#face blindness but only for white men with long brown hair and beards

[b0ybutch]

me seeing any white man with long brown hair and a beard: bucky barnes?!!??!??!?

[windstalkerwolf]

I Sing the Body Electric

By Walt Whitman

1

I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

2

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

3

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners, These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also, He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome, They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him, They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love, He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face, He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him, When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

4

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

5

This is the female form, A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable, Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused, Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching, Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice, Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, Undulating into the willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest, You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them, She is in her place and moves with perfect balance, She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active, She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature, As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty, See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

6

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place, He too is all qualities, he is action and power, The flush of the known universe is in him, Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well, The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him, The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul, Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself, Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here, (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred, No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang? Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf? Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you, Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession, The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant? Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight? Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts, For you only, and not for him and her?

7

A man’s body at auction, (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,) I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder, Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant, For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.

In this head the all-baffling brain, In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve, They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood, The same old blood! the same red-running blood! There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations, (Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns, In him the start of populous states and rich republics, Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries? (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)

8

A woman’s body at auction, She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman? Have you ever loved the body of a man? Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred, And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body? For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

9

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you, I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems, Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems, Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears, Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids, Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges, Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition, Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue, Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest, Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones, Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails, Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side, Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone, Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root, Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above, Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg, Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female, The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame, Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees, The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones, The exquisite realization of health; O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, O I say now these are the soul!

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[sometimesiwrite]

The Way It Is

Prompt: Fake Dating

Pairing: Lambert & Essi Other Characters: Julian (Jaskier), Eskel/Geralt

Rating: Teen Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings; platonic/queerplatonic dynamics; pressure to engage sexually; coarse language; alcohol/intoxication; modern AU.

Summary: When Essi and Lambert are setup on a blind date, they don’t expect to get along as well as they do. However, when they decide to keep their relationship platonic and non-romantic, they realize they might face some uncomfortable pressure. For the sake of simplicity, they decide to tell people they’re dating, but is it sustainable? 

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

Essi fidgeted with the bent corner of her cafe menu, looking around at the various styles of local artworks hanging on the walls. She was early by about ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from checking the pearlescent dial of her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, the bell above the door tinkled and a man walked in. Essi could tell from the way he was looking around that he was there to meet someone—her. The only other people sitting alone in the cafe were working on laptops and tablets; no one else waiting for a date. And this man was most certainly looking for one. 

He was handsome in a ruffled sort of way, though he’d clearly put in a bit of effort. His black casual dress shirt and slim light-wash jeans fit his lean frame impeccably, and a subtle quantity of mousse was clearly doing its best to tame his short, scruffy brown hair. Even his bristly beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothing, there was something striking about the way he carried himself, a devil-may-care sort of presence that Essi appreciated. For a blind date, she thought, it certainly could be worse. Allegedly, they knew each other, at least based on his abruptly out-of-the-blue text, and the closer she looked, the more her memory of him crystalized. 

A loud ping! emitted from Essi’s phone and the man looked up from his own cellular device, clearly having just texted. 

“Uh, Essi? Essi Daven, right?” He took a step towards her and leaned in, pointing to his phone screen. 

“Yes,” Essi stood to shake his hand, “hi.”

“Nice to see you again. Lambert.”

They sat down awkwardly, both struggling to find the will for smalltalk. 

“So…” Lambert had become keenly interested in a black-and-white digital photograph behind Essi’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Essi could feel the words start to tumble out of her mouth, and it was too late to do anything about it. Lambert raised an eyebrow,  “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to be honest and probably regret it later: I don’t really do this. Dating. I find it strange and uncomfortable and if I’m perfectly honest I think I’d rather die.” She didn’t cringe apologetically, which would have been the expected behaviour to accompany an outpouring of disinterest. Instead she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly pursed as a muscle in her neck twitched, waiting for his response.

Lambert laughed. Genuinely laughed—a joyful release of tension and dread, “Oh, thank Fuck!” Essi blinked in pleasant surprise and watched as Lambert began to relax.

“Excuse me?” Her startlingly blue eyes widened in amusement. 

“No, no, I just mean—I would absolutely and one-hundred percent, without a doubt, rather die in a hole than date,” Lambert slotted the edge of the menu under his fingernails and let his eyes wander a little more freely around the cafe. 

“So then… why?” 

Hm. Direct, frank, amusing lack of filter… the memories were starting to come back from what limited, heavily inebriated, time they’d spent together.

There was something about the straightforwardness of this endearingly odd woman that made Lambert feel infinitely more comfortable. Usually, any kind of interaction with the potential of building mutual interest made him feel like he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. The signals, the code words that never meant what they said: having sex on the first date means you’re a slut; not having sex on the third date means you’re a prude; grabbing coffee means this; having dinner means that; if they your arm but don’t invite you up, it means that they’re actually a KGB operative and need to give you the launch codes for a super secret missile...

Fuck that, we have words for a reason. Say what you mean and don’t waste my time. For that reason alone, Essi was already scoring quite well in Lambert’s books. 

He shrugged, “You somehow remembered me from the KM Christmas party almost six months ago, and still asked for my number. I figure that at least deserves a coffee and a conversation.”

Essi was bewildered, “I didn’t ask for your number, you texted me.”

Lambert shook his head, “Impossible. No offense, but I absolutely guarantee you I did not.” He produced their short text exchange and scrolled to the top of their conversation: 

Hi, is this Lambert? From the KM Christmas party? 

You might not remember me, we got talking about 

the political situation in Kashmir after about…

Too many drinks. Eeep! 

Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee sometime, if 

you’re interested. 

Sorry, this is Essi Daven. 

You called me Goldilocks at one point and 

seemed amused XD 

Hope you’re well! 

Essi snatched Lambert’s phone, shocked and slightly outraged as she reached for her own device, opening her thread with Lambert. The text at the top was not from her, but from the man across from her: 

Yeah, hi, this is 

Lambert-from-the-KM-Christmas-party. 

As it happens, I remember you and our 

conversation quite well. Not many folks 

happily get into drunken political discussions

You know what, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a 

coffee. 

Let me know if you’re free in the next couple 

weeks! 

Lambert gestured emphatically at Essi’s phone screen, “In what world is this an acceptable way to ask someone out?! I wouldn’t have said yes to that!”

“I don’t know,” Essi fired back, “It was straightforward! I found it charming, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but I have some serious concerns about your taste in men.”

“Like you’re in such a fine position to judge after the hollow, paltry invitation you accepted—which I absolutely did not write, by the way. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he passed Essi’s phone back to her, “You didn't fire the first shot, so who texted me from your phone and cleared the history?”

Essi nibbled the inside of her cheek, “I can think of a few.”

“Okay, next question,” Lambert pocketed his phone, “who added you to my contacts before you texted. Because we did not exchange numbers six months ago, but your name was already there when I received it.”

Essi shrugged, “Who has access to your phone?”

“I dunno. Really just Eskel and Geralt and neither of them would—”

“Geralt.”

“Why him?”

Essi’s bright blue eyes turned steely and murderous, “Julian… They’re working together.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that Geralt the-last-thing-I-need Rivia and Julian Alfred these-aren't-my-pants Pankratz think we're so helplessly undateable that they decided to secretly set us up?” 

“Eskel doesn’t know me that well; he wouldn’t try to set you up with someone he hadn’t vetted. Who did you talk to first when you got that text from me?”

Lambert’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, they’re working together.”

Essi nodded, a flood of embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Sorry to waste your time. You’re very nice but, um, I should just…” she got up to leave.

“Wh-hey, hold up. I mean, if you wanna go, go, that's fine, but there's something you might want to know first.”

Essi tossed her yellow bangs out of her eyes, “Oh? What's that?”

“This,” Lambert produced an Amex credit card from his breast pocket, “is Geralt's.” The cheeky glint in his eyes was a very convincing argument.

“Fine then. Coffee and a conversation.” 

The coffee was hot and decent, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics of music, movies, and television, but also dipped into deeper waters as they grew more comfortable with each other’s company. Of course, it didn’t hurt that neither of them had any stakes in the outcome of this “date”. It made it easier to be frank and open, which in turn led to them quickly enjoying their time together. So much so that coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a long walk in the pleasant weather, which finally landed them outside Essi’s apartment, just around dinner time. 

“I have to say, this was actually a pleasant encounter,” she said, turning to face him with a characteristic toss of her bangs. 

“Yeah, who’d’ve thought two people forced together by meddling friends would actually find it enjoyable?” 

“In light of that,” Essi squared her shoulders and found Lambert’s hazel-brown eyes, “I think it’s fair to say I want to see you again.”

He cringed regretfully and scratched the back of his head, “Ahh, yeah, so… I don’t know if that’s really--”

“Oh, relax,” Essi smirked with a casual touch to Lambert’s forearm. “I don't mean like that. I just mean--you're interesting and fun and, well I don't have many close friends and I feel like we connected well today.”

“Well…”

“I'll make it even simpler: I absolutely, one-hundred percent, am not interested in dating you.”

“Easy there, you know I love it when people get all straightforward with me.” 

“I mean it, I just want to be friends,” she toyed back, trying her best to look sultry. It kind of worked.

Lambert bit his lower lip in mock arousal, “Mmm, oh yeah...”

She swayed her shoulders forward and back, doing her best to emulate the seductive actresses and models of the 1950s, “I want to Netflix and chill with a documentary about Soviet propaganda.”

Her last comment prompted a playfully stern look from her companion, “Careful now, you’re wading into actual turn-on territory.” 

“You're such a weirdo,” Essi chuckled, giving him an endeared shove. “Seriously, though, would you like to do this again? Friends?” 

He nodded sincerely, “Yeah, I think I'd really like that. Just one problem, though.”

“If we claim not to be interested in each other but keep hanging out we’ll never hear the end of it?” 

“Bingo.” 

Essi hummed thoughtfully and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, “Well… we could always… pretend?” 

***

“Sounds like you two are hitting it off. I’m glad. I know Essi’s been feeling a little isolated between work and being new to the city.” Geralt closed the fridge with his foot and headed towards the sofa, popcorn in one hand, three beers in the other. “I’ll take my card back, by the way.” 

Lambert reluctantly handed the Amex back in exchange for a beer and perched on the arm of the sofa. “She’s really something. We’re, uh—yeah, hitting it off is a good word.”

And hitting it off, they were. The last ten days since their first “date” had been more enjoyable than all the dates he’d had in the last year combined. Essi was a fantastic companion: sharp, witty, kind, took no bullshit… They had done absolutely nothing but hang out, and no one had pried them for many details about the nature of their relationship. As far as their friend group was concerned, they were simply dating in the way that most adults dated. This also meant more time to themselves without unwanted interruptions (namely Julian barging in with his spare key to gossip about whatever fires were currently alight on twitter). The first night Lambert had been over, it took Julian all of five minutes to “grab something from the fridge” before parting with a knowing wink. 

To her credit and imagination, Essi had expertly fielded her cousin’s initial barrage of questions when she first announced their “involvement.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like her cousin, Essi adored Julian, but she was also the first to admit that the man had no boundaries. What he lacked in that arena, he certainly made up for with opinions, which he was always more than happy to bestow on his younger cousin—usually dating advice, almost always unsolicited. Lambert had a much easier time convincing his side that he and Essi were taking it easy to see where things went. Between Eskel being a consummate gentleman and Geralt having his own Delicate Sensibilities, neither of them had demanded any details. 

“As long as you’re both happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters,” Geralt’s partner reiterated, reaching into the bowl on Geralt’s lap. 

“Jesus, Eskel, you sound like my Nonna.”

“That's no way to talk to your father,” Geralt smirked into his hand of popcorn

“You're no better,” Lambert took a swig from his beer, lips popping as he lowered the bottle. “I swear, you've turned into a couple of mother hens since you two got together. Quit fussing and watch the game.” 

Geralt put his arm around Eskel’s shoulders, “We have gotten a little soft haven’t we?”

Eskel huffed out a laugh, “Probably. Hey, Lambert, don't fuck it up or I'll kick your ass into next week.” 

“Thank you. See? Was that so hard?” 

“Eh,” Eskel shrugged, helping himself to another handful of popcorn, “I stand by my original statement. Geralt agrees.” 

“It's true,” he said between mouthfuls. “Essi’s a good woman. Smart, talented, kind, attractive.” 

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Eskel, she is, it's just a statement of fact it doesn't mean that she doesn’t have other…”

“I know it doesn't but I still think you could bear to be a little more…”

“Funny thing,” Lambert interrupted, “I still can’t figure out how this smart, talented, kind, attractive woman’s number programmed itself into my phone. Because I may have been drunk the night we first met, but I have never in my life forgotten a successful number grab. Fess up, fellas. Who was it?”

Eskel’s eyes widened, “Geralt, you didn’t.”  

“I… may have… helped Julian gain access to Lambert’s phone.”

“Unbelievable. The betrayal,” Lambert shook his head, eyes still on the game. “If only there was some way to square things up…”

“You charged everything to my company card, didn’t you?”

“First two dates and a fresh pair of pants. Thanks, bud.” Geralt accepted a pat on the back as Eskel began gently but sternly berating him.

Lambert shook his head, smirking as he took another swig of beer, leaving the two lovebirds to bicker amongst themselves. His hip pocket buzzed and he checked his phone: Essi. 

Next Wednesday? Pizza and a movie?  Still can't believe you haven't seen  Ocean’s Eleven. 

Yeah, okay, fine. Jeez :P 7:30 my place? I'll provide beverages. 

If by ‘beverages’ you mean watery beer…

Fuck off, I'll get the good stuff. Unless  you prefer Arbor Mist or some shit. 

*gasps* I am offended! (but also it's delicious)

*sigh* do you want me to get you some?

*turtles into hoodie* ...peach or cherry pls? 

Haha okay, fine, I'll get a bottle. Can't promise  I won't judge you forever, though ;) 

It's okay, I deserve it.  g2g, see you tomorrow! xox 

***

Lambert groaned contentedly, massaging his stomach as he sprawled back on his aging brown sofa, long legs resting habitually on the coffee table. The now-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the far edge, accompanied by four empty beer bottles, and a nearly-empty, unfavourably warm Peach Arbor Mist. The toilet flushed and Essi emerged. Her dark gold hair had long ago been pulled into a messy bun, but her indigo skinny jeans had been replaced by soft-looking grey leggings. 

Lambert shook his head in amusement as she settled back next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you brought your own lounge pants"

"That's because I'm a genius," she quipped, crossing her legs and adjusting the height of her waistband. "Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to actually be comfortable during a date?" 

"You took your bra off, too, didn't you?" Lambert asked without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen. 

"Yup!" Essi confirmed, her sparkling blue eyes glinting with joy as she raised her glass to her lips.

The movie continued as the new friends settled into comfortable silence, their food-drowsy, alcohol-fuzzy states lulling them into a new level of comfortability around each other. Legs fell asleep, positions were adjusted, and shoulders leaned on as the two sought maximum comfort for minimum effort. Soon, an arm was around Essi's shoulder as she settled her cheek on a comfortable spot on Lambert's chest. 

"You good?" Lambert asked, only half-irritated at her seemingly endless search for the perfect angle. 

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd found a good spot, but..." A few more adjustments of her head and Lambert couldn't take it anymore. 

"Jesus, woman, here. Get up for a sec."

Essi sat up as Lambert rearranged himself into a sort of semi-recline with one foot on the floor so his other leg could make room for the tiny pain-in-the-ass that was taking up the rest of the couch space. At his invitation, she wriggled up to the crook of his arm and quickly settled in. Lambert hadn't really thought about what they were doing. Not when Essi had harmlessly leaned against his arm; not when their weight settled into each other; not when Lambert had put his arm around her; not even as he was rearranging to get to where they were now. It had all just... happened. Now, though, with Essi lying still, Lambert felt the weight and warmth of her body shifting gently against his, and it dawned on him that this had the potential to be, well, weird.

But the strange thing was, it didn't feel weird. He'd fucking cuddled before, but there was always a sense of holding back, a tension in his body, being on the lookout for signals from the other person to move onto the Next Step. But now, he actually felt comfortable. There wasn't anything that was supposed to happen after this. Nobody was asking anything of him, no one sending signals he could pick up on but never read properly, no sinking feelings of dread as the other person moved in for a kiss that always felt too soon. Essi was just there, breathing, content. And Lambert was relaxed.

The woman half-on top of him gave a twitch as the credits started to roll, and Lambert let out a private laugh, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, show's over." 

Essi inhaled heavily through her nose and lifted herself up, "Hmmm?" 

"Movie's over." 

"Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry!" she sat and rubbed her eyes, taking a sip of water to rinse the stale taste from her mouth. 

"Eh, only a little." Lambert exited Netflix and tossed the remote back on to the table. "Thought you might wanna start heading home before it gets too late." 

Essi nodded in response as she grabbed the pizza box and brought it to the kitchen trash, leaving Lambert to bring the empties. 

"You going to finish this atrocity of a beverage?" Lambert waggled the near-empty wine bottle at Essi as he passed on his way to the sink. She merely scowled and shook her head, letting him pour it down the drain 'where it belonged anyway'.

Essi gathered her things and met Lambert by his front door, checking her pockets for her phone and keys one last time before putting her shoes on. 

"You okay to walk? Want me to come with?" 

It was only 10:30 on a weeknight, and she appreciated the gesture all the same, but it was fine to walk. "Thanks, though. And thank you for tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I hope, um..." 

She trailed off, not sure how to ask. She didn't have the same physical boundaries that most others seemed to have. She was affectionate—often overly so, and it had led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. She didn't want Lambert to feel as though she had ulterior motives when the simple fact of the matter was that she hadn't really been thinking. Between the instant relief of not actually being on a date and Lambert's easy manner all evening, she'd forgotten that most friendships didn’t generally involve that much physical contact. Would Lambert be confused now? Thinking they were onto something more than friendship? Had he been wanting more? Had she pushed past a point of no return and doomed their friendship?

She inhaled, "Were you comfortable tonight?" 

For a split second, Lambert flailed, wondering whether he’d made her uncomfortable. Fuck, she'd seemed comfortable, if anything it felt like he’d been following her lead but maybe...

"I—yeah. That was, I enjoyed that. Were... were you not—?" 

Essi smiled and Lambert relaxed again, "No, I was. I wanted to ask in case, that's all. Boundaries and all that. I'll text you when I'm home." 

Lambert opened the door and waved her off toward the elevator, "'Kay. 'Night!" 

The door clicked shut. 

Okay, alright. Fine. Did they cuddle? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Fuck yes. He absolutely didn’t care what anyone might think about how he chose to enjoy his time with other people. However, this didn’t stop him from acknowledging that he was in uncharted friendship territory. More than anything, he was worried about how Essi really felt. Of course, she had no reason not to be honest with him. But the last thing he wanted to do was play fast and loose with someone’s emotions, especially not a friend, and definitely not one as close as Essi. Time would tell. As Lambert’s head hit the pillow, the memory of her warmth and weight settled over him again, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

***

“Yes Poppet, but have you slept together yet? Honestly, you’ve been dating for almost three weeks now, what could you possibly be waiting for?” 

Oh, I don’t know, hell to freeze over? You to mind your own business? Whichever comes first… 

“I mean, you clearly adore one another, I’ve never seen you happier. What’s there to lose?’”

Essi scoffed. 

Julian placed his hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s been a while for you, but I think you can afford to let yourself go a little, have some fun, hm? Besides, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later if you’re sexually incompatible.”

She took a deep breath, “That’s a very good point, Julian, I’ll think about that.” The dating act was starting to wear a little thin, but it was worth not having to explain to anyone that they weren’t doing exactly what it looked like they were doing. 

Julian took time to give his cousin a scrutinizing look, “Well, by the look of things it won’t be long anyway. If you spend all of your time together as tangled up as you were the other night when I came over, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Just trust your gut, and when in doubt, a little hint never goes awry.”

Needless to say, Essi more or less ignored her cousin’s advice.

As the weeks stretched on, it became evident that they were quickly becoming what most people would consider to be more than friends. The first time they pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, each on their half of the mattress, they were aware that yet another boundary of friendship had been pushed a little farther into the grey zone. But, they woke up the next morning feeling happy, content, and refreshed, and surely there was nothing wrong with two people sharing a comfortable bed. Essi had woken up with crust in her eyes and her nightgown bunched around her waist. Lambert had woken up with morning wood and his hair a mess. Neither of them cared. People wake up in the morning, big deal. 

Still, it didn’t stop the questioning that oscillated in the background of Lambert’s mind. Was he unknowingly leading Essi on by allowing her so much closeness without a clearly defined relationship? She’d made her own disinterest clear enough on their first “date”,  but feelings change over time. What she’d told him three weeks ago might not be true anymore… 

And then there was that soft warm tingle in the middle of his chest every time she lay her head in his lap, every time he ran his fingers through her hair. He knew he wasn't in love. Not that he was an expert, but what was all that "when you know, you know" bullshit if he couldn’t trust his own feelings? He loved her, sure, but more like a... not a sister, that would be weird. He didn't know what like. Whatever. Fuck it. Eskel had said it best three weeks ago: “As long as you're happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters.” Yeah, sure. We’ll stick with that.

As far as Lambert and Essi were concerned, it was what it was, and whatever it was was working… wasn’t it?

***

"Fuckin' finally!" 

The door to Essi's apartment clicked closed as the tenant wilted against it, emitting an exhausted groan, "Two. Hours. It took me two hours to get home!" She toed off her penny loafers and abandoned her purse and jacket in a pile by the front door, ignoring the hook three inches to her left. She flopped heavily onto her living room carpet. 

"I see you found my spare key," she added, not at all surprised that Lambert had managed to let himself in. 

"Yeah, you should probably put that in a less obvious spot," he answered, crossing to the door to hang her things up. "So, I see it's a lying on the floor kind of evening. Can I interest you in a drink to start? Vodka pairs well with the general vibe of Done-With-This-Shit, or we also have tequila if you feel like shouting out the window after a couple shots. Alternatively, there's gin if you want to cry later." 

Essi smiled with her eyes closed, feeling her body slowly relaxing into the spongy throw rug underneath her, "You know me so well." 

"Vodka?" 

"Vodka. Euch, I need to vacuum!," Essi peeled herself to a seated position as clinks and clatters began in the kitchen. She hopped in the shower to rinse the day off, and after a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door. 

"Yeeees?" she called, playfully. 

"Drink delivery!" Lambert hollered back, "you want this now or later?" 

"Why are you so good to me?" 

There was a draught of cool air as Lambert opened the bathroom door, "Because you only marginally annoy me. Here," he passed his hand between the shower wall and the opaque fish-scale-patterned curtain. "What's on the docket for tonight?" 

Essi groaned, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I used all my brain cells trying not to murder people on the streetcar." 

"Okay," Lambert sat on the lidded toilet, "here's the thing. I kinda maybe figured that might be the case so I kinda maybe picked up a few things to make dinner." 

A shampoo-piled head poked out from behind the curtain, "You're kidding." 

"Nuh-uh." 

"I love you." 

Lambert chuckled, "Yeah, you're alright. Come on, hurry up, this bathroom's a fuckin’ sauna, and I don’t want the croutons to get soggy." Essi burbled an answer about conditioner and almost done, and Lambert took that as his cue to leave.

Dinner was simple: pan fried Salmon with crispy skin (delicate and buttery on the inside); wax beans in butter (tender and not overcooked); grilled brussels sprouts (just beginning to brown on the edges); and a fresh caesar salad. Everything done to perfection. Full, content, and ready to take their relaxation to the next step they settled themselves on Essi’s blue-grey sectional to begin the arduous task of deciding what to watch. 

This was proving particularly difficult with the addition of Essi's caveat that whatever they chose not be "too plot-heavy" which so far had included Masterchef, an interior design show, and program about shepherding in the Orkneys. 

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me some slack here. I thought I was on track with the sheep!" 

"I know, I'm sorry!" Essi muffled into his shirt sleeve. "I do like animals..." She gasped loudly. "BLUE PLANET."

Lambert stopped the endless scrolling and pushed play as the soothing voice of David Attenborough filled the small living room.

"Hey! Why'd you pause it?" 

Lambert was standing up, "If we're going to do this, then we're doing it right. Hang on." 

Essi slumped on the sofa as the microwave kicked on. In a few minutes, there was popcorn in their laps and half a bottle of vodka on the table with an ice bucket and lemon wedges in a bowl. Lambert read off his phone screen.

"We will take a drink when: 

-David says 'Extraordinary' -David uses a clear understatement such as 'But then again, living in an active volcano is not without its risks' -An animal is being eaten -An animal is mating -There is sped up footage of a plant growing."

"Oh no," Essi lamented, chewing her popcorn ungracefully, "I'm going to get so drunk." 

"You got it, Goldilocks. Fill up."

And with that, they were off, taking it slow with their vodka twists, but nonetheless feeling the warm buzz start to tingle under their skin. The box of microwave popcorn was empty by halfway through, and the remains of Essi's exhaustion had almost dispersed entirely.

"Ooh! Understatement! Drink!!" 

By ten o’clock, pink-cheeked and feeling boisterous, they had finished with their favourite parts of Blue Planet, or at least the ones they had patience for, and had moved on to Planet Earth II.

“Holy fuck, that’s a lot of snakes—Go, you little fucker! Go!”

The drama on the screen had caused the two to separate from one another while Lambert invested himself in the success of the small lizard. Once the baby Galapagos Iguana had made it to safety, they were once again able to recline without Essi risking an elbow to the face.

She bundled against him, scooting farther between his legs where he leaned in the corner of the sectional. He gathered her hair and draped it over her left shoulder so it wouldn't get caught in his buttons—they'd learned that the hard way. It was still damp, cool to the touch, and smelled like verbena sea salt shampoo. He felt a pulse of affection ripple through him as her weight resettled. He loved that feeling. It had taken some time to get used to it. But now it was high on his list of favourite things. He was happy. And it was healthy. And that really was all that mattered. 

Right?

Eskel’s words turned themselves around again in his mind as he wrapped his arm around the front of Essi’s shoulders. He let himself indulge in the texture of her cotton knit nightshirt under his fingers. He relished in the peace of mind at being able to just be there with someone who meant something to him and made absolutely no demands. He let himself relax. 

Essi felt a kiss land on the top of her head with a playful, "Muwah!" 

She giggled quietly, "Thank you!" Then, upon further thought… Did he want to kiss her? Her mind did a double take as she tried to get on top of the ball.  

It wasn’t impossible. They were close after all, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She’d recently found herself in a balancing act of realizing she could, in theory, have a deeper kind of feeling for Lambert. Only if, for whatever reason, it turned out he felt the same way. These weren’t the helpless uncontrollable feelings of ride-or-die infatuation; they were malleable, translatable, general feelings of affection and fondness that belonged in any number of different relationships and dynamics. 

No sense risking it, she thought. They'd found a liminal space of comfort and safety that she'd never experienced with anyone else before, and if the options were between being a little confused and ruining everything, the choice was an easy one. Then again, if Lambert was developing feelings for her, she didn’t want to miss an opportunity. Shit. Her cheeks burned as she felt the question rise closer to her lips. 

"Lambert?" she sat up abruptly and turned to her friend who was still moulded into the corner of the couch, watching the mating rituals of exotic birds with bewildered skepticism. 

He jolted at Essi’s sudden movement, "Hello, yes." 

Her bright blue eyes were now slightly unfocused, "Do you—? Nevermind." She lay back against him, suddenly skittish..

"Mm, nah, try again," he said, sluggishly. "What’s up, buttercup?" 

She swayed a little when she sat up, "Are you happy with what we are?"

Lambert blinked, caught slightly off-guard. The question was easy enough to answer, "Yeah! I mean I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. Shit, why? Are you not? I can be less… whatever. Or… more?" It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the idea of anything else happening between them—in theory it was a possibility. In practice, however...

Essi put an emphatic hand on Lambert’s knee, her glassy eyes going wide, "Do you want more?" 

"What? No! I dunno, I—maybe. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean…” Lambert searched Essi’s face for any clue that might help him know how to proceed, “I don’t not want anything else. Fuck, I don’t know! I’m used to doing things the other way around. You know the drill: uncomfortable date, smoosh faces together, have sex, hope feelings fall out. Lather-rinse-repeat. I dunno, do we have to… But what if we try something and...? I don’t wanna lose this." 

Essi leaned in close and whispered, “I have an idea.”

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" 

"We should kiss."

Lambert nearly swallowed an ice cube, "What?!"

"Just once. Quickly. Just... in case." 

"You want me, Lambert, to kiss you, Essi Daven, on the lips."

She nodded sincerely, "For science."

There was a brief pause during which Essi felt the beginnings of panic brewing in her stomach, but by the time she'd finished grappling with potential consequences, Lambert was filling their glasses. 

"Alright. Fine. My friend wants me to kiss her for science? Fuck it. I'll drink to that." 

They downed their drinks and squared up, knee to knee on the edge of the sofa as they each prepared for their best form—or as good as they could offer given the circumstances. They counted down, 3-2-1...

The kiss was quick, over as soon as it had begun, and both friends pulled away with questioning looks. Inconclusive. They tried again for a little longer, still returning with the same quizzical expressions. They went in for a third time, committing more thoroughly, and for a brief moment it seemed they might have found the semblance of a spark. But it didn’t build. It felt… fine? But no different than if they were lying together on the sofa. It was just another thing they were doing. They each tried to find the right word for what they were feeling, but were soon distracted by the oddness of it all.   

Essi started to giggle. Less than a second later, Lambert joined her, and they both pulled away, thoroughly satisfied that their experiment had yielded a strong No on the subject of More. There was a dull thud as Essi slid from the couch and onto the floor, still holding her drink in one hand and laughing hysterically. 

Lambert sighed and shook his head, "I think it’s time we got you to bed."

Headaches and dry mouths greeted the two friends the next morning when they blinked awake. Essi’s hair was a cotton-candy mess, having still been slightly damp when Lambert put her to bed. The brunet himself didn’t look much different from his usual scruffy state as he gathered Essi up in an armful of duvet and squeezed tight.

“Gods, Lambert, I still need to breathe,” Essi chuckled, pressing her back into his chest. 

“You’ll get over it,” he teased and self-indulgently nuzzled even closer. “You feeling alright? I mean, aside from the hangover. About last night?” 

“Oh no,” Essi groaned, “I’m so sorry, Lambert. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—you kissed my head and then that got me wondering about whether you might want something else, and then I didn’t really know what was happening and—” 

“Hey, easy on the rambling, okay, I’m running on limited brain cells, here. Look,” Lambert sat up to find those big blue eyes, now shining brightly, “I have no idea what the fuck this is that we’ve got going on, but I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we can keep talking about that. Just, you know, maybe next time something’s on your mind, don’t wait ‘til we’re wasted at 2am?”

“Okay, deal. Can we go get bacon now?”

Lambert chuckled, “Yeah, alright, fine. Make me put pants on, I see how it is.”

Their conversation continued over strong coffee and eggs benedicts. Between their check-in that morning and everything that had happened the previous night, it was well-established that they were perfectly happy where they were. Rather, the main topic of conversation was their growing desire to level with their friends about the nature of their relationship. Eskel and Geralt, they both agreed, would be the easiest—Lambert could tell them that evening. Julian and Essi’s friends on the other hand would be a little more difficult. 

Telling Julian together would be best, Essi thought. He was bound to have questions, and if both she and Lambert were there to answer them definitively and explain that no, they didn’t have secret feelings for one another; and yes, they really were just friends and not at all interested in exploring the relationship further thank you very much. Exactly when this discussion with Julian would occur still wasn’t clear. Realistically, they could pick any time, but they decided to wait until Lambert could tell the Old Men. At least then they were assured some less invasive support. 

Their reaction was easy enough to predict: Eskel reassuringly repeated his standby “As long as you’re both happy with things…” and twirled a forkful of pasta; Geralt tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “That sounds very nice. I’m happy for you.” Lambert had expected mild disapproval, concern that they were deviating too far from the norm and into a complex dynamic that would be too messy to manage. Instead, Geralt simply said it ‘sounded very nice.’ Lambert smiled into the open refrigerator on his way to get a beer. 

The following weekend was Julian’s birthday, and, as per their annual tradition, the group all gathered on Friday evening at the birthday boy’s favourite restaurant—Vegelbud’s. The two decided to tell him the week after his birthday so as not to detract from his Big 3-0. Just one more week, and it would all be in the open. Easy breasy.

The afternoon of the dinner, Eskel and Geralt received a group text: Haven’t told Julian the details yet. Keep the beans to yourselves please (I’m looking at you, @Eskel). 

“Why me?” Eskel turned to Geralt over his paperwork, looking a little hurt. 

Geralt chuckled, “You have a slight tendency to overshare when you want to be supportive.”

“I do?” He turned on the bar stool to follow his partner on the way upstairs.

“It’s not a bad thing, but…” Geralt sighed, “Lambert has always needed to feel in control of situations like this. He doesn’t want one of us bringing this up before he’s ready to talk about it, especially in a public place, you know how he gets when he feels cornered. And Julian is Essi’s cousin…”

Eskel raised a hand, “You’re right, you’re right. All points taken. Are you showering?”

Geralt smirked as he headed for the stairs, “Come on then.” 

Four hours later and halfway through dinner, everything had gone swimmingly. The food had been expectedly delicious, the company and conversation excellent, and so far no one had felt the need to bring up Essi and Lambert’s relationship on any level. That is until Julian got a few drinks under his belt, and decided it was time to document the occasion. Geralt and Eskel were the first victims. 

“Aww just look at you two! So in love, so vivacious and full of adoration,” Julian held up his phone as Geralt touched the side of his head to Eskel’s. Beep-Chk! A perfect image of a happy couple was captured and posted to Instagram (#julianturns30 #dinneratvagelbuds #dinnerout #cutiesofinstagram #favoriteotp #gaycouplesofinstagram #livelaughlove…). There were a few more photos of the three of them together, the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake with the candle in it, a group shot taken by the waiter. It was all so close to being over, Essi could practically taste the refuge of the streetcar. 

"Come on, lovebirds, show us a smooch!" Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Essi’s stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks start to warm. Lambert’s hand landed gently on her knee under the table, his fingers pressing firmly into her leg as she desperately tried to think of something to say. 

"Oh, um..." 

Across the table, Geralt and Eskel shared a wordless communication: de-escalate, distract, redirect.

“You’ll want to eat that cheesecake before it gets warm” Geralt offered. “I hear it’s so light it’ll disintegrate in a heartbeat.” Eskel nodded in encouragement, taking a bite of his own. 

“I know, I know,” Julian shrugged, “Just a quick one. Say Cheese!”

"Not right now, Julian," Essi tilted her head, her eyes flashing a little. 

"Oh come on, Poppet! I know you don't like PDA, it's just one little picture--"

“Don’t call me Poppet.”

Eskel cleared his throat loudly, "Doesn't seem they're that keen on it. Maybe let's try for one another time." 

"It's past your one-month-a-versary, let everyone see how in love you are." 

"Julian," Geralt growled, "leave it." 

Julian covered his mouth in alarm, "I’m so sorry, have you not used that word yet? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just want the world to see how happy my beautiful cousin is!" 

“Really Julian, it’s not necessary we—” Essi’s fingernails were starting to dig into Lambert’s palm from the sheer effort of maintaining composure. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or disappear, and with neither of those being an option, it seemed the only possible escape was for them to kiss. They’d done it before. No big deal. It would feel off, but they’d just go back to her place and drink about it after. 

“Essi, what’s the matter with you, it’s just one little picture, and we all know you’re not camera-shy. On three, ready? One, two…”

"For fuck's sake we're not dating!" 

The table all silently turned their attention to Essi whose cheeks had been turning progressively redder. 

“What?” Her cousin laughed incredulously. 

“We’re not a couple, Julian. We’re friends. We have been from the beginning, but we didn’t want to tell you because we knew you wouldn’t fucking leave us alone until you could boast about having set us up.”

Lambert shared a brief look with Eskel before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth, his hand still firmly clutched in Essi’s. 

Julian gaped, “So, it was all… the cuddling, the laughing, that time I came over and you were asleep on the couch, that was all… a ruse?” 

“No, Julian, that was real. I told you, we’re friends.”

“That’s not friends! Since when have friends watched a movie half-on-top of each other?” 

“Two people can enjoy each other's company lying flat, Julian,” Eskel’s rich voice interjected across the table and the discussion ground to a halt. 

Geralt shrugged with his tea at his lips, “It is the twenty-first century after all.”

Julian’s cornflower blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two friends, utterly bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well what with your complete and utter invasion of privacy for the sake of hooking us up, we didn’t necessarily trust you to believe us,” Essi answered curtly, her hand shaking slightly. 

“Poppet, you could have just told me—”

“Stop. Calling me that. And I did tell you, Julian!” she exploded. “I told you the first day I moved here. The first. Day. I said, ‘Julian, I think I want to take a break from dating until I’ve been settled for a year.’ And what did you do? Conspired with my well-meaning former mentor to hook me up with someone I had one good conversation with at a Christmas party. And do you know what? We are happy. But we’re happy in our own way. And maybe our boundaries with each other seem a little strange to you, but we’re not fooling ourselves. We don’t want to kiss each other, we don’t want to have sex, and we don’t want a relationship. And even though it’s absolutely none of your damn business, I’ll tell you anyway: we’ve talked about it. All of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I want to be here anymore.” 

The chair legs scraped against the floor of the restaurant as Essi stood to leave, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she went. Lambert looked hesitantly around the table, “I should probably, you know…” He gestured after Essi with his thumb. Eskel gave Lambert the go ahead and he quickly stood to follow his friend out of the restaurant, leaving a very stunned Julian with the other two. He found her perched on the parking barrier in the small lot to the left of the front doors. He called to her and she looked up. Eyes shining, mascara running... 

“Ah shit, you know I’m no good with this kind of thing.” 

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I just—” she blew her nose, “—he just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do or say, and it all just came pouring out. I didn’t want it to. The whole time I was begging myself to stop, but I just couldn’t, it’s been bottled up for so long and-and—but it’s his birthday, and—oh, he must feel so awful! I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but—and with Eskel and Geralt there too! They must think I’m horrible! I’m so sorry, Lambert, I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to have him over and sit him down and be patient, and instead I’ve just made a complete mess of things. And on his birthday! It’s his birthday, oh God, this is the worst thing I could have done.” Essi choked back bitter tears as she tried desperately to stem the flow with her soggy tissue, “Are you upset with me, Lambert? If you are, I understand. Maybe we should take a break of some kind, you know. Not see each other for a while and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Look, I’m probably not going to say any of the right stuff here, but I am absolutely not upset with you. You got that? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think us taking a break from spending time together is going to do anything. Unless you’re looking to punish yourself by taking away a nice thing which, okay. But the fact that you’re willing to ditch me instead of Arbor Mist says something about our friendship I’m not too pleased with.” 

Essi turned her wide, pleading, bloodshot eyes to Lambert who cracked a smile, “Jesus, I’m kidding! You adorable fucking mess, c’mere.” He pulled his petite friend into a hug and rested his chin on the top of her head until she quieted down. Neither of them was quite sure how much time had gone by, but Essi found herself wishing it had been long enough for everyone to have gone home so she didn’t have to face whatever aftermath she’d left behind. 

Meanwhile, Eskel and Geralt had settled the bill and offered to give Julian a lift back to their place for a night cap, not wanting to leave the evening on such an unsettled note. Essi needed space, and whatever company she needed, Lambert was clearly capable of providing. It was for the best, they suggested, and dissuaded Julian from trying to call her. 

“Best to sleep on things,” Geralt said, tucking his card back into his wallet and giving the waiter a nod in gratitude. “We can meet for coffee this weekend and sort this out. For now, just let her cool down.” 

Eskel clapped Julian encouragingly on the shoulder as they made their way into the damp summer night air. As they turned into the parking lot, they came face-to-face with Essi and Lambert who had clearly just turned to come back inside. Both cousins looked like they had seen better days: Essi’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with inky makeup stains; Julian was perhaps less dishevelled, but the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, his boyish features now dejectedly weighted down with remorse and hurt. 

“Juian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” 

Essi’s cousin raised his hand, “Don’t. Please don’t. Essi, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to push you like that, I didn't realize... you both have been so happy this last month and—"

"It's okay, really, we can talk about this all another time. I'm just so sorry I ruined your birthday. We wanted to sit down with you and talk properly but..." Essi's tears welled up again, and Julian smiled weakly. 

"But we both did what we always do?"

She sniffed, nodding emphatically with a tearful, "Yeah.” Julian pulled his cousin into a fond embrace while the other three clumped together to watch the reconciliation. 

“Oh! Here,” Essi reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped box. “Happy birthday!” 

Julian opened his gift without a second thought, his face brightening instantly. The box contained a set of premium ultra-light guitar strings and a pair of concert tickets. The perfect gift. Overwhelmed with gratitude, and the atmosphere having been recovered, Julian suggested they all attend brunch together that Sunday morning, his treat by way of apology. Geralt offered to split the bill as a peace offering for his part in the initial setup, and the five made a date. 

A fresh start, a promise of spending time together with fewer secrets and, Julian conceded, a few more boundaries. 

[honeyhan-123]

Neon Red

Summary: Feeling the failure of not being able to defeat Thanos, Steve longs to feel something else, anything else, and so he finds himself as a patron at The Golden Circle where our reader (known as Kitty by customers) is a dancer.

Warnings: Dark!Steve, Stripper!Reader, stalking, male masturbation, dubcon/noncon.

Word Count: 4.5k

AN: I’m so sorry there isn’t a Say Thank You update this weekend but please enjoy a slutty oneshot, it’s also a little spin off from the Project Legacy fic (you don’t have to read it to read this.) I would also love to thank @castedcaricatures​for betaing this fic for me and @iwantutobehapppier​ and @omega-nicole​ for giving me their opinions about an issue I had. 

My Masterlist

The neon red sign above the door reflected in Steve’s blue eyes as he stood, staring up at it, hesitating as he stood out on the street. He knew if his ma were still here that she would kill him if she ever found out he was about to enter an establishment like the ‘Golden Circle’ but that was exactly why he was doing it. She wasn’t here. No one was anymore. 

For once in his life Steve Rogers wanted to feel something, wanted to give into his more carnal instincts. And so here he was, wondering if he had gotten enough cash out of the ATM across the street, wearing a dark blue baseball cap pulled low over his brow, praying that no one would recognise him. 

Yet as he pushed open the heavy door and was greeted by the sickly sweet scent of the club, he realised his fears had been for nothing, hardly anyone spared him a glance, too enraptured with the dancer who was up on the podium. Even though it was a bit of a darker atmosphere than what he was used to, Steve liked it. He liked the dim red lighting - from where it originated he couldn’t tell - the plush brown leather booths, the mahogany bar behind which there was an alcohol cabinet that could rival Tony’s. It was modernised sure, but it reminded him of something that he might have seen back in his own time if he had dared do something so salacious and he knew that he had made the right call by coming here. 

Straying a little further from the stage, he sat in one of the lone leather high backed chairs, hands running down his thighs, a little unsure of what to do as he surveyed his surroundings, barely even glancing at the woman on the stage. A server came over, holding a tray with one hand as she lent down, practically pushing her chest into Steve’s bearded face and while he appreciated the view of her scantily clad nipples, he wasn’t all that invested.

‘What can I get you handsome?’ Her voice was wrong, it was too much, too overt in its sexuality. 

‘Just a scotch thanks.’ Even though he wasn’t interested he still slipped a twenty from his wallet, tucking it into the scrap of material that were her panties. ‘Keep the change.’ She smiled, her eyes seeming to eat him up before she turned and walked away, swaying her hips intoxicatingly. 

The dancer on the stage finished her set, a raucous applause following as she made her way around the crowd, collecting tips from greedy hands. Steve’s scotch was set down next to him and he thanked the waitress as a voice cut through the applause. 

‘Once again that was the gorgeous Glitter! Isn’t she just stunning? For those interested she does private shows too, just her and whatever lucky bugger in our lounges. Send an inquiry if interested.’ There was a pause in which Steve considered what the MC had said. Private shows, maybe that’s where he should be. But not with her, no. She wasn’t quite right. 

‘Next up, is the sensational Kitty! Gentlemen please give her a very warm welcome.’ Steve's gaze was at once pulled back to the stage as the deep red velvet curtain parted, revealing her. 

Immediately he knew. He knew she was the one. He watched enticed as she performed, her body twisting and twirling through the air with a sense of grace - of elegance - that the others just hadn’t held. For the first time since it had happened, he felt himself get hard, achingly hard. The desire to reach into his pants growing with every second that his eyes drank up her form. 

He could almost pretend that it was only him, that he was the only one in the room with her, that she was dancing just for him. He didn’t necessarily care about the other men watching her because he knew, deep down, that she was his. It didn’t matter that she didn’t even know him or that he had only just seen her, she was his for now and forever more. 

He waited until her dance was over, pulling a handful of twenties from his wallet and this time when she sashayed across the crowd for tips, his greedy hands joined the others. Swiftly tucking the money into the black silk, just above her vee. He relished in the way her eyes grew larger as she caught sight of the amount he had given, the way they had followed his deft fingers from her panties and up his arm before coming to rest on his face. 

‘Thank you.’ Just those two words had Steve ready to cum right then and there. Her voice was so soft and delicate, just what he had been looking for all this time. 

‘You’re welcome Doll.’ He fell in love with her smile, not that fake one she had worn when she was dancing, but the real one she wore now, her teeth gleaming in the dim lighting. 

‘I-’ 

She was interrupted by a portly man calling her name, taking her attention away from him as the man gestured to her to come to him. Pausing slightly, she turned back to Steve but he raised his hands, a smile on his face. 

‘Go. I need to head off anyway.’ He tried to make his voice as easygoing as he could, not wanting to let her know the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. She smiled at him once more before turning on her heel and crossing the room to who Steve could only assume was the manager of the establishment, his eyes following every sway of her hips until she led from the room and out of sight. 

Stretching out his muscles, he stood from the leather chair, leaving a twenty underneath his now empty glass before pulling his cap further down his brow and heading out of the building, his phone in his hand as he searched Stark’s database for just who this angelic Kitty really was. 

+

It really hadn’t been that hard to find her, the real Kitty. Ten minutes of searching had given him her real name, her address, her credit history, her family backstory. Camped out on the roof across from her apartment Steve chided Stark’s technology. In the wrong hands it could be quite dangerous, having such easy access to anyone’s personal details.

But it was fine, he was here to protect her now. 

He waited up on that cold roof for nearly two hours until a cab came by, stopping just outside the crummy apartment complex. Even in the dim light emanating from the streetlights, his Kitty seemed to glow, shining bright and beautiful like an angel. He watched as she let herself in, a few minutes passing before the light to her apartment flickered on. He blessed the fact that she hadn’t drawn the blinds, thinking herself safe, tucked away on the twelfth floor. She gave him an uninterrupted view of her apartment, of how she wandered from the cramped kitchen/living room into her even smaller bedroom, disappearing briefly into the bathroom before emerging in only a towel, her wet hair cascading down her back, sticking to her smooth skin. 

For the second time since the snap had happened, Steve felt his pants grow tight, the need to feel something, anything, overtaking him. He adjusted his perch on the roof, making sure he still had a good visual of the bedroom as his hand dipped down, briskly undoing his belt and pulling himself from his jeans. 

He watched as her towel dropped to the floor, the fluffy white cotton kicked aside, revealing her body to him. Despite the fact that he had practically already seen it in the club, he couldn’t hold in the groan it caused, his hand wrapping around himself and pumping furiously as the pretty girl in the window got ready for bed.

+

‘Hey Kitty, he’s back. Again.’ You tried to hold in the smile Glitter’s words caused, the jealousy barely concealed, but you couldn’t blame her. Whoever he was, he wasn’t like the other men who frequented the ‘Golden Circle’ in a lot of ways. He wasn’t sleazy like the others, his hands - while they did occasionally linger - never groped bits of flesh as they slipped twenty dollar bills into the thin straps of your outfits and although he never took off the dark blue baseball cap, making it near impossible to see his face, you could tell he was attractive, his biceps bulged and his thick thighs looked like the most comfortable seat in the world. 

While his continual presence did make you slightly uneasy, it also gave you butterflies, seeing his eyes always fixated on you, even when you weren’t the one on stage. He barely spared a glance at the other girls despite them trying their best efforts to draw his attention. He only wanted you. His presence made you not care about never booking a session in the Lounge because while the increased pay of a private show would have been nice, he was always by the mainstage, plus his tips were always far too generous. 

Your heart raced with the typical pre-show jitters, incensed by the fact you knew he was out there, waiting for you and when your music started you took a deep breath, fully transitioning into Kitty, the cheeky dancer, before stepping out on stage. Like usual, your eyes flitted around the club, searching for him and when you finally found him, sitting towards the back, you made sure to give him your cheekiest smile.

‘Let’s give it up for our resident cheeky little Kitty Cat!’ You barely heard the obnoxious voice of Mike the club’s MC, opting instead to go to your happy place. When you had first started at the ‘Golden Circle’ it had been hard to zone out from the leering and drunken men but reflecting back to your days as a ballerina had helped. Although it was now a completely different style of dance, pretending that you were on stage in your pretty pink pointe shoes performing for your family had given you the peace of mind you needed to get up on stage every night. 

Now however, your happy place had a much different setting. You were still up on stage, yet it was a smaller stage, a plush leather couch at the base of it, the walls lined with a deep red velvet, casting a sensual appearance over the room. Instead of a crowd full of strangers, you only performed for one man, a glass of whisky in his hand and a blue baseball cap pulled low over his brow as he watched you. 

You knew it was wrong, dangerous even, to fantasise about a client like that, but it was what helped get you through the grueling shifts and with the way he watched your every move, you didn’t think he would mind. 

As your dance came to an end, you did your usual rounds, sitting in a few laps, having your flesh groped as tips were slid into your red bodysuit. As always, you saved him for last, finally wandering over to his couch, your smile not as fake as it had been.

‘Well hi-ya stranger.’ You joked as you neared, and you thought that you just might’ve died when you heard his responding chuckle, one of his rare smiles gracing his lips. 

‘Doll, I don’t think we’re strangers at this point.’ You smiled as he leaned forward, his hand slipped down between your breasts to place a couple of bills there. You were surprised when his other hand crept up behind you, gingerly wrapping itself around your waist. ‘So, I was thinking… How about a dance sugar?’ Your eyebrows raised on their own accord, your surprise evident. Despite how often he came into the club, he had never asked for a dance. The only time that he had come close was when he had asked you offhandedly, if you minded being the one to serve him his drinks when you were on duty. Although you had felt guilty about keeping him to yourself you had gladly agreed, how could you not?

When you realised that he was still waiting, you snapped out of your reverie. ‘Of course Darling, anything for you.’ Despite how full your body suit was, you didn’t want to keep him waiting, so you stalked around behind him, beginning your routine as you slid your hands down his chest, your lips coming to his ear. 

Most of the time doing by-stage dances you found yourself having to grit your teeth, barely able to keep down the bile yet as you danced for your stranger the smile on your face was a hundred percent genuine. 

‘You know, I feel kind of bad. We spend all this time together, yet I don’t even know your name.’ He shuddered as you whispered into the shell of his ear, being sure to brush your lips against the soft, supple skin. 

‘I’m Steve.’ His voice was rough as he spoke, his adam’s apple bobbing, drawing your attention.Your hands danced back up his chest, smoothing out his shirt as you walked back around, being sure to keep one hand on him. 

‘Well it’s nice to have a name to put to my favourite patron.’ Your hand wrapped around his neck, gripping onto the dark blonde locks as you nudged his feet further apart with your heels, sliding into the new space between them. 

‘Your favourite patron huh?’ You loved the prideful tone that rang through his voice as you leaned down, pushing your chest towards him. 

‘Of course Sweetheart, how could you not be?’ Your hands trailed down his chest once more, dancing below his belt line, skirting the growing bulge to trace the tracks of the rough denim coating his thighs. From here your arms could squeeze your breasts together as you leaned over them, the stray hairs of his beard nearly touching the red satin cups and just as you thought he would lose control and lean into the soft skin, you whipped around. You swiveled your hips as you moved your hands up your body, raising one leg first and setting it down outside of his knee and then doing the same with the other before squatting, just above his lap. 

Your hips moved in a figure eight motion, slowly getting closer and closer to where he clearly wanted you to be. Looking back over your shoulder at him you spoke. ‘Tell me Steve, tell me how badly you want it.’ 

His groan was audible as you continued to tease, never quite touching him where he needed. ‘So badly baby girl. You have no fucking clue. I need you so badly.’ With his groaned words, you finally lowered yourself down onto him sending him a cheeky wink as you did so. 

Despite the clubs firm no touching rule, you allowed his hands to rest on your hips as you moved them, your own reaching back and hooking around his neck, giving yourself some leverage. ‘Do you like that Stevie? Does that feel good?’ 

He didn’t answer your questions verbally, but the way he thrusted his hips up against yours was a clear enough response. You continued moving against him, letting his hands force you down harder on his crotch, letting him use you as he chased his orgasm. ‘God… Fuck Doll. You make me feel so fucking good. Yes…’ His words were a jumbled mess as he came closer and closer and you felt his hands dance up your body to squeeze your tits. 

You knew you should pull away, knew it was wrong to let a customer touch you like that, but the way his groans were ringing through your ears was addictive. In that one moment, the only thing you wanted to achieve was getting this man off, whatever that meant doing. 

He rolled your pert nipples between his fingers, rubbing you through the smooth satin as he moaned. ‘Yes, that’s it Doll, I’m so fucking close. Oh god, fuck, Doll. Make me cum baby, make me fucking cum.’ You moaned with him as you moved your hips up and down his crotch and you smiled as you felt his thighs tense beneath you, a long loud moan coming from him that almost covered the sound of satin tearing. 

Your hips stopped moving as you looked down, barely registering through your shock the gaping rip down your body suit. You jumped out of his lap, trying to keep the material against your chest as you stared down at him, wanting to scream. 

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry Doll. I didn’t mean to. I was just holding it and then when I - it just ripped. I’m so sorry, here. Take my jacket back to the changing room.’ You pursed your lips, trying to refrain from showing your anger, knowing the tips would be better if you could make it back to the dressing rooms before the curses started spilling from your lips. He held out a smooth brown leather jacket and you murmured a thanks as you slipped it on, barely registering the obscene amount of money he slipped into your hand before you turned on your heel, disappearing down the corridor, and edgy feeling creeping its way inside you. 

+

Steve didn’t need to return to the club the next night to know he had messed up. There was a clear no touching policy and he had not only done that but he’d ruined your suit and your trust. He had seen it in the way you had barely smiled as he gave your jacket and then later how you had given it to one of the other girls to give back to him.

By the time he had realised you weren’t coming out for your floor shift, you had already left and when he finally got to your apartment, he was disappointed to see your blinds drawn shut. He had taken his frustrations out on a nearby trash can, cursing himself for losing your trust. You were the one thing in this fucked up world that made him actually feel something and just like with Thanos, he had fucked up and just like with Sam and Bucky, he had lost you too. 

But he hadn’t… not really. You were still here, you could still be his. He just might have to change his approach a little. It could still work. 

The next night Steve waited anxiously on the plush leather couch, admiring the velvet walls as the minutes ticked by. It hadn’t been long enough that he was worried you weren’t going to show, but he was impatient. He wanted, no, needed to see you again, to feel you rub against him as you drew him to his orgasm. Despite the terrible way the night had ended, the orgasm you had brought out had felt so good, it had been his best ever and he had cursed himself for those few seconds before he realised what had happened for not requesting a dance earlier. 

When he had first discovered your apartment and your tendency to leave your blinds open he had thought that would be enough, that sitting up on that cold and lonely roof with his fist wrapped around his cock would be enough. But it wasn’t, and now, he had a taste for more. 

He heard the click of heels through the thick mahogany door and anxiously wiped his hands along his thighs as the wood was pushed open, revealing your silhouette on the other side. He watched as you walked towards the stage, the door closing behind you, stopping just before you got to the platform. 

‘Why did you book the Lounge?’ In the silence of the room, your whisper sounded like a scream. 

‘I wanted to apologise, plus, I need to see you again. And I figured this way, we could talk.’ You scoffed at his words.

‘Talk?’ You mocked, laughing as you spoke. ‘You men never want to just talk. I thought… I don’t know what I thought but I know that I’m sick of it. So now you have two options, you can either leave or I can call security and have you escorted out. It’s your choice.’ 

Steve felt his mouth go dry, he couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t allow it. ‘Doll please… you don’t want to do that. Please don’t do that to me.’ You ignored his warning, reeking of his desperation, but before you could open your mouth to scream, he had lunged from the couch, his arms wrapping around you, one securing your back to his chest, the other clamped over your mouth. 

‘I told you not to do that Doll.’ You writhed in his arms trying to twist away from him to no avail. The small groan that escaped his lips disgusted you as he sat down on the stage, pulling your hips against his. ‘Be a good girl for me, please Doll. You have no idea how much I need this.’ Your scathing response was made unintelligible by his hand as his other dipped into the sparkling blue skirt you had on, pushing the matching panties to the side as he swiped a finger along your slit. 

His breathing was heavy in your ear as his fingers swirled around your lips, gathering the slick that was beginning to pool. ‘See Doll, you want this too. I know you do. Fuck, I’ve seen it with my own eyes how you would dance just for me, even in that crowd of men.’ Your muffled protests turned into hesitant moans as he entered you with two fingers, his thumb pressing down on your clit. ‘That’s it, that’s a good girl. Just sit back and enjoy it, doesn’t it feel good?’

Your hands clutched at his thighs, your head resting on his shoulder as you gave in, your hips twisting against his hand, riding it on their own accord. His fingers scissored inside of you, curling themselves against your walls as his thumb rubbed your pearl frantically. You didn’t miss the growing bulge beneath you but you could barely form a coherent thought as he pulled you to the edge. 

‘That’s it Doll. Just let go for me, I know you’re close.’ You hadn’t realised when his hand had drifted down from your mouth to rest on your throat, but the gentle restriction had you seeing stars, screaming silently as you convulsed in his arms, letting go for him. 

You watched in silent horror as he lifted his hand from your mini-skirt and raised it to his lips, moaning around the thick digits. ‘You taste better than I ever could have imagined, I can’t wait to feel you.’ You shuddered against his thick chest and gasped as he flipped you around, your chest pressing against the cold hard wood of the stage. 

You yipped as he pulled down the skirt and panties, exposing your heated centre to the cool air, a moan coming from him along with the clink of a belt buckle. You tried to worm your way out of his arms even though you knew it was worthless trying, he was far stronger than you. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt him, sliding along the slick that he had caused, coating himself in it before coming to your entrance and pausing for a brief moment. You barely dared to hope that he would pull away and yet when you felt him slowly sinking into your heat, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Of course he would just do what he wants. 

‘Oh god… Doll… Fuck.’ You felt the stretch of your walls as he eased in, pain shooting through you from just how big he was. You lay helpless on the stage’s edge as he began pushing in and out of your cunt, groaning obscenities as he did so. One of his hands dipped down, between you and the stage to swipe over your pearl teasingly. 

‘That’s it baby, you feel so fucking good, taking my cock so well.’ Your heavy breaths filled the air as you tried, and failed, to maintain your composure. Sweat was coating your skin as he thrusted, your knees rubbing themselves raw against the plush carpet. The familiar tightening ricocheted through your body you came close, your toes curling in apprehension, only to uncurl moments later when he pulled you from the stage, flipping you over and pushing your legs up, above your head. 

The carpet was rough against your bare back but the new angle was worth the pain, being able to feel him fill you so completely was worth it. His full lips covered yours, his tongue meeting yours halfway as moans tumbled from your mouth into his and vice versa. 

His hips were unforgiving as they pounded into you, filling you to the brim and hitting that special spot with every thrust. It wasn’t long before he brought you back to the edge, clearly reading the desperation for release written all over your body. 

‘Cum for me baby, cum on my cock.’ Your responding scream was lost into his hand, clasping over your mouth once more as your walls fluttered, clenching around him. His hips stuttered, his thighs tensed and he thrusted as deeply as he could as he came inside you, hot white ribbons coating your walls and groans filling the room. 

He rode out his orgasm, the obscene sounds emanating from your pussy echoing through the room as your breaths mingled with one another as they slowly calmed down. 

You lay, staring up at the man above you, his cap probably having fallen off during your struggle, and you finally recognised him. His beard was full and thick and his hair was much longer than you were used to seeing it but the amount of times your History classes at school had been forced to study him, you would never forget his face. 

The recognition must have been clear in your face as he hastily pulled out, his cum seeping down your thighs as he pulled his pants back up, handing you your skirt. 

‘St-Steve?’ You couldn’t even be sure the words had left your lips but the way he tensed at the sound told you they had. 

‘C’mon Doll, let’s have the conversation somewhere private.’ 

‘We are somewhere private.’ You argued with the man standing before you, the red light casting a strange aura around him. 

‘Yeah, but I’m nowhere near done with you.’ His hand was held out before you and you knew he wasn’t giving you much of a choice so you nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead you from ��the lounge’, pausing to pass you his jacket as you approached the door of the club. 

The air outside was cold, unforgiving, as he led you outside, the harsh neon red light of the club slowly being swallowed by the dark night as you walked, hand in hand. To where, you weren’t sure, but you knew it would be wherever Steve needed you to be. 

+

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My Masterlist

[woahitslucyylu]

NSFW Alphabet - Miguel Galindo.

GIF is not mine, credit to OG creator. 

Cartel Daddy is here. Enjoy it, homies! 

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NSFW Alphabett

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Miguel drips charm and he pours it all over you. After sex, especially a rough session, Miguel will slide you into a waiting bubble bath and hold you close as your high fades. He will rub your muscles with expert pressure and tell you Mexican fairy tales as you soak into oblivion. Miguel realizes that you sacrifice a lot to be with him, and when he has the opportunity to pamper you himself, he does. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Miguel loves his face - it is his brand. His rigid jaw line, salt and pepper beard, his blinding white teeth - he is an Adonis and he knows it. Appearance is very important to Miguel, but bed-head Miguel is one of your favorite sights. His loose waves, soft eyes, and lazy smile make you melt every time. 

He loves your hips - the feminine curve of your body keeps his hands itching to hold you. His favorite sight is your shadow, outlined by the moonlight, in front of the floor to ceiling windows that wrap your bedroom. He loves to hold them as you ride him - bruising your soft skin as he pulls you down on him. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Miguel prefers to come in you - less mess and it feels so much better, but when Cartel Daddy is feeling freaky, he will come on your chest or in your mouth. Watching you willingly open your mouth for him to finish is one of his favorite sites. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Miguel’s phone could set the world on fire with a few text messages, but buried in his pictures are whole albums of you - snapshots from adventures together, candids, and stolen moments while you were sleeping. Miguel may spend days away from you, but the pictures keep you close. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Miguel’s entire life motto is quality over quantity and he feels the same way about his women. He’s had a few casual flings - everybody does in college, but as an adult, Miguel is selective - almost picky. He has to be. His world is illusive and everyone doesn’t get an invitation to the party. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Miguel is a dichotomy - both worlds blended into the most perfect Daddy, so it only makes sense that he prefers you in various ways. He lives for lazy Sunday mornings, when spooning turns into lazy love making with sloppy kisses and soft touches. He also lives for your body arched in front of him - his hand around your neck as he fucks you into the mattress - your moans barely audible over the harsh spanks and Spanish dirty talk. 

“Querida, I said don’t move,” His hand lands hard against your soft hips as he pulls your wrists together. “Take it.” He pulls your ass up - your body bending under his passionate assault. His gaze falls to the most intimate connection as he slides in and out of your warm heat - himself coated in your cream as you come undone. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Your Miguel’s safe haven and with you, he finds peace and the freedom to loosen the proverbial tie. While he isn’t performing a comedy routine by any means, he does enjoy the lightheartedness of being with you. His smiles cost you nothing but orgasms and soft, sweet kisses. 

The morning light stretches across the room - cover the bed with puddles of sunshine as you roll your body into his. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Your whisper is soft in his ear as your hand slides down his chiseled abdomen - nails raking across his skin. “Mi amor.” His voice dipped in playfulness as he rolls to face you - pulling you close. His hands cup your face with such gentleness as he smiles lazily - his soft brown eyes gazing at you. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Cartel Daddy is immaculate and below the belt is not any different. He is groomed, trimmed, and smells like money. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Miguel’s relationships, at best, graze the surface level of who he truly is. With you, he exposes himself and pours into you - all the secrets on the table, all the ugly and hard truths, because without an honest foundation, Miguel knows it cannot work. He may spend hours or days away, but he will send the sweetest text messages - paragraphs of love letters written to su reina as he manages both worlds. 

J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Meh - in all the years you’ve been together, Miguel rarely fails to make it home, so jacking off isn’t something he thinks about or even engages in as an adult. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Daddy. 

Power. 

Money. 

Success. 

Miguel is powerful. He loves to feel that allllll the time. He has innate drive to win, to be the best, and if he has to be cunning and cutthroat while doing it, so be it. He gets off on the submission that you willingly give him. When you tip-toe into his office, dressed in your silk robe, and slide onto his lap and beg for his attention, he melts. When he’s knuckle deep inside you, with his hand wrapped around your throat and you whine for more from Daddy, that’s his favorite moment. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Money buys freedom and you learned very quickly that when Miguel wants you, he will take you. Dressing rooms, darkened hallways, in the tinted SUV - Miguel isn’t burdened by rules. He makes his own. 

You slide into the waiting SUV as Miguel gave orders to Nestor. You were panting and he hadn’t even touched you. The distance, the longing, the attraction - it was overwhelming. You felt drunk. You smiled as you watched him - he was strong, dark, and intoxicating. As the car door opened, a partition slid between the front and back seats. 

“Ready?” Miguel slid into the leather seat as Nestor started the SUV. You slid into his lap and pressed your lips against his, rolling your hips into his. His hands roamed your body, tracing your curves and tender spots. His hands pushed your dress up letting it gather at your hips as you unbuttoned his shirt - sliding your hands down his chest. He felt your wetness as you rocked back and forth on his lap. You moaned in the pleasure of his hardness pressing against your most tender place. 

“Carina, I have missed you.” Miguel’s voice was dipped in lust as he continued to whisper in your ear. “I want to fill you up. I want you to scream my name. I want to remind you that you’re mine.” His hand slid against your slit as you rocked back and forth, panting for release. “Daddy, please.” You pushed against his hand as you begged him. Miguel’s smile was deadly as he slid two fingers into your warmth - circling your most tender spot. “Who’s is this?” His hand found your neck as he pulled you close. You rocked back and forth as you worked yourself out on his hand, whimpering with each new movement. “I love watching you fuck yourself. Come for Daddy.” His lips nipped and sucked beneath your ear as you bounced your hips against his rigid hand. 

The car slowed as you collapsed against him - a sweaty mess. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Winning gets Miguel off and winning is a broad term. You coming three times before he does? Winning. He tricks the US government? Winning. He moves more heroin than El Chapo? Winning. He is naturally driven to compete and win and with each new success, he is motivated for more. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Miguel didn’t share as a child and he most certainly doesn’t share now - especially you. He wouldn’t entertain a threesome or anything that would compromise your relationship. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

When you’re a brat, when you’re sassy, when you parade around the house in boy shorts and a tight shirt, his only solution is making you gag on his dick as he fucks your face. Saliva dripping down your chest as you choke to breath with his hand threaded through your hair, pulling your head up and down as he chases his own pleasure. 

“Mami, why can’t you just listen?” He urges as he comes in your throat. 

Yet, it is better to give than receive and Cartel Daddy will eat you like his last meal. Your favorite sight is the world’s most powerful cartel boss on his knees as he licks and sucks your most intimate place. When your knees close around him OR you grind harder on his face, he feels like he’s winning and you’re the ultimate prize. 

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Whatever the mood calls for, Miguel will deliver. He prefers sensual and rough - bruises left from his rough grip, your body dotted with marks. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

While Miguel loves you and loves being inside of you, if the time isn’t right, the time isn’t right. He may enjoy a quick session in the morning or even on a car ride home, but he isn’t intentionally seeking you out during the day for a quickie. It doesn’t mean anything, except that he’s busy af. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

While Miguel would never be discovered, Nestor and his security team ensure that - the thought alone thrills you and him. Whether it be in a fancy bathroom at the country club or in the SUV or even at your own home, the risk is an aphrodisiac. Being pressed up against your floor to ceiling windows with Miguel behind you reminding you that his men are just right around the corner has you dripping down your leg as he bunches your skirt and slides right in. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Again, quality over quantity - Miguel may only go for one or two rounds, but you’ll come more than you can count. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys give him power and he is more than willing to punish you with a crop or his hand and torture you with a vibrator pressed against your clit as he pushes in you over and over again. Sensory deprivation is big for Miguel. He will bind your hands, cover your eyes - all in the name of pleasure as he works your body expertly. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Like a classic Daddy, Miguel will tease you until your eyes are heavy with lust and you’re begging for it. 

“What do you want, princesa?” Miguel hovers above you - his hardened tip barely touching your warm center. “Is it this?” He pushes in - the stretch taking your breath away as he stays still - your walls clenching as he watches you grind against him, bringing your hips to his. “Harder, Daddy. Please.” Your legs wrap around him as he fulfills your request. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He isn’t screaming, but he isn’t quiet. You live for his moans and breathless curses, and earning them comes with a cost that you will gladly pay for. Miguel’s dirty talk is about control and desire. 

“This pussy is mine.” His hand slides around your throat, tilting your chin as he fucks into you. “Who owns this?” The slap is harsh against your thigh. “Your’s, Daddy.” You whimper as his fingers press against your clit - your body releasing at his will. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Money is Miguel’s tool and he has no problem spending it on you. Weekends on yachts, helicopter rides to wine tastings, rented out restaurants and movie theatres - he will drop bags to make you feel valued and treasured. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Average length, thick, a slight curve. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

More than anything, Miguel craves you and that is not limited to sex. You’re his peace. You ground him when both worlds get too heavy and you help him see the bigger picture. While he always wants to fuck your brains out, he also thrives on quiet nights at home, you wrapped in his arms as the TV casts a soft light in the living room - letting him be normal, even if it is just a few hours. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Cartel Daddy gets tired. When you’re both basking in afterglow, his eyes will flutter and he will be asleep ridiculously quick. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

keep her in your pocket

For @roses-and-absinthe​ as requested.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (intercourse, slavery)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and dark!Bucky Barnes x nonhuman!Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Reader is a nonhuman brought to earth by traffickers and auctioned off to the dystopian community of men seeking to augment biological issues of infertility.

Note: Okay, so I finished this one shot on a whim because I wrote the first half a while back but it’s my first fic about a nonhuman reader so hopefully you enjoy it. Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

This was not a good sign. After so long in the cells, you knew your release was not truly freedom. The ship had stilled, the hum of the motors no longer droned in your head, the air was stifling. The captain and his greasy raiders walked the line of bars and unlocked each door one by one. Whispers; nervous, fearful, naively excited, filled the air. 

You crossed your arms and kept to the back of your cell. You had lost count of the time long ago. You barely bothered at all to think of it. What were you waiting for but your next jailer? You knew the insignia better than most. You had been warned most of your life to avoid it. Traders of the flesh.

You were foolish. You knew that now. You blamed yourself, not those immoral hoarders of coin. You should never have believed the blue-skinned harlot. You should’ve listened to your mother’s voice in the back of your head. No point in dwelling on it now.

When your door clicked and fell open, you stared at the man with the long face. Several other raiders waited outside, prisoners cuffed to a single chain led by the one with the eye patch. You were yanked out of the cell and your hands cuffed along with the others. You kept your chin up as you followed the train of merchandise.

The raiders kept pace with the prisoners, hands on weapons in case of resistance. It was laughable. You were half-starved and sleep-deprived. You hadn’t seen natural light in so long that the glowing tubes along the walls gave you a headache. You squinted and huffed. You shuffled along with the rest, the raiders’ voices shushing those who dared to speak.

The hull of the ship opened and you were led down the steep stairs into the unnatural sunlight. It was much harsher than that of your planet. Hot and unyielding. Waves of smokey heat rose from the ground and geometric buildings loomed over you like giants. There windows were black but glared down as they reflected the searing yellow rays from above.

The sun seared your bare arms as you emerged. Your tattered dress dragged around your sandals and the chain clinked in time with your steps. A crowd watched the motley line of prisoners as you were led to a platform. 

Several men in black stood at the head of the horde; the elite. Those who could afford such wares. The rest were the commoners who delighted in the suffering of those few lower than them. You noticed that most of them were male, or at least, looked to be. 

They looked like your people but less colourful. Their skin ranged the spectrum of beiges, tans, and browns. Your own people were more rosy; from the whitest pinks to the deepest reds. Your own skin was an eastern hue, a warm magenta resilient to the heat.

You were stopped at the end of the platform and the captain began his spiel. At the last auction, you had been spared a bid. There had been twice as many prisoners then. You kept your eyes above the crowd as you listened. The woman beside you wept; her odd antennae drooped along her forehead.

They began at the other end of the line. You dug your toe into the stage as you waited. You grasped your skirts and prayed that you were unclaimed once more. The cells were miserable but a familiar suffering was preferable to the unknown.

So far, none had been purchased as they stepped forward. The captain’s voice betrayed his irritation as he got to the middle of the queue. The men in their black suits shook their heads and looked at each other. The squat yellow woman retreated and the next stepped forward. 

You dared to look at the group of bidders. They muttered to each other, their disappointment obvious. Another glance behind them and you frowned. Why were there so few women here? Your chest twisted as the cuff tugged at your wrist. The antennaed woman stepped forward, her six-fingered hands clasped together.

Your jaw tensed as the men shrugged. They weren’t interested. Perhaps you were just as pathetic as you felt. You gulped and looked into the crowd. Your eyes were caught by a pair of blue ones and you flinched. The man squinted above his dark beard and you glanced at the next. He tilted his head and ran his hand over his golden hair. He elbowed the other and they turned and whispered to each other.

The woman beside you stepped back and the raider at your other shoulder shoved you forward. You stumbled and clung to the chain as you righted yourself. The captain hadn’t even posed the first bid before a hand rose. You blinked. The man with the golden hair signaled his interest with two fingers in the air. 

The captain offered a second bid and the man with the dark beard flicked his fingers. Your heart hammered as you peeked over at the other women. They stared at their feet. The captain continued the battle; each man countered the other in turn. They nodded as the price grew steeper and steeper.

The man with the beard raised a single finger to signal a pause. He leaned over to the man with the golden hair and they spoke again. The other men watched indifferently. Their own interest was lost as they had found no wares worth their money. The man with the beard smirked and waved to the captain. He called out double his last bid. The other looked just as content and did not offer a counter.

“Sold!”

🌆

Your cuffs were unhooked from the chain but you remained bound. You were led from the platform and away from hordes who watched. The rest were dragged back to the ship. You didn’t know whether to pity or envy them as your fate dangled before you. You were aware of the purpose for your purchase but it did not assure you.

You were led into the tallest of the hideous building. So lifeless and blinding. You were numb to the rush around you; the people dispersing as the entertainment had proven less than fulfilling. Your sandals clapped against the marble loudly and you entered a sterile elevator with your handlers; plain grey suits, polished shoes, vacant expressions.

Finally, a room among the highest floors, built of the same frigid metal. Attached was a shower with heads along the wall. You were undressed without a word and you allowed it. You were preparing for a life of it; however short or long that would be. Of an unloving hand; a utilitarian touch; guided by lust, by greed. The steam was the only warmth hidden in the icy tower.

When you emerged in the thin towel they allowed you, another man awaited you. A white jacket over his suit as the others waited wordlessly behind him. He was the first to look directly at you. The first to speak.

“I would have you lay down, though if it does prove problematic, these men can assist you.” It was a threat veiled as a request. 

You shook your head and went to the cushioned chaise before him. It was stiff leather and entirely uncomfortable. You clung to the towel around you and the man moved your legs. He planted your feet on the bench so that they were bent fully. He examined you, his hands on your thighs. 

Then he stood and pulled a device from his pocket. He hovered it over you from head to toe. He looked at the square screen on its face and nodded. “Viable.” He stated. You watched him retreat to the door. He turned to the other men. “Continue on.”

You were offered a plain white dress. It was pale against your lustrous skin, still glowing from the hot water. You didn’t shy before the men. This wasn’t a place for modesty; for shame. Those had been stolen from you alongside your freedom.

You were taken from the room without delay. This planet, this building, it was all forged in efficiency. You were but another cog in the machine. You didn’t need them to speak to you to know that. It was plain in the barren walls and the imbalanced crowds. The lack of females betrayed a fertility crisis. The manner of its men spoke of desperation. And your presence was an attempt at a solution.

The next room was bigger, hospitable even. There was a large round bed against the far wall, draped in black silk. A red chaise just a few feet from it, a couple armchairs positioned around a low glass table, a carpet of plush rose. Comically romantic given the situation; a poorly simulated eroticism. You looked around and exhaled.

There were two other doors; one to the left and one to the right. The one upon your left opened almost as soon as the one behind you closed. You watched the familiar man enter. His blue eyes sparkled above his dark beard. He was not alone. The man with the golden hair followed him. The latter surprised you given he had ceded to the former.

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” The first one said as he strode around you. The other closed the door and remained not far from it. “I’ve never seen skin like that.”

“And what did the doctor say?” The other asked.

“Healthy. Viable.” The dark-haired man replied as he rounded you. “Promising.”

“He didn’t say so much to me,” You interjected.

The man with the beard stopped before you and neared until there was barely inches between you. “And she can understand us.”

“Unfortunately.” You countered and he smirked.

“Amusing,” He remarked. “But while I might have paid in part for the use of your mouth, I didn’t pay for defiance.”

You glared up at him and clamped your lips shut to keep from another retort. Remember the ship, the cell; what your sharp words had earned you there. It could be worse here. You weren’t eager to find out.

“As your new masters, we do expect a degree of co-operation though we will not shy away from enforcing our will.” He said as his lips curved slightly. “You can call us “sir”, though my friend here is a captain, he might prefer that.”

You stared at him. His blue eyes did not waver. “Sir.” You uttered through your tight throat.

“Very good,” His lips curved entirely and he backed away from you. “There’s little pretense to be had here. I doubt I need to explain to you what we intend.”

You looked between them. The golden-haired man, the captain, watched quietly with arms crossed. You shook your head.

“We made a deal of our own, if you’re curious,” The bearded-man continued. “We figured, since we share almost everything else, we might share you. To ensure our investment was not in vain.”

“Bucky, stop playing with her,” The other man spoke up at last. “Christ, I’m fucking… you know it’s been a while.”

“As long as it’s been for me, Steve.” The dark-haired one, Bucky, replied. “A couple minutes will barely make a difference.”

The captain, known as Steve, sighed. Bucky stepped around you and came up behind you. He bent and grabbed the hem of your dress. He lifted it past your knees, your pelvis, your torso, and you raised your arms stiffly as he freed you from the cotton entirely. You stood before them naked and stared at the wall.

“I might have the first go,” Bucky slapped your ass and you winced. “Seeing as I paid.”

“Half. As I did.” Steve asserted. “But go on. As you said, a couple minutes, maybe seconds with you, won’t make a difference.”

Bucky scoffed as he pressed himself to your back. His hands glided along your hips and sides and he cupped your tits. He purred into your hair from behind. “On the bed. And get that ass up.”

You gritted your teeth and stepped towards the bed if only to escape his touch. You knew it wouldn’t be a lengthy reprieve as you edge around the chaise and neared the end of the bed. You climbed up on the round mattress and a groan rose from behind you. 

You looked at Steve from the corner of your eye as he remained by the door. He watched you intently. You heard movement behind you. You closed your eyes and hung your head as you leaned forward on your hands. 

“That’s it.” Bucky coaxed as you listened to the rustle of fabric. 

The subtle clink of metal and leather as he unbuckled his belt. You tensed and sank your fingers into the silken sheets. Then his footsteps brushed over the soft rug and you braced yourself. The air was cool on your skin and goosebumps rose as the mattress dipped behind you. 

You flinched as the large, warm hands closed around your ankles and brushed upward; over your calves and thighs, along your ass as he kneaded it. Your nostrils flared as he moved between your legs and pressed himself to you. You felt a prod alongside his hands. You silently cursed as your body responded against your will.

His fingers slipped down as his other hand gripped your hip. He felt between your folds and found your clit nestled there. He rubbed you until you twitched. He chuckled and brought his fingers back to your entrance. You were embarrassed as he spread your arousal. He shoved a finger inside and you gasped.

He pulled in and out several times. You unintentionally squeezed his hand between your thighs as he let it slip down. He grasped himself and pressed his tip against you. He pushed inside just a little and you tried to move away. He kept you in place as his grip tightened on your hip. He forced you back and sank deeper.

He bent over you with one hand beside yours on the mattress. His beard tickled your cheek as he plunged to his limit. You bit your lip and grunted. 

“Keep fighting it and it will get worse.” He warned. You turned your face away from him and he let go of your hip to grab your chin instead. He forced your head back as he thrust into you. “It’s alright. You don’t have to like it, your body will do the work, huh? You don’t have to want the life but it will grow if you like it or not.”

You closed your eyes as he forced a finger into your mouth. He rutted against you with heady breaths. You sensed movement alongside the bed but you couldn’t look. The shadow loomed on the other side of your eyelids. Bucky sped up and you grasped at the silk.

“Mmmm,” He hummed as he drew his finger from your mouth. 

He slipped his hand around to the back of your neck and shoved your head down to the mattress. You whimpered as he pounded into you harder and harder. His pelvis clapped loudly against you and sent a pang up your spine. His grunts filled your head and made your blood boil.

You felt another hand; soft and warm, around yours as it clawed at the silk sheets. You opened your eyes and found the other man, Steve, knelt at the side of the bed. He watched you calmly as your body was jolted into the mattress. He seemed entirely unbothered by his companion’s presence behind you.

It was harder to breathe. Your walls could not resist the natural friction, the instinctual ripple as it thrummed within you. Your eyes rolled back as you bit down on the moan that threatened as you came. Steve slipped his fingers past yours and you squeezed his hand. You reached back with your other to bat away the one that held you down. 

Bucky caught your arm and twisted around behind you. You yelped and it only seemed to encourage him. He plunged into you over and over. His grunts grew louder and longer. He slammed into you so hard your legs collapsed beneath you and he hammered you into the bed.

Steve’s hand remained on yours as Bucky came inside you. The slick warmth was repulsive as it filled you. His hand slipped from your neck as he released your arm and you turned to hide your face in the mattress. He eased himself to a halt and lingered inside of you as he sighed loudly.

“She’s tight.” He slapped your ass as he pulled out. “If not a little resistant.” The bed jostled beneath him as he backed off of it. “Your little nice act isn’t gonna work with her.”

Steve’s hand left yours and you felt a tickle along your scalp. You were frightened by the whisper in your ear. “Hey, catch your breath.” His fingers crawled down your neck and along your shoulders. “Then, turn over. I’d like to see that pretty face.”

His touch sent a shiver through you. You brought your hands up to cover your face. The trickle between your legs sickened you. You took a few deep breaths and nodded to yourself. There was no way out; you’d accepted that back on the ship in your dingy cell. You knew how it would be but it didn’t make it any easier. Better it was over with.

You pushed yourself over onto your back and Steve’s hand brushed over your chest as you did. He was barely bothered by the accident as he watched you. He touched your cheek and traced the line of your jaw and then your lips. He smiled and slowly drew away.

He stood and began to undress. He glanced across the room and you followed his gaze. Bucky sat on the chaise, knees apart, his cock soft but twitching as he looked back at you. You tore your eyes away and focused on the ceiling. The rush of fabric piling on the floor was the only sound besides your breath and the incessant beating of your heart.

The mattress shifted and you felt warm flesh against yours as Steve pressed himself to your side. He cradled your cheek and kissed you but you turned away. “Come on.” He purred. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“It is like that.” You insisted.

He said nothing else and laid a trail of kisses along your cheek and down your neck as he leaned into you. He smelled like sweat and the smoke of the foreign city. He cupped your breast and kissed the top of it, nibbled along the skin, and swirled his finger around your nipple. It was a false sort of affection but it stirred something within you.

And then he lifted himself over you. His warmth enshrined you. His hand explored you blindly as he kept his face nestled in your chest. You were still tender as he dragged his fingers along your pelvis and you fought to keep still. He pushed his knees between yours and slowly nudged your legs apart.

He was gentler but still insistent. His fingers dipped between your folds and he toyed with your clit as you squirmed. He let two fingers slip inside and he lifted his head to watch your face crinkle. You pushed on his shoulders as he smeared your cum and Bucky’s along your thigh.

He took himself in his hand and you felt him against you. You tried to wriggle away from him but it only caused you to brush against his tip. He rubbed it up and down your cunt and angled himself inside. You held your breath as he filled you. Though he slid in easier than Bucky you still found yourself strained by his size. You bared your teeth and dug your nails into his shoulders.

He moved slowly at first. He didn’t look away as he rocked his hips against you. He reached to grab your leg and bent it against him. The artificial intimacy was worse than the act itself. You found it hard to resist his make-belief as your flesh responded without thought. You gulped at the air and turned your face away from him.

He let go of your leg but it hooked around his as it slipped down. He took your chin and turned your head straight. He pressed his nose to yours as he breathed in tandem with you and the motion of his body. Your eyes widened as you felt the climax building slowly. He smiled and hummed.

“I wanna see it,” He whispered. “I wanna see you cum.”

You hissed and slapped your hands against him helplessly. You couldn’t stymie the rise or the sudden peak and it escaped your lips in a squeak. Your back arched as you pressed yourself to him and your lashes fluttered in sheer ecstasy. He kissed you again and this time you couldn’t turn away.

His body melded to yours as he moved against you. His rhythm almost lulled you as the bed rocked in time. Your vision blurred and at last his hand fell from your chin. You closed your eyes as he panted in your ear and you felt the tension within him. A sudden release and he growled like a wild animal into your neck. His heat seeped into you and he stilled atop you.

He stayed like that as his breath petered out. He brushed his fingers along your temple and kissed your cheek softly. He jerked into you harshly as you heard a slap and he lifted his head to look at the shadow that loomed behind him. Bucky smirked and threatened another slap with a raised hand.

“Come on, lover boy,” He gloated as he dropped his hand to his cock. “Sentiment isn’t gonna knock her up.”

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

3 I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners, These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also, He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome, They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him, They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love, He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face, He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him, When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

4 I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

[carewyncromwell]

I guess this is my “happy end” for Carewyn and Orion for that LOTR AU (once again started by @drinkyoursoupbitch​​ and @no-moon-nor-stars​)! Pictured are the newly crowned king of Gondor, Orion II Elessar, and his love, the current Steward and future Queen of Gondor, Carewyn Cromwell-Took! (Previous part here!)

When Orion, Ben, Wendy, Charlie, and their allies from Gondor and Rohan charged to the gates of Mordor, there was almost no hope of success. As the final battle raged on, however, wave after wave of reinforcements arrived -- Treebeard and the Ents Carewyn had befriended in the Forest of Fangorn; an army of men led by Barnaby Lee and an army of elves from Mirkwood, who came to support Fellowship members Selene and Artemis Clair de Lune; a battalion of dwarves led by the new King Duncan Stonehelm of Erebor; a militia of men from Dale led by Carewyn’s friend, Lord Andre; the eagles, ridden by both Gandalf and Carewyn’s long-lost brother, Jacob Cromwell-Took, who brought along some white magic of his own to blind and beat back the Orc advance; and Selene and Artemis themselves, who -- after smuggling Smeagol, Bill, and Cedric inside Mordor -- infiltrated the wall over the dark city and attacked Sauron’s dark army from above. Then the final blow was dealt against Sauron -- the Ring was destroyed, and with the destruction of Sauron also came the annihilation of Mordor. The day was won.

The triumphant army returned to the stronghold of Minas Tirith as heroes. As happy as Carewyn was to see Ben, Wendy, Charlie, and Orion safe, however, she was overwhelmed beyond words by who else greeted her at the gates of the capital.

Carewyn flung her arms out wide, rushing to Charlie and throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“You did it!” she said, her wide ruby red smile echoing in every word. “You all did it!”

Charlie squeezed his old friend tightly. “We did it. We couldn’t have done it without you, Carey -- if you hadn’t sent for reinforcements -- ”

“Carewyn Cromwell-Took.”

Carewyn looked up. Standing before her was Duncan, his lips spread into a mischievous grin through his now much-thicker brown beard. He’d had his thick arms crossed, but when Carewyn swept over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a huge hug, they fell lax at his sides.

“It’s good to see you, Duncan,” murmured Carewyn.

The young King of Erebor’s expression faltered somewhat, betraying genuine affection despite himself, as he brought his arms around her in return and held her like a dear younger sister he hadn’t seen in years.

Andre came up as well, opening his arms wide to ensnare Carewyn in a hug of his own.

“Look at you, Carewyn!” he said, looking over her new Steward attire and grinning. “One would hardly recognize you as the hobbit who escaped a band of orcs and wargs by floating yourself and your friends down the river in barrels...”

Carewyn bit back a laugh. “Not my most glamorous moment.”

“Artemis! Selene!”

Ben’s voice caught Carewyn’s attention. Riding in on fresh horses were their elfin friends, both looking very tired and beaten down, but with smiling, alight faces at the sight of them. Artemis made a beeline for Ben, leaping off his horse so as to throw both of his arms around him. Once Selene had embraced Wendy, she bend down to hug Carewyn as well.

“It’s felt so long, since we saw you last,” said Selene, “longer than I even know how to express. I think I now know why people with mortal lives act like they have no time at all...”

“I know -- it’s felt like years, somehow,” agreed Wendy.

A loud cry overhead signaled the arrival of the eagles. Carewyn beamed when she caught sight of Gandalf’s white robes -- but she was taken aback by the sound of a familiar, hoarse voice.

“CAREY! CHARLIE!”

It was Bill. He rode the eagle behind Gandalf and looked even more exhausted and worn than the Clair de Lune twins, but his freckled face was just as bright and his eyes were flooding with tears.

“BILL!”

“BILL!”

Both Carewyn and Charlie barreled over. Bill didn’t even wait for his eagle to fully land, instead launching him off of its back and hobbling with difficulty over to them, throwing his slightly longer legs backward and forward in precarious, reckless strides until he’d reached them. The three red-haired hobbits all threw themselves forward, seizing onto each other’s shirts and arms and squeezing each other’s shoulders in a vice grip.

“Charlie -- ” Bill choked through his flood of tears, “Carey -- ”

“Oh, Bill,” whispered Carewyn. “You did it -- you and Cedric -- ”

“I knew you could do it,” Charlie murmured proudly, clutching at his older brother’s back. “I always knew -- ”

Carewyn blinked back the traces of tears in her eyes, turning her gaze to the rest of the eagles landing. Her eyes softened in relief seeing Gandalf carrying a sleeping Cedric under his arm. Then she caught sight of the rider disembarking the eagle just behind Gandalf, and all trace of a smile vanished.

The final rider was a hobbit about a head shorter than Bill, dressed in worn gray robes one would be more likely to associate with a wizard. His black-brown curls had grown as long as a dwarf’s, sweeping down his back, and his eyes had been hollowed out like a skull’s, but they still sparkled the same shade of blue as Carewyn’s. His face was very white and weakly smiling, almost anxious, as he faced her.

“Wyn,” breathed Jacob.

All dignity forgotten, Carewyn flung herself out of both Weasley brothers’ arms. She tripped over the long skirt of her dress several times, but she didn’t care -- she would’ve tripped a thousand times more over, just to --

“JACOB -- JACOB!”

The two Cromwell-Tooks clung onto each other so tightly that it was like they never wanted to let each other go again. Jacob anchored a trembling hand on the back of his little sister’s head as he struggled not to completely break down.

“Oh Wyn -- my little Wyn -- ”

He pulled away at last, running his thumbs over her cheeks as his tear-filled blue eyes scanned her face.

“Look at you -- you’re a real lady! Shining like the Lady of Lothlorian herself...”

“You’re alive,” choked Carewyn. “I can’t believe you’re alive -- ”

“Jacob?!”

The two Cromwell-Tooks looked up as Duncan rushed forward, his eyes very wide and his face very pale under his dark beard.

Jacob’s blue eyes sparkled. “...Hello, Ashy.”

Carewyn had expected Duncan to perhaps run forward and hug Jacob too -- instead, when he reached Jacob, he immediately grabbed hold of his pointed ear and yanked hard.

“Owowowow -- !”

“You blasted IDIOT!” swore Duncan. “Disappearing like that -- let me guess, you got in over your head again, as per usual? How can you be so smart and yet so bloody daft!?”

“Owwww! Let go, will you?!”

Carewyn brought a hand up to wipe away the tear forming in her right eye as she looked up at Gandalf, who was smiling warmly.

“It seems your brother, like me, had battles to fight in fire and shadows,” he said. “Fortunately, like me...he also found his way back. He’s become quite a talented magician, for a hobbit -- I suspect he’ll be able to conjure up quite enough fireworks, for the next party in the Shire...”

“Thank you for bringing him back to me, Gandalf,” said Carewyn softly.

She then turned to the soldiers and courtiers who had escorted her to the city wall.

“Come -- let’s get Cedric a bed and proper medical attention. And prepare a hearty meal, in the main hall -- our King and his friends need it.”

Soon after was Orion’s coronation at the white Citadel of Minas Tirith. Representatives from many kingdoms -- Man, Dwarf, and Elf alike -- all came for the celebration. Once he was crowned, Orion bestowed honors onto all of his companions in the Fellowship of the Ring and all of the allies who had fought with them when things were at their most desperate. He vowed to the citizens of Gondor that he would do everything in his power to rule with patience, tenacity, loyalty, and fire and bring peace and balance to their world.

The coronation party afterwards was full of singing, dancing, and a great feast, where the Fellowship reconvened merely as friends, rather than soldiers. At one point, when Carewyn got up to speak with Merula, the new Captain of Gondor’s Guard, Cedric noticed something he hadn’t before.

“...Say, you all,” the youngest hobbit said with a frown, “who did Carewyn promise her heart to?”

Everyone in the Fellowship went stock still. Ben and Charlie immediately moved as if to hush Cedric, but it was too late.

“What?!” yelped Bill.

Carewyn’s best friend whirled on both Ben and Charlie, looking both beside himself and absolutely incredulous.

“You knew about this?”

Orion had gone very pale, his eyes darting around at each of the hobbits and Ben as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Artemis and Selene both looked at each other with a frown.

“‘Promise her heart?’“ said Artemis, bewildered.

Selene glanced at Carewyn and then gave an “oh!”

“Her left ring finger,” said the female elf. “If Hobbit tradition is anything like ours...Carewyn is engaged!”

“When did THIS happen?” Bill was still interrogating Ben and Charlie -- despite him only being about two heads taller than Charlie and much shorter than Ben, both men looked equally taken aback by his volume and level of passion. “What happened?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” said Charlie hastily. “That is -- well, yeah, she put it there, but -- I mean -- ”

Orion was barely taking in much of what anyone was saying -- his mind was moving too quickly.

Carewyn...was engaged? If she’d promised her heart, was that...like a betrothal? When had this happened? Had she been proposed to while she was in Gondor alone, while he was away? Had she always been betrothed, since before they’d met? To who?

Orion found himself clutching his own hands as he closed his eyes and tried in vain to stabilize his breathing. His thoughts were always way too loud and way too fast, when he was anxious...

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. It was Wendy.

“Come on,” said the dark-haired shieldmaiden under her breath with a smile, “let’s go for a walk -- it’s getting too loud in here.”

And so Wendy steered the new King out of the hall and out onto one of the balconies of the White Tower. It didn’t take long for Carewyn to notice Wendy leaving with Orion and, noticing how very ill and upset he suddenly looked, she quickly ended her conversation with Merula and left the hall after them. She found the two talking at the balcony -- Wendy noticed as soon as Carewyn arrived and rather quickly excused herself with a pat to Orion’s shoulder and a smile at Carewyn.

“Carey, would you please tend to His Majesty?” said Wendy, a wry twinkle in her eye. “You seem to have a special touch with him."

Carewyn watched her go with a swish of her long dark hair, frowning in confusion. Rather than dwell on it, however, she immediately turned her focus back to Orion. He looked so pale...

She reached out a hand to him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her blue eyes very concerned.

When she’d reached out to him, Orion’s gaze had flown immediately down to her hand and to the ring on her finger.

His eyes widened.

It was his ring. The Ring of Barahir he had given her, before she’d first left for Gondor with Gandalf. Naturally, it being made by Elves, it had enough magic to shrink or grow to the proper size, so it fit her finger just as well as it had his.

The ring that Cedric had thought represented some sort of romantic promise...was his ring.

It took a moment for Orion to catch his breath again. Once he’d managed to compose himself enough, he bent down so as to properly look Carewyn in the eye. He took her hand, trailing his thumb over the ring on her finger, as he led her closer to him. Although he managed to keep his voice level somehow, his lightly tanned face was still very white and his hand holding hers was trembling.

"...Carewyn...” he murmured, “the way you wear my ring...is there...a meaning to it?"

Carewyn blinked in surprise. Then her face relaxed, and she offered a small smile even as her cheeks darkened with a flush and her eyes rested on his shoulder and not his face.

 "...Yes. For hobbits, it represents a promise of one's heart -- one stronger than time, life, or death.”

Her eyes drifted down to their joined hands.

“...It was that promise...that was in my heart when I pledged my fealty to Gondor. When Denethor heard me pledge myself to 'my lord', ‘til he release me or death take me..."

She smiled wryly.

"...he was unaware that, in my own mind at least, I already had a lord to be loyal to."

Orion’s eyes widened. Carewyn raised her head at last, her face much more solemn despite the softness in her eyes.

"Even if just as your friend,” she said very seriously, “my heart is yours, my king."

She lifted their hands, adjusted them so that Orion’s was on top, and placed a feather-light kiss to the back of his hand.

For a moment, all Orion could do was stare. His dark eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, lingering on her eyes and her ruby red lips -- then, his pale face flushing with a kind of emotion Carewyn had never seen before, he swept forward. His hands found her cheeks, cupping them gently as he leaned in and placed a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“My lady,” he breathed, his eyes half-lidded and shining upon hers, “you are far...far more than a friend to me. And I hope that you’ll consent to be far more, as well...for among both Men and Elves...”

His eyes flickered down to her lips and then back to her eyes, in a move that almost suggested shyness.

“...the place you wear my ring...could also be seen as the mark of an engagement...were it to host a different band."

Carewyn stared at Orion.

“You...you’d want to marry a hobbit?” she asked, her voice very soft and stunned.

Orion’s eyes softened with some amusement despite himself. “I would like to marry you. If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll -- ?”

Carewyn looked flabbergasted.

“Orion...I’m just a halfling -- you’re a king. More importantly, you’re...you. You’re gentle, and noble, and wise...”

“And you are warm and resourceful...and braver than anyone I’ve ever known in my life,” Orion cut her off gently.

His gaze flickered down to her lips again self-consciously. For all of his confidence as a Ranger, a warrior, a general, and even a king, Orion found himself oddly fretful and uncertain, in that moment -- as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff and would either fall to his death or soar up into the clouds, were he to jump.

“I realize that hobbits...rarely marry outside their own kind...especially to Men -- but just as I could see no one else as my Steward...I can’t think of anyone else I would ever ask to be my Queen.”

Her face flushed and her eyes sparkling like stars, Carewyn brought a hand up to rest on his cheek. She cradled his face with her hand as she bent her head just enough to rest her forehead against the king’s.

“Orion...I could not think of a single greater gift or treasure in this world than to be yours.”

Orion felt as though a weight he’d been carrying for ages had suddenly been lifted off of his chest. He exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed absently as he leaned lightly back against her hand on his face.

“Carewyn...”

One hand sank into the shoulder of her red and white velvet dress, while the other trailed affectionately along her cheek. Carewyn closed her own eyes, smiling fondly.

“I love you,” she whispered, a mere breath away from his lips.

She kissed the side of his temple, and then his nose and his lips. Without opening his eyes, Orion found himself mirroring her, littering her face with kisses as he trailed his hand along her cheek and through her hair. Several times their lips met, sometimes chastely, sometimes deeply, but always through the gentlest, warmest, happiest smile -- as though their hearts were both fit to burst from happiness.

A week later, Carewyn was crowned queen of Gondor, to the delight of her new people. Regardless of her heritage, the people of Gondor had not forgotten her courage and leadership in the midst of the War Against Sauron, and over the years, their affection for their “little queen” only grew. (This didn’t mean that she ever became very well-regarded in the Shire -- truthfully, someone that worldly and strong-willed would never really have belonged there. Most Shire folk didn’t dislike her, of course, but it was still a little uncomfortable to be associated with someone so thoroughly unlike the traditional image of a hobbit. The clear exception to this rule, however, was any hobbit with the last name “Weasley,” who were all always welcome in the kingdom of Gondor.)

One looking back on the reign of King Orion II Elessar and Queen Carewyn Dilthenrís could almost wonder if their romance -- however peculiar it was -- was written in the stars. After all...one translation for the name “Carewyn” is “white tower” -- like the fabled tower of the Citadel at Minas Tirith where she first inspired her future King’s people.

[meat-husband]

Ok, I just found your blog and I am 100% in love with it— it’s so good!! Keep up the good work!! Also, I have a request. I’d like to request the s/o is kidnapped by potential victims of Thomas and anyone else you’d like to add! I feel like someone may think the s/o isn’t suppose to be there and try to ‘save’ them from the ‘evil bad man.’ Thank you!!

Ok I know this is a common trope when it comes to TCM but tbh…. I love it.

—

“What are we gonna do?”

The man’s boots kick up dirt as he paces in front of the truck, gravel crunching under his feet. The headlights are dimmed, but they light up his figure against the dark sky, clouds of dust filtering through the beams as he moves.

“Wait for someone to come by, I suppose.”

The other one is calm, almost relaxed, leaning against the side of the broken down truck with no sign of panic on his face. He’s keeping his cool, but you can hear the light tap, tap, tap of his fingers against the side of the vehicle, a nervous sound that puts you on edge.

“This is the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. Anyone ‘coming by’ is only going to be more of those freaks.”

You want to be offended by his words, but he’s not wrong. They had only made it a few miles down the road from the farmhouse and it wasn’t going to be long before someone noticed that the three of you were absent.

That was the thought that made you worry.

Curled up in the passenger seat of the truck, you huddle against the door, pushing yourself as far away from the two men as possible. They haven’t tried to hurt you - you’re only in this mess in the first place because they had wanted to help - but you don’t want to be near either of them when you’re found.

“Fuck this!”

The sudden exclamation startles you and you look up, peeking out of the opposite window. The angry man is pacing away from the truck, apparently meaning to follow the cracked asphalt on foot.

Both men are old, but the angry man is the younger of the two, his thick beard streaked with gray but still mostly brown. They’re rough looking, the kind that Hoyt interchangeably calls both ‘bikers’ and ‘hippies’, made all the more rough by the gashes and wounds they’d collected over the last few hours at the house.

The older man glances at you through the half broken window on the drivers side. His face is bare, but the hair on his head is long and white.

“C’mon out, girlie, ain’t a bad idea to get movin’.”

“No, thank you.”

The door behind you is jammed shut, or you would have slipped out during the argument. The only way out now is the driver’s door, but you aren’t going to risk being snatched up again.

“What, you wanna go back to those monsters? I’m no gentleman, but we ain’t gonna hurt you. Took you outta that hellhole, didn’t we?”

You shake your head, half afraid to tell him the truth, wishing he would just leave so you could dart out of the truck and run back home. Tears blur your eyes and you bury your head into your arms, wondering if he would be so nice if he knew that you were one of the monsters too.

“I’m fine here,” you stutter out, pressing harder against the broken door. “Please go away.”

There’s quiet for a moment, but you know he isn’t gone, not when you haven’t heard any footsteps.

“Look, now,” you hear him say, a soft, low voice that only makes the tears come faster. “We’re gonna keep you safe, you don’t need to cry. Whatever those bad people did to you, it ain’t gonna happen again.”

You shake your head again, smearing tears into your skin as you try to wipe them away. He didn’t understand and you couldn’t make him understand, not without risking your own safety. They had thought they were rescuing you, dragging you out of the bloody house and away from the animals who kept you there. If they had simply left, sneaking out at night when the family was at rest, perhaps no one would have noticed until the morning, but stopping to take you with them had almost certainly ruined any chance they had of getting away.

Rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands, you sniffle and pant, looking at him with red rimmed eyes. His expression matches his voice, a gentle look on his lined face, and you struggle to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, holding your knees to your chest. “I really am.”

You see the confusion on his face, but can’t bring yourself to say anything more. He tries again, urging you gently to leave the truck, but you hide your face and stay quiet.

A rumble, distant and low, edges into your hearing. You jump, suddenly sitting up straight and looking out the window, over the flat pastures to where you knew the house was. The man startles too, quieting as he watches you.

The saw is your first thought, heart beating wildly, but it takes you only a second to realize that this droning hum is not the faint roar of the chainsaw. A flash of light, brief but unmistakable, shines from somewhere further down the road, filtering through the trees. Both you and the man seem to come to the same conclusion at once, eyes meeting through the broken window.

“Get out!”

The man screams the command now, throwing open the door and half crawling in to reach you. You flail under his hand, kicking your legs as he grabs for you, but a blinding flash of light hits the cab of the truck and you know it’s too late.

A hand locks around your ankle, dragging you over the seats and out the door, landing in a heap on the asphalt. You feel the gravel and dirt dig into your knees and palms when you land, coughing in the cloud of dust that had been stirred up. The collar of your dress rips when he tries to pull you up by the shoulders, but you’re too breathless to fight him as he struggles to pull you away.

The cruiser is already coming to a harsh stop in front of you, headlights blinding in the darkness, but the man still tries, one hand gripping your ruined collar and the other picking you up at the waist. You’re dead weight, stunned and gasping, halfheartedly trying to block the light in front of you with your hands.

A door opens, slamming closed just a moment later and two sets of footsteps come towards you. The man gives up on his retreat, letting you slump back to the ground at his feet, panting as he slows to a stop. Your legs shake under you, too wobbly to keep yourself upright.

“Let the girl go!”

You hear Hoyt’s voice, but it’s Thomas that you see, stepping between the headlights with something heavy in his hands - not the saw, but something big and blunt, one of the tools he kept in the basement or something grabbed quickly from the barn. He’s only a towering outline against the light, but you can see the anger in him, shoulders tensed and heaving with rage, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his weapon.

“Tommy!”

Your voice is hoarse, but you push the words out anyways, stretching your arms out towards him. The headlights blur your vision, but you hear him, closing the distance in only a few steps, until one big hand is closed around your arm. He yanks you up, pulling you roughly to your feet and then into his chest. An arm around your shoulders keeps you close, his face pressed into the mess of your hair as he whines and grunts, and you have to cling to the front of his shirt to keep on your feet.

“Honey, you alright?”

You nod fervently, hoping that Hoyt can see you because you don’t think you could manage a spoken answer. A few gasping breaths steady you, but it’s not enough to calm the beating of your heart.

“You better not have touched a hair on her head,” Hoyt calls to the man. “‘Cause I don’t think Tommy is too happy with you tryin’ to run off with his girl like you did.”

Thomas jerks his head up at that, snarling from behind the mask, and you can see the man’s whole body flinch backwards.

“Fuck you.”

His words are defiant, but they’re said with a tired sigh, coming out in a deflated huff. Hoyt laughs and you hear the metallic click of a gun being readied.

“Make you a deal,” he offers, coming around the car to stand in the light. “You tell me where that other fucker went and I’ll make it quick, alright?”

The gun shines in the headlights, held outstretched in his hand, and you feel your stomach drop.

“I promise you, it’s a better deal than you’ll get from Tommy.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #414

“mirror, mirror, tell me who you see  /  am i you or me?  /  i can never remember”

How many people have you kissed? Four. Ever kissed someone you weren’t dating at the time? No. Of the people you’ve kissed, how many do you regret kissing? Two. Ever been kissed by a legal adult when you were a minor (or vise-versa)? Yeah, with Jason, but it was only a two-year difference. Ever kissed someone on a dare/as part of a game? No. Where’s the most public place you’ve ever made out with someone? Nowhere public. I wouldn't do that. Can you snowboard? Never tried. Have you ever made a mixed cd for someone? No. Do you use recycle bins at your house? Yes. Do you own more than one bathing suit? No. Have you ever kissed someone who smokes weed? Jason did occasionally with his best friend, but he stopped for me. How are you right this second? I'm all right. Last night was pretty rough, so I'm just glad that's over. My body is just tired. Is there anything you disliked about your last birthday? Honestly, I barely remember what I did on my last birthday. I just remember it was fine. Oh wait, actually, on the way home from going out to eat, we had to call the cops while behind a car whose driver was obviously drunk or high OFF. HIS. ASS. He was swerving like crazy and almost hit SO many cars. I was having an absolute panic attack. I pray to God that guy was more than just found and fined. Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? No, unless you count surveys, I guess. What were you like a year ago? I was the unhappily the same. Is someone on your mind right now? Fucking always. Having a warm dream about him last night didn't help. Who was the last person you sat next to? My mom. What do you currently hear right now? My screen is split so I can watch John Wolfe play some indie horror games. What’s something you need to go shopping for? I need to get new bras baaaadly because I'm tired of none fitting properly. What’s the last thing you ate? I had a donut 'cuz Mom stopped at Dunkin' for coffee. Do/did you do good in school? I did up to college. Then I just... sucked. Do you always get along with your siblings? I mean I don't see/talk to them every day or anything, not even very regularly even, but we generally get along fine now as adults. We disagree about shit for sure, but keep our mouths shut. Or probably talk to Mom about it while I'm not present. I don't even think they like me half of the time. Are you frustrated with anything? So much. Why did you fall for the last person romantically? There were/are a lot of factors. Just she as a person is phenomenal. What’s your younger sibling’s name? Nicole. Can you speak in a different language conversationally; if so, which language? A tiny bit of German. Do you ever fear of falling asleep? With my nightmares, I used to dread it. Now, thankfully, my APAP mask has prevented them from happening, mostly; I've only had two in the month that I've had it, and I ordinarily had them every single night. Do you have an idea of what kind of profession you’d like to have? I do, but I honestly doubt I'm going to succeed in even making it a part-time job by this damn point. Which beach would you say is your favorite? I don't have a favorite. I don't even like the beach very much. What kind of cookie is your favorite? Chocolate chip. Have you ever had a churro? Yes. Too crunchy and ridiculously sweet, not a fan. Truth be told, are you more into looks or personalities the most? A good personality beats good looks any day. How is/was your chemistry class in high school? I actually didn't take chemistry; my graduating year, physical science was offered as the alternative, which I took. How does alcohol affect you? I get hot, and my face flushes badly. It'll make me more talkative. Have you ever tried lemon brownies? No, and I don't want to. I don't like lemon-flavored stuff like that. What was the last type of meat you ate? Beef. Have you taken any medication today? I have prescriptions I take every day. Have you ever watched Parks and Recreation? I've seen some of it at Sara's house. What is your favourite kind of pasta? Just spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, really. I've been on a major chicken pesto kick lately, though. Have you set an alarm today? No. Think of a random person, and give them a message here, no names: Literally just the chance to say "I'm sorry" would be fucking amazing. Just two fucking words. What if there were two of you? Would the world be in trouble? No. That'd be a waste of space, though. Not like I'm contributing much to society. Would you prefer an ice cream sundae or an ice cream cone? I dunno man, it depends on my mood and what I want in the moment. Do you watch movies with the subtitles on? No; I find it to be distracting. Is the last person you kissed yours? I hate this saying. She's her own person that belongs to nobody but herself. But to just go along with it and answer the question, no, we're not together. Do you think you will be married by the time you are 25? Welp, I'm halfway through 25, so. Do you have siblings over the age of 21? All of my siblings are. Do you have a hard time admitting you’re wrong? No. Especially as I've aged, I'd say I'm pretty quick to accept if I've fucked up. Who has the ability to hurt you the most emotionally? Jason will probably always have that power, even if he's not in my life. Would you ever be a stripper? God no, nobody wants to see that. What are your plans for tomorrow? Just get through the day, man. Do you owe anybody money? No. How would your parents describe you? Reserved, shy, a deep thinker, animal lover, uhhhh... What is the most you have ever weighed? Let's not. Would you ever work at McDonald's? No. I'm never working in food service. If you aren't already, would you go vegetarian or vegan? I want to be a vegetarian and being a vegan would be perfectly ideal for me, but I really don't think I can healthily accomplish either. I am FAR too picky to where I'd almost definitely become malnourished. To make it even worse I absolutely cannot "suck it up" if I don't like a food, so it's not like I could choke down stuff I don't like. Not to mention I'd be pretty sad without any yummy food to look forward to, aha. Coolest person you've ever met? Uhhhh I don't know. Do you wear boxers? No. Girls, how old were you when you first learned how to put in a tampon? I don't remember. Would you ever attend a gay pride parade or festival? I would absolutely love to. Did you see Paranormal Activity 2? I think I've seen all of the movies. I liked them, given paranormal horror films are probably my fave. What would you do if an old man grabbed your ass? Kick him in the fucking balls so goddamn fast and probably slap him across the face at the same time. Probably cry later from feeling violated and having my fear of men aggravated. Do you like moustaches? It depends on the person, but I'd say I generally prefer an attached beard and a mustache versus JUST a mustache. Could you hack into someone's computer if you tried hard enough? No. I have no idea how to do that. Have you ever smoked a cigar? No. Do you go out on Black Friday? Hell no. NOT worth fighting people for deals. Do you have curtains in your bedroom? No; I have those blinds that you can close upwards or downwards. Did you like the Spice Girls when you were little? Yeah, I did. Can you sing the entire Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song? I think I can. Do you get heartburn? I'm literally on an antacid prescription, or else I get insane heartburn every day. Are you scared of elevators? To a moderate degree, yes. I'm terrified of it getting stuck. Have you ever seen a dead body in person? Yes, at an open-casket wake. Have you ever seen The Goonies? I have. If you're white, do you ever wish you were black? Or vice versa? I'm fine being Caucasian, but ultimately don't care. Do you bake cookies all the time around Christmas? I don't bake. Do you like your hair pulled? Uhhh... I'm assuming you mean this in a suggestive context, in which case no. Never pull my hair, actually. What kind of jeans do you like? Ripped skinny jeans. What do you think is overrated? Who really cares. Let people enjoy what they enjoy. And what are your goals for the remainder of this year? Lose lots of weight, find a job, get back into old hobbies and develop new ones... Name a city that starts with A in your state/province etc. Asheboro. Name a landmark that starts with M in your state/province etc. I'm blanking right now. When was the last time you gave a horse a carrot? Been years. I think I've only done that once, and I can't even remember where it was. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. How many seasons is your favorite TV show in so far? MM was just revived for its fifth season! :') Where would you most like to go in your state, etc. that you haven’t been? NC actually has this really old Wizard of Oz theme park! It's on the other end of the state, though, and NC is one wiiiiiide state. What was the last bird you saw? A robin, I think. What color was the last thing you drank? Green. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Besides insects, no. Well wait, scratch that, once or twice we had a small mice problem when we lived in the woods. What’s the name of the bookstores in your city? The only one I know off the top of my head is Books-a-Million. Where do your parents live? I live with my mom, and Dad lives in the same city as us. Have you ever seen or touched an iceberg? No, but that would be cool. What colour are your father’s eyes? Brown. If your ex turned up on your doorstep now, with nowhere else to go, would you let him/her stay? Well one, this isn't my house, so I can't make that decision. My mom being who she is though, she'd let pretty much anyone stay the night. If it was Sara, Mom would let her stay as long as she needed. The last time you cried, was it connected with someone of the opposite sex? Ugh, yes. My PTSD was BAD last night. Delicious warm brownies or a giant cookie? I'll take the brownie. Have you visited a haunted building or area before? No, but damn I'd love to. Have you been to North Carolina? Ayyyyeeeee that's my home.

[littlewickedwiccan]

For The Workers

Chapter 3 

Alfie x Reader

Warning: Swearing, obvs

Authors note: We finally get some one on one time with Alfie. Enjoy! x  

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

Tags: @itsjusttaralove​ @advictedtohim​

Today is the first day you are stepping foot into the Camden warehouse as a worker rather than as an uninvited visitor. You’d not slept much the night before, you have a current of electricity running through your body and a knot forming in your stomach. You feel oddly giddy about spending the whole day in the warehouse and you just can’t shake yourself out of it. 

You’d been assured by Tommy before you left Birmingham, that there would always be a Peaky keeping an eye on you. Although it was meant to make you feel safer, it just made you very aware of all the eyes that were already being redirected in your direction.  

As you made your way through the large oak door frame, Ollie’s youthful face greeted you at the door. Out of all the men you’d come across in this place, he seemed the least threatening.  

“Welcome back. Alfie sent me to come show you to your office. It’s only small, but for the work you’ll be doing, it should be alright.”

Ollie gets straight to the point and starts leading you down the red brick corridors, past the workers that have already started on the day's tasks. You have to squeeze through men lugging heavy barrels on their sweat soaked backs, their caps pulled down over their tired eyes. You can feel the men stealing glances at you as you pass and you instinctively pull your ankle length coat closer around you.  

“This here’s Alfie’s office” Ollie pointed to the room you’d sat outside of that first time you’d visited with Tommy. The door was wide open and you could now see Alfie’s big brown desk and cluttered shelves looming in the shadowy space.   

“When the door’s open, feel free to pop your head in. If it’s closed, it’s best to steer clear.” Before you have time to get a better view inside, he carries on walking, making his way just a little further down the corridor and stopping at a room that only just manages to fit a small desk, a filing cabinet and a battered looking floor lamp.

“Cosy” you say as you glance inside at the sorry looking ‘office’, worrying about the lack of natural light and how humid the air feels in your lungs. 

“Well, feel free to make yourself at home. There’s a pile of invoices that need checking there on the desk to get you started. If you need anything, just give me a shout, I’m always around somewhere.” With that, Ollie flashes you a sheepish smile before he turns on his heel and strides back the way you came. 

Slowly, you step into your new office, placing your bag on the desk next to the papers and looking around at the flaking paint on the walls. There’s dust covering every surface and the light in the corner seems to dim in brightness every now and again, as if it doesn’t have the strength to carry on lighting the endlessly dull room. 

There wasn’t a huge pile of work to look at, so you decide you have a bit of time to take a walk around the warehouse, to get the lay of the land. 

You start to make your way deeper into the belly of the building. There’s not much to look at, mostly barrels stacked on more barrels. Every now and again you come across a worker hidden in the dark, sweeping, lifting or moving trolleys back and forth.

Before long, you reach some large double doors. They’re open just a crack and you can faintly make out a shadowy figure sitting in the almost empty room. You move in closer to get a better look and reach out a delicate hand, placing it on the heavy wooden door and push it open with a soft creak. 

Finally, the hunched figure in the middle of the room comes into view, it’s Alfie, sat contemplatively in a rickety wooden chair, his large hands in his lap and his eyes closed. You falter for a second, wondering if you should just leave him to it, but just as you are about to turn and head back, he acknowledges your presence. 

“My little cousin was born blind...”     

The sound of his deep voice cutting through the silence makes you jump.

“As a result, I now donate a considerable sum of money to a charity, which gives dogs with eyes to blind Jews.” He shifts slightly in his chair making it squeak in protest under his hulking figure. 

“The chairman of the board recommends that those of us who were blessed with the gift of sight, spend at least half an hour a day with our eyes closed so that we may better understand the darkness, and also, to increase our donations and that.”

You inch closer, moving to stand directly in front of him. You can see his face clearly now, he’s actually quite handsome considering he first appears a bit rough around the edges. His beard is golden and neatly trimmed, with a thin white scar cutting through the right hand side of his face and his hair is uncombed and slicked down with sweat. 

There’s a faint smell of rum, fire and freshly baked bread coming off him in waves. It makes you feel unnervingly calm and starts to tease away the knots that had previously sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help but think about those exotic plants you’d read about, that draw their prey in with delicious smells, only to clamp down around them when they were close enough and swallow them whole.  

“What time is it?”

You snap out of your thoughts and glance around the room looking for a clock, but there was nothing but bricks and barrels. 

“I’ve no idea, I think it’s...” 

As you reply, you watch as his hand lightly pulls on a thin silver chain and a pocket watch pops out of the front flap of his waistcoat. He brushes his coarse fingertips lightly over the smooth steel of the antique trinket, before turning it to face the direction of your voice. 

“Ere you go, what time is it?”

You step a little closer and bend your head low to read the hands. 

“Twenty-five past nine” 

“Right, five minutes left. What can I help you with love? Are you lost? Did Ollie show you your little office?” 

You roll your eyes at Alfie’s description of your work space. The use of the word ‘little’ makes it sound like you are a child playing worker while the grown ups do the real work in the ‘big boy’ offices. 

“Actually I was just having a look around when I stumbled on your little meditation session” You make sure to stress the word ‘little’, passive aggression is your strong suit. He seems to ignore it and continue as though you’d said nothing at all and this just irks you even further.

“I think there’s another chair over there. Go have a look and take a seat.” 

You follow the direction of his flippant hand gesture and see the chair in question, propped up against the wall. Dragging it over screeching the legs on the concrete floor, you set it down a small distance in front of Alfie and take your place. 

“I like to make sure to spend these moments thinking about the bigger things… it also means I get a bit of peace and quiet from people asking me stupid fucking questions. Do you believe in god?”

The question seemed to come out of the blue and it takes you a second to process what he just said. 

“...No Mr Solomons, I don’t. It’s a hard concept to grasp when you’re involved in this kind of life, surrounded by these kinds of people.”

“Call me Alfie. Well I don’t blame you, but I’m telling you Y/N, believing in something bigger than yourself can be a saviour in the darkest of times. How long have I got left?”

You notice he doesn’t lift the watch up for you like the last time, the silver timepiece just sits loosely in his open palm lying on his lap. Hesitantly you reach forward and carefully lift the watch up to face you. He doesn’t flinch at your presence or the weight of the watch being lifted from his hand, as if he had hoped you would close the distance on your own terms.  

“Twenty-eight past nine, two minutes left.” You lean forward again placing the watch back where you found it, again he doesn’t move. 

“I never said I didn’t believe in something bigger than myself Mr Solom… Alfie, I just don’t like the idea that there is a man up in the clouds watching my every move. I like to be in control of my own decisions, of my own life and the direction I take it.” 

“Hmmm. How’d you end up ‘ere then? Did you make your own decisions this time around? How’s that workin out for you?”

He had you there, you in fact did not make the final decision to come here, it had been made for you… by a man who apparently had more control over your life than you had originally thought. Of course you couldn’t admit this to Alfie. 

“Actually I did make the decision to come here. I needed a change of scenery, so here I am. Is that a problem for you Mr Solomons?”

“Not at all love. But forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced of your exhilaration at being ‘ere with us. Look let’s stop fuckin about and address the elephant in the room, I don’t want to have to keep an eye on you every second you're here...” 

Alfie leans forward in his chair, his eyes still tightly shut, elbows resting on the dirty linen of his knees and clasping his hands in front of him, his many bracelets jangling together as he did. You didn’t feel yourself do it, but you realise you’ve started to lean back in your chair. 

“As a businessman, I get Tommy Shelby’s reasoning behind your presence here I really do, but as someone that is not an absolute fucking idiot, I am fully aware that this is not a place for a woman of your… standing.”

It was like he’d said a code word that set your blood boiling. You hated people telling you where you were and weren’t meant to be. It was like you were naive and had no idea the dangers that lay around every corner for someone like you. You were a woman that had been through a lot, been a part of many different societies and social classes. You were more than aware of what could happen if you took a wrong turn or said the wrong thing in front of these types of men. 

“Forgive me Alfie...” you stressed his name between gritted teeth.

“But I’m perfectly aware of the environment I find myself in. Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need you to watch me like a child.” 

You try to stay conscious of the tone and volume of your voice. It wouldn’t be a good idea to start cussing out your gangster boss on your first day. 

“Hmmm. What time is it?” This time he showed you the watch again as he leaned back in his chair, creating more distance between you and causing you to have to scootch forward on your seat to be able to see the time clearly. To your surprise, Alfie hands you the watch to hold.

“You’ve got 10, 9, 8...” 

As you count down, you notice the watch chain start to release tension. Alfie had started to move gradually towards you once again. You try to ignore the warmth of his body getting closer and closer. 

“7, 6, 5, 4...” 

He was so close now you can feel the light caress of his breath on your face. Your brain is telling you to move back a bit, but your body refuses to budge. 

“3,2,1”

Right on cue Alfie opens his dark blue eyes and you feel like your body has turned to stone right there in that chipped wooden chair.  

“Right then… hello”

[gildersbane]

The Gilder’s Bane

“ Portraits “ 

Boots, loose around the ankles from their laces removed to  make a lasso, fell upon stone floors as Princess Petra marched down the corridors. Morning sunlight dipped in through dusty glass in arched windows. Lighting her path as she journeyed past locked doors and prying eyes toward the nursery. A place she’d not been since she was a baby, but which was now the home of a baby sister.

A baby sister who picked a truly terrible time to decide to join them. 

They weren’t expecting her for another couple weeks. Maybe if they had been allowed that kind of time, this whole mess would have blown over. Maybe without a new baby in the home and a mother recovering from labor, everyone wouldn’t be on high alert all the time. This would have been a problem, obviously, but they might have actually let it go after a couple days. 

But it wasn’t as if they could just put her back. She was here now and everyone was going to have to get used to it. And Petra… Petra was going to have to start setting a “good example”. Whatever that meant.  She liked to think that she was setting a fine example as she was. 

Steps came to a stop outside the cracked nursery door. Petra pushed it open the rest of the way and peered into the shadows. Inside it was dimly lit, with only a bit of light slipping through the sheer white curtain over the window. It was warm inside from the morning sun beating against the castle but the sleeping little one in the antique bassinet. Looking at this old, plush piece of furniture, the elder princess couldn’t imagine a time when she was ever tiny enough to fit inside it. It sat beneath a lovely canopy of pink cloth that draped around it. Providing a little fortress for the child to rest without light from the outside world slipping in.  For now, though, those drapings were withdrawn, as Meliora had just been in here with her daughter. Liking sitting with her in the leather armchair that sat just beside it within the canopy.

The little girl’s eyes didn’t open as Petra approached and looked down at her. She was swaddled in a plush blanket and peacefully sleeping the morning away without a care in the world. Despite the noise from the castle staff hurrying from one wing to another, the construction happening up on the roof and the barking of castle dogs beyond the window in the courtyard below. She didn’t stir. For however much longer that would last before she’d wake and begin to cry again for food or clean dressings or attention. It was a miracle she was able to stay quiet long enough for the nursemaid to step out and fetch something.

Petra leaned against the edge of the bassinet carefully. Looking down at the itty bitty princess as she lay. Her baby soft, warm brown skin. The tuft of dark, fluffy hair on just the very top of her head. She looked more like a doll than a little human.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Petra whispered as she stepped back from the child to let her have her rest. 

Clearly the currently nameless infant wasn’t in dire need of care. She was fine unattended before Petra showed up, surely she’d be fine for another few minutes while Petra took a walk to clear her head. Luckily she knew just the place for it that happened to be right down the hall. So Petra slipped out of the nursery without a sound, leaving the door ajar so she could hear her sister if she started to cry. A moment later she was walking further down the hall in a direction away from where she’d find anyone else in her family.

This path led Petra to one of the more prestigious halls in the entire castle. Down the hall, down a short flight of stairs and around a corner, she found the portrait hall. A place where portraits of every ruler of Argustead hung along with some of their treasured items. Alongside at least a dozen portraits of people Petra wasn’t certain the identities of. But it was the rulers who had the biggest and most ornate frames. 

Aside from the princess and her ancestors this hall was vacant. Everyone had much more important business elsewhere. With her head hung, Petra walked past more than a handful of her ancestors. Her paternal grandparents frowning down at the world in oil paint. A sour looking pair neither Lucien or Petra had ever met. Their parents beside them, looking even more uptight with ruffled collars that looked as if they would soon be swallowed whole. An empty space made to accommodate the portrait that would someday hang for King Lucien- The latest in a long line of great men. And beside that space…

“Hi, Dad.” 

Petra’s voice broke the silence that filled the hall with a solemn tone. Her eyes didn’t lift from the floor at first to look at him. But when she did, her chest felt tight and her shoulders heavy. Stoic eyes the same color as her own stared out at the world, seeming to follow her no matter where she stood. His expression was still and lacking any emotion but Petra didn’t mind. It was just good to see him again. King Samuel, late king of Argustead, stood poised with his head high. In his grasp he held his trusty wooden shield. He wore a deep red velvet suit with the silver trim like his own parents wore. Meliora had always used to tease him about looking like a tomato with those red clothes and auburn hair on his stocky body. Over the years he’d grown out the thick ginger beard that covered the lower half of his face in this portrait. It was painted only a couple years ago. Before anyone would have ever considered that the worst could happen. 

Below the portrait, hanging on the wall at eye level was an old, worn shield of wood. The one in the portrait but with a few more years and a few more battles added to its life. It’s circular shape had been broken by a large wedge of it having been hacked out by a powerful axe blow. The bronze plate at its center was scratched and dented but sturdy. Damaged as it was, it wouldn’t be of any use in a battle these days. But it had served Samuel well in his life, up until the very end. And when tragedy struck, it was with its king until the bitter end. Meliora had given her blessing to put the shield on display. To immortalize her late husband’s bravery and honor his memory.

‘Honor his memory’...

With a hefty sigh, the princess turned her back to the wall and sank onto the floor. She dropped her head back against the cold stone and closed her eyes tightly. She could feel the frustration rising again just thinking about everything that had happened in the last few weeks. Everyone partying at the Coronation like it was just another celebration, everyone telling her to stop acting the ways she’s always been encouraged to act, hammering in how things would need to be different now.

“How am I supposed to honor your memory if everyone wants to change everything you left behind?”

Petra knew there wouldn’t be an answer, but she needed to ask somebody. Nobody else seemed to understand why she couldn’t just let the past go. Why she didn’t want to stop doing the things he’d taught her to do. 

When she was little, Samuel always had an adventure for her. He knew that she’d never have the same esteem as Lucien since she was the second born child to the second queen… So he’d tried his best to give her as much freedom as he could give. As much room to forge her own path as their kingdom could allow. When he realized how much she loved to watch the guards training, he realized that she wasn’t going to be the same kind of reserved and quiet child her brother had been. He asked the captain to let Petra join the younger class of future soldiers. She trained along with the future squires and young hopefuls who longed for the days when they could be a brave knight for the kingdom. Defending their furthest borders from all manner of fiend and foe. It wasn’t the life most kings wanted for their daughters, but Samuel wasn’t blind as they were to what his children needed. 

Petra could still remember the swell of joy when she was given the family armor. It wasn’t a full suit, it hadn’t been as long as it was in the royal family’s possession. It had been refitted generations ago to fit a smaller body than the broad shouldered men of their family. It was a perfect fit for Petra. She wore that silver armor as often as she could get away with it. Sometimes even wearing the greaves under her gowns at formal events. She only got in trouble for it a couple of times. 

But even that had changed. All because of that sword. The moment she discovered it in that ancient forge, it drastically altered her life. In ways that she still didn’t fully understand. But it was special. Petra could feel it. A smoke creature no one could identify had come out of nowhere to attack her for it. It was a mystery that needed to be solved and nobody but her was even trying. She was certain that if she just went back up to that forge she could find clues. Maybe Petra could learn who put the sword there for her to find it. And maybe figure out why she was having such strange dreams. But Lucien had forbidden her from going back up the mountain. In fact, after her last fight, he’d locked her in the castle indefinitely. 

True. It was the worst Petra had ever been beaten in a fight… But the injuries were mostly superficial and wouldn’t even leave scars. Everyone was making a big deal out of the wrong things. She was okay. They needed to find out what was going on.

Why wasn’t anyone on Petra’s side in this?!

“Your highness?”

Her eyes opened with a start and the princess looked around the previously empty hall. The portraits still stared lifelessly out at each other on both sides. The only People in the hall were Petra and…. Whoever the guy at the end of it was. 

He didn’t look much older than her. A year or two, tops. He had a long, rounded face Petra may have seen around the castle a few times, but never paid close attention to. Maybe down on the lower floors by the dungeons. Where the court alchemists and royally appointed smart people worked. But this guy didn’t look like he was one of those people. He didn’t look aged or bearded enough for that. Plus he still had a full head of black hair divided into many thick locks atop his head. A lot of those old guys downstairs had long since lost their hair to the years.

He also wasn’t dressed nearly as elegantly as the court mages in their flowing robes. This guy’s clothes looked second hand and well worn. With visible repairs made to the seams of his green overcoat. 

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here.” Petra pointed out, gesturing to the portrait over her head. 

The boy didn’t seem deterred. In fact he only smiled and walked closer before stopping a couple yards back and bending at the waist to bow. 

“Your highness, I was hoping for just a few minutes of your time.” He said, lifting his head to peak up at her. “I heard whispers- gossip really. I had to find out for myself if it was true. Did you truly fight a … monster?”

A loud groan rumbled from the princess’ chest as she hauled herself up onto her feet, “What? Have you come to tell me I’m crazy too? That I should stop running into trouble? Or that it’s my own fault that some big purple smoke monster showed up and attacked me and tried to take MY magic sword?”

The stranger popped up from his bow, eyes wide and sparkling with delight at her words. His face split into a wide grin and his hands dove into the satchel he wore draped across his body. He pulled a roll of wrinkled parchment and a quill out and took a few steps more toward Petra.

“Crazy? It sounds exciting! In fact, I was hoping that you would allow me to be the one to document your account of the events.” 

This was definitely a surprise to Petra. This guy was the first to volunteer to listen to her.

“Who are you?” She asked, her brow furrowing curiously as she looked him over, “Why do you want my account? Hasn’t the king already given everyone the official story?”

Petra nearly rolled her eyes. Yes. Lucien’s story had, of course, been that the assault on her had been an isolated incident and not a reason for panic. That the one responsible would soon be brought to justice and that their peace wouldn’t be disturbed. Petra wondered if anyone actually believed it. 

With a sheepish smile, the young man bowed his head once again. “My name is Micha Fontaine. I’m an apprentice to the royal archivist. Mostly I help keep our scrolls organized and make sure the old books get dusted. But I’m hoping to change that.”

He righted himself and clutched his paper to his chest with purpose, his eyes full of resolve.

“Can I speak my mind, your highness?” Micha asked, his tone hopeful but careful. Petra gave a shrugging nod. She figured he was already doing that… “With all due respect to his majesty, I don’t think his story was… enough. The people want details. They want a mystery and they want to see it solved.”

Already Petra could see that she liked where this was going. 

He continued, his voice lifting enthusiastically. “I want to give the world a story they’ll never forget. Mystery, action, magic-!”

As he carried on, Petra’s ears picked up on something else in the castle. A different sound she couldn’t quite make out. A faint, distant droning. 

“If what I heard is true, your story of what happened three days ago could be just what I need.”

Petra raised a hand, trying to quietly shush the boy as his bright voice completely overpowered her hearing. That sound was still going. Shifting and changing in pitch somewhere within the castle. But what it was exactly she couldn’t tell with Micha talking over it.

“If I get your first hand account of your experiences then I could finally prove myself and move up in the world.” He blinked, watching the princess waving her hands to try and quiet him. “.... What are you doing?”

“Stop talking.” She whispered, eyes darting around the corridor, trying to discern what she was hearing and where it was coming from. 

The droning continued in an unbroken rhythm from somewhere else in the castle but here. It was an unfamiliar tone to someone who had spent every day within these castle walls. Petra had spent her entire life getting used to every voice, every creak and every groan these old walls held. But this was entirely new. It was also markedly nothing like the pounding of the construction. And with the castle locked down, it was very unlikely that they had a visitor. 

Not a welcome one anyway. 

One look at Micha’s face and Petra could see that he also heard it and was equally disturbed. Despite the fact that they’d never met, it was clear that the boy had been around long enough to know when something didn’t belong. As the princess took a few steps back down the hall the way she’d come, a chill rocked Petra to her bones. The humming was coming from…

Upstairs… The Nursery!

Petra gasped, her eyes snapping over to where Micha stood. “Come with me. Now!”

This apprentice archiver was not exactly the ideal backup Petra would have wanted when running into a potential danger. But she was unarmed and he was taller than her. He might at least tilt the odds in her favor if something truly bad was happening upstairs. 

Without pausing to explain or wait for him, Petra took off in a full sprint toward the stairs. She stumbled in her loosened boots but didn’t let that stop her. 

She never should have left her sister alone. She’d told her mother that she’d be there taking care of her. If something happened to her because she wandered off, it would be all her fault! Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe she was being reckless.

Slipping and sliding on smooth stone floors Petra, with Micha quick on her heels and stuffing his belongings back in his satchel, came upon the nursery door she’d foolishly left open. It was now a bit more ajar than she’d left. Confirming that someone had indeed come to this room since she left. She gave a glance back at Micha and signalled for him to follow her lead as she approached. And now that they were coming up on the room the sound they had both heard was clear as day.

It was a voice. Deep, smooth and melodic. A man’s voice by the sound of it. It held a calm but eerie energy with every moment it continued. It was very different from the booming, bone rattling roars of the monster that Petra had fought. This had to be someone else. Whoever this voice belonged to, they seemed to be… Humming. There was no mistaking it, though. It was not a voice Petra knew. And if she didn’t know them, they had no business with her baby sister. 

Casting out any doubts and any fears she might have, Petra threw open the door and entered the nursery, ready to confront this mystery man. When she entered, she saw the canopy curtains around the bassinet drawn closed, though the light from the window shined through them. It was warmer than it had been when she was last in the room. But a cold stab of horror still ran through Petra as she took in the dark silhouette of a figure sitting within the pink curtains. Taller than anyone Petra had known but unmistakably shaped like a person. A person sitting in the nursery of a three day old child, notably cradling something to their chest in the shadows. 

With Micha hovering in the doorway, Petra advanced. In a few quick strides she crossed the room and reached for the curtains to pull them open. When she ripped the curtains back, there was nothing that could prepare her for what she saw within.

Petra might have expected someone foolish enough to invade a castle and attack a child to be dressed like some sort of bandit or thug. But this person- or whatever they were, was dressed too well to be either. He wore a fine black and cream colored suit jacket with gold trimmings and embroidery around the lapels, cuffs and closed waist. His crossed legs were covered in what the princess could only assume were tall riding boots for they were all black and came up well beyond his knees. Making his legs appear even longer than they already seemed to be. But his clothes weren’t his strangest feature. 

He was… Tall. Nearly at eye level with Petra even while seated. And he was grey. Blue-grey like lead or steel and with nearly the same metallic sheen where the light struck him just right. His eyes, kept lowered even as Petra barged in on whatever mischief he might have been up to, were sunken and dark. If there were sclera in his eyes, there was no shine or whiteness in them. Only pools of darkness around two gold irises dotted with blue pupils. He almost looked like a statue sitting in Meliora’s chair. If not for the fact that when Petra looked to his grey hands, she saw him gently holding the baby princess’ tiny hand. While his other arm held the fragile baby close to his body and very out of Petra’s reach. It was worth noting that the infant was, as of yet, unharmed.

And then… there was his hair. Shimmering golden waves- literally- pouring from his scalp. Looking far more like molten metal than strands of hair, it seemed to flow away from his head and stop  of its own accord around his shoulders. Petra now wondered if the added warmth in the room was coming from him. 

This person- This creature was unlike anyone or anything Petra had seen before. He certainly wasn’t the same as that smoke creature. But she had no reason to believe he wasn’t just as malicious.

“Ah.. Hello, Princess.”

That deep voice cut through the silence, knocking Petra from her confused, stunned stupor. She’d been staring and trying to process what she was seeing for so many seconds that she was startled. She tightened her jaw and fixed the mysterious figure with a hard glare as she watched those hollow eyes slowly raise and settle on her. The sight brought abrupt and frightening memories of her dream before she’d awoken on the beach and left her with a powerful and looming sense of dread. The figure didn’t stand up. Didn’t make a move toward her. He only pulled back his thin lips into an unsettlingly calm smile.

“You and I have business to discuss...”

[drethanramslay]

95 & 98 for Ethan/MC pls 🥺

Thanks for the prompt Anon

You can find the prompt list here.

Taglist: @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @junggoku @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @ethanramseysgirl (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list 😊)

Warning: Long(I tried to put the keep reading tag but my damn wifi won't let me 😭), Angst and slight swearing

sorry if there are any mistakes :)

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Since that bitch of a governor had trolled them and everything had gone down south, the board decided to host a charity event.

According to Leah, a charity event back home would have been a banquet hall with a Dropbox and a couple of very persistent people who would pester you till you would go nuts.

But here, it was... different.

There was aerobatics going on in one end of the room where the stage was. The number of turns they were making on the hula hoops made Leah dizzy. People wearing designer suits and gowns were standing and chatting. The place was decorated in a very classy way, with red carpets and all. Expensive hors d'oeuvres like caviar and champagne which costed a year of her salary was being distributed.

What in the actual fuck was going on? Leah thought as she stepped into the ballroom looking around before she laid her eyes on Ethan.

Broad shoulders, strong biceps and his beard could make any woman weak.

He was wearing a navy blue tux, with a crisp white shirt. He had opened the top two buttons of the shirt and she could get a peak of his strong chest and the stray chest hair. He had gelled his hair which made him look sharper. When his gaze landed on her, the ocean blue eyes darkened as he took in what she was wearing. The primal lust he had in his eyes made her want to get down on her knees and submit to him.

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Red.

It's the colour of sin. The colour of temptation.

It was the colour of the forbidden fruit which Eve had plucked and eaten, while the devil whispered in her ears, caressing her inner desires.

Red. She was wearing red.

Ethan was standing in the corner drinking expensive scotch when he saw her enter. He almost lost it. Leah was beautiful and sexy but that night, she looked like a temptress. Testing Ethan and his self control.

Self control can go out of the window. How am I supposed to survive this evening with her looking like that?! How was he supposed to make an incoherent thought around her when she dressed up like that?!

There were very few instances when he thought Leah looked good with clothes on rather than off. He loved Leah's naked body, which he had only seen twice but in this case, he could stare at her in that gown, forever.

She had donned a blood red gown. It had extensive embroidery in it, making it look classy. The bodice was like a second skin and emphasizing her curves. It started from the neck. A shear net covered her décolletage. It was an off shoulder, with the sleeves extending down her hands, as if they were her wings.

But that was not the problem which made Ethan a walking hard on, it was the slits that ran down from a little below her waist and extended to the ground, putting those glorious, long, caramel legs on display. He wanted nothing more to throw those legs over his shoulder and eat her out.

It was going to be a miserable evening.

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As the waltz music played, Ethan summoned the courage to ask her to dance with him.

Leah was talking to a couple of investors, squeezing them for their last penny with her intellect. He was proud of his sunshine. She really was intelligent and had great people skills.

And so beautiful..

"Dr. Garcia... May I have this dance?" Ethan asked in a husky voice. Leah excused herself before turning towards Ethan with a huge smile on her face. "You may, Dr. Ramsey."

He takes her hand and leads her to the dancefloor where the couples are swaying. Ethan placed one hand on her waist and clasped her hand with the other. Leah placed her hand on his shoulders and they swayed.

Leah's forehead was at the level of Ethan's lips and she felt a ghost kiss on her crown. "You look like a goddess sunshine. So divine and gorgeous."

Leah blushed, giving him a beaming smile. "You look utterly ravishing E. So hot."

Ethan chuckled. "Your compliments always amuse me."

Their eyes met. Cool blue with warm brown, complementing each other. As they stared into each other's eyes, glancing into each other's souls, the people and the chatter faded away.

It was just Leah and Ethan.

"Sunshine, can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” Ethan said, as his eyes were on her lips. Her teeth were chewing on the luscious red lips, making them so inviting. He wanted to bite that lip.

Leah snapped out of her daydream. "Huh? How?"

"Well... It makes me want to do unspeakable things to you... Which comprises of you, me and a empty room."

Leah's body responded wildly you his words. "So what's stopping you?"

"You know why Leah." Ethan let out a sigh, staring at her lips one last time.

Leah winced and snapped out of the warm gushing feeling. All she felt was cold fury slowly settling into her veins. She was getting exhausted.

Exhausted of this game.

Exhausted of constantly being turned down.

Masking her face to an impassive expression. Her eyes hardened, putting the walls right back, to protect herself. "Ah, yes Dr. Ramsey. I see."

Ethan was confused by the sudden coolness in her tone. He searched her eyes, trying to find something but it just felt like watching a brick wall.

"Leah I-"

The music came to an end and applause resounded through the room. Naveen, wearing a kurta with a Nehru jacket walked on the stage. "Good evening and thank you for coming to this charity event. Thank you for the generous donations."

Leah stepped out of his embrace and turned on her heel and walked. Ethan was going to follow her but Naveen called him on the stage to speak a few words.

Every instinct in him was screaming to follow the woman who had his heart but he turned the other way. As he stood on the stage, he saw a blur of red leaving.

And at that moment, he felt such emptiness in his heart, it pained him.

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Leah sat on the bench, at the edge of the parking lot, away from everyone.

She needed some damn peace and quiet where she could calm down the whirlpool of emotions rushing through her veins. She took out a cigarette and lighter she had stolen from Jackie.

Leah usually didn't smoke. But at moments of stress and intense emotions, she would light a blunt or two and try to relax. To forget.

She took a deep drag, tilted her head up and let out a long puff, feeling the nicotine burning and soothing her at the same time. The familiar feeling of smoke in her lungs calmed her down.

She sat back and saw the rings of smoke floating towards the starry sky.

"Sunshine." Ethan called out.

Goddammit can't even catch a fucking break.

"What is it Ramsey?'

"Are you okay?" He asked pleadingly.

Leah laughed and Ethan looked bewildered. She stood up, with her cigarette in her hand. "Okay? Ethan I am anything but okay! I am pissed, hurt and so angry that I feel like punching your handsome face."

"I'm sorry if I hurt yo-"

"Damn you Ethan. You have that one talent of hurting me without intending to do it. The way you talk, the way you smile, the way your pupils dilate when they see me and the way your stupid arms feel around me is like a tear in my heart. It hurts so bad but I will always come back."

"I-"

"No! You will shut your trap and listen. Ethan Ramsey, you are a blind, dumb, romantic knucklehead, who has such a beautiful way with words. The way you say 'sunshine' with your dumb voice makes me swoon sooo hard. Around you I feel at a loss of words. My thoughts scramble and I lose my grip. "

"What's wrong with that?"

"See! This is what's wrong. You are so fucking blind that you can't see me totally head over heels in love with you."

"Love? BUT- but how can you love me?! It's insane."

"Yes I'm a fucking maniac and a colossal dumbfuck to fall in love with you!! And God, I know you fucking hate the entire institute of marriage and love but did that stop me? NO! You made me fall for you and I hate you for that." Leah was panting. She threw her cigarette on the ground and stomped on it.

"Ight peace out, dude." She was about to walk away but Ethan grabbed her hand.

"Sunshine, sit down."

"No I'm not-"

"Sit your ass, the fuck down." Ethan's voice trembled.

She wasn't going to win this war. So she obliged.

He sat down, and collected his thoughts. "I'm a hard ass. I have mommy issues. I lash out. I drink when I am stressed. And I can get pissed if things are not perfect... The list goes on and on... And you still love me?" Leah nodded her head and Ethan chuckled. "Goddammit sunshine. You know, I don't believe in this love institute. But... I believe in you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She rolled her eyes and hugged herself.

"It means that I fucking lose my mind seeing men or women flirt with you. It means that when you enter the room I can't take my eyes off you. It means that I want to spend every waking moment beside you. If that's what love is....then I guess I am in love with you Leah Marianne Garcia."

Leah snapped her head towards him. "What?" She whispered out.

"I'm in love with you."

She cupped his cheeks and brought her forehead to his. "Say it again."

"I love you."

Tears streamed down her face. "I love you Ethan Jonah Ramsey. I love you so damn much."

Ethan pressed his lips to hers, tasting the tears of happiness falling down her face. It was such a tender and vulnerable moment. He never thought that he would be sitting on a bench, in a parking lot, confessing his feelings for a woman.

But Leah changed him, healed him, loved him.

He hugged her waist and kissed her harder, trying to pour all his love and affection for this beautiful woman in his arms.

"I need you..." Leah gasped.

Intertwining his fingers in hers, he pulled her towards his car, which was nearby.

He pushed her against the door and bent down to kiss her collarbone and the sweet spot under her ear. Leah let out a breathless moan and Ethan knew that they wouldn't be able to make it till his penthouse.

Opening the door of the backseat, Ethan climbed in first and grabbed Leah and placed her on his lap. Hands wandered touching and feeling. Gasps and moans filled up the small space and I love you's were exchanged.

Ethan tried to reach for the zipper of her dress, impatient to get her naked, but that just ended up in his hand getting tangled in the dress.

"Damn sunshine! Is this a dress or a trap?"

Leah laughed and tried to helped him not before banging her head on the roof of the car. "Ow." She rubbed her head and both of them burst out in peals of laughter.

Ethan kissed her lips they tried to accomodate but it was to no avail. Leah giggled and said, "Backseats aren’t as comfortable as movies make them out to be."

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[tolkien-in-beleriand]

The Chronicles of Iniamar - Chapter One

Demetria was a normal village girl, except that no one is really normal. Not anywhere and certainly not in the Buruma village. Nevertheless she did not astound more than anyone would astound just for being. She was happy, funny, full of friends, intelligent and hardworking and of course, full of opinions. The problem with opinionated people is that they almost always are convinced that they are right and forget that other people may have opinions of their own and that they too believe to be right. Haryn was another one full of opinions and Demi never liked Haryn. She found him muzzy, dull, rude, and obviously too cocky, thinking that his opinions were always the truth. But he almost never spoke and when he did it was to swear and give orders and although he was not her boss, she had to comply because she worked in Josh’s tavern and if anyone asked her for a black lapo it was her job to serve. And Haryn was always asking for a pint of something. Once she saw him chug a hornmud of pure alcolino. Maybe if he was sober for long enough he would be aware of how repugnant he was, so he prefered to be always drunk, she thought. Either way Josh liked him – even though none could understanding why – and said that he was an excellent warrior and a very wise man. Demi thought that Josh was beginning to lost his wit because of old age.

Josh was her adoptive father. Due to an accident, that each time that was told had a different nature, she had lost her parents as a baby and Josh welcomed and nourished her. She helped in the tavern since her 14th birthday, before that he never allowed her to work. He said she had to nurture her mind. So he taught her how to read, write and think, although he always said that one can not teach another to think, but could offer him the tools to do so. Some days he would tell Demi that she thought too much but she always could see behind the angry words the satisfaction in his eyes.

The love that Josh devoted to reading was only surpassed by his pupil and even though scrolls were quite rare in the village – regarded as a relic found only with merchants that passed through or in the houses of the most wealthy individuals – Josh always managed to get their hands in some new manuscript with wonderful stories about fey beings and men of the blood of dragons. These were her favourite stories but she read them all including the most boring ones, like those that explained the position of the main villages and castles. Josh said it was always good to know where things are, both to look for it or to avoid it. “No one wants to be face to face with a dragon by chance, eh?” Well, she would not mind. She always wanted to be friends with a dragon.

Her friends in the village always complained of their parents at some point and sometimes even though it could sound indifferent and wicked, Demi felt lucky that her parents died, because that led her to be raised by Josh. He was amazing, intelligent and has always been good to her. He never even mentioned the subject of marriage, for which she was very grateful, and whenever she saw those dark eyes in that kind and thick bearded face she could not help but smile and feel a sense of security. Haryn used to say that it was because she was stupid, since no one is never safe, but she do not pay attention to his pessimism and bad humor. He annoyed her in all possible ways, and yet, she knew that she could always rely on him and that he would never hurt her. Not because he liked her, no! But because of his friendship with Josh that probably compelled him to protect what he called “fire-haired brat”. Once Moren spilled a black lapo mug on Demi dress, smearing it all, and before she could recover from the surprise and accept the apology from the baker, Haryn was already going up against him. Poor Moren did not show up at the tavern for one week and only came back after she reassured him that she was not in any way angry and that Haryn would not bother him anymore.

I do not know if it was because of his angry “friend” or because of the sympathy for Josh, but everyone always treated Demi with great kindness and respect. She always thought they were luck to live in a quiet village like Buruma as she had heard uncanny stories from others neighboring villages. She had many friends there, but her two inseparable companions were Artur and Bernardo. Artur rarely entered the tavern because he was too big and as the establishment was always packed he could not fit in there if he wanted. Artie worked with the blacksmith, pulling his big gear, but at the end of his shift he always passed by the back door of the tavern and Demi always took a little break  to talk to him. In their day offs they often get together, the three of them.

Bernardo, as Demi, worked in the tavern and managed to serve customers quite well now, even though he was very clumsy in his first days of work, because he was unable to hold the trays with his big paws. However now he was the most skilled bear to serve tables in the area. Artur wanted a job in the tavern too, but the experience did not go well. At the end of the day he had broken two tables and had kicked a merchant who had hit his hips to request another lapo pint.  When Josh told him that unfortunately he could not work there, he said: “Good! You could break a leg in this tiny place”. The tavern was not so small, but Artur was the biggest horse that anyone there had ever seen. To climb the stairs to go to the house on the top floor was not an option to him either.

Bernardo was also as big as a brown bear could be, but he was skillful enough to not let his size get in the way and everybody adored him because he was an inexhaustible source of stories and anecdotes.

When the merchants come to the village, Josh closes the tavern for a whole week, since there is always all kinds of drinks in the fair’s pavilion and then Artur, Bernardo and Demi have all the freedom and money they could want.

In the second week Josh’s tavern would reopen, since the merchants loved its lapo, both black and gold, and usually in that week they profited enough for a whole year. The merchants use to be generous with their money when it came to a good drink.

The merchants passed by once every six months and stayed for two weeks in the village. There were two parties to celebrate what they called Fiftday. The opening ceremony, which took place on the day they arrived, and the closing ceremony, held on the day before they left. Anyway to Demi and her friends every day were party day and they enjoyed every day of the Fiftday. The next one would be in five weeks and they were all excited. Artur wanted a golden cloak to wear at the opening party and Demi was trying to convince him that a golden cloak would not suit his reddish and bright fur but he did not want to hear any of  that and she certainly would not give up.

Bernardo was thinking to wear a black leather vest with white fringes and Demi thought it would suit him very well. Demi would wear her white dress with red branches on the hem and on the tip off the long sleeves, with a thin red dragon leather belt as she would not want to be too much. Her hair would be braided with white leather straps because she always thought the white fall right in the middle of all the redness of her hair. She would be pretty for sure.

Demi heard that there would be more than two minstrels this time, which made her even more anxious. The minstrels were her favourite attraction, along with the storytellers. In her secret dreams she always imagined herself married to one of the kingdom’s poetic singers but she never told this to anyone. That is because they would laugh at her and she hated that. However her more urgent concern until the Fiftnight was to change Artie’s mind about the color of his cloak as she needed to sew it soon. She actually thought that she had found a way to convince him.

The day when she would put her plan into action had come. Josh was staring at her with droll and inquisitive eyes. He knew that she hated golden because the contrast with her bright red hair made her look like some kind of what she called tainted flame. And when he asked her what was a tainted flame she simply answered “It doesn’t matter what it is, what is important is that it is what I see in the brass when I wear golden outfits”. In that day she hoped the sunshine outside would accentuate the absurdity of that combination.

– Demi!          

It was Artie’s voice at the window.

– Artie! You came earlier today?

– No. What dress is that?

– It is a gift from last year’s birthday.

– I have never seen it. You are marvelous wearing it ant that is precisely the golden that I want for my cloak.

– What? Are you blind? This dress is not anything good on me because red does not suit golden!

– That is what you say. To me that is perfect, like hay and water. It is a matter of taste.

– Taste! No! Unless you want to seem ridiculous.

– I do not care about your opinion on this.

– Please, Artie. I am saying this for your sake.

– But I want a golden cloak. I have already bought the fabric. There is no turning back.

– Ok. I will make you a golden cloak, but not for the party, alright?

– Why not for the party?

– Because I want all of us wearing white.

– Bernie will not wear white.

– His vest has white fringes.

Artie was pensive.

– But I do not have white fabric and I do not want to spend more money with that.

– I’ll buy it for you.

– And you swear that I will have my golden cloak too?

– Yes, I promise.

– Can I wear it in the closure party?

– We will see.

– Alright, then. White it is.

– Thank you, Artie. You are the best. I have to go back now. See you tomorrow.

– Go, ungrateful brat. Preventing me from wearing what I want just because you do not like gold. I like, gee.

She could still hear Artie muttering as she walked away, but it didn’t matter anymore. He would not wear the golden cloak and she would not be in that hideous dress another second.

Demi’s time in the coming weeks was divided between bartending in the tavern, sewing outfits for her friends and reading a particularly annoying parchment about all the mountains north of the Great Fountain. However always she noticed that Josh was not watching she would change her lecture to a scroll about the story of the first men of the dragon blood. The fact that she never really knew if it had truly happened or were just stories made her even more fascinated. But how could it have happened? Is it possible that the dragons would submit to an agreement with men? And why should they? The scroll said to be by necessity, although it did not explain of what kind, but she read others parchments that affirmed that a man threatened the dragons. However, Demi could not believe that any threat could frighten all the dragons, especially the Great Ulmur.

With her mind busy with all these questions, Demi did not realize that she was murmuring and that Josh had come near her so she almost fell off her chair when he said:

– Ulmur could be tall and strong, but I doubt he was a mountain.

– Josh! Are you trying to scare me to death?

– No, but it will hurt you to finish the parchment about the mountains first? It is not so bad.

– But it’s so boring and useless.

– I do not doubt that learning about Ulmur’s secret thoughts is useful, but it is much more likely, lets say, that you have to face the northern mountains than Ulmur and his kin.

– Not necessarily. If anything steer me north, who could guarantee I would not find Ulmur?

– I do.

– And how could you be so sure?

– Because Ulmur is dead!

– Is he though?

– What do you mean? Of course he is!

From the tavern they could hear the sound of a mug breaking and Bernie’s growl.

– Go, leave this and go to work. You have read too much for today. Poor Bernie must be overwrought.

Without wasting any more seconds she went downstairs. She liked her work and enjoyed herself in the tavern and, as she could not read about the men of the dragon blood, she preferred Haryn’s ugly face to the northern mountains’ parchment.

When she arrived downstairs Bernie had already removed the pieces of the broken mug, but he still had an angry face.

– What happened, Bernie?

– How would I know? I was serving a table and suddenly a mug broke on the counter for no reason whatsoever.

– It was the wind – said Haryn.

– It was no fucking wind, because there is no wind! - Said Bernie angry.

– Maybe it was you, Harryn.

– Maybe, but you will never know, will you, brat?

Turning her back to Haryn, Demi tried to calm down her friend:

– There is no problem, Bernie, it was just a mug. Let it be.

– I just do not like this kind of thing. It has to have an explanation, things do not break without a reason. I do not like this, not at all.

– Me too, Bernie, but to get upset will not help it.

Still grumbling Bernie went to serve some tables while Demi was in the counter. She hated to be responsible for the counter because it was were Haryn always was. But she had no choice since Josh was upstairs and only would be back later.

Even if he annoyed her, Demi never ceased to be curious about Haryn. What would he have done to win Josh’s trust? How could he be a wise and a warrior if the only thing he does is drink in the tavern? Although, he usually disappears for a few days from time to time, even though there was no war going on, nothing to fight, nowhere to be a warrior. How old was he? Demi had no idea about any of this and despite hating the way he despised her and the rude way he answered her questions, she never gave up trying to figure out whatever she could about him. She would not ask him any direct question about that though. Demi thought she would have more chance of success if she disguised her interests, so she decided to ask him about the men of dragon blood, so perhaps she could get some information about it too.

– Hey, Haryn! What do you know about the men of dragon blood?

He always looked at her like someone who wanted to kill her just for daring to open her mouth before answering.

– That they do not exist anymore.

He always answered though, even if it was a stupid answer.

– Everybody knows that. But you should know something about when they were alive. Josh says you are so wise.

It seemed that this time he would not answer, but after spending a good few minutes contemplating Demi he started to talk:

“The men of dragon blood were a very powerful kin, which does not exist anymore for over 300 years, more or less. Millenia ago, they mingled their blood with dragons blood through an agreement never revealed and a secret ritual. Shaian and Ulmur were representatives of the two races that started the union, which had to be renewed every thousand years, because the power of the dragon’s blood weakened with time in the dirty blood of men. Something went wrong in the Last Renovation and the human representative of the ritual was murdered. No one knows the name of that human, as though it was the reign of King Tomus, he was found dead in his castle and lore said that the body found was a woman. It is supposed to be his queen, but no one was ever really interested in this matter.

Haryn paused to take a sip of his hornmug and Demi asked more questions.

– But who would want to murder the men of dragon blood? And why? Who could want that? And the dragons, what they did?

– They did nothing, what would they do? There was nothing to be done. The dragons hid in fear of being murdered and waited to see what this creature would do. However nothing has been done and nothing happened. Then the reign needed a new king and a scribe loyal to Tomus took over as king. He was the only survivor with acceptable knowledge to rule. With the shock of seeing the entire royal family assassinated there were no objections to that. Thus began a new royal line. Not nearly as noble as the previous one and with only one-tenth of the longevity of those dragon’s blood, but it is what we have got.

– But who? Who would be willing and able to kill all the line? And why?

– Pshaw! No one knows that, brat! When Auri, the Scribe, took the kingdom he said he would be watching, but luckily for him nothing happened until his death. I would like to see what Auri feather hand would do against Tomus’ killer. Ha! I really wanted to see! Many people has gone missing since all this happened, although nothing that deserved much attention. Some people argue that that evil creature is still amongst us and up to something, but if that is true or not I do not know and frankly do not care.

– Do not care or is afraid? – Demi said mischievously.

His eyes flashed dangerously towards her and this time he did not answer. None of what he had told was big news for Demi, however she needed to beat around the bush to ask what she really wanted to know.

– Wow, how do you know all this? Did you read?

– I have read.

– When you were young?

– When I could.

– How old are you?

– Older than you – said Haryn getting up and leaving. At the door he shouted: – Tell Josh to meet me at the village’s entrance in an hour, would you?

– He is busy, I do not know if he can make it.

– Just give him the message!

– Hey, wait! Just one more question!

He stopped impatiently.

– Yes?

– Why the dragons did not make a new agreement with Auri?

Haryn stared at her for a good while before he said:

– Because they did not like his hair colour – and left slamming the door.

This is chapter 1 of one of my books (continue under read more) and I’m putting it on here in the hopes that someone will read and give me some feedback.

Also you all know about my financial problems so if you can share this with my Patreon link I would really appreciate. There are some public stuff on there so if you have the time please have a look and consider helping.

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CHAPTER 4 (Patrons only)

The weeks before Fitftday passed quickly to Demi with all the sewing she needed to do, all the trouble convincing Artie to not wear the golden cloak in the closure party and her working in the tavern. She did not see the time passing. The fact Haryn was absent also helped that because without his scowl around the environment became much more pleasant in Demi’s opinion. Two days before the Fiftday at the end of her shift Moren told that at least two storytellers would narrate the story of the Last Renewal and finally reveal the secret ritual of the dragons. Every Fiftday at least five storytellers and even some minstrels show up clamming to reveal the dragon’s secret ritual and everyone goes to hear, including Josh and Haryn. Every year Demi always choose her favourite version and then hit the scrolls trying to confirm its veracity, but this never resulted in any discovery and so Haryn would always call here a moron for even thinking about believing all that bullshit. Her favourite version was the one told last year: the dragon swallowed the representative of men and then spit him in a burst of fire. Demi was anxious to see what crazy story they would invent this time.

In the next day Josh dismissed her from work to finish Bernie’s and Artie’s outfits in time. Bernie’s had to climb the stair at least two times to prove his vest, until he was completely satisfied. As always, he thanked Demi with a big hug and a touch on her nose with his snout. She loved it. Now Artie was not so easy. As he could not go up and Lot, the blacksmith, did not allow him to go to the tavern during working hours, Demi had to take his cloak to him. Fortunately the cloak was perfect and she did not have to go all the way again.  Like her dress, Artie’s cloak was white with red and black branches on the fringes.

– How did you like it, Artie?

– Wow! Oh mine! Wow! – Was all that Artie could say as he turned to all sides and tried a quick trot to see how the cover would be at the wind.

– I’m happy you liked it. See, now you have this lovely cloak, the cream-colored one to the closure and the golden outfit to wear whenever you want.

– My golden cloak is already done?

– No, not yet. I prioritized tomorrow’s outfits, but it is almost done.

– Can I stop by to see it latter?

– Sure, Artie. Now let me take the cloak back home. I still have to make some adjustments at the clothes to the closure party and Lot is already trowing a sulk, look.

– Sure… see you later. – said Artie as he approached Demi, who took his cloak and went back home prancing. In the distance you could already see the large pavilion, almost ready for the merchants. Demi could not imagine greater happiness than the one she was feeling at the moment.

On the night that preceded the start of Fiftday the tavern had always a smaller movement and at eight o’clock Josh had already closed the doors and left to help in the final preparations of the pavilion. Demi, Artie e Bernie gathered in the shed at the bottom of the tavern which, for the next two weeks would be Artie’s and Bernie’s house. All Fiftday they did that, it was easier that way. Demi, after making sure that the outfits were impeccable, went down to arrange the last details with her friends. As she was leaving for the side door she collided with a large and strong figure. Before she could scream he clapped her mouth and said:

– No screaming.

It was Haryn. Stupid and muffler Haryn. Demi’s heart was racing and beyond scared she was very, very angry.

– Are you crazy? How could you think you could do this, you moron?

– Do what, exactly? Open and close doors and pass by it? I think so.

– You damn-ass! You almost scared me to death!

– Seriously? I thought you were brave and were not afraid of anything. – He said in a mocking voice.

– You are a jerk, a fucking jerk! And I will tell Josh about this.

– Uh! Now I am scared. Where is he? I need to talk to him.

Demi thought about not answering, to turn her back and pretend he did not exist, but she knew that if she did that Josh would be disappointed. So she took a deep breath and reply:

– He is in the pavilion.

Haryn turned around and left, without a word, and she still shaken by the scare yelled:

– Why did you come back, huh? Nobody misses you. You should never return.

He stopped, gave that hideous grin, and replied:

– Missed you, brat. – And he kept walking.

Demi could not believe the audacity of that hateful man. She would talk to Josh. At least he would have to tell her why she had to tolerate Haryn. He owe me at least that. Her blood was yet boiling with fury, so it took some while before she left and went to the shed to meet her friends.

The Fiftday finally arrived. Demi woke up anxious and happy and chose a light dress for the day, it was hot. Josh had already left, so she ran to wake up Artie and Bernie, but both were already up and cheerful.

– It is so damn hot! I will not wear clothes during the day so my party outfit will stand out even more at night. – said Bernie.

– So cocky, Bernie.

– Gee! I can use my golden cloak, can I, Demi?

– No, Artie. It is warm and in this sun you will blind people with that thing.

– I do not understand all this nagging about my cape.

– I am not nagging, I only think that it does not suit you.

– After the Fiftday I will wear it every day just to taunt you.

– I know.

– If you have already finished to pick on each other, can we go?

– Sure!

When the three friends arrived at the pavilion the stone clock on the center had not marked ten am yet, but there were many people and more coming. Many merchants have had their tents set up and many more would come.

Bernie was already standing on the front of a honey tent and Demi and Artie knew he would spend quite some time there.

Come on, Artie, let’s take a look in those fabrics, if Bernie need some money he will find us.

And so they spent the morning. They lunched in the food tents because it was the only chance they had to eat typical food from distant places. There were fruits only found in the north and there were strange meats. But all of it was delicious.

In the afternoon they continued their reckoning of the tents and its spices and other goods. One of those had a collection of stones of different colors and sizes. Sure there were sapphires and emeralds, but also stones that were not jewels, which were used only to decorate the house and Demi loved those.

One was a lot like Demi’s red hair and Bernie was blown away with the resemblance.

– Demi, you must buy this one – it is so you. If you do not buy it, I will buy it for you.

Demi was staring at the stone and seemed not to hear Bernie. It didn’t even look like a stone, it was like a very thick piece of red glass, very red.

– Where does this stone come from? – Asked Demi.

– It comes from one of the high mountains of the dragons, girl. My husband found it in one of his trips and when asked by a traveler he swore it was from the dragon’s mountains. He swore, girl.

– All right, never mind, it was just curiosity. I will take it.

– Very good, very good. Anything else?

– Yes, I will take these black and blue stones that are similar too.

– Very good, very very good, child. It is three coins.

When they moved away from the tent, the woman was looking at the three friends with eyes full of curiosity, but none of them noticed that, because they were jabbering about what they shopped in their day of festivity.

– Well, looks like it is time to take our acquisitions home and prepare for the opening party. – Demi said.

– Already?

Demi laughed. – Artie, we still have fourteen days of Fiftday, you will have time enough.

– I know, but the first day is the best it is so cool.

– Yet the party is coolest. Lets go, I have to wash my hair.

It was past four o’clock when they reached the tavern and found Josh and Haryn talking quietly. Demi hugged Josh and pretended not to see Haryn, who was with his mocking smile as usual.

– How was the first day? Did you bought anything? – Josh asked.

– Just some little things. Everyone knows the merchants keep the best for the end.

– True.

– Well, I will help Artie to take a shower and then I have to wash my hair.

– Sure have, it does not even look like red anymore, but brown because it is so dirty. – Haryn said, with a smile.

Demi did not reply, just gave him a stare that would have paralyzed a dragon and for a moment she thought she saw his smile break and a glimpse of fear in his eyes, but that was only an impression. Josh was quiet, he only nodded his head to the stubbornness of those two.

After helping Artie – and even Bernie – to get clean and fragrant, Demi went upstairs to take her bath. She was supposed to meet them at seven. Aisni, a village girl that was friends with Demi, would help her with her hair. For the first time she decided to do something with it for the party. Her original plan was to braid it with ribbons, but Aisni suggest something different and Demi loved it.

When the girls went down, Artie and Bernie were already waiting. Artie wearing his white cloak and his shining fur and Bernie with his black and white vest over his clean and brushed brown reddish fur. Haryn and Josh also were ready to go. Josh as usual was pretty well dressed, but with simplicity and Haryn did not seemed to have taken a bath or changed his clothes. Everyone looked when Demi came because she was stunning. Her white dress was made from a drawing she had seen in a history book about the lineage of the men of dragon blood. It was white with red branches on the hem and on the tip of the sleeves, a modest cleavage and long and wide sleeves from the elbow. Her hair looked like waves of red with thin white ribbons.

Demi was elate with the way Artie e Bernie looked at her and Josh was delighted with his child. So much that you could see a tear wanting to jump out of his eyes, but what dazed her the most was the look she saw in Haryn’s eyes. She did not know what that was, but for the first time she felt he was not mocking her. This lasted only a few seconds, because Haryn turned on and walked out.

– My daughter, you are beautiful!

– Really, Demi, you look like a princess. – Bernie said. – And you too, Aisni, are very pretty.

The girls laughed. Aisni have a golden hair that fell in well-defined curls until up half of her back and wore a blue dress that look like the sky. She tied her hair half-up half-down with a ribbon that matched her dress.

– Thank you! But you are only saying that because you are my friends. Aisni is really lovely.

– Well, Demi, right back at you! There is no problem. We are all very beautiful and we are going to the party!

Everyone nodded excited and left. Haryn was not at sight, but when they approached the central tent, where the party would take place, Josh pulled back and found him near one of the large trunks that supported the tent. Demi looked at Haryn, still not understanding what had happened just before, and yet she felt even more uncomfortable, even though he had not even cast a glance in her direction since. Anyway it was a party day and she did not want to spoil things thinking in that unpleasant man.

Many people were already coming to the celebration, all well dressed. The opening and closing parties of Fiftday were the only ones that took place in the village, so almost everyone were there, even the sick made an effort to be there.

The group of friends hang out near a tent that sell mead and everyone bought a cup. While they were drinking, laughing and chatting the band began to play; soon after Ethan invited Demi to dance and so she went. Then Bunn appeared and asked Aisni to dance while Artie and Bernie were squirming in their seats and calling that dance.

– Wow, Demi, you are so beautiful! – said Ethan.

– Thank you, Ethan. –  she replied, blushing. She liked Ethan and knew he liked her, but she was too shy to admit it to him or to anyone else, including herself. Either way she was glad to know that he liked the way she was.

Demi danced three songs with Ethan and then got back to her friends. Aisni was there too and the girls were all secrets and giggles.

– What the hell do you whisper so much? It sure must be very very funny.

– Actually, Artie, we are talking about very serious stuff.

– Sure, like we do not know you are talking about boys.

– We are not! No way! – said Demi, blushing. She did not want that her friends thought she was a silly girl who wanted a boyfriend.

– It is alright, Demi. – Bernie said. – It is normal that you will want to talk about boys.

– But I am not! – She said even more embarrassed.

– Then lets not talk about that anymore! – Bernie said. But he and Artie were still having a blast with it, because they knew how Demi was angry about these subjects.

– Artie and I will take a walk, be back soon.

After they left, Aisni asked her:

– Why didn’t you tell them?

– I do not like to talk with them about that. They would not understand.

– Of course they would, Demi. Admit it, you are ashamed.

– No way! It’s just it’s not their business.

Aisni knew Demi very well so she knew that she would never admit it, but it was funny to see how blushed she was because people knew exactly what she wanted to hide.

– Come on, Aisni, let’s take a walk too.

They started to circulate among people. However they did not saw any signal of Artie and Bernie or even Josh, but Haryn was yet in the same spot, talking with an outsider, probably a merchant. He seemed unconcerned and almost happy. Demi had never seen him like that. She kept watching him for a while until Haryn turned around and looked at her and the contempt was again in those eyes. Demi pretended not to care and kept walking, looking at the other side.

Short after that Ethan showed up asking to speak to Demi. Aisni encouraged her to go and left. Ethan gave Demi a red flower that made her turn the same color.

– That is lovely.

– That is for you to remember me when you are at home.

– I do. – she said hastily and immediately regretted. – I remember all my friends. – she complemented awkwardly

– I know – he said and he was smiling – Demi, you know I like you, right?

She did, but she would not tell him that. In fact she did not know what to say. She opened her mouth and closed it again, she looked away and saw that Bunn was also talking to Aisni, who was smiling. Did all Buruma kids decided to profess their love today? When Demi looked again to Ethan he was much more closer and before she realized it he was kissing her.

It was a quick kiss, but it felt like an eternity to Demi. It was her first kiss; she had been kissed for the first time and she liked it. She summoned up the courage to look at him. He was smiling and was holding her hands – although she could not remember when it had happened. She smiled back.

Demi had never thought about having a boyfriend, at least not one that was not a great minstrel or storyteller who had traveled the world. Yet now she was there with someone that made her feel different, someone she would not mind to call boyfriend. While all of this was crossing her mind she saw, over Ethan’s shoulder, Haryn looking directly at her. Once more he had that smile that mocked her and Demi instantaneously knew that he had seen it all. She was upset and let Ethan’s hand go.

– Is everything okay?

– Yes, it is nothing. Let’s take a walk?

– Sure.

Demi could see that Ethan was confused, but she needed to walk away from Haryn’s side, so she walked fast and Ethan had to hurry to catch up.

– Did I did something wrong, Demi? If I did, I am sorry.

– No, you did not do anything wrong. – She said still walking fast. When they were far enough from Haryn she stopped. She was very annoyed. Why should Haryn ruin everything? That moment only concerned her, her and Ethan, why he had to be there and spoil everything?

– Demi, what is it?

– Nothing. I was just surprised, that is all. Sorry, Ethan. – She sat on a nearby trunk.

– You do not need to apologize. It is alright if you do not feel the same about me. – He said with a sorrowful voice.

– No. No, it’s not that. Like I told you, I was just surprised. I… I like you too, Ethan. – she murmured and blushed.

– Do you?

– Yes.

He was smiling again. – Can I sit with you then?

– Of course you can.

After a while she had forgotten about Haryn and all. They were there talking for a long time until they realized that the music had stopped, which meant that it was time for the stories. Then they came nearby the stage and Demi said goodbye to Ethan. Just ahead were Aisni, Artie and Bernie.

– Where were you? – questioned Bernie.

– Out there. – Aisni knew she was with Ethan and they looked at each other with a smile. However there was no time for questions because the minstrel was on stage and had strummed his harp.

There were always a musician and a storyteller for which night of the Fifday and, as expected, the minstrel of the opening night would recite a story about the Last Renewal ritual. He said that it was the true story of the ritual which had been told to him by one of the Dragons of the north. All was silent and so he began.

He sang about the threats and wars between men of old and dragons and also about how they had reached an agreement to unite their blood, although he did not explain what the dragons gained with this union. Then he told about the ritual: a macabre dance in which the man would have to mutilate his own body and throw himself in a bonfire burning with dragon’s flames. And when the spirit of the man left his body it would be trapped in a bottle full of dragon’s blood. To renew the covenant, the kingdom’s heir should drink from that bottle. At the Last Renewal, the messenger who brought the bottle was ambushed and killed by an errant group, he said, and that was what went wrong then. This terrible song also said that such misfortune occurred because the one who would participate of the ritual was a woman, not a man.

Demetria looked at Josh and Haryn and both of them were having fun with that rubbish presentation. People applauded, most likely out of pity and not for any other reason. It was the worst version that Demi had ever heard.

– What the hell was that? He completely ignored the fact that Tomus was murdered on the same day, but invented this bullshit about the messenger’s accident. Seriously? A spirit trapped in a bottle of blood? Even the dragon barbecue version is more acceptable.

– I agree. That was the most idiotic version I had ever heard. – said Artie.

– My father tells that when he was a boy he heard of a version that said that a man and a dragon held hands and gave one hundred little hops together. – Aisni said and the four friends roared with laughter and only managed to stop when the storyteller was beginning his tale.

He told about a damsel that had fell in love with an enemy warrior. Demi had listened that story a million times, because everyone liked to tell it. However, for the first time she did not mind listening a love tale. Her heart was touched by the fate of the lovers and she wondered what the hell did Ethan do to her. Either way she was happy.

They said goodbye to Aisni, who went home with her family, and the three friends returned to the tavern. Demi was hoping that Haryn was not there, because she did not want to see him. It was eleven o’clock by the time they got home. Josh was there but not Haryn to Demi’s relief.

– So, how about tonight? Did you like it?

Everyone started talking at the same time. Josh smiled knowing that, as always, they had loved everything. Well almost everything.

– My goodness, what was that version of the ritual?

Josh smiled. – One of the worst I heard, I think. It wasn’t even well plotted.

They remembered the version of the little jumps and everyone started laughing again.

– Sure, I heard that, said Josh. – I remember that the poor minstrel could not finish his song because of the public’s laughter.

– Which was the best version you have ever heard, Josh? – Bernie asked.

He thought for a few minutes before answering:

– I think it was one I heard when I was still very young, and was not living here yet. It was a version that spoke of the invocation of a powerful spirit, but I do not remember it correctly, I should have written it down.

– Sounds a good one – Artie replied and after a moment when they were all pensive, Bernie said:

– Well, I think we should sleep because tomorrow will be a busy day and we still have fourteen versions to listen to.

– Yep, it is true. Goodnight to all and see you tomorrow. We can go a little later tomorrow, right, Demi?

– Sure.

After they left, Demetria remained there and Josh asked her if there was something wrong.

– No, nothing. – answered Demi. She did not like to hide anything from Josh, but she did not want to tell him about Ethan. Not now, maybe another day. Anyway as she was talking with Josh she decided to ask about Haryn.

– Dad, why are you even friends with Haryn?

– This again.

– You never gave me an answer.

– I like him.

– But why? He is ignorant, insensitive and irritating.

– Daughter, Haryn is nothing like that, you just do not know him very well.

–  Of course I do! I have known him since I can remember.

– Not the same Haryn that I know. And that is enough of that! I know my words will not convince you of anything but I guarantee that one day you will change your mind about him.

– That won’t happen.

– I know that you think that. Good night, Demetria.

– Goodnight.

Demi was pissed again. Her father would never tell her nothing about Haryn and that was annoying. She could not understand that. Haryn was probably fooling her poor dad. Either way, as she was climbing to her room, her mind flew to Ethan and more pleasant thoughts and she remembered how good it was to have someone who liked her. It was a good feeling that drove her to sleep, despite Haryn.

When Demetria woke up she was startled. She had dreamed about the story told the night before: but in her dream she was the damsel and Haryn was the warrior. She was mad at herself for dreaming such a silly thing and was convinced that this nonsense was motivated by Josh’s words. She tried to forget that stupid dream but she could not, especially when she went dawn for coffee and found Haryn talking to Josh.

– Good morning, little brat! Are you alright?

The mocking tone of his voice was even bigger today. Demi did not answer. She walked through the tavern giving up her coffee and going to meet her friends. But they were not there.

– Where are Artie and Bernie?

– They have already gone. I was going to tell you but you passed like a rain. They asked to warn you that since you were taking too long to wake up they were going to wait for you in the pavilion.

– In the pavilion? But it was their idea to sleep until later!

– Demetria, it is almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

Demetria froze. She could not believe that she slept so much, particularly because it was such a poor quality of sleep as it produced such an unpleasant dream.

– It seems like so many kisses last night stunned you, eh, brat. – Haryn said clearly amusing himself.

Demetria was about to kill him. What right he think he had to discuss her life like that?

– Fuck off, Haryn! – She said slamming the door.

– Why did you tease her so much?

– It is fun.

– She hates you.

– I know. And she must be hating me even more right now. – Haryn said with a sorrowful look.

– Probably. And if I did not know you I would say that is exactly what you want.

Haryn looked at him but did not reply.

Demi left the tavern and began to cry. How such horrible man could exist? How could he ruin everything? She sat on a log and cried out all her anger. When she raised her eyes Artie and Bernie were there.

– How long have you been there?

– Since you left the tavern. What happened, Demi? – Bernie asked sitting down next to her. Artie was just in front of her.

Demi realized that if she was going to tell they about what had just happened she would have to tell about the previous night and she did not know if she wanted that. However as Aisni had said they were her friends and they had the right to know.

– Ethan kissed me yesterday.

– We know.

– How?

– We saw it.

– Did you? But… oh, okay. So, Haryn saw it too. And you know how horrible he is. He just told Josh about it.

– But… you think Josh would not be fine with that?

– It is not that! He has no right to talk about my life. He is a detestable and disgusting man and I hate him, hate!

– Calm down, Demi. He likes to tease you. If you did not pay attention to him he will stop, you will see.

– But I can’t!

– Well, you have to try, right? After all Josh likes him and Haryn will still be around for some time.

– And how could you know that? Demi asked, annoyed. – He could die tomorrow or today!

– If that is what you want to believe, fine.

Demi was pissed off with her friends now. They should take her side and agree with her and insult Haryn with her, but no. They preferred to try do get her to forget and let it go. She stood up wiping her eyes and left without saying a word. Both of them followed her and they knew that she would be in a bad mood all day long.

After they have silently walked for a while, Aisni showed up and Artie and Bernie decided to take a walk to leave the girls alone. Demi told Aisni what had happened and she emphatically agreed with Demi who felt a little better. After that the conversation returned to the adventures of the previous night. Aisni told Demi that Bunn had asked her to be his girlfriend and that she had accepted. Demi was very happy about that and then she told Aisni about Ethan. Aisni was sure that he would ask Demi too.

– Will you accept?

Demi thought about how well she felt about him and the change that she had felt last night before answering.

– Yes, I think so.

The two friends walked until they found an agglomerate of people gathered around Bernie. He was telling one of his stories: the one of a great magician that had grown tired of his spells and decided to live in the mountains with giant birds. Demi knew the story, even so she stopped to listen, because Bernardo’s voice was somehow magical and could charm anyone, even those who already have listened to him before. All those people around Bernie were looking at him with great admiration and no one could hear a single sound but his voice.

When he finished everyone applauded and asked for more stories, but he said that that was enough for a day. Demi approached him to apologize for her previous behavior but before she could say anything he said:

– No need to apologize.

She stopped and looked at him curiously. He started to laugh and opened his arms.

– You stubborn girl!

She ran to hug him. – You silly bear!

Aisni and Artie were talking excitetedly as they got close to Demi and Bernie. Demi turned to try to apologize to Artie but he also rapidly said that there was no need.

– What is the matter with you two?

– Simple! We just know you too well.

– Apparently more that you should have.

– Oh you have no idea!

Everyone laughed.

The afternoon casted its last lights but tonight no one would go home. The night fell and the lamps began to be lit and the stars were already shining in the sky. It was however a moonless night. Ethan and Bunn arrived and Artie e Bernie gave then some alone time with the girls.

That night Demi did not care if anyone would see her holding hands with Ethan. Josh already knew, her friends knew too and that was what mattered. As Aisni had foreseen, Ethan asked Demi to be his girlfriend that night and she said yes. That night they did not hear the ritual version or some story. Not that night or any other of that week.

In the next week, Josh would open the tavern but as always he dismissed Demi and Bernie of any work. Yet when was time for the stories he was always there. It was his greatest pleasure to hear the absurd versions of the last ritual. Demi suspected that he kept a record of all the versions he heard after having forgotten his favourite.

On the first night of the second week, even Demi and Ethan went to hear the stories, as it was in the last week that the best singers performed. On the second night, the minstrel chanted a song about an ancient war and everyone was keen to hear the story as they knew it would be about the Last Renovation. Until that moment of the Fiftday there had not been stories about that, only songs so the expectations were great. Even Josh and Haryn looked anxious and exchanged some meaningful looks.

When the narrator took the stage there was absolute silence and Bernardo let out a low roar.

– What is the matter, Bernie?

– I do not know, but there is something about this guy.

The minstrel had black hair and black eyes but was pale as the moon. He was wearing plain blue clothes and Demi could not see anything that stood up in him but she believed in her friend and immediately disliked him because bear’s eyes were more argute than human’s.

When he started to talk his voice was like a mesmerizing song and no one could look away or stop listening:

A long time ago there was a very wise and powerful being and he walked freely through the mountains and forests of our world. He served no one and was a friend to all and for that reason his soul was ashed to see two of his favorite peoples at war: men and dragons. Being so wise he decided to propose an agreement between both, an alliance. They would bound themselves through blood and thus they would never make war against each other again. With this blood alliance men’s life would be longer, they would be more beautiful and powerful and would also have access to the knowledge of the nature and the world that only the dragons possessed. On the other hand, the dragons would gain all the knowledge acquired by men through the reading of scrolls for years and years and the wisdom that came from such knowledge, they would also gain the potential to have sentiments, to love, and the capacity to think rationally. The dragons were not entirely convinced that the alliance was worth it but Ulmur, the Great, persuaded them that above all they would have peace. The price of the alliance however was high. Both Ulmur and Shaian, the high king of man, would have to sacrifice themselves to make the union possible. No one ever knew how this wiseman convinced them to agree to it but the sacrifice was made and the union between races was done. About this initial ritual I can tell you nothing but it must be symbolically renewed every thousand years when the moon appears into the sky crowned by the five stars of life. So, every thousand years, a human and a dragon representative both females will meet each other on the Union Glade where the wiseman would evoke Ulmur’s and Shaian’s spirit with a drop of blood of each of the representatives and some litany in a strange language only known by the wiseman himself. When the spirits show up the human should make a decision: to gestate the child in her womb or put her in a dragon’s egg. If she chose the first option all she had to do was receive the breath of Ulmur and Shaian. But if she pick the second option she would have to sacrifice herself – like Ulmur and Shaian did – to guarantee a secure gestation in a safe dragon egg which would hatch when it was time. Not before nor after. For this reason the chosen female dragon was picked among those who have recently hatched an egg, for she had to bring her last hatched egg to the ritual and was fundamental that it was no part missing in it. When this was the path chosen by the human she would have to kill herself with a specific dagger brought by the wiseman and her blood would have to be collected in the dragon’s egg. Only then Ulmur and Shayan would blow the egg. This option had never been chosen until the Last Renovation. Tomus already knew the danger that was upon his lineage although the source of his knowledge had never been discovered. Some think that the bound with the dragon’s blood was behind this, but we will never know. The fact is that when he had to send his queen to the ritual he already had a plan to save at least one of his lineage. He sent with her a maid that was very much alike his wife and this woman should return as his pregnant queen after choosing the first option. Tomus knew that the ones who wanted to exterminate his line had knowledge about the ritual and he also knew that they would be waiting for his wife to murder her and his heir shortly after having killed him in his castle. But the queen decided to sacrifice herself choosing the second option and placing her child safely in a dragon’s egg. And so was her maid who was sent to death as if she were the queen. That was how at least one descendent of the lineage of dragon’s blood was saved. If the egg has already hatched I can not tell you but I can assure you that you have heard for the first time the true story about the ritual between dragons and men.

 No one applauded. People did not even seem to breath. The minstrel bowed and left the stage. Bernie and Artie were silent and exchanged a look, and Demi realized that they were astonished.

– What is it?

– Demi, we need to go home now! – Artie said.

– Why? What is it?

– Nothing, Demi. – Said Bernie calmly. – But like I said there is something off with this guy and this story pissed me off. Can we go home, please?

– But that was the best version I have ever heard. It also looks like that one that Josh forgot. – Demi said looking around for Josh but he was not there. – Where is Josh?

– He had already gone home, can we go?

– Yes, but I need to find Aisni, she will stay at my place tonight.

– You must go with Artie and I will find her and take her home. – Bernie said.

Demi was completely lost but she did not argue because she noted that her friends were on edge and even she, without knowing why, was feeling restless. She was still holding hands with Ethan who did not understand a thing.

– Can I walk you home?

– I think so.

Demi, Artie and Ethan went to the tavern and as they approached they heard voices inside. Artie came inside to let Demi say goodbye to Ethan.

– Well, I guess I have to go. See you tomorrow then.

– See you. – But Ethan did not seem to want to leave.

Demi kissed him on his right cheek then his left and then his lips.

– Until then. Goodnight!

Demi was feeling sad but she did not know why. Maybe it was just her friend’s commotion but she wanted to cry. Before she reached the tavern’s door Bernie showed up with Aisni and they all went in together. Josh and Haryn were murmuring fast and Artie was attentive to their conversation when Demi and the others entered the room. They immediately stopped.

– Demi, I am glad you are here. You must be tired.

– No, I want to know what is going on.

– Not today. It is late and it is no big deal. – Haryn said and gave her a meaningfully look, without mockery and without calling her a brat. Demi knew that she would not hear anything from them that night.

– Okay then. Let’s go to sleep, Aisni.

Aisni was a little bit confused but she had no idea of what was happening so she accompanied her friend up the stairs wishing a goodnight to everyone.

– What are they arguing about?

– Nothing much, it must be to decide if they will open the tavern tomorrow.

– Ah. Today’s version was any good? I did not hear it.

– It was okay. – Demi did not know what to say. She thought that all the fuzz and apprehension were about the story and she did not want to talk about it with Aisni.

– Wow, I am really tired, are you? – said Demi.

– Oh goodness! I am whacked. – Answered Aisni.

Demi gave Aisni the bed and laid down on the straw mattress beside the wall. She was thinking that she would not be able to sleep but she did not remain awake for long. She must have been very tired after all.

In the middle of the night she woke up with Haryn shaking her:

– Demi, wake up! Wake up damn it!

– What is it?

– You have five minutes to get some things. We are going on a trip.

– What do you mean? Who? Where are we going?

– No time for questions right now, hurry up or you will regret it.

– I cannot just leave Aisni here.

Haryn looked at her for a moment and after a curse agreed:

– Alright, wake her up and bring some clothes for her too. Do not forget to get some winter clothes and some food.

Demi did not have time to ask anything else and by Haryn’s tone and the fact that he called her Demi she knew there was no time for stubbornness.

She woke Aisni up and with as few explanations as possible convinced her that they were going to do something unusual and fun and that it was a surprise. She took what she could, according to Haryn’s instructions, and then she went downstairs to warn her friends about it but they were already waiting for her.

– Are you going too?

– Sure. Are you ready?

– I am. I think so...

At that moment, Haryn hurried out and said:

– Let’s go. Josh will meet us later. Come on.

It was still dark and there were many stairs in the sky and there were much time before dawn. Everyone seemed in a hurry, so Demi also hurried, making Aisni keep up.

After walking about twenty minutes they were almost leaving the village. It was then that Demi looked back and saw a very bright light.

– What is that?

No one answered.

– Haryn, what is that? – she yelled.

– Fire.

– We need to go back and warn them, it is spreading and it will get into the houses! – Demi was desperate but no one else seemed to care, other than Aisni, who was terrified now.

– We need to go back now! – Demi yelled, and stood still. Haryn turned around looked into her eyes and said:

– They are all already dead, Demi. There is nothing we can do about it.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 22]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

Every night brought dreams, but none as strange as this.

                                             “Zel…”

The ballroom was unlit. Cloth covers were draped on furniture and unused candelabras. A ghost of a room’s intentions. I was in a large gown that swept the floor with every movement. My partner led us through a dance that I couldn’t pinpoint, but my feet knew it quite well. His left hand was in my right and the other was securely around my waist.

                                           “…da.”

Each time I tried to discern who this mysterious man was, I would lose focus. There were a few general details that I could make out. He was tall and solid. The suit he wore felt expensive under my fingers. Attractive, was a word that rung in my thoughts. Most noticeable, were his eyes. A brown so light I could make out yellow and orange specks.

“Here we are,” he said through a smile I couldn’t make out, “again.”

I wanted to ask the obvious: Who are you?

But a voice in my head told me I wasn’t leading this dance. Without my conscious effort, my lips formed a small plastic smile.

                                           “Zel… da.”

It wasn’t him saying that. Something else rang through the room, which was quickly disregarded in our dance to silent music.

“Someday,” the word hung on his lips. “Someday the ground will give way.”

His voice was smooth, the type of low that one could feel in their chest. It hummed and stuck to me like glue. The dance turned us into a circle and his hand sunk to my lower back, bending me into a dip. With a bittersweet grin, he leaned in to grace my ear.

“And I will break you.”

                                           “Zelda!”

I startled awake, feeling hands on my shoulders. My heart thrummed in my chest. Red eyes were widely staring down at me as I came to. When Impa saw I was awake, she leaned back and held out an item at my bedside.

Confusion deftly swept over me.

The first words that my tongue decided to stumble over were, “What is it?”

I spoke like I was out of breath and I certainty didn’t feel rested.

“Get up. We have to get a move on,” Impa plainly said, emphasizing the article that she was holding. Her speech barely reached me. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and recognized it as my white night robe.

Slowly, I unfurled from the blankets and heard a sniffling.

“Anju?” I found myself saying, a croak was in my voice. She was at the base of my bed holding a cloth under her nose. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and looked away, quietly crying.

My brain seemed to have a moment of clarity and fear gripped me.

“Come on,” Impa softly motivated. “Hurry.”

I ambled out of bed. She shrugged the thick robe on despite my shaking hands.

“Is it my uncle? Is he-”

“No,” she turned me and tugged the fabric over my night dress with a certain force before tying it.

My slippers awaited my feet and I caught myself from tripping as I followed Impa out of the room. She moved swiftly, every now and again looking back. Anju tailed the both of us.

I didn’t like walking these halls at night. Portraits of people long dead filled the space and all I felt was their silent gaze. Now, actual people lined the hallway. Servants, knights, and sometimes a person of prestige watched us pass by.

It was odd. Odd enough that I was gracing their presence in only my night clothes – something that was entirely out of propriety. However, that wasn’t it. Their expressions, their whispers, it was as if everyone knew what was happening except me.

Well, I had an inking.

We took the stairs and turns that were all too familiar; they were towards Father’s bedchamber.

My throat grew dry.

Impa’s feet stopped in front of his door. Between us were two armored guards staring ahead diligently. My steps paused behind her. We shared a glance. A look so miniscule yet was proof enough to lean my worries on. She moved aside to allow me to enter first.

I hardened my heart.

The door creaked. It always had done that, even when Mother was among us. The sound drew out until I could make out the candlelight from within. Within the King’s parlor was a large table that had been dragged in front of the fireplace that entertained my Father and I during suppertime. Men stood around it with hushed comments till one looked up, and then the rest fell to a silence.

They all looked towards the door – towards me.

It was when I could faintly make out the spindly white hair of Whitehurst and the bushy grayness of Fierlin’s beard. All the admirals, or at least most of them, stood in front of me. They were either in their night shirts or the clothes they wore the day before. Though, every one of them looked animated.

As the silence overtook them, they moved aside and I saw Father at the only seat there.

I moved across the room with the only sound being my grazing slippers. An antique grandfather clock ticked on near Father’s bedroom door. It was hardly three in the morning.

Once I reached the table, I was offered a chair and was about to refuse until Father spoke.

“Gentlemen.”

He said it in a tone I hadn’t heard in a while.

Without conversation, they left through the door I came from. I turned to my father, finally letting my slight dubiety show.

“What is happening?” I said, in an almost whisper and took the seat before him. Documents littered the table and a rolled-out map that I notice was usually pinned to his bedroom wall as decoration. Pen marks were scribbled onto it.

He shut his eyes and breathed in, “The opposition has attacked a small gathering of Zora reinforcements.”

“Zora?” I looked at him in admonishment. “Zora… they are neutral. I- reinforcements for us?”

Father placed his hands on the table, “I have been attempting to pull some old favors from King Dorephan.”

I thought back to his letters. None of them had anything to do with garnering Zora support. It must have been something he did independently.

“That’s,” a smile born of bewilderment grew on my face, “That’s brilliant, Father. They haven’t been in active participant in Hyrulean conflicts in – why, in a century.”

“I did get the idea from another,” he said with a glint in his eye, it made my smile broaden. “But now that battalion has been attacked and the casualties are heavy.”

That tiredness of his settled back onto his features.

My eyes scanned the table and I spoke my thoughts out slowly, “I believe it would imply that if the rebels are willing to attack an ally, then I wonder what is stopping them from attacking Hylian forces that are far closer.”

I traced the pen markings from the desert with my finger. It was deep into the countryside, the Zora had a ways to go to converge with our troops who had just made it to Gerudo Town. I suspected that they were meant to be support by the border as Zora weren’t as proficient in the sweltering temperatures. My small smile overturned. The Zora hadn’t fought in decades. Unlike us, they were far out of combat practice; trained properly, yes, but even if their lifespans were thrice ours only their elders would be battle hardened.

It meant that young Zora soldiers were entirely unprepared for an enemy they had never seen.

“Zelda,” Father suddenly wrought me of my thoughts. “I must admit to you.”

I met his eyes, “Yes?”

He simmered for a moment, seemingly to be caught in his head.

“My shoulders are worn.”

“What do you mean?”

He let out a sigh that came from deep within, “I did not send for you solely based on the attack.”

I didn’t reply immediately. The alarm of before rung in the back of my head again.

Father clasped his hands together, “My daughter. You have so much of your mother in you.”

I frowned, “The last time you said that it was in the context of being a bad thing.”

“I was blind.”

I watched him in surprise as he continued, “I would still be if I keep the allusion that you are still a child. I’ve forced you through so many follies. Built so many walls around you in the guise that it would keep you from failing, but it was me that was failing you. The one time I allowed myself to slip and you’ve… you’ve flourished.”

“Father, I-”

“It would be undeserving that I keep the full extent of your potential from coming to fruition,” he clasped his hands harder. “I must ask, would you resent me for this burden?”

The realization of his words hit me and I felt my heart stop.

“No,” I said almost too quickly. Nerves laced my words. “No, I would not.”

Father moved to speak, but I cut him off in a rush of words.

“However, I would more hardily accept it if you allow me to bespeech you for guidance.”

Despite the tension and the monumental circumstances of this moment, he laughed. It was deep and genuine and acutely reminded me of my uncle.

“Absolutely,” he said once his laughter died down. “Yes, unquestionably.”

Eventually, Father called the admirals back in. I stood at the back of my chair, gripping the backrest with unsure hands.

“Allow me,” my father motioned towards me once he found his seat once more, “to reintroduce you to the acting monarch of Hyrule.”

I watched idly while men who had previously resented my presence bow in the type of reverence held for a King, I felt like I hadn’t woken at all and this was an elongated dream.

I pulled my robe tighter around me as a chill snaked up my bare legs. Pressure settled onto my chest and I was unsure which emotion was appropriate. Numbness didn’t seem to be the one. A part of me knew that the acts of tonight wouldn’t settle in until the next day, perhaps in the next week.

“I do believe,” I uttered in a muted daze, “That we must come to a decision.”

“Yes, Your High-” Whitehurst swallowed his words, “Your Majesty.”

A beat of silence went on until he carried on, “We have to agree on a response.”

“I understand that a number of you have been resilient against the idea of declaring war,” I turned my eyes to the rest of the group. This felt odd. It took a considerable amount of effort to form words. “However, it would be a proper reply to this aggression. It would show the Zora – and the remaining races of Hyrule – that we bound to them. This was deliberate and their choice of attack adheres that these people do not want unity.”

Unexpectedly, not even Whitehurst had an immediate response. Some of them were making notes.

“This… is not an order,” I tilted my head. “If there is opposition, I would like it to make itself known.”

Fierlin took a step to the front, “We’ve all come to a similar conclusion on the matter. We are in unanimous agreement.”

Father’s voice grew behind me, “Then a decision has been made. As my final act as King, I will declare war for my own daughter’s reign to be of victory. Let us announce it at sunrise.”

Another hour was spent determining terms of war that I wasn’t familiar with. My fingers itched for my notebook and I tried to commit the unfamiliar topics to memory. Eventually, several men filed out of the door. Plenty of plans had been divided and they were swift to send messengers.

A shorter man I recognized as Byron stopped me as on his way out. He led most discussions on espionage and reports from the field. The man was also someone I would find myself sitting next to during many meetings. If Admirals Fierlin and Whitehurst were too busy in their quarrels, he was most helpful breaking their volume to bring attention to my comments.

“Despite these untimely events, I look forward to your leadership.”

“Thank you, Admiral Byron,” I said sincerely. Then, something occurred to me. “Not that I doubt your promptness, but has there been any news on the usurper’s whereabouts?”

“I wish I could say. Nothing has come since I sent scouts through the city,” he sighed. “You would think a Gerudo man would be an easy person to find.”

“I see…”

“If I may, we do have rebel prisoners,” Byron raised his eyebrows. “There is information we can pull.”

My eyes widened and felt a chill crawl up my spine. In my mind’s eye, I saw my blood draining out on a table. So much that it spilled over to drip on the floor. The dull punctures of a blade against wood ticking away.

I gripped my hands together.

“No,” I met him sternly. “Hyrule doesn’t commit war crimes, Admiral. Torture is out of the question.”

His hopeful expression upturned, “My apologies.”

I felt Impa’s hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her to see a gentle smile and I realized my own tiredness. She motioned towards the door, but I felt that thread of responsibility pull my gaze back towards the remaining Admirals to find Father watching. He gave a small nod.

You have time, I told myself.

Slowly, as my slippers grazed under me, I counted the steps my governess had told me as a child. Straighten my back, square my shoulders, set my jaw, and keep my eyes from wandering. A phantom book balanced on the crown of my head and I approached the door.

Impa held it open and like when I entered, small chattering from outside succumbed to silence. There were more people now. They stared and whispered, but I remembered myself. The steps toward them made them part. Duchesses, servants, lords and ladies all mixed into one made space for me to pass. It was a gesture that imbedded itself into my heart. A gesture that I had seen nobody make since I was little and my mother took me out into the markets, but I was in my mother’s place now – wasn’t I?

There won’t be a coronation any time soon. Festivities were shunned during wartime and until that is over there wouldn’t be a ceremony. To me, it was appropriate, if that rule wasn’t in place then I doubt I would have gone with the proceedings. For now, this would be one of my first appearances. Father still had to sign away the title, but with the way people averted their eyes it dawned on me that perhaps the formality didn’t matter.

I also tried to forget that I was passed down the title of Queen in my night clothes.

With everything that has happened, the child in me wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

 ---

“What in your experience makes you suited for the responsibility of being Hyrule’s trigger?” Whitehurst said. It made Fierlin lean over to glare daggers from the other side of me.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to go back to forty years ago when I was in my prime,” the old man went on, staring off to an empty corner of the room as he did every time he launched into an anecdote.

My wrist was growing sore from my head. I didn’t like how easy it was the drown out the candidate’s voice, but at this point I could even see Urbosa growing weary. How long has it been? Two hours?

Hyrule’s trigger, I mused to myself how it’s been a while since I’ve heard that label for commanding general. I decided I liked it, it was poetic… in a murder-y war way. My pen jotted that down to tell Uncle if he was feeling better after this.

Lately, he had his moments where we would think he was recovering and the next day would be far worse. I learned that it was easier to finish my work if I didn’t think about it too much.

“-and I said, ‘Nope, don’t think that’s a fair idea sir. I sure don’t.’ and well, golly, he considered it! Thought it was a good idea, he did, to retreat. We surely woulda been in a good bit ‘a trouble if we went in unprepared,” he put up a withered finger before anyone could interject. “In actuality, it reminds me of another story.”

“Oh, no I do think we’re done here,” Urbosa was quick to say. “What are your thoughts, Your Majesty?”

I offered a polite smile, “I have to agree with Lady Urbosa. Thank you for coming in Sir William.”

“Certainly,” the old knight nodded. “I have lots of thoughts, you see. I worry if this meeting has covered the full scope of my wisdom. For example, one time they thought that I could be the descendent of the lost hero and s-”

“Thank you, but if we need anything else we will be sure to send for you,” Fierlin rigidly said.

The door shut not too long after and I found myself grasping for straws.

“He’s uhm,” I played with the weight of the pen and found there was only two words on my paper. “Well, he is rather… ah…”

“Old,” Urbosa sighed, relaxing in her chair. “He’s an old man. Older than Nathaniel. I realize there is value in experience, but that is not quite it.”

I nodded slowly, “To be frank, and the quality of that experience. Sir William is wise in age, but his depth is lacking.”

Whitehust begrudgingly agreed, “I suppose I misjudged his character.”

“Gods willing, you misjudged the man’s ability to walk.”

“Before you two decide to prolong this,” I asserted between the admirals, “I propose we discuss our prospects up until now and take a break before I melt into my seat.”

There was a short silence that felt heated with the rustling of pages.

“With the six candidates we have spoken to,” Fierlin seemed deflated and set the paper down. “There isn’t one that I can defiantly say is worth pursuing.”

Admiral Whitehurst didn’t mention much.

“Surprisingly, I have the same sentiments.”

“With that last pick? Yes, that is quite surprising.”

“Gentlemen.”

It was quite odd when they didn’t stand with me, instead waiting a moment before following me out of the room.

Fierlin scratched his beard, “You know, John, there are a couple of my captains coming in.”

“So what?”

“Nate likes one of them and mentioned to me something a couple weeks ago when he was awake.”

I was about to turn and question about who the man he was talking about was, but a familiar voice distracted me.

“Has it sunk in yet?” Urbosa quietly asked outside, we were walking towards the courtyard.

I shook my head, “No. I can barely think about it. Whenever I do, I see Mother and then things don’t feel quite as real.”

A couple of maids stopped at the door leading to the courtyard, staring and whispering as they did. Urbosa hung behind me as I walk through.

“Like that,” I said in a hush once she regained distance. “That is strange and if it happened to anyone else it’d be awkward.”

“You are the Queen.”

She spoke it plain as day and it made me turn.

My eyes searched the ground, “Well, I don’t feel like one.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she lazily observed the blooming flowers. “It doesn’t matter because much of Hyrule still entertains divine right. When ordinary people see you, they will no longer see the girl you once were; they’ll see a woman chosen by the goddesses. Some see it as proof that you are a piece of their immortality. Mariam was just as unaccustomed, if not more.”

“Obviously that immortality wasn’t in her favor,” I mumbled. It was childish, and I regretted the words as I spoke.

Urbosa hummed, “No, but she put up with it. People loved her because she was a symbol for the future. She gave us you.”

I stared at my hands, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.

“That’s what you should do. Give them hope, even if you have no hope yourself.”

I filled my lungs with air in hopes it would calm my frantic heart and nodded.

“I understand. Thank you. I… I truly am unsure where I would be without you.”

“Good,” her smile was genuine, but there was nothing ingenuine about the woman. “Though, I wonder now. Why don’t you appoint one of those voe? Too big-headed?”

I blinked, “Oh, Admiral Fierlin and Admiral Whitehurt! It’s an old standing law that admirals can’t be appointed as General.”

“Another Hylian oddity.”

“It wasn’t without reason,” I laughed, “There was an attempted coup before it was put in place. I don’t recall the specifics.”

Under the pretense of visiting Uncle, I excused myself. I felt a little better about everything and found that my decision to ask Urbosa to attend was greatly rewarding. The ongoing search for Uncle’s successor was not an easy process. Initially, I worried about choosing between candidates, but now I was concerned if there would be anyone of eligibility. Afterall I shouldn’t be surprised that he wasn’t easy an easy man to be replaced.

He would laugh at that.

Despite what Urbosa said, I took the lesser traveled halls. I felt better seeing less people. The last few days were filled with nothing but formality and a part of me wanted to see no one at all. The stones grew darker with age the farther I went down the corridors. Embrasures passed me by as I went and I saw the daylight.

I reached my fingers out and let the tips brush against the coarse stone.

Maybe if other people saw the future in me, I could learn to see it too. It all seemed so limited, as if I could only see as far as my hand could stretch. A part of me was curious and another was full of dread. My feet stopped in front of an embrasure that overlooked a portion of the market below. The air was warmer and I could see children playing in the middle of throngs of people.

I wonder if I should leave for the day? Change from the shimmery fabrics that Anju chose for me into something simpler and more comfortable. I’m sure she could use some reprieve as well. A good walk is what we both need.

There were some scraping footsteps that I blocked out to continue my observation of the children below. My dread for drastic changes didn’t appear to be justified with the official declaration of war two days ago. They were still happy and playing tag while people went about their normal business. Though, I made sure to remember this if a draft were ever to come into proposition.

I winced.

Gods, there I go again. Thinking about issues that should be set aside.

“I should have known better than to not expect you around places like this,” a warm voice said. I startled with a small gasp. Despite myself, I held onto the curse that was halfway out of my lips.

Unmistakable blue eyes held me in place, altogether making me paralyzed and unsure. My own widened and suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else but here. I wanted to say so much for so long, but now it was all thrown out the window – well, the embrasure.

Of course I would just stumble upon Link Forester like this.

“You’re back,” I managed to spit out with a certain amount of disbelief.

“Just for a couple days,” he looked away for a moment and back, “and then I have to go.”

“I see.”

Something bubbled in my chest and I talked, “When did you get here?”

There was a long pause. His hair got longer in the back. It was tied, but I didn’t care to admit that it looked good. That Link looked good. It made that something grow.

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” I found his eyes again with a furrowed brow, barely cognitive of my tone. The something reached my throat, filling me almost completely. I repeated it again in a question and he studied our feet.

I realized what I was feeling was a red-hot anger. One that I convinced myself I was feeling every time my mind wondered to him. With that, I understood what Fierlin was referring to. Link was in his uniform with metals lining the left side of his collar.

“For the successor interview. I…” I forced a smile on, “I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“No. I-I mean yes, really,” I shook my head, “I had no clue, I let the admirals choose who they thought were best.”

Link didn’t say anything. I hated it. Nearly four months and I feel like a fool.

“Well! I’m glad you had a safe journey,” I pushed passed him, hating that I had to touch him as I did. “I apologize that I can’t stay, but I have to visit my uncle.”

I was several steps down the hall when he piped up, “He’s asleep.”

It made me pause and turn, “What?”

“I just tried to see him,” Link said. “He’s asleep.”

And as we stood there I couldn’t help but remember his lips on mine, pushing my back against a wall. His warm breath on my cheek as his lips drifted down my neck. All the while, I remembered staring at a little for countless nights after Impa left and spending hundreds if not thousands of tears reading over words. For the life of me couldn’t figure out which was worse.

All he could fucking do was stare at me.

“Why did you leave?” I exclaimed with a bite in my words.

He acted like he was expecting it, but his voice was half mine. “I thought you would know by now. There were reports that Hylian villages were being raided and the General sent me with a group of men.”

“And that,” I shrugged, holding out my hands as if the answer would fall from the ceiling. My leather book, however, did fall from my grasp and to a clattering on the floor. “And that’s it?”

I bent to pick it up, but he was already there. I took it from him, he kept one hand on it.

His eyes were harder, “No, that’s not all. People died.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. You know that!”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them I saw him frown.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not that deluded.”

“You are not deluded.”

Now I frowned, “Don’t say that because of what I am.”

His expression worsened, “What do you want me to say? That you are?”

That bubbling anger was back as the frown turned into a grimace.

“No,” I started, blinking the emotion from my eyes. “I want you to explain why I went months without hearing from you. I want you to stop ignoring that you know what I’m thinking because I know you very well do. I just want to understand, Link!”

I pulled the book away from him and held to against me like a shield. Link looked from it and then to me.

“And what?” he suddenly said. “And then what?”

My confusion slacked my previous outburst. “Wha... what?”

Link turned to look behind him and when he turned back he seemed smaller. The bravado of before lessened to a tired glaze. For a moment, he studied me and I thought maybe he would pull me in — but he didn’t and promptly directed his gaze to the wall.

“All the conflict ends, miraculously, and I get to come back to the castle,” he continued despite the puzzlement in my stare, “You get the coronation you deserve and properly start your reign. Time will go on.”

“Link-” I said with the intention of interrupting, but he calmly stopped me.

“Time will go on, Zelda,” Link gestured behind him. “If I — for some gods-forsaken reason — become what they’re vying for, I will never return as your attendant. We will never be as close. Eventually, you’ll want you to move on.”

Anger sparked in me, “It isn’t that simple. You can’t reduce me to something like that.”

Then, he met me with eyes that echoed injury and needs he would never voice.

“Is that so? Because if you don’t, someone will force your hand in time. They’re already calling you Queen and soon you will have the world at your fingertips. You’ll need someone who can match that,” he spoke quickly with speech more formal than I had ever cared for.

My hands itched to do something and it teetered precariously between wrapping them around myself to cry and gripping his shoulders to shake some sense into him. Neither seemed to fit the pulling in my chest and the unwelcome discomfort I felt. Was this his way of gently letting me down?

“So, that’s it then?” I said, swallowing thickly. “That’s what you want? To not... for me to not speak to you like before. For me to convince myself that this was all a childish delusion and for us to pretend that nothing happened? Because-” my shoulders drew up in a mechanical shrug, “Because for months I felt this is what you wanted.”

“No,” Link suddenly said with fervor. “Gods, no. I’ve written,” disbelief was in his face, as if I was the one wanting nothing to do with him. He had a way about him where even when he was grasping for words, his eyes told you he had thought about this conversation far in advanced.

“I’ve written letters upon letters to you. Letters to tell you that I wanted you to wait and how I would do the same. Letters to plead for your smile to stop haunting my dreams. Dozens of letters I have had to fight myself over,” he stopped at seeing the anguish I tried to hide, only to be betrayed by my quivering lip.

I swiftly brought my wrist up to swipe the wetness of my nose and said matter-of-factly, “You’re lying.”

Link exhaled and seemed as if he was going to leave until he spoke, “I don’t blame you for believing that. The proof is ashes in a desert because I can’t trust myself.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Ask Fierlin,” his voice was soft, even when I wanted a rise out of him. “Ask him for my file from last month and see the reprimands for using more writing supplies than we were given. I know I’m hurting you, but I would never lie about this. Believe me, I want to be-”

Then, he choked on his words and that energy left as fast as it came as he relented to saying, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

I harshly blinked the burning from my eyes. “I care about you. You’re asking me to stop.”

There was a moment where neither of us spoke and all I could do was meet his eyes. In them, I wanted to see stoicism and coldness. Something I could etch into my memory because it was easier to hate than love. And even in doing this, he disappointed me. I didn’t see that at all.

Barely noticeably, he tilted his head down to look at the floor; just enough to affirm me.

My stomach dropped, but I had my own responsibilities to attend to. If I let myself become overwhelmed, everything I had worked for would fall through the cracks. I pressed my lips together into a fine line and forced myself to nod.

“Okay,” my voice was barely there. “Excuse me.”

I turned on my heel, heading towards Uncle’s quarters and knew I’d have to take a hard left and find another way back to the interviewing room.

While I walked towards where the hallway opened up, I remembered what Impa had told me about controlling emotions. Focus onto something simple and describe it. There was a painting on the far wall of Hyrule Field. The grass was a variety of green shades. The frame was gold and perfectly centered. The sun was yellow and the sky was a ridiculous blue that I forced myself to hate. Anger was less damaging to gossip about if anyone saw me.

I turned the corner, nearly running into Urbosa who leaned against the wall. She didn’t say anything with a look of concern, but she didn’t have to. She heard most, if not all of our conversation and I almost regressed into a puddle of tears. Instead, I pulled myself together with a thin string of determination and gave her a thin-lipped smile that hurt more than it was worth.

“You’re right on time. I was just about to head back,” I surprised myself with the solidness of my words.

She verged on asking a question and simply nodded. We walked back in the direction of the courtyard again – using the main halls this time.

 ---

We burned through two more people, which took an hour each.

Admittedly, I didn’t have many questions to ask nor did I try to muster the energy. It had surprised me, however, when they were both sons of dukes that I loosely knew from court. Each had joined the army seeking some fantasized glory of knighthood. Whitehurst had thought of them as adding a political leverage to the position.

I remember him distinctly saying, “If you can sway the people, you can sway a war.”

As the last one left, I turned to the man.

“Please tell me that’s the last of them. I’m sure you mean well, but they don’t preform well under pressure,” I breathed out rather tiredly.

Fierlin had rose from his seat for the first time in two hours and walked towards the door.

The other admiral dropped his pen, “I tried my best, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t bully the poor man, Your Grace,” Urbosa jested. “He’s been doing some heavy lifting with the picks.”

Though he didn’t voice it, Whitehurst seemed to appreciate the gesture.

His counterpart laughed on the other side of the door just as it swung open.

“-it’s fantastic to see you, my boy,” he was grinning wryly. Behind him, Link walked in with his own grin. It dropped when he saw me. I looked away quickly.

“Let us get introductions out of the way,” Fierlin nearly skipped to his chair and I could see Whitehurst wanting to bury his head in the sand.

Link cleared his throat. I had to look up and at least attempt to appear indifferent. As was unfortunately expected, he addressed me first with a low bow, “Your Royal Majesty.”

“You may rise,” I said, maybe too quickly. Blue eyes met mine and I felt a deep flush take over.

I don’t care. I truly do not care about him and I will treat this interview like any other.

It felt like a bold-faced lie.

“I am Link Forester. First captain under the command of Admiral Traeriel Fierlin.”

“So,” Fierlin leaned on his elbows, “You have previously been the former Princess’s, now Queen, knight attendant during peacetime. Is that right, Sir?”

His voice was steady, “That is correct.”

“Can the committee assume that you can handle yourself in politics?”

“I would beg to say that even in wartime, most things are politics up until the combat itself,” Link went on as I caught Urbosa’s gaze in my attempt to look anywhere but at him. I decided to stare at my notebook instead, but even that was tainted by his touch earlier.

“However, I will say I did learn much while in service of Her Majesty.”

It was a struggle to maintain a professional composure when I was conscious of each time he looked at me or how long I was avoiding him. I couldn’t grasp where my eyes should be or how my hands should be folded. My indecisions made the next hour excruciating.

Admiral Fierlin seemed to ask pointed questions about Whitehurst’s former worries. Link had political and combat experience along with being a current leader.

Looking through his papers, Fierlin raised a brow, “That is it for my questions. Are we ready to adjourn?”

I could tell that it was strange that I wasn’t more engaged, so I could only think of one question. With a dainty hand, I set down my pen.

“Sir Link,” I looked up, “If you were appointed General at this moment, what would your first actions be?”

He watched me carefully and for a second, I thought we were alone together.

“My first action,” Link didn’t wither under my gaze, but he didn’t strengthen his stance either. “Would be addressing the concerns of my cabinet and my Queen.”

I could feel Urbosa’s eyes on me, but I ignored them.

“My second would be establishing a base near the conflict that halves the amount of time to deliver orders. That way we can erect a better, more fortified transport for supplies and reinforcements. It could deter their use of gorilla warfare tactics behind lines. My third would be corresponding with the Gerudo’s own army and creating a more seamless alliance.”

I hoped to look satisfied and went through my blank page of notes, “That’s all. Thank you.”

Fierlin dismissed him shortly after and turned, “I believe he’s very favorable.”

“He is simply up to par,” Whitehurst merely said, making the other upset.

“There’s a reason Nathaniel hasn’t promoted him,” he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “That’s all I will say about it.”

It didn’t last long though as the man sat up once more, “And the Sword spoke to him. Now, I’m done.”

“A silly legend. I could have pulled the thing.”

As the admirals bickered, I stood to stretch out my legs. Urbosa stood with me.

“And your thoughts?”

I looked towards the closed door, “I would be a fool to let my feelings get in the way.”

“Is that your… approval?”

I gently smiled, “We still have two more interviews to go.”

Listlessly, I saw Fierlin’s victory and Whitehurst’s silent defeat. I thought about Urbosa’s words from the courtyard. The country would be plunged into war and they need a strong leader for their military.

If Link could give that hope to them, I would not dare deny them.