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#not tough to find the Pitch section here
rise-my-angel · 8 months
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Heart of the Great Wolf
11 - What Lies Beyond the Veil
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Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader
Length: 11k
Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, talk of marriages, pregnancy, unwanted sexual comments, descriptions of blood gore and violence, character deaths, traumatic and disturbing imagery
Notes: Hey remember when this was also a Jon Snow slow burn? No? Anyways things occur in this chapter. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.
The thin material of your shift did little to keep the freezing chills off your skin. Ripples all over your arms of where the snow shivered up, and yet you barley felt it below. Your feet bare walking along the snow and ice, only you couldn’t see for how long it went on for. The night was dark but it faded around you to a pitch black that obscured your ability to move anywhere but forward. You could see your breathe with every passing puff of air passing your lips. 
Silence was in the air, not even the blow of wind could be hear even though the ends of your shift flowed around below you as you walked forward. No signs of life or anything and yet you kept walking, the need to see what was at the end of this snowy path you were brought to was more important then turning around and finding a way home. 
A small hill came up in the view, the steepness of the incline and snow under your feet caused you to stumble, grasping onto the trees around you to steady yourself. A large mass came up into your eyeline as you passed over the edge. Eyes narrowing as you jumped down onto the flat surface you came upon grass. Green and sun as if a light snow had just melted days before as the air warmed right around you. The sounds of water ran by as you came up to the figure, only a sharp set of antlers sticking from it. 
Kneeling down in front of it, the mud stained the edge of your shift as the warmer, slightly humid air around you dried it faster. Your eyes widened at the sight, the inside of it’s mouth stained with blood and it’s eyes pale and open, it was a great stag on it’s side. It’s stomach gutted open and flies zipping around the growing rot and moss overtaking it. Looking up to it’s head a bloody snapped section of its antlers were missing. 
Standing up, the sounds of water called to you. Looking at the stag with narrowed eyes, lips slightly parted until it fell away into the darkness that kept you encased in your directions. A small steep hill to the clearing beside the water was lush, but as you came upon a second mass it was covered in fur and laying too on it’s side.
A direwolf. 
Kneeling in front of it, it’s fur looked on the darker brown side, with one leg bent at the knee in a manner that would’ve caused it to stumble down where it lay. Looking up it’s body you could see right in it’s neck, antlers soaked in blood. Your hands bare, you grabbed the sticky, bloodied end and as you pulled it out, whispering in the wind was a voice. “Tough old beast.” 
Looking up as you held the antlers now, the voice was that of Ned, but no where to be seen. Perhaps hiding in the blackness around you? But even now the sun shined more above you then the dark snow before, he still was nowhere. You looked over the object in your hand, a morbid twist in your throat passing back down as you placed it gently beside you. Moving around to the side of it’s face you could see a trail of blood. One pooled around the wound in the largest and leaders neck. “There are no direwolves south of the wall.” Robb? Both Stark men hiding where you could not see. 
Kneeling on the ground to look over the creature you heard a deeper, rasping voice in the wind “Now there are five.” All three were together, Ned, Robb and Jon until one more joined, younger and higher pitched.
“Where will they go?” Your heart rushing over, another whisper that sounded all around you but nowhere to be seen. This time that of Bran.
The whines of pups caught your eye, and looking to the litter around it, you found two other blood trails that followed. One to a bright one, whites and greys that were well groomed and pretty but there was a wound in it’s chest that bled out. One clean stab it had looked like as it lay the furthest away, so much so you could barley see it. 
Another sat beside where you found yourself kneeling. A handsome array of dark grey’s over it’s fur as your stomach revolted over the sight. Blood encased it all over, small punctures and one right by it’s heart until you could see it’s head nowhere to be found. “They don’t belong down here.” Ser Rodrick was next but once more it was as if they were all around you whispering in the winds, hiding what lies beyond the veil of darkness around you. 
Three remained, one darker with a blacker fur and two more pups that were in deep browns that matched that of the dead wolf they clung by. The commanding voice of Ned rang out as you looked to the three remaining pups, one girl and two boys “Better a quick death.” 
Blood from the grey pup next to you begun to spill over, rushing along your shift with a mind of it’s own like water and pooling around your stomach as the sound of Bran yelled out “No, please father.” 
Your hand ran along the side of the headless one with a morose sorrow, Ned’s deep voice with as much in his own wind filled voice, “I’m sorry, Bran.” 
Only it was Jon’s voice that turned your head up to still find them all hiding from you, but with a plead that spoke of the sight around you as if not caked in death and blood. “Lord Stark. There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house, you were meant to have them.” 
Your eyes stung with the heavy scent of blood as the three remaining young turned and ran off. The female all alone as she ran into the darkness, and the other two stuck together until a tree came into their view. One going around one side and the other wolf pup the other but never came back to the other. Finding a path alone in the darkness now split. 
Only death remained. The winds were quiet once more, and the voices of the men hiding from you no longer spoke. Just death and the running water beside you. Standing up you took a step back, turning to where you found the Stag you got only a few feet forward. 
There was no sound, no whine of a pup, no voice in the wind but you were compelled to turn around in your place. The snow and freezing, sunless dark had returned and no longer were there any direwolves but one. Larger then the other pups, but not quite as large as the biggest that had once laid where it stood, you saw it’s striking red eyes wide as it watched you. 
It’s fur was different then the others, a pure white that fit with the snow around him. Lips parting to speak it’s name, you heard Jon’s voice in the winds speak yours first. 
Eyes opening, you sighed into the warmth of the sheets and fire in the room. Looking around it was still the night as when you fell asleep. The sheets pooling low around you hips as you sat up, you could see Robb partially dressed looking over things at the desk. 
You weren’t sure when you fell asleep but you couldn’t help but try and grasp for memories of what you had dreamt. You struggled with that the more vivid they were, you could barley recall anything beyond small images. Sighing out as nothing firmly came to you, you gently draped your self over the pillows behind, letting the sheets fall lower as you shifted your legs. 
His head turning to the sound, Robb paused as he looked to you, blue eyes looking from how low you were covered and up to your chest then face. A playful dark colour in his own swam over, leaning back with one arm on his desk and the other on the back of his chair as he turned to face you. A smirk on his lips as he tilted his head. “How am I supposed to sit here and plan a war, when you’re over there looking like that?” 
Smiling gently, you slid your legs down onto the coolness of the floor before standing, having no interest in covering up beyond a thin sheet, when he would just pull whatever it was off himself. With open arms he guided you to climb into his lap, now facing the desk again as you held onto his shoulders. “I do believe my King is good enough to focus on both.” 
Your lips finding his neck, gently pressing kisses down it as he sighed out, holding your hips firmly. “You, are a little temptress these days. What’s a man supposed to do with a wife this needy?” You could hear the smirk in his voice as you trailed back to to kiss the rough facial hair over his jaw. “How have I only just gotten you pregnant now? Clearly I didn’t treat my Queen the way she deserves nearly enough.” 
Robb pulling you to kiss him properly as you relaxed into his touch, forgetting the sheet it draped down in your lap, your bare chest pressing against what of his was exposed by his open shirt. You let one hand drift down to run over the skin you could find, but he never deepened his kiss. Just a tender, intimate need until you pulled away needing air. 
Breathless with a smile, you wrapped your hands around his neck. “I think he’s proof you treat me just fine.” 
One hand on your hip trailed over, his smile soft and tender to the point it could break your hear from being so full. “Maybe we’re lucky,” kissing down your neck again and back up until he reached your ear with his breathe hot. “Maybe I’ve given you a little princess as well to keep our son company.” 
You smiled as he bit at your ear and your an a hand through his hair. “Already getting greedy before little Ned is even in this world, yet?” 
Robb pulled back, leaning against the chair as he held you at both your hips. A bright look in his eye that could water if he didn’t try, “You want to name him after-” 
You nodded, leaning forward to run a hand through Robb’s hair again. “Someone should. Your father named his two eldest sons after his closest companions, Jon Arryn named his after Robert, but neither them honouring your father with the same. Who better to remember him by then you? The one who risked everything just to save his life.” 
Choking on something deep in his throat, he swallowed heavily but his voice was strained and rough trying to keep his emotions in check. The love and softness in his eye though, gave it away. “And our little girl?” You both knew what that answer was, as Robb leaned up once more to pull you into his arms and keep you close to his chest. “I think he deserves to have his sister beside him again, don’t you think?” 
You nodded firmly, keeping your face tucked into his neck. The quiet around you was calm until you of so quietly spoke up, “Think this will make her feel any better?” 
Robb sighed, running his hand up and down your back knowing that it had bothered you just as much as it had him. “She has to get over it. It isn’t her decision and if the lords who witnessed it all agreed with me and you, then it’s fair to say we made the right one. If it’s not us,” His hand over your stomach once more, “and it’s not them, then he’s the only one I’d want it to be after me. He deserves it, all of it.” 
The evening had been an argument, you were to leave soon for the Twins but a raven had come for Robb with news that started the whole thing. Reading it to himself at first, his jaw was clenched before handing it to you. Eyes sharp as he watched your face fall into surprise and then steeled it into realization. 
Catelyn was as confused a she was shocked. “I don’t understand.”
Your palms braced on the table with an irritated sigh as you looked at her, “It’s Tywin.” Your head shaking firmly as you tried to keep your jaw from clenching so tight it snaps. “He’s using Sansa to get a hold on the North.” 
Sitting down, Robb was running over something in his head as his mother paced on the other side of the table in front of him. Turning to you, it was clear the protectiveness in her fought with what you all knew you couldn’t do. It had already happened, there was nothing to change that now. “She’s still just a girl..”
You looked at her with a dark and unpleasant knowing. “I don’t think that’s the thing on Tywin’s mind when he hatched this one up.” You swallowed as you looked to Robb, “Cersei had tried to do the same with me.” Catelyn’s eyes furrowed as you looked to nothing instead. “I was fourteen, I had just bled for the first time, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but my father, but..the Queen found out and well, at the time I thought she was trying to be helpful but then-”
“Then your father sent you to live with us for over two years.” Robb’s voice as tight at the memory just as he had reacted all those years ago when you first told him what you suspected. That your father had sent you away so suddenly to prevent Cersei from marrying you off to a suitor of her choice, one that would only be a gain for the Lannisters.
You nodded, “The Lannisters don’t care about anything after shes old enough to have a child, meaning shes old enough to be used as some pawn to be married off for leverage. Tywin marries her to Tyrion Lannister, they have a Stark Lannister baby and suddenly we have lions in charge of the North.” 
Her eyes closed as she collected herself, the only news of her daughters and once more there was not a single mention of Arya. None of you were comfortable with that that pattern could possibly mean. 
You leaned your back against the table beside Robb, “He means to take the north right from under us. And I won’t have it. Even if he wins this war.” Catelyn looked up to her son with a confused look but it was as Robb met your eye, knowing what his intention was. You could still hear the haunted words in your mind that she never allowed to happen.
“Make him a Stark and be done with it.” 
Looking to his mother with conviction, he and you both knew the argument about to happen as he spoke. “If Tywin Lannister wants the North, he will have to take it from me, from us, and if I die, he’ll have to take it from the heir after me.” Catelyn clearly felt unwell at the thought but neither you nor Robb looked at it that way. Not right now.
You sighed deeply, “If Robb dies he needs an heir, if I die or the baby dies as well he still needs an heir. Someone to take over as King in the North, someone who we trust beyond any doubt that he would be just as much of a leader.” 
The silence was palpable and you wondered if she had seen it coming or not. “I have a feeling you already have a name in mind.” 
“I’m naming Jon my heir.” 
Catelyn stood immediately, “Robb,” her voice disapproving and already pleading as she leaned over the table slightly, “He is not a legitimate Stark he can’t-”
“He can if it’s my order. Bran and Rickon are gone, we’ve hear nothing of Arya and even if my son is born tomorrow it will be eighteen years before he’s even of age. I need to name a successor now.” Robb stood slowly, pacing around the table to look at his mother with a calmness that brewed something in it’s background. 
“Do you remember the last time a King named a bastard-?” 
Words in your mind of Robb’s, soothing and warm telling you to remain calm. He wanted you there, but to let him handle his mother. He wanted you to rest, saying it wasn’t good for either you or the baby to let you get worked up this way. But as you watched her, you stepped up beside Robb and knew he was keeping back anger of his own as he motioned towards you. “Jon would never harm her. Or our son.”
Robb’s hand finding the small of your back as Catelyn found no allies in either pairs of eyes. Her emotions were running too hot it seemed as she spoke, “Like how you thought Theon Greyjoy would not harm Bran or Rickon?” 
His eyes blazed in an anger you knew her mother had not seen towards her before, and behind her there was a deep growl. Grey Wind giving away the intensity as she looked to see the direwolf’s aggressive and low growl towards her. Looking back at you, but you knew perhaps she was realizing the story she admitted in guilt only made it now much worse. “Watch yourself mother, remember who it is you’re speaking of. My father had four sons, not three.” 
“Sansa is alive, which makes her your father’s lawful heir-”
It was you who shot it down. “Sansa is married to a Lannister, we give her the north and the Lannisters will come marching at our doorstep behind her to take it. We’ve fought them for too long to just hand it over to them now.” 
She tried pleading but Robb, shook his head. “Sansa no longer holds any rights or position in my line of succession. She’ll always be my sister, but I refuse any action that allows the Lannisters to inherit our kingdom, our home. Jon is my brother, my fathers son, and he deserves as much as I’ve had.” 
Catelyns face betrayed her, and you felt sick that after everything she has said and done, she makes to treat Jon the exact same as the day she kicked him out into the cold during a Royal Feast. Jon hadn’t been allowed a place at that table, and now Robb wanting to give him the spot at the front, Catelyn still sees fit to keep him locked out just for his very existence. “Robb, a Snow is not a Stark.” 
“Jon is as much of a Stark as I am. He’s as much a Northerner as any of us. I trust him with my Kingdom, I trust him with my sons, and I trust him with my wife. He’d never do a thing against them, he’s got all of my father in him and more.” 
Robb’s hand was comforting around your back as you tried pushing down something that you hadn’t felt so strongly in a long time. Robb had trusted Jon with his wife, he just didn’t know that it was in the years before that. He knew you and Jon were close, and knew that he could trust him to keep you safe just without the understanding of how deep that once ran.
Sighing, she paced back a few steps with a hand to her forehead. “Jon is brother of the Night’s Watch. Sworn to hold no lands and take no wife. Those who take the black serve for life.” 
There was pride in Robb’s eyes towards you as you spoke, and a hopelessness in his mothers but you spoke with a heavy heart in as much a truth as you could spare. “So do the brotherhood of the Kingsguard. But that did not stop Cersei and Joffery from stripping Ser Barristan Selmy of his vows with no more then they simply chose to do so.” 
You couldn’t even be sure where this came from, but it was with a truth that you had no qualms of fulfilling as you finished, “If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” 
Stepping forward he ran a hand over your waist before lowering his voice to something quiet but stern as you could see Grey Wind step up in his place to the other side of you. “Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would find it in your heart to support him just this once, mother. But if you do not, that does not change my decision. I’ve already had the other lords sign off on the decree.” 
With no leg left to stand on, that was when you and Robb took your leave. Now as you lay together in bed, the rain of the previous days did not let up once. Come morning you would make your way to the Twins with the still ever grumbling Edmure in toe. 
Robb’s arms wrapped around you and yours laying gently on his chest you both running your fingers gently on the others skin as he murmured low in your ear. “Probably best we don’t tell her what name we came up with for our second son.”
You laughed, head burying itself in his neck as he chuckled deeply. “Think we’re sending the poor woman into an early grave at this rate.” Staying quiet for a moment, you breached a topic that you seldom brought up alone. In the quiet intimate moments of the night between you and Robb, you had long since made it a conscious habit to keep Jon from your lips as much as possible. Until right now as the events of the evening boiled over. “I don’t understand. Her husband, his father dies, as do her own children and after all this time she refuses still to see him as anything but a bastard. I don’t get it, I’ve never gotten it.” 
His hand ran up and down your arm. “The fact she tried to even suggest Jon could be capable of hurting you or our children.” His voice was rough as his teeth gritted through an exhale. “Jon’s a better son then any father could ask for, better man then me it felt like sometimes.” 
Shifting up to look at him, better you lazily ran your fingers along his chest. “You’re both good men, you always have been.” 
Shaking his head he sat up with you, pulling your back to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, speaking as your eyes both watched the dark rain through the window. “You remember when you first came to Winterfell? How you were sick in those first days?” Nodding with a furrowed brow you didn’t recall much of anything from that time. “Father had Maester Luwin look you over, and he said that something on the trip north must have given you some kind of fever, that you’d spend the next few nights coughing and sweating it out before he could be sure if you’d make it.” 
It was serious, but you had been so young that the adults didn’t want to worry you with such past details. “I remember your father saying that he was preparing himself to send a raven to my parents, it was so bad.” 
“Luwin told him at least one person at any given time should stay by your side, you’re fever was so high if it got any worse that he’d need to know right away. He and my mother were going to take turns, but Jon volunteered right away. Said he’d look after you.” Your eyes narrowed, not knowing any of that but he continued.
“Three days you were sick, and I don’t think he ever left your side more then a few minutes. I didn’t know why, but he was adamant about taking care of you. My mother tried to get me to take over, but father just said to let him do it. Didn’t realize it then, but I think he wanted to let Jon have something for himself that my mother wouldn’t just take away from him.” You felt choked on the inside as you tried to relax more into his touch. 
Robb reaching up to play with the loose strands of your hair as he gently spoke close to your ear with a light laugh. “Only time I was allowed to take care of you was if Jon went to go get Luwin, saying that I’d only screw it up trying to tell him what’s wrong.” You breathed a laugh too, something in your eyes beginning to sting. “And my mother looked at that boy, and still never managed to find it in her heart to let go of her anger towards him. I’ve never understood it either, but I at least can do something to try and make it right.” 
You only whispered, voice heavy and a bit wavering. “I didn’t know any of this...”
Robb laughed, kissing the side of your head. “You weren’t awake for any of it, knowing Jon he probably didn’t want you to think he was only trying to trick you into being impressed.” 
Well, the joke was on Jon you supposed. You spent most of your entire life knowing him impressed with everything of who he was, and even now that feeling had not disappeared in the slightest. You loved Robb, truly and deeply, but another locked away part of your heart was taken all the way North to the wall with Jon and sometimes you just missed the ease of it. 
Jon was more then only someone you loved, he was your best friend. You and Robb both missed him.
The last time you had been at the Twins was a lifetime ago. Ned Stark was still alive, and the war effort had only begun as a fight to save his life. It was the place you all had sent some two thousand men to their graves in order to get the jump on Jaime Lannisters siege on Riverrun. So many victories since that had been easy until there was enough behind Robb’s ledger that suddenly they were too scared to come out of their castles and face him. 
Now Robb approached from the opposite side of the Trident, not as a boy or a lord but as King in the North, and you weren’t just the daughter of Stannis Baratheon anymore. You were Robb Stark’s queen, and the mother to what will be his children fighting for a free and independent North. In too many ways you didn’t feel at all like the person that crossed that bridge the first time. 
Yet you were really. Older, a bit wiser perhaps but the core of you felt the same as you looked to the man next to you. A softness that made you both melt and yet filled you with pride to be able to stand next to him. Edmure Tully however, couldn’t have looked more sullen if he tried. 
On the journey here, he had made more then enough comments, “When you made this deal he said I could choose whatever wife I wanted, now he’s picking for me” Catelyn shared a glance with you that would’ve been endlessly funny if the man didn’t continue on endlessly. “I’ve seen more then enough Freys to know what kind of night I’m getting myself into.”
Shaking her head she lectured her younger brother, “When I first saw Ned I didn’t think much of how he looked too, but we ended up loving each other greatly.” 
When he spared a glance to you, your eyes flickered over to Robb in the distance as an almost childish grin plastered on your face as you tried to hide it by looking down. “I’m afraid I can’t help on this matter.” Cat smirked to herself as Edmure huffed and you sat trying not to feel a bit flustered, for all the things that have happened to and between you, she was happy that it was you by her sons side. 
You made him happy, and he made you happy which despite the horror of the past few years, was the most Catelyn could ask for at that moment. 
Lucky for the lot of you, the rain had let up the day you arrived. A refreshing hint of sun peeking over the clouds and reflecting onto the water. Arriving, Grey Wind growled and made a scene as you and Robb approached the castle. Turning to him as a pair of Frey’s made a greeting, you and Robb tried to quell their worries but he was increasingly agitated. 
Only calming as Robb ran his hand over the direwolf with whispers that had the Freys watch in a fear and mistrust whereas the northerners all worried not. Informing a few of his men to keep Grey Wind in a stable for the night. “Have men keep an eye on him, when he’s worked up like this I’d prefer to let him out hunting,” 
The look in Grey Wind’s eyes as you parted was almost begging like a human but you were with Robb, and that was enough to let him watch you both leave. Not a clue between you and him what had the wolf so worked up.
The men making camp as your way was made inside of the Twins. The main hall was crowded with people, all of which in some way the man at the front’s children or grandchildren. Nearing ninety years old, he still found it in him to have such a young wife and your stomach churned at the thought to ignore how old, or how young, she looked. 
Hair stringy and long as his scowl has seedy and unpleasant as he sat there. Voice was as shaky and scratchy as he looked on top of it all. You stood silent, eyes colder then normal to the man who was giving nothing but an energy you did not feel well in. “Your Grace, my honoured guests. Be welcome within my walls and at my table. I extend to you my hospitality and protection under the light of the Seven.” 
Stepping forward, Robb kept a calm and appreciative tone. “We thank you for your hospitality, my lord. My Uncle and my family are grateful to have one of your daughters join in ours.” 
You looked to the side with a raise of your eyebrows to Edmure, who caught the look and made no expression beyond acknowledgement. Grumbled on the way here, but not anymore. Walder Frey smiled a bit to himself in an odd way. “My girls might not be too grateful, I offered any one of them to you, only for your mother to inform me you’d married a number of months earlier.” 
Robb didn’t glance to you, nor anyone but the Freys but you and Catelyn shared a look. It seemed, some bit of detail had been left out in what she and the lord before you all discussed that day. Arya and Edmure had been the agreement, but it seemed that were it not for you the deal might have extended to Robb. 
“One of them could’ve been your Queen, now none of them are.” 
He did a fine job of not showing it, but you could see in the small tension in his shoulders that Robb wasn’t pleased with such a suggestion. And from the looks of your men around you as well, it was uncomfortable for most of you. “Edmure Tully, why don’t you come see my girls for yourself, you’re the one marrying ‘em anyways.”
A half circle of girls stepped to the front of the hall, all varying in ages and some younger then you felt comfortable knowing was offered for marriage to a grown man. “This is Arwyen, my daughter. My daughter Walda, my daughter Derwa, my daughter Waldra,” The younger the group got the more there were. Naming them along as they go, two young girls of twins which Walder Frey had the indecency to comment to Edmure, “You could have had both for all I care.” 
Coming to the last of them was one that you struggled to keep a steady face for, “And here’s my youngest daughter Shirei, though she hasn’t bled yet.” Glancing to Robb with a knowing look that made the pair of you feel uncomfortable, “Clearly you don’t have the patience for all that. Now, let me see the one that had your mother needing to trade you out for your uncle.” 
Robb turned to you with a hesitant look but you stepped forward, keeping the unamused look on your face as he beckoned you closer. “Come closer, still can’t see you.” A few more steps and he had a sickening smirk like he was either toying with you to make you uncomfortable or Robb for pulling his wife so close to him in that manner. 
The man so openly looking you over, and you could feel Robb keeping a tight lid on his more possessive side to keep a peace between them. “Pretty, very pretty. Prettier then this lot that’s for sure. Very shapely as well.” You weren’t sure if you even moved an inch as he looked at you with slime in his eyes. “Oh, you try to hide her under that dress. If you wanted to hide her, you shouldn’t have brought her here in the first place. I can always see what’s going on beneath a dress.” 
When you had first met Theon Greyjoy, he had made some out of line comment to Robb and Jon about showing a “girl like her what a man really is”. You were only fourteen and the boys sixteen, and even then you could still see the hot temper coming out of both of them for saying that. 
Now? You couldn’t see Robb, but you knew without a doubt he was angry beyond belief, but you needed the Freys as an ally and if you stood there and took it, then unfortunately everyone else was just going to have to stand there and watch. 
“I’ve been at this a long time, your grace. I bet even with that baby of yours in there, you take that dress off and every man in here’d get nothing but hot and dumb for it.” He looked at Robb, “When I was your age, I’d have broken fifty oaths to get into that without second thought. Lucky you were married to a thing like her before coming to me.” 
The silence in the room was deafening until finally he clapped his hands together. “Well, I’ve enough room in the hall for you lot. We’ll set up tens outside with food and ale for the rest of your men.” 
Robb’s voice was rough and held back to the point as you stepped back you could see his eyes blazing angry. “Thank you, my lord.” 
Exiting the hall, Robb tugged you roughly to his side as he exhaled harshly. “He’s lucky I need his allegiance or I’d have ended this before he got more then two words out about you.” You turned to him, pausing for a moment as you were all to make your ways to prepare for the wedding. 
Your hands finding his chest as he pulled you closer and covered yours with his bringing them around his neck in your small moment of privacy. “It’s a shame, I find you quite handsome when you’re protective.” 
With a smirk, Robb leaned in to hover his lips over yours. “I think possessive is a bit more accurate, my Queen. You did marry a wolf afterall.” Pressing his lips ever so briefly to yours before pulling you alongside him. 
Just as much as he didn’t let you do much to get yourself ready, you in return did the same. Having Robb stand before you so you could be the one to adjust his formal attire, taking the chance to admire how little you got to see him in this kind of clothing now. The black was soft with textured with subtle ornate patterns draped down his sleeves. His cloak was similar as the length of the fabric was simple in matching darks, but the clasps around the front clicked together with silver coated direwolves that suited him far too well. 
Smoothing your palms down his chest he called your name gently as your mind seemed to trail off for a moment as you looked at the silver. Finding his eyes, he tilted his head in a curious manner. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours.” 
Truthfully you weren’t sure what. The dream you had the night before you left Riverrun was so far away from your full memory but you kept going back to it trying to find where pieces of that puzzle fit and what it was saying. But as you looked at his eyes, bright and full of an adoration as he looked down to you it was hard to care. 
Shrugging you just ran your palms over his shoulders, “Just admiring you.” 
With a small smile, Robb leaned in to kiss your cheek before whispering close to your ear. “It’s cute how soft you’ve gone for me.” Your eyes raised with a playful protest but he just laughed, pulling you to his side and making his way out to make our way to the others who would be joining in the ceremony. “To all these men, you’re this silent and cold leader always standing harsh and dutifully by her Kings side and then I get you alone, and you’re still just as needy and loving as you were our first night together.” 
Looking down to your feet as you linked your arm around his with a small smile before glancing up to the setting sun of the day on the shining water. “I think I’ve always been that way, it just took you a little longer to notice.” 
For a small moment it was just the two of you, looking over the camp of men that you both found yourself leading and it felt like you were supposed to be here. If not at war, then at least here by Robb’s side. 
The approaching Roose Bolton giving you both a nod, “Your grace.”
Robb reaching his free hand to firmly shake his, “Happy to see you made it through all the rain.” 
“As am I.” Stepping forward, he spoke lowly as to not attract attention of the others around. “If I may, your grace about Lord Karstark, a bold decision to execute the Lord of their House while we are still at war.” Your eyes narrowed at him, something by the flicker of his eyes he certainly noticed. “Bold, but there is little talk of any dissension amongst the remaining lords and if by the buzz in the air is to go by, it was a bold choice that payed off.” 
Roose was always a man pushing for more stern punishment, and while in some way you understood it you also did not agree with what he saw fit as punishment. You found no lie in his eyes as he and Robb looked to the other, and feeling the still relaxed stance of the man next to you? Robb seemed to come to that agreement himself. 
His voice firm, but appreciative. “You’ve always given me good council, my Lord. I haven’t always taken it, but we wouldn’t be where we are standing today if not in part for your skills.” There was a pause in his response as Robb spoke, glancing at you and finding the same truth as you looked at him. 
“It’s always been a pleasure working by your side, but some credit is due to your Queen’s influence as well. I recall saying I looked forward to seeing how you faired in war against your own people and you have not disappointed. Our king is indeed lucky to have you at his side.” 
Catelyn approaching with both Brynden and Edmure in toe, she raised her eyebrows. “Pleasure to see you again, Lord Bolton.” 
The ceremony itself was both familiar in practice but still odd. Certainly as you sat beside Robb you recalled how different your own was. Not shut away in a building with too many rules governing it, but out in the godswood in a quiet ceremony with only spoken words quiet between you, Robb, and whatever the old gods had heard. 
In that quiet, back to the crowd and a life you were not taking with you, you had prayed to them to let you find a real, genuine life and love with your new husband and as he kept his arm around your waist now, your eyes finding the other brightly? The old gods had done more for you then any prayer under the Seven had ever granted. 
As Edmure stood towards the top with the Septon behind him. With lights and fabrics, candles all around and if you recalled far too much talking. The disgruntled look that Edmure was trying so desperately to hide sat still so plainly on his face. You did feel sympathy, his father died and then he was thus dragged to the Twins to marry a girl he’d never seen before and didn’t agree to on his own terms. 
But, it worked for you, so maybe he should try to look a little less grim you thought. 
Walder Frey shambled along the floors with the bride, her face covered by an ivory vale that has Edmure swallowing nervously. The silence was calm and serene to many, but no doubt a curiosity for the man’s own family as what reaction lay in waiting. You saw nothing wrong in the appearances of the Frey Girls presented earlier, but some men were in clearly pickier in appearance then the girls deserved. 
Bringing him up, he gave away her to that of Edmure. The slow reach to uncover the veil and in a smirk forming on both you and Robb, he had found quite the beautiful bride underneath. You and Catelyn shared a raised eyebrow to the other at the boyish grin on her brothers face now, all that complaining and for what? A beautiful bride that had him beaming with joy. 
Robb’s hand pulled you a tad closer, keeping his fingers stretched out to trace lightly over what he could reach of your stomach. Sitting down it was slightly more visible, the growth of your stomach to accomodate the tiny pup inside you. It made you melt at the sight, and it only made Robb more proud each time he saw any difference in it. 
As the Septon spoke, you two only found the other’s eyes. Never did you expect to be here with him, but all you could see was a future you both desperately wanted. Was it a weakness of yours, a wedding with a man you love or was it the baby toying with the fragility of your emotions, but when you felt something choked in your throat, Robb moved so your heads leaned slightly against the other. 
His warmth comforting you as your closeness did for him. 
The reception was more that you felt familiar with. Food and drinks everywhere, and a rowdy crowd that remembered none of the bloodshed outside such walls. With drinks and ale everywhere you and Robb sat together at a table near the front of the lot, being kept luckily on your own for the most part. You smiled at the delight on Edmure’s face face, noting the same kind of looks as Brynden and Catelyn did before the former took off, a nod between you and the Blackfish in your own uniquely bonded amusement. 
It was odd, having a chance to sit in front of this amount of food. For so long now the luxury of a feast was unknown, and not once did neither you or Robb allow your meals to be more exuberant then that of the men fed after. “If my appetite as a boy is to go by, he must be making you ravenous.” 
Both of you sipping at your drinks, Robb having gone from one cup of wine to water thereafter. “It should be, the last time I was in a wedding crowd this big I didn’t eat much either then.” 
Smiling as he leaned back in his seat to look at you, a fondness swirling in his eyes.  “The last time we were at a wedding you were nervous because of what came after, not the crowd itself.” He laughed at how easily flustered you looked as you briefly turned from him. Everything you two had done together and yet all it took to bring out that embarrassment in your cheeks was for him to bring your first night up. 
Had Robb known what was in store for your lives after that night? Well he was grateful he didn’t, if he were to be honest. He cared about you, and being a gentleman the first time he fucked you was difficult enough. No way of knowing how much you of all people could beg and plead for him to use you like a whore, and even now that fact drove him utterly insane.
Pregnancy suited you so well, he thought. This glow women always spoke of didn’t really exist the way they told it, but it did in your eyes. In how much you melted when either you or him had a hand on your stomach, and how easily you two planned for everything after. You both were sure it was a boy, and as he looked you over, Robb couldn’t help but wonder if his father would be proud. 
He’d done things he’s sure he wouldn’t be, but overall? He hoped he would, a wife he adored with a son on the way and aspirations to continue to lead the North with the morals he raised him with. And to be remembered in more then just in their familys crypt, but in the son born of the war raised to rescue that sons grandfather. 
To often he thought of how it wasn’t fair his father couldn’t be here for it. For Robb’s life with you, to see his grandchildren grow up in Winterfell. To not be there to see how much Robb, and you, were honestly fighting for a life for his only remaining brother, one that he deserved. He once told you that he hated that he wasn’t there enough for Jon, and that meant Jon wasn’t here with them now. Wasn’t by his brothers side, by his best friends side too where he belonged, and how Snow or Stark, Robb so passionately wanted to mend that broken bridge. 
He could easily imagine that were Jon in this room now, the man would’ve found an early fill of drink before slinking off to the darkness to find somewhere else to go or a smaller group to spend his night with instead. Or, more accurately if he was being honest with himself, he likely would still sit right beside the two of you now. His brother usually only finding the patience for such feasts when Jon stuck by your side. You were nothing but gentle about how the brothers deserved to be in the other’s life again, but Robb also know it still hurt you to not have him around.
You were better friends then anyone else, and once you two were old enough to be trusted more on your own, either of your spare time was almost always found with the other. Jon never said anything about it, but Robb knew it didn’t just hurt leaving his family behind, he knew leaving his best friend behind hurt just as much. And part of Robb wished you let yourself be honest about it, but you never would. You would never make it about yourself, always ensuring you put them ahead of whatever your own feelings were.
His mother ever insinuating Jon would hurt you or the baby was delusional. You were the mans best friend, the person he was closer with then even any of his siblings. Robb loved his mother, but not the way she refused to give up this hatred of a child that had done nothing to scorn her but exist. She could protest all she wanted, but he would be leaving the North in the only hands who deserved to rule it. 
Glancing to you, he also knew how Jon would’ve made fun of him for how lovestruck Robb knew he was looking at you with. Leaning forward he sat closer to you, “To think in another life it might’ve been me up there.” 
You raised an eyebrow at him with play before nodding up to the happy couple, “What? Being fed blackberries from Roslin Frey’s hands as I sit down here and watch all on my lonesome?” He laughed easily at the idea which only made you narrow your eyes even more playfully. 
“Any man would be lucky to have you, but maybe I should have reconsidered. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you feed a wolf like that who wasn’t Grey Wind.” He could see you were moving to playfully shove at him, only he raised his hand far faster and stronger. Moving his face in to sit close enough to yours that his breath could be felt on your skin. Voice hardly a rough whisper with a darker look in his eyes and a wolfish smirk on his lips. “Striking your King is an act of treason.” 
In a surprise to him, you pulled your arm back with his hold still on you to press a short kiss to his lips before smiling against them. “And what is to be my punishment, my strong, handsome King?”
Robb gave you a kiss of his own before letting you go, “You’ll receive it as soon as your king gets you alone and naked in his bed.” Both chuckling as he let his arm drape across the back of your chair and run along your arm. 
Walder Frey up at the house table gaining the rooms attention with a short banging on the tables before shouting with an amusement in his tone. “The septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said, and Lord Edmure has wrapped by daughter in a cloak. But they are not yet man and wife. The sword needs a sheath.” 
Robb moved back around your waist as you leaned fully into him to hide your laughter that the other guests so freely gave. Now this was something he didn’t allow you to have, and had no regrets for, but Edmure and Roslin Frey were not you. Walder looked to him, “A wedding needs a bedding, what does my sire say?” 
He looked to you, your eyes raised up briefly with a smirk before Robb looked to Walder Frey with a smirk of his own. “If you think the time is right, Lord Walder, by all means, let us bed them.” 
Cheering and music roared, as did the laughter as men and women alike rounded to the couple. The Frey girls clearly having an exuberant amount of fun as Edmure played along with ease. He was a bit of a trouble, and not the leader that his uncle was, but Robb was happy to see such fun on his face. After losing his father, a feeling he knew all too well, he deserved this. 
Robb stood next to you as all gathered to watch the event, Roose Bolton beside his mother as they spoke no doubt of the very subject. The air in the room finally simmering as the doors closed behind the couple now leaving. The band standing by the sides in the back begun playing a stringed music that gave a new air to the reception. 
Turning to you with a hand freely running across your stomach, you two looked to the other for a moment before Walder Frey’s voice caught his attention. “Your grace,” You gently nudged Robb forward to see Lord Frey where he stood. “I feel I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat and wine and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. Afterall, my King is long overdue a wedding gift for he and his Queen.” 
Robb’s back was turned to you, as yours was to the crowd behind you. Doors locked, and the music had stopped, their instruments no longer in their hands but something else. Only if wasn’t either that was what none saw coming. Catelyn yelled Robb’s name, and yet just as he turned it was what greeting him that shocked. 
None noticing until it was too late, having moved to stand behind you, Roose Bolton suddenly grabbed you with one strong arm, and the other reached around, plunging a dagger into your stomach. Once, twice, three times in the same spot each time digging deeper and twisting until it pulled out soaked in blood as it dripped from you. 
Robb barley managing to find the words to say your name, but you paled. Stumbling in place as you looked down and back up to him, your face wasn’t even in pain, only an almost innocent confusion. Robb’s heart shattering in a horror he had not ever felt watching as you looked to him to explain what just happened before the chaos around erupted. 
The musicians having shown their true skill and crossbows brandished, arrows shot out. You collapsing to your knees before trying to grab a knife only to have an arrow shot clean through your upper arm and one to your back.
Robb though, as soon as he moved to you, found the arrows slamming right into him. The chest, and arms, many pricked at him as such force threw him down as the hall was shot all the same. Freys all around brandishing their own knives and moving to murder the men which weren’t picked off. 
The pain meaning nothing to him as Robb’s eyes found you, laying on the ground to the side as you were so pale and covered in red from your wounds drenching you in blood. Trying to move, you looked up to him with a pain trying to reach to him as Robb could barley find his way to you without being hit more. 
Your face drenching in a lifelessness that only intensified the more you bled, and Robb could feel it in himself as his muscles screamed. Managing to crawl his way to you, but his hand found your side he lifted it up to see that same hand utterly soaking in your blood.
Your eyes looking at the other desperately, as he ran his other hand over the side of your face as your breathing came out in pants increasing in hysterics as you tried to hold on for him. The bloodshed and screaming begun to fade only as his own men were taken down. You looked to him, trying to tell him to run but Robb too could see the blood in your mouth making the words choke as tears found both your eyes in an agony that surpassed any wound on either of you. 
Robb trying to find any strength to stand, in a rage at what they had done to his wife, his son and yet you lay there begging for him to go on as if you hadn’t promised to always be together. The words sounded almost far way in his head as Lord Frey spoke.
“The King in the North arises.” Only as he found any strength to stand as if he had any plan beyond the rage in his mind, Catelyn leaped forward with a blade, yanking Walder Frey’s young wife out from her hiding spot, bringing her back up to her chest and holding a knife viciously to her throat.
“Lord Walder, enough. Let it end, please.” Her voice was ragged from a yell he’d never heard from her but Robb looked to you, your body barley able to move as you looked to him like you could find no other thing keeping you alive but him. “He is my son, my first son. Let him go and I swear we will forget this, I swear it by the old gods and the new.” 
No, Robb thought, something fading inside him as he bled out and he could only see how little you had left in you, maybe minutes, more likely seconds. He had stood to fight, but how could he? You were his wife, his Queen, the love of his life you had only ever stood by his side. You fought in battle by his side, and he was supposed to go on without you? Without the son he could see now in your arms in Winterfell? 
His mother pleaded for him to run, to walk out but he found himself unable to. He promised he’d never leave you, you would always be together and what life waited for him without you in it? “On my honour as a Tully, on my honour as Stark, let him go or I will cut your wife’s throat.” 
The callousness of Lord Frey to his wife, as Robb stood barley holding together as his own lay bleeding on the floor and his life shattering before his eyes. “I’ll find another.” 
As if asking her to leave, but without the strength of words, Robb got out a weak, “Mother,” only it meant nothing. The man who plunged a dagger into your stomach came to him and Robb found no fight left. Roose Bolton in front of him with the blood of you and your son still dripping from it found it’s way into Robb’s chest as he spoke one last thing to his king. 
“Jaime Lannister sends his regards.” 
Robb felt himself fall back, quickly he felt the fading he found in you. For seconds, he found the strength to find your eyes as he faded, his fingers trying to reach to yours barley in front of you trying to do the same. In an instant as Robb watched you, you looked at him with a desperate love and agony until they glazed over. 
Looking through him as everything in your body stilled, and no more was there any life left in you. It wasn’t more then a few seconds, did Robb feel the heavy call of his own. 
You were the one true love of Robb Stark’s life, and he found little feeling in his heart but some peace as he watched your lifeless eyes in the last seconds of his own life. He would follow you, and together you would find each other in what lies beyond the veil. 
Somewhere in his fading mind, he heard the desperate cry of his mother before none at all. And then no life was found in the hall. None in Catelyn, none in the lifeless stomach where a son was growing, and none in either the King and Queen in the North. 
In minutes, Robb had lost everything, lost his people, the North, his son, and most painfully of all, had lost you, before he too lost himself. 
Ser Davos Seaworth walked the halls of Dragonstone, even as far as he had come, he could still hear her cries. The Princess was unlike anything he had seen before in her, and it broke his heart all over again as he had not the strength to keep it from her. 
She sat with him often now as he read the ravens sent to King Stannis Baratheon. She would help with the harder words, and he would often smirk telling her she better be a good secret keeper. He had paused reading one particular raven scroll, she looked up with her bright eyes, “Onion Knight?” Oh the sweet girl, the only one who was not himself that called him that in admiration and not jest. “What is it, you’ve been doing so well it can’t be that difficult of a word-” 
Shireen had stood to come to his side, but he held a hand out to stop her. Unable to keep the shocking horror at bay that sat over his face. He hadn’t waited to let her mother or father tell her. He knew it was not his place, but the way she fell into his arms like Davos was in fact her father, brought the tears to his own. 
Walking to Stannis now, the last time he had seen you was on his mind. You looked right at the Stark’s side, like you had become the wolf you married and now none of it mattered. Finding Stannis standing at the edge of the room of the painted table, his hands perched on the edge of the stone wall over the sea as it stormed outside like the gods were crying for you too. 
In the room was her, the red woman. His eyes trying not to find her but she in a surprise to him, looked as if she too did not grasp what had happened. Stannis’s voice was full of pain and anger, not obvious to many from his tone, but Davos knew him well enough to see the turmoil now haunting the King. “You told me, she would come to my side. You told me my daughter would come to me, the Stark boy too. You saw it.” 
Davos had no sympathy for the words she spoke that day, just a taunt of a life now that you and your husband would never have. Even worse, your death was the first time any on Dragonstone had heard you were with child, a son. For all the words and war raged around Robb Stark being a usurper, there now was a darkness over the already dim island that was felt by all. 
Selyse had went to Shireen. She would find no comfort in her husband, but Davos found some in that he had left mother and daughter to cry together. He knew what losing a child felt like all to freshly. It wasn’t anything any parent deserved to feel, and as the little princesses cries sounded still in Davos’s head, he hoped the King would find reason this time. He would make him. 
He told him to accept Robb Stark’s terms, and he would find an ally in the North but his King had not been in the right mind to accept it. He hoped now, that Stannis understood what could have never happened. 
“My King-” 
“No.” Stannis barley turning his body to look at her before finding the sea once more. “She was my daughter. She didn’t deserve this, any of this. I raised her to do her duty and she found that duty in standing by her husbands side and I let that get her killed. My grandchild killed. Where is the answer in your god’s flames now?” 
Still, she insisted. “The Lord of Light still shows me the same, her and her wolf both-” 
“Her and her wolf are dead.” 
Davos took charge by making himself known. “Your grace, there is a raven you should see. It’s....I think is is urgent you read it. It comes from Castle Black. The Night’s Watch pleads for help.” 
Jon had dreamt of nothing but that sight, and he didn’t understand what he was watching until he finally woke from the delirious sleep being shot with arrows put him in. He had seen you on the ground, your stomach soaking in blood until there was nothing left in your eyes, but it never let him see more, never gave him an answer. Until he woke, and Sam came to him with news.
Standing by the window Jon could hardly tell what on earth he was feeling. For so long his life had been a fight against him to realize that the true threat lay beyond what the Night’s Watch and Free Folk spent their years killing each other over. That something else was coming, and neither side of the Wall took it seriously, neither side was willing to put things aside to fight it. 
But then he woke, and Sam told him of you, of Robb. Wincing through the pain as he put his undershirt on, Jon looked distantly out the window to nothing but his own memories of his brother. “I was jealous of Robb my whole life. The way my father looked at him, I wanted that.” Putting his final leathers on top he could almost smile seeing the boys they one were. “He was better then me at everything. Fighting, and hunting, and riding and girls. Gods the girls loved him..eventually even my girl.” 
Sam knew, he had been told of you probably with more honesty then Jon had ever spoken of you in his entire life. He was allowed to be honest, and of how painful it was to know you finally found a life and love in the brother who already had everything Jon wanted. 
“I wanted to hate him, but I never could.” 
It wasn’t a nightmare in his dreams, it was you. The last he would ever see or know of you, as the haunting vision of you laying on the ground bleeding out with a horror in your eyes that Jon couldn’t protect you from. He couldn’t protect you from any of it, and he was angry for ever being foolish enough to pretend as if Ygritte was anything like you. 
You never forced Jon into anything, only ever showing a love and support that only he found in your eyes no matter what he did or said. Jon had you laid out bare for him on his own bed, and the second he hesitated, you assured him with soft and gentle words, asking if he was alright. 
Only minutes later, before he was even fully undressed, it was your turn to hesitate, but even in your panic, worrying you had ruined things, you still looked back up at him. Assuring him it wasn’t his fault you weren’t ready. The moment he told you he wasn’t sure he was either, you told him that if he’s willing to wait for you, you wanted to wait for him. Instead he gave himself to her, because it was that or death and he managed to trick himself into thinking it was love.
But a love for her didn’t feel like it did losing you. His family gone, his brother, his closest companion was gone without ever knowing how much Jon wished to fight by his side. And he had lost the only woman he ever loved, ever wanted to love. 
He had lied to himself enough. The only space in his heart before, now and forever will be for you. Even if his last memory of you was a vision soaked in blood hundreds of miles out of his protection. 
Sam asked him quietly if he was okay. “No. I’m not okay.”
Jon knew there was a bigger war to fight now, and he was forced to do it without the people in his life that meant the most to him. For a second, Jon could see your stomach not in blood, but pregnant and he shook the thoughts away from him. He couldn’t think of you pregnant, and dying so viciously as you lost it, Robb, and you all together. 
He knew you had seen something, these visions in his head showing you and only once did those visions coincide as you saw each other. And it was that which made Jon push it down. Only an anger left simmering in him, the thought that you died, thinking Jon no longer loved you. 
Jon knew he would never be okay ever again. 
Somewhere in the halls of the dead, a dead pulse flushed to life. Eyes open and lifeless, on their own movements, in that very second, slid closed. 
153 notes · View notes
minheelovelee · 8 months
Text
Losing your Virginities - K
Warnings: Virgin!Keum x Virgin!Reader. Femme. Afab.
- all-around perfect guy. Really inexperienced when it comes to sexual interactions.
- likes siting in bed w/ you, making out, and watching a stupid show. takes it too far one day and fucks you while watching Bluey or something.
- has you sitting between his legs while he’s against the headboard. runs his hands up and down your sides. it’s soothing to him, you’re like a fidget toy.
- rests his chin on your shoulder too. when he looks at you, he remembers how hot his gf is. so lucky.
- tucks your hair behind your ear and plants a couple kisses down your neck. he finds his place back on your shoulder.
- he’s kissing the skin there and remembers something funny he can do. He wraps his lips around a section of skin, sucking and biting. He licks up his saliva and gives it a kiss.
- the skin is too tough to leave a good hickey, so he moves up your neck. Again he sucks on the skin and leaves you some cute bite marks behind.
- when you ask him what he’s doing, he’ll just giggle at you. “Kissin’ you.” Baby, that’s not a kiss. He goes back to doing what he was before.
- then he remembered another funny thing he can do. he lets his hands slide up your shirt. Your tummy feels warm compared to his hands. he makes his way to your tits and gives the a squeeze.
- ask him what he’s doing again. He’ll probably say “Givin’ you a hug.” Baby, that’s not a hug.
- he remembers one more funny thing he can do. his hands trail down to the waist band of your shorts. he traces along it and pulls the drawstring undone, playing with it for a few moments.
- he moves his hands to your thighs, rubbing them over your shorts. His head peaks around your shoulder, trying to get your attention. “baby.”
- “yeah?”
- “can i touch you?” wow.
- “you’re already touchin’ me, silly.” he gets nervous when you start to play hard to get.
- “no. i wanna make you feel good.” immediately soaked.
- “you make me feel good everyday, baby.” he was confident at first, but now he’s terrified.
- “fuck. can i finger you?”
- “baby, why didn’t you just ask that in the first place? go for it.” he’s annoyed. he still gives you a kiss on the cheek.
- “keep watchin’ your show y/n. don’t let me bother you. this is for me.” he’s really curious. also wants to make you feel reallyyyyy nice.
- he slips his fingers under your shorts and pushes them down. they stop at your knees, he pulls them off the rest of the way.
- his hands go back up to your chest. he pulls your top above your breasts, letting it sit on the shelf. from the back, he unhooks your bra.
- wrapping around again, his hands find their way to your nipples. They start pitching and rubbing, trying to get a reaction. You pretend to be enthralled in your show. Really, you’re clenching your hole trying to get any stimulation.
- after his fill of boobs, he moves on to your covered pussy. he snaps the waistband once, to get your attention. when you look back at him, he smiles. he’s really in love <3
- with a kiss on your shoulder, he spreads your legs open, exposing the wet patch beneath your hole. “Oh?” he reaches down to feel you.
- “i can see how wet you are from here.” he wants to tease you too, if things are too serious, he’ll probably get too nervous and back out.
- he lifts your hips once again to shove your panties down. This time just leaving them around your knees.
- he’s got you spread open butterfly style, with the soles of your feet touching. He wants full access to you.
- his fingers trail up your thighs and stop before they reach where you need him most. Then they find the source of your wetness and cover themselves in it.
- by now, you can feel how hard he is on your back. he makes cute gasps in your ear as he continues. the fact that you’re this wet for him makes him so happy.
- he trails up and down between your lips, feeling how soft you are. when his confidence builds up a bit, he stops above your clit and presses down.
- when you make a cute sound for him, he sees what this is all about. making your partner feel good is the best part of a relationship.
- letting up on the pressure, he starts to make small circles. “whatcha think, baby? Feel good?” his ego swells when you nod quickly.
- gathering a bit more wetness, he moves his fingers directly on your clit, starting a similar motion with the lightest pressure. your hips jerk a bit and you turn your face away.
- he uses his other hand that was on your hip to turn your face forward. “either watch your show or watch me touch you. don’t act all shy.” he knows what combination of words will have you feeling neediest.
- he presses down harder and occupies himself with your neck once again. “donghyun…” he halts his movements. “what’s up, baby?”
- “inside, please.” he’s sitting down but still feels dizzy. “m’kay, sweetie.” he finally reaches down to your hole and slips one wet finger in. it doesn’t stretch you, it fits perfectly. he wonders if he’ll be able to fit his cock inside you.
- when that finger is inside you completely, he adds another. This time, he feels a little resistance. “oh god, you’re so small. you touch yourself like this when i’m not around?”
- “donghyun…” he laughs. you’re only pretending to be shy to avoid getting embarrassed. “baby you can tell me. look what we’re doin’ right now.” your smile reminds him why he’s doing this for you. he’s really in love.
- not getting a response, he starts moving his fingers inside you. He crooks them upward, traveling along your walls. your whimpers make him push you further.
- he pushes those fingers against the roof of your pussy, feeling around for whatever it is he’s supposed to find. he’s pretty convinced that he found the special spot inside you. it felt rough. the rest of your pussy felt soft like the inside of his cheek.
- he tests the waters with that spot. Thrusting his fingers in and up, grazing it. you gasp and grab onto his shorts. that was enough encouragement to keep going.
- he kept up that motion. the palm of his hand laid flat against the top of your pussy, rubbing your clit as he moved. he didn’t even do that part on purpose. it just felt natural. you’re thankful for his advanced primal instincts.
- “that making you feel good? like these fingers inside you?” he’s so embarrassing. “yeah. yeah, like it a lot hyun. i feel it in my tummy.” he moves his hand up to your stomach.
- “right here?” he pushes down a little and realizes he can feel himself inside you. “oh fuck, baby. i really hope you can come for me like this. i gotta fuck you, too.”
- he keeps up his work, letting the drag of his fingers and hand take you to the edge. you really start moaning for him when you’re close.
- “hyunnie. im gonna. im close.” he quickens the pace and increases the pressure. “do it, honey. i want it more than anything.”
- when you finish on his fingers, he can’t believe the squeezing of your walls. if his cock was inside you, he would have came instantly. + if you squirt for him. he would love up on you so hard. couldn’t even fuck you bc he came in his shorts.
- “im goin’ down on your next time. i wanna taste you, bad.” you take his hand, use it to gather your cum, and bring it to his mouth “go ahead”. he fell in love. even more. definitely sucked on his own fingers.
- “please, can i fuck you, sweetie? lemme feel you like that on my cock instead.” you nod in agreement “do you have a condom?” of course he does. he’s BEEN wanting to frick.
- he’d retrieve the condom from his wallet. when putting it on, he gets it right on the first try. 10/10
- he’d like to do all the work for you once again, so he lays you down on your back. he’ll bend you at the knee and spread your legs open. you still had your shirt and bra on, so he threw them to the floor along with his own clothing.
- he braces himself before going inside. holding into your thighs and getting his cock wet with your juices before committing to the act. he’s hard as a rock, so he doesn’t want to slip the tip in and shoot ropes right away.
- when he’s ready, he might hold your hand. “ready for me, lovey?” use your words and tell him you want it <3
- when he presses the tip against your hole, reality hits him. he can’t believe this is happening. “oh my fucking god, baby. thank you so much. love everything about you. especially this fucking pussy.” he’s gonna talk his way through it. has to let you know what he’s thinking.
- halts movement when you whimper. gotta check up on you to make sure you’re okay. <3 when he’s feeling confident again, he’ll pin your hips down and fuck into you like he’s always wanted.
- doesn’t have the patience to let you adjust to his size. he’s not big so you’re fine.
- you know what they say about dancers? they have the best dick game. bro has alpha-level stroke. he’s so good. any angle, he finds a way to position himself so he can make sure you feel his cock everywhere.
- loves the way your tits bounce. he gets hypnotized by them i think. he leans down so your chests touch. he’ll wrap an arm around your waist, lift you up a bit, and start fuckin into you again.
- why is he so good? idk. i think he watched a lot of pr*n during a dark time in his life. he learned a thing or two.
- tells you that he loves you a few times. you cant forget. <3 when he starts feeling that tingling in his tip, he lets his thumb swipe across your clit.
- you gotta be so sensitive by now. he’s touched every part on your body that could bring you even the slightest please. When he touches your clit again, you cry out. he knows you gotta be hurting, but he’s so close. He snaps his hips harder and quicker.
- “‘m so fucking close. gonna cum.”
- “fuck, hyunnie. me too.”
- he gets so excited when you say that. he really wants to feel you squeeze him in. so he dips his head down and takes your nipple into his mouth. loves the way you squeal when he does that.
- a few more swipes up and down on your little bud do the trick. youre squirming and whining under him while you gush over his cock.
- he finally gets to feel what he was chasing. when those warm walls start fluttering on him, he immediately cums.
- holds himself deep inside you for a minute. takes a little time to kiss your face and tell you how amazing you are.
- after he pulls out, he’ll get clean clothes for the both of you. wants to tuck you into bed too. he’ll lay by you and tell you everything he liked about sex. he feels like a changed man.
- TLDR: he’s so sweet but likes to make you feel a little embarrassed. fucks really good and knows what spots are gonna make you feel nice.
- couldn’t have asked for a better first time<3 so cute
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iloveabunchofgames · 1 year
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#JakeReviewsItch
1365
by Cicada Carpenter
Genre: Platformer
Pitch: A short, narrative platformer about surviving high school with mental illness.
My expectations: The Itch page warns that "1365 contains themes of depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. I experience all three daily, but my life isn't a cheery-looking video game about jumping on stuff, so I'm cautiously excited to see what that juxtaposition is like.
Review:
Words like “depression” and “anxiety” allow us to understand each other and ourselves. If I’m suddenly overcome by an inexplicable, inescapable force that distorts the way I feel and how I perceive the world, and I don’t have the language to describe it, I’m going to have a tough time getting through it. If I can identify my symptoms as depression, I’m no longer alone. I can benefit from the experience and expertise of others. Depression can be treated. But depression isn’t just one thing. The PHQ-9 asks patients how often they’ve had “trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much?” or “poor appetite or overeating?” Depression can be situational, seasonal, or chronic. The life of the party might be masking the same despair as someone who couldn’t find the strength to leave the house.
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Which brings us to 1365, a game that points to little monsters and labels them “depression,” “dysphoria,” and “guilt.” Touch them, and they drain a little health, which is replenished with hearts labeled “confidence” and “independence.” I get the intended metaphor, and I know everyone experiences mental illness differently, but I can’t relate to this level of abstraction. These words are just words.
+ Lots of accessibility options. + If its "Don't give up! You can make it through this!" message reaches even one person who needs to hear it, that's worth more than all of my criticism.
– Simultaneously too abstract and too direct. The monster in the high school's hallway is a metaphor for depression because there's a "depression" label over the monster in the high school's hallway. Get it?? – For a game that is supposed to be about helping other people understand its developer's invisible struggle, it's weirdly devoid of any challenge. Monsters chip off a little health, but health pickups are frequent, and even if you run out, you can always continue right away, from the exact same spot, without any penalty. There's one platforming section I found a little tricky, but I'm certain that was a result of unintentionally wonky controls. – "The walls are closing in." That's something people say when describing anxiety attacks. That's something that can be expressed in a video game. I need less telling and more showing and doing.
🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍
#JakeReviewsTwitch is a series of daily game reviews. You can learn more here. You can also browse past reviews...
• By name • By rating • By genre
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blaqventures · 2 years
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Looking for Institutional Investor?
If you're a tech startup, then you know that finding investors can be a tough process. But don't worry, we're here to help. In this blog section, we'll be discussing some tips and tricks on how to find investors for your tech startup. First and foremost, it's important to have a solid business plan. This will show potential investors that you know what you're doing and that you're serious about your business. Secondly, it's also important to have a great pitch deck. 
This is what you'll use to actually convince investors to invest in your company. Make sure it's well designed and covers all the key points of your business. Finally, remember that it's not just about finding any investor, it's about finding the right investor. So don't get discouraged if you don't get funding from the first few people you approach. Keep pitching your business until you find someone who believes in your vision and is willing to help you make it a reality. Try to pitch your tech startup business by applying for pre-seed funding through the institutional investor, Blaq Ventures.
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hvassthyssen5 · 2 years
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Get The Nfl Sunday Tickets For Your Football Fan
Although I get your passion for football, even if you do make it pro, you'll be done playing by your mid-twenties, if you have a long-lasting pro career. Option Offense technology has a host of new options. These options are optimized for college football. The defenders can be highlighted so that the offensive player can watch their movements closely. This will help in making the decision about whether to keep the football or throw it. Concentrate some of the exercises on speed. Jumping squats will increase your reflex muscle speed. Squat down and jump on a step. Stand straight up and then jump down to a squat. Keep doing this 40 times a day and increase the height of your step gradually. football player game is played on the pitch for 90 minutes but never starts or ends there. Preparations can take months. To create a functioning, effective and well-functioning team, not only does it depend on the players but also the coach. The effect of the coaches on the team and the game is usually a curious discussion point. Some believe that the game can be played on the pitch, and that the coaches effect is rarely more than ten per cent. Others argue that the coach and his tactics are the maker or the breaker for the team. This is a non-resolvable issue. The truth is that coaches are often the first to blame for any failures. Run a crossing route. This means that your pattern should involve the middle section of the field. In a zone defense, players guard areas and players are not covered so many players will cover them and not just one. All of us go out to lift weights, do speed training, and practice football skills. but, in some situations, especially in big High School programs, getting a shot at the starting line up can seem almost impossible. You may very well have 4 or 5 guys on a similar skill level (or better) at your position. You have to be different if you want to win over those guys. You might need more than you think. All goals are possible if you put in the effort. When you practice and play football, you need to be positive. You can be an incredible football player! You will find yourself more passionate about the game if you keep these things in mind. Start with two shakes per morning. click here for breakfast, one for lunch, and one after a workout. Experts recommend drinking 1/3 pre-workout, 1/3 during training, and 1/3 after. This is fine so long as your stomach can handle it. In the summer, it can be tough so test it out and see how you do. If your shake is coming out rather than going, it will not be of any benefit to you.
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ladyinredfics · 3 years
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@albatrossisland tagged me on this meme, because they know me well.
WIP sampler basket: a meme for people with too many WIPS!
Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.
Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!
Under my skin
When your tears have drowned you
Hurricane
Stranded
Confirmed bachelor
Wait for me to come home
The Blue Castle
The Long Night
Kingslayers should band together
Distance (love as deep as the road is long)
No crying in baseball
Bunt
Just a girl
Next year
A lady’s armor
Quiet Isle
A star is born
Brienne the bear
Do your best
The hoodie-footie
Bodice ripper
Bran dies AU
Take me back to the night we met
Black rose
Hotline
Modeling AU
Lottery AU
Steampunk battle at the Wall
Blue Moon
Ren Faire AU
I may have a WIP problem. Although in fairness some of these haven’t been touched in years. They’re arranged by order of the last time I opened the file, newest at the top.
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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years
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Competition - Bakugou Katsuki - Victorious Inspired
Bakugou x f!reader
Warnings: Cursing, Fluff(ish), Crack, Jealous Bakugou, tatted Bakugou Cuz we love a lil spice
Summary: You were doing homework online with your friends when a needy Bakugou wanted your attention and was pouty when he didn’t get it. After Mina slipped up and said something stupid, Bakugou assumed horrible things and went over only to find out something so very comical.
BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST
You were in your second year of college and the work was killing you. Thankfully, this time around, your assignment was the slightest bit easier, as it was a group project. You, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Mina were currently working on the project through the computer while being on video chat. The night was still young and you still had plenty to do.
“Okay, after I type in this paragraph, what should the next section be abou-“ You were cut off by the sound of a little French bulldog barking and scampering your way. The cute little black dog jumped onto your lap and made itself comfortable, causing you to look down and smile at it before petting it’s ears.
“Awww, look at the little puppy!” Mina said.
“He’s cute, right? I’m watching him for my neighbor while he’s at his football game.” You explained.
“You live next to a football player?!” The pink girl exclaimed.
“I do,” you said with a smile.
“Figures. I live next to an old man who likes to throw lemons at me!” She ranted. The group all laughed at her before continuing the job.
You all worked and finished about 4 pages of the assignment. While in the midst of the 5th page, your boyfriend requested to join your video chat. “Oop, hold on. Suki’s asking to join.”
You added your junior high school sweetheart to the call and was met with a frustrated pout. “Hi babe!” You squealed.
The group all tried to say their greetings to their friend but he spoke before they could. “Where have you been?”
“What? At home.” You said.
“I’ve been calling you, texting you, and basically blowing up your phone, and you haven’t been answering for hours!” He whined. His friends got a small kick out of seeing their tough friend be a softie for his girlfriend and remained quiet to enjoy the show.
“Sorry. I’ve been doing homework and-“
“What is that? Why do you have that animal on you?” He interrupted and asked as he slanted his eyes towards the small canine.
“It’s my neighbor’s dog,” you said with a pitched voice as you cradled the pup closer, almost like you were defending it’s honor.
“Her neighbor, the football player.” Mina mentioned with a sly voice. You shut your eyes and released a slow sigh as you knew what was coming.
“Football player?!” Bakugou shouted.
“Why? Why would you say that?” You said to Mina with a disappointed tone. She was one of his friends, she knew what the reaction would’ve been.
“Sorry,” she genuinely said.
“Why are you doing favors for some football player and what is he doing for you?” Bakugou seethed.
“There’s nothing going on, he’s just-“
“I’m coming over there.” He blatantly said.
“No- no. You don’t need to-“ without letting you finish, Bakugou signed off and went to get ready for his leave. You sighed at your jealous boyfriend and threw shady eyes towards Mina.
Some time had passed and your group had finished the 7th page. Almost done! Thank god for this being a small little assignment. Unfortunately, your boyfriend’s little fuss put you all behind schedule a little and it didn’t help that he finally made his arrival to add a little more drama to the show.
A bang was heard at your door. “Open up Y/N!”
“Uhh, I think you’re getting robbed Y/N.” Kaminari said.
“Nah, it’s just Suki.” You said to the blonde through the screen. You then turned to your front door to speak to your boyfriend who was on the other side. “You’re being ridiculous!”
Bang! Bang! Bang! “I need to talk to you!” He said.
“Sorry, door’s locked!” You replied. Unfortunately, the door busted open and you sighed in frustration. “And now it’s not.”
“He has a key?” Kirishima asked.
“No, he has a foot.” You said and then turned to your boyfriend with a sarcastic but also genuine smile. “Hi baby.”
And now here stood your angry boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki. He was dressed in his combat boots, a pair of black jeans and a white tee. He held a dark green bomber jacket in his hands that he wore due to the slightly cold weather out in the night. With the jacket off, his fully tatted arms were exposed along with the few tattoos that adorned his neck. He had his silver chain on along with a few rings and his cross piercing on his left ear and a few other random ones on his right. To anyone else, your boyfriend looked like a ruffian especially with his motorcycle that was surely parked out front. He definitely was an attractive man. Girls wanted him, guys wanted to be him, and you felt so blessed to have him and have him want you and only you.
He looked like the typical bad boy who was mean as fuck and also happened to be good at everything he did. In reality, he was just your Suki who was a softie that can be a little tempered at times. Like right now.
“What is going on?!” He asked in frustration.
“You just kicked my door open!” You said as you pointed to the evidence.
“Put the dog down and tell me about this football asswipe who lives next door!” He demanded.
“No! I will not put the dog down!” You said, cradling the sweet baby even closer.
“Oh you’re not?!” He said in a threatening tone but you knew your boyfriend would never do any real harm.
“No! If you want to meet the football player then you can wait to talk to him when he gets back.” You said.
“Then I’ll wait for him!” He said, taking a seat a little bit behind you from your setup on the couch’s ottoman.
“Fine!” You said, turning back to your friends. After a second, you realized something and turned back to face him. “No kiss?”
He only stuck his tongue out at you to which you pouted in anger and did the same before turning around. However, you smiled once you felt him come up from behind you and place a peck on your cheek before going back to his spot on the couch.
“Awwww,” your group of friends cooed to which you and Bakugou both smiled and rolled your eyes.
Some more time passed and eventually, Mina and Kirishima both grew too tired (thanks to that college schedule) and signed off for the night. Surprisingly, Kaminari was the one who stayed up with you to continue to do the work and was more than happy to help.
“Guess it’s just you and me.” You said to the electric blonde.
“And me.” Your boyfriend said with sass in the background of your screen.
You and Kaminari continued to work until you got to the 15th and final page. Like what was previously said, very easy, very simple, very short. All you had to do was finish this last page and you’d be done! Unfortunately, the universe had different plans and an expected knock was heard at your door.
“Ouu, is that the football player?” Kaminari cooed and teased knowing Bakugou would hear.
“Yeah,” you laughed. “Come in!” You kindly called.
“Yeah, COME IN!” Your boyfriend rudely said, setting himself up to sit a little straighter and look a little meaner.
To his surprise, in came a young boy who was dressed in his school representative hoodie and a pair of sweats. “Hi Y/N!”
“Hi Ryu!” You said to the young boy who took a seat next to you. “Katsuki, this is my next door neighbor, Ryu. Ryu, this is my boyfriend, Katsuki.”
“Nice to meet you mister!” The boy said with excitement as he looked towards your “scary” boyfriend in the back.
“Hello Ryu.” Your boyfriend said in a defeated tone that he hid with a smile and wave towards the little boy. You smirked at your boyfriend as you recognized his tone. The tone he usually had when you proved him wrong. Ryu being the sweet boy he is also waved towards your friend at the camera to be polite.
“What’s up little man,” Kaminari said as a greeting. Ryu turned to you to pick up his little frenchie.
“Thanks for taking care of Natsu!” He said sweetly.
“Anytime kiddo!” You said, giving him the dog. Ryu pet his pup for a second before looking back at Bakugou and whispering to you. Luckily, it was loud enough for Bakugou to hear.
“Your boyfriend looks really cool!” He whispered excitedly.
“I know!” You whisper-yelled back with a smile. Kaminari let out a little laugh while Bakugou had a sad face. He felt guilty for wanting to come here to beat the shit out of a football player, only for that football player to be a cool lil kid who thought he was pretty cool too.
“Well thanks again! Bye now!” Ryu said before getting up and leaving with his dog. You waved at them until the door shut, you crossed your legs and smiled as Katsuki got up with a sigh and took Ryu’s seat next to you.
“Wow Bakugou, looks like you got some competition!” Kaminari teased. Bakugou only sighed and rubbed his temples with one hand before feeling you push on his shoulder.
“You gonna say you’re sorry~” you teasingly asked.
“You didn’t tell me he was 9!” He argued.
“You didn’t give me a chance!” You laughed out. Bakugou flopped onto his back as he began bantering with you. You both went back and forth and Kaminari chuckled to himself before signing off to let the cute couple have their time in privacy.
Bakugou remained on his back until you poked his face and he grabbed you before flipping the both of you over so that you were under him. He flopped down onto your body, getting comfortable on your chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You giggled and ran your fingers through his hair in a successful attempt to soothe him.
“Just wanted some attention from my baby.” He muffled out with a small blush. You smiled and looked towards your screen.
“Well Kaminari signed off, Natsu’s gone, and it’s just you and me. You now have my undivided attention, Suki.” You said. Bakugou sighed in content before going up to place a kiss on your lips.
“Good.” He said before tucking his head into the crevasse of your neck. You held him close while he played the small spoon and you both cuddled up nicely. If it was attention he wanted, it was attention he’d get.
Tag list: @sxcker4you @aomi04 @tessabrown101 @ebiharachan
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btsinwonderland · 3 years
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A Drop of Poison - Ch. 3: The Library
A Loki fanfiction!
Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter
Full Chapter List
Chapter warnings: bit of smut at the end...
-----------------------------------
You placed your books on the nightstand and slumped onto your bed. The pillows caught your face in a soft hug and you felt the weight of the entire day sink into you. Your roommates were gone nearly all the time, working most hours of the night in the common room study area. It used to be lonely, constantly coming back to a room with three empty beds, but now you reveled in the emptiness.
He deserves it.
Professor Heimdall’s words bounced around in your mind.
He killed someone. A close friend of his father’s.
You tried picturing a younger version of your professor, whom you barely knew, being trapped in Azkaban. Is he truly a murderer? You thought about that and could not find a simple answer. Sure, he had a cold disposition. However, it was encased in a strange, jovial warmth that both intimidated and intrigued you.
His cool blue eyes entered your mind, and you wondered what sort of menacing secrets he held behind them. As awful as you tried to make him, there was something about it all that did not feel right. The way his lips subtly twitched when he threw ingredients into the cauldron and the way his eyes lit up when the students applauded him did not scream “evil” to you. You pictured his face in your vision and the fear in his eyes as the dead surrounded him. It was the face of a man trapped in a hopeless situation.
Professor Heimdall was not usually so clinical about his judgments. It surprised you he doled out such a firm statement. And to listen to him tell you that you were having silly dreams was even worse.
Freya…
Why had he uttered your name? That alone was proof enough. He needed your help. Professor Heimdall was hiding something else from you and you needed to find out what it was. Fine Heimdall, if you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself.
You walked out of the common room and headed to the courtyard. Dusk was approaching, but there were still some students out, so your presence was not too suspicious. You walked across a couple lounging on a picnic blanket. The boy had his head in his partner’s lap. They giggled about something and took no notice of anyone else in their vicinity. You smiled at their affections wistfully.
The grass was freshly cut, and the air had a rich smell to it. You walked over to your favourite willow tree - the one that did not whomp - and sat at the trunk. There was a breeze which picked up your curly locks and moved them about your face. You tied your thick hair back and crossed your legs.
You breathed in and out, trying to remember Heimdall’s exercises. The scent of flowers in bloom distracted you for a few minutes until you could grasp some focus. It took several seconds of listening to your breath until you found yourself in a calm state. Your thoughts slipped out of your mind like water through your fingers. Your mind was empty, waiting to be filled. In this state of bored concentration, you felt the stirring of a question: What must I do?
It was the only question that floated in your mind; like a cloud drifting across a clear sky. Then you pictured something. A blurry image that slowly came into focus. It was a book, but the letters were unintelligible. It was on the shelves of the restricted section. The book was dark red, leather bound and cracked along the spine. As the image cleared, you saw the title: “Spells for the Common House Cat”.
“What the hell?” You said aloud. The vision dissolved as soon as you lost focus. You leaned back on the trunk and repeated the ridiculous title to yourself. Perhaps Heimdall was right, and it was all just a silly dream. How could this have been an important vision?
Your first impulse was to return to the common room, go to sleep and forget about the whole damned thing. Instead, you found yourself calculating how to get to the library unseen. Your impulse control was failing you as of late.
It was half an hour before it would be inappropriate to be out and about on the grounds. The sky was darkening quickly. You dashed past Skurge as he grumpily mopped the floors and slid into the library. There was a section on Magical Tax Law near the back you hid in; the books and the floor were so dusty here that you hoped no one would find you.
A few aisles away, there were students roaming the shelves.
“Come on Victoria, I can barely read anymore my eyes are going to fall out!” A low voice said.
“You’re clearly going to fail potions. We have our O.W.L.’s this year and I have to at least get Exceeds Expectations,” said a voice, higher pitched.
Fifth year potions, you thought. It was already an immensely tough course at the time with Professor Rattowl. You felt sympathy for the students.
“Have you heard, Laufeyson’s carryin’ the Slytherin name? He’s been to Azkaban,” said the boy.
The girl, Victoria, gasped. “What! How could they let him teach here?”
The boy said, “well we know how he got the job, when mum’s Headmistress, I guess they'll let anybody do it. I don’t feel safe knowing some felon is creeping around in the school.”
“Yeah, he must have done something awful to get into Azkaban,” she said.
“You know what I think?” he said.
“What?”
As their feet shuffled away, you barely caught his words. “I don’t think it’s no coincidence Rattowl bit the dust right before Laufeyson got here.”
The rest of the conversation was unintelligible whispers as you stood there like a stone and mulled over what they said. After a long silence, you heard the last student leave. The door ominously shut, and the sound echoed through the library. The flames in every lantern went out in succession. You looked out the glass windows, as moonlight was now the only natural luminance that could guide you in the dark.
Their words did not deter you from your path, though the questionable nature of Professor Rattowl’s demise was a new addition to your list of “things to investigate”. Your thoughts dispersed when you heard Skurge coming with his bucket and mop. The wheel squeaked loudly, and you thanked the bucket gods.
You darted into the restricted section. The door had a latch on it, which you carefully opened with your wand, trying not to make a sound. The restricted section was decently large, with tall shelves lining the entire wall. At the back of the area, was a cabinet where several scrolls were placed in rows of small, square cubbies. The bottom part had a cabinet just large enough for two precocious sixth year students to hide in. The doors had a large square cutout where a lattice covering was added. Lucky for those students, they could see if anyone was coming.
You smiled to yourself as you walked over to the cabinet and opened the door. On the bottom right, just above the hinge, was a carving in the wood. “Bad bitches make good witches”. You silently laughed to yourself at Valkyrie’s idea of ‘leaving a mark’.
Long tables extended across the area surrounded by uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. You walked over to the shelves and searched across the volumes for that strangely titled book about cats. Maybe you were crazy, but it was far too late to turn back now.
“Where could you be?” You whispered as your fingers traced the chains along the spine of a book that was as thick as your head.
The sound of the squeaky wheel came from a few bookcases away, and your heart fluttered nervously. You looked at the entrance to the restricted section and wondered if you could make an escape unnoticed. But it was too dangerous, so you crawled inside the bottom of the cabinet and shut the door just as Skurge came by. He was humming to himself and scanned the premises as he mopped. After a few minutes, he continued down the aisles and you no longer heard his voice.
You sighed and were about to crawl out of the cabinet when you heard voices. You went back into position and closed the door, staying absolutely still.
First you heard a woman’s voice. She was laughing in a flirty sort of way.
Then you heard another voice, deeper. “You’re a bad influence, aren’t you?” Your stomach dropped. It was Professor Laufeyson’s voice.
“Hmmm, let’s go in here, Skurge is done with his rounds.”
Was that Professor Sif? Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw Sif and Laufeyson enter the restricted section. She led him by the hand to the table in front of the cabinet where you hid. She leaned back on it and you saw her undo the clasp in her bun as Laufeyson approached her. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders seductively. The look in Laufeyson’s eyes caused a tremor through your body. You wondered if Sif was blushing as hard as you were.
Your heart rate shot up when her hand reached over to him as she unbuttoned his shirt. He ran his hand down her arm and you closed your eyes, unsure of what to do. Of all the places to be, of all the worst times.
“You are quite a minx, aren’t you?” He said in a low voice. It was almost a purr.
Your eyes snapped open to look at him. His gaze was curious and inviting. He cupped Sif’s face and when his pink tongue came out to lick his lips, you bit yours to keep from breathing too loudly.
“Only when I want to be,” she said.
They kissed. You could hear the smacking of lips and clashing of tongues. You nearly gasped and put a hand on your mouth to stop yourself. A part of you felt guilty watching such a lewd display, but you could not look away.
She slipped off her cloak to reveal a blue button up blouse and black skirt. She undid the blouse. You saw him move her hair aside and kiss her neck. He traced his tongue up her jawline and sucked on her earlobe. Dear lord, help me. You wished you were anywhere else, and yet your nipples hardened underneath your bra.
“Why my brother doesn’t see the beauty of what you are, I know not,” he said, running a hand up her stomach. She moaned a little and leaned back further so that she was sitting on the edge of the table.
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” she said between breaths.
“Why don’t you show me?” He said as he pushed her down on the table and opened her blouse. You saw her breasts openly now as he walked in between her legs.
She hoisted up her skirt while he undid his pants. Your mouth was gaping open. Sif lifted herself up on her elbows so you could no longer see past Laufeyson’s belly button anymore. You moved your head up for a better view, but hit your head on the roof of the cabinet. Your heart stopped as you looked through the hatching and saw him look in your direction. Surprise flashed on his face for the briefest of seconds before he arranged his features back into an aroused state.
Professor Sif turned her head, “what was tha- “
He rammed himself into her, and she cried out with a gasp. She writhed on the table, arching her back. He placed his hands on her breasts and pinched her pink nipples as he thrust into her. You watched shamelessly, with a hand on our mouth as your body reacted to the scene. You looked up at his face and froze when you saw him looking right at you. He held her down and thrust into her with an almost violent ferocity. You felt a strange heat in your entire body as his gaze transfixed you in such a grossly inappropriate state.
He came in a short groan, eyes only leaving you once Professor Sif got up. Her skin almost glowed from the sweat and you wondered if that afterglow was always so beautiful.
“That was…” she said in a dreamy voice.
She slowly buttoned up her clothes. There was a section of hair at the back of her head that was sticking up. You might have laughed had you not been thinking about the needful look on Laufeyson’s face just before he came. It was seared into your mind and you felt your lower abdomen tighten at the thought.
The professor did up his pants and walked towards the cabinet, looking at you with an unreadable expression, eyebrows drawn in. A lock of hair fell around his temples, and he pushed it back with his hand. His abdominal muscles were clearly visible as he buttoned up his shirt. You saw the slanted lines on his hips that led to a place that you dared not imagine. Heat rippled through you at the notion.
He turned around in front of you so that all you could see were the backs of his black trousers. Was he...blocking you from view so that Professor Sif would not see? Surely not.
“Now, can you tell me where Odin’s journals are?” Professor Laufeyson said.
“What?”
“Oh, you know, there were certain…works that Odin wrote and left here. What I was talking about earlier today. Do you know where they are? I would imagine they’d be here in the restricted section. Though I have looked and there’s not much, that’s useful here.”
She straightened her shirt and looked at him. “I believe Headmistress Frigga had a cleaning done and removed several books from this section. They may be somewhere in her office now.”
“Ah, I see.” He leaned back on the cabinet.
“Is this why you wanted us to come to the library?” She scoffed. “Loki, you could have just asked if all you wanted were your father’s books,” Sif said.
Professor Sif said no more, rushing out of the restricted section and slamming the door.
Professor Laufeyson called to her, “as I recall, I came to you with a question. And you took our conversation elsewhere.” He lowered his voice then. “Nonetheless, this was far more entertaining,” he said, drumming his fingers on the surface just above you. He stepped away from the cabinet, and headed out the door without another word.
Your heart pounded in your ears. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?
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natromanxoff · 3 years
Text
How prog were Queen?
By Dave Everley
On 9 January, 1971, Kevin Ayers and Genesis played a show together at the Ewell Technical College near Epsom in Surrey. Ayers was 18 months out of Soft Machine, and making a name for himself as a psychedelically-inclined art-folk rake. Genesis had released their second album, Trespass, a few months earlier, and were carving out a place in the vanguard of the burgeoning progressive rock movement.
There was a third band propping up the bill that night, a bunch of transplanted Londoners calling themselves Queen. In contrast to the wilfully artful approach of the headliners, their music was more straightforward: a heavy, if ornate blend of Led Zeppelin’s earthiness and the flights of fancy of Yes.
Not everyone in the small crowd watching them was impressed, but they caught the attention of one person. After the show, Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel pulled Queen’s blond-bombshell drummer Roger Taylor to one side. Gabriel’s band were about to dismiss their own drummer, John Mayhew, and were looking for a replacement. Was Taylor interested in joining Genesis? The reply was instant: thanks but no thanks. Taylor was utterly dedicated to Queen – there were gigs to play, places to go, and many musical adventures to embark on.
Had Taylor accepted the offer, the course of music – and specifically prog – would have been very different. Genesis would have flourished with Gabriel upfront, though whether they would have survived and prospered as they did without a Phil Collins to step into the breach after their talismanic singer’s departure was another matter.
The knock-on effect on Queen would have been greater. Taylor was an essential part of their carefully balanced four-way chemistry; a chemistry that would go on to throw up some of the most ambitious and game-changing music ever recorded. While Queen weren’t a capital ‘P’ prog band, they were infused with the spirit of the movement, combining its forward-looking values with its absolute disregard for the existing rules. Taking their cues from the likes of Yes, Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator and even Pink Floyd, their flamboyantly cavalier approach would go on to inspire such modern masters as Dream Theater, Queensrÿche and Muse. And, in Bohemian Rhapsody, they ensured that one of the biggest-selling singles in history was, at heart, a prog song. Forget the luxuriant moustaches and sawn-off mike-stands that would come to define them: if the prog ethos meant avoiding the expected, then Queen were definitely a prog band.
“Diversity was probably their greatest asset,” says former Dream Theater drummer and confirmed Queen devotee Mike Portnoy. “From song to song, they could be so different. You could have something that was folk followed by something that was rockabilly followed by something that was metal. And that’s one of the biggest things about prog, having that open-mindedness.”
Queen’s schooling in prog came early on. Brian May’s very first band, 1984, played a 4am slot supporting Pink Floyd at the Christmas On Earth Continued all-nighter in 1967. A year later, his next outfit, Smile – also featuring Roger Taylor – played with Floyd again, this time at London’s Imperial College. By the time of their gig opening for Kevin Ayers, Smile had changed their name to Queen and recruited Freddie Mercury. Collectively, they admired Yes, Van der Graaf Generator and especially Genesis. “Foxtrot is a prog rock classic,” Roger Taylor later wrote in the sleevenotes to Genesis box set 1970-1975. “Arrangements were highly complex in these early days, setting a benchmark for the style of the times.”
When it came to finding someone to produce their debut album, Queen’s first choice was John Anthony, who had worked with both Genesis and Van der Graaf. With Anthony and co-producer Roy Thomas Baker behind the desk, the eponymous album trod heavily in Led Zeppelin’s footsteps. But there was another, altogether more visionary band straining to spread their wings: My Fairy King was a filigreed slice of flamboyant rock’n’roll, while Liar metamorphosised through several different time changes and timings.
Those wings were fully unfurled on the follow-up, 1974’s Queen II. The title was the most prosaic thing about the record: the music inside was as fevered and baroque as rock gets, informed equally by Zeppelin, Yes and crazed Victorian artist Richard Dadd, whose 1864 painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke inspired one of the album’s most prog-leaning tracks. It may have been rooted in the heavy rock of the times, but its cavalier approach and sheer sense of scale pegged Queen as a defiantly progressive proposition.
“Queen weren’t like Yes, who had a dualistic role of guitar and keyboards, where both shared the terrain,” says Yes guitarist Steve Howe, supported by Queen at Kingston Poly in early 1971. “Brian had the terrain to himself. The remarkable thing was that he was the front and the back man. It required him to come up with more than guitar solos… He had to come up with a semi-thematic approach to play the guitar. And what he did was keep colouring.”
Queen’s prog inclinations would be deeply woven into the fabric of their early albums, from the audacious multi-part theatrics of Queen II’s March Of The Black Queen to the schizophrenic attack of the two-part Lap Of The Gods from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack. Even in their more commercial moments, they marched to the beat of their own drum. What other band would have dared serve up something so unusual as Killer Queen?
“It was their diversity,” says Mike Portnoy, who first heard Queen as an eight-year-old in the mid-70s and covered many Queen songs while in Dream Theater. “Their albums took the prototype that The Beatles laid down with the White Album, where you had four different artists bringing in very different styles. Every song was so diverse. You get to A Night At The Opera, and you had this giant multi-layered epic like Bohemian Rhapsody next to something like Seaside Rendezvous or Love Of My Life.”
A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grand artistic statement and their most unashamedly prog album. Pitched around the epic twin tentpoles of The Prophet’s Song and Bohemian Rhapsody, it married their far-reaching vision to a distinctly British barminess. Taken on its own, the eight-minute The Prophets Song, with its incredible ornate a cappella middle section, would be enough to grant Queen access to the Prog Hall Of Fame. But even that sits in the inescapable shadow of Bohemian Rhapsody. Time and success might have lessened its impact, but that song remains the most dazzlingly unique piece of music ever to sell five million copies.
“There are epic things that come along every so often,” says Steve Howe. “There’s Sgt Pepper, there’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. And there’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t know when I first heard it, but once it was there, it was such a formidable thing. You’re thinking: ‘How many tracks did they need to do those vocals? How did they write it? Who invented it? It really was astounding.”
Bohemian Rhapsody encapsulated one of the key things that gave Queen such a distinct identity. Like The Beatles and Beach Boys before them, they used the studio as an instrument – not least when it came to their vocals. And Bohemian Rhapsody raised the bar about as high as it could go.
“They sang each of those parts and triple-stacked them,” says Mike Portnoy. “You heard all three of their voices singing in all three vocal ranges. That’s what made the depth of their music so complex. It wasn’t the instrumentation, it was the vocals. That’s unusual for prog music. When I think of my favourite prog music, it’s always the musicianship that draws me. But with Queen, it was the vocals. It was so deep.”
For all its success, A Night At The Opera would be Queen’s grand kiss-off to their prog roots. Later albums streamlined their sound into a more conventional format. Much like Genesis, the 80s found them swapping experimentalism for chart rock.
It wasn’t until the end of their career as an active band that Queen would again sound so adventurous. During 1989 and 1990, the band began work on their penultimate album, Innuendo, in London and Montreux. In the summer of 1990, Yes guitarist Steve Howe paid a flying visit to the Swiss city, where a chance encounter with a former guitar tech found him being invited to Queen’s studio to hear the album as a work-in-progress.
“Inside, there’s Freddie, Brian and Roger all sitting together. They go: ‘Let’s play you the album,’” says Howe. “Of course, I’m hearing it for the first time: I Can’t Live Without You, I’m Going Slightly Mad. And they saved Innuendo itself until last. They played it and I was fucking blown away.”
If that was surprising, then what happened next was utterly out-of-the-blue. The members of Queen asked if Howe wanted to play on the title track. The Yes man politely suggested they’d lost their minds. It took the combined weight of Mercury, May and Taylor to persuade him.
“They all chimed in: ‘We want some crazy Spanish guitar flying around over the top. Improvise!’” recalls Howe. “I started noodling around on the guitar, and it was pretty tough. After a couple of hours, I thought: ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’ I had to learn a bit of the structure, work out the chordal roots were, where you had to fall if you did a mad run in the distance; you have to know where you’re going. But it got towards evening, and we’d doodled and I’d noodled, and it turned out to be really good fun. We have this beautiful dinner, we go back to the studio and have a listen. And they go: ‘That’s great. That’s what we wanted.”
Released as a single in January 1991, Innuendo gave Queen their third Number One single. Like Bohemian Rhapsody 25 years before it, it was as unlikely as hit singles get: a six-and-a-half minute musical jigsaw, complete with flamenco runs, classically-inclined orchestral overloads and maverick 5/4 timing. Queensrÿche covered the song on 2007’s Take Cover album, while you can hear its echo in Radiohead’s Paranoid Android and Muse’s more elaborate sci-fi epics.
“In the world of rock, Queen stands out as a good example of the clash between guitar and piano in songwriting,” Muse’s Matt Bellamy has said. “I think that’s where you stumble across those more unusual arrangements and chord structures.”
Today, Queen have left a bi-polar legacy. They’re arguably best known for their pop hits – Radio Gaga, I Want To Break Free and of course, Bohemian Rhapsody, that ultimate prog Trojan Horse. But their spirit of adventure remains unmatched by all but the boldest of their peers.
“There was no rulebook for Queen,” says Mike Portnoy. “They broke most of the rules that existed, and then they wrote a new set.”
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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years
Text
breaking the rules
request from anon: Your writing is truly amazing!! I just read your fake dating with Georgie and I loved it!! I was wondering you would be up to writing a fake dating piece with Freddie?!☺️
word count: 6.9k sorry i keep getting carried away
A/N: ugh. my heart. i cannot deal. thank you all for being so kind, day after day, with each and every piece i write. and thank you, also, for being so patient. i know it’s taking me a while to sift through these requests. it means the world to me! love you all tons
tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover | message me if you’d like to be added lovelies!
“Hey, Y/N! Would you mind, for the sake of the entire team, to not be so bloody brilliant during every single match? You’re making us look bad.”
You smile, clutching the quaffle to your chest as you zoom rapidly through the air, leaving dust in your wake as you fly past the Slytherin team members, leaving them baffled and confused before they can fully register just exactly what’s going on. You hoist the quaffle through the hoop and hear a loud roar from the Gryffindor section; you must be up by a hundred points by now. You see Malfoy near the goal posts on the opposite side, looking positively murderous.
You make your way around the interior of the pitch, only to reply to Fred Weasley as you pass by, “I can try, but—don’t you want to win?”
A hearty laugh escapes his lips, and he’s pummeling bludgers left and right with his twin by his side. He wonders now, watching you, if Gryffindor would be as good as they are without you on the team. You’re probably one of the most talented Chasers Gryffindor has seen in years, he reckons. He knew it the first time he saw you mount a broom in a flying lesson your first year at Hogwarts. Since then, inseparable you two had been.
There’s a light, airy feel to the match, which is, to Fred’s surprise, nothing at all what he had expected this morning, especially with Slytherin being the opponent. But you seem to be more in rhythm with the wavelengths of this match than ever before, to the point where Harry is actually taking his time to try and find the snitch—he’s making Malfoy sweat it out a bit.
But when a nasty bludger smacks the end of your broom and you’re knocked to the ground, landing painfully on your arm, Madam Hooch begins shouting out punishments at the Slytherin beaters, McGonagall is rushing to your side with Madam Pomfrey, and Fred, George, and Harry are nearly kicking Malfoy into the ground when his sickeningly irritating mock laughter floats in the air between them.
— -
“Merlin—is a side effect of drinking too much Skele-Gro that you end up a bottomless pit?” you ask nobody in particular as you continue to shovel eggs, toast, bacon and sausage into your mouth. Next to you, George laughs and pats you on the shoulder.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he tells you.
You peer over and smile—your bones in your arm are fully restored, but still in a sling; Madam Pomfrey had insisted. Across the table, Fred is looking rather sullen indeed.
“Brighten up, would you, Weasley?” you kick him playfully under the table and his stoic face breaks into a toothy smile. He’s feeling rather guilty, he is. Wasn’t able to stop the bludger in time. Neither was George. As if you’re reading his thoughts, you tell him, “It’s not your fault, you know.”
“Yeah,” he replies, stirring his spoon in his cup of tea. A bit too loudly, he continues, “Slimy Slytherin beaters—”
“Easy,” you say in a low voice, as the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch team glances over at your table, and Fred’s gripping his fork tightly in his other hand. “Don’t need any more of us taken out of the next match, do we?”
Another safety measure of Madam Pomfrey’s. No Quidditch for a few weeks, at least. This means, of course, missing the next match: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. You’d tried to fight it, but when her mouth had formed into a thin line and she’d crossed her arms indignantly, you knew there was no changing her mind.
Why is it, Fred thinks to himself now, that Slytherins tend to get away with everything? The punishment of the two beaters was absolutely nothing like he’d expected—one detention each with Snape, who had basically grinned at the sight of your broken arm and shoulder. He’s so bloody tired of it, he wants to give them a taste of their own medicine. Perhaps, if he picks George’s brain, he can think of something—
His thoughts are interrupted when you kick him again under the table. “Hello—earth to Freddie?”
“Sorry,” he replies, biting into his toast, “what did you say?”
“I was saying—” you begin, and Fred notices his twin is now down a few seats talking with Ron and Ginny, leaving you two alone, “would you mind helping me pack up my bag after breakfast? It’s proving rather difficult with one arm since I have this sling across my other shoulder—”
Before you can finish, you both hear a group of Hufflepuffs from the table over discussing something animatedly. Fred catches bits and pieces of the conversation—he swears he hears ‘bludgers’ and ‘poor girl’ quite a few times. Before he knows it, they’re standing up and waltzing over to the Gryffindor table—more specifically, toward you.
“Oh bloody hell,” you mumble under your breath and look at Fred with wide eyes. You don’t need to say anything else for him to understand. Leading the pack of distraught looking Hufflepuffs is—Fred’s least favorite person in the entire world, and that’s including Malfoy—your ex boyfriend.
“Hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly as he approaches the table at once before you and Fred are able to escape. He looks down at your shoulder and says in a tone Fred can’t decipher as sarcastic or genuine, “real sorry about your arm. Terrible thing those beaters did. Are you okay?”
With a slight eye roll from you and a laugh he tries very hard to suppress, Fred finds himself lost in his thoughts again. He’s transported almost immediately to the common room, to a very late Monday night after a very long detention with Professor McGonagall.
When he sprang through the portrait hole that evening, ready to divulge to you just exactly how he’d landed himself in detention the night you were both supposed to continue your weekly Monday traditions of exploding snap over small glasses of Butterbeer, he was a bit taken aback when he saw you crying in the corner, peering out of a window at the starry night sky. Immediately, his insides turned.
“Y/N?’ he asked when he finally reached you, nervous of how you were going to react to his very late arrival.
You sniffled a bit and wiped your tears away with your shirtsleeve. He felt surprised when you said softly, with no twinge of anger, “W-where’ve you been?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting across from you on the window ledge. He let his bag fall to his feet with a dull thump. “McGonagall caught Georgie and me right after class—I was dragged to immediate detention without being able to come back to the common room to tell you—I could use a good butterbeer right now..” but his voice trailed off when he noticed that you weren’t really listening. Your eyes were letting tears escape with no effort, and he spotted your hands trembling against your knees. You weren’t upset about the game of exploding snap. His heart sank into his chest when he realized this was something deeper. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand over yours, “are you okay?”
“H-he,” you started, and Fred could tell that you were embarrassed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. “It’s over. He broke up with me.”
“W..what?” Fred asked, his hands suddenly felt extremely cold. He squeezed your knee and waited.
“He said he.. sees me as a friend,” you told him, and Fred shook his head in utter shock, “he doesn’t.. feel anything a-anymore. I think..” you continued, your voice slightly higher than before, “I think there’s s-someone else.”
You threw your head into your hands and began wailing. Fred had never, ever, ever seen you cry before, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop, make you smile, make you happy.
“What a complete git,” he told you before pulling you into his arms. You were nearly on his lap. You rested your head on his chest and let out painful sobs for a few minutes while he thought, in a panicked state, of words to say. You’d always been tough. Independent. Happy-go-lucky. So to see you in this emotional, co-dependent, messy state—he felt strange. Off balance. It made his heart hurt.
“Hey,” he said after a few minutes once your tears seemed to slow, “how about we make you some tea, get you into some comfortable pyjamas, and then we can talk through it—how does that sound?” When he noticed you were about to argue after pointing to the butterbeer and cards on the table even though he knew you didn’t really want to play, he continued, “Nah—not really in the mood to get my arse kicked by you tonight.”
You laughed through a hiccup and squeezed his hand tightly before pulling his arms around you again. “First, can you—can you just stay here with me?”
He felt you tense up beside him and he knew that you were trying your hardest to fight back more tears rising to the surface. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms tighter around you, enclosing you in the warmth from his own body.
“Okay then,” he replied and felt you relax beside him, “I can do that.”
“Maybe we can—we can talk it over.” Fred’s brought back to the present when he feels yet another light blow to his shin from you under the table. He blinks and looks into your eyes, which are wide, and he feels himself go weirdly alert.
“I don’t think so,” you say to your ex now, almost laughing a bit; he’s looking rather annoyed and stunned at being turned down. You swallow over a lump in your throat, “Besides, I’m—I’m seeing someone else, so, I think you’d better leave.”
“What?” he says breathlessly, almost looking heartbroken. Is he trying to mend his ways after watching you hit the ground with a loud splat! a few days ago? Fred’s insides turn. “Since when?”
“Since..a few weeks ago.” Fred can sense the panic in your voice as he watches your eyes shift from your ex to your breakfast plate and to him, a cherry red color flooding your cheeks and the tips of your ears. And without a second thought, you say, “Right, Fred?”
And Fred’s agreeing before he can fully digest your words, he’s nodding without breaking your gaze, he’s smirking at you without remembering there are other people around him. Finally, he looks up into the very baffled face of your ex boyfriend. “Yeah, we are—so—I’d bugger off if I were you, mate.”
“You two?” he asks, looking at Fred with what can only be described as pure anguish. “Together?”
“It’s time to go,” whispers another Hufflepuff, pulling the very distraught looking boy in front of you both back to their table before he can say anything else to you. Fred watches as he slumps in his seat and rubs his head, as if confused. Then, he turns back to you and raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, Freddie, I’m sorry!” you shake your head rather quickly and bring a hand to your mouth in shock. “I panicked, I just—he kept trying to ask me to grab lunch with him, I didn’t know what to say to get him to leave me alone, ‘m so mortified. We can just—pretend it never happened, you don’t have to do anything, I can just deal with whatever it is he has planned, it’s fine—”
“Hey.. take a breath,” he laughs and teases you before reaching across the table and squeezing your hand. “It’s fine, I get it. Besides,” he takes a quick bite of an apple and smirks at you, “I’m honored you chose me to be your fake boyfriend.”
“Well, you’re the only one here, silly.”
He pauses to consider this, and then says, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and tell you again how honored I am.” You laugh at this, and he grins cheekily at you as he continues, “I mean, imagine if you’d done that to George, he would’ve stumbled over his words—you know how he gets under pressure sometimes—gets flabbergasted, he does. You’re lucky ‘m quick on my feet.”
“Well then,” you reply, sipping your tea as Fred watches your nerves subside, “glad to have you along for the ride, Weasley.”
— -
It’s difficult watching the team’s practice. Fred had told you to maybe stay in, not watch, he’d fill you in later on your replacement. You’d insisted on coming anyway. But he was right.
They’re not completely out of sync—the third year Chaser they snatched up is pretty good for never having really played before. But if Fred’s being completely honest, he misses you on the pitch more than anything else. It’s just not the same without you.
You enter the Great Hall for dinner, and you’re so annoyed at doing everything one-armed that you nearly rip the sling right off of your shoulder, even though Madam Pomfrey had insisted on wearing it for two more days. Okay, maybe you did it a little too fast. “Ow,” you say, rotating your shoulder back and forth to stretch the muscles, as if they’d been asleep for months and months. You furrow your brow in pain.
Fred snorts before sipping his pumpkin juice. “How’d that feel?”
“Not the greatest,” you admit, taking a seat next to him.
Just then, he slings an arm around your shoulder and places a light kiss to your forehead, taking you by surprise. You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. He places his cup gingerly on the table. “Git sighting, on your right.”
You stealthily look on the other end of the Great Hall, your ex trying his best to look distracted, but there’s no chance in hell he didn’t see this exchange between you and Fred. Solemnly, he follows his fellow Hufflepuffs from the hall.
You both hadn’t even noticed George, Ron, and Harry take their places beside you at the table, eyes wide and faces flushed.
“When the bloody hell did this happen?” Ron nods at the two of you, shoving pork into his mouth.
“I’d like to think if my two best friends got together, they would’ve at least mentioned it to me—how long have you two been sneaking around?” George teases you with a wink.
Both you and Fred let hearty laughs escape your lips, as if to say, Sneaking around? You’re out of your mind, but instead, you both say, “We’re just faking.”
“Come again?” Ron and Harry chorus together.
“Faking—you know, Ronniekins, pretend.” Ron’s ears turn a bright scarlet color. “Just for fun. Y/N’s lovely ex bombarded her the other day after her injury, kept bugging her to grab a bite with him, so she very politely took me by surprise and told him, before consulting me, that we’re dating. Of course I obliged—being the lovely gent I am.”
“It did not happen like that—”
“You’re absolute rubbish at lying, you know.”
You throw your hands up in surrender, your face a nice light shade of rosy pink. “I panicked!”
“Precisely,” Fred and George say together. “And how long are you two planning on keeping this little scheme going for?” George asks.
You and Fred turn to each other. It is now revealed, Fred realizes as he watches as you peer into space, that you have no plan. He leans back in his seat, looking rather satisfied at the fact that you haven’t come up with any details at all. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I just kind of.. went for it. I was acting on the very daring nerve that comes with being a Gryffindor!”
“Right you were,” says Fred through a mouthful of potatoes, “barely skipped a beat, she did. Reckon she couldn’t wait for it to happen—she nearly pounced on me right in front of him.”
The boys roar with raucous laughter. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to George, Ron, and Harry, who are now wiping away tears from their eyes. “You don’t really believe him, do you? This will not last long. Believe you me. It was purely a spur-of-the-moment adrenaline rush decision.”
“Hey, Y/N?”
You turn back to Fred and ask in a sweetly sarcastic tone, “Yes, Freddie?”
“I’m invoking a rule. No falling in love with one another.” He winks and bites into his chicken.
You scoff at him, while the others chuckle again. “Ah yes, darling—because that’s so very likely.”
— -
When Fred finds you sitting underneath a large oak tree in front of the castle, he laughs softly when he sees you in quite a frazzled looking state: your hair is in disarray from pulling at it, the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven’t slept in days, and he can almost feel the pain radiating from your tired muscles.
He sits down next to you in the grass and teases, “You’re quite a sight for sore eyes.”
“Oh, shove off,” you reply, not even looking up from your books. But after a few seconds of silence, the two of you fall into fits of laughter.
Fred nods at the books you’re so very immersed in. “What’s so important?”
“D’you think,” you begin, flipping the pages rapidly, “if I can find a spell that can produce a change in thought process on another human being, and somehow manage to stealthily pull it off and use it on Madam Pomfrey, she’ll change her mind and let me play in the next match?”
Fred cocks his head to the side, peering admirably at you, and smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t look very likely.”
“Ugh, I thought you’d say that.”
“But hey—there’s always obliviate,”
“Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m actually considering it.”
“Sure,” he says teasingly again, “I’d pay quite a lot of galleons to see you use any type of magic on a staff member, let alone something as dangerous as a memory charm.”
You cross your arms defiantly. “Don’t think I’ll do it?”
“No,” he smirks, “I know you won’t do it.”
You narrow your eyes at him and give in. Fred can’t help but laugh. “Okay, well—it would be really dangerous! But c’mon—I’ve gotten involved in a fair share of mischief with you and your brother; need I remind you of the time you landed me in detention my second year? A mere twelve year old, in detention…”
“Reckon that’s when you put this whole fake boyfriend thing into action, did you? When you fell for me all those years ago?”
“Ha-ha, you’re wickedly hilarious, Freddie.. seriously, funniest bloke I’ve ever met..” Your voice trails off when you notice something a few feet away, but Fred’s still thinking about how you called him the funniest person you know, even if it was in a sarcastic tone. But deep down, he knows you’re completely serious. He can feel his heart begin to soar a bit. His meandering mind is interrupted yet again by someone walking along the water’s edge—an unwanted visitor. Quickly, you shift yourself closer to Fred and say in a hushed voice, “Hurry—put your arm around me!”
He can’t help but stifle a laugh at your extremely flustered state. “Anything for my girl.”
You fit in so comfortably in his body that he doesn’t even notice how much time passes by. You spend the afternoon immersed in books, while Fred is resting against the tree, falling in and out of sleep with breaks to fix some malfunctions on some very small inventions of his and George’s. Each and every time he looks up, he notices the very curious looking ex boyfriend of yours watching you both, as if he’s trying his very hardest to prove that the two of you are just pretending. And each and every time Fred turns his attention back toward his inventions, he finds himself pulling you tighter and tighter into his arms.
— -
You and Fred are walking rather reluctantly through the corridors to your next class. If only you both had a free period, you’d be able to catch up on some work. But alas, here you both are, walking very, very slowly to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
“How’s the team holding up? I’m dying to get back out there with you.”
“Miss me that much, do you?”
You narrow your eyes and the unmistakable sound of mock laughter from Fred bounces off of the walls. “I miss Quidditch is what I mean. It’s killing me that I can’t join you lot—especially with the match just a week away.”
Fred smiles softly at you, feeling a twinge in his heart, knowing that you won’t be able to play, regardless of your completely healed shoulder. “I know. It’s killing us, too. But come the new year, you’ll—oi, bloody hell, does he just spend his time following us around, or something?”
Fred nods in the direction of the unwanted visitor yet again, and he grabs your hand quickly and continues to walk down the corridor, careful to avoid eye contact. That is, until he corners you both.
It’s not in a violent sort of way—but rather, curious. You’re both bracing yourselves for yet another attempt at getting you to rekindle things, when he takes Fred by surprise. “Why is it, Weasley, that whenever I see you two around, you very quickly grab her hand or sling your arm around her shoulder? What is this—just a ploy?”
“Come on,” you say to him softly, and Fred’s feeling very, very nervous that your facial expression will tell your ex everything he needs to know. “Leave us alone, would you? We’ve got class.”
“Prove it to me, then,” he says now, crossing his arms. “If you two’re really together, then kiss her.”
“What?” you both say aloud, flabbergasted. You look at Fred, who’s doing his very best to bite back a smile, and it’s becoming difficult to not laugh in your ex’s face.
He smirks at the both of you, his cronies surrounding him doing the same thing. Fred squares him up, and it’s easy to tower over him, Fred’s 6’3 frame swallowing him nearly whole. “I don’t think that’s such an odd request—kiss your girlfriend, Weasley, and I’ll leave you be.”
It’s obvious to the both of you, now, that he is basically waiting for you all to admit that yes, you’ve been faking, the entire time it hasn’t been real. You open your mouth to speak and Fred notices the panic in your eyes, the truth bubbling up inside you. So he does the only thing he can think of—he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulls you close to him, and presses his lips to yours.
You try very, very hard to hold back your surprise, because you’re extremely aware of the group of Hufflepuffs now watching you both share a kiss that is supposed to look like it happens all the time. You’re sure you’ve lost your voice now. His lips are soft, softer than they look, and Fred’s finding it difficult to remember why you two haven’t been doing this the entire time. He pulls away very, very slowly, hovering close to you with a cheeky grin on his face, before breaking completely and taking your hand in his again, squeezing tightly. Fred notices the scarlet color of your face now, turns back toward the stunned man in front of him, and replies, “Is that all? My girlfriend and I have class, if you don’t mind—”
You swiftly walk your way through the group and you and Fred nearly fly down the hallway, his face as red as his hair, his smile as bright as the sun, and you bring your hands to your lips and you swear you can feel the electricity surging through them, just as they had when Fred kissed you just a few seconds ago.
“You were going to tell him!” Fred’s laughing now, outside the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest due to the heat of the moment. There’s nothing quite like an adrenaline rush. You reply, “He—he knows we’re lying!”
“Well, now he doesn’t,” Fred replies with a cheeky wink. “C’mon—I made you a deal, didn’t I? Couldn’t let that git get the last word. Now he’s got no bloody idea what’s going on.”
“How can I ever thank you?”
Fred swallows over a lump in his throat, peering deeply into your very bright eyes. He knows what he wants to say, and he’s about too, but something stops him. Something holds him back. Instead, he grins, shakes his head, and slings an arm across your shoulder, making sure to hold onto you just a little bit longer this time.
— -
Fred, George, Ron, and Harry are sitting in the library looking positively ghastly. Ron and Harry are very reluctantly working on a Divination essay that Hermione had finished a week ago, while the twins are racking their brains to finish this petty assignment from Snape.
You wander inside and Fred notices, for the first time in a few days, that your sling is back on your shoulder. Concern floods through his body. “Hey,” he says, immediately pulling you into his arms, “are you okay? Is it bothering you?”
You’re positively beaming—that’s the only way Fred can describe is. Your smile is quite bright, looking happier than you have in months, even with your arm in a sling. “Yeah,” you tell him sweetly, taking a seat next to him, “hurts a little. Probably just slept on it funny, or something.”
“Be careful,” he tells you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, completely ignoring the assignment in front of him, “let me know if you need to go to the hospital wing, okay?”
You nod and begin to slowly pull spell books from your bag when you notice the others across the table, looking at you both with what can only be described as mischievous grins.
You and Fred look at each other, and then at them. Fred’s hand tightens around your waist. “What?” you ask together.
“You know he isn’t here, right?” Harry asks you both. George and Ron are focusing very hard on their parchments, and are not doing a very good job at stifling their laughter.
It’s almost immediate that Fred unwraps his arm from your waist, and your face is burning with color, and Fred’s insides are beginning to tighten due to embarrassment. But before he can speak and defend his actions, you speak up, “Oh, erm—could’ve sworn I saw him—must’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me, then. Anyway..”
The rest of the afternoon is spent in utter silence, recovering from that tiny slip up and moment of embarrassment. And one by one they leave—first Harry, then Ron, and then George—who, by the looks of it, is nowhere near done with his assignment—but he claims he has somewhere he needs to be, and vanishes through the doors of the library before either you or Fred can do anything.
About an hour later, you ask Fred, “Could Snape be any more vile? Why did he assign this stupid essay again?”
Fred laughs softly, “because some Ravenclaw started insulting his teaching methods in the middle of the lesson—remember?”
“Oh yeah,” you say, the memory coming back to you now. Brightly, you say, “Hey—want to get back at that Ravenclaw and plan some elaborate type of prank to make this whole assignment just a little bit more bearable?”
Fred turns toward you with a surprised expression on his face. He smirks and shakes his head in admiration, “I think I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”
You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “Maybe. Would that be such an awful thing?”
And then he pulls you nearly all the way into his lap, begins tickling you and poking you in the ribs, and you begin to flail in his arms and laugh hysterically, when Madam Pince angrily shushes you from the other end of the library. You flip your hair out of your eyes and regain your composure, and Fred is suddenly very aware that you’re still seated in his lap, your face only inches from his, the bright color of your eyes sparkling in the sun flooding in from the windows. Right. You’re not actually technically together. He swallows thickly and watches as you bite down on your lip. You’re both about to say something, hearts thundering loudly in your chest, when suddenly you break the silence and slide yourself off of him, back into your seat and say, “We’d better head to the feast, Freddie. Don’t want to be late.”
— -
“Anyone fancy a game of exploding snap before bed?”
Ron’s sitting in the middle of the huddle, finishing the last of his dessert from the feast, while everyone around him is slumped in their seats looking positively exhausted.
George says sleepily, “Can’t mate—we’ve got a late night practice tonight.”
“D’you think Angelina will give me a beating if I just sleep through it?” Fred asks nobody in particular, his eyes closed.
“Yes,” you, Harry, George, Ginny and Hermione say together.
“Oh fine, you lot are out,” Ron waves his hand in the direction of the Quidditch players and then glances excitedly at you, Ginny, and Hermione. “Ladies? Anyone? Feeling kind of lucky this evening.”
Ginny snorts at this. “You? Lucky? Luck would be me not absolutely obliterating you in a game—not you winning. That’d be a miracle.” Her older brothers chuckle quite animatedly at this comment; it’s certainly woken them up a bit.
You grin at Ginny and then say to her very angry and embarrassed looking brother, “What she means to say, Ron, is that we’re all kind of exhausted due to lack of sleep, because someone—” you shoot a glance toward another Gryffindor girl on the other end of the Great Hall, “—put an amplifying charm on some Muggle contraption of hers last night, music kept us up till nearly dawn.”
Ron turns back toward his brothers now, looking confused. “No way you could’ve heard that from the girls dormitory, or Harry and I would’ve been up all night, too! So why are you two so bloody exhausted?”
“Usual mischief,” Fred and George chorus together, winking at the youngest male Weasley.
Ginny picks up her bag and says to the group, “I’m heading to bed. You two coming?” she glances at you and Hermione.
You glance back and forth between Ginny and Fred and bite your lip. You’re absolutely knackered, but you wonder whether you should go to practice, just to be there, just to watch, just to show you’re still devoted. Fred picks up on this and shakes his head. “You’re tired—go to bed. Promise you’re not missing much. Reckon we’ll all be rubbish due to exhaustion, anyway.”
“Okay,” you finally reply, albeit begrudgingly. Fred places a quick kiss to your cheek, the group stifles laughter, and you, Hermione, and an extremely baffled Ginny make your way upstairs to the common room, leaving the boys to their jokes in the very crowded Great Hall.
When you enter through the portrait hole, Hermione wishes you both a good evening before heading up the stairs. This leaves you and Ginny alone in a completely desolate common room. You remove your shoes and stand across from the fire, letting the warmth of the flames radiate through your body, when Ginny clears her throat.
“Care to tell me what’s going on between you and my older brother?” she says cheekily, grinning at you. She so very much resembles all of her siblings.
You laugh softly, running a hand through your hair and stretching your arms behind your head. “I thought Ron would’ve told you.. It’s nothing, Ginny. Promise. We’re just pretending. My ex has been strangely remorseful about the breakup lately, trying to get me to talk to him and what not—Fred’s just helping me out a bit.”
“By pretending to date you?”
“Yeah..” you say a bit guiltily now. “Yeah, it sort of happened in a moment of panic. Don’t worry, though. None of it’s real. Just till it gets the other one out of my way—then we’ll go back to normal.” You turn back to face the fire and it suddenly feels much, much hotter than before.
“But this is the normal you actually want, isn’t it?”
This takes you by surprise. You turn back slowly, now facing Ginny, and she’s wearing a genuine grin. “I—I dunno what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve watched Fred and George for years,” Ginny tells you, “admiring their recklessness and rebellion—but in turn, this also means I see who they get on with.”
“Meaning?”
She smiles softly, looking a little sulky actually, which is so very unlike Ginny. And she confides in you, and she’s acting very vulnerable which makes your heart soar, “I’d give anything for Harry to look at me the way you look at Fred.”
You swallow over a lump in your throat, and Ginny can easily sense your nervousness. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. In a very hoarse, soft voice, as if your vocal chords have been strained, you plead, “Please, please don’t tell him.”
She doesn’t respond to this exactly, but you know she’ll keep her lips sealed. She asks, “How long?”
“I—I dunno,” you tell her truthfully. You bite your lip to keep your heart jumping out of your throat, “over time, I suppose.” You continue to tell her of how everything unfolded, how Fred had jokingly told you to not develop feelings for him, how he’d kissed you that one day in the corridor.
There’s a few moments of silence between you both, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. In fact, it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever been with one another—secretly longing for the boys who don’t seem to look at you both the way you so deeply yearn. Finally, Ginny breaks the tension and says, “Your secret is safe with me. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Is this her way of telling you that Fred doesn’t feel the same way as you? That these feelings you have for him are a hundred percent one sided and are not at all reciprocated? It’s as if she’s reading your thoughts, because she tells you, “I’ve no idea how he feels—he doesn’t tell me anything at all, real git that he is,” you both laugh at this exchange, and Ginny echoes herself, “Just be careful.”
“I will,” you reply, now realizing that she’s has given you quite a lot to think about, “Thanks, Gin.”
— -
Fred’s feeling positively blue, if you will. He’s standing smack in the middle of the corridor in his Quidditch robes after a truly rubbish weekend practice, staring at the spot you were just standing. It’s like you’re still there, he can still smell your perfume, but he reckons you’ve probably already made it back to the common room by now.
Just then, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps in surprise, and turns around only to be face to face with George and Ginny, who laugh at his skittishness.
“You alright, mate? Coming to the Great Hall?”
“Yeah.” Fred’s voice sounds vastly different in his own ears; it’s hoarse and broken, and he doesn’t understand why. He coughs a bit, and then echoes himself, “Yeah,” except he doesn’t believe it, and neither do his siblings.
George stops bouncing his broomstick between his hands at once. He looks once at Ginny and then back at Fred as the corridor begins to fill with students, “What’s going on?”
“Sh-she ended it,” he replies, and the words feel foreign in his mouth.
“Who, Y/N? The.. fake thing?” George asks, lowering his voice. “Maybe the git is finally leaving her be.”
“No, that’s not it. She wouldn’t tell me. She was.. weirdly quiet. She told me that she was worried things are going to get messy and she’s afraid rules are being broken on her end.. has she said anything to either of you? What is she even talking about?”
George responds quickly with a, “No, nothing,” whereas Ginny hesitates a bit, and then responds, “No, Freddie. She hasn’t.” But Fred can sense that his little sister isn’t giving him all of the info. Had she talked to you? Does she know what’s going on? Then George nudges his brother and asks a bit cheekily, “Does this make you upset?”
“No, no, of course not!” Fred says a bit aggressively, but both of his siblings just cock their heads to the side, as if to say, Really, Freddie, we can see right through you. “I—I mean—I just.. thought we were having a bit of fun.”
“Yeah,” George begins, while Ginny remains quiet by his side, “okay, you were having fun, but.. what I’m asking you, Fred, is—do you maybe want to be with her for real? And that’s why you’re upset?”
When Fred doesn’t answer, Ginny finds her voice. “We know, Fred.”
“Know what?”
George and Ginny say together, “That you fancy her.”
Fred runs a hand through his hair. He’s feeling aggravated now—he doesn’t like when his mind and thoughts get picked apart by people closest to him, especially when he’s trying on his own to piece together exactly how he feels. But he comes to realize, as his heart begins to beat faster when he thinks of you, that his siblings are right. He’s felt this way for a very, very long time.
Without showing just how much he really feels for you, Fred tells them, “Yeah, erm, okay, I—maybe I have some.. feelings,” he says through gritted teeth and George can’t help but stifle a laugh at his twin’s nervousness. Fred punches him in the arm. “But she kept saying that she’s breaking rules—but what rules? I haven’t the foggiest what she’s on about! I don’t even know if she feels the same way!”
“Fred,” Ginny says quietly, “you jokingly made one rule with her when you two began this whole ridiculous stunt.” When Fred just looks at his sister quizzically, wondering what the bloody hell she’s on about, she opts to continue, “you told her you’re not allowed to fall for one another.”
Realization hits Fred like a ton of bricks, George throws his hands up in confusion, and Ginny pushes on Fred’s chest and grins cheekily at her older brother, leaving poor George baffled beyond belief at this secret language his other two siblings seem to have. Ginny nods in the direction of the common room, “Just go get her already, would you?”
And Fred’s flying through the corridors and up the stairs, he’s pushing past students and professors alike, he’s running hands through his messy, windswept hair and he’s climbing through the portrait hole, only to find you sitting on the ledge near the window looking out at the stars, just as you had all those long months ago when he found you crying.
“Hey, Freddie,” you say when you turn to face him. “Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer—he pushes past the desks and chairs blocking him from you and does the one and only thing he wants to do, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do for as long as he can remember now—he scoops you up into his arms, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you. For real, this time.
Your surprise is overridden by the slight, exasperated moan that escapes your lips before you wrap your hands around the back of his neck. His fingers are dancing across your hip bones and then make their way up your back and into your hair. He kisses you once, twice, three more times before fully breaking, and hovers close to you again before pulling away completely to see the sparkle in your eyes, the bright smile plastered across your face.
As you push down any nervousness rising to the surface with a quick swallow, you say, “So.. where’ve you been?”
Fred laughs haughtily now, remembering that time all those few months ago when you’d said the exact same thing in a completely different context. He’s finding it beyond difficult to not kiss you into oblivion right now, especially as you bite on your bottom lip to try and suppress a very large grin.
“Sorry, love, I got tied up with my thoughts—but I can stay here with you now.”
He pulls you into a tight embrace before his lips find yours again. You can both hear voices outside the portrait whole. It’s obvious to you now that you have mere seconds before your alone time will be so very rudely interrupted by fellow Gryffindors.
“I broke the rules,” you tell him with slight tears in your eyes, playing with the baby fine hairs at the nape of his neck.
“Me too,” he admits breathlessly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I broke them a long time ago.” His heart begins to thunder inside of his chest at the feeling of your lips forming a smile against his, and he’s almost positive you can hear it—but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know you get his heart racing—more than pranking, more than firewhisky, more than Quidditch—more than anything or anyone in the entire world. He continues after another small kiss, “I reckon some rules are meant to be broken, though, aren’t they?”
reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, darlings. thank you for reading and requesting, much love x
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morrak · 3 years
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Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 3
Not a book this time, but a set of correspondence facsimiles. Leibniz’s, specifically.
Going to leave most of the pictures for the end since I can’t include as many insets as I want.
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The How
@strawberrycinema rescued this from a closet in a language department, I think? Most of my old obscure German stuff comes from thereabouts, whether by gift or opportunism; maybe I’ll show off my maps and little Goethe tome sometime.
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The Text
Texts, actually, in paired groups — first a book with publication, translation, and editing information plus the transcribed contents, then a set of fold-open scans of the original documents.
Some personal correspondence, some official stuff relating to Leibniz, and some maths stuff. Mostly German, with the appropriate dusting of French, Greek, Latin, and olde numbersmithery. Scattershot contents, but tough to find elsewhere.
The German here takes work for me. Dated grammar and vocabulary, missing biographical context, intricate sentence structure, etc. Still fun to work at, and I’m happy to translate anything that looks interesting if anyone so desires.
The Object
I mean, come the fuck on. It’s amazing. Cardboard cover/box/thing, archival cotton paper, high-fidelity scans, letters all faithful to the pagination and size of the originals. Well-conceived page and item numbering system. The letters have their own folded paper wrapper! Good colors and lines. Mix of Roman and blackletter type in the transcription. Utterly satisfying to handle and a delight to read with.
Based on the inscription, marginalia, and handwriting, a/the previous owner was an American who studied in Hannover. His notes are limited to just a couple sections, but are meticulous and tiny when they appear. Exactly as I take mine in format and attention to detail. Uncanny on multiple fronts.
The Why, Though?
A gift, a truly uncommon item, and a goldmine for a German/math/computer science nerd. A strong pitch, I think you’ll agree.
As a bonus, I got this this while taking a discrete mathematics class. Showed the letter on binary to the professor and she almost kneecapped me for it. Since then keeping it in my collection has been a matter of both principle and self-defense.
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clientcannon8 · 3 years
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<h1>Buying Overview - Running Boards</h1>
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Or, think about hefty gauge steel running boards with a perforated grate pattern created to scrub big work boots tidy. They're not comfortable to step on with bare feet, but they'll certainly butch up the appearances and also function of any type of truck. For Which Kind of Automobiles Are These Products Made? Because running boards as well as side actions are made largely for feature's sake, they work just on vehicles with increased trip heights. If affixed to a common automobile, running boards would sit at an elevation that actually gets in the way of your feet. They 'd additionally be easy to bang your shins on! Consequentially, you'll find boards and actions made specifically for pickup trucks, sport utility vehicles, Jeeps, and pick vans. You will certainly not discover them for sedans, sports cars, hatchbacks, or traditional station wagons. What's Best For Me? The front runner to make is deciding in between a real running board (level and flush-mounted), an action bar (tubular fit), or various other variations. Just how Do I Use My Lorry? Before you make your choice, it's important to take into consideration exactly how you'll be making use of the car with running boards affixed. Think about what your priorities are, as well as whether you need a bar or board that leans toward offering travelers, or the car itself. For instance, will you be utilizing your truck to shuttle paid travelers on a regular basis for Uber or Lyft? If so, running boards will offer guests well since they extend out to the side to produce larger tipping locations. Typically, running boards do not minimize ground clearance, but they can come to be harmed from side effects when a 4x4 pitches from entrusted to precisely the trails. They likewise give minimal security for the car body itself. Also, step bars offer guests an easy-to-use tubular stepping area that sticks out down and/or to the side. However while they have a tendency to be beefier, step bars can additionally end up being damaged on trails. If you're a lot more concentrated on rock crawling than passenger benefit, rocker bars might be your best bet. More information are below. If you're merely searching for bling, you'll find lots of attractive choices in all styles that allow you make a declaration. If other outside accessories are installed on your truck, a check out numerous sub-sections (listed here) will likely create some great concepts for matching or contrasting with what you have actually currently obtained. Running Boards Running Boards (also called "action boards") are vast, level, and also placed practically flush with the body or rocker panel - leaving little or no void in between the car as well as the board. With step sizes varying from 2" all the way as much as 10", these are typically the easiest to obtain a footing on. Distinctive grasp strips additionally add design as well as safety. In our "Running Boards" area, check boxes allow you to look amongst flat, tubular, and powered ones (which retract using electric motors). For length, select from" wheel-to-wheel", "taxicab size" (just under doors of pickup) or "bed area" (again, for pick-ups). Other check boxes let you see numerous finish selections that include chrome/polished steel, powdercoated/painted, cleaned, diamond-tread light weight aluminum, and unpainted ones that are topped for you to repaint.
Bar Side Steps
Bar side actions (likewise known as "side steps" or "nerf bars") feature round or oblong tubular building. Normally, a solitary beefy steel bar stands out along the side - leaving a space in between bench and car rocker panel. Depending upon which item you select, the top straight surface area may have flat depressions for tipping locations. Grippy pads are often positioned along straight areas to boost traction. In our "Bar Side Steps" area, you'll see check boxes under the FORM heading which allow you to narrow your search to bars that are rounded, oval, rectangular (4 sides), triangular (3 sides), or trapezoidal (with beveled sides). You can likewise pick tube diameter, as well as pick whether you wish to see bars that range from wheel-to-wheel or just the length of a pick-up taxi. Under SHADE, choose "chrome" or decide among strong shades such as black, silver, and grey. Rocker Bars " Rocker bars" are high-strength tubular side bars developed mostly to secure vulnerable lorry rocker panel areas against damage throughout off-roading as well as rock crawling. Because these are suggested to serve the automobile rather than passengers, rocker bars run close alongside the lorry's body as well as have minimal, if any kind of, tipping surface areas. Nevertheless, some can double as action bars to differing levels - albeit with a smaller sized stepping location ideal suited to agile climbers. We've also got some for Jeep Wranglers and various other 4x4s designed for body support only, without any stepping locations whatsoever. We also offer rocker bars positioned further from the vehicle for much easier step-up. Some attribute 2 (and even 3) parallel-running bars as opposed to simply one. For instance, one tube might predict fully bent on the side as a beneficial action bar, with a 2nd tube pointing down to protect versus clearance issues, while a third area runs close along with the vehicle's rocker panel for added strength. Others supply a different leading bar that pivots down into setting for simple usage as an action. When you choose it out of the way, just release a latch and swing it up. A reduced bar is dealt with in place to protect rocker panels at all times. In our "Personalized Rocker Bars" section, check boxes allow you to narrow your choices to rocker bars of different colors (like black, red, as well as white, among several others), as well as surfaces such as chrome/painted, powdercoated, or incomplete. Hoop Tips Hoop Steps are small side actions made to enable space for just one foot at a time. They are placed directly under a door opening to assist with entrance and also leave of the lorry. Given that they just cover a restricted amount of area as well as do not run constantly along the car side, they won't develop much visual adjustment when it concerns your automobile's general lines. Hoop actions ought to be considered by anyone that prefers to prevent unabridged running boards, yet requires strong capability. Many of our consumers who have actually installed our hoop steps really feel quality products and sleek layouts allow them to look right in your home the method initial tools would. As well as they appreciated that hoop actions provided ease without the added mass running boards contribute to a lorry. If you have a pickup, hoop actions can also be positioned underneath the side of the bed in order to make climbing and getting to in simple. For those that value tidy automobile lines, we've obtained retracting hoop actions that swing up and also entirely unseen. When you need them, simply unlock hinges on top of the assembly, pivot each hoop action setting up downward, then lock points in position. Many hoop steps are dealt with in place, however, you'll find a number of layouts made from powder-coated traditional steel, brightened light weight aluminum, as well as stainless steel. If you like the appearance of tubular bars, you can choose hoop actions with a horizontal section that's a real tubular bar. If you need maximum mud-scrubbing ability, we've got them with grated step locations created to dig one of the most gunk out of in between shoe treads (hint: they're not for bare feet though). We have actually even got a stirrup-shaped hoop action that features bands and also hooks created to hang temporarily from the lip that runs along the top of Jeep Wrangler rocker panels. When you don't require the step, just detach it and also stash it under the seat. As well as if your vehicle's geared up with ruby plate mud flaps, bedliner, or tool kit, we have actually obtained hoop actions to match. In The "Hoop Steps" section of our web site, our checkbox-driven food selection options enable you to narrow your search by colors such as silver, black, and also red, and also surfaces such as chrome/painted, powdercoated, or incomplete. I Do Severe Off-Roading - Should I Bother With Running Board Damage? If you acquired your 4x4 since you value high ground clearance for off-roading, typical running boards and also side actions can obstruct when you're crawling over rocks - reducing your clearance and perhaps ending up being damaged while doing so. Therefore, you need to pay particular attention to the boards or actions you fit on your automobile. Because a lot of our staffers have actually bounced 4x4s off of rocks in our downtime, we recognize the needs of the off-roading enthusiast. So we have actually obtained you covered with side steps that are suitable for the trails. First, we have actually obtained husky, rocker bars created especially to protect your rocker panel borders from damages - without protruding a lot down or sideways of the vehicle. Relying on vehicle application, some also in shape over the door opening up lip and also cover the rocker panel entirely. Bear in mind that rocker bars offer decreased, if any type of, tipping surfaces. These can be located in our "Rocker Pubs" section. If rocker panel defense is essential however you need a firm surface area for stepping up, we likewise have actually rocker bars constructed with numerous horizontal bars rather than just one. While the primary bar hugs the rocker panel, additional bars may be placed outside or descending from that primary bar to serve as a step. We have actually also obtained off-road step bars with a 2nd step bar that retracts off the beaten track when you desire it to. I Do not Like The Look Of Running Boards As Well As Bars That Protrude. Do I Have Any Other Options? For those who want the effectiveness of a convenient tipping surface area yet want to avoid the projection of running boards and also bars, we have actually obtained some alternatives you're going to such as. First, there are power-operated running boards that pull back when doors are closed. You'll find them by mosting likely to our "Tip Boards" area, after that clicking the check box marked" Powered". Generally, installment of powered running boards isn't excessively complicated due to the fact that placing brackets with a pivoting design fit quickly onto automobile body place bolts or existing framework holes. A centralized control component is put under hood as well as features hefty grade electrical wiring that links to power motors on the bracket ends. To make certain moving parts do not come to be jeopardized by mud and grit build-up, motors and pivot points are sealed with internal lubrication - making them virtually maintenance-free. In our "Hoop Steps" section, we have actually also got smaller sized steps that can be folded up underneath the lorry by hand, after that locked in area. Because these don't cover a large length beneath the lorry, they're far less obvious as well as have a tendency not to transform the lines of your truck - even when they're folded down for usage. What Are Some Customized Features Of Running Boards? Running Boards With Built-in Lights
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Do you usually leave your vehicle in dark locations where the ground might be unequal or marshy in areas? We've obtained running boards that provide the option of LED lights that light up footing surface areas ahead as well as on the ground underneath. Integrated electrical wiring connects to your vehicle's door open sensing unit, so the running board lights turn on instantly when doors are opened. Installment calls for minor electric work. Light Weight Aluminum 'Diamond Plate' Pattern Operating Boards 2006 f150 running boards If you require high-strength running boards that match the big-scale style of your pickup truck or sport energy, we have actually got durable light weight aluminum running boards with distinctive diamond plate pattern. These create an appearance that's solid sufficient for an 18-wheeler, yet efficiently ended up enough for any kind of compact high-end SUV. Even if covered with water, slush, or snow, raised diamond patterns give a textured running board surface area for risk-free, certain footing. Retractable Power Running Boards How around including a touch of luxury to your pickup truck or sport utility vehicle? We have actually got fashionable, power-operated running boards that extend external when you need them, after that retract nicely hidden when you do not. These are ideal for 4x4 owners who need optimum ground clearance during off-roading as well as for those who choose not to change the initial lines of their vehicle with taken care of running boards. Running Boards For Maximum Hold & Removal Of Filth If you need running boards that can deal with big, sloppy boots stepping in and out of your truck all day whether it's on the work, on the farm, or driving the group home from a soccer video game, we've got you covered. Seek running boards with a perforated grate pattern which provide full and also biting grasp for practically any footwear except heels. These very first scrub all moisture and debris out of footwear treads, after that promptly drop it through the perforations onto the ground listed below - efficiently getting rid of huge amounts of filth before it ends up inside. Sturdy steel building and construction makes certain extreme toughness. Exactly How Does Pickup Taxicab Length Influence Wheel-to-wheel Protection? After you enter any of the details sections within our Running Board major web page (Step Boards, Bar Side Steps, Rocker Night Clubs, or Hoop Tips), you'll see check boxes under a LENGTH directly the left side of the screen. Below, we'll focus on "Wheel-To-Wheel" vs. "Taxi Size" options. " Wheel-to-wheel" protection indicates running boards extend the total size of a pick-up, van, or SUV between front as well as rear wheel well openings. Such running boards can come in the kind of a one-piece area extending the whole length (SUVs), or they can exist in the form of two different but adjacent areas (pickup trucks). In two-piece applications, the first area generally runs listed below a pickup's cab area while the 2nd is cut to fit simply the area below the bed - varying in lengths relying on short-, tool-, or long-bed setup. After year, make, and also design information have been entered in Product Options fields, under-cab areas and also under-bed areas you require may be marketed together or separately. " Taxi Size" running boards are offered for pick-ups only, as well as include just the size below the doors of the taxi. They do not offer insurance coverage below the pickup bed location the means "wheel-to-wheel" products do. We suggest choosing this box if steps for the taxicab area are all you need or want. What Is The Setup Refine? Do-It-Yourself Setting up running boards or side steps is a straightforward procedure that can be done with standard hand devices in your driveway. Even if you have access to a lift, carrying out installation steps on the ground might be more effective because lift support arms can occasionally get in the way. Some Require Exploration and Some Do Not It is essential to note that some running boards will require you to drill openings in the framework of your vehicle, and others will certainly be developed to use openings that were pre-drilled by the automobile supplier. On a few makes as well as designs, running boards may be configured to utilize holes on the car framework currently being used by items such as body-on-frame isolation bushings, etc. In such cases, existing bolts for these bushings can be temporarily gotten rid of without problem. After installing bracket pieces have actually been glided over the existing bolts, they are merely re-installed back in place. Pre Pierced Boring Openings Many vehicles do, actually, featured additional pre-drilled holes developed particularly for the function of bolt-on devices. Consequently, running boards that are" vehicle-specific" usually come with bracket items that have actually been shaped and sized to represent locations of factory-drilled openings. Running boards that are "universal-fit" are not designed with any kind of particular vehicle in mind. Thus, chances are great that bracket items for these running boards will call for new holes to be drilled. A General Review Of Installment Steps After taking your running boards out of package, it is very important to initially make sure all the hardware is consisted of. Instructions from the maker will act as a reference for how many braces, nuts, as well as bolts of each type you need to have. Halfway via installation is no time at all to realize a necessary piece is missing out on. If your truck was constructed with mounting openings in the structure currently, proceed and also install the running board placing bracket items that featured your kit. If your truck does not have p re-existing openings, you'll require to pierce them yourself. Guidelines with your running board will tell you what size drill bit to use (we advise bits made particularly for drilling into steel) as well as where to position the holes. Apply guide paint to any newly-drilled areas to stop corrosion of any type of bare metal surfaces before mounting the braces. With placing braces securely bolted in place on your frame, mount the running boards themselves onto the various other end of the brace items. Relying on running board style and lorry application, driver- and also passenger-side boards may be unbalanced. If the boards aren't focused where they should be beneath lorry doors, you may have the sides blended. If your running boards consist of integrated lights, you'll require to link wiring to your automobile's electrical system - most likely to a switch that transforms indoor lights on when any of the doors are opened. If running boards feature power retraction, there may be a control module that requires to be installed too. Instructions consisted of with your running boards will certainly guide you through these phases, but if you're not comfy with doing electric work, there's no embarassment in operation an experienced professional. When you've obtained running boards, side actions, rocker bars, or hoop actions that match your needs as well as preferences, you're going to recall at your automobile and also smile at exactly how fashionable as well as complete whatever looks. As well as when you look away, you'll continue to smile understanding just how much safety and security and convenience operating boards include for your travelers - who will certainly appreciate them significantly. We 'd enjoy to hear from you with any product questions - we're open 7 days a week to assist you make the most informed acquisition feasible.
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hypnoticwinter · 3 years
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Down the Rabbit Hole part 17 (nsfw elements)
I keep telling myself that it’s enough to have gotten this far, this is an adequate demonstration of bravery, that I should be impressed that I kept my nerve enough to even get to this point in the tunnel, but even though my heart quails and I’m shaking lightly, a kind of mixed blend of anxiety and terror at the prospect that something might be stalking me down here, I stay where I am as though my feet had grown roots.
For there in front of me, just as Makado had said there would be, is the puckered, anus-like entrance to a ballast bulb. Only took me roughly twenty minutes of crawling through a tight, suffocating, pitch-black venterial canal, all manner of slime and scum and filth caking around my face and arms. My suit will be an absolute mess but nobody will know the difference, most likely; after this first day all of the pristine and immaculate dull orange suits have become equally dirty - mine will just be a little fresher.
Getting out of the camp was surprisingly easy. I had crept by Joker with some trepidation, half expecting him to spring into life and go after me without Euler holding his leash, but all that happened was that the machine’s head had risen slightly as I had moved past and then settled down again.
I guess that after Makado and I had left to return to my hotel room and retrieve my gear, the team had asked Euler to showcase some of Joker’s other features and he’d activated some sort of autonomous mode. It had taken him some thirty minutes to set up, Elena had informed me, the back of Joker’s cranium hinged open and Euler poking around in there, but afterwards they’d lead him over to some sort of obstacle course Elena had called a ‘kill house’ and let him loose and the results had been so impressive and entertaining that they’d had Joker repeat the course four times before Euler had begged off, citing some sort of instability in the machine’s logical pathways…whatever that means. We hadn’t seen either of them for the rest of the day up until the party; Euler had explained, briefly, that he’d been working with the Engineering department to get radio tags working with Joker’s system so that while we were down here he know who was and wasn’t part of the team. Don’t go walking around without your suit, they’d warned us. Otherwise, if for some reason we do let him operate on his own, he might not know who’s who. Might act unpredictably.
Shades of Terminator, of Robocop. But I rolled my eyes at myself and brushed past him, let my hand press lightly against his burnished chestplate for just a moment – you can never be too superstitious – and then squeezed my way into the tunnel. There were no tents clogging its entrance on account of it being so small. I had to go on my hands and knees most of the way, except for a little bulbous bit in the middle where it widened up and I was able to stand.
I don’t know how I made myself go through it. I kept getting a prickling feeling along the back of my scalp, like something was stalking up behind me, but whenever I curled over and looked back there was nothing there, just the ribbed walls of the passage, like I was inside of a giant esophagus.
I had a panic attack halfway through. I don’t know what brought it on; I’m not prone to panic attacks, normally. I made it to a section where the tunnel dropped down a couple of feet, a sort of rough 45-degree angle, and I just started crying. I wanted fervently to be back at home in bed waking up from the crazy dream I’d been having. I wanted to go and listen to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel and follow along to the lyrics and not hear anything odd or unusual, just have my mind skip over everything like normal and have it all be okay. I wanted –
I don’t know what I wanted.
But at the end of it I rolled over onto my back and closed my eyes, and then I sat up and smoked a cigarette from the pack I’d smuggled in with me. Just one cigarette, and then I crushed the pack in my hand and threw it away. I kept the lighter, though; you never know when something like that will come in handy.
Then I got back on my knees and pulled my way through the tunnel and now here I am, nose still clogged and runny, but feeling better.
I have a knot at the base of my stomach the size of a baseball and I keep looking behind me, frightened that something’s going to grab me and eat me and that I’ll never see anybody – especially Elena – ever again. I’m afraid that I’ll drink this stuff and that’ll be a wrap for me, the Pit will have gotten its claws in me and I’ll be different, I’ll be changed somehow.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath. The cigarette had calmed my nerves a little and, to tell the truth, I’d been craving one after a few days without. A momentary pang of regret few through me on ghostly wings; I thought for a moment about going back and finding the pack I’d discarded but then my lip curled at the thought of myself grubbing around in the muck looking for it. I’m not that pathetic.
Getting the bulb’s entrance dilated enough for me to crawl through is tough work. I’m buried up to my elbows in the thing, feeling vaguely nauseated at the wrinkled folds of flesh just a few inches from my face. There’s some sort of sphincter-like muscle there banding around the opening like steel cord, but the more I press and lever with my elbows opposed the more it relaxes. Soon it’s large enough for my head, then for my shoulders, but I keep going to make sure that I can fit through with the added bulk of the suit.
The smell is intensely strange. I had thought for a while that it might remind me of a Coke Heartthrob, especially with memories of the last one I’d had still relatively fresh in my mind, but the smell is completely different, more…earthy and spicy and invigorating. It smells like…like vanilla. There is a distinct odor of vanilla. There’s still the same disgusting organic undertone to the air that pervades everywhere in the Pit, but it mixes with the drooling sweat odor pouring from the orifice in front of me to form something new and strange and…appealing. Appealing in the same way that a mixture of sweat and men’s deodorant can be appealing, appealing in the same way that –
I shake my head, try to clear it. Easy, girl. You’re just going to crawl in there, drink some of this stuff – I can feel my gorge rising again but I shut my eyes and count to five and breathe through my mouth and the feeling dissipates – and then crawl back out and go back to Elena and fall back asleep. That’ll be all.
The Pit groans, a little noise of stress and tension, and I jump.
“Fuck it,” I murmur again, and then I clamber into the orifice, feel it suck at my thighs and calves and feet as it tightens behind me, and then I slip down a slick, slippery surface of flesh and fall face-first into about three or four feet of murky, milk-white ballast. It takes me a moment to find a purchase on the rubbery flesh at the bottom of the pool but I do, finally, and then I come up sputtering, trying to clear my eyes. I haven’t drank any of it; some instinct screwed my mouth shut as soon as my head went under and I couldn’t force myself to open it for all that I tried.
I open my eyes and look round. The inside of the bulb is red and fleshy and membranous; there is a long rind-like deposit of something stretching between the ceiling and the floor, just a little off-center of the middle of the room, thick as a tree trunk. There are little curling wisps of some sort of vapor rising from the surface of the ballast; that must be what gives it such a strong smell. The odor’s grown even more intense here, inside the thing, and I can –
Huh.
I can feel something happening on my face, my hands, pretty much every piece of exposed skin that had gone under when I lost my balance and fell down the side of the bulb face-first. It’s hard to pin down at first, but then it resolves from an indistinct feeling to a light and pleasant tingling a little like the breathy feeling you get when someone’s been tickling you for a very long time and then they suddenly stop. I wait for a moment, cringing inwardly, but it doesn’t resolve into burning pain or – or whatever I expected, it just stays light and tingling and pleasant.
No wonder people liked to bathe in this stuff.
I raise my hand to my cheek hesitantly. The skin on my face feels softer somehow. Gentler, as though I hadn’t been baking in the West Texas sun for the last week or so. The same’s happened to my hands, I realize on closer inspection; the hard nubby calluses on either wrist, just above that little bone on the edge of the wrist, gained from hours spent working at a desktop typing, are now little more than suggestions of their former selves.
I spend a long while there, staring at my wrist, the detached headlamp clutched in my teeth. What the hell is this stuff going to do to me if I drink it?
But the tingling feeling is already abating, and it isn’t as though it took my skin off, didn’t disfigure me. Most likely, anyway. I probably look a couple of years younger. I prod at my forehead experimentally; it feels a little tighter.
“Fuck it,” I say again, and then I cup my hands and dip them into the pool of ballast at my feet, and then raise it to my lips and drink.
The taste is surprisingly mild and savory. The texture, though – it’s thick, thicker than water. It feels as though I’m drinking some kind of oil and for a moment it’s enough to make me gag, but I force down a couple of swallows and then, almost as soon as it hits my stomach, I feel a heat building there, the same kind of warm, pleasant one gets after they’ve eaten a large meal and want to do nothing other than lay down somewhere and not think for a while, just without the accompanying sensation of fullness. This dissolves after a moment into the same sort of tingling that I’d felt on my hands and face, only a dozen times stronger, and it turns into a sort of burning, fizzing sensation that races through my body, and I double over with the force of it but I’m grinning, I’m grinning so hard, because I’ve never felt so good –
And then I move wrong and I nearly scream at the sudden jolt of pleasure so intense that I initially mistook it for stabbing pain. It takes me a moment, frozen, eyes wide, to identify what happened, and then, cautiously, I isolate my chest and move it gently, trying to brush against the inside of the suit, and it sweeps through me again and even though my knees grow weak and I hear a low animal moaning echoing in the bulb, it takes me a disconcertingly long time for me to realize that it’s issuing from my mouth.
When I had moved my nipple had brushed up against the coarse fabric on the inside of the suit and I had almost came just from that. I flop against the side of the bulb and feel my breast through the suit carefully; it feels larger than usual, swollen somehow, and taut and sensitive, the nipple hard enough to cut glass. I look down and I can see it actually poking through the suit.
I get shakily to my feet, trying hard to avoid any other accidentally brushes like that, and I realize that I am incredibly, almost discomfortingly, wet. There’s a throbbing in my groin like a heartbeat and a warmth that quickly turns into an ache, a need for something to fill me. I shake my head again, trying to clear it, but it doesn’t do anything to help. I glance back down at the innocuous milky ballast; did I drink enough? Two cupped handfuls – not that much. But if it’s already doing this to me, can I handle more?
My hand, I realize, has gravitated to my crotch, and I’ve started rubbing myself through the suit. “Goddam it,” I hiss out loud, pulling my hand back like it was burned, my body aching for it to come back.
I can feel a small trickle run down my leg and I feel my lip curl, first in disgust, then it curls further into a lascivious grin. I think for a moment about undoing the bottom of the suit and just masturbating there, thinking I might get the demon off of my shoulders and out of my head with an orgasm or three, but while my hand is idly massaging my breast through the suit I think of Elena and such a surge of lust goes through me that for a moment I can’t even breathe. I squeeze at my chest through the suit until I feel pain and that wakes me a little, and then, still grinning, I rise and start to make my way back to the orifice, head filled with all of the things I’ll do to Elena when I get back to the tent, hands quivering lightly with anticipation. I find the light and fumble with it clumsily for a moment before I click it on and angle it up towards the opening so I can make my way out, but then when I see what the light is shining on I almost scream again and it is only the sudden presence of mind that makes me clap my hand to my mouth that stops me from shrieking.
For there, at the mouth of the bulb, is a pale human arm, stuck elbow-deep inside the orifice, and gradually wrenching it open!
I click the light off and drop into a low crouch and then slowly creep backwards, taking care not to make too much noise with the wet ballast up to my knees. I make it to the pillar-like deposit of – of whatever the hell it is in the center of the bulb and skirt behind it just as I hear the soft groan of the bulb’s sphincter giving up the fight against whoever is trying to make their way in here.
I scarcely dare to breathe. I can feel my heart thumping a million miles an hour and I can feel terror gnawing at me, trying to get its fangs in, but for the moment I’ve mastered myself. Whoever it is, they have a much more powerful light than I do, but they don’t seem to have spotted me; the light sweeps once, twice, around the inside of the bulb and then I hear a sliding sound of something heavy and then a definitely male grunt as whoever it is splashes into the ballast. I hear him set the light down and then indeterminate splashing, but at the very least he doesn’t seem to suspect I’m here.
Now that the immediate danger is over my body is urgently reminding me how horny I am. I bite my lip and bear it; if anything the feeling seems to be intensifying rather than falling off, especially since I’m not doing anything about it. If I don’t consciously think about it and stop myself I find my hands gravitating back to my breasts, to my groin, little twinges of pleasure making me bite my lip, suck in soft breaths. Finally I end up just putting my hands on my cheeks and keeping them there, to hell with whatever aching neediness I feel between my legs. I feel a little stupid, but if my hands are on my face I can keep track of them more easily.
I shift a little to the left and peek around the waxy deposit growing out of the ceiling and my mouth drops open; I see Crookshank’s ruddy cheeks and unruly sideburns, his powerful barrel chest heaving as he scoops handfuls of ballast from the pool and rubs it on his arms, his cheeks, his face. He’s undone his suit, the halves of it flopping around his waist, and as I watch he slaps the liquid on his bare chest, rubs it in like lotion.
This continues for another few minutes before he kneels and takes a great gulp of the fluid, and I gasp lightly, for he lapped up so much more than I had, and even though he is much bigger than I am and perhaps the same principle as alcohol applies, perhaps he can handle much more of it, I shudder to think of what that much of the fluid would have done to me.
He stands there for a long while, leaned against the wall, eyes shut, his cheeks slowly growing even redder, and then he zips his suit down further and starts to jerk himself off. I lean back around the deposit and force myself not to think about it but I can’t help it, I can’t get the image out of my head, I can’t stop myself from salivating over it, from thinking of the way it’d feel inside of –
No. Stop. He’s going to jerk off and then he’ll leave and then you can get out of here and never talk about this ever again.
But if that’s the case, goddam it, why am I fucking touching myself, why is it so much easier to peek my head around the corner like this and watch him and rub myself through the suit. He’s not even hot, he isn’t my type, fuck, I wouldn’t have thought twice about him, but with this – with this drug in my body I can’t stop myself from thinking about him taking a fistful of my hair and bending me over and then forcing himself into –
Stop.
I crouch there in the dark, reeking of ballast, listening to Crookshank grunt rhythmically as he fucks his hand, and then finally he lets out a louder grunt and I swear, I swear I can hear it hit the ballast. I’m crying, I realize again, something’s short-circuited inside of me and all I can do is cry and rage at the stupid animal cage I’m trapped in, the stupid animal cage that wants to get bent over and fucked and used. I don’t want to have to think, I don’t want to have to be like this, I don’t want to -
Crookshank leaves and I finally let out a shaky breath. I’m still unbearably, agonizingly horny. I think about touching myself, about just getting it over with, but again I think of Elena, and I think of Crookshank, of goddam motherfucking Crookshank grunting like a bear in heat, and suddenly I feel as though doing it here would make me vomit. I don’t want to see this place again, I don’t want to even think about it. I want to just go back and crawl into the tent and let Elena hold me and wake up clean. Except…
I eye the murky surface of the ballast.
What if the amount I drank isn’t enough? What if I should have drank more, what if if I leave now I’ll be throwing away the only chance I get? I doubt we’ll have time for me to sneak back here on the return trip, and even if we did I don’t want to take my chances running into Crookshank or whoever else.
But Christ, if the small amount I drank is doing this to me…
I reach down and cup a small amount in my hand. I raise it to my mouth and then stop, then I squeeze my eyes shut and drink it down. I stand there and sway and shudder as the heat intensifies. I put my arms around myself and clutch and just hold my ribs tight until I feel as though I can move, and then I make my way to the orifice and force my way out of it. It’s easier going out than in, although I still have to squeeze. I nearly shriek again as it presses against my breasts unexpectedly, and the sudden pressure and the burning jolt of pleasure makes me buck my head, momentarily lost in the sensation, but I claw my way out, manage to clear my head somehow and keep moving. The smell of ballast has become sickening, and as I crawl my way down the long ventricular canal back to the camp I feel as though it’s clinging to me and I’ll never be able to get it off, no matter how many showers I take, no matter how hard I scrub myself.
I happen upon my discarded pack of cigarettes and laugh to myself even as I ache to see if any of them escaped destruction, but I keep my dignity and pass it by. Well, some of my dignity; I’m so horny now that even the soft rubbing together of my thighs, a motion forced by the tight quarters where I have to go on my hands and knees, is becoming unbearable. I keep arching my back and imagining filthy things and pawing at myself, but somehow I manage to keep enough of my mind from crumbling in on itself to make my way back to the camp. I squeeze past Joker again, trailing my fingers along his shoulders, the cool dull spark of the metal on my fingertips seeming newly sensitive to my revitalized fingers. It’s late, it’s so late, but I feel agonizingly awake. I find the tent, slip out of the suit as quickly as I reasonably can, leave it crumpled on the fleshy floor next to Elena’s neatly folded suit, and then I unzip the tent and clamber in.
Elena’s eyes are tracking me there in the dark, little glittering jewels glinting at me. She rolls over as I move fully into the tent and I am so unspeakably happy to see her that for a moment I can do nothing more than squat there on my haunches with an idiot grin plastered all over my face before she smiles at me softly.
“Hi,” she says, her voice grown innocent, still heavy with sleep.
I breathe her name like it’s a prayer and then I am kissing her and she kisses me back, a laugh bubbling in her throat as she does, and I can’t stand it any more, I have to be closer to her, I want all of her, I want everything, and while she makes little delighted sounds of amusement and disbelief at how insatiable I am I kiss my way all over her, grinding against her thigh as I do, and when she reaches up for me and finds my breasts I shudder and arch my back inwards, trying to press more of myself against her.
“Missed me?” she asks, her thumbs working in slow circular motions. She has a smug little smile on her face. I’m panting I want her so bad. I don’t trust myself to speak so I just nod. Her hand trails upwards from my breast and I let out a little whining moan. It fixes around my throat, squeezes lightly, and I swallow. Her other hand tracks down my stomach and I can feel my hips buck gently as I know what’s coming, and I grin at her, but she stops just before where I want her to, tangles her fingers in my pubic hair, massages me there, and though I try to angle my hips forward and slide her fingers against me, wet and slick and willing, she stays agonizingly still.
“Why do you smell like ballast, Roan?” she asks, cocking her head at me. Her eyes have gone cold and calculating and her grip on my neck has become very, very strong. I want to fuck so badly that the well of fear bursting in my gut is something I can barely recognize, barely react to. I open my mouth and let out another little moan.
“Elena,” I groan, “I don’t –“
“Oh, don’t lie,” she murmurs. I see her eyes flick down to my nipple and then she darts forward and latches onto it with her mouth, eyes still fixed on mine, at least until she brings her teeth together extremely gently and I shudder, starbursts blossoming in my vision. Then she lets me go with a wet pop that I find incredibly, unspeakably lewd. I feel as though my cheeks are on fire.
“Your name isn’t Merriweather either, is it?” she asks me.
“Elena,” I say again. It’s all I can say. I can’t summon the breath for anything more complicated.
“See,” she says, “after you left I thought I’d stay awake until you got back. But you took a long, long time. So then I started thinking,” she says, punctuating the statement with a sharp gesture downwards with her finger, just brushing against me, and it feels like heaven.
“Y-you can’t,” I start, giving her a pleading look, but she’s enjoying this too much. The torture will end when she wants it to.
“Then I looked up your personnel file, cause I wanted to creep on you. Only guess what?”
I shut my eyes.
“Right,” she says, squeezing my throat a little tighter. “You don’t have one.”
“Elena,” I say very carefully, trying to keep my voice from pitching upwards into a moan, “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can,” she says. When I crack my eyes open she’s looking at me with something resembling sympathy. “But I don’t care about that right now.”
“You don’t?”
She moves her hand downward, lets go of my throat. I gasp slightly, and then when she inclines her middle finger slowly upwards and brushes against me I gasp harder. “Tell me this is real,” she says.
“W-what?”
“Tell me,” she repeats slowly, “that this is real. That you aren’t using me to get down here, that there’s not some ulterior motive at play. Tell me it’s real, Roan.”
Her finger presses inside of me and I collapse against her, bury my face into her neck, kiss her again and again, leave a trail of bite marks in my wake. “It’s real,” I moan into her ear, and then she fits another finger into me and all I can see is her wide grin growing wider before the night dissolves into a parade of sensual enjoyments, of flesh and reactions and noises burned indelibly into my frantic, pleasure-drunk brain.
 * * *
 When we’re done finally and whatever effect the ballast had on me is fading, Elena curls me into her arms and I kiss her softly. My mouth and tongue are still a little tired but it was infinitely worth it. We stay like that in fuzzy oblivion for only a moment before Elena inclines her head and nuzzles at my forehead with her nose.
“So who are you really?” she asks me. “What’re you doing here?”
“Oh,” I groan. “It is a long story.”
Elena laughs quietly. “Well, we’ve got nothing but time.”
“It must be so late,” I tell her. “Shouldn’t we get to sleep?”
“It’s midnight.”
”What?”
“See?” she asks, twisting around a little to show me her watch. It’s a huge clunky tactical-looking thing. I almost laugh at it. “Down here the name of the game is early to bed, early to rise. I know Sarge will get us going later though, cause of you and Euler. You won’t be used to it.”
“Well,” I say, not knowing what else to. Elena holds me tighter.
“So tell me,” she says simply, and so I tell her.
She handles it well, but it’s not a very difficult story. It even makes sense in places, I think. I skirt around the main issue for a while but eventually seize on it and just tell her. When she doesn’t react I glance up at her, meet her level gaze. “It’s only transmitted through blood-to-blood contact,” I say quickly. “So we don’t have to worry about –“
“I know how it works,” she tells me. “Still sort of the thing you ought to tell someone about before you fuck them.”
I feel myself flush; Elena sees too. She takes my chin in her hands, looks down at me. “It’s okay,” she tells me. “I get why you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s okay.”
“I’m sor-“
“Shh.”
We lay there in silence for a while longer. “They told you you were allergic?” she asks. “At the hospital?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“That’s what they said? Verbatim?”
I can feel everything shrinking into myself. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I think so, I – yes.”
“Or did they say it was like you were allergic?”
“No, they – well. I don’t know. You’re making me doubt myself.”
“Medicine can go off,” she says. “It can go bad. If it did and they didn’t know and used it anyway, if it had been mislabeled, you might have gone into shock, you might have –“
“I don’t want to –“
“Shh,” she says again, holding me to her. I try to pull away but she doesn’t let me. More than anything I want her to stop asking questions, I want her to just hold me here and not judge me, not say anything. I feel fragile, I feel like a thousand needles are poking in at me just millimeters from my skin and if I make one motion they’ll stick –
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and she laughs.
“What the hell are you sorry for?” she says. She runs a hand through my hair and try as I might not to like it, I like it. I like the way it feels. “What else were you going to do?” she asks. “You were scared, you didn’t know any better. You wanted to run from it and not confront it, I don’t think there’s shame in that. And then you found out about this place and everything just fell like dominoes.”
“Yeah,” I agree in a small voice.
“Fucking cruel of Veret to send you down here, though.”
“I asked for it,” I say. “She didn’t want to.”
Elena grunts.
“You don’t like her much, do you?” I ask.
“I think,” Elena says after a long time, “that after 2007 she should have gotten as far away from this place as she could and found something that made her happy.”
“I don’t understand –“
“Makado made it her mission to make sure the Pit could never hurt anybody ever again,” she tells me, “when she got Head of Sec. But that’s impossible, you know. The thing’s so large, there’re so many ways in, so many ways out, you can’t do anything about it. She lets it eat her up.”
“You didn’t call her ‘Veret’ just then,” I point out. Elena looks at me.
“I don’t hate her. I just think that she isn’t suited for the job.”
“You really don’t care that I lied to you?” I ask her.
“About who you are? No. In the same circumstances I’d have lied to you.”
Elena has been kneading my hipbone gently with her thumb for the past five minutes, and the rhythmic motion is going to put me to sleep soon. I kiss her again, near her collarbone, and shut my eyes. Elena holds me tighter, there in the dark, and for a moment I’m able to not worry.
Just as I’m about to drift off, all wrapped up and warm and happy, still basking in the afterglow, I feel her thumb stop.
“But if I find out that you’re lying about this being real…” she murmurs, very softly, clearly thinking that I’ve fallen asleep, and there is such a knife-edge of menace in her voice that I lay there for a long, long time in her arms, even after her breathing has become low and regular and even, trying to will myself to fall asleep.
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Chapter 6. Meet Cute
‘You're the only person I've ever met who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I say a thing.’
Virginia Woolf
Harry had a bottle of Champagne on one hand, which he’d grabbed from a waiter waiting in the hall. I had two fistfulls of my dress in mine, trying to keep up with his fast, slightly giddy pace, as we made our way towards emptier parts of the palace, passing by bored security officers on our way.
We continued playing as we did.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Truth.”‌‌
“Have you ever killed anyone? Be honest.”‌ I asked, seriously, and he immediately started laughing. “Even by accident.”
“No! Have you?”
“Not yet. I’m saving my youth.‌‌ We’ll see what happens in the future.”
“If you knew you would never be caught, which crime would you commit?”
“Who’s to say I‌ would commit any crime?” He gave me a teasing look. “Fine. I‌ want to drive at a really ridiculously high speed.”
“Boring.”‌ He said, right before grabbing my hand and quickly pulling me into a hard right through big golden doors that led us into a beautiful, green drawing room. “Okay, protocol. Which really wild thing you wish you could do, but can’t because the press would never forgive you?”
“Hm.”‌ I thought on it for a while, distracted by the pretty painting near the window. “Wear a crop top.” I‌ confessed, to his amazement. 
“Really?”
“You have no idea how hard it is to be a woman in this position.‌ Anything I‌ do is scrutinized a lot more than anything my brother does. So yes, there’s a lot of fashion options that are simply not open to me.”
He held open the door for me, “Okay, I’ll allow it. I would also like to see you in a crop top.”‌ He added, quickly, in a low tone. “Now, what’s the wildest thing you have done that the media doesn’t know about?”
This was trickier; I‌ looked around at the high ceilings and spotted the black, round glass fixtures at strategic positions.
“Go on, there ought to be something!”
“Oh, I‌ have an answer… I‌ just can’t answer here. Is there a room around with less, or hopefully none, cameras?”
His smile grew, as he started pacing a little more determinedly. “...I’m intrigued.”
“While we wait, truth or dare?”
He sighed. “I can’t focus now!”
“Tough. Choose.”
“Truth.”
“If you had to choose between going naked or having your thoughts appear in thought bubbles above your head for everyone to read, which would you choose?”
He grinned. “Hm, well, most people have already seen me naked, it was a pretty popular tabloid front page, not to brag, so... I suppose I would rather you didn't know the extent of what you do to my thoughts… yet.”
My first instinct was to blush, fast. He added that yet with such vigor, such promise, it was hard not to wonder, it was hard not to immediately ask what I did to his thoughts. Tell me everything, my heart begged; I want to know all the dirty details. 
But something wasn’t right. The more I thought about it, the more his lighthearted, casual, overtly nonchalant tone seemed like a cover. The essence of what he was saying, after all, didn't feel like a laughing matter.
I remembered what he was talking about, albeit faintly. Something about a wild night in Vegas, an untrusted, unchecked female guest, and a nude picture snapped in secret and sold to the highest bidder.
“I'm sorry that happened to you.” I told him as he guided me into a room.
He looked at me, surprised, and shrugged. “...I should have known better.”
“Your security sure should have.”
He sighed; a small, resolute, forced smile hadn’t left his lips yet. I hadn’t thought I was able to dislike a smile on him, but I didn’t love that one.
“What can you do?”
“Still. I'm sorry.”
He nodded, looking at the carpet. I walked in, hearing the door close. Once inside, I realized this smaller than average palace room was mostly a deposit area with well organized boxes along some shelves. 
I walked to the end of the room, so the lights streaming in from outside would help him see it, as I reached to the zipper on my side.
“So, what have you done?” He asked. When I looked back at him, his smile was a little more sincere. “I can’t wait to find out. I do have a few guesses-What, what are you doing?!”
I was unzipping my dress. I smiled at him and approached, sustaining his look as I‌ did. Then I turned to the side, holding the fabric to my chest, but allowing the back of my dress to fall open slightly.
“Oh.”‌ He let out, softly; almost in slow motion, automatically as it didn’t seem like he had even noticed this, his hand reached over to me.
He touched the back of his delicate, cold two fingers to the skin over my ribcage, under my right arm, where a tattoo of one tiny daisy, barely as thick as two of my fingers, laid just below my arm, a little under the direction of my breasts. I moved my bra so he could see it, green stem and white petals and all. I felt his fingers draw them out softly, agonizingly slowly, making it feel bigger than it was, making chills erupt over my entire body; something I hoped he wouldn’t be able to see. 
“Any particular meaning?”‌ He wondered, whispery. 
I shrugged, slightly. When I answered, it was in a tone that matched his, making the moment feel all the more fragile.
“Margueritte means daisy in French. They can symbolize innocence, purity, or new beginnings. I like the new beginnings meaning. There's also the Roman myth of Vertumnus, god of seasons and gardens, who fell for Belides, a nymph. He pursued her, who in order to escape his affections, turned herself into a daisy.”
He looked up at me, the corner of his lips curving up slightly, one brow reaching up. 
“A metaphor?”
“Ha-ha.” I said, monotone, making him smile. "You know, daisies are actually two flowers combined into one. The inner part and the outer petal section, and because they blend together so well, some people also say they symbolize true love."
“I like that meaning more.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smile was sincere.
“They also mean the person who gifts them can keep a secret, so I appreciate the irony.”
“Nice.”
His touch was so delicate I was barely aware of it; it rested there for a few seconds before he seemed to shake out of a trance, and removed it quickly, coughing a timid laugh.
“Sorry.” 
I shook my head, smiling. “I don’t mind.”
“I wish I could have one.” He told me, as I closed my dress again, with some difficulty.
He approached, offering me his hands with a questioning look; I nodded, and he closed my zipper smoothly, barely touching my skin again. 
“How have they never seen it?”
“No crop tops, remember? And one-piece bathing suits.” I told him. “And a healthy disregard by the media for any monarchies other than yours.”
He laughed. “You don‘t know your luck.”
“Oh, I do.” I assured. “Anyway, that’s me. Wild, I know.”
“Yes, your tiny flower tattoo is very wild, Mary.”
We exchanged an amused smile.
“So, where to next?.”
He looked around, raising his hands to showcase the boxes. “What, are you not entertained?”
Laughing, we made our way out of the room and continued walking.
He walked us out of the room and through the majestic halls of Buckingham Palace we went, me always stopping by the beautiful artwork or vases to try and commit them to memory, and him always telling me I could google that later, he wanted to show me the spaces not everyone got to see, which was a pretty great pitch.
Eventually, I had to sit down in a red velvet sofa. 
“You try walking through an entire palace in these shoes!” I told him when he rushed me again. 
He replied by coming over, picking my shoes in one hand, and offering me the other. “I’ll carry them for you, let’s go.”
“Harry,” I started, laughing, taking his hand and reaching over for my shoes, “I’m not going to walk around Buckingham Palace barefoot!”
“Why? Everyone is across the palace in the state room.”
“Yes, but if we run into anyone, it’ll be a scandal! This is the type of thing people leak! I will bring shame to my country!”
“Dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “But alright, how about this?” He kicked off his own dress shoes, carrying them in the same hand as mine. “Now we’re both bringing shame to our countries.”
And so we continued.
He pointed out the rooms where famous, important people had been hosted through the years, dared me to touch a fancy, expensive looking statue and when I got very close slowly, he said ‘boo!’ and I jumped three feet back. Eventually, he grandly opened the double doors that led into a wide, white room filled with gold fixtures in every crevice.
“Oh. Wow.” 
The first thing I did was to walk right to the center of the room, spin around slowly trying to look at everything at once, and then carefully sit down and lay on the floor, one hand to my tiara to make sure it wouldn’t fall.
“Uhm. What are you doing? You can’t be that tired!”
“First of all, rude. You clearly have no idea how easily I get tired. And secondly,” I offered him my free hand, “come here.”
Smiling, he left our shoes on one corner of the room and approached, holding my hand with his and laying by my side carefully. “Now what?”
“Look.” I told him, looking up at the ceiling. 
It was high, wide, and with white and gold in a beautiful round, geometric pattern. Even from a distance, it… gleamed.
“Oh... Huh.” He said, slowly. “I had never noticed that before. It’s… kind of nice, isn’t it?”
My only response was to smile. We allowed the silence to reign for a while, our breaths filling in the space it left out. Our hands were still clasped together lightly, but it didn’t feel weird. It felt… just right.
“Sometimes it’s really easy to forget how awful it is being royal, isn’t it?”
From the corner of my eyes, which I kept fixed above, I noticed him turn his head to watch me.
“Yes.” He replied. “It is.”
The ceiling was really just part one of the amazing things in this room; there was a marble statue of Sappho, a classic painting of Queen Alexandra, crystal chandeliers, and a 1775 french roll-top desk. 
Harry was looking at me, expectantly, as I examined each little thing.
There were two mirrors on each of the side walls, another atop a fireplace, and three sets of mirror double doors.
“Why were our ancestors so obsessed with their own image? There’s a whole mirror hall at the Palace in Wolhounn, done as a replica to the one in Versailles.”
“They didn’t have TVs.” He replied, with a shrug. “Mirrors were like magic.”
He pushed open the double doors to the far end of the room and guided me through a few other magnific rooms until we were in what he called, ‘the center one’. He left our shoes in the floor, then pulled me to the center glass doors and pulled open the curtain covering it, only a tiny bit, to allow me to locate myself within the view. We were exactly in front of the mall, the front of the palace, right before the balcony where his family walked out regularly on formal occasions. 
I was already impressed, but he wasn’t done. He crouched down and asked me to follow him, opening the door carefully and sneaking out on his knees. Realizing what he was doing, I followed, careful with my dress. If we stayed down, even the reporters waiting to see us leaving the palace after the dinner wouldn’t be able to spot us.
“This is usually covered when we come up here,” he told me, gesturing to the holes in the front of the balcony wall. 
We sat down next to it, peaking over under the moonlight, at the view ahead. I could see the black and golden gate of Buckingham, the big fountain ahead, with Queen Victoria's monument in gold atop it. Far beyond, the mall's long, straight street, surrounded by the Hyde Park trees, and the lights of the city of London ahead.
“This is… just amazing.”
He smiled. “My mother taught me this trick.” 
There are no fairytales about honest conversations. We never got Cinderella’s heartfelt conversation with the prince, explaining what she’d been through at the hands of her family; if the prince ever asked Snow White what did it feel like to die, we didn’t get to hear about it. Did Rapunzel ever get nightmares about being back in the tower? What was that therapy session like? I suppose, at the end of the day, there’s no right time to have a difficult conversation. 
I don’t remember what made me decide it was now or never; was it the way the gleam of the moon and lights of the outside shone in Harry’s eyes, and only I could see it at that very moment, when the whole world had no idea we were there? All I remember in hindsight is taking in a deep breath as I watched him, and turning around to stare back at the closed glass doors, as I told him:
“We met when I was eight.” 
He looked at me, confused.
“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t intend to make a thing out of it. It sort of just… happened. And now I feel bad. And I feel that if I don’t tell you now, it might be worse later. Because it’s not actually a fun story.”
His brows furrowed, betraying the worry as much as his gulp did. He nodded.
“Hm, Okay? So, you… You were eight?” He seemed to do the math in his head.
I‌ nodded. “You were twelve.”
He blinked, once. Looked back outside through the hole in the balcony wall, and then nodded as he turned around to sit next to me. “Oh.”
I held in a deep, bracing, breath for two seconds, and began, at last, to speak.
“My aunt Marilou was living in Britain at the time. Her husband is Irish-Scottish, they lived in London, so my father and I came to visit and we met them for a holiday in Scotland. It was meant to be a family trip, but my brother had the flu so my mother stayed home with him. Eventually, after we were in Scotland for a few days, he sat me down to talk.”
I ventured a look at Harry, who was still stoically looking ahead.
“My great-grandfather had passed away only a year before, and even though I was too young to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, I remembered how… somber the whole house was for the whole following month. Well, my father asked me to remember that, and then told me that a friend of his had passed away only that week. Her family was staying nearby, and he wanted to stop by to offer his condolences on our way back home. He wouldn’t normally bring me to something like this, but we were already on schedule to leave, and it just made sense. He told me to be quiet, and respectful, like when grandpa died, and dressed me in my most serious dress, a green one, and we rode into this beautiful, big stone house with ivy covering the walls.”
Harry fidgeted with his hands in his lap, and laid his head back.
“I remember now.”‌ He said. “In the garden… It was you?”
I‌ smiled, sadly. “I‌ walked over to you, and sat down beside you where you were sitting behind a stone wall nearby the fountain. You looked like… like you were hiding.”
“I‌ was.”‌ He confessed.
“I’d met her, just a couple of years before. I remember like it was yesterday. She was wearing this white flowy dress, with shoulder pads. She was just so pretty. She looked like one of my Barbies. I was completely blown away… It was a royal tour to Savoy that she did with your father, I must have been six. After she said hello to my parents, she… she lowered down and said hello to me, but I just looked down, I‌ was so shy... She brushed my hair with her hand, and said I‌ looked really pretty in my bow. My mom had tied this black ribbon around my head as a headband, and had made a bow in the top. Very nineties.”
He smiled, slightly. But it was enough to make me feel better. Slightly.
“I‌ managed to say thank you, and she asked if she could borrow it, so I‌ nodded, and she smiled. It made me feel… grown up, you know? Seen. She was just so nice… I spent the rest of the trip waiting for the right time to give her my bow, but ended up not seeing her anymore, so every time I looked at it, I thought of her. And when I‌ realized that was the friend my father was there about, in that beautiful stone house-”
“Balmoral.”‌ 
“Yes, Balmoral. I‌ felt heartbroken. So I found my black ribbon in my suitcase, before we got there, and kept carrying it around in my hands as my father had tea with your father and grandparents. He told me I could go see the garden if I wanted, so I did. That’s when‌‌ I found you.”
“You didn’t speak English.” He smiled.
“No, you didn’t speak French.” I returned, making his smile grow a little bigger. “But I think we got on alright.”
“I’m going to be honest,”‌ he started, “I just wanted you to leave me alone.”
“Oh, I’m sure! Now. Back then, I‌ was just happy to find another kid. You helped me sit up on the wall with you. And you asked who I was. I did understand a little bit of english, so I said I was Princess Margueritte, of course, but in French, so you just stared ahead and pretended to understand. And I said, in French, we were there about the nice Princess who’d died… and then you said your mother was dead... I understood that too.‌”
“How come I barely remember this?”‌ He wondered, more to himself than to me.
“It was a difficult time. Memories are… fragile.” He nodded.
He looked at me, eyes wide, brows still furrowed. “You gave me a ribbon.”
I‌ smiled. “‌I did. The one I had in my hand, the one your mother said I‌ looked pretty in, and asked if she could borrow.‌”
“You said it was hers.”
I‌ grimaced. “I’m sorry. I was eight. I meant, I‌ wanted to have given it to her, I didn’t mean to lie.”
“No, it’s okay. I‌ just…” He sighed, heavily, running a hand down his face. “I still have it. I‌ saved it. I‌ have it in my drawer. I‌… I don’t know how I‌ forgot about it until now, but I‌ always just kept it because it was… hers.”
“Sorry I basically lied about it.”
He smiled. “Let’s chalk it up to a mistranslation.”
I‌ nodded. “So, anyway. That’s how we met.‌ Soon after, my father’s aide came to get me and we left back home to Savoy. A few days later my parents attended the funeral.”
A few seconds went by, then a few minutes, as we breathed peacefully watching the reflection of the moon and stars on the glass of the double doors, with our backs to the street. I couldn’t know what he was thinking about, but I was thinking of the irony of all our privilege being almost relative to the unfairness that came with it. I wondered if that was what he was thinking of, and if this was weird enough for him to take his distance now.
Instead, I felt his hand reach for mine, which he held firmly, warmly, in his.
“Thank you.”
“For… for what?”
“I don’t know… For telling me.”
“…I should have just said that three days ago.‌ I’m sorry. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
He shook his head, and looked at me. “Thank you for giving me a piece of her, all those years ago, at the time when‌ I‌ needed it most. I‌ was…”‌ he shrugged, “devastated. And then I had that piece of fabric in my hand that was hers. Every day afterwards, I‌ held it in my hand, thinking of her. I still do, sometimes. And it was because of you.”
We sat there, holding hands, for a long while. Passing champagne back and forth, drinking straight from the bottle, trying to find a way back to ourselves.
“Truth or dare?” he asked, and I smiled.
“Truth.”
“Why did you and Christopher break up?”
He’d talked about something awfully personal, so I figured it was only fair I did the same.
“He… We weren’t... There just wasn’t a way to make it work.” 
He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes for a long while, and I sighed, knowing deep down that wasn’t the truth.
“I’ve known him my whole life. He was my first crush, kiss… everything. We started dating officially just out of school, he also went to college in America, he’s a year older than me, so he was already there when I moved. We were only about one hour away from each other. But then he graduated and got a job in Chicago and we broke up because it was just too far away. We got back together a few months later, he got a job in New York, and we moved in together after I graduated while I did a one year internship there.”
“I didn’t realize you lived in America that long.” 
“It was four years in University, Harvard offers a special degree where I could get a bachelor’s and master’s at the same time, so I graduated from Law School at the same time as undergrad.”
“Nerd.” He teased, making me laugh.
“He got an offer in Savoy, and I had to come back because, well… I’m me. But my job is in Tallmound, which is a big city about two hours away from the capital. It’s sort of the business center of Savoy. And Chris’ job was in the capital. So we went from living together to doing sort of long distance again.”
“That isn’t that far, though, right?”
“No, and I wasn’t worried. But… with our long hours, it was just… hard. Still, he was my only serious relationship for the past… eight years. My family has known him forever, they love him. And the press has known of us for that long, too. I guess they assumed as soon as we were back home, with our degrees, there was nothing stopping us from getting married. And eventually, they started… asking.”
I heard him let out a long sigh, which more than anything he could have said, let me know he understood.
“Suddenly, there was this… understanding that we were supposed to be planning on getting engaged soon. And Chris, I think, started to realize what marrying me would really mean.”
“Would he be expected to work?”
I sighed. “Yes, I think. As a spare, I’ve been allowed to have a private career so far, and I’ve been able to plan for a future career, as well. There are limitations, of course. I can’t work criminal cases, for example. So I think he would have been able to do his own thing, too, with limitations, maybe, which I told him. But, eventually, I think we would both be expected to help my family full time. And, honestly, I don’t mind. I like working, I like the royal work, and I think I’ve found a good balance, I think with some talking we could find something that worked for us. But… Well, he never gave me the chance. I guess, maybe, he didn’t think it was worth the hassle.”
There was a silent pause as my words hung in the air.
Then, he sighed. “What an idiot.”
I held down a smile for as long as I could, but then I looked at him, and we started laughing. And then we laughed so hard it was a little too loud, so we thought it was safer to crawl back inside.
I adjusted my dress; Harry put the empty bottle on a center table as I walked around the room once more, noticing the gleaming details in the matching Chinese vases by the doors, pretending I didn’t know he was watching me from afar.
“Do you-” I started, “Do you ever think of just… walking away? From all of this, I mean?”
I didn’t know why I asked, but I think maybe I wanted to know if his answer would match mine.
“Every day since my mother died.” He shrugged. “It’s sad, isn’t it? We were born into some of the most beautiful places on Earth, and all we want to do is leave.”
I smiled, not daring to look at him. Those were the words inside of me I had never dared utter.
“Wait.” He said. “So, when you got here, three days ago, and you were sexily mad at me-”
“Sexily?” I asked, in a shocked chuckle.
“Were you mad because I didn’t remember meeting you when we were kids?”
My smile froze on my lips; “Not… exactly.”
“Okay?”
Sighing, I adjusted my posture, and looked back at the vase, which was almost as tall as I was. 
“So… when I was about eighteen,”
“Ten years after we met.”
“Yes, I had recently graduated from boarding school and finished my military training-”
“Your what?!”
I rolled my eyes, impatient. “Six months military training is mandatory for all the men in Savoy, and optional for the women. As members of the royal family, we are encouraged to opt in to promote our country’s military.”
“Oh. So, you… you have a uniform and stuff?”
I tried to emulate his best dirty grin, which I had grown to memorize, “Why? Are you into women in uniforms?”
He smile, wide. “I’m into you in a uniform.”
I laughed loudly. “God…”
“You asked!”
“Okay, so, moving on… I was about to move to America for University, but a friend from boarding school who is British was having a big party for her 18th birthday, so I took the train to go to her party and see my friends before moving across the Atlantic…” I turned to look at him, trying to ignore the red still in his cheeks, “Do you know a Clara Clearmont?” He seemed confused. “Big house in West Brompton-”
“As in Timothy Clearmont?”
“Yes, that’s her brother.”
“Oh! Yes, I know Tim. Well, we have friends in common.”
“Do you remember being invited to his sister’s birthday party?”
His eyes became unfocused, and then he squinted. “Yes, he would usually invite everyone, their house is huge… It was a cool, wild part- Oh.” He looked down. “Oh, I’m not going to come out well in this story, am I?”
I smiled, ignoring his question. “So, I was having a grand old time, hanging out with my friends, trying to avoid these really loud, drunk British boys who’d just arrived-”
“Oh, God…” He murmured.
“I went to the bathroom, and right before I opened the door to leave, I overheard some people just outside, talking about the birthday girl… Apparently now she was 18, Clara was, and I quote, fair game.”
“Okay-” He tried to interrupt, but I wasn’t done.
“One of the boys talking mentioned her friends from boarding school were hot too, and one of them, can you believe it, is a princess as well!”
He sighed, longingly, avoiding my eyes.
“And then a voice, now familiar to me, responded, in a slur, oh I saw that one, she has a weird face!”
“Marie…” He started, now using the exactly right pronunciation to my name.
“I opened the door, because I wasn’t about to just stand there and listen to how wrong my face was, but before I could even get past them, the same voice pointed to one of my closest friends and said, and I quote, that one I could just bury myself into all night.”
He used both his hands to cover his eyes, and brushed them up to grab two fistfulls of his hair, eyes still closed. I gave him his time.
In truth, it was hard even for me to conciliate the boy I’d heard say such ridiculous things in a drunk haze years before with the smiley, flirty guy I’d spent the last three days being increasingly charmed by. Sure, he was a flirt, but 29 year-old Harry did not come off as rude, or drunk. Especially not after tonight.
He let out a long breath. “I am so sorry.” I smiled. “Really, I am. I… I was in such a- no, no… no excuses. I’m, I’m just really sorry.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“In my defense,” he started, and I tried to prepare for whatever came next, “I was an arse at that age.”
I laughed. “Yes, I know.”
“No, really, I was just… a dick.”
“Yes, I believe you.” I nodded still, teasingly.
“I was… I was just all over the place, I… I had no idea what I was doing… And I promise you, I soon realized just how much of a dick I was and started… trying to be better. I still am, actually. But… god, I’m sorry, Mary.”
“...I know.”
I wasn’t sure how, or if I was right at all. But I did believe him. No one was perfect at twenty-two. Particularly people who went through what he did at such a young age. Royalty screws most of us up, some more than others, and he had it particularly bad. 
“Honestly, now that I say it aloud, it does feel… stupid to have held it against you all these years when I didn’t even know you.”
“I don’t know, I think you were right to.”
“Well, I guess. But still, people change. I have. I believe you have, too.”
He smiled, and let out another long breath. “God, Jane Austen would be disgusted at us.”
We laughed. “Yes, resolving the main conflict in three days with a simple, honest conversation? She’d be out of business.”
He smiled.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Truth.”‌
I‌ turned to look at him, hands clasped behind my back. “Do you find a girl to flirt with on every state dinner you attend?”
He laughed, blushing. “No, actually. In fact, this is my first state dinner.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I must say, 10/10. Would definitely recommend state dinners to a friend. The company is particularly interesting.”
“Wow, how momentous. I‌ didn’t know I was witnessing history tonight. Did you also think there would be dancing like in a Disney movie ball? It’s what my sister thinks.”
He smiled, offering me his hand. “Why not? Let’s do it.”
I‌ twirled in my dress towards him, making him laugh, and took his hand with a grandiose gesture. 
“This way I can tell her that there was actually dancing this time!” 
“Exactly.” He nodded, pulling me close, passing an arm around my waist faster than I could understand. I wasn’t sure if I was dizzy because of the champagne, the smell of citrus on him I could smell again, or the way his blue eyes felt so invasive from up close.
“What shall we dance to?”‌ I asked, in a whisper. 
He reached into his pocket, clicked away in his phone, and then returned it to his pocket. We waited as the song started, and he put a delicate, questioning hand on my waist. I was just starting to appreciate his citrus smell when a strong, beat, following a male voice started on a song that was definitely a lot more upbeat than he had intended. I knew this because his eyes widened and he hurriedly found the phone to change the song, but I‌ was already dancing to the beat, still holding on to his hand as I did, laughing at the shock in his face.
“I‌ clicked on a random playlist.” He justified. “It was supposed to be romantic songs…”
“Well, it is!”‌ I‌ returned, “It’s just a happy, romantic song!‌ Come on,‌ Harry”
The song went on to the chorus, now even dancier, ‘Now my feet don't stop movin', and my eyes won't stop lookin', and my mind won't stop racin' with the thought of you’.
He finally surrendered, and started dancing with me, moving his hips in a way no British person should be allowed to. And when the singer said, ‘If you could come one step closer, and just hold me a bit longer’, he pulled me closer in a quick, smooth motion, and passed an arm around my waist so we could dance up close; we swayed to the rhythm, twirling around to the sound of this song that was unknown to us, and the swish of my dress as we moved, ignited by champagne and starlight, and the utterly energetic feeling of being alone with each other in the very symbol of what we both wanted to escape from one way or another: a palace.
I wasn’t sure how it happened, but we were soon breathing the same air, our feet moving fast, his arm around me tight, and his breath along with mine; I joined my arms around his neck, and he laid his forehead in mine, with his eyes closed. His hand caressed my back, my hips, slowly hovering over where he knew my tattoo was as he reached higher to caress my shoulder and follow along my arm, feeling my skin with his palm as we danced; as the room felt warmer, smaller, brighter and darker all at once, as only us existed, no past, no overwhelming future, no lines of succession. 
Just Harry and Mary.
And then we heard a noise at the door, and I almost tripped on my own feet stepping back from him too quickly. 
“I’m sorry, so sorry, ma’am.” Joyce, my security officer, apologized as she popped her heard in. “Your party is ready to leave, only waiting on you, ma’am.”
“Yes, thank you, I’ll… I’ll be right with you!” I said, a little hoarse.
I cleared my throat when she closed the door, taking in a deep, calming breath. I was glad to see Harry was a little awkward himself. He picked up my shoes, and returned them to me with a sad smile, so I sat down in a velvet green sofa in the corner, and put them on as he did the same with his. 
He held the door open for me, and we made our silent way back the same way we had come, with Joyce following a few steps behind. I wasn’t sure I was imagining it, but maybe we were walking a little closer than strictly necessary in such a wide hall, with our hands brushing against each other often, and my lower lip almost swollen at how much I was biting it to keep from smiling.
Once we were back at the gallery where guests were congregating, we tried to act normal, and not many people seemed to have noticed we were gone. But it was hard pretending I couldn’t see the almost too casual smiles on my brother’s face, matching the one in his brother’s and sister-on-law’s. 
Auguste came to tell us it was time to make our formal goodbyes, so I gave Catherine a light, quick hug, wishing her the best and thanking her for the lovely three days, which she shakily returned.
“I hope we’ll be seeing you again soon.” William said, with a cheeky smile it was hard not to mimic.
Finally, I curtsied once more to the Queen, thanked her for her hospitality, and stepped back so my father and her could walk out together, as they talked.
Before I could step out of the room, however, I felt a delicate hand hold on to my elbow. 
“Truth or dare?” Harry asked, in a whisper.
I looked back at my father, far enough not to hear, but walking slowly enough that I had some time.
“Dare.” I picked, looking at him with, well, hope.
He smiled. “I dare you to go on a date with me.”
I grinned at the floor, brushing one strand of my hair behind my ear. 
“Next weekend. I’ll take the train to Savoy. I have a friend who’s got a place there, so I think I can make it without being seen. I can pick you up at… seven, or whenever you leave work.”
“Yes.” I said, nodding. 
I think it was the ‘whenever you leave work’ that did it. The willingness to make it work, whatever it took. That’s what made me say yes.
“Okay.” He nodded, offering me his hand.
When I took it, I felt a folded piece of paper, which made my smile grow bigger as I assumed it must have been his phone number.
He raised my hand to his lips, laying a delicate kiss on my knuckles, as his eyes never left mine.
“Your Royal Highness.” He said, bowing his head.
I curtsied, “Sir.”
Then I bit down my smile, quickly hid the piece of paper in my handbag, and followed my grinning brother out of the palace; the future gleamed with possibility.
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[A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for reading!!! I’d love to know your thoughts! What do you think? What can I improve? What would you like to see?? Drop a message! Thanks <3]
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