#Smith field bakery

[suchananewsblog]

Try bun butter jam from these Chennai bakeries that are more than 50-years-old

On TM Soundararajan Road in Mandaveli, there is a 70-year-old building with fading yellow paint and blue windows. On its facade, is a bright yellow signboard that says Verghese Bakery. Below, is a glass door and whenever it opens visitors are met with a gush of cold air swollen with the warm aroma of sugar. Displayed in refrigerated glass shelves are red velvet cakes, doughnuts and Japonaise…

[levisfavoriteteashop]

aot men and where they would take you for a date

with: levi ackerman, armin arlert, eren yeager, jean kirschtein and erwin smith

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levi ackerman

levi is the type of guy that dislikes being basic and takes you out to a movie theater or something like that, so i can totally picture him taking you on more classy dates. he would definitely take you to an art museum, or to a play, like a show on broadway. I also picture levi taking you to a christmas market, or to an adorable small bakery, where he can also share tea with you. lastly, he’s the type to invite you to a dance, a real evening dance. levi is definitely not the type to just hang out with you at his place, when he wants a date he puts everything in it. 

armin arlert 

armin is a total sweetheart, and it is not surprising that he likes nature dates. I picture that he’d take you out on a picnic by the beach or in a field of flowers during summer and spring. During fall, he’d go to a pumpkin patch with you and in winter he’d definitely go ice skating with you, even though he may not be the best at it. he absolutely loves spending hours with you out there in the cold, watching how your nose and cheeks grow rosy because of the cold, and he would warm you up by giving you light pecks on the tip of your nose

eren yeager

eren is probably a little basic, he would take you out to a movie theater or to a restaurant. however that doesn’t mean that he puts little effort in it, because he pays attention to what you like or not, and he wants to make sure that it’s the perfect date for you. For example, when you go to a restaurant, eren would harass the staff to make you your favourite meal, even if it’s not on the menu. this boy is also the type to take you to the movie theater to watch a scary movie, because he hopes that you’ll get scared and cling to him for comfort. It may be a classic thing to do on a date, but eren still manages to make it adorable for you. even when you simply hang out at his place, eren will organise many things for you to enjoy, like baking together, or even drawing, despite the fact that his skills are very questionable in that matter.

jean kirschtein

jean definitely wants a date where the two of you can have fun and spend time together. of course he’s always down to go to a fancy restaurant with you or to just watch movies and cuddle, but he also likes to be adventurous. I feel like he would take you to an amusement park, and you two would end up clinging to each other while going down a rollercoaster. jean is also the type of boy to spend his money on a fair game, where he could win you a big stuffed toy. finally, jean would probably take you stargazing in a field at night, which is his idea of a perfect calm date.

erwin smith

i can picture erwin taking you on dates where the only purpose is spoiling you. i mean that he could take you on a shopping spree, and buy you all of your expensive jewellery and clothes. erwin would also book a spa massage for the two of you to enjoy. he would also bring you gifts and flowers every time he’d take you out, because the man loves spoiling you. finally, if the two of you want to go on a more creative and interesting date, erwin would probably take you hiking, or he would teach you different new sports. during the winter, the man would gladly go sledding with you, or even just take a walk in a snowy forest.

[blis00ya]

eruhan family

my most ambitious modern au headcanon for my most precious rarepair, the lineup for their children was finalized 230911 bcs 9 kids soothe my eyes

the family tree: hange-smith

the parents: erwin smith and zoe hange

bit of a background: they were classmates during kindergarten and he immediately grew a crush on her, but he had to go back to the UK due to his family's business. they met again during college and immediately hit it off and started dating despite a 3-year age difference.

hailing from a big family, zoe wanted to recreate it; crushing on zoe so hard, erwin wanted it too.

he eventually inherited his parents' companies and she became a scientist in many fields.

irish twins: eren and armin

while eren was planned, armin was definitely NOT. the former was a honeymoon baby while the latter... well, blame erwin! they have a 1-year age gap.

zoe thought of their names because she wanted it to sound like erwin's name. eren's green eyes are from both his grandmothers' eyes which made him all the more adored while armin took all of erwin's features, making him erwin's favorite. zoe was the main caretaker of the two but they're undeniably daddy's boys.

eren will be a firefighter and armin the sole heir of erwin's businesses.

the golden child: sasha

sasha was born 5 years later, inheriting all of zoe's features which erwin absolutely loved, making him see that she does no wrong in his eyes.

the couple decided to concentrate on the irish twins before having her who was her brothers' dream come true since they had been wishing for a sister. she's spoiled rotten and eremin does not allow her to do any household chores despite teaching her how. zoe was her main caretaker but she's both a daddy and mommy's girl.

she'd grow to be a baker and open her bakeries.

the triplets: pieck, marcel, porco (PMP)

6 years after doting on the favorite child, the couple decided it's time for another, although this time, they didn't expect it to be triplets. while they were overjoyed, zoe's siblings were stressed for her but erwin's parents were excited for them.

pieck had her the hair color of zoe's mother, but both grandmothers and zoe's sister declared her as their favorite, also armin's because she's smart; marcel is eren's favorite because he's very diligent, quiet, and observant, ever the peacemaker; porco is sasha's favorite because he used to follow her around and obey her every request just to get her approval. erwin is their main caretaker but they're very much the babies of their eldest siblings.

pieck would grow to be a journalist, marcel a diplomat, and porco an air force member.

fraternal twins: zofia and falco (ZF)

after 4 years, the couple again didn't expect they'd have another set and zoe's OB wanted to smack the shit out of erwin.

erwin named zofia because he wanted something similar to zoe's name while armin named falco because he felt like it. the triplets joked that the ink went dry with the twins' hair (and the two absolutely believed it). falco adores eren the most while zofia idolizes armin so much even if he's always making her cry for the fun of it. erwin was their main caretaker but the triplets helped the most.

zofia would be an astrophysics major and falco a literature major.

youngest: ymir

the result of erwin's request to zoe 7 years later and she agreed because she also missed having a baby in the house.

eren named her and declared her the sister he didn't know he was missing, she's closest to him and the twins; her grandparents liken her to a cat because she's always curled up with her parents. shy and distant with the triplets, the couple were her main caretaker with the rest of the siblings helping out.

she'd grow to be a pediatrician.

[sophiagrimes]

the monster of the week campaign that my friend is keeping takes place in 1992, on an island called point au faire! here is my character :)

courtney andrea miller - the snoop - she/her - 25

BACKSTORY:

lived in a town called little hammock on an island off the coast of louisiana called point au faire as a child. plenty of friends, close with a few cousins. they had all heard stories of ghosts and creatures lurking in the night, but they never thought much of it. it was just life. they were like 10.

courtney is 13 when her best friend, joanna, goes completely missing. last seen leaving the library alone one night and never made it home, no body ever located. no foul play suspected. courtney cannot accept this and goes around town to try and investigate on her own but people are obviously reluctant to give a 13 year old too much information. the most she discovers is that joanna was talking to herself the last time anybody saw her. when courtney is 14, barely a year later, her parents decide to move to dallas.

she lives a normal enough life from then on and goes to college in san antonio, then transfers to arizona. started off as a blogger and print journalist. does “get to know me’s” for local names such as small business owners, popular coaches, local record breakers, etc. she’s always kept a goal of getting into investigative journalism but people are reluctant to hire her. she begins to go by “andy” in her articles to be taken more seriously. slowly begins to become more popular in texas, and she meets her boyfriend mark. he’s 3 years older than her and his dream is to write movies. promises of money take her to hollywood very briefly, she rubs elbows with paparazzis, and gets into slightly invasive celebrity journalism for a pinch.

her dream is to SHOCK PEOPLE. shes always been unassuming, able to get close without being noticed unless she wants to be noticed. she likes putting out celeb gossip and being praised for her nosiness. this same dream and her childhood history drives her to stay updated on anything supernatural she hears about. she keeps this mostly secret, but if she can find time to talk to a man about a “ufo” he swears he saw or a woman who claims her bakery is haunted, she’ll do it. even if she’s laughed at for it.

she gets a call one day that her aunt denise passed away and allotted in the will that courtney would inherit her house. she agrees to go back south and deal with that and other estate affairs. having just been assigned two student mentees (glorified temp assistants, her boss says) and not wanting to lose the opportunity to be a good mentor, and having good money saved from past projects, she negotiates bringing the temps with her and insists they’ll do some kind of work when in town.

(the students are both 22, a girl named heather and a boy named zack. heather is a staunch skeptic of the paranormal. zack believes in all of it. they both HATE courtney’s boyfriend)

(mark thinks her job is silly, believes shes wasting her time with celebs and now with ghosts. he wants to get married but she keeps coming up with reasons not to.)

nobody on the island calls her andy, she’s just courtney. she has a few old friends who still live in town and one of her distant cousins, a man her age named steven, is also there. she ropes him into helping go through denise’s house even tho he initially refused to do so. he’s denise’s stepson. her assistants fumble when remembering to call her courtney and it makes other hunters roll their eyes from time to time.

from her aunt’s house she takes a long haired old cat named zoë, a smith & wesson revolver, and a pendulum in a dusty velvet bag. having also brought a brand new digital camcorder, a film camera, a tape recorder, and electromagnetic field detector (from zack), she’s confident she can unlock some mysteries and possibly get her big break in her old hometown.

MORE DETAILS:

- you can talk to her for 10 minutes, lovely conversation, you think she’s so nice… then she walks away and you realize you didnt really learn anything about her. she had YOU talking and telling her stuff the whole time.

- shes afraid of heights

- despite being left the house, her and her assistants are staying in a motel in town

- courtney’s parents had a second child when she was 16, a girl named anna. she doesn’t see her sister much besides holidays & birthdays but does love her lots. slightly resentful of the fact that they didnt give her a sister when she was younger and needed somebody to be close with during the move, she feels slightly replaced as a child because she’s so much older, but keeps this to herself and says its fine shes a grownup its fine

[reasoningdaily]

Cookbook author Klancy Miller’s culinary journey didn’t originally involve food writing. Her story started in Paris, where she attended school to specialize in baking, with dreams of opening a French bakery upon her return to the States. Miller quickly realized, however, that running her own shop wouldn’t be sustainable for her—the work is often thankless, and the hours are long and hard. She described herself as being “slow in the kitchen” and unlikely to fare well in a fast-paced environment like a restaurant. So she transitioned to food writing and recipe development, eventually publishing her first cookbook, Cooking Solo: The Fun of Cooking for Yourself, in 2016.

“Years later, I was approached to do an editorial piece on Black women in food, and it ended up not working out,” Miller told me over the phone. “But I got really interested in it, because I started doing a lot of research and meeting a lot of people doing amazing things that I wasn’t aware of. We work for decades—or, you could say, centuries—yet we aren’t the ones in the spotlight. I didn’t know of many Black women who were my peers or who came before me, so there was kind of a curiosity there. A friend encouraged me to continue that work, which became the beginning of For the Culture, the magazine.”

The magazine answered a clear need in the world of food media, and it quickly became a hit. For the Culture, the book, out this week from Harvest, is an extension of Miller’s previous editorial feat and a road map detailing the journeys and experiences of Black women and femmes in food. It’s a huge topic: Black women have shaped cuisine in America and all over the world, and it’s important that the nuances of their varied histories are presented with care.

A narrative-led cookbook, For the Culture: Phenomenal Black Women and Femmes in Food: Interviews, Inspiration, and Recipes represents a gold mine of Black women and femmes across generations and disciplines that center food and drink. The book begins with glowing profiles of our culinary matriarchs, pioneers such as Leah Chase, Edna Lewis, B. Smith, and Lena Richard—the first Black woman to have her own televised cooking show, predating Julia Child. Each of these women laid the foundation for those who came after them, in various ways.

“I believe representation really does matter,” Miller says. “And I believe when you see someone that looks like you, it opens your eyes to what your options are. When you see someone that looks like you doing amazing work in any field, it expands your conscious set of possibilities. If you’re already in the field—in this case it’s culinary and hospitality—you can be a chef. You can also be a food writer. You can also be a farmer. You can also be a sommelier. You can also be an entrepreneur in other ways in the culinary field, and that’s something that I didn’t know when I went to culinary school.”

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The robust roster of contributors to the book include farmer and educator Leah Penniman; chef, writer, and TV host Sophia Roe; wine consultant and journalist Julia Coney; author and Cook’s Country editor in chief Toni Tipton-Martin; pastry chef and Bakers Against Racism founder Paola Velez; and many, many more active participants and leaders from diverse food disciplines. In For the Culture, we learn about what called them to their work, what challenges them, and what they love to eat and drink. In addition to the recipes they’ve contributed, which range from calypso persimmon baked chicken wings to watermelon poke, they offer honest conversation about mental health, money, and working conditions, all invaluable lessons as they pertain to Black women and femmes in creative fields.

“I’m a Capricorn, so I’m always thinking about money,” Miller says. “I think about other things like humanity, too. But I live in New York City, and I’m constantly like, How is everyone affording things? How is everyone affording life? I don’t think everyone has to talk about their salary all the time, because that information isn't useful to everyone, but it is useful for me as a person who writes cookbooks to share with my colleagues what I got on this deal, or what this magazine paid me to develop recipes.”

She continues: “In terms of mental health, the hospitality industry is pretty brutal. It’s a hard field. You work a lot, and it often doesn’t pay as well as it should. Some people have financially abundant careers in hospitality, but it’s a rough business. The hours are intense, the workplace is sometimes odd or difficult, so I just wanted to know how people take care of themselves, especially Black women.”

For the Culture is a reminder that the histories and contributions of Black women go further back than we might think. It is an homage to our culinary predecessors, a spotlight for our current disruptors, and a rich resource for the next generation of Black women and femmes in the space.

“The world is your oyster,” Miller says. “You can have a vision, and that vision is possible. You can make an imprint on the world through your very specific experience. You can bring that to the world through food.”

For the Culture: Phenomenal Black Women and Femmes in Food: Interviews, Inspiration, and Recipes by Klancy Miller (Harvest, Hardcover)

[dcjournal]

I'm back!

After a long break, I'm ready and able to continue posting my Decades Legacy Challenge. As a refresher, I drew up a family tree for the Bakers and I recapped some life stories from their Sims lives. check it out below the cut!

Ed Baker worked the fields around his house in the countryside of Windenburg along with his wife Christine. He then became a factory worker and a blacksmith. When the Great War broke out he was drafted immediately and he died in the battlefield in 1914.

Christine Baker was a housewife and mother to three children: Kyra, Jeffrey and John. She started to suffer from various ailments and illnesses after the start of her second pregnancy. She progressively faded away until her death in 1918.

In 1918 at just sixteen years old, the youngest of Generation One, John Baker was also drafted in the Great War and died in 1918.

Before moving on to the Heir of Generation One, here's the status of Kyra's branch of the family.

Kyra was often sick as a child and, as a result of missing many school days, she became a shy teenager. Her mother Christine was her role model and she aspired to have her own family one day. She was courted by the Sheriff's son, Callum Jameson, but he sadly died in the Great War. To manage her grief she often visited the Church of the Watcher, where she got to know Nathaniel Nott.

Nathaniel was the Windenburg Vicar who married Kyra Baker. Together they had three children: Maximus, Elmer and Iris.

Maximus was a very clever boy who did well in school. He studied Physics at Britechster University, where he met his future wife Hannah. Following his graduation he started working as a researcher in Britechester and later he had his first child, Linda.

Elmer was an active child who did very well at sports in school so after graduation he pursued a career in athletics.

Iris was the youngest child and so she was pampered a lot. She did fairly well in school and she was very popular among the boys. She died in a freak accident at home at just twenty years old.

Now let's take a look at the Heir from Generation One and his family.

Jeffrey was a well-behaved a child. As a pre-teen he had a crush on an older girl, Niamh Smith. She was part of an upper-class family who forced Jeffrey to break things off.

Along with his brother John, he was drafted to the Great War. He was lucky to come back alive even if with an injured leg.

He married Lily, an artistic girl from the Windenburg Orphanage, and found a gardening job in Newcrest. The couple moved there and they had two children: Wesley and Madison.

Jeffrey started going to the local Speakeazy with his employer, Mr Tief. He had a one-night stand with one of the performers and his cheating streak unfortunately didn't end here. After the 1929 Crash he started working for the Lorden family and pursued an affair with the lady of the household, Diana.

Lily found out about the affair through a friend and kicked him out of their Newcrest house. Jeffrey moved back to Windenburg alone. He lived there until his death.

After moving to Newcrest, Lily secretly joined a Women's Right Society, which allowed her to network with many wealthy women. When her marriage ended, she was hired to work at the Willow Creek Art Gallery and she moved there with her children.

When the owner of the gallery Mr Priest passed away, she inherited and manages it with the help of a patron, Janine Tief.

Wesley is the Heir of Generation Two and first born to Jeffrey and Lily. He was a decent student and so he was permitted to attend High School. As a result of their parent's divorce he started stress-eating. He got a job at the Widowshill Bakery in Willow Creek and found out that he enjoyed the work. He developed a bond with the owner Mrs Munshill who left him the shop after her death.

At the same time, a while after graduation Wesley married his sweetheart Presley, whom he met right after moving to Willow Creek.

Presley lost her mother when she was little and her father towards the end of high school. Luckily, her father was a good business man so he left her a house and some savings. She also had older siblings, whom she lost contact with after they got married and before her father's passing. She worked as a secretary after graduating and then as a baker with her husband.

Madison is Wesley's younger sister. She was raised mostly by her mother after her parent's divorce. She started to reconnect with her father Jeffrey towards the end of his life, when she was a teenager.

Madison got on really well with her cousin Iris Nott. After the move to Willow Creek, she also became best friends with a school mate, Ellinor Rainhart. As a teenager, she starts dating a boy from Windenburg, whom she met during a football game at her school. Their relationship is kept secret because Allen Smith is Iris's cousin from the Nott side of the family. Madison and Allen are afraid their family won't approve and they'll be forced to split up.

And that's all for now!

Next post is going to show my 1950s gameplay. It mainly follows the Bakers' family life but we'll hear from their Nott cousins too.

[dknuth]

Fountains Abbey

We left The Traddock, our hotel in the village of Austwick in the Yorkshire Dales.

We headed to The White Swan in Pickering, in The Moors. It was less than three hours of driving, but the driving here can be very tiring. The Roman practice of straight roads didn't catch on with the Britons. The straight sections of road are rare and short. Most of the time it's continuous curves. That's not bad on a road with two full lanes, but many roads are just one lane or a series of widening and narrowing between one and two lanes. So not only are you navigating around continuous curves, but you are also watching for oncoming cars in those curves. The result is you see almost nothing beyond the road. There could have been herds of elephants in the fields and I wouldn't have seen them.

We made one stop along the way at Fountains Abbey, one of the huge abbeys that was closed by Henry VIII. The scale of these large abbeys is amazing. Fountains was a self-contained institution with their own flocks of sheep and cattle, fields of grain, gardens, flour mill, brewery, bakery, iron mine, foundry and smith, infirmary, stone masons, and more. It was really a pre-industrial corporation.

In fact, the Abbey owned port facilities and exported their production widely.

When they were taken by the government, they were stripped of valuables, which meant all gold and silver church articles, but also the lead roofing, glass and lead from windows, etc. Without the lead covering the roof, it didn't take long for the timber roofs to fail followed by the rest of the structures.

The remaining ruins give an idea of the size of Fountains, but the outlying properties and buildings are not visible to visitors today.

As you can see the lovely sunny day with scattered puff clouds got darker as our visit progressed. It was quite warm when we arrived and I ditched the long-sleeve shirt in the car. At the end of the visit, just the T-shirt was very cool.

I had visited Yorkshire and Fountains Abbey 30+ years ago while taking my parents on a trip. Returning had been a goal for a long time, as I was very impressed. While driving and sightseeing here is hard now, shepparding elderly parents at the same time, makes it almost impossible to really see anything.

Later wealthy owners of the property turned the grounds into decorative gardens, including an extensive water garden.

I remain fascinated at the scale of the operations of a place like Fountains Abbey and I am amazed at the idea of taking it over closing it all down and just stripping it of its valuables. Clearly, it had been a hugely successful operation and I would love to learn about how the closing of it worked. What was the effect on the local population, many of whom must have worked there? The brothers were pensioned off, which created an ongoing expense, while the income ended, other than taxes. Much of the land went to the wealthy and powerful and how much tax did they really pay.

It seems as if the move was a one-time boon for the crown, but not much of a long-term benefit.

This would be an interesting economics study for someone.

After another hour+ drive, we got to our hotel in Pickering about 5:30.

[karahalloway]

Sorry this reblog of your reblog is so late! The end of the year got quite busy work-wise unfortunately, so I'm using the holidays to catch up on stuff 😇

Umm, how? lol

is he obliged to wear them, or did they sneak them on him? lol

Bit of both - normally VIPs are required to wear them, but beyond the ones that they would know about, the security team would probably sneak on a few additional ones in case one or two got lost/broken/compromised/removed/etc.

Gah, this! I can't!

Aww thank you! It was not in the original plan for the chapter (in my mental mock-up, Drake just storms out after the call), but then Harper appeared to try and calm him down, and this was the result (again, me just taking field notes - no input whatsoever as a writer 🤣)

THIS FREAKIN SUX!!!!! (The situ, not your writing, I'm sure you know that though!)

Hahaha! I never used to think of mysefl as an angsty writer, but apparently I have found my stride with Drake after writing Burnt (which was just 7,000 words of pure angst 🤣 But this was hard for me to - I just wanted him to stay, but unfortunately charachters got things to do and places to be!

D-Dawg?! lmao!

Haha I know 🤣 This was one of those conversations that popped into my head pretty much fully formed and I was pissing myself laughing as I was typing it up because Leo's just trying to see how far he wind Drake up before he snaps

Angry drake can be hilarious sometimes!

...probably why I keep putting him in situations that push his buttons lol

The lady? Maybe you should elaborate on that detail, Leo!

Lol my HC here is that Leo saw Chris and Hayley getting to know each other back at the club, so he wanted to 'help' them out 😅

Oh I like Leo's little British colloquialism there! I plan to add a few to my Drake's vocab at some point too!

Yeah, I base the aristo's vocab on posh British articulation and turns of phrase; whereas with Harper I try to be more American. Drake is a bit of a mixed bag b/c while he knows the posh slang, he is half American as well, so he can switch between the two.

I'm with Drake here, Leo has done some dumb things, but this really takes the cake...Actually no.....It takes the whole darn bakery!

That Scar gif 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Leo's heart's in the right place, but - as per usual - he goes about it in typical Leo-esque fashion, which is the most laddish way possible that's in complete disregard for the rules

Leo! ...... <sigh> Just.. No!

That Dr Who gif!!!! I thought the Scar one was amaze-ballz but I literally snorted my tea when I saw this Matt Smith one 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Because yes - that is exactly Drake's wtf reaction in this conversation while Leo's like

IF this was another British colloquialism, he'd be asking for a girl....Just sayin! lol!

Haha true - but I didn't want to make it super obvious what he was asking for, so... 😇

ASDFGHJKL! I have a theory!!!!

What is it...? 👀👀👀 Bccause if it's that Hayley will get invited to the social season and asks Harper to tag along, then I'm afraid the answer is...

😅 Since this is an AU, and I haven't really been sticking to canon for most of it, I will be persuing an alternate path, shall we say 😅 But plans can change (because obviously I am not in charge of this story, despite the fact that I call myself a writer lol), so who knows what will happen in 2-3 chapters' time...?

But...What makes Drake think she'll upload the photo to social media?Reblog

I guess he doesn't know know that she will. But it's a logical assumption to make given that that is a primary reason why many people take pictures, and being on a romantic midnight boat ride on the Hudson with a hot European guy is definately an Instagram worthy moment, so... Drake is just uber paranoid about these things, given that Chris is supposed to be in NY incognito, so he can't risk anything jeopardising his safety. But - more details to follow in the next chapter 😇

Thanks so much for reading, liking and reblogging!

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 8 - Minutes to Midnight

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Synopsis: This is a short-story series written from Drake’s POV that explores an AU where Drake meets Harper (my OC from (Un)Common Attraction) by himself before the boys come to the bar on the last night of Christian’s bachelor party.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake makes several phone calls... and goes for a ride as he tries to track down Christian.

Word Count: 5,100

Rating/Warnings: M (tons of swearing, massive amounts of angst)

Chapter theme song:

Chapter 8 - Minutes to Midnight

Gale startles at the intensity of my outburst, nearly falling off the kitchen counter.

I flash her what I hoped was an apologetic look as I resume my focus on the call that was rapidly deteriorating into my worst nightmare.

"What do you mean you 'lost his signal'?" I demand — still in French, so Gale didn't accidentally overhear something that she had no clearance for. "We have a tracker in—"

"His phone, jacket and shoes," confirms Schweitzer. "But the signal for all three has been compromised."

"Compromised?" I ask in disbelief. "How?"

"We cannot locate any of them."

"What the f—?" I shake my head in disbelief, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. "Are you sure it's not a glitch on our side?"

"We've already ruled that out," comes the dispassionate response. "Our systems are working as expected."

"What about his carrier signal? Have you tried triangulating that?"

"Yes. But his phone appears to be turned off."

Fuck.

"Okay..." I rake a hand through my hair as I continue pacing, trying to stay calm, even though my blood pressure had already spiked through the roof. "Have you checked the obvious places? The bathroom. The terrace. The service corridors. Maybe you just missed him somewhere...?"

I knew was grasping at straws, but I didn't have much choice. I needed to make sure we'd exhausted every possibly, no matter how inane.

Because the alternative — that Chris had been grabbed by a highly-trained and exceptionally well-equipped strike team while I'd been busy chasing tail — was too nauseating to even think about.

Christ, what the hell had I been thinking...?

"Moretti and Sanchez already did a triple sweep," grits Schweitzer, interrupting my self-flagellating thoughts. "And we've received independent confirmation from two separate staff members that they saw someone matching his description leaving the premises."

"Was he alone?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the bile that was threatening to spew out of me.

"We were not able to confirm."

"Fuck...!" I roar, slamming the heel of my hand into the wall in front of me in frustration, making the suspended photo frames wobble.

But the momentary act of violence does eff all to temper the raging inferno of panic, guilt and helplessness that was roiling inside of me, threatening to overwhelm me completely.

If anything, it makes me more desperate to beat something until my hands were raw and blood because maybe that way I could—

I nearly crash into Gale, who'd suddenly appeared in front of me wearing her 'I ❤️ NY' t-shirt again.

"Jesus fuck, girl!" I snap, switching back to English as I pull the phone away from my ear. "You blind or something! Can't you see that I'm—?"

She reaches silently up, the warmth of her palm brushing over my cheek...

...and the fight is yanked instantly out of me.

My shoulders slump, the tension in my jaw unravels, and my head bows to rest against hers with a deep exhale, as I feel myself slide into the solace of the unexpectedly soporific gesture.

"Fuck..." I groan, eyes shuddering closed like I'd fallen under a spell.

Her honey-wildflower scent washes over me, coating me like a cocoon, soothing my frayed nerves like a balm...

...and everything stills.

My heart. My breath. Even my mind.

It all comes to a stop, as if someone'd pressed pause on the world.

And it's beatific.

Like watching a silent sunrise.

I have no clue how long I stand there, suspended in time and space, just breathing her in. Maybe just seconds, but it feels like hours.

Either way, it's nowhere long enough.

But eventually I become aware of the fact that Schweitzer was still on the line, shouting just-discernible obscenities at me.

And as peaceful as this unexpected reverie was, I knew it could never be more than momentary.

Because I still had a massive pile of shit sitting on my plate.

I heave a resigned breath. "I really need t—"

"I know," she replies softly, feathering her lips over my brow.

I lean into her, wanting to savour the moment, to make it last...

...but when I open my eyes, she's already turned away.

"Harper."

She stops to look back at me, the wayward locks of her golden-caramel hair framing her face like a caress.

"I—" I pause to clear the suddenly hoarseness from my throat. "Thanks."

Her face sparks into a smile. "I know."

A wry snort escapes me as I lift the phone back up to my ear.

This girl...

But I don't have time to try and untangle what kind of magic she'd just pulled on me because Schweitzer's still cussing up a storm.

"—écoute, tête du con, tu dois te reassasir, et—"

"J'suis ici," I assure him.

"Are you?" comes the deadpan response. "Because it sounded like you were otherwise occupied..."

"I was thinking."

It was more or less true. Gale's unexpected intervention had thrown the breaks on my runaway thoughts, allowing my brain to drop back into a more productive a gear.

"Thinking?" scoffs Schweitzer incredulously. "The only thing you should be thinking about is calling—"

"And I will," I assure him. "But first I need to know who the last person was to be seen with him."

"His brother. But—"

"Thanks," I cut in, already pulling the phone away from my ear. "I'll keep you posted."

"Walker, you're wast—"

His voice cuts out as I end the call.

"Everything... okay?"

Glancing up from my phone, I note with more than a lick of regret that in addition to her t-shirt, Gale had now also donned a pair of PJ shorts.

"Furthest thing from," I reply sourly as I turn towards the door, pulling up my contacts as I went.

I was fuckin' cursed...

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Not real—" I pause in the narrow entranceway. "Actually, could you call a cab?"

She nods quickly. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm sorry," I sigh, thumbing forcefully through the names and numbers. "This wasn't what I had in mind."

"I know," she says with a shrug, as I locate the entry I needed. "But it sounds like you have a crisis on your hands."

I scoff ruefully as I reach for the door handle. "That's putting it mildly..."

"Will... you be back?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath," I admit tightly, opening the door.

"...maybe I want to."

Her words pull me up short in the doorway.

But as much as I wanted to turn around, to look back at her, I knew I couldn't.

Because if I did, I knew I'd never leave...

...and I'd never be able to forgive myself for staying.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Bye, Harper."

"Bye, Drake."

The tautness of her voice echoes the stricture of my chest.

But I'm already over the threshold...

"Wait! Don't forget your—!"

...and have closed the door behind me.

Heaving a tight breath, I press dial as I double time it towards the stairwell.

Christ, this call'd better be worth it...

The line connects as I hit the first step.

"D-Dawg!" Leo's voice rings jubilantly out through the speakers. "'Sup, my man! Have you finally—?"

"Cut the crap, Rys," I snap. "We have a serious situation."

"Is that right?" he says, dropping the stupid accent as he jolts to attention. "How serious?"

"Pretty fuckin' serious," I grit. "So, I'm gonna need you t—"

"Did you rip your last rubber...?"

I nearly trip on the stairs. …the fuck?

"...'cause you know you can always just roger her up the rear, right?"

I lift the phone away from my ear to stare at the screen incredulously. Was the son of a bitch for real right now?

"Didn't cross your mind, did it?" he continues gleefully. "Though if she's not game for that, then I guess you can French her trench while she—"

"Jesus fuck, Leo!" I exclaim. "I don't need your Sex Ed 101!"

"You sure...?" comes the deliberately elongated response. "Because it sounds like you got yourself into a bit of a pinch. And I've got a trademarked technique that's guaranteed to—"

"Chris is AWOL, you jizz stain!" I yell down the phone. "That's the situation!"

Leo snorts down the line at me. "That's hardly a 'situation', mate! If anything, it's kind of the expectation! It is the bloke's stag 'do, so—"

"It's a fuckin' situation when we have no clue where he is!"

"Probably back at the fair lady's digs, getting ready to sheathe his sexcalibur in—"

"Mention sex one more time and I'll sheathe your head up your ass, Rys," I growl.

"Wow. Things went tits up that badly with Swifty, huh?" he muses prosaically. "No wonder you're in such a strop. But, you never did take rejection very well, so—"

I force myself to draw breath. "What happened with Gale isn't important, you dipshit. Finding Chris is. So, quit sidetracking the topic."

"And what makes you think I know where he is?"

"Because you were the last person to be seen with Chris," I grit. "And this entire disappearing act has your signature written all over it. So if you ever want to fuck anything with that blackguard, royal prick of yours, you better—"

"Ex."

I frown. "Huh?"

"Ex-royal prick," he spells out. "If you're going to threaten a bloke's Crown Jewels, you should at least have the decency to—"

"Rys," I growl with barely suppressed irritation. "I swear to motherfuckin' God, I'll—"

"Oh, ease up, Walker!" he laughs. "I'm just taking the piss!"

I resist the urge to reach down the phone and choke out the puerile piece of shit. "Start. Talking."

"I gave him a signal jammer."

I nearly drop the phone. "You fuckin' what?!"

"A signal... jammer," he repeats, like I was stupid or something. "It's a small, pocket-sized device that—"

"I know what it is, you dick-weed!" I snap. "What I don't get is what the fuck possessed you to give one to Chris!"

"Brotherly love?"

I pray for deliverance. "How in the hell—?"

"Are you questioning my choice of coronation-cum-engagement gift?"

"Yes!" I cry. "First off, those things are fuckin' illegal, especially here in the States. So you better pray to God that he doesn't get caught with that thing on him, or we're looking at a diplomatic shit-storm! Second, Chris is — thanks to your fuckin’ abdication — the Crown Prince of Cordonia! Flying under the radar in a foreign country! Did it not — even for a goddamn micro-second! — cross your ever-lovin' mind that, in the course of using a jammer, he could get mugged, kidnapped, or — Christ-fuckin'-forbid!— assassinated, and we'd never fuckin' know?"

"Your years as a King's Guard have really upped your latent paranoia, huh, Walker?"

"That's not the fuckin' point!" I snap. "The point is that you've put Chris' life on the line with your reckless, bare-brained—!"

"Or," comes the balky counter, "I've finally handed him a long-overdue chance to live life. And what better place to do that than in the Big Apple, the City that Never Sleeps?"

"He's lived life!" I protest. "He's gone to uni. Travelled. Fucked. Got his heat-broken. He—"

"—doesn't even know what he's missing!" Leo heaves a frustrated breath. "Everything he's ever done has been within the suffocating constraints of the gilded cage he's been trapped in since birth!"

"He's not you, Leo," I sigh. "He doesn't have this obsessive-compulsive need to kick over the traces."

"Which is why he's always been the better choice to succeed Father," he affirms. "But before he becomes King and his life turns into an endless slog of speeches and Council meetings, don't you think he should have the chance to have one night where he is free of supervision, judgement, consequence and all that other shite that's constantly holding him back? One night where he can just be Chris? Instead of a Prince? Wasn't that the entire reason for this trip?"

"So, what?" I demand sarcastically. "This is your twisted way of making up for the fact that you fucked him over when you gave up the royal ship?"

"I prefer to think of it as a long-overdue fulfilment of my previously neglected big brotherly duties."

"You could've done literally anything else," I grumble with a roll of my eyes as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Probably," he concedes. "But that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun, would it, Walker?"

I heave a breath.

But as pissed off as I was at Leo for pulling this crackpot stunt, I understood where he was coming from.

Because he was right.

Thanks to the (un)lucky accident of his birth, Chris' life has been scheduled, structured, and arranged from the moment he opened his eyes. What he ate, what he wore, how he looked, how he spoke... even who he spoke to — it was all regulated with a precision that would make even the most OCD micro-manager jealous.

Because even though he'd been the spare, he was still a Rys. And that came with expectations. Expectations that carried the weight of 800-plus years of heritage, legacy and tradition. Expectations that he couldn't escape. Especially now that he was the Heir Apparent....

...except maybe for one night in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave where nobody knew — or cared — who he was or what he got up to.

"Whatever," I grunt abrasively. Just because Leo was right did not mean that I was gonna give him the satisfaction of admitting that to him. Nor was it gonna deter me from doing my job. "So, where is he?"

"No idea."

I stumble to a stop in front of the doors. "What?"

"Mate," he chuckles. "I'm just the fixer. I supply the tools and the opportunity. What Chris ends up doing with them... That's not my business."

"So, you're telling me," I grind out slowly, so there was no room of misunderstanding, "that you let the Crown Prince of Cordonia — your future King — loose in the largest city in the United States... without a plan... without any way to get hold of him... mere hours before we're due to fly home for the start of the season?"

"'Bout right," confirms Leo cheerfully.

"Sweet fuckin' Jesus..." I rasp, running a trembling hand down my face as the sum total of my miserable life flashes before my eyes. Because unless I was able to somehow pull a goddamn miracle out of my ass, I was as good as dead. Bast was going to disembowel me with a blunt spoon if — when — he finds out that that Chris had pulled a fast one on my watch.

And I'd deserve it.

Because I'd broken my word.

And there was no atonement for that.

"Oh, ease up, Walker!" chimes the miscreant Rys from the other end of the line. "It's not the end of the world! Chris is a smart bloke. He'll—"

"I gotta go," I cut in. "And you better pray to God, Jesus and all the saints that Chris is on that plane before scheduled departure, otherwise you'll be explaining to Katie why she's suddenly married to a eunuch."

"Oh, com—"

But I've already hung up.

Lifting the phone away from my ear, I drop my head with a low exhale.

Christ, this was a clusterfuck...

Of all the contingencies I'd planned into this trip, 'manhunt' had not been one of them. Because while I'd expected Chris to cut out halfway through the night with a girl — or two — the possibility of us being left completely in the dark as to his whereabouts had never crossed my mind. Probably because I hadn't factored the massive wildcard that was Leo into the equation.

Sure, I'd expected that the elder Rys would try to pull some kind of prank, as per his usual MO. Hiring a surprise stripper. Spiking drinks. Staging a fake kidnapping attempt.

But actually making Chris disappear?

That, I had not seen coming.

...though I guess now I knew how Leo had always managed to skip out on his Guard detail without breaking a sweat.

Not that that helped me with my current predicament in any way... which was figuring out a way to locate Chris in one of the most densely populated US cities while flying blind in terms of tech, leads and planned destination.

Finding a needle in a fuckin' haystack would've been easier...

But I knew that I couldn't let the seeming impossibility of the task daunt me. I had to find a way, come hell or high-water. The fate of the Rys dynasty — shit, the fate of the entire kingdom! —depended on it.

Yes. There'd always been people who disapproved of the monarchy — it was undemocratic, a relic of the past, and a massive sinkhole of public funds. But there was a reason why the institution had survived, despite all the odds.

And that was constancy.

The Rys were part of the very essence of Cordonia. Its history, its culture, its very identity as a people were all intimately wound up with the family that had held the reins of power since the time of the Five Kingdoms. A family that had steadfastly steered the country through innumerable wars, political strife, and social unrest, beating the odds that had toppled the neighbouring monarchies of Europe.

But that did not mean that the institution was invulnerable.

The country was still reeling from the aftershocks of Leo's abdication and Chris not showing up for the Masquerade Ball would only dump fuel on the anti-monarchist flame that had always simmered with varying intensity beneath the surface.

Because if the Rys couldn't keep their own house in order, how could they be trusted to run an entire kingdom?

And the last thing we needed right now was for that discontent to spark into an all-out call for abolition... or an another assassination attempt.

An involuntary chill runs down my spine at the thought...

...and that makes me even more determined to rise to the challenge.

Not because I was some diehard royalist. But because the Rys were — for all intents and purposes — my family, and I wasn't gonna let one ill-advised cockup put their lives in danger.

Setting my jaw, I lift my head back up.

It was all down to me...

Pushing my way out of the building's doors, I see that the cab that Gale must've called was already idling by the curb.

...but where to start?

Making my way over to the car, I rack my brains for the optimum strategy.

Should I head back to the club to try and get hold of any CCTV footage that could shed light of when, how — and in whose company — Chris had left?

I shake my head. Assuming that the bouncers even let me back in (unlikely), there was no assurance that the security staff would grant access to their recordings, given that I had no jurisdiction and no legal way to compel compliance. And even if — by some miracle — I got hold of the tapes, there was zero guarantee that they would contain useful data that would help narrow the search. So that option — while initially attractive — would just be a massive exercise in futility and a waste of my time. Especially since Schweitzer would probably have that angle covered already anyway.

I lay a hand on the door handle.

I could call 911 and get a city-wide BOLO issued...

Or did I need to go higher — to the FBI — because we were dealing with the disappearance of a high-value foreign national? In which case—

"Where to, pal?"

The driver's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Err..."

But before I can formulate a response, my phone buzzes in my hand.

Looking down at the screen, I see that it's Schweitzer again.

"Oui?" I ask, answering the call.

"On a une touche."

I nearly drop the phone. "Where?"

"On his credit card..."

I heave a relived breath. There was a fuckin' God, after all!

"...someplace called Len's Papaya?"

I raise a brow. "The hell is that?"

There's some muffled chatter on the other end of the line. "Seems to be a hot dog stand located in the Whitehall Ter—"

"How long to the Staton Island ferry terminal?" I bark at the cabbie, yanking the door open.

The guy shrugs. "20...30 minutes?"

I freeze on the way onto the backseat. "That's too long..."

"Look, pal," huffs the driver. "I get you wanna hurry. But geography's geography. So I can't do nothing 'bout—"

"Je vous rappellerai," I tell Schweitzer, hanging up. Reaching for my wallet, I extract a fifty and hand it to the driver. "For the trouble."

"Thanks, but—"

"I got a back-up," I assure him, slamming the door back closed as I hit speed-dial on the one number I'd hoped never to have to use on this trip.

The guy shrugs at me unconvincedly as he throws the car back into gear. "If ya say so, pal."

The call connects as the cab pulls away.

"O'Sullivan," I greet without preamble. "It's Drake Walker. Yeah. Listen... I'm gonna need that bird."

***

"You were lucky I was on the graveyard shift tonight, Walker," Derek O'Sullivan shouts at me ten minutes later as I clamper into the back of the Bell 412 helicopter that had just touched down in front of me. "Otherwise you'd've had a hell of time getting sign-off for this."

"Appreciate the short turn-round, man," I reply, slotting on the heavy aviation headset as I settle into the hard seat. "I wouldn't have called if it wasn't an emergency."

Back on the street, I'd realised what Chris' game plan was... and that I'd never get to him in time via any conventional mode of transport. So, rather than risk losing him in again (the credit card charge having been a massive, luck-o-the-Irish fluke) I'd decided to go straight for the ace up my sleeve — Deputy Inspector Derek O'Sullivan of NYPD's Special Operations Bureau.

Because even though we may be here unofficially, I'd made sure to give our long-time liaison on the local force a heads-up. Partly for the sake of courtesy (nobody needed any nasty surprises, especially when foreign security was involved), and partly because you never knew when you'd need an assist if things went south.

Like they had tonight.

And every time a Cordonian delegation had shown up in the Big Apple — be it for a UN summit, a charity gala, or New York Fashion Week — O'Sullivan had always pulled through with squaring away any last minute paperwork or security arrangements.

And this time was no different.

...the yearly donations by the Crown to the New York City Police Foundation certainly helped.

"No sweat," he grins back at me as he signals the pilot to take off again. "It was my turn to do the donut run anyway. Though I gotta ask... What's with the Elvis look, huh?"

I raise a brow. "What Elvis look?"

He holds up his hands. "Hey. It's fine if you don't wanna put a label on it, but—"

I turn to look at him. "The hell you on about, O'Sullivan?"

By way of response, he tugs on the front panels of his shirt with a suggestive whistle.

My eyes narrow suspiciously...

...before widening in sudden realisation as I glance down to catch sight of my bare chest.

Oh, shit.

I'd been so caught up in the fallout from Chris' disappearance that I'd forgotten that Gale had ripped the buttons off my shirt... and that in the course of my high-speed exit, I'd ended up leaving both my jackets back at her place.

My head drops back against the cool metal of the cockpit with a groan. Fuck my fuckin' life...

O'Sullivan's laugh crackles over the headset. "Threw on the wrong shirt, did we?"

I shake my head. "Just... just don't ask."

"Hey, Hendricks!" he calls to the pilot. "You got any spare shirts stashed in this bird? Walker packed for Miami instead of Manhattan!"

"Fuck you, O'Sullivan," I grunt, folding my arms over my chest in a vain attempt to keep the wildly flapping front panels of my shirt together as we flit over the city.

"Hey, nothing to get embarrassed about, pal," he grins, turning back to look at me. "Shit happens!"

I roll my eyes. "No shit..."

Nothing's happened on this trip, but shit...

Straightening back up, he asks. "So, what's our heading?"

I heave a breath. "Last known location was Whitehall Terminal. But he's probably on a boat by now."

"Boat?" queries O'Sullivan in surprise. "Where's this guy going in the middle of the night?"

"To see the Statue of Liberty," I sigh, watching the kaleidoscopic glow of the Manhattan skyscrape whizz past below us.

To be fair, I should've guessed Chris' destination from the get go. Where else would he go, but the one place he'd been hankering to see since we'd watched the original X-Men movie late one night when we were kids? The place that was No. 1 on his list to hit up on this trip? The place he'd been cheated out of seeing by Tariq's motherfuckin' incompetence (and the weather)?

And the fact that he'd also taken the opportunity to grab a greasy hot dog on the way? Well, hats off to him for managing to cross two items off his bucket list in one fell swoop.

...though he could've seriously done all this without a fuckin' signal jammer in his pocket.

"You're joking..." scoffs O'Sullivan. "We're chasing down a guy on a sightseeing tour?"

"Long, fucked-up story," I grumble. "The punchline of which is His Royal Highness ditching his detail and going dark in a foreign city."

"Must've picked up a few tricks from his brother," observes O'Sullivan. "Heard he was quite the Houdini."

"Tell me about it..." I mutter dryly, spotting the iconic silhouette of the Chrysler Building flash past on our left as we thrum towards the tip of Manhattan island. "This entire disappearing act was orchestrated by his brother."

"Then I guess we have our work cut out for us," surmises O'Sullivan. "Any idea which boat he's on?"

"Best guess is the Staten Island Ferry," I reply. "It's free, runs 24-hours, and the latest one left the dock five minutes ago." At least, that's what the official schedule had said when I'd pulled it up on my phone while waiting for my pick-up.

"Wouldn't he have booked a water taxi? Being a royal and all? It's more VIP..."

I shake my head. "Not Chris. He wanted the run-of-the-mill experience. Plus, there was no additional charge in his credit card."

"Could've paid cash..."

"Trust me," I reply, flicking O'Sullivan a sidelong glance. "He didn't."

He shrugs in response. "Okay, Walker. You're the one running this show... But we have limited flight time, so you better be right."

"I am," I assure him, watching the edge of the city curve away as we head out onto the black expanse of the Upper New York Bay.

And this time of night, it doesn't take long for us to spot the lone craft steaming past Liberty Island.

"Got any binoculars?" I ask.

"'Course," he confirms, handing one over.

"Thanks," I acknowledge, leaning forward to grab them before lifting the sights to my face.

Adjusting the focus, I zero in on the large orange watercraft I'd laid eyes on a moment ago... and begin methodically scanning the decks.

"Any luck?" asks O'Sullivan from up front.

"Nope," I reply tightly. "Can we circle back 'round to the starboard side?"

"He could be inside..." O'Sullivan points out. "Might have more luck radioing the harbour and—"

"No," I reply emphatically. "If he's gonna be anywhere, he's gonna be out on one of the decks. He's not gonna miss this chance to see the Statue of Liberty."

O'Sullivan eyes me for a long moment before turning back to the pilot. "Hendricks, you heard the man. Make a pass over the starboard side."

"Roger that."

The chopper banks to the side and soon we're drawing abreast of the ferry again.

"Anything?" asks O'Sullivan.

"Not yet..." I reply, roving anxiously over the decks of the large, orange craft as I feel my chest start to tighten up again.

Shit, maybe this was a bad idea... Maybe I'd jumped the gun... Maybe he wasn't on the boat... Maybe he'd just gotten a glimpse of the monument from the harbour and was now in the wind again, with no way for us t—

I jerk the sights back to the bow of the top deck.

And sure enough, I catch sight of that tell-tale lick of blond hair again that was whipping wildly in the breeze...

...as well as something that makes me do a double take.

I adjust the focus again, just to make sure I wasn't imaging things.

Harper's friend — Hayley — is stood next to Chris, wearing his jacket, an arm wrapped around his neck as she leans into him, kissing him while snapping a selfie as Lady Liberty looks impassively on.

"Fuck..." I mutter under my breath, lowering the binoculars.

"Did we strike out...?"

"No," I sigh. "We got him. But we've got another problem..."

"What?"

"His cover's about to be blown."

"By who?"

"By that girl he's with, who's about to upload the photo she just snapped of him to Twitter, Instagram and Christ-knows what else."

"And that's a problem because...?"

"Because if she does that, then it's only a matter of time before someone realised that the person she's with is the Crown Prince of Cordonia, who'snot at the Cannes Film Festival in the south of France. And the last thing we need is the paps getting hold of those photos to run a sleazy, front-page story about Chris' NYC fling, days before the start of the social season where he's supposed to choose a bride."

O'Sullivan sucks in his teeth. "You're right... That could be a problem."

"Need to get that phone..."

"Well, lucky for you, Walker," he grins, "we're the NYPD. We can make that happen."

I cock a brow at him. "Pretty sure that's illegal... Especially since you don't have a warrant for search and seizure... or grounds for a stop and search."

"I never said we'd get the phone," winks O'Sullivan. "Just said we can make it happen."

I run a hand down my face. Christ, this night just won't end... "What's your plan?"

The story continues in Chapter 9 (coming soon!)

A/N1 — So, you may have noticed that unlike in previous chapters (where I had entire conversations in French), for chapter, because there was (a) quite a lot of dialogue between Drake and Schweitzer, and (b) the content of these convos was rather critical to the events of the chapter, I've decided to just do the start of the relevant convos in French, and the rest in English to assist the reader experience 🤗 Translations for these snippets of French (in chronological order) below:

Schweitzer: —listen, you shit for brains, you need to pull yourself together and—

Drake: I'm here.

[...]

Drake: Yeah?

Schweitzer: We have a hit.

[...]

Drake: I'll call you back.

A/N2 — In relation to Derek O'Sullivan's presence in this chapter specifically (and the NYPD's in general) I have been advised that it is common for VIPs (especially those who bring their own security team to the host country — who would weapons and surveillance tech that may or may not be legal / require special dispensation to operate) to have a local police liaison to assist with paperwork, security, authorisations, etc.

To what extent these local liaisons have the power/ability to commandeer a helicopter (or other 'expensive' resources), however, is open to question (I couldn't find any direct reports of this happening), but for the purposes of the story, Drake needed a helicopter, so that's what happened. I guess I could've just as easily had him call on a resource from the local Cordonian consulate, but I decided to go with the NYPD route partially because (a) that's how Derek O'Sullivan popped into my head, (b) the NYPD definitely have helicopters, while the consulate probably wouldn't, (c) Drake probably wouldn't want news of this SNAFU filtering back to the Palace via the diplomatic back channels, and (d) there really have been situations where police officers have taken the chopper out on a donut run, as O'Sullivan jokes in the chapter 😅

All that said, this is ultimately a work of fiction, so I am allowed to some artistic / creative liberties 😇

Also, in case anyone is wondering, FC for O'Sullivan is Richard Madden 🤗

Permatags

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture credits

Ferry - Drake - Kiss - Nightscape - Statue of Liberty - O'Sullivan - Helicopter - Buildings

[folatefangirl]

List of  Disorganized Enemies to Lovers AUs and Prompts for Your Ficcing Needs

Rival coffee shops (courtesy of The Bookening Group)

Rival Parisian bakeries (courtesy of @ichabodjane)

Rival county fair blue ribbon baking contestants

Rival pet walkers/pet sitters

Rival fashion designers

Rival gamers (twitch streamers? youtubers?)

Rival succulent plant insta accounts (or houseplant fandom in general)

Rival morticians

Rival dragon trainers

Rival knights in a tournament

Other obscure sports rivals

Rival academics in the same niche field who keep responding to each other’s publications with increasingly snarky commentary and shading each other at conferences 

Rival ghost hunters who use wildly different methods of technology to try to find ghosts and mutually think the other is the one scamming viewers

Same set of Stabby McStabby characters, just make one side Sith and the other side Jedi aka the Star Wars AU (courtesy of The Bookening Group)

Rival Jedi Masters who want the same apprentice

Rival smugglers (Star Wars or Firefly or other AU potential)

Rival spies (The Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU, basically)

Angel and Demon trying to stop the apocalypse (aka the Good Omens AU or possibly the Daughter of Smoke and Bone AU, depending on what kind of reader you are)

Superhero vs Supervillain

Sidekick vs Henchperson

Their friends told them to try out for Beatrice and Benedick in a “Much Ado About Nothing” production bc they thought it would be funny

Pirate rivals who accidentally meet while trying to score the same merchant ship

Pirate vs Pirate Catcher

Vampire vs Vampire Hunter

Pride and Prejudice AU

The classic dance fic: “We have to dance together for XYZ thing [an important event or competition] because there are literally no other options and we’re competent at dancing even if we dislike each other immensely.”

One knits, the other crochets; both frequent the same fiber crafting circles (@longsightmyth)

One cooks food crimes, the other insists on cooking to the letter of the recipe every time

“You snapped the pasta in half?!” 

“What, like it’s hard?”

Someone keeps leaving the shared gallon of milk/carton of eggs empty in the fridge after using it up (and they were roommates AU)

Your Preferred Tarot Deck And Reading Method Is Wrong And So Wrong IDK Even Where To Begin

We have each other blocked on our mains but not on our sideblogs for a mutually shared fandom and we are both aware of it

You put lipstick in my Valentino white bag?!?

My name is [Character Name]. You killed my [relative]. Prepare to die. (Sword duels!)

I moved in and I nominated myself for the HOA as a joke and accidentally got the position and now someone with years of personal beef with the HOA hates me by default

If you keep blasting party music until 2 AM, I will keep doing my yard work at exactly 7 AM the next morning, thank you very much!

Our pets are very good friends. We are not. Our pets do not care in the slightest.

Oh no, I understand that particular language just fine, I just wanted to keep hearing the hot goss and shade said about me within earshot

You described corsets incorrectly in one of your novels due to inadequate research and I, a fashion historian, am going to continuously write you essays on corsets and historical underthings in general until you fix your shit. You, on the other hand, are wondering if all my long winded letters mean I’m fixing to turn your skin into a coat. (Maybe I am!)

[voldemorts-tap-shoes]

A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the one and only @cheesyficwriter! I hope you enjoy this little tribute to Find Me Under the Waterfall (and that Ron’s food choices make you as hungry as your fics make us!)

Making Plans

The words on the screen begin to blur as Ron scrolls aimlessly through what feels like thousands of menu options. His eyes skim over words like crudités, julienne, marmalade, reading without absorbing any of it.

He loves food—has made a career out of it, even—and somehow he can’t choose the most important meal of his life.

It makes sense for him to spearhead the catering efforts for their wedding, while Hermione puts her own expertise as a travel writer to good use planning their honeymoon. But the options are so vast, so varied, he’s having trouble choosing. The rioja braised short rib wonton sounds incredible, but he’s also intrigued by the lobster and Granny Smith apple appetizer—topped with avocado mousse and toasted fennel seed on cucumbers—and he knows Hermione would love the crispy brie drizzled in pear chutney. How is he ever supposed to decide when it all sounds so good?

It’s perfectly normal to hire four caterers for one wedding, right?

An ad blinks across the screen for a local bakery, and Ron shuts his laptop with a groan as he realizes he hasn’t even begun to think about the cake.

The front door opens and closes with a bang, and Hermione’s voice rings out through the tiny flat. Ron calls back a greeting, listening to the rustle of grocery sacks as she makes her way through the kitchen toward the spare room they both use as an office when they’re not traveling. Which, most of the time, they are. Fortunately, ever since Ron’s blog took off, they’ve been able to travel together most of the time.

“Hi, love.” Hermione breezes into the office, arms now empty, and settles into his lap with a kiss, lightening his mood immediately. “How was your day?”

“Oh, it was…fine.” Ron forces a smile; he doesn’t want to tell her how difficult a time he’s having with what should be the easiest task of the wedding planning, at least for him. But of course, she sees right through his facade.

Her delicate fingers thread into the hair curling around his ear as she frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. Just having a hard time deciding on a caterer.”

Hermione huffs a laugh. “Tell me about it. I’ve looked at about fifty resorts, it seems, and not one of them is quite right for our honeymoon.”

He shouldn’t interfere—Hermione has her task, and he has his—but the answer seems so simple that he blurts it without thinking. “Why don’t we just go back to Costa Rica?”

“Costa Rica?” Hermione repeats, her brow furrowing. “Well, I haven’t even really looked there, but I suppose there must be other resorts…” She leans backwards in an attempt to reach for the colorful brochures that are scattered about her desk, but Ron tugs her attention back to him.

“I mean, let’s go back to Pura Vida. It’s where we met…seems appropriate, doesn’t it? Besides, we had our own rooms last time. I reckon we’re in need of a do-over and a thorough examination of the honeymoon suite.”

“You don’t want to go somewhere new, somewhere we’ve never been?”

“Not necessarily. Besides, if we go somewhere we’ve already been, there's less reason to leave the room.” Ron shoots Hermione an exaggerated wink, and her laughter fills the office.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Pura Vida. I’ll call them tomorrow.” She seals the statement with a kiss before turning to his laptop. “Now what are our options here?”

Ron sighs. “Endless.”

“Let’s see about that.” Hermione pulls the computer onto her lap, and Ron watches her click back and forth across the pages of menus he has open. After only a moment, she gives a definitive tap to the screen. “This one.”

Ron looks at the menu over her shoulder. It was definitely one of his contenders, but he had seen nothing to narrow down the field. Every item on the menu looks just as delectable as the next caterer, and the next.

“Why? How?”

Hermione shrugs. “This one has the most vegetarian options for Audrey.”

Ron shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing, you are.”

“We make a good team,” Hermione volleys back, grinning as she leans in for another kiss that Ron returns eagerly. “We should try swapping tasks again. I’ll pick out the cake, and you decide on bridesmaids’ dresses?”

Ron laughs and kisses her again. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

[thereadingchallengechallenge]

Read in January 2022

I’ve had a pretty good start to the year - aided by the fact I spent two weeks with my siblings with nothing to do but read 😅 I enjoyed most of my reads and found a few new favourites but I seem to have slid into a reading slump this last week which doesn’t bode well for February - but we’ll see what happens!

Series reads:   The Veronica Speedwell Mysteries by Deanna Raybourn

A Curious Beginning - 4/5

A Perilous Undertaking - 4/5

A Treacherous Curse - 4/5

A Dangerous Collaboration - 4/5

A Murderous Relation - 3/5

An Unexpected Peril - 4/5

Backlog Books:

What They Don’t Know by Nicole Maggi - 5/5

Sick Kids in Love by Hannah Moskowitz - 4/5

Windfall by Jennifer E Smith - 3/5

Field Notes on Love by Jennifer E Smith - 3/5

Being Miss Nobody by Tamsin Winter - 4/5

Other Reads:

The Heartbreak Bakery by AR Capetta - 5/5

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green - 5/5

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger - 3/5

Where the Drowned Girls Go by Seanan McGuire - 5/5

Court of Bitter Thorn by Kay L Moody - 1/5

[notwiselybuttoowell]

We're Stewards of Our Land: The Rise of Female Farmers

'I was always fascinated by getting things out of the ground’

Sinead Fenton

Grows vegetables and edible flowers at Aweside Farm, East Sussex

Sinead Fenton is on an early lunch break, hiding from the sun. “It’s ridiculously intense, so I think we’re going to call it a day and crack back on in the evening,” she says. Fenton and her partner, Adam Smith, have been putting in beds and getting ahead on groundwork for next year. This year, there will be no commercial crops on the couple’s 4.5-acre plot.

They signed the papers on their farm last November and moved onto the land in March. Around the time they needed to make decisions about how they’d manage their first harvest, lockdown happened. With restaurants and florists – their main clients – out of action for the foreseeable future, they made the decision not to sow seeds but concentrate on opening up the land. “We were going to do it over three or four years, so we’re squeezing three years of work into this year, so we can focus on growing next year,” Fenton says.

She and Smith cut their scythes at Audacious Veg, a 0.1-acre plot in Hainault, at the end of the Central Line between Essex and London. Shortly after volunteering at the allotment in 2017, they heard the project was about to finish: “Naively, with about three weeks’ worth of growing experience, we decided that we’d take it on and get the produce to chefs.”

Smith worked in insurance accounting and while Fenton most recently worked in software and food policy, her background was in geology. “I came at farming from an activist point of view,” she says. “I was always fascinated by getting things out of the ground, but that is a destructive industry. Farming is nicer because I can do something for the system instead of taking everything from it.”

There was a lot of insecurity around the project. Land is contentious, especially in London, and land law is difficult and expensive to negotiate for those with no farming background. “Adam and I are both from cities – I’m from London, he’s from Essex. We’re from low-income families, and we had no access to farms growing up,” Fenton explains. “It’s basically impossible to get on the land, because it’s so expensive, or passed down through generations.”

They got the land for Aweside through the Ecological Land Co-op, which buys fields designated by Defra as only being good for arable crops, then splits them up to create smallholdings. Aweside is neighbours with a veg-box scheme, and waiting for others who’ll transform what once was a 20-acre maize field into a cluster of small farms rich with biodiversity. Now Fenton and Smith have a 150-year lease, and no worries that what they create will be taken away.

It’s not yet a permanent home. Fenton says they’ll be living in a caravan for a few years: “Another part of land law in the UK that makes land inaccessible is that if you want to live on your land you have to go through five years of proving your business is profitable, viable and that there is a functional need for you to live there.” Having livestock is an easy way to pass the test, but because Aweside is a vegan farm, Fenton and Smith need to cultivate and show they use every bit of plot.

It’s daunting but Fenton is excited about having a blank slate to work with. “There’s so much more to food than what supermarkets tell us to eat,” she says, explaining that they’ll grow varieties at risk of extinction, or that aren’t commonly grown in a mass market food system. “Seed diversity and plant genetics are serious issues.”

The three principles the couple work to are: more flowers, more trees, thriving soil. They’re working no-dig, putting compost directly on the ground and letting the soil life mix everything over time. They’re pesticide-free and are counting on the fact that the more diversity they have in the system, especially with a high proportion of flowers to pollinators and insects, the fewer problems they’ll face.

“Socially, economically and environmentally, something needs to change. Things have been done the same way by the same people for a long time,” says Fenton of the farming industry’s need for greater diversity. “I learned to grow on an allotment site where there are lots of different things growing at once. Bringing that approach into sites like this is needed – the industry needs it to keep itself relevant.”

'I'm hoping this will be seen as quite a cool career… even if it’s not’

Abi Aspen Glencross

Head of grains at Duchess Farms, Hertfordshire

It was, Abi Aspen Glencross was well aware, an odd, even inopportune time to launch a crowdfunding campaign. In June, with the country still locked down, Duchess Farms asked for support to buy dehulling, cleaning and milling equipment. The Hertfordshire farm needed about £16,000, and the money would go towards boosting the production of ancient and heritage grains for making flour.

“A lot of crowdfunders have been for charity or ‘please keep our restaurant open’,” says the 28-year-old Glencross, head of grains – or “senior flour nerd” – at Duchess Farms since 2019. “We felt a bit bad, but we lost a lot of our business overnight when all the restaurants closed and we were like: ‘God, we hope we don’t go under.’ It was quite a scary time for everyone.”

Still, if we have learned one thing from Covid-19, when times are hard, British people get baking. Perhaps inspired by countrywide shortages of flour, maybe invigorated by a new interest in left-field, older wheats such as einkorn and emmer, Duchess Farms sprinted to its target. “We’ve just done some ordering of equipment this morning,” says Aspen, when we speak in July. “It’s been a tough time for everyone but it has cascaded into some beautiful things and we’re just so thankful.”

Glencross’s path to farming was circuitous. She studied chemical engineering, but while her classmates were heading off for jobs at ExxonMobil and Procter & Gamble, she was more of “a hippy at heart”. She decided she wanted to learn more about soil and its role in food production. This led her to Blue Hill Stone Barns, Dan Barber’s pioneering farm-to-table restaurant in the Hudson Valley, north of New York. She spent four months working on the farm and in the bakery, receiving a crash course in ancient grains – an obsession of Barber’s. But the moment Glencross knew she herself wanted to farm came in 2016 in a field in Hertfordshire. She was with John Cherry, who was showing her around Weston Park Farms, 2,500 acres of land he maintains with minimal fertiliser use and zero tillage.

“We were walking around the fields of wheat and I just said: ‘Where does all this go? There’s so much of it,’” Glencross says. “And John goes: ‘Oh probably for animal feed. It’s a consistent market, they’ll take it, it’s easy, even if we don’t earn that much money from it.’ And I was like: ‘This is crazy.’ And that was the beginning of me getting on this grain bender because I was like: ‘Why can’t we grow these grains organically and not feed them to animals?’ So I realised I’d have to start a business, because there were not very many people doing that.”

Heritage grains can be harder to produce in vast quantities – einkorn, especially, is “a bitch to harvest” – but they do have advantages over conventional wheats. They typically have deep roots and grow tall, which means they shade out weeds and do not require chemical sprays. The end product is more nutritious and then there’s the taste. Since 2017, Glencross has run a roving supper club called the Sustainable Food Story with Sadhbh Moore, and Duchess Farms has worked closely with bakeries such as E5 Bakehouse in east London and Gail’s, and restaurants including Doug McMaster’s Silo. “Heritage grains are delicious: when you stop growing for yield and you start growing for quality the flavour is insane,” says Glencross.

Learning to farm from scratch has not been straightforward, but you sense that’s a big part of the appeal for Glencross. “There’s all these decisions the farmer makes throughout the year and why he sprays and why he doesn’t,” she says. “You realise that most people get up, sit at a computer all day and if they press the wrong button, they just delete it. When you’re a farmer, you plant at the wrong time of year and tomorrow it washes away your whole crop.”

Glencross acknowledges that it is almost unprecedented for women to run arable farms. She struggles to name a single other example in the UK. She also notes wryly that men dominate all the farming conferences, saying: “They have a wife but it’s always the men who have written the book and given the presentation.”

With more role models, Glencross hopes things will change. “I’m not cool in any way, but I’m a reasonably young lady,” she says, laughing. “And so when people say: ‘What do you do? Oh, you’re a farmer. Maybe I could do that …’ So I’m hoping that it might become seen as quite a desirable, almost cool career.” A pause: “Even if it’s very much not cool.” 

[things-that-make-me-slytherin]

Non-Typical Slytherins

So I was taking a break from study, going through my inbox to see if I had already answered anything sitting there and I saw quite a few asks/submissions where my lovely little snakes are doubting themselves as Slytherins bc of their personality, star sign, patronuses, MBTI type, Ilvermorny house etc

The stereotypical Slytherins, the images that pop into peoples heads when they think of what a Slytherin is, is actually the minority of Slytherins in my opinion.

Take me for example, I am a Slytherin, Pisces, Pukwudgie, have a very strong sense of justice, morals, ethics. I am very caring, my jobs have usually been centred around helping people. In my pharmacy retail jobs my goal was to help people, when they came in complaining of stress related symptoms I would talk to them about fixing/managing their symptoms such as stress levels, acne/skin problems, trouble sleeping, self care - attacking the root of the problem while dealing with the symptoms. As a legal assistant I was driven by wanting to help people out with something that is usually extremely stressful and something out of their field of knowledge. Lawyers have a saying that we aren’t just our clients legal advocate, but their therapist and support person all at once.

On the other hand I am also very judgemental (I’m working on it), sassy, bitchy can be an asshole. It’s kind of like saying you can only like one fashion style or one type of cuisine. Very rarely do people fit into neat little boxes.

BUT NO ONE CAN TELL YOU WHO YOU ARE OR ARE NOT, so kindly tell them to go sit on a cactus.

People seem to forget that we aren’t necessarily what our house values are, that’s more Ilvermorny. We are sorted into our houses based primarily off what we value or aspire to be, that doesn’t mean that we automatically are those traits. It also doesn’t mean that we are all of our house traits. Because Crabbe and Goyle never came across as ambitious or cunning. 

Furthermore, these traits and values aren’t going to come across in the same way. Let’s take two non Slytherins in the HP world for example; my lovely Newt Scamander and Jacob Kowalski. Jacob’s ambition is to open up a bakery, Newt’s ambition is to save and care for magical creatures. They are completely different, someone’s greatest ambition could be to start a family, or graduate from school whereas another’s greatest ambition could be to get into politics, or medicine to develop a cure for some disease. Looking at these ambitions, you automatically place them along a scale at different places. But they are all ambitions.

For example, we can admire fraternity and traditionalism but these values don’t always mesh with others such as self-preservation or ambition.

What we value does however play a role in determining how we behave and make choices.

Most overlook that all of the Hogwarts houses are loyal, it just presents in different ways:

Gryffindors: loyal to house and ideals and morals

Ravenclaws: loyal to their passions, facts and hubris

Hufflepuffs: loyal to those they choose, loyal to their morals and ethics

Slytherins: loyal to their house and family, chosen or birth, loyal to themselves

Slytherins aren’t all massive assholes/bitches, moody and snarky and sassy. Just like Hufflepuffs aren’t all innocent little cinnamon rolls and can be just as snarky, moody and bitchy as anyone. Zacharias Smith anyone??? Gryffindors are not always chivalrous, brave and righteous - Peter Pettigrew. Ravenclaws aren’t all uptight swots who only care about knowledge or adhering to one school of thought, Luna Lovegood.

Slytherins have their own morals, ethic codes. We actually have a strong sense of fairness and sense of honour. It just may not marry up with other peoples, which is normal as a human being. We also tend to have the ability to set aside our own beliefs if it is in the way of what is right or needs to be done.

A lot of people tend to forget that others are just as complex and multi-faceted as they themselves are, which means that they tend to say “thats not right they dont go together” when they come across something that doesn't fit their own perception, which unless has been given thought is usually very shallow and takes in popular opinion and stereotypes.

They also forget that JK Rowling has her own biases which show in her writing. They also forget that it didn’t suit her story to show depth and diversity in the four houses. The stereotypes are a literary device.

So please be your unique selfs, fuck what others say and what the stereotypes are. You don’t have to act like others who fall under some same “label” as you, you were sorted into whichever house for a reason. Be a pastel loving, soft little cinnamon roll Slytherin or a badass bad bitch or whatever you choose to be. It doesn’t make you any more or any less of a Slytherin (Or Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Gryffindor or what have you.)

You are wonderful as you are, there is no other who can be who you are ad life would be incredibly boring if we were all the same.

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, Chapter 1

Summary/Intro: Okay. Ignoring all the death and dying, Eden Smith is a fairly normal person. So maybe not everyone grows up on a farm and gains a new “cousin” every few years, and— I mean, yeah, most people don’t have a mother who definitely used to kill people for a living, or have a father who walked out when they refused to become a superhero, or ran away to Gotham without telling anyone they know, or— or— Okay, FINE! Maybe Eden ISN'T entirely normal. Can’t you just let her eat her cookies and die a couple times in peace? Sheesh! 

Pairing: Jason Todd/Red Hood x OC

It’s supposed to be a little silly mixed with a little sad so just go into it with that in mind plz. Hopefully it’s not GOD AWFUL.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter One:

It was, for once, a quiet night in Eden’s apartment. Her upstairs neighbors weren’t hosting an orgy or starting World War 3, the baby downstairs wasn’t crying bloody murder, and her next-door-neighbor wasn’t screaming at the TV.

Out on the street, it was equally quiet. Sure, a car alarm had gone off a few minutes ago, but there was no drunken shouting. No random gunshots, no gratuitous explosions in the distance. In fact, for what must’ve been the first night since she’d moved there, the city of Gotham actually seemed at ease.

Maybe that should’ve put Eden on edge. Maybe it was some kind of warning, a calm before an inevitable storm. But it was the first sense of peace she'd felt in months. She couldn't just ignore it. Instead of curling up on her bed with her headphones full blast, questioning her life choices, she sat out on the fire escape and enjoyed the calm night.

Her apartment was situated just high enough to peek over the rooftops of most of the neighboring buildings. The outline of Gotham’s tallest skyscrapers stood in the distance and car lights twinkled on the nearby highway like stars. Out here, a thick stench of smog and rotting trash usually choked the air, but tonight a soft breeze blew it away. A soft mixture of brick, iron, the herbs she was growing, and her freshly baked cookies took its place.

If she closed her eyes and tried – really, really tried – it almost felt like being back home.

The thick blanket wrapped around her could just as easily be protecting her from splinters on the front porch. The distant sound of cars could be a gust of wind blowing through the trees or the horses playing in the field. Her freshly baked snickerdoodles couldn’t be Mama’s – nobody’s cookies ever tasted as good as Mama’s – but Eden could at least pretend she’d made them at their small bakery at the edge of the road.

She ate another, savoring the warm, chewy center and trying not to focus on the difference in taste. She was baking most of their goods by heart by the time she was ten years old. Blindfold her, tie one hand behind her back, and Eden could still probably make anything on the menu without much trouble. But for some reason, here… things didn’t taste the way they were supposed to.

They still tasted good, she assured herself as she took another bite. It was probably just the store-bought ingredients she’d had to settle for. Or the city water. Or that they made her miss home.

Eden frowned. She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pushing the idea away. She had more important things to worry about right now than cookies and tastes. Like her newest job.

She'd landed a new role just last week and the sooner she could be off-script, the happier her director would be. She only spoke in three scenes of this show, but that was two more than the previous one and she was on-stage for several more. The better she did, the better her referrals would be. The better the referrals, the more work she would get, and the closer she would be to getting bigger roles. When she got bigger roles, she’d get even better referrals, which would land her even bigger roles, and so on and so forth until she could afford an apartment in a, uh… less interesting part of Gotham.

Even in this hotbox-of-crime neighborhood, her studio apartment somehow cost more than twice the two-bedroom house Kit and her boyfriend were renting back home. And the insurance fees in Gotham? Outrageous. But sadly necessary considering all the nutzo shenanigans that went down in the city. As much as it would kill her to work in an office, those insurance companies probably made some serious bank, so getting a “real job” at one at some point wasn’t totally off the table.

Eden huffed, unclipping her reading light to turn the page of the script and attaching it again. She had a good thing going now, but she was more than aware it was borrowed time.

Eventually, Frank's money would run out. Eventually, she’d need to call home and explain herself. Eventually eventually, she’d have to actually go home. She’d have to face everyone’s feelings of hurt and betrayal, including her mother’s, which would most certainly be laced with Louanne Smith's particularly frightening brand of ice-cold wrath. Eden would also probably get mugged or murdered in this insane city at least twice and have to listen to everyone's “I told you so"s.

But that wasn’t right now. Right now, Eden had it okay.

She had a small, shitty apartment in a huge, shitty city where she would most certainly die if she wasn’t careful, but at least it was her own place. No overbearing mother always staring over her shoulder, no runaways taking her bed for the night, no rag-tag group of semi-siblings gobbling up her time and space and arguing house rules when she fought back. This was her space, damn it, and she didn’t have to share it with anybody unless she wanted to! Not that she’d want anyone else coming to such a colorful part of Gotham in the first place, but still! It was hers.

And nobody here knew her. There was no history she had to take into account every time she stepped outside; no old rivalries or mishaps that mapped out which side of town she was and wasn’t safe on. In Gotham, you just plain old weren’t safe no matter who you were, where you were, or what you’d done. Eden had learned that quick. She almost preferred it some ways. It was easier than the small-town, passive-aggressive grudges and back-stabbings she'd grown up around.

Not to mention she had Gotham’s robust, ever-growing performance industry at her disposal. Despite all the insanity and crime that surrounded them – or, perhaps, because it surrounded them – the wealthy here demanded a constant stream of grand symphonies, operas, ballets, and so forth to distract them. Performers in Gotham were paid better than anywhere else in America. They had to be. With how often performances were interrupted by madmen and villains here, it had to be worth the risk.

For Eden, that risk wasn't something she really needed to consider. If something happened, she'd be fine. She always was. She was "lucky" like that.

And besides, fewer people willing to risk getting shot or blown up in the middle of a performance meant fewer people at auditions! Getting to be on stage, getting to follow her dreams... That was why Eden had left the farm in the first place. And Gotham was the best place for her to achieve those dreams as quickly as possible. So things were okay.

Really! Even if she was a little homesick, even if this dirty town was too crowded and too crazy, even if guilt hung over her like a knife... things were okay.

In fact, at this exact moment – in the strange but welcomed quiet of the night, practicing what she loved, eating still-warm cookies out in the open air – things felt better than okay. Things for once, actually, genuinely, felt good.

Then, a shadow flickered over her.

Eden froze.

Her free hand hovered over the plate of cookies. She’d been turning in such a way, leaning over the stair she was sitting on to reach the plate, that all her weight was now pushing into her toes. It was a hard position to hold without falling over. Blinding, too. Her head was cast down, facing the cookies and not at all in the direction of the shadow.

She wanted to move. Just enough to right herself and let her look somewhere beyond the metal grating underneath her. But Eden could practically hear Mr. Monroe, her old coach, scolding her.

“Hold position!” he’d say. Then, after noticing her shaking knees, he would trill, “I said hold, Eden! Keep your limbs still. Breathe carefully. I don’t want to see a single sign of life. In this moment, you are a prop. You are the scenery!”

The fire escape gave a small, almost unnoticeable shake as something dropped near her. Eden's limbs jerked instinctively. She shut her eyes, silently cursing, hoping it was just a raccoon.

Did Gotham even have raccoons? Eden hoped very much that they had raccoons. Giant, mutant raccoons that could cast large shadows and make fire escapes shake when they landed.

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?” a distorted voice asked.

Heartbreaking News: Gotham City does not have mutant raccoons.

---

Chapter 2

[padfootagain]

Sweet Tooth

Here we go for a new fic for my 4.7k event!! I answer the request for an Eomer one-shot made by @absentmindeduniverse​. The prompts that were requested are:

84. "Please, just… hold me. Please, hold me close."

62. "Where are you?"

34. "Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles!"

11. "It's dark, and it's late, and I'm cold and I'm drenched with this freaking rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

7. "I WANT MY COOKIES!!"

The prompts are written in italics so you can check that I’ve used them all!

This is very fluffy with a tiny bit of angst. I hope all of you like it!! It turned out very long cause the prompts were hard to get together in just one scene.

Pairing: Eomer x reader

Word Count: 7729

It was a bright day in the white city.

The pale stones shined under the intense sun, almost-blinding lights hanged to the side of tall and darker mountains, under a perfect blue sky. Before the city, the fields of Pelennor had grown green with the rains of Spring, and the beginning of Summer had not, for now, burnt its delicate emerald coat. The long line of workers carrying goods and stones to Osgiliath as the city was being rebuilt formed, from the top of the Tower of Ecthelion, a trail similar to one made by ants across a forest floor.

The city was busy, buzzing with life like a happy beehive. It always seemed to be so, since the King had returned. A few years after the War of the Ring, and the White City was back to its previous greatness, it seemed. It had become again the centre of the world of men, and had found back some of its grandeur.

Rebuilding lives shattered by Sauron and his evil was a long process, but slowly, life became a little brighter with every day that went buy for the Free People of Middle-Earth.

Rohan and Gondor seemed closer than ever, and it was mostly thanks to the will of their two Kings to help each other in building again a decent life for their people. Tight politics led to both Aragorn and Eomer travelling often across their lands to meet.

It was Rohan's King's turn to stay for a few weeks in Minas Tirith, following Aragorn and Arwen's stay in Edoras half a year before. And Eomer, even if there was no place he would rather be than riding through the Riddermark, had to admit that he quite enjoyed his stays in Aragorn's halls. He always made sure to spend some time in Ithilien as well, visiting Eowyn and Faramir there. And he was so happy to see his sister again, that he didn't mind the long journey he needed to undertake to do so.

He also liked the City in itself. And what was there not to like, really? It was busy and full of life, especially at this time of the year, when the crops were blossoming and the sun always high in the sky.

During his time in Minas Tirith, between his meetings with various leaders of the Free Folks, Eomer had taken into habit to wander through the different levels of the city. He had thus discovered a number of places and hidden alleys that he particularly enjoyed, from a skilled smith to a little park or to a bakery that made the best strawberry cookies he had ever eaten. So famous for its delicacies indeed was the bakery that cakes and cookies had to be ordered a week before to be prepared. But it was worth it, and Eomer never failed to order some of these delicious sweets. Some other representatives mocked him for going through the trouble of going to the bakery himself to order and pick up his cakes, but Eomer didn't listen to such criticism. He enjoyed walking all the way through the twisted streets too much.

Which was why, by this beautiful afternoon, he was basking in the sun while waiting for the baker to hand him the treats he had ordered a week before.

You were waiting as well, for the same reason. You didn't know who the man waiting by your side was, although you had spotted the horses carved in the hilt of his sword, and recognized his clothes as being of Rohan. His blond hair and clear blue eyes also let little hesitation towards his origins. At first, you thought he might have been a merchant, which would have explained how a man of Rohan knew about this bakery, but the sword hanging at his belt seemed to have seen battles, and you wondered if he had been a soldier during the war.

And he wondered about you too, although he was careful at averting his gaze anywhere else but on you. He wondered if you lived in the city, what was your status here...

"I have one order for strawberry cookies?" The baker called in the street.

"Yes!"

You both answered in unison, and you exchanged a glance. But Eomer merely bowed his head.

"I shall take the next ones," he offered.

"Next ones? There are no more of the cookies," the baker frowned.

"It seems that we have both ordered some though."

You showed the baker your receipt, and Eomer did the same. The poor woman was sweating profusely.

"Oh... what have I done? It looks like there has been a mistake... I... I have only enough ingredients for these much..."

"Can one of us can come back tomorrow?" Eomer proposed, but the baker's panic only grew.

"I won't receive strawberries before the beginning of next week! You'll have to wait as much. One of you, at least..."

"Maybe we can share..." Eomer offered.

But you gave him the saddest glance he had seen in a long time.

"I... it's for my sister. She's travelling back here from the coast..."

He heaved a sigh, but easily gave in.

"Well then. I will be back next week," the King gave you a nod, and you beamed at him.

"Thank you, sir."

"My lady," he gave you a short nod, walking away empty-handed while you left in the opposite direction with the precious cookies.

And upon this defeat, Eomer took it upon himself to clear his mind and enjoy the rest of his afternoon wandering across the city.

After a long walk through the busy streets, he sought peace in some of the gardens of the upper levels. He had his favourite spot of the whole city in one of them, a lonely wooden bench set right under the shade of a tall oak tree, surrounded by a patch of grass. The view from the bench stretched beyond the walls and to the fields laying at the mountain's feet, heading North, in the vague direction of his homeland. For even if Eomer was treated more than well in Aragorn's halls and enjoyed his time in the White City, he still missed the wild of Rohan's plains. If he couldn't see them from here, a feeling of reassurance never failed to settle in his chest nevertheless, simply because he turned towards the direction of his home.

But as he entered the quiet area, that was usually empty, he found that there was already someone sitting on the bench that had become so familiar a place to him. And he recognized the intruder in the blink of an eye.

It was you.

The woman from the bakery with the same order as his, he had no doubt about it. You were staring at the horizon, while the sun slowly lowered beyond the mountains, painting the sky with pink and purple shades. And while your gaze seemed lost across the landscape, you chewed on the biscuits you had bought earlier, that Eomer had let you get for your sister.

Only there seemed to be no sister of yours around. And the King would have lied if he had claimed that he wasn't annoyed at the sight that proved that you had lied to his face a few hours before. But instead of getting angry, he merely let out a humorous chuckle, the sound low in his chest. You had played a trick on him, and a rather unharmful one. So, he reckoned that he could play a little trick on you too, for good measure, an innocent one as well.

He silently walked behind you, and waited to be close to you to speak, making you jump in consequence, almost dropping your precious pastries.

"Well… where is this sister of yours then?"

You froze, recognizing the stranger's voice in the blink of an eye. Hard not to, considering the deep and sultry quality of his voice.

He had obviously seen you eating these biscuits, that you had not bought for your sister at all, but for yourself…

You heaved a sigh, defeated.

"I guess you caught me red-handed. What are you going to do, though? Call for the guards?"

He crossed his arms before his chest as he circled around the bench to come stand before you. He looked so tall like this, as you sat on the bench. He was towering you, shoulders broad and chest heaving softly while the ghost of an amused smile tempted his lips.

"I doubt that they will judge the crime worthy of their time. Besides, I did give you the biscuits," Eomer admitted.

"Exactly! You did! And willingly so!"

"You deceived me into forcing this decision out of me though."

"Now, now, now… that is a bit much for just a couple of biscuits!"

"Four biscuits. And the best in all Gondor."

You smiled, amused. Despite his impressive stature, the smile tugging at the corner of his lips made his presence everything but frightening. He didn't seem to be so mad at you, after all.

"What do you want then?" you asked.

"I want my cookies."

His answer was simple and blunt, but you judged it quite fair. You checked the content of the bag. You still had one that had remained untouched.

"Alright, you can have my last one. But that means that I'll get one of yours next week."

Eomer chuckled, but took the offered biscuit anyway.

"It seems fair. May I?" he asked, nodding at the spot by your side on the bench, and you accepted with a nod and a warm smile.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," you introduced yourself properly for the first time.

"Eomer."

"Eomer… that name sounds familiar…" you mumbled, taking another bite of your biscuit. "Oh… isn't that how the king of Rohan is named too?"

He could have cleared the quid pro quo then. He could have corrected your statement and tell you that he was, indeed, the king of Rohan. But you seemed relaxed by his side, and he was worried that your playful mood might disappear if he did so. Instead, he chose to give you an amused smile, and keep the truth for himself. You had lied to him before, he reckoned that it mainly pulled back the world into balance if he lied to you once as well.

He would most likely never see you again after this whole cookie incident anyway, so there was no harm, really, in him forgetting to correct you to enjoy your genuine company for a little longer.

"Yes, like the king."

"Are you from Rohan, then?"

"I am."

"Are you a merchant? Is that why you're in Minas Tirith."

"I am… here to discuss some trades between Minas Tirith and Edoras," he answered, which wasn't a lie. The headache that lingered at the back of his brain from the previous afternoon spent locked in a room with Aragorn to settle on commercial arrangements between their realms was a proof of it. He was simply omitting how important the trades he discussed were.

You gave him a smile, nodding your head in understanding, and he found that he quite liked the sight of the pinkish sun into your hair, and if only to keep on enjoying this sight for a little longer, he reckoned that his lies, or omissions, were worth it.

Eomer was excited to see you the next week.

There was no other word to describe his state of mind as he hurried to the bakery. And if he was walking there to get the cakes he had ordered, he couldn't deny that by now, he was more interested in seeing you than eating the delicious pastries.

He had spent a lovely time with you that evening, talking for a long time about your family and his home. He didn't reveal his true identity, worried that your behaviour towards him would change if he did.

And after seeing you grin at him as you caught sight of him again, without a doubt waiting for him before the bakery, your form bathed in warm sunlight and your dark blue clothes contrasting with the brightness of the stones that surrounded you, he reckoned that he didn't want to take the risk. For now, his little lie was of small consequences.

Besides, he would probably never see you again after this afternoon.

Or so he thought when it started, at least…

Knowing his love for horses, you accompanied him to the royal stables, your uncle working as a guard there had pulled a few strings to grant you passage. Of course, he had visited the stables many times, his own horse being kept there, but he faked wonder as if it were the first time as his eyes fell upon the elegant pillars that supported the tall arch. The sight of your content smile was enough to clear all traces left on his conscience by his tiny lie.

You ate your biscuits while walking across the city, and Eomer didn't mind in the slightest the fact that you took two cookies instead of one. Indeed, he offered both.

The more time he spent with you, the more he reckoned that he enjoyed your company. He enjoyed your humour, and your wits, and your kind smile. He found your voice soothing for some reason, and would have gladly spent entire days listening to you talking about anything you wanted. He was only half-listening as you talked about your father's business in the town. Instead, he merely took in the sound of your voice, and the sight of your eyes in the declining sun, and the way your hands moved to accompany the words you uttered. You were lively and smiling so much that he came to wonder if you were always merry, or if perhaps he had on you the same kind of effect that you had on him.

And indeed, he did have this effect upon you as well.

You liked his deep, rumbling voice, and his clear eyes, and the way his hair blew in the wind as you walked along the outer walls to stare at the shimmering waters of the Anduin in the distance. You liked the way he seemed calm by your side, although you had no doubt, by the way he held himself straight, that he was not the kind of man who would refuse a fight if provoked. He had an aura about him that drew respect towards his frame, something almost kingly, you reckoned. If only you knew…

Along that afternoon, spent basked in warm sunshine and sugary cookies, he learnt everything there was to learn about your family. He learnt that you liked apples and peaches too. He learnt that you loved watching the wind push down the grass across the Pelennor fields, drawing ripples as if it were the water at the surface of a lake. He learnt that you liked the smell of flowers in Spring and used to climb in trees as a child. You learnt about his sister who had married a man in Ithilien, and how he missed her dearly. How he described the Golden halls of Medulsed made you want to leave with him that very evening, ride throughout the night and cross the miles that separated the two cities to see it all yourself.

When the moon eventually settled in the sky, and it was more than time for you to go home and for him to join Aragorn for supper, you both caught yourselves stalling, trying to grab every single second more that could be offered to you. But all the cookies had been eaten, and none of you had a valid reason to see each other again. Or at least, none that didn't involve plainly showing how much you appreciated each other. And that was a very terrifying thing to admit.

Only, Eomer was not of the cowardly kind, and he found that the other possibility that was presented to him was to never see you again. So, he reckoned, he didn't really have a choice then…

"Y/N?" he spoke before you could, right before you would part ways.

You turned fully to him, biting back the farewell that stung the tip of your tongue.

"Yes?"

"I… I've spent a lovely afternoon in your company."

"I have as well."

"I… I know it might sound rather blunt, and I dearly hope that you do not take my behaviour harshly. I can assure you that my intentions are of the purest kind but… I… I would very much like to spend more time with you. Will you let me see you again?"

You stared at each other for a moment, a moment suspended in mid-air while the stars settled in the inky sky and the moon slowly awoke its dim light. The streets were quieter, its rhythm failing with the sun. And under the light of the torches that shed their warm light on the streets, Eomer reckoned that your eyes shone brighter than ever, and it would have been so easy for him to get lost in them.

Slowly, a smile formed on your lips.

"I would love to see you again," you admitted, your voice a little shy.

Eomer's heart made a leap in his chest, the kind of jump that he had rarely experienced before.

"May I take you to the river next week? Or would you prefer to remain in the city?"

"I would love to go to the river with you."

You exchanged a bright grin, and didn't even notice as seconds stretched into minutes, both of you too busy staring at each other instead.

Over the span of the next few weeks, Eomer and you spent more and more time together. And if at first, you weren't certain of his intentions towards you, this walk under the stars was the final proof you needed to be certain that he was courting you.

You met again on this same bench Eomer had found you sitting on that day you had stolen his pastries. It wasn't really stealing, of course, but he liked teasing you like this, seeing the way you bent your head then to hide your shy smile.

It was night already, but Eomer had been busy all day long, and had no other moment to meet with you. In the white tower, rumours and questions were starting to run wild, and even Aragorn and Arwen were wondering what Eomer could be doing, spending so much time wandering through the town. Or rather, who kept him away from the royal halls.

Eomer was more nervous than usual tonight, and you noticed his strange behaviour the second he sat down by your side on the bench.

You could never have guessed though that the reason behind his unsettled mood.

He had taken a decision that day. He was going to tell you the whole truth.

This involved finally telling you about his real rank. Now that you were truly comfortable around him, he hoped your behaviour towards him would not change too drastically. He expected for you to mistrust him for a while, after all, he had lied to you. But he had spent his day thinking about the best way to bring you the truth, and reckoned that he had found the words that would bring the most peace to your mind.

But bringing to you the whole truth also meant confessing his feelings. For along the past few weeks, he had slowly yet steadily fallen in love with you.

There was no doubt in his mind about the way he felt for you. He had fallen for your soft touch, and your bright laughter, and your humour, and your playful banter, and the way you held yourself, and the sight of the sun brushing your hair, and your kind smile and every other detail that made you be the person you were. This love he had for you, he knew it to be special too. Somehow, he was certain that this was the kind of love to last for a lifetime.

And he needed to tell you. Tonight. With the stars as witnesses and the moon as keeper of his honest words, he needed to say it all to you tonight.

His hands were shaking as he handed you a white simbelmynë, its petals shining under the silvery light. You smiled even brighter as you noticed the not-so-subtle blush that coloured his cheeks and ears.

"Eomer? What is it? You seem nervous."

He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing his palms together.

"I suppose I am. Quite nervous."

"What for? It's just me."

He offered you back your soothing smile, and the sight of the stars in your eyes made his heart beat a little less erratically.

"Forgive me. It is not important. How was your day?"

But you didn't let yourself be so easily lurred away from the main topic.

"Tell me. What is on your mind?"

He took a deep breath, reaching for your hand. You let him hold your fingers in his, his skin calloused and made rough by the many years he had spent wielding a sword. Despite the rasp of his skin, his touch was tender, almost feathery.

"I... I want to talk to you... about... something. Two things, actually."

"What is it? Are you... are you leaving?"

"Leaving? No, no, I'm not leaving."

"Then what can have you this nervous?"

"I..."

He cleared his throat, his voice deeper than usual because of the way his throat started to clench.

"I... I am sure that by now you have noticed the way I... I am sure you have guessed my intentions towards you, but I have never clearly expressed them, and I feel like I should."

"Oh."

He fell silent, a thousand questions forming in his glance at your shaky sound, but you invited him to continue. And so he did, stuttering and stumbling all over hid words, to a point that was almost comical considering the speeches he had given to thousands of horsemen ready for war before. Somehow, he was more timid now, in front of you. The effect of the heart, he reckoned.

"I can assure you that my intentions are... respectable. And I intend to do things the right way. But... I... my intentions are... driven by the fact that I..."

He struggled to swallow, his eyes never leaving yours as you expectantly stared at him, waiting for him to finish. He took a dep breath, before forcing the words out.

"I... have feelings for you."

Your eyes grew a little wider, and a smile spread across your features.

"Romantic feelings," he clarified, although he found himself stupid for doing so the second the additional words had passed his lips. You merely giggled at him.

"I assumed it was what you meant."

He nodded, biting his tongue and waiting for your reaction. It was torture to stare at you like this, uncertain of the outcome. Would you feel the same, or reject him?

You tightened your hold on his hand.

"I'm glad," you merely answered, but he didn't need more words as he saw the luminous expression on your face, and the way your eyes sparked as they fell to look at your entwined fingers.

When you looked up at him again, he felt bolder than he had in a long time. Which was why he rose his other hand to brush his fingers along your cheek, leaning closer to you. Your breath caught in your throat, but at the way you glanced at his lips, Eomer could tell that you wanted this to happen too.

Slowly, the space between your faces shrunk and shrunk until your breaths intertwined, fading on both your mouths, making the air around you warmer than what the night wanted.

At first it was only a brush of lips, but a second later it was more of a light touch that ended by the two of you pressing your lips together.

It was shy and a little hesitant, but it was sweet and tender and loving too. And after you broke apart, both of you breathless, you decided it made it perfect.

You rested your head against his shoulder, and he held you close to him, his arm wrapping around you.

You smiled, watching the breeze dance in the branches falling above your heads. You spotted a couple of Robins chirping together, jumping from a tiny branch to the other.

You wondered if they had found love too.

"I like this," you whispered, taking a deep breath to remember his scent. You could feel his muscles shifting under you with every breath he took. You reckoned that you had never felt safer anywhere else in your life.

"What do you like?" He asked, eager to please you.

"This. You cuddling me."

He laughed.

"Is that what I'm doing?"

You nodded.

"Cuddles! Cuddles! Cuddles!" You chimed, making him laugh some more.

But after a few minutes of peace, spent enjoying the way his body felt against you, you being turned light-headed because of his scent all around you, you broke the comfortable silence that had settled around your frames.

"You said there was something else you meant to tell me, though," you reminded him, pulling away to look at him fully once more. "What is it?"

His expression changed, becoming one of worry again. He took both your hands in his, and you noticed the way he was struggling to make eye-contact with you, his breathing uneven.

"I… There is indeed something I must tell you. Something I should have told you before, but I was worried you… you wouldn't see me the same if I told you."

"Eomer? What is it?" you insisted with a frown when he fell silent again.

He forced his blue eyes to settle on your stare, taking a deep breath before diving. But…

"Your Majesty."

He froze, staring at you with fear clouding his eyes this time. A soldier stood behind him, clearly addressing Eomer. You looked at him with a frown.

"Your Majesty," the soldier walked closer to you, and your frown only deepened while you tried to understand the scene that unfolded before you. "I am sorry to interrupt you. But we have received a message from Edoras, it is urgent."

"What is happening?" you finally asked, while the soldier handed his sovereign a sealed letter.

Eomer merely thanked the soldier with a nod, and let the man walk away before he would answer you.

"Why did he call you that? What is happening?" you asked again.

Eomer heaved a sigh. It wasn't how he wanted to tell you everything…

"I… I'm sorry. Please, you have to believe me, I never intended to harm you or deceive you in any way. But when we met I… I would have never imagined that this would be what we would become. And it… it seemed easier this way. After that, how could I make things right again?"

"I don't understand… You… You're a merchant..."

"I am not a merchant, Y/N."

You stared at each other for a lingering moment, before you let out a deep exhale, blinking under the moonlight as the situation started to make sense, although you didn't want your understanding to be true.

"You… you lied to me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Did you lie to me?"

"I did."

"You… You are…"

"I am."

"You… are a King?"

He nodded, giving you some time to wrap your mind around the idea.

You snatched your hands out of his hold.

"Y/N…"

"You lied to me…"

"I thought it would be easier that afternoon. I just… I did not want you to feel uncomfortable around me. You would not have talked to me the way you did had you known who I really am. I did not think it would have any consequence, I did not think that we would ever see each other again."

"You should have told me sooner."

"Things would have changed…"

"They are about to change now too."

"They do not have to. Nothing has to change."

"You are a King. And I am but… a commoner."

"No, I have never seen you like this. Do you not know that?"

"I know that we come from two worlds that are even more different than our two kingdoms…"

"Don't."

"Did you lie for anything else? Did you lie about us?"

"No, I have not. I truly have feelings for you. This… what happens now between us, this is real."

"When were you going to tell me who you really were?"

"Right now. Tonight. It was the second matter I wanted to discuss with you. I… I simply hoped that I could bring the truth forward in a softest way. Y/N, I have been honest with you, all along. I did not lie about us, and I have been more myself with you than I could have ever been had you known my true identity. I simply… wanted to spend some time with you."

You didn't reply, and instead, looked down at your laps. When you spoke again, your tone was saddened and cold.

"I want to go home now."

"Y/N…"

"Please. Let me go home, Your Majesty."

Never before had hearing his title broken his heart. Until now.

So, he let you go.

You didn't hear from Eomer for a few days, and you weren't surprised. You expected to be left alone for good.

You cried all night long, but then the tears seemed to dry out. Instead, you felt numb towards the entire world.

You didn't say a word about the incident to anyone, may they be your friends or your family. You reckoned that they wouldn't believe you if you did so. Your parents were starting to grow worried at your silent and mournful behaviour though, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to keep the story for yourself for much longer. So, after three days, you told them it was about a man, hoping it would satisfy their thirst for truth. A man of Rohan you had met at the bakery who had ended up being a liar. Your father was ready to go break his nose, but you reckoned that having your father arrested for punching a King was not the end to your love story that you longed for.

You expected to never see him again, and waited for the pain to go away. Your mother always said that time can heal all wounds, and you forced yourself to not doubt her words.

The rumour that the King of Rohan would soon be leaving Gondor started to spread after your last evening spent with him. You wondered what kind of business could force him back to his homeland, but you guessed that you would never find out. No matter how hurt you felt, and how angry at him you were, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever see him again…

You didn't answer the knock on the front door of your parents' house when it echoed through your home. You kept on staring instead at the inky sky rendered completely black by the heavy clouds that poured rain across the city. A breeze shook your frame with a shiver as it rushed into the house by the open window, bringing your mind a little closer to the ground again. It was late at night, and you should have gone to bed a while ago, but you couldn't put your mind at rest.

Why did he have to go?

You heard some voices coming from the threshold where your father had answered the door, but paid no attention to them, and tried, on the contrary, to block their sound so you could keep on daydreaming.

If only he hadn't lied to you…

"Y/N!" your father called for you, and this time you did turn to him. "Someone is here for you."

You frowned, but forced yourself to stand and walk to the door anyway, taking the lantern your father was handing you so you could see who was coming to visit you so late at night.

And you should have known that it was him.

"Good evening, Y/N."

Eomer was drenched under the heavy summer rain, his long blond locks clinging to his cheeks and neck, his cloak and hood only of little protection under such a strong storm. The sky rumbled angrily just as you stared at him with your mouth agape in surprise.

"I… I am sorry to disturb you so late at night. It is hardly the hour for a call, I am well aware."

"What are you doing here?" you interrupted him rather rudely, and you wondered if being rude to a King would get you in trouble.

But Eomer didn't seem to mind.

"I… I am leaving Minas Tirith tomorrow," he announced. "A situation in Edoras calls for my immediate attention, and I cannot delay my departure."

"Why are you telling me this?"

You noticed, despite the dim light of your lantern, the way that Eomer flinched at your question.

"I… I know that you are still angry at me for lying about who I am. And I do not hold it against you. But I was honest about everything else, and my feelings have not changed. I… I reckoned that you deserved to hear about it from me."

"It was but a dream though. These past few weeks were but a reverie."

"Only if we decide to make them so."

"I do not come from a noble house…"

"I have never cared about this."

"You should. You are King."

"Come with me to Edoras."

"What?!"

"Come with me. Come with me in Rohan."

"I… I cannot leave…"

"Not tomorrow. Of course not, but… when I come back here, I can ask for your hand to your family properly. Then… then you could come live with me at Edoras."

"I cannot leave my family. My life is here."

"They could come with us."

"No. No, Eomer, no."

He bent his head, nodding.

"As you wish," he breathed.

He couldn't simply let you go, though. And he knew it. He knew that this could not be the end. He wanted to fight for you.

He had never been one to flee before a battle, and he was not about to start now. If you did not want him in your life, then he would respect your choice. But he had to try one last desperate attempt before admitting his defeat.

"I… I cannot let this end this way," he went on, finally looking up at you again, with strength in his eyes despite the way his body shook under the rain and his voice trembled. "I know that I have lied to you, and I understand that you might need time to decide if you can forgive me or not. Don't be too quick in your decision. I know that I have shaken your trust in me, but I… I beg of you to believe me when I tell you that I was earnest with you all along, and that I truly hold feelings for you. And now I… Now it is dark, and it is late, and I am cold and I am drenched with this rain and yet all I can think about is that I love you."

You couldn't refrain a gasp.

He… loved you…

"When I come back to Minas Tirith, I'll wait for you on the bench every evening. You can decide then if you wish to give me another chance or not. I will wait for you. If you do not come by the end of the first week, I shall not bother you again. If you do come, I will spend the rest of my life making amends and showing you how true the rest of my words were."

He handed you a box, wrapped in some brown paper drenched by the summer rain, and you slowly took the object, studying him while doing so.

"Good night, Y/N. I hope you decide for this not to also mean farewell."

Before you could speak, he was striding away and disappearing around the corner of an adjacent alley.

You walked back inside the house, knowing that your father waited expectantly for an explanation, but you ignored him. Instead, you carried your lantern to the table, and peeled away the wet paper to reveal a carved wooden box, upon which two horses were dancing. Horses were carved all along the sides of the box as well. It was beautiful…

You lifted the lid, and recognized the scent of pastries before you even saw the same cookies you and Eomer had fought for as you met.

Your tear was silent as it fell.

The next four weeks were a mess.

Your family barely believed you and your father was quite mad about the whole ordeal. It was a complicated situation you were thrown in at home.

But it wasn't even the thing that bothered you the most. No, what truly tortured you was Eomer.

He was still in Rohan, and you had not heard of any rumour about his return to the White City. You had tried to stop thinking of him, and tried to not forgive him, and tried to be stronger than you were.

Your days seemed to always repeat. You woke up tired yet determined to not think about him, to not yield. You skipped breakfast for lack of appetite. You lost yourself in work at your father's shop. You barely touched your food at lunch for your throat was too tight most of the time. You forced smiles upon your lips and pushed away thoughts of him. By the time the sun started its fall across the sky, and the afternoon slowly wavered, your resolve faltered like the course of the star above you. You caught yourself sometimes keeping an object in your hands even though you should have been placing it on a shelf, too lost in thought to complete the simple task. You heard his voice instead of your customer's sometimes. And the more the afternoon declined into the evening, the more you thought of him. The more you forgave him. The more you wished he was back.

He was wrong to lie to you, but you understood why he had done so. You couldn't deny that, had you known who he truly was, you would have never allowed yourself to fall for him. You would have never joked around, and spent these afternoons laughing with him. At the end of the day, you still loved him, so what did it change?

Leaving your life behind to join him in Rohan was far from an easy step, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Being King, you were the one who would have to follow him, not the other way around. You could still visit your family whenever you would need to come to Minas Tirith. And your family could also travel to see you in Rohan. Perhaps your father could even open a shop there too. It wasn't unfeasible, it was simply a leap of faith.

But you had to wrap your mind around the idea of becoming a Queen, and that was a whole other level of troubles, you reckoned. You weren't a queen. You were simply the daughter of a merchant. You didn't know much about Rohan, only the tales your father had told you as a child to put you to sleep, and the experience you had of their culture through the few people of Rohan you had come across in your life. You remembered when so many of them had stayed in the city after the siege on Minas Tirith during the war. You remembered their broad shields, and the green cloaks of the Rohirrim. How could you manage to be their queen though?

By the evening, as the sky turned in a strange mix of oranges and yellows, your resolve had dissolved, and you weren't angry in the slightest anymore. By dinner you thought of the pastries you ate together and were ready to cry at the memory. By the time the first stars appeared in the firmament, you had forgiven him. As you watched the moon rising by your window, you missed him so much it hurt. The same question kept on burning your tongue and your veins, to a point that your pain turned back to anger as the moon shone brightly upon the city.

This question that kept on ringing in your ears and this uncertainty to what would come after had you tear at your hair.

By the time your head fell out of exhaustion onto your pillow, the light of the stars and moon shyly sipping into your room to bathe your closed eyelids, you were cursing his name for leaving you like this, and as retribution, promised yourself to not give into him.

By the time sleep finally took you, you were crying, and you were infuriated at this question that kept gnawing at your heart, and you swore that you would never forgive him for leaving.

Where are you?

Eomer didn't come back before three whole months had passed. You heard the first rumours two weeks before his arrival, and became more and more nervous as the date approached.

What if he had changed his mind? What if he didn't come at the bench? What if he didn't feel the same anymore?

After all, you had pushed him away and you had never told him how you truly felt. He had admitted that he loved you, that night, under the rain, but you hadn't spoken the words back, no matter if you would have meant them if you had.

The day of their arrival was nerve-wrecking to say the least. You had to remain at your father's shop to work, and didn't go to see the Rohirrim enter the city.

Instead you remained locked in the shop, waiting for the sun to cross the sky until the evening would finally come.

Would Eomer be there, at the bench? He had promised that night, but so much could have changed in three months…

You didn't tell your parents where you went as you finally walked out of the shop at the end of the day. The sky had taken a velvety shade of purple as the sun had disappeared beyond the mountains, and the first stars were just beginning to glimmer above head. You reckoned that never before in your life had your heart beaten so fast.

A thousand scenarios passed through your mind, most of them of him not being there. After all, even if he hadn't changed his mind, he was probably exhausted after his journey. And perhaps he had to stay with Elessar? It made sense. So perhaps, even if he wasn't there, it wouldn't be hopeless…

But as you entered the garden, the light of torches burning of a bright red and gold in the growing shadows of the night, the silhouette that rested upon the bench was unmistakable. In the shy yet burning lights of the fires, his blond hair seemed to glimmer with warmer hues than usual. His maroon tunic hugged his broad shoulders, threads of gold embroidered in the fabric over his collar, tracing complex patterns that ran along the top of his shoulders and down his sleeves to wrap around his wrists. He wore dark leathered pants that seemed to be meant for riding, and tall boots of the same deep shade of brown, looking almost black in the night.

He didn't hear you walking closer, until your breath got caught in your throat and you had to gasp to fill your lungs with air again.

He was on his feet the second his eyes recognized your face, and he stopped breathing altogether at the sight.

He had missed you so much… and you were even more beautiful than his dreams.

"You came," he let out in a breath.

"You came too," you answered with a small smile.

"I told you that I would. I will never betray your trust again, if you offer me the chance to prove it to you."

He heaved a sigh, clenching and releasing his fists. There was so much he meant to tell you…

"Y/N, I…"

But he was cut short as you suddenly ran to him and held him close.

It took him a few seconds to finally realize what you were doing and wrap his arms around you as well. But once he did, his hold was so tight that you could barely breathe, as if he were scared you would run away and disappear forever if he released you.

"Please, just… hold me. Please, hold me close," your voice came in a whisper that almost got lost in the night.

And so he did. He remained quiet, too scared of breaking the moment you were lost into and losing you if he did anything else than keep you secured in his arms. After a while, you relaxed, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes.

"I forgive you," you whispered in his ear. "I forgive you. Don't leave me again. Please, don't leave again, I forgive you."

He moved just enough to kiss your temple, the gesture chaste and tender, one of his hands moving up your back to cradle your head instead.

"I love you," you confessed. "Do you still feel the same too?"

Eomer broke into a grin.

"Of course, I do. I love you. I always will."

Your body finished to relax against him, your hands turning into fists around his shirt. You were ready to cry, such a strong wave of relief crashing down on your entire frame.

"I've missed you," he went on, his low and deep voice acting like a balm to heal all your wounds and scars. "I've never stopped thinking of you for all this time we were apart."

"I've missed you too. I… I don't want to ever feel like this again."

Eomer smiled against your forehead as he dropped a soft kiss there.

"Then, let's stay together, and never part again."

********************************************

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