#and then i receive messages like 'your ignorance towards your family is outrageous' like ?????????????

[ickle-ronniekins]

tongue tied

request from anon: Asgfaafhjlkfsdgj I loved your George x reader where they’re shy and flustered it’s so cute!!!! Could you write one with a similar shy reader but with Fred? Accept Fred’s just extra loud and funny when around her to impress her?

pairing: fred x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 4.9k yikes

A/N: I LOVE FRED AND GEORGE WITH FLUSTERED READERS, GAAAAD, i’m sort of emotional, if you can’t already tell—also, i’m allowed to make fun of choir geeks because i, too, am a choir geek and know precisely just how dorky it is

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove | message me if you’d like to be added my loves

Fred Weasley normally doesn’t even try this hard to impress someone—or anyone, for that matter.

But as of late, he’s been racking his brain and planning some over-the-top prank only to catch your attention—the shy, sweet Gryffindor girl who seems to have caught his eye when he found you, late one evening, sneaking out of the portrait hole in the common room.

“Where’re you off too this late?” he asked cheekily. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You thought about this, not sure if you should respond, but then decided it’d be best to just tell him the truth—guys like him would do their best to find out, anyway. His heart soared when he realized that you already knew a bit about him, “You’re not the only one who sneaks to the kitchens to grab a late night snack.”

He’d always found you pretty; perhaps, maybe you were the prettiest girl Gryffindor had even seen. And now, knowing that the pretty girl in Gryffindor tower also tends to break the rules from time to time, he finds himself head over heels.

Since that moment, he’s been focused on one thing and one thing only—get you to notice him. Or, at least, get you two talking.

But why is it, he asks himself, that the one time he wants to impress you with some type of outrageous ordeal, it’s the one he gets caught doing? Although, he admits to his twin later that evening, replacing some classroom entrances with biting doorknobs in the hopes that Malfoy or one of his cronies gets their fingers sliced off was probably going a little bit too far—especially when Filch is on the receiving end of it. Even George can agree on that.

McGonagall grabs a fistful of Fred’s robes and pushes him toward the stairs with George on her other side. “You’ve given me no choice, Mr. Weasley. My office, Saturday morning—detention.”

“C’mon, Professor—” Fred says, craning his neck over the crowd to try and find you, “We were just having a laugh—we would’ve stopped someone anyway before it got too far, promise!”

The Headmistress cocks her head to the side and folds her arms across her chest. “Saturday, the both of you.”

The crowd begins to roar with raucous laughter as Fred and George bask in all their glory on the staircase, fellow Gryffindors and students from other houses cheering for them despite their upcoming weekend in detention. And then he sees you—pressed against the wall near the entrance of the Great Hall, standing beside some statue, trying not to be noticed, but watching the both of them with—is it admiration, or confusion, perhaps? He just hopes it isn’t disgust. Fred can’t read your expression over the crowd, and it’s killing him. The students begin to disperse, and when he finally makes his way through the sea of people to where you’re standing, you’re already gone.

He finds himself worried now, which is, to say the least, very unlike him. Fred Weasley? Worried? The word isn’t even in his day to day vernacular. But has this very funny—albeit, sort of stupid—prank gone over the top? Was it a bit too much? Has he scared away the shy girl he was trying so desperately to pursue, and he didn’t stop to think about his actions?

He follows his twin begrudgingly back to class.

“You two really could’ve caused severe damage,” Hermione tells them later at the feast, “people have gone to St. Mungo’s for treatment after being on the receiving end of a biting doorknob! You’re lucky McGonagall only gave you—”

“Oi, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron says and she turns a bright shade of pink, “they were only having a laugh, weren’t they?”

Fred slumps back in his seat, picking at the food on his plate. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?” Ginny pipes up.

George, Ron, and Harry all turn to look at Fred, who grins at them cheekily and says, “Yeah, yeah—not one of my brighter ideas,”

Ginny smacks Fred playfully with her book. “What on earth—”

“He’s got a crush to impress.”

Fred shoots a look at his twin, who’s cackling in between bites of a cauldron cake, when Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all peer at Fred quizzically. George nods in the direction of you, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table with a few fellow friends, laughing slightly over something in someone’s notebook.

“No way,” Ron laughs haughtily, coughing a bit on a piece of half-chewed tart, “Y/N? She’s the exact complete opposite of you.”

Fred digests this. “Meaning?”

“Well, for starters, she’s not a complete git—”

When the boys fall into a fit, Fred flicks some food at the three of them, casually placing his hands behind his head, as if this is going to help relax him. It doesn’t. “Well opposites attract, don’t they, Ronniekins?”

Skittishly, Ron steals a glance at Hermione, who has seemingly chosen to ignore the conversation, as she is now immersed in her spellbook in front of her. Ron falls very silent and turns a bright shade of red, resembling that of a tomato, as he sinks into his seat.

“Besides,” Fred tells the group, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice, “we’ve got more in common than you think.”

Harry laughs when George says, “Do tell us.”

“Y/N likes to cause a stir now and again. Bend the rules a bit.”

“And how,” Ginny begins inquiringly, trying her best to hide her interest, “d’you know this?”

Fred pauses and considers this for a moment. He reckons that you probably won’t be the most happy to know that there are other Gryffindors besides him that have learned of your late night sneak outs to the kitchens. He decides to keep it to himself. “I have my ways.”

“Well, good luck, mate,” Ron says, color flooding his face, “because the likeliness of you two snogging in a corner somewhere is about as likely as you and George becoming Prefects.”

The table roars with laughter, and Fred notices you turn your head, along with other students, to see, again, what all the ruckus is about. As his friends continue to cackle maniacally, Fred’s eyes meet yours, and he freezes. It’s a very fleeting moment before your eyes are darting toward the food in front of you, trying to avoid any and all eye contact. But when you look up again, Fred’s still peering at you. You furrow your brow slightly, and then send him a soft smile from across the way.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he sends a smile back, as well.

Okay, so he hasn’t completely lost his chances—not yet, anyway. You’re not completely repulsed by the boy who lands himself in detention more often than not, even if his latest prank was one of the most reckless he’s ever pulled. Fred snaps back to reality when George is teasingly pinching his cheeks, and Harry’s shaking his shoulders. “Oh shove off, you lot,” he replies as the hysteria finally dies down. He swears he sees you glance over at him again.

The steps up to the Owlery are slippery because of the light snow dusting Hogwarts awoke too, but it doesn’t stop Fred from flying up there to send a letter to his brother in Romania.

To his surprise, though, he catches you at the top, hastily writing a name on a bit of parchment, and it’s probably the thickest letter he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback by your presence, “sorry—didn’t realize anyone else was up here,”

“No worry,” you reply with a shy smile, handing the letter to your owl and patting him softly before he takes off, blending in with the snow covered grounds.

With the realization that his friends are far away in the castle and would have no chance to tease him about his flushed face when he sees you, Fred seizes this opportunity of alone time together. “Quite a long letter you’ve written.”

You turn to look at him as you swing your bag over your shoulder, kind of shocked that he’d noticed the length of a letter not meant for him. “Oh—erm—yes, I do tend to ramble on quite a bit when writing to loved ones,”

Fred feels his insides tighten, and why his mind immediately goes to boyfriend, he doesn’t know—but he hates it. You continue before he can ask anything, “I’m Muggleborn, you see.”

Fred did not know this. His eyes pop open in admiration, and he’s excited that he’s finally learning more about you.

“I’m sure your family has lots of questions.”

“My mum, yes,” you reply, nodding your head in agreement, “she just likes weekly updates, you know, to make sure classes are going well, I’m staying safe—that I haven’t been.. eaten by a dragon, or anything.”

Fred laughs at this, taking you by surprise. He runs a hand through his hair and tells you, “Something all Muggle parents should worry about, of course.”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, pausing to consider the conversation. After a moment, you continue, “However—if you’re going to go, getting eaten by a dragon is probably the most wicked, d’you reckon?”

When he wandered up to the Owlery that afternoon and spotted you, discussing being eaten alive by dragons was not exactly how he expected the conversation to go. But he took it. He was talking to you, anyway. He replies, “I mean—can’t be any less exciting than being pummeled by the Whomping Willow,”

A laugh escapes your lips, and it’s sweet as sugar, as far as Fred is concerned. He can feel his entire body go numb at the sound of it.

You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and say to him, “Hope McGonagall isn’t giving you and your brother that hard of a time in detention.”

Fred feels his face flush red, but—it’s not like the entire bloody school hadn’t seen them get scolded, right? But hearing you say it, recognize it—it makes his entire body tense up.

“Oh, you—you saw that, did you?”

“Think the entire school did, I’m afraid.” You both pause, taking this in, and Fred laughs nervously. “But, hey—it’s not like anyone got hurt, right?”

“Right,” he replies, finally remembering the letter he needs to send. He places it into the beak of a barn owl, who hoots appreciatively and flies off into the sky. “I suppose we’re used to it, and I reckon McGonagall is, too.”

You peer down at your shoes, doing your best to try and suppress quite a large grin, and Fred notices this. You both make your way down from the Owlery, not speaking, but the silence is comfortable, and Fred graciously offers you his hand when you nearly slip on the way down. Gratefully, you take it, and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment. When you both enter the castle, he has to stop himself from melting in front of you when you remove your hat and gloves, noticing the pinky-gold color of the tips of your ears and nose. He’s brought back to reality when he hears a cackle from the Great Hall.

“Well,” you tell him, removing your coat and slinging it over your shoulder, “was nice chatting with you,”

Fred is sad your time together for the day is coming to an end, but he reckons it’s enough to get him through until you undoubtedly bump into one another later in the common room, “Yeah, it was—maybe next time you can tell me some other things Muggle parents worry about when it comes to the Wizarding world.”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Like getting fingers bitten off by a biting doorknob,”

He furrows his brow and laughs slightly, unable to read your expression until you, too, giggle sweetly. He swallows thickly before you say, “Well—have a g’night, Fred.”

“You, too.”

He doesn’t even care if you catch him watching you—he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as you walk swiftly up the steps, until you disappear from his sight completely.

His heart is still hammering in his chest when he thinks of your hand wrapped inside of his, and he can hardly focus on all of the questions coming his way from his siblings. Physically, he’s seated in the Great Hall, his chin resting on his hand, a slight glaze over his eyes—but his heart and mind have followed you all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Fred is absolutely loving all of the free periods he’s getting this term as he watches all of the younger students speed off hurriedly to their next glasses. He and George stand together, nothing but free time in front of them, when Ron comes trudging down the corridor with a glazed look on his face, Harry and Hermione on either side of him. No doubt coming straight from Divination.

Hermione waves quickly before heading off in a different direction, when Ron and Harry bump into the twins and lean against the wall. “Bloody hell, that woman drains me,”

“Your choice to take Divination, mate,” George says and pats his younger brother on the shoulder, “could’ve told you you’re out of your bloody mind.”

“Where’re you two off to, then?” Harry asks.

“Free period,” the twins chorus together, and both Ron and Harry grunt miserably. Fred continues, “Have some plans up our sleeves—reckon a bit of mischief this afternoon would do us some good, eh, Georgie?”

But before George can answer, Harry elbows Fred a little bit harder than expected, and before Fred can yell out in pain, Ron nods toward the other end of the corridor. Fred turns around, and the pain in his ribcage is flooded by nerves—he’s not sure which he’d rather have, to be honest—but he spots you, chatting up a Ravenclaw, a pile of books in your hands. All pain seems to subside at the sight of your toothy smile.

“On second thought..” Fred says to nobody in particular, leaving the boys behind as he hastily makes his way through the crowd, running on not much other than coffee and adrenaline. “Hey, Y/N!”

You turn toward him, surprised to see him clambering his way through fellow students in order to get to you. “Hi, Fred,” you say brightly, reaching out to fix his askew tie, and he’s pretty sure that the entire world can hear his heart pounding. You realize what you’re doing, and quickly retreat, looking around the corridors as if the sheer fact of you brushing your hands against Fred Weasley’s clothes will kill you with embarrassment. He can’t help but grin goofily at your nervous state.

“How are you? No dragons today?”

You bite down a smile, and Fred knows he’s said the right thing. “No—not today. Though I daresay I narrowly escaped one in the girls lavatory before.”

“So that’s where they’re hidden,” he replies, elated beyond belief to hear that laugh of yours again. The unmistakable sound of mock laughter from his friends bounces off the walls as they walk past you both—albeit, rather lethargically.

Fred rolls his eyes before sticking a hand out, as if he’s displaying them, “My lovely brothers,”

George, Ron, and Harry all introduce themselves to you before George begins, much to Fred’s dismay, “Might I just say, Y/N, that the effect you have on him is wonderfully entertaining, if not comical—”

He’s cut off by a sharp blow to his shin, but he laughs through gritted teeth. You grin inquiringly, “And.. what kind of effect is this exactly?” you ask Fred, who opens his mouth to speak, but sputters.

“Oh—erm—nothing? I mean—they’re just having a bit of a.. a laugh,” he tells you, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and this annoys him beyond belief. Maybe it’s because he’s worried his twin will spill his guts, or maybe it’s due to the fact that Ron and Harry are now admiring your beauty too, or maybe it’s because he’s afraid the mere expression on his face will tell you everything you need to know.

“Now you’ve got him tongue tied!” Ron calls to you from the end of the corridor, where the boys are now disappearing. “Fred Weasley.. tongue tied.. the bloke who can never shut the hell up, who’d’ve thought it?” Their voices float for a moment between you both, until the bustling sounds of other students drowns it out.

Fred kicks at the ground, nerves engulfing him, as you wait with baited breath for whatever he’s about to say. “Sorry about them,” he tells you as he slams his hands into his pockets, “they’re a bunch of gits..” Looking to change the subject as quickly as possible, he asks you, “So—you free for a stroll?”

Thankfully, it seems to Fred as though you’ve forgotten all about his brothers’ snide comments. To his dismay, however, you reply begrudgingly with a twinge of guilt to your voice, “Oh, I’m sorry, Fred, unfortunately—have got double Transfiguration—but I’m now second guessing my choices of why I signed up for this in the first place..” Your voice drifts off and Fred feels as though he’s forcing himself to hear more, he wants to hear your voice more, “See you soon? Stay out of trouble.”

You raise a hand to him and continue down the emptying corridor, and he watches you enter McGonagall’s classroom. The Deputy Head is standing on the opposite side of the hall, chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick before heading inside to begin her lesson. Suddenly, a weird feeling floods through Fred’s body—is he actually thinking—? No, he couldn’t be, he has a free period now, and why would he give that up?

Yet, he finds his legs carrying him across the hall and his mouth is sputtering out words to McGonagall before he can barely even register what he’s doing.

“You look like death.”

Fred slumps into an armchair in the common room, barely able to keep his eyes open, and chucks a throw pillow at Ron. “Thanks, mate,”

George sits down beside his twin. “Where’ve you been? You ran off and we haven’t seen you since!”

“Double Transfiguration,” Fred says sleepily, resting his head on the side of the chair, and not opening his eyes.

“Double Transfiguration?” Harry and Ron say together. “Since when d’you take Double Transfiguration?”

When Fred opens his eyes, he can already tell they probably look incredibly bloodshot. Next to him, George is grinning at him cheekily.

“Look at you,” George begins mockingly, his eyes narrow slits due to his suppressed laughter, “taking up extra classes just to spend time with this girl.”

The unmistakable sound of Harry snorting bounces off of the walls. “Blimey, there’s not enough gold in the world—you’re off your rocker, Fred.”

“Have you two even kissed yet?”

“No, Ronald,” Fred replies a bit angrily, “we haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business, but—‘m taking my time. Don’t want to push her into anything. I’m still trying to feel it out. This isn’t something you can rush into, lads. Reckon I’ll get her in the end.”

“In your dreams,” Ron says quietly through gritted teeth, and he’s stunned when he receives a thick whack! to his head from his older brother.

But Fred doesn’t care what they think. Even in his delirious state, all he can remember is the twinkle in your eye when he slid in the seat next to yours after McGonagall gave him the go ahead to enroll in her afternoon classes. All he can think about is the confused, flustered smile you gave him when he said, ‘Hi there, darling,’ as he opened his textbook and McGonagall began her lesson. And all that’s flooding through his head, now, as you climb through the portrait hole looking incredibly elated, is the amount of times he caught you, not paying attention to the lesson in front of you, but instead peering at him with dazed eyes and a lazy grin.

It’s strange to see the Great Hall so empty, with the exception of just a few students. He’s going to be so easily caught if he’s found. Fred is already sort of regretting this plan.

Until he spots you, that is.

When you walk into the Great Hall, he’s thrown off by seeing you in jeans and a blouse instead of your school robes—something he’s never noticed before, since you normally spend your weekends in quiet sanctuaries, and he’s off creating some sort of chaotic mischief.

“Hey,” he says brightly, bumping gently into you.

You shoot glances in every direction. “Fred,” you whisper, confused, eyes shifty, “what are you doing here?”

“Just joining you for the afternoon.”

He’s feeling confident today. The norm. You fold your arms across your chest and ask him, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And what part do you sing?”

Fred hadn’t really thought this through. When he found out you were a member of the choir, his first thought was that choir is pretty much the dorkiest thing anyone could be a part of, and then he thought—if your singing voice is as beautiful as your laugh, he was in for quite an adventure.

“Erm—you know,” he trips over his words, slamming his hands into his pockets, “the—alto.. tenor—been singing since I was little.”

You nod sarcastically and bite your lip and make your way toward the front, where the rest of the choir is now congregating. The other members eye him conspicuously.

“Um, Y/N,” a Slytherin girl calls over to you, looking rather peeved off, “what’s he doing here?”

You fidget uncomfortably in your seat. “He’s—just—joking, it’s alright, Lena, lay off,”

Fred snorts embarrassingly and peers over your shoulder at your sheet music.

When Professor Flitwick walks in, Fred scrunches next to you, trying not to let his very tall frame and bright red hair stand out. So far, so good. He bites down a grin when he notices the nervous twitch of your eyes. It’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Then you turn toward him and whisper through gritted teeth, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Just want to spend some more time with you,”

“And Double Transfiguration isn’t enough of a fill for you?”

“Can’t help myself.”

“You’re ridiculous, you are.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love my company.”

“Well—you certainly don’t make it very bloody difficult, do you?”

You look back down at your sheet music, fighting a smile, and Fred notices your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

Professor Flitwick taps his baton on his music stand and fixes his glasses before raising his hands to conduct. His squeaky voice echoes throughout the nearly empty Great Hall, “Let’s start with some warmups, shall we?”

And Fred’s right—your soft soprano range nearly has him melting into a puddle right next to you. He opens his mouth to belt out some obnoxious, offkey note, but is taken fully by surprise—you’ve actually left him silent. He can’t seem to find the words.

You turn toward him, furrowing your brow and stopping your vocal runs at once. Tentatively, you ask him, “What?”

Fred can feel his insides tighten at your gaze; Flitwick is saying something, but he doesn’t listen—he’s drowning in your eyes, your soft silky voice washing over him like a cool tide. He blinks. “N-nothing,” he begins sheepishly, clearing his throat, “—you’re going to leave me speechless, you are.”

“Weasley!”

Both of you jump at the sound of his name; Fred’s hand immediately grabs at your knee, and before he can even process what’s happening, he’s standing up amidst the students, still silent and sort of, well, flustered.

“What’re you doing here? You’re not in the choir.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Fred says as he removes himself from the congregated group, bouncing toward Flitwick. He places a hand on the back of his neck and says awkwardly, “Just had to come and see the most beautiful girl.”

The choir coos, and Fred is delighted to see that you’re still grinning like mad despite all of the eyes on you. You shake your head slowly, peering up at him over the top of your sheet music. Professor Flitwick squeaks, “Ah—yes, yes, we all adore a good love story, Mr. Weasley, but if you don’t mind, we’ve got a rehearsal to get to!”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replies, saluting his professor before making his way toward the exit of the Great Hall. And then, in a loud, sing-songy proclamation, a “Yes, siiir!” escapes his lips in an off key, pitchy, albeit—weirdly adorable—note.

And once more before he leaves completely, he spins around, instantly spotting you in the mess of the choir, not at all able to focus on the vocal runs Professor Flitwick has asked you to practice as a warmup. You’re still trying your best not to meet his gaze, but the tension is rising and eventually you lift your head, your eyes meeting with his, and he winks before vanishing in the corridor.

Fred is very, very nervous. Not only is the team playing Slytherin today, but you’re also in the stands. Watching. Spectating. Expecting something great, he presumes.

He knows this because of your prior conversation the two of you held in Transfiguration the day before.

“We’ve got it in the bag.”

“Slytherin’s got a good lineup this year.”

“Yeah, but Gryffindor’s better.”

That smile. Your damn smile. “Okay—impress me, then.”

He’s feeling particularly less confident than he ever has before, and he’s busy bouncing his feet up and down on the carpet as he tosses his broomstick between his hands. He didn’t eat breakfast. He’s running purely on caffeine and nerves alone.

The rest of the team meets up in the common room before heading down to the pitch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all there, as well.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ginny asks him.

George slings an arm around his twin and answers for him, “Nerves.”

“Nerves?” Ron and Hermione chorus together. “Can you even properly feel nervous—you? Is that even.. possible?”

Fred shrugs his brother off of him as they begin to chuckle lightly. Then Ginny prods, “Cat got your tongue, Fred?”

He shrugs and kicks at the carpet.

It’s the first time in, well, forever, that Fred Weasley cannot seem to find the words to say.

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron says suddenly, a lightbulb going off in his head, “she’s left you.. speechless.”

“Has Freddie finally found a girl that actually makes him anxious?”

Their teasing and jokes don’t do anything to help him, and he’s finding it hard to sit still. Finally, Angelina leads the way to the pitch, and the cheers erupting from the stands send chills down Fred’s spine—you’re there, you have to be, right? Angelina elbows him curiously, “Dunno what’s going on with you and this girl—” she raises her eyebrows mockingly, “—but please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t let it affect your playing today, yeah?”

Great, thanks, no pressure at all, he thinks as he runs a hand nervously through his hair. To his left, he sees George, who rolls his eyes as if to say, Ignore her, and this helps Fred regain a little bit of his confidence.

During warmups, though, as the team flies aimlessly around the pitch and tosses the quaffle back and forth, Fred looks absolutely wrecked, and cannot seem to focus on anything except you—seated in between his sister and other fellow Gryffindors, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, your hands absentmindedly tapping against your knees, waiting for the match to begin.

All the players are hovering in the air, Fred can feel his teeth chittering, Malfoy is making some stupid joke about Harry, and Madam Hooch is walking out toward the middle of the pitch, just moments before the match is to finally begin.

But Fred, thoughts elsewhere, just needs to do it already, he reckons. He flies toward the Gryffindor section, his sister and teammates eyeing him suspiciously, and lands in the middle of the crowd—desperately searching the sea of eyes before him, but not finding the familiar pair he’s looking for.

And then he finds you.

And he’s fighting his way through spectators left and right, while the rest of his team calls to him from the pitch to hurry up, the match is about to begin, when he finally gets to you and places his hands on your shoulders.

It seems as though you’re saying this to him for the millionth time, but he doesn’t care. Your eyes flutter back and forth between him and the pitch, “Fred,” you begin softly, “what’re you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he replies breathlessly.

And he cups your chin in his hands and pulls you closer toward him, pressing his lips gently to yours. And there it is. Fireworks.

He can feel your shock against him, and he’s finding it hard to not smile completely against your lips. It’s slow and easy and warm, the way the tide feels after having swam all day—muscles de-tensing, body limp. He can feel your eyelashes brush against his cheekbones, your fingertips brush his hips. And slowly, very slowly, he pulls away, hovering for a moment before breaking completely.

This time, you’re the one who’s left speechless.

You know, the funny thing, Fred wants to tell everyone, is that when a kiss comes at the right time from the right girl, it can lighten the entire mood of the atmosphere, change your outlook on life—things of the like. It sounds dramatic in his mind, but he doesn’t care.

Interrupting the stillness between you both is a quick whack! to his head from the Quidditch referee, obviously annoyed at the delay in the beginning of the match. Fred rubs his head in the spot where it’s stinging and glances at you before erupting into laughter—there’s that nervousness again, the skittishness, your shy self shining through with rosy cheeks.

“Wait for me,” his lips brush against your ear.

You swallow thickly over a lump in your throat, listening intently. “What d’you mean?”

“Next time you sneak out,” he smiles at you, remembering that late night in the common room all those months ago, confidence now engulfing him yet again. “I reckon we’d have a bit of fun if I accompany you, yeah?”

[nalgenewhore]

without a doubt

rowan x lorcan, modern au, yulemas au, word count: 2098

“Darling, please,” his boyfriend laughs, “stop pouting.” 

Rowan frowns and tucks his chin into the collar of his hoodie. Lorcan’s hoodie, actually. “I am not pouting. I’m upset.” 

Through the screen of the laptop, Lorcan’s image is grainy. His smile dims slightly, “I know. I’m sorry, Ro. I was really sure that we would be done by now.” He flicks his eyes to the side and the muscles in his sharp jaw feather. His dark brows lower and he mutters, “I never would’ve taken it if I knew I’d be gone this long.” 

“I know, my love,” Rowan whispers, subtly wiping away the silver that lines his eyes. “But this is your dream. It’s always been your dream, L. I can’t be the reason you give that all up, you know?” 

Lorcan nods, that frown still on his fiercely beautiful face. He looks down and picks at his bedspread, “Yeah, I know.” Quickly, he snaps his head up, his eyes ablaze, “I would though. I’d give it all up for you, if you asked.” 

The words rest on the tip of his tongue. Rowan almost blurts them out, but he doesn’t. Instead he smiles softly to hide the aching, yearning feeling that never quite dulls. “But I’m not asking you. So you’re stuck there.” 

Lorcan laughs humorlessly and his eyes sparkle, “Yeah, I know.” It falls kind of flat. If they were together, Rowan would kiss him and they would forget all about it all. “Oh, I got you your Yulemas gift today. Putting it in the mail tomorrow.” 

“Oh, really? Will I like it?” Rowan shifts to lie on his stomach and props his chin up on a ring-laden fist.

“Rowan Whitethorn!” Lorcan gives him an offended look, “When have I ever gotten you something you haven’t liked?” 

Rowan laughs and concedes, “You’re right, you’re right. You truly are the gift master.” 

“I know,” Lorcan replies smugly. He stretches his bare arms above his head and tucks his hands behind him, his head cradled by his inked biceps. “You’re a very… appreciative receiver.” With his cocky grin, there’s no way to ignore the implication. 

An outraged gasp escapes Rowan, “Are you calling me a whore?” 

Lorcan laughs, “No, I am not calling you a whore. You can have the qualities of a label and not be the label.” 

“You are calling me a whore! Oh my gods, I hate you,” Rowan complains, his green eyes narrowed in warning. “Maybe it’s a good thing you aren’t here ‘cause I could kill you right now.” 

“Oh, I love it when you sweet talk me, baby. Reminds me of how you stole my heart.” 

Rowan snorts and grabs a pillow to cushion his chin, “I love you. And I wish I could say it in person.” 

His boyfriend’s face softens. Lorcan says back, “I love you too and I wish you could hear it for real.” 

They smile at each other, eyes filled with longing and reverent adoration. Until hours later, when they both fall asleep without bothering to hang up, they talk about everything and nothing at all. It mends their incomplete souls, even if just for a moment. 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

“Happy Yulemas Eve!” 

Rowan smiles and accepts the hug Aelin pulls him into, “Happy Yulemas Eve, Fireheart. Is everyone here already?” He looks over his friend’s head down the front hall of her apartment. 

They step back and Aelin nods, “Yeah, they’re all here. Well, almost.” 

He nods and steps in, “Yeah… he- he tried, you know, but there wasn’t any way.” Rowan shrugs his coat off and hangs it up. “It’s fine. He promised to call and say ‘hey’ later, during presents.” 

The golden-haired woman grins and takes his bag of gifts, “That’ll be nice - we all miss him. Now,” she tucks her hand into his elbow and tugs him in, “come along, there’s lots to do!” 

In the open-concept living room, their friends are already there, at varying levels of sobriety. They call out their cheerful greetings as Aelin puts Rowan’s presents beneath the tree. Fenrys surges to his feet, “Rowan!” 

Rowan laughs at the sight of his drunken friend, “Hey, bud. How are you doing?” 

“I’m very, very, very good,” Fenrys slurs. “Ress is here, did you see?” He casts an adoring look at his boyfriend, who blushes like always. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“I know, Fen,” Rowan says, his bright grin not quite reaching his eyes. 

“Oh! Oh no, I’ve upset you,” Fenrys exclaims, his face twisted in wasted anguish. He throws his arms around Rowan and pats the top of his head, “Oh, it’s ok, it’s ok. Lor’s a miserable misan—” 

“Ok, Fenrys, why don’t we go somewhere else, hmm?” Lysandra interjects, pulling Fenrys away. She kisses Rowan’s cheek, pushing him to the kitchen like a perfect hostess should. “There’s food and drinks in the kitchen and dinner will be ready in half an hour - help yourself, ‘kay?” 

Rowan nods and walks to the kitchen, quietly filling a plate. A petite woman slips up to him, a drink in hand for him, “Hello, Rowan. How are you?” 

He smiles as he pops an olive into his mouth, “Hey, El.” Rowan shrugs, “I’m… fine. I’m fine. Really, it’s…” 

“Fine?” Elide suggests, a cheeky grin on her heart-shaped face. 

“Yeah,” Rowan sighs. 

She leans against him, rubbing his back soothingly, “Ok, well, c’mon to the living room and sit with me. Borte and Aelin are going at it again.” Elide pulls him to the couch without waiting for his response. 

For a while, Rowan forgets about being alone. Around him, his family talks animatedly, egging the two most chaotic members on as they battle over the finale to some show they’re both obsessed with. The others watch with rapt attention, laughing outrageously at the things Borte and Aelin say. 

In a lull of silence, Rowan stands up, “I’m going to step out for a bit. Too warm.” He walks to the balcony as the conversation resumes, albeit much quieter. Everyone turns to their respective partners, whispering soft nothings and laughing at stupid jokes. His breath hitches and Rowan looks to the kitchen just in time to see Lysandra hold a sprig of mistletoe over Aelin’s head and the couple kisses, smiling as they press their lips together. 

His chest squeezes painfully tight. Tears burn his eyes and Rowan rushes outside. It’s bitterly cold and the sharp winter wind nips at his face. He sniffles, blowing out a long breath to keep his tears at bay. It’s stupid. 

In the pocket of his oversized corduroys, Rowan feels his phone buzz. He hastily pulls it out with clumsy, half-frozen fingers. He expects to see Lorcan’s contact flashing over the screen with a waiting call, but all he sees is a text message. 

lover boy <3: srry ro smthng came up

lover boy <3: can’t call tn 

lover boy <3: luv u 

All his air escapes him in a pathetic, teary exhale. Rowan shakes his head in disbelief and types back quickly. 

pretty boy: are you sure? i really miss you 

lover boy <3: i’ll call tmrw

lover boy <3: promise

Rowan sighs and replies resignedly. 

pretty boy: ok love 

pretty boy: i love you too 

Rowan shuts his phone off and wipes his eyes, cursing himself for his tears. 

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Asks a hissing voice. His ears burn in shame. He’s finally doing what he’s always wanted to - why aren’t you happy for him? He would be happy for you.

Rowan shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and puts his phone in his pocket. He pushes his silver-blond curls off and braces his hands against the railing. After a few minutes, the glass door slides open and someone steps out, “Ro? Is everything alright? We’re going to open gifts now.” 

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine. Something came up and Lor can’t call tonight.” He turns, shrugging his shoulder up. “It’s fine.” Rowan drags his red and silver lined eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She steps out and takes his hand, “Come on, we’ve got presents.” 

He smiles and lets her pull him inside. He’s ushered to a seat and handed a mug of mulled wine. 

Aelin peruses the available gifts and picks a slim box up, “And this one is for Rowan, from his very own lover boy.” She passes it to Rowan who takes it. He traces the tip of his finger over the label, smiling at his boyfriend’s looping handwriting. 

Rowan doesn’t bother to be patient and tears into it, not noticing the tittering giggles and scurrying feet behind him. He tosses the wrapping paper to the side and eases the top of the box off. 

Whatever’s inside is covered in tissue paper. Rowan carefully opens it, puzzled as he sees a folded slip of paper. He takes it out and glances into the box, but there’s nothing more. “Oh.” He unfolds it and reads it quickly.

turn around - L 

Rowan frowns and puts the box down. “What is this?” He looks up and their faces are pink with barely controlled glee. “Guys, what did you do?” 

From behind him, he hears a dry, dark chuckle. “Won’t you turn around, my darling?” 

A half sob escapes Rowan and he stands up, the note fluttering to the floor as he turns. In the hall, Lorcan stands. He smiles a tired, weary smile, but it’s lazy and easy and golden and Lorcan. “Lor?” Rowan runs towards him, crashing into his boyfriend. He clutches at the back of Lorcan’s jacket, his smile blinding. 

Lorcan laughs quietly and pulls Rowan close, his big arms around the green-eyed man’s waist, “Hey, Ro.” 

“Hi,” Rowan whispers, tears caught in his lashes. “Are you really here?” He lifts his head, eyes searching Lorcan’s face. 

Instead of answering, Lorcan closes the distance between them and kisses Rowan deeply. Rowan melts into the embrace and softly sighs his boyfriend’s name, slim fingers sliding into dark hair. 

“Good gods, get a room already,” Aelin heckles cheerily. 

Lorcan bites Rowan’s lower lip and flips Aelin off as he slides his tongue over Rowan’s. Rowan hums sweetly and pulls away, his lip tucked between his teeth, “What are you doing here? What about work?” 

“I quit,” Lorcan says proudly, his eyes bright.

Rowan gapes at him and pushes his boyfriend backwards, “You what? Lorcan!” He smacks his boyfriend’s shoulder, “You love that job. Oh my gods, you did this for me, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” 

Lorcan grins widely, tugging Rowan back into his arms, “I’m sorry, pretty boy, but I did. No matter how much I liked it, I couldn’t be without you for that long.” 

“But,” Rowan makes a helpless gesture, not entirely sure why he’s fighting this, “you love that job.” 

“Yeah,” Lorcan bumps the tip of his cold nose into Rowan’s and pecks his lips, “but I love you more. I couldn’t enjoy it ‘cause I was missing you all the time.” 

Rowan can’t articulate everything he wants to say, so he hopes his kiss does it for him, “I love you so much. So much, love.” He lazily cradles the back of Lorcan’s head. 

“Hellas below, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear that for real,” Lorcan murmurs. “I love love love you.” 

Behind them, their friends start to catcall and whistle in appreciation. They break apart, cheeks burning and lips love-bitten. Reluctantly, the couple walks into the living room. Rowan sits down in the oversized armchair and picks up his drink. As Lorcan goes around, saying hello to everyone, Aelin perches herself on the arm of Rowan’s seat and toys with his light curls, “So, how do you like your gift?” 

“You- this was you? You did this for me?” 

“Oh,” she laughs merrily, “I wish I could take credit for it, but I only helped with the getting him here. This idea was all your mans.” Aelin tilts her head to the side, “Best Yulemas ever?” 

Rowan looks up to find Lorcan already looking his way. The dark-haired man walks over to him and bumps Aelin out of the way with an expert hip check, “What are you two talking about?” Lorcan sits down beside Rowan and slides his hand into the hair at the back of Rowan’s head. 

Rowan rests his chin on Lorcan’s shoulder and kisses the skin beneath his jaw, “This being the best Yulemas ever.” 

“Really? That good, hmm?” 

“Mmm,” Rowan smiles and kisses him softly, “without a doubt.” He nuzzles his nose against Lorcan’s, “Best Yulemas ever.”

 ☽ ☼ ☾

an: this is the first of a few fun lil holiday ficlets i’ve got planned & i hope u enjoy 😊

@mythicaitt​ @ladyverena​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @ladywitchling​ @darklesmylove​ @shyvioletcat​ @the-regal-warrior​ @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @thewayshedreamed​ @sassyhobbits @tswaney17

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [23]

Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, Dracula swearing, very VERY dom Drac, mention of a breeding kink you’re welcome, biting, fingering (f receiving), oral (m/f receiving), thigh riding, squirting, just Claes Bang in general

A/N: since you were all so lovely to DraccyBoi in your asks (he’s still anticipating more asks btw), you receive a gift of smut! Also this one is so long I’m so sorry (pun intended)

~^*^~

Jack was smiling awkwardly at you. You hadn’t seen nor heard from him since you left Yorkshire and you were certain thar your friendship had come to its second end.

“Your mum invited me.” He explained and you rushed over to hug him.

“I am... so glad to see you.” You confessed, “but why the hell did you come all the way down just for a stupid party?”

“Well...”

How could he tell you? There was a lump in his throat that stopped him from speaking any further. If he told you, he would shatter everything that you had built. By the way you were quite literally glowing, he knew that you were finally enjoying your life. He was happy for you, of course. He couldn’t tell you. Not tonight. Besides, if he was lucky, word would reach you by the morning from somebody else, anyway.

He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here now and you’ve been a terrible friend by not messaging me or anything. For all I knew, you could have become a bloodsucker.”

“He won’t turn me.” You told him, “now come, there is alcohol in the kitchen.”

Taking his wrist, you lead him into the kitchen and straight towards the many half-drunken bottles of alcohol. The patio doors were swung open, the sound of laughter breezing in as many of the fishwives very obviously stood flirting with Dracula. He had been trying to get away and get back to you for the better part of 10 minutes but with no success. You ignored the sounds, helping Jack to pick the best alcohol for his mood and stood laughing with him for a minute or two.

“Hey, um, I was wondering if we could possibly go talk somewhere a little more private?” Jack suddenly piped up.

“I hope this won’t be like your private “talks” with Lucy.” You teased.

“Oh god, no. I don’t want to die just yet.” He chuckled.

“Very well. I’m sure you remember just where we can go.”

The place was another little sacred trove that you and Jack only knew about. This one dated back much further than Robin Hood’s Bay and had been the location of many break downs, underage drinking sessions and of course, your outrageous teenage gossip. Taking his wrist, you plucked up your own glass and pulled him out into the garden. You ignored the stares of the many women who suddenly began excitedly whispering.

However, it was almost too hard to ignore Dracula. You knew that being seen with Jack would hurt him, and you truly didn’t know how far you could push him before he left you or killed you. But Jack very rarely wished to speak privately with you. If he did, it wasn’t for no reason.

The bottom of the garden seemed miles away with such an angry, hot glare being sent your way. Had the man somehow developed laser vision within the next second, Jack would have been left without the lower half of his left arm, you were certain. With your betrayal being spoken so carelessly as if you weren’t even there by the wives, Dracula’s temper was rising quickly. You were definitely going to pay this time. You knew it. When you reached the bottom of the garden and both you and Jack disappeared beyond the small cut out in the bushes, Dracula’s temper surged. He finally waved away all of the women and made his way inside to slump down on the sofa, ignoring all the questions of the men.

When you emerged on the other side of the bushes, a small shed greeted you. Still painted with all the little flowers and signs Lucy, Jack, Daniel and yourself had painted, it reeked of a time long ago when you had been care-free and happy. The inside was a little dusty, but the cushions were still useable and the fairy lights still worked, so it wasn’t completely abandoned. You took your seat.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“I... well...” he hesistated.

“Jack, I hate to pressure you, but my very angry vampire boyfriend may just kill me for being with you right now, so the last thing you can do for me is tell me. I’m practically on my death bed.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m moving back to London.” He blurted out.

“You’re what?! Why?!” You were shocked. Jack had settled in nicely in that little cottage you had left. He had begged you to stay. He was convinced that living by the sea was where he wanted - no, needed - to be!

He knew he was going to have to lie to you. He refused to ruin your evening further. Just his presence had caused a shift in the mood, he knew it. There was no way he would admit the truth. Not until at least tomorrow.

“I just... I missed it here. I’m... I want to be back down here, with you. With my family again.”

“Jack,” you sighed, “youre an awful liar.”

“I know.” He smiled sheepishly, bowing his head.

“If you can’t tell me why, I understand.” You smiled softly at him.

“No, it’s just- I-.. I can tell you but, I don’t want to ruin your evening.” His eyes looked up at you through his lashes.

“Then tell me tomorrow. Should we go coffees or something?”

“Yes but... you’ll need to bring Dracula.”

Okay. Something was wrong. You could tell by the way he strained to say his name that Jack did not like vampire one bit. After all, he had turned Lucy into a monstrosity and stolen you away from him, leaving him alone hundreds of miles away from anyone he knew. For him to ask you to bring Dracula to talk to him, no, something was definitely not right.

“Jack, what is going on?”

“Please, just... we’ll talk tomorrow. Until then, I missed you.”

He moved on, pulling you into him. He had truly missed you so very much, and if weren’t for the fact that he had begun to see you a little differently than before, he’d be livid with you for leaving him as you did.

You spent a little more time in the privacy of your little shed, just catching up on the weeks that you hadn’t spoken. It was nice to be with him again.

Whilst you were in there, Dracula was sulking hard. He had heard the wives (who had come inside for the comfort and privacy of Jack and yourself) whisper about how Jack suited you much better than he did. ‘Well he’s much closer to her age, they have much more in common’ one had whispered. ‘Yes, and they’ve been friends for so long, it’s inevitable that something would happen eventually.’ Would it be bad if he went in there and tore her head off? ‘And the way he looks at her! I don’t think she realises. That Dracula looks at her like she’s food.’ They laughed. ‘Now, come on, Sally, that’s how your Mike used to look at you!’ Another bout of laughter.

Music was playing quite loudly in the kitchen, drowning out their voices, but Dracula could hear them clearly. His fingers gripped onto the arm rest of the sofa. Is this what society had come to? Mother’s bashing their own children and the people in their lives? How sickening.

“Awe, look!”

The room burst into sounds of endearment and Dracula finally stood. Stepping forward, he turned to look through the kitchen and out of the window. You had emerged again with Jack, and you were on the patio, arms around his neck, his hands dropped to your waist, swaying to the music.

‘Give me reasons we should be complete // You should be with him I can’t compete // You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well // Can’t you see // I don’t wanna slow dance // In the dark’

You threw your head back at something he had said, and he buried his head into your neck, right on top of where the bite Dracula had given you was concealed.

A hand came on to his shoulder and he turned his head to see your father. His cheeks were a little red and his eyes were glossed with alcohol.

“Don’t worry,” he began, “she’s only doing it to control her tyrant of a mother.”

“Her mother is insistent on picking her suitor?” Dracula folded his arms.

“You see that fella over there?” He pointed to a man standing in the corner. He was around your height, with a round, slightly puffy face. He wore a visibly expensive suit, fat fingers gripping a sherry glass which was empty except for a thin layer of liquid at the bottom of the glass. His flaming orange hair stood out, and he was currently talking to another young lady who was clearly jusy a little repulsed by him.

“Yes, I see him.”

“She’s been trying to get [First] to date him for years. Silly woman. He’s nowhere near good enough for my baby.”

Your words rung in his ears - “tall, handsome Mark” - and he scoffed in amusement and disbelief that you had played him like that. He looked like every middle class asshole portrayed on the television. And by the way he was shuffling closer to the lady he was engaged in conversation with, he could see why you constantly rejected your mother’s advances.

“I feel that someone should go and rescue that poor girl.” Dracula chuckled, thinking of how he could possibly get you back. He looked over at you once more. Now that the song had changed, so had your dance.

‘How long // Til you play me the song // That will me belong to you // One dance // With my baby tonight // And we’ll dance til the night is though’

You were a little more carefree, twisting your hips and laughing. Your fingers were interlocked with Jack’s as you lead your arms high above your head and arched them down and out. Jack was flushing a little and you laughed, pulling some space between the pair of you but keeping your hands locked. You were singing the lyrics. Your voice had always been pretty.

“I think it should be the taller of us, go give him a good scare.”

He intended on scaring two people tonight...

He glided across the room, quickly finding himself at the side of Mark and the lady. He pushed down his mischevuous smirk.

“I am sorry to interject, but I was just wondering if I could have a word with this fine lady.”

Her eyes lit up at his intrusion and he watched relief flood her face. He was her knight in shining armour, and he was going to milk it for everything that it was worth. Her hand immediately came out to wrap around his exposed forearm and pulled herself closer to him.

“Yes, thats fine-“

“Aren’t you supposed to be with [First]?” Mark sneered, looking Dracula up and down with disgust. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at him like that, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“Weren’t you?” Dracula jeered and Mark’s face deepened with a scowl.

“Come on, boys, don’t fight.” The lady beside Dracula spoke, trying to keep the peace.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dracula turned his head to her, “it would hardly be a fair match.”

“Why you-“ Mark’s face reddened, really bringing out the orange on the top of his head.

“Now if you’ll excuse us. Come along, pet.”

Using his free hand, Dracula placed it over the top of the woman’s and lead her away quickly.

“What a creep.” She retorted, “you’re Dracula, aren’t you?”

“Great observation. Though, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.” He lead her over to the sofa. Her pulse was lively. He sat down, and she, like a magnet, took a seat right next to him she pulled herself closer so that their legs were touching and she was almost moulding into his side. Dracula smirked. Please, please let you walk in and have a taste of your own medicine.

“Chelsea.” She purred.

“Beautiful. Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Chelsea? While I have you all to myself.”

“Are you sure you should be talking to me like this? You came with [First].”

“Do you see her around?”

Her eyes lit up once more. So she was one of these girls you spoke about with such distaste. A “thot” if he remembered correctly. A man-stealer. He could not have chosen a better target.

~^*^~

You spent another hour or so in Jack’s company, and it was during this house that the house began to die down as people began to leave. Your mother had asked you and Dracula to stay the night, as it was quite a drive back to his apartment and it would be dangerous to drive so late. ‘He’ll be too tired to drive!’ She’d almost wailed, as if she had a premonition of you getting into an exhaustion induced car accident. You assured her that he wouldn’t be tired at all he hadn’t slept in hundreds of years he wasn’t going to start today. But you ended up agreeing, anyway. She had kept your bedroom the same, including the single bed, so you didn’t really know where he’d be for the night. Maybe she’d force him to stay downstairs...

Once most of the people had left, you and Jack finally decided that it was a good idea to go back inside. After all, it was getting quite cold. Your mother was in the kitchen, talking to the last two wives who had yet to leave and the two eyed you when you walked in. You rolled your eyes. You hated her friends with a passion. In the living room, the last few men were stood laughing with your father. Mark was still floating around, sending sharp looks over to the sofa. Jack was quick to grab your hand, but regretted it when you squeezed in so much anger that you almost broke all of his fingers.

“Jack.” You spoke through your gritted teeth.

“Calm down.” He whispered, “don’t give them something to gossip about tomorrow.”

“They’re already going to be gossiping about us. Might as well juice it up a little.”

“Seriously don’t. Chelsea of all people isnt worth it.”

“I swear I’m gonna go over there and rip her damn extensions out of her fucking head.” You narrowed your eyes, “look she’s touching his chest!”

Your display of jealousy was making Jack chuckle behind his stoic face. He continued to hold your hand, thankful your grip had loosened. Sure enough, Chelsea was running one of her long fingers down the opening of his shirt where the expanse of his chest was available for her to touch. Dracula looked oh so very pleased with himself. Jack immediately knew was was happening and had to snort at the scenario. Trust Dracula of all people to give you a taste of your own medicine.

Chelsea laughed at something Dracula had just whispered into her ear and she pulled herself closer, wrapping one leg over his and curling her fingers around his bicep.

“I’m going to break her fucking kneecaps!” Jack pulled you backwards as you balled your fists.

“Calm down.” He chuckled. You snapped your head towards him, and he pulled you back into the kitchen.

“After I’ve put her in the hospital, you’re next.” You warned.

“You do realise that he’s doing it on purpose, right?” You pushes yourself away from him as he spoke, scowling.

“I don’t care why the fuck he’s doing it. The point is that-... that fucking slag has her hands all over my boyfriend! All over! And only I’m allowed to touch his chest!” You crosses your arms, unable to stop the pouty scowl on your features. You were mad.

“You are never drinking again.” Jack decided, “alcohol makes you vicious.”

“Sluts throwing themselves onto my boyfriend make me vicious!”

Jack burst into laughter. Your frowned settled deeper into your features and you very almost followed through with your urge to throw a glass at him. This was not funny! You could hear your parents saying goodbye to another set of guests and you finally decided enough was enough. Your heels clicked on the tile floor and then the sound shifted onto wood. You stood before Dracula, whos arm was around the other woman’s shoulders as he laughed with her. He looked you up and down with a cocky smugness that had your blood boiling.

“Oh, hi [First].” Chelsea gave you an obviously fake smile.

“Up now.” You ignored her, gaze burning into Dracula’s face.

“I am very comfortable here, thank you.” He retorted, not holding back his smirk.

“Up.” You growled. Dracula raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping with the smirk still evident.

“Someone’s moody.” Chelsea whispered. And that was it. The switch was flipped. The button was pressed. The red mist came down and you were no longer going to hold it back.

“If you ever step foot into my parents’ house again, I swear to god you will regret it. And if you don’t remove your hands and legs from my boyfriend within the next half-second, I going to drag your rat-ass onto the street and kick your fucking ass into next year.”

Dracula was looking at you like you were a meal. He had seen you upset. Yes, many times he had pissed you off. But this jealousy driven rage you were in right now? It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced. And he’d been in some very sexy situations.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Her scratchy voice pierced the air.

“Did you not hear me?” You stepped forwards, eyeing her down like she was a piece of rotten meat covered with maggots, “did all of the plastic surgery on your face ruin your hearing? Should I repeat myself?”

Jack was in hysterics in the kitchen. Your father was watching in the corner with the proudest look on his face. Dracula was ready to jump you and help with your pent up anger.

“You bitch!” She rose, but before one of her hands could connect with you, you had grabbed her firmly by the hair and was dragging her through the room. She screamed and tried her hardest to get out of your grip but your fist had turned to steel. She pushed you hard into the door frame and you let go of her hair at last. One of her hands flew up, connecting with your face. Dracula rose.

“Don’t.” Your father stopped him, “she can handle it.”

Your father was right. You kneed Chelsea backwards, face red with a livid and boiling rage. Really, you should have had steam coming from your ears. That’s how angry her hit had just made you. Your fist came up, connecting with her face and it did a lot more damage than her hand had done. She cried out in pain, trying once more to fight back but you tangled both of your hands into her hair. The door was still open, your mother having stepped out into the front garden to watch with a look of horror.

“Don’t you ever come back!” You screamed, driving her out of the door and down the path. When she was out of the gate, you threw her body and she tumbled into the road. She looked up, glaring at you. You were heaving. Your arm came out to point at her, “don’t you set foot on this fucking street again! I’ll know if you do and I swear to the devil himself that I really will hurt you next time!” You roared.

“Sorry, did I make you insecure?” She sneered, “it’s not my fault I’m a better woman than you could ever be.”

A scream of pure rage left your lips and you stormed into the road. A car was on its way, but you ignored the blaring lights as your foot connected with her jaw. Had it been disconnected from her body like a football, it would have disappeared over the houses never to be seen again. Your foot connected with her body again, this time her ribs and then you were pulled backwards by two strong arms around your waist.

You weren’t done with her yet and as his grip tightened, dragging you backwards, you bent your leg, tearing your shoe from your foot and launching it at her. It struck her right on her forehead, bouncing off with a thunk and she finally rolled on to her back.

“I suggest no one follow us, I’m going to calm her down.” His voice rang through your ear as he momentarily propped you down before grabbing your wrist and pulling you up the stairs. He had clearly been snooping during the length of the party, as he got your bedroom right the first time and swung you in. Due to the imbalance of your legs with only one heel, you stumbled. The door shut and you angrily turned to face Dracula. He had blocked the door.

“Move.” You growled.

“You are not going to kill anyone tonight.” He warned you.

“No, I won’t kill her. I’ll fucking destroy her.”

“Right. Calm down.” His voice was stern and had you not been so livid, it would have turned you on in an instant, “it’s not so clever now, is it? Sneaking away with other men. It’s not nice feeling such intense jealousy.”

It hit you that he truly had been doing it on purpose. He had let her crawl all over him, put her hands all over him - just to get back at you! You hadn’t seen Jack in weeks and you simply wanted to talk to him! How childish!

“I fucking hate you! You’re such an asshole!” You cried out, digging your fingers into your scalp as you tugged on your hair. You were so far gone into the red mist that it was beginning to feel difficult to leave it.

“You don’t hate me.” He stated plainly.

“Yes I fucking do! I definitely hate you right now!” You were red in the face.

“Is that so?” He cocked his head.

“YES!”

He was in front of you within and instant and his hands firmly gripped your waist, driving you backwards until the back of your knees hit your bed. You toppled backwards and his lips were on yours.

This dream was nothing but calmness. A warm water up to your waist. It rippled around you as you walked forwards with no problem. You were in nothing, and neither was he as he outstretched his hand. You were soon in his embrace, chests connecting as he tilted your head up to look at him. He held you close, freely falling back into water. It crashed over you, but you did not need to hold your breath, nor feel as though you would drown. Your hands moved to his face as you sunk further down, a darkness slowly overcoming you both. His lips came into yours and a warmth spread throughout you. His hands dug into your waist, pulling you close. Your legs automatically wrapped around him.

Coming out from the dream, you were panting, a string connecting yours and Dracula’s lips. You were now in the same position that you had been in in the dream - legs around his waist, hands on his face, his hands still firmly on your waist. It had calmed you down. Only a little. But it has definitely worked.

His eyes glossed over you and lifted you up a little, to undo the ribbon at the back of your necklace. He gently pulled it away , using his other hand to force your head up so that he could get a good look at your scar.

“Jealousy is a wonderful colour on you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on so quickly in my 524 years.” He purred.

“You’re an asshole.” You breathed. On the outside, your body was calming down from the rage, but mentally, you were fuming still.

His mouth came down, tongue working on the beautiful mark he had made. You moaned out, fingers lacing into his hair at the contact. You wondered if this mark would feel the same if someone else kissed it? Or was it like werewolf lore, in which you were marked and connection by your mate with it was a nerve straight to your heat?

Either way, your body immediately lit up at the contact. You pressed a messy kiss to his cheek in response, breath hitching every time his tongue worked on the scar. Pulses were shooting through your body.

Dracula pulled away for a moment, kneeling up between your legs as he pulled them from his waist. His hands travelled down your left leg, fingers soon having the clasp of your shoe undone and gently pulling it away.

“I can’t believe you threw your shoe at her. I planned on keeping them on you.” He sighed.

“What do you know, Count Dracula has a thing for fucking girls in heels.” You teased with a roll of your eyes.

He began to chuckle and your hands worked at his jacket. You pushed it down his broad shoulders and he helped you pull it away from his arms. You laughed at the sight of him. His dress trousers were tight on his waist, accentuating his waist and you began to laugh harder. He was looking down at you with an unreadable expression. Most likely out of habit, his chest was rising and falling, straining against the shirt. His hair was a little disheveled.

“What is it?” He smirked.

“You look like you’re about to go and do the samba on Striclty!” You chuckled.

“At least someone is feeling better.” He smirked.

“Oh, I’m still fucking livid with you. I’m just taking the piss to keep myself calm.” You chuckled.

“Then maybe you want to take some of your frustration out on me, my darling?”

Using the material of his shirt, you pulled him back on to you, attacking his neck with kisses. He sighed at the feeling. Your warmth was spreading through him and all he wanted was to get you out of that dress.

“I need to tell you something,” you mumbled over his skin, your fingers now working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Yes, my darling?” His hands were running up and down your sides.

“I may,” a kiss, “or may not,” another kiss, “have forgotten,” another kiss and you pulled away to look up into his eyes with a faux innocence, “to put on any panties before we left.”

At your words, an animalistic growl tumbled through his chest like thunder.

“Fuck.” His hands stopped your own from undoing any more buttons and he pulled the material over his head in one swift movement, “you dirty fucking thing.”

You mewled. You’d never get used to way profanities spilled from his lips. You loved it. A rush went straight to your core. He came down once more, attacking your neck with kisses and working down to your collar bone. His hands grazed over your breats, still covered by the soft material of your dress. While he was busy, your fingers began work on the buttons of his trousers. When he had finally kicked them off, you pushed him up so that you could sit up a little.

“I should lock the door and leave you in here for the rest of night. And tie you up for good measure.” You whispered, paraphrasing him from the first time you had done this.

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough to break anything you attempt to bind me with?” He grumbled, moving to kiss your neck again. You stopped him.

“I want to try something.” A look of wickedness set in your eyes.

“What is it?”

“Go sit.”

He decided to listen to your command, making himself comfortable at the head of your bed. Within the next moment, you were straddling him. Your dress had ridden up your thighs. Dracula’s cool hands grazed up to the material.

“Can I?” He asked softly.

“You don’t need permission, Drac. Use me however you wish. Do whatever you want.”

He groaned at your words. With one fluid movement, the dress was off and you were straddling him, completely bare. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you. Chest a little flushed, nipples already perked up for him, legs over his, your hot core not quite touching him.

“Shit.” He whispered, “what do you want to do, darling?”

“Has anyone ever ridden your thigh before?” You sighed back, willing yourself to be still. There was something else that you were interested in riding, however, you knew that you couldn’t. You wondered if he’d every tell you why.

“I don’t think they have, no.” He sounded like all of the breath had been stolen from him.

“First time for everything.”

You shrugged and then manuvered both him and yourself so that you were straddling his left thigh, but you still did not make contact. His hands moved down your body, making sure to quickly give both of your nipples attention before resting on your hips. Your pussy was already drooling. How, he had no clue. He had barely touched you.

“Do I turn you on that much?” He chuckled.

“No, anger does.”

And you sunk down. Dracula watched the way you threw your head back, biting your lip as you help back your whimper at the feeling. You had only done this once before, and with with your ex. His thighs had never been too big and it had been a little uncomfortable for you. Dracula however... sweet Jesus. Such an expanse of muscle, thick and hard like other things, you suspected. His coolness spread over you and you wiggled your hips to get used to the feeling. You didn’t think you ever would.

“Move.” He suddenly commanded, voice dark. You dare not disobey, rolling your hips slowly against his thigh. The friction was enough, sending little jolts through your clit. Within a matter of minutes, your juices were covering most of the front side of his thigh, dripping down on to the bedsheets that hadn’t been changed since you were seventeen. Pink with white hearts. So mature.

He was enchanted. He couldn’t believe he’d struck absolute gold. The way you moved against him, the heat you were providing had him hissing. He was straining against his boxers, but he was too busy watching every minuscule movement of your body to care.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to stabilise yourself and you quickened your pace. Pleasure was building with the constant friction and you gasped when Dracula decided to flex his thigh beneath you. Your hands slipped, head rolling onto his shoulder and he had to grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements. You were trembling with the sudden build of pleasure and your hands moved down his firm front, coming to rest on his bulge. You smirked, biting lightly on his shoulder as one hand slipped beneath the waistband.

His girth was heavy in your hand, the only part of him other than his mouth that was hot. Your fingers couldn’t quite reach all the way around and you wondered if he was scared of hurting and if that was why he wouldn’t just fuck you into oblivion.

“[First]-“ he cut himself off when your thumb ran over his slit, collecting the few beads of precum that had collected. He groaned.

“You were saying?” You began pressing soft kisses against his shoulder. He flexed his thigh in response, a horrid tremble racking over your body and you sighed into his shoulder. His fingers were going to leave bruises. You were certain of it.

“You don’t have to.” His own head lolled back to rest on the highest metal bar of your bed frame.

“I want to.”

Your hand began to slowly pump his length, which was most definitely proportionate to his 6’4” tall body. Just feeling him in your hand had a hot wave of your slick dribbling down his thigh. You were going to cum. He knew this, too, slipping one of his hands down between your legs to help stimulate your clit a little more. The extra coolness, the firm, quick circles he drew had your body trembling as your orgasm washed over you. You kept your hand on his cock, loving the heat and the feel of it. When you had rode your orgasm out, you removed your hand and peered up at him.

He groaned at the look of you. Cheeks pink, eyes blown with the utter horniness you were currently in the midst of, lips parted and plumped from all of the kisses.

“Drac,” you began, in a quiet purr, “I need to taste you.”

“No.” He breathed sharply.

“Why not?” You repositioned yourself on him, purposefully connecting your core to the bulge in his underwear. Your hands flew around his neck, the utter feeling of it making you shakily moan. Your slick began to soack through the material.

“Because...” he began, “fucking shit.” You kept moving lightly, loving the way it felt. He gripped your hips once more, holding you in place, “stop.” He groaned.

“Drac, I need you. So badly. You can’t keep denying me when all my body craves is you.”

Oh, his heart. Of course, all he wanted was to pin you down beneath him and fuck you so hard that you forgot your own name. He had driven himself crazy thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. He’d given himself all sorts of grief wondering how well you’d fit together, stretching you out, feeling you take him like how you took his fingers. There was just one problem.

“I can’t,” he looked over your face, clearly upset himself at having to deny you something you both wanted, “I’ll be honest...” he took a breath.

“Tell me.”

“The last thing you want inside of you is undead sperm, darling.” He whispered, catching your neck in a kiss.

“Why is that? Surely it’s all the same?” Your body was beginning to ache for more.

“It’ll kill you, [First]. Either way it goes in, that’s it.”

“But you... Lucy...”

“Do you really think I cared if she lived?” He looked up at you, “I love you, [First]. I want no part in hurting you. Ever.”

“Then I just won’t swallow.”

Another groan left his lips. Had he known you were such a fox in the bedroom, he may have thought twice before falling utterly head over heels for you. What on Earth was he going to do with you?

You managed to get out of his grasp, pushing yourself backwards, simultaneously curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers and tugging. He lifted his hips, knowing that you were going to be stubborn on this. His member sprang free, hitting his somach as it did so. Now, it was your turn to eye him up greedily. Once his boxers had met the fate of the rest of the clothes in the bedroom, you lowered yourself down to all fours to assess your options. Your mouth quite literally dropped in surprise. Dracula chuckled.

“Have you finally realised that you may be a little too big for your boots?” He teased.

“Jesus Christ, Drac, you’re too big for my damn boots.”

He burst into laughter.

Seriously, how the hell were you meant to do this?! You knew he’d be hung, because, well, he was so tall! And broad! But you didn’t expect him to be so...

“What is it? Like six inches?”

“Why would I know something like that? It’s not like I go around... measuring. But since you asked so nicely, seven and a half.”

“Typical man. You all need to know your dick sizes, don’t you? What do you do, compare in the bathroom?” You chuckled.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the stereotype that women congregate in bathrooms together?”

“Yeah but guys are obsessed with their cocks.” You rolled your eyes.

Before he could get another word out, you had suddenly moved forwards, licking a long, slow stripe from the base of his shaft and to the top. Hot and heavy on your tongue, you hummed, letting the vibrations rack through him. He gasped. You smirked, running your tongue over the tip, collecting a little more precum.

“Promise me you’ll stop before I release.”

You nodded.

“Wait,” you peered up at him, “can’t we just use a condom?”

“Absolutely not.” He answers sternly, “I’m most definitely only fucking you with nothing between us. I want to fill you up with my children, watch you overflow with my seed, bulge with my offspring. There’s no way in hell that I will do with any such thing preventing me from doing so.” His eyes darkened considerably as he spoke, dick twitching at the thought of fucking you full of his cum. You felt your juices spill from your cunt, between your thighs.

“You kinky motherfucker.”

His moan ripped through the room as you sucked him into your mouth, tongue swirling over his tip. Your jaw immediately ached with the stretch of accommodating him. You couldn’t help but giggle at his response to your mouth, the feeling of your laugh heightening the sudden pleasure.

He gazed down at you, unable to conceive that this moment was his reality. Locking eyes, you sucked more of him into your mouth, and whatever you couldn’t fit, you used your hands. Slowly, wanting to savour him, you began bobbing your head up and down. In all honesty, you were surprised he could even get hard, considering he had no pulse and no way for the blood to course his veins. His taste was pretty much the same as any other in the world. Salty, the bitter taste of his precum silencing the taste of the skin. But, because it was him, it was just a little more of an enjoyable taste.

Your tongue worked as your head bobbed and his fingers soon found their way tangling in your hair. He was wasting no time in controlling the pace and the depth of your movements. Slowly but surely, he was forcing your down more. Noises of his absolute and pure pleasure filled the room and your stomach was flipping. You were soaked and then some, feeling your juices almost flowing down your legs. You needed something on your core. Anything.

“You can take it,” he groaned, talking about his entire length down your throat.

You probably could. You’d definitely taken bigger during your post-breakup hookups. But you were still pissed at him. So you pulled off, coughing just a little to make it seem as though you truly couldn’t. He gazed at you.

“I’ve had enough.” You stated stoically.

“[First]?”

Truth be told, he panicked. Had he pushed you too far? You stood, facing away from the bed to let your grin of pure evil break out on to your features. Dracula was momentarily frozen in shock. He couldn’t believe he’d just-... his eyes caught your reflection in your TV and he suddenly grew just a little angry again.

You moved towards your dresser, leaning against it as you looked down at the wood, inspecting the groves. He picked himself up, prowling towards you. You gasped when his hands tugged at your hair, pulling your head backwards. He was looking down at you.

“Bitch.”

The sound of his hand connecting with your ass filled the room (and most likely the hallway, too), and you squeaked, arching your back more. He watched the way his smack rippled through your flesh.

“I wasn’t finished.” His mouth moved to your neck as his hand kneaded where he had just hit. He bit down hard on your scar, and you arched your back further, ass knocking into his dick. He hissed, “hand. Now.”

You offered him your hand and he lead it to his length. His other hand fell from your hair and moved to grasp your breast, pinching your nipple hard. Guiding your hand, he helped you to pleasure him and you turned in his arms, sinking to your knees. Taking both of your hands, you batted him away and leaned to drool all over the tip which was now blushing violently. He was close. Good. Wrapping your fingers tightly around him, you quickened your pace and he had to arch over you, gripping the edge of the dresser just to try and keep himself calm. As much as he had wanted these intimate moments to be sweet and loving, there was something in the anger that made this nasty, utterly fithy version feel phenomenal.

“Shit.” He growled through gritted teeth.

He twitched between your palms and you tipped your head back.

“What happens if it touches skin?” You inquired softly, slowing your movements for a moment.

“Nothing-“ he gasped, “don’t- don’t stop.”

His own voice stuttered and immediately, you picked up the pace. Oh, the growl that came from him as his hot seed shot out, soaking your chest in a sticky substance. It ignited your skin, a moan rippling from your own throat at the feeling of being covered in his cum.

When the strands stopped, and he began to grow flaccid in your hands, he took a step back to admire you. His seed was slowly seeping down your chest, over your breats, over your stomach.

With no hesitation, he picked you up and threw you back on to the bed, quickly settling between your legs.

“What a good little thing you’ve been for me. Look at you,” he meant your cunt, of course. You were soaked. Your legs gleamed with your juices, “all for me?”

“Every last drop.”

“Let me repay my debt.”

Your fingers balled the sheets the second his tongue darted out, trialling the taste of you. He groaned and went straight back for seconds. He lapped up your juices, circling your clit before moving back down towards the source of the sweetness coating his tongue. Thank god he read that book Lucy sent him on how much sex had changed, otherwise he would have never known bliss like his head being between your legs.

The feeling of his hot tongue giving your core much needed attention had you crying out. It didn’t matter that your parents were downstairs, or that Jack was most likely still here. Fuck them. You had a vampire eating you out like he was starving.

Your hands once again found their way to his hair and your hips began to move on their own accord. It had been so long since you had been in this situation, and the Count was most definitely outdoing every other person before him. He was devouring your cunt like a starving man and holy shit, nothing could ever amount to this. Your hips were quite literally jerking at the pleasure taking over your body.

Dracula’s hands moved to cup your ass and pulled you closer, prompting your legs to wrap around his head and hold him there. It only took a few more flicks of his tongue, a few more sucks on your clit before you let go, body trembling as your pussy contracted over nothing. More of your juices spilled and Dracula wasn’t quite done with you yet.

The hungry look he gave you when your legs finally released him had you rolling your head. You couldn’t go again. Your stomach was knotting.

He slid two fingers in with ease and the feeling of finally being full was enough for years to begin to stream down your face. The pleasure was growing too intense for your body to handle, but it seemed Dracula didn’t care anymore.

“I can’t-“ you panted, “I can’t go again.”

“Yes you can. You’re going to cum all over my fingers and prove to me who owns you.”

He began to thrust his fingers, loving the lewd sounds that filled the room. Your knuckles had turned white, your fingers curled. He was loving every second. His cum was drying on your chest now, becoming more visible as it stopped glistening. However, the sheen of sweat on your body gave you a heavenly glow.

Here you were, on the end of his fingers, eyes rolled back with the pleasure he was giving to you and you still managed to look like an angel. He breathed an amused sigh.

Your hips were grinding down into his fingers, you were spilling over his hand. Never had he met anyone quite like you... Who got this turned on by a vampire?

“Let’s see if I can just...” he trailed off, and when he pulled his fingers back, he inserted a third. The stretch didn’t burn due to the amount of lubrication you had created between your juices and his saliva. Instead, you felt even more pleasure, the stretch satisfying every thirst you’d had since... well, as long as you could remember being into the man currently using you.

“Drac-“ you whined through your tears, “please-!”

Though you weren’t explicit, Dracula knew your body all too well and bent down to press sweet and tantalising kisses to your clit. You whined, grinding onto his face and onto his fingers. Your stomach was burning with an ache of the overstimulation now and the orgasm that was building was going to be intense, you knew it.

Once again, his tongue worked on your clit and huge sparks of electricity coursed your body. His pumps grew faster and he widened the space between his fingers to stretch you even further. Your pussy was throbbing to release. It was so close. You squeezed your eyes shut, moans growing louder and higher.

“Holy shIT-!”

He pulled away as he felt a gush overcome his fingers. You clamped over his fingers so tightly as the most intense wave of pleasure came over you. He watched, mouth agape as the fluid squirted out, soaking the sheets below. Dracula held a smirk on his face. Your body convulsed as your orgasm continued to wash over you and a little more fluid gushed out. When you went limp, panting heavily, Dracula pulled his fingers out and couldn’t help but want to try the newest substance to come from your body.

It coated his tongue and...

“Well, now that’s better than blood.”

You laughed at his words, but the tightening of your stomach due to overstimulation made you “ow.” The realisation hit you that you had literally screamed down the entire house as Dracula had mouth and finger fucked you and you continued to laugh despite the intense pain in your gut. Dracula moves to your side, curling into you and laughing into your neck.

Breakfast was going to be awkward as fuck.

~^taglist in the reblog sorry^~

[an-avid-reader]

The Hate U Give - Angie Thomas

my rating: 5/5 stars

On the night of a party gone wrong in Garden Heights, or “the hood”, Starr and her childhood best friend, Khalil, drive away only to be stopped by a white police officer. Khalil, unarmed, gets shot right in front of Starr’s eyes. Alas, Starr’s worlds—Garden Heights and Williamson, a predominantly white prep school—collide as word of Khalil’s death spreads and she is the only witness. Will Starr be able to bring justice to Khalil via riot and protests, or will he be remembered as a drug dealer and a thug?

"Funny how it works with white kids though. It's dope to be black until it's hard to be black"

Link to Goodreads || Spoiler-free review

A few things to check out:

Dear White People (Netflix)

When They See Us (Netflix)

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race (Book)

A list of places to donate to / one YT video if you’re unable to donate 

Here’s a post that is much more comprehensive

let me know if any of the links don’t work, I will update them :)

There’s a reason why this book has quite a few awards on the front—this book covers what some may consider a “taboo” topic aka racism, but it’s an issue. I’m writing this review slightly earlier than before I’m posting it, but right now the current news is about George Floyd’s death, which is arguably more brutal than what happened in this book, but the fact that some police officers still think race has something to do with one’s intentions is outrageous and disgusting. Even in Canada, there have been instances of racism across history (spoiler: Canada isn’t a ‘saint nation’, even though the population is very diverse). 

For these reasons, I think this book, while it is triggering, I think it should be fit into the curriculum for students to read so that they may be educated on racism, and how it can literally kill others, as well as to try and dismantle the systematic racism that is imposed on us from a young age. I can never sit here and tell you that I can experience what Starr went through (or what any POC—black or otherwise—has ever been through), I can only educate myself and emphasize with what’s been said/done to you—please call me out if I’ve said something that may be offensive and feel free to correct me if I’ve said anything wrong.

Alright now on with the book review! This book is so raw and powerful, Thomas does a great job of describing the scenes and the emotions Starr goes through during each scene. We get to see how she feels about dating a white boy while being black herself, how her neighbourhood is beautiful despite it being described as the hood, we also get to see how Starr’s demeanor completely changes while she’s at school vs when she’s visiting her family. While Thomas’ writing may be simple, she does a great job of capturing those moments and the emotions tied within the scene.

As we get to see Starr becoming a witness and taking legal action, I wasn’t sure where the story was headed. Would Khalil get justice and would the cop go to jail? How would Starr’s mental health be affected? Will her family be okay? (Don’t you just love it when there’s so much more conflict in the story that needs to be resolved and yet there are only 2 chapters left) Etc. etc. The thing about The Hate U Give is that there are multiple story lines, which help to drive the story forwards. Those plotlines didn’t feel out of place or forced—everything seemed to progress at a reasonable pace. 

I feel like one of the key parts of this story are the characters and their dynamics to the story. The most obvious being between Starr and her family. Although Starr has her own secrets that she keeps from her dad (*cough cough* Chris *cough cough*), I feel like they still have a strong bond, especially as the story went on and her dad, Maverick, stood behind Starr, even when things went south. (I could also 100% relate to Starr bickering with her brothers—even her half-brother). Then there’s Chris, which I kinda feel weird about him...which I feel like it’s a spoiler so I’ll talk about it under the cut. Overall, I’m glad that while he doesn’t understand what Starr has been through, he doesn’t judge her—he listens to her story and he also stays by Starr’s side at all times. I appreciate that Thomas didn’t put too much focus on the romance, otherwise I think it would’ve detracted from the main message. Finally, there are Starr friends. Even though we only got to know Khalil for a bit at the beginning, I like that Starr’s friendship with him was sprinkled throughout the story, even if it was in subtle ways. You could tell that, while their friendship may have fallen apart, Starr really cared for him and he was at the forefront of her mind. We also get to see Maya and Haliey’s friendship with Starr...and I can’t talk much about that without spoilers :/ let’s just say...it was interesting…

While I can’t exactly relate to Starr on an emotional/traumatic/life experience level, I love that we are both Harry Potter fans and she runs a Tumblr (which idk why but I’m always taken aback when books have Tumblrs?? Yet here we are). I appreciate that she tries to see the best in people, until they prove her wrong (or give her a reason to not like them). I think Starr is a strong role model in the sense that she stands up for herself and is determined to get justice, although she’s not cocky about it. It’s quite the opposite, she doubts herself—I just remember that there were so many parts where she blamed herself for not recalling every single detail of the incident or not putting emphasis on the type of person Khalil was to avoid him getting stereotyped. Starr also questioned her relationship with Chris, albeit she seemed a bit naive at some points. Because of Starr’s strong personality and her core values, the message of The Hate U Give is so much stronger, hence why I feel like everyone should read this novel.

Finally, I learned a lot from this novel. Regardless of the fact that this is a fictional book, it is very much based on the realities of Black people and the hardships they must endure on a daily basis. To be honest, I feel so dumb for not even realizing that the title spells out THUG and runs parallel with Tupac’s meaning of THUG LIFE. Mind you, now when I look at the cover, it’s all I see. I also didn’t realize that Black kids and teens are taught how to act around the police—all to be avoided to get arrested, shot, or killed—which is frankly, messed up. Thomas also takes the time to address the names she used, intentionally to give another layer of the book, which I feel that it is based on reality. I can definitely see why this book has received so many awards—and if this book were implemented in schools, it would allow the discussion on racism to be opened and it would also allow kids to see that not all authors are white, old men (looking at you, Shakespeare, which tbh the only good play I read was Macbeth).

I wanted to thank you for reading my review; if you’ve read this book, I’d love to know your thoughts. Below the cut, I have a spoiler section that I wanted to include (which I might add in future reviews, idk though). 

Please stay safe and healthy,

~ Cassandra / an-avid-reader

THE REMAINDER OF THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS

Okay, I’m not going to lie, but I thought that no one knew about Chris; didn’t Starr mention within the first few chapters that she can’t introduce him to her family because she’s afraid of what they’ll say/judge her for dating a white boy? But then, it turns out it’s just her dad that doesn’t know about him??? Idk if my memory is really that bad or if it’s such a slim detail (maybe it actually is an inconsistency o.O). But anyways, I love how Maverick was just playing with him (and making it clear that Chris would be in big trouble if he hurt Starr). I’m also not sure if he has a fetish for Black women (which Starr also pointed that out)—which I don’t know how to feel about that. I know some people have a thing for people of colour (Asians are commonly a fetish too, for example) but then some guys also have a thing for super short girls? Um yeah. I’ll probably leave it at that.

I’m not sure if it was just me, but I deadass thought Seven was going to be a gangbanger. He was sooooo suspicious anytime King was mentioned (which I get King is with Seven’s biological mom, but still I can’t be the only one who was suspicious, right?). I have to give him props though for putting his sisters’ needs before his own and for also listening to Iesha’s point of view. This man doesn’t give on people easily, and that’s a nice change. 

The last thing I wanted to include in this spoiler section is Haliey. I just— wtf man. She perfectly embodies the issue and idk she gave me such Karen vibes. It’s so frustrating that she just accepted the newspaper’s article story at face value—I don’t even think she even took the time to listen to the other point of view. I’m so glad that Starr punched her in the face, even though that resulted in her getting in trouble. And it’s not even towards just Starr that she was racist! When Maya opened up about Haliey’s comments, I was pretty infuriated. I think Haliey’s comments came from a place of ignorance or a lack of education, but it just bothered me that she just brushed it off. Smh “it was just a joke” or “get over it” *rolls eyes* Just apologize, Haliey, and educate yourself, please. Actually, maybe she could take lessons from Mr. Warren, their english teacher because he was lowkey a G. I was pleased to see he was a teacher (who are often seen as role models) that actually gave a crap about Starr and what she was going through. I guess we just need to be more attentive to what people have to say and be more empathetic when they’re hurt.

[shaorankun]

Guardian Chapter 86 Translation (Guo Changcheng and Chu Shuzhi’s part)

I am currently reading Guardian (鎮魂) and when I got to Chapter 86 in the fan translation (I prefer reading in English) they did not translate this entire part. I only did a light google and didn’t find a proper translation for this so I decided to just complete it myself. I didn’t want to read the rest of the story with a chunk missing, haha. Sharing my labour here for anyone else who might be wanting to read this missing part. I didn’t know where to post this so tumblr it is...

(credit: I’m using the same title from the fan translation I’m reading)

Chapter 86: The Paper-white Face of The Young Ghost King Reflected All of His Desires, Saying Frankly, “Good-looking. I want to hold you.”

Chu Shuzhi did not think that when he returned to Dragon City the first person he would see was Guo Changcheng.

He was just released from his shackles and got back his past items that were forcibly taken by Hell. He was in a good mood. Taking advantage of the Chinese New Year break, he found a wild mass grave1 and retreated for a few days. It wasn’t until he received Wang Zheng’s message that Zhu Hong was planning on resigning that he hurriedly bought a train ticket and rushed back to Dragon City.

The crowd at the train station was bustling. Chu Shuzhi walked forward for a while, looking in all directions for a taxi, and saw Guo Changcheng’s familiar figure—the young man was carrying a huge woven bag, his body was almost curled into a ball2 and he was slowly wiggling about with difficulty.

Just by looking at Guo Changcheng you could tell he did not do much physical work. When he went to school he probably had mediocre grades in Physical Education too. Carrying a big bag, he looked like a snail carrying a heavy shell. People passing by couldn’t help but turn and look at this young man.

Chu Shuzhi was worried he recognized the wrong person at first. Glancing again, he stared at what should have be a sturdy nylon bag open up with a small gap. A lady selling corn at the roadside kindly warned, “Hey, young man, your bag is going to spill!”

Guo Changcheng turned to the voice, but probably because his things were too heavy, when he turned his body he didn’t pay attention to his feet and he stumbled into a luggage being pulled by a young lady who just happened to pass by. Guo Changcheng was flustered and before he could apologize, the young man next to the lady aggressively pushed him. “Watch it, where are you stepping?”

Guo Changcheng was already not standing steadily and once he stumbled, the ‘city wall’ behind his back rumbled and fell. The bottom of the nylon woven bag broke apart and a bunch of outrageous items noisily fell out, including pots, pans, plates and plastic bags of food and clothing. The weirdest thing was that there was also an approximately sixty centimeters in diameter and eight centimeters thick large wooden cutting board—he was basically carrying a mini Walmart.

The young man who pushed him probably just stepped from person to person to fight out a path through the crowded train station. Seeing Guo Changcheng wearing dusty old clothes, he regarded him as a migrant worker returning to the city, and was suddenly disgusted and inexplicably felt a sense of unspeakable superiority. With one hand he was pulling the lady next to him to leave and at the same time complaining, “Knowing there’d be a lot of people and still bringing so much stuff. Are you an idiot? Can you afford to pay for damaging this luggage?”

Guo Changcheng repeatedly apologized. Seeing all the items had fallen on the ground, almost looking stupid, he hurriedly crouched down to pick them up. As he saw the nylon woven bag spill from both ends, he was at a loss and helplessly grabbed his own hair, worried.

It was at that moment that a somewhat skinny hand reached over and easily took both ends of the nylon bag and made a dead knot, making it into the shape of a cloth bag, then placed the junk in the middle of it. Weighing downwards, it looked the same as holding a SpongeBob. With one hand he was able to wrap up the pieces of heavy items.

Guo Changcheng: “Chu Ge3!”

If he had a tail, his wagging could’ve been used as an electric fan. He suddenly forgot that the one standing in front of him was The Zombie Corpse King—in Guo Changcheng’s view, Chu Shuzhi was practically a saviour who fell from the sky.

Chu Shuzhi ignored him. While holding the large nylon bag with one hand, he turned towards the young man who hadn’t gone too far, and with not a good look on his face he said, “The one in front, I advise you roll back here and apologize.”

Usually when Chu Shuzhi was normal it was fine, but when his face sunk he was particularly scary, almost naturally wearing a hint of the vicious gloom of a fugitive. The young man who was just fierce looked at him, appearing fierce but was weak inside, and said, “What else do you want?”

Just as Chu Shuzhi was about to walk towards him, Guo Changcheng held onto him. “Chu Ge, Chu Ge let’s go. It was I who didn’t see just now. I’m sorry.”

Uneasy, he raised his eyes to the other and smiled, holding onto Chu Shuzhi’s cold hand. “My fault, my fault.”

The two in front cussed as they left, completely unaware that they just escaped a crisis.

Chu Shuzhi turned around and looked at Guo Changcheng and thought that not only was he so much of a saint that he was an idiot4, he was pretty much messed up in the brain. To be at this stage of no temper and no courage, even if one didn’t say he didn’t seem like a young and vigorous man, he simply didn’t even seem like a person.

Chu Shuzhi irritably broke away from his hand and pointed at the bag of groceries in his own hand. “Does your family have nothing to eat, that they’re making you spend the New Year selling groceries?”

“No, I’m helping someone deliver this. I didn’t expect the bag to suddenly break.” Guo Changcheng eagerly followed him but also felt rather embarrassed. “I, I, let me carry it, it’s not much further.”

Chu Shuzhi impatiently avoided his hand and frowned. “Lead the way.”

Guo Changcheng immediately was too scared to utter a sound and walked ahead in small steps, leading the way.

Passing by the street in front of the station, they made multiple turns and entered a small alley. They arrived at a shadowed zone of the bustling city. Inside the alley was a row of dilapidated single-story houses. Walking deep inside, a female student with a ponytail was standing at a door, sweeping the floor with a broom. When she saw Guo Changcheng she very happily greeted him, exposing the college break volunteer sign around her neck.

Guo Changcheng felt a little embarrassed when seeing the girl and unnaturally lowered his head. Sounding like a mosquito, he buzzed, “Hello.”

The young lady was not inattentive and seeing Chu Shuzhi holding a big bag, she immediately dropped the broom and helped him open the door. As she walked she asked Guo Changcheng, “Have you registered them? Did you print it out? We have to express gratitude to each person on the internet.”

Guo Changcheng, this boy, he was very slow when he did things and he wasn’t clever. At the unit the always-rushing-them-Zhao would get angry and directly scold him. But in the end when he finished, it was always done very earnestly and meticulously. The reports written, no matter how long or how important or how much paper was wasted, never had a single typo. Slowly, even their nitpicky leader couldn’t say anything.

Guo Changcheng promptly nodded and took out a pile of printed paper from his bag. In total there were seven to eight pages. On them were detailed records of who donated, what was donated, the donor’s contact address, phone number, internet name, e-mail and other information. The value of the donated items varied from Chinese Yuan5 to a Chinese cabbage. It was simply odd and by no means an isolated case.

It turns out this was led by a few of Dragon City’s universities. They were taking advantage of the winter break and came together with some social service groups to organize and create this volunteer operation called “For the Old, For the Young6”. On Guo Changcheng’s side, they specialized in targeting the elderly at the lowest rung of society who, due to various reasons, lost their ability to make a livelihood. In small groups, each were responsible for the long-term care for a set of elderlies.

Because Guo Changcheng was unable to communicate with people, he was unable to take the responsibility of relieving the boredom of the elderly so he ended up with the job of collecting donations from society. Fortunately, the volunteer team had more girls so he was able to help greatly with some physical tasks, using this break to act as a porter.

Chu Shuzhi helped them place the objects down. As it was along the way, he started Guo Changcheng’s car and brought him along to No. 4 Bright Avenue. Guo Changcheng’s palms were damaged by the rubbing of the nylon bag; he sat at the passenger seat quietly and used a wet towel to wipe it.

Since it was rare for Chu Shuzhi to be in the mood to talk, he said a few words to him. “You’re still caring about anyone, are you trying to deliver all living creatures from difficulty?”

Guo Changcheng widened a pair of ignorant eyes and looked at him with astonishment.

Chu Shuzhi changed the question. “Doing this kind of stuff, does your family know?”

Guo Changcheng silently shook his head.

Chu Shuzhi incomprehensively laughed. Then he said, “Then on New Year’s Day did you burn some incense? The way you are, your wishes would easily come true.”

Guo Changcheng shook his head again. He was extremely satisfied with his current life. Apart from his family and friends being safe and healthy, there was nothing else he’d ask for—right now his family and friends seemed safe and healthy so he thought it was better to not trouble Buddha.

Chu Shuzhi took advantage of the traffic light and tilted his head to glance at him. Guo Changcheng was not tall, not strong and also not handsome. His facial features could not be said to be good looking. He was usually very low-key and didn’t own even a single brand name piece of whatever common youngsters thought was popular. Basically you would be unable to find his type in a crowd of people. Because there was always a lack of confidence, there was absolutely never any class.

However, when he sat down and quietly didn’t say anything, his calm expression revealed something unspeakable, natural Zen.

Although Guo Changcheng was a mortal, wine and meat passing his intestines every day, he didn’t understand what practicing spiritual development was, he didn’t even understand all the words in scriptures, and all of the Buddhist Arhats in the entire world were only known through the popular TV show Journey to the West where he only recognized two of them: one Guanyin, one Tathagata. Due to a problem with the actors, even now there was doubt towards the gender.

But Chu Shuzhi could sense that he was acting without regard for others and was peacefully and quietly building something.

It was neither the well-being of this life nor the virtue of the next life.

With Chu Shuzhi’s eyesight and cultivation, he only hazily had a feeling. As for what it was specifically, he couldn’t clearly tell.

Despite Chu Shuzhi not understanding what Guo Changcheng was thinking when doing these things, it didn’t stop the sudden uncomfortable feeling in his heart. There seemed to be a bit of resentment and dissatisfaction.

Even without mentioning anything else, with this child being covered from head to toe in three chi7 thick of virtue, shouldn’t he be living a peaceful and happy life? Why was it that he was born with an unlucky fate? Although everyone knew The Book of Life and Death regarded merits and demerits as very much nonsense, yet didn’t Hell use it rather brazenly?

He stopped speaking. His fanboy Guo Changcheng also didn’t have the courage to actively bring up any topics. The two of them remained silent all the way to No. 4 Bright Avenue. The curtain of night had already descended and all human and ghosts were present.

Once Chu Shuzhi entered the Criminal Investigations division, what came into view first was a group of demon and ghosts with a pair of blank eyes, as if they were collectively hit by a lightning strike.

Before he could even ask what was going on, he saw Wang Zheng turn her head over, trembling as she asked, “Chu Ge, did you know of the matter that Teacher Shen… Shen Wei, was really the Ghost Slayer?”

Chu Shuzhi froze for a bit. After a while, he calmly said, “Oh, that moron Zhao Yunlan, what is he doing that he didn’t come? Where is he? Ran away after messing things up?”

Da Qing was on the side and meowed, “He plunged into Wang Chuan waters.”

Chu Shuzhi: “……Love problems? Suicide?”

Da Qing and Zhu Hong had gotten over the initial shock and already calmed down.

Zhu Hong knew that Zhao Yunlan had on him the Water Dragon Pearl and any place that had water would not be able to harm him. She had just placed the Water Dragon Pearl around Zhao Yunlan’s neck and it was already being used. Zhu Hong felt that if she was a little more suspicious, it would feel like her Snake Uncle Four already knew of something beforehand.

Zhu Hong said, “My guess is that he’s looking for the Ghost Slayer.”

Chu Shuzhi took a quick look and saw that other than Lin Jing, who was still out in the field and already said he’d be taking the midnight train, the No. 4 Bright Avenue members were already all present. With both hands in his pocket, he leaned back against the office door. “I think, let’s have everyone talk about what they separately know. It’s been a mess recently. Let’s focus on the information and figure out what’s really happening. What to do—”

Speaking until here, Chu Shuzhi’s voice suddenly paused, his complexion suddenly didn’t look too good. This made everyone very nervous: “What did Chu Ge think of?”

“Wait, Shen Wei is the Ghost Slayer?” Chu Shuzhi’s face turned green. After a while he muttered, “Fuck I’ve messed up. I’ve teased him so many times before!”

……That’s why they sometimes say that being super calm was just your reflex arc taking too long.

---

野墳坡亂葬崗 [Yě fén pō luàn zàng gǎng] - Not really sure how to translate this. My best guess is it’s a random unmaintained grave. Probably some area with lots of dead bodies like after a war or something.

His body almost bent into a period. A period in Chinese looks like a hollow circle: 。

哥 [Gē] – Brother

Here Chu Ge was thinking that Guo Changcheng ‘Holy Mothered to idiocy’, he holy mothered so much he became ill. Holy mother being The Holy Mother; The Virgin Mary or a goddess.

人民币 [Rén ​mín ​bì] – Renminbi; China’s currency. Yuan is the unit. ‘Chinese Yuan’ is used in international contexts to refer to renminbi.

The name is 老吾老、幼吾幼 [lǎo wú lǎo, yòu wú yòu] – This probably comes from the phrase “老吾老，以及人之老，幼吾幼，以及人之幼” (lǎo wú lǎo , yǐ jí rén zhī lǎo , yòu wú yòu , yǐ jí rén zhī yòu) meaning to honour the elderly as we do our own aged parents and to take care of other’s children as if our own.

尺 [chǐ] – (unit) Chinese foot. It is 1/3 of a meter.

The rest of the chapter can be found here.

[alj4890]

And Then I Met You

Part 23

What happens when the one you thought you were meant for turns out to be meant for someone else?

A\N Choices Fan Fiction with characters from The Royal Romance, Red Carpet Diaries, and Perfect Match.

*Sorry for being so late in between posts. Health problems keep cropping up for both me and my family.*

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject   @krsnlove   @annekebbphotography  @cora-nova @bella-ca  @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @lolablackwrites @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ . @trappedinfandoms​

Masterlist

Part 23

"Lord Tariq and I were discussing that very thing last night over dinner." Lauren explained. "We both hope that Prince Liam is thinking of who is truly best for the citizens of Cordonia."

Ana and the rest of the reporters continued to throw questions out to her.

"Is it true you are no longer a part of The Earl's Undoing?"

"Yes, it is." She answered with a smile. "Once I met Lord Tariq, my heart was too focused on him rather than acting. I hope my fans can forgive me for following my heart."

"How has this affected your relationship with Thomas Hunt?" Ana asked.

Lauren laughed and shook her head. "Thomas and I only had a professional, working relationship. All those rumors about us spending every moment together are ridiculous. He is a happily married man and I would never try to tempt him away from Lady Amanda. There is only one man that I have had any type of love for and that is Lord Tariq. I would like to think that like Thomas, I too have managed to capture the heart of a Cordonian.

One of the younger reporters scratched his head. "Wait a minute, Ms. Benefield. Weren't you the one that called us with offers of sharing what you and his grace had privately together?"

Her smile became brittle while trying not to scream at the man. "You're mistaken. I only called to talk about our upcoming film. I would never slander someone like Lord and Lady Hunt."

"But--" he stared at Ana when she elbowed him. The seasoned reporter shook her head and continued to question Lauren about Tariq.

"Are we going to hear details about a possible wedding soon?"

Lauren's smile brightened. "I believe we will all be pleasantly surprised."

_______________

"I would love to knock those perfectly capped teeth out of her mouth." Nadia clinched her fist.

"Babe, you're going ultra violent again." Maxwell warned.

Riley and Hana stood with them and quietly observed Tariq join Lauren to answer more questions.

"Where are Thomas and Amanda?" Hana asked once she checked no one was close enough to overhear her.

"Er...well..." Maxwell stuttered.

"While scouting out locations to film, they decided to spend some special couple time alone. With all the Lauren mess, they needed a moment to remind them of what they have." Nadia promptly answered. She ignored the look Maxwell gave her for bending the truth.

"Oh." Riley turned as nobles were called toward the hedge maze of Applewood. "I guess we won't see them until we travel to St. Orella in a few days."

Maxwell's eyes widened. "Yeah. We won't." Once the ladies walked away, he grabbed his wife. "Nadia, Amanda is supposed to host the court next!"

Her anger disappeared as worry set in. "We have to find Olivia." She pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek. "Call Holly and tell her to get Hudson on preparing for everyone's arrival."

_____________

Nadia burst into Olivia's room without knocking and locked the door. "You have to bring them back!" She exclaimed.

"You're interrupting me doing that very thing." Olivia motioned for her to be quiet. "Harris, it's time to retrieve our guests." She ignored Nadia mouthing her worry. "Yes. The vial is in the--" She covered her mouth and whispered it into the phone. "Use the same amount as last time. That should make it easier on you and the others and give me an opportunity to make it home before they wake up."

"There." Olivia ended the call. "They will be back tomorrow."

"I can't believe it has taken almost two months for this." Nadia flopped on Olivia's bed. "I wasn't meant for a life of subterfuge."

"Clearly." Olivia wrinkled her nose as a thought occured. "You have done better than I expected."

Nadia grinned at her. "Really? You think so?"

"Amazingly, I do." Olivia wondered how her original opinions of Nadia had turned to viewing her now as a comrade of sorts. To be impressed with her loyalty to their shared group of friends was unexpected. "Thank you...for helping with this."

Nadia surprised her with a swift unwanted hug. "Of course! I would do anything for my friends." She hurried out with a promise that they would all go with her to help explain.

_______________

That same day in St Orella...

"We have to go!" Holly interrupted the ballroom scene's dress rehearsal. "Olivia is bringing Thomas and Amanda back."

"Is this a have to go leave the country and create new identities trip or a go to Lythikos and explain why we were all a part of this venture?" Ryan asked.

Chris blanched at the possible outrage that awaited them. "I vote first option."

"Come on guys." Addison put her hands on her hips. "Once Thomas sees how we fixed everything, he will be thrilled that we--"

"Had him and the only person he loves drugged, kidnapped, and left stranded in a frozen wilderness with no explanation." Holly finished while sinking weakly down in a chair. "How are we going to be able to explain this? We should run away."

Addison turned toward Jessica and Matt. "Any chance you want to go in our place?"

"No thanks." Jessica said with a nervous laugh. "I prefer being alive."

"I think Thomas will kill the messenger in this particular case." Matt groaned when Addison appeared hurt, as if he had betrayed her. "I will come along as moral support if you want."

Holly read through the text messages she was still receiving. "Drake said Liam is going to be able to come too. He has made some type of excuse to travel early to St Orella."

Addison turned around quickly. "We get to see him again! I feel so much better knowing Liam will be there. He is perfect at keeping everyone calm and, well, pretty much everything else." She sighed at the memory of dancing with him and every other encounter.

Matt narrowed his eyes at Addison's sudden happiness over the prince going too and noticed Jessica watching him closely. He coughed and excused himself before anyone else noticed his jealousy.

"When do we leave to face our imminent doom?" Ryan asked.

"In one hour." Holly announced.

________________

The cabin? Late at night...

"...and because I met you, I am stuck in this godforsaken cabin! My reputation as a successful director that is closely associated with my time management skills is deteriorating by the moment due to your friend leaving us out here!" Thomas gripped the mantle and lowered his head after his outburst.

Amanda remained eerily silent. The only sign she had heard any of his tirade was the undiluted rage sparking her hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that." Thomas turned to look at her. "I don't regret meeting nor marrying you. I am--" his eyes widened at her disappearance.

The front door was open. It bounced against the wall each time an freezing burst of snow sprinkled wind blew in. He stepped outside in the dark and called his wife's name. Icicles hanging from the eaves shimmered in the faint light coming from inside.

No answer.

"Amanda!" He called out peering into the icy void that seemed impenetrable to light. "I'm sorry, please--"

Thomas gasped in pain and looked down. The sharp tip of an icicle was protruding from his chest. It was yanked out and a burst of blood came from his mouth. He turned slowly to look at the one who stabbed him in the back. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"You are nowhere near as sorry as I am." Amanda said in a calm voice. She shoved him off the porch. He landed on his back with a soft thud in the snow. His blood began to pool around his body.

She knelt down and raised the icicle to stab him once more. He weakly grasped her wrist.

"Why?" He managed to choke out.

Amanda leaned down close to his face. Snowflakes began to fall around them. Her lips curved into a bitter smile.

"Because you ruined my life with your decisions and now this incessant complaining!" She screeched before stabbing him through the heart.

Thomas jerked awake and touched his chest. His breaths came in short bursts while he reached for a lamp.

Amanda turned over. "What's wrong?" She mumbled, half asleep.

"You..." He took a deep breath. "Just a bad dream."

"I'm sorry." She pressed a kiss blindly to his cheek and snuggled down in the blankets. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No...I...you stabbed me." He frowned at the ceiling.

"I did?" She asked, yawning.

"With an icicle." He added.

Her eyes cracked open. "An icicle? How creative of me."

He softly snorted. "You said I ruined your life when I asked why you were killing me."

She placed her hand over his heart. "You know I don't think anything close to that, quite the opposite."

He turned on his side to face her. "I did in a way by casting Lauren."

Amanda groaned and flopped onto her back. "Thomas, we have been over this. You have to stop beating yourself up over that one decision."

"I know. I plan on doing all I can to make it up to you." He vowed.

"There is nothing to make up because we are fixing it!" She said in a surprisingly loud, commanding tone. "You apologized and are trying to think of a way to rid ourselves of her for good. The one thing you are doing to me that is unforgivable is interrupting my good dream about you. Now I'm tempted to find an icicle."

He choked on his laughter. "I'm sorry." He managed to say while thinking how much he adored her. "What can I do to stop that from happening?"

She slowly smiled and tugged him close. "I suggest you distract me from searching for the perfect murder weapon by finishing my dream." Their lips met as she pulled his shirt off.

_______________

Outside the cabin in the middle of the night...

"They are bound to be asleep by now." Harris whispered.

Williams crept to the door and used the tools he had brought along to pick the lock. He snuck quietly into the cabin. All was dark and silent, save for the dying fire crackling in the fireplace. He added the contents in the vial to both the coffee pot and the tea kettle that had been prepared for the next morning's use. He retraced his steps and locked the door once he was out.

The servants walked a few miles in the snow draped forest and returned by snow mobile to their hideout.

________________

Late the next morning...

Williams and Harris, along with a team of servants, collected the sleep induced couple and all their things. They bundled them up in warm clothes and blankets before setting off back to Lythikos.

______________

Lythikos, mid afternoon...

Olivia smiled in approval at their quick and efficient work. She had them set the two in one of the guestrooms. She returned downstairs to everyone sitting around the dining room table for lunch.

"Now, we wait."

_____________

Five hours later...

Thomas gripped his head and tried to sit up. Once the room stopped tilting, he looked around at the ornate decorations and groaned. It hit him that they had somehow suffered a repeat performance from Olivia. He had no idea where they were this time.

He gently shook Amanda. After a few times of this, she opened her eyes. "Please don't shake me." She pleaded, throwing her arm over her eyes. "What happened? Why is everything spinning?"

"We were drugged again." He weakly motioned around the room. "Where are we?"

She propped herself up on her elbows and blinked a few times to try and focus. The room decided to remain in one position, allowing her to recognize her surroundings. "Lythikos." She fell back on her pillow.

"We are? Are you sure?" He was afraid to believe they could actually escape this time.

"Yes." She mumbled into her pillow.

He stood up on wobbly legs. "We're getting out of here."

"I can't. I'm too sleepy." Amanda yawned, pulling a blanket up. "Save yourself. Forget about me and make a new life."

He ignored her sarcasm and hefted her up. "Come on. We're leaving." He wrapped his arm around her waist and half dragged her out of the room.

"Which way?" He asked looking up and down the hallway.

"Thomas, just leave me. I'll escape later." She murmured, dropping her head on his shoulder.

"I'm not leaving you in the clutches of a deranged individual! What if she decides to lock you up somewhere else and I can't find you?" He pulled her more snuggly against his side. "Focus for me, Amanda. Which way?"

She groaned and pointed to the left. "That way."

They slowly made their way toward the stairs.

"Ah, your grace. I see you are awake."

Thomas whirled around with Amanda dozing on his shoulder. "Stay back." He ordered.

"But sir," Harris began. "I only wish to tell you and Lady Amanda that--"

"Not another step. We are leaving." Thomas backed up against a wall. He kept his eyes on the servant that was watching him with a great deal of confusion and edged sideways.

He made it to the stairs and shook Amanda. "Wake up." He ordered. "We have to go downstairs. I need you actively helping me right now before Olivia catches us."

"Thomas, Olivia hasn't lost her mind." Amanda let go of him and leaned against the banister. She tried to concentrate. "She must have had a reason to--"

"Drug and kidnap us twice? Twice!" He ran his hands over his face. "Short of saving us from being murdered, I can't think of one logical reason to do this to us two times in a row."

"Oh I definitely have a reason."

The two looked down at Olivia. Their other friends came out and fanned around her. A proud smirk appeared on her red lips. "We all had a reason."

_______________

A comfortable den at Lythikos...

The couple remained silent after everything was explained. Shock at the plan not only being thought of but also successfully executed kept them from being able to speak.

Thomas shook his head no when Olivia offered him coffee. He then quietly pushed back the tea cup set in front of Amanda. His dark eyes touched on each face. "Let me see if I understand this. You did all this to cause Lauren to break her contract?"

"That and change her story in front of the press." Holly added. "And wait until you see Jessica in the part! She brings an innocence to Elizabeth that Lauren could never fake."

He ignored that last part. "Why wouldn't you simply tell us your plan?"

The group shared loaded glances. "We didn't think you would go along with it." Addison admitted.

Maxwell leaned forward, his deep blue eyes flickereing back and forth between the two. "I say this with nothing but love: you two are incredibly stubborn."

Everyone nodded while muttering examples of the couple's hard headedness both individually and combined.

"I would have gone along with it." Amanda replied.

Thomas slowly nodded. "I can see the benefits. I would like to think I would have at the very least been open to it."

"I would have chosen somewhere else to hide out though." Amanda muttered.

"That's another reason you were drugged and not let in on the plan. You wouldn't have chosen a place where no one would have a chance to see you." Olivia explained.

Amanda hesistated. "I guess I wouldn't."

"And you wouldn't have waited so long past your shooting schedule." Ryan added to Thomas.

He rubbed a hand down his face. "I suppose not."

"Did you at least have a good time together?" Nadia asked, worry over them being mad at the group weighed heavy on her mind.

Thomas leaned back and met Amanda's gaze. Her eyes dropped down to his scarred bottom lip while his touched on her recently healed black eye. They shared a brief smile and nodded simultaneously.

"Once we got over the injuries," Amanda began.

"And I quit complaining about being unable to start filming." Thomas added.

She laughed and slipped her hand in his. "It ended up being nice with no one around."

"Injuries?" Drake cocked an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Oh the usual." Amanda muttered. "Some silly person getting scared in the cellar and delivering an elbow to the face."

"Catapulting off the porch due to some idiot chopping wood at sunrise." Thomas continued. He smiled at her laughing again. She seemed to relax once more into the woman he had known before everything had occurred with Lauren. He put his arm around her when she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're not angry with our interference in both your personal and professional lives?" Liam asked.

Amanda tilted her head up to look at Thomas. "I'm not. Are you?"

"No. I'm grateful for the meddling. I have struggled to come up with a plan to be rid of Lauren once and for all. You have saved me a great deal of stress." He bowed his head to the group. "Thank you."

"Do my ears decieve me or did Thomas Hunt say thank you?" Chris asked. "Quick Olivia! Where else can we stash him away for a few more weeks?"

"I can always take back my thanks." Thomas warned.

"Welcome back, Mr. Director." Chris quickly said. "May you never leave our prescence again."

________________

The next evening, St. Orella...

"I have never been so happy to be home." Thomas announced as he crawled into bed. "I am tempted to film everything here to avoid being stuck in hotel rooms."

Amanda set her book on the nightstand and rolled over to face him. "Thomas, this is the first time you have referred to St Orella as home."

His brow furrowed. "Surely I referred to it as such at some po--." He moaned at the heated kiss she gave him. "If you are going to kiss me like that then I will call this place home in every sentence."

She laughed and kissed him once more. "I have thought of your house in California as our home for quite a while now. Knowing you feel the same for this one makes me so happy."

He gently cupped her cheek. "After the ball, we must begin filming. I need to get some footage shot before Liam's coronation."

She nodded. "Why do you sound worried?"

"I know you have to participate this week and the next in social events. I hate leaving you on your own with Lauren now as an unwelcome part of them." His thumb softly stroked her cheek. "Actually, I don't like the idea of being apart period."

"I have dealt with worse people than Lauren. Hopefully she will be so wrapped up in Tariq that she won't bother trying anything else." Amanda grinned and snuggled closer. "As for our being apart, you have been stuck with my company for nearly five months, two of which you were cut off completely from any part of civilization. I believe you have more than earned a reprieve from me."

His arm slid around her. "I have not once wished for a reprieve as you phrase it. Since I first picked you up at the airport, I have enjoyed and craved your companionship more than anyone else's. I only wanted to leave the cabin for work. It was never to take a break from you." His hands rubbed up and down her back. "Each moment we have spent together has proven over and over that you are the only one for me."

She pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "That might be the sweetest compliment anyone has ever given me." Her laughter was muffled against his chest when he muttered that she should feel free to voice her reciprocated feelings for him.

"You know I love being with you." she responded. "Being stuck in the cabin that I have always hated showed me also that you are the only person I will both willingly and gladly be trapped with. As long as I have you, anyplace we are in will feel like home."

After a sweet kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I am going to miss you." Thomas admitted. "I know it is only for a week or so..." He closed his eyes in mock frustration. "You have done quite a number on me. Making it to where even sleeping without you beside me will be impossible...you should be ashamed of ruining me for anything different."

"I'm sorry." She said in the midst of smothering her giggles. "If you want, I can sleep in a different room so that you will begin to get used to not having me around."

"If you do, I will be forced to follow you." He warned. His lips curved as she placed a kiss on his stubbled jaw.

"Good." Amanda muttered. She turned the lamp off and smiled at the warm body pressing against hers. "I intend to keep you close for as long as I can."

She yawned and closed her eyes. "We have much to do tomorrow before the rest of the court arrives. It will be our official announcement of our marriage with the hosting of this ball."

"They don't know we are married yet?" Thomas asked.

"They do, but a newly wedded noble couple hosting the court is a sign that they share the same motivations and ideals. The couple is united as one in anything presented politically and socially." She explained.

Thomas grunted his understanding while cuddling her close. "Then it is past time we showed the court that very aspect of our marriage." He closed his eyes and relaxed. "We will make certain the ball goes off without any problems."

[theunredeemable]

Surprise, Surprise Chapter 4: The Party

Music filled the air as Winter dried the last of the dishes from the dishwasher. She hummed along to the orchestral music as she worked, lost in another world, another time. She had first heard the song the very first time she met Yang. It had been at a charity event hosted by the Schnee family, and Winter was still serving as a specialist in the Atlas Military. Placing the plates back in the cupboard, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift away down memory lane.

The orchestra plied their craft expertly, as to be expected of any such musicians that the 'Great Jacques Schnee' would hire. Winter resisted every urge to roll her eyes at the pretentiousness of the ball. The event was allegedly for charity, Winter was far too familiar with her father's way of working to be fooled by such notions. This was simply a networking opportunity for the business mogul masquerading as a love for his fellow man.

His children knew better than that. He'd sell out anyone if he could make a profit.

Winter looked around the grand hall, hands clasped behind her back. She was dressed smartly in her dress uniform, buttons polished and fabric recently ironed for the occasion. With her hair tied up in her characteristic bun, she looked stunning in her suit. As she scanned the hall, her light blue eyes temporarily locked with lilac ones before they vanished in the sea of people. It was just a moment of eye contact, but the Schnee ex-heiress could feel a spark run down her spine.

She scanned the crowd, trying to find those eyes again. When that failed, she looked to those around her, other representatives of the Atlas Military attending at the request of General Ironwood. The others had happily accepted, a chance to raise their standing in the General's eyes, as well as making good connections for when their tour of duty ended. Winter was far less willing in her participation, but had been given little choice between her father's demanding and Ironwood's insistence.

The other specialists were conversing with either each other, or other powerful figures in Jacques’s inner circle. Ironwood had instructed them to socialise and enjoy the night, but so far Winter hadn't felt the need or inclination to follow those instructions. But now she had seen those eyes perhaps socialising wasn't entirely a bad idea. Just as she was about to leave her comrades and start her search she locked eyes with her quarry again, and was unable to help the sharp intake of breath she took in surprise.

In front of her she saw her sister walking side by side with a gorgeous blonde right towards her. Wearing a white dress that came to just below her knees, the woman exuded confidence as she conversed with Weiss on the walk towards her. Letting out a slow, hidden breath, Winter calmed her nerves as she offered the pair a small smile. “Weiss. How pleasant to see you.”

“ Winter, it's good to see you. Although I am surprised to see you here. I thought you hated Father's balls.” Weiss's features clearly displayed her dismay as the blonde next to her let out a low snicker, drawing the attention of Winter again who was struggling not to lose herself in the kind lilac eyes.

“ As a matter of fact, Weiss, I do hate Father's balls. I also hate his parties that masquerade as charity but that's neither here nor there.” Winter allowed a small smile to grace her features as the blonde laughed loudly. She ignored the way the others turned to look at them, her attention was solely on the new woman.

“ By the maidens...Well I'm glad to see I had nothing to worry about. Winter, this is one of my roommates and my good friend Yang Xiao-Long. Yang, this is my sister Winter.”

“ It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Xiao-Long.”

Yang smiled as she held out a hand to the soldier. “Please, call me Yang.” Winter blinked, then took Yang's hand into her own. “And if I may, I'd like to take you onto the floor.”

Winter's mouth thinned as she thought this out, then smiled again, nodding. “Alright then, Yang. Let's see how well you dance.”

A knock on the door broke the spell, snapping her out of her memories. Placing the hand towel down on the counter, Winter approached the front entrance. Opening the door just a crack to peer outside, before smiling and opening it fully. “Good afternoon, Pyrrha”

“Hello, Winter! I hope I'm not too early.”

“Not at all. Please, come on in.” Winter stepped out of the way and held the door as the red-haired woman entered the Xiao-Long residence. “You are just in time.”

“Thank you. I brought extra snacks, just as I promised.” Pyrrha smiled widely, holding up the wrapped plate of cookies she had been carrying. “I convinced Ruby to cook some of her mother's cookies for me, without letting her know the real reason why of course.”

Winter nodded and gestured towards the table set up to receive pizza later on. “Place them over there. I know Yang will love them.”

“Where is the birthday girl?”

“Ruby's keeping her occupied in town until it's time. The wonder of the Schnee Clause.” She allowed a small smile on her face as she began to shut the door. “Truly a wonderful creation by my sister in regards to the young Miss Rose. Though I am surprised by her inability to keep a secret.”

“Why's that?” Pyrrha placed the cookies down on the table and gave Winter a confused look, to which she responded with a deadpan look, as if she was reliving some past tragedy.

“Because she's Qrow's daughter. That man could run circles around military brass.” Winter sighed and shook her head, a small fond smile gracing her lips. “It's like he made it a sport just to annoy us.” Pyrrha let out a small chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so, before looking at Winter in curiosity.

“How did you two meet? Ruby said you knew him before you met Yang.”

“For all his faults, he is the leading expert outside the Schnee Dust Company in the application of Dust in technology. The military wanted to apply his knowledge. I was one of the ones sent to convince him.”

“Did it work?”

“After four months, twenty-five drinking contests, forty-three arm wrestles and a 'lie off' I finally managed to convince him to help us. I managed to tell a lie so outrageous from the time he and I had gotten to know each other he fell over from laughing.”

“What was the winning lie?”

Winter's smile grew as she turned to face Pyrrha properly. “That I love my father and hope that he doesn't die from his own hubris.”

Pyrrha looked a mix of aghast and amused, snorting slightly from the laughter she was trying to hold in. “Winter that’s...that's terrible!”

“You're laughing though.” A knock on the door interrupted the conversation, which was quickly followed by a very cheerful voice.

“Hello! Have a delivery for one Miss Winter Schnee from Solar Flare! Got a delivery of one little sister and her two hot partners!”

With a sigh, and a small hidden smile, Winter opened up the door again to a beaming Sun, an exasperated Emerald, and a slightly embarrassed Weiss. “Good afternoon, Sun. Please, come on in. You're the last to arrive besides Ruby and Yang.”

“Aw man, we're the last ones?” Sun pouted playfully as he carried a keg into the home, with his partners following shortly behind.

Emerald looked around slightly confused, though smiled upon seeing Pyrrha. “Hey, P-money.”

“Hello again!” Pyrrha eagerly waved at everyone who had entered, moving to embrace Weiss, who eagerly returned the hug, though Emerald still looked around the living room.

“So, if this is everyone....where's Soots?”

“Ah.” Winter tried to appear nonchalant and shrugged. “She's unable to make it. A shipment arrived at the library that Oz is having her catalogue. She sends her apologies and promises to catch up with everyone when she can.” Emerald raised an eyebrow at this, and Winter prayed to the maidens that her white lie would be bought.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to believe this, and Emerald simply nodded. “That's a shame. But hopefully she'll make it up to Blondie.”

“I've known Blake a long time. She wouldn't miss this unless she had no choice.” Weiss placed a gentle hand on Emerald's shoulder and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “She'll make it up to her. So, Winter, what can we do to help set up?”

The eldest Schnee smiled, thoughts secretly turning to the bound woman up in her bed, and her heart warmed to know that Blake was thought so fondly of by the others. “I would most appreciate getting plates ready. The pizza should be here soon, then we'll need to turn the lights off for this to work.”

“Well then!” Sun placed the keg down on the floor, next to the table, and rubbed his hands together. “Let's get to work.”

                           -----------------------------------------------------------

Yang and Ruby walked along the pier, Yang smiling as she watched her happily tipsy cousin try to balance as she walked along a low wall, as she pushed Bumblebee alongside her. “Careful there, Rubes. Pretty sure Pyrrha wouldn't be happy if I returned you all bruised up.”

Ruby gave Yang a toothy grin, wobbling slightly as she came dangerously close to falling off the wall, before regaining her balance. “Pffft. She wouldn't be mad. Just jealous of the ground.”

“Why would she be jealous of the ground?”

“Because it wasn't her that made them” Ruby giggled to herself as she reached the end of the wall, hopping down on to the pavement.

Yang frowned momentarily as she tried to decipher what Ruby had said. “It wasn't.... OH!” She let out a light laugh, shaking her head as it clicked in her mind. “Well, Rubes, I didn't think you or Pyrrha had that kind of fun in ya.”

“You'd be surprised!” Ruby sang, happily laughing to herself as she skipped along.

Yang snorted, and almost replied before a buzz in her pocket distracted her. Slowing down, she parked her bike and fished out her scroll. Typing in her passcode with her thumb, she smiled as she saw her wallpaper, a picture of Winter, and opened up the message a few seconds later. Quickly reading it her smile grew a little larger. “Hey Ruby!”

“Yeah?”

Looking up Yang saw that Ruby had kept on walking and was on the other side of the street. “Snowdrift suggested you and your Amazon come over for dinner!”

“WOO-HOO! Free Food!”

Yang's scroll buzzed again in her hand. Looking down, her eyes quickly scanned the screen before typing out her response, then locked the scroll and slipped it back into her pocket. “She's gone to pick up Pyrrha, so we should head straight to the house.”

“Alright!” Ruby skipped back towards Yang with a goofy smile on her face, the redness to her cheeks starting to fade as the alcohol worked through her system.

Getting on to Bumblebee, Yang put on her helmet while she waited for Ruby to climb on as well. Turning the key, she revved her engines and smiled as she felt the hum of the machinery beneath her. A few seconds later she could feel the bike dip down slightly due to the extra weight of her cousin getting on behind her. "Got your helmet on?" Hearing a ruffle, followed by a soft click.

"Yup!"

"Hold on tight then!" Ruby's arms wrapped around Yang, and with a soft smile and another rev of her engines, they were off.

Bumblebee tore through Patch, the scenery whipping past them as Yang navigated through the quiet streets. The sun had begun its descent, bathing the town in red and violet as the town readied itself for the night. Most of the shops the pair passed were already closed, or in the process of locking their doors as couples walked hand in hand towards dinner dates, or to their homes. A few of the older citizens waved at the cousins as they flew by, remembering when they were still little children running amok through the community. Yang nodded in reply when she was able, but her attention remained on the road.

Soon the shops and restaurants blended into the suburban part of patch, with became the outskirts of town, before finally they were outside the limits as they headed towards the woods. Flicking on Bumblebee’s lights, Yang drove carefully as she followed the dusty path leading to her home, taking care not to turn too sharply and send both Ruby and herself crashing into any of the myriad of trees. The sun filtered in through the foliage bathing the path in a beautiful soft glow that never failed to move Yang's heart, creating a sense of serenity and nostalgia for days long past playing in the trees behind her childhood home.

Thirty-nine minutes after getting the initial text, Yang and Ruby gently pulled up outside the Xiao-Long residence. Climbing off the bike, the pair raised a silent eyebrow at seeing the house. Every light was off, creating an unintentional abandoned feeling emanating from it. “Huh. Snowdrift must still be out picking up your girl.”

“Or picking up some final ingredients. Shall we go in?”

“Yeah, I’ll make some coffee while we wait.” Yang beamed as she parked her beloved bike next to the porch, placing her helmet down on the seat. Ruby followed suit, taking off her own helmet and carrying it with her as they made their way to the door. “Still take your coffee the same way, or has Pyrrha finally civilized you?”

“Wow, rude. I don’t need to be civilised by anyone. I, completed college!” Ruby raised her head up with pride, resting a hand on her heart, causing Yang to laugh as she unlocked the door.

“Right, right. A blasphemous amount of sugar it is.” Pushing open the door her eyes struggled to become accustomed to the dark, before the lights turning on unexpectedly nearly blinded her.

“SURPRISE!” A chorus of familiar voices called out, causing her to jump in surprise, before a laugh escaped her lips as she looked around the room at the smiling faces of her friends. Hot pizza rested on the table, the tantalising scent weaving through the air. A banner hung across the wall reading ‘Happy Birthday Yang-Sauce’. She couldn’t help smile at the silly nickname, meaning that Sun had been the one to make the banner.

“What is this?”

“It’s a surprise birthday party, you dolt, what do you think it is?”

Yang shrugged and made room for Ruby to enter, who looked equally surprised. “How did you manage to get Ruby to not spill the beans?”

“She didn’t know, Sundrop.” Winter walked towards them and embraced her, planting a soft kiss on Yang’s lips. “The benefits of being a Schnee. It means she can’t ask.”

“Stupid Schnee Clause.” Ruby muttered as she kicked off her shoes and moved properly into the home, standing next to her girlfriend.

Yang laughed again, planting another quick kiss on her girlfriend’s lips, before moving around the room hugging everyone present. Looking around the room, her smile faltered for a second as she noticed a clear absence. “Where’s Blakey?”

“Ah, unfortunately a shipment arrived at the Library, and Oz wanted her to work on getting it processed.”

“Oh.” Yang’s smile faltered further, almost becoming a frown.

“I’m sorry Yang, and she sends her best wishes, and promised to take both of us out for dinner next week to make up for it.” This cheered Yang up a little.

“Well, I suppose that’ll do as way of apology. I’ll just order the biggest dish on the menu.”  The room laughed in response, and no one noticed as Winter sighed in relief.

“Enough chit chat already!” Sun declared, standing up on one of the chairs dramatically, much to the chagrin of his partners. “Food’s getting cold and booze is getting warm! Let’s get this party started!” He pushed down on a button on the remote in his hand; music began to fill the air.

                            ----------------------------------------------------------- 

Blake listened carefully to the music dying down. It had been a few hours since the party had started, and Winter had slipped away a few times to check up on her. The last time she had done so the ballgag had been put on her. Along with the music growing quieter, it meant that it wouldn’t be long until the birthday girl would discover her final gift for the night.

The Faunus could feel a warmth growing in her loins, and she couldn’t help but let out a low, whining, moan in anticipation. Struggling to keep her legs from grinding together, she focused on her own breath to calm herself down, ears twitching as she heard the door open downstairs, and the voices of her friends drift upstairs

“Thanks for inviting us over, Winter, and trusting us to help with the party.”

“It was a pleasure, Weiss. I’ll see you soon.”

Blake didn’t hear the door close, but did hear the sound of engines start up from behind the house. A minute later she heard car doors slam shut and a vehicle drive off towards town.

“You need to stop using the Schnee Clause on me. It’s unfair.” Ruby’s voice filtered through over the sound of the car, followed by Winter’s light laugh.

“Be better at keeping secrets, we’ll stop using it.”

Blake heard Ruby harumph, no doubt pouting. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard Pyrrha’s laugh as well. “We’ll be on our way now. Thank you again, Winter. We’ll see you next Saturday?”

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it!” Yang called from deeper in the house cheerfully. A few seconds’ further goodbyes later, the front door was shut and silence filled the house. It was almost time, and Blake’s heart was beating fast in excitement. “So, what now, my love?”

“Well, why don’t we go upstairs and properly celebrate your birthday. I’ve got one final gift for you.” Even from upstairs Blake could feel the effect of Winter’s sultry tone. She could only imagine how Yang was reacting to it and, presumably, the look.

The stairs began to creak as the couple made their way up the stairs. Once again, Blake focused on keeping her breathing calm. The footsteps made the short journey to just outside the door, and a second later it opened up to reveal the dark bedroom illuminated by candlelight and the light spilling in from the doorway, as well as Blake, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, lying in bed.

“Sorry I lied, Sundrop, but Blake and I wanted to give you the best birthday gift ever.”

[maybe-iam-awriter]

Choices Ch. 4

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Word Count: 2346

Warning(s): Hospital, Southside violence, bad writing

Summary: Being Reggie’s little sister wasn’t easy already. But being his sister and not agreeing with his hate towards the Southside was nearly impossible. Tensions are rising and Y/N needs to make some choices that could change her life drastically.

A/N: Sorry thought I would get this up yesterday but here it is! I also thought I would try writing in a different POV. Idk if i like it but it fits more with how I want to tell the story so I guess it will work for now. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Riverdale but I do own the OCs and the story is mine. I do not post anywhere but on this profile so if you see my stuff anywhere else let me know!

Side Note: If it seems like something in my fic is not mine or of original canon let me know! I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes!

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One |Two | Three

Reggie and his friends jumped into action as you hit the ground.

“Y/N” He screamed your name trying to wake you up. That’s when he noticed the blood pooling below you. A shard of glass must have hit you when the windows exploded but no one noticed. FP picked you up and rushed you to the cruiser outside. While this whole mess was happening around you, another mess was taking place at the Whyte Wyrm.

“I can’t just sit here” Sweet Pea said as he tried to walk out. Jughead was there to push him back.

“You don’t have a choice, Sweet Pea, you’re staying put.” He just pushed Jughead away from him before glaring.

“You said it yourself, the Ghoulies are back” His heart wouldn’t stop racing. Another person he knew was hurt. He didn’t know how a Northsider, hell a Mantle, got under his skin but, you did. The young Jones didn’t want to listen to Sweet Pea’s call to action.

“We will deal with them” Jughead looked around him. “As soon as my dad gets back-”

“Oh, so you’re not our leader all of a sudden?” Sweet Pea bit back at the Serpent Prince. ‘Oh, no, that’s right, you’re just the guy who got Fangs Shot!”

“Watch it…” Jughead tried to defend himself but Sweet Pea was getting too worked up now.

“And now, Fangs might die! And the Ghoulies are out for our blood because a drag race you started.” He got into Jughead’s face while poking his chest.

“An hour. That’s all I’m asking for, Sweet Pea.” Jughead pleaded with the taller serpent. Sweet Pea just turned to walk away but not without slamming his fist into the wall. He was stuck here while Fangs was fighting for his life. Hell, he didn’t even know if Y/N was alive at all. Sweet Pea was just itching for Ghoulie blood. All Sweet Pea could do to distract himself was play pool. He was pocketing shot after shot in complete frustration. He saw Jughead rush out of the bar and scoffed. He’s not sure how long it was before he returned with Toni and Cheryl. Jughead explained what had happened with Peabody and the Ghoulies.

“It’s time we end the Ghoulie scourge and that Traitor, Penny Peabody permanently!” Sweet Pea was fed up with his friends getting hurt. Fangs, Y/N, and now Toni. He was done.

“Sweet Pea, two hours ago your fight was with Reggie Mantle. Now you want us to go to war over territory that we don’t even control anymore? This is Hiram Lodge’s problem not ours.” Jughead yelled back at Sweet Pea.

“So you’re just gonna hand over Sunnyside Trailer Park, our home to Penny and the Ghoulies?” Toni stood up outraged at what Jughead was proposing.

“Toni, I don’t want us to die.” Jughead pleaded with the female serpent. “A rumble with the Ghoulies right now? It’s a suicide-run”

“It’s better than a coward’s death.” Sweet Pea stood by Toni. The boys started talking over each other. Sweet Pea was calling for us to defend themselves while Jughead was trying to calm the taller serpent.

“That’s enough!” FP’s voice rang through the Whyte Wyrm. He walked towards the fighting teens. “I just got a call from the sheriff’s office. Fangs uh” He paused and looked at the crowd. “He didn’t make it. He’s gone.” An air of disbelief hung around the gang.

“Fangs is dead?” Jughead questioned his dad. FP nodded.

“And we will mourn him, hell yea, we will. But first, we will honor him. From what I just heard, it sounds like we need to put it to a vote. All those against going to war with the Ghoulies?” No one lifted a finger. “And all those for giving them hell on the battlefield tomorrow?” Almost everyone’s hands went to the air. Jughead just glared at his father but, it was decided; the Serpents were going to war.

Sweet Pea took the first chance he got to jump on his bike and head to the Hospital. Bulldogs were everywhere but he was only looking for one Northsider. He tried not to think of Fangs. Sweet Pea was on a mission and he couldn’t be distracted by grief. The receptionist looked up as he approached the desk.

“I’m looking for a patient. Well I don’t know if she’s here, I just know she was hurt so I’m hoping…” He started rambling.

“What’s her name?” The receptionist asked with pity in her voice. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath.

“Y/N, uh Mantle, Y/N Mantle.”

“Her room is 203.” Sweet Pea rushed towards the room with his heart in his throat. He was so in his head about Y/N he didn’t notice that some of the bulldogs in the waiting room heard him and texted Reggie. he was already outside your room waiting for the Serpent to show up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Reggie sneered at him. Sweet Pea had to calm himself down.

“Look, I’m not here to fight. I heard about Y/N and just wanted to make sure she’s okay.” Reggie just scoffed at him.

“She doesn’t need you checking in on her. I don’t know how you heard about her but you need-”

“I was on the phone with her when she passed out. I couldn’t come earlier but I’m here now. I just need to know that she’s okay” Sweet Pea cut the bulldog off. Reggie stared at him for a while debating what he should do.

“She took a shard of glass to the side. We didn’t notice and she lost a lot of blood.”

“How’d you not notice?!”

“You were on the phone with her! She didn’t even notice, okay!” Reggie turned around and slammed his fist into the wall. “It’s not my fault” He whispered. Sweet Pea calmed down after seeing him like this. It was clear that the jock was already beating himself up.

“What do the doctors say?”

“They did surgery to repair her spleen or whatever. She’ll make it. Her body is trying to make up for the lost blood so she’s sleeping right now. Been asleep the whole time, hasn’t woken up. Doctor says it’s normal but…” Reggie trailed off before realizing who he was talking to. “You know now, so get the hell out and leave Y/N alone. This just proves that she doesn’t need to get mixed up with Southside scum.”

“The Serpents didn’t do this, it was the Ghoulies.” Sweet Pea defended. No way would he be blamed for what happened to Y/N.

“Serpents, Ghoulies, does it matter? A Southsider still put her in the hospital.” Reggie sneered at him before walking into your room and shutting the door. Sweet Pea threw his own fist to the wall. Hearing his own words thrown at him by Reggie had his stomach sinking low. He needed to feel more in control, so he left to the one place that felt like home.

All Sweet Pea could do to keep a level head and forget all the shit he had experienced today was to play pool. They started playing for cigarettes and whatever else people would bet. He lost himself in the game. That was until FP interrupted them.

“Toni, Where was Penny hiding out?”

“By the docks.” Toni told their leader quickly. FP rushed out of the bar in an instant and jumped on his bike. Everyone was at a loss. Sweet Pea thought it was useless but he decided to call Y/N anyways. He sighed as he heard your voicemail. As he hung up, he received a text message.

Princess: Hey, sorry, Reggie is here. U alright?

Sweets: I mean you’re the one laying in a hospital bed. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?

Princess: I’m fine. Dr. said I just need to rest. I’m also really doped up right now. Can’t feel a thing! 

Sweet Pea couldn’t help but laugh at your response. He ignored everyone’s stares as he typed his reply.

Sweets: Glad to hear you’re okay. I tried stopping by but your brother was there. He told me you hadn’t woken up yet right before telling me to GTFO.

Princess: UGH, stupid Reggie. I’m sorry, hey maybe you can sneak in later! He says he has stuff to still take care of tonight.

Sweets: I’d love to. Hey GTG, hopefully cya later.

Sweet Pea put his phone away as he heard a car pull up. He, Toni, and Cheryl met Archie and Betty outside of the Wyrm. FP had been gone for a while now and everyone was on edge.

“Where is he? Where’s Jug?” Betty instantly asked as she saw the Serpents.

“Guys…” Archie directed everyone’s attention to an approaching FP. He came out carrying his beaten son. Jughead hung in his arms lifeless. It only took one look at his upper arm to see who did this because in place of where his serpent tattoo should have been was a bloody wound. Everyone was in shock as FP placed him in Archie’s car and raced to the hospital. It was the third time in a span of hours that Sweet Pea was on his bike rushing to the hospital hoping his friend would live.

Serpents filled the waiting room along with the bulldogs now. In all honesty, Sweet Pea was so close to breaking down. First Fangs, then Y/N, Toni turned out okay but for a second there he wasn’t sure, and now Jughead. Sure, Jughead and him didn’t see eye to eye but they were Serpents; a family.

“First you invade our streets, then our schools, our homes are in flames and you think you can just walk in here.” An unnamed bulldog started getting in the Serpent’s faces.

“Hey, back off, we all have people we care about in here.” Archie stood in between the rivals. “Is Y/N/N still here?”

“Yeah, will be here overnight. Reggie is in there now saying good night. We’ll probably head over to his to keep him company.” The bulldog responded. The tension in the air diffused enough for the Northsiders to back away.

“Wait, Y/N/N, as in Y/N?” Archie nodded at Sweet Pea. “All these bulldogs are here for her?”

“Yeah, we all grew up with the Mantles. Y/N is like a little sister to all of us.” His voice had a slight warning in them. FP walked into the waiting room and the teens went to meet him.

“He’s in surgery. It doesn’t look good.” FP collapsed in a chair and sobbed. The kids didn’t know what to do. His son’s life hung in the balance and they were just expected to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, Sweet Pea saw the bulldogs leave with Reggie. He waited another moment before heading towards Y/N’s room. He knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Sweet Pea entered. “Sweets! I was just about to text you!” Her face lit up when she saw him.

“Hey, Princess” He walked towards the empty chair by her bedside. “I was in the waiting room and I saw Reggie leave so I thought it was safe.”

“Of course, you’re probably waiting to hear about Fangs!” She said innocently. “How is he?” It was then that she noticed Sweet Pea’s tense posture. He wouldn’t look at her either. “Sweets?”

“He uh, FP told us that, well he…” He avoided saying the words but Y/N understood right away. Sweet Pea’s head snapped up as he heard Y/N yelp in pain. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I was just trying to sit up so I could hug you but these stupid stitches won’t let me!” She  groaned in frustration. He went to help her sit up in the bed.

“Yeah, we got the news earlier. Things have been stirring up with the Ghoulies. I won’t go into too much detail but Jughead thought it was a good idea to play the sacrificial lamb. He’s the reason why we were in the waiting room.” Sweet Pea started to ramble. He was cut off when Y/N’s hand landed on his forearm.

“I’m sorry, Sweet Pea. I really am. I hope Jughead is alright.” She smiled at the Serpent.

“I just want this night to be over with.” He leaned his head on the bed next to her lap. On instinct, Y/N started running her hand through his hair. The big bad serpent just leaned further into her touch.

“Me too. They said that I could probably go home tomorrow afternoon depending on labs and all that medical talk.” Sweet Pea hummed in response. “Are you falling asleep on me, Sweets?”

“No, next to you, Princess.” He mumbled. Y/N scooted over slightly.

“Come up here then” She patted the open space next to her. Sweet Pea was gonna argue but he took one look at her face and just sighed.

He crawled in right by her and swung his arm around her head. She placed her head on his chest without thinking. Neither of them could believe that they were in this position now. It was only a handful of days ago that they had their first conversation. It all came down to two facts: Y/N needed someone and Sweet Pea needed to be needed right now. They were like that for a few minutes before Sweet Pea got the courage to break the silence.

“This issue with the Ghoulies has become worse. They’ve always been a thorn in our side but…” he took a deep breath before continuing, “tomorrow morning Serpents and Ghoulies are going to war. I want this to happen I do but, we’ve-I’ve lost so much already. I don’t know if I’m ready to lose more.” Y/N looked up at him to see his eyes closed and head tilted back.

“Hey, everything’s gonna be okay. Let’s just get through tonight alright?” He nodded at her. Neither one of them wanted to break the peace that settled in the room because the truth was, they didn’t know if they were ready to face tomorrow.

Five

Tags:

@sailorsolar12

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 12

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

12/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book One: Chapter 12

The next day dawns cold and white, a heavy cloud settling across the sky with the sort of peace that Lexa knows means snow. She can taste it in the air as she walks from her chambers in the King’s Tower, to the Lord Commander’s solar. Inside, it is warm with the flickering fire and Clarke already sits at a heavy round table, with the Lord Commander beside her, talking jovially, though they both fall quiet at her entrance, standing before she can gesture them back into their seats.

“Please,” She offers them both a friendly smile, sinking into the final seat at the table. “I think I am friends enough with both of you to dispel of those courtesies. Sit, eat, continue.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” The Lord Commander answers roughly, sinking into his seat again.

Clarke offers her a smile, their eyes meet and something small and secret passes between them even as Clarke sits and greets her.

“Your majesty, I hope the morning finds you well.”

“Very well, and yourself Lady Clarke?” Her lips take on something close to a smirk at the formality they wear around the Lord Commander.

“Well,” Clarke reaches for her goblet, “The northern air agrees with me.”

“It’s the purest air in all of the north,” The Lord Commander agrees, chewing on a hunk of bread. “Apologies, your majesty.”

“No, no,” Lexa shakes him away, “I agree.” She looks between the two of them curiously as they eat, accepting the eggs and bread that are placed before her. “So, I didn’t get the chance to ask last night how the two of you come to know each other so well?”

“I only know the Lord Commander through hearsay,” Clarke corrects her, looking up at the large man. “And the stories my parents told me. My father liked you very much.”

“Your father was afraid of me, I dare say.” The Lord Commander raises an eyebrow in her direction, “He was a good man, I’ll admit, but Lady Abigail became a part of the family during her stay in the Eyrie. Any man would fall short in our eyes.”

“Really?” Clarke’s brows crease, and Lexa watches as she sits up a little straighter, her tone draped with steel. “He’s an excellent man, I’m surprised you think otherwise. He is kind and fair and wise-”

“My lady,” the Lord Commander cuts through her with a gruff laugh, a twinkle in his eyes, “Your father is a great man, I’ll admit that now. You’ll know when you have daughters that no man ever seems good enough.”

“Oh, I see,” Clarke deflates a little and the Lord Commander reassures her kindly.

“Your loyalty to your father is admirable.”

“I love him dearly,” She tells him, her voice soft and honest, and Lexa feels a tug at her heart.

“You must miss him.” The Lord Commander observes, and Clarke nods falteringly, her eyes flickering down to her plate.

“Very much,” She admits, and a moment of silence settles between them all, heavy as thick cream. Lexa pushes her eggs about her plate, and opens her mouth to break the silence, when she is interrupted by a rushed knock on the door.

The Lord Commander has barely finished calling out for the visitor to come in before the door swings open and a messenger in Stark livery almost falls through the door. He is followed by the Measter of Castle Black, who is looking at him with a wrinkled nose even as he bows his head to those waiting.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Lord Commander,” The Measter tells him, his voice pinched and irritated. “A letter has come from the Citadel,” He slides a letter across the table towards the Lord Commander, and the man hums as he begins to open it. The Measter continues, “And this boy,” He nudges the messenger closer by his shoulder, “Would not wait until you were done.”

“I have an urgent message from Winterfell,” The boy snaps in return. He looks as if he has been riding for days, muddy and shivering, soaked with sweat but fierce with loyalty. The boy bows deeply to her, and Lexa offers him a smile when he passes her his note. “Your majesty.”

“Thank you,” She runs a thumb over the parchment, wondering what could have made Aden send her a note so urgently. “What’s your name?”

“Archie, your majesty,” He colours a little under her attentions, and she looks to the Measter.

“Please ensure that Archie is given a hot meal and a bed, and a fresh horse tomorrow.” She tells the Measter, and Archie thanks her enthusiastically as the Measter grudgingly leads him away.

The Lord Commander makes a low sound of concern and Lexa looks up at him as she uncurls her note. He meets her gaze across the table and in the low light, his eyes are shadowed.

“Did you know about this?”

Suspecting that she knows what he has just read, she nods, and he shakes his head, muttering,

“Utterly foolish. Baratheon is not a young man, he cannot-”

“Baratheon?” Clarke’s eyes widen, looking between them with surprise, “What? What is it?” She looks between them, and the Lord Commander opens his mouth to answer her but before he can get a word out she darts forwards and takes the letter from his hand, saying urgently. “May I?”

As her eyes skim down the letter, Lexa glances down at her own note, her eyes narrowing with concern as she reads the few words Aden has sent to her.

“No!” Clarke’s cry draws her attention away again, and her eyes widen in surprise to see the horror  written across the girl’s expression. “No, I- I don’t believe this.” She fixes the Lord Commander with a determined glare, but her hands are shaking. “Wells would never do this- he would- he wouldn’t just abandon his kingdom, his duty!”

“I’m afraid it is true,” Lexa says, as gently as she can. Clarke is so distressed she fears she could become hysterical. “I also received a raven about it.”

“You knew?” Clarke turns on her, outraged, and she is so surprised by the rage in her eyes that she finds herself momentarily lost for words.

“I did,” Her brows raise, and she glances at the Lord Commander, who watches them closely. “Lady Clarke.”

Clarke doesn’t flinch, “You didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t think I could have helped?”

“Lady Clarke,” She starts, her voice low with her warning, but Clarke ignores her thoroughly.

“I can’t believe you let me just wander around not knowing, he is my prince Lexa, my friend, I deserved to know!”

“Lady Clarke!” Lexa stands, her chair legs scraping against the stone flagged floor loudly. “I didn’t discuss this with you because I am not in the habit of discussing the politics of the north with southerners. I’m sorry that your mother didn’t think to keep you informed, but that is not my responsibility.” Clarke stares at her, open mouthed and astonished by her sudden outburst, and Lexa doesn’t give herself the time to feel sorry, instead she squares her shoulders and tightens her jaw. Looking every bit the queen in the north, she fixes her eyes on the Lord Commander and continues, as calmly as possible. “I’m afraid our visit will have to be cut short, Lord Commander. Prince Aden is in need of me in Winterfell. I will find a moment to discuss the upkeep of Castle Black and the status of the wildlings before I leave, but I must tell my captain to make preparations for our departure.” Her gaze turns to Clarke, who’s eyes have narrowed, “Lady Clarke, after you.”

---

As they arrange to leave, Anya argues against the journey fiercely.

“Aden has specifically told you not to return!” Her voice is loud as they stride down the stairs of the King’s Tower and into the courtyard, and Lexa shoots her a warning glance. Anya’s jaw clenches, furious, but she obediently lowers her voice. “He told you that he had everything under control, he’s been trained for this!”

“He’s been trained for diplomacy and to fight in a vanguard,” Lexa retorts, sharply, coming to a halt to check her horse’s tack before she mounts. “Not to ward of Karstark and Bolton when they claim I am too lenient with the south.”

“Do you not trust him?” Anya demands, as she swings herself into the saddle, and Lexa grunts in frustration.

“Of course I do!” Her agitation must translate to her body, because her horse sidesteps nervously beneath her. “I have to be there, to defend myself.”

“It’s going to snow,” Anya tells her, grabbing her horse’s reins so that she can’t move. “There’s a storm coming in, you know that as well as me.”

“We’ll make it to the Umber holdfast in time to wait out the storm.” Lexa snaps, angrily, and pulls the reins from Anya’s hands with such conviction that her captain stumbles. Peering around, she finds that there is no head of golden hair upon a mount close by, and in her frustration she demands of a passing stable boy. “Where is Lady Clarke?”

The boy gapes at her, and it is Anya who steps in to answer, coolly, “She didn’t want to ride with you, your majesty.”

A lance of something between hurt and anger races through her at the words, and she attempts to keep her expression even. “Fine then, but her carriage had better not slow us down.”

She pushes her riders too fast and too hard, and she knows it objectively, in the back of her mind, but she will hear no complaint from Anya and instead urges them onwards, even as the snow starts to fall around their shoulders and the wind whips at their cloaks. The storm seems to move in from nowhere, the skies turning dark in a matter of moments, and soon the world around them is barely visible in the raging snow storm that surrounds them. Flakes sting at Lexa’s cheeks and fall into her eyes, and when Anya leans forward to touch at her shoulder, she eventually hesitates.

“We have to find shelter!” Anya shouts, above the roaring wind, and though she is loathe to stop before the Umber castle, Lexa finds herself nodding.

They plough onwards, it would be suicide to stop in the vast, open plains, where they are completely at the mercy of the weather. It is one of Lexa’s scouts that finally returns on his horse, galloping through the snow to shout.

“Shelter! A barn and a house, this way!”

Relief courses through her veins, and Lexa glances back at her party, utterly grateful not to have killed them all with her rash decision making. There is no time to linger on her thoughts, though, as they are led through the snow by the scout. Occasionally they are forced to stop, to clean the snow from the wheels of Lady Clarke’s carriage, and though Lexa knows she ought to demand the woman disembark, she doesn’t dare to face the utter fury which she knows is awaiting her. Despite their slow progress, in the distance a dark form mars the horizon, and takes the shape of the waiting house and barn.

The house is a small, ramshackle little thing, which Lexa suspects holds only one room, but the barn is large and built sturdy enough to withstand the battering of the elements. A farmer stands at the doorway of the barn, and Lexa swings herself from her horse when they get close enough, holding out her hand in greeting.

“Your majesty,” The man doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, and eventually settles for taking her hand, his fingers wrapping around her elbow in the customary northern way, and bowing. “I’ve been expectin’ you, your scout said you needed somewhere to wai’ this out.”

“We do,” She admits, and watches as a farmhand hauls open the door to the barn. Inside, it is dark and dry enough, the floor covered with hay and a flock of sheep penned in the corner, shivering. The farmer ushers her out of the wind, and she steps inside gratefully.

“Well I got room to spare, ‘specially for a queen.” He glances back at the farmhand. “It’s only me and Tom out here tonigh’, we can fit mos’ o’ you in the barn, an’ you can take the ‘ouse, your majesty.”

“That’s not necessary,” She insists, but her eyes are drawn back to the waiting carriage, and she admits. “We may have enough guest who needs the house.”

“O’ course your majesty,” He nods, sound and sensible. “I’ve go’ some braziers and firewood, ough’ to warm your men up enough. You’ll wan’ to get those ‘orses in too, fine beasts like tha’ won’t last long in this cold.”

“Quite right,” She agrees, and gestures to Anya, who stands nearby listening to their conversation. Her captain nods tightly, turning to bark orders to the waiting soldiers. “Thank you again,” She tells the farmer, “I’ll see to it that you are greatly rewarded for this.” At his grateful nod, she turns back to the snow and braces herself, before striding through the cold towards the carriage.

Octavia lingers at its door, trembling despite herself, and she brushes snow from her hair as Lexa approaches. She knocks lightly at the door, and opens it only a crack to peer into the darkness that awaits her. Lady Clarke is huddled under all of the furs she has, trembling lightly, and her eyes are wide and worried when she looks at Lexa.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“We have found a place to take shelter for the night,” Lexa tells her, swallowing against the urge to reach out and reassure her. “A farmhouse, it is safe but I’d like to see you inside, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“A farmhouse?” Clarke’s eyes widen, but she steels herself and nods. Together, they battle through the snow storm, their heads bent against the ferocious winds, and push through the door of the farmhouse to step into the warm, dry room.

As Lexa had suspected, it’s no bigger than one room, flames flickering in the fireplace in one corner, shutters closed tightly across the only window on the other side of the room. In the dim light, they can see a bed pushed up against one wall, strewn with blankets and lumpy pillows, and a table against the far wall, upon which a few candles burn and half of a loaf of bread sits, peeking from its cloth rap. The floor is stone, covered in woven mats, and two wooden chairs are pulled up beside the table. Lexa’s eyes dart to Lady Clarke, who is hesitating in the doorway, and Clarke must feel her gaze because she looks up to meet her, her eyes hardening before she steps into the house.

“I hope this will be acceptable for the night, Lady Clarke.” She says, at last, when it seems that Clarke will not break the silence and Clarke startles, as if she’d forgotten she was there.

“Yes, of course,” The words roll from her tongue, pretty and polite, but they are belied by the wrinkle of her nose and Lexa glances back at where Anya and Octavia stand in the doorway.

“We will have food and firewood brought to you, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” She makes to leave, but Clarke’s voice pulls her to a stop, her reluctant feet hesitating.

“Where will you sleep?”

“Oh,” She glances back at her, swallowing heavily. “In the barn, with everyone else.”

A noise of complaint escapes Anya, and Lexa casts her a frown which doesn’t deter her stubborn cousin. Anya’s brows have pulled together, her eyes clouding with disapproval.

“You can’t stay in the barn,” She tells her simply.

“I agree,” Clarke steps closer, and Anya’s eyes widen, clearly astonished to find them in agreement over something. “You’re the queen, you should take the farmhouse.”

“I can’t have you staying in the barn, my lady.” Lexa rejects the idea immediately, almost smiling at the thought of Clarke sleeping on the ground among her other soldiers. “That would be improper.”

“More improper than the queen sleeping on the ground?” Clarke counters, sharply and Anya hums her agreement.

“You can’t stay with the soldiers, Lexa, it would demean you in their eyes, especially when-” She cuts herself off, abruptly, but her eyes slide to Clarke and the southern lady is sharp enough to understand.

“Especially when a southerner has a real bed. You pull rank over me.”

Frustration bubbles in the back of her chest and she can’t help rolling her eyes at the two of them as they argue. “I’ve slept on the floor plenty of times as a squire and at war.”

“That was before you were a queen.” Anya retorts, “Lady Clarke is… right,” The word seems to pain her to say and Lexa thinks she sees Clarke hide a smile in the corner of her lips. “You should pull rank, that’s what a real queen would do.”

“I am a real queen,” She barks, and her eyes move to Clarke, incredulous, “You would willingly sleep on the floor, surrounded by snoring, stinking soldiers?”

The words make Clarke hesitate, her nose wrinkling again as she considered the prospect, before her expression clears and she offers, a little uncertainly. “There’s room enough for two in here.”

Lexa’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open as her stomach spins. Clarke has barely looked at her since their argument, and now she is proposing that they share an enclosed space for the night, or at least until the storm passes. It’s enough to make her mouth dry, and while she struggles for words Anya answers for her.

“That would be acceptable. We could have a bed roll brought in and laid out near the fire.”

Finally, Lexa finds her voice, though it breaks while she speaks. “You would be… comfortable with that?”

Under her gaze, she thinks she sees Clarke colour just slightly, her cheeks tinged with pink, but she gathers herself enough to lift her chin and say, defiantly. “Perfectly comfortable, your majesty, as long as you are.”

The words and the gleam in her eye leave Lexa spinning even after she steps from the small house to check on her soldiers, and she wonders at how she will cope spending an entire evening with a woman who hates her so fiercely.

---

Clarke agonises over sitting on the bed. She is not, as Lexa seems to think, utterly out of touch with the lives of her people, but she has never been in a place like this farm house before. Her time in Kingslanding was spent accompanied by a retinue of guards and all of the luxuries the crown could provide, and Highgarden was so far from any town that she rarely left without her mother or father. Even the Smoking Log in Winter Town has a touch more luxury. To be in somebody’s home, and somebody who likely hates her simply because of where she was born, feels too private and personal. There are iron pots hung against the wall, and when she inspects them she finds that they are marked with years of care and use. A whittling table sits in the corner, covered in the shavings of a project half finished, and along the rough mantel above the fireplace there is a line of small, carved figurines, perhaps for the farm hand to play with, or the remnants of children now moved away. The candles are all burnt down low, dripping wax across the table, and an old rag rug covers the stone floor close to the fire.

Every touch of the home tells the story of a world existing far beyond her own, and she feels almost ridiculously out of place in her heavy, fur lined dress and cloak. Outside the sound of shouting and the clattering of wood and metal reaches her over the wind and snow, and when she eventually eases open the shutters across the window, she finds soldiers tramping in and out of the barn, carrying things inside and collecting firewood. The queen appears, her figure dark in the snow, and Clarke watches, unable to pull herself away, as she takes the farmer to one side and talks to him earnestly, before pressing something into his hands. The man’s eyes widen, and he seems to fumble to object for a moment. Lexa places a hand on his shoulder, her expression gentle, and Clarke darts back into the farmhouse when she raises her eyes and catches sight of her.

The shutters shuts with a slam, the catch falling into place, and she sits on the bed so heavily that it’s almost jarring. Her hands stretch out to catch herself, and her fingers run over the stitches that hold together the patchwork quilt, faded with age, that covers the bed beneath her.

Lexa enters some time later. Nightfall has drawn its curtain around them and Octavia had appeared some time earlier, with a thin stew and bread. She had stoked the fire and sat close to Clarke while she ate, watching her from the corner of her eye and clearly trying to discern the reason behind her sour mood. In the doorway she had hesitated, as if she were about to speak, but one look at the dark expression on Clarke’s face had sent her running back to the barn. Since then she had stewed in her fury and watched the fire burn lower from her place on the bed.

Lexa’s return feels like being dowsed in cold water. She feels as if every nerve in her body is standing on end, intensely aware of how she moves cautiously, uncertainly into the room. Their conflict sits heavy and stifling between them, and like the snow it muffles all of the noise. Clarke watches from the bed as Lexa steps further into the house, shutting the door firmly behind her, and glances from Clarke to the almost guttering fire in the grate. There is a twitch of annoyance at the corner of her eyes, but she says nothing and Clarke is stonily silent as she crosses the room.

She bends to one knee beside the fire, and places the bedroll in her arms onto the floor. Reaching for the stack of firewood in the basket beside the grate, she gently, carefully coaxes the fire back to life, until it is raging hot and bright once again. Clarke’s eyes flicker away only when she stands again, and she watches from beneath her eyelashes, playing with a lose thread on the quilt, as Lexa unrolls the bed roll close to the fire.

It is Lexa who breaks the silence. “Did Octavia bring you some supper?”

Clarke’s fury wriggles in her gut, and she bites down the urge to roll her eyes. What a ridiculous question, as it was certainly Lexa who ordered the food brought to her in the first place. “Yes.” She answers shortly.

Lexa nods, her brows shifting together again, and she opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then seems to think better of it. Instead, she sits into the chair beside the table, about as far away from Clarke as possible, and retrieves her dagger from a sheath against her thigh. A whetstone appears from her cloak, and then she shrugs off the cloak to drape carefully over the back of the chair. The soft rasp of a blade being sharpened fills the room, and as much as Clarke tries to keep her eyes away from the queen, she can’t help but look at her in the firelight, her head bent over her task, a few strands escaping her braids to curl about her forehead and ears. The arch of her nose and the curve of her chin is intensely, irritatingly distracting, and a prickle of heat runs through her that she can only attribute to the stoked fire.

With sudden, jarred motions, she pushes her own cloak from around her shoulders, leaving it to sprawl on the bed like a forgotten lover, and stands, stalking to the whittling bench in the corner and then to the fireplace under the guise of examining the figurines across the mantel. Anger and boredom burn in her until she is so restless she can barely stand still, and when she feels Lexa’s eyes on her, the feeling only seems to double.

“Is everything well, Lady Clarke?”

Her voice is so calm and steady that it only infuriates Clarke more, and she turns to glower at the woman, ire in her eyes.

“I’m not used to being cooped up for so long.”

“Of course,” Lexa remains stately and unruffled, returning to her dagger. “Unfortunately there’s nothing to be done until the storm passes.”

“I’m sure this isn’t what my mother had in mind when she sent me here,” Clarke snipes, despite herself and Lexa hums quietly in agreement.

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

“It’s certainly not what I’ve come to expect, either.” She continues, unable to stop herself and the sound of Lexa’s blade stutters for a moment.

When she answers, there is a note of tightness to her voice that makes Clarke turn to look at her. “The farmer is being very generous allowing us to stay.”

“We shouldn’t have travelled when a storm was so close,” Clarke argues, her eyes following Lexa’s movements, hoping for a crack in her façade. “It was unwise to leave so hastily, all of this travelling for naught.”

“It is unfortunate,” Lexa admits, her hands slowing against the whetstone. “But necessary. Prince Aden needs me in Winterfell.”

“Was it so urgent to land us stuck in the middle of the north with no place suitable to shelter?” She demands, and Lexa’s eyes shoot up to her, narrowing as her composure slackens.

“I didn’t hear you voicing any complaints when we left Castle Black.”

“Voicing any complaints?” Clarke splutters, outraged, “You would barely look at me when we left Castle Black, let alone listen to my complaints! I’m surprised you remembered to take me with you at all.”

“Oh, Lady Clarke, no one could forget you.” Lexa assures her, and her tone is so venomous that Clarke is momentarily dumbstruck by her words.

“Yet you did,” She retorts, finally, “You did not think I was worth consulting on the most important news to come out of the south in the past five years.”

“I am not having this argument again.” Lexa tells her, darkly, and stands, stretching her legs. “Perhaps we should find something to engage you, if you are so restless.” Searching the small room, she finds a collection of stakes, used to manage cattle and other livestock, resting in the corner. Bending down, she collects two into her hands and holds one out to Clarke in offering. “Maybe you would feel better if we trained some more.”

“Trained?” Clarke takes the stake from her, holding it delicately between two hands. “But we are inside.”

“There is enough space,” Lexa tells her, firmly, “And we’ll be careful.”

“This is ridiculous,” Clarke frowns down at the stake between her hands.

“There is no one to see us,” Lexa gestures around. “It seems like the prefect opportunity to me, unless…” Here she levels Clarke with a challenging tilt of her eyebrows. “You are scared to face me?”

Though she knows the words are meant to goad, Clarke feels herself falling into the trap anyway.

“Of course not.” She fixes her grip on the stake. It’s heavy, but she manages to hold it with one hand, adjusting her fingers until she’s following Lexa’s lessons from last time.

Lexa nods once, a firm tilt of her chin, and hums her approval lowly in the back of her throat. “Place your feet apart, enough to steady yourself. You have to be able to balance if an enemy swings at you.”

Obeying her feels like a physical task, but Clarke does as she is told, planting her feet firmly about a shoulders width apart.

“Now, turn your body,” Lexa demonstrates, shifting until only her side is facing Clarke, and the noblewoman copies. “You make for a smaller target,” She swings her stake to demonstrate, swirling it through the empty air where Clarke’s body had once been.

Her stake slides through the air as if it weighs nothing and Clarke can’t help but be impressed at the display of strength and skill.

“The most common Westeros swords are heavy,” Lexa explains, her voice still cool, “Like these stakes, they’re best for slashing and hacking. You have to put a lot of power behind them to make an impact.” She swings her stake again, in a smooth arc before her, and after a moment of uncertainty, Clarke imitates her, swinging at the empty air between them. “Again.”

Clarke bristles at the command, but does as she’s told, swinging the stake through the air until her arm and shoulder burn with pain. When she is beginning to tire, Lexa’s own stake swoops down to meet hers with a loud crack of wood, and Clarke startles back, her eyes widening in surprise.

Lexa meets her gaze unapologetically and challenges. “What now?”

For a moment she is utterly unsure what to do, her gaze flickering between their weapons and Lexa’s unmoving face. Then, she twists the stake away and makes to collide her fantasy blade with Lexa’s side. The queen is too fast though, and her stake is met yet again, and this time pushed away with strength that forces her backwards a few steps. Lexa gives her a second to catch her breath, but moments later her stake soars through the air and Clarke only just catches it with her own in time. Lexa forces her back with her next few strikes, until Clarke is almost pressed to the door.

“Strike back,” Lexa urges, in between collisions, “Be brave!”

Clarke glowers at the words, and when Lexa next goes to meet her repetitive strikes, she swings her stake up and forces Lexa to catch her at the last moment, the wood cracking low between them. Lexa’s eyes are wide when they meet hers again, and exhilarated enjoyment sparkles behind them.

“Good!” She encourages, “Keep going!”

Clarke twists again, her weapon slicing through the air with such ferocity that Lexa has to take a step back to avoid her strike. On her momentum, she twists her body the other way, just as her dance teacher had instructed so many years ago, and slashes twice at Lexa’s body. Her movements are quick now, her breath coming hard and words spill from between her lips even as she forces Lexa back across the farmhouse.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Wells?” Their weapons meet and Clarke swirls back, furious and ferocious and more powerful than she’s ever felt before. “I had a right to know!” Her next two swipes force Lexa far enough back that she stumbles into the table, her hand going out to catch herself. “He’s my best friend!” Lexa meets her stake easily this time, and her momentum carries her a stumbling step forward, their weapons still pressed against each other, until she is close enough that she can feel Lexa’s breath against her cheek and count the fragments of colour in her eyes.

Something presses against her side, through the bodice of her dress and she looks down to find Lexa’s dagger held steadily against the embroidery.

“Lesson number two,” Lexa’s voice is low and hoarse, “Your enemies won’t play fair. You shouldn’t either.”

Clarke flinches away, violently, but the movement is so sudden that the hem of her heavy dress and petticoats twists around her ankle like an errant tree root and pulls the floor from beneath her. She yelps, hands flailing as she tries to catch herself, but it is only two strong arms around her that saves her from colliding with the stone floor so fiercely that she would have been sure to break something. She finds herself crushed against Lexa’s body, her hands coming to rest against the arms that hold her, and her breath escapes her in a sudden, heady gasp as she feels the warmth and flexing muscles beneath her fingers. Lexa’s eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, and Clarke is lost in her gaze, falling into pools of endless green, the dark of creaking fir trees and the brightness of new shoots of grass, a hazy, soft gold like the magic of ancient ancestors that Clarke is sure runs in this girl’s veins. Lexa’s lips part, rosebud pink and soft and Clarke feels heat steal across her chest and over her cheeks, utterly unexplainable. More soft curls have fallen from Lexa’s braids and she barely resists the urge to tuck them gently behind her ears, just for an excuse to feel the delicate skin of her cheek beneath her knuckles.

The harsh rap of knuckles against the door sends them spiralling apart, and when Lexa calls out an entry, her voice is rough in a way that brings fresh colour to Clarke’s cheeks.

A squire slips inside to stoke the fire, and ask if they need anything more, and as Lexa dismisses him, Clarke sits heavily onto the bed. The abandoned stakes still lie on the floor where they had been discarded, now cracked and splintered, and she keeps her eyes fixed to them as Lexa sees the boy out and shuts the door firmly behind him.

There is a long moment of silence, until the bed dips beside her and Clarke’s gaze darts up to see the queen sitting only a few inches away from her upon the bed. Lexa’s eyes watch the fire across the room as it begins to lick at the fresh kindling, and when she speaks it is quiet.

“I’m sorry that you found out about Prince Wells that way.”

Clarke’s breath hitches at her words, and she swallows heavily. “I shouldn’t have expected you to tell me, I know it’s complicated… politically.”

“If I had known that you didn’t know… or even that it meant so much to you, I would have told you.” Lexa promises, and Clarke catches sight of her fingers twisting together anxiously.

“I know. Thank you, Lexa.”

Lexa nods, her gaze finally flickering back to Clarke, filled with things unsaid. “I’m sorry that your mother didn’t think to tell you.”

Clarke scoffs quietly. “My mother has always tried to keep me as far away from the politics of the south as possible, but my father-” Her voice breaks over the word and she is surprised to find tears welling in her eyes at the thought of him. The absence of his letters burns deeply in her heart, and she fears she is being slowly forgotten. Brusquely, she wipes at her cheeks, “I thought he might. Or even Prince Wells himself.”

“I wish I could tell you more,” Lexa sighs, “But I only know that he withdrew his claim to the throne when he joined the Order of Maesters.”

“The next in line is Lord Daniel Baratheon, the king’s brother, but he has no children.” Clarke shakes her head and Lexa hums beside her.

“There is still time for the king to take a new wife and create heirs. Even if he does not love his new consort, she would bear heirs and continue his reign.”

“Maybe,” Clarke admits, reluctantly, her thoughts dark and cloudy. “I don’t know why… Wells was always such a good son.”

“You were childhood friends?” Lexa asks, softly and Clarke gives a slight smile, correcting her gently.

“We are still friends, best friends.” Her face falls, “I knew he was distressed but I don’t know what could have made him give up the throne. He was so loyal to his father, so determined to be a good king, so godly and honourable.”

“I had heard that about him,” Lexa gives a faint smile, “We met once, when I was arranging a peace treaty with his father. He always seemed a kind, good son. His honour reminded me of a north man.”

Clarke gives a wry smile at that, “Yes, I suppose he was that way inclined. But he never gave any inkling that he would give up the throne, at least not to me.”

“You cannot blame yourself, Clarke,” Lexa’s voice is kind and reassuring beside her, earnest in a way that draws Clarke’s gaze up to hers. “You like to take everything upon yourself, I know, but you must not do so here, you were leagues away.”

“I know, I-” She takes a moment to gather herself, “When we were children we would spend hours together, tell each other everything. I thought that one day we might get married,” She laughs, quiet and watery, at that and sees an answering smile play at the corners of Lexa’s kind mouth. “Of course we both knew that would never really work, I was far too wild for him. Wells was always reigning me in, keeping me safe, grounding me. Without him I fear I may… float away.”

A hand touches her, so tentative and gentle that Clarke barely feels it at first, but then fingers curl around her palm, firm and warm, and she lets her eyes find their way back to Lexa’s face to see her honest, open eyes looking back.

“You will be alright Clarke. You’re strong and capable, you won’t float away.”

She twists her hand over, until their fingers can interlock, and if her voice cracks when she speaks again, she tries to ignore it. “Thank you, Lexa.”

---

The winds howl around the little farmhouse so loudly that Lexa fears they will lift the place from the ground, tearing it out from its roots to leave them sprawled across the snowy farmland. The fireplace lies dark and empty, despite their many attempts throughout the night to keep the fire alive, and their wood supply had dwindled until at last they were left with nothing but the light of a few candles burning on the table across the room. In the darkness, Lexa stares up at the ceiling and tries not to think about the cold seeping in from the floor below her. She has spent many worse nights sheltered by only a tent on the damp ground, but on those days she had usually spent the day running and fighting, her arms heavy with fatigue, and was dragged into sleep by the weight of her day. Now, however, she feels restless and shivers in her bedroll. Her mind drifts to Aden, alone in the castle to defend her against Karstark and Bolton, and shifts under her covers anxiously.

“You’re cold.”

The voice startles her, her head twisting to peer through the dim light at where Clarke is leaning up on her elbow to look at her.

“I thought you were asleep.” Her voice is hoarse, too loud in the night and she clears her throat. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” Clarke pauses for a moment, before asking. “Are you?”

Lexa hesitates, her gaze going back to the ceiling as she considers her answer, but in the darkness she feels as if she can speak true. “Yes.”

“Come into bed.” Clarke offers, and Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath escaping her in a startled gasp that seems to fill the room. As she splutters, she sees Clarke roll her eyes and say, impatiently. “You don’t have bedwarmers in the north? In Highgarden my ladies and I often shared a bed in the winter.”

“No, no… in the north bedwarmer means something quite different,” Lexa’s voice is strangled and she thinks she sees Clarke’s mouth drop open. She tries not to imagine the pretty blush that is probably colouring her cheeks.

“Oh,” There is a long silence and Lexa thinks that this conversation will be forgotten, ignored as a mirage brought on by the night, but then Clarke speaks again. “It wouldn’t have to be… like that.” She read Lexa’s surprise in the silence that follows, because she continues hurriedly, “I mean, of course, it wouldn’t be like that. I only meant that it could help to keep us both warm, if we shared this bed.”

Lexa feels as if her voice has been stolen from her, “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Lexa,” In the darkness, Clarke’s exasperation is almost endearing, and Lexa has to bite on her lip to keep from smiling. “There is no sense in allowing yourself to remain uncomfortable. Just come up here, be sensible.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Lexa argues, stubbornly, from the floor and Clarke scoffs.

“The endurance of past discomfort is not a justification for current stupidity,” She tells her, plainly, and Lexa does laugh at that, a soft exhalation of amusement. It seems to soften Clarke, because her voice has dropped a notch when she speaks again. “Please Lexa, maybe we’ll both sleep better.”

A gust of wind slips down the chimney and seems to wrap around her, sending a chill straight down to her bones, and Lexa shivers, contemplating for a moment more before she slips from the bedroll. She still wears her belt and boots, but hesitates before climbing into the bed and slips them off, sure that Lady Clarke would not appreciate their presence. From her place beside the bed, she watches from beneath her eyelashes as Clarke shuffles along in the bed. The Tyrell girl’s eyes are fixed to her fingers, watching as she slips her belt through its loops and straps, and something about the darkness and the curve of her lips sends a heat straight through Lexa’s veins, enough to warm her whole army. Her fingers tremble a little when she peels away the boots, and then there is nothing between her and Clarke, and the girl pulls back the covers to invite her in.

Carefully, she lowers herself onto the bed, feeling it shift with her weight, and eases herself below the covers. Clarke is right, bedwarmers are not a common occurrence in the north, and so she has never shared a bed with someone like this, never lain so close to another body and felt it breathe beside her. It is strange and intensely intimate, though they are not touching at all. Beside her, she can feel Clarke’s warmth radiating from her body and hear the steady, calm sound of her breath, the rise and fall of her bosom silhouetted in the darkness. Every inch of her skin is prickling with awareness, tingling and trembling, and she lies so still on her back that she feels like a corpse. Forcing her breath to steady, in case Clarke should think worse of her for her nerves, she listens to Clarke breathing beside her and forces her eyes shut, and somewhere between then and the dawn she slides into a dreamless, deep sleep.

If they wake to the knocking on the dark and find that their bodies are curled together, Clarke’s hand along her stomach and her own resting on the blonde’s hip, they blame the moonlight and the darkness.

---

The portcullis of Winterfell stands open in wait for them, and in the courtyard stand both her Queensguard and Prince Aden, his hands behind his back, a slightly exasperated, amused smile lingering on his face as he watches her ride into the courtyard. He is flanked by Sage and Valour, who prowls a little closer as Lexa’s caravan approaches, placing himself between the prince and the newcomers. Both Lord Karstark and Lord Bolton stand nearby, and for a moment Lexa is terrified that Aden is being held captive, but then she reads the anxious, vaguely fearful expressions on the lords’ faces and realises, with a flush of awe and relief, that their men are hastily packing up their goods in the courtyard.

She swings herself from her mount, landing with the heavy thump of her boots, striding across the courtyard. She wears a thick black cloak around her shoulders, her daggers and her sword hanging against her waist and a silver direwolf pin against her cloak. Honour walks at her side like her shadow, towering and growling, the whites of his teeth showing between his dark jaws.

Lexa hesitates a few steps away from the prince, her eyes flickering to Karstark and Bolton. Valour, his dark brown coat bristling, scents the air for a moment, recognising her, before lowering his hackles.

“Prince Aden,” Lexa’s eyes travel over her brother, looking closely for any sign of duress or injury.

“Your majesty,” Aden offers her a bow, which is echoed by the others in the courtyard, but his eyes twinkle with a tease. “We didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“We cut our trip short,” She is still suspicious, her eyes cutting back to the two lords. “Lord Karstark and Lord Bolton, I see you're here.”

“Unfortunately they were just about to leave, your majesty,” Aden explains, giving the two men a friendly smile laced with poison.

“Oh, I see, what a shame to have missed you.” Lexa’s voice remains cool, her expression stony. “I hope we’ll have the chance to welcome you back to Winterfell very soon, my lords.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Lord Karstark gives her a gruff answer and bows slightly, and Bolton’s beady eyes run over her.

“We have much to attend to at home, your majesty.” His voice is thin and reedy, and he flinches back when Liberty places herself between them both.

“I’m sure,” Lexa offers them a slight smile, dangerous and deadly. “Then I won’t waylay you any further my lords, safe travels.”

The men bow again, but Lexa turns away from them and steps towards her brother. She calls to Anya, her eyes still fixed to Aden.

“The prince and I are going to retire to my solar.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, she strides into the castle, feeling the eyes of everyone in the courtyard prickling against her neck. Aden falls into step behind her, but doesn’t try to speak with her until the door of her solar is shut against curious eyes and ears.

As she shrugs off her cloak to leave it sprawled across the back of the high backed chair behind her desk, she hears the clicking of a flint and finds her brother lighting straw and kindling upon the hearth. She watches, quiet and curious, as he coxes a fire into life in the grate, and settles into one of the armchairs, gesturing that he should take the second. As the room warms and brightens from the fire, Lexa casts her glance over to her brother and watches as Aden draws in a long breath.

“You didn’t need to come back.”

She inclines her head in a nod, humming quietly in agreement. “I know.”

“I told you that you didn’t need to return,” Aden continues, ignoring her, “I specifically said in my raven that you needn’t come back, that I could handle this.”

“I know,” She repeats, softly, and he turns to look at her at last, fury and annoyance written across his features.

“You cut short your time at the Wall for nothing. You travelled all the way back for nothing.”

“Aden,” It’s the use of his name that finally seems to draw his attention, and she waits until his eyes are on her before she says, sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Her brother deflates, his shoulders slumping and for a moment he is the young boy she grew up with. “Alright.”

“I was worried about you,” She admits, finally, “You’re my brother, my younger brother, and it was my name being questioned. I wouldn’t have been able to live myself if you were hurt protecting my name.”

“You’re my queen,” Aden shakes his head, exasperated, “It’s your name I fight for, always. And I’m good Lexa, I’m not a child any more.” His gaze softens, and becomes tender, “You trained me for this, remember?”

“I remember,” She assures him, affection slipping through her tone, “It’s sometimes hard to forget that you’re not that little boy any more. So, Prince Aden,” She straightens, her tone hardening and Aden squares his shoulders, his eyes widening at her formal words. “Explain to me what you said to Karstark and Bolton.”

“They were insisting that we attack the south now, while they are weak and unstable.” Aden tells her, succinctly, “I informed them that we had no need to go to war with the south, when Thelonious Baratheon has already given in to so many of our requests, and reminded them that Lady Tris is a guest in the south.” He hesitates and when he speaks again, is it with a layer of darkness, “I also told them that the queen in the north has an army far larger than any of theirs, and that any rebellion would be quickly quashed. I may have recalled the number of pages and kitchen maids who claim to have seen you transform into a monstrous wolf with the full moon.”

At that, Lexa’s mouth drops open and an amused, startled laugh is pulled from her lips. “Aden!” She admonishes, though it is bellied by her chuckle. “Clearly it was enough to send them fleeing with their tails between their legs.” She eyes him in the firelight, her mouth set in a contemplative line. “You showed diplomacy and skill Aden, I’m proud of you.”

He colours under her attentions, but his spine straightens, and he gives her a respectful nod. “I’m only using what you taught me, your majesty.”

---

[morbidlittlebitch]

my family makes me feel like shit. so why do i even bother trying to speak to them? they treat me like i’m nothing so fine i’ll disappear where they won’t find me. they act cold and avoidant like i’ve always done something wrong yet they won’t tell me wtf i did. i wasn’t abused growing up but they never showed me affection physically or even with words. most of the time they acted like i wasn’t even there. the only time i was ever shown attention was when i did something wrong, or on birthdays and holidays.basically ever really shown negative or obligatory attention. never positive validation. i grew up never hearing the words “i’m proud of you”, “good job”, or “i love you”. nothing like that even though i did very well in school and for the most part i wasn’t a problem child that stayed out of trouble. i was always left to play alone in my own fantasyland. and growing up i thought that this was normal until i started making friends around the time of middle school and high school. i started to see how their parents would treat them and how they would tell them positive things and give them hugs and kisses.  my brother on the other hand was the golden child. whenever he did anything wrong i was always blamed for it, and whenever he lied they would always believe him over me. my parents got so angry when i started to develop and show signs of my mental illness (mine started around the same time that i hit puberty). they couldn’t understand WHY i was always sad. why i hated myself, why i was cutting myself and being suicidal. the most frustrating thing was that i couldn’t even understand why i was that way myself. and it wasn’t like i was trying to be that way. i didn’t want the attention...at least not in that way. so my parents would react very angrily. they would constantly ask me WHY i was crying or WHY i wanted to kill myself when i had a good childhood and they were such good parents who never abused me and provided food and shelter and everything that i needed. and i had no answer for them! most of the time i didn’t even know WHY i was crying, or wanting to die, or feeling the way that i was! i just knew that i was feeling that way and that it wouldn’t fucking go away. soon i started to spiral out of control, and my parents were the most abrasive and non-supportive people they could be. my mom got in my face and even told me that i was selfish and that all people who try to commit suicide are selfish because they are only thinking of themselves and not about what it would do to their family and loved ones. it made me feel awful but i still couldn’t help myself. but nowadays i wholeheartedly disagree with this belief that she had; and that most people have. i’m so sick of hearing people call suicide victims selfish. you have to understand that they are in such a dark spot mentally that they actually feel like a burden to their loved ones....and they actually BELIEVE their loved ones would be better off without them!  my dad also would get in my face and scream at me for crying and not providing him with a proper answer. they would shake me and scream and tell me to snap out of it. they would accuse me of just wanting attention even though for the most part i kept that shit to myself, but there were times i would lose control completely. i remember when i first got baker acted at the age of 16 for attempting suicide, and they also found out i had been cutting somewhere where no one would see. a therapist had pulled my parents into the room at a meeting and pretty much starting placing blame of them for being the way that i was. this upset me so much because i in no way felt that it was their fault at all! i also didn’t want to make my parents feel responsible or guilty and i didn’t want the whole situation between us to become worse. i remember my mom became so incredibly angry and outraged. ever since then she hated therapists and the whole mental health profession. my parents even years later would still refuse to acknowledge the fact i had a serious mental condition, even after all of the suicide attempts. they also didn’t take me seriously many of times, and also wouldn’t take me to the hospital several times when i needed to be, and honestly doctors are amazed that i even survived some of those times. i still don’t like the idea of placing blame on anyone for my mental condition. i also don’t believe in when people say things like “it was his fault i hurt myself because he made me feel bad”. i still believe that most of the time your actions are entirely your own decision ultimately. although with mental illnesses there are times your actions are out of your control i can admit, though you still have the conscious decision to fight them or not. my most recent therapist brought a good point up to my attention. i was telling her how frustrated it was growing up with my condition and about my relationship with my parents. she told me “there may have been some truth in what that therapist had said back then. i know you don’t want to place blame on your parents, but give this book a read and then tell me what you think.” she gave me this book to read and boyyy was it enlightening. basically, from birth until late childhood your brain is still forming, your psyche is still being programmed. most mental illnesses actually occur and develop later on in young adulthood and adulthood because of either your enviornmental/social/nuturing and emotional surroundings as a child, or due to early drug abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, etc. although my parents never abused me, this very cold and distant and nonloving upbringing had a major impact on my psyche. it also didn’t help that in my teens a drank alot of alcohol and experimented with a few mind-altering drugs. my low self esteem and feeling like i’m constantly worthless or constantly doing something wrong/everything wrong is because the only sort of validation and attention i received from my parents growing up was always negative and when i did something wrong. thus this belief was programmed into my brain and made me start to feel that way about myself in general.  i read so many interesting things in this book about psychology and mental illnesses, and honestly, i do now believe that my parents and my upbringing had a major role in my later formed major depression and social anxiety. i don’t really blame them but in a sense i can now feel a bit relieved to have an answer as to possibly why i developed my mental illness. it’s something that makes sense, and before i never had an answer. my life wasn’t perfect but my childhood wasn’t especially traumatic either. for the longest time i couldn’t understand why i got hit with this mental illnesses out of no where around puberty that has been a constant struggle for my whole life sense then. before i always thought that it could possibly be hereditary, as my grandmother on my dad’s side used to take anti depressants in the past. or that possibly it was a hormonal issue since started around the time that it did. but neither of these possibilities were ever very convincing for me.  anyway, recently i’ve been trying to contact my mother and she’s been flat out ignoring me. all of a sudden. in the last message i tried to send, i told her that i loved her and normally she will always say i love you back. but this time it was just a thumbs up. it really hurt. because everytime she starts acting this way towards me, it’s always because i did something to upset her. but she will never tell me what it is! so....tbh i give up. and learning all of this new information, i’m not even sure i want to try anymore with my family. i just feel bad because i would like to stay in contact with my dad since he did have a stroke recently. idk. i’ve always been like the odd one out of my family, and no matter how hard i’ve tried to be closer to them it just feels like they don’t even love me but put up with me because they feel that they have to. i’ve always felt like the one left out my whole life. i’ve pushed nearly all of my friends away too, i just can’t seem to form close bonds with people anymore. and i’ve gotten to the point that i don’t even want to anymore, either. guess i’ve got isolating bitch disease.

[bethestaryouareradio]

Apologies on Freedom Day

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MIRACLE MOMENT®

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.” Martin Luther King Jr.

MESSAGE FROM CYNTHIA BRIAN, Founder/Executive Director

Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day, marks the end of slavery in the South on June 19, 1865. As PBS proclaims, “in this sixth month of the non-stop stunner that is 2020, the country finds itself in a period of education and reckoning of the racism embedded in its birth.”

I write this message to apologize for using the “color blind” analogy in our previous newsletter. After sending out the newsletter to share solidarity, a few of our dedicated BTSYA volunteers politely emailed to inform me that the use of the words “color blind” is offensive in todays vernacular. (You may read excerpts below) I thank these brave individuals for their courage to stand up, express themselves, and educate all of us,

specifically me. One of my mottos has always been “Failure is fertilizer. Throw your mistakes on the compost pile and grow a new garden.” I made a mistake and from that I learned so much. I am sorry.

We are living in unprecedented times and the world is in chaos with Covid-19 and the largest wave of civil unrest since the 1960s, spurred by outrage over police brutality and racism. Here at Be the Star You Are!® we are INCLUSIVE. We don’t tolerate bigotry, racism, or any other negative attitude towards any race, religion, gender, culture, or viewpoint. We stand together as a colorful united family of brothers and sisters from many different countries and backgrounds. Take a peek at our website, https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org or our teen radio show at http://www.expressyourselfteenradio.com and you’ll see that our volunteers represent the nations of the world. We are very proud to stand for freedom and equality for all.

My acting union, SAG-AFTRA released the following statement from President Gabrielle Carteris and National Executive Director David P. White on the murder of George Floyd. It states more eloquently what we at Be the Star You Are!® believe so I share this with you.

“The murder of George Floyd is deeply emblematic of a corrosive inequality and injustice at the heart of America. As protests spread across the country it is not enough to condemn injustice. It’s not enough to demand change. We must recognize that racism lives in our culture and only we can change that. We must speak up in the face of injustice and fight back against the indignities our fellow citizens face every day. We must be defenders and allies. We must be better than this.The ugly truth is that Mr. Floyd's killing was one among many murders of black people over many years. Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Philando Castile, Michael Brown, Jr., Marsha P. Johnson, Emmett Till, and the list goes painfully on and on stretching back for centuries. It must end. Black lives do matter.”

Again, I apologize if the newsletter offended, Please forgive me. It was never my intention to be offensive in any way.

There is no room for bigotry, brutality, or racism in our world. We are all on a learning curve and open to all feedback. Although we are all sailing together in this time of pandemic, I recognize that we are not in the same boat.

This is a time to be kind. To help one another. To be inclusive. We will not tolerate injustice. When we embrace diversity we increase peacefulness. Let’s remember that love always wins when kindness prevails. Smiles will keep us happy.

Juneteenth is not currently recognized as a Federal holiday but by celebrating it, we take one step forward towards reconciliation and the fight for freedom for all.

We want to hear from you. How do you demonstrate that Black Lives Matter? We’re interested in your thoughts and actions. Send your comments (less than 50 words) to our Kindness Coordinator, Karen Kitchel at karenkitchel@comcast.net by June 30. We will include a variety of responses (first name only) in our July newsletter.

I know I'm going to make many more mistakes. We all will. But let's learn and grow from them. We are COLOR BRAVE!

Be strong, be brave, be safe.

And don’t forget to also celebrate Father’s Day on June 21. A salute to all the great dads of every color and creed.

In solidarity,

Cynthia Brian Founder/Executive Director Be the Star You Are!® PO Box 376 Moraga, California 94556 Cynthia@BetheStarYouAre.org https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org http://www.BTSYA.org

DONATE: https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

EXCERPTS FROM TWO POWERFUL EMAILS WITH RESOURCE LINKS

"I'm emailing you now about the newsletter I recently received that was titled Become Color Blind. I understand the need to be in unity in this fight against institutional racism and police brutality, so I do appreciate your response on this. But I feel that asking everyone to "become color blind" is counterproductive and incredibly tone deaf in light of recent events.

Saying you are color blind says that you ignore the fact that oppression/racism exists for people of color like me. As recent events have shown, we are all not treated equally, unfortunately. I in no way mean to attack you, but this was something I found to be offensive. Put short, I feel there are better ways voicing your support.

Here is a video that might help explain some of what I said better. https://www.ted.com/talks/mellody_hobson_color_blind_or_color_brave Sincerely, Anika "

"I admire all of the work you do in order to enrich the lives of young people. I received your email earlier this week regarding the Black Lives Matter movement and in it you stated that your organization is ‘Color Blind’, I know this statement is not meant to have malice or be hurtful. So I felt obligated to explain why this popular statement is damaging and can make people of color feel uncomfortable.

I am Latina and for me this statement, while well intentioned, can feel as if my unique experiences with being Mexican are overlooked. We can no longer be colorblind, we must recognize people’s experiences and understand that someone who is Black has had a different experience than someone who is Asian. To say that your organization is ‘Color Blind’ diminishes the experiences of POC. While we all bleed the same blood we are all experiencing a different reality, while some of us may never struggle because of the color of our skin others will have to live in fear because of theirs. And these differences need to be acknowledged. What you must strive for instead is to not be color blind, but to be actively Anti-Racist. Being anti-racist means that you are actively acknowledging other experiences while educating yourself on how to be a better ally. We must realize and digest how Black people in our country carry the weight of hundreds of years of systematic oppression and learn how to fight for a system that values Black lives. Color blind and anti-racist are not interchangeable and while one diminishes the existence of oppression and experience the other acknowledges oppression and actively tries to counteract it.

I wanted to contact you to explain this because I know that your email had the best intentions and did not mean to diminish any experiences. I am very happy to see your organization be so accepting and so against discrimination. I wanted to mention that I mean no disrespect in sending this email to you and solely wanted to let you know how this term has changed and evolved. I understand that the words I use today when it comes to fighting against discrimination will be replaced in the future with other terms better suited for the fight against racism. I am very happy that I worked with a group that has taken a firm stance on this issue and I wish you all the best.

If my definition was not very clear here are some resources that may explain it better than I could:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2018/10/05/white-parents-teach-their-children-be- colorblind-heres-why-thats-bad-everyone/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/culturally-speaking/201112/colorblind-ideology- is-form-racism

Thank you for reading this and hearing my perspective in this issue. Best, Olivia"

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Cynthia Brian is the featured guest on June 25th. FREE registration.

http://www.janeapplegath.com. WRITER WEDNESDAYS and SUPER SMART SUNDAYS

As part of our Be the Star You Are! Disaster Relief Outreach program (https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of- operation-hurricane-disaste), Be the Star You Are!® has collaborated with the Authors Guild to showcase the new books launched by many authors from around the country in a variety of genres. We will also be showcasing artists, actors, and musicians, all of whom had had their gigs canceled and are out of work. We believe in supporting creativity and believe that books, art, music, and film provide escape and

joy, especially during tough times. For the next few months, make sure you are tuned in to both StarStyle®-Be the Star You Are!® on Wednesdays at 4pm PT for “Writers Wednesdays” LIVE http://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2206/be-the-star-you-are as well as our teen program, Express Yourself!TM airing on Sundays at 3pm PT for “Super Smart Sundays”, https://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2014/express-yourself

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[aion-rsa]

What Hamilton Doesn’t Say About His Real History with Slavery

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It was mid-October 1796 when Alexander Hamilton released the first in a string of scathing essays about political opponent Thomas Jefferson. By this point in early United States history, George Washington had announced his retirement, refusing to seek a third term as president, and the race of self-styled great men hoping to take his place was on… with none more loathsome to Hamilton than Jefferson, the loquacious, if remote, thinker on a hill in Virginia.

In this first of 25 essays, Hamilton wrote under the nom de plume of Phocion about the many hypocrisies of Jefferson, depicting the supposed philosopher as a moral and intellectual fraud, and something worse: a slave owner who knew slavery was evil but still took advantage, perhaps even of a sexual nature, of the Black people he kept in bondage.

It is moments of moral standing like this, even if Hamilton hid his name under a pseudonym, that Lin-Manuel Miranda’s musical Hamilton hangs its hat on. While the actual incident does not technically occur in the musical’s dizzying amount of narrative events, the tour de force work of art still uses its trenchant blending of historical fact and hip hop melodies to convey much the same idea: Jefferson was a demonstrable hypocrite on the issue of slavery. Despite  being one of the United States’ brightest thinkers about the rights of men, Jefferson failed time and again throughout his life to truly fight to end slavery—or free the hundreds of people he kept as possessions at Monticello. Even on his deathbed, Jefferson freed just five slaves, relatives all to his “mistress” (if such a word is fair), Sally Hemings.

Hamilton leans into this fact when Alexander Hamilton, played in the new Disney+ movie by Miranda himself, mocks Jefferson (Daveed Diggs) for his hypocrisies in a rap battle.

“A civics lesson from a slaver,” Hamilton seethes in the show. “Hey neighbor, your debts are paid because you don’t pay for labor. ‘We plant seeds in the South, we create?’ Keep ranting, we know who’s really doing the planting.” 

It’s one of the many flashy moments where Hamilton brandishes the anti-slavery sentiments of its title character, going so far as to suggest if he hadn’t died in a duel in 1804 he could’ve done more to end slavery. Throughout the show, he’s depicted as standing shoulder to shoulder with John Laurens (Anthony Ramos), who preaches “We won’t be free until we end slavery” during the American Revolution, and is even introduced as a young man horrified in his childhood on St. Croix as he watches “slaves were being slaughtered and carted away.” It was a satisfying message when the musical opened in 2015 with its color-blind casting, and it plays even more satisfying now.

However, like much else in regards to Alexander Hamilton’s life, the contradictions and shortcomings the man displayed toward slavery were thoroughly glossed over. Despite being an immigrant with a rags to riches story, Hamilton was also an elitist with those riches, favoring big banks and commercialism to the supposed agrarian utopia Jefferson imagined. Even the night before his fateful duel with Aaron Burr, Hamilton lamented to a friend that New England Federalists were fools if they really wanted to secede from the Union. Seceding would provide no “relief to our real disease, which is democracy,” Hamilton wrote, hinting at his disdain for popular rule.

The thornier side of Hamilton’s relationship to slavery is similarly overlooked. This is a fact Miranda is now publicly commenting on ahead of the Disney+ release.

In a recent interview with NPR, Miranda said, “[Slavery] is the third line of our show. It’s a system in which every character in our show is complicit in some way or another… Hamilton – although he voiced anti-slavery beliefs – remained complicit in the system. And other than calling out Jefferson on his hypocrisy with regards to slavery in Act 2, doesn’t really say much else over the course of Act 2. And I think that’s actually pretty honest.”

So what were Hamilton’s actual views on slavery? Well, as Ron Chernow notes in his biography, Alexander Hamilton, which the Hamilton musical is based on, “Few, if any, other founding fathers opposed slavery more consistently or toiled harder to eradicate it than Hamilton.” This is probably true, but it speaks more to how little that generation did to confront what became their new nation’s original sin than it necessarily speaks to Hamilton’s trailblazing abolitionist advocacy.

Born on the Caribbean island of Nevis in 1757, Hamilton grew up in a part of the world where slavery was an everyday aspect of life. Indeed, one of the primary reasons the Caribbean islands under British rule balked at the North American colonies’ calls for independence is they relied on the British Army and Navy to keep the local slave populations from uprising. There were eight times as many Black slaves as white colonists on these islands, a far higher ratio than the white colonists outnumbering Black slaves four-to-one in the North American colonies.

Hamilton saw this in his everyday life. After his father walked out on him, he went with his mother and older brother to stay with their in-laws, the Lyton family. Yet the Lytons were sugar planters who owned a vast amount of slaves, and one of the reasons they soon turned the Hamiltons out is because a relative stole 22 of their slaves and ran off to start a new life in the Carolinas—keeping those with dark skin in bondage, of course.

During this period in his life, Hamilton developed a strong distaste for slavery, which he considered barbarous. He even developed rather progressive opinions for an 18th century white man in the Caribbean, noticing there were no genetic differences in mental or physical ability between Black and white men. His ability to express vocal outrage over slavery impressed merchants early in his career, who eventually helped fund his education toward the mainland.

But what did he do with this knowledge? As Manuel said in 2020, clearly not enough. Upon reaching New York and quickly asserting himself as a brash intellectual leader in the Revolutionary generation, Hamilton supported anti-slavery causes, but they were never a high-priority. His dear friend John Laurens did speak out against slavery and even radically attempted to free 3,000 slaves if they fought for the Continental Army, beginning with the 40 slaves he stood to inherit from his father Henry Laurens, President of the Continental Congress. But while Laurens won approval for the plan in the Continental Congress, when he arrived in South Carolina to emancipate the said 3,000 slaves, he faced extreme opposition. Even as a member of the South Carolina House of Representatives, Laurens failed three times by overwhelming margins between 1779 and 1782 to emancipate 3,000 Black lives from chains.

Hamilton supported his friend Laurens’ cause, but he was personally busier with his responsibilities as George Washington’s aides-de-camp (a secretary). He was also working his way into intentionally marrying into a wealthy family like the Schuylers… a family that’s wealth was partially predicated on owning slaves.

In a fact completely ignored in Hamilton, New York was very much a slave colony and then state during the 18th century. While the smaller northern farms never reached the economic needs for chained Black bodies on an industrial scale, it still was a common, even fashionable practice to own a slave. Before becoming a late-in-life abolitionist, Benjamin Franklin owned several house slaves in his youth. And in New York City during the 1790s, one in five white homes owned at least one domestic slave for household chores. It was a status symbol.

For the Schuylers it was more than just one slave too. At his height of wealth, Philip Schuyler—the father of Angelica, Peggy, and Eliza—owned 27 slaves, tending to his mansion in Albany and his mills in Saratoga. And while Eliza herself became a staunch abolitionist in her old age after Alexander died, in her youth, she told her grandson, she was her mother’s chief assistant in running the domestic affairs and slaves of the house.

All of this is expunged in the Hamilton musical that depicts two of the Schuyler sisters as free thinkers. In reality, Angelica long maintained the practice of slaveholding after leaving her parents’ home… as might have Eliza.

Read more

Movies

Hamilton: The Real History of the Burr-Hamilton Duel

By David Crow

Movies

Hamilton: Ranking Every Song from the Soundtrack

By Alec Bojalad

There are several ambiguous documents that would seem to suggest early in their marriage, Alexander and Eliza either bought, rented, or at least provided financial support in others’ purchase of slaves. After his wedding to Eliza, Alexander wrote Gov. George Clinton that “I expect by Col. Hay’s return to receive a sufficient sum to pay the value of the woman Mrs. H had of Mrs. Clinton.” Biographer Forrest McDonald argued that this was too small a sum of money to buy a slave and rather it was the salary for a domestic servant, however others have speculated it was essentially for the renting of a slave.

Later in 1795, Philip Schuyler wrote to his son-in-law that “the Negro boy & woman are engaged for you” at the sum of $250. Hamilton even noted the transaction in his cashbook as “for 2 Negro servants purchased by him for me.” Biographer Ron Chernow argues that this purchase was possibly a reluctant service Hamilton did for his brother and sister-in-law, John and Angelica Church. But the best thing to hang on that is Angelica writing, regretfully, to Eliza that she and Alexander have no slaves to help host a large party. Yet to say there is an uncomfortable ambiguity there is an understatement.

To Hamilton’s credit, he was an early member of the New York Manumission Society, which fought against slaveholders kidnapping fugitive slaves and Freed Black people off the streets of Manhattan and selling them into bondage. The group petitioned the state’s General Assembly to pass a law that would phase out slavery in New York—a policy championed by Burr (before he reversed his abolitionist tendencies when he became a political ally of Democratic-Republicans and remained a slaveholder his entire life). And as the leader of the Society’s Ways and Means Committee, Hamilton drafted proposals that members of the group who owned slaves, including chairman John Jay, free all slaves over the age of 45 immediately; those younger than 28 by the time they’re 35; and those between 28 and 38 within seven years of the proposal’s writing. But even these potentially decade-spanning deadlines were considered too radical by the slaveholders of this anti-slavery society… they were roundly rejected and Hamilton’s committee was disbanded.

Still, Hamilton remained part of the group’s standing committee and even petitioned the state legislature of New York to ban trading slaves from anywhere else in the world, saying exporting Black people “like cattle and other commerce to the West Indies and the southern states” was a monstrous affair.

Nevertheless, all of these stands were made before Hamilton had actual political power inside of the government, as opposed to writing to it. So what did he do when he actually was in the room where it happens? Largely nothing other than treating it as a bargaining chip. During the Constitutional Convention, Hamilton spoke passionately about the need for allowing easy immigration and U.S. citizenry to anyone who wanted it—and argued that senators should have lifetime appointments—but on the issue of slavery, and the infamous “Three-Fifths Compromise” that occurred there, Hamilton gloomily surmised, “No union could possibly be formed” without it.

And what of his visceral admonishment of Jefferson’s hypocrisies in 1796? It was vividly fair. Jefferson, ever the proud renaissance man, was aware that slavery was evil. He attempted to blame the institution on King George III in the Declaration of Independence before Southern states forced him to take it out, and in the early 1780s he published Notes on the State of Virginia, which among other things argued that slavery could be ended in the state by 1784 with emancipated slaves moving into the interior North American continent. Of course none of that happened, and between his many impressive positions in government, from ambassador to France to Secretary of State, to vice president, and finally President of the United States, he never actually acted on these goals… or freed the hundreds of Black men and women he kept toiling at Monticello.

In fact, Hamilton used the hypocrisy and blatant racism within Notes on the State of Virginia against Jefferson, noting the document’s paternal bigotry where Jefferson offered pseudoscientific explanations to suggest in the natural hierarchy, whites were above Blacks, in the way Blacks were above orangutans. “[He’d have them] exported to some less friendly region where they might all be murdered or reduced to a more wretched state of slavery,” Hamilton wrote as Phocoin about Jefferson’s unrealized emancipation plan. But his most damning indictment was insinuating that the well-noticed light skinned slaves called Black in Monticello might have a complicated heritage.

“At one moment he is anxious to emancipate the blacks to vindicate the liberty of the human race. At another he discovers that the blacks are of a different race from the human race and therefore, when emancipated, they must be instantly removed beyond the reach of mixture lest he (or she) should stain the blood of his (or her) master, not recollecting what from his situation and other circumstances he ought to have recollected—that this mixture may take place while the negro remains in slavery. He must have seen all around him sufficient marks of this staining of blood to have been convinced that retaining them in slavery would not prevent it.”

– Alexander Hamilton

Biographer Chernow even believes this hints at Hamilton having knowledge about Jefferson’s affair with the light-skinned Sally Hemings, as Angelica Schuyler Church was a friend of Jefferson’s during his time in Paris when he possibly began that, um, relationship. Hemings was 14 at the time.

Sadly, lest you think Hamilton was simply using the cloak of anonymity to call out the blatant hypocrisy of Southern planters, the uglier truth is that Hamilton was using this potential knowledge as a cudgel against Jefferson in the South. Writing in support of his Federalist compatriot John Adams, Hamilton rather cynically ends the essay by saying, “For my own part, were I a Southern planter, owning negroes, I should be ten thousand times more alarmed at Mr. Jefferson’s ardent wish for emancipation than at Mr. Adams’ system of checks and balances.”

So even in his most full-throated denunciation of slavery, the racism it’s founded on, and the hypocrisy of slave owners, Hamilton was still posturing it for political gain… among slave plantation owners.

For this reason, some historians, and even more activists, hold a wary cynicism toward Hamilton. Author and playwright Ishmael Reed even wrote a full-length lecture of a play called The Haunting of Lin-Manuel Miranda, in which he depicts Miranda as a hapless dupe manipulated by Chernow into spreading manipulative lies about America’s founders, whom Reed compares to Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich.

This kind of broad portrait of these historic figures—or Miranda and Chernow for that matter—may be just as sweeping as the centuries of deification the founders and other “great white men” received before recent decades’ attempts by historians and universities to be more inclusive and objective about the historical record.

The truth about Hamilton, like most men, is a lot more complicated, including how Miranda’s impressive work of art presents him. Hamilton was a forward-thinker ahead of his time who understood slavery, and the basic tenets of racism that white society used to rationalize it, was insidious. “Odious” and “immoral” (complete with italicizations) were his favorite words to describe it. He made some nominal effort to fight it, but like a lot of white men throughout history, and even today, he ultimately placed it low among his priorities and often on the backburner… allowing it to linger to the next generation and the next century, and to the point where it nearly tore his beloved Union asunder in a civil war that claimed more than half a million lives.

Perhaps it’s best to remember, beyond musical stage glory, Hamilton was a man who did good and bad, and maybe cruelty by simply not doing enough when he had the power to do more. But instead of glorifying or vilifying those shortcomings, it’s best to learn from them and see how much (or little) we are doing today to overcome the legacy of slavery. It’s wishful thinking on the part of Miranda and Phillipa Soo’s Eliza at the end of the musical to say if Hamilton hadn’t died in 1804 “you could have done so much more” about slavery. When Burr shot him, his time in power had honestly passed. Ours has not.

The post What Hamilton Doesn’t Say About His Real History with Slavery appeared first on Den of Geek.

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Apologies on Freedom Day

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MIRACLE MOMENT®

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.” Martin Luther King Jr.

MESSAGE FROM CYNTHIA BRIAN, Founder/Executive Director

Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day, marks the end of slavery in the South on June 19, 1865. As PBS proclaims, “in this sixth month of the non-stop stunner that is 2020, the country finds itself in a period of education and reckoning of the racism embedded in its birth.”

I write this message to apologize for using the “color blind” analogy in our previous newsletter. After sending out the newsletter to share solidarity, a few of our dedicated BTSYA volunteers politely emailed to inform me that the use of the words “color blind” is offensive in todays vernacular. (You may read excerpts below) I thank these brave individuals for their courage to stand up, express themselves, and educate all of us,

specifically me. One of my mottos has always been “Failure is fertilizer. Throw your mistakes on the compost pile and grow a new garden.” I made a mistake and from that I learned so much. I am sorry.

We are living in unprecedented times and the world is in chaos with Covid-19 and the largest wave of civil unrest since the 1960s, spurred by outrage over police brutality and racism. Here at Be the Star You Are!® we are INCLUSIVE. We don’t tolerate bigotry, racism, or any other negative attitude towards any race, religion, gender, culture, or viewpoint. We stand together as a colorful united family of brothers and sisters from many different countries and backgrounds. Take a peek at our website, https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org or our teen radio show at http://www.expressyourselfteenradio.com and you’ll see that our volunteers represent the nations of the world. We are very proud to stand for freedom and equality for all.

My acting union, SAG-AFTRA released the following statement from President Gabrielle Carteris and National Executive Director David P. White on the murder of George Floyd. It states more eloquently what we at Be the Star You Are!® believe so I share this with you.

“The murder of George Floyd is deeply emblematic of a corrosive inequality and injustice at the heart of America. As protests spread across the country it is not enough to condemn injustice. It’s not enough to demand change. We must recognize that racism lives in our culture and only we can change that. We must speak up in the face of injustice and fight back against the indignities our fellow citizens face every day. We must be defenders and allies. We must be better than this.The ugly truth is that Mr. Floyd's killing was one among many murders of black people over many years. Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Philando Castile, Michael Brown, Jr., Marsha P. Johnson, Emmett Till, and the list goes painfully on and on stretching back for centuries. It must end. Black lives do matter.”

Again, I apologize if the newsletter offended, Please forgive me. It was never my intention to be offensive in any way.

There is no room for bigotry, brutality, or racism in our world. We are all on a learning curve and open to all feedback. Although we are all sailing together in this time of pandemic, I recognize that we are not in the same boat.

This is a time to be kind. To help one another. To be inclusive. We will not tolerate injustice. When we embrace diversity we increase peacefulness. Let’s remember that love always wins when kindness prevails. Smiles will keep us happy.

Juneteenth is not currently recognized as a Federal holiday but by celebrating it, we take one step forward towards reconciliation and the fight for freedom for all.

We want to hear from you. How do you demonstrate that Black Lives Matter? We’re interested in your thoughts and actions. Send your comments (less than 50 words) to our Kindness Coordinator, Karen Kitchel at karenkitchel@comcast.net by June 30. We will include a variety of responses (first name only) in our July newsletter.

I know I'm going to make many more mistakes. We all will. But let's learn and grow from them. We are COLOR BRAVE!

Be strong, be brave, be safe.

And don’t forget to also celebrate Father’s Day on June 21. A salute to all the great dads of every color and creed.

In solidarity,

Cynthia Brian Founder/Executive Director Be the Star You Are!® PO Box 376 Moraga, California 94556 Cynthia@BetheStarYouAre.org https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org http://www.BTSYA.org

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EXCERPTS FROM TWO POWERFUL EMAILS WITH RESOURCE LINKS

"I'm emailing you now about the newsletter I recently received that was titled Become Color Blind. I understand the need to be in unity in this fight against institutional racism and police brutality, so I do appreciate your response on this. But I feel that asking everyone to "become color blind" is counterproductive and incredibly tone deaf in light of recent events.

Saying you are color blind says that you ignore the fact that oppression/racism exists for people of color like me. As recent events have shown, we are all not treated equally, unfortunately. I in no way mean to attack you, but this was something I found to be offensive. Put short, I feel there are better ways voicing your support.

Here is a video that might help explain some of what I said better. https://www.ted.com/talks/mellody_hobson_color_blind_or_color_brave Sincerely, Anika "

"I admire all of the work you do in order to enrich the lives of young people. I received your email earlier this week regarding the Black Lives Matter movement and in it you stated that your organization is ‘Color Blind’, I know this statement is not meant to have malice or be hurtful. So I felt obligated to explain why this popular statement is damaging and can make people of color feel uncomfortable.

I am Latina and for me this statement, while well intentioned, can feel as if my unique experiences with being Mexican are overlooked. We can no longer be colorblind, we must recognize people’s experiences and understand that someone who is Black has had a different experience than someone who is Asian. To say that your organization is ‘Color Blind’ diminishes the experiences of POC. While we all bleed the same blood we are all experiencing a different reality, while some of us may never struggle because of the color of our skin others will have to live in fear because of theirs. And these differences need to be acknowledged. What you must strive for instead is to not be color blind, but to be actively Anti-Racist. Being anti-racist means that you are actively acknowledging other experiences while educating yourself on how to be a better ally. We must realize and digest how Black people in our country carry the weight of hundreds of years of systematic oppression and learn how to fight for a system that values Black lives. Color blind and anti-racist are not interchangeable and while one diminishes the existence of oppression and experience the other acknowledges oppression and actively tries to counteract it.

I wanted to contact you to explain this because I know that your email had the best intentions and did not mean to diminish any experiences. I am very happy to see your organization be so accepting and so against discrimination. I wanted to mention that I mean no disrespect in sending this email to you and solely wanted to let you know how this term has changed and evolved. I understand that the words I use today when it comes to fighting against discrimination will be replaced in the future with other terms better suited for the fight against racism. I am very happy that I worked with a group that has taken a firm stance on this issue and I wish you all the best.

If my definition was not very clear here are some resources that may explain it better than I could:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2018/10/05/white-parents-teach-their-children-be- colorblind-heres-why-thats-bad-everyone/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/culturally-speaking/201112/colorblind-ideology- is-form-racism

Thank you for reading this and hearing my perspective in this issue. Best, Olivia"

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Summit begins on June 20th, 2020 with a special guest featured each day .Be the heroine of your own epic life. Watch and learn from a league of leaders and trailblazers to help you to lead a life you love. Your dreams can be your reality!

Cynthia Brian is the featured guest on June 25th. FREE registration.

http://www.janeapplegath.com. WRITER WEDNESDAYS and SUPER SMART SUNDAYS

As part of our Be the Star You Are! Disaster Relief Outreach program (https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of- operation-hurricane-disaste), Be the Star You Are!® has collaborated with the Authors Guild to showcase the new books launched by many authors from around the country in a variety of genres. We will also be showcasing artists, actors, and musicians, all of whom had had their gigs canceled and are out of work. We believe in supporting creativity and believe that books, art, music, and film provide escape and

joy, especially during tough times. For the next few months, make sure you are tuned in to both StarStyle®-Be the Star You Are!® on Wednesdays at 4pm PT for “Writers Wednesdays” LIVE http://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2206/be-the-star-you-are as well as our teen program, Express Yourself!TM airing on Sundays at 3pm PT for “Super Smart Sundays”, https://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2014/express-yourself

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Lawmakers outraged after Trump compares impeachment inquiry to 'a lynching'(As the United States has yet to come to terms with our violent racial history, Trump invokes the word "lynching" to describe the impeachment inquiry. He uses this hateful term either through ignorance or with full knowledge of what the word invokes as a dog whistle. However either one is disturbing and not worthy of the Presidency.)

"All Republicans must remember what they are witnessing here — a lynching," Trump tweeted. "But we will WIN!"

By Allan Smith | Published October 22, 2019, 8:30 AM EDT, Updated October 22, 2019, 9:26 AM EDT | NBC News | Posted October 22, 2019 |

President Donald Trump has called the House impeachment inquiry a "coup," a "witch hunt" and a "fraud," but he introduced a new phrase to describe the process on Tuesday: "a lynching."

"So some day, if a Democrat becomes President and the Republicans win the House, even by a tiny margin, they can impeach the President, without due process or fairness or any legal rights," Trump tweeted. "All Republicans must remember what they are witnessing here — a lynching. But we will WIN!"

The president's use of "lynching," which elicits a time when black Americans were murdered by extrajudicial white mobs, was the subject of immediate blowback.

"You think this impeachment is a LYNCHING?" Rep. Bobby Rush, D-Ill., tweeted. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know how many people who look like me have been lynched, since the inception of this country, by people who look like you. Delete this tweet."

"We can all disagree on the process, and argue merits," Rep. Adam Kinzinger, R-Ill., tweeted. "But never should we use terms like 'lynching' here. The painful scourge in our history has no comparison to politics, and @realDonaldTrump should retract this immediately. May God help us to return to a better way."

According to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, more than 4,700 lynchings took place in the U.S. from 1882 to 1968. Of those who were lynched, more than 3,400 were black, though not all lynchings that took place were recorded, the NAACP noted. Many of the whites who were lynched, the organization adds, were killed for helping black Americans or being against lynching.

Lawmakers continued to blast Trump's remarks through the morning.

Rep. Karen Bass, D-Calif. and the chairwoman of the Congressional Black Caucus, tweeted that Trump was "comparing a constitutional process to the PREVALENT and SYSTEMATIC brutal torture of people in THIS COUNTRY that looked like me?"

"Using this term draws up some of America’s darkest history — Trump is yet again a disgrace and massively offensive," wrote Rep. Yvette Clarke, D-N.Y., in a Twitter post. "Nobody is above the law, including him. He has abused his power — and he’s been caught. Do not get caught up in his latest distraction tactic."

"It’s beyond shameful to use the word 'lynching' to describe being held accountable for your actions," former Housing Secretary Julián Castro, a Democratic presidential candidate, tweeted.

Speaking on CNN, Rep. Jim Clyburn, D-S.C., said the president's early morning tweet was "another indication" of how "loose" he is "with his words." Clyburn, a top-ranking Democrat, said the president's comparison of impeachment to lynching offended his sense of history.

"Very much so," Clyburn said. "I am not just a politician. I'm a Southern politician. I'm a product of the South. I know the history of that word. That is a word that we ought to be very, very careful about using."

When asked about the tweet again later in the morning, Clyburn told reporters, "I resent it tremendously. I think that what we see here, once again, is this president attempting to change the narrative using what I consider to be real, caustic terms, in order to change the conversation. To compare the constitutional process to something like lynching is far beneath the office of the president of the United States."

The condemnation was not unanimous. Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., told reporters that the impeachment inquiry "is a lynching in every sense," calling it "un-American."

Graham, a close ally of the president, said he could not see a lot of black Americans being offended by the remark, adding that mob justice was what is taking place in the House.

Trump's tweet came just before acting U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine Bill Taylor is set to provide the House with a closed-door deposition. Taylor, a key figure in the administration's Ukraine dealings, which are at the center of the House inquiry, texted U.S. Ambassador to the European Union Gordon Sondland last month that it was "crazy" to hold up the country's military aid until they investigated political opponents of the president.

Sondland responded hours later that the president was clear about there being no quid pro quo, a message he later told the House was passed along to him by the president after Sondland received Taylor's message.

Speaking with reporters in a Cabinet meeting on Monday, Trump lamented the House was interviewing ambassadors he "never heard of."

The House launched its impeachment inquiry after a whistleblower filed a complaint about Trump's conduct toward Ukraine. The whistleblower, whose identity is not yet known, said in the complaint that Trump sought electoral assistance from Ukraine. The complaint was based on information passed along to the whistleblower by administration officials who were concerned, the whistleblower wrote.

Although Trump has claimed the whistleblower's account is "false," a detailed description of Trump's July 25 call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, which was released by the White House, aligns with the complaint. In that call, Trump asked Zelenskiy to probe a debunked conspiracy theory about Democrats and the 2016 presidential election and also investigate the Biden family, particularly former Vice President Joe Biden's son Hunter, who had business dealings in Ukraine.

Trump's remark on Tuesday was the first time he had used the word "lynching" in a tweet, although in 2015 he promoted a comment from a Twitter user who thanked conservative personality Mark Levin for "maintaining" his "integrity during this disgusting lynching of" Trump, who was then a Republican presidential candidate.

"Thanks Mark!" Trump added.

*********

A mob lynching of 4 young blacks in 1946 is focus of court battle over grand jury secrecy

The young black sharecroppers were being driven along a rural road when they were stopped by a white mob beside the Apalachee River, just over 50 miles east of Atlanta.

By The Associated Press | Published October 22, 2019, 7:04 AM EDT | AP | Posted October 22, 2019 |

ATLANTA — A historian's quest for the truth about a gruesome mob lynching of two black couples is prompting a U.S. appeals court to consider whether federal judges can order grand jury records unsealed in decades-old cases with historical significance.

The young black sharecroppers were being driven along a rural road in the summer of 1946 when they were stopped by a white mob beside the Apalachee River, just over 50 miles (80 kilometers) east of Atlanta. The mob dragged them out, led them to the riverbank and shot them multiple times. For months the FBI investigated and more than 100 people reportedly testified before a grand jury, but no one was ever indicted in the deaths of Roger and Dorothy Malcom and George and Mae Murray Dorsey at Moore's Ford Bridge in Walton County.

Historian Anthony Pitch wrote a book about the killings — "The Last Lynching: How a Gruesome Mass Murder Rocked a Small Georgia Town" — and continued his research after its 2016 publication. He learned transcripts from the grand jury proceedings, thought to have been destroyed, were stored by the National Archives.

How to Solve a Lynching: Georgia Activists Reenact 1946 Massacre

Heeding Pitch's request, a federal judge in 2017 ordered the records unsealed. But the U.S. Department of Justice appealed , arguing grand jury proceedings are secret and should remain sealed.

A three-judge panel of the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in February ruled 2-1 to uphold the lower court's order. But the full court voted to rehear the case, and is set to hear oral arguments Tuesday.

Pitch, 80, died just two weeks after the announcement the case would be reheard. His wife, Marion Pitch, has taken her husband's place in the case. Pitch's family also approached Laura Wexler, who wrote another book about the lynching, for help completing his work, and she joined the case.

In 1946, Roger Malcom, 24, was jailed after stabbing and gravely injuring a white man during an argument. A white farmer, Loy Harrison, paid $600 to bail Malcom out on July 25 of that year. Harrison later said he was ambushed by a mob as he drove the four home. Harrison, who is identified in an FBI report as a former Ku Klux Klansman and well-known bootlegger, wasn't hurt. He told authorities he didn't recognize anyone in the mob.

The investigation has been reopened and closed several times since a grand jury failed to indict anyone in December 1946. Students, researchers and activists have all tried to crack the case.

Rules governing grand jury secrecy include exceptions when records may be released. A 1984 ruling in the 11th Circuit, which set binding precedent, says judges may order their disclosure in "exceptional circumstances." The historical significance in this case qualifies, Judge Charles Wilson wrote in the panel's majority opinion. He added that enough time has passed that witnesses, suspects or their immediate family members likely aren't alive to be intimidated, persecuted or arrested.

Concurring, Judge Adalberto Jordan agreed that lower court's ruling should be upheld because of the binding precedent. But Jordan said he would have decided the 1984 case differently. Allowing judges to use inherent authority to go beyond the defined exceptions to grand jury secrecy seems too open-ended, he wrote.

U.S. District Judge James Graham of Ohio, also serving on the panel, dissented. He argued that "judges should not be so bold as to grant themselves the authority to decide that the historical significance exception should exist and what the criteria should be." He also worried people alive today could see their reputations harmed if the records reveal their relative "was a suspect, a witness who equivocated or was uncooperative, a member of the grand jury which refused to indict or a person whose name was identified as a Klan member."

The full 12-judge appeals court is scheduled to hear Tuesday's arguments. Specifically, the judges asked the lawyers whether they should overturn the 1984 precedent. Additionally, they asked, if federal judges can grant disclosures beyond the defined exceptions, is "historical significance" an adequate reason?

Pitch's lawyer, Joseph Bell, argued in a court filing that the 1984 precedent shouldn't be overruled because it acknowledges the need for "exceptional circumstances."

"The historical importance and age of the case, lack of indictment after over seventy years, and fact that other historically significant grand jury records have been released all support the release of the records," Bell wrote

Justice Department lawyer Bradley Hinshelwood countered that Pitch's arguments would allow federal judges to circumvent rules set by Congress and the Supreme Court about the disclosure of grand jury materials.

The rules governing grand jury secrecy provide a "meticulously crafted list of permissible disclosures," Hinshelwood wrote. Even if judges did have the authority to establish other exceptions, it wouldn't extend to historical interest.

The Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press and 30 news organizations, including The Associated Press, submitted a brief in support of Pitch that was rejected by the court without explanation.

[vickyrobinsonblog]

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[carrieadenblog]

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Consider this example your hidden-secret assignment helper in writing your individual who am I essay. But, my difficulties are very little like the ones from additional guy. There’s no more complete means by which to follow a composition than by making a level of quality, structured who am I essay outline for you in advance.

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Your experience should not be way too varied. In many instances fail to start seeing, yet what some others see in me can be something I frequently are aware of. I embrace directives as supplied and almost never stray from their website. Be well prepared you may want to try particulars when talking over this inquiry. To become absolutely viewed by way of mentor, I will projects on my own in addition to making use of the class.

The intention of this essay can be to discuss the persona from the publisher. At the least I did so before this time. Given it turns out, I am on the right path. This would mean you need to use a concentrate your essay.

I actually not accept her, but it is an thoughts and opinions I gladly settle for. Many of us are human beings, so typically, no one is outstanding. I secure some events excellent as well as fulfilling, while some discover them bad. So, attempt to be impartial within your coming up with.

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Reportedly, I am ‘too watchful to point out my strengths’. We advise using buying imaginative movements to the literary variety, for instance , allegories, metaphors, and many others. To share truthfully, my father is my idol along with particular person I rely on most, so naturally I handled him with my challenges. The things they see as impressive; I could see as outraged.

Safely, the instructions, restrictions and demands will contrast with regards to the scenario, so you might need to message them downward prior to getting started. I am just a people, and so i am as involved to be the next man. This define will help you set up your articles in addition the construction, in it giving the website reader that have a coherent, brief and easy to undestand clarification of what you do.

Those remain questioning me the same thing topic: what and who are you currently? It became not too huge ago that we known that I don’t have a clean answer to it. The real probable is made not merely by course load, but by own personal hard work, way too.

You can also use wit in order to make the essay more and more attention-grabbing towards the audience. Possibly this essay will display my own. My mommy recognizes my inability to indicate my computer or laptop practical knowledge as laziness.

To solve these explicit thoughts, you want to put together analysis of that higher education. Truly, I am so linked to canines among other pets, I believe it is excessive we could not ask them about their impression about me. The university or college should provide things on your behalf, so. Occasionally persons watch you once you wouldn’t wish to see you and your family.

I are aware that, sometimes, my rigid scheme to follow along with regulations and tips is preventing me from really being impressive. The who am I question for you is posed oftentimes in a lifetime of anyone, for both labor and research projects. Not clearly show the board that you are currently inside because it is much easier or renowned, your main goal can be to exhibit actual curiosity! These are generally entirely fantastic.

Soon, they are looking for particulars. Bring it at first, but will not go detailing it completely right this moment. This is when I acquired a couple of things about my self. Together argumentation, I purchased it clear out i am not as brilliant while i considered, but my passion for development is seen instantaneously.

Would also like you to definitely make their college far better. Locate an response that demonstrates how your existence in their institution will make a difference. That will not make their point of view improper. Without having to so long earlier, I did. A specific good plan in essay producing can be to put off the intrigue, the revelation.

Not much like the people inexplicable, typical key phrases like: I am just a squad doing business guy or girl, I had remarkable employment ethic, or I discover how efficient. You might think of your mission as unique. But, I am just whether not talented, or perhaps not attentive satisfactory. I am just an dog enthusiast, a technological innovations addict, and a person who is basically interested in vacationing.

Simply what does this suggest? Hopefully the fact that your essay is seen as a revelation in the greatness that you will be! To enable you to reply the debate about who I am just, I begun with inquiring professionals all across what they have to picture me. Talking about the dilemma: exactly why is this university an outstanding fit and slim to help you, the answer sits inside you. Do this model as well as the methods earlier on served you get the response to this query?

It is usually now time to take a seat and be able to write it. To my astonishment, my dad was certainly along the side of the professor. Practice it little by little and finish on the final result. So, what’s the ultimate say? Who am I? There are some things that can be popular and pertain to all essays of these variation, on the flip side.

That may be once i talked to my dad. At least not really. The job interviewer will easily realize it if you ever don’t possess a specific explanation why you desire to be present at a university.

To continue your reader pleased up until the distinctly stop, hold things to you until you arrive. Whether you require it for college or university and for high school, one of the greatest solutions to gain knowledge of things is usually by noticing proper types of it. The latter refers to my mistakes, that i understand is simply regular.

He stated so it doesn’t show that my tutor was entirely wrong. By trying out not to ever make a mistake, I don’t consider taking plenty of dangers. Prepared for your specific system? Doubtfully, but we are confident that after this advice, you are whole lot more courageous to get started upon your use and get ready for a meeting. At the same time are crucial tend not to ignore any area of this!

I am just not the foremost or even the worst. So, what’s left behind in my view ended up being to you can ask my best freinds and family. It is really not my main quality, nevertheless i do get a hold of responsibility and endurance to turn into a valuable thing. I traveled to him presenting if I need to try to obtain something else since this is no thing to do I am great at, or make an attempt far more.

But, this doesn’t lead to you need to boast regarding your characteristics and fail to reference the negative traits. She basically says: If you follow the the exact same enthusiasm, I notice a shiny possible for everyone.’

Simply because it turns out, I allow matters very literary. Now, some other thought may be associated with YOUR share in the classes. You need to be prepared to present you some thing in turn. I observed absolutely no reason to reconsider my particular pathway and my hobbies.

This should display that you will be well informed on the the school proposes to its youngsters and need to get pleasure from their facilitates as part of it. I am just human and I need to strive more demanding. It certainly provided me with another type of angle of me, on the other hand i am not sure that this helped me get yourself a precise picture, and for some reason it puzzled and nervous me.

Whether it be something you enjoy achieving, a romantic relationship you wish to explain, or just a significant showcase for yourself character this is required to be give all over the complete essay. So, aside from the information you should think about and master whenever writing articles, often times there are guidelines that may help you make task much easier. On the reverse, he believed my prospective was definitely not the thing i revealed in everyday life.

But, not during a less than ideal way. I certainly not brought up successfully for a youngster, so why would this make me? I assume its all a bit of the puzzle which is often known as nature.

Planning to hide this behind your top characteristics can give an undesirable effect. I expected a lot more from her, but it surely really received me encouraged to start to be more beneficial. Never ever, possibly say you need to join the university since educational research abstract examples it is nearby the house or has exceptional search rankings.

While I spoke to my personal computer scientific disciplines professor and contributed my passion for expertise, she examined my work as aforementioned general. My father described in my opinion that your simple hurdle or difficulty does not always mean i always are advised to surrender.

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