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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

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Here at the midway point in our journey��like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

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vaguelyoriginaldrivel · 2 months ago

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RANDOM TOWN GENERATOR

My longest-running campaign ended this year. Granted, that’s not saying much - only ran 9 sessions, started last fall, but still as of yet the only real “campaign” I’ve ever ran. Was some sort of “urban fantasy” thing, players a bunch of wizards (and one giant shrimp-man) driving around some undefined region of the USA in an again undefined recent past… though near the end I think I’d decided on it being set in Pennsylvania? Definitely a learning experience in a lot of ways for me, regardless. Anyways here’s some tables I made for it

Town name (d10):

Washington

Franklin

Chester

Dover

- 10. [random - roll prefix, suffix]

Prefix (d12):

Spring

Hill

Glen

George

Kings

Green

Arling

Clay

Ash

Gold

Mill

Fair

Suffix (d6):

field

lake

hill

view

ton

-Town

Notable Feature (3d10): 1-3. Can’t be rolled on a 3d10

Ignore everything else - this isn’t an ordinary small town, it’s a neo-nazi cult compound. They have guns and they don’t like you

Historic building - Weird modern house - all pods, steel, fiberglass, and concrete, with spherical pods covered in pods. Abandoned.

Ruins - Abandoned Shopping Mal

Speed trap town - local cops lurk on the side of the highway, entire town economy based on speeding tickets. Basically operates on piracy. Absurdly low speed limits not properly demarcated

Weird art installation - field of sculptures (d4 - abstract metal, cobbled-together trash, stone statues of animals and people, monoliths with inscriptions)

Historic building - haunted mansion, old style - wood, maybe some stone

Notable dam overlooking the town, potentially vulnerable to failure

Ruins - Abandoned Factory

College town - small local college dominates the local economy, most residents are students or staff

Tourist trap - Historic house (d4- Rotting wooden mansion with a ghost story, old colonial stone fort, weird modern house of a dead eccentric rich guy/ weird cult leader )

Large immigrant population from a distant country (ie not part of the Americas- like Kazakhstan or Swahililand or Lichtenstein, not like, Colombia)

Oddly high concentration of a hyper-specific specialized type of business - an entire district of dentists or dog groomers or something

Not a full on cult compound, but much of the town’s population do follow a specific esoteric cults religion like scientology or sedevacantist mormonism or something

Birthplace of some celebrity, statue in town square proclaims as much

Tourist trap -Giant sculpture, gift shop (d4 - historic figure, giant animal, mascot of attached restaurant, dinosaur(young-earth creationist))

Historic building - old colonial fort, earthworks and stone and wood

Geography - Subterranean water (1d4 - Hot spring, bottomless pit in a lake, water-filled mine pit)

Geography- Big rock (d4 - Balancing rock, weird outcroppings (like fang ridge nevada), meteor (in far-off museum, there’s a plaque next to the crater though), butte)

Geography - Weird Cliff (1d6: columnar jointing, waterfall, petroglyphs, looks like a face, church built into it, odd color)

Retirement community, no children whatsoever and everyone is either a senior citizen or a caretaker

Odd museum - animal (1d6- snails, songbirds, butterflies, earthworms, leeches, mice)

Odd museum - human (1d6- finger, ear, spleen, tongue, nose, lip, nail)

Odd museum - local cryptid (1d6 - sasquatch, lake monster, grey alien, weird alien (ie flatwoods), hodag, giant toad, devil)

Religious - large megachurch, drawing in the faithful from across the state

Weird art installation - small grove with (d4 - dollheads hanging from the trees, extensive etchings onto the bark, geometric statues in between the trees, the trees coated in colorful yarn)

Ignore everything else - this isn’t an ordinary small town, it’s some kind of hippy commune or cult compound or something. Either pseudochristian or pseudodharmic, flip a coin

Special - roll on Supernatural table

(intentionally weighted to be biased more towards the middle but I didn’t really check the probabilities here, might be way too hard to get the ones at the further poles)

Extra: Supernatural element. (d4)

Entire town was replaced with body-snatchers a few years ago. They’ll try to keep you in town for a few days - constantly surveilling you, in order to grow a body-double - when they’re done they’ll try and kidnap you to replace you with it the next time you wander away from the group. Body snatcher type varies - (Fae-esque boogeymen cuckoo-bird shapeshifters, pseudo-plant pod people, 1979 Alien style androids, etc)

Recent sightings of some kind of cryptid or something has drawn droves of “cryptozoologists” to town. This is a problem because some of you are cryptids. Coinflip if the cryptid in question is real or not

Entire town stuck in groundhog day loop - the US military has caught on and is using the town as a testing-bed/training site. Just like groundhog day, there’s one guy somewhere in town originating the loop - kill him or put him to sleep and it resets - make him learn the error of his ways - or keep him awake til midnight - and the effect ends permanently. The feds know about this, first thing they do every loop is send their special ops guys to bag him and hide him in a van before they start the raid in earnest. Outsiders, like you and the special ops guys, can enter the loop - no matter what happens, when the loop resets you’re plopped back outside right where you entered in exactly the state you were then except for your memories - even if you died you’re revived.

Certain nights, at the witching hour (12-1), local monsters and spirits and such emerge and walk the streets openly - certain stalls and shops pop up in areas that are normally unused, catering to this strange clientele, and others who sell mundane wares during the day reveal their magical affiliations at night. Also there’s street performances, music and dances and parades - and games, dangerous ones - ones you can join. The rest slumber on, but the magic that keeps them asleep does not apply to you. As magicians and cryptids yourself, this could be a good opportunity, but not all the spirits who’ve emerged are peaceful.

this is what the map of the actual campaign ended up looking like at the end btw

#blogpost #misc

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seeminglyranch87 · 5 months ago

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Taylor & Travis Timeline

June 2024 - Part 2

June 13 - The Eras Tour, Anfield Stadium, Liverpool, UK N1 - 100th show (x) During the ATW speech, Taylor says that the tour will end in December.

I Can See You x Mine (guitar) & Cornelia Street x Maroon (piano)

Travis at Chiefs Training camp meeting kids sponsored by the Make a Wish Foundation. The little girl is wearing a "Go Taylor's boyfriend" t-shirt that Travis signs.

The Chiefs Super Bowl LVIII Ring ceremony is held in Kansas City. Travis attends with his team and receives his 3rd Super Bowl ring.

Travis below with Quarter Back Patrick Mohomes. The boys are chasing a three-peat!

Taylor is in Liverpool, UK and after her show watches and comments on Chariah Gordon's livestream. I think Taylor really wanted to be there. Travis is pictured below with Chariah Gordon and Mecole Hardman (x)

Travis came up with the winning play of the Super Bowl (x) called the "Tom & Jerry"

Travis likes an IG post from the Pat McAfee Show talking about Travis' future with the Chiefs and his contract extension, while finishing with

"I bet he's inspired as hell by Taylor Swift and what she does. She does all this s***" (x)

June 14 - The Eras Tour, Anfield Stadium, Liverpool, UK, N2

This is What You Came For x Gold Rush (guitar), The Great War x You're Losing Me (piano)

Taylor sings "I survived the Great War" (instead of "we")

ET article about making long distance work for Tay & Trav (x)

The source adds, "They prioritize each other and do anything and everything to make each other happy. Their relationship is genuine and they both want to make it work, so it does."

"Taylor and Travis definitely see a long-term future together and things are continuing to move in that direction," the source tells ET. "Their shared values and love of family keeps them connected."

June 15 - The Eras Tour, Anfield Stadium, Liverpool, UK N3

Carolina x No Body No Crime (guitar) … the murder mashup 😜 & The Manuscript x Red (piano)

June 17, 18, 19 - Tight End University (x)

June 18 - The Eras Tour, Principality Stadium, Cardiff, UK

I Forgot That You Existed x This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (guitar) a message for a certain ex (YB) who has been crying boo hoo to the media perhaps ?? & I Hate It Here x The Lakes (piano)

Travis liked this IG post of Taylor's ; )

June 20 - Travis and Jason Kelce attend 2024 Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity in Cannes, France.

Travis and Jason promote their New Heights podcast with a panel. The Kelce Effect: Exploring New Heights with Travis and Jason Kelce

Gracie Abrams releases "Us" written with and featuring Taylor Swift. Gracie shares how Taylor had put out a fire in her kitchen the night they wrote this song see footage (x)

June 21 - The Eras Tour, Wembley Stadium, London UK N1

Travis, Jason & Kylie Kelce, Andrea & Scott Swift, Ross Travis, Liam Hemsworth, Erin Andrews, Charissa Thompson and other friends attend. Prince William, Prince George and Princess Charlotte are in attendance.

This is the first photo Taylor has posted of Travis on IG!!! (x)

Travis captured singing along to Lover looking smitten. Taylor playing it up with Travis in attendance and looking over at him throughout the show (x). She appears to be having a brilliant night and leaves back of stage arm in arm with Travis.

Hits Different x Death By A Thousand Cuts (guitar) & The Black Dog x Come Back Be Here x Maroon (piano)

June 22 - The Eras Tour, Wembley Stadium, London UK N2

The VIP tent is packed - Travis, Jason & Kylie Kelce (Jason wearing TS t-shirt) Tom Cruise, Greta Gerwig, Ashton Kutcher, Mila Kunis, David Foster.

ThanK you aIMee x Mean (guitar) & Castles Crumbling feat. Hayley Williams (piano)

June 23 - The Eras Tour, Wembley Stadium, London UK N3

Travis Kelce makes a surprise appearance on stage at Wembley night 3 (x)

Is this real? Did Travis really come out on stage in the intro to "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart"???? I need 13 business days to recover!

Out of the Woods x Is it Over Now x Clean (guitar) & Us with Gracie Abrams (guitar & piano)

Travis and Taylor head out after the show with friends. They are seen leaving at 4am

June 24 - ET online (x). Referring to Travis' Eras Tour stage debut, a source tells ET ...

"Taylor and Travis have recently discussed Travis making an appearance onstage at the Eras Tour, when timing was right, and they finally made it happen, Travis was so excited to support Taylor onstage, and Taylor couldn't be happier to feature him, especially during such a fun, pivotal scene in the show. Travis only had one night of rehearsal, the evening before he performed onstage, and didn't miss a beat. Taylor was beaming from ear to ear as Travis took on the dapper role. The two are hoping he can make a cameo again in the future."

Go to previous update -> June part 1

Go to next update -> June part 3

Return to the timeline

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my-chaos-radio · 1 year ago

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youtube

Release: March 26, 1990

Lyrics:

Used to be so easy to give my heart away

But I found out the hard way

There's a price you have to pay

I found out that love was no friend of mine

I should have known time after time

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

Used to be so easy to fall in love again

But I found out the hard way

It's a road that leads to pain

I found that love was more than just a game

You're playin' to win, but you lose just the same

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

So many years since I've seen your face

Here in my heart, there's an empty space

Where you used to be

So long, it was so long ago

But I've still got the blues for you

Songwriter: Gary Moore

Though the days come and go

There is one thing I know

I've still got the blues for you

SongFacts:

Still Got the Blues is the eighth solo studio album by Northern Irish guitarist Gary Moore, released in March 1990. It marked a substantial change in style for Moore, who had been predominantly known for rock and hard rock music with Skid Row, Thin Lizzy, G-Force, Greg Lake and during his own extensive solo career, as well as his jazz-fusion work with Colosseum II. As indicated by its title, Still Got the Blues saw him delve into an electric blues style.

The album features guest contributions from Albert King, Albert Collins and George Harrison.

The title track was released as a single and reached No. 97 on the Billboard Hot 100 on 16 February 1991. It is the only single of Moore's to chart on the Billboard Hot 100.

The album reached No. 83 on the Billboard 200 on 16 February 1991, then was certified gold by the RIAA in November 1995. This was Moore's most successful album both in terms of sales and chart position in the US.

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years ago

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"Four Are Held Here In High-Grade Gold Smuggling Case," Windsor Star. February 22, 1943. Page 3 & 6. ---- Canadian and U.S. Police Co-Operate ---- SPRING TRAP AFTER TWO MONTHS OF WORK THOUSANDS IN PRECIOUS METAL IS RECOVERED --- By ANGUS MUNRO Bail of $5,000 cash or $10,000 property was fixed here this morning for each of four men charged with being members of a powerful gang of alleged high-grade gold smugglers.

The gang was rounded up and taken into custody after weeks of skilfully planned. perfectly executed police work on the part of federal authorities in Windsor, Toronto, Hamilton and Detroit.

Hunt Fifth Man Another member of the gang Windsor woman, wife of one of the men, is not being held now her identity rinsed by police. A fifth man is being sought in Detroit. Those held are:

Marke Lakich, 35, 1111 Albert

Michael Bich, 41, 775 81. Lake

George Birash. 47. 1366 Hickory

Sam Matijevich. 47, allas Sam Matheson, Hamilton.

All were arraigned before Magistrate J. Arthur Hanrahan in city police court this morning charged with at- tempting to export, or aiding and abetting the export of property from Canada to the United States without A licence from the Foreign Exchange

Bail Is Fixed

Only Malijevich was represented by counsel. Major J. Ernest Zeron, his lawyer, asked the court if bail could be allowed and after consultation with police, it was fixed at $5,000 cash or $10,000 property. The four were remanded a week. Purpose of the remand is to complete further investigations that are being made by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Foreign Exchange and A. W. Anderson, RCMP whe appeared in court this morning along with Inspector W. Morphet of the Windsor office of the Foreign Exchange Ctrl Board, intimated that more serious charges are likey to be laid involving alleged conspiracy.

The four were locked up pending bail arrangements.

Industrial Workers The three Windsor men are on the payroll of industrial plants here while Matijevich has no known occupation. Matijevich was arrested by Hamilton authorities and brought to Windsor while the remaining three were taken into custody a week ago in an Ouelette avenue rooming-house where the police trap was sprung without a hitch. All are being detained in a downtown hotel under guard.

Not since the old rum-running days on the border have international enforcement officers worked more lovely nor more dramatically. For two months, night and day. movements of the gang have been carefully watched and records made of their every move and word. This was possible through one of the oldest yet most audacious forms of sleuthing known in police.

In constant touch with the gang and successfully passing himself off as one of them wan an unidentified special agent of the United States Treasury Department. Customs Division, who was known to the rest of the gang as Bill Brown. He it was who flashed thick rolls of bills in the faces of the gang and who met with them in hotel rooms and other points of rendezvous without once arousing their suspicions.

Perfect Come-on He was a perfect come-on. He cultivated the friendship of the gold handlers. He won their trust and led them, sheep-like, into the trap which ended their activities and may send them to prison.

Authorities here believe Windsor was about to become one of the main new channels for the export of high-grade,, about $3,000.800 worth of which is estimated to be taken illegally from the country annually after being stolen by miners of Ontario's gold mining north country. All the men taken here are known to have formerly lived in the north or have been employed by mining companies. The dramatic story of the grand round-up in Windsor was given to The Star by Inspector W. M. Morphet of the Windsor inspectorate of the Foreign Exchange Control board. It was confirmed by Staff-Sergeant A. W Anderson of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The entire staff of both these offices have been devoted to the single purpose of gathering evidence, shadowing, trailing and checking movements of the men, watching trains hotel rooms, prate residences rooming houses, tunnel buses to Detroit, private cars and SW and A. buses. The gang and the Mounties in plain clothes moved in and with the city shopping crowds unnoticed.

Separate Rooms So careful were the authorities in avoiding publicity that separate rooms were engaged at the hotel where the men were kept under observation. No telephone calls were permitted to get through and only enforcement officers were permitted to visit the rooms.

The grand finale in the combined activities of United States and Canadian authorities came last Monday, February 13 when the actual gold was to be turned over in the Ouellette avenue rooming house in the men who were to smuggle it across to Detroit.

Gold sells for $38.50 an ounce in Canadian money in Detroit. On that basis the haul made last Monday amounted to nearly $3.000. A previous captured of gold was made in Detroit after it had left Canada. Ia value was $1.36732

While other gold seizures have been made in Canada's wartime history, they have been made only after the gold was out of the country and authorities had to work backwards from the U.S. side after the evidence had been seized by authorities there. Last Monday's climactic seizure was made before the gold left Canada. Here's how it happened.

Story of Seizure While the owners of the rooming-house and members of the family locked themselves in in upstairs room lest there be any shooting or roughhouse tactics, authorities engaged adjacent rooms on the ground floor of the house . In one of these the deal was to take place and the money passed over. In the other room were to be Inspector Morphet, Corporal R. L. Woodhouse and Constable J. M. Gallinger of the R.C.M.P. Allowing sufficient time for the money to produced and handed ever, the offices were at a given signal to enter and make the arrest. The plan worked perfectly.

The gang moved with caution. One of their number came on ahead to the house to scout the layout, Bill Brown, who was to buy the gold, posing as a member of the gang, said everything was okay.

Shortly after, the officers say, along came Lekich, Billich and Birush, one of them carrying the gold. (Matijevich was not in on this deal, but had been picked up in Hamilton on evidence arising from an earlier transaction.)

The gang talked for a while and finnally a deal was agreed on. Lekich and Birush were to take the gold w and Brown was to await a telephone call from Detroit stating that the gold had arrived before he would pay over the money. In "Button" Form The gold was in the form of a "button" or thick heavy slab the shape of the bottom of a small crucible. There were two of the one large one weighing 76 ounces and one small weighing eight ounces. They fitted tote a suit pocket without difficulty. Assays since given the seized gold proclaim it to be the equal of the finest produced in this country.

It was planned that the smuggling should be done in a car but the car wouldn't start and Birush returned to the rooming house while Lekich and the look-out man who had scouted the rooming-house made the trip in the tunnel en route to Detroit.

At the tunnel, both Leklch and the unidentified man were search ed. The gold was dienvered in Lekich's pin but as nothing was found on the other man, he was permitted to continue on through

Constable John T. Townsend and, Constable Walton Routledge. who picked Lekich up at the tunnel explained that they waited until he had passed the customs inspection and had declared himself not to have in his possession any property which should be declared. He was arrested just as he about to step in the Detroit bound bus.

Awaited Call Back at the rooming house, Brown and the others were awaiting the call from Detroit. This name but not from Detroit. This came but not from Detroit. Constable Townsend telephoned Brown from the F.E.C.B. office, stating that Lekich was in custody. This was according to plan. When Brown heard Townsend's voice he knew everything had gone as sched- suled, so he turned to the others and said that the gold had arrived in Detroit and that he was now about to pay them. He began to count out the bills. This was the signal for the others in the adjacent room. A minute or two elapsed until Bijlich and Birush had picked up handfuls of the bills. Then Inspector Morphet and the two officers stepped in through a communicating door and swiftly and efficiently Corporal Woodhouse snapped on the cuffs.

The gang had demanded to see the color of Brown's money before they would deal, so it was necessary to get $3,000 in Canadian funds to be used as come-on money. Authority was given to borrow it from a Windsor bank for this purpose, but it was an anxious time for Inspector Morphet and Staff-Sergeant Anderson while the money was in the hands of the gang. They were considerably relieved when it was taken back from Bijlich and Birush.

Throughout the entire period the assistance rendered by Brown was invaluable to authorities here. It was Brown who figured in an earlier deal 6 in which $1,000 of U. S. money was used to purchase gold in Windsor. The bills were marked and their numbers watched for in Windsor banks.

Wanted Bigger Game It was this deal which Lekich first figured in also. Because it involved a small amount, it was permitted to pass without interference, although under supervision because the authorities wanted bigger game.

Brown at that time flashed a roll of bills and said that he was not interested in "peanuts," he wanted "big stuff." At the sight of the money, he was promised a shipment of 300 ounces. The haul last week was far from that, but it was the largest so far attempted by the gang. It is belleved now that their scheme is nipped in the bud, although investigations are continuing and others may be shortly involved.

R. C. M. P. offices and Foreign Exchange authorities in half a dozen Ontario centres must be given a share of the credit for rounding up the gang. These offices are still hot on the trail. Two men are at present being held in Northern Ontario and others under suspicion. Their parts in the widespread, newly-organized ring, may be revealed within days if present investigations are successful.

More Important Even more important than these developments is the possibility that arising out of the present investigations may come evidence which will be strong enough to show conspiracy to commit an indictable offence. Under the charge now pending there are penalties provided rising to as much as $5,000 fine or five years in prison or both, upon conviction.

Breaking the gang and scattering its members before they even got going has been possible only through the most tenacious type of police work. The Windsor detachment, R.C.M.P., the largest in Canada, by the way, has employed all its members. A small army of officialdom and staff members of other federal agencies from top men down to stenographers have played their parts.

Particularly active have been Inspector Morphet, whose days and nights for the past eight weeks have been full of the details of the investigation, often incurring the duty of remaining up an entire night or working far into the small hours of the morning. Supervising the widely spread police net, Staff-Sergeant Anderson has had his finger on all the multiple duties of his men besides carefully watching the procedure of the case investigations in other centres. A tremendous share of the R. C. M. P. work has devolved upon Constable John T. Townsend and his chief paid tribute to him and his fellow officers in announcing the part the force has played in the case.

Praises Constable "They have devoted themselves unstintingly to their jobs," he said. "I cannot commend them too highly. I believe that Constable Townsend has done an especially good job."

Both department heads-Inspector Morphet and Staff Sergeant Anderson -were lavish in their tribute to the United States authorities.

"It was the most encouraging example we have ever had of international co-operation," Mr. Morphet sald in speaking of the parts played by U. S. officers. He mentioned United States customs supervising agent Charles Wyatt, U. S. Secret Service chief George Boos, Captain Joseph O'Rourke of the U. S. customs border patrol and their staffs. In the work on the Canadian side he spoke of the co-operation given by collector of customs Thomas Clark in Windsor and Inspector William McKee, special investigator of the F.EC.B. in Toronto.

Names Officers To the entire staff of R.C.M.P. officers here, he paid sincere tribute,naming: Constables C. A. Lazelle, Walton Routledge, J. M. Gallinger, D. C. McCannell, Corporal R. L. Woodhouse, his own enforcement inspector George McGonigal and Corporal W. E. L. McElhone, attached to the F. E. C. B. in Toronto, He also had a word for the girls who have worked nights and Sundays preparing the necessary documents in connection with the case. Two of those he especially mentioned are Mrs. Margaret Campbell and Miss Winifred Hubbard.

The men rounded up, with two exceptions, have no known criminal records, but all have formerly been connected in some way with mining and are familiar with the process of high-grading. Matijevich faced a charge of unlawfully wounding another man in February 1940, but the case was dismissed for lack of evidence. Bijlich, according to police, has served two years for high-grading.

The crime is as old as mining itself.Ever since man has dug in the ground for precious minerals, the temptation to get some of the easy wealth for himself has been present. The episode on the Windsor border is the end of a long trail that leads back to the mines of the north country.

Big Profit in Racket The immense profit in the racket is what causes an ever-increasing number of men who labor in the mines to take the chance of sneaking out a spare piece of ore. It must be an especially rare bit or it isn't worth the risk, but many such pieces are found in Ontario's rich gold country.

While following his ordinary job, a miner will suddenly come upon a chunk of ore that has the unmistakable signs of gold in large quantities. Despite all the precautions taken for years by mining companies, high grade ore continues to get out. This is difficult to understand when it is explain-ed that men working in shafts where the vein is believed to be rich, must undress before entering the mine and put on other clothes from the skin out. When they come off duty, these are removed and the street clothes donned again. Yet the $3,000,000 annually lost is a conservative estimate, according to mining men.

Once smuggled out of the mine, the gold is passed to a crude smelter. This agent pays probably $5 to $8 an ounce for what he believes there is of pure gold in the ore. He then takes it to a secret crucible somewhere - an ordinary Quebec heater has been known to serve - and with a few crude bits of equipment, renders it down to a molten state. Tossing in a handful of flux he is able to separate the gold from the unwanted ore and the whole is allowed to cool off. Then it is chipped from the crucible.

After this, it must be further refined in another crucible and chipped out. This is what is known as a button, one of which was found here weighing 76 ounces. This is sold to a runner who takes the responsibility of getting it to a buyer in the United States where the price is $35 an ounce, U.S. funds or $38.50 in Canadian funds. It is generally handled in lots up to 300 ounces. It is difficult to dispose of it in Canada because of the stricter supervision exercised over refiners. --- Image Caption

Officers Responsible for Arrests and Those Accused in Gold Case An international police trap, that clicked as smoothly as a well-rehearsed movie, has broken up what is believed to have been the beginning of a powerful gang of high-grade gold smugglers. More than $4.000 worth of the precious metal has been recovered and is being held as evidence. Four members of the gang are shown in the pictures on the upper right and in the group below. On the upper left, Foreign Exchange Control Board and RCMP officers are shown with the seized gold, part of one of the shipments. Left to right in the group on the upper left are: Inspector W. M. Morphet, of the Windsor office of the FEC.B: Constable J. T. Townsend, of the Windsor Detachment of the RCMP: Inspector George McGonigal, of the FECB; and Constable W. W. Routledge, of the RCMP. On the upper right is Marko Lekich of Windsor. who was arrested at the Windsor side of the tunnel with $3,000 worth of the gold in his possession. Below, left to right. are: George Birush of Windsor. Sam Matijevich of Hamilton, and Michael "Big Mike" Bijlich of Windsor, all members of the gang and former residents of Northern Ontario, from where the gold is believed to have come.

#windsor #detroit #gold smuggling #high grading #high graders #stolen ore #stealing from the company #robbing hoods #resource capitalism #resource extraction #northern ontario #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #police raid #undercover cops #customs officials #royal canadian mounted police #canada during world war 2

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garbagefarm · 4 months ago

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Garbage Farm #56

2024-07-06, session #56 of Garbage Farm! Spanning Summer 4 through Summer 11 of Year 5!

cast:

me ( @mothmute )

E.B. ( @blueherin )

Kimi ( @2kimi2furious )

Highlights include, but are not limited to the following:

Summer 4:

I "took care of" the ducks, by which I mean that I ignored them

it's keg day!

It's summer. That means the lake is full of Sturgeon.

Kimi inquires about her lava eel; I remind her it's on loan until the fish pond is established.

Finally got the cave jelly! Time to smoke some fish!

(Kimi spent the day decorating, and took care of the animals that deserve it)

(E.B. went around reacquainting herself with the farm)

Summer 5:

Eels request fire quartz. Seems fine.

Every once in a while, Kimi sees the animal names and remembers that the internet is lucky to have us.

Smoked bullhead for the raccoon! ... the eligible bachelor raccoon. He gave us a handful of seeds for our trouble, but, helping him was its own reward.

Mr. Qi wants some prismatic shards, so I go digging around for some in the skulls and find a couple.

I meet the mummy eradication goal. Suck it, mummies!

Summer 6:

Mail pizza, classic.

More skulls today, but no shards :(

Kimi is still decorating, unhappy with "the red study"

RIP me, 2 AM at the foot of my bed. Make sure Elliott gets my garbage can lid to remember me by.

Summer 7:

Sturgeonquest Y5 complete!

Kimi gets done decorating just in time to miss tending the animals, oops.

George says, and I quote: "I need Grape for a calzone I'm making." What the fuck, George.

Elliott witnesses how the garbage sausage is made as I make the rounds through town.

trading some precious minerals in the desert, nothing to see here!

RIP me again, oops!!

Summer 8:

Mr. Qi wants fresh food. By which he definitely means: over sixteen-hundred baguettes.

Got the prismatic shards!

I've reached a new level of understanding......

Kimi is #blessed with both pets

(Apparently, Kimi went to the desert? and E.B. worked on her house?)

Summer 9:

Bloob day! ... I keep typing that as "blood day", I'm sure that's fine. anyway it's also jam day. Nothing untowards about these jars of viscous liquid, don't worry about it.

Special order for 100 melons. I guess someone's making shower gel.

Qi gets his stupid gems and his stupid bread.

Kimi meets a wretched little joja goblin offering to falsify perfection documents.

Foraging mastery is mine!! One more to go!

#blessed

Summer 10:

Elliott tells me he was going to get some ink from his cabin—does he write by hand?? typewriter???—before remembering that the luau is tomorrow, and that he'll get it while we're down there.

E.B., having volunteered to take care of the melons, reinstates the Chaos Field of old.

Having finally made the preserves jars to finish up the Jam Shack, I turn my attention to kegs ... only to realize that we're out of oak resin?? welp, guess I gotta figure out the new tapping setup first!

it's late, so I'm gonna skip keg day 'til after the Luau

... E.B. has disconnected???

Summer 11?:

It's the luau!

We were planning to stop after the luau, but E.B.'s disconnection put an early stop to that.

(It's my fault, I jinxed it by thinking earlier about how we hadn't had any technical difficulties getting started, silly me)

TO-DO:

It's the frickin' Luau!

Melons!

I'm still not 100% happy with the storage situation, but I don't know what to do with it yet

One mastery to go!!!

Need to figure out what I want for a tree-tapping setup, and I need radioactive bars for the heavy tappers

More kegs (needs oak resin), more crystalariums (need gold and iridium)

We've got a couple golden animal crackers, we should apply those somewhere.

Had a couple days there where I didn't know what to do with myself; re-consult The List of Long-Term Projects......

#stardew valley #garbage farm

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year ago

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Drywilliam Lake, BC

The Omineca Country, also called the Omineca District or the Omineca, is a historical geographic region of the Northern Interior of British Columbia, roughly defined by the basin of the Omineca River but including areas to the south which allowed access to the region during the Omineca Gold Rush of the 1860s. The term Omineca District also refers to the Omineca Mining District which referred to the same area but was a government administrative division. Today the name loosely refers to the region northwest of Prince George and north of Hwy 16 (the Yellowhead Highway) and occurs in the names of such entities as electoral districts, e.g. Prince George-Omineca.

Source: Wikipedia

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regard-luxury · 1 year ago

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British Columbia Chamber Of Commerce

few individuals reside north of Prince George and Prince Rupert. British Columbia’s reliance on hydroelectricity stems from its steep and rugged landforms and ample precipitation, which together produce monumental seasonal runoffs in quite a few rivers and huge quantities of potential hydroelectric energy. Hydroelectric energy princeton was first produced on the shut of the nineteenth century from small rivers in the southwest for city customers in Victoria and Vancouver. The largest single energy site in the southwest of the province previous to 1940 was developed on Bridge River, just east

The remaining population is dispersed across the southern half of the province, mainly occupying the north-south valleys or resource-based settlements alongside the principle transportation lines. The only main farming populations live in the villager motel Okanagan Valley and dispersed alongside the freeway between Kamloops and Prince George. These linear population clusters are separated from one another by unoccupied mountain ranges. With the exception of an city and agricultural cluster within the Peace River area of the northeast,

campaigns. Through the Forest Reserve Act (1994) the provincial authorities is making an attempt to prevent comparable future confrontations by securing a industrial forest land base. In 2007 the government announced the Coastal Forest Action Plan, geared bronze sculpture canada toward enhancing the sector’s competitiveness and encouraging a shift to harvesting second-growth trees. In the 19th century BC’s pure sources supplied markets elsewhere in Anglo-America or in East Asia, or Europe.

Employees are provided aggressive compensation and benefits; ongoing learning and growth; an environment that helps health and wellness. BCI seeks funding opportunities around the world and throughout a spread of asset courses that convert savings into productive capital. Our funding returns play a big function in helping our institutional shoppers build a financially secure future for their british columbia beneficiaries. The BC Chamber of Commerce is the largest business association in British Columbia, representing 100 chambers of commerce and boards of commerce, and 36,000 companies of each size, and from each sector and region of the province. Funds generated by lottery, casinos, and sports activities betting go back to the Province to help support healthcare, schooling, and neighborhood programs all across B.C.

permanent European settlement came with the development of the fur commerce within the early nineteenth century. A flurry of exercise adopted the discovery of gold on the lower kamloops british columbia and center Fraser River (see Fraser River Gold Rush), leading to an inland system of supply and transportation along the Fraser River to the Cariboo Mountains.

Other steel mines across the Interior Plateau from close to Williams Lake to Babine Lake within the northwest have produced intermittently. Interior logs and completed forest products are all moved by street or rail and therefore all forestry-based settlements are positioned on the primary railways or highways. Unlike eastern mills, the pulp and paper mills of BC grew to become integrated into current sawmill operations and acquired a lot of their wooden fibre raw materials from product residue, such as sawdust and chips from adjoining lumber mills. The slender benches and terraces above Lake Okanagan are one of Canada's three major fruit-growing regions and an essential grape-growing area.

British Columbia’s historic websites include Fort Langley, the first fur-trading publish within the Lower Fraser Valley, Barkerville, and Fort Steele. The provincial authorities also has quite a few historical indicators at scenic pull-off sites along all main kamloops highways. The BC authorities gives monetary assistance to arts and cultural activity through the British Columbia Arts Council, an arms-length group created in 1995. After the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Games in Vancouver the provincial government also

century, BC is one of Canada's most affluent and fastest-growing provinces. The earlier a part of the province's historical past was marred byracism, particularly the anti-Asiatic riots of 1907 and theKomagata Maruincident of 1914. Stirred up by politicians of all events, fears have been rampant that British Columbia's future as a "white province" was threatened. Kamloops is a metropolis princeton museum of round 90,000 folks situated within the central Interior, round 350 km northeast of Vancouver. The properties on evacuation order or alert because of the Ross Moore Lake fire are in a rural area south of Kamloops.

of the Coast Mountains. The southwestern energy sources have been sufficient for industrial and residential markets within the Georgia Strait area till the Sixties. The main enlargement of the forest industry came, nevertheless, after the First World War when the Panama Canal opened and gave access to markets around the north Atlantic area wolf sculptures. Since entry to capital and pure sources for export was extra necessary than ownership of farmland, BC attracted a special kind of settler from those that settled on the land on the Prairies and across japanese Canada. Europeans arrived on the northwest coast a lot later than they did other areas of the continent.

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reareaotaku · 2 years ago

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Masterlist I

Updated: September 13, 2023 [Completed] !Masterlist II Here!

Bnha

A Beautiful Tail Dead Man Running Pt1, Pt2, Pt3 What It's Like To Be A Dad Hate Kind of Love Yandere Shoto Todoroki Headcanons Trying to Breakup [Deku, Bakugou, Shoto] Man-Eating Bird Male! Toga

Voltron

I Don't Hate You

Swat Kats

A Pretty Kat Chance Furlong Headcanons

SVTFOE

A Sick Love

Sailor Moon

Escape The Squad

Kim Possible

Maybe We Need A Break

Hansel & Gretel

A Look into the Dark Fairy Tales Pt1, Pt2, Pt3

Lego Ninjago

The Green/Gold Ninja

Scooby Doo

Yandere Daphne Blake Yandere Scooby Doo

Own Characters

Are You The Villain Harry the Lawyer Priest Son Yandere Loser

Thunder Cats

You're a Prince? Fuck-

Charlie Brown

What an Annoyance Aged Up! Schroeder [Peanuts] Headcanons

Monster High

Yandere! Porter "Paintergeist" Geiss Headcanons Yandere! Cleo De Nile

Euphoria

Yandere! Nate Jacobs

Red Shoes & The Seven Dwarfs

Yandere! Prince Merlin Headcanons

Ben 10

Keep My Girlfriend's Name Out Of Your Mouth

Invincible

Yandere! Mark Grayson [Invincible] Headcanons

Big Mouth/Human Resources

Yandere! Pete Headcanons Loving You So [Connie]

Skip Beat

Yandere! Ren Tsuruga Headcanons

Lolirock

Yandere! Lolirock Headcanons

Metal Family

I'm Not a Stalker!

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Yandere Aang Headcanons

Miraculous Ladybug

Chloe x Reader x Mari

Percy Jackson

Yandere! Percy Jackson Headcanons

Twilight

Yandere! Edward Cullen Headcanons Yandere! Jacob Black Headcanons

Free! Swim Club

Yandere! Haruka Nanase Headcanons Yandere! Nagisa Hazuki Headcanons Makoto Tachibana Headcanons

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Yandere Sabrina Headcanons

Assassination Classroom

Yandere Karma Headcanons

My Life As A Teenage Robot

My Neighbor was a Robot

Phineas and Ferb

Ferb Fletcher Headcanons

The Originals/Vampire Diaries

Yandere! Klaus Mikaelson Headcanons Yandere Klaus Courting Yandere Elijah Mikaelson Headcanons Yandere! Damon Salvatore Headcanons

Shadows of Rose

My Only Friend [Drabble]

Welcome Home [COMPLETE/FINISHED]

You are Mine [Drabble] [Wally] Lovey Dovey Darling [Wally]

Bob's Burgers

Being a Belcher Calvin Fischoeder Headcanons

Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Rodrick Heffley

Futurama

Yandere! Philip J Fry

Megamind

Yandere Metro Man

There's Someone in your House

Yandere! Zach Sandford Headcanons Sneaking Off with Zach

Barbie

Why Don't You Love Me? Yandere Ken! Headcanons I Love You Like a Doll [NSFW] Pleasurable Sin [NSFW] Red Faced Loser I'll Never Stop Loving You Don't Run from my Love

Clone High

Yandere! Joan of Arc Headcanons JFK Headcanons

Sabrina the Teenage Witch [1996]

Harvey Kinkle Headcanons

Corpse Bride

Yandere! Victor Van Dort Headcanons

Fairytales

Yandere! Male Cinderella Yandere! Peter Pan

Merlin BBC

Yandere! Merlin Headcanons

ICarly

Childhood Crush [Fred Headcanons]

Ben Denbrough Headcanons Fear and Anxiety [Eddie]

Scream

Yandere! Billy Loomis Headcanons Call Me, Baby [Yandere! Billy Loomis] Lively Party Bloody Hands

SVU

Detective Chester Lake Headcanons Dr. George Huang Headcanons Rafael Barba Headcanons Sonny Carisi Headcanons

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lovetorn · 4 years ago

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nightmare dressed like a daydream [dream]

Prince!Dream x Fem!Assassin!Reader

Summary: Y/n is an assassin, moving from kingdom to kingdom to eliminate targets. That’s until she meets Clay, the prince of Dreland, who takes a liking to her unbeknownst of her true intentions.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.”

Word Count: 10.6k (o_O)

Warnings: a lot of death & blood (murder, heart failure), weapons (knives), swearing, toxic relationship, unrequited love :(, mentions of abuse, parental issues — i think that’s all, but if you see anything, lmk!! it’s kinda cringe i use ‘clay’ so like pls ignore it sdfghjkgjh

A/N: this is the fic i’m most proud of :’). there may be a few plot holes and filler paragraphs btw lol. if you have any questions about this fic, shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain, discuss etc. anything you have relating to it! yayyy! enjoy!

She isn’t meant to be here. As a matter of fact, she isn’t supposed to be alive at all. After her last job, Y/n found herself in trouble with the wrong people. She had managed to escape from the small village she was in and find new clients in lands far away—which brought her here, tonight, in the kingdom of Dreland, at a Masquerade in the King’s castle.

She’s dressed in her best skirts and bodice, perfectly fit for the party and makes her blend in seamlessly. She doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention considering her true intentions of being here.

She walks along the edge of the ballroom, her skirts trailing behind her slightly, and the handle of her mask in her hand. Her movements are sharp and calculated but seem elegant to onlookers. Nobody suspects a thing.

Soon, she’s moving into the middle of the floor and being surrounded by older men who extend their hands to ask for a dance. Y/n shakes her head and declines politely; she doesn’t need to cause a scene.

There’s a stage on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sit in their grand thrones, and Y/n observes their actions, watching around them for one person in particular. She sees a young man exit the curtains with a platter. He wears an apron with a white fabric strip around his hair and holds the tray with delicacy. Y/n snarls when she realises he’s not the right one.

She inches closer to the stage, going to adjust her mask and purposefully dropping it. She watches as the object clatters on the floor and sighs exaggeratedly, waiting for someone to assist her. As planned, a pair of shiny black shoes arrive beside her mask, and the person leans down to grasp it from the polished timber.

“I think you dropped this, Ma’am.”

Their eyes meet—or at least she thinks they do; the badly drawn smile on his mask is distracting and incredibly unsettling for an event such as this one. Y/n knows who he is though, even behind the mask. He is her target.

“The Prince?” Y/n exclaimed in bewilderment. “Mr Wilbur, Sir, do you know how hard that’ll be?”

The older man rolls his eyes before he glares into hers. “I was told you were the best in the business. Do you want the 50 gold or not?” Y/n nods.

“Good. Now, I give you three weeks to complete this, or you get nothing but excruciating death.”

The tall man peers down at her. His head is tilting to the side as he takes in her appearance. “Who are you?”

Y/n was waiting for this question. She simply laughs and takes her mask from his grasp. “I was invited by a friend of mine. She seems to have disappeared since I’ve been over here, though.”

Her disappointment of an excuse has the man nodding—he’s taken the bait. “Interesting.”

Y/n smiles awkwardly, the atmosphere of the room shifting slightly. She hates situations like this.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, and Y/n’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me for my informality.”

Y/n shakes her head, giggling lightly as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the exit. He’d usually never stray far from events such as this, but seeing a girl his age and ready for adventure changes his attitude.

Sneaking out past the guards, who pay no mind to two people in masks at a Masquerade, the pair step into the fresh air outside.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asks, already knowing his answer.

“Uh—Clay?” His response sounds more of a question than an answer, which makes Y/n cock her head.

“Why do you make your reply sound like that?”

“Sorry,” He laughs. “Most people call me Dream. I’m the Prince of Dreland.”

False realisation crosses Y/n’s face as she facepalms. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, your highness.”

Dream shakes his head vigorously. “No! No need for formalities, truly. I’m wonderful with being normal for once.”

He hesitates before unclasping his mask from behind his head. The ceramic object falls slightly before he catches it and then he’s looking at Y/n properly.

Dream’s hair fluffs up lightly before he runs his hand through it to tame it. Y/n holds her mask in her hand as she watches him fix his appearance.

“Now that I’ve told you mine, what’s yours?”

Y/n is wary of her answer. On the one hand, she could lie, and on the other, she remembers that he’ll most likely be dead soon, so she shouldn’t lie.

“Y/n.”

Dream smiles at her. “Pretty.” Y/n thanks him and then they stand silently next to each other, the guard near the front door inching closer.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Dream asks quietly. Y/n smirks whilst nodding—she didn’t think she’d be finished the job this quickly.

Dream throws a glance back at the guard before he leads her towards the garden. The moon makes it hard to see the path, but they get there eventually. There’s no talking as they walk, the pair far too busy taking in the beauty of the moonlit garden.

The dirt beds are filled with rose and sunflower bushes, the scent creating a solacing hug around Y/n as she goes to sit next to Dream on a bench. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to gloss her body.

She usually isn’t nervous about committing murder, but Dream makes her uneasy. The way that his eyes glance at her worryingly and the harsh tension in his shoulders tells Y/n that Dream’s definitely had this happen before. Y/n bites the inside of her lip; she’d have to be very cunning to gain his trust.

The garden in itself provides her with a sense of comfort. It reminds her of her flower bed at home.

“So, why do they call you Dream?” Y/n asks. Her attempt at trying to defuse the awkwardness works as Dream twists his lips in thought.

“Uh—well, my mother used to say I was her ‘miracle’ and then believed the word was overused and cliche, so she came up with Dream; and it stuck—clearly.”

Y/n nods, a soft smile gracing her face as she turns to him. “Well, I think that’s lovely.”

Dream blushes, although it’s hard to see through the night. “Really?”

“Yeah! That’s beautiful.”

The pair sit in silence, revelling in the moonlight before Dream speaks up again. “Would you like to see the lake?”

Y/n contemplates before she replies. “Sure.”

She had no idea why he’s taking her there, but it’s a sign that she’s gaining his trust.

—

“You don’t know how to skip rocks?”

Dream shakes his head at Y/n, who sits with her jaw open. “How?”

He then shrugs, toying with a small pebble in his palm. “Teach me?”

Y/n nods and takes the rock from him before standing and shuffling towards the lake. She gets into position, her arm bent at an angle beside her body.

She takes a glance back at Dream to make sure he’s watching, which he is. “All you need to do is put your arm back like this, and then sweep it forwards and let go of the rock. Make sure you do it quickly, or it won’t work.”

Y/n exhales and throws her arm, the rock hopping along the glassy water before it plops into the depths.

She spins around with a smile on her face. Dream squints at her; he seems to be analysing her actions. He sighs and plucks a rock from the ground, standing and walking over to Y/n.

“Ready?” She asks. Dream nods while getting into the same stance Y/n was in only 20 seconds ago.

He looks down at the pebble for a moment and then throws it as Y/n said. Dream watches as the rock skips across the pond, creating ripples in the smooth water.

Dream leaps around, his eyes wide. “I did it!”

Y/n can’t help but laugh at him, the pure joy he feels influences her too. “You did!”

Dream sighs heavily and goes back to where they were sitting. He flips back onto the ground, avoiding the sharp rocks protruding the sparse grass. He laughs out loud again, who knew something as trivial as rock skipping could make him feel so alive.

“You’re cute; you know that?” The sudden compliment elicits a blush and a groan from Dream as Y/n nears closer. She smiles down at him. “There must be a lot of things you haven’t tried.”

The statement makes Dream’s heart drop. It’s true, there are many things he hasn’t done. “Yes…”

Y/n’s heart spasms in her chest. Poor guy.

“Ok. Well, I’ll make it my mission to make sure you get them all done before your time comes.”

Dream looks at her. There’s an adoration that swims around in them that inclines Y/n to feel uneasy again. “You mean that?”

The girl nods whilst she goes to lay next to him. “Everybody deserves happiness before they die.”

Dream scrunches his nose up, going to disagree before Y/n interrupts. She doesn’t know why she has the sudden urge to say such a thing, but her chest aches when she looks at him.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Dream. I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I feel so uneasy around you.”

This catches Dream by surprise. He tilts his head at Y/n, who covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry–“

“No need to apologise, Y/n. You make me uneasy too, I guess.”

She peers at him between her fingers and then lowers her hands. Y/n lets out a small laugh at his red cheeks and imagines a flush creeping across hers too.

“Uneasy in what sense, may I ask?” Dream’s innocent tone makes Y/n’s ears blush.

“In the sense that you're unpredictable, in a good way. I’m always up for an adventure.” Her description is slightly confusing, but Dream understands.

Above them, the oak trees rustle lightly in the cool breeze, and tiny waves begin to ripple onto the sand meters in front of their feet. The sound of water rushing forwards and then pulling back calms the rapid beating of their hearts.

“I guess I could say the same for you, Y/n.”

“Prince Clay, I have breakfast and a message for you.”

At the sound of his assistant at his bedroom door, Dream groans from his place in his bed. “What time is it?”

“10 am! Get up! I have a message for you if you didn't hear me the first time!” George teases, holding the paper between his fingers; he’s eager to open the letter.

“George!” Dream calls, grabbing his pillow from beside him and shoving his face into it.

“Clay!”

Dream sighs loudly and throws his heavy duvets off of his body, stalking towards the door to unlock it. He swings the door open to see George with a scroll of parchment and a tray with a lid in his hands. Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of breakfast, but George shakes his head. “I have to read your message first.”

Dream rolls his eyes and tells George to hurry up as he struggles to unravel it.

“Ok! Calm down. Uh—it’s from someone named Y/n? Do you know—” George is rudely interrupted when Dream freezes, then smiles. “Yes!”

“Oh, well, she asks to meet you at 9 pm at the place where rocks hop—what does that mean?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, but Dream sighs, and this time it’s in contentment and not in annoyance.

“Perfect! Thank you, Georgie. Guess I’ll see you later.” Dream snatches the tray from his assistant with his free hand, the other grabbing the piece of paper. George goes to interject before Dream steps to the side and slams the door in his face.

George stands in bewilderment behind the door. His heart aches slightly, and he’s not sure what from—maybe it’s the way Dream discarded him or because of the letter. But he certainly knows Dream has never mentioned anybody called Y/n before.

Maybe they’re just friends? Perhaps they only met last night at the Masquerade?

George scolds himself for his ridiculous thoughts and spins on his heel, heading for his own room. He hesitates before he leaves, hearing Dream let out a shout of excitement. At the sound, George pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and exhales; sadly, the situation brings tears to his dark eyes.

They’re probably just friends.

—

Dream sits anxiously on his bed, his head in his palm as he watches the clock tick. 8:39 pm. 8:40 pm. 8:41 pm.

His heart skips a beat as it reaches the time to leave. Dream leaps from his spot on the bed and goes towards his mirror on the other side of the room. His hands come down to straighten out his dark waistcoat before they move to his hair. He curls his lip up at the sight of his unruly locks and sighs, choosing to ruffle it up slightly rather than putting gel in it.

Taking in his appearance, Dream nods to himself. If he goes towards the Astronomy Tower and then loops towards the lake, he’ll arrive at precisely 8:58 pm; perfect timing.

The night is clear, and the stars look amazing from where Y/n sits on the grass next to the lake. She leans back on her elbows as she takes in the view. It’s whimsical.

Thoughts of murder and pursuit place a dark cloud over the magical evening. Y/n bites her lip and stares at the rippling water in front of her. The lake looks ominous enough to hide a body in or cover up a vast amount of blood, and the dense foliage across the lake is enough to conceal a weapon in. However, Dream is the Prince, and there is no doubt that everybody in the kingdom would be looking high and low for him if he were to go missing.

Y/n’s plans go down the drain. It shouldn't be this hard! Wilbur Soot trusted her to do this, and if she doesn’t go through with it, she is guaranteed death.

She groans loudly, bringing her hands up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes. Y/n could cry at the idea of failing and being a disappointment, even to people she doesn’t even know.

The rustling of the bushes behind her indicates Dream has arrived, but she doesn't move from her position. Instead, she chooses to gain his sympathy and find a way to manipulate him to make it easier to go through with the assassination.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Dream rushes towards her, dropping beside her on the grass. Y/n sniffs and shakes her head. “What happened?”

Dream places his hand on her back, softly. The act in itself makes Y/n jump; she’s not used to physical contact.

“Sorry.” He apologises when he sees her startled, deciding to move his hand away and place it back into his lap.

“No, you’re fine,” Y/n lets out a teary laugh. “I—erm, I just found out that my father divorced my mother, and he took the farm and cottage away from her.”

Her hands fall to her lap hopelessly, and Dream’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

The girl shakes her head. The pair sit in the dark, the moon being the only thing illuminating their faces. Y/n thinks she’s hit a dead-end until Dream sighs and continues speaking.

“I can actually relate if it makes you feel better,” This makes Y/n’s ears perk up. “My father has been going to L’Manberg on ‘business trips’, but I know why he’s really leaving.”

Gotcha.

“Clay, I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t reply and reaches over to grasp Y/n’s hand. Dream wears a crestfallen expression, his eyes glassy as he looks out over the water. Y/n feels a pang in her heart at the sight of the upset man.

“I used to think that they had a good relationship,” Dream starts. Y/n doesn’t have the will to hear his perspective on it, afraid that she’ll actually feel bad for him and lose any motivation to kill him. “Until I went for a walk one night through the halls in the castle. I heard voices in my parents’ room and wanted to say ‘goodnight’, but before I could, I heard glass smashing and terrible cries.

“I was only a child, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t want to believe it at first because why would the King and Queen do such horrible things to each other? But as I got older, I realised that they had fallen out of love and are only faking it for the kingdom.”

“Clay—”

“They don’t know that I know all of this; they think I’m as clueless as I was when I was nine. But I’m twenty-one now, and I know everything.”

Y/n screws her lips up, her throat burning with emotion. Why is she feeling like this?

“I don’t know what to say.” And it’s true. Y/n remains speechless as she listens to Dream tell her about his parents.

“Nothing. I just needed someone to know.” Dream is blunt with his words and releases Y/n’s hand. She feels awful for not being able to help him in the way he needs, but she’s not here to be his therapist—she’s here to murder him.

“Hey, how about we lighten the mood with some rock skipping?” And that’s just enough for Dream.

—

“Where are you staying?” Dream asks. Y/n is caught off guard by the question but tells him her orchestrated answer.

“In the castle, actually.”

Dream turns to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Really?” Y/n nods.

In an attempt to change the subject, Y/n picks up Dream’s hand from his lap. “Enough about me. Tell me what your favourite food is.”

Dream gives her a confused look before replying. “Vanilla cake.”

Y/n hums and fiddles with his fingers. “Interesting.”

Dream throws his head back to gaze at the moon above them. He is comfortably content at this moment with Y/n, despite only knowing her for a day. His eyes widen before he scrabbles to stand hastily. “I gotta go! You want to walk back together?”

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.” Y/n smiles at him and Dream nods. It is reaching midnight and Dream knows he’ll be in trouble for being out so late.

After he bids goodbye to Y/n, Dream begins his journey home. He hears wolves howling from behind the walls that surround the castle and goosebumps rise on his skin. It’s expectantly silent for the time of night, the only sound being animals as they scavenge.

Dream’s footsteps are heavy on the pathway back to the castle, and his heart rate picks up at the sound of trees rustling. With his head on a swivel, Dream spins around to face the bush. He sucks his lips between his teeth and continues, checking back every once in a while, to make sure he isn’t being followed.

He sees the grand entrance of the castle and his feet quicken. There’s a sudden whoosh behind him and then a breeze. A twig snaps in the distance and instead of running, he slows down. Dream forces himself to calm down—he’s only scaring himself.

“Dream~” A voice sings into the wind. The tune has Dream sprinting to the doors, his heart beating out of his chest. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard.

The wooden doors are heavy as he pushes them open before he stumbles inside. Dream is quick to close them once more, locking them in the process. He’s safe now, right?

A sliver of white ripped fabric floats in the wind on a spike outside of his window. Dream eyes it suspiciously, that wasn’t there last night.

He stretches his arms out, his joints cracking as his stare remains trained on the material. An uneasy feeling rises in his chest before his bedroom door opens suddenly.

“Clay~” His assistant, George, sings. He holds a tray in his hands and a beaming smile on his face. “Breakfast!”

“Hi.” At Dream’s wavering voice, George places the tray on the table and stalks over to the Prince.

“What’s wrong?” He sits on Dream’s bed and tries to meet his gaze.

“Somebody’s after me, George,” Dream whispers, his fearful eyes are staring into George’s.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Well, we have to inform the King and Queen at once, Clay!”

Dream shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine; besides, I’m inside the castle for most of the day anyways. There’s no way anybody like that could get in.”

George goes to interject but knows better than to do so. He trusts Dream, more than anyone else; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Right?

“Ok… but if anything happens, you tell me. Got it?” George says his voice stern. Dream hasn’t heard this tone since he attempted to run from the castle last year after an argument with his parents. George had been scared out of mind when his best friend—the prince—was reported missing.

“Has this got anything to do with Y/n, perhaps?” Dream is bewildered that George would say such a thing. “No! I trust Y/n. She could never do such a thing.”

George nods timidly and apologises before he stands. “Breakfast is on your desk. I’ll be back later to collect the plates.”

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he watches George sulk. Why does Y/n worry him so much?

—

Dream walks in the moonlight along the high walls that surround the castle. If anybody knew he was out at this hour, he’d be in so much trouble. It wasn’t that his parents didn’t trust him; it was everybody else.

When he was younger, a groundskeeper had led him outside the gates with the intent to sell him off. The experience had left Dream untrusting to many, and although he was much older now, much more robust, he had a hard time getting to know people.

An owl hoots from the tree above him and the moon hangs behind its body, casting a shadow onto the dirt beneath. The silhouette is ghostly, and the sight makes the creature look much more sinister than it is.

Dream stops in his place and watches as the owl hops along the thick branch, the rustling of the leaves distracting him for a moment. The bird then pauses and turns to look at him. Dream smiles softly and whispers, “Hi, little owl.”

Much to his surprise, the owl actually hoots back. The sound makes Dream’s eyes widen as he continues to speak quietly to the bird.

A twig snapping behind him causes the owl to flap its wings and shoot off into the night, making Dream frown. He sighs before turning around with the intent of going back to the castle. He’s been out for long enough anyway.

His mind drifts to Y/n. He wonders where she is, his heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of her. It is ridiculous really, how quickly he’s fallen for a girl he only met a few weeks ago. But he knows she’s different from the princesses his family has tried to set him up with. Y/n is different in the sense that she actually makes him nervous—lovestruck, even.

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches Dream’s attention, and then he turns to his right to face the noise.

“Dream.” A voice says.

Dream freezes. His heart picks up speed as he’s met with a person, a mask covering their face. His hands begin to shake as the person draws closer.

As they approach him, Dream can tell it’s a woman. As sexist as it is, he knows he could take her if they were to engage in a fight. Dream scolds himself at the thought, and his frightened expression goes slack.

“Who are you?” He exclaims, pushing his hair from his eyes to get a better look.

“I’m here on orders from someone to kill you.”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. He knew it.

“I know.”

The girl stops in her place. “How?”

“I could feel it,” Dream gulps. “It’s happened before.”

The girl nods and lifts her arm. Dream squints into the darkness to see what she is doing before he’s being pushed backwards. He stumbles slightly before he regains balance and begins running.

“Dream~” The girl sings, her voice slightly distorted. Dream hears her loud and clear as he leaps over tree roots and dirt mounds.

“Leave me alone!”

She laughs and picks up speed behind him. Dream is shocked by how quickly she’s gaining on him, but he persists, nonetheless. A crooked smirk spreads across his cheeks as he looks back at her.

“I can’t do that.”

Dream’s lungs and throat burn as he draws in breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and his knees begin to buckle as he prepares his arms to catch him when he falls. He doesn’t run much. But despite the pain, a sly grin continues to play on his lips.

Dream’s feet give way below him, and then he’s tumbling onto the freshly mown grass. He’s run a long way, now lying in the garden rather than being in the forest. The moon sits high in the sky and shines down on him intensely.

And although he’s scared for his life, Dream can’t help but feel a little relieved. He moves to sit back on his heels as the girl comes up in front of him, a dagger drawn in her hand. It’s like a game to both of them.

“I’ve got you now, Dream,”

“It seems you do.”

The masked girl’s dagger presses firmly against his throat. The blade gleams in the moonlight, and the pressure elicits a groan from him.

Dream smiles as a drop of blood cascades down his chest. He enjoys the feeling a little more than he should, and the glint in her eye shows him that she does too. Why are her eyes so familiar?

“But I’ll spare you.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrow as he watches her pull her knife away from his neck and shove it back into the slot in her boot. “Why?”

The girl sighs, her arms relaxing by her side. “Because I—something’s telling me I should.”

She turns on her heel, looking around before she ducks into the line of trees behind them.

Dream exhales deeply, relieved—the small cut on his throat stinging as he tilts his head up to stare at the moon. He’s vulnerable in this position; on his knees and unarmed. Who would spare the prince if they had the perfect chance to kill him? What made her change her mind?

In his conversation with the moon, Dream thinks about the girl’s eyes and why they were so familiar to him—and why she spared him. He squints at the full moon, begging for answers, trying to remember where he’d seen such beauty.

His dazed smile is quickly wiped from his lips, and the realisation knocks the oxygen out of his lungs, and soon he’s gasping for air and clawing his chest—it’s Y/n.

Dream sits at the long dining table with a new plate of eggs and turkey.

“Dreamy, darling, are you going to eat?” The Queen asks, her head lolling to the side as she talks to her son.

Dream’s lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not that hungry.”

Y/n was on the verge of killing him last night.

“Oh? Are you feeling okay?”

Dream then nods, resting his cheek in his palm. His hair is messy, and his clothes remain skewed from sleeping. He usually didn’t present himself like this at breakfast.

“Yes, perfectly fine. I’m sorry for not looking presentable this morning.”

His mother sighs, her hand reaching out to grasp his free one. “That’s alright.”

Dream gives her a tight-lipped smile and squeezes her hand. He notes that her ring finger is bare but decides against saying anything.

“Where’s dad?” He asks instead. His mother stills, her face unreadable as she nods once.

“He had to leave this morning—business in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t speak and lifts his hand, picking up his fork. The action elicits a soft smile from his mother. He stabs a slice of grilled turkey and brings it to his mouth.

—

“Clay!”

At the sound of his name, Dream turns around.

It’s after breakfast and Dream stands in the corner of the ballroom gazing out of the large windows that look onto the back garden. The head cook, and one of his best friends, Nick, is approaching him. “Nick?”

His friend laughs, untying his apron from behind his back before he lays it over the end of one of the sofas. Dream steps forward to embrace Nick in a hug. “How have you been?”

Nick contemplates his answer before he responds. “Flippin’ awesome.” Dream’s jaw goes slack at the cooking pun and chuckles.

“Ha, ha. SO funny.”

The pair pull away, and Dream faces the window again. The sapphire butterflies that flutter around the apple tree outside bring him a sense of comfort as Nick comes up beside him. The pair bask in warmth from the sun, the window making it much hotter than it is.

“I’ve missed you, man. The kitchen’s been boring without you sneaking in.” Nick frowns and Dream feels his stomach drop. He takes a glance at the shorter man and sighs.

“I’m sorry, bro. George said it’s ideal for me not to sneak around at night because—”

Dream’s breath hitches in his throat, eliciting a cough. Nick shoots him a look. “Because of what?”

“Erm—uh, I guess there’s somebody after me.”

“What? Really?”

Dream nods, wiping his nose with his fist. Nick struggles to find the words to say. “You don’t need to say anything; I don’t expect you to. I just thought I should let you know.”

Nick exhales deeply, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Dream whispers. The two of them stand in silence as they watch the insects fly around in the sunlight. “Come here.”

Then Dream’s pulling Nick into another hug. This time, their embrace means something, and Dream knows it’ll be one of the last times he sees his best friend. Be safe. I love you.

A sniffle from Nick prompts Dream to push him away at arm's length, his hands resting on his shoulders. The younger man complains about how embarrassing it is seeing him cry, but Dream shakes his head in assurance. “It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so; I can’t imagine this place without you.”

Dream sits on his bed, silently. He recalls the events from last night and exhales deeply. A million questions run through his mind as he shifts positions, now choosing to lay on his back and stare at the high ceiling. His fingertips come up to brush the scabbing cut on his neck.

Why did he somewhat enjoy the blade against his neck? Why wasn’t he scared when it pierced his skin? Would he tell George? But most of all, why was Y/n after him? He trusted her–didn’t he?

A sudden knock on his bedroom door and the quiet sweep of paper against wood brings him from his screaming mind. He sits up abruptly, spotting the piece of parchment on the timber floor. Dream glances out of the window quickly and goes to snatch it from the ground.

The crinkling of paper is loud as he rushes to open it.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at noon.

Dream’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. Y/n wants to meet with him. Would she mention what happened last night? Does she know he knows it’s her? Is she planning to kill him right now?

Another knock makes him jump. But this time, it opens.

“Clay?”

“George!” Dream exclaims, pulling his assistant by his sleeve into the room, the door closing behind them.

“Uh, yes?” George is confused at Dream’s jagged movements. Dream shoves the letter into the older boy’s hands and waits for his reaction. When George doesn’t reply, Dream rolls his eyes.

“It’s from Y/n!”

“Well, you have to go.”

Dream is both shocked and relieved. “I have to go?”

George nods. He reads over the letter one last time before he gives it back to Dream. George squints when he notices his friend’s slightly pink cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?”

Dream immediately coughs in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. George keeps his eyes on him as he does so, screwing his lips up in slight irritation that somebody can make Dream flustered.

“Oh! Do you have a crush?” George teases, although it’s more of an accusation than a joke. Dream laughs, shoving him away. George chooses to ignore the tugging at his heart when he hears the Prince giggle like that.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.” Dream jokes, patting his friend on the back. But is he really joking?

“Kill you?”

Dream laughs, spinning on his heel whilst shrugging. “Kill me.”

“Did you speak to Nick this morning?” George asks, his fake smile flipping into a frown. The mood drops immediately, all laughs, and carelessness forgotten.

Dream nods. “I told him how I think somebody’s after me again. He looked pretty scared.”

“He was worried when I told him you wanted to talk to him about it.” George tilts his head and sighs.

“...It’s nearly noon. I better get going.” Dream deflects the topic, choosing to stand tall once more. He doesn’t want George to suspect anything’s wrong with Y/n, so he puts on a false façade, a smile stretching across his cheeks.

George doesn't say anything and tries to make his smile believable as he opens Dream’s bedroom door for him. “Have fun, I guess.”

The younger man practically skips out of the room, and when he is halfway down the hallway, he turns. “What was it that you needed, George? When you knocked before?”

George dismisses his question. “Not important. Now, go!”

Although, to George, it is crucial, and now he has missed his chance.

—

Dream’s boots slap the cobblestone steps as he makes his way up the tower. He peers around the corner, wary of his movements as he goes. When he reaches the top, he cautiously tiptoes to the balcony. His hand goes to trace the scab forming on his neck and forgets it when he hears her.

“Clay?” Her voice is soft, holding much more kindness than it did when she had a blade to his throat. “Y/n.”

He sees her perched on a picnic mat, a basket next to her. Dream tilts his head as he watches her stand and approaches him. Her arms wrap around his neck in a hug and then he’s hugging her back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” She laughs, pulling back slightly to admire his face. “I missed you today.” Dream gives a muffled noise of agreement into her shoulder.

Y/n steps back and squints at his neck. “What happened?” Her fingers delicately feel the wound before Dream dodges her.

“Nothing, nothing. What’s all this?”

She appears to overlook his shitty deflection and motions towards the place where she was sitting. “I made us a picnic.”

The way she smiles almost makes Dream forget who she is. He forces a smile back, his heart aching at the realisation of reality. She’ll kill him soon.

“I baked a cake for you, vanilla—you said that was your favourite, right?” Y/n’s anxious actions worry Dream as he sits down next to her. He lifts his head to look out over the land, and the view is breath-taking.

“Woah,” He breathes.

Y/n smiles brightly at him, glancing at the green hills and blue skies before she focuses on cutting a slice of cake.

“You know, I never really admired this view until I met you.” Dream confesses—and it’s true. Y/n pauses, gazing at him as he turns towards her.

“Really?”

He nods, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her. She truly is gorgeous. “You’re pretty.”

Y/n’s eyes widen, and she feels her cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you, Clay. You’re pretty too.” Her hair falls in front of her face as she looks down, and Dream feels a pang in his heart.

“Have some cake,” Y/n mumbles, handing him a napkin with the dessert placed on it. The sweet looks delectable, and Dream can’t wait to take a bite—unless…

“You know what? I’m not that hungry, actually. But the cake looks delicious. Thank you.” Y/n furrows her eyebrows, and a look of hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.”

She hurries to take it back from him, but he refuses to give it to her. “What are you doing?” She asks.

Dream motions for her to cut another piece, “I’ll only eat if you do.”

Y/n nods slowly, moving the knife to slice into the cake once more. She flips it onto another napkin and brings it towards her mouth.

“What? You think it’s poisonous?” Y/n laughs, watching as Dream becomes flustered. “No!”

His response is quick and cautious, but Y/n doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a bite of her piece of cake. Dream watches as she chews and swallows, earning a confused glance from her. Nothing happens.

“Well, I didn’t drop dead. Your turn,” She laughs, hurt still evident on her features. Dream feels guilty. He holds the cake surprisingly firmly, bringing it to his lips. His heart races as he puts it between his teeth and bites down. The cake is very sweet, and it’s good. Dream catches Y/n’s eye as he eats, giving her a nod of approval. She smiles widely and visibly relaxes.

The action calms something in Dream, too. He finishes off his cake and waits for Y/n to do the same. He sees some white frosting fall onto the bodice of her dress, the sugary mixture tumbling down onto her skirt. The girl doesn’t seem to notice as she licks the remaining icing off her fingers.

“Uh—Y/n, you got some—uh,” Dream motions to her skirt, and watches as she sighs deeply. “Awww, I just washed these.”

Dream stifles a giggle when Y/n scrunches her nose up and goes to wipe it off. As small as the action is, Dream’s heart skips a beat at her cute expression. He scolds himself for feeling such this way; she tried to kill you last night.

He eyes the knife next to the basket, sweet frosting covering the blade. The growing desire to grab it and ram it right through her chest burns in his mind, but he holds back. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, Dream is terrified of himself.

He shakes the deranged through from his head. What was that?

Dream watches as Y/n shoves the used napkin into the basket and lifts her eyes to meet his. He smiles softly, causing Y/n to cover her face with her hands. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He laughs, reaching to poke her in the ribs. Y/n yelps quietly, jolting when he shocks her side. “Stop making me flustered. It’s hardly polite.”

Dream stops, the tips of his ears reddening. He makes her nervous? “Oh, come on now.”

The rasp in his voice makes Y/n freeze. She peers at him through her fingers and sees him smirking at her. She lets out a high-pitched sound and returns her hands over her eyes. As much as Dream hates to admit it, there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Clay, I’m going to take my hands away from my eyes now, and you better not say anything suggestive.”

Dream chuckles, extending his arms out to grasp her fingers and pull them down. She doesn’t meet his gaze as he holds her hands in her lap. Birds chirp and fly past the balcony, their singing being a perfect addition to the atmosphere the pair had created.

They don’t say anything as they lean closer. Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he sees Y/n do the same.

“Prince Clay, the Queen would like to see you in the castle.”

The two of them are still at the sound of another. George stands at the top of the stairs, a scroll in his right hand. Dream rolls his eyes in annoyance, throwing Y/n an apologetic look as he releases her hands. “Thanks, George.”

“I—I’ll see you later?” Y/n whispers as she watches Dream clamber up to his full height. He nods hastily, not giving her a second look, and rushes out behind George. He feels her stare on the back of his skull but continues.

Y/n sits in silence as the clanging of the wooden door downstairs slams against the stone walls. The chirping of the birds outside dies down, and she frowns.

As much as she’s supposed to detest Dream, Y/n feels butterflies cluster in her stomach at the mere thought of him. The idea of killing him causes the butterflies to turn to spiders and makes Y/n feel sick. She can’t go through with this—not now, not ever.

—

“Dre—Clay.”

Dream freezes; his mother only uses his real name when things are serious. He nods once, prompting his mother to continue.

“Your father has yet to return to the kingdom from his trip to L’Manberg. However, plans have changed, and it seems he’ll be there longer than expected.” The Queen’s voice is steady but has undertones of utter sadness, which Dream picks up on instantly.

“Why?” He asks.

“He gave me a straight answer; business.”

Dream doesn’t say nor does anything. Instead, he remains still. His lack of response earns a reaction from his mother, however. “What is it?”

“Is it why you don’t wear your ring anymore?” Dream refuses to meet her eye, afraid he’ll upset her more than he already has with his question.

The Queen inhales sharply, glancing at her hand before she composes herself. “Yes.”

Her voice is just above a whisper, but Dream catches it. His heart clenches, and then he finally meets her watery eyes.

Dream’s hard exterior breaks as he wraps his arms around his mother. He uses his finger to usher the guards and assistants out of the room and then rests his hand on the back of her hair in an attempt to quiet her soft cries.

He tries his best to be strong for her, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

The room is far too silent for Dream’s liking, and he wishes for something to happen to break it.

And something does. The slam of the double doors makes the pair jump, Dream spinning around to see who had interrupted.

Y/n stands there, the same picnic basket in her hand. “I’m sorry for intruding!”

Dream’s mother quickly wipes under her eyes and places her usual people-pleasing smile on. “What can I do for you, darling?”

Y/n walks further into the room, glancing at Dream momentarily before opening the basket in front of the Queen.

“I brought you some berries. I was speaking to Dream earlier, and he told me you loved strawberries. So, I picked some for you, myself.” Her smile is deceiving, Dream can tell, but it’s also warming, and kind and his chest aches at the sight of it.

The Queen gasps, her hands going to take the basket from Y/n. She peers in and sees it full to the brim with the berries. “Oh my,”

Y/n’s smile grows, her eyes meeting Dream’s. Although he knows her true intentions, he’s extremely grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” His mother beams. She turns around and starts walking towards another door behind them.

Once the door closes, Y/n grins at Dream, and he smiles back. His heart twists in his chest, and his eyes burn with tears. Oh, how silly I am, he thinks.

The next time Dream sees Y/n, and she’s under the wooden bridge in the garden, her hair and undergarments drenched. The sun burns intensely down on his neck as he approaches her.

Y/n watches the lake rush under her, the odd fish jumping out and diving back into the freezing water. It’s a harsh contrast to the weather outside, swelteringly hot and humid, but Y/n doesn’t pay any mind when she contemplates going for a swim.

She jogs off the bridge and circles back around to shuffle down the steep, grass bank. Butterflies flutter majestically around her, enhancing the experience of being in an actual kingdom rather than a desert village—it's magical.

Y/n’s eyes dart around before her hands tend to her back to untie her bodice. She sucks on her bottom lip, and she does so, the process takes far too long.

Throwing the structured clothing to the grass, she then moves to her top skirt, pulling it up over her head. Her heeled boots and frilly socks are the last things to remove and then Y/n is left standing in a plain cream skirt and button-up.

She pays no attention to her surroundings as she lifts her remaining skirt and dips her toes into the icy lake, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the temperature.

From here, Y/n can see that the middle of the lake is the deepest point; the bottom is nowhere in sight through the clear water.

Y/n doesn’t think twice as she leaps into the middle, her entire body submerging under the surface. Her senses are shocked, and her throat closes at the sudden chill. Y/n claws at the water to reach the surface, and then she feels the sun on her cheeks. She takes a large breath and wipes her eyes.

“Y/n?” The girl turns towards the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Clay?” She smiles. He runs down the bank and towards the water, although he stops before he can dive in.

“What are you doing?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “Swimming.”

Dream rolls his eyes, “Obviously!”

This elicits a giggle from Y/n as she swims to the edge, her clothes drenched and her heavy makeup running down her face.

“Hi,” Y/n says as she draws closer. Dream tries fighting a smile at the sight of her in her undergarments. He feels the tips of his ears redden. “I don’t care if you see me like this, Clay.”

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his hands for her cheeks. He thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. But the rising impulse to push her head under the water and never let her up is powerful. Once his fingertips brush her cheek, his breathing becomes laboured and clenches his jaw. She tried to kill you.

Y/n notices him vacantly staring at her and waves her hand in front of his eyes. “Clay?”

Dream’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Instead, Y/n swears, she sees his green eyes darken. His hands move from her cheeks to her shoulders, and his grip tightens. Y/n’s face scrunches in uncertainty, and she tries to shift from under his secure hold. Dream’s glare turns wicked as she continues to withdraw. “Clay? Stop, you’re scaring me.”

His head cocks to the side mockingly, his arms going to push her shoulders down. Y/n losing footing on the rocks under her feet and her neck reaches the water. She claws hastily at his hands, and soon she’s gulping mouthfuls of the icy water. Dream shows no signs of stopping until the sound of her screams brings him from his empty glare. “S-Stop it-t!”

“Y/n?”

Dream blinks, and his face softens. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Y/n struggling to keep her head above the water and grips under her armpits to pull her to stand again. Dream becomes increasingly worried as he sees tears running down her cheeks instead of lake water and makeup, opening his mouth to pour out apologies.

Y/n stays silent, her eyes shooting from his gaze to the water. She is confused and scared. Questions run through her mind at a million miles per second. Why? Why, why, why? Does he know why she is actually here? Does he know her true intentions? Did he just try and drown her?

“What’s your problem?” Y/n yells, scrambling up the edge of the lake and towards her dry clothes. Dream says nothing. Why did he do that?

“I—I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Maybe it wasn’t her who had a dagger to his throat all that time ago. Perhaps she’s just a normal girl.

Y/n snarls at him, her top lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The words shock Dream back into reality. “No! No, no.”

“Yes. Now, leave me alone, Clay.” Y/n spits as she gathers her clothes and stomps back towards the castle.

Dream stays crouching next to the lake. He stares at his reflection in the water. It twists and turns into a horrible creature baring sharp teeth and dark, dark eyes. He shakes his head instantly; the reflection swirling back into himself.

What is going on?

—

The fire almost burns Y/n’s icy hands as she inches closer to the flame. With her dry clothes on, her hair is still wet, and it drips down the back of her bodice and skirts, making her even colder; Y/n regrets not drying her hair before she got dressed.

As she stares into the fire, Dream’s void expression and evil eyes eat away at her conscience, making her squeeze her eyes shut at the thought.

“You,”

The sound of a singular word makes Y/n turn around. George, Dream’s assistant, stands in front of her. His hard eyes are glaring at her as she cocks her head. “George?”

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” He spits, backing away slowly. Y/n's face shifts to one of shock, her hands shaking in at her sides.

“Kill him? I would never do such a thing! If anything, he tried to kill me half an hour ago! At the bridge!”

George scoffs, inching his hand towards the fire poker that leans against the brick fireplace next to him. “You know, you really need to work on your coyness, Y/n.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her teeth chattering as she does so. “You’re ridiculous, George. I love him despite his mistakes.”

The man lets out a grunt. “You don’t!”

Y/n steps back at his sudden aggressiveness. She sees the fire poker in his whitening knuckles and then stares at him in bewilderment. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself or me.”

A sinister laugh escapes George’s throat as he brings the sharp object up to her face, “Oh, I’m definitely going to hurt you. You’re not going anywhere near Clay, again.”

At his sentence, Y/n stills, and her concerned expression falls slack. She’s done this more times than she can count. Her cold hands intertwine in front of her stomach as a look of confusion crosses George’s face.

“Listen, I came here to do one thing, and whether or not that plan has changed is none of your business,” Y/n says her stare never wavering.

She hates to make it so vague, but she knows if he told him the truth, she’d be dead either way—whether that be by George and his fire poker, or by Wilbur Soot and his many friends that could have her head on a pitchfork at any given moment.

George narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying.”

She shrugs; Y/n knows not to show fear; it would only motivate him more.

The end of the poker is dangerously close to her face, and George sighs before he lowers it. “You love him?”

Y/n’s eyes soften, and she recoils slightly. She blinks slowly, her eyes coming to rest on her feet. Y/n hates showing emotion, choosing to spill everything in isolation rather than unveiling her vulnerability to potential threats.

George only nods and retreats, placing the poker back next to the fireplace. He hesitates before he speaks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. George drops his head and sighs, his heart shattering at the mere thought of Dream, returning her feelings.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I know one thing; I’ve never seen Clay like this before, so please don’t hurt him. I can tell he cares about you, dearly.” He refuses to meet Y/n’s eye as he turns to exit.

She becomes wary of his sudden change in mood but decides against asking him any questions as she sees the tail of his dress coat float around the corner of the doorframe.

George almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into Dream’s bedroom the next morning. The sunlight had only just begun to flood the kingdom, the clock on the wall showing 6:18 am.

“Why are you already up? Who are you?” George jokes approaching his best friend. Dream sits hunched over his desk, his quill hurrying over a piece of parchment. George furrows his brows at the strange behaviour but chooses to ignore it as he pulls a chair beside Dream.

The younger man stops his actions and glances at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

George pales. “I—uh, just wanted to see what you are doing.” Dream throws him a dirty look before he angles his body away.

George bites the inside of his cheek, his body filling with rage at Dream’s attitude. “What’s your deal?”

Dream stills; George has never spoken to him like that before. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Clay! Why are you so secretive all of a sudden? You always tell me what’s going on.”

The Prince doesn’t seem to notice the absolute heartbreak and sadness in his assistant’s voice and clenches his fists. “Just fuck off, George! You’re my assistant, not my friend. I only call you when I need you. Got it?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. George feels his entire body tingle as it falls numb, his stomach turning sickly. He watches as Dream huffs and turns back to his piece of paper, like a child; his arm covering the page and his other scribbling down words or exactly that—scribbles.

It takes everything in George to stand up and leave. His legs are jelly as he wobbles out; his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He shuts Dream’s bedroom door quietly, not anger him further, and runs down the hall towards his own room.

The halls are silent, not a soul in sight but the broken one that floats behind George while he tries to swallow choked sobs.

He hops down a few stairs, and then he’s pushing his door open, slamming it behind him in total defeat. He slides down the back of it, his hands coming to cover his flushed face. George scratches at his chest as he struggles to quieten the sound of his laboured breathing and hiccups. His heartbeat stutters within his ribcage—but that’s the least of his worries.

This is the suffering of complete and utter heartbreak, and now George knows how it feels after three years of dreading it. He screws his eyes shut, in hopes of stopping the tears and forces himself to calm down.

He loves Clay as more than a friend—this he knows is true. But, George scolds himself for being so foolish for thinking the Prince would reciprocate his one-sided love.

And as the air fills his lungs, George stops. He holds his breath for as long as he can—the burning of his body screaming for him to breathe is the only thing he feels. He’s lightheaded as he gazes out of the window opposite him. The oak trees rustle in the dawn breeze, and it's tranquil. He feels his heart clench in his chest and then an unbearable searing pain that he can only compare to tossing your body into a fire and feeling it melt your skin.

The world is peaceful as he continues to let his body ignite and soon dwindle into nothing.

And as the sun rises higher, his body slumps lower onto the ground, his eyes glassy and still staring out at the garden.

—

Meet me in the garden at dusk.

Her fingers trace the outline of the scraggly letters. Dream’s letter is vague, with no real meaning and nothing to indicate why he wants to meet. Usually, George delivered Dream’s letters to Y/n, but today it was rushed to her by another servant from the castle. Weird.

Y/n squints closer at the letter; she can see how hard Dream drove the quill into the paper by the letters’ slightly ripped edges. Leaning closer, the smell of lavender seeps through the parchment. There are no lavender plants in the garden.

Instead of going unprepared, Y/n reaches into the desk drawer and retrieves her dagger. She brings it towards her face and tilts it in the light, the metal reflecting into her eyes. Lifting her skirts on one side, Y/n shoves the knife into the case clasped around her thigh. It's subtle and easy to get to if needed.

Y/n sighs, reading over the letter one last time before she walks towards the fire in the corner. She tosses it into the flames, watching as reds and oranges engulf the paper.

She knows what comes next. If Dream wants her to meet him, then she’ll do it, but she also has to go through with her duties whether she likes it or not.

Y/n draws nearer to the garden, her eyes darting around the trees in hopes—or in fear—of seeing Dream. The sun burns in the distance, begging to say goodbye for the day as it watches the girl tiptoe over tree roots.

Once she enters the area enclosed by stone walls and arches, tears gather in Y/n’s eyes when she sees him, her heartstrings pulling violently in her chest. Dream stands on the other side of the garden, the thorns from the rose bush piercing his dress pants. Y/n remains frozen under one of the stone arches at the garden’s entrance, her dagger prominent in its case around her thigh.

His cold stare meets her cautious eyes and his face does nothing to soothe her nerves like it usually does. Instead, his stern expression stirs panic around in her stomach and makes her feel ill. Y/n abandons her original plan to stay withdrawn from the situation because once she sees him, she breaks.

“I can’t kill you, Clay!”

Dream freezes at her sudden shout. The pain in her voice makes him clench his jaw, and soon he’s approaching her. “What?”

Y/n inhales sharply, her breath hitching in her throat before she continues. “You know that I came here to kill you, you figured it out! And now I can’t go through with it.”

“Why?” Dream’s glare challenges her.

“Don’t make me answer that,”

“Y/n,”

“Clay.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her fists tense by her sides. Dream’s blunt tone is the last thing she needs to suppress her feelings further. “Because I hate you and I can’t possibly assassinate you when I have feelings like that—it’s immoral.”

He scoffs at her horrible excuse. “If you truly hate me, I would’ve been dead the first second you saw me. Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

Y/n could scream—in frustration, in anger, in heartbreak. She wants to stand on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and scream about how much she loves him; scream about how much she hates him; scream about how she would go to the ends of the earth for a man she is supposed to murder.

“Leave me, Clay. I need to be alone.”

With the shake of his head, Dream steps closer. “You love me; that’s why. It took me a while to realise, but I know now. And the worst part is, I love you too.”

The confession has Y/n panicking. Her eyes widen, and her hands scramble to snatch the knife from her thigh—but Dream’s quicker. He leaps towards her, his body colliding with hers as they stumble onto the grass. Y/n’s dagger presses against his neck, but there’s one against hers too.

An unfamiliar panic runs through Y/n as she feels a blade across her throat, but she keeps a hard exterior. The deadly look in Dream’s eye catches Y/n off guard as she pushes her knife firmly. A split appears on his skin—his blood dripping onto her neck, making him readjust his grip on his own dagger.

His mother’s face flashes through Dream’s mind while he swallowed thickly. He apologises in his thoughts as he glares at Y/n.

The heat of his hot blood on her skin is unlike anything Y/n’s felt before; maybe it’s the bloodlust or something else, but Dream notices.

Y/n opens her lips to speak but is stopped when he leans down to press his mouth against hers. The kiss is contrastingly soft compared to the incredibly vulnerable and intense position they’re in. Dream’s skin burns where the cut is and feels it grow as he leans closer to her face. Y/n gasps when she feels metal pierce her skin, and soon they’re whispering into each other’s lips.

The end is near. And as Y/n stares into Dream’s enchanting, sinister eyes, she reaches.

She reaches for the release she’s been begging for since she met him. She’s desperate to feel him one last time—in love and not hate. There's one final strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can see her dying love for him seep through her ever-growing bloodlust and absolute inhumanity.

But he doesn’t. And the same devilish grin he wore when she had a blade to his throat for the first time splits his red cheeks. The twinkle in her eye tells him she feels it too, and then her teeth bare a vile smirk.

“I’ll love you forever, Clay.”

“Forever is the sweetest con, my love.”

There are dull sweeps of blades across skin, and then there’s silence.

Excruciating, deafening nothingness.

And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Y/n and Clay’s hands intertwine, not once sparing a glance back at their bodies that lay cold on the cobblestone pathway.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

#dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dream au #dreamwastaken au #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #nightmare dressed like a daydream!au #ndlad!au #dream x reader #dream imagine

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vnderoos · 4 years ago

Text

better than butterbeer ✷ cedric diggory

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language(?), a barely steamy scene at the end word count / 2.8k

masterlist in bio ↴

THE CORRIDOR WAS FILLED with students, all of them rushing every which way as they all transitioned from one class to another. "Watch where you're walking, you bloody—" Y/N started to snap when she slammed straight into the chest of another student, but she cut herself off when she looked up and her eyes met the beautiful grey's of Cedric Diggory. Her stomach did a backflip and her cheeks immediately flushed red at her previous words. She cursed her quick tongue silently. "I'm sorry, Diggory, I thought you'd be someone else," she told him, feeling guilty for trying to bite his head off.

Cedric, on the other hand, was quick to shake his head and flash her a toothy smile. "No problem, Y/N/N, just read this, will you? I've got to get to class," he hummed, holding a folded note out to her, and she took it in her hands softly. She didn't have time to ask him questions about it—in fact, she didn't have time to say anything else at all—before he patted her once on the arm and stepped around her.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, watching as he disappeared into the flood of other students, and she looked back down at the piece of parchment between her fingers with furrowed brows. She felt a little uneasy thinking about what was on it as she started towards her own next class, as Cedric normally tended to speak with her in person and not through exchanging notes, but she was curious about it nonetheless. She thumbed it open delicately and her eyes flickered over the paper.

Come to the Great Lake after your classes. I want to show you something. — From: Ced :)

Y/N couldn't help but grin down at his message after she'd read it, tracing his smiley face with her thumbnail. This wasn't the first time that Cedric had wanted to show her something. He'd taken her on handfuls of spontaneous trips, actually—like the time he brought her to a field outside of the castle grounds to see a bunch of light blue wildflowers, or when he snuck her up to the Astronomy Tower after curfew just so he could point out the constellations with her—and she couldn't help but feel excited that he'd thought of something else.

She folded his note back up and tucked it neatly into one of the pockets of her leather bag, for safe keeping, of course.

—

Y/N's classes hadn't seemed to end quick enough that day as she'd sat through the rest of her lectures with Cedric's message pinging around in her head the whole time. All she could think about was what he wanted to show her at the Great Lake that she hadn't already seen before. It was just a lake—filled with nasty little Grindylows and a giant squid, sure—but it was just a lake nonetheless. At one point during her day, her head had been so clouded with possibilities that McGonagall had even gotten onto her for neglecting to write any notes for the entire first half of the class.

Miss Y/L/N, I do hope you realize that daydreaming all class won't help you pass your OWLs. Plus, I'm sure your parents didn't buy you such a pretty quill for you to tap it against your chin all year, she'd said. The red that had tinged Y/N's cheeks after that had been brighter than Ron Weasley's hair, especially since almost every head in the class had spun to face her.

All of that had been forgotten, though, as she hurried down the dirt pathway to the Great Lake, her hair and her leather bag bouncing as she ran downhill. The path soon faded into the rest of the grass, and as she neared the lake, she spotted a figure laying in a patch of sun on the grassy slope that led down to the bank. She recognized the familiar mess of his brown hair and his Hufflepuff robe and she was quick to identify him. One of Cedric's knees were bent, keeping him laying steady on the slant of the ground, and the other was extended out in front of him.

He was looking up at the sky when she walked up behind him, a small smile tugging at her lips at how concentrated he looked. "Hey, Diggory," she called from a few feet away, with a playful lilt in her voice and her green robes swaying with the gentle breeze.

At her greeting, Cedric pushed himself into a sitting position and he turned to smile at her over his shoulder. His cheeks were dusted pink from the slight nip in the air and it was all she could do to notice how good he looked in that moment, especially with the warm light of the sun rays shining behind him. She'd always found herself captivated by him, though, as most girls did. He really was a good-looking boy, but something inside of her always made her feel like it was better that she kept that to herself.

"Hey, Y/N."

Y/N flashed him a light smile in return, choosing to ignore the way that her stomach swirled when her name left his lips. "You know, we could've gone to get butterbeer instead," she told him as she made her way towards him, setting her bag next to his in the grass, and he shook his head softly.

"I wanted to show you something, though, remember?" he told her and she nodded once. How could she forget it when it was all that she'd been thinking about since she bumped into him in the corridor? He patted the space beside him in the grass. "Lay next to me," he instructed and she waited until he moved his hand away to take her seat, lowering herself down onto the ground.

She folded her hands over her chest and Cedric rested his over his stomach as they looked up at the sky. Nothing about it looked out of the ordinary or particularly interesting to her. "So, what'd you wanna show me?" she questioned, curiosity prickling under her skin as she studied the familiar, blue sky and the same, white clouds for something new.

Cedric let out a breath of amusement, a smile breaking out onto his lips, at her eagerness. She was always like this when he took her to see these sorts of things—impatient and overly excited—but he blamed himself for that in part. He loved a good buildup. "Just wait a bit and you'll see," he promised, tapping his thumbs against his stomach, and she nodded. The two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they laid still in the grass until the sun started to set. As the sun went down, it painted the sky with so many pretty colors—shades of pink, orange, and yellow streaking between the clouds. Since they were sitting on the side of the lake, with no trees looming over their heads, the view was beautifully unobstructed, too. "This," Cedric said, grinning up at the sight. "This is what I wanted to show you."

When she'd come to meet him, she hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. She'd heard from Fred and George a long while ago that on particularly sunny days, the giant squid would bask in the shallows of the water for warmth, so the thought of that being Cedric's surprise crossed her mind once, but she hadn't even considered such a spectacular sunset.

"This is beautiful." Her voice was a breathless whisper as the sight had left her in awe. She found herself lifting one of her hands up to the sky, pointing her finger at a specific place where the sunlight looked like trickling gold behind the clouds. It was so vivid that part of her thought she might be able to coat her fingers in it if she reached out far enough. "That's my favorite part. It's so pretty, isn't it?" she asked him and she could see his hand enter her field of vision as he pointed up at the same, molten cloud.

"That one?" he asked and the side of his hand grazed her own in the close proximity. His skin left tingles against her own that shot all the way down to her elbow, and she looked over at him with newly flushed cheeks. She nodded her head. She had noticed when she walked up that Cedric looked nice that day, with a bit of color in his skin from the cold, but only then, while they were laying face-to-face, did she realize how handsome he really looked. His walnut hair spilled into the grass and a little over his forehead, some of the strands sleek with the reflection of the sunlight. His skin looked so warm beneath the orange lighting that the sun cast across him and she could see patterns in his irises when her eyes came to meet his. Her breath hitched in her throat when his full lips parted before he spoke. "It is pretty," he muttered with his eyes never veering from her own and she could barely hear him over the drumming of her heart in her chest.

It was like time seemed to stand still in that moment as the fingers on their hands, both still suspended in the air, fell relaxed. She saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly, moving the back of his hand to graze over her own softly. She sucked in a breath and his knuckles rustled over hers, before he began to trail them down her arm slowly.

Cedric's eyes were locked on hers the whole time he did it, like he was looking for a sign that she didn't want this, but she was frozen still. His touch left goosebumps in its wake as it travelled the length of her arm and she shuddered.

When his hand reached Y/N's face, he hooked his forefinger beneath her chin and swiped his thumb over her bottom lip. She couldn't stop herself from grabbing his wrist lightly and pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb. He blinked once and his tongue darted between his lips, running itself over them as he watched her. She managed a small smile at him, and she folded his hand into a fist, peppering a kiss to each of his knuckles.

"Diggory?" she asked and he hummed curiously. "I've got something to tell you," she whispered against his skin. His eyebrows lifted, as if to encourage her, and she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath before she opened them again and she gave his hand a squeeze. "It's been on my mind for a while, but I think I really like you," confessed Y/N, her voice as quiet as ever. "I realize that we're friends and it's probably stupid of me to even think of you like that, because it might ruin everything, but—"

Y/N stopped talking when Cedric leaned in to kiss her. His lips planted a soft peck against her own, leaving the sweet taste of caramel and her heart pattering after they'd gone. "I really like you, too," he responded with a grin.

She could feel her cheeks flaring, probably just as pink as the setting sun, and she smiled softly. "Oh." Her heart was thundering in her ears and her stomach was swarming with butterflies at his similar confession. She never would've thought that her sly, Slytherin heart would beat so quickly for a happy, Hufflepuff boy, but she'd be damned before she ever found herself complaining. "That— That's nice," she stuttered out, still in a state of disbelief, and his honeyed laugh filled her ears.

Cedric, whose hand was still in her clutches, pulled her hands over to his own lips and he kissed the back of her hand. "'Nice'?" he repeated. "Just 'nice'?" he asked again, his voice obviously teasing, but her face was on fire nonetheless.

She shot him a look of mock annoyance—the smile tugging on her lips giving her away—because he'd always known but how to get under her skin. "Shut up, you know you make me nervous, you prick," she told him and another laugh spilled from his lips, but it didn't last long that time because he caught her staring at his lips. His laughter died down as her eyes moved back to meet his, her hands falling from his own. With the thought now in his head, his eyes flickered to her mouth, only for a second, and she reached out to grab one of the sides of his robe. She ran her thumb over the fabric nervously, shifting her eyes to her fingers and back up to his again. "Would you... Would you kiss me again, Diggory?" she questioned, clearing her throat, and a smirk crossed onto his lips at the question. He was quite cocky then, and part of her hated it, but the other part of her thought it was the hottest thing.

"Diggory? Really?" he muttered, pretending to ignore her question as he plucked at a piece of grass between them, and she sighed in frustration, still playing nervously with his robe. "I thought for sure you'd use my first name by now," he teased and she rolled her eyes.

"Is that what you want?" she asked.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anything more," he joked, touching a hand to his chest and tightening it into a fist to make it seem like it wasn't all just a ploy to tease her—which it was.

"Fine," she hummed. "Would you kiss me again, Cedric?" she repeated her question and his name fell from her lips like a whisper, the cockiness on his face falling clean off after it did. She could see a flicker of something pass in his eyes and she furrowed her brows. "What?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I think I might like it when you call me Cedric," he said with a small smile on his lips, and before she could answer, he propped himself up on his elbow. He reached out to cup one of her cheeks softly in his hands, leaning down to press his lips against hers.

The kiss started out slow and sweet, just two longing mouths melding into one quiet moment, but the second that Y/N sighed against his lips, the mood shifted. Cedric's hand slid from her cheek and he knotted his fingers in the locks of her hair, pulling her mouth roughly against his by the back of her neck, and he poured more passion into the kiss. Her fingers were still clasped around the sides of his robe and she pulled his body closer to her own.

Cedric's balance teetered at her actions and he grunted against her mouth, his hand leaving her hair and slamming down on the other side of her. His lips broke from hers at the quick motion and their eyes met for a second. His pupils were dark as he looked down at her, his chest heaving, and they only stayed apart long enough for him to slot one of his legs between hers. His lips attached themselves to hers once more and her hands let go of his robe, sliding up the muscles on his chest and coming to tangle themselves in his hair. He lowered himself down closer to her body, using his hands to keep himself hovered over her, and his tongue swiped against her bottom lip in his next kiss.

From then on, the two were a mess of lips and tongue, and they'd even cracked teeth at once on accident, but when they'd gotten their fix, Cedric pulled away. The two were both red, and not just from the cold anymore, and they were panting like dogs. Cedric started to laugh softly, pulling his arm up from the other side of her and falling back onto his side as she joined in. "I take back what I said earlier." She lifted a hand to wipe the saliva off of her swollen mouth and she pushed herself up onto her own elbow. "This was way better than butterbeer," she hummed.

Cedric chuckled and he threw his head back. "You're telling me," he agreed. When he let himself fall back into the grass again, Y/N did the same and he set his hand, palm-down, in between them. She tucked her hand beneath his and intertwined their fingers, sending him a soft smile.

For the rest of the sunset, she stared contentedly up at the sky, sneaking glances at the beauty laying beside her, but for him, it was the other way around.

He found her far more stunning.

↴

taglist / @pvintbreak @umpoedameron @h4ppydancing

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory x reader #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson imagines

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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

Note

Dream thought that he can bring server together, he thought that they can be one big family... Well at least he really bond them, even if they bonded to fight against him. Even if that mean he's not part of this server anymore.

right,, the one big happy family thing always destroys me

bc it’s really the driving force behind everything he’s done, the reason why he’s cut off everything he’s ever loved, moved forwards despite everything he’s ever lost. it doesn’t make what he does right, by any means, but c!dream’s longing for a better past, his clinging to a family he loved and lost - it’s so desperately, painfully human and is very much the cherry on top of his whole tragic story. it’s something that tugs at my heart every time i think about it - especially how in the end, pretty much nobody knew what drove him to the lengths he went to, and how everyone still sees him as being motiveless, or doing it all for personal gain and power. it’s reasonable, with their limited povs, but oh man does it hurt when we know his real reasoning.

this,, ended up weirdly long haha but oh man was it fun. have some dream team angst as i cry abt c!dream for the millionth time

tws: death, grief, off-screen murder, implied mental deterioration

Two weeks after Dream dies, Sapnap asks George if he wants to come to the vault.

He almost says no. It’d be an early journey if they want to get out without anyone seeing, and he’s just- tired. He’s been tired for months even though he spends most of his time sleeping, usually can’t even find the energy to pull himself out of bed. The weird dreams hadn’t helped in the slightest, though they’ve been gone for a few weeks, and he’s not seen XD in a long time, save for a few minutes after he first heard the news. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to deal with the mental strain of anything to do with Dream at all.

But- Sapnap is still his best friend, even if they’ve grown apart ever since that fateful night with Dream, and he still knows the Netherborn better than nearly- well, everyone, now, with Dream gone. As much as Sapnap tried to put on a strong front, Dream’s death had taken its toll.

Killing Dream had taken its toll.

He’d been asleep (again) when it all went down, but he knows that somehow, Dream had escaped prison. Somehow, it ended with Sapnap’s sword stabbed hilt-deep in Dream’s chest, an unmarked grave in the forest behind the Community House that he knows Sapnap visits when he thinks nobody’s watching.

So when Sapnap asks, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes, if he wants to come with him to see what belongings they can find in Dream’s old blackstone-brick vault- he says yes.

“There,” Sapnap gestures over the crest of a netherrack cliff above a bubbling lava lake, and George strains to look at what the other is pointing at. There, settled over a small outcrop of netherrack and gravel, a messy bridge of various blocks leading from it, lies the signature black and purple silhouette of a nether portal. “It’s just across that.”

George hums in acknowledgement, and they clamber down in sync. It’s been a while since he’s spent time one-on-one with Sapnap like this; George had half-forgotten what it feels like, to work with someone so different and yet know them so well. Years and years of teamwork means they fall in step almost without thinking, Sapnap easily sliding forward to block a skeleton’s arrow while George nocks one of his own to shoot it through the skull. It is a partnership built on years of bickering and banter and deep-set trust, of having to face a stronger, more agile opponent together through wind and rain and snow.

He missed it, though he’ll never admit that to anyone but himself.

He hesitates in front of the nether portal, pulling Sapnap back automatically by his sweater sleeve. “You sure the other side is safe?”

“Yeah, yeah- it should be,” Sapnap pulls his arm away, lets him enter the portal first before stepping into the frame himself. “Not a manhunt.”

“Mm,” George laughs, tired. “Just checking.”

The portal hums, purple creeping into the corners of George’s vision and filling it until it’s all he can see, and he rubs at his eyes to clear his vision as he stumbles out the other side. Sapnap walks out, seeming unfazed - it’s always been something that George has envied in the other, how unaffected he is by portals, but he’s also always had worse portal sickness than most- “We’re here.”

The place is - put lightly, a wreck, wooden planks scattered all over the floor and inch-deep water sloshing around his shoes. “What’s with the water?”

“I don’t know, someone must’ve come here after for something,” Sapnap frowns, points across the room to a chute leading upwards, filled with a crude spiral staircase of oak. “We’re going up there.”

George nods, letting him take the lead. The staircase is rickety, the bottom steps waterlogged; Sapnap grimaces the whole way up, makes some comment under his breath about how unsafe it all is, but they continue without much issue. The top of it is surprisingly unassuming - there’s really nothing around, just a small hollowed out space carpeted by savannah grass, shorn short. Sapnap tosses him a pickaxe.

“He respawned up here, that day - he’s gotta have a bed up here somewhere.” He gestures at the plain stone walls surrounding them, “My guess is that it’s just behind one of these walls. Just mine two or three blocks in all the way across, I’ll start from this side.”

“Whatever, Snapnap,” George takes the pickaxe anyway, walking over to the other side of the room and ignoring the protests Sapnap throws at his back. Mining the stone is simple, methodical; it’s a steady rhythm of the pick hitting stone and blocks falling into his inventory; if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that they’re in the middle of a manhunt, and Dream has holed himself into the wall as he always does for them to find him. He doesn’t, because thinking about manhunt does nothing but make something cold and choking claw up his throat, almost like guilt, almost like regret, and he doesn’t have the energy for that in the slightest.

His next swing rings oddly hollow, and when the block drops neatly away the wall opens to a narrow corridor. He calls Sapnap over.

“Here.” Sapnap moves with large, heavy strides, face tightening into a foreign expression of grim determination when he catches the darkness behind the one-block hole George mined, “I found it.”

“Well, obviously,” he rolls his eyes as he takes out the bottom block, looking at George from the corner of his eye. “Nice observation, genius.”

“Hey! You told me to find it, and I did, unlike you- you should be thanking me, Sapnap.”

“Whatever, Gogy,” Sapnap sighs, looking into the corridor, feet settling against the ground into a wide stance that George recognizes as the one he’d usually use in a fight. It makes something long-forgotten ache in his chest, joining the dull ball of hurt that has been there for what feels like months, “You ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up, will you?” The retort rings hollow, dying on his lips even as he says it, and George watches as Sapnap turns his head away and pretends not to notice.

“Let’s go.”

The hallway is dark, dusty, a hastily made thing as shown by the rough gouges made on either side by a quickly working pickaxe. It opens into a tiny room, similarly carved into the mountain with roughhewn walls of stone; George’s lips thin and press against each other as he takes a closer look at the room, stepping in behind Sapnap.

“This place is a mess,” he states drily, scuffing his foot against the floor and cringing at the trail it leaves in the dust. There’s a bed left in the corner, a thin little thing with the covers thrown off, lying halfway on the floor, and a few chests and furnaces scattered aimlessly against the walls and making the whole thing look more cramped. There are papers strewn over the floor and chests, piles of coal and wood left to collect dust in the corners. It looks like a whirlwind swept through the place, and it’s almost eerie to see this room, completely untouched since the twentieth, a snapshot in time of Dream in the middle of his spiral into madness.

Sapnap kicks at one such pile with a humorless scoff, “That’s an understatement.”

“You looking for anything in particular?” George jabs his thumb at the mess in front of them, “Because I’m not cleaning all of that up.”

“I guess- just look through the chests?” Sapnap’s face darkens visibly even despite the dim lighting, and George stifles the urge to poke fun at how the younger clearly didn’t plan this far ahead, per usual. “Just look for anything useful, worth taking back I guess.”

“Mmhm.” He moves to the left-most chest as Sapnap moves to the right, watching from the corner of his eye as the other strikes up a torch to place in the middle of the room. The lid creaks open, and he rummages through the contents, vaguely surprised when his hand meets row after row of glass bottles. He pulls one out, squints at the contents. “Hey Sapnap, is this a regen?”

Sapnap looks over. “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes when George pockets it. “Seriously- you know Sam literally has an automatic potion brewer, right. You can just steal from that instead.”

“Or I could just steal from here,” he closes the lid, moving to the next chest. “That’s just his pots chest. He really stacked up, didn’t he?”

“Well, you know Dream. Always had to plan for the end of the world.” Sapnap closes the chest that he was hunched over, tossing over something in a flash of gold, “Was just his food chest. Don’t know why someone needs eight stacks of gapples, but whatever. We can split the god apples later.”

“Sure,” George nods, distracted as he fiddles with clasp of the next chest. This one, unlike the last, seems more worn over the bottom edge of the lid, the wood almost seeming to bear dents where fingers had pressed into the areas right by the clasp again and again. The lid eases open, and he frowns at the chest’s contents; there’s no rhyme or reason to them at first glance. There’s a half-stack of stone in the top left, a couple pieces of leather thrown in the bottom corner, a low-durability crossbow, unenchanted, that he briefly runs his hands over before throwing it back into the chest. He rummages through it for another second, about to dismiss it as a junk chest, when a well-worn book near the back of the chest catches his eye.

He pulls it towards him with careful hands, breath having caught in his throat. The cover is leather, scuffed and scratched in several places, not bearing the dull shine of a book that’s been signed and preserved magically. It doesn’t seem to be titled, no ink against the usual places on the front cover or spine, but the whole thing looks well-loved, the thread of the spine slightly frayed the leather heavily creased from where the cover had been eased open again and again.

He opens the front cover, and sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Sapnap? I think I found something.”

There, nestled between the front cover and the first page, lays a pile of photographs. Unlike everything else in the room, these are clearly well-loved, well-cared for, the corners are sharp, the surfaces shiny, despite how often they must have been thumbed through and looked at. He plucks the first one off the top of the pile - it’s one that was taken from the inside of the old community house before the floor was replaced with crafting tables, string lights hanging from the ceiling in an impromptu party, Alyssa’s legs dangling from where she’s sitting at the edge of the spiral staircase, Callahan leaning against the wall with a slice of cake held between his hands. Sapnap’s sitting in the middle of the floor across from himself, both of their faces glowing softly in the flickering light - his own face is caught in a grimace, Sapnap bent over himself in laughter- Sapnap walks up behind him, gasps at the sight.

“What are-”

George passes over the photo wordlessly as he moves to the next; there’s Sam, grinning at the camera with a newly tamed Fran by his side, tail a white blur against the green of the grass; Bad, hands clutched around a bucket as he yells at someone off the frame, a salmon head poking slightly out the top; Ponk, sitting proudly in the top branches of his first lemon tree.

His breath catches at the next; it’s dim, the sky a pretty blend of purple-pink from the last remaining dregs of light of a sunset, hovering over the dark edge of the ocean stretching out towards the horizon. They’re sitting in boats, the bottom edges lit softly from the coral sitting in the shallow waters below them, brilliant halos of reds and pinks and yellows and oranges and blues dotted with the soft lights of sea pickles painting the wood in muted rainbows. Sapnap’s smiling from one in the back, head tipped to the side cheekily, right hand lifted in a cocky two-fingered salute. George is sitting in the back of a boat in the foreground, glasses lifted to his forehead, eyes mid-roll even as he grins obligingly at the camera-

And then, in the front, there’s Dream.

His mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing his freckled skin and brilliant green eyes; he’s smiling widely, all teeth, hair wet and sticking up in a ring of untamed swirls and spikes. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, cheeks red, arm stretched forward off-frame from where he’d held the camera in front of them to take the selfie. George’s thumb brushes over the photo, pressing lightly against the dusty mess of hair framing Dream’s face, pausing at the sight of his pure, unadulterated joy.

What had happened to them?

A soft, choked sound comes from behind him, and George tucks the photos away, pressing them between two random pages in the book. His eyes flicker to the book’s contents, finally, finding Dream’s familiar, looping scrawl written on the first page. The words are big and messy, all capitalized and underlined several times, the last four circled roughly.

REMEMBER WHY YOU’RE DOING THIS: ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY.

He snaps the book shut.

“George-”

“Let’s go home, Sapnap.” He throws one last look at the room, at the messy, desperate edges, the remnants of a man lost in his own reckless belief that he could build something beautiful out of blood and ash. He swallows, blinks back the image of a brilliant smile, freckled cheeks ruddy with laughter, at the golden glow of memories long-forgotten that threaten now to burn him with their warmth. He can imagine Dream, settled in the middle of this mess, pressing himself closer to the fire contained in these photographs, these memories, and not realizing how he’s being burned, can nearly see a ghost of him tucked in these shadowed corners, haunting the hopes that he had clung to against all reason with the promise that it could all be worth it.

Sapnap frowns at him tiredly, photos pressed against his own chest. “George,” he says, cautious, and George’s shoulders hunch defensively.

“Let’s go home,” he stands up, hearing more than seeing as Sapnap does the same. “Whatever closure you’re looking for- you’re not finding it here.”

#tw death #tw grief #tw murder #tw mental deterioration #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years ago

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“Fines Imposed an Kirkland Lake Men Instead of Terms,” The Porcupine Advance (Timmins). June 11, 1942. Page 2, section 1. ---- Convictions of Men Charged with Offences During the Strike Sustained but Penalties Changed. --- Haileybury, June 10 - Three of the men whose activities during the recent gold miners strike at Kirkland Lake brought them into conflict with the authorities appeared here, Monday, before Judge G. Hayward when their appeals against convictions by Magistrate S. Atkinson in Kirkland Lake court were heard.

In every case the sentence imposed by Magistrate Atkinson was reduced to a fine and costs. George Lundstrom, convicted on a charge of intimidation had his sentence reduced from two months in jail to a fine of $75 together with $75 costs. Steve Harkin, convicted of obstructing the police, will have to pay a fine of $25 with $100 costs instead of having to serve 30 days. John Brown in place of a sentence of three months will have to pay a $100 fine and costs of $75. He was convicted on a charge of intimidation.

Reviews Lundstrom Case In only one case was the evidence reviewed, that of Lundstrom. The evidence of Mrs. Joseph Gavin, who, it was alleged, had been intimidated by the accused was read to the court she being in hospital. It was to the effect that the accused had come to her home two days after the strike started and threatened her that he would "fix" her husband if he did not cease working at the Macassa Mine. The accused stayed in the house for over three hours and repeated his threats on more than one occasion. He said how sorry he was for her because of what would happen to her husband if he continued to work and that some of the men would catch him in a dark alley some night and beat him up.

Makes Denial The accused denied making these statements telling the court that in the three hours he stayed there they had talked of dances, church and the odors of cooking which percolated up to the Lundstrom flat, which was over the Gavin home. He denied any intention of "fixing" Gavin and told Crown Attorney Dean that it was the swift passage of time that made him stay in the Gavin home so long.

At the conclusion of the hearing, Judge Hayward, after hearing arguments from both Crown Attorney Dean and J. L. Cohen, K.C., who appeared for the accused men, stated he had no hesitation in upholding the magistrate's conviction.

The question of penalty then came up Mr. Cohen held that the judge had the power to assess new penalties while Crown Attorney Dean claimed that it was not in his power to do so. Court then adjourned for the noon hour and remained adjourned for two hours afterwards while Judge Hayward took the matter into consideration and looked up the authorities.

When court reopened he states he had come to the conclusion that he had the power to assess new penalties and fixed the fine in the case.

In the Harkin case Mr. Cohen stated he had, after considering the case, no fault to find with the conviction by Magistrate Atkinson but only with the penalty and after hearing the circumstances outlined by Inspector Doyle of the Provincial Police Judge Hayward fixed the fine with the higher costs due to the presence of several police witnesses from the southern part of the province.

In the Brown case the same statement as to the conviction was made by Mr. Cohen. Crown Attorney Dean called the attention of the court to several previous convictions for various offenses. His Honor held that these showed the accused was not a law abiding citizen.

Joseph Brown, committed for trial on a willful damage charge during the strike, and who was to have appeared for trail today before Judge Hayward had his trial put over until July 6. Bail was renewed.

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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years ago

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Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

Based on this Headcanon list (x) : Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! <This is Part 5!>

A/N: As said, I switched to a headcanon list because we have 7 books to get through, and it will take years if I only do the blurbs. Oh, and if you are in the market for some cute pro-Weasley shirts, check out my 'Weasley Suprmeacy' shirt here!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

* It’s your third year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter’s second, and you’re having a pretty good year so far

* You’ve made your house team, and you’re doing pretty good in school, in fact, you’ve got a knack for potions and herbology

* “Good thing too or we’d be stuck up a creek without ya” Fred says grinning as he watches you show him how to make the simple “cure for boils” potion

* “And not sooner either, these things hurt more than you think” George complains, wincing every time he touches one

* “Well what did you think was going to happen when you tried to go into the girl’s changing room?” You ask with a sigh

* “In our defense we didn’t know it was the girls changing room, we just wanted a shortcut to the pitch”

* You hide a smile, that sounds about right

* Life is pretty good

* Until it isn’t

* “Enemy’s of the heir beware” the words leave your mouth in a murmur

* Your eyes trained on the blood-coated words on the wall

* You think you're going to be sick

* “That’s right you’ll be next mudbloods!” Draco shouts and immediately you feel two hands clasp both of your shoulders

* One is Fred’s and the other is George’s

* They insist on walking you back to your dorm

* “Really I’ll be fine, you should go check on your brother, Ginny was looking a little pale too” you insist but they keep pushing you forward

* “We can do that after you get back to your common room safely”

* If you’re Muggle-born they’re really protective of you over the next few months

* You’ve woken up to taping on your window more than once, yawning as you walk over to see who it is

* Only to see your favorite red-headed pair of doppelgängers

* “Couldn’t sleep” Fred says with a yawn

* “We were too afraid the heir of Slytherin would kill us in our sleep” George adds

* “Best we sleep here, so you can protect us and keep us safe” they finish in unison

* The next morning your dorm mates wake up to see them sleeping on the floor at the foot of your bed, drooling all over each other, wands clasped in their hands

* They absolutely refuse to let you stay in the castle for Christmas

* “Nope, no, no way in bloody hell,” George says defiantly

* “But I want-“

* “If you’ve got a death wish, you can just come home with us and eat mum’s cooking-”

* “So good you’ll go to heaven”

* They’re tugging you to the station before you can even protest

* “What about Ron?” You ask

* “What about Ron? He’s a big boy, besides it looks like those three are scheming-“ George starts

* “Schemings best left to the young ones, us old-timers have no place in it, best for us to go home and have some Christmas pudding, isn’t that right Percy?”

* Percy, who was only passing by gives you three a quizzical look before turning away with a shake of his head

* “Whatever nonsense you’re up to, leave me out of it”

* Fred turns to you with a grin

* “See even Percy agrees, leave the nonsense to the youngins’”

* Percy just keeps shaking his head

* “Come, Ginny, let’s sit somewhere away from them- don’t want you to be around bad influences”

* Their parents are thrilled to meet you

* “So you’re (Y/N)! We’ve heard so much about you-“

* So the twins talk about you at home huh?

* “- from Percy, he says your next in line to make prefect in your house,” she says patting you affectionately on the shoulder

* Percy nods from behind her

* “Cedric’s been recommending you to Sprout” He adds

* Your face burns and the twins grin behind you

* “Prefect (Y/N) I like the sound of that” George says with a mischievous grin

* “Don’t forget us when you’re rich and famous, soaking in the prefect bathroom like a big shot”

* You roll your eyes

* “Well since I’m such a big shot I guess I can overlook when you explode a toilet or two”

* The Weasley’s stay up until well past midnight for Christmas

* Molly knits you a matching scarf for the sweater she gave you last year

* “Well doesn’t it look dashing on you!” She says with a smile and she wraps it around your neck

* George and Fred are nervous you might not like it but you grin

* “I love it”

* George scrambles over

* “You want my scarf too?” He says already unwrapping his from around his neck

* “Take mine too, you look awfully cold,” Fred says

* There’s a Polaroid somewhere of you swaddled in five scarfs while Ginny and the twins laugh

* Percy is in the background looking disappointed- but one of those scarves is how

* At night, when the sleeping arrangements are all drawn up you’re with Ginny

* You lie side by side in her bed, you’re half asleep

* “Can I talk to you about something”

* You yawn and nod, not moving

* And then when she doesn’t say anything you say-

* “About Harry?”

* There’s another silence, but this one feels heavier somehow, and it wakes you up a bit

* “Just send him some chocolates for Valentine’s Day” you yawn patting her shoulder

* “Sign it with ‘your secret admirer’ if it makes you too nervous” you yawn again, feeling your eyes droop

* Is that why she’s been looking so sick lately? Too many nights lying awake at night thinking about a boy who doesn’t share her feelings

* “You know Ginny if something does nothing but cause you pain, and I know it’s not very Gryffindor-like, but you can just walk away from it yknow” you’re slurring, barely awake.

* “I can’t just walk away?” She asks and you nod

* “Of course you can”

* And then you fall asleep

* Completely forgetting about the conversation until it’s Valentine’s Day and you see Harry followed around by a singing valentine

* “So this is the fantastic advice you gave Ginny?” George asks, a teasing smile lifting onto his face

* “I told her to give chocolates! I don’t know a boy alive who doesn’t like sweets”

* “Well where’s our chocolate then?” Fred asks expectantly

* You look to George for some support, but he’s looking at you expectantly too

* “Oh I get it, all your chocolates are saved for pretty boy Diggory”

* You roll your eyes and shake your head while walking away

* What’s up with them and thinking that you have a crush on Cedric

* They do come back to their dorms with small bags of chocolate on their beds, just two pieces each

* But they smile like you gave them a lump of gold

* “Did you make them by hand?” One teases

* “Tasted like they were made with love, and all those warm fuzzy feelings” the other finishes

* You roll your eyes

* “You should just be glad the house-elf I found didn’t mind me taking a bit of chocolate”

* It surprises both of them that you actually did make them by hand

* They were really just teasing

* George is the one to make the first move

* “Well next time you go invite us too, I think it would be fun to learn how to make chocolates”

* George wraps an arm around your shoulders

* “We could give them to Snape and make him think he has a secret admirer,” Fred says with a grin, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders as well

* “Send him a singing Telegraph and everything” George grins

* You shake your head and laugh, what a couple of bozos

* It is pretty funny to see Snape get all flustered though

* They get even more protective when Muggle-born students start getting petrified

* You’re never without one, or both of them

* “Looks like your bodyguard is here,” Cedric says with a teasing smile when he sees George waiting in the corridor outside your class for you

* You nod, moving to go meet him when you feel a gentle touch on your arm

* “Let him know that if he’s ever looking for a career change, I’ll gladly fill the spot” he ruffles your hair before you leave and you can see the teasing coming from a mile away

* But George doesn’t say anything when you walk over to him, walking together to transfigurations in moderate silence

* “So you and Diggory are pretty close” he finally says, breaking the silence

* You look up at him, his eyebrows are threaded together and his mouth is pinched into a frown

* It makes you think about the time you thought that maybe they wouldn’t spend as much time with you anymore when you were brewing the amortentia potion

* “Yeah but we’re closer,” you say bumping your shoulder against his arm, he laughs

* “That’s true”

* The mischievous glint in his eyes returns

* “I doubt he’ll feel the same once he finds out you drool in your sleep”

* You roll your eyes shoving him lightly which earns a laugh

* “I mean really (Y/N), it’s just a bit excessive innit? Most mornings your pillow is more drool than Cotten at this point, you should really get it checked-“

* You shove him harder laughing when he starts laughing

* “Big words from the boy who snores so loud his dorm mates left him floating on the lake”

* “It wasn’t my dorm mates, it was Fred and he did it to because I pretended I was him when I said something that upset Oliver Wood”

* Your eyebrows thread together

* Haven’t seen much of Oliver around now that quidditch has been canceled

* “What did you say?”

* George turns bright red and turns away

* “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time around that keeper for Hufflepuff lately” Wood was especially cranky as of late now that quidditch was canceled for the rest of the year

* And George doesn’t know why, but he gets so irked by it

* What does Wood care who he spends time with off the pitch? It’s not like he’s been taking it easy on you during matches or anything

* “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to talk to someone you’re attracted to”

* And then realizing how it sounded, and flushing red George claimed he was Fred

* He sounded like he was a jealous boyfriend or something

* It’s almost mortifying

* Almost

* “Nothing, don’t worry about it”

* And it’s the first sign for George that someone might have seen something in him that he hasn’t noticed

* But for now that doesn’t matter

* Because you’re here telling jokes like nothing’s changed

* When Ginny gets taken to the chamber you’re sitting with George and Fred in their dorm hugging them close

* You showed up outside their window on your broom, tapping on the glass until they opened it and enveloped you in a hug

* “Maybe it’s just one big mistake, and she’ll pop out any second saying she got lost on her way to the loo”

* “Maybe,” Fred says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it

* “Everything’s going to be fine,” George says

* And you nod, because you really hope it does

* And by morning Ron and Harry show up covered in dirt with Ginny behind them who looks like she did at first

* With color on her face and vibrancy you haven’t seen on her all year

* “So good old Gildy was a fraud all along huh?”

* “Coulda fooled me”

* And then just like that you’re on the train home

* Joking with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George about Percy’s secret girlfriend

* “It feels like it was just yesterday we were getting off the train and starting the year,” you say slightly wistful

* “Speak for yourself, Oliver Wood nearly killed me at practice with punishment drills for something I said apparently” Fred groans

* “Best to leave the adventuring to the young ones” George grins teasing you as you step onto the platform

* And just like that, it’s over

* And just like that it’ll be a new school year

* And the beginning of a new adventure

#harry potter imagine #harry potter #george wealsey x reader #fred and george weasley imagine #george Weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #Fred Weasley imagine #harry potter headcanon #harry potter hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter x reader

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