bakerstreet | hidden relationship;

hidden relationship;

The fact that you're in a relationship with this person isn't public knowledge. Actually, no one knows about it except for the people involved. Maybe you guys are just private like that; on the other hand, it may be a necessity to keep things a secret from others. Maybe you're both team mates, and others on the team would give you grief, or you're not suppose to be dating, or you're not the type to usually date and you're only testing the waters. Perhaps it's the combination of you two, possibly an odd couple, that would bring some controversy or some teasing. Or, you know, you could not want to deal with friends and relatives being busybodies. Your reasons are your own.

Are you content with stealing moments to be together as a couple? Do you want to make your relationship known and the fact that you can't drives you batty? Remember, there are lots of benefits to dating in secret. You can be yourselves completely, away from prying eyes, and get to know each other better as potential longterm romantic partners. In a way, it's ideal.

...still, do you ever wish you could scream from the rooftops how much you care for your significant other?

how to play.

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Play out stolen moments (◡‿◡✿), secret dates (◕‿◕✿), secret handholding (⊙‿⊙✿), and secret kissing ( /)w(\✿)!

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[Would you be up for these two? It would be awkward as all get out... but possibly also cute/fun?]

(no subject)

tactical_honor - 2018-03-27 01:30 (UTC) - Expand

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[ There have been stories, as long as Éomer can remember, of secret societies living in isolation on islands cloaked by magic to keep all but the most pure at heart from discovering them. Nobody had quite been able to agree where these islands might be — off the coast of Umbar, off the coasts of Lindon, somewhere deep in the Belegaer Sea — but regardless of their location, tales of these utopian societies had been whispered around the campfire his whole life.

As a child, he had been filled with wonder at the thought. As a youth, he had been filled with bravado and swore he would be the one to find them. As an adult, he dismissed the tales as only that: mere stories to entertain children and give them incentive to be good and mind their elders.

Still, as the Shadow grew in the East and despair slowly crept into the land, he could not deny that the thought of a beautiful island, untouched by sorrow and evil, held much appeal. The urge to find himself a boat and sail off into the unknown was strong, never mind that he had never been in a boat larger than a rowboat and didn't know the first thing about navigating on open waters. But he could not abandon his post, could not abjure his oaths, could not forsake his king and country, even for so tempting an offer as a land where peace was plenty and death was unknown.

The mad gallop on the Pellenor is something of a blur. He does not remember much, his berserker rage obliterating any feeling and freeing his mind of fear and doubt, allowing him to only see the next sword, the next spear, the next bloody great big mûmakil.

He does remember seeing her, though. He had thought, when he first spied her long black hair fanning out behind her like a pennant as she spun to block a blow, that Gondor had shield maidens they allowed into battle. Where else would such height, such coloring, come from? But the more he looked at her armor, the less he felt he knew her. Who would ride into battle with bare arms and legs? Who would appear before an enemy without a full helm, a simple diadem on her forehead doing absolutely nothing to protect her? He had been angry, then, that this fool of a woman was courting her own death so, torn between the urge to ride to her side and protect her and the equally strong urge to wash his hands of her and leave her to her own fate.

Neither had been necessary, in the end. Despite her impractical armor, the woman had comported herself more than well in the end, and eventually Éomer lost sight of her in the melee, her blood-stained sword slipping from view as other things claimed his attention.

The battle has been won, but Éomer knows the war is not over. He cannot see an end to it, truthfully, not with his uncle lying dead and his sister battling the Black Breath in the Houses of Healing. The only bright spot in his world, currently, is the woman he saw on the battlefield.

Diana of Themyscira. Living, breathing proof that those islands from the stories of his youth were real. He had been so stunned to learn where she came from that he hadn't even had time to be stunned by the amount of skin she left on display; her armor was a truly brazen fashion choice, especially in Gondor, where maidens shuddered to wear breeches even to ride and blushed to have even their husbands see their bare thighs. A proper gown had been found for her so her armor could be cleaned, which made it much easier to speak to her without doing something as ridiculous as blushing as well, and Éomer found himself seeking her out regularly, despite all the demands on his time that would seek to draw him away and force him to contemplate further ruin and death.

This afternoon he discovers her standing in one of the many ornamental gardens that seem to litter Minas Tirith, this one mercifully untouched by the war that had raged upon the city only a few days ago, its delicate flowers still in bloom. Walking the gravel path towards her, it is easy to scuff his boots on the stone so she is not startled when he reaches for her hand the moment he comes up beside her, lifting it to his lips as he bows over it. ] My lady.

Edited 2018-03-26 16:26 (UTC)