bakerstreet | THE ROMANCE NOVEL/EROTICA PLAYED STRAIGHT MEME

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THE ROMANCE NOVEL/EROTICA PLAYED STRAIGHT MEME

THE ROMANCE NOVEL/EROTICA PLAYED STRAIGHT MEME

Romance novels. You all know them. They're the books with the embarrassingly bad cover art, usually paperback, that are either stuffed in the back of the library or on a whirling shelf at the grocery store, begging moms and grandmas to pick them up. At best, they're softcore pornography, with terrible euphemisms. At worst, they're irredeemable shlock with cliche plots that are a dime a dozen. Some are even so textbook that when you express interest in wanting to write them, the company sends you fill in the blank forms to follow. No joke.

Still, there's something charming about these cheesefests, and a lot of the time, their tropes are tropes because they're genuinely enjoyable. These meme celebrates all the glory of terrible erotic, romantic fiction - played completely and utterly straight, in all its over-the-top hot mess-ness.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character and preferences. Also, you might want to mention what prompts you're into/not into.
Comment to others.
Thread things out. Feel free to take these as seriously or as melodramatically as you'd like. Just have fun with them!
Terrible smut not guaranteed.
Shitty euphemisms not included.
Cheesy at your own discretion.

PROMPTS

Naive Virginal Hero/ine: Usually a standard. One part of the couple is inexperienced, meaning that the mass of love scenes in the book are their first time.
The Plucky Hero/ine: Often in tandem with the above, but not always. A guy or gal who's really a go-get 'em type, most likely paired with a stick-in-the-mud.
The Mousy Hero/ine: Again, one part of our romantic duo is a shy violet type, sometimes a teacher, a librarian, or another repressed yet sexy profession.
Cold Heart Melted: The person you've fallen in love is wounded by their past, but you know there's good inside. Can you heal them with your love?
Rough Bad Boy: He (or she's) a cheater, a seducer, a no-good crook - except towards the one person they want to be faithful to, but push away.
Boss/Secretary: Sometimes, things get a little hot when you're bent over those copy machines.
Makeover: You used to be a plain Jane; now, you're smoking hot and getting the attention of somebody you never thought would look your way.
Your Best Friend's Sibling: Your best friend's been with you through thick and thin. Still, they'll totally kill you if you slept with and/or seduced their brother or sister.
Your Sibling: In romance novels, everything's fair game. Though this cliche usually involves step or adopted siblings, blood relations are pretty common, too.
Love Triangle: No need to clarify this one. So, are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?
Revenge: You wanted to ruin this person by making them fall in love with you, screwing them - literally - and then leaving them. Of course, you didn't account for your own feelings...
Feelings for Your Best Friend: You've loved this person platonically for years, but you never saw what was right in front of you.
A Helping Hand: Someone comes to you for help attracting the apple of their eye. You help out and end up wanting you "project" instead.
Period Romance (aka Bodice Ripping): ...as in time period, not that other period. Whether it take place during the middle ages, Regency England, pirate ship...times, or the frontier, these are always adventures.
Mistaken Identity: Wait, they think I'm who? Well, they care for me, so I'd better keep pretending. But what about when they find out?
Guardian/Ward: Usually combined with the age difference trope, but always involves a person who's known and taken care of someone for a long time desiring them.
Arranged Marriages Turned Real: You two were put together by others, and now the feelings you thought would never come are growing real.
Marriage of Convenience: Semi-related to the above, but actually entered for mutual benefits. Still, the growing attraction part remains.
Time Travelling: A hero/ine from the future falls into the past and is attracted to someone there, though eventually, they know they must leave. Can also be a hero/ine from the past falling into the future, but this is less common.
Gay Subgenre: This deserves its own prompt due to its rising popularity. Here, there's a whole sexual taboo. Undoubtedly, the most popular facet of this is the open gay guy/closeted "straight" guy pairing.
Fantasy: Dragons, barbarians, witches, wizards, and sex.
Supernatural: Vampires, werewolves, psychics, gargoyles, DARK SIDED and the humans they love.
Sci-Fi: Sexy aliens and sexy planets. Also, sex pollen. Or dystopian dark futures with lots of sex.
Secret Baby: Remember that person you slept with years ago? Yeaaaaaah, they had a kid.
Noble Savage: This one is kind of iffy these days, but it continues to be popular. Basically, there's a relationship between two people/beings of different races/species that is considered different and is therefore eroticized. Often involves being more in touch with nature and freedom from society.
Yes Means No: This is the convention of romance novels most often criticized. One side of the couple is too forceful and doesn't take no as an answer, yet the other party usually ends up loving it.
Country Mouse, City Mouse: A city slicker moves out to the country where they meet a sexy farmer or cowpoke who at first doesn't trust them, but through horse riding and camping out, the sexual tension grows.
Teacher/Student: Another power and age difference trope that is prominent in both erotica and the more "romance" based fare.
Social Inequality: Rich/poor, most likely, though other hierarches are sometimes used.
Age Difference: In general. Often combined with self-loathing, experience difference, and the cliche of "waiting until they're of age so it's okay."
Reunion Romance: You were with this person before, but you broke up. Now, through serendipity, you've reacquainted. Will the old flame flare up?
Suburbia: White picket fences are presented as cathartic and can even get the most wild soul to settle down with a good hearted woman or man. Plus, lots of sex in beds.
Sexy Single Parent: They have such a good heart, but their dick ex-lover left them with a house full of kids. Can you score with that total MILF/DILF and win them over?
Bondage: FIFTY SHADES OF - sorry. Yes. Bondage. Nuff said.
The Evil Ex: Drama! Your lover's ex is back in the picture and ruining your life - often the time in unneedlessly dramatic ways.
Steamy Doctors and Nurses: The display educational skeleton isn't the only one getting a whole lot of bone. That new mysterious doctor is leaving a trail of broken-hearted nurses behind him.
Affair: You're not getting it at home, so you've fallen into seeing someone else. Things get twisted when you realize that the person who's ring your wearing is not who you want to spend your time being with.
Love to Hate: Oh my gosh, I just can't stand that jerk! They're so- so- sexy! Hmmm...maybe they're not so bad...
Royalty: Princes, princesses, and sultry sultans who come to sweep us normies off our feet. How can we resist?
Raising an Adopted Child: Somehow, the two of you have been roped into raising this kid - don't ask me whose - together. Now, you have to spend a lot more time together, maybe even moving in together, and...
The Nerd and the Football Star: High school is like its own world, and relationships across cliques are not allowed. Popular kids can have anyone they want, so why would they go for the geek?
Against All Odds: Nobody says you two will work out, but you'll be damned if you'll let that stop you from trying. And trying. And trying. And coming back to try again, because the sex is good.
Stockholm Syndrome: You've been kidnapped by the big bad, and you're...doing better than expected. Actually, you may not want to leave.
Misunderstanding: Oh, no! I totally heard my love saying they don't want to be with me! I know what I heard! No, your mindblowing sex doesn't prove anything!
Mail-Order Bride: You were picked out in some fashion by your lover. At first it was business, but now, things are serious.
The Happy Ending: Yay! You've overcome all the hurdles, defeated the enemy, and now you get to have the rest of your life filled with love and sex.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

((HERE FOR THIS. Please expect extremely cheesy cheese and "haha only serious" prose.

GOOD:
- you know all those shitty action hero potboiler books? you know how peanut butter and chocolate are great together? let's soldier up and strip down garfully.

- mail order bride/arranged marriage heck yeah

- will go the full romance novel ham and cheese in a heartbeat. you want a pirate captain? Lord Morrison of St. Bullets Green? viking raider morrison disciplining his spirited captive prince/ss? hope your char enjoys him being resolutely american and effing up all the period etiquette, but by god he is dtf.

PLS NO:
- tearful virgins. untearful ones are fine.
- or anyone under the age of like late-20s in the first place, Jack is Old.
- angsty angst for its own sake tends to be not my favorite thing
- pls no secret kids, my heart is weak, i would cry
- if we're doing evil ex pls can we definitely not make the evil ex any of the women from OW thx. ))

( DAYS LATER, but I've had my eye on this for a few days... so I was wondering if you would be up for something! Either that action hero ... action, saving a ~prince in distress~, including effing up that cultural etiquette and all that good stuff afterwards, or the raider viking thing or yes, piratesss. Any of those sound fabulous to me, and I can roll with all, if you have a preference for one favourite thing you'd absolutely wanna do! I'll start, ofc, just checking in first. c: )

(( yo if you are looking for someone who is gonna destroy some uruk-hai faces while having no friggin idea what's going on in this crazy mixed up fantasy world where he's just a man... a man with infinite ammo and infinitely broad shoulders... trying to deal with and probably rail some kinda pretty prince who he accidentally rescued who has alarmingly good aim... pls step right this way.

tho for these two pirates would also be fun. probably would want to do it backwards: legolas was captured by pirates (he's just letting them think that for now, anyway), the pirate ship is captured and boarded by a ragtag group of privateers, whose gruff captain could really use a lieutenant to help him with the day to day matters that are so difficult for a shirtless old warrior to handle. ofc, it's a full crew, the new captive/lieutenant is uh slightly more classy than the rest of the fellas, so there's only one space left to sleep on the ship, and it's the other half of the captain's bed...))

( MY GOD you put an insanely difficult choice before me, I laughed so hard at both omg, but I think I'm gonna go with the latter. Feel free to PM if anything needs changing! & I hope this starting point works for you. c: )

To try to flee a ship sailing in the middle of the sea would be exceedingly foolish, so Legolas was forced to wait until they reached a port city, and hopefully not one where he was meant to be sold into slavery. Days after days, stretching far too long in what was nothing more and nothing less than a cage, in the company of unwashed pirates who leered and jeered his way day and night. Some paid a high price if they wandered too close, quick like the strike of a venomous snake they were grabbed by their filthy clothing, then with the force of a ramming bull they were pulled forward until their noses smashed on the iron bars or their teeth broke further. So many sported awkward injuries until they learned just how far the elf's reach stretched out of the bars and how close was too close.

Maybe it was the smells that stretched his patience too thin so quickly, maybe it was something else, but the sounds of battle above the deck were a blessing. Legolas couldn't tell who it was attacking the pirates, perhaps another group, perhaps the English or the Spanish or whoever else sailed those waters, but this could easily mean his freedom. Or a fate worse, but he held onto hope for freedom. A spark of hope that was stoked into full fire once he realised the attackers were a group of privateers and that they won. They would be more reasonable people to speak to, for sure—

Or at least perhaps their captain would be. His presence caused quite the stir among the men, and not because Legolas had hit any of them (yet), and one was sent to call the captain and present him with this pickle of finding a beautiful man chained in a cage.

So Legolas waited those moments longer, his patience holding together but with a single thread, which snapped upon the arrival of the captain. Yet no violence followed, only tension, when Legolas's eyes fell on the one the crew respected the most out of all. He might have held his breath a little, but he stood proud and boldly came up close to the bars of the cell, speaking first in a challenging tone that disguised hope, "Are you here to return me my freedom, or are you no better than those beasts you have defeated?"

Maybe a little too spirited, a little too demanding, but no breeze reached beneath the deck to cool the heat.

First the battle, powder and blood; then the capture, which put him sword-deep into the grimy sweat of another worthless pirate crew; then the load-out where Captain John "Bloody Jack" Morrison discovered how his hard labors in the service of Her Majesty's charter were to be compensated this day. The haul: two chests of mixed coin, a few bolts of colored silk, a few more of wool, three barrels of salt pork, fifteen of Madeira wine, a cask of spices, and one caged fancy lad.

Jack was a tall man whose craggy, masculine features bore the imprint of emotionless resolve and whose capacious shoulders stretched the limits of what his red military tailcoat could contain. Beneath this coat he wore no shirt over his scarred, tanned, muscular chest, though a single shark's tooth dangled from a gold chain around his throat, and below this particular central span of skin there lay tight canvas breeches belted over a flat belly. He had short hair, silver white with age, which he rubbed a hand over as he approached the cage. In his other hand he held a crude bottle of thick green glass in which a dark liquid roiled with his bold steps of resolved assurance.

He stopped about arm's length from the bars of the cage, cocked his head (on his cheek a fresh scar of recent battle bled slowly), and looked long and hard at Legolas - at all of Legolas. The long legs. The strong, slim fingers, pale. The fine features. The immaculate shining hair windblown about his elegant shoulders. The fellow smelled fresh and sweet, and he spoke like he'd had some schooling. An interesting prospect: scholar, pleasure slave, or maybe, and here Jack got a little excited, some eminently ransomable noble son?

Whoever he was, he had a mouth on him. Jack took a long swig from the bottle. Then he held it out to the trim blond that formed the most troubling part of his new treasures. The crew fell silent, 58 dirty and bloody faces from all over the globe, all their attention fixed on the man they would and usually did follow to the death.

"That's a lotta words. Thirsty?"

All around them, the motley crew burst into laughter.

Different like the day and night they stood on the two sides of the bars. One scarred and battle-worn, the other seemingly untouched by violence and perhaps even incapable of it, one with loosely defined morals, and the other a very much prim and proper stick in the mud. Or at least, Legolas was near certain that was the way the captain and the crew saw him, if this question and the resulting laughter was anything to go by. Fair faced and delicate, almost feminine, surely he would not be able to handle the drink of the real men.

Which Legolas was perfectly content to prove wrong, if it were to win him freedom.

He did not twitch under the scrutinising look, he did not jerk away from the gesture, but reached through the bars for the bottle. His fingers were smooth and soft as the rest of him, not marred by a single callous and surprisingly warm, as they brushed over Jack's rough knuckles. They were clean too, though it was anyone's wonder how he managed to stay so impeccable in surroundings and company so filthy.

The bottle would not fit through the bars, though, and Legolas didn't even try, the resulting mirth of the crew would be too great. Instead he leaned in closer to the barred wall of the cage, taking care not to press against it, and drank. It was not the worst he had, but neither was it what he tended to enjoy the most. One long swing, two, three — he was thirsty, though not for the reasons Jack implied —, and he swallowed easily. The alcohol burned his mouth and throat, but he did not sputter, he did not even as much as grimace, only returned the bottle with a cocked brow when he was done, eyes fixed on Jack without fear. To show weakness now would be foolish, it would earn him no respect.

"Must I repeat now in terms simpler?"

Though perhaps those biting words would not earn him any either.

Bloody Jack's hard face changed from affable sneering to faint surprise, consideration, a sudden smile, and then, as the crew began cheering noisily, an open grin as he took the bottle back. He raised it in salute and took another pull himself before handing it off to a slim, tall, dark-faced man behind him.

Any fellow that could pound the sour, woody, high-proof rum the crew lived on couldn't be all bad. Blondie hadn't even winced, which hadn't gone unnoticed by all the eyes around him.

"Not bad, Blondie." He snapped a couple times and pointed down, and the dark man hustled forward with a sigh. Legolas might have noticed then from the tilt of the jaw and the span of the waist that this was no man, but a woman - as indeed several of the crew were. She had golden eyes, serious, but with a hint of humor as she shoved a crate over towards the cage. Jack leaned back on it easily, crossing his thick forearms, and continued to address the captive. "Maybe you could tell us how you got locked up in there."

Though he interrupted Legolas to bark at their audience, "And you lot - get back to work."

A noble's son? With a tippler father if so. No scholar or ladylike courtier drank like that. Which meant there was also a chance they were looking at another rogue like themselves. Jack wasn't going to give a blanket pardon to a potential scalliwag.

The crew dispersed, laggard and laughing to each other, and returned to the riggings, or belowdecks to wash themselves, leaving Legolas mostly alone with the captain and his second.

Indeed, Legolas noticed the women among the crew, which was curious in and of itself. Rare it was, but... perhaps a good sign. Though the stock he took of the crew was not mere curiosity, but a matter of a just in case situation, if he had to fight his way out of it. Granted, there would be no chances for this just in case for as long as he remained inside this forsaken cage, rather than outside, but it was good to be prepared all the same.

He did watch the crew scatter, briefly though, not caring much if they were heard or not. None of this conversation would be kept private, after all. That much he had no doubts about.

"A lone traveller's luck was not on my side, that day— or the many days since I began my journey," he said simply when his gaze settled back on the square jaw and piercing eyes. The rum still burned the inside of his mouth and Legolas licked his lips absently. He offered a grin to match Jack's, but his own impish in challenge, as his eyebrows lifted in amused wonder. Little steps, to be seen an equal rather than a dainty boy needing rescue with the first being that hearty gulp of rum. "It is a long story, that will take many a word to tell."

But as Jack was already (somewhat) seated, and Legolas himself had nowhere to sit but the floor, he continued easily and remained standing himself.

"Because that is what I am, a traveller wishing to see the world," and though he tried to keep that inquisitive wonder from his voice, he failed a little. It was a too naive sentiment for someone even his apparent age to express, but it was also very much true. The world changed so quickly, it was most fascinating. Catching himself at it, before it got too obvious, Legolas spoke more seriously from then on. "I paid for my fare with gold and with aid on deck, as sailing on ships this large has no secrets to me—," he spread his hands out, looking down to his fine clothing before anyone could voice, or even think of, any doubts, "Do not let yourself be fooled by my grab, they ambushed me in the port town, when I was expecting it the least... so it is, I suppose, when you catch the eye of the wrong person at the wrong place, your goods are stolen, or you are stolen as the goods."

He shrugged one elegant shoulder, a smooth motion as he walked alongside the bars closer to where one of his captors laid dead. "What they had in store for me? I think that you know better than I could ever dream," for a second or two his gaze was dark with the thought of all that had already befallen him, and all that still could. It softened in the next moment, and there was no trace of anger when he gave Jack another long look. "But if it is only the cage that interests you, why I am locked akin to a wild beast— you will find among the pirates even fewer teeth than normal, you fill find bones freshly broken and they had not been in battle since my capture, until now, that is, when they met their demise."

Jack listened attentively, and was silent after. A silence broken only by his scratching the cut at the side of his cheek and swiping a white kerchief from inside his coat to wipe at the blood. His manner was unhurried, his expression calm. Finally, he tucked the kerchief away and leaned towards Legolas. The evening sun glided down the hard planes of his chest and hung in a drop of sweat.

"So what you're saying is, you didn't come from anywhere, you're not going anywhere, and you're dangerous."

Before Legolas could protest, he uncrossed his legs and stood up. "Shut up." There was nothing unfriendly in the way he said it; it was simply to forestall another torrent of verbiage from his songbird captive. He unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off, throwing it over the crate; then he carefully unhooked the necklace from his neck and set it on top of the coat. His broad, powerful body was marked with powder and smoke from the battle. He walked up to the bars of the cage without the least concern, and his fierce blue eyes were fixed on Legolas' own.

"How dangerous?"

This was a man who did not fear the implied threat. This was the man who challenged it, in fact, with this display of raw masculinity that turned the atmosphere even more stifling than it already was. He observed the dance of muscles, as Jack moved to strip the coat and the necklace, how his shoulders flexed, tensed and relaxed with motions.

Legolas moved slowly back to the same spot, chain's links clicking on the wooden flooring, and so they once more stood face to face with only metal bars separating them. But now Jack was within easy reach, now Legolas could grab the back of his neck and slam his face, or punch him in the throat. Striking anywhere on the chest, or even the stomach, would be more than likely futile. The hard planes of muscle would cushion anything. He could strike below the belt, or kick a shin with the leg that was not chained back and only allowing him to go this far. There were many options, likely also some that Legolas hadn't even realised yet, but he made no motion to show — rather than simply tell — any of them.

Not yet, anyway. Though with how Jack stripped for a brawl, or so Legolas assumed it was about, it was only a matter of time before he would have to prove his words. Already, he was being baited, urged to show, but a man's pride could be a delicate thing, and few took kindly to have it shattered.

"You wish me to show you how, but if I do and you take unkindly to a bruised ego, what then?"

A lifetime in a cage, forced on him out of spite, was hardly an appealing prospect, after all. Then again, what choice did he have?

Not even a second passed, and Legolas came to a decision— quick like a snake, his hand shot out between the bars, and from a lack of anything else to hold onto, he grabbed a fistful of Jack's hair at the back of his head before yanking him forward towards the bars with surprising force, and stopped a hair's breadth from them and level with his own face. The middle ground, between inaction and actual harm.

( lmk if that works better? )

Edited 2016-11-10 21:51 (UTC)

[no 9, 19, 25 or 45, please! josuke can be aged up as necessary and the AU options (can you say barbarella style sci fi au) are particularly welcome bc they're my jam but otherwise I don't have any preferences!]

Edited 2016-09-29 23:26 (UTC)

[Okay I know it's a bit odd but am I okay to do something with Hannah here?]

[Anything you'd have in mind would be okay by me! Not that odd at all.]

[I didn't have anything in mind so I did RNG and I pulled out numbers

23, 10, 32, 7, 15

Anything stand out? I'm happy to write a starter or you can start if you do!]

[I think 7 could be a bit amusing for them. Would you mind tossing me a starter?]

Makeover: You used to be a plain Jane; now, you're smoking hot and getting the attention of somebody you never thought would look your way.

A makeover. It's something that she and Beth had joked about getting a few times, but they had never got around to executing. After all, between sports and school, there was little time for the Washington sisters to do such a thing. Hannah didn't want the silly type of makeover that young girls did during a sleepovers, but a good, solid proper one to change her image into something more exciting.

She was a shy dreamer, and while she did want to find someone to whisk her off her feet and accept her for who she was, she realised quickly that no one would notice her at the moment; not when she looked so plain and mousy, completely ordinary and unappealing. Hannah had considered calling Sam for help, but ultimately she decided against it. Sam was confident and practical, and she'd tell Hannah that she didn't need to make that change. She did though. She needed to make a change, something to just make her noticed, or at least help her confidence.

Hannah had been dwelling on the prospect for a long time now, but one weekend, something just... clicked. She wished there was a better way of saying it, a better trigger to cue her to such a drastic change, but in all honesty it just seemed like she clicked a mental switch. Something inside of her that forced her away from hopeless pining and her popular magazines, making her get off her bed and take the initiative. Beth was more than surprised to hear Hannah's plea for help, but her twin was more than happy to offer her assistance.

She had already gotten her tattoo some time ago, but this was different. This was something else to her image, and she was making a of huge changes at once: her wardrobe was swapped around, her hair curled, makeup replaced and contact lenses were bought. It was both frightening and exciting, and the day after she felt she had a good part of it assembled, she could hardly contain herself. She had to show someone, and naturally she texted Sam first.]

Hey Sam? It's Hannah. You want to meet up? I need your opinion on something.

Edited 2016-09-30 00:01 (UTC)

[smut improbable. Most interested in 14, 17, 21-23, 39. 19 is a possibility, 27 also easy... 30 kind of inherent depending on. Others possible as well!]

[No 11, 16, 24, 26, 28, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38, 40, 43

also period aus may not be the greatest for reasons UNLESS IT'S PIRATES OR SOMETHING IDK]

Edited 2016-09-30 00:31 (UTC)

[No 6, 9, 11, 16, 24, 26, 28, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38, 40, 43

19, 23, and 36 are basically canon lbr, excuses for fancy dresses are a+ ~~also excuses for taking fancy dresses off~~]

(I'm down for all of this.)

[chick-flick!Dean is canon, so romance-novel!Dean may as well be. After all, he totally looks like Fabio on the covers of Chuck's books. M/F for ships/smut unless there is a lot of build-up. Wincest is not my thing but all the fluffy family stuff and bromance are a-ok!]

[ open to some srs au cross-canon shenanigans? i can modernize elle here, or we can throw dean into medievalism, either or. :) totes up for all the things! ]

(I kinda like the idea of throwing Dean back in time, Outlander style? He'd probably think he died and went to LARP heaven, but wind up adapting really well.)

[ works for me! i can't wait to see him rockin' the tunic and breeches, lmao. i can pick up any timeline point, if there's one you'd prefer specifically. i also don't mind npc'ing a few of the companions, if you want to start somewhere in Origins, i'm super easy that way! ]

[Most of my Dragon Age knowledge is from rp au shenanigans, so pick whatever works for you! Dean an I will roll with it!]

[ maybe some mix of 12-13-4ish? ]

The company was due back tonight. Elle sat at the large desk in her second-floor study, watching the sun descend over the jagged coastline. She had a mountain of paperwork to finish; she really didn't have time to be...mooning about like some vapid, pale-cheeked milkmaid! But nevertheless, she worried about him. Thought at first she'd taken him for some half-crazed berserker hyped up on some new and rare form of lyrium, given his outlandish insistances, the damnable man had, once he'd calmed and realized that hysterics weren't going to solve any problems at all and had actually begun to come to terms with his circumstances, proven a most welcome addition to the Warden ranks here at Amaranthine.

Though he'd not undertaken the Joining--Elle had no intention of asking him, either--this Dean Winchester did know how to hunt, and wasn't in the least shy about jumping right in and getting his hands dirty. When he'd discovered that the Wardens were "monster-hunters" themselves, he'd been more than willing to saddle right up and take part, despite her misgivings about his understanding of the dangers darkspawn presented. To her surprise, he'd done very well, even gaining the respect and camaraderie of those under her command; no easy feat, that.

He'd forced her to reevaluate her opinion of a few things, and once she'd actually made time to sit down and talk with him, Elle had discovered an entirely new landscape hiding beneath the gruff outer exterior. And wasn't it just a damned shame that that very characteristic was guaranteed to set a spark in certain parts of her naughty female brain that really didn't need to be lit. She'd had her share of lovers over the years, each one appealing in his own way, but adding this man to the roster just...wasn't a good idea.

Work, Ellessa, she kept chiding herself. Focus on the duty. She forced her gaze back to the parchment in front of her. They will return tonight. You'll have their reports, make sure everyone is hale and hearty, and spend an hour or two swilling ale and listening to their tales. Naught more, you hear me?

Outside her study's window, the sun had sunk halfway beyond the far horizon.

Dean still didn't understand how he'd ended up in this realm, though not for lack of trying. He'd had a number of theories, but thus far, none had panned out, and he'd been forced to admit that he had more immediate cocerns. Like survival. He hadn't really given up on the idea of getting back home to his brother, and to his own battles. But if he ever hoped to do that, he had to stay alive, which meant he'd had to find work. Joining the Wardens, albeit unofficially, meant that he could continue doing what he did best.

And now? Well, now, as the company returned from their latest mission, Dean couldn't help but feel that--at least for the time being--he might be exactly where he belonged. He told himself it had everything to do with the job, and nothing to do with the beautiful Lady Cousland, but the way his mind kept returning to the thought of her dark tresses, sapphire eyes, and alabaster skin--good gods! It was getting harder and harder to deny that she'd captured his attention.

The fact that she seemed to hold herself aloof did nothing to discourage his downstairs brain.

As expected, the Warden company had arrived at the Vigil shortly after sundown, in high spirits despite the oncoming storm rolling in from the north. All were accounted for, injuries minor and reports were successful regarding the completion of their mission. The kitchens were still in service, so a good hot meal awaited the returning Wardens and all headed to the Long Hall to partake.

The Warden-Commander descended not long after, having received the for-once positive reports from the company's sergeant abovestairs and with silent thanks to whatever deities might be listening. She paused here and there to speak with a subordinate or member of the Keep's staff, but eventually found her way down the long tables and somewhat nonchalantly evicted a youthful Warden from the seat she desired.

Plunking down into it, she turned sardonically playful blue eyes on the man beside her, snagging a carafe from a passing server and refilling both their flagons with foaming amber ale. "Returned hale and hearty, I see. Well done, Ser Winchester. Garevel bet me a sovereign they'd be hauling you back on a litter, or not at all." She smirked, tipping Dean a wink. "Maybe he'll think twice next time before putting his money where his mouth is."

Dean laughed, and drank, his eyes on her face the while. He tried to tell himself she was just looking after he newbie, but it was hard to listen to reason when she winked at him like that. "I'm glad to know you had faith in me, anyway," he said in his typically gruff way. "Cause I'm no good at dying."

Not that death in battle would have been a bad way to go, if he had to, and if it meant his team got home safe. But he wasn't in any hurry to die. "Besides, this isn't my first rodeo."

It was sometimes disconcerting, the man's unabashed gaze. There were times when it made her want to blush and simper--and Ellessa Cousland had given that up ages ago, when she'd strode upon the battlefield of sexuality at a tender fourteen years. Nevertheless, she felt her cheeks warm, although she'd definitely blame that on the atmosphere of the Hall, clogged as it was with so many bodies in such close proximity.

"Apparently not," she agreed, taking a swallow of her own brew. "You seem more than capable of holding your own, which, given the circumstances, is quite impressive." Although turning him loose and expecting him to survive on his own was a bit of a stretch, but then Elle wouldn't have been inexperienced enough to do so herself; Thedas was no place for a single wanderer, especially one transplanted from realms unknown.

Still, she couldn't help teasing, "At this rate, you'll have flocks of women swooning all over you."

"Flocks of them, eh?" Dean asked, arching his brows. Once upon a time, he would have been all about that. Now? Well, now he was a little preoccupied with one woman in particular. Or maybe he was just fixated on the one he couldn't have because it was easier than worrying about how many hearts he'd break if he ever got bumped back to his own world.

Still, it was worth a shot.

"What if I'm more of a one on one kinda guy?"

It was Elle's turn to perk an eyebrow. "Oh?" she replied, tone lilting with the question. "Then I'd consider her a lucky lass indeed, ser." Flirting was almost second nature, although she'd out of necessity tempered that particular habit over the past few years. Duty was a heavy burden, ofttimes.

Nevertheless, her smile was still genuine, as was the playful glint in blue eyes. "Dare I even speculate, Dean, on which blessèd lady has taken your rather roguish eye?" Elle knew better than this, really, but it was just so damned easy, she couldn't help it.

...although, if he pointed out one of those simpering serving wenches, she was going to probably have to go out and kill something to contain her frustrated ire.

Dean couldn't really help himself either. He flirted like he breathed. He might secretly crave more than a passing fling, but he knew the domestic life was not exactly in the cards for a man like him--or anyone who lived a life like theirs. Thwre was too much at stake.

And yet, here he was, with eyes for no one but his lady commander.

"I didn't realize I had ever been so subtle that a lady would have to speculate as to whether or not I was interested."

"Well, we're very plain-spoken here in Ferelden," Elle quipped back, downing another swallow of potent alcohol. "Generally when we see something, we don't hesitate to just reach out and take it." This time, the look she directed his way was distinctly direct; she was suddenly tired of all the posturing.

Her heart knew better, battered thing that it was, and her head was in complete agreement, but apparently both of those were being overridden by the rest of her body, which was all but clamoring to haul this delectable specimen upstairs and bolt her bedchamber doors.

"If you're done here, I'd be more than delighted to take your mission report--upstairs, ser Winchester."

Dean was about to respond with a quip about it being polite to ask first, but the look she gave him made the blood rush from his head to other parts of his anatomy. He downed the last of his ale in one gulp, and set the tankard down with a decided thump--his eyes sweeping over as much as he could see of her figure and resting on her lovely face.

"It would be my pleasure to accompany you upstairs, milady," he said, rising to offer her his arm.

He just hoped to whatever gods might be listening that he wasn't misreading her entirely.

Elle took it without hesitation, leaving the room without so much as a backwards glance. Rumors would fly, no doubt, but she'd learned years ago not to give a damn about the idle gossips of lesser people. Once they'd reached the main hall, Elle switched her grip to take Dean's hand and all but hauled him up the stairs, it seeming in her mind to take forever before she arrived at the door to her private quarters.

Inside and with the heavy door closed and bolted, she all but shoved Dean back against it and then was almost desperately fastening her mouth to his, presently uncaring about buckles, leathers and laces barring the way to skin against skin. That would come later, once desire had reached feverish pitch.

She did break away a moment or two to pant, "...if I'm being too forward, Dean, tell me so..."

"No such thing," Dean said, grinning between kisses. Gripping the back of her neck, he drew her mouth back toward his, while his other hand slid down the small of her back to hold her close. By now, his desire for her would be obvious, but there was no rush. He wanted to see just how forward she could be.

( OTA, no underage. Open to all scenarios, honestly. )

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