Frank is known to be controversial and he recognizes he can’t deny it most times, like when he’s deep inside Mel and suddenly believing in god and angels and heaven after an entire lifetime of dismissing any kind of religious attachments. It’s just inevitable – the sight of her orgasming is holy, open mouth letting out raspy moans that echo in his ears and perfect tits squeezed between her own hands as she draws out her pleasure and pussy swallowing and clenching around him relentlessly, enveloping his cock in a blissful warmth that makes him sure his existence’s purpose is to have her all bare and worked up on top of him.
It doesn’t take more than a few fast thrusts for him to cum hard, hands gripping and slapping the soft flesh of her ass as he calls her name over and over again like a desperate man clinging to a prayer that will forgive even the most wicked of sins. Frank’s still out of it when he feels Mel moving, the complaint ready to leave his lips, but his eyes open and he curses under his breath instead as he finds her lifting herself up just enough for their combined release to start leaking out of her and pooling where they’re still connected, her gaze locked on their sticky mess.
“Can you reach the drawer and hand me my Polaroid camera?,” her voice takes him out of his shocked stupor and he does as she commands, then frowns in confusion. Before he has a chance to ask anything, she says, “I want a little souvenir. Put your hand on my thigh, please.”
He lets his finger lightly graze her clit and she shudders, angling the camera and capturing the most obscene picture he’s ever seen, the shine of his wedding band completely insignificant over the proof of his best decision yet.
Happy August people!! I’ve decided that I, personally, haven’t dedicated enough thought to the legend that is Kevin Day—a blunder of gargantuan proportions, I know. So, I’m hosting The Every Day Challenge.
The idea is simple: post something about Kevin Day every day in August. This can be a drabble, a drawing, a poem, a chapter of a continuous wip, the sky is the absolute limit. It just has to be something created by yourself with a spotlight on Kevin. Don’t forget to tag it #kevindayeveryday so we can find all of the creations!! You can also post to The Every Day Collection on Ao3.
Anyone is welcome to join in, let’s have some fun 💕💕
Ever since she first heard about Kyoko's sister in Telamon's Manor, one of the many things that Amy Rose promised herself throughout the adventure was to reunite the two.
It didn't take her much guessing to find the missing sister in Captain Trotter's loyal first mate, but any plans to immediately reunite the sister had to be put on hold after the Red Sun Temple's exploration...
Still, soon enough, the two adventures will return to each other soon.
A Throne of Whispers - Chapter One: The Golden Age
The Royal Romance, an Alternate Universe Series
Pairing: King Liam Rys x F!OC (Aurora Brooks)
Synopsis: The young Cordonian King Liam and his queen, Aurora, are the perfect royal fairytale. But their peace is shattered by a secret organization, "Via Imperii." In a calculated plot, Aurora and her daughter are imprisoned abroad, while a woman named Cassandra appears in Cordonia with a boy proven by DNA to be Liam’s "secret son." Attacked from all sides, Liam and Aurora must fight from worlds apart, relying on their absolute trust to uncover a centuries-old conspiracy and save their family and kingdom.
Masterlist
Content Warnings: This series will contain Heavy Angst, Political Intrigue, Psychological Themes, Depictions of Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Situations, Violence, Characrer Death, and sensitive subjects including implications of Fertility Ethics. Please read with discretion.
Category: Alternate Universe, Political Thriller, Angst, On-going Series
Word Count: 3020+/-
Disclaimer: All characters from The Royal Romance belong to Pixelberry Studios. Original characters, including Aurora Brooks, belong to the authors.
A/N1: And we are back with Chapter 1! This chapter is all about establishing the "Golden Age" of Cordonia, showing the peace and prosperity Liam and Aurora have built. As this is an Alternate Universe series, you'll see how we build the foundation before the storm arrives.
A/N2: This chapter is our submission for the Choices Picnic: August 2025 monthly challenge hosted by @choicescommunityevents! We chose the prompt Changing Tides, as this chapter represents the calm before the tides of fortune dramatically shift for the Cordonian royal family.
A/N3: So much love and a huge thank you to my incredible partner @tessa-liam for not only co-writing this but also for being the best pre-reader and source of support!
The flags of Cordonia—the golden lion and the white sail—snapped crisply in the wind on either side of the main thoroughfare leading from the palace to the city center, a perfect match to the small, colorful flags bearing the royal crest waved by the citizens. Tens of thousands of people had gathered along the streets, their faces alight with a genuine, undisguised joy and reverence. The air flowed with the festive clamor of a holiday; the laughter of children, the calls of vendors, and the cheers for the King and Queen that erupted intermittently from the crowd all wove together into a hymn for the era.
Today was the official inauguration of the Queen Eleanor National Library and Arts Center.
The magnificent building was, in itself, an emblem of Cordonia's "Golden Age." Its main structure was fashioned from traditional white marble, preserving the elegance and dignity of the ancient kingdom, while its great dome and front façade were constructed with the latest technology from Monterisso, made from a single, seamless pane of reinforced glass. Sunlight poured through unhindered, illuminating the interior as brightly as day. Tradition and modernity, history and future, achieved a perfect harmony in its design, just as in the nation itself.
At ten o'clock sharp, the royal honor guard appeared at the end of the grand avenue, and the crowd's roar reached its zenith. King Liam and Queen Aurora, riding in an open-topped royal convertible, proceeded slowly toward the plaza.
Liam was dressed in a deep blue royal uniform, its impeccable tailoring accentuating his tall and straight figure. A golden sash was draped diagonally across his chest, where various medals representing the highest honors of the crown were neatly pinned, glittering under the sun along with the ornate, tasseled epaulets on his shoulders. He wore no crown, his brilliant blond hair stirring in the breeze, making him appear at once majestic and possessed of a trustworthy approachability.
Seated beside him, Aurora had chosen a stunning floor-length gown. The dress was a fiery gradient, softening from a gentle orange-red at the shoulders to a burning crimson at the hem. With the finest golden threads, a phoenix in mid-flight—the ancient totem of her home duchy, Valtoria—was subtly and realistically embroidered onto the fabric. The ensemble perfectly merged her nobility as Queen with the pride she took in her roots, making her radiant. Her chestnut hair was coiled into an elegant bun, her ears adorned with small diamond earrings that refracted a brilliant light under the sun. Her smile was warm and infectious, and when she waved to the crowd, she always received a response more enthusiastic than any jewel could elicit.
They were not merely the rulers of this nation; they were a real and beautiful fairytale in the hearts of the people. A diligent king who loved his people, and a kind and intelligent commoner queen from a foreign land. Their love story had long become a celebrated tale, and under their joint rule, Cordonia was experiencing unprecedented prosperity and openness. The old, stubborn noble factions had been thoroughly reshuffled after the turmoil of several years past, and a new, more vibrant class was on the rise. Abroad, Cordonia actively established friendly trade relations with its neighbors; at home, it vigorously developed education and culture. The nation was affluent, the people content—the truest footnote to a "Golden Age."
The convertible came to a smooth stop in the plaza before the arts center. Liam disembarked first, then turned gracefully, extending a hand to Aurora inside the car. She placed her hand in his palm and, with his support, stepped out elegantly. This small, loving gesture once again drew benevolent cheers and applause from the onlookers.
Liam took Aurora’s hand and walked onto the temporary dais. He scanned the thousands of faces in the square, faces filled with hope and trust, and a great, weighty sense of responsibility washed over him. He cleared his throat, and his resonant, clear voice carried across the entire plaza through the microphone.
"My dear people of Cordonia," he began, and the square fell silent. "Today, we gather here not just to celebrate the completion of a building, but to witness the realization of a dream."
He paused, his gaze turning to the magnificent glass dome beside him.
"This dream began with my mother, the late Queen Eleanor. She believed that knowledge is a bridge for communication, and art is a balm for the soul. It was her lifelong wish to build a great library for Cordonia, so that every child, regardless of birth, would have the chance to know the world and explore the unknown through books. She hoped that Cordonia's culture, like our trade, would open its arms to the world—to embrace, to exchange, to prosper together."
A subtle, deep longing for his mother laced Liam's voice. Aurora could feel his hand tighten slightly around hers, and she squeezed back with equal force, lending him her silent support.
"Today, we have finally fulfilled her wish. But this building does not belong only to the past; it belongs, more importantly, to the future." Liam's gaze returned to the people, now incredibly firm. "It belongs to every one of you. It will be an ocean of wisdom for our young students, a sanctuary of inspiration for our artists, and the greatest testament to Cordonia's openness, peace, and creativity to the world!"
Thunderous applause erupted from the square. Liam raised a hand to signal for quiet, and continued:
"I know well that I could not have accomplished such a grand undertaking alone. I can stand here today because I have you—my most loyal and hardworking people. And more so, because I have her."
He turned, gazing lovingly at Aurora, his blue eyes full of devotion. "My Queen, Aurora. With her wisdom, her kindness, and her precious empathy born from the people, she constantly reminds me that the core of kingship is not to rule, but to serve. She has made me a better man, and she has made this nation a better place. Therefore, this building belongs to her as well."
Aurora's eyes moistened slightly as she returned his loving smile. The crowd cheered again, this time, shouting their Queen's name.
After the ceremony, Liam and Aurora did not leave immediately. They stepped down from the dais and walked with smiles into the secure area cordoned off by guards, interacting closely with the people.
Liam was the first to notice a veteran in a wheelchair, a medal for valor from the last border conflict pinned to his chest. "Sergeant Marcus," Liam said, walking directly to him and offering his hand, his voice filled with sincere respect. "It is good to see you here. Are you settling into your new post?"
The man, who had lost a leg in the war, flushed with emotion. He gripped the king's hand firmly and straightened his back. "Your Majesty! It is my honor! To serve my country, whether on the battlefield or in this temple of knowledge, is the greatest honor of my life. To be here, organizing the books that carry our nation's history… my heart has never known such peace."
"Your service is the pride of Cordonia, Mr. Marcus," Aurora added gently, stepping to her husband's side. "We are grateful that you are willing to continue serving the people. I hope this work brings you peace and joy."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. With you and the King, Cordonia's future is bright." Tears welled in the veteran's eyes.
Next, their attention was drawn to a young girl nervously clutching the fabric of her skirt. She was the first recipient of the newly established "Queen Eleanor Scholarship."
Aurora smiled and spoke first, her voice always having a calming effect. "Maria, isn't it? I read your application essay. Your insights on blending Cordonia's classical architecture with modern design were quite unique and very impressive."
The girl’s face turned scarlet, and she stammered, "Your Majesty… I… I can hardly believe it. Thank you, Your Majesty, Your Highness. I… I swear, I will study hard and bring the best knowledge in the world back to help… to help build a more beautiful Cordonia!"
"We have no doubt you will, Maria," Liam interjected, his smile full of encouragement. "Your success is Cordonia's success. Go and make us proud. And remember, when you return, the doors of this library will always be open to you."
On the other side of the crowd, a young mother excitedly held up her daughter of about five, a beautiful crown of daisies and baby's breath on her head. "Your Majesty! Look, Sofia, it's the Queen!"
Aurora's gaze was immediately captured, and she walked over with a smile. "Hello, Sofia. Your flower crown is so pretty. Did you make it yourself?"
The little girl hid shyly in her mother's arms, whispering proudly, "…It's for you, Your Majesty!"
"Oh?" A flicker of surprised delight crossed Aurora's face. "Thank you. This is the most beautiful gift I have received today." As she spoke, she naturally took the child from her mother's arms, placed a kiss on her chubby cheek, and then carefully handed her back.
All of this was faithfully recorded by the media's cameras. The King and Queen, beloved by their people; Cordonia, prosperous and thriving. The scene was a perfect illustration of the definition of a "Golden Age."
------
Night fell, and the clamor of the day slowly faded. A deep quiet settled over the private chambers of the royal palace.
Aurora helped Liam out of the uniform that symbolized both glory and constraint, and he changed into a soft, comfortable cashmere sweater. She, too, had shed her long gown for a simple silk robe. The faint scent of lavender, prepared by the palace staff to aid their relaxation, filled the air.
"Has Charlotte been asleep?" Liam asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice carried a trace of fatigue, but far more satisfaction.
"Like a little angel," Aurora said with a smile, coming to sit beside him. "Though she insisted on sleeping with that little sword Olivia gave her. She says she wants to dream of becoming as brave as Queen Kenna."
Liam let out a low chuckle at the thought. "That's Olivia. Her gifts are always so… profound." He took Aurora's hand, caressing it gently. "You worked hard today."
"It was nothing," Aurora replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "To see your mother's wish fulfilled, to see the people so happy… I was truly proud of you. But… today must have brought back many memories of Queen Eleanor for you, didn't it?"
Liam was silent for a moment, then nodded. He stood and walked to the terrace window, gazing out at the moonlit garden.
"Yes," he said, his voice a little distant. "I can almost remember when I was a child, she loved taking me to the library. She used to say that every book held a different world. She would hold me and, in her gentle voice, read me the old legends of knights and dragons."
A bittersweet smile touched his lips. "She always said she hoped I would become a king who protected his kingdom with wisdom, not force. That Cordonia could be a bridge, not a fortress. I have been trying… trying to live up to her vision. But I don't know if she would be pleased with me, if she could see today."
Aurora came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his broad back. "She would be, Liam. She would be immensely proud of you. You haven't just protected this country; you have made it better, more open, more hopeful. You have given the people prosperity and the children a future. You are the ideal king she always envisioned."
Liam turned, pulling his wife into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Aurora. Thank you for always being by my side."
They spoke of their children's future. As the first in line to the throne, Charlotte's life seemed already set in stone.
"I just want her to have a happy childhood, to be as free as possible," Aurora said softly. "We cannot choose her responsibilities for her, but we can at least pave a path for her that is less lonely."
"Yes," Liam sighed. "Beneath the crown lies endless duty. I hope she learns how to balance it all better than I have. And... I don't want her to always be so alone, Aurora." Liam's voice became even more gentle. "And Leo and me... although we had differences before, he has always been my brother. Knowing that he's there makes everything feel so different. I also hope Charlotte can have this support. A brother, or a sister... someone who can share this unique life with her."
Aurora's expression became extremely soft. She turned around and faced her husband, her amber eyes reflecting the moonlight. "I've been thinking about this all along, Liam. Seeing her playing happily with Leo, Katie's children today... I was thinking, could our home be a bit bigger? Could this palace be filled with more laughter?"
Liam's face finally broke into a genuine and warm smile, dispelling the worries that had previously clouded his brows. "More laughter might also mean more troubles," he quipped.
Aurora chuckled and kissed his lips. "As long as it's with you, I don't fear any more troubles. Maybe... we can start looking forward to it?"
Liam held her tighter in his arms. "I'm also looking forward to it, my Queen." His voice was filled with promises and hopes for the future.
------
The hour grew late, but Liam felt no desire for sleep. The day's memories of his mother were like a newly opened vintage wine, its lingering aftertaste keeping his mind from settling. Not wanting to disturb the already sleeping Aurora, he slipped on a robe and went alone to the study in the west wing of the palace.
This had once been his father's study; now, it was his. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and leather. Massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were neatly lined with the biographies and treatises of past monarchs.
Liam did not turn on a light, letting the moonlight stream through the large windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor. His gaze finally settled on the portrait hanging in the center of the wall.
It was his mother, Queen Eleanor, painted by the court artist when she was thirty. In the portrait, she wore a gown of silver-white, her golden hair swept up in an elegant coiffure. Her face held a gentle, slightly melancholic smile. She was beautiful, serene and saintly, like a goddess bathed in moonlight.
Liam walked to the portrait and stood before it, gazing. He reached out, his fingertips lightly tracing the cold, carved flowers of the frame.
Just then, a long-forgotten, hazy childhood memory flashed through his mind without warning.
He remembered: a dim afternoon when he was nine years old. For months before that, a joyful anticipation had filled the palace, for his mother was pregnant. He remembered how she would gently stroke her swelling belly and tell him with a smile that he would soon have a little sister, and that he must learn to protect her, like a true knight.
But the memory that surfaced now was from after his sister's birth.
He was standing at the door of the royal nursery, watching his mother, Eleanor, who was seated in a rocking chair in the center of the room. In her arms, she held an infant wrapped in a thick, soft, white swaddling blanket.
The official story was that he had a sister who, shortly after birth, had tragically died due to frailty. In the royal archives, the entry for the princess named Lena was but a few brief sentences. A short, private funeral, closed to the public, had marked the end of her short life. It was known to all as a tragedy for the Rhys family.
But… the scene in his memory was somehow different.
As an eight-year-old boy, he could already clearly discern the emotions of adults. He distinctly remembered his mother holding the swaddled baby, her body trembling slightly. She wasn't crying; she even wore a faint smile, but it was incredibly stiff and did not reach her eyes. Her blue eyes, usually so full of warmth, were now filled with an emotion that he could not fully comprehend then, but which, in retrospect, sent a chill down his spine.
It wasn't the pure grief of a mother who had lost a child.
It was something else… a mixture of profound sorrow and a deeper, all-consuming fear.
That fear, it seemed, was not directed at the fragile life in her arms, but at something unseen, outside the room—something larger, more irresistible. She bent to kiss the bundle, her movements so gentle it was as if she were touching a piece of art that could shatter at any moment, but her eyes were those of a prisoner on her way to the gallows, filled with a desperate plea to hold on to something.
"No… it wasn't that simple…"
Liam muttered the words unconsciously. He shook his head, trying to dispel the sudden chill. He must have remembered it wrong. Perhaps it was a child's memory, muddled with the tragic story he heard later, that had created such an absurd association. He was a king, trained in the strictest logic and history. He believed in evidence and archives, not in a hazy, twenty-year-old childhood vision.
He looked up at the portrait again. The mother in the painting was still so serene, so gentle, haloed in saintly light.
This time, however, Liam could not tear his gaze from her beautiful eyes. He felt as if he could see through the layers of oil paint to what lay hidden behind the smile—the same bottomless sorrow and fear from his memory.
The study was utterly silent, save for the dull, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock against the wall. The sound was like a relentless countdown for a secret long since buried in dust.
Tagging everyone who showed interest from the SSS post!
Logan peered through the window at the man inside. Thick, glossy mustache and a stark silver streak in his hair. Soft, full lips ready to grin or smirk or sneer. Bright green glinting behind shadowed eyelids.
It was definitely Remus. Logan had finally found him.
Again.
Written for AUGust (a throw back to @tsspromptmonth's 2021 list) If you've read Decoherence, you'll know I can't quite get the idea of Logan and Remus searching for—and finding—each other across the multiverse.
It's Logan's turn to do the searching.
Coffee Shop - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
Slouched over the table closest to the door, Remus yawned and checked his watch again. Still the wrong side of dawn’s butt crack, but the next interviewee was now fifteen minutes late. The first interviewee should’ve been there a half hour ago. Elbows on the table and one hand holding up his head, he poked at the three-inch stack of interview folders Remy had dumped on him at the end of yesterday’s shift.
“Congratulations, babes!” Remy slipped him a new name badge, Shift Manager embossed below his name. He sipped his iced coffee and smirked past the straw. “You’re promoted to manager!”
“Fuck, thanks!” Remus swapped out the badge. His old one was looking a little ragged. “Do I get a bump in pay?”
“Yup, an extra forty-five cents an hour and you get to run the interviews tomorrow. First one’s at five fifteen a.m.” He’d waved as he slipped through the door. “Byeee, bitch!”
A tall figure dressed in creased slacks and polished shoes approached the door, a briefcase in one hand. The rest of him—him? Maybe?—was obscured by the big Closed sign on the door. Fuck. He knew he shoulda taken a table in the back.
The customer rapped on the glass, four curt knocks.
Rolling his eyes, Remus heaved himself up to his feet and peeled back the sign. “Sorry, we’re closed.” He pointed at the sign and shrugged. “We open at seven on Sundays. Wanna come back?”
The man tilted his head to one side, deep blue eyes gazing back at his through thick black frames. Remus didn’t usually go for the nerdy types this guy… he made it work.
He searched his eyes like he was looking for… Fuck if Remus knew. At any rate he didn’t find it, whatever it was, and he raised his briefcase. “I have an interview.”
“The fuck…” Remus muttered but unlocked the door. “Here?” he asked, looking him up and down. The shoes and slacks were just the start. Dude was in a full-on suit, pressed shirt and tie with a matching pocket square. He looked good, but most of the kids showing for barista interviews didn’t remember to wear half the time.
“You have an interview here?” Remus asked, certain he’d missed something. Maybe the guy just wanted a cup of coffee before an interview somewhere else… Somewhere important.
“Yes,” the man nodded and checked his watch. “I am thirty-four minutes early, though, I…” He looked over his shoulder through the window. “I can wait outside if that would be more appropriate?”
“Nah, um,” Remus shook his head and waved a hand at an empty chair where he’d camped out with the interview files. He poked his head through the door and looked up and down the sidewalk. The city was still stretching and yawning and the Sleepy Bean was the only spark of light on the sleepy street. Shrugging, he closed and locked the door again.
The man sat with a rod-straight back, briefcase on the floor next to the chair. His hands were folded in front of him, resting lightly on an open manilla envelope. A resume sat on one side and a few sheets of graph paper sat on the other, covered margin to margin in neatly hand-printed notes.
Remus sat down at his own seat and started flipping through the folders. “So you’re the six-thirty…” He checked the list. 6:30: Sanders, Logan. He opened the folder and double-checked the Position field on the form Remy’d printed out from their online service.
Barista
“You wanna be a barista?” he asked, not really bothering to hide his disbelief. Fuck, his forehead was so scrunched up in confusion it was actually starting to hurt and he put down the application long enough to rub away a bit of the ache. He scanned the guy’s resume. “But you’re a… a fucking chemical engineer.”
“Post-doctoral candidate,” the guy—Logan—corrected, adjusting his glasses. “On a… temporary sabbatical.” He squared his shoulders, muscles twitching in his jaw. He paused, watching Remus’ face.
Remus couldn’t help the weird little tingle at the back of his head that told him the guy was expecting something from him. Something beyond the obvious job offer, he guessed.
When Remus just stared back at him, Logan nodded and continued. “I believe my skills will translate well to this field, particularly the ability to learn quickly, to memorize and adhere to detailed recipes and lab—restaurant safety protocols and—”
“Wanna start now?” Remus closed the application. “I don’t think the slackers scheduled before you are showing up.”
His stoic almost-smile faltered and he frowned down at his notes. “I… I believed we had already started the interview, but yet, of course, please…” His face shifted back into a mostly neutral near smile and he nodded. “I am prepared for any question you may ask.”
“Nah, man, I mean do you want to start the job now?” Remus gestured at the line of steamers, grinders and espresso machines behind the counter. “It’s really a hands-on sort of assessment we need anyway. You showed up on time and you’re clean,” Remus added with a shrug. “You're already ahead of the game."
The frown returned and Logan looked pointedly at the stack of folders at Remus’ elbow. “Do you not have other applicants to assess?”
Remus did, but something told him they’d just all be a waste of time anyway and he grinned. “Not really.”
This time, when Logan searched his eyes, he found something there that painted a little smile on his face.
Damn, he looked good when he smiled.
“Very well,” Logan said and slipped his folder back into his briefcase. “I can start right now.”
Almost all of you know English is not my first language and I'm trying my best. I'm not quite familiar with victorian things but I want to be part of this beautiful fandom so here's my contribution.
I wanted to use another song (you can listen to it searching Lysandro San Valentin on YT) but it wasn't possible, so I chose this one bc I think it's beautiful too. You can listen while you read for a better experience (bc as I told you I'm not familiar with this and I wanted to ambience it more) if you got Spotify or in the link for YT. Hope you like it!
A young man dressed in a long aqua-colored jacket was walking from one side of the room to the other, annoyed, uncomfortable, and beautiful pink eyes followed him from one side to the other, with restrained words. He twisted the tips of his white sleeves, fearing that he would tear off the gold trim on his jacket if he fiddled with them too much. The silver-haired girl (his valet) watched his comings and goings. She cleared her throat but said nothing. She caught his attention and cast a look that was intended to be supportive, to convey love and affection, as well as calm, but she knew that wouldn't change the young man's anger. Her smile faded when there was a knock on the door and Chase jumped as he looked at it, his expression discomposed. Chase felt like the huge bottle-green living room was spinning around him very dequickly, that he would end up tripping over the pretty dark wood coffee table, and that he would be lucky if he landed on the brown sofa instead of on the valuable red, black and cream patterned rug, which he thought he would throw up on. One of the flaps of the large door next to the tall bookshelf full of books he hadn't read opened and the knot in his stomach tightened a little more.
Chase had been engaged to a woman he didn't know, it was one of those marriages of convenience between wealthy families, and he had to start courting her now that they had approved their marriage. He didn't know what she looked like physically, he didn't know what her name was or how old she was, much less what things she liked. He only knew that he had to learn to dance for the ball they had prepared, where they would announce their union to the rest of the members of high society.
Chase sighed, and was glad he did, because when the person he was waiting for finally entered the room, his breathing stopped and time froze. A young man with a pale complexion and ice-blue eyes appeared, his black hair matched his clothing: he wore black pleated pants, a charcoal gray vest from whose lapels hung several thin intertwined silver chains, and over this he wore an elegant knee-length jacket in the same color as his pants. The boy, tall and thin, stared at him and Chase felt the coldness of his icy gaze while his cheeks burned from the intensity of it. Mute before that beauty that seemed from another world, he managed to stammer a ridiculous greeting. He glanced at Silver to see her smiling secretly, looking at the corner of the room, because she was the only one who knew that what Chase really liked were boys. Chase thought that this only happened in the fairy tales he was told as a child, but he had felt those butterflies in his stomach from the first moment their hands touched. The man who was teaching him how to lead the dance to dance with a woman was the one he waited for every week, and he felt absolutely alone when he left, who knew where, and he spent the rest of the day thinking about his touch, his eyes, his smile (somewhat haughty) and the sound of his voice. Buddy opened his eyes when Chase told him about what he was thinking.
With three weeks left to announce the engagement, Chase stumbled, displaying his infinite clumsiness, and his nose was just millimeters away from the nose of the boy, whom he affectionately called Buddy (because he couldn't pronounce his name correctly), and his eyes They made contact longer than usual. Chase noticed the blush on his cheeks, his eyes strayed to the taller man's lips for a few seconds, and with an imperceptible approach he made it clear what his intentions were. To his surprise, Buddy leaned towards him too and their lips made contact for about five or six seconds. He blinked to make sure he wasn't daydreaming, and sure enough, he wasn't. His couples dance teacher stressed that he needed more classes to improve and his visits increased in the following weeks, during which they did nothing but get to know each other more little by little. Days before the appointed date, Chase expressed his disagreement with his marriage, Buddy already assumed it but he did not expect to hear what Chase had to say. While Grandpa Ralph was waiting for his grandson with Deacon, Chase's cousin, who was looking askance at the blonde's fiancée, thinking about how lucky he was, Silver made an appearance.
“Where is Chase, little Silver?” he asked. He always treated her like she was part of the family. She smiled.
“Chase is not going to come, sir” she answered, and both of them were surprised, she giggled and gave Ralph a piece of paper with a little head inclination, and then she retired.
Grandpa Ralph read the note, Deacon looked above his shoulder to read it too curious.
“He… left with another man?” he asked. He always knew Chase wasn’t into women, but he didn’t expect him to disobey like this. He was proud, but had to keep the looks, so he thought about something to say to excuse him and break that engagement. He smiled as he lended Deacon the note and started walking to the woman who was waiting to meet Chase.
Deacon read the note again and smiled too. Chase was like that, he knew. And someone had to console that poor and beautiful maiden.
