerton men. You, however, were as comfortable around the Bridgertons as around your own family, sometimes even more so. 

The Sedgewicks were a well respected, affluent family in London high society, and thanks to the time your father had shared with the former and deceased Lord Bridgerton at Oxford, a close bond existed between the clans. Even after the passing of Lord Bridgerton, the bond remained strong. Lord and Lady Sedgewick, your parents, supported the Bridgertons while they grieved.

You had known the family since you were born, but were especially close with Daphne. Being the same age, you two had entered London society in the same season. 

You had known the family since you were born, but were especially close with Daphne. Being the same age, you two had entered London society in the same season. 

This year marked your second season. Reflecting on the young woman you had been a year ago, you felt slightly grieved. The girl of last season had been so hopeful and had had such faith in finding a true love match. However, only one month into the season, most girls’ hopes of finding such love had been crushed. The men, although often dashing and outwardly respectable, often had questionable reputations or impure intentions, or were just plain old blithering idiots whose company could not possibly be tolerated for longer than a single waltz. That wasn’t to say you hadn’t had any suitors last year; as the only Sedgewick daughter, you were highly sought after. The trouble was that you, even after having given up on the idea of finding a true love match, couldn’t even find a suitor agreeable enough that you felt you could spend a lifetime with them without compromising your own sanity. 

Entering this season, you were trying to lower your expectations. Another season without a match would not look good, and you had no desire to be labelled a spinster or to be spurned by men in favour of younger, more naive brides. You had to take advantage of what youthful charms you still possessed. 

You secured the low bun in your hair with one final pin, craning your neck to examine your handiwork. You had often mourned not having sisters to help you do your hair, although your mother had taught you how to manage it yourself well. You blended some rouge across your cheeks to give yourself a subtle flush, using a light touch; you knew by the end of the night you would be thoroughly red faced from dancing and laughing. A touch of golden eyeshadow on your lids, and you stepped back from the mirror to examine your full form. 

Your dress was a soft shade of green, made of satin that draped beautifully down to the floor, giving you an elegant, feminine silhouette. The lacy sleeves ended just past your elbows, and your matching gloves left a few inches of forearm exposed. The rounded neckline was edged with lace, exposing your collarbones, giving you a certain allure while still maintaining a modest, ladylike appearance.

Your moment of self-appreciation was cut short by your mother knocking at the door. “Come in!” you called.

She entered. “Carriage leaves in five minutes, my darling. Oh! Look at you! Turn around for me! Oh, you look lovely,” your mother gushed. “That colour does wonders for your complexion.”

“Thank you, Mama,” you replied, smiling at the ground. 

“Come, let us head downstairs.” You took your mother’s arm, descending the grand staircase of your London home to the foyer, out the front door, to be helped up into the carriage by a footman. Once safely settled inside, your mother began speaking about the latest edition of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. 

“Have you read it yet, darling?”

“I have, Mother.”

“Well, it seems Mr. Burreaux has returned from his travels on the Continent! He is meant to be a perfect gentleman and he comes from a highly reputable family. You would do well to make his acquaintance this evening, which shouldn’t be hard as he is close with the elder Bridgerton boys. Oh, what am I still calling them boys for! They’re grown now!” she exclaimed. 

“Mother,” you sighed, “If he’s such good friends with Anthony, shouldn’t we be concerned that he is a rake? I know so many people say reformed rakes make the best husbands, but I shouldn’t ever be able to fully trust the fidelity of a man who at one time possessed such a roguish reputation.” Although you argued this point with your mother, you couldn’t pretend that you weren’t intrigued by him. He was meant to be incredibly handsome and he did come from a well respected family. Still, handsome men were more often than not in possession of numerous mistresses, indicating they most likely wouldn’t be seeking a true love match like you still secretly longed for. 

“My dear, I haven’t heard a word about him being a rake! Ever! Just because he is friends with a particularly notorious one,” she whispered in a rather conspiratorial tone,” doesn’t make him one himself! After all, your brothers are good friends with Anthony, and they were never rakes before they married!” (You had to stifle a laugh at that comment - your mother turned a willing blind eye to anything questionable her sons did.) “Anyways, if there is any suspicion that he is a rake, I’m sure Lady Whistledown will be writing about it right away, and then we shall know. Regardless of your concerns, do make sure you speak to him tonight.” With a rather unladylike and quite girlish giggle, she added in a whisper, “I hear he is quite dashing too!��

“Oh, Mother!” you said, trying to lace your tone with fabricated disinterest at the fact. She didn’t need to know that the prospect of making his acquaintance excited you so. Besides, you shouldn’t get your hopes up, only to be let down by yet another insufferable man. 

Carriages had begun arriving at Bridgerton House, gentlemen and young ladies filing in through the front door, all unknowingly overlooked by the two men in Lord Bridgerton’s study: the Lord himself and his close personal friend, Mr. Joseph Burreaux, Joe to those who knew him best. They were sharing a drink before descending into the fray of the party, Joe’s first proper social engagement since his return to London. 

“I must warn you,” Anthony began, “of the mamas and daughters you will face in the ballroom tonight. They will be throwing themselves at you trying to gain your favour. From what I’ve heard, half of the ladies out this season are already positively besotted with you.”

Joe sighed, clearly not anticipating the evening with much joy. 

“Oh, it’ll be fun tonight, though,” Anthony reassured him. “Even if you don’t find any suitable marriage prospects, you’ll find someone to have a little fun with. I know I will.”

Looking down into the brown liquor in his glass, Joe shook his head. “I don’t think I will. Find either, I mean. I’ve never had much interest in brief dalliances with ladies, unlike yourself, and I have little hope remaining of finding a wife I could truly love after so many years. Although, I do need to marry soon.” As the firstborn son of the Burreaux family, Joe took the responsibility of bearing a male heir to carry on the name very seriously. 

“Oh, you don’t want to find a wife you could love!” Anthony laughed. “Makes it all the more complicated.”

“No, I don’t think it does. I think it would make it all much easier and that I should be much happier with someone I truly loved, although my hopes of finding that in this lifetime are waning,” Joe mused, melancholy heavy in his tone. 

“You’ve always been a dreamer, Burreaux, a real romantic.”

“Is it such a crime for a man to wish for a wife he truly loves? Who loves him back?”

“No, I suppose not, but, if you ever change your mind, I can surely point you towards some women who could give you a little entertainment in the interim,” Anthony smirked.

“You are dreadful, Bridgerton, you know that?” Joe laughed. “You can keep those women for yourself. I’m sure they’re plenty satisfied with you.”

“Ahh, that they are,” Anthony replied, ever cocky. “Now, I presume we should be heading downstairs before my mother comes knocking down the door demanding our presence.” “I suppose so.”

Draining the last of their glasses and placing them on the windowsill, the two men exited the study and headed towards the grand hall. 

Upon your arrival at the Bridgerton residence, you received your dance card and were greeted by the viscountess, Violet Bridgerton. “Oh, Mrs. Sedgewick, Miss Sedgewick, what a delight it is to see you! I’m so pleased you could join us tonight!”

“Oh, Violet, you know we would never miss it!” 

“Never,” you murmured, repeating your mother’s words mindlessly, eyes roving the crowd, searching for Daphne. You needed to hear more about this Burreaux fellow. 

“Oh, my dear, don’t let us hold you up!” Violet joked fondly. “I’m sure Daphne anxiously awaits your presence.”

With a brief curtsey, you departed, weaving through the packed ballroom in search of Daphne, locating her by the lemonade table. “Daphne!” you called out as you approached.

“(y/n)!” she replied, her head and body immediately turning in the direction of your voice. She grasped your gloved hands in hers, her mind evidently in the same place as yours as she exclaimed in a hushed voice, “You absolutely must meet Mr. Burreaux tonight!”

“Did my mother somehow put you up to this?” you asked warily.

“Of course not! How could she have, I haven’t even seen her yet.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. Your mother would find a way if she wanted to.

“Oh, I promise it’s not because of her! He is utterly dashing and a perfect gentleman! He is also meant to be quite well educated and cultured, especially after spending so many years on the Continent!” Daphne gushed. 

“If you find him such a suitable prospect,” you asked, “why haven’t you set your sights on him?”

“Oh, I could never marry him. I’ve known him for far too long, he’s like a brother. And I know he wouldn’t ever have such feelings for me. You, on the other hand, don’t have that inhibition, and any man who isn’t utterly taken with you is nothing but a fool,” she said. “I also think your personalities might be quite compatible.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” you said, smiling back at Daphne, feeling a blush rise in your cheeks. 

“Oh, good! I don’t believe he and Anthony have come down yet, but when they do we shall go find them.”

“Are there any men you have your eye on?” you asked, linking your arm through Daphne’s. 

Her spirits seemed to sink slightly at the question. “No, although that Nigel Berbrooke is courting me as incessantly as ever. The poor man seems incapable of taking a hint. He is nice, but I just couldn’t marry him.”

“Nor could I,” you said, shuddering at the thought. He was a perfectly nice and respectful gentleman, but you were convinced he possessed not even half a brain. 

“It is of no matter, someone will catch my eye eventually!” Daphne said lightly.

“They absolutely will,” you reassured her with a gentle squeeze of your hand on her forearm.

While awaiting the arrival of Anthony and Mr. Burreaux, you were approached by another gentleman asking for a dance with you.  You wrote his name down in your dance card for a waltz slated to begin in approximately twenty minutes. He bid you a temporary farewell with a gentle brush of his lips on your gloved knuckles. 

Almost immediately after he had disappeared back into the crowd of bodies, Daphne exclaimed, “There they are!” pointing in a most unladylike fashion.

“Daphne!” you hissed, snatching her wrist to bring it back down to her side. 

Ignoring your admonishment, Daphne promptly led you to the two men. The first thing you noticed about Mr. Burreaux was his height. His sturdy frame towered even over Anthony, a well built man.

“You’ll be the first woman he meets tonight!” she whispered in your ear gleefully. You almost didn’t hear, caught up as you were taking in his blue eyes, his soft blonde hair. “Anthony!” Daphne called out once within a few feet of the two men. You snapped your gaze away from Mr. Burreaux. Now was certainly not the time to be caught staring.

“Ah, Daphne!” Anthony greeted his sister. Upon seeing you, he gave a brief bow. “Miss Sedgewick.”

You curtsied in return. “Your Grace.”

“Let me introduce you to my good friend, recently returned from travels on the Continent. This is Mr. Joseph Burreaux and this is a close family friend, Miss (y/n) Sedgewick.”

You dipped another elegant curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Burreaux.”

“The pleasure is surely all mine,” he murmured back, taking your gloved hand to brush a kiss over your knuckles. His ocean blue eyes held yours the entire time, forcing you to break eye contact before your heart cracked one of your ribs with the force of its beats. His gentle kiss, although much the same as any other suitor would bestow on you, had an entirely different and much more potent effect on you.

“How have things been with you, (y/n)?” Anthony asked politely. 

“Oh, I’ve been very well, thank you. I must admit,” you said, laughing, “I’ve spent much of the past few days on the couch in the library reading that Jane Austen novel, Sense and Sensibility.”

“You like to read?” Mr. Burreaux interjected. 

“Oh, I love to read! I have a particular affinity for novels.” 

He dipped his head, his lips quirking in a smile that felt as if it was intended just for you, as if a secret something had just been shared between you. “A respectable pastime, and one you and I share.”

“Oh! Have you read the new Austen, then?” you asked, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be capturing this man's interest as a potential marriage prospect rather than chatting with him so casually. Most men didn’t care about how a woman spent her spare time, but something in his eyes, focused so intently on your face, gave you the sense that he was actually listening, actually interested.

“I started it just this afternoon, and I am finding it quite enjoyable thus far. Perhaps once I have finished it we could exchange our thoughts on the story and characters,” he suggested.

Trying your best to subdue the force of your smile at the prospect of spending more time in this man’s company, you replied demurely, “That would be lovely.”

“It is settled then. Might I impose myself on you and ask to share a dance this evening?” 

“Of course.” You pulled out your dance card, disappointed you had already found a partner for the upcoming waltz. You pencilled his name in for the following dance, curtseying as you departed to locate your other partner. 

When Joe had seen you approaching with Daphne, his breath had caught in his throat. You were a vision in sage green satin, falling perfectly from your waist down to the floor. The vibrant joy in your eyes and the sweet smile on your face when you had spoken of your love of reading had given him a warm feeling deep in his chest, and he found he didn’t want to rip his gaze from you. Your open demeanour was refreshing, a change from the women he had met who followed careful scripts in their interactions with him, trying to present themselves as perfect ladies who would make suitable wives for a man of his status. 

He had felt as if he could have listened to you talk until he died, which was why he had suggested a meeting to discuss the book. It was rather forward of him, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

He knew immediately he wanted to secure a dance with you. When he saw another name, that of some Jack Pembroke he had never heard of, pencilled in for the upcoming waltz, an unexpected bolt of jealousy shot through him. Why should he be jealous? You were one of a hundred eligible young women here, surrounded by just as many eligible gentlemen. Of course you would have numerous dance partners this evening, as would he. Despite his rationalization, he still wanted to scratch that name off of your list and pencil himself in for every single dance that evening. He resisted the urge, saying goodbye to you with a promise he would find you for your dance.

As the waltz music started up and the couples on the floor began to dance, he trailed Anthony through the crowds to meet up with his brothers, Colin and Benedict. Without meaning to, his eyes searched for you amongst the whirling couples in the centre of the room. He spotted you quickly, that radiant smile gracing your features as you talked with your dance partner, capturing his attention instantly. Unexpectedly, you looked up, your gaze catching his. He looked away, but he had held your eyes for a beat longer than was generally deemed appropriate. To tear his eyes from such warmth, such comfort, seemed, and felt, like an unnatural thing to do. 

Jack Pembroke was a perfectly adequate dance partner. He was respectful and actually quite entertaining to chat with. Nonetheless, your attention was divided, your eyes flicking around the room to try and catch another glimpse of Mr. Burreaux. Something about him had fascinated you and you wanted to be back in his somehow magnetic presence. To be observed by those sweet, attentive blue eyes. To be held by those strong arms. To be kissed - your rapidly wandering thoughts were interrupted when you realized you were staring directly into his eyes. 

You were frozen, immobile, for a moment, until he looked away and you did the same. A furious blush rose in your cheeks and fear flooded your body, as if he could have read what you were thinking through your eyes. Of course he couldn't have, but you still felt as if you had been caught in an indecent act. 

Jack, noticing the sudden change in your demeanour and the colouring of your face, looked at you with concern. “Are you alright? Do you need to sit down for a moment or have a drink?”

You brushed it off. “Oh, no, I’m quite alright! Dancing always tires me.” That wasn’t entirely true - you could dance for hours on end with the right partner, but poor Mr. Pembroke didn’t need to know that. 

Joe greeted Colin and Benedict amiably. He was good friends with them, too, and hadn’t had much time to catch up with them since his return from the Continent. Anthony, the devil, took the opportunity to poke fun at Joe now that he had his brothers for backup. 

With a smirk, he said, “Seems our Joe here has taken a liking to sweet Miss Sedgewick. You should’ve seen him with her! He’s already gone and set up another meeting to discuss the book they both happen to be reading.” 

Colin gave Joe a look of undisguised admiration. “Joe, you move fast, don’t ya? Nice work.” Joe tried to will away the red creeping up his neck. 

Benedict, less fond of engaging in the well-meaning bullying of his brothers, gave Joe a brotherly pat on the back. “She’s a great girl, Joe, but good luck trying to lock her down. It’s her second season and she had God knows how many men knocking at her door last year, but she didn’t take a single one.”

“I never said I had any plans to court her. It’s not as serious as Anthony makes it sound,” Joe insisted. “It’s important for me to become acquainted with the locals, that’s all. I’d treat anyone the same as her.” As he said it, he knew it was a blatant lie, as did Anthony by the mirthful look on his face. Unbeknownst to his friend, Anthony had observed the moment you two had locked eyes during your dance with Pembroke, had noticed the subtle flush of Joe’s cheeks. 

At that moment, another young lady and her mother approached to introduce themselves to Joe. The young lady was Charlotte Beaumont. He’d read of her in that bizarre Whistledown column - for some reason, people thought their marriage to each other was a distinct possibility. He hadn’t even met the woman until this very moment. She was pretty, that was undeniable, and spoke eloquently during their brief exchange, but he felt nothing in her presence. After spending mere minutes in yours, after feeling that profound pull towards another person, his heart could be inspired by nothing less. He sensed that the warmth in his chest he felt around you could quickly become addictive, rendering him utterly dependent on you. Would that be such a bad thing? The two Beaumont women took their leave after a few minutes of bland conversation - Joe wasn’t sorry to see them go. 

“Now, that,” Colin said, with a slight incline of his head towards the retreating back of Miss Beaumont, “would be a real catch, Joe.”

“She was certainly pleasant,” Joe conceded, but his mind was elsewhere as his gaze drifted back over the crowd, seeking you out. 

Anthony looked at his brothers pointedly, eyebrows raised, giving them a look that said See what I mean? They most definitely saw. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from adding, “Didn’t see you asking Miss Beaumont about meeting again to discuss your literary pursuits.” Resting a hand on Joe’s shoulder.

Anthony settled for asking, “Still so convinced finding a wife in London will be such a chore? Ah, look at the time! The next dance is starting soon. Better go find your girl.”

He only smirked when Joe shot him a look over his shoulder as he began weaving through the crowd in search of you. He liked hearing Anthony say “your girl.” His girl. My girl.

Your dance with Mr. Pembroke had ended, and after giving him a farewell curtsey, you drifted through the crowd in search of Daphne. You had a couple of minutes to spare before your dance with Mr. Burreaux, and you needed her reassurance. “Daphne!” you exclaimed once you found her. 

“(y/n), hi!”

“My dance with Mr. Burreaux is next,” you said hurriedly. “Is my hair okay? My face?”

“Oh, you look absolutely lovely,” Daphne said, her tone just like your mother’s. “Falling for a man suits you beautifully, gives you a certain glow.”

“I am not falling for him. I barely know him, it’s far too early to make claims like that,” you insisted.

“Whatever you say,” Daphne replied in a singsong voice, indicating that she didn’t believe you in the slightest. “Speaking of said man,” she murmured, nodding at his approaching form before slipping back into the throng of people, wanting to leave you two as much privacy as could be afforded given the setting. 

You shot her a look that you hoped expressed your sense of betrayal, but she just winked before whirling back around, leaving you with a view of her bouncing red curls tumbling down her back.

“M’lady,” Mr. Burreaux greeted you, dipping a small bow.

With a reciprocal curtsey, you said, “Sir.”

“Please,” he began, “call me Joe.”

“Well then, Joe, you had best call me (y/n),” you replied. 

“As you wish, (y/n).” To hear your name roll off his tongue was oddly pleasing. 

You assumed the appropriate position for your dance alongside the other couples on the floor as the first notes of the music started up. His hand slid around your waist to rest on your lower back, as yours landed lightly on his shoulder. His free hand grasped yours, your gloved palms fitting together perfectly. His touch, albeit blocked by several layers of fine fabric, felt sweeter than any man’s ever had before. You had only just begun your dance, but you already knew you would sense the absence of his hands on you once it was over. 

You didn’t know where to look, your gaze flicking uncertainly between his soft blue eyes, his chest, the dancers beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and you had to resist the urge to sink into it, to sink into him. To fall until his strong arms inevitably caught you. 

“So,” he began, as you drifted between the other couples on the dance floor. “I already know of your love of reading, but I must confess, I’m curious how else you enjoy spending your time.” 

His blue eyes were so intense you almost couldn’t voice your response, drowning in those endless oceans in front of you. Recovering yourself, you replied, “I love walking, rain or shine, especially out in the countryside. That’s my greatest qualm with the season in London - it keeps me in town and I go months without a walk in true solitude.” 

“I agree with you there. One is never truly alone in London, something that has been a bit of an adjustment for me. I have a lovely country estate that I plan on escaping to frequently.”

How you longed to join him on one of those frequent escapes to that countryside estate. You had just complained about the lack of solitude in London, but his presence didn’t feel like an encroachment on your existence. Many other London residents were insufferably overbearing, and their presence was something worth escaping from. However, you  suspected being alone with Joe would be much the same as being alone with yourself. 

“Oh! That sounds lovely,” you said wistfully. “I should do the same, except my mother wants me to remain in town, for all the balls and such things. She is set on me spending as much time in society as possible, with the intention of corralling a great mass of potential suitors,” you sighed, forgetting yourself once again as you spoke so casually of these somewhat delicate personal matters with a man you barely knew. None of your usual walls, so carefully guarded most of the time, seemed to be up when you were with him. These were generally conversations saved for your closest lady friends, as they weren’t issues a man could ever really empathize with. 

“I can only imagine how restrictive that must feel,” he murmured thoughtfully, before learning slightly closer to you and whispering conspiratorially, “I would stow you in my carriage and take you to my country estate, but I fear your mother would notice your absence and never permit me to be in your presence again, which I simply could not bear.”

You giggled at his comment. As he pulled away, a single lock of blonde hair fell across his forehead, amplifying his sweet, boyish charm. You were glad he couldn’t yet brush it back into place, occupied as his hands were. Occupied with holding you. 

“Yes, I suspect my mother would have your head if you pulled such a daring stunt, although,” you mused, “the intervening period before she discovered our plot would surely be most enjoyable.”

You had meant the comment innocently, your mind (mostly) taken up only by thoughts of forests and meadows, sunshine and long, quiet walks, but you saw in his momentarily darkened eyes that his thoughts had turned elsewhere. “I have no doubt of that,” he murmured.

You flushed, looking away, unable to hold his gaze in that moment, the heat of his body so close to yours suddenly magnified, his touch on your waist searing. No dance partner had ever had such an effect on you, and while part of you wanted to run from the inexplicable power this man exerted over you, the other part wanted to lean into the heat, start the fire, burn in bliss with him by your side.

His voice brought you back to the crowded ballroom, disrupting your fantasies. “You are a most elegant dancer,” he said.

“Thank you,” you replied demurely. “As are you.”

In response, he murmured quietly, almost inaudibly, “Nothing compared to you.”

You had to bite down on your lip to quell the overwhelming force of your smile. 

When you sank your teeth into your lower lip, it did indescribable things to his head and heart. The banter you had shared throughout the dance, which was regretfully drawing to a close, was oddly comfortable, despite the fact it was your first meeting, despite the satin and starched white shirts. Your presence felt almost akin to slipping into his bed after a hard day - comfortable, warm, safe. A reprieve from the world, presumably similar to what you had described feeling during your countryside strolls. Oh, how he wished to take you on one. 

When the music faded, he mourned the loss of contact as he was forced to wrench his hands from you. You dipped a perfect curtsey, smiling up at him. “Thank you for a lovely dance, Joe.”

“Thank you, (y/n).” To hear his name, shortened, the version generally reserved for his closest acquaintances, fall from your pretty lips warmed him. “Might I interest you in a lemonade?” he asked.

“You very well might,” you replied with the sweetest smile. 

He offered you his arm, so pleased when you took it, guiding you towards the lemonade table. To walk through the crowds with you attached to him, to move through the world as a pair, felt so damn right. He handed you a glass once you reached the table, moving to the side to avoid the crowd that always gathered there following a dance. Ladies reunited with their friends to recount tales of dreadful partners while men tried to secure a few extra minutes with a particularly lovely lady over a glass of the sugary drink. Joe was certainly in the latter category. 

The Bridgerton crew found the two of you, and Anthony eyed you standing so close to Joe’s side before sending him a brief wink. Joe only hoped you hadn’t seen. You immediately gravitated towards Daphne and away from the men, sharing hushed words and tittering about something or other. One thing in particular that Daphne whispered to you made you burst out laughing. When you laughed, the rest of his world turned to nothing of consequence, his whole being absorbing the sound as if it was the prettiest piece of music he had ever had the privilege of hearing. He wanted to hear that precious sound again, and God, he wanted so, so desperately to be the reason it had bubbled up from your throat. 

You drifted away with Daphne, enthralled by the hilarious story of her horrible dance with a partner, who, to preserve his dignity, shall not be named. Once you were confidently out of Joe and the Bridgertons’ earshot, she asked you about your own dance, demanding you divulge every single detail. You told her everything, her little gasps and excited grabs at your forearm spurring you on. 

“Oh, (y/n)! That is so sweet! No man has ever made me feel like that,” she gushed.

“He was perfect,” you replied. “No other partner this evening shall be able to compare to him.”

“I don’t know that any man will be able to compare to him, ever again!” 

You were forced to agree with her there. His wit, his charm, his soft smiles had captivated you so. You would have loved to share another dance that evening, but to do so would be seen as highly improper, so you settled for longing stares when he wasn’t looking. Half the time you sought him out he was already gazing in your direction, which sent your heart into overdrive and stirred up the swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach when you had first laid eyes on him. Even as you were held in the arms of another man, while he held another girl in his, he shared with you those subtle smiles that you now knew were intended just for you, as you whirled past each other in your separate pairs. Your focus seemed to magnetize to each other, to Daphne’s sheer delight, as she often caught you in the act. 

Many hours into the evening, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon and darkened the towering windows, your mother sought you out to inform you it was time to return home. You hugged Daphne goodbye, promising you’d see her again soon. 

As you embraced, she whispered in your ear, “I bet Mr. Burreaux will be on your doorstep tomorrow with a massive bouquet of flowers.”

“That would be incredible, but don’t go getting my hopes up! I don’t want to have any expectations, or else I’ll surely be disappointed,” you replied. 

“Oh, I know most men will always disappoint, but I have a feeling we’re dealing with something special here,” she said with a wink before disappearing into the crowd. 

You took your mother’s arm, beginning to weave through the people, stopping every few feet to say farewell to an acquaintance, when you saw Joe headed towards you. He apologized to those people who didn’t part like water before him as he was forced to squeeze past them. 

“Oh!” your mother said breathlessly when she caught sight of him, the only exclamation she had time to make before he was in front of you. 

You both curtsied while he bowed. “Joe, this is my mother, Mrs. Sedgwick,” you said. “Mama, this is Mr. Joseph Burreaux.” 

“Mrs. Sedgewick, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. 

“Thank you, Mr. Burreaux. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

“I just wished to catch your daughter before you left to wish her a good night and safe travels home,” he said, addressing your mother politely. 

Your mother, seeing an opportunity, quickly found a reason to excuse herself, something about one friend or another, leaving you in his presence. You could sense her hawkish eyes watching your entire exchange, trying to gauge whether or not you two were a potential match. 

“I hope you have a good night, (y/n), and are swiftly home safe. It was a pleasure to meet you this evening and to share a dance with such a naturally talented partner.”

“Thank you, Joe. I’m sure our ten minute carriage ride will pose us little to no mortal risk, though your concern on our behalf is very thoughtful,” you joked. 

“I’m sure that is the case, but nonetheless, I would hate for something to happen to you,” he said intently. 

“Likewise. I hope your trek upstairs tonight befalls you no harm.”

“I will be sure to hold onto the banister very carefully and to think of your cautions while I climb those stairs to ensure my safe passage.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I hope you also think of me when you next open up Sense and Sensibility,” you added coyly.

“Oh, I assure you, I will,” he replied.

“It was most thoughtful of you to see me off, but I’m afraid I must be going,” you said regretfully, not wanting to leave him just yet, or ever. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to hold you up.” He took your gloved hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Did his lips linger there, or was it just your tired and hopeful mind playing tricks on you?

After reuniting with your mother, you descended the steps of Bridgerton House and were helped into the carriage that had carried you here only hours earlier. It had brought you here with a curiosity about Mr. Burreaux, but also a firm belief that he would be a roguish man not suited for you. Now, it brought you home while you replayed every memory of him from that evening, images of his blue eyes and broad shoulders nurturing the sweet warmth in your stomach, the lightness in your heart. Contrary to your expectations, he had been the perfect gentleman to you, not making any moves or displaying any behaviour that suggested he had rakish motives. His advances would best be described as respectfully improper, perhaps violating the strictly formal rules of London high society but never coming close to crossing your personal boundaries.

Once home and stripped from your green satin, into your bedclothes and tucked underneath the covers, he still filled your thoughts. Just for tonight, you thought. Tonight, you would indulge in dreams of him - tomorrow, you could come to your senses, if you still possessed any.

[rotting-ink]

Can’t believe this hasn’t been asked yet but based on the Seed Brothers’ cock h/cs, what are the ROs’ like?

L Rawlins: Big and thick. Not particularly veiny, cut with pubes that haven't been trimmed. Not a wild jungle, but not neatly trimmed. Very fat balls though. Hanging low.

S Della Rovere- Oh, his dick is so pretty it's insane. Matches the color of the rest of their body, so obviously tanned in the nude before they were turned into a vampire. Shaved pubes, uncircumcised. On the slimmer side, no veins.

Z Chambers- Curly rimmed pubes, with lovely tight balls, smooth. Thicker rather than longer, and also curved delightfully to the right. Circumcised and his dick dribbles precum very easily, but it takes him a hot moment to get hard... Y'know, because he's dead.

V De Winters- Wonderfully trimmed pubes, done almost expertly. Beautiful balls, a cock thats fatter in the middle, with a rosy pink head that flushed a dark red when hard. Circumcised and with a piercing!

Seir- Well, it's incredibly pale. Without pubes or veins... But you swear it keeps changing. Sometimes circumcised, other times not. Sometimes longer than thicker, then the reverse. Weird.

Saleos- Man, if you thought Seir's was weird. Golden trimmed pubes, also no veins, also keeps changing but Saleos also has golden piercings that keep switching positions and style. What the hell.

Starling Knight- Pale but you can see soft blue veins. Circumcised with neatly trimmed pubes, a scar running diagonal against their pubic bone, all kept neat and tidy. Fat head, slim dick.

A Lancaster- Fat fuckin dick. Fatter than Luther's, just a bit shorter. Heavy balls, pubes trimmed and curves against his stomach. Really nice full balls and a golden piercing nestled in the head. Definitely a shower, not a grower.

E Rawlins- Nice cock, hangs heavy when hard. Fat thing that starts dribbling the MOMENT he gets excited, and he gets excited fucking easily. Untrimmed pubes, doesn't really have the time for it. Lovely balls.

Quincy Beaumont- The most beautiful dick. He and Simeone could enter a pretty dick contest and come out tied. Curly trimmed pubes, tight, soft balls, lovely soft pink head on the longer side and curves towards the head more.

D Woolf- A bit shorter, but a real grower instead of a shower. Has untrimmed pubes but they don't seem to get wild naturally, and are very fair, like his hair. A mole just above the base of his dick, with a long vein going down the middle of it.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man is Hard to Find -chapter seventeen

-Summary: Rosey conducts a series of interviews with those who know the Captain intimately but through wildly differing association, a prostitute, his quartermaster and his doctor. Meanwhile above decks Captain Presley deflowers a new river with the support of Johnny Cash. Both lovers live for the few moments they can steal at the end of the day to savor each other.

-Warnings 18+: usual universe warnings apply with this addition of caning, mentions of past female rape, past murder and talk of Syphilis and the use of the archaic word “sodomy”. Along with current smut, which mostly includes gratuitous descriptions of sweat, sweaty balls, men being very hot when they’re sweaty so long as they’re Elvis and -it’s a lot of sweat porn ok?!

“Beaumont.” Aida acknowledged from her place on the floor, arm deep in the Captain’s personal trunks.

“Overton.” Rosey snickered at the stand off, keeping her pistol raised all the same. “What’re you in here for?” she repeated.

“So the captain didn’t send you back after all.” Aida ignored her, “My, my, isn’t he gettin’ brave now, defyin’ the colonel every which way.”

The power of her sneer nearly swayed Rosey. “A change of plans,” she diverted, “the Captain can do that.”

“Oh can he?”

“Yes.”

“That's new. He never could before.”

“He’s not beholden to his partner.” Rosey took aims to measure her language lest she commit an indiscretion, “They are, after all, just partners. Equals, there was a change of plans, that’s all.”

“Equals.” Aida savored the word as she rose to her feet before letting out a grating cackle that made Rosey flinch, “I’ll give ya credit for your ignorance, child, s’not like you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“No, no I suppose that I haven't seen what you’ve seen.” Rosey conceded, her voice dripping with disdainful accusation.

“No, how could you?” Aida hemmed her in against the door and Rosey felt torn between shoving this witch off or making an ally of someone who knew him so well, “Word on the boat is you’ve been kept quite remote on that little plantation, and sure, sure, he’s tidied himself up real nice for you, hasn’t he? How would you know what kind of man he is?”

The urge was strong to spit back in Aida’s face the proof that she had known him longer than she, that Rosey had ridden atop his young shoulders in peacetime and held him nowadays aboard while he cried his memories out. She wanted to protest that she knew him well. But those were not things due to Aida, the Captain had been upset she’d even seen them in the bath together, how much more would he object to their history being exposed. And besides, these were things to prove Rosey knew him, but Aida was right, she knew precious little *of* him. “I know the kind of man he is with me, and he’s a good man.” she murmured instead.

“Is he?” Aida wasn't sneering, she looked intrigued and Rosey’s heart thudded in fear of a misstep. Vaguely she recalled Elvis having told her in their early days that he had a reputation to maintain, to keep folks in line. Being a feared man didn’t deter him from tossing gifts into the crowd or holding babies or patronizing school charities. Rosey figured that admitting he was good to her could hardly damage his reputation. But the way Aida’s maimed eyes kept searching hers made her frightened of betraying him.

“Incredible the lengths men’ll go to for virgin cunt.” the woman declared at last and Rosey flinched at the language. “What’ll it last ‘em? A minute? Fifteen if he’s got willpower? And then poof, done, gone, you’re just like anyone else to him, after he’s done.”

“What were you snooping for?” Rosey didn’t dignify this sad prophecy with an answer.

“Oh, just some things-“

“Of yours?” Rosey snapped, the weight of her still clutched pistol reminding her of her worth and her dearness to him.

“You could say I have a stake in them.” she shrugged.

“What do you mean by that?” Rosey pressed her scornfully.

“You seen any photographs laying about? Or buried under all them books he hauls?” Aida asked her and while Rosey contemplated how to play her hand when she’d not only never seen photographs aboard or even imagined he’d possessed some, Aida went on while turning back to the trunks, “Id’have thought he’d make certain to have at least something in his arsenal if he’s gonna be a brat. ‘Stead it looks like his partner has everything required to sink him and Elvis hasn’t got anything but a stuck up girl-child to defend himself with.”

“Why would the colonel sink his own partner?” Rosey maintained, choosing to leave her place by the door and take a seat on the bed, sheets still thrashed and unmade from his devouring a few hours before. Her legs clenched at the memory.

“You’re good.” Aida proclaimed and some stupid and starved part of a Rosey actually preened at being praised by such a hardened individual. “You’re real good. What’s your deal with the Colonel?”

“I haven’t anything against the man, he’s just tiring.” Rosey insisted.

“No, I mean, what did he offer you to come along?”

Rosey pondered this line of questioning with a perturbed heart, realizing she either had a chance to spin a lie here or else get caught in one. “Who says we’ve got any deal?”

“Do I need to name your predecessors for you?” Aida asked, sitting back down on the floor with shameless confidence in the Captain’s prolonged absence, “Let’s see, of course there was Aida first,” she chuckled that harsh chuckle of hers at this self narration, “and then there was a Polly and a Tamara and we can’t forget the pretty, pristine Lucilla who had him turnin’ himself inside out to please her, all for not, all of them unable or unwilling to stay when the colonel yanked his chain. All of them reportin’ dutifully to the colonel on his wakings and his habits. And those ones were just the ones he made promises to, that promised him back. There was Etta, though she lasted all of a sneeze ‘cause the colonel was against her.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re his spurned lover?” Rosey asked, amused.

“Ha,” the woman shook her head, “there ever been a woman spy who hadn’t had to play lover?”

“You’re a trash spy.” Rosey found it in herself to jest, “Look at your work,” she gestured to the clutter on the floor, “and halfway in you just spill it out that you’re a spy? Aida, I had some hopes you hated me but I trusted you didn’t think me a fool.”

“Didn’t say I am.” Aida smiled that awful smile of hers, wider than ever this time and Rosey noticed her gums were shiny and silver. “Said I was.”

Rosey kicked her leg out boredly and hummed. “During the war?” she ventured.

“Mm..” Aida just shrugged. “He really not paying you anything?”

“I’m not acquainted with the colonel.” Rosey summarized, “I’m here at the Captain's disposal, he’s the one who pays my wages. And you knew that already.”

“Lord girl.” Aida rose to her knees and began repacking the half emptied trunks, “Whatever it is you’ve done back home, won’t be worth sticking round here to escape. Trust me, they’ll string you up alongside us all if not worse. The world out there’s got a particular distaste for whores, they’d look kinder on a murderer.”

Rosey didn’t protest either title. “Leave the stuff be,” she commanded “with the way you’re cramming it back in -he’ll know someone’s been going through it. Trash spy, you are.”

“Mm, alright.” Aida dropped the books she held back to the floor. “Weird feller he is, to keep this but no photograph apparatus. Colonel must have it.”

“What on earth is that?” Rosey asked her, pointing to that something on the floor that looked akin to an oversized musicbox and had as its extension a wand at the end.

“A hysteria treatment.”

“Hysteria?” Rosey savored the word carefully, only having heard of it from books.

“Yeah, real handy for the uptight ones,” Aida leared accusingly at Rosey’s prim pose, “the ones so proper they’re liable to get strangled with their own collars.”

“How does it work?” Rosey ignored the barb, soothed by red hot memories of indulging the captain in ways that could never be dismissed as prudish.

“It vibrates.” Aida picked the thing up by its box and plopped it in Rosey’s lap. “Crank it.” she goaded as Rosey fumbled with her new burden and carefully began to turn the lever. It was a steam mechanism of sorts, that was obvious from the hissing sound alone and the way the wand’s

outer skin began to pick up in rotational spins, powered by the cord tethering the two women to each other. When she was satisfied as to its pace, Aida took the wand and held it to Rosey’s exposed shin and the girl felt her whole leg rattle from it.

“Hellfire!” Rosey snatched her tingling limb up and away from the device after a moment's indulgence.

Aida laughed at her again. “Husbands pay him a lotta money to hold this to their wife's frigid cunts.” she explained, discarding the wand on the scattered heap of books and neck clothes as she rose to her feet, “And plenty of women risk divorce just to feel it again. Reckon it turns ‘em hysterical, ‘stead of the other way ‘round.”**

Rosey thought of the bathtub -their first tryst- and colored, a grimace forming as that sweet memory became tainted with the knowledge that everything the Captain did with her had been done by him to multitudes before her. As transactions, no less.

“Don’t pity him, girl.” Aida warned, “That money keeps him soft and happier than most, and it keeps you spoiled and fed.”

“I only pity those who do it without alternative.” she muttered. “Captain Presley’s put that behind him.”

“Ha, right behind him. So close behind him it’ll snag him by the britches before the year is out.” Aida shook her head, “You’re a foolish idiot talkin’ him into a rebellion.”

“It’s no rebellion when it’s between partners.” Rosey sneered.

“I keep forgettin’ the whole ‘equals’ part.” Aida admitted with mock regret before continuing, “Bit hard to do if you’d seen what I’ve seen. If you’d seen one of those equals let the other cane his bare backside like a green school boy over a tiny defiance. Equals my ass. How much trouble have you gotten him in that he’d risk this much?”

Aida had approached Rosey during this sickening divulgence and Rosey fast felt her power in the situation escaping her but was too rattled by it to wrestle back her rightful dominance.

“I suppose you’re real proud of yourself for standing by during such an event.” Rosey managed to spit while shrinking against the wall. Her hands began to sweat, she tossed the hysteria box off her lap and gripped the sheets beside her to dry them, feeling for her discarded pistol “And for a man who gave you so much. You’re not even mad for him.”

“An event? It was a weekly pastime some years, that cane saw more of him than it did the pavement.” Aida puzzled, “He’s really told ya nothin’, has he?” that revelation brought Aida more amusement than Rosey could ever imagine so hideous a face could express while Rosey felt sick at the idea of how much harm one stupid piece of wood could inflict, “Are you sorry for the dog that’s made to do a party trick before it gets a bone, Miss Beaumont? Do you give a dog a bone when he refuses? Mad for him, hmph.”

“Why’re you telling me all this.” Rosey asked, shame and anger battling inside her.

“Stop that.” Aida ordered and shortly after Rosey felt a sting to her cheek as she was slapped. Too stunned to respond in kind she sat there with a gaping mouth as Aida inspected her reaction.

“Stop what?” she hissed, palm to her her tingling cheek.

“Actin’ like you ain’t starved for details.” Aida smirked, “Clever girl like you, must’ve found Miss Etta most boring -so much talk, so much talk, so little history actually said. You’re downright panting to snoop yourself, don’t deny it.”

“I-I-I’m not!” Rosey defended, “I’m not denying.” she amended.

“Prove it.” Aida smirked.

Rosey knew this was a test that a normal child would have passed years ago, school bullies or debutante rivals would have buffeted her so that a manic, washed up prostitute’s goading would have little effect. But Rosey was no normal child, sheltered and so little buffeted in the gentler forms of cruelty, she knew only the hard scrabble, hard edged tests of life. With a sinking feel of doing wrong yet a pulse quickening excitement for daring it anyway, she looked about the room for a prompt. Her eyes fell to the bindings the Captain had used on her bosoms, and beneath it the masculine costume Aida herself had loaned her.

And she recalled his blush.

“When you loaned us that garb,” she began and no matter how hard she tried to be brazen she couldn’t manage more than a hushed whisper, “you mentioned…equipment. You asked if he wanted the ‘equipment’ with it.” She looked up to find that Aida was holding her peace, more restrained than Rosey had ever seen her and far from being comforting it made her feel like she was about to be sprung upon by prey. “I want to know what that was. What you meant. What you use it for.”

-‘Depraved things’ -the captain had called them sternly, but he’d stuttered and hardened all the same at the mere suggestion of them.

“How did he respond when he saw you in ‘em?” Aida pried and Rosey thought maybe she’d misjudged her, and she was merely a lonely gossip shut up in this dark hold for too long. Rosey caught a glimpse of herself in the future. “Did he find you arousing?”

Rosey wasn’t about to divulge that but the rosy blush that earned her his nickname was quick to answer for her. “What’s the equipment?”

“A wooden cock.” Aida replied with commendable bluntness.

Rosey hadn’t even contemplated the existence of such a thing. Her marveling face must’ve said so.

“Attached in the common place on the wearer with a harness.” Aida was eager to share and Rosey felt unsettled again at the knowledge that cruelty and degeneracy were the only two subjects that seemed to bring the woman joy. “Plenty a’men like bein’ with men that way but there’s those that like a woman to take ‘em thataways, too.”

“So they-“ Rosey couldn’t help herself, the curiosity too burning to be tamped down, “-they…suck on it?”

Much to her surprise, Aida looked a little puzzled herself for a brief moment before replying, “Well, no, not usually. They pay me to fuck ‘em.”

“In the mouth?“ Rosey persisted, annoyed at the splitting of hairs between taking and being taken orally.

“No, in the ass!” Aida was equally annoyed until she realized by watching Rosey’s bewildered expression that the girl wasn’t playing dumb.

“How does…how does anything fit up there?” she balked, certain Aida was having a laugh at her expense. From the stigma of sucking a man that she had learned from youth, she naturally assumed it was because it was associated with acts performed by sodomites and was the one way men could pleasure each other without a cunt. “How large is this wooden -object?”

“Girl,” Aida smirked, “we’re talkin’ cock, wooden and otherwise, goin’ up the back way. A throat ain’t got nothin’ on the squeeze of a tight ass.”

An array of emotions and wonderments hit Rosey all at once, converging in her mind to fill her with that tantalizing tingle of newly acquired knowledge mixed with a substantial amount of shock and concern over the likelihood of the Captain having engaged in this activity. Which further exacerbated her curiosity as to why he would find the mere suggestion of a renewal of that type of indulgence arousing. “Does that not hurt?” she asked.

“Like hell if you ain’t prepped right.” Aida’s graying tongue flicked at her lips and Rosey felt a pang of dread in her stomach.

“How does one prepare for that?”

“Stretchin’ the rim out.” she shrugged, “All my clients pay for that -after all, if they’ve got time and money to pay a woman to bugger them, you can count on it that they’re much too delicate to take it raw.”

“But if you’re just, out and-“ Rosey bit her lip to try to find a kinder word but it was ugly business no matter how one put it, “if one was out hawking oneself?”

“Beaumont,” Aida lifted a tattooed brow at her transparency, “you can count on it that the Captain done felt like his insides were getting scraped raw most times. Ain’t no oil in a back alley or bent over a barrel, but sometimes, sometimes it must’ve been good. He’s got a lingering taste for it, or maybe he just likes pain.”

“You’ve done this, for him?” Rosey asked dismally and wished she hadn’t even before it rolled off her tongue.

To her surprise Aida answered, “No. reckon he took enough real cock to keep him staggerin’ well into the weekday most times.”

“But not anymore.” Rosey noted once more while raising her chin, and as if noticing her shift in mood, Aida began to retreat towards the door.

“No, not anymore.” she agreed before spitting out, “Gone a whole year without sellin’ ass and he already misses it. Some folks are born whores.”

“Say that of him again and I’ll blow your brains out.” Rosey promised, and by then she had retrieved her pistol.

“Keep your eye out for those photographs.” Aida responded tersely, making as if to go.

“You’ve a claim to them?” Rosey leant forward in the cot, persisting in pressing the issue.

“Mm, yeah, I do.” Aida eyed the pistol warily.

“What- what kind of photographs am I to be looking for?” Rosey asked, exasperated and curious only for her own sake. And his. “If he had such an apparatus there could be all manner of prints! And I’ve heard with the mechanism that some may be undeveloped-“

“These are developed.” Aida laid her hand in the door knob, “Older, too, you’ll tell by the style.”

“I’ve never seen one in the flesh! How am I to discern style?” Rosey protested. “What kind am I looking for?”

Aida stared hard at her before her mouth twisted, “Oh, you’ll know what kind when you see them, Beaumont.”

Rosey’s hands had turned from clammy to frozen in her attempt to disguise her panicked breathing. “Beyond the photographs, what is it you want?”

Aida stood by the door of the small room and swayed, side to side like a considering crow and Rosey gave her all the time she needed.

“I know you wanted me to catch you.” She insisted gently.

“Hmph.” Aida grunted, contemplating a confession it seemed, or else another mode of attack. Rosey would never know.

A knock rang out from the other side of the door and Aida’s hand flew to her own mouth, signaling with a finger to the lips for Rosey to be silent. To play that the room was empty. Rosey wouldn’t be caught abetting a woman as displeasing to the Captain as Aida and chose to ignore her.

“Enter!” Rosey answered instead, clear and assertive.

Aida was forced to move back from the opening door as the formidable bulk of Sister Rosetta entered, looking first at Aida and then down to the spilled trunks, then up and across to Rosey on her rumpled cot.

“Miss Beaumont,” ever the stickler for etiquette, Rosetta ignored the intruder for the time being and addressed herself to the one she was seeking, who also happened to be the lady of the boat, “Dr. Nicholas informed me that yesterday you charged him with a meeting this afternoon to review…certain questions you had?”

“Oh, yes, yes I did.” Rosey recalled her fiery stipulations for allowing the doctor to stay aboard. She didn’t miss the way Aida watched this interaction with avid interest.

“He’s asking a time, ma’am.” Sister Rosetta prodded, she was being awfully respectful and Rosey wondered if the woman knew of her recent marriage or was merely setting an example for Aida. Either way, Rosey appreciated it.

“How about, a umm, an hour from now?” Rosey calculated, “We ought to be on our way by then, and the more nauseating swells should have subsided. Nothing like going over numbers when the boat’s rocking.”

“I’ll see to it he’s conscious by then.” Rosetta replied with deferential irony and Rosey filed that remark away for later. “Exactly what are you doing in here, Overton?” she asked the old prostitute next.

“I was returning her clothes to her.” Rosey spoke up and Rosetta, in line with her newly found deference for Rosey Presley, accepted this fib with narrowing eyes but tight lips. “And, as that’s done with,” Rosey went on after a burdened silence in which Rosetta’s judgmental stare impressed upon her the need to do…something, “you may go, Aida.”

Aida did not exit in haste, she slipped behind Sister Rosetta’s considerable bulk and gave a searing, lasting, parting look of what Rosey feared bordered on conspiratorial camaraderie before shutting the door behind her.

Rosey sat on her cot and fought the urge to fidget on the cot, to kick her leg and scuff her boots under Rosetta’s unwavering observation. That hideous, vibrating apparatus was still lying sideways on the floor.

“Child?” Rosetta broke the silence at last and Rosey ground her teeth at the sudden absence of all respect and deference, merely parental concern remained and no small rebuke in it. It had been a show for that whore, then, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed, Rosey would always be stuck as that cloistered little girl who grew up to be a stunted young woman.

“I’m glad you came by Sister, I’ve a complaint against you.” Rosey spoke up, daring this due to the sting of repeated losses of authority, first to Aida and now to her.

“With me?” Rosetta repeated, seemingly astounded.

“Yes.” Rosey smoothed her hands out on her lap, “It would seem a confidence I trusted you with a few nights gone, a confidence I would have kept to myself if not so shaken, was repeated to the Captain in its most gruesome and twisted manner.”

“By me?” Rosetta repeated, eyebrows raised nearly to the band of her exquisite turban.

“There was no one else to insinuate what he now believes as gospel truth.” Rosey pointed out icily, “He is under the impression, Sister, that he forced himself on me the other night.”

“Unsuccessfully!” Rosetta protested, “He knows he was unsuccessful. There’s no harm done.”

“The harm is in the intent!” Rosey cried out, “And in the fact he believes himself capable of it! He won’t even-“ with effort Rosey reined in her narrative to the details proper to be shared, “he would barely trust himself alone in his own room with me. And while that has been surmounted by vows and begging on my part -he is…tentative.”

“Not a bad thing.” Rosetta pointed out, chin lifted, “A man that -hungry, a man like that oughta be tentative. And that night should have proved it to you.”

“What occurred that night was not unwanted.” Rosey enunciated, near to a rage, “And I would not have him think otherwise. I did not tell you otherwise. I confided my wants to you and admitted my sins, that I wanted his babe! His love! And you took that, took that temperance of mine and told him he was a brute?”

Rosetta swiped her hand over her brow a half a dozen times as if battling something quite heavy before deciding on a course of action and hauling up the rickety chair to sit in front of Rosey, amidst the wreckage of the trunks. “You think well of him.” she noted and before Rosey could more adamantly rephrase this moderate sentiment, she held her hand up for silence, “And it’s well that you do. And it is well for him, too. But with such a man, it is well for him to know what he is capable of, and to not think too highly of his own restraint. Not when we are speaking of something as heavy as this.”

Rosey did her best to listen and give such a statement it’s due weight and consideration, but peeved at continued insinuation of her own naïveté felt compelled to retort, “Ma’am, I’ve seen a woman forced, my own sister in fact, I don’t need to be told about heaviness. I’m telling you now, I object to saddling a man, however volatile and, and, and hungry as you call it, with the taint of such cruelty. He would never.”

“You think I care about the act?” Rosetta scoffed but gently added, “Child, there’s sins and then there’s harm. And then there’s bringing a child into a world not fit to care for it. And that’s what I object to. That’s what he objects to. And that’s what deserves heaviness and fear from such a man, and you should fear it too.”

Rosey swallowed hard, the shift in Rosetta’s tone becoming softer than she’d ever seen and it took her unawares. In vain did she summon back her old ire, instead like a helpless student, she waited for more.

“Don’t be so eager for a babe, girl.” Rosetta murmured sadly, “Not in times such as these. Even good men betray you, and even the ones who don’t -they’re not promised tomorrow to provide for you. And in your case, without him, there’d be no Captain Presley to buy your child and bring him up as his own.”

Rosey tapped her boot on the floor rhythmically as an assorted pattern of clues formed in her mind and suddenly it was quite plain, all those hours teaching him math in her presence and watching her watch him frolic with the captain and her so very angry at the colonel for threatening him- “Cal is yours.” Rosey realized, “He’s your son.”

Rosetta pursed her lips and nodded, more vulnerable looking than Rosey had ever seen her stoic face, “And it would do him no good to know.” he mourned, “For I had a man, and he was a good man with ivory skin, blue eyes and a wife, and he told me he’d come back for me. That was a whole war ago.” she noted, “And the only man who came was Elvis, bought us both out of our debt. Freedom ain’t sweet when ya can’t eat and when the color of your skin affects your child’s chances. If you were to have a bastard, you’d be nearly in the same case as me.”

Rosey leant forward and tentatively laid a comforting hand on the stalwart lady’s knee, “I’d no idea. Not when I was teaching him -and you, right there, holding your tongue. I cannot fathom it.”

“One day,” she murmured, “you’ll love someone enough to hold your tongue, even if you want to claim them. And what kind of parents would you be? A man of pleasure and a murderess? This isn’t a just world and it’s certainly not a kind one, you’d never get to keep your child. Promise me, never a child, if I could spare either of you that, I would, that’s why I’m sayin’ what I am saying.”

“I can’t make that promise.” Rosey gasped, heartsick and persuaded, “I-I can’t, it’s not for me to make. Not alone.”

Sister Rosetta received this with grudging admiration for Rosey’s loyalty to his headship over her.

“There was a woman aboard, little over a year ago,” Rosetta’s tone turned dreadfully measured after her brief vulnerability and Rosey braced herself, knowing the tale was worth heeding if so circumspect a woman took to divulging secrets, “she was wealthy as was her husband. And the Captain had a fear that she had begotten a child off him.” Rosetta paused as if weighing her narrative once more, “He was most careful about that, you see, with his work, such as it was, most careful. It was paramount to him. But with this woman it was feared. Some couples are harmless, some women are needy, and some are depraved. They all pay the same. But,” she folded her hands again and again before rising and speaking to the door, “but this particular couple, they were crueler than most. Thwarted his precautions knowingly. Seemed to delight in it, like it was a lark to taint themselves with him. It’s a common thing paid for, a sort of abetted cuckolding with the husband engaged. It wore on him, Miss Beaumont, years and years of seeing marriage so demeaned and him being the instrument for it but -never to such ends as this. I don’t know what Etta tried, and I don’t know what Aida planned, but when these helpers failed he came to me.”

“What -what did he want?” Rosey begged. “What did he intend?”

“I don’t know.” Rosetta sounded like a jaded witness, “But he told me of it, told me he was begging God to finish that woman, anything to prevent a child of his to be raised by such degenerates.” Rosetta turned back to her, looking over Rosey’s head, “He gave himself back to God that night. And stuck to it until you came along. The next port of call he sent me to their room to deliver a telegram that had come in. It read of an emergency, the couple demanded a ramp be lowered before the boat had fully docked, they were eager to be off. Considering his passenger's request paramount to an order, the Captain lowered them a ramp.” Rosetta locked eyes with Rosey as the girl guessed a million endings to this harmless tale, “That was the only time Captain Presley has ever lost passengers while unloading. Crushed them between the hull and dock.”

Rosey found her mouth had gone dry when she tried to swallow her shock, choking on her own emotion, Rosetta went to the wash basin and brought her the pitcher, encouraging her to drink.

“Don’t you ever think that man takes the prospect of a child lightly.” Rosetta ended her caution quite simply and Rosey gave the pitcher back with nerveless hands.

“You think he-“ she could not say it the first try, which was ironic enough considering what unaccounted and horrible things she’d laid to his account when she first met him, “-killed them?” she whispered.

“Court ruled it was an accident, Me. Cash was an advocate.” Rosetta acted suddenly as if she was arguing against her own narrative, “And since then the Captain became a most revernat disciple of the gospel of his youth. There’s nothing more to be gained from guessing. Till you.” she added, “Now it bears some worth in repeating. Just, bear in mind when you’re fooling and he’s suggestible -he don’t take it lightly, child. He don’t take it lightly.”

Rosey repacked the trunks when Rosetta left her, unable in her rearranging to help herself from snooping in some small way. There was nothing very remarkable save a large assortment of knives that looked as motley as possible with different inscriptions and initials on them, suggesting other owners. There were strong ribbons of silk, too, 10 times longer than needed to tie up even Rosey’s long mane of hair, and clasps too, cosmetics of coal and rouge in tidy little containers. And a hairbrush that looked innocuous enough until one examined the phallic handle. Rosey nearly dropped the thing in startelement that she was holding something with veins and ridges so similar to the real thing while being pantomime.

It felt disloyal and she dropped it back into the trunk. It thudded dully on the wooden bottom and still no photographs were to be seen. A single cameo was wedged amongst books and when she cracked its decaying hinge open she found a picture of Captain Phillips looking ten years younger and without a lick of gray. Wartime portrait. She tucked it back in place and threaded the strange assortment of thin silk shifts and a large corset, as if for a big boned woman, around the more delicate things and stacked the books as best she could manage.

This done she went to her meeting with the doctor, such as it was with a table set up in a closet beside the Boilers that held pitchers and hoses in case of a fire in them, foggy and lost in early memories of the captain. Not the sunlit frolics of childhood that were dimly returning to her the longer she stayed with him but that dreadful first night they met. She wracked her brain for the little details she’s once worried to shreds in her fear of him but had since been smoothed out like so much jagged ivory in a near completed sculpture. She recalled the way he shoved through the New Orleans riff-raf with unblinking authority and the way he’d snapped his fingers and bought her with only mild protest from other bidders. She thought of his playful refrain to her these day “No murder, Rosey!” and realized with an ache that he may not have meant it so lightly. He was begging her off a path he had been down. The more she thought of him in those early days and the fear he elicited in her, the more she realized him capable of the tale she had just heard.

“Just once I wanna hear Old Beaumont’s daughter say ‘cock’ while grinding back on mine.” he had been so mean with his words that first time, goading and venomous at her for her lofty origins. Or was he just used to speaking like that to highborn ladies who got a thrill from a working class man soiling them?

It was more of a wonder that he was capable of love now, and hated himself as faintly as he did, with such a history. Each new little discovery of it that she made was like pricking her fingers on hidden pins in a seemingly complete cross stitch. If she could run above deck now and hug him and have him lave her pricked fingers with his tongue and promises -she would.

Instead, “Good afternoon, docter.” She greeted and closed the door of the closet behind them.

She took the seat on the far wall, which was only about three feet apart from himself with a rickety board serving as a desk. Rosey laced her hands around her ink pot atop her accounting books with admirable poise and gave him a smile. Dr. Nick’s smile wavered but he returned it all the same.

“To be perfectly honest, Miss Beaumont, I am confused by this, uh, interview, shall we say?” he admitted as she laid out her papers and asked for a list of drugs and medicines used in the captain's care. “I am not beholden to you or owe you any information, the art I practice is guarded by oath and the law of this land states no boat of this size can traverse without a doctor, i am thus immune to any threat you may make or change you may attempt. You are a purser, ma’am, and I am a physician. I suggest we keep to our respective callings, the better to pass this trip in a harmonious manner.”

“I am indeed a purser,” Rosey dipped her pin in the ink with methodical precision, “and as such I am to make an account of what comes and goes in our revenues. I am not here to play chemist sir, I am merely here to ascertain to what purpose we spend nearly 40 dollars monthly on Mercury. salts?”

“Pah.”

“The boat pays for that, sir.” She reminded, “Another ten for opiates, another thirteen for -“

“You are new to book keeping, yes?” Dr. Nick interrupted.

“No, I am not at all new to it.” Rosey answered truthfully.

“Book-keeping in a brothel, then?” he guessed, “Just as you would pay for lye or salt marsh to seed your fields, this vocation requires a vast array of…fertilizers. Stimulants and relaxants and numbing drugs -the human body can only sustain so much on its own power, Madame. I shall spare you the details but there are illnesses to treat as well. Rife amongst such work.”

“Spare me no details, which illness is which drug curing, Doctor?”

“The Mercury -Aida ingests that morning moon and nightly on my orders.”

“That’s why the entire woman is turning silver, I suppose?” Rosey shuddered and noted it down.

“An unfortunate side effect.” he conceded, “Along with vomiting and wasting, the disease can be attributed for the rest of her symptoms, the mind and vision. The rotting of brain matter and soft tissue that you have no doubt smelled. She is not alone, half the boat relies on Mercury to keep the rot at bay.”

“How long?” Rosey asked, “How long must they be on it for a cure?”

“Girl, there is no cure for such filth.” he grunted, “We are talking of back alley, degenerate diseases, lowborn blood and the judgment of God on all such products of lust combining to waste them away.”

“And what are you treating the malaria with?” Rosey moved onto another Devine pestilence that she was certain the captain suffered from.

“I don’t recognize anyone with it.” he objected, “No swollen tongues or yellow eyes.”

“It can be chronic-“

“-no, not in my study of it, it can’t.” he shook his head with surety, “Syphilis, that’s what we’re fighting aboard, and the Clap. I suppose we should think of getting you on a regimen if you’ve been having -relations.” he muttered with what Rosey truly thought might be blunt concern for her welfare. “There’s no cure, but these medicinals they are -essential for any quality of life to be maintained and for comfort to be found at the end. Essential. Syphilis, It’s a spirochete you see, not at all like a bacteria, under a microscope it looks rather like a corkscrew drilling its way into each cell, siphoning off the life from it.”

Rosey swallowed thickly at that image and jotted down another column, “What symptoms was the captain experiencing that such a disease was suspected?” the difference between himself and Aida’s derangement were obvious, but perhaps that was just a matter of time.

“He runs fevers, he has sweats, he is fatigued,” the doctor rattled a mundane list of ailments boredly, “he engaged in sodomy. It’s clear.”

Rosey bit her lip at the recent revelation as to the details of that act and retorted softly, “He vomits, almost every morning, he vomits. Does that not sound more of cholera, at least?”

“Where would he have gotten cholera?” The doctor scoffed.

“He was abroad for years during the war!” she retorted heatedly, “And was held prisoner in Elmira of all places -do you not think that sufficient to contract an illness without contracting the wrath of God, too?”

“Was he kept there?” Dr. Nick showed grave surprise, “I didn’t know him then.“ He explained as if that were an end to it, nothing remarkable about having judged a patient’s case without any history given. “I was hired by Colonel Parker to help ease him in his vocation, and for the occasional assist when sleeplessness took hold. You’ve nothing against sleep drafts do you?” he suddenly asked in horror at her ignorance.

“I’m here to account, sir.” she managed in a horse whisper and marked the Mercury salts for two, all the rest having been discharged from service. She started another column for unaccounted drugs which she figured she could assume with some surety that the Doctor himself indulged in.

“We really ought to get you on something, it spreads you know.” he insisted not unkindly.

Rosey shifted in her seat and thought of her innocence still so resolutely intact. “I think you’ll find that won't be necessary, sir.”

Come evening they were still at it, tallying figures and dosages that ran like Greek in Rosey’s head to the lulling of the familiar boilers clang, making white noise beside them.

A grating scrape silenced them both as the jarring sensation of the boat catching on some unknown barrier below them cast the fear of God on them both. Not in all her time aboard had Rosey heard something remotely similar. Not even when the Captain sidled the great monstrosity up the docks. He parked his boat smooth as a dance master, a little bump and sway and they’d settle as the ropes tethered them.

Not so this screech, it reminded Rosey and the doctor both that they were in a floating cask. Following was a disorienting little tip where the ink pot began to slide towards her and she caught it, unnerved by the small but unmistakable turn the boat was taking.

“Have you ever-?” she broke the silence as they still stayed unbalanced like a buggy relying on a single wheel for a reckless curve.

“No.” Dr. Nick had his eyes searching the ceiling as the lamp above them stayed slanted to the side like their balance. “He’s makin’ the turn,” he surmised sounding a little awed, “we’re headed into the Missouri.”

Rosey wondered if she’d feel it when the water changed, beyond the boat righting itself after the turn. She wondered if the Captain would at least, with those keen hands and attuned senses. Would the current change? Would the depths affect his grip on the wheel? Was the strain of the boilers her imagination or was it like they were truly fighting for access into the giant tributary. Would the river gods let him in? Hand braced on the wall as her chair went slightly askew beneath her weight, Rosey let up her first little prayer in ages and it sounded strangely directed towards the captain’s talent instead of God.

Up above decks the Captain’s eyes smarted from kerosene fumes and hours of squinting into the pale lamp-illuminated river mists, they gathered like shrouds on the old Mississippi’s surface as the inky waves danced into the edge of the black sky. Elvis felt like it was a funeral procession of sorts, all black robes and white smoke like he’d seen in New Orleans

‘Don’t count me out yet, ole Miss,’ he thought fondly, ‘watch me come back to you old girl’.

Jerry was to take the evening watch and still refused to go down below to catch his nap, too anxious for the damn turn into the tributary like the rest of them who knew anything about anything. Elvis tried to comfort himself that if he ran them into a sandbank and drowned them all, first day of the job, he’d at least be responsible for killing General Sherman.

As it was Elvis sniffed away the smarting fumes and gritted his teeth at the gnarly scrape that wailed into the night as he toggled the massive wheel to his left, a little too much, too soon? Or was he too late to thread the damn needle? The current felt like a damn whirlpool keeping him at bay and he had to stick out a foot off his high stool to force the wheel straight on his course. It was unnerving the way it would have spun and spun them to oblivion if he’d let go the slightest bit.

“Ya got it, ya got it.” Cash’s rumble sounded steadying in his ear and once again Captain Presley gave thanks for the Divine intervention and kind suspicions of Mr. Binder who didn’t trust his investment that far westward without the Waterway Committee’s watchdog tagging along to guard it. The fact it was ole Johnny Cash from dear dead days gone by and more recent redemptive ones, only made it kinder. Between Rosey’s pardon and Cash’s presence, Elvis was ready not only to repay Mr. Binder generously but even to like the man. “Ya got it, don’t spook, man.”

Johnny kept the damn unhelpfully small print map up in the right half of Elvis’ view, thumb tacking it to the top of the wheel for the past half hour as Elvis’ glued his eyes to each treacherous little bend of the entry way he’d never probbed before.

“Which one is it, damnnit?” he hissed to himself as every little juncture was running together on the map and maybe he shoulda brought his glasses if he knew this was going to be more about reading for hours straight and far less about seamanship.

Cash reached over him and wiped the off the compass with his jacket cuff and that was all the rebuke Elvis needed for his small tantrum. “Instruments ain’t lyin.” Cash grunted.

“Either of you bastards wanna ease us into this whirlpool, be my guest.” Elvis had to get his anger out or else tip them and he felt better right away at the guffaws it inspired.

“Fuck no.” Jerry chuckled nervously in back and Elvis hated him for the way he was just shy of talented enough to do this and thus could warm his hands around a hot canteen of coffee while Elvis’ numb and braised hands cramped on the wheel.

“Ease is the right word.” Johnny chuckled, “don’t let Lamar spook and gun us in.”

“I know, I know.” Elvis grunted as he felt himself get in a groove, the current finally splitting at the bow on either side like a welcomer instead of a barrier, “I-I think I’m in, I’m -I’m in somethin.” he added unsure, “Lemme me in sweet Missouri, lemme in Big Muddy.”

If one of the soldiers beneath them had been atop he might have laughed at the language or thought it pantomime but it wasn’t, none of the rivermen laughed, they just bit their lips at the necessary double entendrés and prayed the fickle water would listen.

“Mhmm, nice n’ easy you’re in, I feel what ya mean -tell Lamar not to spook.” Cash urged Elvis again as the boat began to tug into the bend as it ought, causing the deck and the whole dark horizon to tip to their right as they turned west.

“He knows!” Elvis bit back, knuckles white as the wheel tried to tug him fully to the side, his thigh working harder to pull him upright again.

“Does he? If it were me I wouldn’t trust a single fella who ain’t a professional lover not to gun it in, full steam ahead, right about now.” Cash admitted.

“Lamar don’t ya Fuckin’ do it!” Elvis grabbed the horn and hollered down to his boilers, “Make her swallow us whole if ya do!” and it was just in time too, the boat began to rattle and hum as if a few more scoops had been added and the bellows worked a few pumps beyond direction. “Quit pumpin’ so hard, damn you.” Elvis hollered again and his amplified voice rattled around the boilerdeck like Hades sending out a decree into the underworld, it made Rosey perk up across from Dr. Nick. “I tell ya when to add coal, fucks sake -no intuition for feelin’ it give, some folks…” Elvis trailed off in a grumble and let the horn fall with a clatter back in place.

The current of the Missouri runs southernly from its source in the great northwest and where it meets the Mississippi just north of Saint Louis, it forms a churning caldron of wrecks, tide pools and sediment. Enough steam is required to make the turn and keep one’s progress against a current that flows over eight miles an hour, yet too much steam and it will tip you right into the swirl of the conjoining streams.

“Sweet Jesus I feel like I’ve been turnin’ for hours.” he groaned, his shoulders burning from the strain, “Gonna run into the opposite bank this way.”

“How she feelin?” Was all Cash replied.

“Looser.”

“Looser bad or looser good?”

“When is looser bad?” Jerry asked with a snort.

“Looser’s bad when your fuckin’ wheel spins like a roulette wheel, ya idiot.” Elvis helpfully supplied.

“Yeah, never seen that yet.” Jerry conceded that he was a very good first mate and hadn’t allowed such a thing to even happen.

“I-I dunno man she’s loose but- but I feel her tug-“ Elvis bit his lip and tried to process both the instruments and the leading of the wheel. “-left.” he decided, “She’s tuggin’ left.”

“Then show her who’s boss.” Cash grinned and thumbed at the droplets on the map, squinting himself at the small type. “You plan to tuck us in before Kansas City for the night? Nice lil cove right about there.” He pointed at the map with his big blunt finger but Elvis had his tongue between his teeth and he leaned on the wheel spokes to pull the boat right.

“Just trying to get past this bend then I’ll think about goddamn coves.” Elvis grunted, “She won’t stop sucking m’bow to portside.”

“Want a hand?” Cash asked mildly.

“Fuck me it’s like asking the wife to fuck this mistress.” the captain muttured instead, switching from pleading with the river to begging his boat to go where it wasn’t built for, its high top decks -so spacious and regal for entertainment or speed- precariously teetering in the rough n’tumble of the backwoods river. “Ooooh hell she's tuggin’,” he exclaimed finally, “Lamar, Lamar! Gimme more now!” he yanked at his own controls, a stick that precariously opened the steam valves at whim so long as enough coal was supplied below, and the Proud Marie lurched into the turn with all the rage of an offended deity. “Cash? Wanna help?” he barked, wild haired and sweating in the gas light and looking more in his element than Johnny had seen him in ages.

“Bless me no, you juggle your own women.” he smiled instead. “Pay attention to that tuggin’, now. Don’t wanna die now we’ve threaded the damn thing.”

“Oh I’m payin’ attention, alright.” Elvis laughed. “But now she’s tuggun’ like the current’s suckin me ‘stead of pushin’, Cash.”

“How fickle is woman.” Cash mused while lighting up a cigar.

“Just think,” Jerry piped up encouragingly, “couple more hours of this then you can go lay on soft bosoms and catch some shut eye.”

Seeing as how it was already past ten in the evening, the thought of more hours was more tortuous than conciliatory. “Jerrah, how about you fuck off and make yourself useful. Light my cigar f’me again, damn mists keep puttin’ it out.”

“You can’t just breathe tobacco up here.” Jerry pointed out even as he struck a match and cupped it to the Captain's face.

The captain glanced at him, all sooty lashes and water speckled cheeks in the warm glow of the kerosene wick, “Watch me.” he puffed, as he felt the river give him a lane and he slotted in, pulling his wheel straight again. “This got me sweatin’ like a whore in church.” he whistled, no longer jealous of Jerry and his coffee.

“Works every time.” Cash agreed with a knowing smile and Elvis grinned back.

“We’re in boys, we’ve well and truly entered her.” he announced a mile in and half in, and had there been daylight, the mouth leading to the Mississippi would have been seen slowly shrinking behind them like a portal to the known world.

“Done so gentle, I'd bet she didn’t even bleed.” Cash patted Elvis' shoulder and he smiled back, fighting the urge to slump over the wheel and fall asleep now the day’s worst was over.

A few hours passed and the Captain did tuck them into a cove for the night, running the ropes out the hawser holes to secure them to the beached wreck of a more unfortunate predecessor on its banks. He woke Jerry where he’d slumped in his chair for his watch.

“Say hi to Rosey for me, EP.” he mumbled and Elvis didn’t begrudge him after having slapped him around a bit to thoroughly wake him.

“So you kept her aboard?” Cash asked him as they tromped down the multiple flights of ladders to the lowest deck, handrails and boot grips slick with mist and the single lantern Elvis held doing little to light the way.

“Cash, she killed for me.” the captain reminded in a dazed murmur.

“She’s really somethin’ then?” Cash made conversation as they creaked open the side door, an absolute racket of a sound in the otherwise sleeping boat, and stepped into the starboard side of the stables.

“Whadda you think?” Elvis sassed with smug awareness that Rosey really was something else.

“And ya love her?” Cash rumbled on in that easy way of his that would have you declaring shit you didn’t have figured out yet.

“Whadda ya think?” Elvis answered again and started weaving through the horses instead of going to his little closet and its cot and warm bosoms, “Hellfire, it’s a sea of horses down here.” he muttered as he walked down an aisle of where the tethered yet majestic creatures nipped at him with eager muzzles or else swished him with elegant tales, “Poor Beans, s’like berthing on a transport. Bullshit steerage accommodations for m’boy.” he bemoaned when he found him and Cash assumed Beans forgave all with the nearly amorous way the horse flung his head neck around Elvis’ and the two swayed in a cheek smashed embrace.

Removing himself from the equine reunion, Cash busied himself with going to the far side where the racks of loose hay puffed out between wooden slats and grabbed himself a bundle to replace Bean’s trodden supply. When he returned he found Elvis in discussion with someone, and after initially assuming it to be his tetched horse, Cash realized there was another fella down here with him, not one of the crew, just a sleepless soldier come to keep his horse company, or the other way around.

“Best cure for it.” Elvis was agreeing pleasantly to something the man had said and Cash assumed it was insomnia, “M’boy here’s always my first choice. Is your berth comfortable, got everythin’ ya need?”

“Yeah, it’ll do.” The man replied a few horses deep into the row and Cash squinted trying to make out a discernible facial feature in the gloom and all he succeeded at was recognizing yellow colored hair. “Sleep a whole lot better of they’d kept the female comfort aboard.” the man added with a joke.

“Ain’t fittin’ on a government boat, they says.” The Captain maintained a neutral tone and took to unsnarling one of the braids in Beans withers.

“I bet the rich bastard who ran this kept a few, ya know?” The man disagreed with a grin, “The guys have pooled together, we’ve got a decent amount of cash for anyone who wants to give us a tip to where we can find the maids. Can’t run a boat without maids.”

“You can.” Elvis replied a little harshly, “Leastwise they’re all men.” he added.

“Well, if we get desperate enough...” The fellow joked.

“If ya get desperate enough you’ll find yourself sucking lead outta my pistol ‘fore I let you mess around with my folks, that clear?” The captain crouched and yanked up the lantern he’d set on the floor and pushed it into the crowd of horses to make out the man’s face for future reference and illuminating his own. The man was nearly middle aged and was unremarkable really, in every way, except for the glinting brass uniform buttons running down the front of his navy blue jacket.

“Wh- shit me, you the captain?” the man asked in surprise, putting his hands up in a pacifying way, “Sorry sir, just kidding is all. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

It was indeed, nobody knew that better than Elvis and he decided the fellow was jovial enough, hell- if it weren’t for Rosey’s presence the captain would have taken such a joke in stride and he knew he was being irrational about it. He’d let rip with such humor himself at times and it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t and there was no use antagonizing his human cargo on the first day over a joke. The scuff of Cash’s boots behind him reminded him he didn’t need to be bowing up at everyone, mildness was the order of the day.

“Yeah, gonna be real long.” Elvis agreed and they exchanged tired smiles at each other, the fellow was missing a front tooth on his lower set and had a shock of golden hair that had turned a little straw-like from hard living. “You got a wife or kids?” he asked, stepping aside so Beans could munch on the hay Johnny brought.

“No, no I’m unattached.” the fellow replied, “It’s better that way I figure.”

“Whores don’t miss ya.” Elvis deducted with a conciliatory grin and the man took the offered olive branch with a knowing smile.

“I suppose they don’t.” the man laughed back. “You seem awfully familiar,” the man went on, “have we met? Did you used to work transport during the war?”

Elvis didn’t quite have the heart to tell the guy that even if they had met he was about as remarkable as a piece of straw and thus not memorable, a nice person didn’t deserve the insult so Elvis said instead, “Judging by your accent, I highly doubt I’d have been carryin’ you down river.”

“You an old Rebel then?”

“You’re a New Yorker?”

“I am.”

“Yeah, then, seems not.” Elvis shrugged, “Unless,” an awful thought struck him, “-you always been in the Calvary?” he inquired, his own interest peaked, knowing without a shred of vanity that his own face was not particularly forgettable and so when folks told him they’d met before he tended to believe them.

“No, used to be infantry.” the man was puzzled by this line of questioning, “Bought my own commission five years ago.”

“Shieet!” Elvis exclaimed, thinking he’d cracked it, “You ever guard at Elmira?”

“You were held in Elmira?” the guy repeated in disbelief.

“Uhuh, you ever guard there?”

“Hell no, a shit detail that.” the man was offended, “I was down chasing General Hood in Alabama.”

Elvis squinted at this dead end and stippled his fingers on Beans’ back, trying to think of an alternative meeting. “Hood was doing the chasin’, if I recall.” he snarked.

“And we were doing the killing.” the guy smiled back and Elvis let it be.

“Don’t leave the damn candle goin’ till it burns down,” Elvis warned as he and Cash turned to go, “the hay would be happy to catch and keep us from ever makin’ it to the Dakotas.”

“I won’t!” the man replied and as they walked down the cramped hallway that led to Hodge’s room and then Rosey’s, Elvis felt with the keen discernment of too much time spent in dark alleys that there were eyes pinned to his back in the dark hold, watching where he and his lantern went for the night. Elvis could curse the builder of this ship for all its lonely little cubbies, but he knew how to make use of them. Those eyes burned him all the way to his turn and he felt like scratching his shoulder blades, the itch was so strong.

Natural curiosity was a reasonable reason to give the man, but Rosey made the captain unreasonable, and before he turned he doused his wick and Cash stumbled straight into his back.

Instead of grumbling, his friend muttered, “lead on.” in a quiet tone that suggested he got the Captain’s ploy.

“You’re in here with Lamar,” Elvis opened the door to one tiny berth with double hammocks, “Charlie and Cal are across and I’m in through there to a storage closet.”

“Your girl got a gun?” Cash asked instead as he stood on his threshold, “I don’t like that sonuvabitch.”

“What do you take me for?” Elvis smacked his shoulder, “Course she does and not just any, I got her Stan Whatie’s lil ivory project.”

“No, hell, the Cherokee’s?”

“Mhmm, won it over cards.” Elvis said.

“I’ll be damned, you romantic bastard.” Cash marveled, “Don’t tell my June, it’ll heighten her standards and I don’t trust her standards on a game of cards.”

“I won’t.” Elvis snickered and bid him goodnight, creeping through the dark into the next room and fumbling between the cots till he thought he’d found Cal and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“You’re precious, ya know that?” Charlie’s voice murmured back instead and Elvis’ head reared back with a shocked snort before he turned to the other bunk and its far smaller and utterly unconscious snoozer and repeated the kiss on the forehead originally intended.

He then felt along the wall until he felt the small latch and he pushed it open to find Rosey in nothing but her nightgown, still burning the midnight oil with her nose in a Pharmakea encyclopedia.

“Baby.” he whispered in greeting, tip-toeing past the chair and the trunks to their cot and being pleased as punch by the happy little cry she gave as she flung herself up in the bed to receive his kisses.

“Elvis!” she acted as if it had been years and her love had grown in the meantime and the small kiss he meant to give turned into a full embrace and his intentions for keeping away until he could strip from his work coat and keep her nightclothes unsoiled were irreparably thwarted by her vigor. “Today was a year long, I’ve waited and waited.” she moaned into his mouth and he grinned pleased against her cheek and peppered it with kisses that smelled of tobacco, “You smell of kerosene.” she laughed once she finally released him and he grinned down at her happily.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked as he began to unbutton his coat, “How’re them bruises.”

He nodded to her chest and she rolled her eyes before assuring, “They’re fine.”

“I wanna see.” he insisted, but made no motion to make her, just kept popping buttons on his leather coat and she rather shyly tugged the wide scoop of her neckline down to show the tops of her breasts, unsure if this was routine or if she was meant to be seductive.

“Aww poor bubbies,” he mourned at the still present marks of the bindings, “Hoist ‘em up a little, I wanna see the undersides.”

With burning cheeks, Rosey scooped a breast in each hand and pushed them above the covering of her linen gown. The flash of hunger that seared though Elvis’ compassion made her shift in want on the cot.

“You been puttin’ the oil on ‘em like I told ya?” he asked.

“Yes I have.”

“S’very important, don’t be lazy about it.” he insisted. “Poor pretty babies, can’t believe I hurt ‘em like that. Gotta put oil on ‘em.”

“I know Elvis.” she agreed, “And what about you? How was it? We felt when you made the turn!”

“Did ya?”

“Yes, and I heard you yelling at Lamar.” she smiled shyly and he didn’t know why she looked so pleased about it.

“Oh.” he exclaimed, “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to be so angry. He's just such a bull about these things and ya gotta just ease it in, insistent but not forceful, ya know?”

“Don’t be sorry.” she simpered breathily and licked her lips, “You sounded like you were-“

“Like what?” He asked, genuinely confused, as he tried to find a place to hang his coat, “We really need more pegs in here.”

“You sounded like -a lover.” she hissed the last part, knees drawn up to her chin on the cot and he could pinch her cheeks, she looked so cute in her bashfulness.

“Did I?” he hummed, turning towards her as he emptied his various pockets of knives and timepieces and the like. “And did that excite my lil girl?”

“Maybe.” she whispered.

Oddly, he sniffed the air at her answer and squinted as if the findings puzzled him, “You ain’t played with yourself though, have ya?”

“Why- no. No I haven’t.” she gaped in some surprise.

“See, I’d know.” He told her with surety, “When I’ve been above deck all day I get my senses cleared, ya see? And when I come back down I can sense anything.”

“Oh.” her cheeks still flamed.

“Who else has been in here?” He asked after another sniff and his face darkened.

“Oh,” Rosey startled, “Sister Rosetta, she stopped by to remind me of my meeting, and Cal too, for a bit.”

“An-who else?” he asked with the look and tone of a man who already knew.

“Uh, well then there was Aida” Rosey kept her voice light, “she came so I could return her clothes to her.”

“Why’d you return them?”

“We’re done with them.” she replied, puzzled, “Aren’t we?”

“No, no, not necessarily.” he frowned, “And what’s the rush to return ‘em? She ain’t goin’ nowhere?”

“I just- I didn’t think. Sorry.”

“I don’t want you near her, you hear me, Rosey?”

“I-I do. But it wasn’t…she just came by.”

“I bet she did.” he seethed and he undid his vest with savage jerks and Rosey swallowed hard.

“I understand. But -no harm done this time.” she tried to pacify.

“You don’t need to seek out whores for friends, alright?” he went on, “And you don’t need to listen to whores for nothin’ regarding us. If I wanted a whore I’d go get me one. Some things are left better untouched, lil girl’s brains bein’ one.”

“Is she dangerous?” Rosey asked.

“Oh she done a thing or two in her time.” He agreed mirthlessly, “And been done a thing or two back, I suppose.”

“The doctor says her brain is rotting from the illness.” Rosey crossed her arms uncomfortably at the recollection and the rather obvious proofs of the same that being around the woman gave. Even the stench of flesh rotting that lasted hours after she’d gone. No amount of perfume or douched lemons could contain it.

“Why was he tellin’ you ‘bout her case?” Elvis demanded again. “He don’t need to be tellin’ a lady like you ‘bout syphillis’n’shit.”

“Is that what’s killing her?” Rosey asked.

“Most likely.” he shrugged, “They injected the mercury salts into her eyes for it a couple years ago, didn't do shit to slow it. I take ‘em orally and they burn. A- a-a-and I ‘member thinkin’ while I was holdin’ her down for it: nobody ever paid us more for a bit a pain as I paid for that fuckery.”

“You paid for that procedure?” she shuddered.

“She begged me, they said it would help. I-I-I hate her but -I couldn't just let her…rot.” he shook himself, “I'd rather someone shoot me ‘fore I get to that point. Why was he tellin’ you all this?” he argued again, brows knit and a hurt expression on his face, “Why you diggin’ into all this?”

“Elvis,” Rosey sighed and he took a breath too, as if aware he was tired and cranky, “the meeting was to discuss medications, you recall? We -our boat- spends an inordinate amount on medicines and opiates for our…so-called employees.”

“Yeah, cause this way a’livin makes you sick, Rosey.” His hands smacked his sides listlessly. “S’why Aida’s so doped up. Fuckin’ terrifies the shit outta me, and if I didn’t think God wouldn’t like, it I’d toss her overboard as bad luck. But no way around it”

“But you couldn’t have always felt that way,” Rosey reminded, “you were lovers once.”

The captain stopped what he was doing and spun round to face her with some alarm on his face, “That what she told you? That we was lovers once?”

“Well,” now that Rosey thought on it, Aida hadn’t explicitly said so, she’d just listed herself in a line of the Colonel’s erstwhile spies and remarked how seduction was integral to such a role, “no, she’s didn’t say so exactly-“

“-Well we weren’t!” he declared adamantly, as if for his own benefit as much as hers, “Doin’ shit to another body so folks pay ya don’t make ya lovers. It jus’ don’t, Rosey. No more’n me shoveling coal with Lamar makes us married.”

“Alright.” she replied just as adamantly in order to calm him and held up her hands while she was at it. “So y’all did…work…together?”

“I reckon you already knew that.” he muttered, yanking off a boot rather clumsily, “Why’re you so nosy tonight, anyways, hmm?”

“I-I just wanna know you.” she sighed.

“You do!”

“Know *of* you.” she clarified what bit of self recognition she’d come to realize this morning.

“Know Of? Wh- what’ve you been drinkin’ down here girl?” The captain laughed, “Gettin’ all philosophical on me. Ya know me, historically, biblically and a lil too well. I ain’t got any notion ‘bout takin’ you into sordid lil avenues of my life that don’t make no difference now.”

“But I think they do!” Rosey protested a little vehemently and he stopped midway through easing off with his workboot, hand cupping the scuffed heel as he stared her down. “I think it’s pertinent! All this stuff we don’t speak of! Why -you don’t sleep some nights and I dream terribly and -you haven’t even showed your interest to me since you learned who I was!” she managed to insert the most pressing aspect there at the end and felt proud of herself for carrying on through his stare.

“Lil girl, you gone tetched?” He asked mildly, stumbling over to the cot, one clunky boot on and his other a sock foot, laying his beautifully fashioned and wheel calloused palm against her forehead, “Why, I ain’t barely drank anything all day for fear of washin’ away the taste of you this mornin’. Not shown interest? -huh.”

“I mean -your own.” she pointedly stared down at his belt buckle, or rather, the prominent seam below.

“Rosey!” he laughed at her, “I’m dog tired a-and I -my interest has been shown. Sweet Jesus I ain’t got the brains for this. Not tonight.”

“So you can manage it dog tired with Aida but not with me!” she shot back and they both seemed to be equally surprised that she was harboring such expired jealousy.

“I can manage it fucked outta my mind with a gal who didn’t use to look the way she does now.” he growled and then went on in a mocking voice, “And it’ll cost ya only three silver dollars to watch, ma’am.”

Rosey sniffed and shrugged off the barb, figuring she deserved it, “Etta gave me a remedy for this.” she whispered hopefully instead.

“Oh I bet she did.” He eased off himself and stood straight again to work on his remaining boot, “And I’d rather eat fire ants, thank ya.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh it’s great!” He assured with a laugh, “For the first five hours. Then ya start thinkin’ bout amputation. If I catch you slippin Horny Goatweed in my tonics’n’shit I’ll take you over my knee girl, I ain’t teasin.”

“I won’t.” she swore, disturbed at the mere notion of slipping anything into anything he took.

He patted her cheek in acknowledgment before sitting down heavily beside her and setting to yanking off his grimy shirt, the pit stains dark and visible as he raised his arms and struggled with the garment.

“What’s this really about?” he asked softly as the fabric cleared his flushed face, his hair soft and mussed, grease defining each half-hearted curl at the nape of his neck.

“I’m bein’ silly.” she acknowledged with a shy smile.

“Ain’t no crime that.” he smiled back, “Not on my boat. Hell, there ever been a time you ain’t silly, girl?”

“Maybe not.”

“Didn’t think so.” he teased, leaning back against the wall in a slump on the cot’s sagging bedding. “Can’t I jus’ be tired, Rosey?” he asked again, “And I’ll let you be silly.”

“Fair enough.” she sighed.

“Well go on now, be silly. I done told ya you could.” he prodded with a finger to her rib and she jerked from the tickle.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it.” she shook her head, “And you're tired so- so I won’t make you.”

“I don’t wanna.” he agreed but added sweetly, “I don’t wanna talk about mine but I’ll listen to yours, long as you need. What’s goin’ on up in that noggin? Too many figures, hmm?”

“Secrets more like.” Rosey mumbled petulantly.

“Lord, you got more?” he sighed and didn’t seem angry but she let out a scoff that he’d think she meant her own, she thought of the photographs.

“No,” she chose to leave it be, “no, I’m talking about more curatives.” she teased.

“Girl, just cool it.” he laughed, “I’ll lick ya again.” he offered hopefully and with a little twinkle in his eye that could almost pass for energy.

“What about turtle soup?” Rosey dodged, hopeful that a teasing reference to the first night they met and her naivete and his flustered concern for her eating the aphrodisiac back would rouse a smile.

It did. Predictably his mouth quirked and those pillowy lips looked twice as lush and full now set in a heavy thatch of two day old stubble. He let out a groan of playful aggravation with her preoccupation.

He gently grabbed her listless hand from her own lap and placed it on the rough denim covering his crotch. “You do what ya like.” he sighed, “Can’t promise nothin’.”

The seam was rough but not stiff, as if he’d worn those trousers into softness even at that most vulnerable juncture. As always with his package there was something to pet, even as she ascertained he was not fibbing, he was as soft and tired as he ever got and remained so despite her touches. Even in sleep he was stiffer. She let her hand cup the soft stones spilling on either side of the thick seam, far down between his legs, rubbing at their full undersides and wondering if they ached like her breasts when confined. He shifted on the cot, not in a restless movement at all, but rather as if to settle in for whatever she wished, his legs spreading wider. He even bent his knee and raised his leg to plant one bare foot on the cot, spreading himself as wide as a girl for her attentions, his tall frame cramped and folded by sitting sideways on their little bed.

His soft state inspired soft touches and Rosey found some stupid contentment stroking his sack through the worn denim, running the back of her knuckles up to his shaft that he had tucked nearly to his belt. She realized that despite her boredom with today she was tired too, tired of thinking and tired of mental exertions and ever since he’d taught her, she found this physical outlet far more relaxing than a sleeping tonic.

“I kneed a man here, between the legs, once.” she whispered like a child telling stories at a sleepover and squeezed his sack just the smallest bit. His eyes that had drifted shut while savoring her touches opened up in flutter.

He didn’t seem perturbed by that, by her need for violence, just drowsy from being petted. She should make him sleep. “You can smack me there…if ya like.” he whispered back, entirely serious and not even slightly hesitant. “If ya like -or, or pinch?” he added again as if he’d missed the mark oniy by sheer variety of options as she remained frozen in concern by the offer.

“I don’t.” she got out at last and he shrugged and let his eyes close again. “I-I don’t want anything but gentleness for you.” she expounded and he bit his lip and held his peace for a moment as Rosey mentally smacked herself at the realization he did tell her things, they did talk about…things. He just didn’t do it like a girl unburdening herself or a sinner in the confessional. He offered little insights freely like this one and she was too busy being horrified to notice them for what they were: confidences.

“Jus’ tonight, right?” he asked and meant for it to be teasing but it felt burdened.

‘Maybe he likes pain’ -Aida had said.

“I’d-“ Rosey weighed her options with this newfound awareness in mind, perhaps he would tell her more often what he wanted -like the first few weeks- if she remained a blank enough canvas for him to create on, “I’ll be whatever you want.” she settled for that and began palming him again, enjoying the way the fabric between his legs was still a little damp, either from mist or else his sweat from sitting at the wheel, legs unable to spread or air out. The way his shoulders were dry but the pits of his shirt could be wrung out suggested the same and some strange, torrid appreciation for his toil made Rosey’s mouth water.

There was an oil stain down at his inner thigh and she thumbed it thoughtfully and felt how the fabric was stiff from the stain compared to the rest. He made a soft little noise of contentment under her touches, his one hand busy in the most lazy way with petting her hair that fell all the way to her hip.

Touching. Being touched. God! she’d had so little of it in her life, and so much fear of it for so long and now she was leaning beside a man petting the damp seam of his trousers like a cat's neck. She wedged her hand under his thigh for leverage and bent herself to kiss at him there.

She could hear the staccato of his gasp even from there. “Rosey I-I ain’t even washed, sweet cheeks.” he warned softly.

“I know.” she answered and her voice was a moan, inhaling his pungent sweat, nothing clean about him and she rubbed her face in the pure distillation of his daily exertions like a cat in heat. “I want to smell you.” she told him and it made him swallow hard as she laid her hand on his thigh, the one spread out with his foot up in the covers, and spread him even further, that damned inherent flexibility of his being tested by the strain. His outer knee hit the mattress and it was Rosey that moaned at his ability and Elvis felt like he might shatter into fragments at the erotic pride that rushed through him at the thought of having impressed her.

“Sometimes it’s better, feeling rather than…being felt?” she tried to explain against the damp denim.

“I know!” he sounded more awake and enthused than he had all day, more than even this morning. “I-I know it’s -it’s glorious ain’t it?” and he pet her hair again with happy fervor until she rose up and knelt in front of him, beginning to undo his belt determinedly.

“You’ll wash in the morning.” Rosey decreed as she unfastened the buckle and tugged at the button holding in his warm belly.

“Yes lil’mama.” he agreed with hoarse meekness and drew up his other leg to make her efforts easier.

She opened the fly and tugged it apart, being hit by a wall of musk as he’d predictably poured himself straight into the denim this morning, sans underpants to collect the sweat. He was nearly steaming in that denim hammock. She envied the wash maids and their tasks.

She told him as much and laughed incredulously. “You’ve gone silly.” Elvis swore again.

“No, they treasure your sweat-soiled clothes, I’m sure of it.” she shook her head and reached out with the tips of her fingers to touch the dank appendage and its hammock of swollen stones, the dark curls of his wiry hair almost shiny from the sweat. “Those girls find your trousers -they fight over them i wager- and the winner holds them up and presses them to their faces like this-“ and she put her face to him like a girl kissing at the reflection of a still pond, her hands winding around his waist and digging into the damp back of his trousers, kneading sticky, plush flesh there, too. “-and then she licks at your trouser seams,” and Rosey underscored her point by doing the same to the imprint of his seam on tender pink flesh, “and she moans over the tartness she tastes and the rest of them hate her for what they can’t have. And if she’s really brave-“ Rosey couldn’t believe her own mind at this rate but face pressed to the Captain’s musky balls, she wasn’t truly in possession of any rationale beyond him, him and him, “-she’ll take them to the little closet with the feed sacks and she’ll prop herself up and she’ll touch herself to the smell of you. Wishing she could thank you for your hard work.”

“I haven’t any washer maids.” he whispered while looking down at her eyes with wide, guileless blue ones that were somehow playing a part with their projected innocence while being more himself than anything else about him. “I got rid of them all.” he says.

“Then I’ll have to wash them myself.” she murmured back, raspy and coy, “And I’ll be the one to thank you accordingly.”

The Captain sucked in a breath so hard at this predictable reply that his bottom lip went with it, pinned between his teeth ‘till the vibrant pink turned white under his cruel bite. “Can I watch?” he asked, his voice hoarse with hope. “Watch you be my lil washermaid?”

“So long as you don’t let maid know.” Rosey cautioned with a smirk and dug her hands deeper into his backside, pulling him apart absentmindedly until she felt his cock wag beneath her chin with the first ounce of interest shown tonight. She reared back and stared at the docile thing, twitching pathetically when she dug her nails in a little harsher once more. He sucked in a breath and turned his head to the side and Rosey took her hands out of his trousers to tug the front of his pants further down those sturdy thighs.

She’d no real intention of exciting him after all, only missed him and wanted to taste him before sleep. Tomorrow or next month or eternity was ahead of her to sort out why he responded the way he did. For now her duty was to put him to sleep where he belonged ages ago.

“A big man like you has got to be discreet,” she plotted with him and his face eased as they returned to their play, “the little washermaid wouldn’t know how to face the captain if he found her in such a degradi-“

“-uninhibited position, yes, God, yes!” he interrupted her with an appreciative rush and turned the subject sweet.

“You'll wash in the morning, I want to smell you all night.” she murmured again as she stood up and fully tugged his trousers off over his long feet, making him close his legs from their previous bend.

“Yes’m.” He murmured a little dazed and he looked like he was answering while asleep, the poor man was so visibly tired and she tenderly pushed his naked form to lay down the proper way, all the way flat, on their bedding.

She was not sure what it was about skipping a bath that made him seem more manly, more than he even usually was, but seeing his figure laying there naked on the ratty sheets, hairy and greasy from sweat and the stubble coming in thick -she palmed a breast at the sight of it, distracted from her debate as to keep her nightgown on.

“Strip.” his eyes fluttered in an effort to stay open but they flicked up and down her cotton gown and his eyebrow moved in a motion that was as eloquent as a hand waving it off. “You’ll be warm enough w’me.” he assured her of what she was already sure of.

Rosey drew the gown over her head and tossed it beside the Captain’s denims, only her long hair a covering over her shoulders as she stared down at him once more, savoring the beauty she was about to embrace before reaching high above her and turning the gas lamp out.

Plunged into darkness, she shuffled the couple feet left before her shins hit the cot’s edge and a large, warm hand cupped the back of her thigh and tugged her in. She fell atop him and wiggled till she was tucked into his side, her hand petting at the light fur on his chest and her nose nearly buried in the swamp of his underarm.

He grunted disbelieving at her choice. “How’re you feelin?” she asked, touching his forehead in the dark with the back of her hand, finding it a little clammy but not fevered.

“M’tired.” he replied and none of that had anything to do with Dr. Nicholas and his ponderous list of life

-threatening diseases the man beside her was supposedly harboring.

“You’re not holding off…making love to me…for fear of getting me sick, are you?” she whispered the concern of the day, finally.

“I-I told ya why I’m holdin’ off, Rosey.” he sounded a bit pained but not angry.

“You promise? You’re not just putting it off to spare me -something?“ She begged.

“There’s been nothin’ I was ever less inclined to put off, my girl.” he murmured tiredly as he turned on his side, mashing his face into her breast, giving an accentuating hump of his pelvis against her hip.

“All my life, I ain’t ever been the first choice.” she muttered and his arm tightened around her, “I’ve killed for other women, for Maddy, the ones who were chosen. Wanted, when others-“ she trailed off before picking up in a thin voice reedy with confusion, “-I was talkin’ with Rosetta earlier and I realized I-I was there. I was there for it and not even they wanted me. A dozen men, one woman, and I-I was left alone. I know I should be glad of it.”

Elvis stared at the blackness that somewhere shielded a face he longed to read, but that poor little voice told him a world enough of hurt. He clutched her closer and was going to ask what on earth she meant, who and when and what sort of want she referred to when Rosey added as through in a sob:

“Poor Maddy.”

He startled and turned to grip her in a hug, processing what he was frightened she meant. “That -child, that ain’t no compliment.” he begged her to understand. “Even some of the worst don’t go for -you were a child.”

“Was I? I don’t recall.” she whispered.

“Yes you were.” he declared it, made it truth, “Jus’ ‘cause you only recall it now you’re grown, don’t mean you weren’t a child back then.”

“I’d forgotten.” She repeated, numb in horror at the thought of what else was buried.

“You -you recall anythin’ more?” he asked what he was so very scared to know, hardly sure he could carry the weight of more but certain only a coward would make her carry it alone.

“It took ages.” she whispered, “My knees hurt somethin’ awful from kneeling behind the stove. Took forever for them all to stop.”

The captain crushed her to him and she gripped his back like a shield, “You can tell me, Little Cricket.” he soothed, “Can tell me anythin’ at all.”

“Can I?” she sniffled .

“Mhmm.”

“Then I will -if I recall.”

“Good girl.” He whispered into the damp of her forehead, placing an almost fatherly kiss there.

“So you planned on it, marryin’ me fully? Sickness and all, you swear?” she smiled at the pitch black hollow of his throat, grateful to have it out and trying to gauge with her hands whether a fever burned his life away even now.

“Rosey, I didn’t once plan on you.” Elvis admitted with an affectionate pat and promptly fell asleep.

Go ahead and scream and speculate and gush all you want, I love. Hope you enjoyed💋

**dialogue credit to Captain Smitty

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[ghostbird-7]

Categories of taskmaster contestant

Old and could not give a fuck if they were paid (and they are), delightful- Jo Brand, Alan Davies, Hugh Dennis, Richard Herring, Julian Clary, Frank Skinner, Frankie Boyle

Young foppish man who is inexplicably and hilariously into it-Ian Sterling, Ed Gamble, Chris Ramsey

Oddly capable and also I’m super gay- Sophie Duker, Bridget Christie, Aisling Bea, Mae Martin

Makes you feel delightfully like you’re on acid- Lucy Beaumont, Sam Campbell, Bridget Christie, Bob Mortimer, Mike Wozniak, Fern Brady

Young whippersnapper who’s having an absolute ball of a time- Alice Levine, Lenny Rush, Lou Sanders, Sian Gibson, Rob Beckett, Sara Pascoe, Joey Lycett, Lilly Adefope, Katherine Ryan

Lost their fucking minds- Rhod Gilbert, Joe Wilkinson, Liza Tarbuck, Daisy May Cooper, Katherine Parkinson, John Kearns

[geo-winchester]

Alright so I'll be requesting 3 times for both Taron, Eggsy and Jimmy lmao so I'm sorry for the spam :)

How about

35. Put your seatbelt on. With Eggsy?

THE COACH

A/N: hi lovely, im so sorry for make you wait! I know I been gone for a while, I promise I’m trying to write as fast as I can but this couple of months have been a roller coster of emotions, so I’m sorry that this took me a while, I also hope that you don’t mind that I used another request for this, I hope that this is what both of you wait for and hope you have a good day/night!🩵

TARON EGERTON MASTERLIST

————————————

When you met Jimmy you never thought you’ll be with someone like him, he was the opposite of what you see on a guy, he was likes to show off everything he has, he always had that smirk on his face every time you always look at him, but somehow you end up falling for his charms, you were there the day he was arrested, you visited him every time you could. That night he asked to see you, you rushed to the place and when you finally saw his face you knew something was off, Jimmy pulled you in his arms. 

-Hey- you said -Are you ok? What’s going on? 

-I… uh Beaumont offered me a deal- you couldn’t help but chuckled

-You can’t thrust him, he offered you a deal and look where are you now- he nodded

-This time he wasn’t alone, he came with some lady from FBI- you were confused -they want me to go to a facility on Springfield and make some psycho talk and they let me walk free…- he wait for your answer but you couldn’t say something -I know I shouldn’t thrust Beaumont, but if I succeed they let me walk free, all the charges would be erased and we can start over again, we could have a nice house, have a dog or a cat, we can maybe have a kid or two…- you just look at him- babe please say something…

-Is it dangerous?- he looks away -Jimmy tell me the truth, is it dangerous?

-yes- he said -it could be dangerous- you look away -but what am I supposed to do? If I stay here and complete the sentence what are the chances that I can have a normal job? That dreamed house and family happen? and…

-And what?

-And I have to give justice to all those little girls, he killed them and they deserved some justice- he said with some tears in his eyes, you took his hands and sighed.

-Just promise me you’ll be careful- he nodded.

You like to say that you barely remember those days but he continues to work for the police, but days like this one you could swear that nothing happened, like you got a normal apple pie life for all those years. You look at Jimmy as he trains your son’s team. He offered to be the coach of the football team so that he can spend more time with his kid. You like to watch the training, every now and then you notice how Jimmy looks at you and wink at you. When they are finally done you walk to them. 

-There are my pretty ladies- Jimmy said, and he kneels to your 2 year old daughter -do you have fun with your momma?- your daughter nods. 

-momma, did you see how fast I ran- your son asked, making you smile. 

-I did, champ, you’re the best one- you said. 

-That’s because he has the best coach- Jimmy said with a smirk. 

-Oh really, you never teach me how to play football.

-You never asked me to do it- he answered -I can teach you, darling. 

-Ok let's do this- you said with a smile and your kids celebrated.

He teaches you the basics, the rules, how to catch the ball, how to throw it back, and after that you spend most of the time running away from him, he always catches you but sometimes you are faster than him, then your kids come along and play with you. It was until you threw yourself on the grass and your kids fell above you when you stopped. 

-You’re done babe?- Jimmy asked you, you nod and you extend your arms.

-I'm tired- you said, he rolled his eyes but he carried you to the car, when he put you down in your seat he made sure to put your seatbelt on and you couldn’t help but smile. 

-What? I don’t want to make sure that my lovely and tired wife is secure in the car- he said, you gave him a quick kiss, when he finally got into the driver seat you noticed that he was watching your kids in the mirror, you took his hand.

-You ok?- he nod.

-Sometimes I feel that this is just a dream and I’m going to wake up in that prison…

-Hey, look at me- you said as you took his cheek -this is real, you kept your promise all those years ago, and i hope you keep it when you got a call again- he nodded as he kissed your hand.

-God, what have I done to have you?

-Asked for my number in the most weird way- you said making him laugh -but you know I love you, right?- he nods.

-And I love you too, Mrs. Keene.

[alj4890]

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

(Maxwell Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis) in a Choices The Royal Romance Crackship

A/N Sorry this took so long. Life always finds a way to interrupt my plans with all my series. This chapter takes place the night of Liam's coronation ball.

Masterlist

Chapter 7

"Where is the appeal?" Madeleine hissed.

Olivia shrugged. She wasn't about to humor the countess with commenting on what was unfolding before them.

The press were swarming around Riley and Hana as they made their arrival in a horse drawn carriage.

"We've been top contenders this entire time." Madeleine furiously whispered. "How in the world did some random American win over everyone?"

Olivia frowned somewhat as Riley gushed to the press about how sweet Hana was in giving her a lift to the ball.

"She's nice." She observed. "People tend to like that in others."

"Nice does not mean you can effectively rule a nation." Madeleine reminded her. "It doesn't help you know the ins and outs of life at Court nor does it give one the finesse of dealing with foreign powers."

"Then you better hope that Liam agrees with you." Olivia taunted. "Or else, you're looking at our future queen."

Madeleine glared at her. "And that doesn't bother you? You who have pined for Liam since birth can watch him choose this nobody? Where's that infamous Nevrakis loyalty to our country?! Would you curtsy to someone like her?"

Olivia rolled her eyes over how dramatic Madeleine was being.

"If she is Liam's choice, then who am I to argue against him? He's our king now, Madeleine. Like every other Cordonian, we have to learn to accept the decisions he will make."

Gathering her skirt, she left the countess staring in disbelief.

***************

Oliva went directly to her chambers shortly after dinner for a chance to prepare for what was still before her.

Once alone, she took a deep breath as she began to plan for how the rest of her night would go. She knew she still needed to give Liam his gift, then she'd be forced to mingle and be seen at the ball.

She would have to find a way to sneak out and meet Maxwell at some point from the beginning of the ball until Liam made his choice. Then, if things progressed like she planned, they might even meet up again after the ceremony.

A thrill went through her at the thought. She'd done little throughout the day except think of how she felt in Maxwell's arms. It surprised her how easily his touch set her nerves to singing. She actually wanted to see just how much he could make her burn.

She walked over to the window, gazing out at her chosen spot. Her brow furrowed with the sight of servants going about the hedge maze to light lanterns at each of the numerous twists and turns.

"That's out." She decided.

The last thing she needed was to be caught under one of the lanterns in an illicit embrace with Cordonia's most fun loving lord.

She twirled about and began to pace. She needed a more private spot, one either dark or barely lit to begin this affair.

She considered other hidden nooks in the palace. The conservatory was somewhat ideal, but it smelled too much like wet dirt and fertilizer. The music room was far enough away from the ballroom and even soundproof, but there was no lock on the door. The library always had people coming in and out to have a break from the crowded ballroom. Even the various dens and studies left little to be desired in terms of privacy.

Her eyes darted to the king sized bed in her room.

We will have to be careful coming up here. If anyone saw the two of us going into my room, would they think we were meeting for something else or for sex?

Did she really care what conclusion anyone came to? Liam was choosing Riley this evening. It wasn't like Olivia was being unfaithful to him. And where would be the proof, even if someone did see her with Maxwell? Once the door shut and was locked, no one would know what went on behind it.

"It'll have to be here." She said to herself. "There's nowhere else we can go tonight."

Once her mind was made up on any subject, she did not like waiting around for it. Her lack of patience combined with her innate determination made being with Maxwell a forgone conclusion.

She wasn't above admitting she wanted him. The question that reverberated in her mind was a simple one: did she want Maxwell for life or merely for sex?

She knew his feelings for her went beyond a simple affair...but did hers?

Wrinkling her nose over something she wasn't quite ready to answer, she turned on her heel to check her reflection one last time.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her still.

Glancing at the door, she noticed a letter that was slipped underneath.

Jerking her door open, she looked up and down the hallway filled with various nobles and dignitaries going in and out of their suites.

"Bastien!" She called out to one of the guards.

"Yes, your grace?"

"Did you see anyone stop by my door?"

The guard's eyes briefly touched on the envelope in her hand.

"No, your grace." He nodded towards the mysterious letter. "Is something wrong?"

"No." She gave a brisk nod of farewell and shut the door.

It must be from Maxwell, she thought with a hint of a smile. He used to write letters to me all the time.

Ripping into it, she eagerly began to see just what romantic nonsense he'd come up with this time.

Her smile disappeared the moment the words registered. Line after line revealed information on her parents and their mysterious death. Every single traitorous activity they participated in was gone into great detail. Then, at the end, there was the threat to reveal everything if she didn't withdraw and leave before Liam picked his chosen queen.

"No." She clapped a hand to her mouth.

It can't be true! They were heroes! They loved this country! All they spoke of was making it and Lythikos better. Their loyalty was beyond reproach. They would never risk everything for a chance to rule Cordonia.

They'd never risk leaving me alone.

Her temper took over her initial devastation.

It's a trick! Someone wants to make me doubt them. Make me leave here in disgrace.

But who?

One of the suitors?

Madeleine's desperate to win this. She lost her chance to be queen once before. To leave a loser again probably weighs on her, but she's above blackmail. Penelope knows she doesn't stand a chance. She's too stupid to ever think of something this clever. Kiara's too intelligent to use baseless lies to get her way. Hana doesn't seem to have enough nerve to ever do something like this. And Riley...

She stilled.

Maxwell swore Riley was genuinely kind. Could she be the snake in their group, pretending to be all that is good in the world?

Livid, Olivia shoved the letter in the pocket of her dress.

Swiping up Liam's gift, she stormed out of her room.

*****************

"I know it was you." Olivia hissed.

Riley whirled around, eyes wide in confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," Olivia glared at her, "but it won't work."

"What are you talking about?" Riley asked.

Olivia studied her and realized it couldn't be her. Riley had no idea about anything that went on in Cordonia, much less it's history. Why would she concoct some story about Olivia's parents when it was well known they were heroes? She already knew she was Liam's favorite. What would she have to gain in destroying Olivia's peace of mind and forcing her to withdraw out of disgrace?

"You didn't send it." She whispered.

Riley gently touched her arm.

"Send what?"

"Forget it." Olivia jerked her arm away and stepped up to Liam.

She somehow got through talking to him about her gift and then managed to calmly walk into the ballroom.

Her green eyes darted over the crowd, wondering who was out to get her.

She nearly flipped the person over her shoulder when she felt someone's fingers brush her hand.

Eyes narrowed, she turned around to see Maxwell.

"Hey." His tender smile appeared. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks." She mumbled.

"So?" He leaned closer. "When should we meet at the hedge maze?"

"That's not happening." She folded her arms, while glancing over his shoulder at the few nobles meeting in groups and pointing at each suitor.

They're either trying to figure out who Liam will pick or something worse. Am I the only one who received a threat tonight?

She then noticed the devastation forming on Maxwell's face.

"We're not happening?" He whispered.

"No, we are." She snapped. "Just not at the hedge maze."

Huffing in irritation, she hissed, "Meet me in my room in exactly one hour and ten minutes."

Before he had a chance to agree or say anything remotely how excited he was, she left him to mingle.

*************

"You seem excited." Riley teased as she tried to remember the dance steps.

"I am!" Maxwell grinned at her. "Tonight's the night where all our dreams will come true."

"I know I'm dancing with our future queen." He squeezed her hand before twirling her. "You will have your happily ever after. Liam will be with the love of his life. Bertrand will calm down and make it to forty without having a stroke."

"You really believe that." Her smile grew over how his words never ceased in boosting her confidence. "I love how you never doubt that everything will turn out like we hope."

He sighed softly as he thought of the one thing that made him feel so completely happy.

And I somehow ended up with the woman of my dreams.

"Have I thanked you for, well, everything?" Riley asked.

Maxwell's grin turned bashful. "I didn't do much to be thanked."

"Only encouraged me every single second. You have been by my side the entire time and made time for me and Liam to be alone." She reminded him. "You were the only person to believe I belonged here. You gave me the chance to see if Liam and I could have something more than some flirtation."

When the dance ended, she hugged him.

"You'll always have my thanks, Max, no matter how tonight ends."

He hugged her tight then noticed the stares they were receiving.

"Come on." He pulled away and tucked her hand in the bend of his arm. "Let's go see what they have to snack on."

**************

Between keeping an eye on the clock and discreetly interrogating the other suitors, Olivia's nerves were on edge.

There were times she'd stepped outside to reread the letter in an attempt to guess at who wrote this. One thing that bothered her about it was the amount of detail. There were dates and locations of where her parents had gone. This wasn't some simple threat that someone made up. There were claims of pictures and documents that would prove to the public the depth of her parents' betrayal.

Could it be true? Could they have done all this?

She knew her ancestors were notorious for doing whatever was best for themselves. A Nevrakis was known, not only for strength, but in using that strength to secure as much power as they possibly could by any means necessary.

Could her parents have been of that mindset? She recalled all the training they put her young self through. The speeches of how she needed to know how to handle herself if she was to one day rule.

Dear God. I thought they meant to rule as the Duchess of Lythikos. Did they really mean for me to rule as queen?

Her attention snapped from the letter to one of the outdoor bars. Sliding into the shadows, she hoped to overhear something that might point her towards a possible culprit.

Bertrand Beaumont was clinking glasses with, of all people, the former crown prince.

"It's been too long since we had a drink together." Leo added after taking a long sip. "How have you been?"

"Fine." Bertrand took a healthy gulp of his glass of bourbon. "I'll be even better once this night is over."

"I think everyone will." Leo snickered. "Liam is hiding it, but I think he's anxious."

"He has every right to be." Bertrand added. "He did just become king."

"It's not that." Leo rubbed the back of his neck. "It's about his choice. I think I might have ruined that for him."

Bertrand paused with his drink halfway to his lips. "How?"

"When I decided to abdicate, I thought Liam would have time to adjust. I didn't expect Father to make him immediately choose someone to marry, much less put him through this asinine social season." Leo grumbled.

"I understood why Father made me do it." He added. "I caused trouble everywhere I went." He downed the rest of his drink. "But Liam, he's always been the one to follow the rules. He never rebelled. Never gave anyone a reason to make public apologies on his behalf."

He sighed, motioning to the bartender for another round for the two of them.

"I worry that his sense of duty will deny him a chance at true happiness." He added.

"Perhaps not." Bertrand picked up his new glass. "King Liam seems to be rather fond of our suitor."

"Riley, right?" Leo grinned. "I've heard a lot about her these last few days."

"Nothing scandalous I hope." Bertrand shuddered. "House Beaumont can't afford even a hint of scandal."

"Nothing like that." Leo chuckled. "In fact, I think that..."

Olivia felt her heart drop. Bertrand's words echoed in her mind, drowning out their conversation, as she looked down at the letter in her hands once more.

House Beaumont can't afford even a hint of scandal.

If this letter ever got out to the public, her life would be ruined. No one would trust her. Any children she might one day have would be forced to hide in shame. Maxwell would be tainted by association.

He might even be forced by Bertrand to never see her again.

Gripping the letter that had the ability to implode her very existence, she quietly slipped back into the palace.

**************

Maxwell did his best to walk both discreetly and as if he wasn't in any hurry to wherever he was going. He glanced over his shoulder every few feet to make sure no one was following. The few times he caught someone behind him, they paid him little attention and ended up turning down a different hallway.

His heartbeat picked up speed once he was a few doors down from Olivia's room. He wasn't exactly sure how far tonight would take his relationship with her, but he knew he was willing to go any distance she wanted.

Tonight would be, at least he hoped, the beginning of many, many nights together. His mind was filled with plans for their future. Dates to sweep her off her feet were considered. Special places from their past were thought of as possible backdrops to when he finally professed his love to her. Time spent in each other's home to think on which one to use for a possible wedding if he was lucky enough to receive a yes to his proposal.

All this and so much more was within his grasp. After all the years of yearning and trying to get her to see him, he'd finally won. The dream was a reality. He could at least relax and know that nothing stood in his way.

Pausing before her door, he took a deep breath, glanced once more around him, and quietly knocked.

Olivia opened it, grabbed his shirt collar, and yanked him inside.

He didn't have a chance to say anything. The moment the door shut, she shoved him against the door to kiss him.

His body instantly reacted, pulling her close and kissing her back with all the passion he had just for her.

She moaned in delight, hands quickly getting to work on unbuttoning his shirt.

She broke away from his mind numbing kiss to unbutton his pants. Her eyes closed the moment his lips touched her neck.

"Get those off." She demanded when he seemed to ignore her efforts.

"What's the hurry?" He kissed her again.

She bit down on her bottom lip. She knew why she was hurrying. This was probably their only chance to be together.

Her decision to leave before Liam announced his choice was made the moment she realized that scandal would ruin her chances with Maxwell. She needed to discover the truth about this letter, and unfortunately that meant investigating on her own.

She couldn't involve anyone else. If she did, she might have to stand there and watch them walk away from her. It was best for everyone if she left them. Then, her heart would be protected. She wouldn't have to face being turned away in fear or disgust that she shared a bloodline with possible traitors if she distanced herself from those she actually cared about.

But for now, she'd allow herself this one chance to see what life might have been like, if she was free to be with Maxwell.

"We can't stay up here too long." She explained, unzipping her own dress. "People will definitely talk if we aren't waiting on Liam's announcement with the rest of them."

Her shimmery red dress pooled at her feet. With the way the gown was cut, it was impossible to wear a bra. Since she knew what they would get up to, she'd also decided against wearing any underwear whatsoever.

She felt her skin tingle in anticipation. Maxwell's bright blue eyes had darkened as he gazed upon her form. He hadn't moved a muscle as her dress slipped down her body. He'd only followed its path, taking in every bit of skin revealed.

Without a word nor taking his eyes off of her, he slowly shrugged out of his clothes.

Olivia felt her desire notch even higher. The serious expression on his face took her by surprise. She'd expected him to practically rush into her arms once she was naked. This unexpected side of him made her be the one to move towards him.

She draped her arms around his neck, pressing her pale body against the toned, hard planes of his own. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Touch me." She nearly begged against his mouth.

His hands cupped her face, thumb brushing against her lower lip. Silently he moved them down her body, only pausing when she gasped or moved restlessly against him.

The lower he went, the more she wanted. Grabbing his wrists, she pulled him over the to bed.

She sat down on the edge and tilted her head up when he remained standing. Her eyes met his.

"Say something." She pleaded, feeling suddenly nervous over his continued silence.

Swallowing, Maxwell knelt before her. His hands ran along her smooth legs, his eyes never leaving hers.

In a gravely voice, he said.

"I want you. I've always wanted you."

He surged up, pushing her down on the bed, lips crashing on hers.

She moaned, pulling him as close as she could. Her breath hitched when he broke away to kiss down her body. Scrambling back some to give him more room, she cried out in ecstasy when his tongue brushed against the tips of her breasts. The moment his lips closed around and sucked, she ran her hands through his hair, keeping him there as he sent desire through her veins.

His moans and whispers of how perfect she was made her heart ache as he continued to worship down her body. His determination to kiss and lap at every single inch made her writhe and scream his name in a litany that surprised her. Every touch of his hands, his lips, and body made her wish for the impossible.

She didn't want to have to walk away from him.

The moment he slid within her, she couldn't help but think how right it felt. It wasn't all supposed to clock this easily or this quickly. Shouldn't her experiment need more time? Had she been denying the truth in front of her longer than she first thought?

Unnerved by the realization, she cupped his face and kissed him more tenderly than she'd ever done with anyone.

The slow momentum he'd begun stopped the moment she wrapped her legs around his hips. She urged him on, moving faster towards what they both needed.

He harshly cried out her name when she clinched around him. A breathless whisper of his own name escaped her as she succumbed to the sensations he'd caused.

They laid there, still connected and holding tight to one another as their breaths began to slow.

Maxwell rose up some on his elbows to look at her face. A tender smile formed as he saw the brief look of wonder in her sated expression.

"Wow." He said, softly kissing her. "My imagination really, really sucks."

She snorted in disbelief that he could make her want to laugh at a moment like this.

"Does it?"

He nodded, lips brushing hers once more.

"Nothing in my fantasies could possibly live up to tonight."

"I take it you enjoyed yourself?" She couldn't help but smile while thoroughly enjoying the feel of him pressing her into the mattress.

"Couldn't you tell?" He eased off of her, rolled into his back, and pulled her on top of him.

"Oh I could." She settled more comfortably against him. "In case you are the least bit curious, I liked it too."

His grin blossomed in hearing that. A part of her was tempted to go into how much she loved being with him and in how she didn't want it to end.

She knew she couldn't. This would have to be a one and done experience.

At least until I finish my investigation and destroy whatever evidence I discover.

And possibly dispose the body of my blackmailer.

It was odd to willingly remain in his arms to bask in the afterglow. Normally she couldn't leave or kick her lovers out fast enough. She never wanted to talk or simply be held. They'd provided a service to her passionate nature and were no longer needed.

But Maxwell...

She wanted this. She wanted to hear any ridiculous thing that came to his mind. She loved the fact that he needed to touch her. His hands drifting down her back in lazy caresses was exactly what she needed while gazing at his handsome face. She loved seeing how perfectly content he was in this moment.

It reflected her own feelings with him.

Knowing he would insist on when their next night together could be if she didn't say or do something, she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

His arms wrapped around her with body already responding to her touch once more.

Moaning in frustration that they didn't have time for another round, she forced herself to leave his arms.

"We better hurry." She said while swiping up her dress on the way to the ensuite.

Maxwell hopped off of the bed and caught her before she made it inside.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind when she relaxed back against him and pressed a sweet kiss to her neck.

"Tonight meant everything to me, Liv." He admitted in a heartfelt tone.

Tears blurred her vision. She turned to respond with a deep kiss, holding him close for one last time before escaping.

Leaning against the bathroom door, she whispered.

"It meant everything to me too, Max."

**************

A short time later, Olivia found Liam talking to Riley in one of the acloves along the outer edges of the ballroom. Preparing herself for the inevitable, she told him she needed to speak to him.

When he seemed reluctant to leave Riley's side, Olivia blurted out that she was leaving.

"Why?" He searched her eyes for a sign of why she would leave before the ceremony was completed.

"There's no reason for me to stay." She glanced at Riley, hoping he would think it was because of her she was leaving.

She couldn't tell him the truth, especially when she wasn't certain what the truth was.

Liam stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"What about the person you told me about? Don't you want to see if it's love or--"

She shook her head. "That's not going to happen now."

Saying goodbye before he could question her further, she turned on her heel and left all while ignoring the couple calling out for her to wait.

She made it outside and down the steps of the palace before being stopped.

"Wait a second!" Riley breathlessly pleaded. "Are you okay?"

"Like you care." Olivia snapped.

"I do." Riley gripped her hand. "I wouldn't chase you down if I didn't."

"Why would you?" Olivia grumbled, wrenching her hand free. "It isn't like we're friends."

"I thought we were on our way to being just that." Riley argued.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I don't have time for this."

"Yes, you do." Riley moved and blocked her way into the waiting town car. "Now what's going on?"

Olivia handed over the letter. She didn't know what possessed her to trust this woman with it, but she suddenly wanted someone to know the truth of why she was running away. For some reason, she believed Riley would keep this secret.

Either I'm a fool for giving her something to hold over me, or she really is all that Maxwell claims.

Without a word, Riley scanned the contents, her mouth dropping open when she got to the end.

"Who did this to you?" She demanded.

"That's what I'm going to find out." Olivia snatched the letter back .

"We need to find them and demand the truth." Riley said, her own temper snapping at the thought of someone blackmailing Olivia.

"We?" Olivia laughed without humor. "There is no we in this. I have to find them. You," she sighed, "you have to go be with Liam."

"You're going to need help." Riley insisted.

She reluctantly stepped out of the way so Olivia could get into the backseat.

With the window rolled down, the fiery duchess reached out and grasped her hand in quiet gratitude.

"I'll be fine on my own."

"Do you think it's true?" Riley asked.

"I don't know." Olivia went to let go and found Riley holding tight to her hand once more.

"I promise I'll help you. I won't tell anyone that you're being blackmailed. Just tell me what you need and we'll get to the bottom of this. You shouldn't have to--"

"Stop." Olivia pleaded. She was surprised by Riley's fervent speech to help and by her own temptation to accept it. "Thank you, but you can't."

Easing her hand away, she nodded towards the palace.

"Go be with Liam. He needs you more than I do." She lowered the privacy barrier and told her driver she was ready. "And Riley?"

"Yes?"

"Watch your back." Olivia warned.

[tessa-liam]

Marabelle

Chapter 15 – Part 1 

Life Goes On - 1

Choices – The Royal Romance, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)  

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?  

Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist  

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F!OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor  

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC), Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson  

Most characters belong to Choices- Pixelberry Studios  

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, terrorist/gun violence 

Many thanks to @selina012 for pre-reading. 

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement  

Chapter Summary – It’s graduation night for Maxwell and during the evening, the venue is attacked by the “Sons of Earth”, an anti-monarchist terror group. After being alerted, Liam rushes home to Cordonia from an Italian political summit. 

Music & Title Inspiration: Life Goes On, Ed Sheeran, Luke Combs 

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.  

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.  

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue for this chapter.  

Main Auditorium, University of Cordonia, Capital  

11:15 p.m. 

Sophie's POV 

It's dark now. The air around me is thick and stings the back of my throat. The sound of fireworks rings in my ears. There's an awful taste in my mouth. Something cold and metallic. It's blood. Where it's coming from, though, I'm not sure. The smell of it hits my senses in full and makes me feel woozy, as if I'm drunk. 

At first there are just shrieks of confusion, and the smell of gunpowder in the air. As it settles though, I realize that one of the sharp sounds is a scream. 

Then, out of nowhere, someone runs past. Another joins them, and then more and more people seem to flood the room. They're rushing in from what was, minutes earlier, the exit; and now it feels like a long and twisted nightmare. 

I see the figure of a man, dressed in black standing in front of me, frozen in place, as if there was a weapon pointed at him. "Watch the front", I shout, and dropped down to the floor, pulling Tom and Candy down with me. 

"Sophie---" Before Candy and Tom could react, there was a loud bang and a champagne tower behind us exploded, shattering glass and spraying champagne everywhere.  

Sophie had closed her eyes instinctively, and when she opened them, she saw Candy looking at her gratefully. 

"Thank you, Sophie." Tears welled in her eyes. 

"Don't give up. We'll get out of here." Sophie comforted them and that seemed to cheer herself up, as well. She whispered Liam's name in her mind, as if that would give her more strength. 

Finally, after a difficult trek, and not meeting those men in black again, they came to the emergency exit. Sophie pushed the door open forcefully; a breath of fresh air ...the smell of freedom greeted them. 

"We're out at last!" Candy cried, her tears falling. 

"Quick, get out of here; as far away as you can." Sophie urged them. Around her, other students and guests screamed in panic and stumbled away. Some were covered in blood, others were unable to walk, some supported by peers or carried on their backs. 

They saw the flashing lights and sounds of ambulances and police cars in the distance, and Sophie quickened her pace, almost with all her strength, and led them toward the light. 

Police cars and ambulances roared in as police with security forces moved in quickly to evacuate people while paramedics treated the injured. 

Sophie, Candy and Tom were quickly met by paramedics for aid and assessment. In the ambulance, nurses performed a simple dressing for the cut on Sophie's face and assessed the bruising that was starting to appear. Meanwhile, Candy and Tom lay on stretchers being taken care of by doctors. 

"How are you? Feel all right?" Sophie asked her friend anxiously. 

Candy managed to smile, though her body was still shaking slightly from the shock of the pain. "I'm fine -- just my arm still hurts and I'm a little dizzy." 

"...Tom ... how is Tom?" Sophie watched as Candy struggled to sit up, but she was soon stopped by the nurse who bandaged her. Tom looked pale and clenched his teeth, trying to bear the pain in his shoulder. 

He nodded hard. "I'm okay --Candy ... sweetheart. Just ... I hope my shoulder doesn't get damaged later." 

Sophie gently held the hands of the two friends, with a little comfort and positivity in her heart, "You both will be all right, and soon we will be sent to the hospital." She whispered to them. 

A few moments passed and the doctor's voice came from the front of the ambulance, "Sorry, you need to get off, miss. We have limited space and must give priority to getting more seriously injured people to hospital." 

Sophie nodded, and though she did not want to, she knew it was necessary. She gave her friends a meaningful look and then said firmly, "you must hold on. I'll be waiting for you." 

With that, Sophie is led out by another doctor and watched the ambulance drive away with Candy and Tom. Looking around the parking lot, she noticed that Maxwell and Daniel were nowhere to be found, having been separated from her during the escape. She turned her eyes to the crowd around her and searched, trying to find Maxwell and Daniel among them. 

Her heart was filled with deep anxiety and worry, as she silently prayed that Candy and Tom, and Maxwell and Daniel, would be safe. Other ambulances around her were open, and she saw medical staff treating the injured students and guests in a tense and orderly manner. Many of the students were injured and their bodies and clothing were covered with blood. Some were clutching their wounds while others crouched on the ground, their expressions contorted with pain. Some persevered through gritted teeth, though their faces were pale. Others cried out in pain, their voices filled with fear and despair; several others had lost consciousness and had been carried out by their companions, lying motionless on stretchers, lifeless in the crowd. However, she still could not find Maxwell and Daniel. 

Italian Parliament, Rome

Liam's POV: 

Bastien stood in the lobby with his hands clasped behind his back. He lifted his head when he heard my footsteps, "Your Highness," He nodded politely. After intense all-day meetings, I was looking forward to the dinner invitation at the home of an Italian statesman and his wife. Francesco di Pietro was married to a Cordonian noble; a friend of my late mother. 

"So," Liam began, walking at a quick pace, side-by-side with Bastien, "Did you track her location?" 

"Unfortunately, not, sir. It looks like either she didn't have her phone with her, or she switched it off." 

"Okay." Liam exhaled deeply. His heart fell, wondering why she did not answer his calls and messages. "Well, please keep trying. Let me know immediately when you are successful." 

"Understood, sir." 

As he exited the building, Liam spotted Rashad on the corner, talking with the limo driver and Rashad’s assistant. 

He caught sight of Liam as the staff and the driver bid goodbye. Rashad turned to the crown prince and clapped him on the back as they walked together. 

"Let me say again that it was a job well done, Li. The outcome of your meetings was exactly what we hoped. The Prime Minister himself will present the results in Parliament later this week." 

"Excellent," Liam replied, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

The pair rode together in the limousine, this time on their way to the reception. Rashad relaxed into the soft leather seats. He examined Liam and could sense his distraction. "You look agitated, Li." 

Liam's eyes refocused. He turned towards Rashad and exhaled. "There is something I wish to discuss with you." 

The atmosphere in the vehicle at once turned somber. Rashad's voice was steady. "Alright." 

"I need a financial audit completed of the duchy of Krona." 

Rashad pursed his lips thoughtfully. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a mobile phone. His long fingers rapidly punched numbers, and within seconds he spoke clearly. 

"Good evening. We need a financial audit conducted at the earliest. I will send you the details via e-mail later this evening. This is confidential." 

Liam settled into his seat, as Rashad confirmed an appointment for himself with the inspector general the next morning. As he rang off and returned his phone to his breast pocket, Rashad looked at Liam, "Consider it done ... can I ask if there is something in particular that you are looking for?" 

"Let's just say, I have a hunch."   

Arriving at the residence of Signore and Signorina di Pietro. Bastien opened the limo door and let the men out at the main entrance. The ambassador's residence was a grand marble palazzo surrounded by elegant greenery and flowers in the style of the gardens of Versailles. The Italian marble entrance was brightly lit, showing the rich texture of the red, white and pink-hued material. 

They were ushered inside and offered cocktails, as Francesco and his wife, Isobella, greeted them in the foyer. 

The meal was exquisite; the chef served them an amorous appetizer, risotto ai frutti demare, a seafood risotto, before serving the main course, porcini mushroom filled chicken in a truffle glaze, paired with a delicious wine from the estate’s winery. 

Even though it was exquisite and luxurious, it could not help Liam through his restless state of mind. He listened politely as Francesco’s wife, Isobella, told stories that involved her experiences with his mother and Cordonia. 

Francesco turned and raised a toast. "To Cordonia and our rich future of diplomatic and financial cooperation. May our new alliance continue to blossom, 'come un fiore al sole'." (Like a flower in the sun.) 

Liam responded graciously. "Grazie, and saluti." [thank you, cheers] 

Isobella held out her hand and her daughter, Carmella, placed it in her mother's. Carmella walked with a poised, graceful step towards Liam, her dark hair styled in a braided crown. She had almond-shaped brown eyes that gazed at him demurely. 

As she drew closer, Liam could make out her petite stature, a slim yet feminine figure underneath her blush-toned gown. 

"Buonasera, Vostra Altezza,” [Good evening, Your Highness}, she softly spoke, dropping down into a graceful curtsy. Liam nodded at her in greeting. “Buonasera Carmella, e un piacere incontrarti.” (Good evening, Carmella, it is lovely to meet you). 

Francesco addressed Liam warmly. “Forgive her timidity, Your Highness, she's not yet used to entertaining royalty." 

Liam flashed his charming faux smile and glanced at the beautiful girl before him. "The pleasure is mine." He bowed and nodded. 

Carmella flashed a coy smile and batted her eyes coquettishly. Her flirtations were unsuccessful, though. Liam politely kept his distance and turned his attention back to her parents. Francesco openly showed disappointment with Liam’s response to his daughter, “È adorabile, vero? Liam..”. [She is lovely, no? Liam...] 

"Oh my, have a look," Carmella announced loudly, interrupting her father. A look of horror dawned on her face as she motioned towards a mounted flat screen in the adjacent family room. 

Liam turned his attention to the breaking news to watch the images on the television screen, as reporters recounted in rapid-fire Italian, the events of a shooting incident at the University of Cordonia. Liam's mouth went dry, a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he heard the beating of his heart pounding in his ears.  

"Sparatoria di massa alla laurea dell'Università di Cordonia, numerose vittime." [“Mass shooting at Cordonia University graduation, multiple casualties.”] 

Liam gritted his teeth. The news video is shocking: the chaos, the panicked crowds, the victims.... Anger and grief mangled in his heart, and he felt overwhelming fury at this indiscriminately violent attack. 

He continued to listen, his heart stung by the reporter's words - “according to witnesses, there are student casualties at the scene.” Liam's mind flashed to Sophie's image as he absorbed this information. 

Liam was glued to the screen, looking for any clues that could relate to Sophie. But the reporter did not mention the names of specific victims. Nevertheless, his anxiety and worry had reached the climax. He knew that Sophie was not only someone he loved, but one of the people he cared about most in the world. If something should happen to her ... he dared not think further 

Rashad clapped him on the back gently, whispering "let's go, Li. Come on." 

Liam murmured a rushed farewell and left the room, his face flushed with anxiety. His hands were clenched into fists, his veins bulging revealing his inner struggle and determination. He must return to Sophie as soon as possible to ensure her safety and as Crown Prince he must personally deal with the vicious incident that has shocked the nation. 

Outside the estate, Bastien rushed to the door to meet Liam, who rushed into the limo and commanded calmly and firmly. 

"Prepare the jet." 

Within moments, the black limo was rushing through the streets to the private jet waiting for them at the airport. Liam knows that, as Crown Prince, he must remain unflappable and rational. But at the moment, he is just a man who loves Sophie deeply and cannot contain his deep concern for her welfare. 

 On the way to the airport Liam closes his eyes and contemplates, but his mind is in turmoil. He can't forget the shocking images in the news, the helplessness and despair of the victims. At the same time, every moment he spent with Sophie came back to him; those sweet, happy and romantic memories. He vowed himself that he must bring justice to the victims of the shooting and bring the perpetrators to justice; at the same time, he must find Sophie and protect her from all harm, no matter what the difficulties. 

Within moments, the black limo was rushing through the streets to the private jet waiting for them at the airport. 

Aboard the jet, Liam impatiently paced the floor, his thoughts racing and his heart thudding wildly in his chest. It was not long before Bastien came through the hatch with a folder in his hand. 

"I have the cell tower records for the past 12 hours. Lady Sophia’s mobile last pinged at 8:32 p.m. with no further activity since.  We also pinged it before the attack and after and checked the towers; it has yet to send out another signal" 

 Rashad watched Liam’s face pale. The evidence strongly suggested that Sophie is, as at that moment, missing. 

His heart was beating at the speed of a thousand miles per hour, the hairs on his nape rising, his chest tightened. 

"We just need to trust that they are alright," Rashad insisted as he looked through his tablet, his hands shaking as he stared at the horrific photos that appeared on social media, of the aftermath of the campus violence. He swore under his breath in French, wishing they would provide more updates on the situation. 

He handed Liam his device, nervously watching Liam’s reaction, his heart pounding wildly. 

"One of my informants gave me this footage before we left the statesmen’s home. I think you need to take a look." 

Liam watched the blurry security camera footage as dozens of masked figures, bearing firearms, stood just outside the building that was clearly recognizable as the auditorium where the graduation ceremony took place earlier this evening, as they lined up several of their colleagues the unmistakable emblem displayed, 'The Sons of Earth'. 

After receiving Bastian's firm and urgent phone call, Drake rushed into the airport his eyes quickly scanning Bastien’s solemn face. “Get on the plane, we don't have time,” Bastien ordered curtly and forcefully. 

Drake nodded and stepped quickly into the cabin without question. His eyes at once caught Liam in the front row. Drake walked quickly toward Liam, filled with concern and sympathy. He slowly sat down across from Liam, trying to control his emotions so as not to disturb his friend's heavy mood. 

“Liam, I just heard that Sophie and Maxwell ... This is so sudden, are you okay?” 

Liam looked up at Drake, slightly tired, but then turned firm again. “Not very well, but I have to stay calm. Sophie and Maxwell are in danger. I must find them and make sure they are safe.” 

His tone was tight, but every word betrayed a firm determination. 

Bastien stood to the side silently observing the interaction between the two men. 

“Your highness, we have done everything possible to ensure a smooth flight and the most important thing now is to get to Cordonia as soon as possible to understand the actual situation.” 

His words were short and powerful, adding a touch of confidence to the dreary atmosphere. 

Drake nodded and looked out the window at the receding ground, silently praying for Sophie and Maxwell.  

“We are all here for you, Liam. Sophie and Max are strong, and they will be fine.”  

He tries to comfort Liam with his words, even though he knows what this sudden disaster means. Looking at his best friend, Liam's expression remained unreadable. 

The jet started to move as it began to taxi away from the parking bay. As the plane accelerated down the runway, it soared into the air with a roar, piercing the thick clouds and soaring into the sky. 

Coming soon, part 2.

A/N4: This chapter had a mind of its own🫢, and is long ...so I broke it into 2 parts🫣. It's already written and will post in a few days...

Thanks for reading ❣️

@choicesficwriterscreations

@selina012

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